(Groans)
(Grunts)
(Voices in distance)
(Distant laughter)
(Distant chatter)
That's it, mate. Get a move on.
Someone's coming.
- Get it down there! - Ducking thing...
Help you, lads?
- Fuck off, old man. - Yeah, you old git!
- Or I'll smash your head in. - Yeah. Give us your fucking wallet, you cunt.
- (Boy groans) - Let's sort this fucker out.
- (Boy 2) Come on, then! - This, lads...
- is a Hurley. - (Boy groans)
Used in the Irish game of hurling - a cross between hockey and murder.
(Groans) So fuck, mate?
- Oh! Fuck! - Shank him, bruv.
Why don't I carve my name in your fucking face?
- Hold oh, hold oh. - (Boy) Shank him in the fucking neck!
Now, is that a carpet knife?
- (Boy) Stick him! - (Groans)
(Means)
(Groaning continues)
than how it looks in the papers.
Been looking for one of these for like weeks, Got this carpet, just Keeps turning up.
(Groans)
- (Sighs) A word of advice, girls. - (Groaning continues)
If you're picking the wrong fight...
at least pick the right weapon.
(J' Drum and Bass)
that you got for the highest arrest rate in the Southeast.
Er... I must insist that you extinguish that.
And you'll do inexactly, if I don't'?
Arrest me?
I'm not sure that you realise the gravity of your situation.
Nice pen.
- Sergeant? - Nice pen, I said.
- It says a lot about you. - Oh, is that so?
Pray tell.
You like a solid, phallic symbol between your fingers.
Sergeant Brant,
in the last year you've been charged with bugging the Superintendent's office,
and just last week you assaulted three innocent youths with a hockey stick.
Should I go on?
My report will be a major factor in whether you remain in the force.
No... S-Sergeant Brant, sit down.
Thing is, Doc...
this is the only work I can do.
Now, if I get bounced...
I'm sure I'll do something truly reckless.
(J' Drum and bass)
Hi.
You got a minute for me?
Yeah.
- What is it? - I dunno...
1 thought two years undercover on the drug squad would help me out, but..
I dunno.
Like, maybe my past went against me, or...
- 1 failed the Sergeant's exam. - Everyone fails the first time.
Did you?
Look, you've only been out of rehab a few months. Give it time.
Falls, go grab some piss-poor tea in the canteen, OK?
(Snorts) You don't wanna believe what you read in the papers, sir.
This is not what this station needs right now.
You know we can't afford any more bad publicity.
Imagine you walk down the street.
You bump into three blokes carrying carpeting knives.
And no, they're not carpet fitters They're after your wallet.
Maybe even that gold watch...
that you got for the highest arrest rate in the Southeast.
And while they're at it, they very kindly offer to carve their name in your face.
Now, you'd be more worried about whether you're gonna have a face
than how it looks in the papers.
Well...
just keep a low profile till this little shitstorm blows over.
Business is brisk?
- Get that down you. - Oh.
I don't think I can go through with this.
(Sighs) You'll be OK.
Be over in no time.
Do you think I should have gone for a burial?
No.
It's all the same deal. Saving a few bob, she'd be glad.
We're ready for you, Inspector Roberts.
Come on.
Who got the flowers?
Guy on a stall in Stratham owed me a favour. Does a clean line in fruit and veg.
It's time.
Couple of last words, guv?
We'll miss you, love.
Cock Tavern, as quick as you can.
Let's get you legless,
Where's Fiona?
- What? - The urn, Brant.
Where the fuck's the urn?
Someone must have nicked it.
(Laughs)
One of these cunts.
(Laughs) Up, up and away!
(Laughs) We need a detective!
(Radio chatter)
(Woman) All right?
Fuck you, pig.
(Policewoman chokes, groans)
(Man on phone) Brant? Are you there?
- Brant? - What?
We need you down at Smith Held, yesterday Brant.
An officer is down. All hands to the pump.
And don't go talking to any fucking journalists.
- Sir? - I'm throwing you a bone, Brant.
(On radio) The officer is Sandra Bates.. (Woman) Oh, no, it can't be.
Assailant is armed and dangerous and has fled the scene. Proceed with caution...
(Man) We want to get the body covered as soon as possible.
(Whistling)
That is some dress.
- Yeah, well, you look shocking. - I've been consoling the Chief Inspector.
- His wife passed. - Yeah, I heard.
(Falls) l knew Sandra. We were at Police College together.
Brant? Was there something?
- Yes, sir, there's a witness. - What?
Why wasn't I told?
I've been trying to tell you for the past half an hour.
Take his statement.
(Helicopter blades whirl)
The dead policewoman has been identified
as 26-year-old Sandra Bates of Cambervell.
Described as a credit to her force,
she was shot at point-blank range and died instantly.
(Man) Now, on to a breaking story from our Washington correspondent..
(Chatter)
- it's Tony, right? - Anthony.
- And you're Brant, right? - You know me?
Who doesn't?
Last year at Camber-well Billiards,
when that nutter come in with a crowbar, attacked a couple of mates.
You rocked up, beat matey to a pulp.
- My mates think you're a legend. - I'm flattered.
- Shouldn't we promote one of our own? - (Laughter)
- Posh and fucking Becks? - Too fucking right.
So run the description by me again.
Ain't you gonna take any notes?
Do I look like I carry a pencil?
Morning. I'm Porter Nash.
Superintendent Brown said to talk to you about getting a locker.
Due to the recent death of his wife, Chief Inspector Roberts is on extended leave.
I am therefore promoting Sergeant Porter Nash to Acting Inspector...
(Murmuring, chuckling) ..and temporary head of the inquiry.
- (Man) Sir? - Yes.
- Shouldn't we promote one of our own? - (Laughter)
Now, now, gems. I don't need to remind you that we're already the focus
of a media circus.
Sergeant Nash comes to us from the prestigious West London branch.
And it is my opinion that he will instil a level of professionalism
hitherto lacking in our primitive Southeast division.
(Knocking)
I'm coming in.
You look like shit.
Take that hood off your head.
I'm in trouble.
- I-lave you got any beers or anything? - You Know I haven't, Sit down.
Talk.
- Me, Mikey and Bols, we're rapping Vauxhall. - What, looking for a madness?
I think we killed someone.
Some camel jockey.
Sorry, I mean an Indian guy.
He weren't moving.
OK.
OK, I'll look into it.
Thank you, I.. Shut up, 1 ain't finished yet.
If he's dead, you're on your own. Yeah?
In fact, I'll come round your yard, I'll nick you myself.
Now, you go home and you wait till you hear from me.
It's choice time, John.
If he lives, you either quit that gang or you quit coming round here, Do you understand?
- Yeah. - Yeah, what?
Yes, ma'am,
(Chatter)
Er, Brant, can I have a word?
Sorry, sir. Erm...
I just need to have a quick chat.
(Chatter)
- (Brant) So what can I do for you? - (Clears throat) I need a favour.
A...friend of mine is in trouble 1 need to get him off the hook.
- Someone you're riding? - What?
(Sucks teeth) No, nothing like that. He's a kid.
There's a DI owes me one from way back. We share a Snitch in Brixton.
- He'll be able to help. - Name?
Stokes. Craig Stokes.
- Thank you. - Now you owe me one.
(Phone rings)
- Harold Dunlop. - (Man) I read your stuff in the papers.
I've got some information on the police killings.
All right, er, hang on.
- All right, fire away. - Have some fucking manners.
I'm offering you information, you don't even say hello?
It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Is that better?
I detest sarcasm.
Maybe I'll start on journalists when I'm finished my cop quota.
Oh, er...
Listen, fella, you and me got off to the wrong start, didn't we?
So, er, let's try again, uh... What's your name?
Christ, I'm not sure you're even up to the task.
- What task? - Reporting from inside the police killings?
(Killer) Where are you on the food chain, anyway? Have you got any clout?
(Dunlop) Well, I'm a staff writer in the crime department yeah.
I can make you famous.
Yo there, copper! Remember me?
- Do you want somefink? - "Thing"
- What? - It's “something”, not “somefink”.
You'd think you'd at least be able to speak properly.
- Look, get lost, mate, yeah? - Well, I've got a question, yeah?
What would you do if I was to call you a cunt?
Which do you prefer? Seven or eight?
- Eight. - Eight it is.
Well... Hang on. Eight what?
Eight more coppers to kill. Bye.
Well...
Jesus.
(Anxious chatter)
(Chatter)
A cup of tea and a biscuit.
Are you as black as you're painted?
Are you as nancy as they say?
Thing is, Brant, if there's a problem I'm gonna need to Know about it,
There's a problem, all right,
Some sick fuck is killing policemen...
and he's only just started.
I meant between us.
I know what you meant.
Problem?
Not unless you follow me into public toilets.
So I don't get to be Head Boy. Big fucking deal.
Less paperwork for me.
- There's nothing, sir. - See if you can get me a match on the bullet.
- Yes, sir. - (Woman) Sir.
Special Branch don't think it's a terrorist incident.
Just keep it open for me, for now.
Mo, you have to Keep your fuckin' left hand up an' all.
- Ducking hell. - All right, Puggy?
- Oh, fuck me, not you again, mate. - I'll keep coming back until you give me a name.
Keep your right hand up! You're getting caught with the left hook!
Nah, that's not it.
- Do you want me to follow up that lead in Bow? - Yeah, please. It's quite important.
Guv, do you want me to widen the area for out door-to-door questioning?
Great, yeah. Great idea.
(Woman) Ballistics said the gun was a 9mm semi-automatic, a SIG or a Glock.
(Nash) I'll get onto Forensics now.
- Well? - I don't fucking know!
I don't know!
I wanna know the name of every punter
you sold a 9-mil semi-automatic pistol to in the last few months.
(Nash) He's got his back turned every time. It's no accident.
He knows where the cameras are.
Don't make me come back and give me the same fucking silly answers.
I'll ring you when I've got something.
I want the name, address and fucking postal code.
Guv, can you come and have a look at this?
We've got no footage of the killing of the second officer.
- (Nash) There must be more. Keep looking. - Sir.
You know what I want. So spill.
Well, I need paying, first.
What had you in mind?
Serious...
- Serious money. - Serious money?
- Mm-hm. - What, like retirement benefit?
Yeah.
Bony fucker, aren't you?
But you don't have the brains of a chicken, do you?
(Crunching)
(Groans) Owl.
Doubt you've any real Irish blood in you, Radnor.
- (Groans) - Me, I've a wild streak of the Celt,
Makes me unpredictable.
Them Irish, did you know they invented kneecapping?
It's a nasty business.
They fix you up as best they can, but you'll always have a limp.
- How does that sound? - (Crunching)
"Radnor the Gimp."
How does that go down in your retirement package?
(Whimpers, sniffs)
A brandy and port...
and a large scotch.
Here's what we'll do.
We'll have a nice stiff drink, fortify our resolve.
Well, go on, Rad. Pay the man.
Well, I... I don't drink brandy.
Yeah, keep the change.
OK, tell me.
There's this bloke at the Peacock Gym...
he set fire to a police dog.
YouTubed it.
Somebody asked him why he did it. He said, “Practice”.
- What, that's it? - Seriously, he's a mutter.
Fuck, if we pulled in every wanker who said that we'd be up to our arse in suspects.
- What's his name? - I don't... I don't know.
But I'm meeting a guy later who's gonna get it for me.
Don't bother, I'll go to the gym, ask the manager,
But you see, I... Don't I get something?
I left you the rest of my crisps, you greedy bugger. What more do you want?
Oh, for fuck's sake. My fucking knee.
Can I have my change back, please?
Fuck! Can't walk.
(Nash, echoing) Are you as black as you? E painted?
(Doorbell)
Evening all.
- Not disturbing you, am I? - No, I was just in the middle of eating,
- but come in, - Go ahead. I had some Tex-Mex earlier.
Christ, what is that? Hare Krishna food?
(Sizzle, squelch)
You wanna get some meat in you, boy. Big juicy steak, get the blood flowing.
Ha!
The Japs have a word for this type of, er, bare look, don't they?
Minimalist.
Shiite's the word I had in mind.
Don't I get a drink, then?
Over there, help yourself.
Jesus, no wonder you stay at home.
- So what are you having? - I've got some water, thanks.
Can I ask you why you're here?
I need your advice.
Look, 1 don't give a fuck about you being a pillow biter.
I don't give a fuck what people do.
As long as they keep it to themselves.
I respect you... and there's not many I do.
What's the problem?
I'm losing it.
I'm blacking out.
Not often, but enough to be worried.
Don't wanna talk, eat.
It takes a huge effort to drag myself out of bed.
I just... I just stare at the wall.
I just do nothing, you know?
Absolutely nothing.
It's burnout.
- What? - Your brain's on meltdown.
A couple of days doing nothing, you'll start to come back.
- You sound pretty sure. - I am sure. I've been there myself.
- You? - Yeah.
I could barely work the microwave. I was fucked.
We'd got this paedophile on the loose in Holland Park.
He was luring children into his car.
We knew who he was, but we just couldn't catch him in the act.
These kids were too traumatised to identify him.
He was this big showbiz agent, you know, major connections.
The guys back at the nick just about put me on a par with him because I was a queer, yeah?
Wank off into condoms and leave them in my locker, scratch the car,
sugar in the petrol tank, all the usual shit.
It put me under tremendous pressure.
I was knocking back Valium, shots at breakfast, two packs a day.
So I thought, "Fuck it".
I thought I'd take matters into my own hands.
I broke into the paedophile's house at four in the morning
and I smashed his bollocks in with a baseball bat till they fucking popped.
I took a leave of absence after that. I was burnt out.
Came back here, I shut the curtains, pulled the phone out, just hid away.
I went back to work expecting the axe...
and they ended up transferring me.
(Brant snores)
Wanker.
(Cutlery clinks)
(J' Classical)
Morning. Do you want some breakfast?
Yeah, coffee, two sugars.
Did you interfere with me?
I held back.
- So, any idea who we're looking for? - A psycho.
Whistles while he works.
Dropped by Peacock Gym yesterday.
Got the name of a bloke in Nunhead Worth a visit.
- You want me along? - Sure.
See you there in half an hour.
(Slurps loudly)
Oh, yeah, the other thing, About you being a good cop - I meant it,
Thank you.
For a poofter.
(Roberts) You replaced me? (Brown) You're on compassionate leave.
I'm back.
Inspector Roberts... losing a wife... it's not easy.
- You lost your wife? - Well, no, I...
- How would you feel about early retirement? - We'd miss you, sir.
(Snorts)
You know who else would miss you?
Olga.
The £250 call girl you see every Wednesday.
Your wife thinks you're playing squash.
Well... you are, in a way.
I don't need a fanfare.
I don't need an office. I just wanna work.
Well, what are you waiting for? Fuck off, Roberts.
Go solve some crimes.
(Grunting) Fuck!
Police! Open up.
- (Bones cracking) - (Grunts)
(Groans, pants)
- (Nash) Barry Weiss? - That is me.
Can we come in?
Got a warrant?
It's in the post.
(Weiss) Can I get you anything?
How about a cuppa, coppers?
I know you.
If we'd met, I'm sure I'd remember,
(Weiss) You know what that is?
Michael Jackson's shit.
(Chuckles) it's priceless.
I got it off eBay. What was it you were looking for? Maybe l could help you?
(Nash) What do you do, Mr Weiss?
(Weiss) Oh, I'm between jobs.
You like torching dogs, do you?
I saw your home movie.
On YouTube, right? It got over 9,000 hits before they took it down.
I... I posted it, yeah, but I wasn't involved.
Nah. You're joking, I love animals, me.
What about police, Barry?
You like them?
"Thank God," I say.
I say, "Thank God for the men in blue."
I remember you now, Barry.
Yeah, you're the piece of shit from the billiards hall.
Back on your feet, I see.
Come on, Nash, lets get out of here.
What was all that about?
I had a run-in with him about a year ago.
I might have put him in the hospital.
(Nash) Welcome to the liberal Southeast. (Brant) it gets results.
Let's just keep an eye on him.
You just wait and see.
Yeah?
You wait and see.
What are you fuckin' looking at, you fuckin' perv?
(Hums tune)
- Oh, fuckin'... Owl. - (Glass clinking)
Weiss.
Nice.
(Resumes humming)
"B Weiss - F'23."
“Wemmick Parking."
You little bastard.
(Lift bell chimes)
- (Lift bell chimes) - (Sighs)
(Knocking)
(Roberts) Who is it? (Weiss) Satellite TV. Come for your box.
- What's the problem? I just paid the bill. - (Chuckles)
That's funny.
Cos you are the bill.
You're not the usual bloke...
- (Crunch) - (Screams)
- (Squelching) - (Groaning)
(Retches)
Question two. Which Scottish music-hall comedian
- was "Roaming in the Gloaming”? - B! B!
- A: Jack Milroy? - B.
B: Andy Stewart?
- Or C: Sir Harry Lauder? - B.
Come on, you fucking idiot. It's B.
Oh...yes.
Sweet.
- (Sirens wail) - (Helicopter blades whirl)
(Radio chatter)
(Weiss) There 's a #re at Sirinham Point.
In a flat on the 16th floor you'll #find cop number three.
Oh, I used a new system.
A new system? Sorry, can you be a bit clearer?
I pulverised the fucker with a hammer Is that clear enough for you?
(Crick)
(Beeping)
- Is that clear enough for you? - Oh yeah!
- (Phone rings) - Shit.
- Yeah, I forgot. I've got a name. - Name?
Is there an echo? Stop repeating everything I say.
- It's getting on my fucking tits. - Sorry.
- On your way, mate. - It's Blitz.
As in Blitzkrieg.
- You got that? - Yeah. Yeah, no, that's good. Yeah.
Oh, fucking hell.
Sarge, you need to see this. It's the evening edition.
Bastards!
(Man 1) Got the Casework on that file yet? (Man 2) I'm gonna pop it over to you,
- Where the hell have you been? - Can't say,
What do you mean, you can't say?
Can't account for my movements. That the correct lingo?
You do know another policeman's been killed?
Chief Inspector Roberts.
What?!
The killer's targeting this station.
He used a hammer to kill Roberts, then he torched his flat.
He contacted some fucking hack journalist at the Post, some guy called Dunlop.
Gave him all the details.
- Dunlop, you say? - Yeah, Harold Dunlop.
I've sent a team over to tap up his phone, make sure any future calls are traced.
- Do you know him? - I do.
Detective Nash. Harold Dunlop from the Post. Do you have anything to say?
(Dunlop) Oi! Get off! All right, all right! Bloody hell! Did you see that?
- What was all that about? - I told you. I know him.
Bastard put my picture in the paper.
(Hums tune)
(Hums nervously)
(cm)
Clunk, click.
'Ello, 'ello, 'ello.
Bang, bang.
(Phone rings)
Hello? Dunlop.
(Radnor) Is this Harold Dunlop?
- Yeah, yeah. - The Harold Dunlop, the crime reporter?
Get me a skinny latte?
- Yeah, who's this? - Mr Dunlop, how would you like to nail the Blitz?
I'd like that very much.
I-lo-ho! Is that it? Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, Mr Dunlop,
I know the name of the cop killer.
I think you're gonna have to work a little bit harder than that.
It would be an honour to bring that maniac to justice.
Yeah, yeah, well,
you have a little think about how much you'd be willing to pay for such an honour.
Come now, Mr Dunlop, you didn't think this was a citizen doing his bit now, did you?
- How much d'you want? - 5Ok.
In cash.
For that you get the name of the Blitz, plus...extras.
- Extras? What do you mean, extras? - Various assorted items, Mr Dunlop,
You'll find out when I get my 5Ok.
I'm the master of the fucking universe.
(Hums excitedly)
- Hey. - Hey.
The fire pretty much destroyed anything around the body.
We found that in the bathroom. The fire wasn't so bad in there.
Would the heat or water have damaged any DNA or fingerprints?
Afraid so.
Peacock Gym.
- (Nash) Yeah, looks like it. - (Dialling tones)
it's Brant. Check whether DI Roberts was ever a member of the Peacock Gym.
What are you doing? I told you to wait until you heard from me.
Well, I didn't hear from you,
Yeah, well, I'm sorting it.
Yeah? Trying to.
Look, just go home.
DI Stokes?
You must be Falls?
- Yeah. - What'll you have?
Mm, Tea, please, sir.
- Just tea. - Forget the "sir" stuff. Craig'll do.
- Tea and toast for two? - (Woman) Comin' up, love.
OK, we've got two of the Kids involved in the assault of Mr Aziz,
- What, assault? He's not...'? - Dead?
Incredibly, no.
Let me see here.
John Wales.
Known as Metal.
- Is this the one you wanted to discuss? - Yes.
What is he, your Snitch?
Yeah, well, you know... And I try and look out for him.
Thank you.
He's a piece of shit. A thug.
Oh, he's a boy.
Underneath all that, you know, he's just a scared boy.
So, is there anything you can do?
- Anything can be buried. - Will you?
Meet me for a drink, tonight.
That's all?
(Sighs)
Hey, erm, Roberts and the Peacock Gym - never a member.
No, course not.
- Have you got a minute? - Yeah.
Can you work that thing?
Brant, you're such a dinosaur.
I'm surprised you can even work your own microwave.
That's women's work.
Just like typing.
Right.
So what are you looking for?
Barry Weiss. Lives at Balfron Towers. Kicked out of the Peacock Gym.
Oh, wow, this guy's always in trouble.
He's been arrested more times than you've had WF'Cs.
- You know I'm not like that. - Right.
It's petty stuff, though. What do you think?
Oh, nothing major.
Don't know yet.
- Have you got my money? - Yeah, I just had to pull a few strings.
Pick me up outside Wemmick Street car park.
- Stand there. That's it, like a good man. - All right. Oi.
There, steady.
Now...
Oh, Jesus.
(Lock clicks open)
(Radnor) Clunk, click.
(Radnor) These are the extras I was talking about.
"Trophies," I believe, is the correct term.
And you know who these belong to, eh?
Correct.
(Boot lid closes)
Right. I showed you mine.
Perhaps we could have a little look at yours now?
(Radnor hums tune)
- (Car engine revs) - (Quietly) Let him collect the money.
All right.
- Oh! - What?
- That's not 50 grand. - Course it's 50 grand.
- There's no way that's 50 grand. - When did you last see 50 grand?
- Don't you trust me? Go and count it. - It's about 500 quid.
Oh. Go on, then.
- I'm gonna count every bit of it. - Good. Buy yourself a new suit.
(Hushed) Fifty! Fifty, fifty, fifty, fifty!
You.. are.. .a. . .Fucking genius.
(Door closes)
- I... I haven't told him your name yet. - Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you.
1 only do police. . . Remember?
How'd you get onto me?
Well... I got your address from the Peacock Gym.
And then went through your rubbish.
I found the receipt for the parking garage.
That's very impressive.
(Quietly) I haven't told him your name yet.
- I haven't told him your name. - But you're gonna have to help me out, see?
(Whimpers)
I haven't told him your name yet.
Cos it's a bit of a tight squeeze.
- (Radnor whimpers) - Come on.
- (Sobs) I haven't told him your name yet. - No, no, no, no, no.
(Radnor sobs)
- (Splashing) - (Radnor gurgles, screams)
(Toilet flushes)
(Chatter)
A double Irish.
No can do, buddy. We're closed.
Listen up, I'm only gonna say this once. I ain't your buddy.
When I ask for a drink you say, "Ice with that, sir?"
Now, let's begin again. A double Irish.
You want ice with that, sir?
Don't be ridiculous. Who needs ice?
That'll be five quid, sir.
Like you said, you're closed.
He went to the toilet. When he hadn't come back after a while, I got concerned.
- I thought he'd fallen in. - He did.
- (Nash) Then what happened? - Then I went in there, didn't I? I found him.
You didn't exactly come rushing out though, did you, Mr Dunlop?
That man behind the bar says you was with him in that toilet for a good ten minutes.
Had you down as a couple of George Michael fans.
- Hey. 1 was looking for the money. - Money?
The paper's money. We were paying him for an exclusive.
Oh, no, for fuck's sake.
Can I remind you that people are being killed here.
- Oh, yeah? - Human beings, with families and children.
Oh, there's a car. Yeah. Oh, God, I forgot. There's a...
Yeah. God, you're never gonna believe what's inside.
- Where is this car? - Wemmick Street car park.
It's a black Jaguar. Bay 23.
- Oi! Am I gonna get police protection? - Oh, yeah.
We'll be all over you.
Should have been pulling him out the khazl.
What now?
Hey. Murder inquiry. I want the discs for the last month.
- Discs are full. - What do you mean, they're full?
We haven't recorded anything for six weeks.
- I don't believe this. - Well, the cameras are a deterrent.
- Psychological. - You don't give a shit, do you?
It's disgraceful.
Sorry, was you eating that?
(J' Dubstep)
- Hey. - Hey.
- You look nice. - Thanks.
- Can I take your coat? - Yeah.
Thank you.
I've got us some saké.
- You've gone quiet. - I like listening to you.
Everything all right?
There's gotta be an easier way to do this.
Fuck, Brant.
So, how does it feel to actually need us girls
for more than just cooking and cleaning, snagging?
I just want a way of listing all Weiss's arresting officers in one go.
I seemed to pull up the first one, it's WPC Sandra Bates.
You're kidding.
I've had a really nice time.
Yeah.
I'll call you.
(Coughs) Er... When?
(Sighs) W-When are you gonna call me?
- Tomorrow. - I'll tell you what, how about the summer?
We'll do a picnic.
Don't you think I know how this goes?
A man says "I'll call you," and the woman's waiting and hoping.
She's a slave to her mobile, while he's thinking,
"Well, I'll either call her tomorrow or Sunday, Monday, doesn't matter."
Well, here's a hint, yeah?
It matters. It matters a lot.
- Tomorrow. I'll call you tomorrow. - You know what? Fuck off.
Hey!
Jesus, look who else.
Fuck. There's Roberts.
(Brant) And Falls.
Shit, why did I do that? Stupid...
Send an armed response unit round to her flat straight away.
- (Ringing tone) - Come on, Falls. Pick up.
- (Phone rings) - Oh, God!
Oh, Shit.
(Breathes deeply)
I feel stupid. So stupid.
Oh, my God! (Screams)
- (Falls) Get off! - (Grunting)
(John) Get the fuck off! Argh! Get the fuck, ,!
What the fuck?!
Come on!
(Screams)
- (Bones snap) - (Approaching sirens)
No...
(Gasps)
(Screams)
(Radio chatter)
Doctor's given her a sedative.
- She should be out for a while. - She get a look at the attacker?
All she could say for sure is that he's big and white.
Big and white.
So it's not the black kid from Diff'rent Strokes.
It's Barry Weiss. I know it.
Should you be taking her booze?
Like she'll notice.
Want one?
Yeah. (Sighs)
Is she all right?
Who are you?
DI Craig Stokes.
- I heard someone got killed. - It's not Falls.
Cop killer took a run at her. Some kid jumped in, a hoodie.
Got his ticket punched.
Were you with Falls this evening?
Yes. We went for a drink and I dropped her off.
You dropped her in it, you mean.
Did it not occur to you to walk her to the door?
What a gent.
(Faint singing)
Taxi!
(Posh accent) Will you take me to Bayswater?
- it's gonna cost you, mate. - Oi, Bronski Beat.
Do I look like the kind of cunt who thinks Bayswater's just around the corner? (Chuckles)
Hey, stop here. Stop here, mate. Er... Yeah, Dean Court.
- (Chuckles) All right? There you go. Keep it. - Yeah, all right, mate.
(Quiz presenter) One thousand pounds. (Chuckles)
In question two... we wanted to know the postcode for Blair Castle.
I don't know how many of you ever visited Blair Castle.
Is he dead?
What, the little skinhead?
As a doornail.
What's the story with you and him?
Him risking his life for you?
Er... I've known him since he was 12.
He used to live next door.
When I come out of rehab he was the only one around here who wanted to Know.
He made me tea.
I dunno, I thought... l could help him.
Oh, my God.
(Falls sobs)
Definitely did a bunk. Find anything?
Nothing incriminating, no.
Used to be a good-looking boy. Let himself go a bit.
- Let's go public with Weiss. - Your call.
At least we'll flush the fucker out.
Police today released a picture of a suspect
they would like to question regarding the Blitz killings.
Here, I know him!
Remember I said, I dropped that guy off, right, and he was a fucking psycho.
(Ty res screech)
Long time, no see. How's life treating you out in the sticks?
- Like royalty. - Jenkins, this is Detective Brant.
- Hello, mate. - Where's our boy?
Room 7.
- Go. - Go, go, go.
Fuck!
He's on the move.
Let's go. Let's go!
(J' Drum and Bass)
(Horn sounds) (Ty res screech)
(Grunts)
(Man) You all right, mate?
(Man on radio) We have them on the Great Western Road.
Copy that. Head down the Harrow Road. We'll cut him off at the fuckin' underpass.
(Sirens wail)
(Horns sound) (Ty res screech)
(Man on radio) Now running west on the Westway.
(Sirens wail)
(Man on radio) Heading towards Paddington.
(Man on radio) Suspect entering train depot north of Paddington. Brant still in pursuit.
(Sirens wail)
(Nash) All units head to train depot north of Paddington.
Do not let Brant engage. Repeat, do not let Brant engage.
Ducking...
- Oi! Nash! - (Nash) Leave it, Brant! Calm down!
- (Nash) We've got him. - Get the fuck...! Fuck!
Come on! Get this piece of shit out of here!
- Jesus! - Calm down, calm down.
Move! Now!
We've got him.
We've got him, OK?
We've got him.
1 (Woman on TV) The Metropolitan Police have just con firmed the arrest of Barry Weiss,
the prime suspect in the Blitz killings
in which three London police officers were murdered in cold blood.
After a dramatic chase through West London.
Weiss was finally arrested trackside at the Paddington train depot.
Police are refusing to comment any further at this time.
Just selling records, yeah?
Gonna record this, OK, Barry?
I want a lawyer and a sandwich.
Oh, and I wanna update my Facebook status.
You have exactly 48 hours. In that time you either charge my client or release him.
(Weiss whispers)
And he'd like a different sandwich. He says the bread is stale.
(Nash) Weiss might be crazy, but he's not stupid. He's covered his tracks.
The fire at Roberts' flat destroyed any forensic evidence we might have had.
- Even the Peacock Gym link's tenuous. - What else?
He's admitted the Jag belongs to him,
but it's been sitting in a car park for at least six months,
Anyone could have had access to it. There's no CCTV.
I got a hold of the guy with the dogs - the one that saw the first murder.
Now he's saying he can't make a positive ID. I reckon he's too scared.
- Same goes for the barman at the Wellesley. - You didn't find anything at the hotel?
- Nothing. - What about forensics?
The team stripped it down, but no.
With what we've got, his brief will have him out of here tomorrow, laughing his little head off.
- We need something solid. - We better come up with something, quick.
Otherwise the killer is gonna hop, skip and fucking jump out of here.
The only thing he's getting so far is a caution,
(Dialling tones)
All right, babe?
Yeah.
(Coughs) Y-Yeah, I know, I've been away, but, erm...
I'm back now.
Do you wanna come out and party?
Yeah, like old times.
Can you take care of me?
Sweet.
(Barman) What'll it be, mate? (Man) Er, lager top...
What's this?
Poitín. Irish moonshine
- isn't this stuff illegal? - L fucking hope so.
You drink this poison and you wonder why you get blackouts?
I drink this poison because I get blackouts.
- Sláinte. - Cheers.
(Nash exhales)
Say we can't prove anything? Say Barry Weiss walks?
- Where are you going with this? - You told me before about some paedophile.
You couldn't get the bastard through the regular channels, son.
You took him out yourself.
I thought you were asleep when I told you that.
I'm not gonna continue this line of talk. I don't like where it's going.
Been a busy couple of days for you, Barry.
Took a ride in a police car. Got your picture in the paper.
Highlight of your career.
You know, Barry, if you were smart...
which I know you're not...
you'd admit to what you did.
Because I'm telling you now, it'll be a lot safer in here than out there.
Were they friends of yours?
Those cops that got killed.
You see...
I know what this is about, Barry.
(Brant) What did those lads ever do to you, Barry?
I cautioned you. How did you react?
Fuck you, pig.
(Brant) They call that resisting arrest
I call it stupid.
I know I embarrassed you.
Since then you've stewed and cooked and simmered over it.
You should have just let it go.
Personally...
I didn't even remember it until I saw you. Didn't give it a second thought.
It was so insignificant I forgot all about it.
And, sure, I laughed...
when I played the surveillance tapes at the station.
We all did. Pissed ourselves silly.
(Laughter)
- Sergeant Brant to you. - (Groans)
(Man laughs) Look at that cunt.
The point is, Barry...you're nothing.
No one cares.
No one gives a fuck.
Oh, and another thing.
You, the Blitz?
What the fuck is that?
(Keys rattling)
(Cuffs clicking)
(J' Thunderheist: Jerk It)
J Booty rockin'.
J Everybody back poppin' Everybody back poppin'.
J Knees jerkin' Girls workin'.
J Work it till your stomach hurtin'.
J Don't stop, gotta get it, get it.
J Break it down till your body's sweatin'...
Don't mean to bum you out, bro, but there's some major shit going down.
- I'm listening. - A cop's ripped off a dealer.
- What? - Looks like they're getting into the products.
This dealer is like serious folk.
You fuck with him, he gets biblical. Even with a woman.
Whoa, whoa. Back up a second.
- A female cop is ripping off drug dealers? - She a sister, too.
- This cop have a name? - Yeah. Falls.
(Dialling tones)
Brant, it's Stokes. Listen, I need your help.
(Muffled music)
(Stokes) I think she's inside.
(J' King Midas Sound: Outta Space)
- Who crashed the party, man? - Who crashed the party?
- You fucking did! Get him out! - Come here!
Out!
I'm just having a little smoke.
It's a party, if you wanna join.
Do you like me? If you like me..
- Jesus Christ. - Do you like dancing?
- Look at all this shit. - If... if you like me you can...
join the party.
I don't wanna go to bed yet.
What are you doing?! I don't know you!
Oh, God, he's trying to kill me!
He's trying to kill me! He's trying to kill me!
No! He's gonna kill me!
No! No! He's gonna kill me!
(Sobs)
He's gonna kill...! No, you cunt!
(Falls splutters)
(Brant) Get it all over.
- What are these? - Tranqs, they'll bring you down.
The shower did that.
Just take them, Falls.
I'm messed up, aren't I?
You know, when I was working undercover I was a cop pretending to be a junkie,
but really I'm just a junkie playing at being a cop.
He's gonna get away with it, isn't he?
If we can't protect our own, what good are we, Brant?
What good are we?
Are the press waiting?
Yes, I'm afraid so. There's quite a crowd gathered outside the front.
We can leave through a different exit, if you'd prefer.
Fuck, no.
Hope it's all there.
Something on your mind, Barry?
Well, I guess I'll see you another day.
- Can't wait. - (Reporters) Barry! Oi, Barry!
(Reporters shout, clamour)
(Reporter) Barry! Barry!
(Reporters shout, clamour)
Don't worry, we're having him tailed around the clock.
Keep him out of trouble.
(M uttering quietly)
We're in position now. He's going into his flat.
(Knocking)
Is Brant still here?
No. No, he left.
Fucking lucky he didn't shoot me in the head.
Except you.
(Minister) In company with Christ, who died and now lives,
may the rejoicing in your kingdom,
where all our tears are wiped away,
unite us together again in one family
to sing your praise forever and ever.
Amen.
(Thunder rumbles)
Eternal rest, grant unto him, O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine upon him.
Into your hand, father of mercies,
we commend our brother
in the sure and certain hope
that, together, all who have died in Christ
will live with him one day.
In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sandi. Amen.
Beloved Bruce Roberts, we give your body to the earth.
Earth mother, root mother, father of soil...
- (Phone beeps) - ..We give you this body
of our beloved Bruce Roberts.
These eyes will never greet us again.
Return to earth.
We will not kiss these lips. Return to earth.
What he has been is gone,
what he is now has passed the gate,
leaving this body to become soil...
(Weiss) Now, now, now.
(M uttering quietly)
(Pedestrian crossing beeps)
(Phone rings)
(Groans)
What about... What about Saturday?
Fuck.
Brant! Turn around, you fucker!
I wanna see your face as your head explodes.
(Groans)
What? You think you fooled me?
No chance.
I was just playing along.
(Groans)
Argh!
Hello, Barry.
What are you gonna do?
Call the cops?
You stupid fucking pig.
I'm gonna make fucking millions.
I'm gonna sue you.
And you. And all you fucking pig cunts.
I'm gonna make fucking millions.
You fuckhead.
(Nash) Brant?
You fuck.
You can't kill me.
I'm the Blitz.
You talking about that cop killer?
Can't be you, Barry. We tried to convict you, but you were innocent.
The only thing we do know, he was partial to people in uniform.
Just like the one you're wearing.
And he used a weapon...just like this one.
Fucking lucky he didn't shoot me in the head.
Something tells me this one's gonna remain unsolved.
You're not supposed to smoke in here.
What are you gonna do?
Shoot me?
(Dunlop laughs) I'm just leaving the office now, darling. I'll be back at seven.
- I love you too, Amanda, yeah. - (Barking)
There he is. There's brekkie!
Oh, fu...!
Bon appétit.
- (Barking) - Call them off! Call them off!
Get away! Get away! Get 'em off me!
- Fuck! Fuck! - (Barking continues)
- Fuck! Help! - (Barking continues)
(J' Kasabian: Julie And The Mothman)
J* I'm feeling, feeling good.
J I'm waving to the prisoners the best 1 could.
J* And there is, one minute, minute a mile.
J* I'm fucking in the alleyways, you know my style.
J* So come on, let's ride it You do it well.
J* Shed another tear for the boys in hell.
J And we did El Topo, a case of rum.
J* Talking to your elders with a broken thumb.
J* Ah! Julie, Julie.
J* Wanna hit you with a frying pan.
J* Ah! Julie, Julie.
J* Wanna hit you, wanna hurt you, wanna shoot you through a CAT scan.
J* I am the mothman.
J* I wanna eat right through your clothes.
J* I wanna take you out for dinner.
J* I'll treat you good, like an English rose.
J* I'm feeling, feeling good.
J I'm waving to the prisoners the best 1 could.
J* And there is, one minute, a minute a mile.
J* So come on, let's ride it You do it well.
J* Shed another tear for the boys in hell.
J And we did El Topo, a case of rum.
J* Talking to your elders with a broken thumb.
J* Ah! Julie, Julie.
J* I'm drippin' off your ivory hand.
J* Ah! Julie, Julie.
J* Wanna hit you, wanna hurt you, wanna twist you up like mothman.
J* I am the mothman.
J* I wanna eat right through your clothes.
J* I wanna take you out for dinner.
J* I'll treat you good, like an English rose.
J* I am the mothman.
J* I control the insects.
J* I am the mothman.
J* I control the insects.
J* Yeah, yeah, yeah.
J* I am the mothman.
J* I wanna eat right through your clothes.
J* I wanna take you out for dinner.
J* I'll treat you good, like an English rose.
J* I am the mothman.
J* I wanna eat right through your clothes.
J* I wanna take you out for dinner.
J* I'll treat you good, like an English rose.
J* I am the mothman I am the mothman.
J* I am the mothman I control the insects.
J* I am the mothman I am the mothman.
J* I am the mothman I control the insects J*