[alarm sounds]
Oh, bollocks.
- Ah. - Shit.
- Mommy, Mommy, what is it? - It's all right. It's okay.
Mr. Shaughnessy?
Will we go for a spin, Mrs. Hamilton?
Shit.
Stop!
Get out, now.
Come on, get out.
Watch it!
Geez!
I do 71 miles an hour,
you'll be sure to arrest me now, won't you?
Christ!
- You fit, Mrs. Hamilton? - Stop the car.
- How's that? - I'm going to be sick.
- Huh? - Stop the car, Shaughnessy.
- Right now! - Stop the car!
You can get a boat at the end of the road.
Shit! Come back here!
They're awful sweet and clean, I always think.
I'll tell you something, Mrs. Hamilton,
take a look down there at that pool of shite.
I swear there's a needle for every point of light.
It's like some bloody, rotting animal,
Iying in the field, crawling with maggots.
Drugs done that to Dublin, Mrs. Hamilton.
And you lot, you bleeding journalists,
you do nothing.
Anyone with a drop of the buccaneering spirit, like meself--
Arts theft? bank robberies?
--gets fingered as a drugs baron.
Well, bollocks.
Drugs is for jungle bunnies and wankers, generally, not me.
I've never suggested that it was.
That's why you're here, talking to me.
No.
We're here because I connived with you
to dump a cop on the side of the road.
So, let's hope what you have to say is worth the aggravation.
Three weeks you've been hanging around me,
Iike a fart in a phone box.
What I want to know, Martin,
you're not political, you don't deal drugs,
you're just a straightforward criminal.
Please, God.
So why do the guards follow your car?
They can dole it out, but they can't take it.
I irritate them. That cheery glow about the place--
it's the rings, I run around them.
Tell me then, enlighten me.
How does a man like you get to be a man like you?
I grew up in Crumlin.
You grew up in borstal, Martin.
For theft.
Offaly. 1965.
Seems I'm doing all the talking here.
When I was eight years old, I stole a bar of chocolate.
I was eating it and I got caught.
Policeman kicked the shite out of me.
Told the judge I resisted, the judge sent me to borstal.
He said for three months, but they forgot about that.
They forgot about me.
Nine years... nine fucking years getting slapped
by men who said they were Christians.
I can still taste that chocolate in me mouth.
You're not knackered, love?
You know he once stole a Euro-20 million Vermeer?
Oh, thanks. He did.
Puts it all down to a bar of chocolate.
Jesus.
Tom, this is almost as big as the bishop Carney story.
Ready.
- Is Daddy taking you to school? - Yup.
- Can you pick him up at 2:00? - I'll call you. bye.
Wait, wait. What are you forgetting?
You're forgetting something.
- bye. - bye, Mom.
It's great stuff.
I'm gonna box it in page one, run it in seven.
What have you got for me next week?
That heroin shipment that came through Cork Harbor.
- That's a dead story. - It is not a dead story.
They hauled the shipment,
but they never got the people behind it, did they?
Not the guys making the serious cash.
Not the smack baron sitting with his arse in a bucket of cream.
That's what we want to read about.
You get me a story even vaguely like that,
and I'll dance over them tables bollock naked.
I'm out this door and I'm selling tickets.
[phone rings]
That's all. back up. On your way.
Move over there, please.
- Seamus, what's the story? - Get your own shagging story.
They'll probably give her a bigger photo than the corpse.
Mrs. Hamilton, Detective Sergeant Mackey,
I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
Jesus.
- I just interviewed him. - Yeah, I read it.
Do I have your attention?
Do I have your attention, please?
Our officers will be calling around to your doors
to interview anyone who was home at the time of the shooting.
Your cooperation will be greatly appreciated.
Oh, my God.
God help me.
What's happened around here?
People getting murdered outside me window.
This workman, what did he look like?
- You won't use my name? - No names.
Dark.
Good looking. Tall.
Late 20's, early 30's.
I didn't get to see the motorcyclist.
You won't describe me, will you?
You're 22 years old, standing around in your bra and panties.
Look who it is.
- On your ways. - All right, Keego.
You are, rude tinfoil head.
You scumbag, keep walking.
Who does this remind you of?
- What's her name? - Maria.
It's not Maria.
Listen to this bit, boys.
[rave music playing]
Look at this, lads.
She's not bad, boys.
Hold it right there. What do you want?
That's shag all use around here. Press wankers.
I'm looking for Mickey O'Fagan.
You're looking for me mickey? Is that it?
You want a bit of me mickey, do you?
- Problem, lads? - Yeah.
This bit of gash here said she's looking for you.
This lady, you mean?
- Yeah, whatever. - Piss off.
Take this shite with you.
Come on, lads.
The question those boys will be asking is,
"What is she? A cop, a journalist,
or just plain fucking stupid? "
Two out of three.
I did try to call you.
I told you we don't meet here, never here.
I needed to talk to you urgently.
Let me guess-- who killed Roger Rabbit?
So, who delivered?
broad daylight, full-time police surveillance
supposedly in operation?
That's somebody bold.
Hannigan's Pub. Do you remember?
The Prods came down from belfast.
Nearly blew the bollocks out of 200 admirers of the IRA.
Who let them in?
Who gave them Dublin for the night?
Shaughnessy?
On that night, a car with a belfast number plate
was seen parked outside John Cosgrave's house.
Whatever it is you call him-- The Runner?
The Runner?
Are you seriously trying to tell me
he was thick enough to trash after the IRA?
They paid him a visit, we heard.
What's this to do with Shaughnessy getting killed?
I'll take you so far, Sinead.
Then I'll leave you... wanting more.
- I want more. - 'Course you do.
A bit of O'Fagan is never enough.
You have to have the full dosage.
The Runner. The Commandant.
Where do you people come up with the fucking nicknames?
If it were down to me,
I'd print their birth certificates.
Mr. Cosgrave?
I'm Sinead Hamilton, Sunday Globe.
I wonder if you'd have a minute?
No.
- I'd like to talk to you. - I don't want to talk to you.
Not even about the car parked outside your house
the night of Hannigan's bombing?
What car?
The car with belfast registration, that car.
I don't know what you're talking about.
Don't you?
It's around the time the IRA paid you a visit.
Do the words "fuck off" mean anything to you?
You and Martin Shaughnessy, they paid him one, too.
- Fuck off. - The difference being that
shortly afterwards, he was murdered.
You haven't been murdered, have you, Mr. Cosgrave?
- Expensive hobby. - Keeps me off the street.
I'd love to hit that bollocks out there on his yacht.
You don't have your own yacht?
I live a modest life.
Sure.
The attempted bomb at Hannigan's--
Yeah.
The car parked outside your house afterwards?
Let's cut the shit. I'll tell you what I know.
Only because of what you already seem to know.
but it has to be off the record.
Okay, off the record.
Let's say Martin Shaughnessy and me did a job together once.
Martin didn't get his full share,
and he wasn't happy.
He made these links with the Loyalists
and he helps them out. Thinks he can piss on the IRA.
So, a car gets parked in front of my house,
to make it look like I'm involved.
It's like those Russian dolls,
unscrew one and there's another little fellow inside.
You have a fabulous bum.
I suppose you hear that all day from O'Fagan.
Now look here--
Get your ass over here, I want to talk to you.
It's bad enough having to deal with a shite like O'Fagan,
with you pretending to be jealous.
She says I'm pretending it makes her feel better.
O'Fagan's an oaf.
You could dress him up, but you couldn't take him out for dinner.
Tom.
You're not serious.
No, I'm not serious, no.
I rely on you to tell me if I need to be.
You are going to get a smack in a minute.
Now you're talking.
Shut up.
I can hear your brain and it irritates me.
- What's it say? - Same as my own, nothing.
No forensics, no door to door, no witnesses of any kind.
Are we the only ones working around here?
Yup, I've got more bad news for you.
- Splendid. - I mean, lousy.
Later today, Dave Hackett, gets out of prison.
I knew you'd be pleased.
- You're joking me. - No joke.
Ten years commuted to four, paroled after two.
Actually, that is a joke, isn't it?
I spent five years of my life putting that little fucker away.
I know.
That's two and a half times the sentence he's served.
What the fuck is going on, Dempsey?
We've got criminals being murdered in broad daylight,
superintendents covering their arses in velvet,
judges telling us we can't hold suspects,
and journalists up our fucking nostrils,
and now they're letting Dave Hackett out of prison?
This is a great job, isn't it?
Fucking magnificent.
- I'll tell you what. - What?
We'll put a frightener on Hackett.
You're late.
Two years, it's a long, bleedin' time, huh?
You get used to anything if you have to.
You'll be pumping something better than your fist tonight.
It's all taken care of.
I hope you're not talking about my wife.
I think you owe me money, Jamie.
- I'll get it for you. - Heard it before.
Next week, I promise.
You better,
'cause otherwise you'll be cleaning your teeth
by shoving a toothbrush up your ass.
You got it?
That's Hackett's car.
Oh! Metallic paint job.
- Nice touch. - For fuck's sake.
Walnut interior, leather upholstery, the works.
Go home.
You're tired. Take the night off.
Night off? Half 12:00, let's go out.
- Shag the dog for me. - I will.
- Sorry, bub. Full up. - Not anymore you're not.
Turn over there, Mr. Hackett.
There you go.
Hoped you enjoyed that, did you, darling?
Mary, it's been two years without nothing. Mary!
Yeah.
This next song is for my boyfriend, Mickey,
who's always so good to me.
Thank you, Mickey.
¶ Don't know when ¶
¶ I've been so blue ¶
¶ Don't know what's ¶
¶ Come over you ¶
¶ You found someone new ¶
¶ And don't it make my brown eyes blue? ¶
¶ I'll be fine when you're gone ¶
¶ I'll just cry ¶
¶ All night long ¶
What the fuck?
All right, you weasel, where's Hackett?
I don't know any fucking Hackett!
No? Let's you and me play a little game.
I ask where I can find Hackett and you answer correctly.
[groaning]
Or I'll string you up by your puny, little cock.
- Now where is he? - I don't fucking know!
He's not here!
I could have you for possession,
but you're gonna take a message to Hackett.
Tell him that I'm gonna get him,
and I'm gonna dance on his fucking brains.
Got it?
Thanks, Mickey, I will have that drink.
Wipe all that shit off of your face.
You look like a bleeding witch doctor.
¶ Give me no reasons, give me alibis ¶
¶ Say that you love me and don't let me cry ¶
¶ Say anything, but don't say goodbye ¶
¶ I didn't mean to treat you bad ¶
¶ Didn't know just what I had ¶
¶ but, honey, now I do ¶
¶ And don't it make my brown eyes ¶
Cheers.
¶ Don't it make my brown eyes blue? ¶
I think that should pay for it.
¶ Don't it make my brown eyes ¶
- I could use a few bucks. - Fuck off back to bangladesh.
- Fucking cop shite. - Fuck off.
What about that?
Absolutely, no way.
Come on, now, a deal's a deal.
- People are waiting. - We're right behind you, Sinead.
- Go on about your business. - Come on.
You said smack barons, there's no proof your man was into drugs.
You're quibbling, Keaveney, it's not dignified.
That's a damn sight better than gyrating about on those tables.
bollock naked, you said.
You did.
- Stop. - Get them off, Jimmy!
All right, all right!
You want to see my ass, is that what you want to do?
Well, all right, you want to see it? Okay.
Sinead. Jimmy.
Whenever you're ready.
bloody happy now?
- Jimmy, you're all twisted. - Stop it.
Keaveney, isn't there enough sadness in this world
without you showing your ass to the staff?
I was honoring a wager.
For you, I have two words:
Good work.
Thanks.
Where do we go from here?
There's a big anti-drugs march coming up in the Summerhill.
Yeah, we've done some features on that.
but the question I have is, whose house is it?
I mean, ultimately, whose house would they march to?
There's a question.
You want a toot on this?
Light's changed.
They took a baseball bat to me legs.
Were you dealing?
Deal to kids?
I'd have dealt to the Pope if he'd asked me.
No conscience about that?
Conscience on smack?
- Were you a user, too? - Yeah, enough to choke a horse.
So, who called the halt?
They look weird enough to be the IRA, am I right?
It's no fucking secret, excuse me.
It's bullets they want shooting around here, not smack.
- So they can recruit? - They're not recruiting me.
I've done my sins for Ireland.
All right, love?
- This is me wife. - Nice to meet you.
- I might see you later on. - Thanks.
- When do we want it? - Now!
Pushers, pushers, pushers!
Out, out, out!
Excuse me, could I have a word?
No.
- It's a good turnout. - It is, yeah.
- Good night. - You wouldn't have a moment?
I know your face.
It's not the kind of face I want to talk to.
You wouldn't know who's got a good deal on baseball bats?
If I were you, I'd take my snobby, West brit nose
and stick it elsewhere.
Let me ask you, is it better for me to be half ignorant
or to know the whole story?
I'd say being half ignorant is too much of a compliment
for any journalist.
- What do we want? - Pushers out!
- When do we want it? - Now!
- What do we want? - Pushers out!
- When do we want it? - Now!
Where the hell have you been?
One of the marches in Summerhill.
With Colum?
There were loads of kids at that march.
You couldn't tell me you were going to be late?
I could have got Colum, save him from seeing all that.
You are screwing your life away with people you despise.
Most of the people I saw today, they're the decent citizens.
They the ones with the pickax handles I saw on the news?
Let me carry our son into the house.
I've got more to say to you.
Sweetheart, you'll wake him up.
Could we agree to respect our differences?
Respect mine, by all means. I think yours are shit.
If you tell me to stop, I'll stop.
If I told you to stop, you'd leave me.
In five years time, when Colum
starts getting offered smack what then?
I need your support on this.
I have no idea what I'm into here, I'm lost.
If I do this without your support,
you're asking me to climb a mountain twice as high.
Hey, company.
Miss Hamilton.
Sinead.
Can I have a word-- alone?
He counts as alone.
I wanted to congratulate you on that drug bust in Crock Harbor.
- Great stuff. - Thanks very much.
Can I congratulate you on making my life a bloody misery
with your article on Shaughnessy?
We aim to please.
A G and T, please.
Who was it for, that smack?
I mean, who is the distributor, the main man?
I'll give you a name,
if you give me the name of your eyewitness to the murder.
Sorry.
Come on, Sinead, you've written your story.
I've got to catch the killer and I've got no eyewitnesses,
and no one on the street matches your description.
The description is false.
Like the witness?
I made someone a promise,
I am not about to break that confidence.
You know I could have you arrested under Section 30,
of offenses against the state?
- Withholding information. - I know.
All right, I'll tell you what.
Do you know the Rave Club?
- I do. - Mackey!
It's Dublin's biggest dancing pharmacy.
Property of a little bollocks called, Dave Hackett.
before your time.
He's just finished a stretch in the Joy.
Word is, some of our lads are going in there on Friday night
to dance with the revellers.
Might make some good copy.
Might.
[cell phone rings]
Dempsey.
Okay. Fine. We gotta go.
- Pay for our drinks? - Thanks.
You tell her exactly what she wants to know
and she tells us sweet F.A.
You're a great loss to the diplomatic servicemen.
I'm just sowing seeds, planning for the future.
Cops are coming in. Make sure it's clean in back.
All right!
Did you get it?
- Okay, I've got it. - Hold them back there!
Listen, the cops are coming in! They're here now.
Go out the back and take the rest of the lads with you!
Come on, will you?
Come on, move it out! Move it out!
How's it going?
Here's another one. Take him!
What's this? It's your man!
Get back up!
Tango One to Control, stolen car's heading north.
Have we got backup?
Come on!
Air support here. be on the lookout.
Control to Tango One, Tango Eight is almost with you.
I see Tango Eight. He's right behind them.
You fucking idiot!
Air Support, they're heading towards--
Tango One, Tango Eight, take care.
Wait for back up before you go in.
- Stop! - Get the back.
Right!
Here, at you!
Christ, he's gone in!
- Step on! - Somebody help me!
Put me out! Put me out!
Oh, Jesus Christ!
Put that away!
Put that away or I'll shove it up your ass!
Is he okay?
Do me a favor. Don't print those photos.
Scrub till you bleed, is that the plan?
Do you have a better one?
Obviously, but I don't want a row.
I saw some pretty grim stuff today.
Wanting to make myself clean isn't exactly hysterical.
Agreed.
What do you mean you don't want to row?
Do I have a better plan? Yes.
Am I gonna mention it? No.
I shouldn't have to.
I would have hoped you were already considering it.
I am not giving up this story.
I'm not asking you to, I'm asking as a marital courtesy
that you at least accept the fact it might be
the right thing to do for Colum.
For us.
I'm not asking you to do it. I'm not that fucking stupid.
Tom.
Can't stop. I can't stop.
- I know. - I mean, not just this.
I mean, anything can't stop.
I just got to be hurtling forward with a great commotion
and everyone pointing at me shouting, "Look!"
When I'm with you, I feel like I'm really worth something.
You do?
- Run the picture. - Sinead is adamant about this.
- His identity needs protecting. - Adamant?
We're not here to protect people's identities.
We're here to sell newspapers.
Since when did one of your foot soldiers decide to become adamant?
Since she increased our circulation by 30%.
She has a phone and a car.
She doesn't even have a desk here.
In one year, she has turned crime reporting on its head!
People buy the bloody paper just for her.
So when she asks me to do something,
I listen.
- Okay. - Pull the picture?
Yeah, for now.
They're using you, Sinead.
- Seamus. - They're all using you--
the cops, the thugs, your editors.
I'm just speaking as a fellow hack.
You turn around and judge whoever you want to be guilty.
Ever heard of the presumption of innocence?
You write about The Commandant, you write about The Runner--
wankers against whom no charges have been made.
Can I tell you something?
A journalist a couple of years and you know it all.
This shit's been happening for 15 years, did you report it then?
No. Why?
because it was working class kids passing the stuff among themselves.
Who gives a flying fuck about them?
but now it's the middle class finding a packet of smack
in their teenage daughter's knicker drawer. Oh, that's news!
And now you want me to protect the poor criminals
and the poor politicians, they're so overworked.
And the poor journalists with their moral dilemmas.
Well, bollocks to that.
Go back to your PR job, Sinead.
Take up a placard for women who leave their kids at home alone.
bye, Seamus.
buy yourself a fucking drink.
Unintelligible statements from witnesses
who later refused to testify.
Citizens being executed in the streets.
Are these mishaps?
I'm getting pissed off hearing the words "police inefficiency."
We don't the resources to be inefficient.
You have the resources, you need to be able to manage them.
What I have is less than what I had 10 years ago.
You're digging a hole for yourself, Mackey.
If I had a quarter of the manpower frigging around on the border--
That is a political issue.
This is not political.
You have the bleeding nerve,
Iecturing me about managing our resources,
when a minute I'm out of this room you're gonna put a red pen
through my every request!
And that is fucking political
right up to its tits, sir.
Andy, out.
Get your feet off my desk.
Stupid morons.
They're not giving us our surveillance back.
Their fucking pensions, that's all they think about.
What do they want us to do?
I don't know!
Criminals, the courts, the press,
they all make us look like fools.
Did you become a cop to look like a fool?
We're going back in.
- I'll get that report to you. - Shaw! In here.
What?
Did you discuss Dempsey shagging his dog again?
Shut up and listen.
I'm too long in this game to be made a fool of by this scum.
We're going back into the Rave Club,
sort out Tattoo and his gang,
move up the food chain, get O'Fagan and Hackett.
Yeah, and I hear the Ayatollah just walked into bewley's
and bought himself a pork sandwich.
You think he's invincible?
Hackett's too smart. He's won't fall for all this.
We'll get Hackett.
About a month, I'll get him again.
Not necessarily through the courts.
- Are you gonna shoot them? - Fucking right I'd shoot them.
If I had my way, I'd put them all up against a wall
and blow their bleeding brains out.
but we don't need to shoot them, do we?
We're going to go back in and find the evidence.
Find the evidence?
Right.
We on?
In case you haven't heard,
planting evidence is breaking the law.
Fiat justitia, ruat caelum.
- You don't know what it means. - No.
It's written outside the bleeding police station.
You pass under it every day.
"Let the justice be done though the sky falls."
We bend the law, Shaw, we bend it.
Are we on?
Well, let's do it.
[man singing]
- What are you doing? - Oh, Jamie.
What are we selling here today?
I'll even it out. Will you--
A bit of blow?
- Take him away. - Let's go.
Look after me paintings!
Hackett? Yeah, I've heard of him.
Can't say he's had his limos serviced here
but I'm living in hope, darling.
He's a bit of a lad, but I wouldn't finger him for drugs.
He owns the Rave Club.
Oh yeah?
You wouldn't be keeping secrets from me, Mickey?
Fuck Hackett.
You have a serious problem with your gearbox.
You're storing up a heap of trouble.
I'm wondering what it is that makes you nervous.
I'm not nervous.
You keep yanking that gear stick, it'll come off.
Look, Sinead,
if I hear anything about Hackett, I'll tell you.
Jesus!
Does she know what she's getting into there?
She'll find out soon enough, won't she?
What's he look like?
Who?
This husband of yours.
Taller and better looking than you.
If you were my wife, I wouldn't let you sit in cars
all cozy with blokes like me.
And again, we're not married.
It's a funny thing, Sinead--
erections, they're like buses.
Sometimes you have to--
Used to wait ages, you know?
Then along comes a double decker.
I never use public transport.
Friend of yours?
Oh, shit! It's Mary.
Mary. Come here, will you?
...or you work with us.
- bastards. - It's a tough life.
Fucking A! Where's me money?
Get the fuck out.
Out!
Take it easy.
So, Jamie boy, what's the story?
Fuck it. I've lost him! I can't pick him up anywhere!
What about Tattoo?
- I can't see him. - Find him and stick with him.
Holy fuck, Jamie.
- Where'd you get all this? - I just got it.
I sold some paintings. There's this punter who--
Just take it! I'm going to be quits.
Take it.
More than enough here to call it quits five times over.
That fucking worries me, Jamie.
A fucking narc!
- It's the pigs! We gotta go! - Hold that door no matter what!
Mackey, he's in the jacks.
- They made me do it. - Except you're paying.
You set me up!
Jesus Christ, Tattoo.
It was. He set us up.
Look out.
There are four corners to my bed.
There are four angels there lie spread.
One at my head, one at my feet
two at my heart, my soul to keep.
The Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Amen.
That's lovely.
Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite.
- You know bad people. - What, love?
That's what I heard Daddy say, once.
Sometimes we have to know bad people.
Why?
To help stop bad things.
You used to stay by my bed every night.
When all the bad people are gone,
I'll stay by your bed all the time.
bad people don't go away. That's what Daddy said.
but we want them to, don't we?
Yes.
What if there were bad people outside our house now?
There are no bad people out there, Colum.
Mommy has to answer the phone. I love you, sweetheart.
Hello?
Who's Jamie Thornton?
69 miles an hour.
Very good number. The judge is gonna love you.
I haven't come to talk about my speeding ticket.
So what do you want that's so urgent?
Jamie Thornton.
- Never heard of him. - Yes, you have.
Junkie who got killed at the Rave Club.
The painter fellow.
- Yeah, I heard about him. - What did you hear?
I heard a few people weren't very happy with him.
- Who? - How would I know?
Maybe somebody got AIDS by licking one of his paintings.
Tragic, huh? Tragic.
- What's this? - I'm not in the mood.
Hey, you need me!
Not enough!
That was intelligent.
Mickey! Mickey!
I'm not some little information ponce
- you can tune into whenever-- - Wait, wait. I know.
I know. Forgive me.
I'm worried about my kid.
I'm sorry.
Information ponce!
Geez.
Sorry.
I thought it was very descriptive.
It's brilliant.
The name for you was Mackey.
What?
Yeah.
The great detective, Mackey.
He made Jamie the bagman.
Dressed him up with a pocket full of smack.
It's hard to believe, isn't it?
That our noble guards would do such a thing.
Just telling you what I heard.
Have they said if they're going to suspend you?
No, they can't suspend anybody until after the inquiry.
How's Shaw?
The knife just missed his lung.
They say he'll be all right, whatever that means.
Oh, heads up.
Mackey, I want a word...
- Sorry, no can do. -...about Jamie Thornton.
Not here.
Do you have a problem discussing Jamie's death?
What aspect in particular.
- His pocket's full of heroin. - Thornton was a junkie.
He speaks!
How can I help you?
I heard someone was using Jamie.
- Who? - We were.
He was helping with our inquiries.
- And that's why he was killed? - For Christ's sake.
My readers will be fascinated to hear how he found
all that heroin in his police cell.
Your readers should try dealing with this shit.
Where did you get this information?
I can't tell you that.
Really? Let me guess,
Your little friend, O'Fagan?
You think he's a real charmer, don't you?
Wake up, Sinead.
Why don't you ask him who ran Hackett's operation
while he was in jail?
Or about his sex and drugs parties with little boys and girls?
Or about the kids his heroin has killed?
Joey Kelly, Jimmy Martin, a 12-year-old Jason Park.
Ask him about that before you come around,
waving your press card and high morals in my face?
- but the truth is-- - The truth?
The truth is more complicated than you and your
poxy newspaper will dare print.
We're all on the same side of the fence.
What fence?
Why don't you spend some time in the ditches with us?
I'll dig my own ditches.
Nice one, Mackey.
O'Fagan lead me all the way up the garden path.
- Can't believe I let him. - Yeah, you did, didn't you?
It's useless, you know?
If something happens, if someone gets shot,
I write about it. He's still been shot.
Child buys smack, I write about it, it's still been sold.
Maybe next week or--
Next week, next year. Nothing changes.
It's not a magic wand, Sinead.
I should get out of it, write about gardening.
You'd kill a hearty plant in a week.
I'll have to tend to plastic begonia.
I'm just a Sunday newspaper tart.
You and I both know you're the only thing
of substance on that paper.
- That doesn't matter. - Nobody is gonna do what you do.
Unfortunately.
You're supposed to tell me to quit!
Then quit. There, I told you.
Have you any idea how much I need you?
- Yes, I do. - Oh.
Listen, this O'Fagan fellow--
Relax.
be careful.
He's dangerous.
What's that all about?
What's what all about?
That!
You shot your gob off to that bitch, didn't you?
She just landed on me.
It's just a load of shite, anyway.
Keep her on our side, make her feel important.
She doesn't have anything substantial from me.
She does now!
What were you thinking about, you fucking shirt lifter?
How did she find out that the Rave Club ownership
is in my wife's name?
- I didn't give her that stuff. - Somebody did,
and something's got to be done about it.
You better sort it out, O'Fagan.
I'm not going back to prison.
Do you hear me?
Never.
- Two to you. - Huh?
I've got those.
Nobody fucking moves!
Fill them up. Here.
It's Euro-2.5 million.
They used a jeep for the getaway car.
And a security guard needed 200 stitches in his face.
What happened?
He got hit with half a golf club.
The Runner.
Expect us to send somebody over to cover it--
you or one of the lads.
Am I not one of the lads?
To tell the truth, I'm never quite sure
if your mustache is real.
- Take Kevin with you. - I'm better on my own.
- I was playing golf. - That's what I heard.
Golf, Sinead. Write it down.
I'm happy to, Mr. Cosgrave,
but now I need color, detail.
"The Runner Plays Golf,"
with all due respect, that's not much.
"The Runner Tees Off Security Guard's Face,"
that's getting warmer.
The indifference,
the coldness of the man--
Yeah, any word from the cops?
Michael saves!
They know who it was.
They'll lift him for questioning and nothing will happen.
This Runner fellow, is not gonna be happy
when tomorrow's paper comes out.
- Oops. - Yes! Yes!
- Giggsey does it again! - That was a foul.
It was not a foul. That one wasn't either.
Dad, I won't be able to see the match.
All right, we'll tape it for you.
Got your jammies?
Got your hairbrush?
Got your toothbrush?
Are you forgetting something?
There you go.
You be good, and Mommy and Daddy
will pick you up in the morning.
Righty-o.
Come on, son.
I'm going to the pub for a pint on the way back.
The match is on in a few minutes.
- I'll be back by the second half. - We'll be up five - nil by then.
Secure your belt.
Sharing-- sloppy ball. Neville couldn't control it,
but Solskjaer was in behind him.
He's still there up against Young.
Dribble the ball through for Giggs.
On it goes to Notman. It's his first touch of it
since he came on.
Suddenly it's Manchester United finding room.
Giggs--
a chance to butt!
- Curtis keeps coming. - Pass it. Pass it.
- Giggs with a lay off. - Go, go, go!
- Men in the middle here-- - Yes!
- Yes! Oh, brilliant! - Terry Sheringham!
[doorbell rings]
Tom, quick, we've just scored! You and your keys.
You'd lose your arse if it wasn't in your trousers.
Mr. O'Connor, over here. Do the police have any suspects?
- How is Sinead? - Is her life in danger?
A bullet has been removed from Sinead Hamilton's thigh.
Her condition is stable and she's expected
to make a full recovery.
Today is a dark day for Irish journalism,
but Sinead's spirit of endeavor and fortitude
is indicative of her mission on the Sunday Globe.
And in the light of this heinous assault,
the Globe will install security systems in her home.
Was it a botched assassination attempt or a warning?
She's been offered around the clock--
The article about The Runner must have caused
bad blood in the criminal fraternity.
Would you say the Sunday Globe is responsible?
- That's an odious suggestion. - Mr. O'Connor,
would you agree your newspaper has exploited
Sinead's growing fame?
I won't even stoop to answer that one. Thank you very much.
Excuse me.
Colum: You got one letter so far.
Sinead: Is there an "A" in it?
- Nope. - No?
- Are you sure about that? - Yes.
- More flowers. - Lovely, thanks.
"With best wishes for a speedy recovery,
John Cosgrave."
bastard.
John Cosgrave?
- The Runner. - bastard!
bastard.
We'll be down the corridor. Come on.
Can we go to the shop?
I'm really sorry.
Did you see a face?
It's fairly obvious though, isn't it?
Euro-2.5 million from Securex would buy a lot of flowers.
Are you going to answer the question, or what?
For the last time, Detective, my client is exercising
his right to remain silent.
He is protected under Article 6 of the Constitution.
What about Sinead Hamilton's rights?
My client had nothing to do with Sinead Hamilton.
I've got reasonable suspicion.
My client has a reasonable suspicion of the law.
Therefore he has the right to remain silent.
You're not going to hide behind this prat forever.
This is the second time in two weeks
my client has been picked up on some pretext.
If he's questioned again without good reason,
there'll be grounds for a harassment suit.
I'll give you harassment.
- What was that, Detective? - Get out of here.
Scumbag.
No investigative journalist
ever believes they are even going to get shot at,
but it seems this is a fact of life in Dublin.
The criminal bosses believe themselves to be the equivalent
of the Mafia and consider themselves untouchable.
Touch me, baby!
I believe the crime situation,
despite the efforts of the police, has gotten out of control.
Young people in this town,
and every city and village are exposed...
And culchies, too.
...to drugs and violence on a daily basis.
What are your plans now for the immediate future?
My family and I have decided that I will continue
- my investigative work. - Turn that bitch off.
I will continue to expose them.
I'll expose myself to you.
Turn it off!
Guess who I am?
Sinead: I've been called a saint, a fool, a bloodhound.
And there have been times when I have said
it's time to pack it in.
but I try to listen to what people are saying--
parents, teachers, police, even my own husband--
and they're all saying, "We've had enough.
We've got to start owning our own lives again.
Or just a tiny part of that."
- Sinead Hamilton... - bang!
...talking from her hospital bed
just 24 hours after she was brutally shot
at her home in Dublin.
And now we go to police headquarters for an update--
The pigs are crawling all over me.
The IRA, the media--
You know what they're saying?
They're telling me I'm a drugs baron.
but you know what, Mickey?
I've never seen a drug in me life.
I have no fucking choice but to shut down until the heat's off.
And you and Hackett better do the same.
You understand?
Do you fucking understand?
Yeah. Yeah.
You don't know me.
I've seen you before. I can't place your face though.
You don't know me. You don't know where I've gone.
You never saw me.
I don't understand.
It was O'Fagan shot you.
What?
I'm leaving for Liverpool.
Please don't tell anyone where I've gone.
- You're O'Fagan's-- - Piece, bit.
Whatever you choose to call me.
It was O'Fagan?
- How--? - He told me.
Low caliber gun.
He put it to your head first.
There was a Manchester United game on the telly.
He loved that.
Said he felt like he was scoring the winning goal.
He boasted about.
And when he sobered up he did this to me.
It was O'Fagan shot me, not Cosgrave.
What are you gonna do about it?
I'll need evidence.
Nobody's been caught for Jamie's murder,
nobody's been caught for the Securex robbery,
nobody's been caught for my shooting,
nobody's been arrested for Shaughnessy.
We weren't even able to find Tattoo.
You need evidence? What's going on here?
I'm doing everything I can. You know the system.
Yeah, I know the system!
I suggest you think twice about police protection,
for yourself and your family.
My home is--
I don't want police around.
Is that your answer, Mackey?
Look--
I might be able to help you in another way.
How's that?
It would be dangerous.
- It's all right. - I mean really dangerous.
I said that's okay.
Give me a few days. I need to sort something out.
Thanks.
This shot's for the championship.
Come on.
- That was fucking shit. - Fuck off.
If you hadn't done Randy Mandy on the table the other night,
you could have been champion.
It was a champion ride.
I'll show you how to get your hole.
Get the fuck out of here, you bleeding asshole.
Don't hurt me.
You shouldn't smoke over the table, son.
In fact, you shouldn't smoke this stuff at all.
Swallow it.
That's just the medicine, son. Now, here's the therapy.
Can't make you forget how to roll a joint.
Oh, please.
but we can take away the apparatus.
These guys are politicals, they're not gonna harm you.
I heard they did the guy with the tattoos.
Tattoo was arrested in the hospital
for the murder of Jamie Thornton.
You should have got him before they did.
Yeah, maybe.
These others, how do you know them?
I don't know them personally.
It wasn't easy for me to set this up.
I've got no particular sympathies for Sinn Fein or the IRA.
- They can help me? - Yeah.
Why can't you use the same information?
No court in the land will allow me
to use that kind of evidence.
- Are you sure I'm okay? - I guarantee it.
It's Hackett and O'Fagan you've got to worry about.
They're the scumbags.
What's this?
It's where you have to meet them.
Thanks, Mackey.
Follow me.
Wait here.
Thanks for coming.
Thanks for seeing me.
You still haven't accused Sinn Fein or the IRA
of being involved with drugs in Dublin,
Iike some of your more stupid colleagues.
I have never found any evidence of it.
- If I had I'd have printed it. - I have no doubt.
Don't get me wrong, Mr. McCarling,
I'm not dazzled by the IRA or your motives.
I just print what I know is the truth.
Perhaps you'd consider printing this.
This is me and a certain Mr. O'Fagan
having a little chat.
He's a little bit nervous. I'm holding a gun to his head.
I introduced Hackett into the business five years ago
when he was into armed robbery.
How?
I was working in me garage.
I opened up a door panel and this bag of dope fell out.
It was like... all me birthdays came at once.
It took off from there?
Hackett's the player now.
I cut him in at the start.
Now I just take the crumbs from his table.
I swear!
The cesspit needs to be cleaned up.
With your vigilantes acting as judge and jury?
What do you call trial by journalism?
That doesn't get people killed.
I wouldn't be too sure about that.
Our methods may be different, but the goal is the same.
Our goal is not the same.
I'll use this anyway, thank you.
Thank you.
- This is a load of bollocks. - Look at me.
Unbelievable.
You had nothing before you came to me.
You came to me, remember?
- I fucking helped you. - You wanted the excitement,
a bit of gossip. I indulged you.
I made like I'm too stupid to notice your lies.
- Jesus Christ. - This puts the shits up you.
Imagine what it was like for me.
You shot me in the leg.
I did no such fucking thing, you fucking mad woman.
Well that makes me one up, doesn't it,
because you're a pusher?
This is clearly you, though you sound a little nervous.
McCarling said he was pointing a gun at you at the time.
by all means, I did a copy especially for you.
If you fucking print that, you cunt,
and I'll fucking have you.
Smile, you're on camera.
- And if I can get Hackett-- - Sinead?
- Pin him down. - He won't talk.
I'll camp out on his fucking doorstep until he does.
- You could. - Who's going with you?
I've arranged to meet Kevin.
Christ, I'm late already.
Phone me, will you?
And tell Kevin we need those O'Fagan pictures.
Kevin, sorry I was late.
I'm hoping that you're at Hackett's waiting for me.
If you get this message, call me on my mobile.
Yeah?
A friend of Mickey O'Fagan's, here to see Mr. Hackett.
Right.
Sinead Hamilton, Sunday Globe.
I'd like to talk to you about your business.
and your alleged involvement in drugs running.
- Where's the fucking wire? - There's no wire. I just--
You what? You just fucking what?
Get the fuck out of here, cunt. Do you hear me?
You write about me and I'll kill you.
I'll ride you. I'll ride your son up the ass.
I'll kill you! Do you understand?
It's okay. You're safe now.
Oh, Jesus, Sinead.
Who did this to you?
Hackett.
Fucking kill the bastard.
I'll kill him.
Take a picture of my face.
What's that?
Get a picture of it.
Get Kevin.
It's okay, Sinead.
It's my fault. It's my fault.
It's not your fault.
Oh God, I waited. I swear I did.
I left after an hour and a half. I figured you--
It's not your fault, it's mine.
I think you should look at this.
Jesus.
What is it?
"The International Committee for Human Rights
has honored five journalists for exceptional bravery
in the course of carrying out their work.
Sinead Hamilton has been selected to be honored.
We are proud to inform you that Ms. Hamilton
is the first woman to ever receive this international award."
Show us your arse again, Jimmy.
Well, well, well.
Here we are again, Hackett.
It must have been some mean customer
whose dick produced a fucker like you.
Syphilis, was it?
And now, you little shit, you've resorted to beating up women.
All this macho stuff is just a cover, isn't it?
because you're just a little ponce.
A wanker, beating your meat and getting screwed up the arse
by your cell mates and liking it.
And now, the little nancy boy collects flowers.
Fuck you, Mackey!
And a bunch of flowers is what you're gonna get,
along with a wooden overcoat for little Davy Hackett.
My lawyer's going to love this.
Oh, really?
Hit me.
- What? - Go on, hit me.
- Jesus, Mackey. - Hit me!
Come on!
Not there, you big girl's blouse. On the chin.
Come on! Hit me!
Get the Desk Sergeant,
I've just been assaulted.
Sergeant Duignan!
None of this will make it to court and you know it.
Oh yeah?
Charge him with the aggravated assault of Sinead Hamilton.
- What about you, sir? - That's just between him and me.
Get him out of here before I get a dose.
Come on. Up you go.
You'll have some?
No, thanks. I've lost my appetite.
Did you charge him?
Yeah.
but his legal team are on their way to the station.
He'll get bail.
Nothing new in that.
- It's boiling over. - Hm?
- The pot, it's boiling over. - Oh, Jesus.
I thought you were being metaphorical.
It's bit late for that.
Ten more minutes and you go into your bath.
It won't be easy. It will mean a court appearance.
It's his word against yours.
You were on his property. He says illegally.
It's unbelievable. It's like Al Capone.
The sheer arrogance of it.
If you want to drop the charges,
there is isn't a soul that's gonna blame you.
It's important that you understand.
I'll back you up to the hilt, but I can't guarantee
he's going to go down.
Do it, Mackey.
Are you sure?
Do it before we get cold feet.
Okay.
Adjourned for two weeks.
Two weeks. Why not adjourn for the rest of our lives?
I'm really sorry. There are so many cases to be heard.
It's not your fault.
Christ, the thought of sitting opposite him again makes me ill.
- There he is. - Mr. Hackett?
Can you hold it there a moment? Thank you.
Would you like to make a comment?
bastard.
You should teach her proper language.
I'll teach you language. I'll show you what language is.
Over here, Mr. Hackett.
Mr. Hackett, please, one quick picture before you go.
- Any comment? - Anything at all?
Get a shot of the car getting away.
What do you want?
I can tell there's only two of you.
What's the fucking deal? I don't know what you want.
Oh, Jesus, Hackett!
I can tell you anything? I'll tell you anything!
Jesus!
- Fucking weasel. - Please, Hackett!
Fucking dickless.
Should have shot him in the leg.
Want to shoot him in the leg?
No.
We'll not bother shooting you in the leg, shitface.
What's this mean?
- It's a mass for a dead city. - Dublin's not dead.
No, it's not, but it's a little sick.
I feel a little sick, too, Mommy.
I have a tummy pain.
We'll cure that for you
with a little medicine and a spoonful of sugar.
If I'm better on Friday, can we play football?
On Friday, Mommy has to go to court.
To see the bad man?
No, Mommy drove too fast. She has to pay a ticket.
Actually, she has to pay about 6,000,000 tickets.
but if you're better by Thursday,
it's Colum on the ball. He shoots. He scores.
I love you, Mommy.
- I love you, too. - You're funny.
- Why's that? - You have a pencil in your ear.
I do? Oh, I forgot.
Want it? Take it.
Ladies and gentlemen,
a generous round of applause for Ms. Sinead Hamilton,
crime reporter of The Sunday Globe.
Thank you. Thank you so much.
I am truly humbled and honored to receive this award.
My first reaction was, "I hope I haven't been given it
just because I was shot."
I don't believe that's really important here,
but I do believe no journalist should give in to intimidation.
I am delighted to accept it not only on behalf of myself,
and my colleagues in the Sunday Globe,
but on behalf of all my colleagues in the print
and broadcast media in Ireland,
who work under some of the most
ridiculous restrictive libel laws in the world.
I now understand that what we are pursuing in a way
which might seem obsessive to the outsider, is truth and justice.
Lofty words, maybe,
but what greater inspiration could there be?
There is a life in our country
that the majority of people don't know about.
The judicial system has been largely ineffective
in addressing the problem.
Politicians have not had the will to change the system.
And the police have been tied down by legislation
that in virtually every instance favors the criminal.
What we're left with is an underworld
protected by the very system it seeks to corrupt.
So we have the godfathers buying property,
drinking in the best bars, holidaying in the finest locations,
exploiting the system while a growing army
of young men, women, even children,
walk around our housing projects like survivors of some holocaust,
desperate for the chemicals that will
keep them going for just one more day.
And so, I am truly humbled to receive this award
and I would like to thank two very special people
who have encouraged me despite
and incredibly difficult last 12 months,
and they are my husband, Tom, and my son, Colum.
because I can assure you if they hadn't supported me
I wouldn't have got so far. Thank you so much.
Thank you.
I have a fine to pay, so I don't lose my license.
There is justice in the world.
I should be there in about 30, 40 minutes.
If you wait you can splash out and buy me a posh lunch.
What?
A sandwich and a pint at Culligan's?
Oh, Tom, I am so impressed.
bye.
Colum,
I have to tell you something.
They shot Mommy again.
Where was she shot?
In the heart.
Is Mommy coming home?
No.
Is she with God?
She is.
That means she's looking down on me
from the sky, doesn't it?
That's what it means.
¶ Stars were falling ¶
¶ Deep in the darkness ¶
¶ As prayers rose softly... ¶
¶ Somewhere the sun rose ¶
¶ O'er dunes in the desert ¶
¶ Such was the stillness ¶
¶ I've never felt before ¶
¶ Was this the question ¶
¶ Pulling, pulling ¶
¶ Pulling you ¶
¶ In your heart ¶
¶ In your soul ¶
¶ Did you find ¶
¶ Peace there? ¶
¶ Elsewhere a snow fell ¶
¶ The first in the winter ¶
¶ Covered the ground ¶
¶ As the bells filled the air ¶
¶ You in your robes sang ¶
¶ Calling, calling ¶
¶ Calling him ¶
¶ In your heart ¶
¶ In your soul ¶
¶ Did you find peace there? ¶
¶ In your heart ¶
¶ In your soul ¶
¶ Did you find peace there? ¶