The play takes place in a bookshop; an old, independent bookshop, nothing like Borders or Waterstones. It all looks dusty and run-down, and most of the books we can see are dull colours. Stage left is a desk or table with a cash till; this could just be a drawer that opens, or a cash box – in this case references to the till should be changed as appropriate. On the table is a large bookend – could be a bust of somebody; anybody. Behind the desk / table, stage left, is an entrance to a back room. Just left of centre, at the back, is a door to the street; to the right of this is a comfy chair. To the right of the chair, on the floor, is a pile of books. Right is a bookcase set more or less straight, upstage-downstage. MR. ANDREWS is standing behind the bookshelf, stage right, where the other actors on set at the opening can’t see him, although the audience can. He is reading a paperback book. Over his shoulder is a sports bag.

As the lights go up TRISHA is dusting books on the bookcase with a feather duster. Back centre is the GUNMAN, with a gun in one hand and 5 books in the other. The gun is pointing at TRISHA.

The whole play must be performed at a brisk pace, except where otherwise indicated.

GUNMAN: Do as I say or I’ll shoot!

(MR. ANDREWS hears this and closes the book he is reading. He comes forward to the edge of the bookcase and listens.)

TRISHA: (She turns to face him; he moves forward a little) But – this is a bookshop.

GUNMAN: Yes, I know. I want these books and I don’t want to pay.

TRISHA: Couldn’t you just shoplift them, like everyone else does? Just come in every day, and take one at a time. No-one will notice. Or if you’re not busy, you could just sit in the comfy chair and read them here.

GUNMAN: Aren’t you frightened?

TRISHA: No – I told you, this is a bookshop.

GUNMAN: What’s that got to do with it?

TRISHA: You can only be frightened if you’ve got an imagination, and here we keep that safely tucked away between hard covers. Or in paperback if you’re not fussy.

(MR. ANDREWS slips the book he was reading into the sports bag, making a rustling sound.)

GUNMAN: What’s that noise?

TRISHA: I didn’t hear anything. I think you’re more scared than I am.

GUNMAN: (looking towards the bookcase, but talking to TRISHA) Is there anyone else here? Behind the bookcase?

(The GUNMAN walks towards the back of the bookcase, and round to the other side. At the same time, MR ANDREWS walks around the front of the bookcase. They end up where they started. They do not walk in a pantomime tiptoe – just cautiously, but quite quickly.)

TRISHA: You’re imagining things. That’s why you’re anxious.

GUNMAN: But this isn’t anything to do with imagination! I’m a real man, standing here threatening you with a real gun!

TRISHA: Are you sure it’s real? It doesn’t look it.

GUNMAN: Well, it’d better be. I paid three hundred quid for it.

TRISHA: You’ve been had.

GUNMAN: No! No, do you think so?

TRISHA: Well, let’s have a look at it.

GUNMAN: Well, all right – but be careful.

(He hands the gun to TRISHA. She inspects it, and shrugs and makes a face to indicate that she doesn’t really know.)

TRISHA: Well, anyway, it doesn’t scare me, whether it’s real or not.
(She gives the gun back to the GUNMAN. He takes it by the barrel)

(MR. ANDREWS comes round the front of the bookcase and speaks suddenly.)

MR. ANDREWS:
You’ve given it back to him!

(The GUNMAN jumps when he sees MR. ANDREWS, and points the gun, forgetting he is holding it by the barrel. TRISHA and MR ANDREWS both laugh at him.)

GUNMAN: Look, please, couldn’t one of you at least pretend? Couldn’t you act scared, you know, just a bit?

TRISHA: Oh, all right. What do you want me to do - scream?

GUNMAN: Would you mind?

MR.A: Come on, Trish, customer’s always right and all that.

TRISHA: Oh, if it’ll make you happy. Although come to think of it, you’re not really a customer, are you? You haven’t paid anything.

GUNMAN: Are you asking me to pay you to scream?

TRISHA: Seems fair. You want something, you pay for it.

GUNMAN: Well, how much do you want? A fiver?

MR. A: No, that’s much too much. I know girls – I teach at the high school. They’ll scream at anything, and, more to the point, for nothing. I reckon twenty pee’s about right.

GUNMAN: But that’s insulting!

MR.A: No, it’s just negotiation technique. We’ve already established the principle – you’re going to pay, she’s going to fake a bit of passion. It’s hardly the first time that’s been done. Now we’re just haggling over the price.

TRISHA: Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop arguing about money – I’ve got work to do. Go on, give us a quid, I’ll scream, you can be happy you’ve scared me, then you can walk off with the books and I can get on with dusting the shelves.

GUNMAN: Hang on a minute then. (He ferrets in his pocket for some cash.) Here you are; no, damn it, I’ve only got a two-pound coin.

TRISHA: I could scream twice.

GUNMAN: No, I’ll have the change, thanks.

(He hands over the coin. TRISHA takes it, screams, opens the till, and puts the money in, but does not close it again.)

TRISHA: Now, are you going to go? Or do we get an explanation?