All language subtitles for The.Gentlemen.2020.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-TEPES

Get me in ten minutes, Ray.

Boss.

Bobby.
Boss?

I'll have a pint
and a pickled egg.

Coming straight up.

If you wish to be
the king of the jungle,

it's not enough
to act like a king.

You must be the king.

And there can be no doubt.

Because doubt causes chaos
and one's own demise.

Hello, my love.

It's date night tonight.

Nine o'clock,
you and I, River Cafe.

Who's there?

Ros, who's there?

Chink, chink.

Fletcher.

Buenas tardes, Raymondo.

I should stab you
with that fucking
rolling pin.

Oh, don't be cunty.
I was just hoping we could have
a cozy little drink together.

So, I've got a meeting
on Saturday
at your favorite newspaper.

As the best
private investigator
in this smoky little town--

good evening,
ladies and gentlemen--

they are ready to put
150 grand in my pocket
to give them some filth.

Good for me, that,
but in this case...

it's bad for you.

So Big Dave,
editor extraordinaire,

has developed a terrible
antipathy for your boss

and his liquorish assortment
of tasty mates.

He's out to destroy him and
all those that cozy up to him.
Front cover. Bosh!

There will be blood
and fucking feathers
everywhere, my darling.

Get to it, Fletcher.
I'm starting to itch.

Now, we both know
that your boss has
very, very deep pockets,

and I would like to
invite him just to have
a teeny rummage in them.

What the fuck
are you talking about?

If you would be so kind

as to furnish me with
20 million British pounds,

I will give you everything--

memory cards, contact sheets,
recordings, the lot,

and a modest little screenplay
I wrote all by myself.

Hold on.

We just went from £150,000
to 20 million.

That's a steep rise
in 30 seconds.

Yeah, but I would argue
that you're lucky,
because that is nothing

compared to what I could,
and perhaps should, be asking.

Oh, well, thank God
you're not greedy, Fletcher,

you deluded,
shit-eating cunt.

I quite like it
when you talk dirty to me.

I can feel myself engorging.

Come on, have a drink with me.
It's really yummy.

I looked it up. App-ed it.
1500 quid?

I didn't know
you could spend that much
on a bottle of scotch.

I'm gonna tell you a story
to demonstrate
why my quote is my quote.

Will you play a game
with me, Ray?

I don't wanna play a game.

-Please?
-No.

I said play a fucking game
with me, Ray.

Right.

Lovely.

Now, I want you
to imagine a character,

a dramatic character,
like in a book or a play
or a film.

But not digital,
not on a memory stick.

Analog. Chemical process.
"Keep the grain
in the picture," I say.

Old-school, 35 mill.

Now, I'm seeing this
through a lens, I am,

and I'm not talking about
the small screen.

It's not TV, Raymond.

As I said,
old-school cinema format.

It's what we in the business
called anamorphic,
or ratio 2.35 to 1.

And I want you to join me
on this cinematic journey,

'cause it is cinema, Ray.

It's beautiful,
beautiful cinema.

Now, roll camera.

Enter our protagonist.

He's good-looking,
he's gorgeous,

he's golden age,
he's a proper handsome cunt.

His name is Mickey Pearson.

Unique background
has our Mickey.

American born, Rhodes scholar,
so he's born clever but poor.

Now, that's quite a leap from
a trailer park in Americana

to the thousand-year-old
university in old Angleterre,

where he studies
the dark art of horticulture.

But he never
finished his education,
never went home, because...

he found his vocation.

A naughty vocation.

He's a bad boy.

He starts dealing
the dirty wonder weed

to his rich, British,
upper-class uni pals

and realizes
he's rather good at it.

He's clear and objective
about ambition

and he can surf the echelons
of our complicated culture.

He knew how to take advantage
of his advantage.

He was a hungry animal,
you see.

He was powerful and ruthless,
cunning and quick,

charismatic and smart, but...

he had to do some naughty
things to get where he got,

to establish his position,

to show he wasn't just
teeth, tits and tan.

Well, he wasn't
fucking hollow, was he?

He had an engine
under his hood

and a gun in his holster.

So, he's not exactly clean,
our Mickey.

He has come up the hard way.

He's earned his position,
shall we say.

Well, that was the early days,

and he cracked on with
his New World pioneer spirit.

What's he worth today?
100, 200, 500 million?

But now the plot
begins to thicken.

He has reached
a crossroads in his life.

The middle class
and the middle age,
they've got to him.

They've corrupted his appetite
for the horrors.
He's gone soft.

He wanted to cash in his chips
and get out of the game,

and he seems to have found
the perfect customer.

Smash cut, please...

to interior, a gala dinner.

Just a few words to say
thank you to Michael Pearson

for his limitless generosity
and time.

Now, Mickey
has been cultivating
a special relationship

with the erudite, learned and
broad-minded Matthew Berger.

Yes, Raymond, I do know about
the Jewish billionaire cowboy,

another slice of Americana
creating drama in Angleterre.

And finally to Matthew Berger
blindsiding us
with his donation

to build the entire cognitive
behavioral therapy unit.

So these two have met before.
Fuck knows where.

Presumably at the annual
international drug dealers
convention in Las Vegas.

And they've done
some small deals together,

but now they're ready
for the big one.

Well, that was unexpected,
Matthew.

Now I understand
why you're seated
at the head of the table.

Snuck that one
right by me, didn't you,
you naughty little girl?

Making a splash
with the gentry.

Oh, I like to make a splash
whenever possible.

Well, you also seem
to understand the significance
of a proper attire.

Indeed I do.

I believe
a sense of ownership

is vital
in every aspect of life,

perhaps never more so than
when it comes to wardrobe.

For every look
there is a season, and for
every season a strategy.

Now starts the alpha dance.

They're not really talking
about clothes, Raymond.

Oh, fucking no.

They're like
a pair of old doggies

sniffing round one another's
intellectual assholes.

It's a good old-fashioned
cock-off, Raymond.

Michael, I'm looking forward
to doing business together.

-May we excuse ourselves?
-Yes, please.

We should say good night
to our host.

So what do you think?

I'm not sure.

Your Grace.

He's a fox,

and foxes
have a predictable nature.

Trust this Jew
about that Jew.

If you let him
in the henhouse,

you can expect blood
and feathers everywhere.

Fresh from
a farmyard pheasant shoot,

these two are starting
to like each other.

It's looking good, Ray.
It's looking fucking good.

I'm impressed with what you've
done with your enterprise.

You see, try as I might,
I can't work out
how you do it,

and bush is my game.

How does anyone grow
50 tons of super skunk

without letting anyone else
know how they do it?

I'm flattered to hear that
from you, Matthew.

I imagine
that big brain of yours
is sweating a stream of tears

just trying
to figure it out.

Brilliance
should be acknowledged.

Mm.

Run the numbers
by me again.

200 million gross p.a.,
100 million net.

But your people
know this already.

They've swept the numbers
for months now.

The bottom line is
I'll sell it to you
for 400 million.

But you knew that already.
Hop in.

Now, I can't be specific about
the heroes and zeros,

but there was a lot of money
hanging in the balance.

What would it be
worth to have the power

to be able to pull the plug
on an operation like that?

A greedy man would
want half the sale price,

but a smart man would know
that 20 million pounds

was just about
uncomfortable enough to make
everyone feel comfortable.

You're a cunning and creative
toad, aren't you, Fletcher,

coming up
with a plan like this?

Yeah, but I didn't really
come up with it, did I?

It was Big Dave.

He commissioned me
to do a job on Mickey,

you know, sniff about,
keep an eye on him,

go through his bins,
reveal his sins.

Mickey Pearson,
the odious Yankee gangster.
We're gonna bury him.

Because it seems
he's got himself a new friend.
Lord Pressfield.

Is that the Lord Pressfield?

His Grace, the duke?

Yeah. Once fourth in line
to the throne.

Apparently Mickey Pearson
has squeaked his way

into the crack
of his fat, posh ass.

This is yours, Fletcher.
I need a man with your
creativity, with your nose.

Now, you know
you're my favorite bloodhound.

I just think it's really
important to remember

who you're talking to, Dave.

Of course I remember,
Fletcher.

So just make
absolutely sure the check
doesn't disappoint this time.

The number is 150,000.

He wants to ruin him,

but I am here
to do you a favor.

And it's not like
you're not getting something
for your money.

You could even
turn that script into
a feature film, Raymond.

We could make it together.
We could be partners.

I have learned off you lot.

You gotta look after
number one,
and now it's my turn.

The sun is not going up
for me, Ray. It's going down.

So why has Big Dave
got it in for my boss?

Two months ago,
your man Mickey

made my man Dave feel
like a right fucking idiot.

Henry. Mickey.

How did he do that?

Didn't accept his hand.

Dave. Daily Print.
Yes.

No. Editor
of the Daily Print.

Turns out Dave had gone after
one of Mickey's lords,

did a proper tabloid job
on him.

It would appear
that His Lordship
had had a quick spin

on one of
his attractive young footmen.

After the splash,
shares crashed, job went,
wife followed,

and even his kids
disowned him.

Well, that Dave
can't half be a cunt.

But no one
will pull him on it.

Too fucking scared that Dave
will do a feature on them.

But your Mickey, he's got
a fabulous set of balls.

So he snubbed him in front of
a crowd that Dave could
only wish he belonged to.

You know, lords and ladies,
the sort that Mickey feels
very comfortable in front of.

Men, excuse us.

Well, he might just as well
have pulled Dave's cock off.

I do believe that was a bit
of a fuck off, Dave.

'Cause he just
fizzled like a party balloon.

That's no reason
to go after a fella.

Well, I don't know
what to tell you.
He wants Mickey's blood.

And he would be getting it
too, if it wasn't for...

You're a filthy fantasist,
and now it's time to leave.

Oh, don't be silly.
I'm only just lubing you up.

Now, there is a reason
why Matthew, or anyone else
for that matter,

cannot work out
how Mickey does what he does.

How does he grow 50 tons
of white widow super cheese
every year?

Everyone knows
that needs a lot of space.

So where is the space and how
come he's kept it under wraps?

You can't just dig a hole
in the ground and drop 200
shipping containers in there.

Oh, no, my love.
That will not work.

No. You have to be creative.
You need an angle.

The problem with
land in this country
is there's not much of it...

and there's public access
even when it's supposed
to be private.

And the public have rights:
dog walkers...

Yes, jog on.

...footpaths, right to roam,

bimblers, ramblers,

-badger lovers...

...and any other busy cunt
with enough time on his hands

to sniff
the green tweed of England.

Good morning!

And they have groups,

forums, meetings,
social media,

and they love
a good chat and a hiss

about anyone who's
decided to mow his lawn
without a license.

And then there's
the helicopters, drones,
Google Earth,

heritage sites,
parish councils,

and the beat goes on.

And that's before
you even think about
getting power in here.

So what is
Mickey's unique method?

I tip my cap at the cheek,
at the elegance, at the class.

And what would
that method be exactly?

You have to understand
a culture to understand a man.

Toffs, aristocrats,

dukes, duchesses,
lords and ladies,

lots of land
and fuck all dough.

Houses to keep, damp to
keep out, silver to polish.

You must remember
that cash is very persuasive

to the class that got
spanked by angry lefties
and death duties.

And every time
you inherit a fortune,
you lose half to the state.

So this is my moment
to swoop in

like a guardian fucking angel

and offer my services
so they can keep
their houses in order.

And they're not too bothered
about what I do,

as long as that cash
keeps rolling in each year.

It's good to get a lord, yes,
but it's not easy.

It takes work,
wine, women and disco.

Twelve sites. Twelve farms.

One thousand of these estates
in the great UK.

Bonne chance
trying to find them all.

That's it. My infrastructure.

And that, sir,
is, with my blessing,
what you are paying for.

If it's as discreet and as
lucrative as you claim it is,

I'll buy the whole business.

But enough foreplay, Michael.

I wanna see your plant.

I've gone to great lengths
to make my operation

as invisible as possible,
Matthew.

If you were
standing on my bush,
you wouldn't know it.

As a matter of fact,
you are standing on my bush.

It's a spectacular business,
Michael.

Such a shame it will go
bankrupt in ten years

when things go legal
in the great UK.

And you want me
to pay top dollar for it?

A nugget under half a yard?

That is the price.

Now step inside
and I'll show you
what half a yard gets you.

Ooh. A delightful tool shed
for 400 million dollars.

Is the ball-peen hammer
included?

Course it is.
Now let me show you the nails.

Watch your head.

Carry on, chaps.

England's
green and pleasant land.

Those are some nails.

Location, staff, technology.

See, you're buying
the substructure for
the superstructure to come,

and with purchase
you will inherit
the best sites available,

the finest botanists and herb
sommeliers in the world,

as well as the most innovative
marijuana technology
on the planet.

And when this little piggy
goes to legal market

and the demand
way outpaces the supply...

these locations,
these green-fingered
botanical boys,

as well as
my superior technology,

will be at a premium.

And you would own them all.

Did you know it took 15 years
after alcohol prohibition
ended back home

for the legal market
to scratch that itch?

Fifteen years.

And that's if
you do nothing with it.

Yes, it's a win-win,
no matter how you look at it.

And I'm not greedy.
You and I both know

that 400 million is a
fair-to-generous asking price,

especially considering
that once this game's kosher,

it's going to be worth
somewhere between 200 billion

and, well,
half a trillion pounds.

Annually.

Weed.

Bush.

Skunk-amola.

White widow super cheese.

It's the new gold rush.

This is the thin end
of a very fat wedge, sir.

If it's such a fat wedge,
why don't you keep it?

You see, I've developed
a reputation as a man
who came up the hard way.

You could say
that there's blood
on these pretty white hands.

But in the new business,
once legal
and under the jurisdiction

of the respectable umbrella
of ministerial legitimacy,

an enterprise like this will
need a face with a clean past,

which sadly I do not possess.

Retirement
doesn't sound so bad.

Long walks in the countryside,
pruning roses
with my better half,

raising some cubs.

I've earned it.

Look, we both know growing
is only 50% of the business.

I need
your European connections.

I've seen
how the sausage is made.

Now tell me
about the butcher shops.

Well, that comes later,
Matthew,

when the money's in escrow.

Now that we've established
the dilemma of our protagonist,

let us turn to our antagonist.

Many miles away,
across the open plains,

another beautiful
feral beast lopes his way
to a watering hole.

Who are you talking about
now?

I talk, Raymondo, of Dry Eye.

Oh, Dry Eye.

What is he?
Chinese? Japanese? Pekingese?

Get on your fucking knees?

Dirty dragon filth.

He explodes on the scene like a
millennial fucking firecracker.
Bang, bang, bang.

You chee-bye motherfuckers!

I'm gonna have to stop you
right there, Fletcher.

That doesn't sound like
the Dry Eye I know.

Just making sure you're
paying attention, Raymond.

So let's cut instead
to a somewhat anticlimactic

but suave and debonair
Dry Eye,

like a Chinese James Bond.

"Ricense" to kill.

Open them up.
Yes, boss.

Good Lord.

Hose them down, load them up
and fuck them off.

Let me have a look at 432.
Yes, boss.
It's just right here.

There's 120 rims, uh,
32 LS engines, 60 custom...

All right. Pay the man.

Sorry, chaps. I quoted you for
a 20 when it's a 40-footer.

It's gonna be double bubble.

Double bubble?

A gentleman's quote
is a gentleman's word.

Now, either you or your family
are gonna have to pay
for that lesson.

Do we have an understanding?

Yes, boss.

Give the soppy prick
his money.

Anyway,
let's put a pin in Dry Eye

and turn again to Mickey.

If you're thinking
of smoking that in here...

don't.

I find that confusing.

Do you mean don't smoke
or don't think?

Oh...

Oh, all right, all right,
it's going out.

I think the time
has come for me
to introduce you to our queen.

Harold, bag.

A Cockney Cleopatra

to Mickey's cowboy Caesar.

The only weak link in his
otherwise impregnable armor

is his devotion, his passion,
some would say his obsession

with his beauteous lady wife.

I'm trying to do you
a favor here, Mike,

but every time
I do you a favor,
it ends up costing me too.

Now, come on, Ros...
Why is Miss Kova still here?

That Range was supposed
to be finished this morning.

I'm not talking to you, Mike.
Sorry, boss.
Rodge is on the Range.

How many times
have I told you?
I don't want Roger up front.

This is a sanctuary
for the ladies. Where is he?

He's up in your office
with your husband.

Misha, darling, I'll have you
out of here in 20 minutes.

Rosalind,
I've got a spin class
in half an hour.

Twenty minutes
and no charge.

Lisa, champagne.

-Mike, are you still there?
- Of course
I'm still fucking here.

Right, well, if you're
still there, who's ordering
the fucking parts?

So what do you think?

Ringing the bell,
but not too loud.

Dipped in honey.

That's on the money.

But you always could make
a good cup of tea, Mickey.

Very nice.

Hello, Ros.

What the fuck
is going on in here?

I should have known
it was you behind this.

Rodge is supposed to be
working down there

and you're up here
blowing his brains out.

I'm on it, boss.
You wanna be.

Don't blame the Dodge,
dear.

You know he's got
a special nose

and he's doing
this old dog a favor.

Dodge, get down there
and earn your money.

Gone.

What you doing here anyway?

Thought I'd come by to have
a cup of tea with my wife.

Well, go on, then.
Put the kettle on.

Looks like
the deal's gone through.

Second thoughts?
No second thoughts.

I like middle age.

I like gentrification,
private schools, fine wines

and a spoonful of caviar
to help my medicine go down.

But most importantly,
I'm looking forward to
spending more time with you.

Course you are.

Look, I don't want you
knocking around here

feeling all unemployed
and lost with yourself.

Well, fuck me.

Most wives would beg
their other halves

to get out
of this game, but not you.

That's because
I know you, darling.

Look, you'll have to
do this elegantly, love.

If word spreads
that you're getting out,
that could read as weakness.

And if you smell smoke,
it's 'cause there's a fire,

and that could
get expensive.

So you're gonna have to
stamp that out
without any gentrification.

But not you, love.

Don't you do anything messy.

That's why you've
got people, remember?

I fucking love you, babe.

Course you do.

Any chance?

No, you can wait.

I've got a red-hot Russki
with her finger on the trigger.

Gotta deal with it.
I don't mind
the two of yous.

Go on, fuck off.

Fletcher...

why are you
wasting our time?

I know what happens
in my world
and what doesn't.

What I fail to recognize
is why Michael
should be motivated

to write you
a check for 20 million.

I find you
very impatient, Raymond.
I am a storyteller.

As they say in the film game,
I'm laying pipe.

Well, you'd better put
something through it soon.

So what is that?
Is that a barbecue as well?

-Yes, it is, Fletcher.
-I love a barbie.

That is a useful bit of plant,
then, isn't it?

So that heats up your knees
and cooks at the same time?

You gotta show me
how to get one of them.

Well, you can
take it with you
if you fuck off now.

Ray.

Is there any chance
of a steak?

Yeah, all right.
Got a bit of Wagyu in
the freezer as it happens.

-I've never had Wagyu.
-Yeah, well, it'll be wasted
on you, but it's all I've got.

I'll get it, mate.
Oh, no, you're all right.

Just stay right there.
Oh.

Ow, fuck me!

It's hot.

He's a sly fox,
that Fletcher.

Night-night, Aslan.

32 LS engines?

You got all these parts
on a 40-foot container?

Yeah.

How'd you get
your hands on that?

Ask no questions,
hear no lies.

Hence the price.

-So how much?
-Oh, no charge.

Okay, so what's the price?

A meeting with your husband.

Oh, fuck off.

That's not gonna happen.

It's in his interest.

Tell you what, keep the parts.
Consider it
a gesture of goodwill.

You know
how to get hold of me.

Well, I can't
promise anything.

Dry Eye, he got
his little sit-down
with Michael, didn't he?

Bold move, that,
coming in heavy,

sanctioned or unsanctioned...

by the dragon head himself,
Lord George.

Well, he's a naughty boy,
that George.

But Dry Eye,
oh, he's next generation,

and them Chinamen,
they upgrade quicker
than i-fucking-Phones.

Is he making moves?

Is he breaking out on his own?

Big man plans
behind Lord George's back?

To be fair, it was very nicely
played with 100 grand's worth
of free car parts,

because everyone knows
that the way to a man's heart
is through his wife.

You'd make a lovely wife,
Raymond.

Thank you for taking the time
to see me, Michael.

Lord George sends his best.

I only took this meeting
because Ros asked me to.

Make sure
to never approach her
like that again.

I meant no disrespect.

How can I help?

I understand
you're getting out.

Getting out.
Getting out of what?

Bed? My head?
The closet?

Don't flirt
with me, Dry Eye.
I'm a busy man.

I hear you're
getting out of the game.

And I would like you
to consider an offer.

Look, I'm gonna stop you
right there

so you don't waste any more
of your precious breath,
young man.

This is not a discussion
for the two of us.

Unlike the salt and pepper,
it's not on the table.

This is a big number.

Cash.

I am not for sale.

And even if I was,
you're several zeros short.

Now, you may be able to buy
your man's sausage for that,

but to me it just looks
rude at breakfast.

You're out of touch.

You're forgetting
the laws of the jungle,
looking down on me.

Now, when the silverback's
got more silver than back...

he best move on...

before he gets moved on.

It's not dignified.

It's beneath you, Michael.
Trying to do you a favor.

This is a big fucking number.

And this?

This is a big fucking gun.

Eyes not so dry now, are they?

Hurts, does it?

You looking for your balls
or a hole in the wall?

-Fuck!
-Where the fuck
do you think you're going?

Because you're not going out
the way you came in,
you deluded duck-eating cunt.

-Talking to me
about the laws of the jungle.

What was it? Something
about being beneath me?

Silver on back?

There's only one rule
in this fucking jungle.

When the lion's hungry,
he eats.

You're wrong, Fletcher.

That's not how Michael works.

Yeah, I know. I know. I was
just having a bit of fun.

Every movie needs
a bit of action, doesn't it?

And it's not like Michael
doesn't have a reputation.

Had a reputation.

He's been gentrified.

...big fucking number.

I know how you lot
love fables, so let me
share a little fable with you.

There once was
a young and foolish dragon

who came to ask
a wise and cunning lion

about acquiring
his territory.

Now, the lion, he wasn't
interested, so he told
the little dragon to fuck off.

But the dragon
couldn't understand
what "fuck off" meant,

so he persisted
and continued
to ask the lion

about acquiring
his territory.

So the lion took
the little dragon for a walk

and put five bullets
in his little dragon head.

End of story.

Now, allegedly
there's a message in there.

I don't know what it is,
but you're a clever boy,
Dry Eye.

Maybe you can
explain it to me.

I think your time's up,
chaps.

Michael, you should recons--

Just marinade on it.

In the meantime, fuck off.

Oh, I bet Mickey
was pleased he took
that meeting, wasn't he?

Yes, it went very well.

Yeah.
Do you want the top
or the bottom?

The bottom, please, darling.

Now, things started to unravel
after that meeting.

Didn't Mickey
get a rat infestation
at one of his farms?

Come on.

Stealth, stealth.

Go.

Ballys down.

Let's move. Go, go, go, go.

Shit.

Oh, my days.

Fucking hell.

He said
there'd be a bit of puff.

Yeah, they weren't joking.

Oi, fellas.
It's already packed.

Let's not mess about.

Let's load it up, boys.

Who the fuck are you lot?

Fuck. Cover up.

Do you know
who owns this gaff?

We don't give a fuck.

I think you got off
on the wrong stop.

Oi, Tezza!

- What?
-Fancy a row?

Who are these jokers?

They want our gear.

Marv!

Who's this cunt?

John!

Oh, hello.
It's Dad's Army.

Oi, Frank.

What's this?
Teddy bears' picnic?

Oi, Mo!

Any more rabbits
in that warren?

You lads fancy a warm-up?

Not for you Jelly Babies.

On three, lads.

Three.

Hey!

What? You wanna
call him back, Granddad?

Fuck!

Boss, let me get
two burgers on the stove.

Get that quick, understand?

And I want two chips as well.

What is this smell
of wee in here?

Who the fuck
is this joke, man?

Don't stand near me, son.

You got your mouthwash
muddled up with cat piss.

Take two steps back
and wait your turn.

You better fuck off, old man,
or I'll wet you.

The only thing you can wet's
your underpants, son.

Now, back two steps.

Trigger. That's you. Go on.

That's you. You're up, bruv.
Yeah?

Do him. Fucking do him, lad.

- Stick it in him, bruv.

Now, if you're gonna stab,
stab, Trigger.

-Don't, you know, dance.

What are yous,
like a Four Tops tribute act
or something?

The Foreskins. The Redskins.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.
Here come the Indians.

Bit of the old Northern Soul,
is it, boys?

Putting the gay
back in Marvin Gaye.

I'm on fire over here, lads.
Come on, I need some
back and forth. Come on.

What have you got for me?
Now, make it quick.
Make it funny.

Fuck you.

Jeez, that's disappointing.
No, no, not that.

Go again. Go again.

Now, make it sharp.
Cut me with it.

-Fucking do him, laddie.
-Come on.

Yeah. Yeah.

-Oh, shit!

Come on then, you dickhead.

- My eyes!

Yous are embarrassing
yourself here, lads.

Kids stab, girls shoot,
boys punch.

Grown-ups fight
with their heads. That's
where the real battle is.

Up here, in the gray.

He sparked me out, bruv.

Now, wake up, lads.
Life's quick, you're slow.

Life's hard on a bone top.

Come on down the gym.
We'll see what
we can do with yous.

Hang on.
Are you the coach?

Coach, it's Ernie.

Shit. It's the fucking coach,
bro. It's the fucking coach.

Ernie, what is it?

Ball's in the back of the net.

We've rung the bell here
and we're gonna include you,
because you're our mentor.

I don't know what
you're talking about, but I
don't like the sound of it.

We've landed
a load of sticky bush.
Listen to me, now, Ernie.

Walk away.

It's too late. We're at
the gym now unloading the van.

You took my van?

Wait there.
I'll be back in ten minutes.

I'm sorry to intrude,
but I think you need
to see this, boss.

It's Eggs Benny,
'cause I never get cracked.

They call me Ghost, 'cause
you never see me coming.

My name's Ernie.
'Cause the left hand's fast
and the right hand's sturdy.

Jim.

Why are we watching
fight porn, Ray?

Because it's fight porn
at one of my farms.

Coach.
Jim, put that shit out.

I've only just--
Jim, into the office.

Benny, put down that box
of scorpions. Follow Jim.

It weren't my idea, Coach.

Oh, shit.

Mal, what the fuck
did you do
to your nose?

You have a fight
in a week, man.

Looks a lot worse
than what it is.

I'm a hundred percent.
Yeah?

Two thousand hits!

Oh, my days!

I look mad in this.
The lighting is banging.

Make sure you get
the upper cut in.
It looks gangsta.

Is that what I think it is?

Yeah,
but the best version of it.

Tell me you didn't put
that fight porn online.

It's white hot, Coach.
The hits.

It's gone
intergalactic.

What was I thinking,

leaving you kids alone
unsupervised?

Take it down. Now!

I've gotta say,
I was impressed.

The way they fought?
They're on point, guvnor.

Whoever trained them
knows what he's doing.

Thank you.
That's enough.

-Well, I'm just saying.
-Well, quit saying.

Okay, thank you.

No sooner do I
entertain Matthew's offer
to buy me out

and reject Dry Eye's offer

does one of my farms
get raided.

First time ever.

Doesn't feel like
a coincidence, does it?

It isn't.
There's fuckery afoot.

-How did they find it?
-I don't know.

I'm making inquiries.

What about Matthew?

He's gonna need reassuring

before he parts
with 400 big ones.

So many questions
unanswered, Ray.

I mean, who'd be smart enough
to find one of Mickey's farms?

Apart from me, of course.

And who would be bold enough
to make such a move?

Especially to film it all
and then post it all online?

Because that is really rubbing
your face in it, isn't it?

I'm here to help, Michael.

I'm your friend, your ally,

your Santa Claus
for all seasons,

and I'd like you to know
my team of elves
can be very persuasive.

Persuasive? And why
would I need persuasive?

Well, I hear you might have
had a little trouble.

Now, you helped me before
when my source ran dry,

so I'm just returning
the favor and reminding you

I have effectual friends.

Elves?

Elves?

Yes. You said elves.
Did I?

Mm.

No trouble over here, Matthew.
No trouble at all.

So we brought you
a token.

You did?

And what might this be?

It's a paperweight
to keep down all the paper
I'm about to give you.

-Well, it looks like a gun.
-And it's a paperweight.

Seeing how in this country,
unlike in our homeland,
they're illegal.

So is riding your bicycle
at night without lights.

Laws are there
as a guideline.

In France, it's illegal
to call a pig Napoleon,

but just try and stop me.

I quite like it.
You're very kind.

Thank you.
Hands across the sea.

Mickey calmed down the Jew

and it seems the deal
is still going ahead.

But bad timing,
jeopardizing deals,
shutting down farms.

It could be an expensive
disaster if Mickey doesn't
get this cleaned up.

Should I be scared?

I don't think so,
but I like to err
on the side of caution.

What does that mean?

It means I'm going to
have to close shop,

shut this farm down
and make it disappear.

You might see
a couple of trucks around here

over the next few days,
but that's it.

Well, I'm not gonna pretend
that missing out

on a million pounds
commission a year isn't
going to hurt somewhat.

The pain is being shared.

Stolen product,
loss of earnings meantime,

the cost of shutting down,
the expense of
setting up elsewhere.

It's funny, really, but
it couldn't be worse timing.

How so?

I've...

I've just learned we need
a whole new roof apparently.

As I say, I'm as upset
about this as you are.

Henry.
Mickey.

The toffs
look after Mickey. Now Mickey
looks after the toffs.

But there's a lot of toffs
to look after.

Henry.
And when it rains...

Let me take care of the roof.

...it fucking pours.

Now, there's only one thing
that needs more looking after
than a toff,

and that is
a toff's offspring.

Which brings me neatly back
to Big Dave's story,

the very reason
I'm sitting here
sipping whiskey with you

in the first fucking place.

This is how Big Dave
is gonna bring Mickey down,

by using and abusing
Lord Pressfield's
much-beloved child.

Lord Pressfield's daughter,
the famous and talented Laura,
all self-hate and harm,

has fallen for
this Power Noel's
smacked-out dark charm,

and I want the lot of them,

especially that
slimy little jam rag Pearson,

in bed with a skint,
discredited toff,

and supplying gear to young
and reckless rock-star royals,

royals unbridled
by distracted parents

too busy skiing
on the Swiss Alps to notice

and too fucking stupid
to care.

I like it.
You're good at this, boss.

Yeah, I know what I'm good at,
Hammy. Fuck off.

Aristocratic, junkie, bulimic,
auto-tuned singing daughter

shacked up with
some smacked-out,
once-upon-a-time pop star,

and all looked after
by Mickey Pearson.

I like it.
You know, I like it a lot.

We wrapped her
in cotton wool.

But she was
our little Lor-la.

Charlie called her that
because she couldn't
say Laura at first.

We miss her terribly, Mickey.

I've failed as a parent.

You mustn't keep
beating yourself up, dear.

Anne's right, Charles.
You mustn't blame yourselves.

It sounds as though Laura
fell in with the wrong crowd

at a time when she was
particularly vulnerable.

What more
could we do?

It's happened
to so many of our friends.

It's a curse.

-Do you mind
if I look into it?
-So you'll help us?

Let me see what I can do.

You should get yourself
one of these, boss.

Well, that's the plan.

Everything all right?

You remember
their daughter?

Yeah, Laura.
Nice girl. Good voice.

Teeny sort of
spunk-funk fuck pop.
Shame about the habit.

She's gone missing.
They've asked us to
find her, bring her home.

Mm-hmm.

Is that a problem?

Well, I had a feeling
you might ask me this, boss,

so I did some due diligence.

I know where she is
and I don't like it.

-I'd rather
we didn't get involved.
-Why not?

She's on
a South London council estate.

- So?
-It's out of our jurisdiction.

There's too many moving parts,
parts that we can't control.

What if she doesn't
wanna come?
It's gonna get messy.

Well, that may be true,
but you're still doing it.

I accept that.

But can't you
send Frazier instead?

No, I can't
send Frazier instead.

You're my best man.
I want you.

It's just that
I don't like smackies.

It's the filth and the grime
and the grub in the tub.

I'm not asking your OCD
to spend the weekend
with them, Ray.

Think of it
as philanthropy.

Come on,
you're driving.

No good deed
goes unpunished.

And this is
where you have your moment,
isn't it, Raymondo?

This is where
you step on stage

and set the dominoes flying
every-fucking-where.

Meaning what?

Meaning no good deed
goes unpunished.

Knock, knock-knock,
knock, knock.

Buenos dias.

Wrong door.

Ah, ah, ah.

My name is Raymond Smith.

Can I step inside
for a moment, please?

How can I help you,
Officer?

I'm not the police. No, I just
need a moment of your time.

It's about Laura Pressfield.

I don't know anyone
of that name.

It would be much easier
for all parties concerned

if I could just step inside
for a moment.

No, fuck off.

Jeez.

That's a nice whip, bruv.

Killer motor. It's a shame
about them rims, though.

Yeah, lend us the keys.

Put some chrome twenty-twos
on that.

Hey, my man's got the Dessies
and the bootcuts, you know.

Deffo linking a jessie.

What the fuck?

What are you doing here?
Now, now, now.

Get the fuck out.
Now, now, now.

As you was, boys and girls.

Sit down.

Thank you.

Shall we have
a little bit of fresh air?

Who the fuck
are your mates, Brown?

No need to get excited,
young man. We will be gone
in a few moments.

No, no, no,
you'll be gone before then.
Get the fuck out now.

I can be dangerous
if I want to be.
Get the fuck out now.

Sit down, Power,
before you get yourself
into more trouble.

How d'you know my name? How
the fuck does he know my name?

I know all your names.

Apart from
that little anomaly.

I know where
you went to school.

I know who your parents are.

And I know
you'll suck a cock
for a five-pound bag.

Now sit.

Just so we're clear,
I work for a man,

a powerful man.

Michael Pearson.

Ten points to you, Laura.

Who's Michael Pearson?

Friend of her father's.
Runs London's puff game.

A big dick swinger.

What is your name,
young man?

-Aslan.
-And where are you
from, Aslan?

You don't sound like
one of the natives.

Disneyland.

Sounds about right.

Well, you are correct.
He is a big dick swinger.

But I wouldn't want him
to hear you say that.

It's best you forget
what he apparently does
for a living after we depart.

Now, Laura, your father's
asked us to bring you home.

She's not going anywhere.

Do you mind if I sit?

Yes.

I don't build a joint
like the Americans
and the new school--

back-strapping,
jockstrapping, coke-wrapping,
and all that bollocks.

I like a good old-fashioned
50-50 mix, me.

That's how we used to play.

If there's one thing
I will never understand,

it's why you lot
get addicted to heroin.

If there's one drug
you should not chase,
it is the dirty dragon.

Did you ever
give it a spin, Bunny?

No, not me, Ray.
I don't even puff anymore.

Of course not.
Bunny likes the gym.
You can probably see that.

-What are you
benching these days?
-Three wheels a side.

What about you, Brown?

What about me?
What could I lift?

You couldn't lift
a wheel of cheese, you cunt.

Now...

if you wanna be naughty,

what happened to
a little smoke and a poke
and a glass of wine,

some Barry White,
candles around the bath

and put your finger
in the missus?

Who's Barry White?

Big black geezer.

Sexy voice.

I'm-- I'm lost.

Am I in the bath
with Barry White's finger
in my missus?

Be quiet, Brown.
You were lost long before
Barry White walked in.

If you lot are unhappy,

you should share your thoughts
with your friends.

Nice friends. Talk it out,
find a positive solution.

But, no,
all you lot choose squalor.

Drowning in
your liberal white guilt.

Sorry,
what am I guilty of?

Being a cunt, Brown.

Being a cunt.

Anyway, I'm not your shrink.

I'm just trying to radiate
some positive vibes
man to man.

I mean, that's what this puff
game used to be all about.

Anyway...

back to you, Laura,

queen in this here
kingdom of shit.

A single rose
in a cauldron of thorns.

Are you ready
to turn the corner?

Open the curtains
and let the light in?

Do your mum and dad a favor
and try the impossible,

make yourself happy.

All right.

Fucking hell.
That was easy.

All right, fantastic.

Well, in that case, Bunny,

will you help Laura
with her things, please?

Incoming.

It's all right, Bunny.
I don't really have anything.

It's a shithole anyway.

Don't go. Please, wait!

Sit down!

Touch me again,
I'll cut your fucking arm off.

It's all right, Bunny.
Keep going.

I just will not be
manhandled by a junkie cunt.

Dave,
keep the kids in school
for one minute.

My man
probably wants to buy weed.

-What, da Loud Pack, boss?
-Or the Purple Haze then.

My man just pulled out
a donkey choker, bruv.

Keep your puff.

Buy yourself a sticky book
and a packet of sweets.

All-in!

Now, now, now.

You cunt.

Fuck you!

Hey, that is
a naughty kettle, bruv.

Hey, what's the time,
Mr. Wolf?

It's time for you
to fuck off, lads.

-Fucking hit him, Brown!

Ah. He's bought you a gun.

That's a nice little gift.

Five years in prison
all in one little box.

Oh, but that's not a gun,
dear. That's a paperweight.

Course it is,
along with a family
of six baby bullets.

Guess we'll have to
get rid of that.

-Hello, Ray.
-Rosalind.

Sorry for the interruption.

What do you need, Ray?

Laura Pressfield
has been returned home safely.

Good.

What else?

One of her associates
had an accident.

Shit.
He fell out of
a window, boss.

What's the time, Mr. Wolf?

It's time for you
to fuck off, lads.

Oh, shit.

Sounds like
quite an extreme accident.

Yeah, it was more like
a death, really.

Oh, shit.
Selfie, bruv!

So you killed someone?

No. It was the gravity
that killed him.

-Who was he?
-Aslan.

Some Russian kid
with tracks on his arms.

Russian kid?
That doesn't sound good.

Anyone see you?

Little selfie? Selfie, bruv?

Shit.

Nothing was recorded.
We left it clean.

The body?
I've dealt with that.

This is not ideal.
It is not.

You can't be fooled
by how those junkies dress.

They went to schools,
expensive schools.
Aslan.

Their parents
have money, lots of money.

And money can be a problem.

Shit.

I bet you told Mickey nothing
about what happened.

You're fishing, Fletcher,
because you've got no idea.

You're right, I am fishing.

Look at this. I'm fishing
in my little baggie.

And what have I found?

Oh.

Thank you.
Or should I say...

spasibo?

What's that young man
doing?

Is he looking for
something on the floor?

Frazier.

Lads, we're gonna
need those phones.

Hey, run. Move, bruv. Move.

Bunny, get him.
Fucking clean that up.

- Come on then,
catch me, dickhead.
-Little cunt.

Wanker!

What you saying now, fam? Huh?
Now I've got backup.

You couldn't back up
a phone, you cunt.

Bruv, this guy's trying
to take my phone.

- Fucking do him.
-Back the fuck up!

How you gonna talk your way
out of this one, mate?

Easy, lads.

I'm sure you're all
roadmen, gangsters,

proper naughty boys
and all that bollocks.

But I come in peace.

I'm not trying to steal it.
I'm trying to buy it.

For good money.
Honest money.

Yeah? What, this phone?

-How much?
-A full bag.

Then I'll be gone,
like the darkness at dawn.

How about you give us that bag
and be gone anyway?

Stop fucking around, cunt.

Give me the phone
and take the money.

Drop the fucking money
and run, boy.

Right.

- Fuck!
-Move, move, move!

Now...

put the phone on the ground.

-Ta, ta, ta, ta, ta, ta.

Fucking prick.
What are you doing, Dave?

- It's on him somewhere.
-I'm trying.
Just give me a second. Fuck.

Ray?

Can I use your toilet?
Just a pee-pee?

Fletcher, shoes off inside.

Leave them by the door.

Yes, Mommy.

Come on, bruv.
Where's your pace, brother?

You can do better than that.

Wanker.

Come on, Bunny,
stop fucking about.

Look at you sweat, bruv.

Nearly there.
Nearly there. Nearly there.

Lift those legs up.
Come on, bro.

You should have brought
your running shoes today, bro.

Trying out for the Olympics,
are we?

It's fucking Usain Bolt.
Come on, Usain.

Phone.

Sorry about that.

Can I go home now?

Course you can, darling.
Course you can.

Is there a problem here, Ray?

I don't know.

Is there a problem here,
Fletcher?

I see no problem at all.

I forgot to wash my hands.

Next time call first.

Sorry, guv.

And you haven't
heard a whisper?

How can so much bush
go missing
and nobody know nothing?

Ah, I've heard nothing,
Coach, honestly.

Nothing on the street.
But you know what?

There is this geezer
called Mickey Pearson.

Who the fuck
is Mickey Pearson?
Ah, you know him.

He runs the bush game.
He's a horrible cunt.

You don't wanna
step on his toes.

But there's no way
your lads jimmied their way
into his car,

so I wouldn't concern yourself
with that.

All right, you know
where to find me, Chasa.

Keep your ear to the ground.

Primetime, in you get.

Ernie.

Did you get
that Chinese fella's name?

Phuc.
What?

Phuc, like "fuck" with a "Ph."

Don't get street
with me, Ernie.
Where does he live?

Posh part of Croydon.
Drop the rope.

There is no posh part
of Croydon.

-It's comparative, innit?
-Oi, Ernie, what are you doing?

Why aren't you training,
you black cunt?

I'm on my own here.

Did he just call me
a black cunt?

Yes, he did.
He can't do that.
That's racist.

But, you are black
and you are a cunt, Ernie.
Those are the facts.

I don't think Primetime cares
what race you run in.

The fact that I'm black
has nothing to do
with the fact I'm a cunt.

He didn't say black people
were cunts, Ernie.

He was being specific to you.
One has nothing to do
with the other.

And I'd go a step further,
if I'm not mistaken,

and say it was a term
of familiar affection.

Primetime's a Gypsy.
I wouldn't call him
a pikey cunt.

Why not? He might be
very understanding.

Only if it comes from
a place of love, of course.

Now, back to
the issue at hand.

I need that Chinese
geezer's address, okay?

You'll have it
by the morning, Coach.

Good lad.
And, Coach...

What?
I've got some good news.

-What?
-I found out
whose weed we took.

And now
you fucking tell me!

Did I say stop?

Ernie, this is not
the fucking time

to keep your cards
close to your chest.

Just tell me his name
isn't Mickey Pearson.

Blimey, Coach,
are you a Gypsy too?

You been reading tea leaves,
got a crystal ball?

That is not good news,
Ernie.

Mickey Pearson is
terrible news in the face of
a violent and expensive debt.

I'm here
to see your boss.

Feel free to talk.

I gather
you're the consigliere
of the outfit

that my boys
were stupid enough
to fuck around with.

On that note,
I'd like to extend
my apologies on their behalf.

My boys, they're naive,

they've had hard lives
and they're just starting
to come good,

but they're my lads,
my responsibility,

so it's me that should be
accountable for their actions.

Now, I can return your goods,
but I can't
return the inconvenience,

the time,
the fucking headache.

And so I offer you my loyalty,
my word, my time,

until that debt is settled.

I'll make amends,
but just leave me lads alone.

First of all, I'm gonna
need to know how your lads
got the information

about where our farm
was sited,

'cause that's not
common knowledge.

Once we've overcome
that little challenge,
then we can talk.

Well, I can do
better than that.

His name is Phuc,
but it's spelled with a "Ph,"
so it sounds like "fu-uck."

So it's Phu-uc?

What?
Yeah, something like that.

Anyway, he's the kid that
gave us the skunk farm job.
Do you know him?

Yeah, we've met before,
haven't we, Phu-uc... Phuc?

That's the one.
Phu-uc?

-Phuc.
-Phuc.

All right.

Don't do anything stupid, now,
son, right?

How did you know
the location?

I need my inhaler.

Yeah, in a minute.

I need you to tell me
how you knew
the location of our farm.

I've been trailing you
for months. Dry Eye
was given the address.

I can't breathe!
I need it, please.

All right, Phuc.
Calm the fu-uck down.

Right, here, steady yourself.
For fuck's sake.

Sort him out.

All right.

Here, here, look at me.

You all right?
Yeah.

Where's your inhaler?
There.

Right, here,
take a blim.

Now, good boy.
There you go, son.
You all right?

Fuck!

No, stop, don't!

Fuck's sake, Ray. You need
to invest in some parachutes.

There's a pattern
emerging here.

I'm sorry, boss.

And who's this
jumping Phuc boy, anyway?

It's Dry Eye's man.
You mean Lord George's man.

It could just be
Dry Eye's doing. He's been
getting bold lately.

Yeah.
Well, they still all
work for Lord George.

I'm gonna take care
of this one myself.

Lord George.

Mr. Pearson.

And to what do I owe?

What you watching?

I'm watching the telly.

What you watching
on the telly?

I'm watching
the horse racing.

Live satellite
from Hong Kong.

My only vice.

Well, that's not
strictly true, is it?

Meaning?

Meaning I've always taken vice
to be the definition

of any criminal activity
or wicked behavior

involving prostitution,
pornography or drugs,

so, no...

racing is definitely not
your only vice, your lordship.

I'd say you're eyebrows deep
in every vice known to man.

There is a difference.
Being?

I facilitate. I don't
participate in any of
the aforementioned vices.

What about tea?

What about tea?

Well, that too is a vice.

Caffeine is a drug,
don't you know?

So is that
what you're here
to talk to me about? Tea?

Sweet Mary Jane is my vice
of choice, as you well know.

Of course, I'm addicted to
selling it, not consuming it.

I specifically chose
to deal in marijuana.

Sure, I could see
there was more to be made

in shifting the white
or the brown powder,
as you so chose,

but, you see, my jam,
it doesn't kill anyone,

and I like that.

While your poison...

is and always has been
a destroyer of worlds.

So, yes, your facilitation is
most definitely participation.

But I'm not here
to give you a sermon
on situational ethics.

So why the fuck
are you here?

You're starting a war
with me, George,

and I'm trying to moonwalk
with elegance here,

but I'm finding it
very fucking difficult.

Laura!

I don't fuck around with puff.

You send your man Dry Eye
around my place

to see if he can buy
my business for a few beans.

Laura!

You didn't
think I'd find out?

Having me followed
for months?

-Yeah. You crossed the line,

and that comes
with a price.

You raided
one of my locations.

You know the rules,
George.

What the fuck
were you thinking?

You raided one of
my locations.

What the fuck
were you thinking?

What the fuck
were you thinking, George?

Should you
try and undermine me,

or should you attempt
to threaten my position again,

I will be forced to accept
your call to arms.

Do you understand?

Good.

Now, I can see you're feeling
somewhat under the weather.

That's because
I spiked your tea

with a nasty little parasitic
genus called shigella.

Left unattended, you
will shit yourself to death
before the sun doth set.

I suggest taking
two of these fizzy biscuits.

You'll be fine
in an hour or two,

long enough to consider
your past indiscretions.

And, George,
if I can get to you
in your own kitchen...

I can get to you anywhere.

Did you do it?
Do what?

Did you raid
Mickey Pearson's farm?

No.
So you're telling me that Phuc
did this behind your back.

Well, let's just say this.
He didn't do it
in front of it.

He did it
without my blessing.

But you did go behind my back

and offer to buy his business.

Yeah. Yeah, I did.

Now, let me warn you
the way you warn me.

There comes a point where
the young succeed the old.

Don't push me.

There are some things
I don't know about.

Something between Dry Eye
and Lord George.

Now, whatever it was,
someone killed Lord George.

Anyone else might think
that was you or Mickey.

Shall we continue
with our little story?

Does that arouse
your interest, Raymond?

So Matthew knows Dry Eye.

So what?
Well, yes, I agree.

Perhaps they were
just meeting up

to talk about holidaying
in the Maldives

or the long-term
implications
of leaving the EU.

But I filmed it,
had it lip-read,
translated and transcribed.

Rather like the classic
1974 film The Conversation,

starring Gene Hackman
and John Cazale.

You know, Coppola
slipped that one out
between the Godfathers.

It wasn't really for me.
It's a bit boring,
to be honest.

Now, can I just say,
that Matthew, he's quite
something, isn't he?

He's not
your average American.

He's a Mr. International.
Even speaks
a bit of Cantonese.

Come here. You play Dry Eye
and I shall be Matthew.

Come on.

All right.

Try and get it in time
with his lips, all right?

Yeah, yeah.
Ready?

Roll camera. Action.

There was an incident.
Lord George--

Fuck's sake, Raymond.

It's a bit fucking wooden.

Put something into it,
you know, a bit of welly.

And action.

There was an incident.

Lord George
didn't come through it.

Didn't come through it?

The last thing you need to do
is attract any octopus.

Octopus?

What does that mean?
It's not a very good
translation.

No, there's nothing wrong
with the translation.

Matthew's not that fluent.
And it's Cantonese.

Just go with it
and fill in the blanks.

And action.

It's all on Michael.
He's to blame.

That is not a smart move.

Don't tell me
what a smart move is.

I beg for your pardon.

You heard me
perfectly well.

There will be repercussions
for Michael's actions.

You think you're
running things, do you?

Don't stroke my mouse hair.

What does "mouse hair" mean?
Yeah, I think what he means
is don't jeopardize my deal,

but I admit that one's
a bit of a googly.

Then Matthew loses it a bit

and his translation goes
completely out of the window.

Something about springtime
and sweaters.

I think what he means
is he's upset.

And then Dry Eye
says something,

but some cunt
moved in front of me,

so I didn't get that
either.

Your Cantonese
is dog shit,

so I'm gonna say this
in English

and I'm gonna say it once,

so listen to me,
Rubenstein.

This is how
it's gonna play out.

You're gonna
back the fuck off...

and I'm gonna
take it all.

And you will pay me
my respect.

And there you have it.
That's all I've got.

Sorry. Show's over.

But I think
it's quite clear

that they're not just
mah-jongg partners, are they?

Mm?

Not all of that
was clear, Fletcher.

I mean,
according to you,

we already know Matthew
wants to buy Michael out.

-So why is that news?
-Oh, don't you worry,
my darling.

We are gonna
come to the news.

I'm approaching my climax.

Dry Eye.

I trust you will
make Michael Pearson
pay for this.

You are
the dragon head now.

Solidify your position.

It will be done, Uncle.

So Dry Eye
got the upgrade he was after,
didn't he, Raymond?

The question is,
what was he gonna do with it

now that he's
Billy Big Bollocks?

Give me ten minutes,
Ray.

Boss.

Hello, Ros.

It's date night tonight,

9:00 p.m., you and I,
River Cafe.

Nine o'clock? I'll be there.

We're closed.

Hang up.

No.

Hang the fucking phone up.

Who's there?

Ros, who's there?

What you doing here,
Dry Eye?

It's warming up now,
isn't it?

At this point, I'm guessing
that you didn't even know

that Lord George
was dead yet,

let alone
what Dry Eye was up to.

Hello, Dry Eye.
What do you want?

Fancy a boiled sweet?

-No.
-Suit yourself.

Who the fuck was he?

I'm not exactly
sure what happened next,

because you two managed
to give me the slip.

They got Rosalind.
Call Roger.

Oh, goody. Another bottle.

Hold on. You were there?

Yeah.
Of course I was there.

He's not picking up. Maybe you
should put your seat belt on.

Yeah, let me call Rosalind.
Let me do it.

I got it.
Just watch the road.

Now, Rosalind,
don't be alarmed,

but you're gonna
come with me

until I can resolve
all these issues
with your husband.

I'm not going anywhere.

She's not picking up.
It's just ringing.

-Fuck.
-We could just slow down
a little bit.

Fuck!

You know how it works.

You either come with me
or Tony here is gonna
make you come with me.

You're in my office
under my roof.

It's not your position
for Tony to do anything

other than to fuck off back
from whence he came.

Tony.

What's that?
Is that a paperweight?

Funny you should say that.
Turns out anything with weight
can be a paperweight.

What are you gonna do with it?
Well, that's up to you,
isn't it?

Either you do
as I tell you to
and use the door,

or I'm gonna shoot fat Tony
right between the eyes.

You see, this gun's
only got two bullets,

so I'm not gonna fuck about
illustrating its significance.

You're gonna have to
trust me on that.

The alternative
is a little bit absolute.

I'm gonna have
to check your grammar on that.

It can't be
just a little bit absolute.

It either is or it isn't.

Whatever it is,
I've lost my patience.

I'm telling you,
I will squeeze this trigger
and Tony will be no more.

-Tony.

Listen to me, cunt.
You take one step forward,

it'll be
the last fucking step
you ever take.

Tony, get on it.

I fucking dare you.

Just calm down.

I'm leaving.

I guess that's
your two bullets, eh?

Rosalind!

Rosalind!

Stay fucking still!

Hello, babe.

Hello, love.

So you're
basing your whole crescendo

on a figment
of your imagination.

I'm basing my whole crescendo
on the sum of its parts.

A few minor details aside,
I wouldn't have
any trouble at all

selling this juicy peach
of a drama to Big Dave.

He'd cream
his fucking panties.

You're too smart to be
blackmailing us, Fletcher.

Yes, yes, and obviously I've
taken precautionary measures.

You can do
all kinds of horrible things
to me if you want.

I might even enjoy them.

But you'd have to
leave the country
and never come back.

So is that
the story over now,
Fletcher?

All this, this whole buildup,
was leading to this next part.

This is the news that
you were asking about before.

Ready?

Matthew.

He's gonna need some people
to run his business here

when he buys it
from Michael, right?

He's gonna need
a reliable pair of hands,
someone like you.

Hmm. So why didn't he
ask you, Raymond?

I don't know.
It's none of my business.

Because, I'll tell you,

he already had someone
earmarked for the role.

Dry Eye.
He promised Dry Eye
the job,

but only if Dry Eye
helped drive down the price
of Mickey's business.

You see, it was Matthew
who told Dry Eye
the location of Mickey's farm,

so he could steal
his white widow super cheese

to cause ripples
and reduce the market value.

And that is why Phuc,
in turn,

got those juice-swilling,
acne-backed muscle Marys
to do the job.

It was Matthew

who set this whole
train of events off.

But what he did not
plan on, you see...

Fuck you,
you old cunt!

I'll piss on your grave.

...was Dry Eye...

killing Lord George.

Now, Dry Eye does not
want to be subservient
to Matthew anymore.

Doesn't wanna be
subservient to anyone.

This is how
it's gonna play out.

You're gonna
back the fuck off

and I'm gonna
take it all.

Dry Eye likes
the smell of power
and does not like Matthew.

So, the little dragon
needed a gentle reminder of
who was really running things.

You've been
in this paddling pool
for two minutes.

I've been swimming
in the ocean with the sharks
for 20 years.

I'll tell you
how this plays out.

You will drown...

and then my Mossad crabs
will eat you.

And this, my love,
is why I want my hard-earned
20 million pounds.

Because not only do I
know exactly how Mickey's
business operates,

but I also know
that the very man
he's trying to sell it to

is trying to force him
into selling it on the cheap

and has indirectly
started a war.

So, you see, I think
you should be calling me
your trusted consigliere,

or your spy
behind the lines,

your intellectual
reconnaissance,
if you prefer.

I'm impressed.

You certainly know
more than I do.

I'm impressed not only
by your information,

but by your imagination.

Thank you very much.

So you've got 72 hours.

And I would just reiterate
that if anything
happens to me,

I do have my insurance policy
in place.

Everything will
go to Big Dave,
and from him to the public,

and you, my love,
will go to Mars.

So, strong recommendation,
just pay up

and watch me
recede into the sunset
blowing kisses, yes?

Well, then,
time to use the door,
you black bastard.

Well,
that's just silly, isn't it,
'cause I'm not black.

No, but your fucking soul is,
you dark cunt.

Now, out of my house,
'cause I'm going to bed.

Can I come with you?

No, but you can go
smoke the exhaust pipe
in the back of your hearse.

I might come anyway.

You'll just hear me
scratching about in the dark,

wanking into a hanky.

All right, so, 20 million.

You've got 72 hours,
starting now.

Ticktock, ticktock.

And I'm gone.

Ticktock.

Ticktock.

He's just left.

He thinks he's very clever.

Start with Big Dave.

Now, you keep this
between you and me, Hammy,

but Fletcher's been in touch.
He says he's got what we need.

Careful, boss.
Fletcher's ass belongs
to the highest bidder.

Yeah.
He says he wants 150 grand.

But if it's proper, it's worth
a whole week's exclusive.

Well, what does he
have exactly?

He was just
tickling me nuts,

but he says
he wants to meet Saturday.

So keep it free.

Yeah, pronto.

Oi, you can't park there,
mate. Move the van.

Don't worry, friend.
We'll be gone in a minute.

We're not a newspaper.
We're a blood sport.

Oi, Russ. Move the van.

I'm on it, boss.

Move it. Now.

-I said in a minute.
-Oi, spunk bubble.

Get rid of
the fucking van.

I'm warning you,
Russ does karate.

Careful, boys.
Russ does karate.

Russ, if you know
what's good for you,

get in the car now.

Sorry, boss.
I'm only a blue belt.

You melt.

Now what? We're making
a YouTube movie? Eh?

Break dancing?

I'm warning you.
I'm fucking powerful.

We know all that.
Why don't you tell us all about
it in the back of the van?

I'm not going.
I'm not fucking-- No!

No.

Get him in there.

Unbelievable.

Well, well, well.

You're all right, Big Dave.
You're in safe hands now.

No need to panic, okay?
Who are you?

Don't worry about that
right now.

Look...

Look, whatever's
gone on here,

I just need
to get back to work.

If you let me go,
I'll just forget all about it.

I'll have you back to work
in short order, my friend.

Now, I believe
you're a reporter.

And there's something
I wanna report to you.

Now, it seems for
this brief moment in time

I've found my way
into the film business,

and last night I made a film
with an impressively sized
farmyard pig.

Morning, sir.
Two cups of tea.

One with sugar, one without.

All right, lads,
go on, give us a minute.

There are some wet wipes
there over your shoulder.

Your clothes are neatly folded
there on the bench.

Now, in due course,
you're gonna press
the space bar on this computer

and you're gonna witness your
participation in said film.

Now, that little drug we
gave you last night really...

loosened up
your inhibitions, man.

The only thing you'll
need to do to stop this
little creative expression

from becoming
a social media sensation

is lose any interest
you have in the future
of Mickey Pearson.

I'm gonna leave you now
to clean yourself up.

Space bar, yeah?
Have a hot drink as well.

It might make you feel
a little bit better.

It was a fucking rough night
for you.

Enjoy the show.

How's your man, then,
Coach?
Ah, he'll survive.

Wouldn't have been the pig
I would have chosen, though.

We know what bit that is.

Let me tickle that belly.

-You are so naughty.

-Good Lord.
-I was there
and I'm still shocked.

Squeal for me, piggy.

-Is that who I think it is?
-Yeah, it certainly is.

And that's your doing?

Where is that applesauce?

You can't unsee it
once you've seen it, can you?

No, you can't unsee it.
It's nightmare fuel.

That will be with me forever.

That story
won't be running.

Right.
I've got one more thing
I need you to do.

Ah, look,
before you continue, Ray,

I train lads to be good lads.
I'm not a fucking gangster.

Now, I've been forced to do
some gangster things,
that's okay.

But I'm not the gift
that keeps on giving.

So with the greatest respect,
I'll do this one
last thing for you

and then that's it.

No más.
Three strikes and I'm out.

Everything all right, Coach?
No, Ernie, it isn't.

You need to understand
the severity
of your actions.

Dave, an hour.

Okay, boss.

Thank you
for the grand tour.

I'm a believer.

Thank you, chaps.

Now, are we ready
to finalize the numbers?

We already have.

Mm...

The situation's changed,
Michael.

The market's changed.
How so?

The exit value
of your business needs
to be recalculated.

Please, be specific.

Oh, I will be.

You're asking 400
for 12 locations
and a distribution network,

which was a fair valuation
at the time.

But when one of those
locations was compromised,

the value of all those
locations were compromised

and this obviously
affects the price.

Your skunk farm
was a fucking viral sensation
on YouTube, Michael.

And when Johnny Law starts
sniffing, which he will,

all of those locations
will have to cease production

for, I'd say,
at least 12 months at a cost
of 100 million net p.a.,

before marking down
the loss of staff,
relocation and site rentals.

-You still with me?
-Yes, I'm following.

It will take
at least three years

to get your supply,
distribution and demand
back to full capacity.

Your staffing costs
are 25% of your 100 million
operational cost,

so that's 25 million per annum
for three annums.

And location rental
at 15 million a year,

that's a 120 GBP bite
right there.

Your unit economics
have taken a hit,

and forecasting out
your top-line growth margin in
the current inimical climate,

I calculate what was worth
400 million a month ago

must now be valued
at an anemic, mm... 130.

You see, it's not about
the first domino that fell,
Michael.

It's about the last.

Please.

I like you, Michael.
You're a good chap.

And if you want me
to help you out of this hole
you've found yourself in,

I can pay you
100 million dollars today.

It's a good offer
and it's real,

and I'll do this
because I'm your friend.

My accountant can transfer
the fee within the hour.

I like your domino analogy.

The question I ask is,
who tumbled the first domino?

I'm afraid
that's not my concern
or my business, Michael.

At the risk
of contradicting you,

it is very much your business,
and certainly your concern.

Only you made one mistake.

That being?

You seem to have mistaken me
for some kind of a cunt.

Let me introduce you
to the first domino.

It's a tad dramatic, isn't it,
corpses in freezers?
Who is this man?

What's he got to do
with anything
that I'm talking about?

I take it with that statement
you are in denial

of so-said relationship
with this frozen Chinaman?

Well, of course
I'm in denial of it.

I don't have relationships
with dead, frozen Chinamen.

Best not to be glib
at this time in
the proceedings, Matthew.

Don't bother looking
for your Mossad crabs.

This is a fish market.
They have found a home.

To be clear,
I do not know that man.

I'll tell you
how this plays out.

You will drown and then
my Mossad crabs will eat you.

So while you were discussing
who would take over
my business

after you fucked it,

you somehow mistook
so-said Chinaman
for someone else?

Business is business, Michael.
It's nothing personal.

While I am not emotional
about the money,

there is a price
indebted to me for the blood
I've gotten on my hands

restoring order to the
untidiness that you created,

and that price,
according to you--

400 minus 130--
is 270 million dollars.

And I'm keeping
the business,

while you are
getting in the freezer.

And you will make
that transaction if you want
to get out of the freezer.

It is 25 below zero
in there, so I assume
you'll last about an hour.

That said,
I wouldn't fuck about,

because frostbite
is very expensive
on the fingers and toes,

so I would type
as quickly as possible while
you have the use of them.

Uh--
After you've attended
to that indiscretion,

you can then deal
with the next consequence
of your shortsightedness.

As stated,
I am not emotional
about the money.

But I am emotional
about the fact that someone
laid their hands on my wife.

My wife!

No amount of money on
God's green earth can pay for
that transgression, Matthew.

No, for that...

I want a pound of flesh.

A pound of flesh?

It matters not to me

where on your anatomy
it is withdrawn from.

If you don't
have the stomach
to take it for yourself,

big Bunny here
is very adept with a knife,

and, as you can see,
he's dressed for the weather.

But a penny short
or a gram shy...

and that freezer door
does not open.

Am I clear?

Good.

Bunny.
Incoming.

What, is it Wagyu again
for breakfast, Raymond?

Aren't you gonna introduce me
to your mysterious
and slightly menacing friend?

What's that for?
Is that for my money?

Where's my money, Raymond?

There's your payment.

Go on, take a look.

Thank you,
mysterious stranger.

Well, that's disappointing,
'cause that doesn't look like
20 million pounds.

It's more interesting than that,
your insurance policy,

all the photos,
all the bodies, all the
skeletons, all the filth.

It's not the only one,
darling. I'm not a mong.

What do you think's in that,
you fucking eejit?

Of course we were aware
of what Matthew was up to.

We're not complete
fucking idiots.

I've been onto you
for a long time, Fletcher.

-I knew
you'd been following Michael.

They're very similar,
our jobs.

Only I'm better at it
than you are.

I knew when you came over
that night that you'd only
be there for half an hour...

Buenas tardes, Raymondo.

...to tell me how clever you
are and try to blackmail us.

I've got some
very important information
to impart to you, Raymond.

I also knew you couldn't
resist a £1500 single malt,

an £80 Wagyu steak
and a state-of-the-art
smokeless barbie

-that even
keeps your feet warm.
-I love a barbie.

I promise you,
you will regret this
if you don't hear it.

And when the Scotch
got into your cold veins,

you lost the benefit
of your sharp instincts.

Oh, goody. Another bottle.

Can you tell
the mysterious gentleman
to relax?

Because I promise you, you will
regret it if you don't
hear this. Sit down, my love.

See, I kept you there
'cause I needed to know
about Matthew and Dry Eye.

Took us a while to find
your insurance policies.

'Cause you're
a naughty squirrel, Fletcher.

Fletcher, shoes off inside.

Yes, Mommy.

But it was made a lot easier
after I planted
a tracker in your shoe.

You're never gonna be
a predator with us, Fletcher.

You're always
gonna be prey.

So that's it. Three strikes.
We're good, right?

-I'll see you around.
-With the greatest respect,
I hope not.

Now, Fletcher,
what were you saying?

It wasn't Lord George
that was after Mickey,

or Dry Eye, or Matthew.

Do you wanna know who it was?

I've got photos.

Right.
You've got 30 seconds.

Thank you, darling.

Fuck.

Primetime,
what is it, son?

Coach,
we're gonna take care
of this for you.

Ernie's got a plan.

What the fuck
are you talking about?

The Michael situation.
We're gonna sort it.

Primetime, listen-- Prime--

Jesus.

Now, you
remember Aslan, don't you?

The young gentleman
you kept in the freezer?

Well, this is Aslan Senior,
Russian oligarch.

Ex-KGB. Made all
his money in gas pipes.

And he's extremely sad
that his one-and-only son
fell out of a window.

Oh, shit.

And I fear that where
they failed before, Raymond,

they're not gonna fail again.

And how do you know
all this?

Because someone
told them everything they
want to know about Michael,

and that someone is me.

Go on.

So I said I'd tell them where
Michael was for a price.

But that money was
pending till after, you know,
the deed was done.

And then
when they messed up
the first time,

I had a little rethink
and came up with
my version 2.0 plan,

which is
when I came to see you.

You see, get my 20 mils
off Michael first

and then, after the event,
get paid again, double bubble.

But you and your mysterious
friend put paid to that,
so well done, you.

Why did you just
look at your watch?

Well, it's like I say.
The Russians
are gonna clean house.

And you are part of
that house, Raymond.

They're gonna get Michael
when he comes out of his
meeting at the fish market.

And they are coming here.
So you see
what I've done there?

By telling you,
I've saved your lives.

Which I think in turn
saves mine, doesn't it?

Don't fucking move.

Dave.

Dave?

No Dave.

Fuck.

- Fuck!

Fuck.

So the Toddlers
spray the car with bullets,

killing the Russians.

The car rolls to a stop.

Smash cut to black. Titles.

So, what happened
to Michael?

I need an ending.

No, no, no, my darling.

What you need...

is a sequel.

Think it over. Have a read.
You know my fee.

I'm off to La La
to talk to the competition.

Think about that.
Got a plane to catch.
And I'm gone.

Good afternoon.

So, it's Heathrow Airport,
please, Terminal 3,

and thence
to sunny California.

Buenas tardes,
Fletcher-mondo.

Raymond. Well, well, well.

A man of many vocations,
aren't you?

Now, I want you to play
a game with me, Fletcher.

He's got Fletcher.

If you wish to be
the king of the jungle,

it's not enough
to act like a king.

You must be the king.

And there can be no doubt.

Because doubt causes chaos
and one's own demise.

My queen told me that.

Any chance?