When I was born, the world was a far simpler place.
It was all just cops and robbers.
Fucking get down! Get down now!
And you! Stay down! Stay down!
But it wasn't for me.
Then came the Summer of Love.
Hashish and LSD arrived on the scene.
There were villains locked away for 12 years for robbing a bank of 10 grand,
doing time with drippy hippies doing 12 months
for smuggling two million quid's worth of puff.
I mean, work it out, mate. We're in the wrong fucking game.
Drugs changed everything.
Always remember that one day all this drug monkey-business will be legal.
They won't leave it to people like me when they figure out
how much money there is to be made: not millions, fucking billions.
Recreational Drugs plc. Giving people what they want.
Good times today, stupor tomorrow.
But this is now.
So, until prohibition ends, make hay while the sun shines.
I'm not against it.
I'm a businessman whose commodity happens to be cocaine.
Ten years ago, charlie was for pop stars or a celebrity's birthday bash.
It was demonised by Daily Mail readers getting drunk in naff wine bars.
Now they're my biggest clients.
This is Clarkie. Double first at Cambridge in Industrial Chemistry.
Well, he's got to pay off his student loan somehow.
Today, I only deal in kilos.
Depending which tariff you use,
that'll cost you either 28 grand or 15 years in prison,
which is more time than a rapist.
C'est la vie.
It is vital that we work to a few golden rules.
Always work in a small team.
Keep a very low profile. Only deal with people who come recommended.
It's like selling anything:
washing machines, hand-made shoes, blow-jobs.
As long as you don't take the piss, people will always come back for more.
That's not to say we don't weave that magic that makes two kilos into three,
but never be too greedy.
Know and respect your enemy.
It is only very, very stupid people who think the law is stupid.
And avoid like the fucking plague
Ioud, attention-seeking wannabe gangsters,
in it for the glory, to be a face, to be a name.
Hello, Slavo. Yeah, this is Duke.
Everything's sweet. When can we meet?
They don't mean to fuck up. They just do.
Forgive me for stating the obvious, but stay away from the end-user.
They are guaranteed to bring you trouble.
As do guns.
I hate guns. And violence.
But as some Roman general once said,
"If you seek peace, plan for war. "
Morty and his assistant Terry, they watch my back.
Morty learnt caution the hard way. He did ten years inside.
He's my bridge to the criminal world, and he ensures that the traffic is one way.
Look, there's Amsterdam, and there's Oofdorfe...dorfe.
Not a fucking clue. None of them speak English.
- Get in the car. I'm sure it's that way. - Move up.
- I bet you it's that way. - We've already been that way.
Yeah, but we're gonna go that way again. Give us the map.
Oh, don't start, the pair of you.
It's like being out with a pair of kids.
- All day you've been moaning. - It can't be that difficult.
How many fucking greenhouses can there be?
Morty.
Terence.
Clarkie.
Very, very important: pay your supplier prompt.
In our case, that's Mr Jimmy Price. He's the top of the pyramid.
Pay him. In full, on time, without fail, no short counts.
You get no second chances. Jimmy calls the shots.
Where the fuck is Gene?
- I don't know. Ask me one on sport. - What time does your watch tell?
- The same as yours. - He's never late.
Shut the fuck up.
Patience.
Gene here is Jimmy's right-hand man.
Been with him since way back.
All the drugs and cash go through Gene.
Jimmy trusts him with his life.
By the way, Jimmy would like to see you tomorrow for a spot of lunch.
Wait a minute. Is there a problem?
Why does everybody assume there's a problem, just because he wants a word?
Maybe he's grateful. He fucking should be.
See you at Stoke Park at one.
This is just so beautiful.
We need to get in and out of here sharpish.
Paul and the tide ain't gonna wait.
Everyone likes to walk through a door marked "Private".
Therefore, have a good reason to be affluent.
I own a share in a very successful letting agency.
It gives me an honest income. Looks good on the self-assessment.
Whereas years ago scallywags were trying to get money out of banks,
now your problem is how to get your ill-gotten gains in.
That's a job for Mr Singh. He does my laundry.
And in a week, it will be ready for collection,
in the form of a nice, clean cheque for a round million.
The business is on the up and up.
But I've always said, have a plan and stick to it.
Quit while you're ahead.
So barring any fuck-ups, I'm leaving it all behind.
No, we got the parcel.
Yeah, better than expected, actually.
It's just that things have gone a little bit slightly turbo this end.
Come on, boys, lively, lively.
If we miss this tide, we're not going anywhere till daylight.
Paul, you ain't being paid to moan. You're being paid to get my cargo home.
Come on, babe. You all right? Careful here, it's a bit wobbly.
Life is so fucking good, I can taste it in my spit.
I'll treat tomorrow's lunch like a Last Supper, feign interest in his tales.
And then leave quietly forever.
This is pure class.
Please, follow me, gentlemen.
Mr Price is in the Oval Room.
- Your guests, Mr Price. - Thanks, Angelo. Welcome. Sit down.
How is it with that Paki accountant I put your way?
- He still doing the business? - Raj is doing a very good job.
Good. Paying your bit of straight-goer's tax, eh?
We all have to do our bit.
Say hello from me next time you see him.
You hungry? The grub here will make your bollocks tingle.
Let's eat.
Right.
We've gotta test the snap-crackle-and-pop factor on these babies.
Don't ask me. I ain't fucking touching 'em.
You are a miserable bastard, you really are.
- Brian. - What?
Sit down, mate. Got a little treat for you.
Help yourself.
A little privacy, please, Angelo.
What do you want, son?
- Excuse me? - In life. What are you after?
A shot at the title? A seat by the band?
Well, I don't know, Mr Price. That's a very expansive question.
Right, expansive. Good answer.
Years ago, people would've thought you were a homosexual,
using a word like "expansive".
- You're not a homosexual, are you? - No.
- Not behind with the rent? - No.
No, I didn't think you were.
No harm in it, I suppose. Times change.
You know why people like you can't leave this business?
Because you make too much money for people like me.
Anyway, I'll get to the point. I need a favour.
I need someone who's a bit cute, a smooth operator.
Not a two-a-penny loud-mouth. Too many grasses around.
- It would be a pleasure, Mr Price. - Jimmy. You can call me Jimmy.
Now, this favour. It's not for me, truth be told. It's for a good friend of mine.
Like a blood-brother. We were at school together.
Now he's a right wheeler-dealer.
Flinging up skyscrapers. His wife's a proper blue blood.
I'll give you a clue. Eddie Temple. Does that name mean anything to you?
- I know who you mean. - Now, Eddie's got a daughter.
Charlie, bless her.
The light of his life. He worships the ground she walks on.
She's a proper beauty, Charlie.
Or to give her her correct moniker, Charlie Spencer-Temple.
But she ain't behaving like a lady.
She's hooked on the white powder and loves a wrong 'un.
This is where you come in, right? You're gonna find her.
- Find her? - She's gone missing.
Well, you should get a private detective.
Oh, right. Some nosy ex-policeman, still on the Scotland Yard payroll?
She's done a runner from a drug rehabilitation unit in the West Country.
Rehab.
She got loved up in there with some fucking low-life crackhead called Kinky.
I reckon they've gone back to London.
I wouldn't know where to begin.
Now and then we're asked to do something beyond the call of duty.
It's called sacrifice, son. Ask Gene. Ask Morty.
- I'll do my best. - You do your best and find her.
Keep Mr McGuire posted.
I've also got a little business more in your usual line.
Gene'll fill you in.
Everything was to your satisfaction?
- Fucking excellent, Angelo. - Thank you.
"Details, details. Things to do, things to get done.
"Don't bother me with details. Just tell me when they're done."
- Who said that, son? - Winston Churchill?
Close. No, I said it. James Lionel Price. Good boy.
I'll see you at the yard tomorrow. Say, four.
Tell you about that bit of business. I've set up a meet for five with the Duke.
- What's with him? - He's just had one of these.
These are super Es. We'll make millions!
I don't care. This is my boat-yard.
I want those pills and that fucking idiot out of here now.
- I can't afford to get nicked. - Paul. Calm down, mate.
I've got Gene coming down with a buyer. You'll be in your whack.
Here, chill. Have a pill.
Gene, why are we doing business with the Duke?
Yeah, why are we dealing with this joker?
He's a fucking maniac, a relic, a throw-back, belongs to the Dark Ages.
Will you just shut the fuck up?
We're dealing with him because he has 1 million Ecstasy pills
of very high levels of MDMA, OK?
One million?
Gene, that is a lot of pills. What's the tax on that?
Jimmy wants 50% netto.
Love a bit of cloak-and-dagger, this lot.
Oh, yeah. Driving a bright yellow Range Rover. Very subtle.
Calm down. You'll feel better once you've got your money.
But how much can you spend in Parkhurst or the Scrubs, Gene?
Come on.
Oh, don't go getting Duke at it. Jimmy doesn't want him fucked about, OK?
Who? Me?
Don't you fucking talk to me like I'm some kind of mug.
Duke, don't take this personally. It's business.
You want to know how much they're worth.
Yes! Fucking! Please!
Just because you pay a fiver a pop down the local cattle market,
don't, for fuck's sake, think these pills are worth millions.
They're not.
We've got to find a buyer.
They've got to split them into parcels. They've got to find these people.
You'd give a fucking aspirin a headache, pal.
Then you've got currency fluctuations, police activity, adverse publicity.
Who has got the readies lying around to pay for a million Es?
- This is fucking bollocks! - Slasher, shut the fuck up!
- Duke, we all want a good deal. - Mate, mate, mate.
Mate, look, that parcel of pills has got to be worth five million easy.
- $5 each, yeah! - You are fucking joking.
It doesn't work like that!
Don't keep fucking saying that to me!
I've got some samples. I'll stay in touch through Gene, OK?
You wouldn't be so fucking flash if you didn't have him behind you.
Yeah, well, he fucking has, ain't he?
Where did these monkeys get a million Es?
Don't worry about that. Can you place them?
We know someone up North who'll buy.
Morty, set up a meeting with Trevor and Shanks in Liverpool.
What's really bothering me is what colour to get the Aston.
As you're driving it yourself, probably green.
- Green? - Yeah.
That's a trifle dull, I thought. What do you think, girls?
Black. Yeah, black.
Black's the colour for a hearse or a taxi.
Don't be so conservative. Black's a splendid idea.
Hello. Look who it is. Sit down. Do join us.
- Can we have a word? - Our dreary broker has arrived.
Hugo, follow me.
Don't go anywhere. Drink some more champagne.
Especially you. I like it when you're drunk.
- You're the master of that. - What are you up to?
We're doing the number on these American birds.
- Who am I today? - The Earl of Oxford.
- Fucking hell.
- What's this business, then? - It's a bit strange.
Can you find somebody for me really quickly?
- How quickly? - 20 grand quickly.
You've got our attention.
Oh, very nice. I suppose this is the boyfriend?
It's a bit unusual for you. What's going on?
- It doesn't matter. Can you do it? - Yeah.
Should be a doddle. All the same, junkies and crackheads.
Chuck 'em a few quid, they'll cough.
- Is there anything else? - No.
We must get back to work, old boy.
Look...
All right, mate. I'm the Duke's nephew.
Remember me? Sidney.
Sidney. Yes. Hello, mate. How are you? I'm just off. Have a nice night.
How you doing? What you doing here?
I hear you're doing business with my uncle, the Duke.
Why don't you tell the whole fucking room?
- This is Tammy. - Who's your mate, Sidney?
He's a good mate of my uncle's, the Duke. He was just going.
Yeah, well stick around and have a drink before you do, yeah?
- Yeah, all right. - I got VlP down here. Nice little booth.
Charisma, he's fucking got it.
I know he's my uncle and all that, but you can't deny it.
If you want anything, just tell me, 'cause I got 'em straightened out in here.
If you want any running about, I'm your man...
- Line? - What?
I said do you want a line?
No, mate. You knock yourself out.
Lovely, isn't she? Isn't she a darling?
Isn't she?
Siddy, baby, I could do with a livener.
Sidney, it's been great. I'll see you, man. Thanks for the champagne.
All right.
You let me know when you're happy, Mr Lucky.
- Too warm down your way? - We're kept busy, Trevor.
- Everyone wants a slice as well. - Same wherever you go. Greedy people.
Yeah, it's all clear, Shanks.
You lot would know all about that, wouldn't you?
What the fuck's that, Shanks?
Well, not you lot, but...
...that team down your end. Like you don't know.
No offence, but what the fuck are you talking about?
You really do surprise me, do you know that?
Do you know something we don't?
Don't be giving it the big fucking innocent, pal.
Because I am not a fucking prick.
- I never said you were, Shanks. - Cool it, Shanks. They really don't know.
- Explain. - I was over in Amsterdam.
Last weekend, right?
The whole place is alight with a rumour
about how this hooligan outfit from down your end,
run by this joker called the Duke...
- Gazza, go and find them fucking pills. - All right. Come on. Have a look in here.
They skanked this outfit, a proper, nutty Serbian militia.
You're the first person ever to be foolish enough to steal from me.
Shut up.
But you're not the first to point a gun at me.
Shut up or I'll be the last.
Fuck me.
They got lucky. He'd just knocked up a massive batch.
Fucking jackpot. There's fucking millions of the fuckers in here.
Stay down there. Yes?
You watch them.
- That looks very heavy for you, darling. - Fuck off.
- Why don't you put it down? - Why don't you shut up?
- A little girl playing games with guns. - I ain't no little girl. Shut up!
- You are shaking. - Fuck off!
- Look at your arm. - Fuck off!
- Put it down. - Why don't you listen to me?
- Sit down! - Fuck off!
Baby, baby, baby, baby!
Come here. Come here. Baby, calm down, calm down.
This will not be the end of this, Mr Duke, believe me.
Gazza, go and load them pills.
But he got unlucky because this lot are wanted for fucking war crimes.
Mass murder, ethnic cleansing. They're lunatics.
They're wanted by the United fucking Nations. Think about that.
Let's get this clear.
Duke has absolutely sweet fuck-all to do with us, understand?
Everyone in Amsterdam believes that he has.
- Bandied your names about. - What?
Word on the straat is they've unleashed their top boy. His name is...
His party piece, right,
is lopping people's heads off then fetching them back to his boss.
It's all about honour and respect with these head-banging nationalist outfits.
They can't have it getting about that anybody has took liberties with them.
But we had nothing to do with the acquiring of said merchandise.
OK, we accept that.
But with you lot up here punting this shipment, how does it look?
Bad.
You do know that we're only talking pennies an article?
- Stolen goods. - You won't want them, then.
Sit down, lah. Let's not be too hasty. Me and him need to have a little think.
Don't think too long. Someone's gonna make a killing on these pills.
They already have. That's the problem, kidder.
That prick Duke's made us look a bunch of fucking amateurs.
I told you he was trouble. But he ain't gonna drag me down with him.
Try Gene again. What a fucking show-up!
- He's not answering, Mort. - OK.
Try Jimmy at home.
- You sure? - Will you fucking ring him?
- Where are we going, Morty? - Back to that boat-yard.
- Somebody's about to get a fucking slap. - Yes, Morty. About fucking time.
Paul?
What a way to go. An iron burning a hole in your chest until your heart boils.
Paulie would've told him anything, then, wouldn't he?
You see, that's what happens when you do business with loons.
Clarkie, have a sniff about. Make some phone calls, but really quietly.
Find out where the Duke's holed up.
We're gonna need an insurance policy.
What's the fucking idea of phoning me at home and leaving messages, you prick!
- Jimmy, it was an emergency. - Don't fucking call me Jimmy!
And what's the idea of telling Duke those pills ain't worth shit?
You don't know the problems you've caused.
And don't be leaving it to that pair of ponces, Cody and Tiptoes,
to find that bitch Charlie.
I fucking told you to do it!
Are you listening? Find a buyer for those pills.
The person moving those pills met a nasty end.
I don't give a fuck!
- That was quick. - The gaff is rotten in there.
- Kinky's still here, isn't he? - Didn't Tiptoes tell you?
Tell me what? Have you let him go?
No, I haven't. He's in here.
Kinky.
I still want to be paid.
So, if I'm correct, you three gearheads are gonna be clucking very soon.
In fact, you're gonna be climbing the walls any minute, aren't you?
But I'm prepared to do you a favour.
We can do this one of two ways.
We can do it the nice way, which I think you'll prefer.
Because the other way is my friend takes you
and puts your head through the window!
Right, so, was Charlie here with Kinky?
Yeah, she was here for a couple of days. Kinky turned up with five grand.
- Who's giving Kinky five grand? - We don't know.
They kept arguing. She was saying, "Do you think it's that easy
"taking the five grand?" But she was still caning the rocks.
Where is she now?
Brighton. She kept begging Kinky to go with her.
The other night, I hears this noise. I'm looking out there. It's dark.
But I sees this geezer all in black. It's like something out of a kung-fu film.
- Pay no attention to him. He's a nutter. - Shut the fuck up.
And you, fucking tell him now. What geezer?
I don't know. I goofed out myself.
The next morning, she's gone and Kinky's dead.
You telling me that somebody's topped Kinky?
Kinky overdosed. He always was a greedy fucker.
I saw it with my own eyes, man.
You smoke too much of that fucking crack!
Shut the fuck up!
- You twat! - Shut the fuck up!
Get the fucking money!
Morty! Morty!
This is dodgy. That kid's talking about murder.
He's talking shit. Get to Brighton and finish the job.
- It all smells a bit fishy. - I'll double your money.
- All right. And ten G for finding Kinky. - That wasn't the fucking deal.
- Yes or no? - Yes.
Hello. Ambulance, please.
185 Kirby House, Kings Cross.
There's a dead boy. The door's open.
My name...?
185 Kirby House.
I'm not happy.
This shit is out of control. You sort it out or I'll sort you out.
Morty, Kinky OD'd, that's all.
Charlie woke up, found him cold, freaked out, fucked off down to Brighton.
Cody's gonna find her.
Look, I'm gonna freshen these teas up. They're cold.
Morty?
Is that you?
Where you been hiding, then, eh?
Fucking hell. What you doing down this neck of the woods?
Hello, Freddie.
So...
...Mr Mortimer.
Here, Morty, couldn't spare us a few quid, for old times' sake?
You look well flush, bruv.
Fuck me, he's loaded.
Here, couldn't make it five, could you...
...mate?
- Let's make it ten. - Yeah.
Ten's...
...a nice...
...round number.
What's the matter?
What's happening? Been away? Yeah. Ten fucking years.
Going off? Or do you need a red light?
Stop, Morty. Enough. He's had enough.
- I'll tell you when he's had enough. - What the fuck is this?
But let's forget about all that.
Let's have a cup of tea, Mr Hurst.
What the fuck?
I'm sorry about that. I won't be around for a while.
- It's me. - Hey.
Come on up. I'll leave the door open.
- How's your day been so far? - Very fucking funny.
Have you eaten? I'll have a Chinky sent up.
No, I'm fine, thank you.
Gene, who the fuck is Freddie?
He used to run with me, Morty and Jimmy in this real kamikaze firm.
In those days, we were headed up by this guy called Crazy Larry.
Yeah. Got shot, didn't he? Bit of a lunatic.
That's an understatement. They were a spun-out bunch.
Always doing loads of drugs.
- Not worried about keeping a low profile. - I love you.
Turn over anyone who couldn't go to the law.
No fucking problem. Boys will be boys.
Until one of them, Kilburn Jerry...
...shoots himself stone dead.
This is a bit of a dilemma.
This desperate posse can't call the law or an ambulance.
Morty, out of some mad fucking sense of loyalty,
actually volunteered to dispose of the body.
No head. But things went a bit wrong.
The guy Larry told to help him was Freddie Hurst.
The total imbecile had fallen asleep at some traffic lights
in a drunken, drug-induced stupor.
Morty was still shut up in the van with the headless body of Kilburn Jerry.
Being black was even worse than being Irish.
They threw the book at Morty.
Freddie got three years for aiding and abetting.
Morty did ten years because Freddie Hurst fell asleep?
But he kept his mouth shut.
Did his bird. Earned a lot of respect for that.
All because some kid was being ridden against his will by a psychotic lunatic.
- Who? - But you, you fuck!
Larry.
- Crazy Larry was gay. - He was never gay.
- Larry used to say... - Fucking females is for puffs.
So who shot Crazy Larry? A boyfriend?
Probably.
Larry made enemies very easy. Took liberties with too many straight lads.
Not for me.
Listen, son. Let me explain something to you.
Freddie's in intensive care with a bit of a brain haemorrhage.
You were there at the scene. That's called joint venture.
Now, if Freddie dies, you're either in the dock with Morty
or you're in the witness box putting him away. Think about that.
You know, I will have one of those.
- All right, fellas? - Where's Duke?
- I don't know. - What do you mean?
- I don't know. I thought he was here. - Well, go and fucking find him.
He's probably having a night out while us mugs babysit these.
Gene, what the fuck am I gonna do about these Serbs?
Come here. I have something for you.
- You're gonna need one of these. - Fuck me, Gene.
I fucking hope not. Are you trying to scare the shit out of me?
I mean, I fucking hate guns.
Although that one is really pretty. Is that Second World War?
Hey, point it upwards.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Here, let me see if it's loaded.
You look like you could do that blindfolded.
I can and I do.
I find it very relaxing. Good for meditation.
Meditation is concentrating the front of the mind with a mundane task
so the rest of the mind can find peace.
And you find peace with guns.
Well, on occasion. It has been known.
Listen. I know it's not your thing.
But if you ever have to kill somebody, never, ever tell a living soul.
- Who is this? - My name is Dragan.
How did you get this number?
Boatman Paul gave me your number, in the end.
I believe you have some property that belongs to my employer,
and you're the person I should talk to about the return of this cargo,
stolen by your associate, the Duke.
Dragan, the Duke is nothing to do with me.
Mr Duke came to Amsterdam, used your name, said he worked for you.
- Are you listening? - Dragan...
I've got an idea. Why don't you come round for breakfast?
I'll squeeze some orange juice and we'll talk about this like adults.
- How does that sound? - Sounds very hospitable.
- Do you know where I live? - No.
Well, fuck off, then.
Duke's gone missing. He's a fucking liability.
The pigs are everywhere. This was meant to be easy. No sweat.
Calm down, Gazza. I'm sure Duke's just fine.
Well, you've got 48 hours to find a buyer or I'm sending 'em back, OK?
Now, listen. Don't do anything stupid, Gazza.
It ain't worth the grief. We've gone underground, off the radar.
Nothing personal, but I don't trust you.
Listen, I just had a phone call from Gazza.
Being a cry-baby. Threatening to offload those pills in 48 hours.
Between you and that gobshite Duke, he's promised Jimmy a bumper pay-day.
- So get busy. - I said to Jimmy I'd try and...
He put yous together.
You and Duke. That's his job.
If you two can't make music, he's gonna want his whack out either way.
That's business.
- I hope you put this Dragan straight. - Yeah. I told him to fuck off.
What? Please tell me you're fucking joking.
Well, I am beginning to regret it now.
We've got to find the Duke, find these fucking pills.
We can't rely on these monkeys to call Gene.
We've looked everywhere. There's no sign.
You can't find any of his firm?
Maybe this Dragan geezer's already found the Duke and done the business.
Yeah, well, there is someone I can call. Keep looking.
Wait. You're gonna leave it to us?
This Dragan geezer is phoning me. I am the target.
And if we don't find the Duke, this, everything, all over.
- It's me. Sidney's mate. - Oh, hiya.
- What took you so long to call? - I've been busy.
- You sound sleepy. You just woken up? - Not long ago.
- So when am I gonna see you? - What are you doing now?
Nothing. No, I was just lying in bed, wondering what to do.
- You still in bed? - Yeah.
- You lying there naked? - I've got a little T-shirt on. But that's all.
Here, wait, listen to this.
What's that?
I was just rubbing the phone against my fanny.
Did you like it? My, oh my, it's fresh this morning.
Look at my nipples, standing up like little soldiers. What is a girl to do?
Tammy, why don't we meet up now? I'll book a table for lunch.
St Martin's Hotel.
Don't worry about a table. We'll have room service.
- Yeah, OK. - One hour.
Hang on.
Oh, shit.
Oh, leave it off, Sidney. He's driving me fucking mad.
- We're not expecting Sidney, are we? - He's too busy kissing Duke's arse.
Not round here, I hope.
No, over by Greenwich market. So you can relax. It's just the two of us.
Patience. All good things come to those who wait.
Stay put.
Hello, it's me. It's me. Shut up and listen.
Sidney, Duke's nephew is working down by Greenwich Market. Go and look.
- Room service. - Look for that yellow Range Rover.
OK.
- Your champagne, sir. - I didn't order...
One moment, Mr Troop. I want to hear what this bastard has to say for himself.
I'm Jimmy's old colleague, Eddie Temple.
- Fuck! - He told you to locate my daughter.
Hunt her down like some lost mongrel.
He said you asked for his help.
Mr Troop could find anyone on the planet in ten minutes flat.
If you'd laid a finger on my daughter, you'd be over the edge like that.
You'd join that shit, Kinky,
who thought he could take my five grand and fuck me over.
The audacity. How fucking dare you?
I've known Jimmy Price for 45 years.
It pays me to keep an eye on him.
Do you know what a remora fish is?
- Yes. - Oh, you do?
Well, Jimmy has been swimming in my slipstream all my fucking life.
I thought he might put some volatile psychopath on the job.
But I've checked you out, son. You're a smart boy.
But you keep very, very bad company.
You know, I host a charity golf tournament every year.
Quite an event in the social calendar, if I do say so myself.
I like to invite Jimmy. Some of my friends find him absurdly hilarious.
Drinks are on me. Drinks for everyone.
Champagne. Fucking good gear and all.
But I've come unstuck in my attempts to provide a spectacle for my chums.
Jimmy, as usual on the lookout for titbits,
has met the development minister of some tin-pot republic.
They're trawling the West for investments.
They have vast natural resources. Quite an investment for the right man.
They've sent in men from Timbuktu explaining all the details.
Profits, shares, long-term investments, short-term investments.
They've even made him an honorary citizen. Even made him one of the tribe.
What we didn't know, until it all ended in tears,
was that the hard-line communist insurgents
who control the country outside the mining areas...
Bad news about our little venture, Jim.
The communists have broken through.
Heading for the capital with little resistance.
What the fuck are you on about?
I got word they were planning a push.
The final coup de grace. I told Jimmy.
- It's all over. - Fuck's sake!
- Keep your voice down. - Get my money out quick, now.
As if it was some little kiddie's piggy bank.
Now, I explained that wasn't possible. We thought we'd bought a government.
Maybe someone made a better offer. Forget about it.
You win some, you lose some.
How much are we talking?
It's only a cheeky half-mill, Jim.
- It's much more than that. - How much?
- 13. - 13 what?
- 13 million pounds. I'm fucked. - Have you gone fucking mad?
13 million pounds! How could you be so fucking stupid?
You've been right grafted, royally turned over.
- Like some Yank buying London Bridge. - Don't talk to me like that.
He accused me of instigating it.
It's no coincidence I met them at your tournament.
Are you fucking demented?
Asked me to fly to Zurich to see the minister,
still parked up in La Maison Grande, still eating well.
Big fat fucker. On little Jimmy's nest egg.
Jimmy thought he'd keep Charlotte hostage while you went to get his money.
Little Jimmy was so stupid, he thought he couldn't lose either way.
I'm sorry, what?
If you find Charlotte, he's got his hostage.
If I find you trying to find her,
I do his dirty work.
- I'm still not with you. - Your lives are inextricably linked.
I've found out something very interesting about Jimmy,
something I've long suspected.
But I'll let Jimmy explain.
You follow me.
You've no doubt suffered Jimmy's
"ClD was geezers you was at school with" routine?
The other chap's Albert Carter.
Another twisted bastard from the old neighbourhood.
Member of the Regional Crime Squad. Sit back, relax and enjoy.
It ain't like your lot in the old days.
- They've all gone squeaky. - Tell me about it, Jim.
I have to box clever with those college boys from Anti-Corruption.
- Fucking dogs. Slags. Ten grand? - It's the going rate, Jim.
Ten K. Hardly seems worth the bother.
Well, there's only so much in those informer funds.
What about Gene? Does he suspect anything?
What? About me working for the old firm? Listen. Gene...
...is too loyal for his own good.
- I don't fucking believe it. - You better believe it.
- 'Cause it's fucking happening. - Where did you get this?
Mr Troop made it for me.
- It's one of his little hobbies. - I don't fucking believe it.
Don't you want to hear what Jimmy has to say about you?
I've got one for you. Plucked and ready for the pot.
- Just give us a name and he's gone. - In time.
I don't want a bunce. I want him out of the way.
Flash young runt. One of the new breed, ain't he?
Reckons he can just waltz off into retirement.
I want him away for 1 2.
If he's got a kilo of class A, he's looking at double figures.
- I'll put it there myself. - Sounds personal.
He's got a few quid. He'll come in handy.
I set him up with that slippery accountant in the first place.
Fucking rag-head let slip, didn't he?
"You will miss him when he's gone, Mr Price. "
Is that you, the flash runt who thinks he's retiring?
You'd no idea what Jimmy was up to?
How do you think these fuckers earn a living?
I would've thought a smart young man like you would know that already.
- Can I have that? - Mr Troop.
Thank you.
This looks like you, son. Smart part of town.
I'll keep an eye open. Must dash off. Get home. Wash and brush up.
Opera tonight. The Damnation of Faust.
Man sells his soul to the devil. All ends in tears. These arrangements usually do.
One more thing, young man.
Always remember, the art of good business is being a good middleman.
Bye-bye.
Fuck!
- I've got him. - Got who?
Sidney, remember? Yellow Range Rover?
Seems they sent our friend out for something to eat.
Good. Tell Morty.
- So what do we do now? - Call Morty.
Shut up and listen. No more insults, no more games.
If I do not get my cargo back, you're a dead man.
Dragan, I've been doing some checking.
- I've found out who you represent. - Good.
I can point you towards your boss's merchandise.
- Come to my hotel... - Look...
- I'd rather meet you in a public place. - You have nothing to fear.
- I'm a reasonable man. - That's not what I've heard.
I'll meet you at...
I'll meet you at Greenwich Park Observatory.
- Any taxi will drop you off. - I can read a map.
- Tomorrow. Midday. - Tomorrow at 12.
I'll be there.
That's rude, Mr Dragan.
It's Conditions Red down there.
They're didgy as fuck. They haven't moved from that lock-up.
Have a look at the geezer at the front, on the door.
I know him from somewhere. This could get messy.
What about the blokes in red?
Mechanics. They got a ringing coup going on.
The lorries come in one colour, go out another.
But they're nothing to do with the Duke.
- Fuck me, look who it isn't. - Who's that?
It doesn't matter. I've got work to do.
- Stay here. Those pills move, call me. - You got it.
- Day and night, Terry. - What do you mean "night"?
- I've been here all day. Get Clarkie. - Day and fucking night. Got it?
Hello, young man. Thank you for coming at such short notice.
I hope you didn't feel too summoned. How are you?
I'm in the best of health, Mr Temple. Thank you for asking.
- How are you keeping? - I'm very well.
- How was the performance of Faust? - Complex.
No wonder it took him 60 years to write it.
How's the family?
What is this? A vicar's tea party?
You do sometimes take your conversations away with you.
Being a clever bastard, are we?
- How do I know you're not wired up? - Well, I'm not.
Then we'll have to trust each other, won't we? Sit down.
I've been thinking, after our chat the other day.
Your pills. How much for the lot?
No, I've already got a buyer.
Nearly took my hand off. He's putting the money together now.
I told you, lah. I'm still thinking.
It's only been three days. What's the fucking hurry?
- What's he paying? - It's confidential.
Don't be an idiot. Let me match his offer.
They've got history.
Bad juju.
And, anyway, this Serbian maniac's in hot pursuit.
If I sold them to you, I'd have to disappoint him. And he is definitely not...
I did you a big fucking favour letting you know about Jimmy.
I think you owe me.
21/2 million in sterling and euros, high-denomination used notes.
So if I gave you three million, that would keep everyone happy.
Let me state my position.
You can sell these pills to whoever you like.
That's your privilege. That's your business.
But I'll tell you,
I'll be very, very unhappy if you don't sell 'em to me.
You understand?
OK, Mr Temple. Three million. Done.
- My buyer's not gonna be happy, though. - Fuck him. He'll get over it.
I'm gonna need some help.
Someone who can eliminate the problem. Someone who's a bit handy.
Whoa! Slow down, kidder.
Mr Lucky does a drop of freelance work.
I don't need to know. It's none of my business.
You tell him when, and he'll come down on the train.
Thanks, Trev.
Excuse me.
Mr Temple.
You deliver them to my warehouse. When do I get my consignment?
Monday. No, Tuesday, probably.
Tuesday? I'm paying over the odds, remember?
England! Typical. Even drug dealers don't work weekends.
That's good news. That should cheer Gene up.
Yeah, everything's under control.
- Cody's been chasing his ten grand. - Yeah. I'll call him later.
- Hey, Geno, what's up? - Got some good news.
Oh, yeah? What's that?
- You murdering bastard! - Open the fucking door!
- Stay out of this, Morty. - Gene!
- Murder? Who's dead? - Jimmy.
He killed him. Blew his fucking head away.
- Open this fucking door! - Why?
Open this fucking door!
- Get off him. - No, listen, listen. Just listen.
Listen to me, Morty. I got a call from a cozzer we've got bent.
They found Jimmy's body last night.
In his own backyard. It was this sly bastard.
He's no killer. Somebody's made a mistake.
All right, look. Here. We'll see.
Read it. Read it out loud.
"To senior ranks only. Murder Squad investigation. James Lionel Price."
Read the fucking ballistics report.
"Preliminary ballistics report. No arms recovered. Disintegrated on impact.
"One recovered cartridge casing."
You forgot to take the cartridge case. You got sloppy.
"...consistent with weapon used
"in unsolved homicide of Lawrence Gower aka Crazy Larry Flynn."
Wait. I got it. Whoever killed Crazy Larry must've killed Jimmy.
No, no. The gun. The fucking gun was the same.
The one he stole from my flat.
- You killed Crazy Larry? - So?
- This fucker killed Jimmy. - Oh, Jesus Christ!
- Why did you do it? - He was an informer.
- He was a police informer! - Jimmy a grass? Are you fucking mad?
- You'll have to do better than that. - I've got a recording at home.
Of Jimmy and a cozzer called Albie Carter.
Gene, let's listen to this shit.
If he's lying, we'll both fucking kill him.
Mr Mortimer reckons
the Tylers are bringing in shooters from Jamaica via Manchester.
They got someone in Immigration straightened out.
I don't think anybody gives a fuck about spades shooting spades.
Don't you care about dead darkies, Albert?
What about Gene? Does he suspect anything?
What? About me working for the old firm?
Convinced?
You don't fuck about, do you?
Jimmy was skint, huh?
That's why he set up the whole Amsterdam business with Duke.
I really think we should keep all of this to ourselves, right?
Really?
Why did you kill Larry?
Funnily enough, it was Jimmy who persuaded me.
Jimmy never liked Larry.
Look at that wrong 'un waving his money around. It ain't right.
Hey, I love you, man.
He saw the future was drugs and it needed to be run like a business.
Crazy Larry was no fucking businessman.
After that business with Kilburn Jerry...
That's it, son. You do him. Bollocks!
...he wanted him gone.
I didn't have any problem doing him.
That's why I did it.
But why did you keep the gun?
Sounds silly now, but it was my favourite.
I hope you don't tell the other guns you've got favourites.
So what's the next move, boss?
Well, I'm going to bed.
I don't know what you two are doing. We can talk about it tomorrow.
Sorry?
Sorry, mate, what was that?
Would you pack that in? I've got a fucking test next week.
OK. OK, I'm sorry. I was just saying...
So when does the target get here, then?
The target? The target's gonna be here at exactly midday.
Where?
- Here, right fucking here. - Got a photo?
- Don't worry about it. - Who's worried?
I'll have some binoculars. I'll give you a little signal.
I could get the 13.10 home from here.
Let's have a little recce.
After we do the business, walk slowly back.
Remember, it's a stroll in the park.
Don't run, whatever you do.
The first five minutes, nobody'll have a clue what's going on.
Hopefully, it'll be mayhem.
So try to stay relaxed.
Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself.
Or me.
Afterwards, take me to the Underground station. I'll look after myself.
There.
Time?
Six minutes to twelve.
I hope he's not gonna be late.
- Maybe he'll be early. - That'll be nice.
Can you see that guy on the left?
- Big fella, marching up the hill. - That's our man.
- Are you sure? - For fuck's sake. I'm gonna call him.
It's up to you. You're the client.
- As soon as he answers, he's gone, OK? - Okey-dokey.
Stand by.
Now.
Hello, may I help you?
Don't move a muscle.
- Do I have your attention? - Yes.
You English, you have no idea of honour and respect.
I usually kill for less. I want my cargo and the Duke.
I haven't got your pills. Just give me a day.
Don't piss in my pocket and tell me it's raining.
Now listen for the last time.
- You'll bring me what is mine. - Look, I don't... Jesus!
You have one more day.
See you tomorrow at dusk by the statue. Remember, I will be watching you.
What the fuck were you thinking?
Getting Trevor's man down here to shoot this Serb in a park!
Trevor's gonna go ballistic. Now, what the fuck do I tell him?
- What a fucking mess. - You've gone mad.
- Think you're a gangster? - Fuck off!
You want to play? You do it somewhere else.
If you do it near me, I'll put you in a fucking wheelchair.
Stick to your fucking sums.
Listen. Listen to me.
Dragan's killed Paul. He's done the Duke.
He's just put a bullet between Lucky's eyes. I was there!
He's watching our every move. Who's next, me?
- I wish. - Fuck off! It could've been you or Morty.
Dragan said he wanted the pills and the Duke. Where's the Duke?
What?
I should've told you this earlier.
Duke and Slasher came by the office the other day.
Paul the boatman was topped last night. I've got to get on my toes sharpish.
I want Jimmy brought here right now, yeah?
Getting that smug fucking yuppie bastard to tell Duke those pills were useless,
after sending us over in the first place.
Hang on, you've lost me now.
If you have us over, I swear by fucking almighty God, I'll call the fucking law.
- What are you talking about? - I'll call the law.
She didn't mean that. She's upset.
Shut the fuck up!
That's where playing at being a gangster gets you.
You're not in there 'cause I like you.
I'm beginning to feel left out.
Why?
Freddie Hurst is still in intensive care
after your jolly little reunion the other day.
Fucking hell, Duke.
For once, you might be of some use.
That was Gazza on the phone. It's on.
He'll pick you up at nine in the morning. Gallows Corner. You know it?
Yeah.
With Jimmy gone, these pills will make a nice contribution to my retirement fund,
so don't fuck things up again, OK?
If you do, you'll wish this Dragan had shot you between the eyes, understand?
Best of luck.
Thanks.
Fuck off!
Sidney, I've told you, stop answering my phone, OK?
- Who was it? - Wrong number.
- All right? - Hello, Sidney.
- How you doing, then? - I'm all right. How are you?
I'm all right, mate, yeah.
Gazza, this place stinks. We want to get you out of here. 50 pence a pill.
That way, we all come out with something.
- I think they're worth more than that. - This is a reality check.
Paul's dead, Jimmy's dead. Duke and Slasher, fuck knows where they are.
This gear is knock-off, and the Serbs you nicked it from,
they'd kill you like you'd take a piss.
Gazza, the Old Bill are outside!
- Gazza, no! - Go, go, go!
- Let's have it! - Don't point that gun at me.
- Put it down! - We're going in!
Gazza, look at me. Put it down. You're gonna get us all shot.
Fuck it! Boat!
Stay there!
Fuck!
Come on!
- Gazza, wait! - Fucking hurry up, then!
Get in.
Is this for me?
Yes.
Your cargo's gone, I'm afraid.
- It was seized by... - I know already.
- How do you know? - I watched.
I don't believe this. Captain's gonna go fucking spare!
We are in shit. You lot have fucked up again.
Oh, fucking hell.
Leave it to me, lads. I'll explain to lnspector Cox
that his suspect has scarpered 'cause of your blundering.
Knobheads. Helmets off.
Does this settle things, then?
Tango Foxtrot, over.
Delta Uniform...
How did that other errand go?
Success, as far as I could make out.
Where is my fucking prisoner?
- You old ladies couldn't catch a cold. - Sir, I just...
Shut up, you soppy wanker.
- lndigo... - Dingo Bongo.
- Is this area now secure? - Yes, sir.
You can fuck off, then.
So where are the pills, genius?
I think this is them now.
What the fuck?
- Couldn't leave this behind. - Greenies.
You are in the wrong game. You should work with us.
- Are we square? - Yeah, we're sweet.
It seems so. Your pills are in the back. Help yourself.
Hello.
OK. Yes, I will do. Bye-bye.
You're off the hook, Morty. Freddie Hurst is out of his coma.
Good news.
- Yeah. - Good news, mate.
Listen, I've got one for you.
Irishman caught his son snorting charlie.
He said, "lf I catch you doing that again, I'll rub your fucking nose in it."
- Do you have the pills? - In the cars.
Boss wants to see you in his office.
Come in. Sit down.
Here you are. Payment.
- You look shocked, son. - Are you taking the fucking piss?
You and Jimmy have caused my little angel Charlotte considerable anxiety.
She's off to Arizona for a course of intense treatment.
I'm keeping those pills for myself, by way of compensation.
I think I'm entitled. Simple. End of.
The amount of trouble you've caused the last few days.
Jimmy.
Poor little Jimmy.
It would be in your interests
if this thing finishes here, now, today. Understand?
It doesn't matter what I do. This lot are gonna come after you.
They're too long in the tooth to rampage round the country,
Iooking for revenge. Look at 'em.
Bunch of under-endowed, ageing fuck pigs.
Are you enjoying this?
No. On the contrary. Take it as a compliment.
You're a bright young man.
This monkey business is in your blood, under your skin.
You're not getting out, you're just getting in. I've every faith in you.
One day, it will be you sitting here telling some young Turk the facts of life.
And they are, Mr Temple?
You're born, you take shit.
Get out in the world, you take more shit.
Climb a little higher (succes), you take less shit.
Until one day, you're up in the rarefied atmosphere,(afterlife)
and you've forgotten what shit even looks like.(hell)
Welcome to the layer cake, son.
This thing ends here, tonight. You understand?
Drug money's easy money, not grief.
The odds, as you can see, are against you.
Goodnight.
If you're gonna hang around in this game, that's where you've got to be.
In your bonded warehouse with the ex-soldiers doing the dirty work,
while you deliver the suspect lecture
to baffle your opponents and cover your tracks.
The art of good business is being a good middleman.
Putting people together. I'll always thank Eddie for telling me that.
It's all about honour and respect.
This is the end, Mr Duke, as I told you.
Do you know what? I fucking enjoyed that, brother.
Just like the old days, Shanks. A nice bit of armed robbery.
All right? Where do you want the money sent, lah?
I'll let you know as soon as I do. Again, I am sorry about Lucky.
Don't worry about it, kidder. Man was a prick, anyway. Later.
- Ready? - Yeah. Let's go.
Did I really think Eddie was gonna give me three million for those pills?
Did I fuck.
But suddenly there was a void where once there was Jimmy Price.
And after a couple of days, Eddie's little getting-in-and-getting-out speech
started to make sense.
- Angelo. Thank you. - Thank you very much.
- Can we get some privacy? - Of course.
The king is dead.
Long live the king.
Well, I'm honoured.
But for me this is all over. I'm getting out.
What was true then is true now.
Have a plan. Stick to it.
So I'm sure you must have lots to discuss,
but I have no business being here.
I've got someone to meet.
Adios, amigos.
Paul the boatman.
Kinky.
The Duke.
Slasher.
Kilburn Jerry.
Crazy Larry.
Mr Lucky.
Troop.
Jimmy.
I don't want to add my name to that list.
My name? If you knew that, you'd be as clever as me.
No!
I'm sorry.