A BUN MASKA STUDIOS PRODUCTION
The Greatest Gold Heist To Never Happen
(a screenplay)
INTERIOR: IRANI CAFÉ. NIGHT.
14 April 1944. Inside a café at the base of a majestic modern apartment block on the Back Bay Reclamation, Bombay. A large clock above the shabby bar indicates it’s after 2 o’clock in the morning. The wood of the dark-cocoa walls is chipped and faded, wearied by wartime. A sign propped on a Bentwood chair near the door states:
ALL WELCOME.
At a table cloaked in blue-and-white check near the back of the café stands a silver-haired Indian man with an elaborate lampshade moustache. He wears a pristine white kurta, white pyjamas and white shoes. The café is illuminated only by the light of the torch he holds. He shines it on the plans of a ship unfurled on the table in front of him. To his right sits a European brunette. She gazes adoringly up at him, her wrists wreathed in gold bangles. To his left, a young Indian man with a shock of thick dark hair, a prominent nose and a somewhat blank expression fidgets nervously, then picks up a pen and begins to draw a cartoon on the edge of the ship plans. He is Samir, the owner of the café. The man in white looks at Samir sharply and says:
THE MAN IN WHITE
No!
Samir pauses, then finishes the caricature. It shows the man in white with rupee symbols for eyes, staring at the ship plans. Samir flashes a wide grin, caps his pen and sits on his hands. The man in white glares at him, then taps a finger on the plans and addresses them both.
THE MAN IN WHITE
The gold bars are spread across the ship in thirty-one crates. Eight here, twelve here, eleven here.
The woman lets out a small squeal of delight, then breathes:
VICTORIA
Gold… You’re certain we can steal it all?
The man in white twirls his moustache, then plucks a tiny speck of dust from his right sleeve.
THE MAN IN WHITE
Yes. Everything’s arranged, as long as we all play our parts and avoid the explosives. More bangles than you can dream of.
Victoria throws her head back and laughs coquettishly, revealing a gold filling. The younger man turns and addresses the camera.
SAMIR
[to camera]
Victoria’s obsessed with gold. One of her gallant lovers bought her those bangles, one for every hockey goal she’s scored. And the soirées she throws… Whew, they glitter. She looks a darling, but don’t be fooled – she’s the one pulling the strings here. Of course, this gangster [Samir nods to the man in white] is unaware of that, which is precisely what makes her so brilliant. I won’t go into the questionable things he’s done for money.
THE MAN IN WHITE
Victoria, your man on the inside says they’re unloading two days from now. So my men are going in at 11 o’clock tonight. Samir, you’re to close the café for “maintenance” today and make space in the storage room for them.
Samir nods, then turns and addresses the camera.
SAMIR
[to camera]
Me and my café are simple pawns in their plot to rob the Forte Stikine ship. He’s been holding secret meetings here, passing things through me during opening hours. Earlier, one of his goons slipped me those ship plans inside today’s Bombay Chronicle. He’s planning to store some of the gold here while they work out what to do with it.
THE MAN IN WHITE
Let’s sync our watches. This job needs to be clean. Surgical. Is that clear?
Samir smiles, adjusts his wristwatch, then turns and addresses the camera.
SAMIR
[to camera]
Best-case scenario, he comes good on his word and pays me so I can transform my café into an artist’s salon. A sanctuary and safe haven for all the beautiful new friends I’ve made during the war. The kind of place Victoria might notice… Worst-case scenario, they botch it – and we all end up in prison.
Cut to:
Six hours before the heist is due to take place. The same café, the same day. The sound of a large explosion fades in the distance. Dust hangs thickly in the silent air. Chairs and tables are upended, there are holes in the ceiling and pockets of rubble litter the floor. One of these pockets stirs. Samir emerges, rubbing his head. He looks around, dazed. He stumbles to the door.
On the street outside, a few people run past clutching gold bars, one of them shouts, “Gold! Gold is falling from the sky!”
Samir turns back into his café and looks around again. He scurries back to the pile of rubble he emerged from and falls to his knees. He digs through the rubble with his hands. Triumphant, he pulls out a gold bar. His eyes widen.
Montage:
Samir is observed rushing across the café, uncovering gold bar after gold bar. He piles them on what remains of his drinks bar and, beaming, picks up the telephone behind it. Unaware he’s gone temporarily deaf, he shouts:
SAMIR
HELLO, IS THAT KAMDAR FURNITURE?
(listens)
SORRY, CAN YOU SPEAK UP?
(listens)
YES, I’D LIKE TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT. A COMPLETE REFURB. CAFÉ FLAMINGO ON THE BACK BAY RECLAMATION.
(listens)
YES, THE MAGNIFICENT ULTRA-MODERN BUILDING.
(listens)
YES, NATURALLY. AMPLIFY IT.
(listens)
OF COURSE PINK. STYLISH. LIKE EROS THEATRE. ROSE-TINT EVERYTHING! CALMING SEA GREEN, TOO. AND I NEED SPACE TO SHOWCASE A LOT OF TALENTED FRIENDS… AND THEIR ART.
(listens)
YES, THAT’S NICE. YOU’LL TAKE GOLD?
(listens)
YOU GOT SOME, TOO? GOOD! WHAT A LOTTERY LIFE IS, EH?
(Samir looks up. Something catches his eye. He smiles.)
THERE’S A GOLD BAR POKING THROUGH MY WALL.
(listens)
LEAVE IT THERE? YES, LET’S MAKE A FEATURE OF MY GOOD FORTUNE! THAT MAKES ME GIDDY HAPPY.
