Day 101: Just when you think you're out...

The sun is a blinding white gash in the clear blue canvas of sky. No wind blows. Down here on the ground is a swimming pool. The surface of the water is pristine, calm. Terracotta tiles surrounding the pool gleam in the sunlight. Beside the pool is a villa, the faint noise of a television set drifting through the open patio doors. Nothing else save a potted palm tree, and a man.

The man is Ray Winstone. He lies, out of the shadow of the palm tree, sizzling in the midday heat. His belly is a hot plate. Sweat dribbles down his forehead. He grins. He is at peace.

The noise from the television grows louder. Too loud. Suddenly, the set crashes through the villa's window's glass and into the pool, shorting and zapping, sloshing water all over Ray Winstone's reclining body.

A figure appears framed in the broken window, hidden in shadow. The figure steps through the window, expensive polished shoes crunching on shards of glass. A tailored suit leg. Crisp shirt. Neat tie. Hardened face. It is Michael Caine.

Caine:
Ray!

Winstone:
Oh, no. No no no. Michael. No.

Caine:
Raaaaay.

Winstone:
No way. I'm done. I'm out. This is not happening.

Caine:
It bloody is happening, my son.

Winstone:
Look around you, Michael. Can't you see? I've got a pool. I've got a pool boy. Where's 'e gone? I've got a palm tree. A bloody palm tree, Michael. This is retirement.

Caine:
No it's not.

Winstone:
I'm retired.

Caine:
You're not.

Winstone:
Yes I am.

Caine:
You're facking facking not. Not not not. Facking. Facking not. If you are facking retired you better facking un-facking retire yourself right facking now. Facking right facking now. You 'ear me?

Winstone:
I'm not doing it.

Caine:
Just hear me out.

Winstone:
No, Michael. I'm well out of it.

Caine:
I'm putting together a film.

Winstone:
I don't make films no more, Michael.

Caine:
You never let me talk. Are you going to let me talk? Are you going to... No. Facking do not talk! I am going to talk. You are going to listen. You facking listen. You facking... Are you listening? No do not respond! I do not want you to respond. OK? Say "OK, Michael." Say "OK, Michael." Say it.

Winstone:
OK, Mi--

Caine:
--FACKING DO NOT FACKING TALK. I FACKING TOLD YOU NOT TO TALK. YOU DO NOT TALK. YOU FACKING DO NOT TALK. FACKING LISTEN.

Winstone:
...

Caine:
Good. Right. Where was I? You get me so flustered. So. I am putting together a film. One last film. One last big one. Guns, gangsters, getaway vans. Right? I'm in it. Broadbent is in it. Facking Gambon is in it. But we need one more man. We need one more man, Ray. You're that man, Ray. You're that man.

Winstone:
I can't do it, Michael. I just can't do it. That's all there is to it. I can't. I'm retired. Films about jewel heists, shootouts, that stuff is behind me.

Caine:
THAT STUFF IS IN FRONT OF YOU.

Winstone:
Look at my palm tree, Michael. Look at that goddamned beautiful palm tree. Look at it leaning in the sun. Going nowhere. Content to lean. That's me now. That's Ray Winstone now.

Caine:
FACKING NO FACKING NO FACKING NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. NO. NO. FACKING NO FACKING NO. FACKING FACKING NO. FACKING. NO. FACKING. FACKING NO.

Winstone:
Are you done?

Caine:
You're not done. You're not done. I'm putting together a film. Broadbent is in it. Gambon is in it. I am in it. And you, Ray, you are in it. One more time. You're in it. One more time, Ray. Just this one last time. This one last film about one last score. It's a deal, Ray. It's a done deal. You're in it. You're coming with me. You're coming, Ray. So pack your bag. Pack your bag you fat facking slag, because the plane is waiting, and we have a film to make. Now COME ON.

King of Thieves is coming to a theatre near you in late 2018.