The Gentlemen (2019) Script

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.

Question: What would it be worth to have the power to be able to pull the plug on an operation like that?

Answer: 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.

Question: 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.

♪ Yellow is the color Gambling is the game ♪ 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.

♪ Man don't have to Take off the door ♪

♪ Pull up in a dinger Straight through The hole in the floor ♪

♪ We're the Toddlers Don't know what you thought ♪

♪ By the end of the night You'll be picking up Your jaw ♪

♪ Plants Not ten or twenty ♪ It's Eggs Benny, 'cause I never get cracked.

♪ Man's egg got cracked And his legs went jelly ♪

♪ Just know that We're leaving the room With every last penny ♪ They call me Ghost, 'cause you never see me coming.

♪ Just know it's over When you see ghosts ♪

♪ Spinning back kick Might take off your nose ♪

♪ Man don't want that smoke Big elbow to The top of the dome ♪ My name's Ernie. 'Cause the left hand's fast and the right hand's sturdy.

♪ The left hand's fast And the right hand's sturdy ♪

♪ You know I've been Bad from early, your little Headlock can't hurt me ♪

♪ I'm fighting dirty ♪ Jim.

♪ Jim, Jim The Iron Chin ♪

♪ You already know Man can't fuck with him ♪

♪ When it comes to This fighting thing ♪

♪ Man'll head-butt him Put in the double-leg takedown ♪ Why are we watching fight porn, Ray?

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

♪ We're the Toddlers Are you dumb? ♪

♪ Just know that we come from The bottom of the slum And we're hungry ♪

♪ Means we're coming For the crumbs And we're like a tax man ♪

♪ 'Cause we're coming For your funds, bang, bang You see us in a gang ♪

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.

♪ Put it on the net Do you wanna bet? It will do a million a set ♪

♪ That's it Boxes of bush All buds, no dust ♪

♪ Boxes and boxes and boxes We're the Toddlers Are you dumb? ♪

♪ Boxes of bush All buds, no dust ♪

♪ Boxes and boxes and boxes We're the Toddlers Are you dumb? ♪ 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.

♪ Old MacDonald Had a farm, e-i-e-i-o ♪

♪ And on that farm He had a pig... ♪ 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?