Police in Quebec are hunting for thieves who stole $30-million worth of maple syrup from a warehouse with such precision that no one knows who did it, or even when it happened.—News report
[Two months earlier. Fade in on: A room in a luxury hotel.]
CUT TO: Danny stands in front of a crude model made from sticks and glue.
Danny: The Popsicles were cherry. Guys, this is one of the most impenetrable maple syrup fortresses on the face of this Earth. On the outside: a chain-link fence that’s eight, maybe even nine feet high. Get over that and you’re facing a two-inch metal door. And here’s the kicker: it’s usually locked at night.
Saul: Walk away, fellas—walk away if you don’t want to spend the next 15 to 18 months of your lives out on bail waiting to spend the ensuing three to five months of your lives in the hell of a Canadian prison.
A murmur of discontent is quieted by—
CUT TO: Virgil and Turk shop for equipment for the syrup heist: a bobby pin and a tremendous amount of Wet-Naps.
CUT TO: Jaunty heist music. Just as everything is going like clockwork, Linus is shocked to confront a pitfall that no one anticipated.
Basher flips a switch.
CUT TO: The syrup is loaded onto a fleet of trucks, which drive off into the night.
Linus rushes up to them.
Danny’s iPhone rings. He answers on speaker phone. It’s the gang’s nemesis, Terry Benedict.
Terry: You disappoint me, Danny. Stealing syrup for a quick fence and an easy buck from the Aunt Jemimas of the world—you’re missing the big picture. The politicians: they all talk about energy independence. But what do we as Americans value even more than oil? Our breakfasts. Our meals. And our God-given right to smother everything we stuff into our faces with a mesmerizing array of calorie-laden sauces, syrups and toppings. Above all else, Danny, the United States values its condiment independence. Dijon is destiny.
But, oh look—look who’s got control of the syrup now. Look who’s sitting on eight million gallons of Baconnaise. Look who’s cornered the global supply of ranch dressing. You want some maple syrup on those pancakes, Mr. and Mrs. America? You go through me. You want whipped cream on that waffle, and chocolate syrup on that whipped cream, and tartar sauce on that chocolate syrup—because I bet some sick fatty out there does? Call Terry Benedict.
You want to really get rich, Danny Ocean? You need to control the one thing that people value more than anything else—the one thing the population simply can’t imagine living without.
CUT TO: The gang gathers once more.