Gambit

This is the story of my brave, foolish friend, Harry Deane.

Mr. Deane's work as an art curator in London

had gone, he felt, largely unappreciated.

He told me of countless insults suffered at the hands of his employer,

Lionel Shabandar, media tycoon, art collector

and an absolute brute of a fellow.

Do not touch my person. You!

- Yes, my lord? - Idiot! Give me your boot.

40 years ago, I'd have called this Shabandar a cad.

Now the prevailing parlance for a fellow of this type

is, I believe, shitbag.

Hello.

This bloody thing is not operational.

Ah, well, that's because, I believe, my lord...

Because you believe what, you steaming turd?

Now he would have his revenge,

for Mr. Deane had a plan.

To be grandiose, a heist.

To be accurate, a bit of a thieving.

This is where I came in.

I am, you see, a rather capable forger of fine art.

I was pleased my little hobby might prove of use to him.

The plan relied on securing the aid of one PJ Puznowski.

"Find this Puznowski," Mr. Deane told me,

and it would all fall nicely into place.

Excuse me. We were given to understand

that there was an equestrian tourney in the area.

Well, we got a law attorney,

don't know his religion, up downtown Alpine.

He's a fairy.

Moved here from Albuquerque,

it'll be five, no, six years ago, come May.

Not that I judge.

How terribly interesting, but is there a tournament of some description

with various rowdy goings-on?

Rough-riding, bronc-busting sort of thing.

It's a competition. A test of skill involving farm animals.

Yippee-ai-yay.

Alright, Pecos!

This is the West of the Pecos Rodeo, featuring America's number-one team,

Team Ghostrider with Tim Lepard and his cowboy monkeys.

Go on, Suzie! Go get 'em!

And it's brought to you by Charlie Goodnight and all those good people

down at Charlie Goodnight's Implements 'n' Feed.

Let's put some hands together for the monkeys!

And first out of the chute is PJ Puznowski from down Terlingua way.

- Gonna try to quick... - There.

Gonna try to put a rope around Rodney from the Lazy L Sickle Y Bar Ranch.

And, folks, Rodney ain't gonna be heppin' any.

That's 11.7 for PJ Puznowski!

- That's her. - Alright, Jammies!

What makes you so certain she'll be game?

Good God knows, she works in a poultry processing plant for minimum wage.

- You think she'll turn this down? - How much are you going to tell her?

Just as much as she needs to know.

That's nice.

This is Major Nigel Nelson-Wingate, King's African Rifles, retired.

- Sunday painter. - Madam.

Now, the simple question is,

how would you like to make half a million pounds sterling?

I have a little plan.

Straight?

- Have a good day, sir. - Shut up.

- Sorry, sir. - Bloody hell, man, be careful!

Shabandar Media.

Sir, I wonder if you might approve this last photo layout for the Horse and Hunt.

Is there a problem, sir?

Slazenger, give me a loupe.

Haystacks, Dusk.

Get me Harry Deane.

Old man just called me up.

Yes, he's expecting you.

- No, no, no. - Oh, I am sorry, sir.

What? Come in. Have them proof it quick as possible.

We'll try and get it into next month's. Deane, sit down.

Have a look at these.

I've sent the plane to collect this woman.

Arrives at Heathrow in about an hour. You'll gonna pick her up.

Interesting. Oh, I see, the painting.

- A reproduction, though so, in my opinion. - Bloody hell. Based on what?

Based on the fact that it's hanging on the wall of a caravan, sir, in Texas.

Yes, precisely. But whose caravan, you plank?

- The cowgirl, sir. - Puznowski, Deane.

PJ Puznowski. Think, man.

You stupid bastard, what!

Welcome to London.

Before we throw you into the thick of it,

I should give you a bit of the history.

Monet's Haystacks.

On September 15th, 1891, during the course of one very productive day,

the master impressionist

finished two oil paintings:

"Haystacks, Dawn", "Haystacks, Dusk".

"Haystacks, Dawn" was traded amongst various private collectors

over the years.

"Haystacks, Dusk" was put on display in Paris at the Jeu de Paume.

That is, until the Nazi occupation of 1941.

"Haystacks, Dusk" was carted off to Carinhall,

the private residence of Air Marshal Hermann Göring,

for the delectation of his eyes only.

In 1945, Carinhall is overrun by the first division of Patton's army,

the Big Red One.

The point platoon is led by Sergeant Brian "Bulldog" Puznowski,

the Killer of Kilgore, Texas.

Your grandfather.

For the next 67 years, the whereabouts of Haystacks, Dusk

has proved one of the art world's most tantalising mysteries.

And what is all this to Shabandar?

A man of outsized appetites and enormous enthusiasms,

and no few eccentricities; is an avid nudist, a case in point.

Owing to his considerable fortune and my not inconsiderable knowledge,

he has now assembled the most important collection

of impressionist masterpieces currently in private hands.

The prize? Haystacks, Dawn.

Acquired at auction 20 years ago in spirited bidding.

The bid is with the gentleman on the aisle. The bid is £8 million.

- Good heavens. - I have eight and a quarter.

The bid is with the gentleman on my left.

The bid is against you, sir. The bid is eight and a quarter million pounds.

Shabandar rolled all his competitive impulses into a ball

and outbid his great rival, Akira Takagawa.

He purchased the painting for £11 million.

His ownership of the one has merely whet his appetite for the other.

For years now, Shabandar has been seeking Haystacks, Dusk

with a passion bordering on monomania.

When he saw that photograph,

Shabandar conducted his own investigation into your family history.

Best to let the fish work the hook in himself, eh, Major?

Much the best, Mr. Deane.

He will want to negotiate the price with you.

You must stick at 12 million.

Pounds.

He'll pay it, no matter how much he protests.

Be firm. Be polite, but firm.

He will try to charm you. He will try to impress you.

- Ms. Puznowski! - He will try to...

An honour! Welcome, welcome.

Painting in the gallery, men.

I knew a Koznowski once, charming man, no relation I suppose.

Baron Koznowski. Quite the equestrian. Man had horse blood in his veins.

This way, please.

Right, let's take a look, shall we?

Mere formality, of course.

Oh, yes.

So...

What do you think, Deane?

- Yes, I'll need a few moments, sir. - Oh, yes. Quite.

You may not realise it, Ms. Puznowski,

but Harry Deane knows Monet like I know...

Actually, I don't know anything quite like that.

The artist has used a light ground true to Monet's habit.

The palette is very limited, no blacks or browns.

Cerulean blue and cadmium yellow to achieve his broken colour.

And unlike the heartbreaking fraud perpetrated on the Austrians,

the signature is correct.

It is Monet and it is very fine indeed.

And that, Mr. Deane, is good enough for me.

Shall we discuss terms?

System armed.

System armed.

Hello, kitty.

Your wages.

£500,000 and your ticket home. First class, of course.

No, no, no. No, no, no. Please, do not thank us.

It is the Major and I who should be thanking you for the self-possession,

the good humour and the élan with which you played your small but vital part.

- Eh, Major? - Hear, hear, sir. Jolly well played.

We should be arriving at Heathrow in mere minutes.

Mr. Deane.

Mr. Deane? Mr. Deane.

Shouldn't have to tell her any more than that.

Quite right. But you will have to talk to her.

Hmm.

Back in a flash.

Mr. Deane, for all his talents, was given to one particular flaw.

He saw the world as he wished to see it.

But, as we know, an optimist is simply a man who hasn't heard the news.

As my time in the African Rifles had taught me,

one ignored the elephant in the room at one's peril.

Half a million pounds sterling. Half a million...

- Hello. - I believe the lady said get lost.

I'll take the chunky one!

Gonna open a can of whup-ass on you now.

Major, for heaven's sake, just be gentle.

- I'm trying to get... - No, that's enough.

- Those people are barbarians. - Other countries, other customs.

- How are we going to meet this woman? - I remember one terrible night in Botswana...

She's surrounded by a Cro-Magnon Swiss Guard.

This wasn't the plan, Major. How are we going to get back on plan?

You boys OK, huh?

Faces still on rightways round?

Yes, thank you. All present and correct.

I do apologise on Merle. He just loves a brawl.

Nose been broke so many times, 2 years ago, he had the cartilage taken out

so there wouldn't be so much downtime between bar fights.

An expedient we might consider if we spend much more time in Texas.

Heigh ho, friend. I wouldn't recommend it.

Ms. Puznowski may I draw your attention to the matter which brought us here to meet you?

Sure.

So you're saying that's like $800,000 American? Wow!