The Gentlemen (2019) Movie 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?

- 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.

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?

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!

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.

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?

The Gentlemen (2019) - full transcript