Rake (2010–2018): Season 3, Episode 8 - Episode #3.8 - full transcript
Who's the cow? My stepmother.
You're Tikki Wendon's stepson?
A teensy little fund
to cover unexpected costs.
A slush fund.
It's 120 million bucks, mate.
It could be fun, go to a few events,
a couple of dinners, hold hands.
I want to make it right.
Why don't we move in together?
He and I are getting a divorce.
That is big news.
You are my bum boy.
No, no. Correction - you are my bitch.
We're gonna buy you out.
June 21, there was a break-in at TWE.
Computers were stolen,
mainframes smashed
and an elderly security guard
was shot dead.
I only wanted to go in
and get rid of the bloody email.
I never wanted anyone to die.
Another one? I'm not complaining.
Conference call at seven
in the morning? Do such things exist?
Crazy as the papers make out he is...
Does seven in the morning exist?
..or just a killer? I'll get a time.
We can't do anything before Monday.
Bye. We've got to get through this week.
Right. See ya. Who was that?
Dr Gordon Christie's former solicitor.
Christie, the surgeon
with the dead hookers Christie?
That'd be the one.
He's sacking Barrett,
and he wants you to represent him.
Sacking Barrett? Barrett's brilliant.
What is he, nuts?
The evidence would
seem to point that way.
Mate, what is going on in this town?
Nicole says six briefs have
come in this morning, all good ones -
major criminal activity,
do you know what I mean?
Nothing but blood, drugs and cash.
Two years' work, she reckons.
Good for you. You're back.
Better than back. No, no, no.
Don't think for a minute
that God wants me to be successful
and/or happy, mate.
This is an old trick of his.
I'm onto it.
Lulls you into a false sense
of security, and then, bam! Roadkill.
This is your problem -
you can't even recognise happiness.
Your career's firing up,
you've got a great girl...
I don't got a great girl.
I don't even got a girl.
We haven't even done it yet.
I'm still hanging in there.
I get excited when she calls.
It's like I'm 14 years old again.
Cleave, you're dating.
Do you understand?
I know I'm dating. It scares
the living Christ out of me.
She's very strong-willed,
and she's very honest.
Do you know what I mean?
She will not tolerate
a scintilla of bullshit,
which puts me
at a terrible disadvantage.
I'm going to grab a coffee.
Do you want one?
No. I don't even need coffee.
I'm tickety-boo.
Hey, Cleave!
Oh, bravo! Hey, Cleave?
Cleaver!
Cleave!
Mate, I signed a contract
in front of two people that I was
led to believe were lawyers, yeah?
It's just, the accountant...
..stuffed up
some of the calculations a little.
Oh, there's a shock.
We were 20 grand short. We actually
owed you 70 for the restaurant.
Here. We want
to make sure everything's nice...
..and above-board.
What?
And the 300 grand I owe you...
Forgotten, mate. It's a clean slate, eh?
Come here. Come here, mate.
See ya, Cleave.
You've got a special technique,
do you, mate?
I beg your pardon?
You clearly saw me push the button
three times,
but you pushed it twice more,
so you know...
Just wondering,
is there something I don't understand
about the way pedestrian crossings
function, or, got a little trick?
Maybe you've got some
special affinity with the button.
Are you some sort of crossing whisperer?
You stupid corporate toolbag!
Teach me anything
about pedestrian crossings, will you?
Cleave! What the hell are you doing?
Cleaver! Get off, Cleave!
Get off him.
Bloody idiot! Leave him alone!
God's sake, mate!
What are you doing, you idiot?
Now let's talk about
pedestrian crossings.
Here's your shoe, mate.
Anybody else want to have a chat
about pedestrian crossings?
Christ, mate! What are you doing?
He started it.
He started it? Yeah.
How old are you?
Hey, how good is today, huh?
Not even midday. Taxi!
He was an arrogant wanker.
Because he pushed the button
after you'd pushed it?
No, that was just idiocy.
It was his whole argument, or lack
thereof, that made him a wanker.
There were witnesses.
All of whom will be sympathetic
to my cause.
Mate, I think you broke his nose.
If you get done for assault, you can
forget the two years in clover.
You can forget ever practising
again. You'll be back inside.
Right. Shit.
Someone's bound to have recognised me.
Why would someone have
been bound to have recognised you?
Well, I am quite well-known
in this town.
You're known. I wouldn't say
well-known. A little known.
Oh, a little known?
A little known, yeah.
Did anyone scream out,
'Oh, my God, it's Cleaver Greene?!'
I don't know, Barnyard.
There was a lot going on.
Maybe someone did yell that.
Well, I didn't hear them.
I will get bail, right?
Yeah, you'll get bail.
There's something else
I should probably mention.
What's that?
Paulie told me about the break-in
at the office,
and how the old guy got shot. What?
He told me the day after it happened.
Why are you telling us this now?
I thought it would be something
you guys would want to know.
What you're telling us
is you're an accessory
after the fact to a murder.
I didn't do anything!
Yes. That's exactly
what makes you an accessory.
Cleave, Barn.
Tommy, Sando.
There are the charges.
We'd read them out to you,
but there are over 300,
and we've got lunch at 12.
Right. Well, that's...
Real quick. OK, so...
Theft, theft, theft, theft.
Theft, theft, theft, theft,
fraud, fraud,
fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud.
OK, all looks in order. All good.
Is that it?
There's 120 million bucks' worth,
Cleave,
there's more than enough
to be getting on with,
unless there's something else
we need to know about.
No, no. All good.
Well, you dodged a bullet there
in terms of accessorising.
Tell me, what was in Paulie's email?
He didn't say.
He wouldn't say.
I asked him, and he just freaked out.
Hey. Hey.
How was your day?
I have no idea.
Is that what I think it is?
Ah, no. That's not blood.
Claret...
..from lunch.
Well, would you like another one?
Absolutely.
You know, it's funny -
I'm actually fine with dried blood.
..were shocked
when a local businessman was attacked.
The assault took place around 11:00
this morning in Martin Place.
Police are appealing for any witnesses
who can identify the assailant.
Who gets into a fight at 11:00
in the morning in Martin Place?
Oh, there are some fruit bats
around here.
Cheers.
So, listen, you've been more than
patient, Cleave, I appreciate that.
Just...
Oh, shit. Sorry, I actually need to...
Do you mind? I need to... Really, now?
I'm really sorry. It's just a work...
Stay, uh...
Barnyard. Have you seen the news?
I've had three calls from mates.
Everyone thinks it's a huge joke,
but it's just a matter of time until...
No, it isn't, mate. Calm down.
Tomorrow, it's forgotten.
Bullshit, it is!
I will not take the rap for this,
Cleave. I can't.
Mate, I'm not asking you to.
Good. Well, don't.
Everything OK? Yeah, fine.
Just an anxious client.
So here's my thing.
Relationships have
never been easy for me,
and let's face it,
you clearly have a basketload of issues.
Fair call.
I need you to understand that
you're not my patient,
nor are you a project.
I don't find dark, troubled souls
particularly attractive.
Given what I do for a job,
I like to spend as much time
as I can with happy people
who have their shit together.
I know happiness is a big ask, but...
..do you think you could get
your shit together
in the not-too-distant future?
Yeah...
..definitely.
So tell me how you got blood
on your shirt.
You're a far worse liar
than you think you are.
Um...
..the...
..the fruit bat who got in the fight
in Martin Place, that was me.
Oh, Jesus. It wasn't my fault.
This isn't going to work. Hear me out.
He threw the first punch.
And why did he throw a punch
at 11:00 in the morning
in Martin Place?
OK, we're standing
in the pedestrian crossing, alright,
and I clearly pushed the button
three times, OK?
Then he leans over
and he presses it two more times.
God, it shits me when people do that.
Doesn't it?
And what, do they think
they have a special gift?
Exactly!
Oh, you've got a lovely body.
Oh, my God.
Do you mind?
I'm sorry.
I've had some old mates
from the DPP calling,
having a good, old laugh
about the guy who looks like Barney.
I spoke to Barney,
and it turns out the guy
who looks like Barney is Barney.
Jesus! Cleaver, who picks a fight
at 11 o'clock in the morning?
I don't understand what the mystery
is about a morning fight.
Some of my best fights, believe it
or not, have been before lunch.
You can't do this to him.
You have to go to the police.
I don't have to go to the police
unless the police go to him.
If one moment of grief hits him,
I will be calling some old friends
and you will be going back to jail.
You OK?
Oh, yeah.
I am very good, thank you.
It's been known to us for some time
here on the show
that Paul Wendon
suffered a serious cocaine problem
that led him into a downward spiral
of desperation.
I'm joined in the studio
by Paul's stepmother
and my boss, Tikki Wendon.
How does it feel
knowing that young Paul faces
the prospect of a lengthy jail term?
Funny, isn't it?
What's funny?
How you and I came to be.
It's all so fricking random.
You know, I would never have met you
if it wasn't for Malcolm.
I'd never have met Malcolm
if it wasn't for the death
of a dear, old man.
Fuck.
Fuck, indeed.
Speaking of randomness
and old men's deaths,
how long do you think Paul Wendon
will get?
He won't see much change out of five.
Five!
He didn't mean to kill anyone.
If that's the case,
then why did he send a killer?
He's not very bright.
You know, he's a very troubled kid.
What about young Horny,
is he another troubled kid, is he?
No, Horny is a kid in trouble.
But he didn't have anything to do
with Rod's death, right?
No.
No, but what?
Just fuck off, Cleaver!
Will you listen to me?
Vern and Phil were put on trial
for a murder they didn't commit.
I perjured myself to get them off,
and all this time,
your mate knew what happened,
but he didn't say anything
because he was protecting
his worthless fucking coward of a mate,
and that makes him
an accessory to murder.
But that's not a big deal.
You'll get him off that,
make sure he's never even charged.
Kudos in advance.
Will you just listen to me, please.
These guys were my family, Cleave.
Vern literally held my hand all
the way through my mum's funeral,
and they all got fucked over
by your coked-up little pals.
Whose side are you on?
Whose side am I on?
What are you talking about?
If you're on their side,
you're obviously not on mine.
I am not representing Paul Wendon,
I'm representing James Horner,
and on a charge that has nothing
to do with Rod's death.
But he knew who was responsible
for Rod's death
and he did nothing about it.
My understanding is,
that's a serious fucking crime.
You tell him, if he doesn't go
to the cops, I will.
You cannot go to the cops with this.
Why not?
It's information that was passed
to me by a client in confidence.
It's privileged.
Privileged? Is that really the word?
Yes.
Only the law could call something
this fucked-up 'privileged.'
Goodbye, Cleaver.
Aw, come on.
Aw, for the love of God!
And we're out.
OK, everybody, fuck off.
You heard the lady -
get the fuck out of here!
I thought that went well.
You're fired, Cal.
You can't and you won't.
You're retiring, Cal.
Why would I do that?
Because unless you do,
I will soon be shocked to discover
that you're the one
who fed Paul's cocaine habit.
Yeah, right.
His dealer has just had a very frank
and very full conversation
with my lawyers, which points
the finger of guilt squarely at you.
If you check your phone and your
emails in the next five minutes,
you will discover a clear pattern
of criminal behaviour on your part.
Such is the clarity of this pattern,
one fears you could end up
back in the cells.
Don't despair, darl. There's always
a reality show around the corner.
I think this one's called,
Fuck With Me Again
And You're A Dead Man.
Should rate its tits off,
don't you reckon, pet?
Hey, mate.
All good your end?
You seen this?
Oh, for the love of God!
It was just a little brouhaha.
Why does everything
always have to be so complicated?
Why am I always in the fucking fray?
Can't I just float above it
occasionally?
Fuck sake!
Mum's upstairs.
What are you doing?
What's going on? Ssh!
Mum's huge in Jakarta.
Why? One of those freak stories -
woman wakes up,
suddenly speaking Indonesian.
There's 250 million people
speaking the bastard.
Why are they getting excited
about one more?
Oh, Cleave!
Hey, Cleave. That's my sixth interview.
Right. I'm sorry, and who are you,
my little friend?
This is May.
Hello, May.
My father is Wendy's therapist,
and I'm translating for her.
Mum's getting some good coin, Cleave.
50 grand per spot.
50 grand?
What happened? Oh! I had a nosebleed.
Cleaver! Cleaver?
Barney...
Barney doesn't fight! You were
the one in the fight, weren't you?
You're a bloody idiot!
Now Barney's in fucking trouble.
Hey! I just need the words, OK,
not the attitude.
I was married to the attitude.
Alright, I may have gotten into
a little fight. Cue the outrage.
You need help, Cleave.
I'm serious.
Normal, healthy people
do not get into fights
in the city before noon.
The next fight I get into in the CBD,
it's going to be in the PM, OK?
For sure. Fuck me. I'm outta here.
Barnyard, where are you?
Where do you think?
In hiding. Thank you very much.
Just give it another day, OK?
That's easy for you to say.
First whiff of trouble,
I'll haul myself in, I promise. OK?
You know we've got Horny in ten.
Why would Tikki Wendon
need Bligh Phillips
to syphon off 100-odd mill for her?
She carries that around in her handbag.
Unless she wanted the 100 million
to be untraceable.
Slush fund? That fucking casino.
When did the bad trades start?
February.
Just before the tenders went in.
Bloody hell. It's a long, long bow.
And there's no evidence.
Which means I'm still fucked.
No, not necessarily.
Cleaver seldom relies on
trivia-like evidence.
We have to assume that the evidence
is all against us,
and it'll be impeccable.
I mean, it's Tikki Wendon
and it's Bligh Phillips,
so our only choice is
psychological warfare.
We have to rattle them.
We have to surprise them
into making a mistake.
What if we were to know the contents
of the email that Paulie sent?
Do you? No, we don't...
..but we can say we do.
That's a really good idea, Barnyard.
Come on, you little rug rats.
Time for another terrifying tale
of the macabre!
No terror, please. Some sleepy tales
will suffice, thank you.
Aw. Mum's boring, isn't she?
Come on.
Sorry.
Do you want a drink?
No, I'm good.
Funny old world, isn't it?
Yeah? Which particular part,
because I find it all hilarious.
Melissa and David, after all that time.
Oh, yes. They're very funny.
You think they'll last?
Who knows?
Do you think he'll end up premier?
Nah.
He's very popular now.
Only six months till the election.
It's hard enough
fighting the government.
He's going to be fighting
Tikki Wendon as well?
They're going to outspend him
four to one.
Yeah, I guess.
You sure you don't want a drink?
No, I'm good. I'm gonna get going.
You sure you're OK? Yeah.
We'll see you, hey? Yeah.
Night. Night.
Hey, babe...
..what are you doing?
Sorry.
Don't worry about it.
Are you sure you're OK?
Yeah.
Just...
..it's just really hard not to miss you.
I know what you mean.
All good your end?
Yeah, everything's fine.
Better than fine, I'd hope.
He's a great guy. He is.
Where is His Greatness?
He's with his other kids.
He said he'd be here at eight.
Maria.
This feels weird. Mm.
Why does this feel weird?
I suspect it feels weird
because outside of chambers,
in all these years,
you and I have never sat down,
just the two of us,
for a cup of tea, a meal, anything.
Really? Rubbish. Plenty of meals.
No, never the two of us. Not once. No?
Night, Mama.
Goodnight, Maria.
She's elusive, your mum, isn't she?
Really?
I'm quitting, Cleave.
At least, I'm taking an extended
break. I don't know which yet.
No. Mm.
No, you're not.
I want to spend some more time
with my baby.
Come on,
there's all this work coming in.
You don't want to do this now.
You'll be able to pay someone more than
a seven-year-old sewing soccer balls
in Bangladesh.
I fear...
..there may be no-one else...
..quite like you.
Huh?
Thank you, Cleave.
Oh, shit.
What? It's Barney. Ah...
What? It's not that stupid fight, is it?
No, I wouldn't have thought so. Cleaver!
Fuck.
It was around 11 in the morning.
Mr Meagher.
Mr Greene.
You fellas know better than
to question a witness
without legal representation.
He's a criminal lawyer.
And I waived my right
for legal representation.
Oh, did you?
Right.
Well, look, I would like a quiet word
with my client if you'd be so kind.
Not necessary, Mr Greene.
Nothing to hide here.
I see.
I was at the crossing.
I witnessed the fight.
I seem to recall you describing it
more as a tussle.
The victim suffered a broken nose
and a fractured cheekbone.
Really?
Well, who's to say that
he is in fact the victim?
Who's to say
that he didn't start this fight?
He does. Well, of course he does,
because the poor man was humiliated.
He's obviously underestimated
the sheer power of his opponent.
Look, fellas. Come on, look at him.
Do you really think
this fella could have landed
such a perfectly weighted blow?
I mean, look at him. Come on.
Look at his little, funny arms.
Look at his shirt.
Plus, he's just recovered from
cancer. Only got one ball. Hello!
The salient question is, fellas,
has your so-called victim
identified Mr Meagher?
No. The victim has concussion, and is...
Oh! And is having some difficulty
recalling things?
So it would seem.
I think our work here is done,
gentlemen.
I knew you wouldn't rat on me.
I knew you wouldn't confess.
Drink?
Fine, whatever.
I did have an idea
about Paulie's email, though,
how we can get the best bang
for our buck.
Oh, yeah?
Let's assume that there is an email.
If we don't know its contents,
what's its probative value?
Nothing.
There's no probative value, you tool.
It's about wrong-footing them,
smoking the buggers out.
All you have to do is to suggest
that you might have access to it,
and I'll do the rest, OK?
What's my upside?
Mate, this woman is your single
biggest obstacle to government, OK?
And this is going to take her down.
Call a press conference.
Announce something, anything.
It doesn't matter -
free cats for amputees.
I will make sure that there's someone
there to ask the right questions.
The people will get it.
They already do in many parts
of the United States,
where you either bring your own bag
to the supermarket
or pay for a paper one.
The benefits to the environment
will be enormous.
Do you have any comment
about Paul Wendon's various charges?
Ah, well.
As you well know, Mr Wendon
has admitted to sending an email,
the contents of which he won't reveal.
However, I'm reliably informed
that my office has
been contacted by a source,
and we will soon be in possession
of what I'm told is
a very, very revealing email.
Once we are in possession of it,
we will be handing it to the police.
Can you tell us the name of the source?
No, I can't, but if I were you,
I would be asking those closest
to Mr Wendon and his stepmother.
Cal McGregor is a trusted friend
and colleague. Who knows?
Maybe he received a copy.
You fucking prick!
I thought you said there was nothing
about the casino on Paul's computer?
If David Shitwit Potter knows who's
got the fucking thing, why don't we?
Don't you worry,
Cal McGregor's my next call.
Fuck!
Red?
Hey. Hey.
You want a martini?
They do great martinis here.
Martini? Well, OK, yeah.
Martini?
Now, look, if it's about
the Barney shit, it's OK.
Trust me. I've massaged it
with the cops. All under control.
You can ask him yourself.
No, it's not that.
It's Barney-related. What?
OK, let's not beat around the bush.
Barney and Nicole, they're solid, right?
Yep.
They're solid.
Alright? I'm so close to losing it.
You're not going to lose it.
Oh, yeah, really?
I'm not going to lose it?
Ten minutes ago, I booked a room
at the Four Seasons for you and me
just in case we felt inclined.
I cancelled it 90 seconds later,
of course, but you should know
that I was seriously considering
that as an option.
That's how much I'm not losing it.
There's only really been three
significant men in my life.
Two of them are off-limits now,
and you...
..you've always been a sexual version
of Doctors Without Borders.
Sexe sans frontieres.
Can I ask who the third is?
David...
..and I think that I love him.
I swear to God, if you say
anything about him, I will lose it.
I'm not saying anything.
He's back with Melissa, though,
and Barney's with Nicole.
So I'm the last man standing?
God help me. God help you.
I know the truth.
What truth?
That I will never see you again, will I?
Not the two of us, like this...
..because you're Barney's,
and you always will be Barney's,
and this is awkward
and we'll just drift apart.
That makes me sad.
You don't know what's in this email
or who the source is?
No. So why the song and dance about it?
Why set up a bullshit press conference?
Strategy.
So there is no source,
and we're not getting an email?
Who knows? Someone might still bite,
and I'm hoping it'll be Tikki Wendon
on her fucking tongue.
It's a bluff. He's got nothing.
He's just trying to rattle you.
Man, am I going to fuck him
at the election. Thanks, pet.
Cheque's in the net.
The illegal trades
conducted by Mr Horner
amounted to a little over $120 million.
He created seven fictitious accounts,
through which he
funnelled the money offshore.
It was a criminally brilliant scheme,
and a huge embarrassment
for Bligh Philips.
Mr Strong, did you ever have
email contact with Paul Wendon?
No.
Right. So, he never sent you an email
about the secret slush fund
that Tikki Wendon asked you to create
in order to bribe politicians
and bureaucrats... Objection.
..to approve her plans for the casino?
Your Honour? Mr Greene...
..we have talked about this before.
You're now abusing your privilege
to cross-examine.
On the one hand,
the court has been presented
with literally thousands of documents
which confirm the proposition
that the accused was responsible
for the illegal trades.
You, on the other hand,
have produced nothing more
than a conspiracy theory.
Prosecution,
you may call your next witness.
Your Honour,
we call Mr Derek Martin Wimmer.
Derek Martin Wimmer.
Oh, my God! What do you mean?
It's the guy!
I was chief financial officer
at Bligh Phillips
until March of this year, before
I moved to a new position at ZMC.
Could you please take a look
at the bundle of documents
in front of you?
Yes. These would appear to be trades
totalling approximately $120 million,
made by Foucault8X, who is James Horner.
Nothing further, Your Honour.
Mr Greene?
Now, Mr Wimmer,
you were CFO of Bligh Phillips
until March this year, is that correct?
Mr Greene?
Your Honour? You're wearing sunglasses.
Much as this might
make you feel at home,
this is not a game of poker.
Indeed, Your Honour.
I've recently been diagnosed
with photophobia, Your Honour.
I'm terribly light-sensitive.
I would suggest more time
accustoming your eyes
to the daylight hours.
Not being a doctor, of course.
I'm a mere judge.
You do have a medical certificate...
Ah...
..confirming your unfortunate condition?
Well, Your Honour...
Take them off, Mr Greene.
Yes, Your Honour.
Mr Wimmer, so, in your role as CFO,
you had oversight of probably
hundreds of thousands of...
Mr Greene? Your Honour?
If it doesn't pain you too much,
would you be so kind
as to have the courtesy
to look the witness in the eye
when you're addressing him?
Of course, Your Honour.
Mr Greene?
Yes, Your Honour.
Ah, Mr Wimmer...
..you were recently engaged
in a fight, were you not?
I was assaulted.
You lost a fight, Mr Wimmer,
let's be frank.
There's no shame in that -
two blokes, squaring up, settling
a score. One's going to lose.
But Mr Wimmer,
did the extremely powerful blow
that you sustained in this fight
cause any memory loss?
I have a mild version of amnesia.
Fortunately, my doctors say that
my memory will return at any time.
Right, then. Well, shall we not
waste the court's time any more?
I just watched you
thumb through hundreds of pages
of so-called illegal trades
and declare my client their author.
Now Mr Wimmer, I don't mean to be cruel,
but given the current condition
of your memory,
how can you be sure that
these trades even occurred,
let alone were conducted by my client?
No, I can't be sure.
No further questions, Your Honour.
Hey.
Aw, come on.
I just wanted to see
what he looked like, OK?
Really, that's it?
I'm sure I'm being unfair to you,
but you need to understand that
ever since Malcolm went to jail,
I've had this thing inside me
that's screaming
that there's no justice in this world,
and you're in there
with all your theatrical flourish,
defending him,
and I know he's committed a crime.
He didn't commit the crime
that he's charged with,
and he didn't kill anybody.
I still want him to go to jail.
You want to punish somebody.
I get that, after all the shit
you and Malcolm went through.
You want to have somebody to pin
it on, but it's not this kid, OK?
For whatever it's worth,
it's not this kid.
Ms Wendon, I put it to you
that you are dishonest.
How dare you? There is nothing
I value more than integrity.
I put it to you that, contrary
to what you have told this court,
you in fact loathe your stepson.
Ms Wendon, can you tell us
what you know of the contents
of an email sent by your stepson
on 18th April?
Nothing. I haven't seen it.
It's lies.
It's all lies from you and David Potter,
lies designed to destroy me
and my family.
If you or Mr Potter has the email,
Mr Greene, produce it.
Well, you know the old adage -
just add Cleaver Greene and stir
to make a perfect fuck curry.
David, there's something
you should know.
What?
Selwyn has Tikki Wendon's
mobile number in his phone.
I beg your pardon?
He and I used to have a thing
awhile ago,
and I suspected he was cheating
on me, which he was,
and I went through his phone contacts.
Oh, hello.
Have you been to see His Lowliness?
I was supposed to, but I had to
cancel. Told me he had to see you.
Yes, he does. Could we just grab
a moment, please? Thank you so much.
What's going on?
Are you serious with him?
Oh, Cleaver! Will you stop it?
No, I mean it. I want to know.
Why?
Because if you're not serious,
there's someone who is
and has been for quite awhile.
Who would that be?
Scarlet.
How much is she paying you?
Come in.
Selwyn, this is Cleaver.
Cleaver, Selwyn.
Selwyn. What a pleasure.
So...
..now tell me, Selwyn,
what sort of a mole puts
Tikki Wendon's name in their phone
as 'Tikki Wendon, ' huh?
I mean, that's not tiptop moling, is it?
What we're going to do now
is we're going to make
a little recording, OK?
Get me the Police Commissioner,
and we're going to need a moment
before a federal court judge.
It is federal, right?
Oh, we're going to
make a legal recording!
I've never done one of those before.
Yep? Potter's got it.
Got what? The email.
Jesus Christ. Is it bad?
It's a rant, really,
but it's everything -
Bligh Phillips, the slush fund, you,
names, all sorts of names -
pollies, bureaucrats.
Oh, my God! Everything?
Yeah, everything.
How did Potter get it?
I think it was Cal McGregor.
That fucking egomaniacal piece of shit!
What have we got on Potter? Nothing.
I told you - he is squeaky-clean.
So, there is a slush fund?
How do you think
you're getting fucking paid?!
You're doing well, Cleaver.
Cal? What are you doing?
Don't make a fuss. Sit down.
I got it.
Got what?
I was one of the people Paulie
didn't mean to send that email to.
There was a party,
a celebrity-bullshit thing.
I was invited.
So was Paulie, but that was
a mistake, apparently.
He got an email saying that
at Tikki's insistence,
his name had been
taken off the guest list.
So he wrote that, and hit 'reply all.'
Where are you going?
I'm laying low until she's tucked
away in a cell somewhere, mate.
She's a cut snake.
These are the blokes you should call.
They're the ones who have already
done well out of the casino.
Fuck me. Cal...
..this is a bit of a game-changer, mate.
Come on, Cleave. You don't need me.
Much as I hate to say it,
you're pretty good at this racket.
Just make sure you put her away
so I can get my fucking life back,
alright?
Paul Wendon's email reads in part,
'I don't understand why
she goes out of her way
to make me look and feel like a tool.
I fucking tried with her.
I think she wants me to be nothing.
I think she'd like me to be dead.
I don't understand. All I've ever
wanted was another mum.'
There you go, folks.
No evil power play,
nothing to do with the casino,
ladies and gentlemen,
which is presumably
why her people couldn't find it,
because they're search engines
wouldn't have been set
to look for a sad, pathetic plea
from a young man
who just wanted another mum.
Thank you, mate.
Happy?
What do you fucking reckon?
You played it brilliantly.
Oh, I didn't play it.
You're innocent of the charges.
No, it was genius.
What can I do for you?
Pay your bill.
I owe you more than money, Cleave.
Actually, there is something.
Yeah, anything. You name it.
It's not going to be pretty.
Smile.
Thank you.
And so the mighty fall.
The conspiracy between Tikki Wendon,
the Government and Bligh Phillips
to desecrate the foreshores
of Sydney harbour is no more.
Ms Wendon herself,
senior government ministers
and executives of Bligh Phillips bank
have already been charged with fraud,
perjury, conspiracy
to pervert the course of justice...
The list goes on.
That's why I'm here - to shine
your light on the ugly truths.
The people of Sydney had a big win
today, but let's remain vigilant,
because my work here has just begun.
I'm Cal McGregor.
This is Danish, mid-century,
which is a good thing, apparently.
I saw it in a shop window,
and I remembered you only had
one dining chair,
which I thought might a little...
..inconvenient for you.
Now, I know what you're thinking,
but I've had this chair tested
by the Franco-Swiss squad,
who built the hadron particle collider.
This chair is guaranteed
not to hurt you.
A Cleaver Greene guarantee -
isn't that an oxymoron?
It's some kind of moron.
Come inside,
and bring your Danish,
mid-century chair with you.
Well done, mate.
Ah, yes.
That is quite a victory,
if I do say so myself, really.
Barnyard, where are you?
We need to be out and about, mate.
We need to paint this town.
We're pooped, mate.
We're looking at a night in.
What is wrong with you? We have
brought down the rich and powerful.
It's not going to get much better
than this.
Mate, I got a call from Magnus
yesterday. It's back.
What's back?
The cancer.
It's not BAD bad, it's just back.
It's just another fight, mate.
Yeah, yeah. Just, you know...
Do some more dance classes,
you'll be fine.
Yep, we'll salsa together, hey?
Into eternity, mate.
Into eternity -
you and I, salsa-ing our arses off.
That's the way it's meant to be, mate.
Yep.
See ya.
What is it, Cleave?
Barnyard. Cancer's back.
Cleave.
He's going to make it.
Listen to me. Listen to me.
That doesn't mean it's the end, alright?
That doesn't mean it's the end.
Where is the cock?
He's been gone 20 minutes.
I'm paying him by the hour.
This is what happens
when you get ex-crims
to do your balloon piloting for you -
unreliability.
One hell of a bowel movement.
Mate, it's 20 minutes. It's not like
you're strapped for cash.
You are in the pink now.
I know. It's good, isn't it?
I'm ahead. Ahead?
Jesus, mate.
I'd say with the restaurant,
you're doing a little better
than just 'ahead.'
Kirsty paid me 70 grand.
What for?
For my shares.
You sold your shares?
Yeah.
What?
Mate, it's been bought out
by some big chain.
I read it in the papers yesterday.
What are you talking about?
They're going to be opening them
in Europe and in China,
maybe even the States.
It's worth millions.
Are you fucking kidding me?
So that's why she wanted me out.
That's why she wanted my fucking...
Oh, for the love of... Oh, mate!
Fuck me sideways! Mate.
Unbelievable.
Where is this bloody knobhead?
I knew it was too good to be true.
What were you thinking?
I put in to the bloody place,
but 70! I thought, 'How can you lose?
It's 70 grand.
How could you possibly go wrong?'
It never stops, does it, mate?
It never fucking stops.
Where is this tool?
What size bladder has he got?
Cleave!
It never fucking stops. You think?
Come here, you mad bastard, and listen.
What?
I really appreciate this, mate.
Thank you.
Yes, mate.
We've got to get out of this madness.
We've got to get up above the fray - up!
Oh, shit.
Mate...
Barn, just grab that.
What are you doing, mate? Undo it!
I'm trying to undo it.
You're going to... Mate!
Undo it!
I'm trying to undo the bloody thing.
Where is that bloody idiot?
Fuck me!
These have got a mind of their own.
Oh, for the love of God.
Are you alright? No, I'm not OK.
Does this look OK?
Nothing about this feels OK.
Fuck!
You'll be right, mate.
It's nice to be above the fray,
isn't it?
Barnyard!
You're Tikki Wendon's stepson?
A teensy little fund
to cover unexpected costs.
A slush fund.
It's 120 million bucks, mate.
It could be fun, go to a few events,
a couple of dinners, hold hands.
I want to make it right.
Why don't we move in together?
He and I are getting a divorce.
That is big news.
You are my bum boy.
No, no. Correction - you are my bitch.
We're gonna buy you out.
June 21, there was a break-in at TWE.
Computers were stolen,
mainframes smashed
and an elderly security guard
was shot dead.
I only wanted to go in
and get rid of the bloody email.
I never wanted anyone to die.
Another one? I'm not complaining.
Conference call at seven
in the morning? Do such things exist?
Crazy as the papers make out he is...
Does seven in the morning exist?
..or just a killer? I'll get a time.
We can't do anything before Monday.
Bye. We've got to get through this week.
Right. See ya. Who was that?
Dr Gordon Christie's former solicitor.
Christie, the surgeon
with the dead hookers Christie?
That'd be the one.
He's sacking Barrett,
and he wants you to represent him.
Sacking Barrett? Barrett's brilliant.
What is he, nuts?
The evidence would
seem to point that way.
Mate, what is going on in this town?
Nicole says six briefs have
come in this morning, all good ones -
major criminal activity,
do you know what I mean?
Nothing but blood, drugs and cash.
Two years' work, she reckons.
Good for you. You're back.
Better than back. No, no, no.
Don't think for a minute
that God wants me to be successful
and/or happy, mate.
This is an old trick of his.
I'm onto it.
Lulls you into a false sense
of security, and then, bam! Roadkill.
This is your problem -
you can't even recognise happiness.
Your career's firing up,
you've got a great girl...
I don't got a great girl.
I don't even got a girl.
We haven't even done it yet.
I'm still hanging in there.
I get excited when she calls.
It's like I'm 14 years old again.
Cleave, you're dating.
Do you understand?
I know I'm dating. It scares
the living Christ out of me.
She's very strong-willed,
and she's very honest.
Do you know what I mean?
She will not tolerate
a scintilla of bullshit,
which puts me
at a terrible disadvantage.
I'm going to grab a coffee.
Do you want one?
No. I don't even need coffee.
I'm tickety-boo.
Hey, Cleave!
Oh, bravo! Hey, Cleave?
Cleaver!
Cleave!
Mate, I signed a contract
in front of two people that I was
led to believe were lawyers, yeah?
It's just, the accountant...
..stuffed up
some of the calculations a little.
Oh, there's a shock.
We were 20 grand short. We actually
owed you 70 for the restaurant.
Here. We want
to make sure everything's nice...
..and above-board.
What?
And the 300 grand I owe you...
Forgotten, mate. It's a clean slate, eh?
Come here. Come here, mate.
See ya, Cleave.
You've got a special technique,
do you, mate?
I beg your pardon?
You clearly saw me push the button
three times,
but you pushed it twice more,
so you know...
Just wondering,
is there something I don't understand
about the way pedestrian crossings
function, or, got a little trick?
Maybe you've got some
special affinity with the button.
Are you some sort of crossing whisperer?
You stupid corporate toolbag!
Teach me anything
about pedestrian crossings, will you?
Cleave! What the hell are you doing?
Cleaver! Get off, Cleave!
Get off him.
Bloody idiot! Leave him alone!
God's sake, mate!
What are you doing, you idiot?
Now let's talk about
pedestrian crossings.
Here's your shoe, mate.
Anybody else want to have a chat
about pedestrian crossings?
Christ, mate! What are you doing?
He started it.
He started it? Yeah.
How old are you?
Hey, how good is today, huh?
Not even midday. Taxi!
He was an arrogant wanker.
Because he pushed the button
after you'd pushed it?
No, that was just idiocy.
It was his whole argument, or lack
thereof, that made him a wanker.
There were witnesses.
All of whom will be sympathetic
to my cause.
Mate, I think you broke his nose.
If you get done for assault, you can
forget the two years in clover.
You can forget ever practising
again. You'll be back inside.
Right. Shit.
Someone's bound to have recognised me.
Why would someone have
been bound to have recognised you?
Well, I am quite well-known
in this town.
You're known. I wouldn't say
well-known. A little known.
Oh, a little known?
A little known, yeah.
Did anyone scream out,
'Oh, my God, it's Cleaver Greene?!'
I don't know, Barnyard.
There was a lot going on.
Maybe someone did yell that.
Well, I didn't hear them.
I will get bail, right?
Yeah, you'll get bail.
There's something else
I should probably mention.
What's that?
Paulie told me about the break-in
at the office,
and how the old guy got shot. What?
He told me the day after it happened.
Why are you telling us this now?
I thought it would be something
you guys would want to know.
What you're telling us
is you're an accessory
after the fact to a murder.
I didn't do anything!
Yes. That's exactly
what makes you an accessory.
Cleave, Barn.
Tommy, Sando.
There are the charges.
We'd read them out to you,
but there are over 300,
and we've got lunch at 12.
Right. Well, that's...
Real quick. OK, so...
Theft, theft, theft, theft.
Theft, theft, theft, theft,
fraud, fraud,
fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud.
OK, all looks in order. All good.
Is that it?
There's 120 million bucks' worth,
Cleave,
there's more than enough
to be getting on with,
unless there's something else
we need to know about.
No, no. All good.
Well, you dodged a bullet there
in terms of accessorising.
Tell me, what was in Paulie's email?
He didn't say.
He wouldn't say.
I asked him, and he just freaked out.
Hey. Hey.
How was your day?
I have no idea.
Is that what I think it is?
Ah, no. That's not blood.
Claret...
..from lunch.
Well, would you like another one?
Absolutely.
You know, it's funny -
I'm actually fine with dried blood.
..were shocked
when a local businessman was attacked.
The assault took place around 11:00
this morning in Martin Place.
Police are appealing for any witnesses
who can identify the assailant.
Who gets into a fight at 11:00
in the morning in Martin Place?
Oh, there are some fruit bats
around here.
Cheers.
So, listen, you've been more than
patient, Cleave, I appreciate that.
Just...
Oh, shit. Sorry, I actually need to...
Do you mind? I need to... Really, now?
I'm really sorry. It's just a work...
Stay, uh...
Barnyard. Have you seen the news?
I've had three calls from mates.
Everyone thinks it's a huge joke,
but it's just a matter of time until...
No, it isn't, mate. Calm down.
Tomorrow, it's forgotten.
Bullshit, it is!
I will not take the rap for this,
Cleave. I can't.
Mate, I'm not asking you to.
Good. Well, don't.
Everything OK? Yeah, fine.
Just an anxious client.
So here's my thing.
Relationships have
never been easy for me,
and let's face it,
you clearly have a basketload of issues.
Fair call.
I need you to understand that
you're not my patient,
nor are you a project.
I don't find dark, troubled souls
particularly attractive.
Given what I do for a job,
I like to spend as much time
as I can with happy people
who have their shit together.
I know happiness is a big ask, but...
..do you think you could get
your shit together
in the not-too-distant future?
Yeah...
..definitely.
So tell me how you got blood
on your shirt.
You're a far worse liar
than you think you are.
Um...
..the...
..the fruit bat who got in the fight
in Martin Place, that was me.
Oh, Jesus. It wasn't my fault.
This isn't going to work. Hear me out.
He threw the first punch.
And why did he throw a punch
at 11:00 in the morning
in Martin Place?
OK, we're standing
in the pedestrian crossing, alright,
and I clearly pushed the button
three times, OK?
Then he leans over
and he presses it two more times.
God, it shits me when people do that.
Doesn't it?
And what, do they think
they have a special gift?
Exactly!
Oh, you've got a lovely body.
Oh, my God.
Do you mind?
I'm sorry.
I've had some old mates
from the DPP calling,
having a good, old laugh
about the guy who looks like Barney.
I spoke to Barney,
and it turns out the guy
who looks like Barney is Barney.
Jesus! Cleaver, who picks a fight
at 11 o'clock in the morning?
I don't understand what the mystery
is about a morning fight.
Some of my best fights, believe it
or not, have been before lunch.
You can't do this to him.
You have to go to the police.
I don't have to go to the police
unless the police go to him.
If one moment of grief hits him,
I will be calling some old friends
and you will be going back to jail.
You OK?
Oh, yeah.
I am very good, thank you.
It's been known to us for some time
here on the show
that Paul Wendon
suffered a serious cocaine problem
that led him into a downward spiral
of desperation.
I'm joined in the studio
by Paul's stepmother
and my boss, Tikki Wendon.
How does it feel
knowing that young Paul faces
the prospect of a lengthy jail term?
Funny, isn't it?
What's funny?
How you and I came to be.
It's all so fricking random.
You know, I would never have met you
if it wasn't for Malcolm.
I'd never have met Malcolm
if it wasn't for the death
of a dear, old man.
Fuck.
Fuck, indeed.
Speaking of randomness
and old men's deaths,
how long do you think Paul Wendon
will get?
He won't see much change out of five.
Five!
He didn't mean to kill anyone.
If that's the case,
then why did he send a killer?
He's not very bright.
You know, he's a very troubled kid.
What about young Horny,
is he another troubled kid, is he?
No, Horny is a kid in trouble.
But he didn't have anything to do
with Rod's death, right?
No.
No, but what?
Just fuck off, Cleaver!
Will you listen to me?
Vern and Phil were put on trial
for a murder they didn't commit.
I perjured myself to get them off,
and all this time,
your mate knew what happened,
but he didn't say anything
because he was protecting
his worthless fucking coward of a mate,
and that makes him
an accessory to murder.
But that's not a big deal.
You'll get him off that,
make sure he's never even charged.
Kudos in advance.
Will you just listen to me, please.
These guys were my family, Cleave.
Vern literally held my hand all
the way through my mum's funeral,
and they all got fucked over
by your coked-up little pals.
Whose side are you on?
Whose side am I on?
What are you talking about?
If you're on their side,
you're obviously not on mine.
I am not representing Paul Wendon,
I'm representing James Horner,
and on a charge that has nothing
to do with Rod's death.
But he knew who was responsible
for Rod's death
and he did nothing about it.
My understanding is,
that's a serious fucking crime.
You tell him, if he doesn't go
to the cops, I will.
You cannot go to the cops with this.
Why not?
It's information that was passed
to me by a client in confidence.
It's privileged.
Privileged? Is that really the word?
Yes.
Only the law could call something
this fucked-up 'privileged.'
Goodbye, Cleaver.
Aw, come on.
Aw, for the love of God!
And we're out.
OK, everybody, fuck off.
You heard the lady -
get the fuck out of here!
I thought that went well.
You're fired, Cal.
You can't and you won't.
You're retiring, Cal.
Why would I do that?
Because unless you do,
I will soon be shocked to discover
that you're the one
who fed Paul's cocaine habit.
Yeah, right.
His dealer has just had a very frank
and very full conversation
with my lawyers, which points
the finger of guilt squarely at you.
If you check your phone and your
emails in the next five minutes,
you will discover a clear pattern
of criminal behaviour on your part.
Such is the clarity of this pattern,
one fears you could end up
back in the cells.
Don't despair, darl. There's always
a reality show around the corner.
I think this one's called,
Fuck With Me Again
And You're A Dead Man.
Should rate its tits off,
don't you reckon, pet?
Hey, mate.
All good your end?
You seen this?
Oh, for the love of God!
It was just a little brouhaha.
Why does everything
always have to be so complicated?
Why am I always in the fucking fray?
Can't I just float above it
occasionally?
Fuck sake!
Mum's upstairs.
What are you doing?
What's going on? Ssh!
Mum's huge in Jakarta.
Why? One of those freak stories -
woman wakes up,
suddenly speaking Indonesian.
There's 250 million people
speaking the bastard.
Why are they getting excited
about one more?
Oh, Cleave!
Hey, Cleave. That's my sixth interview.
Right. I'm sorry, and who are you,
my little friend?
This is May.
Hello, May.
My father is Wendy's therapist,
and I'm translating for her.
Mum's getting some good coin, Cleave.
50 grand per spot.
50 grand?
What happened? Oh! I had a nosebleed.
Cleaver! Cleaver?
Barney...
Barney doesn't fight! You were
the one in the fight, weren't you?
You're a bloody idiot!
Now Barney's in fucking trouble.
Hey! I just need the words, OK,
not the attitude.
I was married to the attitude.
Alright, I may have gotten into
a little fight. Cue the outrage.
You need help, Cleave.
I'm serious.
Normal, healthy people
do not get into fights
in the city before noon.
The next fight I get into in the CBD,
it's going to be in the PM, OK?
For sure. Fuck me. I'm outta here.
Barnyard, where are you?
Where do you think?
In hiding. Thank you very much.
Just give it another day, OK?
That's easy for you to say.
First whiff of trouble,
I'll haul myself in, I promise. OK?
You know we've got Horny in ten.
Why would Tikki Wendon
need Bligh Phillips
to syphon off 100-odd mill for her?
She carries that around in her handbag.
Unless she wanted the 100 million
to be untraceable.
Slush fund? That fucking casino.
When did the bad trades start?
February.
Just before the tenders went in.
Bloody hell. It's a long, long bow.
And there's no evidence.
Which means I'm still fucked.
No, not necessarily.
Cleaver seldom relies on
trivia-like evidence.
We have to assume that the evidence
is all against us,
and it'll be impeccable.
I mean, it's Tikki Wendon
and it's Bligh Phillips,
so our only choice is
psychological warfare.
We have to rattle them.
We have to surprise them
into making a mistake.
What if we were to know the contents
of the email that Paulie sent?
Do you? No, we don't...
..but we can say we do.
That's a really good idea, Barnyard.
Come on, you little rug rats.
Time for another terrifying tale
of the macabre!
No terror, please. Some sleepy tales
will suffice, thank you.
Aw. Mum's boring, isn't she?
Come on.
Sorry.
Do you want a drink?
No, I'm good.
Funny old world, isn't it?
Yeah? Which particular part,
because I find it all hilarious.
Melissa and David, after all that time.
Oh, yes. They're very funny.
You think they'll last?
Who knows?
Do you think he'll end up premier?
Nah.
He's very popular now.
Only six months till the election.
It's hard enough
fighting the government.
He's going to be fighting
Tikki Wendon as well?
They're going to outspend him
four to one.
Yeah, I guess.
You sure you don't want a drink?
No, I'm good. I'm gonna get going.
You sure you're OK? Yeah.
We'll see you, hey? Yeah.
Night. Night.
Hey, babe...
..what are you doing?
Sorry.
Don't worry about it.
Are you sure you're OK?
Yeah.
Just...
..it's just really hard not to miss you.
I know what you mean.
All good your end?
Yeah, everything's fine.
Better than fine, I'd hope.
He's a great guy. He is.
Where is His Greatness?
He's with his other kids.
He said he'd be here at eight.
Maria.
This feels weird. Mm.
Why does this feel weird?
I suspect it feels weird
because outside of chambers,
in all these years,
you and I have never sat down,
just the two of us,
for a cup of tea, a meal, anything.
Really? Rubbish. Plenty of meals.
No, never the two of us. Not once. No?
Night, Mama.
Goodnight, Maria.
She's elusive, your mum, isn't she?
Really?
I'm quitting, Cleave.
At least, I'm taking an extended
break. I don't know which yet.
No. Mm.
No, you're not.
I want to spend some more time
with my baby.
Come on,
there's all this work coming in.
You don't want to do this now.
You'll be able to pay someone more than
a seven-year-old sewing soccer balls
in Bangladesh.
I fear...
..there may be no-one else...
..quite like you.
Huh?
Thank you, Cleave.
Oh, shit.
What? It's Barney. Ah...
What? It's not that stupid fight, is it?
No, I wouldn't have thought so. Cleaver!
Fuck.
It was around 11 in the morning.
Mr Meagher.
Mr Greene.
You fellas know better than
to question a witness
without legal representation.
He's a criminal lawyer.
And I waived my right
for legal representation.
Oh, did you?
Right.
Well, look, I would like a quiet word
with my client if you'd be so kind.
Not necessary, Mr Greene.
Nothing to hide here.
I see.
I was at the crossing.
I witnessed the fight.
I seem to recall you describing it
more as a tussle.
The victim suffered a broken nose
and a fractured cheekbone.
Really?
Well, who's to say that
he is in fact the victim?
Who's to say
that he didn't start this fight?
He does. Well, of course he does,
because the poor man was humiliated.
He's obviously underestimated
the sheer power of his opponent.
Look, fellas. Come on, look at him.
Do you really think
this fella could have landed
such a perfectly weighted blow?
I mean, look at him. Come on.
Look at his little, funny arms.
Look at his shirt.
Plus, he's just recovered from
cancer. Only got one ball. Hello!
The salient question is, fellas,
has your so-called victim
identified Mr Meagher?
No. The victim has concussion, and is...
Oh! And is having some difficulty
recalling things?
So it would seem.
I think our work here is done,
gentlemen.
I knew you wouldn't rat on me.
I knew you wouldn't confess.
Drink?
Fine, whatever.
I did have an idea
about Paulie's email, though,
how we can get the best bang
for our buck.
Oh, yeah?
Let's assume that there is an email.
If we don't know its contents,
what's its probative value?
Nothing.
There's no probative value, you tool.
It's about wrong-footing them,
smoking the buggers out.
All you have to do is to suggest
that you might have access to it,
and I'll do the rest, OK?
What's my upside?
Mate, this woman is your single
biggest obstacle to government, OK?
And this is going to take her down.
Call a press conference.
Announce something, anything.
It doesn't matter -
free cats for amputees.
I will make sure that there's someone
there to ask the right questions.
The people will get it.
They already do in many parts
of the United States,
where you either bring your own bag
to the supermarket
or pay for a paper one.
The benefits to the environment
will be enormous.
Do you have any comment
about Paul Wendon's various charges?
Ah, well.
As you well know, Mr Wendon
has admitted to sending an email,
the contents of which he won't reveal.
However, I'm reliably informed
that my office has
been contacted by a source,
and we will soon be in possession
of what I'm told is
a very, very revealing email.
Once we are in possession of it,
we will be handing it to the police.
Can you tell us the name of the source?
No, I can't, but if I were you,
I would be asking those closest
to Mr Wendon and his stepmother.
Cal McGregor is a trusted friend
and colleague. Who knows?
Maybe he received a copy.
You fucking prick!
I thought you said there was nothing
about the casino on Paul's computer?
If David Shitwit Potter knows who's
got the fucking thing, why don't we?
Don't you worry,
Cal McGregor's my next call.
Fuck!
Red?
Hey. Hey.
You want a martini?
They do great martinis here.
Martini? Well, OK, yeah.
Martini?
Now, look, if it's about
the Barney shit, it's OK.
Trust me. I've massaged it
with the cops. All under control.
You can ask him yourself.
No, it's not that.
It's Barney-related. What?
OK, let's not beat around the bush.
Barney and Nicole, they're solid, right?
Yep.
They're solid.
Alright? I'm so close to losing it.
You're not going to lose it.
Oh, yeah, really?
I'm not going to lose it?
Ten minutes ago, I booked a room
at the Four Seasons for you and me
just in case we felt inclined.
I cancelled it 90 seconds later,
of course, but you should know
that I was seriously considering
that as an option.
That's how much I'm not losing it.
There's only really been three
significant men in my life.
Two of them are off-limits now,
and you...
..you've always been a sexual version
of Doctors Without Borders.
Sexe sans frontieres.
Can I ask who the third is?
David...
..and I think that I love him.
I swear to God, if you say
anything about him, I will lose it.
I'm not saying anything.
He's back with Melissa, though,
and Barney's with Nicole.
So I'm the last man standing?
God help me. God help you.
I know the truth.
What truth?
That I will never see you again, will I?
Not the two of us, like this...
..because you're Barney's,
and you always will be Barney's,
and this is awkward
and we'll just drift apart.
That makes me sad.
You don't know what's in this email
or who the source is?
No. So why the song and dance about it?
Why set up a bullshit press conference?
Strategy.
So there is no source,
and we're not getting an email?
Who knows? Someone might still bite,
and I'm hoping it'll be Tikki Wendon
on her fucking tongue.
It's a bluff. He's got nothing.
He's just trying to rattle you.
Man, am I going to fuck him
at the election. Thanks, pet.
Cheque's in the net.
The illegal trades
conducted by Mr Horner
amounted to a little over $120 million.
He created seven fictitious accounts,
through which he
funnelled the money offshore.
It was a criminally brilliant scheme,
and a huge embarrassment
for Bligh Philips.
Mr Strong, did you ever have
email contact with Paul Wendon?
No.
Right. So, he never sent you an email
about the secret slush fund
that Tikki Wendon asked you to create
in order to bribe politicians
and bureaucrats... Objection.
..to approve her plans for the casino?
Your Honour? Mr Greene...
..we have talked about this before.
You're now abusing your privilege
to cross-examine.
On the one hand,
the court has been presented
with literally thousands of documents
which confirm the proposition
that the accused was responsible
for the illegal trades.
You, on the other hand,
have produced nothing more
than a conspiracy theory.
Prosecution,
you may call your next witness.
Your Honour,
we call Mr Derek Martin Wimmer.
Derek Martin Wimmer.
Oh, my God! What do you mean?
It's the guy!
I was chief financial officer
at Bligh Phillips
until March of this year, before
I moved to a new position at ZMC.
Could you please take a look
at the bundle of documents
in front of you?
Yes. These would appear to be trades
totalling approximately $120 million,
made by Foucault8X, who is James Horner.
Nothing further, Your Honour.
Mr Greene?
Now, Mr Wimmer,
you were CFO of Bligh Phillips
until March this year, is that correct?
Mr Greene?
Your Honour? You're wearing sunglasses.
Much as this might
make you feel at home,
this is not a game of poker.
Indeed, Your Honour.
I've recently been diagnosed
with photophobia, Your Honour.
I'm terribly light-sensitive.
I would suggest more time
accustoming your eyes
to the daylight hours.
Not being a doctor, of course.
I'm a mere judge.
You do have a medical certificate...
Ah...
..confirming your unfortunate condition?
Well, Your Honour...
Take them off, Mr Greene.
Yes, Your Honour.
Mr Wimmer, so, in your role as CFO,
you had oversight of probably
hundreds of thousands of...
Mr Greene? Your Honour?
If it doesn't pain you too much,
would you be so kind
as to have the courtesy
to look the witness in the eye
when you're addressing him?
Of course, Your Honour.
Mr Greene?
Yes, Your Honour.
Ah, Mr Wimmer...
..you were recently engaged
in a fight, were you not?
I was assaulted.
You lost a fight, Mr Wimmer,
let's be frank.
There's no shame in that -
two blokes, squaring up, settling
a score. One's going to lose.
But Mr Wimmer,
did the extremely powerful blow
that you sustained in this fight
cause any memory loss?
I have a mild version of amnesia.
Fortunately, my doctors say that
my memory will return at any time.
Right, then. Well, shall we not
waste the court's time any more?
I just watched you
thumb through hundreds of pages
of so-called illegal trades
and declare my client their author.
Now Mr Wimmer, I don't mean to be cruel,
but given the current condition
of your memory,
how can you be sure that
these trades even occurred,
let alone were conducted by my client?
No, I can't be sure.
No further questions, Your Honour.
Hey.
Aw, come on.
I just wanted to see
what he looked like, OK?
Really, that's it?
I'm sure I'm being unfair to you,
but you need to understand that
ever since Malcolm went to jail,
I've had this thing inside me
that's screaming
that there's no justice in this world,
and you're in there
with all your theatrical flourish,
defending him,
and I know he's committed a crime.
He didn't commit the crime
that he's charged with,
and he didn't kill anybody.
I still want him to go to jail.
You want to punish somebody.
I get that, after all the shit
you and Malcolm went through.
You want to have somebody to pin
it on, but it's not this kid, OK?
For whatever it's worth,
it's not this kid.
Ms Wendon, I put it to you
that you are dishonest.
How dare you? There is nothing
I value more than integrity.
I put it to you that, contrary
to what you have told this court,
you in fact loathe your stepson.
Ms Wendon, can you tell us
what you know of the contents
of an email sent by your stepson
on 18th April?
Nothing. I haven't seen it.
It's lies.
It's all lies from you and David Potter,
lies designed to destroy me
and my family.
If you or Mr Potter has the email,
Mr Greene, produce it.
Well, you know the old adage -
just add Cleaver Greene and stir
to make a perfect fuck curry.
David, there's something
you should know.
What?
Selwyn has Tikki Wendon's
mobile number in his phone.
I beg your pardon?
He and I used to have a thing
awhile ago,
and I suspected he was cheating
on me, which he was,
and I went through his phone contacts.
Oh, hello.
Have you been to see His Lowliness?
I was supposed to, but I had to
cancel. Told me he had to see you.
Yes, he does. Could we just grab
a moment, please? Thank you so much.
What's going on?
Are you serious with him?
Oh, Cleaver! Will you stop it?
No, I mean it. I want to know.
Why?
Because if you're not serious,
there's someone who is
and has been for quite awhile.
Who would that be?
Scarlet.
How much is she paying you?
Come in.
Selwyn, this is Cleaver.
Cleaver, Selwyn.
Selwyn. What a pleasure.
So...
..now tell me, Selwyn,
what sort of a mole puts
Tikki Wendon's name in their phone
as 'Tikki Wendon, ' huh?
I mean, that's not tiptop moling, is it?
What we're going to do now
is we're going to make
a little recording, OK?
Get me the Police Commissioner,
and we're going to need a moment
before a federal court judge.
It is federal, right?
Oh, we're going to
make a legal recording!
I've never done one of those before.
Yep? Potter's got it.
Got what? The email.
Jesus Christ. Is it bad?
It's a rant, really,
but it's everything -
Bligh Phillips, the slush fund, you,
names, all sorts of names -
pollies, bureaucrats.
Oh, my God! Everything?
Yeah, everything.
How did Potter get it?
I think it was Cal McGregor.
That fucking egomaniacal piece of shit!
What have we got on Potter? Nothing.
I told you - he is squeaky-clean.
So, there is a slush fund?
How do you think
you're getting fucking paid?!
You're doing well, Cleaver.
Cal? What are you doing?
Don't make a fuss. Sit down.
I got it.
Got what?
I was one of the people Paulie
didn't mean to send that email to.
There was a party,
a celebrity-bullshit thing.
I was invited.
So was Paulie, but that was
a mistake, apparently.
He got an email saying that
at Tikki's insistence,
his name had been
taken off the guest list.
So he wrote that, and hit 'reply all.'
Where are you going?
I'm laying low until she's tucked
away in a cell somewhere, mate.
She's a cut snake.
These are the blokes you should call.
They're the ones who have already
done well out of the casino.
Fuck me. Cal...
..this is a bit of a game-changer, mate.
Come on, Cleave. You don't need me.
Much as I hate to say it,
you're pretty good at this racket.
Just make sure you put her away
so I can get my fucking life back,
alright?
Paul Wendon's email reads in part,
'I don't understand why
she goes out of her way
to make me look and feel like a tool.
I fucking tried with her.
I think she wants me to be nothing.
I think she'd like me to be dead.
I don't understand. All I've ever
wanted was another mum.'
There you go, folks.
No evil power play,
nothing to do with the casino,
ladies and gentlemen,
which is presumably
why her people couldn't find it,
because they're search engines
wouldn't have been set
to look for a sad, pathetic plea
from a young man
who just wanted another mum.
Thank you, mate.
Happy?
What do you fucking reckon?
You played it brilliantly.
Oh, I didn't play it.
You're innocent of the charges.
No, it was genius.
What can I do for you?
Pay your bill.
I owe you more than money, Cleave.
Actually, there is something.
Yeah, anything. You name it.
It's not going to be pretty.
Smile.
Thank you.
And so the mighty fall.
The conspiracy between Tikki Wendon,
the Government and Bligh Phillips
to desecrate the foreshores
of Sydney harbour is no more.
Ms Wendon herself,
senior government ministers
and executives of Bligh Phillips bank
have already been charged with fraud,
perjury, conspiracy
to pervert the course of justice...
The list goes on.
That's why I'm here - to shine
your light on the ugly truths.
The people of Sydney had a big win
today, but let's remain vigilant,
because my work here has just begun.
I'm Cal McGregor.
This is Danish, mid-century,
which is a good thing, apparently.
I saw it in a shop window,
and I remembered you only had
one dining chair,
which I thought might a little...
..inconvenient for you.
Now, I know what you're thinking,
but I've had this chair tested
by the Franco-Swiss squad,
who built the hadron particle collider.
This chair is guaranteed
not to hurt you.
A Cleaver Greene guarantee -
isn't that an oxymoron?
It's some kind of moron.
Come inside,
and bring your Danish,
mid-century chair with you.
Well done, mate.
Ah, yes.
That is quite a victory,
if I do say so myself, really.
Barnyard, where are you?
We need to be out and about, mate.
We need to paint this town.
We're pooped, mate.
We're looking at a night in.
What is wrong with you? We have
brought down the rich and powerful.
It's not going to get much better
than this.
Mate, I got a call from Magnus
yesterday. It's back.
What's back?
The cancer.
It's not BAD bad, it's just back.
It's just another fight, mate.
Yeah, yeah. Just, you know...
Do some more dance classes,
you'll be fine.
Yep, we'll salsa together, hey?
Into eternity, mate.
Into eternity -
you and I, salsa-ing our arses off.
That's the way it's meant to be, mate.
Yep.
See ya.
What is it, Cleave?
Barnyard. Cancer's back.
Cleave.
He's going to make it.
Listen to me. Listen to me.
That doesn't mean it's the end, alright?
That doesn't mean it's the end.
Where is the cock?
He's been gone 20 minutes.
I'm paying him by the hour.
This is what happens
when you get ex-crims
to do your balloon piloting for you -
unreliability.
One hell of a bowel movement.
Mate, it's 20 minutes. It's not like
you're strapped for cash.
You are in the pink now.
I know. It's good, isn't it?
I'm ahead. Ahead?
Jesus, mate.
I'd say with the restaurant,
you're doing a little better
than just 'ahead.'
Kirsty paid me 70 grand.
What for?
For my shares.
You sold your shares?
Yeah.
What?
Mate, it's been bought out
by some big chain.
I read it in the papers yesterday.
What are you talking about?
They're going to be opening them
in Europe and in China,
maybe even the States.
It's worth millions.
Are you fucking kidding me?
So that's why she wanted me out.
That's why she wanted my fucking...
Oh, for the love of... Oh, mate!
Fuck me sideways! Mate.
Unbelievable.
Where is this bloody knobhead?
I knew it was too good to be true.
What were you thinking?
I put in to the bloody place,
but 70! I thought, 'How can you lose?
It's 70 grand.
How could you possibly go wrong?'
It never stops, does it, mate?
It never fucking stops.
Where is this tool?
What size bladder has he got?
Cleave!
It never fucking stops. You think?
Come here, you mad bastard, and listen.
What?
I really appreciate this, mate.
Thank you.
Yes, mate.
We've got to get out of this madness.
We've got to get up above the fray - up!
Oh, shit.
Mate...
Barn, just grab that.
What are you doing, mate? Undo it!
I'm trying to undo it.
You're going to... Mate!
Undo it!
I'm trying to undo the bloody thing.
Where is that bloody idiot?
Fuck me!
These have got a mind of their own.
Oh, for the love of God.
Are you alright? No, I'm not OK.
Does this look OK?
Nothing about this feels OK.
Fuck!
You'll be right, mate.
It's nice to be above the fray,
isn't it?
Barnyard!