Underbelly (2008–2013): Season 6, Episode 3 - Squizzy Takes Charge - full transcript

There really is more to you

than just a pickpocket,
isn't there?

- Call me Henry.
- You should have seen it.

- I had him eating from me hand.
- There's someone to see you.

- Mate. Why?
- Sorry, Les.

Why would I do a job with you?

Well, we ain't ever worked
together, Harry.

Why haven't the Narrows Gang

and the Bourke Street Rats
come together?

If I see any of youse

north of Victoria Street,
I will kill ya.

If you saw him,
bought him a beer,

everything would sort out.

Nip it in the bud before
someone really gets hurt.

- Let me read your leaves first.
- Ma, come on.

A lady. Oh, she's
a special one, alright.

She's brave too.

What do you want, Doll?

A whisky would be nice.

- Who would do this?
- Will you get 'em?

Will you get 'em good?

- Count.
- One! Two! Three!

- Where's Long Harry?
- He's not here.

- Where is he?
- Dunno!

- The jacks! The jacks!
- Shoot the bastard, Les!

- Let's go!
- Shoot him!

Snowy! Come on, let's go! Hey!

Next time, don't send

your sloppy old moll
to do your dirty work!

Did Ted Whiting
really say that?

He said it.
I had him around the throat.

- He was... And I said...
- Really?

He was just going,

"Mr Taylor, please, please.
Don't you fucking..."

He was pissing himself
all over the floor.

Don't send your sloppy
old moll to do your dirty work!

- What?
- Nothing.

You know I was
only trying to help.

- Yeah, I know you were, darling.
- No.


- What's that?
- What's going on?

- What are they saying?
- The war's over, darl.

We won the war.

Oh. Oh, thank God.

- Long live the King!
- Long live the King.

How many blokes you reckon
Long Harry's got?

Dunno. Couple of dozen.

- Stokes?
- Stokes?

About the same, give or take.

What about us?

You know how many blokes
we got.

So we're outnumbered about three
or four to one by each of them.

Yeah, something like that.

What are we doing here, anyway?

Hobnobbing with the rich
and famous, my friend.

Well, this place
ain't so special.

You kidding? I'd sell me soul
to have a place like this.

When are we gonna take another shot
at Long Harry and his boys?

We've smashed a few heads.
That's payback enough for Doll.

You're pulling me fucking leg.

You are! You're pulling
me fucking leg.

We're gonna start a war
between Long Harry and Stokes.

I'll drink to that.

And then we'll take over
this town.

Diggers had been
returning from Europe

for some time,

damaged men for whom
the war had ended early.

Among them, men who had seen
and done terrible things

in the fields and trenches
of the Western Front.

Men who would now do anything
for a price.

Henry Stokes sends his regards.

So this cove shoots Daly
in the chest three times

and you in the shoulder
at point-blank range

and you didn't see him?

He saw him.
He didn't recognise him.

I'm asking your brother.

Bunny doesn't talk to jacks,
and I'm telling ya,

we don't know who he was.

Give me a name,
testify in court,

and I promise you,
he will swing.

Haven't you heard
the expression

"hanging's too good for him"?

This is a police matter
now, Whiting.

So you coppers are gonna put in

for Matt's missus
and kids, are ya?

Leave no stone unturned?
Give me a fucking break.

If you or Long Harry
take the law in your own hands,

I am gonna come down on you
like a ton of shit.

We always knew you was
a ton of shit, Brophy.

Nice to hear you admit it.

Get off!

You fuckers have been warned.

In the weeks that followed,

the streets of Fitzroy

were splattered with blood,
teeth and singed hair

as the tit-for-tat war

between Henry Stokes and Long
Harry Slater's men escalated.

A war generated
and orchestrated

by Leslie 'Squizzy' Taylor.

The watch-house cells, not to
mention St Vincent's Hospital,

were stretched to the limit.

Honest crooks
weren't safe in their beds.

And if things
ever looked like settling down,

Squizzy would give the pot
a good stir.

You missed
the bloody dog, Snowy.

- Get out.

Sounds like more bad news
for Henry.

- What? What? What?
- Just delivered your order.

- You checking it?
- What, you don't trust me?

No, I don't trust anyone.

Hey, I heard more of
your boys ended up

at St Vincent's last night, eh?

This Fitzroy Vendetta.

Yeah, that prick Whiting thinks

someone's tried
to shoot his dog.

Now, I never sent anyone
to shoot the mangy mutt,

or his fucking dog.

It must be one of your boys
trying to show initiative.

When I find out who did it,
I will have his balls.

He's not gonna put up his hand,
is he, Henry?

How many of your boys
are in the slammer,

or laid up
at St Vincent's, Les?

Oh, we've been pretty lucky.

Yeah, too bloody lucky,
some might say.

- Come on, Henry, you know me.
- Yeah, I do know you, Les.

That's why I think
you're up to something,

you slimy little turd.

If I find out
you've done a deal,

you will regret
the day you were born.

Henry, I've done
no deals, right?

Why would I do anything
to mess this up?

You know how much
I love this place.

I say we stop
fart-arsing about

and make our move.

Take out Long Harry and Stokes.

- No.
- I'll do it.

I'm not frightened
of either of those pricks.

- No.
- Why not?

- 'Cause it's not the plan.
- Well, fuck the plan!

The plan's taking too long.

Alright, I'll think about it.

That's your problem, Les.

You do way too much thinking.
Way too much.

Whoever takes them out

is gonna be a fucking legend,
and that's me.

- Oi!
- What?

Long Harry sends his regards.

- When I get outta here, Long Harry's a dead man.
- Yeah, I know mate.

- Now don't get yourself so worked up.
- I swear on my mother's eyes...

... I am gonna kill that fucker
with my bare hands.

- And the shooter?
- I've never seen him before....

...but I'll never forget his face.

Looked like something
out of a freak show.

Mm, yeah, well,
Long Harry's been recruiting

diggers fresh off the boat.

- So has Stokes.

Hey, you'll be staying
with your mum then, Snowy?


You tell her I'll send her
something each week.

You know,
just to help make ends meet.

Thanks, mate.
I really appreciate that.

Come on, we better let him
get some rest.

You get well now, Snowy,
you hear?

I will.

Mate, as far as I'm concerned,
you already are a legend.

What's wrong?

Nothing. I'm just tired.

We haven't done it
since you know when.

Yeah, I know.

Are you worried about Snowy?


Sometimes you let yourself
feel things too deeply, Les.

Maybe Monsieur Cock needs
a little French lesson.

Hello! Anyone home?

That's Tank.



You home? Dolly?

Tank! Mate! How are you?

You are a sight for sore eyes.
Come here, hey?

You OK? You all in one piece?
You look good.

- Mate, I'm good.
- Good, good, good.

- Bert!
- Dolly.

It's wonderful
to have you home.

- It's good to be home.

What happened to you?

Hey, was it the big adventure
you were hoping for, hey?

How many Huns you kill?

- I dunno.
- You dunno? What do you mean?

How can you not know

how many of those miserable
clams you sent to the devil?

Guess you had to be there.

- What, you having a dig, mate?
- Nah, I'm not.

It's just... it was a shit fight

and a lot of good blokes ain't
coming home because of it.

- It's true.
- Oh, well, we won.

- That's the main thing, hey?
- I'll make up a bed.

- I don't wanna be any trouble.
- You're not.

The victorious
diggers brought home with them

a range of afflictions.

Hey, stop. Stop, thief!
Stop! Stop!

But the one that would have

the most devastating effect

was a contagion that would
quickly become known

as the Spanish Flu.

Over 12,000 Australians
would succumb to the disease.

On a global scale, it claimed
up to a hundred million lives.

No-one was safe.

Not rich or poor,
not saint or sinner.

But not all the returning
diggers' ailments

were physical.

Rob me, filthy Hun!

Bert? What's wrong?
Bert, wake up.

- What's wrong?
- I gotcha!

I gotcha!

- Tank!
- Les!

Tank! Tank!

I'll bloody kill ya,
ya filthy Hun!

I'll bloody kill ya!
I'll bloody kill ya, ya Hun!

Oh! Les!

It's OK. It's OK.

It's OK.

What is wrong with him?

Poor bugger. Tank.


Oh, poor Bert.

What were you doing
down there, anyway?

What do you think?

I wouldn't do you,
so you thought

you'd get some from Tank,
is that it?

How can you say that?

I don't know.
I'm just asking the question.

You really think I'd just nip
down there for a quick root

while you're up here
having a sleep?

- I don't know.
- Jeez, Les!

Sometimes you're the biggest
fuckwit in Melbourne.

The trouble with Dolly,

she don't understand the kind
of pressure a man's under.

While she's snoring
her head off,

I'm lying awake all night

dreaming up ways
to destroy our enemies.

How's your brekkie?

Oh, you should sit down
and have a bite.

Sorry, against the rules.

Oh, rules are made to be broken.

Top up your cuppa?


- What's your name?
- Lorna Kelly.

What's yours?

You don't know?

Should I?

Oh, one day you will.

Sounds like someone's
got tickets on themselves.

Alcohol is a curse.

A poison to the moral health.

It destroys families.

It drags good, decent,
god-fearing men and women

into the occasion of sin and
into the gutter of depravity,

perversity and bestiality.

So... the Fitzroy Vendetta.

What's this important
information you've got for me?

How would you like to have

Long Harry's head on a stick,
Mr Brophy?

- How many men out back?
- Six, boss.

I reckon Taylor might have
sold us a pup here, cobber.

We'll give it another couple
of minutes, then fuck 'em.


Well, shall we move in?

Let 'em commit
the crime first, lad.

How many kids you got now?

I got seven,
and another one on the way.

I love my wife.

I love me smokes too, son,

but I take 'em out
of me mouth occasionally.

Alright, let's move.

Police! Stop and put your hands
up! Put your hands up!

Jesus, Arch. Don't die on me.

Six months.
Did you enjoy it?

- Yes.
- Yeah? Oh, that's good.

There was a shooting
in Fitzroy.

Please tell me Long Harry's
in the morgue.

Nah, no such luck.
Cop took one in the chest.

- Is he married?
- Long Harry?

- No, the copper.
- I don't know.

- Has he got a family?
- I don't know!

Well, if he does,
sling him 10 quid.

- Les. Les.
- What?

She's young enough
to be your daughter.

And Long Harry's mob is still
walking around scot-free.

- After what he did to Dolly?
- Alright, well, go and do it.

- What?
- Go and do it.

- I will!
- Good.


Hello. It's getting
chilly out there.

- Yeah.
- Les with you?

- No, he's not.
- Oh.

Did you see that copper
Long Harry shot?

I didn't see nothing, Doll.

There's something
you should know.

Paper reckons Long Harry's
gonna get off.

There's no justice
in the world, is there?

No, there's not.

Les must be working late.

He must.

- Know what?
- What?

Just... you said there was
something. What?

I can't join you for tea.

Righto. I'll just set
a place for meself then.

Squizzy's infidelity

weighed heavily on Tankbuster.

He knew there was nothing
he could do to make it right.

But there was one injustice
he could do something about.

What happened to you?

The still unavenged
gang rape of Dolly Grey.

If he got the chance, Tank
would punish each and every one

of Long Harry's men,
starting with Ted Whiting.


Is Ted here?

Ted! Visitor for you.

- Yeah, who is it?
- This is for Dolly, you fucker!

Ted Whiting
was shot multiple times,

including once in the head.

Miraculously, none of the shots
proved life-threatening.

Tankbuster's one-man vendetta,

proved to be
disappointingly short-lived.

So I have the steak
for you, sir,

and the mixed grill
for you, Lorna.

Thanks, Lizzie.

Why did you want to come here?

I wanted my friends to see me

out on the town
with my dashing fella.

Can we go dancing after?

Lorna, we can do whatever
your lovely heart desires.

I gotta go spend a penny.

- Back in a tick.
- Yeah.

I've been looking
for you everywhere.

What the fuck
are you doing here?

- Bert's been shot by the jacks.
- Is he dead?

No, he's at St Vincent's.
They just winged him.

So come on, we gotta
get him out of there.

- I can't... I can't go.
- He's your best mate.

Alright. Alright.
Let's go, let's go. Alright.

Hey, can you tell Lorna that
I've had a family emergency.

- Now!
- Alright, I'm coming.

Excuse me!

I'm here to read verses from
the good book to the patients.

Sorry, lady, but...

Uh, doctors and nurses only
for this patient.

- Isn't that right, Constable?
- That's right, Doctor.

Great. Thank you.

Tank. Tank. Come on, mate.
Let's get you out of here.

- Yeah, rightio, Doc.
- I'm so sorry.

I've forgotten my way out.

- Get up.
- Bugger me, you're a doctor?

Yes, and I need
to get you out of here.

So you gotta follow
doctor's orders. Come on.

- Where did you get it from?
- Oh, shit. Shut up.

Shh. Shhh. Shhh.

- Come on. In the car.
- Bird.

- No, no, no, no.
- Bird.

Tank, come on, you heavy bugger.

- Get in the car.
- Birdie.

Go away!

- I said go away, Les!
- Lorna.

- You did a bunk.
- I didn't.

A friend of mine
was in an accident.

I told Lizzie to tell you.

She said you left
with an older woman.

She's just a friend
of my friend who got hurt.

Please, Lorna. Open up.

- Is your friend alright?
- Yeah, he will be.

But you know I would...
I would never have left

if it wasn't
a life-or-death emergency.

You know that, OK?
He's my best mate.

What happened to him?

He had a motor car accident.
Darling, you've been crying.

Of course I've been crying.
What did you expect?

I am... I am so sorry, right?

And I will make it up to you,

I will take you out
for a hundred fancy dinners

to a hundred
beautiful restaurants.

I'm not like other girls, Les.

- You're not taking advantage.
- I would never do that.

I love you.

I love you too.


- I'm scared.
- Don't be.

I've never been with a man.

Neither have I.

You are so beautiful.

You should try
and get some sleep.

Nah, it's a pity Les didn't grab
some morphine on the way out.

Have a brandy?

Wouldn't say no.

Where is he?

He had to go and check
on a delivery to Stokes.

Doll, there is no delivery set
for tonight.

- I know.
- Les, he's seeing...

No, not another word.

This bloody flu.
Business is down over 50%.

Everybody's hurting.

I hear Long Harry's out
on bail. He wants a truce.

He sent word
he wants to parley.

Well, that sounds like
the perfect solution.

I'd take a shooter
if I were you, though.

No, I'm not going, Les.

But I'm glad you like the idea,
because you are.

Now, Henry...

Your bloke botched
the job on Whiting.

Well, how many lives
does that fucker have?

I don't give a fuck. Just
made things 10 times worse.

They're not expecting
us for another half-hour,

so we should have
the drop on them.

And then we put a bullet
between Long Harry's eyes.

Yes, and the Whitings,
and anyone else they're with.

But we gotta do it clean this
time. No witnesses. Agreed?

- Agreed.
- Good.

Alright, Frank, go scout it out.

- Me, Les?
- Yes, you. Here, wear this.

Put your hat down.

- Oh, shit.
- Get behind the car.


Frank! Frank, are you hit?

Frank, get here.
Shit, he's dead.

- Tank, can you drive this thing?
- What? No, I can't drive!

- You?
- I can't, I can't!

We gotta go! Run, run, run!

You set me up, you clam!

Well, you must have let
your guard down, Les.

- I ought to rip your head off.
- You ought to what?

You smug f...

You wanna go a few rounds
with me, do you, little man?

Well, come on, then!

You're too ambitious
for your own good, Les.

Know your place.

You're small fry.
You always will be small fry.

Now waddle off.

Get your fucking hands
off my suit.

I'll fucking walk.

You're small fry.
You always will be...

You do way too much thinking.

Sometimes you're the
biggest fuckwit in Melbourne.

Lorna Kelly.

She's young enough
to be your daughter.

Next time,
don't send your sloppy moll

to do your dirty work!

Looks like someone's
got tickets on themselves.

You're too ambitious
for your own good, Les.

Know your place.

You were home late last night.
Where were ya?

- Working.
- Working?

- Yeah.
- Doing what?

Just the usual boring stuff.
Delivering grog.

- Really?
- Yes.

'Cause I thought
you might have been out

fucking that little slut
you been seeing.

What, you think I don't know?

Say something to me.

Me eggs are getting cold.

I'm going to work.

What the fuck?

You had me shot.
You fucking bastard.

- Bullshit.
- It's not bullshit.

What, did you think
I wouldn't work it out?

Same bloke who shot
Bunny Whiting.

Same bloke you used to start
your hopeless bloody war...

No, no. Who sent money
to your mum every week?

Shut up, little man.

Now I'm gonna blow
your brains out

and then I'm gonna take a shit
on your dead corpse.

- Snowy, mate...
- You...

Would your girlfriend
do that for ya?

Hello. I'm Dolly.


Look, I know Les
hasn't mentioned me,

but, come on,
we need to have a talk.

I'm just on my way to my
temperance meeting right now...

Your temperance meeting?

Well you're in for
a surprise, aren't you?

You silly witch!
Les is my fella.

- My Les?
- No, MY Les.

He could charm
the whiskers off your kitten

and I'm sure he has,
but he's also a pickpocket,

a sly grogger and my pimp.

No, I don't believe you.

Well, I thought
you might say that.

He loves me and I love him.

You poor, sweet,
stupid little girl.

I'm not a girl. I'm not.
And I don't care what you say.

We love each other
and we're getting married.

And I'm having his baby.

Well, take a look at that!

Oh, you fucker.

You ain't such a tough man now,
are you, Snowy?

I ought to shit on your corpse,
you miserable, ungrateful prick,

but I wouldn't wanna waste
a good shit now, would I?

Which leg did I have
you shot in again, huh?

It was this one.

Take him out and get rid of him.

Kill him.

Kill him!

You're leaving town, Snowy.
Do you understand me?

Get out. Get out!

You ain't ever coming back.

If I see you, I'll kill you
myself, mate or no mate.

Get out.


John 'Snowy'
Cutmore headed north to Sydney,

where he joined Norman Bruhn's
notorious Razor Gang.

But Melbourne hadn't seen
the last of him,

and Squizzy Taylor
hadn't heard the last of him.

- How did you go?
- It's done.

- How did he take it?
- How do you reckon?

Pissed himself.

- In me car?
- No!


Now that's done.

Long Harry and Henry Stokes,
those fuckers are dead.

Now listen closely.

My brilliant idea is to get
Henry Stokes and Long Harry

together in the same place at
the same time with guns loaded.

Don't shoot. Don't shoot.

What do you want, Jenkins?

Step one - get my trusty number
three man, Ed Jenkins,

to plant a horrible thought
in Long Harry's

suspicious little brain

My mum?

Step two - lure Henry himself
out of his den

with the promise
of a juicy deal.

Invite him for a drink
at, say...

Railway Hotel.

Henry Stokes and Long Harry.

Three - warn
the nearest policeman

there's gonna be a bloodbath.

And, last, keep your fingers
crossed and hope for the best.

Oh, yes, I see many
wonderful years ahead.

Stokes wants to hit
hard, where it hurts the most,

without risking
any more casualties.

When I heard what he planned
to do to her,

well, sweet mother of God.

- So I've got your blessing?
- Oh, a million times over.

You two are
a match made in heaven.

There's an American bloke,

He's making a bloody fortune.

So we buy up international
postal reply coupons.

You brought me here
to talk about stamps?

I brought you here to discuss

a sure-fire
money-making proposition.

- Not interested.
- Henry, why so hasty?

Don't look a gift horse
in the mouth.

- The missus is waiting.
- Henry! Henry!

Come on, two minutes
of your valuable time.

Two minutes.

Stokes, you piece of shit!

Henry Stokes?
You're under arrest.

You too, Slater.
Get him. Get him!

- Get off. Get off.
- Nobody move.

- Don't touch me!
- Stay where you are!

Bloody hell, I've done it.

I got rid of the buggers.

The whole town's mine.
I'm top dog.

King of the hill.


"Long live the King".

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