"Seventeen million, three hundred thousand pounds, seventeen million, three thousand and one pounds, seventeen million, three hundred thousand and two pounds, seventeen million, three hundred thousand and three pounds," the voice intoned. "Jesus I'm bollixed."
"Do you think we'll be on Gerry's White House delegation again this year for Paddy's Day? I hope so. I've got my visa sorted out. I'm really looking forward to it, so I am."
"Your guess is as good as mine. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and four pounds. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and five pounds. For the love of God, couldn't you have got the lads to have stolen larger notes? Nice £100 ones, say? For phuqsaik, I'm going bloody blind here. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and six pounds. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and seven pounds. . ."
"Oh here, now. You're a hard man. Checking a few banknotes is nothing after what you've done."
"Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and eight pounds. Never done anything like this. Counting the Dunne ransom money was nothing compared with this. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and nine pounds. Why in the name of God weren't you given the job of counting?"
"See me? I'm innumerate, so I am."
"Innumerate my hole. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and ten pounds. Shag that for an excuse. Innumeracy is as rare in South Armagh as Zulu Inkatha impis. If you're innumerate, then my name's Chief Seamus Buthelezi. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and eleven pounds. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and twelve pounds."
"I am innumerate. Really. Runs in the family. Can't even remember the number of men I've nutted."
"But I bet you remember the number of times you've been in the White House. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and thirteen pounds."
"Of course. That's different. Five times. Nice people, the Clintons." "DON'T MENTION NUMBERS! Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and fourteen pounds. Mentioning numbers just confuses me. You know that."
"Aye. Sorry. As I was saying, nice people the Clintons. Just as well she goes in for a bit of plucking - her eyebrows would look like Fidel Castro's beard if she didn't. Makes you wonder what she's like elsewhere."
"Jesus, don't. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and fifteen pounds. You met Fidel, didn't you?"
"I did aye, en route to the Farc training camp. In 1995."
"Jesus Christ almighty, are you deaf? I said no bloody numbers. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and sixteen pounds."
"Sorry. A right amadán, so he is. A sombrero or two short of a Mexican hat dance, I'd say. Got the right idea with dissidents, mind. Two thousand killed in the first few weeks after he came to power. By God, I'm looking forward to it when our day comes."
"STOP MENTIONING NUMBERS! Jesus, how thick are you? Now where was I? Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and seventeen pounds."
"But just think of all the accounts we can settle when we finally get command of the Free State peelers and them collaborating Free State Brits. By God, they'll know about it then. It's the Rangers and the ERU I want to get my hands on. Especially that tall Free State she-peeler - the most dangerous of the lot, I'd say. It'll be curtains for the lot of them - not to speak of a few West Brit journalists."
"Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and seventeen pounds. First things first. The White House bash is what I'm looking forward to. Green beer. Up the Irish! Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and nineteen pounds. You know, but I never dreamed for a minute when I was giving someone the bath in the good old days, hauling their feet out for a minute so their heads are under the water - seventeen million, three hundred thousand and eighteen pounds - then pushing them under for another minute, in and out, for a week or so - seventeen million, three hundred thousand and twenty pounds - before finally nutting them, that just because of that I'd be treated like a serious VIP in the White House. Seventeen million, three hundred thousand and twenty-one pounds. It's a funny old world, so it is."
"There's no Chelsea this time, remember. Here. Why did they call her Chelsea? The team wasn't that fashionable when she was born. No Damien Duff, for a start. What'd he cost? Twenty seven million, wasn't it?"
"What? What? Twenty. . . Where was I? Jesus Mary and Joseph, where the bloody hell was I? Was it twenty-seven million. Seven? Twenty-one?"
"Don't know. Wasn't listening. Maybe you should start again. Just to be on the safe side."
"Oh all right. One pound. Two pounds. Three pounds. . ."
If only.