My name is Turkish.
Funny name for an Englishman, I know.
My parents were on the same plane when it crashed. That's how they met.
They named me after the plane.
Not many people are named after a plane crash.
That's Tommy.
He tells people he was named after a gun.
But I know he was really named after a famous 19th-century ballet dancer.
Known him for as long as I can remember. He's my partner.
Doesn't mean we hold hands or take walks.
It means I try to keep him out of as much trouble as he inflicts on me.
I give him a hard time. Keeps him in check.
But really, he's like my brother.
What do I know about diamonds? I'm a boxing promoter.
I was a happy boxing promoter until a week ago, and then:
What do I know about diamonds?
Don't they come from Antwerp?
— Himy, would you listen to this? — Do we have a choice?
It wasn't meant to be taken literally.
It's a nice story, Adam and Eve.
It's bound with moral fibre…
…but asking a grown man to believe it?
What is it?
Well, what is it?
What you want I should do, drop my pants?
Okay, go through.
It's a nice story.
It's just that. Just a story.
Catholic religion is based on a mistranslation.
Enough already. Ruben, say something.
Listen. Are you busy? I'll tell you the whole story.
The Septuagint scholars mistranslated the Hebrew word for “young woman”…
…into the Greek word for “virgin.”
It was an easy mistake to make…
…because there was only a subtle difference in the spelling.
So, they came up with a prophecy:
“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear us a son.”
You understand? It was “virgin” that caught people's attention.
It's not every day a virgin conceives and bears a son.
But leave that for a couple of hundred years to stew…
…and next thing you know you have the Holy Catholic Church.
Oy vay, what are you saying?
I'm saying, just because it's written…
… doesn't make it so.
Gives them hope. It's not important whether it's fact or fiction.
— People like to believe. — I don't want to hear any more.
Anyway, who is it that we're seeing?
— Michael. — Hello ?
Mutti.
Rudy! Rud, Rud, let them in, please.
Rud, it's okay, let them through.
— Michael. — Mutti.
You kept us waiting for half an hour. Are you trying to give me heartburn?
Lie down on the floor.
Get on the floor!
Lie on the floor!
Get on the fucking floor!
— Get down! — Get fucking down!
Down on the floor! Get down!
On the ground!
Get down, I say!
— Time. — Seven minutes!
Where is the stone?
Michael, where is the stone?
When does your plane leave?
Twenty minutes.
Give me your gun.
When you get to London…
…if you want a gun…
…call this number.
— Boris. — Boris.
He can get you anything you need.
Is he allowed to do that?
It's an unlicensed boxing match. It's not a tickling competition.
These lads are out to hurt each other.
What's with those sausages, Charlie?
Two minutes, Turkish.
Look at it. How am I supposed to run this thing from that?
We'll need a proper office.
I want a new one. You're going to buy it for me.
Why me?
Well, you know about caravans.
How's that?
You spent a summer in one. Which means you know more than me.
And I don't wanna have me pants pulled down over the price.
What's wrong with this one?
Oh, nothing, Tommy.
It's tiptop.
I'm just not sure about the colour.
It's all arranged. You just got to pick it up.
Here's an address.
It's a campsite.
You've got 10 grand, and it would be nice to see change.
— What's happening with the sausages? — Five minutes.
It was two minutes five minutes ago.
They ain't pikeys, are they?
I fucking hate pikeys.
You're a sensitive boy, Tommy.
Fuck me. Hold tight.
— What's that? — It's me belt.
No, Tommy. There's a gun in your trousers.
— What's a gun doing in your trousers? — It's for protection.
Protection from what?
“Zee” Germans?
What's to stop it blowing your bollocks off when you sit?
— Where did you get it? — Boris The Blade.
You mean Boris the sneaky fucking Russian.
Heavy, isn't it?
Heavy is good.
Heavy is reliable.
If it doesn't work, you can always hit him with it.
Boris The Blade, or Boris The Bullet-Dodger.
Bent as the Soviet sickle and hard as the hammer that crosses it.
Apparently, it's just impossible to kill the bastard.
Back to my partner, Tommy.
Tommy runs the other business…
…the slot machines…
…which keeps rain off our heads and gloves on Gorgeous' hands.
However, Tommy's a little preoccupied with protection at present.
All right, I'll take it.
There's a reason for Tommy's newfound enthusiasm for firearms.
Sooner or later, in unlicensed boxing, you have to deal with that reason:
Brick Top.
If that's not worth a bet, I don't know what is.
— He doesn't look bad, does he? — No, he looks great.
He'll do you proud.
You reckon that's what people should do for me, Gary? Do me proud?
It's what you deserve.
Pull your tongue out of my arsehole.
Dogs do that.
You're not a dog, are you?
No. No, I'm not.
However…
…you do have all the characteristics of a dog, Gary.
All except loyalty.
It's rumoured that his favourite means of dispatch involves a stun gun…
…a plastic bag, a roll of tape and a pack of hungry pigs.
You're a ruthless little cunt, Liam. I'll give you that.
But I got no time for grouses.
Feed him to the pigs, Errol.
What the fuck are you two looking at?
If you got to deal with him, just make sure you don't end up owing him.
Then you're in his debt.
Which means, you're in his pocket.
And once you're in that, you ain't ever coming out.
I hear he's a good fighter, so I'll use him.
I'll be doing you a favour, boy.
What he means is, I'm doing him a favour.
Because everybody knows nobody takes a dive in my fights. Unlike his.
Here, Errol, I don't think he likes me.
You don't like me, do you?
Don't know what you mean.
I do know I can't wait to get out of here. It stinks.
My fights finish prompt so we can get out before the authorities find out.
Play your cards right and I'll sort you out.
You can sort me out by showing me out.
It's hard to make a living in boxing, so now and then…
…you do something against your principles.
Basically, you have to forget you got any.
Are they Lancashire pigs?
Who's talking to you?
Oh, yeah, Tommy. Brick Top loves Tommy.
Don't let me down.
You don't want to let me down, do you?
See you ringside.
Boris, Franky-fucking-Four Fingers…
…has a diamond the size of a fist.
I have told you it's in the briefcase connected to his arm.
I sent him to you to buy a gun.
What more do you want me to do, hit him for you?
But don't you hit him either.
Americans can't know it was Russian.
It will come back to me.
So, what should I do?
You're my brother, so think like it.
Get somebody else to steal that stone!
I don't want it getting back to me.
And don't have him killed. It will raise suspicion.
So don't use idiots for the job.
He'll stay in London a couple of days before he goes to New York…
…so move quick. Okay?
It's okay. I know a couple of guys.
One more thing.
It might help.
He loves to gamble.
Eighty-six carats?
Brilliant cut, beautiful make.
A beautiful stone.
You're a good boy, Franky.
And you did a real good job. Now when do you get back?
I got to move the two-grainers here, get a better price. Couple of days.
— Talk to my cousin Dougie. — Doug The Head?
And Franky…
— And what? — Stay out of those casinos.
You did a good job, bubbe.
— Don't go screwing it up, all right? — I hear you, Avi.
I'll see you, Avi.
Eighty-six karats.
— Where? — London.
— London? — London.
— London? — Yes, London.
You know, fish, chips, cup of tea…
…bad food, worse weather, Mary-fucking-Poppins. London!
Not for me.
That's Doug The Head. Everybody knows Doug The Head.
If it's stones and it's stolen, he's the man to speak to.
Pretends he's Jewish. Wishes he was Jewish.
Even tells his family they're Jewish…
…but he's about as Jewish as he is a fucking monkey.
He thinks it's good for business. And in the diamond business…
— …it is good for business. - Avi!
He'll be there today. Take care of him.
Avi, you know I won't buy schtrops.
He isn't selling schtrops. Make it smaller.
Who do you take me for? This is England.
We play by the rules.
Listen to me.
If the stones are kosher, then I'll buy them, won't I?
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's my lunchtime. Bye.
What are you doing here?
It's a free country, isn't it?
Well, it ain't a free shop, is it?
So fuck off.
I want to see you two girls up in my office.
I had cousin Avi on the phone.
— You got to go see him. — Yeah, Dad. You told us.
— He's a big mucker in New York. — Yeah, Dad. You told us.
I want to see you girls up in my office.
Yeah, Dad. You told us.
The weight is sign of reliability.
I always go for reliability.
I'll take it.
How much do you want for it?
Nothing.
Okay, so what do you want for it?
I want you to do something for me.
There is a fight in couple of days.
What kind of a fight?
Unlicensed boxing.
There is a bookies I know that will take bets.
If you place one down for me…
…we will call it quits.
— Why don't you put it down yourself? — Well…
…there is not too many bookies that takes those kind of bets.
And I already have an outstanding debt with the house.
I know something most don't.
So, nu?
What do you know?
It's a campsite. A pikey campsite.
— Ten points. — What are we doing here?
— We're buying a caravan. — Off a pack of fucking pi keys?
What's wrong with you? This will get messy.
Not if you're here.
Oh, you bastard.
I fucking hate pikeys.
That's a flash car, mister.
Not as flash as your bike.
Who are you looking for?
Mr. O'Neil.
— Want me to get him? — That's a good lad.
Piss off.
— Are you going to go get him for me? — Yeah.
— What are you waiting for? — The five quid you'll pay me.
Fuck off, I'll find him meself.
— Two fifty. — You can have a quid.
You're a real tight fucker.
There was a problem with gypsies.
What're you doing? Get out of the way, man.
You can't understand what's being said.
You Tommy? Come about the caravan?
— Mr. O'Neil. — Fuck, man. Call me Mickey.
Not Irish, not English.
— How are you? — Weather's been kind.
It's just Pikey.
Would you look at the size of him?
How big are you?
— Kids, how big is he? — Big, for sure.
Hey, Mam, come and look at the size of this fella.
Bet you box a little, can't you, sir? You look like a boxer.
Get out of the way. See if they'd like a drink.
I could murder one.
Be no murdering done around here, I don't mind telling you.
Get your hands out of there.
Cup of tea for the big fella?
Don't be silly, Mickey. Offer the man a proper drink.
You little bugger.
— Is the big fella not coming with us? — He's minding the car.
— What does he think we are, thieves? — No, nothing like that.
— He just likes looking after cars. — Good dags. Do you like dags?
— Dags? — What?
— Yeah, dags. — Dags. You like dags?
Oh, dogs.
Sure, I like dags.
— I like caravans more. — You're very welcome.
Pikeys are well-known for their skills of negotiation in business.
It's probably why they talk like that…
…so you can't follow what's being said.
But if Tommy can get the caravan for less than the price asked…
…on his return there will be ice cream.
Good dog, good family.
He'll get a little homesick, but he'll get over it.
See you later, lads. See you, boss.
All right, Mickey. Laters.
I don't see what the fuss is about.
They aren't bad fellas.
The deal was, you bought it how you saw it.
Look, I've helped you as much as I'm going to help you.
See that car? Use it.
You should fuck off now while you still got the legs to carry you.
Nobody brings you…
…unless they're trying to say something without talking.
Just give our money back and you can keep your caravan.
Why do I want a caravan that's got no wheels?
— You want to settle this with a fight? — Over my dead body.
Now, go on! Go on!
I'll not have you fighting! You know what happens when you fight!
Get her to sit down.
For fuck's sake!
Want the money? I ain't fucked you.
I'll fight you for it. You and me.
So that's the kind of fight it'll be.
You want to stay down.
You want to stay down!
Get back down and fucking stay down.
I promise you, you want to stay down.
Deadly kick for a fat fucker, you know that?
Cheeky bastard.
— Okay, lads. — Get him on his feet.
Get back down…
…or you will not be coming up next time.
Bollocks to you.
This is sick. I'm out of here.
You're not going anywhere, you thick lump.
You stay until the job's done.
It turned out that the sweet-talking, tattoo-sporting pikey…
…was a gypsy bare-knuckle boxing champion.
Which makes him harder than a coffin nail.
Right now that's the last thing on Tommy's mind.
If Gorgeous doesn't wake up in the next few minutes…
… Tommy knows he'll be buried with him.
Why would the gypsies want to explain…
…why a man died in their campsite?
Not when they can bury the pair of them and just move camp.
It's not like they got social security numbers, is it?
Tommy, “The Tit”…
…is praying.
And if he isn't…
…he fucking should be.
Bad Boy.
— Sol. — Easy.
No, it's a moissanite.
A what?
A moissanite is an artificial diamond, Lincoln.
It's Mickey Mouse.
Spurious.
Not genuine.
And it's worth…
…fuck-all.
Bad Boy, I keep telling you, stick to being a gangster.
Leave this game to me and Sol.
Laters.
What is that, Vince?
This is a dog, Sol.
You are not bringing that thing in here.
It's only a fucking dog.
— Where'd you get it? — The gyppos.
Here.
They threw it in with the moody gold.
You know gyppos, Sol. They're always throwing dogs in with deals.
It better not be dangerous.
What do you think you're doing now?
I want him to get used to the shop, don't I?
Stop the dog!
Come back!
All right, Boris?
— Don't worry about the dog. — I'm not.
What can I do for you?
I have a job for you.
I already have a job.
Fifty grand for half a day's work.
Go on.
I want you to hold up a bookies.
From Russia with love, eh?
I have stones to sell…
…fat to chew and many men to see about many ducks…
…so if I am not rushing you…
Slow down, Franky, my son. When in Rome.
I am not in Rome, Doug.
I am in a rush.
I got to make the bookies.
Bookies?
— What are you betting on? — Bomber Harris.
The unlicensed boxer?
Do you know something that I don't?
Bubbe, I probably know a lot you don't.
He's bad to the bone, ain't you, Tyrone?
Of course I am.
Tyrone will drive for us. He's done a rally driving course.
Of course I have.
I don't want that dog dribbling on my seats.
Your seats?
Tyrone, this is a stolen car, mate.
While I'm at the wheel, it's my car…
…so stop that dog dribbling on my seats. All right?
I can't believe you found it. Where'd it go?
It went back to the gyppos.
Shut up. And how could it find them?
Well, I don't know. I'm not a dog, Sol.
Ask him.
It's like he's a fucking homing beacon.
Steady on the brakes.
I thought you said he could drive, Sol.
Don't worry about me. Just worry about that dog on my seats.
All right?
What?
You said he was a getaway driver. What the fuck can he get away from?
Don't worry about Tyrone. He can move when he has to.
Worry about getting us a gun.
What's that?
This is a shotgun, Sol.
It's a fucking anti-aircraft gun, Vincent.
— I want to raise pulses, don't I? — You'll raise hell, never mind pulses.
That does not look like a bookies.
Why'd we stop here? What's the matter with that space over there?
It's too tight.
Too tight?
You could land a jumbo-fucking-jet in there.
Leave him alone. He's a natural. Ain't you, Tyrone?
Of course I am.
A natural fucking idiot. Tyrone, what've you done?
Yeah, Tyrone, what have you done?
Look, you hassle me, you see what happens.
It's all right. No, don't move it now.
People'll see the damage. Why'd you do that?
I didn't see it.
It's a four-ton truck. It's not like it's a packet of fucking peanuts.
It was at a funny angle.
It's behind you, Tyrone.
Whenever you reverse, things come from behind you.
Control that dog as well.
— Get that dog off him. — Get it off me.
Give me that squeaky toy. It shut him up last time.
Don't snatch.
He can't swallow the whole ball.
Yeah.
Why the fuck…
…did you put Gorgeous George…
…into a bare-knuckle boxing match…
…two days before he had to fight The Bomber?
He was half his size. I didn't expect him to get hurt.
You put the man into a bare-knuckle boxing match.
What the fuck did you expect?
A grease-down and a Shiatsu?
Who took the jam out of your doughnut?
You took the fucking jam out of my doughnut.
You did.
You said get a good deal.
I fail to recognise the correlation…
…between losing 10 grand, hospitalizing Gorgeous…
…and a good deal.
How'll we explain this to Brick Top?
That his fight won't happen?
We replace the fighter.
Oh, and hope he doesn't notice?
Who the fuck will we replace him with?
What about John The Gun?
Or Mad Fist Willy?
You're not Mr. Current Affairs, are you?
Mad Fist went mad…
…and The Gun shot himself.
Jesus.
— What? — Let's use the fucking pikey.
— How much you gonna pay us? — 10 K.
Me bollocks. Lose more than that running for the bus.
All right.
I'll do it for a caravan.
A what?
A caravan.
— Top of the range and all that. — It was us that wanted a caravan.
Anyway, what's wrong with this one?
It's not for me. It's for me ma.
Your what?
His ma.
Brick Top runs an illegal bookies.
They take bets on anything that involves blood and pain.
Now I'm changing fighters…
… and Brick Top's gonna exploit the situation.
He's gonna pull my pants down, grease me up…
…and aim for penetration.
If I didn't have the replacement pikey…
…he'd want to split me in half.
They could charm the paint off walls, these fellas.
Look mean now, you hairy fucker, won't you?
Shits himself when you put him in the ring.
Poke him with a stick, you watch his bollocks grow.
Do you like a dog fight, Turkish?
We've lost Gorgeous George.
You're gonna have to repeat that.
We've lost Gorgeous George.
Well, where'd you lose him?
He ain't a set of fucking car keys, is he?
And it's not as if he's incon-fucking-spicuous, is it?
We're not backing out.
You bet your bollocks to a barn dance you're not.
We're changing the fighter.
Oh, fuck me, your lady friend got a voice?
Who are you changing him to, sweetheart?
You won't know him, but he's mustard.
Mustard?
I don't care if he's Muhammad “I'm Hard” Bruce Lee…
…you can't change fighters.
— You've still got your fight. — No.
I lose all bets at the bookies. You can't change fighters.
So, no, I don't have my fight, do I, you fucking prat?
You can take bets at the fight.
Put a lead on her, Turkish, before she gets bitten.
Do you want to get bitten, sweetheart?
Make sure your man goes down in the fourth.
You understand me now, don't you, Turkish?
This is the one place I didn't want to be:
In his debt.
Which now means I'm in his pocket.
You're on thin fucking ice, my pedigree chums.
And I shall be under it when it breaks.
Now, fuck off.
Doug, where's Franky Four Fingers?
I don't know. I'm not his mother. But I'm seeing him later.
— When later? — He said he wanted cash.
So he's coming back after he's been to a fight.
A fight?
What do you mean, a fight? A boxing match?
— Is there gambling involved? — It's a boxing match, Avi.
— Did he have a case with him? — Yes, he had a case.
And this schmuck is gambling?
You're talking about Franky “I've got a problem with gambling” Four Fingers.
Avi, I'm not telepathic.
You're plenty stupid, I'll give you that.
Do you know why they call him Franky Four Fingers?
I have no idea.
Because he makes stupid bets with dangerous people.
When he doesn't pay up, they give him the chop.
And I'm not talking about his fucking foreskin.
I'm sure he can pay.
Not with my goods. Got a toothbrush? We're going to London.
Do you hear that? I'm coming to London!
— Avi! — Shut up and sit down, you bald fuck!
I don't like leaving my own country…
…especially leaving it for anything less than warm, sandy beaches…
…and cocktails with little straw hats.
We've got sandy beaches.
So who the fuck wants to see them?
I hope you can appreciate the concern I have for my friend Franky.
I'll find him, and you'll help me find him.
And we'll start at that fight.
How am I gonna get it out?
It will probably cough it up.
Will he be all right?
I hope not.
— Are we gonna rob this bookies? — Yes, big man.
Why are we waiting?
We are waiting for a man with four fingers, carrying a briefcase.
And why's that?
Because the deal is, the Russian gets the case, we get the money.
What's in the case?
For fuck's sake, Tyrone, just concentrate on the steering wheel.
Jesus.
— Private night tonight, chaps. — I'm well aware of that, my son.
That's why we're here.
Well done. This is the back way in.
Oh, really? I thought it was the front.
— Private night tonight, chaps. — We know. That's why we're here.
Tickets.
Are we ever gonna get into this place?
Avi, Avi, you gotta understand.
This ain't exactly Vegas, and this ain't exactly legal.
I'm not looking for Vegas or for legal.
I'm looking for Franky.
I know that, and he said he's gonna be here.
— If there's gambling, he'll be here. — Let's not have a fuck-up.
You won't let us down.
He's going down in the fourth, don't you worry about that.
Is that him?
I don't know. How many fingers did he have?
Sorry, I didn't get the binoculars out in time.
Let's not stand on ceremony. Let's start the show.
Do you know who this bookies belongs to?
If you know what's good for you you'll give me everything—
What are you doing?
What does it look like I'm doing up here?
This is starting to hurt, Solomon.
Drop the screen now.
How you doing, Vince?
I'd do a lot better if you'd stop using my name.
— Fill that bag. — All bets are off.
I am not in here to make a fucking bet.
Appreciated…
…but all bets…
…are…
…off.
If all bets are off, there can't be any money, can there?
I ain't fucking buying that.
That's handy because I ain't fucking selling it. It's a fact.
What have you got?
Nothing, really.
A few coins, but no notes.
Show me your hands.
You've got five fingers.
Copper coins.
What do you mean, copper fucking coins?
It won't open because it's a security door.
Hold that.
My leg.
What are you moaning about? It didn't even touch it.
We're fucked.
What the fuck are you two doing?
Get us out of here.
Tyrone, what are you doing? Get us out of here!
Who the fuck is this man, Tyrone?
He's a man with four fingers and a briefcase, Vinny.
In the red corner…
…we have the young and unchallenged…
So, Mickey, you're going down in the fourth. Is that clear?
Just make sure he doesn't kill me.
So give it up for the bone-crunching…
…one-punch machine gun…
…Mickey!
And in the other corner…
Now, I know he looks like a fat fucker—
Well, he is a fat fucker, but he's dirty and he's dangerous.
Bomber “The Mad Man” Harris!
Now, try and look like a fighter.
Let's get ready…
…to rumble!
Do you realise I'm fucking forty grand down?
What's the fucking crack?
— I'll make it up to you. — I ain't happy.
I'll make it up to you, I promise. Stand on me.
Oh, that fucking pikey's put me in it.
Thanks for the tip, Brick Top.
Listen, you fucking fringe, if I throw a dog a bone…
…I don't want to know if it tastes good.
Stop me again whilst I'm walking and I'll cut your fucking Jacobs off.
— He's here. — Well, you explain it to him.
— What you doing? — The case was attached to his arm.
So why didn't you chop it off?
We ain't fucking butchers, Boris.
But he has the case.
Look, we— Well, you have a problem.
There weren't much cash at the bookies.
Okay.
Here is the 10 grand.
No. Keep it. We want this.
Well, at least half of this.
What was in the case was mine.
What was in the bookies was yours. Okay?
It wasn't much, but here is the 10 large to help the situation.
No, I'm afraid it's too late for that.
We want half of this, and that's because we're being generous.
We could, by all rights, keep the whole fucking stone, Boris.
Watch out!
Drop the gun, fat boy.
You fucking idiots. He could not know my name.
Give me the stone.
— It's in the case. — What?
It's in the case.
You put the stone in the case?
Open it and give me the stone.
The only man who knew the combination, you just shot.
Now, it's not too clever to hang about after Mickey's performance.
Brick Top, in short, will be looking to kill Tommy, Mickey and myself.
I know he's looking for us, but I don't have a choice.
I'm happy to leave the country, but I need money to do so.
But any money I have is in the safe, which is in the office.
Once I have that, it's—
Oink, oink.
Shit.
So that's where you keep the sugar.
What brings you two here? Run out of pants to sniff?
That sounds like hostility, doesn't it?
And we don't like hostility, do we, Errol?
No, we don't, John.
I just had them polished.
Go and put the kettle on.
— You take sugar? — No, thank you, Turkish.
I'm sweet enough.
He is now your problem.
Okay?
You can keep the 10 grand, along with the body…
…but if I see you again, you motherfuckers…
Well, look at him.
I've got a bare-knuckle fight in a couple of days.
I want to use the pikey.
All right. Of course.
Of course, fucking of course.
I wasn't asking, I was telling.
But this time…
…I do want him to go down in the fourth.
And I do mean it, this time.
Now, I know you come back here to open your safe.
So now you can open it.
Turkish has been a busy little bastard.
I think he's got away with enough.
Thinking can get you into trouble, Errol. I shouldn't do so much of it.
That takes care of one little piggy.
Now find me the silly sods who blagged the bookies.
Find them today.
Top of the morning to you, Mrs. O'Neil.
Tommy.
You're a snake in the grass, ain't you? Where'd they come from?
You're looking for my boy, are you?
— Do you know where I can find him? — Yeah.
Would you like to share that information?
I don't want you getting my boy into trouble.
He's my only boy. And he's a good boy.
He's coursing.
What's coursing?
Hare coursing.
They set two lurchers— They're dogs, before you ask.
On a hare.
And the hare has to outrun the dogs.
So, what if it doesn't?
Well, the big rabbit gets fucked, doesn't it?
Proper fucked?
Yeah, Tommy.
Before “zee” Germans get there.
Do you know these tits, Errol?
I know a lot of tits…
…but I don't know any as fucking stupid as these two.
John?
I can't help, guv.
Tyrone.
You silly, fat bastard.
— Do you want to do it? — That depends.
On what?
On you buying this caravan.
Not the rouge one. The rose.
— It's not the same caravan. — Not the same fight.
It's twice the size of the last one.
The fight is twice the size. And me ma needs a caravan.
I like to look after me ma. It's a fair deal. Take it.
You're lucky we aren't worm food after your last performance.
Buying a tart's mobile palace is a little fucking rich.
I wasn't calling your mum a tart. I just meant…
Save your breath for cooling your porridge.
Right. And she's terrible partial to the periwinkle blue.
Have I made myself clear?
Yeah, that's perfectly clear, Mickey.
Just give me one minute to confer with my colleague.
Did you understand a word of what he said?
I'll tell you what.
Fucker.
I'll bet you for it.
You'll what?
He'll bet you for it.
What, like Tommy did last time? Do me a favour?
I'll do you a favour.
You have first bet. If I win, I get a caravan…
…and the boys get a pair of them shoes.
If I lose…
…fuck it, I'll do the fight for free.
The last thing I really want to do is bet a pikey.
However, I don't really have much of a choice.
Somehow I've got to get him to fight, but if I lose…
Well, I don't even want to think about losing.
Okay. I reckon the hare gets fucked.
What? Proper fucked?
You got that, London?
We're on!
I'll fucking tell you! Get those off me.
I'll tell you who robbed your bookies.
Periwinkle blue. Bye, boys.
Who's proper fucked now, then?
There's something very wrong with this.
It was us that wanted to buy a caravan off of him.
Well, why didn't you “bust a cap in his ass” then, Tommy?
Mind you, you'd do more damage if you threw it at him.
What? You saying I can't shoot?
Oh, no, Tommy. I wasn't saying you can't shoot.
I know you can't shoot.
What we're saying is, that piece of shit stuck in your trousers…
…would do more damage if you fed it to him.
You saying the gun don't work?
You tried it?
Whoops.
I want to see that sneaky fucking Russian.
Why's he got a tea cosy on his head?
To keep his head warm.
— What happened to him? — He got shot in the face.
I thought that was obvious.
What'd you do that for? You mistake him for a rabbit?
— What do you want me to do? — Sort it out.
— I'm not a witch doctor. — But you are a bad boy yardie…
…and bad boy yardies should know how to get rid of bodies.
I create the bodies, I don't erase the bodies.
We're in, governor.
Goody gumdrops.
Get us a cup of tea, would you, Errol?
Grab hold of his legs.
What do you think I'm gonna grab him by, his ears?
Hope this is not a bad moment.
Do you know who I am?
I do.
Good. That will save me some time, then.
Well, I don't.
You're always gonna have problems lifting a body in one piece.
Apparently, the best thing to do…
…is cut up a corpse into six pieces and pile it all together.
Would someone mind telling me, who are you?
When you got your six pieces, you gotta get rid of them.
It's no good leaving it in the freezer for your mum to discover.
Then I hear the best thing to do is feed them to pigs.
You gotta starve the pigs for a few days…
…then the chopped-up body will look like curry to a pisshead.
You gotta shave the heads of your victims and pull the teeth out…
…for the piggies' digestion.
You could do this afterwards, of course…
…but you don't want to sieve through pigshit, do you?
They will go through bone like butter.
You need at least 16 pigs to finish the job in one sitting…
…so be wary of any man who keeps a pig farm.
They will go through a body that weighs 200 pounds…
…in about eight minutes.
That means that a single pig…
…can consume two pounds of uncooked flesh…
…every minute.
Hence the expression…
…”as greedy as a pig.”
Well, thank you for that. That's a great weight off me mind.
Now, if you wouldn't mind telling me who the fuck you are…
…apart from someone who feeds people to pigs, of course.
Do you know what “nemesis” means?
“A righteous infliction of retribution…
…manifested by an appropriate agent.”
Personified, in this case, by a horrible cunt:
Me.
Gentlemen…
Why can't you find me Franky, Doug?
Avi, what do you want me to do? I'm not a bounty hunter.
What about Tony?
Bullet-Tooth Tony.
Who's Bullet-Tooth—?
— Tony! — You silly fuck.
He's a liability.
He'd find Moses and the burning bush.
You are gonna die, Tony!
He got shot six times, had the bullets moulded into gold.
I shoot you, you go down!
He has two in his teeth that Dad did, so he loves Dad.
Why don't you fucking die?
— He's the best chance you got. — Six times?
In one sitting.
You're in trouble now.
Sounds promising. What are we waiting for?
Bonjour.
What's so fucking important?
Why do you think we've got a dead man…
— …missing an arm in our office? — Talk to me, tell me.
You give us four days…
…I'll get you a stone the size of a fucking home. I kid you not.
What do you think, Errol?
I think we should drip-dry them, while we got the chance.
It was a rhetorical question, Errol.
What have I told you about thinking?
— You got 48 hours. — Yeah.
You can keep that silly, fat wanker. The lads can't lift him.
Forty-eight hours.
After that it's your family…
…and the pigs finish what the dogs don't do.
So, what should I call you? Should I call you “Bullet”? “Tooth”?
Call me “Susan” if it makes you happy.
Tony, there is a man I'd like you to find.
That depends on all the elements in the equation. How many are there?
Forty thousand.
Where was he last seen?
At a bookies.
Bookies?
Pass us the blower, Susi.
— Bookies got blagged last night. — Blagged? Speak English.
This country spawned the language, and nobody seems to speak it.
Blagged, robbed.
We'll see a man that may know something.
I need a gun.
You don't, Rosebud, me old son. You need me.
I got fucking black ink all over fuck boy.
He's stained for fucking life.
That and the golden teeth as well. Fucking hell—
All right, Mullet?
How you doing? You all right, mate?
Nice tie.
I heard you weren't about that much.
Still warm, the blood that courses through my veins.
Unlike yours, Mullet.
Who blagged Brick Top's bookies?
— Do me a favour, Tone. — I will do you a favour, Mullet.
I'll not bash the fuck out of you in front of all your girlfriends.
Gonna make it worth my while, mate? Jesus, you know how it is, man.
Comfortable, Mullet?
It's sadly ironic it's that tie that's got you into this pickle.
Now, you take all the time you want, mate.
What the fuck you doing, Tone?
Driving down the street with your head in my window.
— What you think I'm doing? — Well, don't, Tone.
You been using dog shit for toothpaste?
Slow down, Tone.
Slow down, Tony!
I don't think so. I think I'll speed up.
Play some music if you like.
I love this track.
I want to know who blagged Brick Top's bookies.
Yes, Mullet?
I think it's two black guys that work from a pawnshop in Smith Street.
Better not be telling me porky pies.
I tell you, it's two black guys work out of a pawnshop on Smith Street.
It's very effective, Tony.
It's not too subtle, but effective.
Are we taking him with us?
It's the Russian.
A Russian?
To be technical he's an Uzbekistanian.
Uzbekistanian? I've been dealing with those sneaky Russian dogs.
— Give me a name. — Yurinov.
Boris.
— Boris The Blade? — Yeah.
As in Boris The Bullet-Dodger?
Why do they call him The Bullet-Dodger?
Because he dodges bullets, Avi.
He won't fight unless we buy his mum a caravan…
…and you nicked all our savings.
In the quiet words of the Virgin Mary, come again?
He's a stubborn bastard. He said he's got to look after his mum.
— Are you taking the piss? — What can I do?
I can't make him do it, can I?
You're not much good to me alive are you, Turkish?
He's a useless shite, that boy. Punish him for me, Errol.
I want that pikey to fight.
Brick Top thought smashing up our arcade…
…might help me to persuade Mickey to fight.
And if that wasn't enough…
…he thought it would be a good idea…
…to burn Mickey's mum's caravan.
While she was asleep in it.
Turkish, get your arse up.
You lot…
…follow me and I'll fucking shoot you.
Calm down, son. Behave yourself.
I've got the gun, son. I think it's you who should behave.
What?
You want to see if I've got the minerals?
Jesus.
Sorry, Mickey.
Did you do it?
Then what are you sorry for?
— What are you two doing here? — Come back!
— You got some tars on you. — Fuck off, Darren.
Fuck off!
How silly do I feel?
His mum is still smoking next to us…
…and I'm asking him to fight.
I'll do the fight before he causes any more carnage.
And if he'd said no…
…it could've been a shite sight worse.
Russians.
I should've known.
Anti-Semite, slippery Cossack sluts.
What do you know about this goyim?
Ex-KGB cancer.
He was a highly trained undercover agent.
He'll be impossible to track down.
Yeah.
There's a strange man who wants to sell us an 84-carat stone.
— Where's he from? — I don't know. Hard to tell.
He's got a thick Russian accent.
Well, what was I supposed to do? He set the dogs on me. Look.
That sneaky Russian! No wonder he didn't want to do it.
First things first. One of us…
…Tyrone, you go to the Russian's. The second you see him, call us.
Now.
He's a right handful, this fella, so watch out.
I hate Russians. I'll take care of him.
All yours, Rosebud, old son.
Not a problem.
Get me to a doctor.
Shoot that fuck! Then, get me to a doctor.
Okay, but first we get the stone.
First the stone. Then a doctor.
And not just any doctor, boychik. A nice Jewish doctor.
Find my friend a nice Jewish doctor!
Get his keys and find out where the stone is.
— I think you got something to tell us. — Take it easy, Rosebud.
Do you want him to be able to talk or not?
What the fuck do you mean, replicas?
They look the shit, don't they? And nobody is gonna argue.
I've got extra loud blanks, just in case.
In case we have to deafen them to death?
— Yeah. — Boris is here.
— We're coming over. Hold him there. — Hold on!
He's not on his own!
We're off.
Very industrious for a Cossack.
Sneaky fucking Russian.
So, where is he?
It's not just he. Three fellas went in the house.
— They locked Boris in the car. — Why didn't you tell us that?
Did they look hard?
They looked messy.
— Let's get out of here. — What about the Russian?
I want you to bury him.
All right.
I think we should get you a new gun.
But this time, try it.
How far to the Russian's?
Be there in a minute.
— Come on, then. — No, no, not so fast, Vinny.
We can't take them now. We're gonna have to follow them.
You shouldn't drink that stuff, anyway.
Why? What's wrong with it?
— It's not in sync with evolution. — Shut up.
How do we get rid of him?
— Do you want to shoot him? — It's a little noisy.
— Do you want to stab him? — That's a little cold-blooded.
— Do you want to kill him or not? — I'll cut him. I got a blade.
That's the spirit.
Do they fire?
Of course they fire.
But how do you know? They're replicas.
What do you know about replicas?
What the fuck are you doing, Solomon?
You wanted to know whether they worked.
I didn't mean try it in the car, Sol, you arsehole!
What are you gonna do with that, pick his teeth?
Wipe the butter off and put it away. There's a proper blade back there.
Cows have only been domesticated in the last 8000 years.
Before, they were running around mad as lorries.
The human digestive system hasn't got used to any dairy products yet.
Well, fuck me, Tommy. What have you been reading?
Let me do you a favour.
Whoops.
You. Want a knife?
No, not me. I wouldn't know what to do.
It's a knife, for God's sake.
What's kept your fork company all these years?
The sharp side, a blunt side. What do you want, a lesson?
Is that Boris?
Oh, Tyrone, what have you done?
What about Rosebud?
Well, you can bring him with you if you like.
But which bit would you like?
They're getting out.
Get down and follow them.
Cover yourself up, Avi.
You're making a scene.
I'm sorry for causing a scene, Tony.
Whoa, you are not taking that dog with you, Vince.
I can't leave him in here, can I?
Pint of the black stuff, landlord.
I thought you wanted to get cleaned up. Bathroom's back there.
— He's left the door open. — Shouldn't think that's a good idea.
Should we go in?
I don't want to go in there. He's a dangerous bastard.
Taken too many disco biscuits in the heat of Russian disputations.
He's got as many of these nuts as he has those nuts.
I don't care if he's got fucking hazelnuts.
I want a gun that works, and I'm gonna tell him.
My God, Tommy, you certainly got those minerals.
Well, come on then, before “zee” Germans get here.
You just tell him who's in charge.
Boris—
You certainly told him.
The Drowning Trout.
Come and pick us up. And Doug…
…sharpish.
I don't want a fuss or to put a bullet in your face…
…but unless you give me what I want, there will be fucking murders.
What's your name?
Shoot him.
Let go of the gun!
So, you're obviously the big dick…
…and that, on either side of you, are your balls.
There are two types of balls:
There are big brave balls, and there are little faggot balls.
These are your last words so make them a prayer.
Dicks have drive and clarity of vision…
…but they're not clever.
They smell pussy and they want a piece of the action.
And you thought you smelled some good old pussy…
…and have brought your two little faggot balls along…
…for a good old time. But you've got your parties muddled up.
There's no pussy here…
…just a dose that'll make you wish you were born a woman.
Like a prick…
…you're having second thoughts.
You're shrinking.
And your two little balls are shrinking with you.
The fact that you've got “Replica” written on the side of your gun…
…and the fact that I've got “Desert Eagle .50”…
…written on the side of mine…
…should precipitate…
…your balls into shrinking, along with your presence.
Now…
…fuck off.
Lock the door.
Lock it!
Give me the case.
Fuck you.
Shoot me.
I will. I'll shoot you.
Pass me case or I shoot you.
You know what?
Fuck you too.
Go ahead and shoot me. You'd be doing me a favour, you Russian fuck.
You! Drop guns.
Fuck you!
You drop your gun!
Okay.
Avi…
…pull your socks up!
— Tyrone? — Fuck it. We're out of here.
Give me case.
Avi…
— …where's the case? — Put the gun away.
What's Boris doing here?
Boris, what are you doing here?
Fuck you!
Where's the case?
— You piece of crap. — Don't take the piss, Boris.
I'll show you.
Fuck you!
Almost had it.
For fuck's sake.
Fuck you and all.
You lucky bastard.
Jeez, it's flawless.
Don't get attached to it. It's going to Brick Top.
Leave the dog here.
— Sol, why don't we just leave? — Because life's too short, Vincent…
…and it'll get a lot shorter if Brick Top wishes.
— Now leave that dog here. — I'm gonna leave the dog here.
Don't worry about it!
And if that pikey mutt does any damage, you're gonna pay.
It's okay.
Sit down. Down.
I don't want to go in there. You'll never see me again.
Well, we won't if you don't.
All right, you give me the stone…
…and I will give it to Brick Top. Yeah?
All right. Give me a minute. It's a bit fiddly.
Why is it down there?
Well, I put it down there in case we got mugged.
You ain't from this planet, are you?
Who is gonna mug two black fellas holding pistols…
…sat in a car that's worth less than your shirt?
Bullet-Tooth Tony and his friend, Desert Eagle .50.
What have they got to do with anything?
They're both staring straight at me.
You should never underestimate the predictability of stupidity.
Now, out of the car.
And leave your water pistols behind.
Look, just tell him the stone's back at the office.
I'll think of something.
Why's he sweating?
Oh, never mind.
Tommy, why is your skin leaking?
— I'm a little worried, actually. — Worried about what?
What happens if the gypsy knocks the other man out?
I mean, he's done it before, hasn't he?
We get murdered before we leave the building, and we get fed to the pigs.
I'm glad to see you're climbing the walls in fucking anxiety.
Pardon my cynicism, but I don't exactly trust the pikey.
Don't think I haven't thunk about that one.
It's his mum's funeral tonight. God bless her.
You know those gypsies like a drink at a wake.
I'm not worried about whether Mickey knocks the other man out.
I'm worried about whether he makes it to the fourth round.
What if he doesn't make it to the fourth round?
We get murdered before leaving the building…
…and I imagine we get fed to the pigs.
So why are you so calm?
— I said— — I heard what you said, Tommy!
It's not as though we've got a choice, now, is it?
You show me how to control a wild fucking gypsy…
…and I'll show you how to control an unhinged, pig-feeding gangster.
Bollocks! I'm going for a walk.
Oh, that fucking dog!
Go on, get the dog.
— It's a bit funky in here, isn't it? — Open a window.
You people live like animals.
Now, where's the stone?
— Come on, where is it? — It's over here.
— Where? Where? — I left it in a box.
It's empty.
I'm getting heartburn. Tony, do something terrible.
No, I'm being serious!
The dog. The dog must have ate it.
Now then, let's have a look, shall we? Tony.
— What? — Look in the dog.
— You mean, “look in the dog”? — I mean, open him up.
It's not a tin of baked beans. What do you mean, open him up?
You know what I mean.
That's a bit strong.
I don't know about this.
No, you can't do this.
It's fucking squeaking!
You never heard a dog squeak before? Give me that goddamn gun!
I'm shooting the dog!
Shoot the fucking dog!
You sneaky fucking bastard.
Thank God for that.
I hate fucking dogs! Come on, Tony.
Tony, come on!
Tony?
— Anything to declare? — Yeah. Don't go to England.
That dog is gonna go back to the campsite. It always does.
How's the dog gonna find the campsite?
Have you smelled the campsite, Sol?
All right. But we have to wait until it gets light.
And we have to get rid of these bodies.
That one with the tea cosy on his head's starting to stink.
Right. Let's stick them in the car, and then go and look for a pig farm.
Mickey.
Mickey!
You feeling all right, Mickey?
Need a drink.
You can't give him a drink!
It's not for him. It's for me.
Ah, mates. Amen.
He's a hard bastard, this Good Night Anderson, so pay attention.
All right, Mickey?
Mickey!
Need to have a shite!
If you see the pikey, Turkish or his girlfriend come out before me…
…shoot the bastards.
Well, come on. We got a fight to go to.
All right, Tom.
— Hope we get a better show this time. — This will make up for it.
Mickey's going down in the fourth.
Terry over there is in charge of the bets.
Now, you have to forgive me.
I'll forgive you if he goes down this time.
— Our lads at the campsite? — They're over there now.
I fucking hate pikeys.
— How long have we gotta stay here? — As long as it takes. Now, shut up.
Fucking hate pikeys.
Is he fucking stoned?
He's like that before a fight.
Do you know when you're going down?
Of course he knows when he's going down.
Fuck-face, who's speaking to you? He asked him, didn't he?
Fuck-face? I like that one, Errol.
I'll remember that next time I climb off your mum.
— Not now. — Gonna be a tragedy of a fight.
Be a nice one. Hell of a way to war.
And they're none of yours.
There's a camp full of pikeys that might not think you're so funny.
Not when they're putting out flames on their children's backs.
Now get up and have a fucking fight.
Three rounds and you're a vegetable, aren't you, pikey!
I'm in charge here. No fucking about, no eye-gouging.
Do your worst. Let's get it on!
What the fuck's going on? You gonna finish him or what?
Talk about saved by the bell.
Do you understand the consequences of knocking that man out?
Do not knock him out, Mickey.
All right, let's break it up.
What, is he fucking deaf?
What is he doing?
Come on and sit.
What the fuck are you doing, Mickey?
You're dancing like a fairy.
They'll hang us if they think it's rigged.
Get out there and hurt him.
But for fuck's sake, do not knock him out.
All he's got to do is stay down.
Now, we are fucked.
He can't stand up.
We're out of here.
Stupid pi key knows Brick Top's got keen-to-kill monkeys with shotguns…
…sitting outside his campsite.
Once the campsite's wiped out, I know it's gonna be the same for us.
Ever cross the road and look the wrong way?
Give me that fucking shooter!
And, hey, presto, there's a car nearly on you.
So, what do you do?
Something very silly.
You freeze. And your life doesn't flash before you…
…because you're too scared to think.
You just freeze and pull a stupid face.
But the pikey didn't. Why?
Because he had plans on running the car over.
It had previously occurred to me…
…that he'd taken the demise of his mother rather lightly.
For every action, there is a reaction.
And a pikey reaction…
…is quite a fucking thing.
Pete, talk to me.
If you want your friend to hear you, talk a lot louder than that.
— Give me that fucking shooter. — I'll give you your shooter, you cunt.
That is when I thought the pikey had money riding on himself.
That's why the bastard never goes down when he's supposed to.
We've been tucked up…
…while he's been cleaning up.
We're worse off now than when we started.
The next day we went to the campsite…
…but the gypsies had disappeared during the night.
Which was probably a good thing…
…considering they'd just buried 12 people somewhere in the area.
Where is he?
He ain't fucking here, that's for sure.
We can't ask a man to fight for us if we can't find him, can we?
You won't find a pikey that doesn't want to be found.
He could be in a campsite in Kampu-fucking-chea by now.
Bollocks! Come on.
— What you doing here? — What's it got to do with you?
So, what you doing here?
I'm taking the dog for a walk. What's the problem?
What's in the car?
Seats and a steering wheel.
What do you know about gypsies?
I know they're not to be trusted.
All right, get your dog. On your way.
Get the dog, Tommy.
The dog.
All right, boy. Come on. Come on, Daisy. No, Daisy!
He loves that dog.
Always playing silly games.
Stop messing about and get it in the car. Tommy!
Good boy. Good boy. Good boy, Daisy, good boy.
Could you tell me…
…why you got a dead man with an arm missing in your boot?
Hey, George…
…is that a tea cosy on his head?
Oh, you love a dog, don't you, Tommy?
Tommy persuaded me to keep the dog.
I eventually agreed, as long as he took it to a vet.
I couldn't stand that squeaking anymore.
The vet found half an undigested shoe, a squeaky toy…
…and an 84-carat diamond lodged in its stomach.
It's quite amazing what can happen in a week.
Still didn't shut it up, though.
So, what do you do?
You go see the man that knows about these sort of things.
So, what do you think?
Do you know anyone who'd be interested?
I might.