All language subtitles for Underbelly - 05x07 - Bang, Bang, Kill, Kill.FQM.English.orig.Addic7ed.com

Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells
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You want me to knock a cop?

They're flesh and blood
like anyone else, mate.

- Yeah, but...
- But what?

Oh, don't tell me
you're gutless, eh?

No way. I've just got
a few other things on.

- Yeah? Well, drop 'em.
- No, I can't.

- You can.
- Can't.

- What things?
- Another hit.

What? Oh, fuck.

First Undies, now you.

You blokes are bloody dangerous

when you think you're smart
enough to go out on your own.

- I've gotta make a living.
- Oh, bullshit.

I've got a family.
Tahnee's about ready to drop.

I don't wanna hear your fucking
sob story. You're doing it.

You're doing it, end of story.

Gaz, we've got a problem. No
listening devices for tomorrow.

Techies say they're
all assigned to other gigs.

That's bullshit
'cause we've got warrants.

Told them that.
I cracked the shits.

- We're trying to prevent a hit.
- Told 'em that too.

Fucking cake-eaters!

I'll go out and buy the LDs.

I'm getting a good signal from
the bug in the red Volvo

and the one
in the silver Vee Dub.

Yeah, yeah. No-one likes
a smug bastard, Gary.

Yeah, well,
a win's a win, Brownie.

Let's just hope Vito makes it
three mornings in a row.

He'll be here. He'll be here.

Hey, you ever been in
the Sheraton on the Park?

- For a drink?
- No, for a weekend.

Thinking about taking
Tracy there.

Sounds very romantic, Gary.

That's the fucking idea,
Brownie.

Oh, hello, Vito.

Don't park there, dickhead!
Take the other spot!

The last two mornings,

he's parked there
and they've talked there.

Well, here comes muscles.

Fuck.

Yeah, we got 'em,
we got 'em, got 'em.

It can't be done.
Did you call him?

Yeah, he's cool.

I've got the merchandise
secure in my lockup.

- Lockup?
- Be operational...

Oh, don't you start with that
military bullshit too.

He said 'lockup'.
Where's his lockup?

Let's go.

Christiansen lives in Glebe.
His place doesn't have a garage.

I did a search of storage
facilities in the area...

closest are in
Camperdown and Ultimo.

Manager of the Camperdown place
ID'd Christiansen.

I'll get a warrant.

Hey, you reckon chicks
really go for bods like this?

Some do, some don't.

Impressive guns.

Well, well.

What do we have here?

Interesting.

Very impressive guns.

Despite uncovering
a cache of firearms and drugs,

Strike Force Tuno did not have
the resources to mount

around-the-clock surveillance
on Christiansen's storage shed.

- How's it going there, mate?
- Yeah, all done.

Yep? Good.

Instead, a concealed camera

allowed them to monitor
the big man's comings and goings

remotely,
from Tuno's headquarters.

- Yeah?
- Everything's set for tomorrow.

Copy that.

Eagle one is good to go.

- Brett. Honey?
- Coming, hon.

Going dark from N-O-W
until operation completed.

Over and out.

Brett?

- What is it, hon?
- I need a back rub.

Mummy need a Daddy special?

Hmm?

- Brett... you've gotta stop. No.
- I'm almost there, baby.

- Brett, something's wrong!
- What?

- Oh, Brett! Oh! Ohh.
- Baby, did you come?

- Oh, no, my waters broke.
- What?!

Oh! The baby's coming.
We've gotta go.

What?! Are you alright?

Pull your fucking pants up
and let's go!

This is Decker. I've got a
10-16. I'm calling a code blue.

What does that mean?

My wife is having a baby.
Tonight, now, now.

- She's in labour.
- Yeah, congratulations.

- Well, I'm calling a code blue.
- What the fuck does that mean?

I'm putting
the mission on hold.

- Bullshit.
- My wife is having a baby.

How bad would it make me look
if I pissed off now?

Mate, I don't really care.

We're all set
ready to go tomorrow.

- You do it.
- What?

I'm not doing it! You do it!

Mate... I'm not the shooter,
you're the bloody shooter.

Look on it as a promotion.
Time to step up, soldier!

- This isn't my thing...
- It's a cakewalk.

He's a pussy! He's not gonna
be expecting any trouble.

- Just point and squeeze.
- I don't do this type of thing.

Anyway, I'm not doing it!
End of fucking discussion!

A pussy.

A cakewalk.

Decker's wife's giving birth.
They're at the hospital.

Imagine having him
for your old man.

Well, at least we'll get
a night off to relax.

Come for Chrissie drinks?

Yeah, I'll be there
in a while, mate.

- See ya over there.
- Thanks, Brownie.

Gary Jubelin.

That's very formal,
Detective Inspector.

Sorry, it's a force of habit.

We don't have to check in
tomorrow till after 2:00

so you wanna get some lunch
in the city first?

Sounds good. Hey, I bought
something new to wear.

- What, a new dress?
- Nope. You'll see.

Now you've got me intrigued.

Good, I hope
I can always do that.

You go and have fun tonight.
I'll see you when you get home.

I won't be late.

- I love you.
- I love you too, Trace.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

- Cheers. Merry Christmas.
- I missed the first shout.

Go on, pony up.

Can I get another beer, Grace?

- Where's the boss?
- On his way.

Just one rule tonight, folks...
no shop talk.

- Agreed?
- Agreed.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

Cheers.

You know what I don't get
about Perish?

How he can fly under the radar?

- Can he ever!
- Someone must know.

You fucker.

By the time the nearest patrol got
there, Michael Christiansen was gone.

We've got surveillance at his
flat, also Vito Russo's house,

but so far he hasn't shown.

Decker's still in
the labour ward with his wife.

Maybe Christiansen's
up to some other badness.

Yeah, I'll tell you what,
we're not gonna take that risk.

I've issued a KALOF on his car,
posted him on COPS.

You need to check in
with your fizzes.

Talk to the local area commands.
Rattle as many cages as you can.

I want Michael Christiansen
found before a hit goes down.

For those of you who had
weekends planned, I'm sorry.

This is where we are,
so let's get into it.

So much for Chrissie drinks.

Tuno, the job
that never sleeps.

- Trace.
- Hey, you.

- On your way home already?
- I'm not gonna make it home.

- I'm sorry.
- Nup.

- Rightio. Yeah, I understand.
- Yeah.

I'm sorry. I'll talk to you
later. 'Bye.

- Sin City, what do you reckon?
- It's an airport hotel.

So fucking what?
Hey, we got cable porn.

Paul, we just drove 10 hours.

I am busting for a piss
and a shower.

Go have a piss
and I'll see you in the shower.

Paul Elliot...
Melbourne gangster,

drug dealer and associate
of the Moran family,

a man intent on
some serious badness.

- Come back to bed.
- Can't.

Get us some brekkie, then.

What am I,
fucking room service?

- Then where are you going?
- Out.

If I'm not back in an hour,
then I'm dead.

- Yeah, g'day, mate.
- This number 17?

Yeah, it is.
How can I help you?

- Where's Tran?
- Who?

Asian prick, said he'd be here.

Oh, mate, I'm just doing
some painting.

Um, a Vietnamese guy
owns this place,

but I think he's nicked up
to the shops for a bit,

maybe gone to the bank.

- Wanna come in and wait?
- Yeah. I'll wait.

Come on, babe, come on.

- Keep breathing. That's it.
- Come on.

- That's it, baby, come on.
- Almost there. Almost there.

Give me another big push.

What? I'm sorry, hon,
I'm sorry.

- I've gotta take this.
- Brett?

- We need to talk.
- Oh, Rooster.

- Brett!
- I've gotta go.

I'll call you back.

- Come on, almost there.
- Come on, baby, come on.

- You can do this.
- That's it, come on.

Come on. Come on.

Oh, fuck!

- I am having a fucking baby!
- Yeah, mate, it's done.

Two in the chest,
one in the head.

Yeah, right.

Brett! Oh, my God!

- Oh, baby! Almost there.
- Keep going, keep going.

Oh, we've got another
little baby boy, darling.

It's another little baby boy!

You gonna answer that?

You cock.

I guess not.

This is Paul. Leave a message.

Hang on a sec.

So the boat's all set to go
tomorrow, Jeremy?

- Yeah, tomorrow morning.
- Yeah, right.

Jesus.

Jesus.

Hello?

What happened to calling me
back, fuckwit?

Mate, I'm sorry. I've just
kind of had my hands full.

We need a face-to-face.
Usual place, tomorrow at 10:00.

- Mate...
- Just be there.

Still planning
on knocking that pig?

Fucking oath I am.

And have every cop in
the country looking for you?

Oh, you know me, Muzz,
I'm the invisible man.

Now, what say we go
and get some real chicks?

How about you pull your head
out of your arse

and get on board
with this idea, eh?

- Hey.
- Hey.

- You alright?
- Yeah.

- Dinner's in the microwave.
- I ate at work. Meant to call.

But you didn't.

No, I got sidetracked.
I'm sorry.

I gotta go in tomorrow.

- It's Sunday.
- I know.

So much for salvaging any part
of our romantic weekend, hmm?

Trace...

- This is your boat?
- Nuh.

Do you know how to drive it?

Er, point and
try not to hit anything?

Oh, Jesus.

Let's just get the thing
in the fucking water first.

Boys, watch out,
this fucker is heavy.

- Have you got it?
- Yeah.

- Oh.
- Beer?

- Everyone out on the street?
- Some are.

Command wouldn't cover the
overtime so we're down a few.

- Who puts in for overtime?
- You'd be surprised.

You want the bad news
or the bad news?

We lost Decker. They cut back
our hours on surveillance.

Night shift clocked off at
midnight, he was at home.

Morning crew arrived at 6:00,
his car was gone.

He's not at the hospital

and their other kid's staying
with the wife's parents.

So he could be anywhere?

Fuck.

So anyway... so two in the chest,
one in the head.

Bang, bang. Bang.
So fucking easy.

- Did you clean the place up?
- Yeah, spotless.

Mate, you ever notice
how bleach smells like spoof?

- Police! Don't move!
- Oh, f...

Fuck!

Scare the shit out of us,
why don't ya?

Oh, serve yourself right for
not posting a watch, dickheads.

If I was the heat,
you'd be gone.

Alright smart-arse,
but who was the one

that did the job
like a fucking pro?

- Show a bit of respect.
- My wife was having a baby.

I think that's
a pretty good excuse.

- Oh, congratulations.
- So how was that?

Honestly? Like watching your
favourite pub burn down.

Make sure you drill some holes
so it sinks to the bottom.

- Where's Camille?
- Doctor's appointment.

Brownie.

Get on the
ground! Get on your guts!

- It's done.
- Jesus Christ.

- Michael Christiansen.
- What the fuck is this shit?!

Michael Christiansen, you're
under arrest for possession

of unlicensed firearms
and a prohibited substance.

- The fuck is this bullshit?
- Get him up.

On your back.

Who the fuck are you?! What
the fuck is this all about?!

It's Paul Elliot. Fuck.

We're too late.

Who's Paul Elliot?

He's a Melbourne-based crook.
He's a friend of the Morans.

He's got form for
drug possession, speed.

And you think he's been hit?

His girlfriend reported him
missing four days ago,

last seen in Sydney.

Send a team to Melbourne,
interview her, get some DNA...

We knew about the hit, we were
all over it, how'd this happen?

How's this gonna look
when it hits the bloody papers?

First of all, Howard,
we didn't know who, how or when.

We weren't all over it.

We didn't have the fucking
resources to be all over it.

Didn't have the manpower, the
technical support, the assets.

- Yeah, enough excuses.
- These aren't excuses, Howard!

If this man is dead,
there aren't excuses.

These are just the facts.

Alright.

I know you did everything
that you could do.

It's just...
It's a bad business.

Have you put the frighteners
on Michael Christiansen?

We've only questioned him about
the drugs and firearms.

- Why are you holding back?
- Because we don't have enough.

Got no body. He can say he
found the wallet in the street.

We play our hand too early,
we lose everything.

OK. We'll do it your way, Gary.

Just make sure you get these
bastards. Get all of 'em.

At the time of his arrest,
Michael Christiansen

had three mobile phones
in his possession.

Nearly all the calls made
and received around December 6

were to prepaid mobiles
with bogus registrations.

Well, except for one number
that appears twice.

It's registered to
a Jeremy Postlewaight.

I pulled the logs for
his number and ran a check.

More of these are to
legitimately registered numbers

including two on December 5
to a Richard Curtis.

- Alright. Has he got form?
- No.

But he is the registered owner
of a 6.75m motorboat.

- You got an address?
- Mm-hm.

Glen, go find the boat.

That's good work, Camille.

Heard you had another doctor's
appointment this morning.

- You alright?
- Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks.

- I'll make up the time.
- No, no, don't be silly.

Just, you know,
look after yourself.

We found the boat.

The what?

The boat you used to dump
Paul Elliot's body.

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

No? I've got this young lady
who works for me, Michael.

She's incredibly tenacious. She
breeds Dobermans on the side.

We found out about the boat.

Did you know they have
security cameras in the harbour?

No, I didn't know that, no.

Well, unfortunately for you,
she did.

Have a look at that.
See, that's the boat.

Right here, that's you.

- That could be anyone.
- No, that's you.

They're your muscles,
aren't they?

And that's Vito Russo. And
that's Jeremy Postlewaight.

Oh, yeah, that's when we were

headed out the other day
for a fishing trip.

We didn't catch anything.

What?

You see these?

They're filings from the toolbox
containing Paul Elliot's body.

Because you drilled holes in it,
because you didn't want him

doing a Terry Falconer,
did you, Michael?

What's that shit?

We also found
some DNA evidence,

which I reckon will be
a match for Paul Elliot.

Look, it was self-defence.
He tried to kill me.

- You admit killing Paul Elliot?
- In self-defence.

He pulled a gun, what could
I do? I had to defend myself.

- You didn't intend to kill him?
- No.

OK. You know that lady I spoke
about, the real tenacious one?

She pulled your credit records,
which I've got.

So on the day before
you killed Paul Elliot,

you bought a big fucking
toolbox, alright,

big enough to put a body in,
for $880.

See that there? Now, that goes
to premeditation, Michael.

Which means you're fucked.

Right, um... is there any chance
I can make a deal or something?

We can tell the DPP
you cooperated.

Can't offer you
much more than that.

What we're gonna do, we're gonna
start at the beginning, Michael.

Tell me when and why Anthony
Perish commissioned the hit.

Perish? Perish had
nothing to do with it.

Don't fuck with me, Michael.
You're in a lot of trouble, OK?

- Don't play silly buggers.
- Look, I'm not, I swear!

It was some little fucking
scary Asian dude.

- Will he stay solid?
- Oh, I think so.

You think so?! Shit!

Yeah, I'm getting
out of town for a while.

- I reckon you should too.
- No, I can't.

Got a job on for Rooster.

I'm putting the A-team back
together - you, me, Skits.

Forget it. I'm outta here.

Vito, mate...I'll make it
worth your while.

Come on, soldier. I need you.

I'm not a fucking soldier.
Yeah? Stop calling me that.

It gives me the shits.

Look, Rooster's bad news.
I'd be real careful, mate.

Ciao.

Listen, I want that fucking cop
knocked and I want it done now!

Mate, a job like this needs

meticulous, split-second
planning - I need a crack team.

None of them fuckwits know
this came from me, alright?

- Of course not.
- Less they know, the better.

Roger that! I got
the right men for the job.

Then quit stuffing about
and get on with it!

If you're not part
of the solution,

you're part of the problem.

And that includes
your fucking family.

Understood?

December 2008.

Finally, after seven
frustrating years,

Gary Jubelin judged
he had sufficient evidence

to charge the men
who murdered Terry Falconer.

Witness Frank O'Rourke -
codenamed Informant X -

gave him premeditation.

Informant Y - Ben Dokic -

added a confession from
Anthony Perish's own mouth.

And when 'Little Willy' Strong -
Informant Z -

decided to sign his statement
against Decker,

Gary had corroboration.

Surely this time the DPP's
office wouldn't dare refuse him.

Gary, no need to ask how you've
spent Christmas and New Year.

Have I missed something?

Your only forensic evidence

is the DNA linking Simpson, aka
Decker, to the JB's shooting.

- Is that correct?
- That's right.

- No eyewitnesses?
- No.

But we've got sworn statements
testifying to the fact that

Anthony Perish,
by his own admission,

murdered Terry Falconer,

and that Brett Simpson,
aka Decker,

kidnapped and drugged
Terry Falconer...

Yes, yes, Detective, thank you.
I've read those statements.

It's a pity that
that's all you have.

- How's Undies?
- Shit.

Shared the crap out of me.

- Went to see him this morning.
- Yeah, I did.

Yeah? What did he say?

That he misses me and the kids.

Reckons he's gonna
need a good lawyer.

I reckon he's gonna need
a fucking miracle worker.

What the fuck was he thinking
setting up a drug lab, eh?!

- You said it was bullshit.
- I done a bit of checking.

Oh, God.

- You knew nothing about it?
- No, nothing.

I'll organise a lawyer.

- Here.
- Nuh, it's alright.

Just take the fucking money. Get
your hair done or something.

- You look like shit.
- Thanks, Rooster.

We'll stick together, Loz.
We're family, alright?

- What did he say about Tuno?
- What?

Tuno, the fucking mongrels
who arrested him!

- I told you to ask him!
- I did. I asked him.

- Jesus Christ! What did he say?
- He said it wasn't them.

- He's sure?
- Yep, he's sure.

Listen up.

The DPP have given us the green
light to arrest Anthony Perish,

Andrew Perish
and Brett Simpson, aka Decker,

for conspiracy to murder
Terry Falconer,

and Decker for the shooting
at JB's Bar and Grill.

Conspiracy to murder,
not murder?

Murder was always gonna be
a big ask, Brownie.

- Fuck!
- Brownie.

Chin up, mate, this is good.
Alright?

Our number one priority now
is finding Anthony Perish.

- My bet's on Mudgee.
- Got that under surveillance.

- And his Hoxton Park address.
- Hoxton Park's a dead loss.

Andrew's in Silverwater. It's
easy enough to pick up Decker.

If we alert Andrew
or we go after Decker alone,

I'm convinced we're gonna lose
Anthony Perish for good.

So it's absolutely critical that

we take him and Decker down
simultaneously,

either when they're together
or in a coordinated operation.

Brownie, we'll need all hands
on deck on this, which means...

- Cancelling all holiday leave.
- Ta-ta, holiday. Afraid so.

We're getting tower dumps from
around Decker's home and work,

so we're gonna need a list of
most likely numbers for the TIs.

- OK.
- Alright.

- This is good.
- Mmm.

Come on, you stupid
bloody thing.

- What?
- Hon, have you got the nappies?

- Yeah.
- Wipes?

- Three packets.
- The nipple cream?

- Yeah.
- That's all.

- I love you. We'll see you soon.
- See you soon.

Fucking nipple cream.

There's a cell tower
close to the mall.

Because we have an exact time
we're almost certain

this is the mobile phone number
Decker's using.

Let's get a telephone intercept,
hope he holds onto that number.

Alright, enough!

Hey, prick, just to let you
know, time's up.

Mate, I am telling ya,

it has been a nightmare
couple of weeks.

This kid doesn't sleep.

- I'm putting the team together.
- No more fucking excuses!

Mate, I'm begging ya.
I will get this job done.

Can I tell you the plan? I'll
explain it to you face-to-face.

- Alright, tomorrow at 10:00.
- Usual place, right?

- Nah. Where we shafted Dokic.
- Mate...

Just fucking be there!

- Gary Jubelin.
- Gary, sorry to get you up.

But we've had an intercept
on Decker's phone,

and this is not something
that can wait till the morning.

- I think this could be it.
- Alright, on my way in.

I gotta go in, Trace.

Hey.

Trace?

Just keep the doors locked
as a precaution.

- It's alright.
- I always do.

No more fucking excuses!

Can I tell you the plan? I'll
explain it to you face-to-face.

- Alright, tomorrow at 10:00.
- Usual place, right?

- Nah. Where we shafted Dokic.
- Mate...

Just fucking be there!

So it's not Mudgee.

In Dokic's statement,
he said they forced him to make

taped admissions
in this cafe in Lavender Bay.

10am? Perfect coffee time
for mums with bubs.

Well, at this point,
we don't have a choice.

We go in hard and fast
before they know what's hit 'em.

Kylie Keogh.

Just letting you know we're
moving on Perish and Decker.

- When?
- Now. We're on our way.

You call this a heads-up? I
need to get a cameraman there!

That's not gonna happen. They'll
be armed. It's too dangerous.

I don't give a fuck, Gary, we
need pictures, I need pictures.

- Please!
- Alright, alright.

Then you tell him to stay right
back until the scene is secured.

- That's the deal.
- Yeah, sure.

They know the drill.
Give me an address.

There's Decker.

Come on.

Oh, shit!

Alright, team one, move in.

GUN!

Team two, go! Go, go, go!

Anthony Perish,
you're under arrest

for the conspiracy to murder
Terry Falconer.

It's taken us years,
and now I've got ya.

And all our ducks,
they're all lined up in a row.

So you really wanna
help yourself,

then you make a statement.

Tell me what happened,

why you did it.

You think I should?
You reckon it would help me?

And those ducks of yours...

Cocky.

Yep.

We need to get Decker
or Andrew Perish to roll over

or this prick could walk.

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