All language subtitles for 2e3

(THEME SONG PLAYING)

MOSS: He was murdered this
morning in a street show in the Patch.

He was Irish. Is he a person of
interest to your department, sir?

Do you read the papers?

Birmingham papers.

I recommend the Daily Mail.

It will broaden your mind.

Now, if you read the national
press, you would know

that the king has offered
the rebel Irish a treaty.

Now, some of the
Fenians want to accept it.

The IRA do not.

Now, the IRA have a long
and glorious relationship

with the garrotte.

Oh, dear.

Are they fighting amongst
themselves, are they, sir?

- That will be all.
- Right, sir.

Oh, Moss, I'm going to be up
and down from London quite a bit.

I'm going to need some lodgings.

Can you help me with that?

Well, you wouldn't want
to stay in the lodgings

you had last time then, sir, eh?

Too many bad
memories, I suppose.

You should understand, Moss,

I have no regrets about my
previous mission in this city.

No, sir?

(CHUCKLING)

I imagine you boys have
quite a laugh at my expense.

A laugh, sir?

You think it's funny that
I developed feelings?

No idea what you're
talking about, sir.

I have no regrets about what
happened with Miss Burgess.

No "bad memories".

Right, sir.

He's losing his bloody mind.

Next.

Next.

ARTHUR: All right, then.

Name?

The Digbeth Kid.

The Dig...

What are you? A boxer?

Digbeth Kid like Billy the Kid.

Spend a lot of time
at the pictures, eh?

Cowboy pictures? Tom Mix?

Yeah?

ARTHUR: What are you...

Wait, wait. It's not a real gun.

- Let's have a look then, eh?
- It's made of wood.

(CHUCKLING)

Bang. Bang.

Very nice.

Where did you get the gun belt?

My sister made it out of
an old blacksmith's apron.

My mum did most
of the stitching.

She's not my real mum, but...

She does what mothers do.

So she made you a gun belt.

All right then, mother's boy.

There's the door. On
you go. We're looking for...

Have you ever been arrested?

- Yeah.
- Yeah?

- No.
- Good.

You're the first bloke
we've had in here today

with no criminal record.

Arthur, we can stand him up.

Do you know what that means?

The new Home Secretary
wants something done,

about illegal gambling.

Damn right.

About bloody time.

So we help our coppers
make their quota of convictions

by having men stood up

to be arrested.

First offence, you'll
get a week inside.

We'll give you five
quid for your trouble.

How does that sound, cowboy?

Yeah.

Good. Write your address
down for Finn on your way out.

I can't write.

That's all right,
Finn can't read.

Don't worry.

Just tell him your address
and we'll send someone round.

If the sheriff don't run
you out of town first.

(CHUCKLING)

Good man.

Oh, I don't know, Tom.

- Kids these days.
- Hmm.

They didn't fight.

So they're different.

They stay kids.

How was it?

I was starving, so I
would have eaten anything.

But really it was super.

Super.

So, uh, are you a cook?

Not a cook. No.

The man who came to the house,

he was driving a
posh car. He looks rich.

What does he do?

- He works with horses.
- Really?

I love horses.

- I've got a bay mare.
- No!

I ride it all the time.

Then it's in the blood.

I've got about a
million questions.

So do I.

I've had different
pictures in my head.

Well, here I am.

It's all right that
it's me, isn't it?

I don't have any choice.

I mean, you are who
you are, aren't you?

We don't choose.

And that's it.

Yeah, that's right.

God gave you to me.

People took you away.

And it is all right
that it's me, isn't it?

In a place like this.

I thought it would be worse.

(CHUCKLING)

ARTHUR: Run for the
hills! It's the Digbeth Kid!

Get out of town, kid, or I will
shoot your fucking head off!

Time's up! (MIMICS GUNSHOT)

- You're dead, go down.
- TOMMY: John!

All right then, Polly.

Who's this?

Gentlemen, this is your cousin.

Polly's son, Michael.

Pleased to meet you.

John.

I'm Arthur. You've
already met me.

I used to throw you out of the
window, so John could catch you.

I used to put you in a shoebox
and kick you down Watery Lane.

I bet you're glad to be back.

I don't remember any of it.

All I remember is the
day they took me away.

Well, you're here now, son.

Welcome to the Shelby family.

Later on, we'll
show you the ropes.

Hmm. Yeah, we'll
show you what's what.

Let's leave him be for now, eh?

Come on, boys.

- Nice suit.
- (POLLY CHUCKLING)

They seem nice.

Here he is, Mr. Inconspicuous.

Corporal Billy Kitchen.
Bloody grand to see you.

How are you feeling?

I've just come out
of bandages myself.

Ready for active service.

Thanks for seeing
me here, Tommy.

It's all right, Bill.

You don't have to
stand in line for us.

It's men like you
we're looking for, Billy.

But you have to
pass the medical first.

Sheffield mob showed up
at Wincanton trotting track.

I took a bullet.

When do the bandages come off?

When I take 'em off.

One week. Not before.

You'll smell no rot.

There's no gangrene.

It's been a long
time. Eh, Billy?

What did you do
with your medals?

Threw them in the
cut. Same as you.

It was never a hardship

having you Black Country
boys on our left flank.

And you Brummies
did all right on our right.

Damn right.

I want you to be the
head of a brigade, Bill.

It'll be Brigadier
Kitchen from now on.

You'll have 100 men
under your command.

JOHN: And now we've got a
member of the Kitchen family

on the payroll,

maybe your cousins and brothers

will let our boats pass
through the Black Country

without being held
up and robbed.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

Go home, Bill.

Round up any good men you
can trust and put the word out.

Black Country boys
and Brummie boys

are on the same side again.

That'll be the bloody day.

Well, this is the bloody day.

London, man.
There for the taking.

Tommy, I need to
use the telephone.

Polly said you
had one in the pub.

All right, be quick.
I have business.

Sir.

Polly said you own this place.

She said you own lots
of different businesses.

You call her Polly or Mum?

I can't get used to
calling her Mum yet.

(TOMMY SIGHING)

Who are you calling?

My mother. I mean...

I know what you mean.

And what are you
going to tell her?

I'm going to tell
her where I am.

And now you're going to
tell her you're going home.

Polly said I could
stay for a few days.

- You want to stay?
- Well, I've only just arrived.

What age are you, Michael?

Seventeen.

Seventeen. Which means
it's not up to you, right?

I'm 18 in a few weeks. I
make up my own mind.

You smoke?

No.

Drink?

You're going to
call your mother,

going to tell her you're
getting the next train home.

And when you get there,

you're going to write a letter
to Polly saying when you're 18,

you'll come back here
and sort things out.

I just told you.

I make up my own mind.

Do you know what we do, Michael?

We, Shelbys.

Yes. I think I know what you do.

Yeah.

You've got smart eyes.

But you're young, so you
think what we do is all right.

It's not all right.

People get hurt.

Now, call your mother and I
will drive you to the station.

No.

In my village,

there's this little
wishing well.

It's made of white bricks,

right in the middle
of the village green.

Everybody says how pretty it is.

But I swear to God,

if I spend another
day in that village,

I'm going to blow
it up with dynamite.

Probably blow my hands
off with it, but it'd be worth it.

Just to see all those
pretty white bricks

spread over the
pretty village green.

Hmm.

Yep. You're
Polly's son, all right.

All right, boys,
let's go to work.

Let's be having it!

Don't wait!

Keep it moving.

Move!

Next lad!

Name?

Abbey Heath.

Abbey Heath. Profession?

Baker.

Good lad. Fill it
out and fuck off.

Next lad!

Name?

Buddy Halls.

Buddy Halls. Right. Profession?

Baker.

Good lad. Fill it
out and fuck off.

Next lad!

- Name?
- Billy Kitchen.

Billy Kitchen. Occupation?

Head baker.

Fill it out.

Um, Tommy Shelby, mate.

Never give power to the
big man, what did I tell you?

Hmm?

Never give power to the big man.

Next lad!

Name?

All right, boys, you've now
all been enrolled as bakers

in the Aerated Bread
Company of Camden Town.

If anyone asks,
that's what you do.

You're bakers.

The coppers in Camden
Town are on our side,

but north or south, you
show them that piece of paper.

Tell them you've
come down from north

to find work, to break strikes.

Tell them you're
fascists, if you have to.

We're finding lodgings for you,

but for now you'll
sleep here in the bakery.

But don't touch any of the
bread, it'll most likely explode.

Any questions?

Yes?

I haven't even seen any bread.

(EVERYONE LAUGHING)

(CLEARING THROAT)

He'll wake up.

Granted, he won't
have any teeth left,

but he will be a
wiser man for it.

And the last thing
he will remember is

your funny little
joke. Won't he?

Right!

There are fucking rules here.

Yeah, there are fucking
rules for a fucking reason.

Quite simply, they have
to be obeyed. All right?

Rule number one.

The distinction between bread
and rum, yeah, is not discussed.

Rule number two.

Anything, right, that
your superior officer

says to you or any
of your other fucking

superior officers
say to you, yeah?

Not discussed!

Rule number
three, four, five, six,

seven, eight,
nine, I don't care.

For the rest of your fucking
miserable measly lives, yeah?

Because I, like you,

am also a complete
fucking sodomite.

Jewish women.

You do not go anywhere near them

because Jewish women for
you are off the fucking menu.

I think that's fair.

Hmm.

Hmm.

All right, that's it, yeah.

Forgive me, I interrupted you.

Pick him up.

Get them out of here and
make this fucking work.

Don't fucking wait!

You're meant to
be fucking soldiers!

You're a fucking disgrace!

Go!

(CHUCKLING)

You've got a key?

I kept a spare.

Give it to me.

Could do with some paint, eh?

Yeah, when I decide.

What is it that you want, Tommy?

Just came by to say hello.

Tommy Shelby never goes
anywhere for no reason.

(SIGHING) Fine.

I've got 800 pounds left in
the Shelby property fund,

and I need someone down here

to look for suitable properties.

To rent?

Yes.

To poor people.

Ten to a room.

No repairs, no water.

And if they complain, you just
send Arthur and the boys round.

You know, I give advice
down at the library.

Families thrown on the street.

It's men like you
we're fighting.

Well, anyway, I
was just passing.

Thanks for the tea.

Tommy.

There are always men
outside watching the house.

Yeah. Gangsters
of the worst kind.

But they're there
to keep you safe.

No there are others.
They look like coppers.

Well, they're on
your side as well.

I don't have a fucking side.

Ada, yes, you do.

And, anyway, if I thought there
was no-one watching the house,

I couldn't sleep.

(SIGHING) Cheerio then.

POLLY: That was
great. Well done.

Out we get then.

This house is mine.

I've taken on a maid.

She's made up the
big room for you.

Come on, let's have a look.

I thought we could
spend the week here.

You know, get to
know each other again.

I've got ham. Do you like ham?

I like ham, yes.

- I've got a maid...
- Yes, you said.

She's upstairs.

She can give us some tea.

Look, I ring this bell. Watch.

(BELL RINGING)

Yes, madam?

I think we'd like some tea.

You get used to it.

The cleaning job's
gone. Vacancy's filled.

I'm not a cleaner.

But I have come to
clean away some dirt.

Why don't you put that
away before it goes off?

You killed my son!

You Peaky bastard!

You beat him

and beat him and beat him.

Your son was a boxer.

No!

He was a boy

who got into a
ring with an animal.

Yeah, ain't that the truth.

I've come to stop you

because the coppers
and nobody else will.

If you're going to use it,

point that thing at my head.

That's where the trouble is.

Gut-shot soldiers
take half a day to die.

I've seen 'em.

Walking around with
their guts in their arms

like dirty washing.

Hold that gun up and do it!

Fucking do it!

Do it!

I'm going to finish my drink.

You can finish it
with me, if you like.

(GUNSHOT FIRING)

(CRYING)

Now, look. Look at me.

We've got a fund.

For you. You'll get paid weekly.

I know it won't
bring back your son.

I know that.

You have other sons.

You do.

And we'll find them work.

And you won't have to work.

- You'll be...
- (SCREAMING)

(CRYING) Somebody
has got to stop you people.

Who broke the fucking mirror?

Seven years' bad luck, that is.

TOMMY: There'll be another
four boatloads tomorrow.

What's up, Charlie?
Business is good.

This isn't business,
this is bloody work.

Cigarettes and
booze is all right,

but this manufactured
stuff, it's heavy.

I'm not even sure it's stolen.

Some of it is legally purchased.

One day, all of it will be.

It's like having a fucking job.

Hey! Easy with them fan belts.

I'll wipe that
smile off your face.

I want another pound a boat.

Done.

You don't even fight me anymore.

And it's no sport
getting through

the Black Country
with this truce.

They just fucking wave
at you from the bank.

Well, just wave back, eh?

And all these fucking cars.

When did you last
ride a horse, Tom?

- (KNOCK ON DOOR)
- Uh.

These are just
dry, Mr. Campbell.

Major Campbell.

Beg pardon?

It doesn't matter.

Are there any other Irishmen
lodging in this house?

No, Mr. Campbell, I
keep a respectable house.

With your special exception,
I have no Irish here.

Well, let me know if any
come enquiring after rooms.

Even if you turn them away,
let me know, would you?

You're not expecting
trouble, I hope.

They only said you was
a policeman of some sort.

No. I'm not
expecting any trouble.

Is there a cafe nearby that
serves chops? Lamb or pork?

There is a chophouse
two streets away.

But I myself serve sandwiches.

Egg and cress, or ham.

Or anything that pleases you.

No. No. No.

I, I think I'll go out
and get some air.

Our scheduled meeting
is not until Sunday.

I decided to bring it
forward. (CLEARS THROAT)

You just wanted to show me that

you know where
I live, isn't that it?

Am I supposed to be impressed?

You know, Mr. Churchill
was impressed.

Yes, he was.

All my demands have been met.

Did he tell you?

Yes.

Yes. We had a meeting and
your letter was read aloud.

As a matter of
fact, there was quite

a lot of hilarity
at the meeting.

The gentlemen all
found it quite funny.

(CHUCKLES)

I see, the gentlemen
found it funny.

Tell me this, Mr. Campbell,

do the gentlemen
sometimes find you funny?

We will discuss our
business on Sunday,

on the agreed day,
at the allotted time,

and at the place that has
already been determined.

You have made your point.
Good night, Mr. Shelby.

(CLEARS THROAT)

There was another reason
I came to see you tonight.

I just didn't want you to
be made a fool of, is all.

The lodgings chosen for
you by the police department,

how shall I put this?

Well, your landlady used
to run the most famous

whorehouse in Stechford.

She's only semi-retired.

I bet the gentlemen
would find that funny, eh?

Told to you in the spirit of
friendship and co-operation.

See you Sunday!

- Name?
- Digbeth Kid.

Your real name.

Harold Hancox.

Profession?

Illegal bookmaker.

You don't admit that.

You say something
like, "Umbrella mender".

And then we decide you're lying

and then we arrest you.

Umbrella mender.

You were found in
possession of betting slips,

race cards and ticker tape.

Any explanation?

No.

No.

"No.

"I have no explanation

"for my possession
of those items, officer."

Take him down, will you?
I'll fill in the rest myself.

Come on, son.

Bloody hellfire.

You've killed him, huh?

As I've explained,
he's not easy to get at.

He's got an army round him.

But when the time is right...

The time is right.
It's right now.

When he's away from his
familiar territory, I will take him.

- So what do you want?
- We heard from a guard

at Winson Green prison
that one of their bookies

has just been put inside.

Kid called Harold Hancox.

We could make a point.

How many bakers is there
in Camden Town now?

There are a lot of bakers in
Camden Town, Mr. Sabini,

but, as I have said, we don't
as yet have a definite number.

Who won the 4:15 at Chepstow?

- Ragman.
- (DARBY SNIFFS)

- Where's my dry cleaning?
- It's been collected.

Who won the 3:50
at Kempton Park?

- What? You don't know?
- I can find out.

No need. I know already.

You see, the favorites,
they're all winning.

And the second
favorites are being done.

He's bewitching them.

Bewitching?

Gypsy stuff. Herbs, potions.

And he's tipping
off our big punters,

so they know who's going to win.

Regular customers
betraying us for profit.

You'd think they'd be loyal
to us. But profit, you see,

comes before
race, creed, family.

Results look normal to me.

You see shit!

Mr. Sabini, if you think they're

planning to fix Northern races,

we'll take no more bets

on anything north of Towcester.

I gave you a job already.

And the job will be done.

- But meantime...
- Meantime, fuck!

Meantime, what do you
want us to do about the kid

in the cage in Birmingham?

Why would you want
me to say that out loud?

Is there somebody listening?

(HOARSELY)
All right, I'll say it.

We'll kill the Hancox
kid to send a message.

Good, and then you deal
with Tommy fucking Shelby.

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

You wanted to see me?

Aye.

Take off your clothes.

I know what you are.

So, take off your clothes.

Not done in a very
gentlemanly-like way, if I may say.

Indeed not.

So it's true. Stop.

I only wanted proof.
Not satisfaction.

Or indeed infection.

Are you in on the joke?

What joke?

I have unfinished
business in this filthy city.

And when the time comes,
I will finish that business.

And then my wrath will
come down on all of youse.

- (GASPS)
- But now,

tell your friends
in the police station

that I know.

And when my judgement comes,

I'll be the one that's laughing.

Get out.

(LOUD THUDDING)

On the right. On the right.

We haven't got
all night. Come on!

Let's be having you,
Watkins, in there on the right.

On the right! Come on, boys!

Harold Hancox?

(GRUNTING)

Tell everybody,

this is what happens to Blinders

who come into the
Green from now on.

Orders of Sabini.

Look, I'm not a Blinder. I'm
not a Blinder. I've been stood up.

I'm not real! I'm not real!

I'm not real!

This had better be good
to interrupt my holiday.

Where's the boy?

In the back room.

I only brought him because
afterwards we're going to the museum.

- He wanted to come in and say hello.
- Shut up, John.

There is nothing of interest
to Michael in this room.

Tommy, get on with it.

Last night, one of our men

had his throat cut
in Winson Green.

This morning, I had a telegram

saying it was Sabini
who ordered it.

And it says here that
Thomas Shelby's next.

If our men think we can't
look after them in prison,

they'll not work for us.

Sabini knows that. So we
need to get the Green sorted out.

Scudboat, you
and one of the boys

break a couple of windows,
get yourselves arrested.

I'll have our coppers
get you into the Green

and you can find the
bastards who did it.

Instead of breaking a
window, can we pinch a car?

What? Everybody else
is getting a bloody car.

- I'm still on a donkey.
- (CHUCKLING)

TOMMY: All right, just get
yourselves fucking arrested,

it doesn't matter how.

And before you all laugh,

a boy is dead.

He was just a kid.

We'll start a fund
for his family, Pol.

Agreed.

So is that it? Can I go now?

TOMMY: Well, as
company treasurer,

I need your permission
to spend 1,000 guineas.

On what?

On a horse.

POLLY: A thousand
guineas on a horse?

That's right.

When was this decided?

You've been busy with Michael.

POLLY: Oh, my God.

So, in the absence
of common sense,

you boys have had an idea.

Polly, there's a
thoroughbred, quarter-Arab filly

up for auction at the
Doncaster Bloodstock.

What do we want with
a 1,000-guinea horse?

When we make our move
on Sabini's racing pitches,

any men we get into
the betting enclosure

will be lifted by
Sabini's police.

A good racehorse is a passport
to the owner's enclosure.

We'll be in there
with all the toffs.

- Coppers won't know where to look.
- Hmm.

Yeah, the Epsom Derby, Pol.

We'll be drinking
with the bloody king.

The Derby?

Did he say the Derby?

That's right. (CLEARS THROAT)

For the last 10 years,
Sabini's made it his race.

If we're going to take him down,

might as well make
it there, as a symbol.

Did you come up with this
idea in a pub by any chance?

Pol.

A good racehorse is an
investment, like property.

We need to
diversify the portfolio.

So when is this sale?

Tomorrow.

ARTHUR: Tommy's
had a death threat,

so we'll have to go
with him for protection.

POLLY: So, you're going to close
up the shop, go out on a piss-up

and blow 1,000
guineas on a horse

that's not even whole Arab.

CURLY: (LAUGHING)
Quarter-Arab is better!

- Quarter-Arab, it means...
- Curly, shut up.

I thought I told you
to lock that door.

He did. I used
the key on the nail.

Look, I've been listening.

- I want to go with them.
- You see?

I love horses. I
could even help.

Over my dead body!

It'll be all right, Mum.

I've been to loads of horse
auctions before with my uncle.

They're very respectable.
People bring their butlers.

Yeah, and their posh wives!

And their mistresses.

ARTHUR: Let him come, Polly.

We'll go there, buy
an 'orse, come back.

I'll drop him back at
the house in Sutton

before it gets dark.

No.

Fucking no!

All right, that's
it. Back to work.

Come on!

Aunt Pol, when I
was Michael's age,

I'd killed 100 men
and seen 1,000 die.

If you want to scare
that kid away forever,

carry on how you're going.

If you want him to stay,

let him come.

MICHAEL: I can't believe it.

All John's old things fit me.

Christ, you look
like your father.

Shrimp, ham.

What was he like? My dad?

How did he die?

Well, I won't lie to you.

He died drunk, squeezed
between a boat and a lock.

A real river gypsy's death.

But he could sing,

play the piano...

His smile would
break your heart.

You've got his
same beautiful eyes.

When he was sober,
he was kind and gentle.

His trouble was,

he fell in with the wrong
crowd when he was a boy.

(CAR HORN HONKING)

I have told them
not to blow that horn.

(SHOUTING) This is a
respectable fucking neighborhood!

- (HISSING)
- (ENGINE DYING)

She's heating up, Curly.

- Take a look.
- Yeah.

Let me out for a piss.

She made loads. Do you want one?

What the bloody hell's that?

Sandwiches. Ham, I think.

And we've got shrimp paste, too.

There's tea, but we'll
have to take turns

'cause there's only one cup.

What?

Sandwiches?

- Yeah.
- Polly made bloody sandwiches?

What's this? Teddy
bear's fucking picnic?

(CLEARS THROAT) All right.

We will drink the tea and
we will eat the sandwiches

and then we will
drive on. All right?

No crumbs, Charlie.

- Hand them over.
- JOHN: Herd them up, Arth,

you fat bastard.

ARTHUR: Fuck off.
TOMMY: John, come on!

TOMMY: All right, lads,
this is a respectable event

and we will all
behave accordingly.

No weapons, no drinking.
John, we will stay together.

When the horse comes
up, I will do the bidding.

I've already registered my
interest with the auctioneer.

So he knows to expect my bids.

Do I get to run a hand
over her, Tommy?

We'll have a
vet's report, Curly.

But keep an eye
open when she walks.

CURLY: I've got a feeling,
Tommy. Something isn't right.

TOMMY: It's all right, Curly.

You're just in an
unfamiliar place, we all are.

CURLY: I get feelings
sometimes, Tommy.

It's all right,
Curly. It's all right.

ARTHUR: Shut up, Curly.
AUCTIONEER: Do I hear 1,450?

Do I hear 500, 500,

1,600, 1,700? Thank you.

1,900, 2,000,

2,100, 2,200...

Why do people come
late to these things?

Hmm?

People come late 'cause
they know what they want.

It's only you who needs
to see every horse.

AUCTIONEER: Am I bid?

2,600. I am bid!

Sold!

Morals of Marcus,
Sedgemere stud,

by Tetrarch out
of Lady Josephine.

We'll start the
bidding at 800 guineas.

All right, Tommy, this is her.

Do I hear 800 guineas?

850?

850. Do I hear nine?

Do I hear nine? Nine, am I bid?

Bid for this one.

The grey? Why?

- He's beautiful.
- It's a filly.

Micky needs some pace on
the gallops. I promised him.

1,000. Do I hear 1,050?

1,100?

1,200?

Do I hear 250?

250.

I'll go halves with you
from the spring fund. Go, go.

1,300?

1,400?

Do I hear five?

1,500.

1,600.

Do I hear seven?

1,700. Thank you.

That's it, Tom,
you have to stop.

You don't have it in your belt.

Yes, I do. I'm having the horse.

CURLY: She's a sweet
beast, Tom. But, stop, I tell you.

- I feel something bad!
- JOHN: Shut up, Curly!

2,000. Do I hear 2,050?

2,050. Am I bid?

- 2,050...
- Enough!

Billy could use
one of my geldings.

2,000, I am bid.
Do I hear 2,050?

Last time.

2,050?

Sold! To Mr...

Thomas Shelby.

To the premises of
Mr. Charles Strong,

Small Heath.

- What kind of premises?
- Boat yard.

Yachts?

Canals.

I'm curious. What is your
business, Mr. Shelby?

Import, export.

But I also sell pegs
and tell fortunes.

MAY: You beat us to it.

Did I?

I was trying to nab
a filly for my stud.

- Sorry.
- Thomas Shelby from where?

From Birmingham.

Goodness!

No, not much.

May Carleton. I breed
racehorses and train them.

What is it you do?

I rarely answer
questions, is what I do.

Tommy, come on,
hurry up! We've got to go!

Well, before you go, if you
ever decide to put that filly out,

I'd be interested in having her.

I plan to race her.

- Do you have a trainer?
- I know people.

- I know people, too.
- Tommy!

We've got to get this
kid back before dark

or Polly will have your balls!

ARTHUR: She will have 'em!

We know different
people, I would guess.

MAY: My father
knows Mick Hancock.

- Trained three Ascot winners.
- Oh, so that was your father?

Yes.

We're joint-owners of the stud.

He took the majority share
when my husband was killed.

Ypres.

ARTHUR: Tommy! We've
got to get back to the caravans!

The chickens are hungry!

(SNICKERING)

So will you consider me?

I will consider you.

You still didn't tell
me what you do.

Oh! I do bad things.

But you already know that.

ARTHUR: Right,
about bloody time!

(MEN SNICKERING)

ARTHUR: It's the
fucking truth, John boy.

Rich women these days,

all they want is
working-class cock.

Tommy, maybe she was the
something bad I had the feeling about!

JOHN: Ah! She looks
all right to me, Curly!

ARTHUR: All their men are
dead, see. Officers, all shot.

JOHN: Yeah, by us.

All I'll say is she has good
contacts in the racing world.

Here, Michael, you drive.

Thomas Shelby?

- Tommy!
- (GUNSHOT)

- Tommy! Down!
- (GUNSHOT)

ARTHUR: Tommy Shelby?

How about fucking Arthur?

Fucking good to meet you.

Get him off him!

CURLY: Arthur! Arthur!

TOMMY: Get him off him!

Come on. Stop it, Arthur.

Get him off.

Arthur, that's enough.

Arthur, come on!

Come on, Arthur, come on.

That's it. It's over.

Arthur!

Come on, shut up.

Come on, come on.

He's still breathing.

Don't get blood on the kid!

Michael, you didn't see a thing.

This didn't happen, all right?

Give me the keys.

Michael, give me the keys.

I'm all right to drive.

All right. Go on. Go on, go on!

Tommy, he's fucking scarpered!

Right, let's get out
of here, sharpish.

Come on!

(DOOR OPENING)

(DOOR CLOSING)

POLLY: So?

How'd it go?

Well, it was cold in the van,

but it was super. Really.

Let me smell your breath.

(EXHALES)

Did they behave themselves?

They were amazing, Mum.

They were really amazing.

(SIGHS)

(THEME SONG PLAYING)