1. EXT. STREET. DAY.
TWO COMMUNITY SUPPORT OFFICERS (CSO MARTIN AND CSO PULLMAN) ARE WALKING DOWN THE STREET. THEY SEE A WOMAN COMING OUT OF A BUTCHER'S SHOP STRUGGLING WITH SEVERAL BAGS AND SIMULTANEOUSLY TRYING TO EAT A PASTIE.
CSO MARTIN STOPS CSO PULLMAN AND MAKES A SILENT GESTURE FOR HIS PARTNER TO WATCH THE WOMAN. SHE ACCIDENTALLY DROPS THE PASTIE WRAPPER ON THE FLOOR.
WE SEE IT IN SLOW-MO AS IT FLUTTERS TO THE GROUND.
WOMAN:
Damn…
CSO MARTIN:
(URGENTLY, INTO RADIO)
Sierra Tango, this is CSO Martin, we have a Code Blue, repeat, Code Blue, location Newman's Butchers, requesting immediate assistance. (TO CSO PULLMAN) Come on.
CSO PULLMAN:
Shouldn't we wait for backup sir?
CSO MARTIN:
No time, she's already leaving. Alpha formation, go, go, go!
THEY RUN UP TO THE WOMAN, TRUNCHEONS DRAWN.
CSO MARTIN:
By the power vested in me by the Community Support Charter 2004 I'm detaining you for breach of section 5, paragraph 9b of the Keep Britain Tidy campaign.
HE PUTS HIS HAND OUT AND INCHES TOWARD HER CAREFULLY.
CSO MARTIN:
Come on love, hand it over.
WOMAN:
What? No! It's my husband's tea!
CSO MARTIN:
CSO Pullman, confiscate that contraband.
CSO PULLMAN:
Sir!
PULLMAN GRABS THE BAG AND HOLDS IT TO HIS BODY.
WOMAN:
You idiot! What's wrong with you?
SHE SWINGS OUT WITH HER HANDBAG, LIGHTLY HITTING PULLMAN IN THE CHEST. PULLMAN'S EYES WIDEN IN SHOCK. HE LOOKS LIKE HE'S BEEN SHOT. HE LOOKS AT CSO MARTIN.
CSO PULLMAN:
(SQUEAKY VOICE) Sir?
PULLMAN SLUMPS TO THE GROUND, STILL CLUTCHING THE BAG OF MEAT TO HIS STOMACH.
CSO MARTIN:
(SHOUTING) Pullman! Jesus Christ, Pullman!
CSO MARTIN CRADLES HIS HEAD.
CSO PULLMAN:
She…got me sir…is it bad?
CSO MARTIN MOVES PULLMAN'S HANDS AWAY. SEVERAL LOOPS OF SAUSAGES SPILL OUT OF THE RIPPED BAG.
CSO MARTIN:
Oh shit…
PULLMAN LOOKS DOWN AND PANICS.
CSO PULLMAN:
Oh God no! Oh Jesus Christ please no, not like this!
CSO MARTIN:
It's alright mate, it's alright, it looks worse than it is…just keep still…(INTO RADIO) Tango Sierra I have a man down, repeat, Community Support Officer down!
CSO PULLMAN:
(FUMBLING WITH SAUSAGES) I can't keep them in sir…oh shit, they're all over the place…
CSO MARTIN:
Just calm down, we were trained for this. I'm gonna have to do an emergency skin graft.
HE REACHES INTO THE BAG AND PULLS OUT A PACKET OF BACON.
CSO MARTIN:
(TO WOMAN) You! I need your help. Hold these in place while I get the graft ready.
THE WOMAN ROLLS HER EYES AND KNEELS DOWN NEXT TO PULLMAN, TAKING HOLD OF THE SAUSAGES.
WOMAN:
Like this?
CSO PULLMAN:
(DELIRIOUS, SLURRING, SHIVERING) She's got…warm hands guv…like my wife's…I'm…so cold…
CSO MARTIN:
Don't you f**king die on me, officer! (TO WOMAN) Right, move your hands, the graft's ready.
CSO MARTIN CAREFULLY PLACES SEVERAL STRIPS OF BACON ACROSS THE SAUSAGES AS PULLMAN WRITHES IN AGONY.
CSO MARTIN:
There you go mate, you'll be right as rain in no time.
PULLMAN GOES LIMP.
CSO MARTIN:
Mate? Mate? (SLAPS HIS FACE) Mate! No! No, no, no…
HE BURIES HIS FACE IN PULLMAN'S CHEST, SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY.
CSO MARTIN:
It should've worked! The graft should've worked! Why? Why?
AS HE SOBS HE TEARS THE BACON STRIPS OFF AND DELVES HIS HAND DEEP INTO THE SAUSAGES. HIS FACE FALLS.
CSO MARTIN:
Oh no.
WOMAN:
What is it?
CSO MARTIN PULLS OUT A BIG BLACK PUDDING.
CSO MARTIN:
Blood clot.
END SKETCH
