For a Fistful of Biscuits
Scene: Outdoors, midday-ish, on a peaceful, bright and dry summer's day. On the shady slopes of Maidenhead golf course, two Mexican bandits, Gonzales and Tommaso, are sitting on the ground beneath a tree (see picture.) A Wanted poster, nailed to the tree, flaps in the wind. Their horses are tethered to a fence and browsing the grass in the background. There is also a goat browsing the grass. There is a footpath across the golf course. On the horizon stands a city.
Gonzales is eating a biscuit. Tommaso plays the blues on a harmonica.
Tommaso (stops playing the harmonica and speaks in strong American Spanish accent): Hey, Gonzales!
Gonzales (same accent as Tommaso): S, Tommaso.
Tommaso: Giz a biscuit.
Gonzales: I ain't got no more biscuits. This is the last one.
Tommaso:: What happened to all the biscuits?
Gonzales: Maria ate them.
Gonzales: She even ate all the wrappers and the cardboard box.
Tommaso: No biscuits. (Sigh.) I don't believe it.
Gonzales: I told you, Tommaso, don't leave Maria to look after the biscuits. She ain't to be trusted with them.
Pause. Tommaso glowers at the goat.
Gonzales: Hey, Tommaso, it's a lovely day. What say we go to the big city and rob the gringos?
Tommaso: Sure thing, Gonzales. What place you want to go? Shall we hit the bank?
Gonzales The bank ain't got two pesos to rub together. Hell, they got less money than we got. We hit the Prodco head office.
Tommaso: Whassat you say, friend?
Tommaso: Not you, Maria. I was asking Gonzales.
Gonzales: I say, we ride to the city and we rob the Prodco head office, Tommaso. We want what they got..
Tommaso: The influenza must've gotten to your sombrero, Gonzales. There ain't nothin' we want in the Prodco head office. Giz a cigarillo.
Gonzales (suddenly angry, draws gun and points it at Tommaso): I don't have flu.
Tommaso (backs off, hands in the air): Flu? Why, Gonzales, you are the healthiest man in the South East.
Pause. Gonzales calms down and holsters the gun. The bandits settle on the ground again.
Gonzales (calmly): It was the drink ? I should never have stowed away in a container loaded with tequila slammers.
Gonzales takes a cigarillo from a box and points it towards the Prodco office. He speaks wistfully.
Gonzales:: Prodco got computers. (He gives the cigarillo to Tommaso, still staring at the Prodco building.) The days of the gun slinging bandit on horseback are ending. Computers is the future of banditry.
Tommaso: What you want computers for? You gonna write four-one-nines to suckers and say, hey, I work for the bank of the North Pole, someone you never heard of wants to give you a pile of money, and please pay my huge fee? They don't have internet in the hacienda. (Lights cigarillo and draws on it) Hell, they don't even have electricity in the hacienda.
Gonzales: Tommaso, a little bird tell me something else. (Pause, then quietly) The gringos got biscuits.
Tommaso (Conspiratorially): You want to break in and steal biscuits?
Tommaso: I like the way you think, amigo.
Tommaso: Not you. I was talking to Gonzales.
Tommaso: What sort of biscuits they got?
Gonzales: You name it, Tommaso. Shortbread, chocolate chip, amaretto, vienetta, ginger snaps, chocolate Hobnobs, and that's just the few I saw through the window. They got a whole box of them. They aren't even in the safe.
Tommaso: And who is guarding the biscuits?
Gonzales: Only the instructor. And you know what?
Tommaso: Tell me.
Gonzales (smirks): He keep his gun in his laptop bag.
Tommaso (giggling): He no use a holster?
Gonzales (laughing): No!
Tommaso (giggling): You're kidding me.
Gonzales (laughing): It's the truth! I cased the joint, amigo. I stood in the car park and watched him through the window. The biscuits are not in the safe, the gun is not in the holster. (Pause) These gringos are sitting ducks!
Gonzales and Tommaso fall about, laughing uproariously.
Tommaso: This will be the easiest robbery in the history of the convenience snack industry! Saddle up!
Gonzales: Hey, Tommaso! How we ride the horse through the rotating door?
Tommaso: Same way we got it in here, se?or.
Wild West music. The two bandits untie the horses from the fence, leap into the saddles, and gallop off towards the Prodco office whooping and firing shots into the air.
A man walks along the path, too far away to be seen distinctly. The bandits notice him.
Tommaso: Friend, is that the Sheriff I see over there?
Gonzales No, that's Tim Mahler!
Gonzales and Tommaso fire a volley of shots at Tim Mahler, yelling joyfully. The shots miss him.
Tommaso: Did you hit him?
Tommaso: Damn! That hombre is unstoppable.
Gonzales and Tommaso (riding into the distance and shouting) Biscuits!
They ride until they are specks on the landscape.
Gonzales (continuing to ride): How's your claim for asylum gettin' on?
Tommaso: They let me in.
Fade to black. End.