HUNTING LODGE
Let's go.
Come on.
There you go.
We got 'em. They're five miles away, in the woods.
Let's go.
Coral, you need to come quickly.
Wendy's in a bad way. I don't know what to do. We couldn't get to the diner--
Good morning, Gina. How are you?
Turn it off. It's bugged. They'll find us.
I'm so sorry, but your friend Coral won't make it either.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. What can we do now?
Look. Aren't those guns?
Yes.
Give it here.
Shells.
Here.
Gina, grab that trap. Over there.
I can't even lift it.
Get those tools.
What are you making?
A sawed-off shotgun.
Come on.
It's OK.
Look.
Here.
I have an idea.
Band-Aids won't stop the bleeding.
We have to cauterize the wound.
We have to cauterize it.
I didn't want to be a whore, you know?
It's not something you dream about as a little girl.
Even if you live in a shantytown, in a pocket of poverty.
Bite this. It's going to hurt.
I had the same dreams as other kids.
Being a pilot, a doctor,
a trapeze artist…
Then I met my girlfriend.
And I needed to have plans.
To believe it was possible.
Tell me what your plans were.
Tell me.
Live by the beach.
Eat watermelon in the winter.
Have a puppy.
Just be together.
But plans and dreams get you into this pit.
In the hopes of making mine come true,
I let myself get raped every night.
Now there's nothing left.
Of course there is.
There are always dreams, Wendy.
And Coral and I will go to that beach.
With you.
If only.
Wendy.
Wake up.
I think I'm going to need some blood.
Come here.
It's OK.
I'll get you out of here.
I will.
Even if I have to drag you out.
But I will, Wendy.
Are you OK?
Do you think we got them?
-Maybe. -Yeah.
I only have one bullet left.
Cover me. I'll go check. OK?
Don't.
I'm going to get a gas can.
We'll torch the fucking cabin.
Stay here and keep watch.
Easy, Christian.
-Easy. Don't shoot me. -On the ground.
Please don't kill me. Look, Wendy's dead.
On the ground.
OK.
Hands on your fucking head!
I'll go wherever you want. I'll go back to the club--
On your fucking head!
Come any closer, and I'll blow your brother's head off!
It may be the oldest profession in the world,
but we need to harness the energy and attention of young people.
They need to feel that going whoring is as exciting as binge drinking,
smoking marijuana, partying…
The girls don't like young clients. They're so aggressive.
Because they learned about sex on the Internet.
Watching rapes, double penetrations, fist-fucking…
Our fathers saw their first tits in a magazine at the age of 17.
These kids know exactly what a golden shower is at the age of 11.
That's why we need ideas.
Come on, R&D.
What if we had gigolos?
I read they're opening clubs for women in France.
Think about it, Romeo. We're in the age of equality.
Opening up to female clients is equality.
Equality?
Do you know what chicks do at a bachelorette party?
Surprise me.
They suck the gigolo's dick.
And they pay for it.
Overruled.
What if we expand our drug menu?
On top of coke, we could sell pills.
Like ecstasy, MDMA, crystal meth…
That's what young people take these days.
We sell coke for fucking.
I don't want clients dancing around high
and just drinking two fucking glasses of water all night.
Christian, overruled.
Next idea, come on.
We could have bare-chested waiters.
-It'd be a cool vibe. -Charlotte!
Do you think a guy sitting there deciding which beauty to fuck
wants to see this freak's hairy nipples?
-What about a girl who can squirt? -What's that?
Plenty of women, when they orgasm,
they release…
Charlotte, help me out, please.
Well, a stream.
A stream.
A stream of what?
Piss?
No, honey. A lighter shade,
like white wine.
When I really enjoy myself, I have to change the sheets.
It's a matter of strengthening and training your pelvic floor.
In fact, I could teach the girls.
You see?
That's exotic.
Most people have only seen it in porn.
It would be like a certificate of quality for fucking.
A guarantee that the girl's enjoying it because you're running her dry.
And nothing boosts an alpha male's ego more than that.
Charlotte, start giving lessons tomorrow!
I want all my whores gushing like the Trevi Fountain!
Idea accepted!
You need talent for everything in life.
To be a pimp, a prostitute, a murderer…
People always talk about writers' talent,
but they never talk about the talent for living a miserable life.
But it's there.
And Romeo was capable of analyzing his own life
with indescribable talent.
He could see the scumbag he was in fascinating psychological depth.
The first time I saw you come into the club, I was fascinated.
I had a wife,
but eating a bowl of soup with your wife isn't fascinating.
Not at all.
Fascination lies elsewhere.
In desire.
And every man needs that.
Without it, there's nothing. Without desire, you have nothing.
But you also need a roof over your head, Moisés.
A home, where you can relax.
Without Clarita and my girls, I'd be at this orgy all day long.
Fucking, with a rotten liver
and a septum that's even more wrecked than this.
My wife was my salvation.
And now she's gone.
I'm doomed, Coral.
That's not true.
You're doomed if you kill me.
I have a foot in each camp, Romeo.
I'm your fascination.
I'm your whore.
I'm the party.
But I'm also the teacher who reads your daughters a bedtime story
and tucks them in.
I can do drugs with you, and I can bake them muffins.
I can give you pleasure.
So much pleasure.
But I can also be the home you want to go back to at night.
Don't you see?
We can be together now, Romeo.
But I had my talents too.
I ensnared Romeo with his own dreams.
And just to be sure, I gave him the kiss I'd been denying him up until then.
Between the confusion and the cocaine,
I felt like I had him eating out of my hand again.
But, right then, the alarm clock went off,
and the dream was blown to smithereens.
Romeo, they have my brother.
Gina and Wendy caught him in a trap, like an animal.
Unless we give them Coral… the passports, and some money, they'll kill him.
They have a gun to his head.
And they tried to bury me like a dog.
All right. I'll call you back.
Romeo was at a crossroads.
He didn't know whether to snuggle up against Coral's bosom and start a family
or kill the bad seed that was consuming everything
and fucking up his life.
He chose the second option.
Killing her.
I'm going to lose my fucking leg.
You said you wanted a new life.
I bet you didn't think you'd end up crippled, did you?
Maybe this way…
you'll see it's not so easy to start over.
People don't change.
Because the past is a fucking 10,000-ton anchor.
You can go to therapy, but…
you can't erase
what you are.
And who the fuck are you?
Shooting people,
making sawed-off shotguns, and putting a gun in my fucking mouth.
What kind of life taught you all that?
You don't give a shit.
You fucked up the life I had before.
My brother fucked up mine.
And my bastard of a dad fucked up my brother's.
You can always find someone to blame.
But here we are.
You and I.
And we're equally likely to die soon if we get this wrong.
It's cutting into the bone.
Take this trap off and we can go to the hospital together. OK?
We can all get out of here.
Please fucking believe me.
Thank you. Fucking hell.
Stop, Wendy. Enough.
Stay still. I'll open it.
Now, shut your fucking mouth.
Stop moaning.
You'll do whatever I say.
OK.
Where the fuck's Christian?
Hey.
Move.
Hold it. Don't move.
Coral, are you OK?
My head hurts a little bit, but…
What did these bastards do to you?
Don't worry. I still have plenty of liters of blood left.
The passports?
OK.
Drop your guns.
Let him go, you bitch.
Drop your guns or nobody gets out alive.
Right then, maybe we should've asked ourselves
why two killers would drop their guns unless they had a plan B.
But the trap and the sawed-off had made us so cocky
that we weren't thinking straight.
This'll sound familiar.
Give me the car keys.
Or would you rather I put my hand in your pocket?
I didn't think you were such a bitch that you could bury me alive.
You told me before that if you had to hurt me, you would.
I thought it was good advice.
Walk. Walk!
-Don't move. -What? Let Christian go.
Girls, let Christian go.
Let Christian go!
We won't follow you.
-I give you my word. -Get in.
Let my brother go!
They have Christian. They're in my car.
They're on the back road, half a mile from you.
What do we do?
Pick up the spikes.
Where the fuck are you taking me?
Why did we take him?
He's our life insurance.
On TV, robbers always take hostages with them.
-We're fucked. Stop the car. -Why?
Because this is Romeo's damn car. There could be a tracker on it.
He could follow us or call the cops
and tell them three hookers and a lame pimp stole it.
We need to change cars. Stop, Gina!
Lie on the ground.
Stop!
Please help us, sir. We had an accident.
What happened?
Long story, sir.
Don't move.
Help!
-Hello? -Who's there?
It's me, Satur.
Fuck, Satur. Open the fucking trunk.
Some chicks kidnapped me.
It's locked.
Do you have a phone?
Good morning. This is Saturio Ortega--
-Speakerphone, damn it! -It's Christian.
Who the fuck are you?
-What are you doing with my brother? -Moi!
Christian!
Moi! Those bitches locked me in the trunk. They stole this man's car
and took off.
Hey, Satur!
Satur! Tell them what car it was!
A blue pickup. From '98.
License plate number SX 0032.
No fucking way.
Turn around!
You bitch!
I'm going!
They turned around.
-Go! -Faster!
We need to turn around.
-What? Who do you think I am, Coral? -Move back. Move.
Seat belts.
Hold tight!
Go!
Now!
Girls…
Good morning.
Wake up, girls.
You're going on a trip.
Subtitle translation by: Tom Sullivan