discotheque...
with my ass hanging out
of a French-cut bathing suit.
- You're missing all the fun, aren't you?
- I suspect you're right.
Prooth, I'll be stopping
by the Club Paradise later.
There's some wonderful music.
- We have other plans.
- I bet you do, you party Cossack.
Be careful. Somewhere on this island,
there's a doll with your face on it.
Voodoo. Ta-ta. Take care.
- Mr. Monkey.
- Oh, Miss Pansy.
- Bless you, girl.
- No problem.
Have a time.
Yeah, man. Whiskey.
Radical. Yes, man. Evening, girls.
- Hello, again.
- Hello.
Bug spray?
No, thanks. They don't bother me.
They will. Take it from me. I'm lsland Jack.
Oh, really? And what island are you from?
- Ellis, originally.
- So what do you do around here?
After you left the Palms,
they said you were a smuggler.
No, I'm a snuggler.
No, actually, I'm retired.
I live off a big insurance settlement
from the fire department.
- Fraud?
- No. Injury.
Permanently and totally disabled
in the line of duty.
You seem fit enough.
- But inside, I'm a mess.
- I don't doubt it.
- Would you care to dance?
- Yeah, why not?
I think we better sit this one out.
Thank you. I told you I was injured.
Phillipa.
Can we leave?
This place is absolutely ghastly.
Do you mind?
I'm a close, personal friend of the owner.
- This is the finest hotel on the island.
- I wouldn't be surprised.
Imagine trying to run a first-class hotel
on this island.
Try and find a decent chef,
or even a decent cut of meat.
And as for help, I guarantee there isn't
a single native on this island...
who's given a decent day's work
since they outlawed flogging.
Refreshing outlook.
Fiery Jack, see you've made contact.
Mr. Reed, Miss Phillipa Lloyd.
Mr. Toby Prooth.
Mr. Reed is the owner, manager,
and musical entertainment director...
- Here at Club Paradise.
- Welcome.
Toby here was just reminiscing
about the good old days.
Flogging, slavery. Honest day's
work for an honest day's beating.
- Gone but not forgotten.
- Phillipa, really, can we go?
I feel a colossal headache coming on.
I feel one just about to leave.
Why don't you run along?
I think I'll stay a bit.
- Suit yourself.
- Good idea.
Take care. See you in the 17th century.
- Will you join us?
- Oh, thank you.
Hello.
This is Miss Philadelphia.
- Hi.
- Hi.
This your first time in Saint Nicholas?
Excuse me.
What can I do for you, Mr. Gundy?
Nice to see you again, Ernest.
Nice to see you, too, Mr. Gundy.
Ernest...
I come to you tonight
because I am deeply, deeply concerned.
Now, when I became
Prime Minister of Saint Nicholas...
I told you to come to me
if you had any problem.
Now, as Minister of Finance
and Minister of Tourism...
it has come to me...
that you are delinquent in your taxes
to the amount of $6,000...
and that you haven't paid
your food and beverage taxes...
violations of the tourism codes...
and reports of ganja being smoked
right here on these premises.
- How can this continue?
- Divine justice, Mr. Gundy.
Life is full of miracles.
I'm afraid it will take more than a miracle.
Listen to me, Ernest.
There is a new wind
blowing across Saint Nicholas.
I smelled it the minute you walked in.
It's businessmen.
You and your bankers and your lawyers...
are trying to business me out of here.
Now, if you're not drinking and
you're not dancing, you better be going.
Still. Still. Stay.
Take that...
Two weeks.
Then I'll crush you like a cigarette butt.
And I haven't forgotten you,
Mr. Hook and Ladder Man.
- Fireball!
- Easy.
You're not going out there unless
you got a machine gun under that shirt.
- Now, you need a lawyer.
- I don't need a lawyer, man. I need money.
Cool vibes, everyone. Part yourselves.
What was all that about?
Oh, the usual. Corruption. Injustice.
The club's doing great.
What's the problem?
The problem is,
my friend's a little behind on his taxes.
About 300 years behind.
He's gonna lose the club.
That's too bad.
This