-Drive. -Who are you with?
-Go! -Strus, Lapka?
-Shut the fuck up and drive. -Shut your thing, I'm the king.
-I know who you're with. -Shut the fuck up!
I'll find him, in a sec.
I'll find him and he'll eat crap.
You'll make a left here, at the horse ranch. Fucking slow down!
Or a glass. He'll eat a glass. He'll bite and swallow it.
-Slow the fuck down! -What's worse: eating shit or a glass?
Fucking turn back!
I don't know what I'd pick. But I think it'd be a glass.
-Slow down or I'll whack you! -Glass tastes better.
-Stop! Fuck! -Fucking stop!
Fucking slow down!
Stop!
BLINDED BY LIGHTS Episode 2
TROPIKI, 1 PM
Sgt. Kwiatkowski, Warsaw Police. License and registration, please.
Turn on your emergency lights and step out of the car.
Blow here, as if you were blowing out a candle.
I'm giving you the plates: WI 4713 K.
-Wait by your car. -You're shaking down cabs, too?
-Fucking "No to drugs." -The brass got creative.
There's this young prick prosecutor, dreams of becoming Prosecutor General.
-We're beyond dreams, right? -Don't get me fucking started.
-Well? No white Christmas? -Snow white for some.
How about him?
If everyone was like him, we'd starve.
-All valid tests, no penalty points. -Check his urine then.
Come on...
-Drive safely. Merry Christmas. -Merry Christmas.
Motherfucker! Got some rope?
Relax. Stryj's got a towline.
No way.
-Bend it, moron! -It won't fucking bend!
You say you press 200 keys at the gym, and you can't bend a wire?
He jerks off 200 times a week.
-Fucking get that towline. -I said, no way!
How about we hack him up?
-With what? -With shit!
-We didn't take an axe or nothing. -What a pair of dickwads.
Fucking get that towline!
-And you'll buy me a brand new one. -Fuck, so what?
On three.
One... two...
So what? He was here, now he's not, fish will feast.
-And what if... -Kuba, fuck.
Focus. What if they looked under that seat?
Now the details. Piorun and Gizmo...
-You'll fucking smoke for five. -We're shooting the video.
I said you'll fucking step outside for five minutes!
-Are you deaf? -All right, let's go back...
You'll just keep it for a few days.
-That was a lame move. -Watch your lip.
It was a lame move which could've got me ten years.
And the punk who stalked that model of yours?
Whom did you call to give him a makeover?
-That's a different thing. -The same to me.
-You can take some of it, on the cuff. -I don't touch other people's stuff.
Didn't your mother teach you that people ought to help each other?
-There's blood on it! -I scratched your back, scratch mine!
Three days and you'll take it.
Unless something goes down, then you take it right away.
You're a good kid, Kuba.
-Three days. -Don't tell Jacek.
Yo, Bolo! Yo, Gizmo!
Piorun! Cebas, lay it down!
This is Warsaw
Rap from the capital
It's all tight
From bros to bros
Raised on one block
The police motherfuckers
Can suck my cock!
Yeah, same hospital, new slashes Saw me up, Doc, don't ask questions
Hold it A few hundred-bills go wasted
This is my squat, my drink bar My place, yeah
The city lives and dies in me Loosing street-smarts is a major sin
Not the Bible's shit about pride A piece of ass gives me a bette ride
Darkness, that's where everyone goes
Stop, or let it snow, yeah
Corpses like in a crypt and all Hos powdered with fuckin' blow
Costly drugs come with costly ladies Cheap stuff gets you cheaper whores
Same phones But the numbers are new
Coke, booze As long as they fucking stick to you
You're not sleeping Your pupils tell me
Codeine instead of proteins
All hope is gone Only darkness can bleach us
P... I... O... R... U... N
Yo...
Piorun, motherfuckers!
-Cut! -What the fuck?
Piorun, you're awesome.
But girls, we need more legato, more life.
Let it flow. Gizmo, more interaction.
We'll use it later. All right, take two, it'll be perfect. Ready!
Fucking salaam alaykum, infidel bitches!
Move those asses or I'll fucking waste you!
-Sit down, Turkish King! -No, it won't edit!
Yo, director, fucking shoot me with Turkish King
and our Turkish harem! Asia, sit on his lap. Grab her ass.
Harder! Fuck!
-It's not a documentary... -Shut the fuck up!
Kuba! Kuba dearest! Excuse me, ladies.
Stop! Everyone, take ten!
-Come up to the bar. Bolo, come on! -No, Bolo, wait. Two things...
Fuck, man...
Shit's happening. We got platinum for Shut It When You Ought To.
For what?
Cebas and Piorun, the new album. Cebas lays down the beats, Piorun raps.
The last video had three million views!
You know, the one with us burning cars, flares, 40 topless bros.
-Awesome shit, man. -Congratulations.
Big-ups, big-ups, man.
Finally.
Fucking wait...
Bro... awesome. They sell like crazy.
We import the fabric from China, Look, awesome cotton.
But we saw them in Poland, so, our Polish "STAY TIGHT". There.
-I'm good. -You'll have a gift for Christmas.
-They're for 199 online. -Fuck!
-I'll fucking kill him! -Relax. Whom?
That motherfucking director! I'll drown him and we'll have to Go-Pro the thing!
Fuck, he went to the Lodz Film School, and he's cheap!
Fuck... Let me have some.
-Sure. -Lay down a rail...
A fucking rail from here to Zoliborz!
The Osman Empire, sha la la la la!
-Fuck me... -Four grand.
-Sorry. -Plus what you owe me.
Four grand.
And the rest when a new batch arrives. Let a man celebrate.
-Piorun... -We go way back, right?
Are we tight?
We're tight!
Fuck, homey, I'll be calling. The king is partying, paying in gold!
Yo, the booze is flowing like lava Fuck off if you can't take the power
There's big, bigger, and then biggest Keep it in mind and you won't whine
You've got debts on your salary? You want a Benz, then learn to steal
Me? That they can what? Fuck it
Hush, my soul Or the booze will hush it
It's a bog around, poisonous mud It can only be drowned by a flood
No sleep, no cash, no drugs Chaotic visions in place of buds
You like, so you lose realty to debt The party's long, you wake up next day
I just want to sit down and chill But the city, my twin, it never will
Why did you want to meet?
I've been good, thank you.
Good for you.
So, this is going to be a nice friendly bullshit chat?
-People do that sometimes. -OK.
It's OK, but I can't sleep.
I'm totally exhausted.
I don't know what to do about it. Nothing helps.
Meds would, but I don't want to take meds.
I sleep soundly.
Good for you.
Sorry.
Listen...
-I know it's over, but... -It is.
But... maybe we could intersect somewhere once in a while.
Just... as friends.
We're intersecting now.
You know it's not what I mean.
What are you doing on New Year's Eve?
-I'm leaving. On vacation. -Great. Where?
Argentina.
Nice. I seem to remember we planned to go there together.
You remember right.
-What will you have? -Sparkling water with lemon, on ice.
-Anything else? -No, thank you.
For you, ma'am?
No, I'm happy for you.
I'm sure it's fucking awesome there.
We'll see.
And you... don't have any problems?
-What problems? -You know.
Everything is under control.
I can't think of anyone who'd have things more under control than you.
-I don't know... -I do.
And in a way I've always admired you for that.
Paulina, Paulina, the sweet divina... Hi, hon.
Excuse me, this looks like a flirty-datey-lunch...
-Hey there. -Aren't you smart?
-Remik. -Let's go.
-You always spoil my fun. -Don't bother them.
-Bye. I'll see you on New Year's. -Bye.
Ciao, bella.
-I remember him. -Everyone knows him, no wonder...
-Are you seeing anyone? -I don't follow.
-It's a simple question. -But it's irrelevant.
Or doesn't it fit into a bullshit friendly conversation?
-I just wanted to check if you're OK. -I'm OK.
-You're better off being single. -Maybe.
No one screws up your awesomely organized life.
I just wanted it to be OK.
Between us.
It's OK.
-Later. -Later.
Hi. Putin, hush.
Putin? Really, that's his name?
Yeah, but it was Maluch's idea.
How's your happiness today?
-My happiness? That's a good one. -Everyone has some sort of happiness.
Make sure Putin doesn't leave some of his in my car.
You always have a nice smile for me.
Are you leaving for Christmas?
-I'll be taking a short vacation soon. -In the tropics, cool.
So, don't worry if I won't answer my phone.
I never worry.
Great, maybe you'll catch an exotic mermaid, who knows?
And how is your happiness?
I'm slowly stitching it back together. I just feel sorry for that Julka.
-No one made her do it. -Except Maluch's hands tend to fly.
-What are you talking about? -Nothing. It just slipped.
I dreamt about your last night.
-Me? -Yes, you.
-I'll tell you if close your eyes. -All right.
I dreamt you were in the middle of the ocean.
The ocean is stormy...
Rain, lightning, but you're swimming...
with steady strokes...
And I was positive you'd be OK.
And you safely reached a sandy beach.
And was there someone waiting for me there?
A mermaid, looking a bit like me.
-I didn't dream about you. Sorry. -You'd even deal dreams if you could?
-Where are you partying tonight? -At my friend's Christmas party.
Here's a little Christmas gift, on the house.
Are you kidding? Thanks. Thanks a lot.
Don't thank so much.
-Just be careful with it. -I'm taking care, you do to.
And be happy.
Drop by after tomorrow to my Christmas party.
-I'll text you the address. -Thanks, I'll think about it.
Bye.
-Mr. Tuk-Tuk, this shirt's OK, right? -Yes.
Classy, right? Now the jacket. Gently, my shoulder fucking hurts.
That fucking fascist worked me... Slowly.
Good. Lower, lower...
OK. Well?
-It needs widening. -What fucking widening?
I lost ten keys! Widening...
-The measure doesn't lie. -What measure? Fuck, Mr. Tuk-Tuk!
The Wedding is on Christmas!
-It'll be all right. -I know.
We'll cut here, nip nip there...
We'll fucking what? What the fuck did you say?
-Nip nip... -We'll nip, right.
-It'll be OK. -Right.
What's with my deal?
Would you make some of that green tea that blossoms in hot water?
Yeah, that's right. Thanks.
What the fuck is he talking about? I lost a shitload of weight, right?
Those fucking Gooks saw better than Paris tailors.
-Are we good? -No, there's been some fuck up.
Maybe tomorrow. It's Rahid's birthday, you'll take him some as a gift.
Abdul's son. My partner's from "Maghreb". That wacko...
-I know. -Go there.
I'm running on fumes.
Why else would I be here? I've got 50 eightballs left.
-Give them 50. -10 are booked.
Then give them 40. And a liter of vodka. The mullahs will get wasted.
-Will you have it tomorrow? -I will, Kuba! Listen...
Go to that midget bum from the Bethlehem.
Have him sign. Absolutely!
With Christmas coming, the wedding and shit,
it has to be a done deal!
I gave him two days.
What the fuck? Are you selling him life insurance?
I told you, it's five million bucks! Fuck!
We're taking that bordello over, period!
All right. But I'll need to take Stryj and the guys.
And what the fuck can I do now? Maybe you can take Mr. Tuk-Tuk?
Deal with it, time is running!
The fuck with it...
I'm going to wear jeans to my daughter's wedding.
-Tea, straight from Vietnam. -Great.
-Coming? -Thanks, but I told you I'm leaving.
Just get it done, OK?
Mr. Tuk-Tuk, fix that jacket. It was fucking good and now what?
Fucking good.
I'll fucking bury you!
-Beat it! -I'll bury you, bitches!
I'll fucking kill you first!
I see you, fucking shepherd!
I see you, camelfucking Aladin!
Who was that dude? Sanitary inspector?
Celebrating his release.
Grabbing waitresses, pouring vodka, showing his dick.
Release from where? The can or the looney bin?
Apparently, this morning two guys got in his car
-and told him to drive to the woods. -And?
He crashed into a tree. Killed them on the spot.
-How much, my friend? -Nil. Happy birthday.
Come on, fuck!
Fuck.
Motherfucking bitch!
-What's new? -Old whores still screw.
Sit down, you're jinxing. I had a good run, and you showed up.
Got an advance?
-Got anything for me? -I do! Gimme the dough.
I'll turn my luck around here and we'll move to poker.
Maybe I'll ask again: what's new?
Listen... you're jumping out the window every day!
And somehow you always land on a fucking safety net, unscathed!
I am that net, understand?
If you want money, give me something.
Kamil?
It's your fault, bitch.
No!
Take him away.
Calm down. Who are you to the deceased?
-His ex. -I wasn't asking you!
It's OK. Were you here when it happened?
-The bitch wasn't... -Shut it!
Good. Then go home.
They're coming with us!
It's OK. Breathe.
What is this?
This was found in the swimmer's sock.
This in the rich kid's place.
And...?
-It's the same stuff. -The lab says so?
Fuck, Marek, my eye says so. It's something new!
-My eye says you need a drink. -I don't drink.
There's one sort of stuff in Warsaw, cut either with aspirin or plaster.
Exactly! This here's got no aspirin! It's pure!
So what?
He pushed some stronger stuff and went swimming.
The prosecutor's counting on us,
and whenever something adds up, you just click on snatch.
And what should I do?
We've been keeping the kid's buddies for five hours.
All right. Come on, Sherlock.
How about I show them the swimmer and ask if he was their pusher?
Fuck, Zgrywus, you want to take jet set kids to the morgue?
-Do you want a case? -Do you want to spend Christmas here?
For fries, a dead hool and a bag of coke?
I won't be calling your missus for you.
Nevertheless, the prosecutor's on it.
-Pay up. -First get something useful.
That wasn't useful? Kuba!
Your friend Sikor has surfaced.
They always do in the river. Amateurs.
How did you tie that collar on him, fucking twat?
-Maybe you should've gone with us? -That's why I didn't.
And you still didn't buy my towline back, fucking wanker!
-Fuck that. -They don't know shit.
Fuck them bitches till they rip! I can go fart in the prison bunk.
That's him.
Make it quick, I'm getting my rocks off tonight.
Heads up, he's got a cop at the door.
-Kuba, hi! Wait a sec, I'm busy now. -Sit down.
You said a week, two weeks, a month ago! Maluch, fuck!
Fucking renovation, man.
-What renovation? -Kuba, one minute...
-Tuesday, no more bullshit! -All right, get the fuck out.
Fuck, wait a minute...
Did I fucking tell you to get up?
I told your friends to get the fuck out.
Watch whose balls you're busting, sucker.
-You're Balon? -Yup.
-You came to collect? -Yup.
Come some other time.
It's not like yours counts more than mine.
-It's exactly how it is. -Am I speaking Negro?
Get the fuck out, lame-ass!
-Move it! -Fucking youth.
-A drink, guys? -Kuba...
Have one too.
-I've got two kids... -Have a drink.
I'm a bit late, but I'm working on it, I am.
I'll pay you every cent, I just need time. See how this place rocks?
-In six months we'll all be happy. -Exactly... you've got two kids.
Kids have mothers.
What is this?
I thought you were cool.
That... we're cool.
I've explained it to you. Your debt has been annulled.
You can stay as a manager, even be the co-owner on paper.
Fuck, no. No...
No fucking way.
Fucking sit!
I think I told you it's not a matter of choice.
I haven't been doing this for years so that bitches like you would take it.
-This is not Moscow! -Fuck!
This is Warsaw.
-Put him in his chair. -I hate such bitches.
Fucking sit!
Sit! I'll fucking whack you!
Am I to sign this? Tell me.
We could go on like that for six hours, but what's the point?
Your kids, your sons, Kajtek and Adam, from two mothers.
One is a barmaid, the other an architect.
Agata Lutecka lives with Kajtek on 5 Rozana St, Apt. 20.
Beata Mankiewicz, 1 Henkel Sq., Apt. 13.
Kajtek goes to school on Malewicz St.
You don't know who we are. You just think you do.
The deal enters into force on New Year. We'll need to see all documents.
-Why did you smack Anastazja around? -What?
Why? Tell me?
She was fucking my high school buddy,
the manager of my joint, in my fucking bed!
She didn't want to fuck you, huh? You didn't star in her dreams?
Kuba, don't get fucking carried away!
You got yours! You want to kill him?
You're gone. Dead.
What the fuck was that about that ho? Are you fucking her?
-No. -OK, relax, the job's done.
We're out.
Have you ever fucking wasted anyone?
I'm asking you: have you ever wasted anyone?
You're with Jacek, right?
If you want to talk, let's set up a date.
We're looking for our friend Sikor. Specifically, what he has.
-Why would I know your friends? -You know him for sure.
-It's history. -Are you sure?
-Anything else? -We'll be in touch.