Gangsta (2018) - full transcript

Kind of based on true shit

My name is Adamo, like the singer.
"Tombe la neige," you know.

And I am a motherfucking gangsta.

I grew up in the Kiel.

That's in Antwerp,
Flanders, fucking Belgium.

The cool dude in the Antwerp shirt,
that's me.

Fucking sperm head! You dick!

Rats from Kiel!

I had an Italian mom and a Moroccan dad.
A fiery Southern temperament.

- What's your problem?
- Filthy bleach boy!

This is Volt and Junes,
my two best buddies.



Two tough homies.

But the toughest with the biggest balls
was the one who had no balls:

Badia, aka Tong Po,

like the one in Kickboxer
with Jean-Claude Van Damme.

Bitch!

We were like four peas in a pod,

always gaming
like our lives depended on it.

What happened? Dammit!

Junes was the b-boy of the gang,
the breakdancer.

Always working on his moves.
Dancing nonstop.

That dude lived in a music video.

Volt was the hyper one.
Always high-strung.

He thought he was a character
in a gangster movie.

You need to be a gangsta like me, dude.
Like Tony Montana.



Motherfucker! I am so winning.
I'm screwing you in the ass, man.

Badia was the kickboxer,

the JCVD of the neighborhood.

Touch her with one finger
and she'd break your knuckles.

She was tough and good-looking,
bad-ass with a heart of gold.

Basically, your dream girl, you know.

And me? I'm Adamo.

With my Gucci cap and my Nike Air Maxes,
I had unbeatable style.

Half rug-rider, half spaghetti-slurper.

Growing up in those apartment blocks
was the shit of the century.

Who's the best spitter?

Guys, look, I hit it.

We were the gangstas of 2020, the Kiel.

We owned the city.
Heck, we owned the world.

What I live for,
is my homies, my pals, my brothers.

I would do anything for my homies.

I would never let them down,
no matter what.

We were like the Ninja Turtles
or the Four Musketeers.

One for all, all for one.

Because together
is how you reach the top.

Pride,

greed.

Lust, gluttony.

Envy,

wrath, sloth.

We are all victims
to these seven deadly sins.

My mom came from a family of mineworkers.
Italian, and raised a devout Catholic.

So I went to church on Sundays.

The pride, the greed, the lust.

I didn't think it was boring.

Gluttony, envy,

wrath, sloth.

I found it fascinating
to see the priest at work.

It felt like he had direct access
to angels or saints,

like he was Jesus' pal.

I believed that dude had The Force

like a Jedi Master.

Whoa.

My dad, on the other hand,
was into everything but religion.

He was a Muslim. Standard, you know.

But out of love for my mom,
he didn't mind what religion I chose.

The choice was easily made.
I love bacon and eggs

and I already knew I would drink alcohol
by the gallon. For sure.

- Are you a Muslim?
- I'm a Christian.

- You're not a Muslim?
- You know my mom's a Christian.

Look, dude.

Christianity is Windows.

Islam is Apple.

Because Apple is the new shit.

The seven sins don't have
to be a negative thing.

You could use them as guidelines.
And not in a fucked up way

like that serial killer in Seven.
I mean just live and let live.

Our favorite sin was sloth, no doubt.

We filled most of our days with gaming.
That was our shit.

School was just a sideshow.
Going to class like a good boy,

listening to the teacher,
doing homework?

That's what white kids get off on,
but we didn't.

You suck at this, bitch.

You're calling me a bitch?

Don't shout at me.
What, bitch? Are you a sore loser?

Out of the way. I'm losing.

- See? You just said it yourself.
- Dammit.

- Fuck, why is this?
- I fucked you, motherfucker.

The only downside was
that Badia was so competitive

that it usually ended in fighting.

It pissed me off.

We always chilled at Badia's house,
at Uncle Farid's.

He wasn't my real uncle.
He was my dad's best friend.

Blood brothers
from way back when in Morocco

and they ran a business together,

importing a very popular
Moroccan product.

I don't trust those big shots.
We need to watch our backs.

Don't stress. It will be all right.

- Farid, will you come and help us?
- What? Hold on.

- What are you doing?
- Nothing.

If you're not doing anything,
come and carry those bags.

The elevator's broken again.
Good-for-nothing.

All right. We'll come and help.

There we go. You're done gaming.

You need to shut up.
Shut up, fucking asshole.

Look at us now,

a bunch of joint-smoking losers
forever fighting over the controller.

The same pranks each day,
each day is a copy of a copy of a copy.

- We got this, don't we?
- We got this.

Call me Mister Lacoste

So many packages,
I work for the postal service

I'm the cause of the trouble,
the big bang theory

We only do practice, no theory

Every snitch is seen as the enemy

- Hey, man, what the fuck?
- What? Can't I have a kiss? Here, here.

You're probably thinking,
"Do something with your life."

There are opportunities here,
so why not grab them? Fuck.

Hey, little one.

You could have five diplomas,
but still, they'd treat you like scum.

Fuck that.

You have to make choices in life
and I made mine a long time ago.

Whoa, that's fucking up my lungs.
I'm feeling it. Take it.

Uncle Farid, you can count on us.

We'll take care of it.

- Thanks for your help.
- Uncle Farid, take care.

Till next time.

You know us, Uncle.

Yes, I chased after you
when you were kids.

I know.

See you soon, son.

Adamo, stay out of trouble, eh.

Cause we're expensive motherfuckers.

Bro, be careful on the road.

- Arrived today from Morocco.
- Let me have a taste.

Excellent quality.

And? How are the deliveries going?

Good, as always.

Is that all you're eating?

You'll never find a good wife.
Have some more.

I'll be all right.

I'll find myself a wife in Marrakech.
A pretty little wife.

- How cliché.
- So what?

Why don't you marry each other?

Mom.

What kind of fucked up shit...

Sorry, Uncle.

But we can't, can we? You're family.

If we make babies, we'll have
moronic Stephen Hawking babies.

Retarded kids,
with a little joystick, you know?

It's not right.
She's like a sister to me.

No, it's not right.

Whatever she says, goes in one ear
and out the other with me.

Come with me. We need to talk.

- You're not a lesbian, are you?
- Mom... Again?

Orlando Marie is coming from Amsterdam
tomorrow. Be here on time.

It pisses me off I'm always left out
of the serious stuff.

Take it easy, Badia.

Some gangstas
are coming from Holland

and all I'm good for
is the fucking kitchen.

Trust me, you don't want
to be part of his business.

Can I decide for myself?
He's just a fucking sexist.

It has nothing to do with sexism.
He's just proud.

Trafficking shit and making your wife
and daughter believe

you're running a legal business.
I can't believe my mom falls for it.

And he knows I know anyway.

I don't know if he knows you know,
you know.

Yeah, right.

You'll get your chance.

If I wake up tomorrow
with a prick between my legs, I will.

A good job interview
revolves around three things.

One: why are you applying
for a job with this company?

Two: why are you applying
for this position?

And three: what makes you suitable
for this position?

LEVEL 2
ENVY

- Who's that gangsta?
- That's Orlando Marie.

Marie. That's a bitch's name.

Maybe, but he's not a pussy.
He's ill as fuck.

That's not a gangsta.
He's a gangsta gangsta.

A real G.
The Salvatore Totò Riina type.

Up until a few years ago,
he was just a little shrimp.

- He grew up in the Bijlmer.
- Where's that?

Amsterdam, South East, moron.

That's like the Kiel, Borgerhout,
Molenbeek. The real niggahood.

He and his brother ran the game
at the Dutch South Central.

They were dealing drugs, just chilling.

But then one day...

the brother was killed,
gunned down for everyone to see

by a white neo-Nazi cowardly whore.

No-one fucks with Orlando or his family,
and he was going to let everyone know.

But before Orlando
could make his move,

the killer was arrested.

For once, the cops did their job right.

Guilty.

Orlando wanted payback, dude.

The cowardly killer gets ten years
and gets out after only three.

Orlando had made it big in the business
as a respected OG,

but he hadn't forgotten
about his brother.

No-one fucks with Orlando's family,
no-one.

He was going to make sure
everyone got the fucking message.

He's gunned down,
he drops to the ground.

Orlando leans over him,
looks him in the eye

and shows him who's boss.

From that point on,
Orlando soared like a Sputnik rocket.

He sells shit by the kilo, not the gram.

He even started doing coke
with the Colombians.

If anyone tries to wrong that guy,
it's game over, no doubt.

Whoa.

- What the fuck are you even wearing?
- What?

You look like a Turkish businessman,
without the flat head.

This is out of respect
for Orlando Marie.

I'm an entrepreneur.
I think. I want to achieve something.

Give it here.
You go and be an entrepreneur.

Eh, Turkish businessman?

- Hey.
- Hey, cool it.

Take it easy.

- Who the fuck is this?
- Fuck you, with the mushroom head.

- Chill out.
- Why did you use the back door?

- That's my cousin.
- This is my house.

Discretion will get you killed.
- Fuck you, with your African curtain.

I'll shoot him in the face.

Boys, it's OK.

Going to pull any more Moroccans
out of your hat?

Why are you late?
- Come on, dude.

Walk, walk.
- Hurry up.

Fuck you, second-rate LL Cool J.

I almost put a cap in your brain, nigga.
Sit down, man.

He pointed a fucking gun at my head.

Farid, we want your network
for my stuff.

You established a route
from Morocco to Antwerp.

You know the port.
That's why we want to work with you.

I won't have any part in that.
We don't do processed stuff.

Do you have any idea
what will be in it for you?

Do you have any idea of the jail time?

OK, how big's your margin?

A kilo of dust will easily get you
ten times that.

Uncle...

This is our chance.

It's too risky.

And by that, I don't mean jail.

You have to take risks
to be successful.

No.

Do we have a problem?

No, my cousin just has
to learn to walk the walk.

Walk the talk, you mean.

- Some say walk the talk.
- No, it is walk the walk.

It's like walkie-talkie.

Come again?

It's like fanny.

Some call a vagina a fanny.

No, that's the ass, man.

To us, a fanny is where we do this.

OK, man.

Guys...

Think it over. All right?

We're not talking
about a few cents here.

Don't forget your pizza.

You came for pizza, right?

Awesome dude.

Really now.
I don't get the thing with the tail.

Whoa, what a hot chick.

Bro, I'm going to do her.

No, I'm going to drill her.
Really drill her.

Check it out. These are some cool dudes.

A smart guy in this business
would drive a Golf.

Low profile.

This is old school, Uncle.

If you team up with these guys,
you'll make money like before.

Those days are gone, son.

Check that out, dude.
Did you see? That's the life.

We don't want to be sewer rats

dealing hash for a few lousy euros

like fucking losers.

We don't want our lives
to remain a copy of a copy of a copy.

We want to be fucking gangstas
like Orlando Marie.

Live the lives of Hollywood
movie legends, like Tony Montana

or cool OG rappers from music videos
like 2Pac.

A gangsta is someone
who is respected by other gangstas

and can nail every hot chick.

Look, a helicopter, a helicopter.

Stupid half Italian.

What, Italian?
Hey, that's my Gucci cap.

So?
Do you think that makes you a man?

Cool chick, cool chick.

"A cool chick. A cool chick.
I can get all the guys."

You can get all the guys.
Give that back.

No.

That's my fucking Gucci cap, dude.
What the fuck?

I own you!

Hey, don't startle me like that.

What's up? Got wild plans?

No, just cruising,
chilling in the neighborhood.

You?

Having a pizza.

- How's that promotion coming along?
- How's Orlando Marie?

Yasser used to be a chill dude.
For real.

His future seemed promising.

Hey, homies.

He was the only migrant
in the Catholic school.

Except for Jurgen, but he was adopted,
that doesn't count.

He was great at soccer.

Scouted as a talented striker,
a promise for the national team.

My best friend. I was so proud of him.

Yasser!

But then disaster struck.

Homework, now!

The sissy became a fucking cop.

Talk to me.

I can't help you
if you don't talk to me.

And not just any cop.
No, he took his job seriously.

Always trying to help the weak.

Illegal immigrants who'd been beaten up.

He believed he could fix it all.

- She says she doesn't know.
- How come?

He just didn't realize
how rotten everyone was,

especially the cops.

He had his head stuck in his blue ass.

I understand, but who will understand us?
Those illegals can't pay me.

- Just take a look at the file.
- I will, but I can't promise anything.

You earn enough
from your criminal cases.

There you go. We do criminal defense.

Anything else
is outside of our expertise.

Do it out of the goodness of your heart.

Does that pay for my bread and butter?

This stinking place is full of racists.

And you wonder
why you haven't been promoted yet?

Look who it is, Mr. Clean.

Chief, another case of illegal immigrants
being pestered by racist cops.

How many times? There is no such thing
as racist cops around here.

So what about all those complaints?

Racism is relative. But listen up.

Something else.

Do you know Orlando Marie?
He's the kingpin of the Dutch coke trade.

He was spotted in your neighborhood,
with your pals and family.

You should have a chat
with your uncle Farid.

Your names were mentioned at the bureau.

You party with Dutch gangstas.
You need to watch your step.

We don't party, we live, bro.

Are you on my tail?

Yes, as long as you do fucked up shit.

Doing fucked up shit
like becoming a cop? Eh?

Why don't you go detain militants
returning from Syria

with your racist pals?

You talk tough for someone
who isn't even a real homie.

Look who's talking.

How many exams did you sit
to try and climb the ladder?

Five, six?

My time will come, inshallah.

You will always be
a Moroccan from the Kiel.

They'll never accept you
with your monkey face.

Yeah, blame the rest of the world
for who you are now.

You stick your head in your blue ass.
You don't get it.

You're in between two worlds.
Between the crackers and the homies.

- Fuck you.
- No-one respects you, dude.

You don't know who you are,
so you try to be a gangsta.

I thought you were smarter than that.

You flaming idiot.
Life is not a fucking video game.

Take it easy, bro. Take it easy.

Italian piece of crap.

Don't come crying to me
when you get screwed in the ass.

Like a drill.

- We're not bad guys.
- Of course not.

We're just trying to do our jobs
and help you.

I think people like you
have the wrong idea about us.

It's very simple.

If you carry stuff around,
you'll get stressed out.

We want to put you at ease. Eh?
But you don't have any papers.

Not good, is it? Our colleagues
would have put you on a flight already.

But we won't. We have compathy.

Do you know that word, compathy ?

Compassion.

Compassion, compathy, empathy.
It's all the same.

He doesn't understand.

No?

Shall I rephrase it?

Shall I explain?

What... What did you say?

Hey, shut up! OK?

Where's my money?

Where is the dope?

Where is the dope?

Shut up!

Uncle Farid was anything but a gangsta.

He liked to keep things low profile.

To the outside world,

he was the humble owner
of a small pizzeria

called Piza, with one Z,
to save on the signage.

That's so old school and narrow-minded.

So I had to push him.

I felt that deep inside he had the urge
to take it to the next level too.

At the docks, they can't find anything.
They only catch the idiots. Your words.

They don't look for hash.

They do.

A Moroccan with a joint gets picked up,
a white guy with some coke doesn't.

There's a shitload of money in it
for you.

- I'm calling him.
- You're not calling anyone.

This is my business.

Half a million, for God's sake.
One year.

Only the merchandise changes
and you'll go back to your glory days.

Come on, Uncle.

Come on.

We need to keep an eye on Yasser.

- He's been trying to bust us for years.
- He's family.

Family... Right...

- Don't say anything to Badia.
- No, for sure.

I mean it.

Or you'll have me to deal with.

- OK.
- OK?

OK.

We needed a car for the pick-up.

Luckily, Volt's brother owned a garage.
Aziz, a super chill dude.

If I ask you to be here early,

I mean GMT, not AMT.

AMT?

Yes, AMT. Arab man's time.

Sorry, bro, I had stuff to arrange.

Stuff to arrange?

Stuff...
Stuff to arrange?

My business is clean.

My business is professional.
If you get me into trouble,

I will screw you.
I will screw you!

Here are the keys.

You bring that car back
in top shape, OK?

For sure, Aziz. For sure.

Shut up. This is my nicest car.
A collector's item.

You bring it back
without a scratch on it.

Got it?
Or you can expect World War III.

Oh, Yusef!

- Get a haircut. Please.
- OK.

Orlando only wanted to work with us

because
of the 'Pearl by the Scheldt River',

the Port of Antwerp,
the largest in Europe after Rotterdam.

Rotterdam doesn't count.
It is fucking impregnable.

Zero tolerance. Checkpoints everywhere.
Antwerp is a fucking sieve.

Everything passes without a glitch,
whether it's bananas or coke.

The mayor turns a blind eye

because he wants his port
to stay competitive.

Shit. Couldn't you get a better car?
It looks like a neon sign.

A neon sign? Did you want a jet?

Be happy with what you got, fucker.

Rudy.

Open the window.

Everything OK?

Yeah.

Which dock is it?

A hundred...

A hundred what? Come on, talk.

A hundred...

A hun...

Fuck you, Rudy. Wake up.

How many beers did you have?
Which dock is it?

That's...

What?

...Rudolf to you.

I'll take your eye out. Fuck...

Asshole. Give us that fucking number.

Which dock is it?

Talk, you fucking pedo face.

- A hundred...
- A hundred what?

A hundred...

157.

- Sure?
- Yes.

Let us know if you see any security.
- Of course.

And Rudy,

do not screw us over.

I do not screw us over.

I do not screw us over.
- Drive.

Park the car out of view.
Call me if anything.

For sure.

And turn
those fucking arcade lights off.

This one, this one. It's this one.

OK, OK, OK. Light, light.

Easy.

Dude...

Check this out. Bags, bags.

What's up, guys?

Open the barrier.

Hey, turn that dumbass music off.

The barrier, you drunk.

All right.

Bunch of guidos.

Yo, Rudy, my bitch.

Security is on its way.

What? And you just let them through?

Yep.

You couldn't call us
to let us know they were coming?

Lick my balls.

Here.

Dirty faggot.

Piece of shit iPhone.

Fucking piece of crap battery.

OK. I can't see anyone yet.

I'm too stoned for this.

I need to gain some time.
I need to fucking gain time.

Light, light. Give me some light.

Quick, quick, quick.

- What the fuck?
- Are you seeing this too?

- Were you expecting someone?
- No.

- Did you order a pizza again?
- No.

What's this?

He's coming this way.
Reverse. Reverse.

Focus.

Floor it, man. Reverse.

What the...
What the fuck is this? What the fuck?

What is this?

My brother's going to kill me.
This means World War III.

Those security guys
are in the fucking water.

This means World War III.

- Shut up.
- We have to go.

Get in, get in.

Drive, drive!

Fuck. Fucking World War III
with my brother.

It's OK. We'll pay your brother.

This fucking guy, with the golden balls.
Awesome dude.

Fucking gangstas. Fucking gangstas.

Gangstas for life.

Hey, awesome, guys!

- Hey, take it easy.
- Hey, hey.

Take it easy. Here.

For the damage.

A present from Farid.

Where's the bumper?

What?

The rear bumper, dickhead.

It's in the river, for sure.
It will be in the Scheldt.

I hope for your sake
it won't come floating up, fucker.

No-one must find that bumper, OK?

Got it?

Bro, that car has to disappear.

Disassemble it, hack it to pieces
for all I care, but it has to go. OK?

For sure.

Fuck off.

Come, come.

Have you ever been
to a place like this?

Once, for one of Badia's fights.

- Do you fight?
- Yes.

I should come
and see one of your fights.

- Hey, Orlando, dude.
- Hey, man.

- How are you, man?
- Great, great.

Mathijs, you're alive.

Yes, nothing can break me.
I'm as tough as nails.

- Looking sharp, man.
- Thanks.

- Who's the hot floozy?
- What? What did you call me, dude?

Oh, that Antwerp accent.
Gets me all tingly.

It's too bad they're tightening
the reins in Rotterdam.

You should go through Antwerp.
More practical.

Hey, Mathijs...

We're just friends, yeah?

OK.

Enjoy the fight, man.

Hey, Orlando?

Who's the old dirtbag

with the hot bitches?

Mathijs Steensma,

an old dog in the business.

You could be a bad boy like him soon.

- For real?
- I see it in you.

Me? He sees it in me.

You too, Adamo.

For sure.

Darling.

- What's your part in the team?
- Moral support.

And Farid is OK with that?

He doesn't have to know
everything I do.

She's my sister. We are inseparable.

So Farid is your uncle?

Not really. My dad was his best pal.

- Was?
- Yes.

My parents died when I was ten.

Really?

That's tough, man.

What happened?

I went through some tough shit too.

But, bro, life is a struggle.

You have to go through some real shit
to know what happiness is.

Don't forget that all those things
make you stronger than you are.

- OK?
- For sure, bro.

For sure.

Want to do something fun tomorrow?

I'll pick you up
and we'll have some fun.

Wait here.

- Tell me, what do you need?
- Twenty.

Take this.

Look at me.
You won't find this shit anywhere else.

Tell your brothers, your mothers,

your sisters, your cousins...

Something else now.

Ever jerked off thinking about Badia?

- No, man.
- No, me neither. Are you nuts?

Ugh, you dirtbags.
Thinking about Badia?

Actually, I have.

Me too. You too?

- Like a pepper mill, you get me?
- No, two hands. Buttermilk.

- No, man. Sleeping hand.
- What the fuck is that?

You sit on your hand for 20 minutes
till it goes numb and then you jerk off.

- That's a fucking good idea.
- Hey.

- Everything OK?
- Yeah. You?

- Great.
- You got make-up on?

I'm not coming. I have a date.

Who with?

- Who do you think?
- That's a fucking bad idea.

You're just jealous.

No, I just thought you'd want to come.

Do your thing. Bros, let's go.

Enjoy it and give Orlando
a fucking big hug from me.

Take that.

Oh, take this.

We got this. Here. Take a pull.

You're not laughing. You should laugh.

You're so tiny.

What? Am I a kid?

That's the shit.

Junes, that's the shit, dude.

They're cops.

- What?
- They're fucking cops.

- Where?
Behind us.

Throw the bags in the Scheldt.

- Throw the bags in the fucking Scheldt!
- Are you crazy?

I'm not getting screwed in the ass.
Give me those bags!

That's worth a lot of money.

No, don't throw them.

Don't. You're crazy.

Guys, fucking run. Run. Run.

- What's that?
- A band-aid.

Fucker.

- Are you a nurse now?
- I'm trying to help.

- Why are you on Instagram?
- I'm checking the news.

Nothing about drugs, coke, an accident.
That's weird.

What do we tell Orlando?

Those cops kept those last bags
for themselves.

- Orlando's going to kill us.
- No, he won't.

- Homies, we have to tell him the truth.
- You want me to freak out? What truth?

We tell Uncle Farid what happened.
We've been fucked. What else can we do?

- We get the coke out of the water.
- You're crazy.

Fuck off.

It's him, that fucking sissy, Marie.

Yeah?

Hey, bro, everything all right?

Listen up. We're in the Versuz.
Nice party. Get over here.

- Yeah, all right.
- Now.

I'm on my way.

That'll teach you! Here, here.

You think you can screw me over?

- You think you can screw me over?
- That's what fucking happened.

No, please, please.

What are you doing?

Badia, stay out of it.

Are you OK?

If you want to kill him,
you'll have to kill me too.

What the fuck happened?

We lost the fucking coke.

That's bullshit.
That's fucking bullshit.

Why would he lie?

Do you swear on your parents' souls
you're telling the truth?

I fucking swear.

You know what that means.

You...

I'll let you go this time.

This was the last time
we worked together.

I don't want to see your face
ever again.

Dirty rotten Italian.

Are you OK?

Are you OK?

If you're wondering
why not a single reporter

wrote an article about an overturned car

or bags of drugs being seized by cops,

then check this out.

Police

It was a fucker...

With cornrows.

You fucking got that right.
The police are your friends, right?

This was your first and last mistake.

I have a reputation to uphold.

Look at me when I talk to you.

This is your last warning.

Understood?

Understood.

And Badia?

She doesn't know.

My last warning? Fuck that.

Why should I be the only rat
left behind in the sewers?

I got a golden opportunity

and it was time
to grab it by the fucking balls.

Next level shit.

Where's that nigga at?

Give it here.

Fucking water.

- Is that it?
- That's it.

- There were four bags.
- No, three.

- Did you look on the bottom?
- You go and look.

No, I'm scared of fish.

You are thieves.

- All good?
- We're good.

Amigo,

I want 25 percent.

- We said 22 percent.
- I ripped my suit, pal.

Maybe you're too fat then.

You need to shut your face.
I'm not talking to you.

- Asshole. Talk then.
- All right, deal.

All right then.

Badia, I want to talk to you.

Get in.

I didn't want you to see me like that.

You were going to kill my best friend.

I just wanted to scare him.

I didn't want to hurt him. For real.

If you show any sign of weakness
in my world, you are destroyed.

I had to teach him that.

Look at me.

Look at me.

I'm sorry.

I don't want Adamo
to come between us.

I think you're special
and I don't want to lose you.

I don't like losing.

I'm paying tonight.

VIG, OK? Very important gangstas.

VIH more like. Very important homies.

- Here you go.
- Bro, you bet.

Do you take me for a fool?

All three of you are nowhere to be seen,
not on the roof, not gaming,

not at the snack bar
and you don't answer my messages.

Hey, wait.

You didn't want to come.

Take it easy.

You swore
on your parents' souls, asshole.

I didn't lie.

I meant what I said back there.

This was just an opportunity. Sorry.

It's true. Sorry.

It sounds tough,
but this business is tough.

We're no angels, we're no saints.

We're dealing coke here.

And everything you dreamt of,
is now possible. You get that?

You decide.

Either we give the 80 kilos back
to your friend and it ends there.

Or we get big bags full of dough.

You choose.

If anything goes wrong,
I'll be the first to hang.

Talk to me.

Sooner or later
everyone wants to be a gangsta.

It takes over you.

OK,

but I want to be kept in the loop.
I want to know everything.

And no more cowardly stunts.

There she is. That's how we know her.

Badia, Badia. Look.

We got this. We got this.

Gangstas. Motherfucking gangstas!

So what the fuck are we even doing?
I'll explain.

That powder can't be sold pure.
You mix it with something else.

We used inositol,

a type of vitamin B,
so it's healthy too.

Other dealers used washing powder

or even ground-up fluorescent tubes.

We used Aziz' garage
as our lab and stash house.

I don't get why Volt said
his brother was a hard nut.

Aziz was a chill guy.

Usually, a gram costs 50 euros.
We sold our shit for 35.

Same quality, better price.

Fucking trio. Is this your first time?

Don't complain, come on.

Business was fucking booming.

Fucking dough, dude.

Antwerp is the coke capital of Europe.

The city's big shots snorted
like you wouldn't believe.

They tested the Scheldt wastewater

and turned out
the concentration of the coke molecule

was the highest here.

Do you know where exactly in Antwerp?

In Het Zuid, of course.

All the left-wing artistic hipsters
buying organic fairtrade shit

and right-wing motherfuckers
who vote nationalist

because they want more cops
on the streets

to crack down on Moroccans.

Everyone does coke.
Journalists, professors, businesspeople,

even magistrates,
lawyers or investigating judges,

like this old sleazeball.

He snorts like nothing else.

Or this mayor's representative.

Because I'm a nationalist,
people think I hate Moroccans.

I don't.

No brown chimps, no fine white stuff.

Coke brings people together.
Kumbaya, you know.

Because that shit blows your brain.

You feel as tough as Jean-Claude
Van Damme, even if you're a loser.

You feel as smart as Einstein,

even if you're slower
than a fucking goat.

This shit was like white gold

and we were finally pocketing
bagfuls of dough.

Looking good, Einstein.

Good? This is the best.

This is pure shit,
straight from Colombia.

Colombia!

No-one in Colombia had a clue,
of course.

They're on the other side of the world.
They can't see that far.

Antwerp is getting
more and more dangerous, my friend.

After that last coke seizure,
I'm having more doubts, Orlando.

You got a rat.

I thought you had everything
under control?

Everything is under control.

I will find out who they are.

You had better.

If we played it smart
and stayed low profile,

there was no reason to panic.

How does a guy like you
get top notch shit?

Bro, give me your hand.

Señor Einstein will explain that to you.

From the poor coca farmers in Colombia

to the rich noses in Het Zuid.

The shit was delivered in quick time
at a reasonable price, like FedEx.

It's fucked up
if you think about it, but...

When you buy Adidas or Nike trainers,

who wonders if some kid in Bangladesh
suffered to make them

in awful conditions and for peanuts?

No, listen. I'm serious here.

These people aren't any different.

Left-wing, right-wing,

they don't give a damn
how many people suffer,

despair and die for that white joy.

LEVEL 4
LUST

As long as they can dip
their rich noses into our stuff.

You won't hear us complain about it.

My turn next, eh, Sylvia?

- Daddy's turn next.
- Shut your pie hole.

Hey, Batman.
Haven't seen you in a while.

- Been on holiday?
- No.

Who is it?

Vital.

Where's our dough?

Well, well...

- Is that all of it?
- Yeah.

- Does it say dipshit on my forehead?
- No, man.

Does it say dipshit?
Where's the rest of it?

Sorry, man.
Your shit's not selling anymore.

- Are you fucking with me?
- No, man, I'm not.

That's Inspector to you.

All right, Inspector.

Do you want us to take your head
for a spin around the block?

There are guys undercutting you,

selling the same shit, same quality.

- Are they now?
- I swear, man.

- Go on, boy. Go and play.
- Fucking Moroccans.

Fuck.

Are you talking to me? Hm?

Are you talking to me?

I'm asking you something, bro.
Are you talking to me?

Talking to me?

Who the fuck
do you think you are talking to?

Hey, are you talking to me?
Are you talking to me?

Are you talking to me, asshole?
Are you talking to me?

We got a problem?
We got a problem, nigga?

Say hello to my little friend.

I'm the one who knocks.

Hey, what's that?

This here.

What's that?
That shiny golden lump on your wrist?

Rolex Submariner.

Oh, Rolex Submariner.

- Cool, eh?
- That's a 30,000 euro watch.

We're already attracting
enough attention.

Only 24,000 second-hand.

Your new boyfriend
couldn't buy it for you?

What if someone asks
how you can afford that?

- I'll say it's fake.
- Oh, you'll say it's fake.

A Moroccan might believe you,
but he won't. Put that away.

- Careful.
- Put it away.

I had to speak to you urgently.

It's a shame
that transaction didn't work out.

I agree.

And I understand we had to part ways.

But some people don't believe
that was the end of it.

Word on the street is
it's still easy to get hold of dust.

The Colombians think we've got a rat.

There are no rats in my family.

Never have been.

Weird.

Shall we put it down
to coincidence then?

Fate, an act of God,

karma and shit.

Darwin, I Ching,

fucking yin and yang.

OK, I respect you, Farid.

But I am warning you.

If this shit blows up,
don't fear me, fear my colleagues.

They don't have any respect
for the older generation.

Don't forget your pizza.

I don't like pizza.

Do you need to tell me something?

No.

I've been through this before.

Once is enough.

Fucking Orlando Marie.

That cheese-eating nigga

and that half Moroccan
are working together.

Right under Yasser's fucking nose.

We'll nail that punk.

All right?

Yes, Thank you, how about you?

Yes, thank you.

Listen, Uncle Farid,
I love you, Aunt Saloua and Badia.

Just say what you have to say.

You've always protected me,
ever since I was little.

But if I find enough against you
this time,

I won't hold back.

You do what you have to do, son.
We'll see.

- How are you, son?
- Fine, Auntie. Have a nice day.

We should invest in a weed farm.

That soccer field
had three-meter-tall weed plants.

Are you out of your minds? Hm?

Are you flaming idiots?

We could have been dead.

We said we'd lay low, way down low.
What's this?

That fucking car?

Don't show off your Rolexes,
don't drive pimp rides, or anything.

We don't do anything.
Take that shit back, now.

Panicmongers.

Does it say chicken on my forehead?

No, it says angry.

Are you so desperate?

Or do you want your blood
all over that car? Morons.

No, we're done partying and playing.
That's it.

And that fucking Yasser is on to me
like a fly on a turd.

Orlando doesn't know.
He just sent me a message.

Keep your distance from him.

- Yeah, like that won't alarm him.
- Do you really like him then?

- None of your business.
- He's a fucking psycho, Badia.

- Wooh, lovebirds.
- Shut up.

Hey, Mussolini, did you see that movie?

- What?
- Paranoia. You're paranoid.

We stole a load of coke
and we can't have fun. Are you tripping?

You're tripping.

Who do you want to nail us first?
Yasser or that sissy Marie?

We need to go away
so people forget about us.

What should I do?
Do we have to go and hide?

Why have all that money
if I can't cruise in this ride?

Easy come, easy go.

Live and let live. Right? Right?

Live and let fucking live, man.

Tony Montana, Scarface shit.

Volt had a point.

Why have all that dough
if you can't spend it?

People had to forget about us.

And where does no-one bat an eye
at a rich Moroccan?

Live and let live.

Morocco.

LEVEL 5
GLUTTONY

Tangier, a city in the north of Morocco.

In summer,
it's the place to be for all gangstas.

The only color that matters here,
is the color of money.

So many apartment buildings,
casinos and hotels here

are built with dirty money,

piped through via thousands of barber
shops, kebab shops and pizzerias.

- This fucking thing is busted.
- Are you out of gas?

No, I had two bars left.

Come here, come here.

Fucking go, go.

All that glitters waits here
for stinking money.

Each summer,
Moroccans from all over Europe come here

to act like real gangstas
without shame or scrutiny.

No stress.

Just let it flow.

Baby, what are you doing
with these skunks?

Are you calling me baby?
Rotten cheesehead.

That stupid filthy Belgian thinks
I'm talking to him.

Do you think you're fast?

I'll show you fast, tranny. Shitbag.

OK, here are the rules.

If I win, that hot Tong Po will come
and sit on my stick

and I'll show her how much
horsepower I got, you filthy goat.

That's why they call you goat fuckers.

Madam's got a big mouth on her.

Let's see how big your mouth is
when I bust your hymen.

Shut your face
or I'll cut your Dutch tongue off.

Before or after
I've licked her Flemish pussy?

Come on then. Come on.

Over the summer, more than four million
Moroccans come here.

From all over the world, like Belgium.

And yeah, fucking Holland.

Moroccans are loco, everyone knows that.
But Dutch Moroccans... whoa.

They're radioactive
Chernobylian, Fukushima shit.

The police? Your friends.

Good one, good one.

- Fucking pebbles.
- Yeah, they hurt.

- Do I have a sunburn?
- A little.

I can feel it burning.

On your cheeks, too.

Here.

I just took a leak in the sea.

Filthbag.

That's the Moroccan in you. Wow.

Sorry.

What the fuck, dude.

Go and swim.

It's the Moroccan wind.

Einstein.

This is the fucking life.
I'm fucking migrating.

We fucking got this. For sure.

I hear you've only had
small Flemish fries.

Don't you want a fat Dutch potato?

Fuck off, dick.

Dick, that's what you want.

I got a soldier in my pants
wearing a German helmet

ready to invade your Flemish pussy.

You find that hot?

- Fuck.
- Asshole.

Who else wants some?

I fucked Orlando Marie. I'll fuck you.

I fuck every Dutchman in the ass,
fucking motherfuckers.

I am Tony Montana,

Don Corleone,
Stephen fucking Hawking.

Quick!

Run! Run!

Fuck!

Filthy Belgians!

It was only a matter of hours
before Moroccan police would nail us.

And they are less chill
than the pigs back home.

That's broken bottles up your ass

and electric shocks to your nuts,
you know.

We had to get out of there.

- Thank you, thank you.
- Back in town, like the sound.

- OK, OK, snack, snack.
- For sure. A fat durum mexicano.

No, merguez. Merguez for sure.

No. Chicken. What are you saying?

Chicken fingers and a coke.

What the fuck?
Were you waiting for us?

Don't touch me.
I didn't do anything illegal.

Get a life, man. Get a life.

- I didn't do anything.
- No way!

Don't touch me.

Don't touch me, I said. Don't touch me.

Don't touch me.
I'm not going. I'm not going.

The only reason you're a cop,
is because they need a show monkey.

- Fucking coward.
- Shut your face.

Aw, fuck!

Why the hurry to go to Morocco?

It's summer.

Everyone goes on holiday, except you.

Your names are popping up
in a few cases.

We're popular.

People mention our names
to be down with us.

- What names? What names?
- Orlando Marie.

Marie? Your ex, who I fucked last night?

No. But I do need the toilet.

I need the toilet.

Marie is suspected
of six liquidations.

Liqui-what?

Don't know him.

That's a problem.
I really need a piss now.

Look, show monkey.

This is a procedural
error legal aid shit or something. OK?

Dammit.

I don't have to go anymore.

Cheap, high-quality drugs
disappeared off the market

just as you went off to Morocco.

Explain that to me.

- I want my lawyers.
- What you need is a Malaika.

A guardian angel.

My guardian angel is right here.

You think you're a smartass.

Do you have any proof? Don't think so.

Your face says it all.

- We're from law...
- I know who you are.

Farid Lazaar has asked us
to represent this boy.

You stop talking,
because this clown has nothing on you.

What is that?

Did you piss yourself?

- Did you piss yourself?
- Yeah.

This is gross maltreatment.

- I haven't done anything, asshole.
- You never do anything.

You've changed since we were kids.

Is it because I never returned
that PlayStation 2 game?

We found procedural errors.

That means the case will be dismissed.

So, Yasser, you had to let your pals go?

What's your problem, dude?

- Everyone knows they're guilty.
- Moroccans have each other's backs.

Racists get away with a lot too, I hear.

- Watch your mouth, Yasser.
- Or what?

What?

What are you looking at,
sperm swallower?

He doesn't realize
he's been fucked hard.

Dry-fucked in the shithole.

It was like our absence
had attracted more attention.

The worst thing wasn't
that Yasser tried to nail us,

but that other crazy motherfuckers
might get a whiff of us.

Fuck!

- We're smarter. We're smarter.
- I want to go back to Morocco.

- What did you do?
- Nothing.

- Nothing?
- I didn't do anything, Dad.

Are you selling drugs
with those bastards?

No.

Do you want to become a junkie?
My daughter is a criminal.

- That's not true.
- Calm down, Farid.

I just wanted to be like you.

Badia.

Come back.

LEVEL 6
WRATH

We're fucked.
Yasser's going to nail us.

- Orlando will rape us.
- It's one or the other, you know.

- Bros, we have to get rid of the coke.
- No doubt. This shit is getting heavy.

Whatever happens,
we split it up and we sell it all.

Yes, let's go to Ostend.
Eat crêpes like grannies.

What are you looking at,
sperm swallower?

Those cowards.

Dirty fucking cowardly whores.

What the fuck?

They fucking screwed us.
They fucking screwed us.

- Hello.
- Yo.

They've lifted our coke and our money.

- What? Who?
- Cops.

I'm sure it's those two racist pigs.

OK.

What, OK?

Is that all? We've just been fucked.

Adamo, I really don't care anymore.

Get in.

Take it easy.
That's my brother's stuff.

I don't care.

We're going to settle the score.
We're getting our shit back.

I'm getting a gun
and I'm putting a cap in their heads.

They're fucking pigs.

They're not cops.

They're wannabe gangstas.
We're going to kill them.

We'll get even with them.

Look, stupid Italian,
I've done a lot of fucked up shit,

but I don't want a dead cop
on my conscience.

- Have we become the mafia?
- You're tripping, man.

I won't be screwed in the ass.

I don't endure, I undertake.

Are you in or out?

Fuck off.

You're tripping.

How was Morocco?

Good.

And your time with your family?

Nice.

Babe, can I have your mobile?

Why?

Don't act so tough.

Give me your mobile.

What's this?

What?

What's this?

Hey?

What's this, babe? Eh?

What a shit place to go to.

That was with family.

I'll take you next time.

I'll show you
what a real holiday is. All right?

Where the fuck is my shit, bitch?

What?

What? Do you take me for a retard?

You and your skinhead slut
snitched my coke.

Where the fuck is it?

Sperm swallower, is that you?

What's going on here?

Jesus. I've been shot.
Can't you just help me?

- I told you to leave Badia out of it.
- She doesn't know anything.

Can't you see I'm crippled?

Why do I have all these liars
in my family?

Maybe because
you're a big fat liar yourself.

Oh right, you bastard.

You're the biggest liar of all.
You're the biggest hypocrite.

OK.

All right then.

Do you want to be spoken to like a man,
like I spoke to your father?

Do you want to be a real man?
This is your chance, boy.

Tell me where Badia is. Tell me now.

Come on, Noureddine.

Come on, man. Keep your guard up.

Come on, man.
Your guard. Your guard. What?

Hassan wants to talk to you.
He says it's urgent.

- Hassan?
- Hassan Kamikaze.

Tell him he can get on his knees
and suck my black dick.

- He didn't come alone.
- We're not alone, are we?

- Are you sure, bro?
- Yes, I'm sure.

Fuck off.

Come on, man. Get up, man.
Good one. Left, left, guard.

Dirty ape!

No wonder your people
ended up as slaves.

You're too dumb to take charge.

Acting like a circus monkey
with your stinking whores

while those dumb filthy Belgians
are selling your coke

behind your black back.

I don't give a damn if they fuck you
in the ass, but they're screwing me too.

Why do you think the street value
of that coke has dropped?

Maybe I should let those Colombians know
who's really calling the shots here.

Hassan Kamikaze.

That name suits you, pal.

Do you have a death wish or something?

Isn't that the bitch from Morocco?

Call Pitchie, call Pitchie.

Tell everyone to get ready.
Call Pitchie.

What?

Listen up, filthy chimp,
you don't know who you're dealing with.

I run this fucking game now.

I'll cut your burnt banana off

and shove it down
your fat mom's gorilla mouth.

Bastard.

This is World War III.
I'm bringing hell to Amsterdam tonight.

They want war?
They'll get World War III and IV.

I swear on my mother's life.
Amsterdam's gonna blow up tonight.

Are you OK?

Are you OK, babe?

OK? Yeah?

What the fuck did you do
in Morocco? Huh?

How do you know Hassan?

I don't know that guy.

Did you fuck me behind my back?

- No.
- Did you sell coke in Antwerp?

- Dirty, filthy whore.
- No.

Someone is selling
Colombian coke in Antwerp.

Who else could it be? Huh?

Talk. Talk.

You screwed me over.

Who did it? Tell me.

Tell me, dirty, filthy whore. Talk.

Tell me, talk.

Talk, talk, talk.

Talk!

It was the cops.

Crooked cops.

Wrong address, wrong address.

What is this? I didn't do anything,
I didn't do anything.

- On your knees.
- What is this, dammit?

We're cops, you fool.

Shut your face.

- Fuck.
- Shut up.

Wrong address.

There are watermarks
on those packets of coke.

If I don't find them,
I'll know you're lying.

And then it's game over.

You get me?

Filthy damn whore.

She stays here.

Bingo.

Game over.

Now let's find that bastard Hassan.

He was a hard-line criminal,
worked with the biggest Dutch gangsters.

Now he's the crime reporter
with the biggest scoops.

Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome Mathijs Steensma.

Let me tell you. This dude is bad news,
he's about to explode.

His name is Hassan Kamikaze.
He's a dangerous motherfucker.

He's a time bomb.

He goes...
You need to watch him.

If he blows up,
the streets will stain red.

We didn't realize Hassan Kamikaze

was Orlando Marie's biggest rival.

They clashed over the control
of Colombian coke in Holland

and the rest of Europe.

The fucking bomb
had been ticking for years.

The attack is unmistakably linked
to the ongoing drug war in Amsterdam.

World War III and IV
had come all at once.

And the media were getting off on it.

The victim was executed

with a shot to the neck
in true mafia style.

Amsterdam is in shock.

Last night,
a man was severely injured...

It was all-out war now.

Moroccan mafia shit.

Forensic detectives
took photos of the car.

The victim's head was found
in the canals.

The attack came two days
after the brothel murder,

where a customer was brutally...

It was all over the media.

The bodies were piling up.

Gangstas were dropping like flies.

But that only went down in Holland.

Matthijs Steensma.

In Antwerp, there are three dudes
and one stunning chick

who are now running the coke trade

via Antwerp for a big shot from Holland.

Orlando Marie?

You said it, not me.

Gangster Mathijs Steensma
was murdered in a strip club.

His neck was broken.

I found your rats.

This piece of shit gang of Orlando
in Antwerp.

They stole your money
and they stole your coke.

Let me handle this once and for all.

Seems like a good deal.

We keep contact.

I'll send some of my men.

Guys, this gang in Antwerp
is screwing us over.

Raúl, Tong Po,

showtime.

No need for us to panic.

Antwerp was quiet,
even though we got weird mail.

Hey.

Bro, they sent me a postcard
from Colombia.

Chill out. I'm getting another call.

Hold on.

Hey, dude.

I've got those Colombians on my tail,
spaghetti junkie.

- I'll start a group call.
- Do you think that's normal?

- Hey, bros.
- I'm freaking out here.

Chill. Get a hold of yourselves.
Don't panic, just breathe.

It's all bluff. B-L-U-F-F. Bluff.

But it turned out
that shit was anything but bluff.

What do you want?

Hey, it's me, Papa Doudo.
Look, I sold my boat.

Don't look for me. I'm going to Africa.

Hasn't this been enough?

First Ahmed and Maria,
and now your daughter.

I warned you this would happen.

But you don't listen.

Look at me. Answer me.

You're not a man.

You need to help us, dude.

Confess.

Hand over the rest of your coke,

let me arrest you
and everything will be OK.

You know we're dead if we go to jail.
For sure.

We don't have anything,
no coke, no dough.

It's all gone to hell, I know.

- But without you it's game over.
- How is that my problem?

How did you get here?

Fuck you, I worked hard for it.

- Who got you all those tip-offs?
- To eliminate your competition.

- Are you going to ditch us?
- You unleashed World War III.

Over twenty dead.
Two of my colleagues are missing.

Fuck those racists.

Badia is your cousin, dickhead.

They're going to kill us.

- Don't you understand?
- That's your fault.

OK, fine.

We'll rat you out.

We'll say you knew about the sting
and you were working with us.

Shut up.

- No-one will believe you.
- Won't they?

Who do you think those racists
will believe?

They can't wait to put
your monkey face behind bars.

And all those journalists
will get off on it.

Sorry, man.

Fucking sorry, I know.
It's my own fucking fault.

I fucking messed up.
I know that. Fucking sorry.

I mean it.

You just have to help us now,
can't you see that?

Please.

If you don't help us...

then it's like you're killing us.

Yasser was a cop,

but he was still our brother.

I came up with a genius plan.

Yasser only had to convince
the investigating judge.

LEVEL 7
PRIDE

So you're asking me to lie?

And tell everyone
we've seized all the drugs?

Inspector Dahmani...

Do you realize what you're asking of me?

I have never lied in my entire career.
Not even to my wife or children.

There are over twenty dead
in Holland.

Only you have the power to stop this.

If it backfires,
it's your ass on the line.

1 pm, VTM NEWS.

Birgit Van Mol.

Good afternoon. In Antwerp,
police have made another drugs bust.

After weeks of thorough investigation,
a large amount of cocaine was seized.

The drugs were hidden in containers
between crates of olive oil from Morocco

in packets with a watermark
linking them to a Colombian cartel.

With a street value of 30 million euros.

This information is only released now
to protect the investigation.

Mr Superintendent.

The cocaine

originates from the Cartagena cartel
in Colombia.

Via YouTube, the Colombians got word
their shit had been seized

and they cooled off. Finally.

The operation's success

is all down to the work
of Inspector Yasser Dahmani.

Yasser saved the day, he got a medal
and was touted a supercop.

It's crazy what a few kilos of flour
can do.

The Colombians called Orlando
to bury the hatchet.

Everything was chill again
between Badia and him.

Lucky bastard.

Thanks to the insurance money,

Aziz got a new garage
full of gangsta rides.

Volt was happy, and so was Aziz.

Junes focused on his passion.

He's going to compete
in Belgium's Got Talent.

I bet he'll win it.

And me? I have to say, this gangsta life
isn't without danger.

I learned my lesson, for sure.

My advice is,

don't get involved with drugs,
kids, and you'll be all right.

And aside from that, I...

I smoke a joint now and then,
I game, that's allowed,

I think about life,

the seven deadly sins, my parents.

And I think back
to that sick adventure we went on.

Pride is the most fucked up of all sins.

A genius plan? My ass.

That press conference was a set-up.

I didn't believe a word of it.

The route has been compromised.

We're going to eliminate all weak links.

Do we have to?

- Because the coke...
- Or do you want to end up in a box too?

We need to go, now.

Fuck.

Dammit.

Stay in the car.

Badia.

- Look at these fucking pants.
- Why the fuck are you pissing yourself?

- That's what stress does to me.
- We're dead, fucker.

What are you going to do
when the Colombians come for you?

- Bro.
- Please. Please.

Really, bro. Please.

Shut up.

- Badia.
- Badia.

- Where's Adamo?
- We didn't find him.

You didn't?

That's bullshit.

If I die, my mom will kill me.

Shut up, filthy Belgian.

Let her go. Let her go.

Hey, brother, you remember what I said.
Filthy whore.

F-I-L-T-H-Y.

Junes! Junes!

Won't be long, babe.

Adamo.

Look at your girlfriends, Adamo.

Wooh, sexy.

I think they love me, Adamo.

They even wanted my autograph.

Do you want my autograph, Adamo?

Open his mouth. Open his mouth.

He wants to suck.

Suck.

Suck on this.

Suck, suck, suck.

What's wrong, babe?
Have I left you hanging?

Adamo.

Come to Antwerp Central. Alone.

With the rest of the coke and the money.

Or I swear on my mother's life,
I will kill them.

Lying bastard.

Friendship is fine as long as you don't
have a Colombian cartel on your tail.

It was high time I hit the road.

Come on, dammit.

Adamo.

Did you miss me, baby?

Look.

Look at them.

This will happen to you
if you fail the big quiz.

What quiz?

The Where is My Coke and Money quiz.

You might be a better contestant.

Are you going to kiss me, bitch?

Bring me that mirror.

Look at yourself.

Happy with what you see?

A dirty rat
who abandoned his own friends.

I hate rats.

You want to look like Tony Montana?
Here, I'll help you.

Police! Drop your weapons!

I'd do anything for my homies.

Yasser, hey, bro. Listen.

You need to have me tailed, 24/7. OK?

- Stay on my tail, bro.
- OK, we will.

Everybody standby.

They're on their way.

Go, go, go.

Police! Drop your weapons!

Fuck you.

Filthy whores!

Yasser,

Yasser!

Do you know who I am?
I am Hassan Kamikaze, motherfuckers.

Drop your weapon.

In the Name
of the Father, the Son

and the Holy Spirit.

Lord, grant him eternal peace.

Let the eternal light guide him,

so his soul may rest in eternal peace.

Amen.

Yasser was touted a hero
and a role model for everyone.

Both for Moroccans and Belgians.

He dismantled
an international drug network

and finally got the respect he deserved.

We were meant

to rot in jail till our midlife crisis.

Luckily, we had Karim and Nassim.

It's a matter of life or death.

- My colleague will show you something.
- What do you think of this?

The best fucking criminal lawyers
in Flanders.

So we have a deal?

Volt came off coke
and became a social worker.

If you're too tough,
you'll push people away.

Be like water too.

But if you're too weak,
people will trample on you.

So be like water

when it cuts through rock,
like Bruce Lee said.

- Do you get me?
- Yes.

He helps kids get on the right track
and stay there.

Junes was selected
for Belgium's Got Talent and won it.

He's on tour with a British chick.

They're drawing crowds
with a mix of tap and break dance,

like a modern
Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire.

Badia pursued her kickboxing,
like Jean-Claude Van Damme.

She's the Belgian champion
and the world title awaits.

And believe it or not, Uncle Farid
and Aunt Saloua are her biggest fans.

And me? I'm doing job interviews.

Because it's true.
Life is not a fucking video game.

You need to go through some shit
to realize what happiness means.

But it's not always that simple.

I don't want to get too philosophical,
but what is happiness?

Is it finding your dream girl?
Picket fences and all that shit?

Or is it being the coolest gangsta
in existence?

What would you choose?

Left or right?

Time for the real deal.