All language subtitles for [SubtitleTools.com] Layer.Cake.2004.1080p.BluRay.x264.anoXmous_eng

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 2 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 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 a gangster.

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 demonized by Daily Mail
readers getting drunk in wine bars.

Now they're my biggest clients.

This is Clarkie. Double first
at Cambridge in industrial Chemistry.

Well, he's gotta 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,
handmade shoes, blowjobs.

As long as you don't take the piss,
people will come back for more.

That's not to say we don't weave that
magic that makes two kilos 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...

loud, attention-seeking
wannabe gangsters...

in it for the glory, to be a face,
to be a name.

Hello, Slavo. Yeah, it's the 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 10 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 because he wants a word?

Maybe he's grateful.
He fucking should be.

See you at Stoke Park at 1.

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 check
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 the 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.

Don't ask me.
I ain't fucking touching them.

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 favor.

I need someone who's a bit cute,
a smooth operator.

Not a two-a-penny loudmouth.
Too many grasses around.

- It would be a pleasure, Mr. Price.
- Jimmy. You can call me Jimmy.

Now, this favor. 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 one.

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 lowlife 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 will 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, 4:00.

Tell you about that bit of business.
I've set up a meet for 5 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 boatyard.

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
throwback, 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, okay?

One million?

Gene, that is a lot of pills.
What's the tax on that?

Jimmy wants 50 percent 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, okay?

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 wanna 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 gotta find a buyer.

They've gotta split them into parcels.
They've gotta 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 5 million easy.

- Five pound 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, okay?

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 color 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 color
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.

- 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?
- Twenty 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 them 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 VIP 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...

because I got them
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.

Ring me.

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 offense, but what the fuck
are you talking about?

You really 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. They really don't know.

- Explain.
- I was over in Amsterdam.

Last weekend, right?

The whole place is alight
with a rumor...

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 honor 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.

Okay, 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.
- Okay.

Try Jimmy at home.

- You sure?
- Will you fucking ring him?

- Where are we going, Morty?
- Back to that boatyard.

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 idea of phoning me at
home and leaving messages, 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 wanna 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 favor.

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 days.
Kinky turned up with 5 grand.

- Who's giving Kinky 5 grand?
- We don't know.

They kept arguing. She was saying,
"Do you think it's that easy...

taking the 5 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.
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're 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 10 G for finding Kinky.
- That wasn't the fucking deal.

- Yes or no?
- Yes.

Hello. Ambulance, please.

185 Kirby House, King's 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 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 flushed, bruv.

Fuck me, he's loaded.

Here, couldn't make it 5,
could you...

mate?

- Let's make it 10.
- 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?

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 lrish.

They threw the book at Morty.

Freddie got three years
for aiding and abetting.

Morty did 10 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 hemorrhage.

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.

You've got 48 hours to find a buyer
or I'm sending them back, okay?

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 payday.

- 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 gotta 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. 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, okay.
- 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.

Come on.

Hello, it's me. It's me.
Shut up and listen.

Duke's nephew is working down by
Greenwich Market. Go and look.

- Room service.
- Look for that yellow Range Rover.

Okay.

- 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 10 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 5 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 tidbits...

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 hardline
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 grâce.
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.

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-mil, Jim.

- It's much more than that.
- How much?

- Thirteen.
- Thirteen what?

- Thirteen million pounds. I'm fucked.
- Have you gone fucking mad?

Thirteen 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 "CID was geezers you
was at school with" routine?

The other chap's Albert Carter.

Another twisted bastard
from the old neighborhood.

Member of the Regional Crime Squad.
Sit back, relax, 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?
- That'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.

- Because 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 wanna 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 12.

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.

Condition's red down there, pal.

They're didgy as fuck.
They haven't moved from that lockup.

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 color,
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...

I did you a big fucking favor
letting you know about Jimmy.

I think you owe me.

Two and a half million in sterling and
euros, high-denomination used notes.

So if I gave you 3 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 them to me.

You understand?

Okay, Mr. Temple.
Three million. Done.

- My buyer's not gonna be happy.
- 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 10 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 the fucking door!
- Why?

Open the 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 a.k.a. 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?

Funny enough,
it was Jimmy who persuaded me.

Jimmy never liked Larry.

Look at that wrong one 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 me favorite.

I hope you don't tell the other guns
you've got favorites.

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.

Okay. Okay, 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 10 past 1
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 12.

I hope he's not gonna be late.

- Maybe he'll be early.
- That'd 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, okay?

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 honor and respect.

I usually kill for less.
L 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 wanna 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! Could be 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 gotta get on my toes sharpish.

I want Jimmy brought here
right now, yeah?

Getting that smug 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
because 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 9 in the morning.
Gallows Corner. Know it?

Yeah.

With Jimmy gone, these pills
will make a nice contribution...

to my retirement fund,
so don't fuck things up again, okay?

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, okay?

- Who was it?
- Wrong number.

- What's up, mate?
- 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. Fifty 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.
Cox'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 Inspector Cox...

that his suspect has scarpered
because 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.

- Go.
- 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.

Okay. Yes, it 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, "If 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...

looking for revenge. Look at them.

Bunch of underendowed,
aging 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,
you take less shit.

Until one day, you're up
in the rarefied atmosphere...

and you've forgotten
what shit even looks like.

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.

Good night.

If you're gonna hang around
in this game...

that's where you've
got to aim 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 honor 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 3 million for those pills?

Did I, fuck.

But suddenly there was a void
where once there was Jimmy Price.

After a couple 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 honored.

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.

Adiós, 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.