Colin Cotterill - Grandad, Thereэ's head on the beach

"We'd sit together, hand in hand, watching exciting programs like this."

"This isn't a program, Mair. It's-"

"And we'd try not to get upset by them. I'd try not to cry. Because we knew they were sponsored by the Suzuki motorcycle company and Tonaf anti-foot-rot cream and the like. And we knew everything would work out fine in the end because sponsors didn't want death. They wanted happy endings. That's what sells foot-rot cream. And we were never disappointed. Who did we finally get to sponsor our show, Margaret?"

"It's…" Sissi smiled at her mother. "You know? I do think we had somebody down from Coca-Cola in the end."

"Oh, well. There's nothing to worry about then."

"Where's the logo then?" asked blue skin. Sissi ignored her.

"We should be getting back, I suppose," said Mair. "There's nobody feeding the dogs."

"You asked someone from the co-op to do it," said Sissi.

"Are you sure? Good for me. At least I've been good for something. I wasn't worth a shaved-ice sundae as a mother, if you ask me."

"Mair, you-"

"Will somebody shut the old woman up?" said some lanky chopstick of a teenager.

Sissi scraped back her chair, grabbed the youth by the neck, frog-marched him out the door and locked it. There was no more backchat from the Tweeters.

"I put my only two children up for adoption, you know?" said Mair.

"Mair, stop talking now."

"Yes, I should. The show's on."

JIMM: 3…2…1…Here goes. (THE CAMERA IS EXPOSED TO THE BRIGHT LIGHTS FROM THE SQUID BOATS, AND THE SCREEN IS TEMPORARILY BLINDING. WHEN WE REFOCUS, WE SEE THE SURPRISED FACES OF THE GUARDS. THE FOLLOWING SECTION HAS NO ENGLISH TRANSLATION.)

JIMM: Smile everyone. You're on the Internet-live. Shown worldwide in approximately a billion homes.

BOSS: Who the bloody hell's that?

(CAMERA PANS UP TO THE DECK OF THE LARGEST BOAT AND ZOOMS TO THE FACE OF A SEMI-HANDSOME SOUTHERN MAN WITH A SCAR DOWN ONE CHEEK. IT'S UNEVEN, AS IF THE TWO SIDES WEREN'T MATCHED UP BEFORE THEY WERE SEWN TOGETHER. A NUMBER OF BURMESE HEADS ARE PEERING OVER THE EDGE OF THE BOAT.)

CREW 2: (OFF-CAMERA) She's got a gun.

(MISCELLANIOUS SCREAMS)

JIMM: It's not. It's not a gun. Don't shoot. It's a computer.

(JIMM DOES A SLOW PIROUETTE, TAKING IN ALL THREE BOATS AND THREE CREWS OF HALF-STARVED BURMESE. THE GUARDS ARE HOLDING RIFLES. ONLY THE BOSS HAS AN AUTOMATIC WEAPON. EVERYONE SEEMS TO BE FROZEN TO THE SPOT AS THEY WATCH JIMM.)

BOSS: Don't just stand there. Grab the little bitch and get that thing off her.

JIMM: (OFF-CAMERA IN ENGLISH) That was perfect. A close-up of the gang leader. Get to work now, you computer wizards and come up with a record for him.

(A CREW MEMBER MARCHES DIRECTLY TOWARD THE CAMERA)

JIMM: OK. OK. I'll put it down. Look. It's a very expensive com-

(BUT THE CAMERA ISN'T PUT DOWN. IT DROPS TO THE DECK ON ITS SIDE. A LOT OF PIXELS GET REARRANGED, BUT THE PICTURE RIGHTS ITSELF IN TIME TO SEE THE BOTTOM HALF OF JIMM BEING DRAGGED ALONG THE DECK TO A POINT BELOW THE BOSS.)

JIMM: (SHOUTED) Now would be a very good time for back-up. Hello!

BOSS: (OFF-CAMERA) What are you going on about? Who are you?

JIMM: I am Jimm Juree, a world-famous crime reporter. And this entire operation has been captured digitally and distributed to the World Wide Web-live.

BOSS: We're in the middle of the sea.

JIMM: So?

BOSS: There's no phone towers out here. How stupid do you think I am?

JIMM: Obviously not nearly as stupid as you actually are.

(THERE IS A PAUSE, THEN THE SOUND OF A THUD, AND JIMM FALLS INTO FRAME ON THE DECK. THERE'S THE SOUND OF A SCUFFLE OFF-CAMERA.)

ARNY: Jimm!

BOSS: Keep hold of them two.

(JIMM COMES AROUND SLOWLY AND TURNS TO FACE THE CAMERA-SPITS)

JIMM: (IN ENGLISH) I have just been hit with the barrel of an AK47. I might have lost a tooth. This is-

BOSS: Enough with the foreign crap. Someone bring me that computer.

(SKINNY LEGS IN SHORTS APPROACH THE CAMERA, AND WHEN THE PICURE IS RIGHTED, WE HAVE AN EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF A PARTICULARLY UGLY SEAMAN. HE'S FASCINATED TO SEE HIS OWN FACE ON THE SCREEN. WE CHANGE THE POINT OF VIEW TO THE HANDSOME BUT DISFIGURED BOSS. HE SMILES.)

JIMM: Wait! What do you think you're-

(THE CAMERA SAILS THROUGH THE AIR, AND THERE'S A MOMENT THAT WOULD LATER LOOK SPECTACULAR IN A SLOW-MOTION REPLAY, WITH THE LAPTOP BREAKING THE SURFACE OF THE WATER, FLIPPING AROUND IN THE SURF, THEN BREAKING BACK INTO THE AIR LIKE A RUBBER RAFT. AS IT BOBS THERE, THE REAR END OF THE SLAVER BOAT IS IN CLEAR VIEW.)

"Now that is why the Navy Seals use the XR2," said Sissi. "Waterproof. Shock proof. Missile proof. Sends out e-mails at the speed of light. I love that baby."

"It's away from the ship now," someone shouted. "Is there some way to make it louder?"

"Yes, genius," said Sissi. "It's a new invention called the volume control. You've all got one on your computers. Voila."

"He hit her," said Mair, shocked, stressed, distraught.

"Only with the barrel, Mair. It would have been a lot worse if he'd used the stock."

"So, where's her back-up?" asked the shop owner.

"Yeah," they all echoed. "Where's her back-up?"

Live Internet feed. 10:02 P.M. Gulf of Thailand

(CAMERA ROCKING AND ROLLING ON THE WAVES. HARD TO WATCH. BOATS PASSING IN AND OUT OF SHOT. BUT THE SOUND QUALITY IS GOOD. ALL OFF-CAMERA)

BOSS: There goes your evidence. Now all we gotta do is get rid of you and your journo pals and maybe we'll finally get a bit of work done around here.

JIMM: We aren't alone out here, you know?

BOSS: Oh, right. It's the "look behind you" routine. Nice. Kill 'er.

(SOUNDS OF STRUGGLING)

ARNY: You leave her alone or there'll be trouble.

BOSS: I see your Thai's not bad for a Burmese. All right. They all go. This is how we do it. We shoot 'em. All of 'em. The uncle and the nephew too. Tie the bodies to their boat and sink it. We'll be long gone by the time they find it. You know? You newspaper people think you can stick your noses anywhere. Who do you think you are, darling? And look where you are. This is my kingdom out here and I'm God. I give and I take away. But mostly I take away. Here, I'll do the girl.

(ON ONE OF ITS CIRCUITS THE CAMERA SHOWS THE SILHOUETTE OF THE BOSS WALKING THE LENGTH OF THE FERRY BOAT WITH HIS WEAPON RAISED.)

CREW 2: boss, look.

BOSS: What? CREW 2: It's a light.

CREW 1: There's another one over there.

(SILENCE)

BOSS: What? That's it? That's your back-up? (HE LAUGHS UNTIL HE SPITS UP PHLEGM.) Two bitty little boats? Two little mackerels that we can outrun and outshoot and sink without even breaking a sweat? Don't make me laugh. You know? I hate women like you. Arrogant, the word is. I'm doing the world a favor here.

JIMM: I bet you couldn't do it without a gun.

BOSS: What?

JIMM: I bet you couldn't kill me with your bare hands, like a real man.

CREW 2: Listen. Can you hear that?

BOSS: Shut up.

JIMM: Little men like you are all talk.

CREW 1: It's music.

BOSS: Here. Take this gun. The lady wants a beating.

CREW 2: It is music.

BOSS: What the…? Who gives a shit? One of those little boats has got its transistor on. They're trying to soften us up with music. Can I just get this over with?

CREW 1: No, boss. It ain't coming from them two boats. It's like it's…it's all round us.

BOSS: What is it about today? Has everyone gone nuts?

CREW 2: He's right, boss. It is coming from all round.

CREW 1: And it's getting louder.

SONG: Friday nigh and de ligh are low.

BOSS: Don't be stupid. It's just the radio waves bouncing off the sea. It's a trick of the water.

SONG: Lookin ow for a play to go.