[# Groove Armada: Madder]
[Siren]
Number Four, OK? That's all you got to remember. Right?
Number four. Too easy mate.
[Tape: Man] You are Number One, Number Two, Number Three and Number Four.
Number One is the man who handed you your gear.
Number Two is seated to his right.
And Number Four is the last man in.
If you are uncertain of your number, speak man.
- I'm Number Four, right? - Yeah. Four. Fuckin' Four.
[Tape] The target is a commercial premises.
Let's go.
Come on.
Yeah, this is it.
Are you sure? I don't think this is it.
This is it. Let's go.
[Zipper]
[Shouting, screaming]
Everyone down! This is a stick-up! Get your faces down on the floor!
- Get down! - Get down or I'll blow your head off!
Don't move! Get on the fuckin' floor!
You! Down!
- What's goin' on? This ain't right. - Change of plan, Johnny-boy.
Right-o, Jack. Let's see your safe.
Get down!
- Burn! - Fuck!
- What happened? - There was a gun. Bastard popped him.
Shit! Is he all right?
He's gone, mate. Wasted.
Ah, fuckin' Johnny Spitieri. He was fuckin' dead meat anyway.
[Guard] Wattsy, you're on.
I'm sick of it! Understand? I'm sick to the shit of it,
and I'm not coppin' it anymore.
- You are gonna let me out, right? - Mr Obst...
No, no, no, no! No "Mr Obst."
You'll let me out. OK?
Now, don't start that! Don't start that whisperin'. Right?
You have got nothin' to talk about. Right?
You are gonna let me out right now, right here, today.
Done. Over with. Say goodbye.
I must say, your history gives me cause for concern.
I see that in this latest robbery,
you actually locked three of the bank staff in the strong room.
Yeah, I wouldn't do that again.
- I should hope not. - I wouldn't. Dead-set.
Since I done me Violent Offenders programme and that,
I know that you just can't do that shit no more.
And what would you say that you'd learned, Mr Morrison?
You got to be more professional about everything you do these days.
[Morrison] Things like... getting to the crime scene early,
being polite and courteous with your victims...
If you can't be professional about what you're doing,
then you dead-set shouldn't be doing armed robberies.
Who's running our Violent Offenders course these days?
- I have absolutely no idea. - Thank you, Mr Morrison.
[Johnny] It's all right for these young blokes comin' through.
It's OK for them. They got no worries.
You know, this joint's like a bloody revolvin' door.
Minute they arrive, you just roll out the red carpet for 'em.
Get handed this, they get handed that.
Bloody wrong, don't you think? Somethin' wrong with the whole system.
If you can't do the time, you don't do the crime.
[Woman] You've been in prison since you were 19.
You've served eight years of a 12-year term for manslaughter.
This is your third application for parole.
That's right.
You struck a 55-year-old night watchman who disturbed you and others
during a break-and-enter of a warehouse in South Brisbane, and he died.
Yes, I know. You're quite innocent, like every other inmate in this prison.
That doesn't alter the fact that you confessed the crime to the police.
I never made that confession. The coppers bricked me on it.
And you continue to assert that your arresting officer,
Detective Senior Sergeant DeViers, fabricated the case against you?
I came through that window with the others,
but I never hit that old bloke.
Arnie DeViers just wrote me up for it.
It was a dead-set verbal.
Well, do you see? That's another problem, isn't it?
You say that someone else committed the crime and yet you won't say who.
Well, that's just how I was brought up, ma'am.
I don't tell tales.
- [Johnny] Hey. Hey, Barry. - Hey, brother.
- Better luck next time, man. - Oh, yeah. Better days ahead.
- Hey. I'm gettin' out, man. - You serious?
Yeah, you believe that? Parole's effective immediately.
Mate, that's shit-hot, mate. Yeah. So, what, are you gonna do?
Well, mate, I'm going to get square and I'm going to stay fuckin' square.
- You do it, mate. - I'm out of here.
I've spent too much fuckin' time in here already.
I'm fuckin' square, I'm tellin' you.
I'm gone. That's it. I'm going to Italy to live.
- What? - Yeah, I told you. Remember?
Traced me cousin there. It's not bullshit.
Me uncle left us this house in his will. It's like 10,000 years old or somethin'.
Yeah, but... Spit, mate, do you think
that they're gonna let you piss off overseas on parole?
- Oh, mate, fuck 'em. - Yeah, mate.
Oh, yeah. Fuck 'em, mate!
You don't come back here. You understand? You get square.
Yeah. Hey.
What's this walking shit? Part of this diet you're on?
Too right, son. It's the Slim Shapers programme.
Regular exercise in conjunction with a strictly-controlled dietary regime.
- Yeah? - Yeah.
Go for a walk every day, weigh in once a week.
- In front of all them sheilas? - I'm a New Age bloke. All right?
You dropped a bit.
- I'm down four kilos. - Shit, that's all right.
Shit-hot, mate. I'm a star performer.
- Piss off, birds. - I don't get it, Crusher.
The joint's heaving with bloody tourists.
Every dump in town is doing big business.
We can't pull in enough punters to start a decent argument.
Hi, Dabba.
[Crusher] Cheryl's got too much gear on.
With tits like them, she should be topless.
Don't be so fucking vulgar.
What about if we put tables out in the back?
- What? - Tables. A couple of tables.
Mate, are you listening to me?
I've come up here to get away from all that shit. OK?
Got myself a new missus who's straight up-and-down,
and two beautiful baby daughters who are going to come up the right way.
Square-heads. Do you understand? That's it. End of story, son.
And square-heads don't run no illegal game out the back of their joint, Craig.
You with me?
What about a poor table?
[Guard] All right, play school's over. Hardware up.
Everyone out.
[Guard] Let's go.
Not you, Barry. You stay put. You got a visit.
I think you know Detective Senior Sergeant DeViers.
G'day, Barry, ol' mate.
I heard you got yourself a cushy job in the kitchens. Well done, son.
Mostly eat-in crowd, is it?
What the fuck do you want?
Just like your ol' mum used to make, eh?
Heard's she's been a bit crook lately.
- She's on the mend. - On the mend?
Fuck, is that what you call it? Haven't you heard?
[Sighs]
The old bat carked it last night.
She's dead, mate. That's what we're here for.
Break the good news to her little baby boy.
I volunteered specially for the job.
Knew you'd want to hear it from an old mate.
[Whooshes]
You know, Barry, the soup's not bad.
Not bad at all.
Itjust needs...
...a little bit of the Colonel's secret recipe.
Keep at it, son. Keep at it.
[DeViers whistles]
[Obst] I've been bloody patient with you people, comin' here year after year.
But a bloke's only got so much patience. Well, I've had a gutful!
You'll let me out, you ungrateful people.
And if I cop anymore of your bullshit, I'm dead-set gonna do me 'nana. Right?
Get your fuckin' hand off me.
Oi!
[Young woman] Sole remaining family member.
Thank you, Miss Flynn.
Mr Wirth, the board is saddened to hear of the death of your mother.
I understand it wasn't entirely unexpected?
No, ma'am. She'd been crook for a while.
Her death means that your younger brother Joey
is left without any parental support.
Your current application urges this board to approve your release on parole
so that you can provide emotional and other support for your brother.
[Woman] Are you capable of providing it?
Good luck, Barry.
How you doing, Baz?
- Hey, little brother. - Good to see ya, mate.
- Let's get out of here. - Yeah, no worries.
Travelling a bit flash, mate?
Whose wheels?
G'day, Barry.
Chicka.
Climb in, son.
Think I'll take the bus.
You stood staunch, Barry. I don't forget things like that.
We got things humming out here now, and there's a place in it for you...
...if you want it.
All I want is to keep my head down and get square.
Well, blokes like you and me, we don't get square.
We're too smart for that.
Yeah, I hear you're so smart, you've even got the coppers on side now, yeah?
Makes it easier to do business that way.
Rather have them inside pissing out than outside pissing in.
You got a short memory, Chicka.
I don't get paid to remember things.
Or people, either.
Let's fuck off.
[Car drives off]
[Bell tinkles]
- Boo! - [Rasps]
Look at these kids.
Are these beautiful fucking kids, or what?
Living dolls, mate. Living fuckin' dolls.
I'll just have a quick bite of lunch with the girls. OK, sweetie?
No worries, pussycat. The kids'll be fine with me and Crusher.
[Woman] See you.
Hey, listen. Why aren't your fancy mates having lunch here, anyway?
Get real, darl.
If you had a table, they could've come back for a game of pool.
- Sheilas don't play pool, do they? - Yeah.
No, not really.
He's an imbecile, isn't he? A little fucking imbecile.
- Boo! - [Rasps]
Mate.
Mate? No, mate, no.
No, no, mate, mate, mate. Mate.
Mate!
No. It's all worked out on what they call cal points.
- Cow? - Yeah. Cal. C-A-L. Cal points.
The scientifically-calculated measurement of daily fat intake.
- Yeah? - Yeah. It's very simple.
Let me give you an example. Right. Stubby of Light.
Only three car points, mate.
For two and a half extra, you'd take the punt.
See, this is where blokes like you get it wrong,
always trying to cut corners, cheat the system.
The thing is, you throw down a lightie...
...take the edge off the thirst, so you're in for three points.
Then hop into a couple of white wines, put a glow on you.
- Yeah, or red. - Red?
Red or white. Makes no difference, mate,
- So, what are they worth? - Mate, three points.
Only three bloody points, son.
You see? Throw a coldie back,
whack a couple of those white wines into me,
next, I'm half on me way, all done, I've finished for under ten points.
Jeez, that's a top diet, Darren.
[Man] Mate? Mate! Mate!
[Speaks in Greek] Hello, darling.
[Door opens]
- Darren! - Con!
- How are you, mate? - Very well. Nice to see you.
Crusher, how you doing, my friend? Good?
Jesus Darren. You've dropped a bit of weight, haven't you?
Got me on the Slim Shapers. I'm down four kilos, mate.
I'm a bloody star performer.
So, what do you reckon?
We've each got our own rooms now, so...
...maybe if you want to move into Mum's room, or... or I can, or...
Mate, this...
This is one sensational deal.
As soon as the council approves it for high-rise development.
You're only paying 600 to buy it, so there's a 900 grand pick-up for you.
All you've got to do: Settle the purchase. Then you turn it around,
Whack 900 in your kit, less my ten percent, of course.
What about the Texas Rose?
Mate, did I say "sensational deal" or did I say "sensational deal"?
The development plan is for a residential tower, right?
With, you know, ground-floor retail shops and restaurants,
one of which comes back to us 12 months rent-free for the Texas Rose.
Now, mate, you tell me if that's not a sensational deal.
Fucking sensational! You're sure they'll get approval?
Darren, trust me, mate. It's sweet.
But it is going to take a few weeks. Are you right to settle in the meantime?
How much do I need?
The bank will give you 400, so you'll need to kick in about two to top her up.
- Any problems? - I don't think so.
I still keep a bit of dough with Warren Halliwell,
my accountant here in Surfers Paradise.
He moves it around a bit for me.
Yes, Mr Halliwell?
Melanie, I think we might break for lunch again. What do you think?
Sounds great, Mr Halliwell.
[Darren] He's got one of them dodgy first mortgage schemes set up.
Puts it out on a short-term drip feed to all them shonky builders
doing high-density rent-guaranteed developments in the back lots.
Oh, yeah, Warren's a real operator.
He's slipperier than a jar of eels.
When it comes to juggling figures,
he can make a bucket of stink smell like a bunch of roses.
He's slicker than goose shit, mate.
Warren knows all the moves.
[Elevator bell pings]
Oh, great. Just great.
Hi, there. You've called Warren Halliwell.
I'm out at present, but leave a message, I'll get back to you.
While you're out hitting the piss somewhere, I'm having a crisis.
The Beemer won't be ready till 4.00 and I'm due at tennis in a half an hour.
Call me.
[Woman groans]
Warren... you son of bitch.
It's Niall Toole from the Criminal Investigation Commission.
- Hi. How are you? - Good.
I need to organise a search warrant.
Well, it's a little bit sensitive,
which is why I prefer to get a criminal code warrant if possible.
[Niall] Do you have any magistrates available around 3.00 today?
Wonderful. I'll get a complaint sworn up immediately.
Yes. It's for the offices of the Surfers Paradise accountant Warren C Halliwell.
Excellent, Darren. That's another two kilos!
[All shriek]
[Mobile ringtone]
Yeah? What?
What? You're fucking kidding!
[Thunder rumbles]
[Con] We're not signing anything.
Darren, don't sign it. We're not signing a thing.
You don't need to sign it. It's a search warrant.
Exactly. So we won't be signing anything.
[Darren] So, what's the fucking charge?
Er...
- What's the charge? - No charge at this stage.
- What? There's no fucking charge?
- Can you do that? - Can you do that?
As you are aware, we have very extensive powers of search under the Act.
- Search? Search for fucking what? - Please. Search for?
We believe Mr Barrington may be in possession of money
which constitutes tainted property under the Confiscation of Profits Act.
Mate, I'm fucking square. All right? Come on. I'm telling you.
Hey, Darren, have you seen what these dickheads are doing?
Oi, oi! What the fuck do you think you're doing?
It's A- grade turf you're poking holes in there, pal!
What are they fucking doing?
Probing for buried receptacles.
We have the power to interfere with private property under the Act.
Con...
Er... Con...
Listen, buddy, I'm square these days.
Ask anyone you like.
I'm out of all that shit. Dead-set. 100 percent.
Are you with me?
We're not suggesting you don't, but we believe
that you may be using funds illegally obtained through bank scams back in '87.
I've done me time for that blue, fair and square.
- We're interested in the proceeds. - I spent them. What's it to you?
- Darren! - Turn it up, sport.
- What you think you're bloody doing? - That's our lawn, you dropkicks.
If your client invested tainted funds in his business,
Then he may be guilty of money laundering under the Act.
- That carries ten years. - What?
Fucking ten years, mate? You're kidding, aren't you?
We're primarily interested in revenue at this stage.
If youu client is willing to declare funds and consent to forfeiture,
I don't expect we'd prosecute for money-laundering.
They hand it back to the banks?
No.
[Laughs] No. No, bloody right they don't.
Jeez, he's a dead-set fuckin' red-hot, you are.
You can't even do your own fucking thieving for yourselves.
We've got to do it for you!
You dead-set, you're bigger fucking crooks than I am, mate!
- As I said, we're revenue-driven. - Oh, yeah.
Er... Con?
70,80,85.
$61,685.
Now, why would you have that kind of money buried in your backyard?
I don't trust banks. People keep robbing 'em.
I nearly did'nt recognise you the other day.
Yeah, well...
It's been a long time.
I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about your mum.
- Well, Joey's glad you're back. - You best mates now?
I'm his probation officer.
Community Corrections. Three years in April.
Small town.
He's a good kid. I just want things to go right for him.
- I hope you're up for it. - He's me brother, isn't he?
A lot of people stuck their necks out for you, Barry.
Well, just don't fuck it up for Joey. OK?
[Tapping]
[Darren sighs]
So how did you go with your weigh-in, anyway?
Yeah, no worries, mate.
Wore the paper-thin strides, no belt, sweet as you like.
- You got to come off a good base. - Yeah?
Yeah. You're mad if you don't, mate.
First weigh-in, you build in a bit of give-and-take in there.
I goes in with a couple of kilos of lead in my boots.
- Gives a little bit of breathing space. - Yeah.
Yeah. Mate, they'd make your life a misery otherwise.
You can have a bit of a blow-out, don't have to give yourself up.
- No point in holding up your hands. - Mate, why would you? Here he is.
No charges, but they're looking for a forfeiture order.
What's that?
- It means the CIC gets the dough. - What, the whole 60 grand?
Plus the 200 grand you gave Halliwell.
No, I don't think so. Halliwell's gone into deep snooker.
CIC got all his bloody files.
Who is this CIC, anyway? Are they the fucking cops, or what?
- No, they ain't the cops. - They ain't cops?
Fuck 'em, then. They can't do nothing to us if they ain't even cops.
They're worse then the cops, mate. They're like super-cops.
- Super-cops? - Yeah, with fancy coercive powers.
Jesus. Fuck a duck!
I'm trying to run a straight-up-and-down show here,
and I'm being lumbered with super-cops with fucking coercive powers!
They're looking at official corruption.
They reckon Burrows got a drink out of rezoning the Rose.
They're trying to link the money you gave Halliwell to the bank scheme.
It's my dough, I pinched it.
They want it. Apparently, if they can trace it back, they get it.
Good luck to them. Ain't got no chance.
That Halliwell's the shiftiest bastard in the game.
They can't do nothing with the files.
They've subpoenaed every fuckin' person in the world for questioning.
Tell 'em to get fucked. We don't have to answer their bloody questions.
I'm really sorry, Darren, but I'm afraid you do.
It's part of their coercive powers.
What about your right to silence? That's unassailable.
[Crusher] You can't be forced to tell tales. It's against the Constitution.
That's fuckin' un-Australian.
What about a deal, Con? Can we do 'em a deal?
Go with 70/30. Bottom line, split it down the guts.
I don't think they work that way.
Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em!
Tell them to go their hardest. Good luck.
[Darren] That money's legit. Dead-set, 100 percent on the up and up.
They'll never prove otherwise.
- Unless someone fingers Johnny Spit. - Who's Johnny Spit?
He's the bloke I got to deliver the lucre to Halliwell.
- They'll never find Johnny Spit. - No way.
The bloke's a junkie. They got no hope.
[Knocking at door]
[Man] We're from the Criminal Investigations Commission.
We understand that John Spitieri rents a room here.
[Woman] Yeah, except he don't pay his rent. Room six. Top of the stairs.
[Moans]
[Groans]
Fuck!
- I'll be home for dinner, mate. - Hang on. I'll give you a lift.
In a Ford? You are kidding, aren't you? I'd rather walk.
- What? Ford's king. - Holden is.
- Ford, mate. - Holden.
- Ford! - Holden.
Fuckin' Ford!
[Engine turns over]
Fuckin' Ford.
I've only had my ticket three years, but I've been the head cook since then.
You shouldn't have to do anything too fancy here.
Where have you worked?
- Just at SDL. - SDL? Where is that?
Sir David Longlands.
Sir David Longlands? That's not a restaurant, is it?
No. It's a prison.
All right. Did you work for the Prisons Department?
I was an inmate.
How long were you in there for?
- About eight. - Eight months?
- Eight years. - Eight years? Gosh.
Er, what were you in for?
I was done for killing a bloke.
Ah.
- I never did it. - Right.
You're a hard man to track down, Joey Wirth.
It's good for my image. Man of mystery.
You look like you've won the lottery.
Yeah. I... whacked me pocket money on a favourite at Eagle Farm.
- It's come good. - Oh, yeah?
- How are things at home? - Good.
- He settling in all right? - Yeah. No worries.
What's he doing with himself?
Has he got a name?
He's this old dude that I bumped into. He gave me $20 to hose down his boat.
I'm going to need a name.
- Yeah. No worries. - OK.
[Beeping]
[Mobile keys beep]
Yeah, it's Annie Flynn.
Could you run a name search on a boat for me?
It's called the Far Canal.
No, I'll hold.
Yeah.
Thank you. Bye.
- You've been away for a few years? - Yeah.
- Drilling rigs? - Yeah. North Sea.
- Why'd you get jack of it? - It's too bloody cold, mate.
You don't get too bloody cold around here, mate.
[Trainer] That's it. That's it.
[Man whistles]Clear off, all of you.
Yeah, that's right. Talking to you, sweetheart.
Little Miss Community Corrections. Elvis, piss off.
What business is that of yours?
Now, I don't know what that...
...that grub Barry Wirth's been telling you about Chicka Martin,
but Chicka has nothing to do with Community Corrections.
It's got nothing to do with you.
If you don't want trouble with me, keep your spunky little bum out of it.
It's DeViers, right?
That's Detective Senior Sergeant DeViers to you, rose petal.
Are you always this charming?
Only on the first date, darling.
Only on the first date.
[DeViers whistles]
- Mate, sweet as a nut. - Yeah?
Absolutely. No, your salmon is shit-hot gear, mate.
We're talking here maybe 0.1,0.2 of a point.
Piece of crispy bread, throw in an extra maybe 0.2 of a point. It's nothing.
Interesting.
Yeah, 'course I do. G'day, Mick. How are you, son?
Good, Darren. Yeah, mate, I'm real good.
You're looking really good. Jeez, I haven't seen you in years.
- Not since the old Pink Pussycat days. - That's right. Yeah.
You're dropped a lot of weight since then. You're looking good.
- Isn't he looking fabulous, Chicka? - I'm barred up at the sight of him.
He's dropped a heap, hasn't he?
Listen, Dabba, I just come over to discuss a business proposition with you.
You need to learn a few manners, don't you?
No offence meant to you of course, Mick.
Darren, there's no off... No offence taken, mate. No.
- [Crusher] Take the weight off you. - [Darren] Sit down.
Only came over here to see you as an old friend.
And to offer you an opportunity for a little earn.
Oh, yeah? Taken up charity work, have you?
Well, as you know, charity begins in the home.
And right now, I got myself a little problem.
See, lately I've been parking most of my hard-earned Cyril Ash
with our good friend Warren Halliwell.
Now, because Warren has great difficulty in keeping his dick in his daks,
So, in the interim, I've been parking a shitload with Black Jack Cullan.
He's showing it in the books of his cash business, turning it into paper for me.
For a healthy commission, of course.
But you and me both know that there's a limit to the amount of cash
that even a shocking punter like Black Jack Cullan can drop on the horses.
- That's where you come into it. - Oh, yeah? How'd you figure that, then?
That in this particular establishment, you've got yourself a complete dud.
Well... I am, of course, touched...
...by the level of your deep concern, Chicka.
Well, as you know, that's the kind of bloke I am.
Anyway, I figure there's a bit of mutual back-scratching to be done here,
so I'm proposing that you and me become partners in this here white elephant.
I know you can't stop people paying cash in a business like this,
so you pay your tax, and then you and me split the rest
on a basis that is fair and reasonable and equitable to both parties.
Say...
80 to me, 20 to you?
Yeah?
- I don't think so, Chicka. - Dabba, we're talking concepts here.
Don't go geting too hung up on the figures. Like I say, it's negotiable.
No, it ain't. See, to tell you the truth...
and I'm not all that particularly fond of you, either.
In fact, I wouldn't have you as a partner
if you were served up on a silver platter surrounded by watercress.
So if you want someone to wash your filthy lucre for you,
I suggest you take it to the Laundromat.
Yeah.
Well, I, of course, appreciate you being so frank and forthright with me, Dabba.
Mick!
It started.
Maybe you need to learn a few manners yourself, Dabba.
Well, let me know if you find a good teacher.
[Muffled] Empty the till! Come on! Do it, mate!
- What? - Come on. Empty the till now.
- You got to be kidding. - I'm serious. Empty the fuckin' till!
That's a screwdriver. Are you gonna put up shelving?
Piss off, or I'm going to get over there and give you a good flogging.
Hey, Wattsy, mate!
Johnny, you prick, what are you doing to me?
Fuck! That thing's so hot.
Hey, I know, mate, I know.
I'm a better crook than that. But mate,
I'm back on the shit again. I'm hanging out something fierce.
You're not, are you?
I am, man. Dead-set. I'm fucked, mate. I've got to score big time.
Don't shoot!
Come on, get back, mate!
Empty the till, mate! Come on.
Yeah.
All right. Yeah.
Wait!
Thank you.
Yeah. Yeah.
Annie!
[Man] Oi!
Where do you think you're going?
I know where she's from. It's a police station, not a bloody social club.
Sit your arse down and wait like everybody else, sweetheart. You too.
Bring your boyfriend out when we're finished with him. Thank you, constable.
Here he is.
Me old mate, Barry Wirth.
"Wattsy Wirth"? Not fucking much if you ask me.
You've been up to your old tricks again, eh, Barry?
I'm not talking to you, DeViers. I want to see a solicitor.
Don't need a solicitor.
Boy scouts here are going to let you go.
Reckon they don't have enough to pinch you on.
Not like the old days.
The young blokes here haven't got the balls to drop a verbal.
Even on a little grub like you. But I do, Barry. Don't forget it.
I'll stitch up a little shit like you in a heartbeat.
I know you're in on that servo job.
When the boy scouts here pinch your little mate, he'll tell me everything.
Then you're going back inside where you belong.
Only this time, you're never getting out.
I don't give a shit what you do with your life,
but if you breach your parole, I can't guarantee anything for Joey.
- I'm looking after him. - You're doing a greatjob.
Thanks very much.
He's a smart kid, but you've got to look after him. Look!
Fuck only knows why, but he thinks you're someone worth looking up to.
- He's not that smart then, is he? - Come on. Wake up to yourself, Barry.
We're doing all right, Annie.
I haven't told the department about Joey working for Chicka Martin yet,
but I'm beginning to think that I should.
You done?
[PA announcements]
[Woman] Price check, cash register two, please.
[Registers beep]
It's a stickup, pal. Hand over all your dole money.
- Get out! - [Laughs]
What are you doing looking for a job? I heard you was working in the servo.
Really? Where'd you hear that? Come on.
So Chicka Martin's going to be my ticket out of here.
Chicka's nothing but trouble, Spit.
About six weeks ago, this wood duck rolls into town.
Drives a Porsche. Mate, absolutely rolling in it.
He knows no one, right? Absolutely fuckin' no one.
Mate, he starts asking me about getting gear for him.
He's paying, like, three times over the odds for it. So, mate...
...I done the shit-hot deal with Chicka, right?
He's giving me a kilo of H for 20 grand on credit.
Wood duck's gonna pay me 30 grand for it.
Man, that's ten grand going straight into my skyrocket.
You've got to get off that shit.
This time I'm going to. This one's getting me out for good.
- Mate, what are you talking about? - This, mate. This. Look.
Look. A cure, mate.
Look at her. She was a raging junkie.
She was pumping, like, a thousand bucks up her arm a day,
but her oldies here, they sent her off to Israel for this special treatment.
They put in a coma or something. When you wake up, straight, mate.
No cold turkey or nothing.
No, I checked it out, mate.
Soon as I done the deal, mate, I'm on the plane,
courtesy of Chicka.
It's a lot harder than I thought it would be, Spit.
No one wants to hire an ex-con.
Any bloke who can make a fancy sanger like this should be in big demand.
- Shut up. - Hey.
Hey, I can get you kitchen work.
I know this Pommy bloke. He owes me a couple.
- I don't want nothing dodgy, Spit. - No, no, mate.
This bloke's square.
Or... sort of.
Anyway, hey.
He's got his own restaurant.
Yeah?
Whereabouts?
Surfers Paradise, mate.
- Surfers Paradise? - Yeah.
Surfers bloody Paradise.
Jesus, Crusher, what's this meant to be?
You said "well done".
"Well done?" Blokes don't get this burnt in the electric chair!
- G'day. - G'day, pal.
- You Spit's mate? - Yeah. I'm Barry Wirth.
- Can you cook steaks, Barry? - Yeah. 'Course I can.
Pepper steak, well done. Well done,
as in "still identifiable without having to check its dental records."
- Crusher will show you around. - Come on.
Hey, Barry...
So, have you seen Johnny Spit around lately?
No.
I've asked around, and I'm told you're a good boy.
You keep your nose clean and you got a job around here. All right?
No drugs, no hardware.
You don't dud me, and I won't dud you.
You fuck up, and I wipe you like a dirty bum.
- Sweet. - If I catch you thieving,
I'll chop your nuts off and watch you grate them over a salad niçoise.
- That's more than fair. - Come on.
[Muted guitar music]
[Music gets louder]
Joey?
Wake up. Wake up. Get up! Get up off the floor! Come on!
What are you doing to me? Come on. Get out of here.
- Get up! - What's happening?
What's happening, man, is that you're fucking out of here!
Get out of here.
- [Door slams] - [Joey sighs]
Where'd you get money to buy the smoke?
- Been thieving? - No.
You've been working for Chicka, you stupid shit!
Chill out, will you? It's only a bag of smoke.
You're not my bloody probation officer.
Listen. That little bag of smoke is enough to put me back inside.
I ain't fucking going back. Not for you, not for fucking anyone.
You understand me?
Jesus, Barry. Handle it, will you? Fuckin' handle it.
So, you're worried about the little bastard, are you?
Yeah. Promised my mum I'd never let him end up in boob.
Your mum, eh?
That's the thing about mothers, isn't it?
You go inside, they do every day of it with you.
It's harder on them than it is on us, dead-set.
Yeah.
Yeah, my mum done it real tough for me.
This brother of yours... Does he know how to pull beers?
Who's he gonna pull beers for? We got no punters.
Never mind about that. We're on the verge of big things here.
Bring the kid in. Teach him how to pull beers.
Got any more of this custard?
Doesn't that stuff fuck up your fancy diet?
As long as a certain party don't dog me to my missus, it don't, no.
- Thanks, Dabba. - Forget it.
Listen, Dabba, I know you're chasing Johnny Spit, so...
...if I see him, I'll have a word with him.
Yeah? That'd be good.
Yeah. Shit-hot, mate.
[Laboured breathing]
[Whimpering]
Johnny! Quick! Get in!
What's going on?
- Just drive, mate! - What the fuck's going on?
Just get us out of here, mate!
Shit.
John Francis Spitieri, you're officially served.
What is this shit, man? What here I done?
Criminal fuckin' Intelligence Commission?
No way.
What are you hassling me for, mate/? I'm square. I'm fuckin' square!
I don't know what I'm going to do.
I'm not gonna dog in anyone, that's for sure.
Dabba's been square with me. I'm not putting him in.
- You can tell him that. - Oh, shit.
Oh, fuck. Community Corrections. I'm out of here, man.
You don't seem too popular.
It's nothing for you to worry about.
Wasn't that John Spitieri?
I don't know his name. Just bummed a lift off me.
He's a convicted criminal, so giving him a lift would be a breach of your parole.
The Falcon going again.
Yeah. Just cleaned her up a bit. She purrs like a kitten.
- Only woman a man can rely on, huh? - Yup.
Look...
Annie, when I spent my first night in slot,
I was just a young kid pissing my pants.
It was John Spitieri who put his hand on my shoulder. He taught me up from down.
That counts for something doesn't it?
- Right now, Johnny needs a friend. - Friends are important.
Yup. Friends that stick.
Cos when it comes down to it, they're all you've got.
- Why is Joey working for him? - He's not. Not anymore.
See you.
[Slap of flip-flops]
It's the same as what you've been getting.
It'll cost you 20 large. Payable on Friday.
Sweet, mate.
- [Man] Hello? - Hey. Yeah, it's me.
Hello?
Hey, Frank, mate, it's me.
Who is it?
It's me! It's fuckin' me!
Oh, right, right.
Oh, right. The whatsit. You got it, did you?
Yeah, mate. I told you I would.
Unreal. Excellent. Excellent. Hey, hang on.
What? - Is this the brown beetles,
or is this the vanilla ice cream?
Ice cream?
Oh, yeah. Ice cream. Yeah, mate.
Yeah, man. I got you the vanilla ice cream.
Hey, mate, nice and creamy, too.
Awesome. Lad, were you able to get me a double scoop?
Yeah, mate. I got you a large scoop.
Cool. How much is the large scoop?
Large scoop of ice cream, mate? 30,000.
Sweet.
OK, mate.
Hey, get in.
- Hey, mate. - Hey, bro. How are you?
- Good, mate. - You got the gear?
- Right here, mate. - Let's crack it open, man.
Not here, mate. Just go up the road a bit.
- You got me a kilo? - Just like I said I would.
- And it's heroin, right? - The best money could buy.
And the deal is a kilo of heroin for $30,000, right?
What?
Police, Johnny. Mind stepping out of the car, please?
Aw, shit!
I don't need a job. I got a job.
- Cleaning up after Chicka? - Chicka looks after me.
Chicka looks after bloody Chicka.
Because he was Mum's boyfriend.
As far as I was concerned, he was the duck's nuts.
When Arnie DeViers, he started leaning on us, I wore it.
I said nothing, Chicka said nothing.
And next thing I know, I'm being banged up for 12 years,
And you, baby brother,
you're being raised by people we don't even fuckin' know.
Still, Chicka said nothing.
[Laughter from boat]
Starts doing business with the wallopers who put me inside,
and things couldn't be sweeter.
Well, fuck him.
I thought he was going to look after me too.
- Well, I didn't know none of that. - Yeah, well...
Didn't need to.
Well, I didn't much like cleaning boats anyway.
So, what is this gig?
- John Spitieri? - Who's asking?
We're from the Criminal Investigation Commission.
We'd like to have a short word with you.
You have only just let me go.
We're not the police. We think we might be able to help you.
Look, John. You're in a bit of trouble here.
You've been charged with trafficking.
You wouldn't even have got bail if we hadn't intervened.
You see, we know you delivered cash to Halliwell for Darren Barrington.
And when you get along to our inquiry, you're either going to tell the truth,
in which case you'll face money laundering charges,
or you're going to lie, in which case you'll face perjury charges as well.
So, you see, Barry,
this bean-counter, this Halliwell bloke,
He pulled poor old Cranky Stan down with him just cos he knew the bastard.
Well, do you know him or not?
Who? Warren bloody... Mate, I don't know what you're talking about.
Who is this Warren Halliwell, anyhow?
- You don't know him? Never met him? - No. No.
- You certain? Absolutely certain? - Yes, I'm certain. Yeah.
There can be no mistake about it in your mind?
Mate, I dead-set wouldn't know the bloke if he stood up in me fuckin' soup.
How say you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury?
Do you find the accused guilty or not guilty of the charge of perjury?
[Darren] Poor Cranky drew four with no bottom just for knowing the bloke.
- Guilty. - That'll be fuckin' right.
Halliwell was also the reason they shone a torch up Alderman Burrows' arse.
They reckon he copped a sling for the rezoning of the Texas Rose.
[Darren] I don't know where they get these ideas from.
Certainly not, sir. I would never do such a thing.
[Darren] Unfortunately, they did turn up some expense account records
Who would've thought it?
Educated bloke like that.
If anybody was going to get across, you'd think Slippery Frame would have.
[Man] Mr Frame, it's all there in your own handwriting, isn't it?
Record of all the payments you made to Mr Halliwell.
Well, what have you got to say, Mr Frame?
Is this it? Is this all you have got?
Well, it's not a bad start, is it, Mr Frame?
Mr Frame?
Mr Frame, what are you doing?
Mr Frame? Sir...
Do not chew that exhibit.
[Judge] I order you to stop chewing.
Mr Frame, do not swallow that.
Spit that out immediately!
Mr Frame?
And he still drew three for contempt of the commission, or some shit.
If anyone was gonna come home, we thought Slippery would've.
- [Wife] Sweet fuck-all. - [Crusher] Except for Johnny Spit.
Yeah, except for Spit.
I wrapped the cash and slipped Johnny a two-spot to deliver it to Halliwell.
[Wife] How can they prove they were your folders?
They can't! They got nothing to tie me to that cash. Absolutely nothing.
Yeah. Well, if he gives me up, they'll pinch me for money laundering,
in which case I could cop for ten years.
Johnny wouldn't tell a dentist which tooth to pull.
Me and Con Katsakis are gonna be in Brisbane for the hearing.
You're going to have to run the restaurant without me.
I'll put the kids out with Mum, so I should be around.
- Yeah, no worries. - We're coming up for a busy time soon.
But don't worry. All the systems are in place. You don't have to change nothing.
- Oh, doll! - Taxi!
So here's my problem, Barry.
I am presently so hungry from this diet,
that I could chew the arse out of a low-flying duck.
But because I've been pigging out all morning, I'm allowed no more
than a further ten grams fat, which means I'm restricted to rabbits' food.
I have got to lose this extra weight to surprise Darren when he gets home,
but if I don't have a decent feed, I am likely to deck someone.
Now, you're a chef, Barry.
You must be able to make something edible out of this crap.
Yeah, I should be able to.
I am talking about something edible, Barry.
Shit. That looks all right.
Just say yes or no. OK?
Yes or no. Sweet, mate.
Don't volunteer anything, make any comment.
- Just yes or no! - No worries, mate.
Because the more you say, the more they are going to try and trap you.
Just yes or no.
[Man] Thank you, gentlemen.
Fuck.
So?
- Beg your pardon? - What?
Your name is John Francis Spitieri?
- Yeah. - Thank you.
- And you reside... - I never said it wasn't.
- Sorry? - I never.
Never what, Mr Spitieri?
- I never said it wasn't. - Wasn't your name?
That's crap. It is my name.
- I didn't say it wasn't. - You did. You said it then.
- No. - Yes, you did.
We might be at cross-purposes.
What do you mean "cross"? I'm not the one getting cross.
You the ones that are fuckin' up, accusing everyone of everything.
No one has accused you of anything.
Yeah? Then what am I doing here, then, mate?
Excuse me? Who's paying for my bus fare today?
I'm sure someone will sort that out.
Well, who, mate? I'm on a pension, you know. I haven't got no money.
We'll come to that later.
That's the same sort of shit them coppers were on about.
Trying to get me to say things I know nothing about.
You are full of shit, mate. Dead-set.
You're trying to verbal me, trying to put words in my mouth.
No one is trying to put words in your mouth.
- Yes, you are. You're doing it now. - No.
- Doing what, Mr Spitieri? - What do you think, mate?
Trying to get me to say things you want to hear.
I told you, I don't know nothing about that shit.
Yes, well...
Oh...
I'm sorry, Your Honour. I didn't mean to say "shit."
It's just that this fuckin' guy's getting to me.
He's trying to put words into my mouth.
I'm not smart or nothing. I only went to junior at school.
Well, Mr Spitieri, I shall try to take it slowly.
You don't have to talk slow. I can understand you.
I'd like to give special thanks to Marion Barrington
for providing this wonderful venue for our November meeting.
And, of course, for providing a delightfully appetising lean cuisine.
[Ladies murmur approvingly]
I'm asking you if you've ever heard of Warren Halliwell.
I told you, mate, I don't remember names and stuff like that.
I do remember there was an old bloke Warren
who used to drink at the Oxford at Petersham,
but I don't know his second name.
I was referring to the accountant on the Gold Coast.
You were referring Warren to an accountant?
Warren wouldn't need an accountant. He's just an old pisshead.
I don't know where you get your info from.
Warren would be dead by now, wouldn't he?
I am not talking about your friend from Petersham.
I am talking about Warren Halliwell,
the accountant who practises on the Gold Coast.
Oh, yeah.
- You know Warren Halliwell, don't you? - Yeah.
If he used to drink at the Oxford at Petersham I do,
but he didn't look like an accountant.
I'm not saying he was an accountant.
- Yes, you did. You said it then. - No.
Yes, you did. You keep doing it. You're trying to confuse me.
Anyway, what did Warren do wrong? What are you hassling him for?
He's done nothing wrong. He's just a pisshead.
- I am not talking about your friend. - What the fuck are you talking about?
I gotta go home. My bus goes at 4.00.
Excuse me, who's paying for my bus fare today?
I put it to you that on August 26th last year,
you delivered approximately $200,000 in cash
to the office of Warren Halliwell.
Mate, 200?
Do I look like I've got 200 grand in cash?
I'm on the bones of me arse, mate.
I've gotta get home. Who's paying my fare?
You don't need to worry about that now.
Excuse me, I am worried about it. I'm on medication, you know?
Gotta pick up me methadone before 5.00,
otherwise I don't get nothing till the morning.
Excuse me, Your Honour, do you know who's paying for my bus fare today?
Mr Dent, has the witness been afforded appropriate expenses?
Sir, I'm informed those instructing me
will arrange a cheque in payment of Mr Spitieri's expenses directly.
A cheque? What am I gonna do with a cheque, Your Honour?
I don't want a fucking cheque. Me bus driver's not gonna take a cheque.
I need me bus money, otherwise how am I supposed to get home?
Yes, all right.
Mr Dent, I wonder whether, in the circumstances,
some appropriate arrangements couldn't be made?
To avoid further delays, I'll get Mr Toole to fix that up now.
That's only 20 dollars.
Me bus doesn't come till 4.00. I'll need some lunch.
In the circumstances, the witness is entitled
to be reimbursed for his luncheon expenses.
I'll get Mr Tool to give him another 20 dollars
to cover his luncheon expenses.
Thank you.
[Softly] Thank you, Your Honour.
Barry, some sheila out front says she wants to say hello to you.
She says she wants the chicken.
Even all that rabbit food crap, spinach, celery, all that sort of shit.
Don't ask me.
If I wasn't happily married woman, I reckon I'd go the taste test.
Oh, here we go.
Compliments of the chef.
Hop in for your chop, love.
[DeViers] This is the famous Chez Barry, eh?
Looks like a restaurant.
Sure as shit smells like a restaurant.
There he is, the maestro himself.
- What do you want? - Mate.
I thought you might wanna shout your Uncle Arnie a free feed.
Is this offical police business, Senior Sergeant?
[DeViers] Well, Fuck me.
- Isn't this cosy? - Kitchen's closed.
Is that right?
It looks like we might have to catch up some other time then.
[Laughter]
Since when did you have the right
to stick your nose in other people's business?
Fine.
I need to see some employment records
[birdsong]
[Gasps]
So, as you can see, Johnny,
the reason I invited you over today for a swim was not all social.
You've gone and got yourself a headache, old son.
A $20,000 headache.
Now, of course,
if you just did nothing to fix such a bad headache as this,
and it were allowed to go on for too long,
a bloke could get very sick.
Maybe even die.
But fortunately for you, Johnny,
Mr DeViers has graciously offered to give you an aspirin,
which will hopefully kill this headache,
before it kills you, so to speak.
That's right, Johnny.
No doubt about it, you're a very lucky boy.
Now Arnie "Devious" wants me to get four guys together
to pull an armed rob on the Payroll Office
of the Australia Fair Shopping Centre.
He reckons he knows through the cops exactly when the cash is coming in,
so if the timing's right,
you'll be able to pull around 400 grand.
Yeah, if the timing's wrong,
you're gonna go back inside for 14 plus.
Twenty grand in it for me.
Ten grand up front each for the other three.
- That squares your debt to Chicka. - Yeah.
It gets me out of the shit.
Except for the trafficking blue, of course.
And the breach of parole.
And the perjury.
And the money laundering, if they decide to charge me with that.
[# Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds: Into My Arms]
# I don't believe in an interventionist God
# But I know, darling, that you do
[siren]
# But if I did, I would kneel down and ask him
# Not to intervene when it came to you
# Leave you as you are
# And if He felt he had to direct you
# Then direct you into my arms
# Into my arms
# O Lord
# Into my arms
# O Lord
# Into my arms
# O Lord
# Into my arms
# And I don't believe in the existence of angels
# But lookin'at you, I wonder if that's true...
- I'm sorry about this. - Forget it.
# If I did, I would summon them together
# And ask them to watch...
I thought you were supposed to be the tough guy.
# To make bright and clear your path
# And to walk like Christ in grace and love
# And guide you into my arms...
- [Annie] The bloke's out of control. - [Barry] Really.
[Annie] He shouldn't be allowed to get way with it.
You know I never killed that guy.
Yeah.
Chicka sconed him as we came through the window.
Whacked him that hard. I couldn't believe it.
Why didn't you say something?
I'm saying something now.
# And I know that you do too
# And I believe in some kind of path
# That we can walk down, me and you
# So keep your candles burning
# Make herjourney bright and pure
# That she'll keep returning always and evermore
# Into my arms
# O Lord
# Into my arms #
Bloody hell.
Bugger me days, son.
We've not been that busy, have we?
Fuck me. Who's run you over?
Chicka wants to know what you're fuckin' doing.
I'm fucking thinking about it.
- Well, mate, I'm tellin' you. - You're not.
I am, pal. I'm tellin' you.
- No, you're not. - Too right, I am.
You're not telling me nothing. I'm telling you.
- Mate, you've been told. - Bullshit.
- You have. - Bullshit, I have.
All right. Anyway, you're being fuckin' told, all right?
Says me, Johnny, that's who.
Yeah?
Well, fuck you.
[Slurping]
[Mutters]
Ow!
[Cries out]
It's just that Chicka wants no more friggin' around.
[Groans]
So here's the go.
I'll get you the money you need to buy your building.
You reckon you've got it sold.
So, as soon as you get the money from the sale,
you sign the Texas Rose over to me.
So, my client has come into possession.
Of some very sensitive information,
which he would be willing to disclose to you people,
on the understanding you give him a break
and back off with this whole money business.
You mean discontinue all forfeiture proceedings?
Exactly.
What if I was to say it was an open and shut case
of conspiracy to commit armed robbery by a very senior police detective?
[Indistinct talking]
[Johnny] I don't have any.
I can't pick it up on the directional mic.
OK, let's bring him in.
[Fly buzzing]
Have you had a chance to think about all that now?
Loyalty's one thing, but you don't have many options anymore.
If we add conspiracy to rob, you might never see daylight again.
The MSS blokes deliver the payroll to this entrance. [snaps fingers]
It's heavily armed, OK?
I'll ring and give you the time and hour before the job.
- Are you with me? - Sweet.
The money's only there for half an hour, so don't piss about.
[DeViers] There's a lane at the rear.
You and your mates come up the back through the fire escape.
Got it?
As soon as you get the call from DeViers,
you dial the number I've given you, and say "go".
That's it. Just "go". Then you hang up.
The Administration Building will be under heavy surveillance.
We'll have you sound monitored all the way.
Visual surveillance will pick you up at the scene.
As soon as you go in, the building will be sealed off,
and your party immediately intercepted. Do you understand all that?
Yeah, mate.
I don't have to tell you how important it is
that you stick strictly to the plan.
No, mate. Strict.
The van will be waiting in the laneway when we come out.
We drive down, wait till it's safe, then let the other two out.
- They won't know who we are? - We're organised.
Let's do it.
- Get in. - Hurry up. Get in.
- Standby. - [man] Sector Three, Sector Four
and Sector One in place.
[Man 2] Move to code blue. Repeat, move to code blue.
[Man] ETA, 10.30.
Let's go.
- They're in the building. - Negative.
- What? - What?
They're in the building?
- Are they in the building? - Not in here.
- Sector Four? - Not in this building.
[Voices over radio]
[Man] We have no vision.
Shit.
They've done a switch on us.
[Thudding, shouting]
[Barry] Everyone down. This is a stickup. Get your faces down.
Get down or I'll blow your head off!
Get down on the fucking floor.
- [Johnny] This ain't the rightjoint. - Change of plans.
Right-o, Jack, let's see your safe.
[Man, outside] Want a bullet in your head?
Go, get out of here.
Down on the ground. Today.
- Get down. - [Woman screams]
Wrap him up.
Give us your hands.
I don't get it, mate, we're in the wrong place.
No, I'm afraid you're in the wrong place.
DeViers found out you were dogging on him, told me to give you this.
[Screaming]
Let that be a lesson to you.
Dead men tell no tales.
[Agitated murmuring]
Anyone who gets off that floor in the next ten minutes is dead.
- Jesus, what happened? - The bastard popped him.
He's gone. He's wasted.
Fuckin' Johnny Spitieri. He was dead meat anyway.
- Stuff this. I'm out of here. - Wait for the signal.
Shit. Oh, shit. The bastard's wired.
He's fucking wired.
[Hissing, feedback]
[Buzzing]
Is it dead?
Sure is, brother.
Are you OK? How does it feel?
Actually, not half as bad as I always fuckin' thought it would.
[# Groove Armada: Easy]
You all right?
No body has been recovered as yet,
and from the overalls in the industrial bins.
It is definitely Spitieri's blood.
We may never find the body.
What about the money?
Cullan denies there was any money. He says they got away empty-handed.
- Any chance that's true? - No.
So, we just monitored the murder of one of our own informants.
Before he shot him, he said something like,
"DeViers said give this to you."
Then he shot him.
[Deviers laughs]
What is this?
You trying to set me up?
Cross me and I'll crush you like the fucking insect you are.
What?
What the fuck are you looking at?
[Darren] Barry, where's that champagne?
That hit the spot. Any more where that came from?
- Here you go, you can have mine. - Don't mind if I do.
I didn't think you're allowed to eat that.
What you talking about? Got my life membership now.
No more bleeding weigh-ins for me.
What does that mean? You eat what you like without putting on weight?
Fucking wake up yourself, will you?
Surrounded by fucking geniuses, I am.
Got this today, from Israel.
From some imbecile who forgot to sign his name.
[# Easy continues]
[# Machine Gun Fellatio: Take It Slow]
# Take it slow
# On a fragment of melody
# Take it slow
# And you'll find your way back to me
# Take it slow
# I don't wanna do it if you don't with me
# I don't wanna do it if you won't with me
# I don't wanna see it if you won't see
# I don't wanna see you
# If you won't see me
# Take it slow
# I'm waiting for you
# Take it slow
# On a fragment of melody
# Take it slow
# And you'll find your way back to me
# Take it slow
# On and on around the world
# On and on around Madonna's trousers
# On and on around the world You come back to me
- # Take it slow - # On and on around the world
# On and on around Madonna's trousers
# On and on around the world You come back to me
- # Take it slow - # On and on around the world
- # Back to me - # On and on around Madonna's trousers
- # Take it slow - # On and on around the world
# Back to me #