What, with Scotland Yard breathing down me neck?
Fuck off!
Do me a favour.
Solomons.
That was round the back, wasn't it? Yeah, down that alley.
We went there to meet what's his name? Mickey? Mick?
Mikey?
No. Harry....
Oh fuck.
- Not Harry Michaels? - That was it!
Harry Michaels. Harry fucking Michaels.
Of course it was. Harry Michaels.
What was it about?
Didn't he have some kind of problem?
What the fuck is he going on about?
No, his brother had a record business. Funny sort of name.
- I can see it spinning round. - They usually do, Dodgy.
Here, someone take him home.
Barry! That was it. Barry.
Deram Records.
- What the fuck am I talking about? - I'm fucked if I know.
You wouldn't think he'd just got out the clinic.
Is he losing it?
- Fucking senile, ain't he? - He's an old cunt.
Here, you'll never guess who I bumped into the other day.
- Larry Lord! - Old Lordy?
He ain't half put on weight. Cor blimey!
Fat as a pig.
Here.
Talking of golden oldies...
...Freddie Mays is getting out next week.
Be good to see old Freddie again after.... What is it?
Thirty years.
Thirty years?
That's a bit of a stretch, ain't it?
- Lock up your daughters. - Lock up your granny more like!
Hello. Where's he gone?
You haven't invited that cunt to the party, have you?
Do me a favour!
You done well for yourself, didn't you?
Come here, pops.
Here you are, granddad.
Go get yourself a nice bird.
What do you take me for?
A cunt?
This is 1968.
I'm playing Jack-the-lad at snooker when all of a sudden Fat Charlie's come in.
Not that he was fat, 'cause he wasn't. He was skinny.
But he was called fat 'cause his mum was fat.
And it's how he was distinguished from the other Charlie, Skinny Charlie.
Now he was fat, but it was too late by then to swap it around.
Anyway, he says to me:
Go and see Freddie Mays.
Fucking hell! My heart was going mad.
Freddie Mays.
Freddie Mays, "The Butcher of Mayfair."
The man was a legend.
He'd only done a copper in Bethnal Green and got away with it for fuck's sake!
That's how you get to the top: Kill a bent cop. Make a splash.
After that Freddie was king.
What a place!
A fucking palace.
In he came.
There he was in those handmade Italian leather shoes, silk socks.
The suit? Do me a favour. The man was class. A class act.
Style. "Im-fucking-peccable."
What a man.
I mean a real man.
- All right, how are you doing? - Yeah, good.
- Do you want a drink? - Yeah.
'Cause you look a bit scared, son. Are you scared?
No.
Scared?
I didn't need a drink. I was drunk enough.
Drunk on the smell of Italian leather.
Arse-holed on the smell of success.
I hear you've been hanging around with Mad John.
Yeah.
This incident last week. Apparently you handled yourself quite well.
Yeah.
- Trevor heard that as well, didn't you? - Yeah.
- He thinks you're a bit of a laugh, I think. - Does he?
He's a bit of a wide boy, our Trevor. Bit of an independent thinker.
Enjoys taking the piss. The things he gets up to.
You see, when you work for me you do things my way.
There's no going behind my back. There's no going out on your own.
And there's no independent fucking thinking.
Fuck!
Freddie.
Because it irks me.
I can't fucking see.
Yeah. That's the word, "irks."
Anyway...
...it appears we have a vacancy.
You're in, son.
Straight off he gives me £500.
£500 in my hands! I mean, this is 1968.
And do me a favour. Take out the rubbish.
And get yourself kitted out.
There we were, suited up. Wasted on these fucking toe-rags.
- Come here, you cunt! - Come here, boy!
Come here, cunt!
No!
- Give me till next Thursday, please. - Thursday never fucking comes!
"Give me till next Thursday"? Slags.
It's pathetic. Fucking excuses. All sorts!
From "A" to "Z." The whole alphabet.
Jokers.
Two minutes later they're in the Green Man giving it the big 'un...
...like you're Harry the spastic or something.
Hold him.
- Wait a minute! What's the problem? - You are!
- Still, nothing I can't fix with a few tools. - Come on, don't do anything stupid.
What, like wasting my time speaking to an arsehole like you?
Remember the last time we went through all this?
That put a smile on your face, didn't it?
Leather seats? You want to open the windows in this weather.
Freddie, come on. It's not even my taxi.
It's not even my fucking taxi, you bastard!
Get off me. What are you looking at?
Freddie, don't fucking do it, you bastard!
What are you looking at?
What is it with you Cockneys?
There you go. I've got the name of a bloke who'll take a look at that for you.
Now let's see that money.
By tomorrow.
- Come on! - Freddie!
You cunt!
Get back to work, you lazy cunt!
No, please!
Now, let's get this car back on the road.
Come on, Freddie. No, please!
Stop! No!
Now, Giggler, you stay lucky.
Get it off me!
- You all right? - Yeah.
Nice.
Very nice.
Creative.
Like that. Deserves a drink. What are you having?
Put it on. Here we go.
Is it on? Here we go.
Go on, Billy.
My old woman loves this one. Pity she ain't here.
I like that.
Nice bit of bubbly, darling?
Not right now.
It's good for the fucking carpet, ain't it?
Charlie, you got no sausage rolls?
He's all right.
Hold tight.
All together now.
If we had a good day, well, we always had a good day...
...we'd end up at Fat Charlie's.
The whole gang of us.
There was Mad John.
Yeah, well, he was really mad.
Billy, not-so-smart.
Roland, always with two birds.
Derek, one would do for him.
Eddie. Poor little Eddie.
And Tommy, Freddie's old house pet.
Happy as fucking monkeys in a cage.
Shag pile and Babycham.
No ambition. Not like Freddie.
Not like me.
Yeah?
Shut up a minute.
Turn that fucking music off!
Eddie! Turn it off!
- What? - Turn the music up, Eddie.
- Turn the music on now, man. - He's on the phone.
Right.
Boys, get in the car.
The club is on fire.
- Did he say the club's on fire? - See you later.
Fucking hell. Come on, Derek. Let's get a move on.
Derek, come on!
- How long you been here? - Just got here. Just pulled up.
- Do you see anyone? - No.
- No one on the door? - Supposed to be Joe. Didn't turn up.
I don't know where he is.
- Everyone get out all right? - Yeah, I think so.
Tell him.
I'm really sorry.
What's Freddie going to do? Take it out of your bleeding wages, girl? Tell him.
There were two of them. Table six.
Ordered champagne. They didn't eat nothing.
Couple of minutes after they left....
Lennie Taylor.
Regulars, were they?
All right. It was an oversight. She's obviously paid for it.
All right, angel, try and describe them.
What the hell is he up to?
Lennie Taylor's goons...
...torching our club.
Lennie Taylor, you cunt. Think you're better than Freddie Mays?
Lennie fucking Taylor.
You little piece of dead meat.
Pea-brained little fuck!
What did I say?
What did I fucking say?
Right out in the open.
What did I tell you?
And what do you do? What do you go and do?
- It was him. He was one of them. - You shut your fucking mouth!
Well, what was I supposed to do? He started the fire. He fucking shot at me.
Fuck!
Being flash and a coon, Roland had to be different.
Goes in with the shaft. Bends the fucking thing.
I tell a lie, breaks the fucking thing.
Mad John's doing his feet. Meticulous attention to detail.
Billy's doing his ribs.
Stone-Age xylophone.
- He'll be all right. - All right?
The cunt is in traction for the next nine months.
Might need a fucking wheelchair! Plastic surgeon. "AII right"?
It is not fucking all right. It is all fucking wrong, you morons!
Saw him about a year later. Some scarring, bit of a limp.
Seemed all right. He bought me a drink. What can I say?
He misbehaved. Got punished.
Fuck! Fore!
Should have seen the looks we got when we brought the clubs back.
Remember what I said? This is a delicate matter.
What do you do? You go and give the cunt a handicap.
Fucking grief you've caused me.
"Fuck what Freddie says," is that it?
Is it? Well, there's the chair. Who wants it?
There it is. Come on, who wants it?
Come on, who wants it?
No.
You ain't got the bollocks. None of you.
And you, you cunt!
Striding down the road like John Wayne looking for a fucking bullet in your brain.
Arse-hole!
Right.
Now I must go and speak to that piece of shit Lennie Taylor.
No, sit down.
You're coming with me.
- What, now? - Yes, now.
Don't use it.
- What you having? - Whisky.
That's it.
- No, it's on the house. - No, that's for you.
Fucking hell. Thanks.
Well, well. This is nice.
- Hello, Freddie. - All right, Lennie?
- Long time no see. - Yeah.
Bobby.
Take a walk.
- I went to see him today. - Yeah?
Hospital.
No, no thanks.
Yeah, I took him up some flowers, you know, some grapes.
Nice.
I should have took him up some fucking Nesquik.
Cunt's got no teeth.
I thought me and you had sorted out our problems long ago.
- Did you? - Yes, I fucking did!
So, what's this about then? Why are you here?
Why do you think I'm here?
You want to go to war with me, Freddie? Is that what this is about?
Look at me. Camel cunt. Look at me.
Look into my fucking eyes.
Coming in here, poncing up like a Fry's Turkish Delight!
Come on then, let's go outside on the cobbles. We'll have a straightener.
We'll sort this out once and for all. Who's who and what's what!
What, you scared?
Lennie, why don't you just sit down?
Sit down?
You fucking coming in my club and telling me to sit down.
You fucking long streak of fucking piss!
Lennie, don't fuck around. My place was petrol-bombed.
Oh, it's about that, this, is it?
£4,000 it cost me. Fucking £4,000.
Oh, Freddie.
Listen, when I heard about that, well, I couldn't have been more surprised.
I was gutted.
But I hope you ain't insinuating that had anything to do with me.
'Cause that'd be wrong.
My conscience is clear.
Look at me.
Look into my fucking eyes.
I'm not an arsonist.
If I wanted to come after you, Freddie...
...I'll fucking come after you.
Maxie....
Oh dear, Maxie...
...just you wait, son.
But that's nothing compared to what happened to Lennie Taylor.
He's a good boy, though, ain't he?
He ain't scared, is he?
All right.
Now let's just say he did work for me.
Did.
That's not to say I gave the order, is it?
Let's just say, for the sake of argument...
...that someone's come in your club...
...with a lighted cigarette.
They've dropped it in a bin, and a subsequent fire's ensued.
And let's just say, for the same sake of argument...
...that my man slipped in the showers.
Or someone's dropped a fucking taxi on his head.
Well, these things happen.
How does that sound? Sounds about right, doesn't it?
Yeah, "sounds about right, doesn't it"?
Come here.
Bobby, bubbly! Let's have a nice little drink, eh?
Fucking warm champagne.
What a fucking prick.
Listen.
- You want to go and get a proper drink? - Yeah, go on then.
Right.
He had on that grey two-piece mohair.
That was a great suit. Immaculate cut. Italian.
Always with a white shirt.
Always.
His ruby cufflinks.
I loved them. I fucking loved them.
Beautiful watch. Wafer-thin. Solid gold.
Hardly know you'd got it on. Bond Street.
£2,500.
You like this tiepin, don't you?
Here. Have it.
Hi. Sorry I'm late, it's pissing down.
Fuck it. Don't worry about it.
Mel went on for you.
Oh, I bet she's really pissed off with me.
Livid. Called you everything.
"Fucking new girl. Comes in late. Second day. Bleedin' tart.
"I'm earning her fucking money for her."
I'm joking. I'm not serious. I'm making it up.
- She don't care. What's your name again? - Karen.
We drinking wine?
- Yeah, why? - It's a bit suspect, isn't it?
Good for the blood.
Freddie Mays is in.
- On his own? - Nah, with a mate.
Who's Freddie Mays?
- Table two, but he's mine. - Only he don't know that yet.
Right, let's see.
Chateaubriand. Rare.
- Asparagus. Potatoes gratin. - Bollocks.
No dessert. Black coffee, espresso.
It's called espresso.
Might even order a cigar after, Cuban.
See what you make of that. Blow your fucking mind.
- You reckon? - Yeah.
And I've organised some company.
What do you mean?
Well, you know, couple of blokes on our own, drinking wine.
Bit suspect, ain't it?
- Mel and you. What's your name? - Karen.
Right. I want both of you to go out there...
...and keep Freddie Mays and his goon company.
You didn't mention that in the ad.
I'm not asking you to suck him off, just keep him company.
He's clean, he's well-mannered and he's rich.
And if you like him, be my guest. Fuck off and marry the cunt.
Count yourself lucky girl, he's a nice guy. Not like most of them in here.
Mel, how many times have I told you don't bad-mouth the club.
This is a class emporium.
- Where are you going? - I'm going to the bog.
Table two, Karen. I'll be over in a minute.
Mind if I sit down?
Suit yourself.
I was told you were well-mannered, Mr. Freddie Mays.
What makes you think I'm Freddie Mays?
Women's intuition. I also heard that you were quite the gentleman.
- Did you now? - Yeah. And that you were rich.
- So you're a fucking gold digger then? - No, I'm not a fucking gold digger.
- I'm a normal working girl. - So you're a hooker?
Well, Freddie Mays don't pay for it.
And I don't sit around in clubs taking shit from gangsters.
So much for the gentleman crap.
I suppose they have to talk you up, you being important and that.
Karen, I want you to meet Freddie Mays.
Hello.
Hello, Mr. Mays.
And you are?
Mel, why don't you treat my friend here to a dance?
Oh, fuck off. You're having a laugh, ain't you?
Sorry about the table manners. Come on.
Come on, he don't bite.
Please, sit down.
Sorry about that.
Who is he?
Just a...
...business associate.
Here. Let me do that.
Thank you.
- Sorry, do you want one? - No, thank you.
I have to look after my voice.
- What's that then? You an actress? - No.
- Could be an actress. Face like that. - Thank you. Appreciated.
Don't mention it.
No, I sing.
You sing?
- What, here? - No, I dance here.
Jane, June, Jackie, Jessica, Julie...
...she got bumped pretty sharpish.
That's the "J"s. On to "K."
"K" for Karen.
Freddie Mays and all his skinny birds.
Oh dear, Freddie.
Oh dear, oh dear.
Sing something then.
Go on. Get up and sing something.
Get up and sing something? I thought you meant here at the table.
- No. I mean get up. Up on the stage. - Yeah, right.
Any requests, Mr. Mays?
Freddie. Go on, I'm serious.
Well, I don't think the management would approve.
Don't worry about the management.
I was talking to the girls backstage.
- Told me you was a bit of an animal. - Oh, really? Oh, did they?
Did they say which bit?
- Did they specify? No? - No.
Anyway, don't change the subject. Hang on.
- What? - Hang on. Move.
Just another bird.
Just another skinny fucking bird.
Good evening, everyone.
This is for Mr. Mays.
Freddie.
Shut up.
- You like her then? - I said, shut it.
And you, Mr. Freddie Mays...
...had to go swimming in her eyes...
...dancing in her hair.
You had to slip into her mouth, slide over her tongue.
Fall down her throat, deep down into her belly.
Right into her blood.
You had to fall asleep...
...wrapped around her beautiful beating heart.
Six months later we're in the Zephyr, me and Roland...
...going past the Double Six.
Hold up, park up along here.
Roland's pulled over.
Ain't that Lennie Taylor?
But who's that there with him?
It ain't.
It can't be.
It is.
It fucking well is. That's Eddie Miller.
Eddie? Eddie Miller?
That was Eddie Miller talking to Lennie Taylor.
What would Lennie Taylor want with a little shit like Eddie Miller?
Poor little Eddie.
Run, rabbit, run.
I can't believe it.
I just can't believe it.
That dirty little redneck Judas.
I bet....
Do you know something, Roland?
I have never understood one fucking word you've ever said to me.
So shut the fuck up. Let me deal with this.
Sheila.
Who is it?
It's the big bad wolf.
It's you.
I was just making some sweet tea.
Would you like a cup?
Fuck me. Hello, Roland.
Do you take sugar?
Sit down, Eddie.
What's that?
That?
That's my favourite axe, Eddie.
"Oh gentle Jesus, meek and mild...
"...please bless all babies...
"...make children safe at night."
Eddie, look at me.
I can't.
Eddie...
...look at my fucking eyes.
Look in my fucking eyes.
Get up. Come on.
Come on. It's all right.
Come on. Sit down.
All right? You all right?
Now listen.
Deep breaths.
What did Lennie Taylor want, Eddie?
Lennie?
What did Lennie Taylor want, Eddie?
I was having a light ale and minding my own fucking business.
You know me. You know what I'm like.
No, I don't.
Look, Maxie picked me up.
I didn't know what they wanted.
I'm a thief. I'm just a fucking thief.
For fuck's sake. All that has nothing to do with me!
You couldn't rob your own arse-hole.
Freddie, he's a lovely man.
Yeah.
He's been good to me, but his business...
...that's none of my business.
I was in the Prussia minding my own business, having a light ale.
The place goes quiet.
I hear my name, "Eddie." Oh, fuck, it's Maxie.
It's Maxie King. Camel coat. Nutty.
You are so fucking boring.
Are you bored? I'm bored.
- What's he want? - You're being boring.
Lennie Taylor wants to see me.
I've got to go and see him. I can't not go.
What am I going to do? Not go?
And then what?
So I'm squashed in beside Maxie and this other big bloke...
...in the back of this Rover.
No one's saying nothing. Dead quiet.
Get on with it.
They take me to this club.
The Double Six.
That's right. Oh, fuck!
Look, Lennie was there.
And he was asking questions about Freddie.
But I told him to fuck off.
Did you?
Yeah.
I said, "I'll have a drink but don't go asking me questions about Freddie."
What sort of questions, Eddie?
What sort of questions?
What sort of questions, Eddie?
I can't fucking remember.
I think you better try, don't you?
Lennie, he reckons Freddie's losing it.
Does he?
Yeah, you know...
...love-makes-you-fat sort of thing.
"Love makes you fat."
Go on.
Well, that's it.
That's it.
It's a lovely place the Double Six.
It's swanky.
Loads of crumpet.
Lennie seemed half decent, to be honest.
Did he?
I can't remember what was said, but I do know that I didn't say nothing.
Look at me.
Look at my eyes.
I'm telling you the truth.
Eddie.
Look at my fucking eyes.
They're going to do Freddie. Oh, fuck!
Friday.
Outside the Candelabra.
God!
Look, listen, I've told you now. Listen, I've told you.
You got to warn Freddie.
You have to, please! Tell Freddie, please!
Shall we go and tell him?
We'll go and tell him. We'll go, eh?
We'll go and warn him, eh?
I love that smell. Do you like that smell?
That kiddie smell.
It's lovely.
Kids, eh?
Be the fucking death of you.
Eddie, come here.
I want you to look at me.
I don't....
- Eddie? - I can't.
- Look at me. - I can't.
- Look at me. - I can't do it.
- I can't. - Look what you've gone and done, eh?
Look what a mess you've made, eh?
Come on, eh?
I can't look.
Look, I can't.
Look, Eddie put your hands down.
Fuck!
Just look at me.
That's all I'm asking. Look at me.
That's it.
Weren't so difficult, was it?
All right.
It's all right.
All right.
Ta, Eddie.
No, I'm telling you.
Lennie Taylor is nothing but a little....
Driving up the embankment...
...Roland's talking about going straight to tell Freddie.
Freddie Mays...
...I know something you don't.
Pull over, Roland.
Puncture.
Where's this puncture then?
It's not your side? Felt like it was your side.
Well, me no see nothing.
What are you trying to do?
I was stroking your frizzy hair.
Oh, fucking things!
Charlie, let me do that. You take the tea in.
Go on.
Wrong knife.
Cheers, Charlie.
Ta.
- All right, girl? - Yeah.
- Hear you're putting on a bit of weight. - Shut up.
- I'll have one of them. - Here.
Cheers.
Ta, darling.
Fucking "headless," it said.
Fucking torso.
- Imagine that, eh? - John.
Karen, maybe you should go down and wait in the car, eh?
Maybe you should go down and wait in the car, eh?
Take the shortcut through the fucking window.
It's all right, he's just a bit old-fashioned.
Don't think I want to be here, anyway.
You want to watch your mouth.
- Right, what were we saying? - It has to be him.
Let's look at it. All we know is a body has been found.
A Black body and one of ours is missing.
It's Roland. He's been missing for five days, Freddie.
Don't mean it's him, does it?
What we're getting to is this:
If it is him, it's them.
It's two and two now. It all adds up.
Fucking right, it does!
What the fuck are we waiting for, eh? Let's go now.
Hit them now!
We have to get uglier.
Take the initiative. I'll show those bastards torsos.
I'll cut their fucking arms off!
He never deserved it. Poor bastard.
Come on, Freddie. Say fucking something.
Let's just go now.
- Let's just hit them now! - Hold on!
Think about it. Why Roland?
Eh? I mean why not you?
Or Tommy? Me?
All of us in one go. Bang. Beautiful. Perfect.
Fucking happy.
Now that would be a takeover.
That'd be nice. That I can see.
But this...
...don't make sense.
Something does not make sense.
Maybe it was meant for me.
- Maybe it was meant for you. - Shut it!
What if it ain't him? What if it's someone else?
- Who the fuck else could it-- - Someone else!
- I just think we should-- - Sit down!
All right.
Right.
This is what we do:
We wait.
All right. You all got that? We wait.
We give it a couple of days.
And if he don't turn up, all right.
So be it.
All hell breaks loose.
All right?
All right, Freddie?
What's going on then?
- He gone deaf or something? - He doesn't want to be disturbed.
By anybody.
I don't think that means me, does it?
That's what he said.
Cup of tea?
Bomb, was it?
No, we're redecorating.
Are we? That's nice, isn't it?
You let a bird into your life, the next thing you know the walls are all poof pink.
There's potpourri all over the bog and knickers in your cornflakes.
So, who's he in there with or is that a secret?
No, he's in with Tommy...
...and Roland's sister.
Listen, Karen.
We might have got off on the wrong foot...
- ...and if it's my fault, I'm sorry. - We can always start again.
You know, you're not bad looking.
Not bad looking?
- I'm a prince, darling. - Yeah?
Yeah.
Why don't you find yourself a nice girl? I could help if you like.
Do me a favour. I've got so many birds they're coming out my ears.
I can't even hear myself think.
What's behind this then?
Freddie's not allowed to see it yet.
What do you think then?
Do you know, it's not a bad likeness of Freddie.
Nose a bit on the large side, though.
Very funny.
You know Freddie's mad about horses...
...so I thought it might make a nice engagement present.
You what?
An engagement present.
As in, me and Freddie getting married.
- Didn't he tell you? - He fucking didn't.
Are you up the duff or something? Can we hear the patter of tiny feet?
- No, not yet. - "No, not yet."
Bet you're over the moon, ain't you?
Happy.
That's a nasty way of putting it.
I've never been happier.
And I'd have thought any mate of Freddie's would be happy for him, too.
What's your problem?
Ain't me that's got a problem, darling, is it?
I'm not surprised he didn't tell you.
Not exactly over the moon, are you?
Yeah, there's something really ugly eating away inside of you.
I can see it in your eyes. I could see it a mile off.
Well, I love Freddie. I'd kill for that man.
I don't give a fuck whether you approve or not.
I'm going to look after him. Whatever it takes.
Do you understand me?
Keep your fucking knickers on.
Do you understand?
Yeah, I'm sorry.
Yeah.
I wish the best for you.
Really hope you're happy together.
- Yeah? - Yeah, really.
Congratulations.
Tell Freddie I'll catch up with him later.
Tell him...
...I'm happy for him, for the both of you.
And...
...Karen...
...take good care of him, eh?
Well, what was he going to do?
Crack open the bubbly, smiling from ear to ear, "I'm getting engaged!"
"Blimey, you ain't?" "Fuck me!" "Nice one!" "Congrats!"
"You kept that under your hat." "You romantic old so-and-so."
And I'm thinking:
"Love makes you fat."
Run!
- Run for fuck's sake! - This is for you, you fucking cunt!
Get off him!
Fucking gun that doesn't work!
- Get off him! - Take that!
You bastards.
You want something done, you gotta do it yourself.
Where do you think you're going? You get back inside, you cunt!
Get off him!
Maxie, shut her up!
Get off him!
Maxie, please!
- Not the girl! - Get off me!
Please!
Cut her.
Please!
Shoot me!
What a comedy. What a skirmish.
Look at his suit now, tatters.
The bird's fucked, but Freddie's still twitching.
He starts to move.
He tries to get up, falls back.
Hopeless.
Tries again.
Go on, son.
No! He's pulling himself along the pavement.
Trail of blood like a bleedin' slug.
Come on, Freddie, two more yards.
Fucking lying there on your leather settee.
That's it, Romeo.
Go on, give her a kiss.
Work the old magic.
I've got a machete on the back seat...
...a chopper on the passenger seat and this old Beretta tucked in me trousers.
And I'm fucking happy.
Green light.
I pull up outside where Lennie Taylor lives.
124, Jubilee Mansions.
Here's me outside where Lennie Taylor lives.
Axe.
Gun.
I'm out of the car...
...walking.
See a car.
Pick it up. M.O.T.
Throw it a million miles.
Walking.
Door.
Corridor.
Lift.
I'm Superman.
King fucking Kong.
I'm filling up.
Fifth floor.
Stop. Open.
Out.
Corridor.
Walking.
Machete.
Axe. Gun.
Chisel.
Tools.
118. Fucking leather settee.
120. Fucking handmade shoes.
122. Draw back the hammer.
124. Coming up to 124. I'm electric. I'm frightening. I'm terrible!
We're in.
Don't mind if I do, Lennie.
You bastard!
God, you cunt!
You fucking cunt!
You better make a fucking good job of this!
You better make a fucking good job of me!
Here, have a clock.
You bastard.
Come on.
Could you fucking finish me off?
You fucking come and finish me off!
What, you lost your fucking bottle, have you?
Lost the taste for it, have you? Come on, fucking get on with it!
You ready?
Yes.
Who are you?
Who are you? You're nothing.
You're nothing.
Look at you, lying there like a...
...piece of...
...meat.
- Who is it? - Tommy.
Get dressed.
Why? What's wrong?
I'll be in the car.
Are you going to tell me what this is all about, or what?
Freddie and Karen were jumped outside the Candelabra.
You what?
They cut Karen's throat.
Fuck me.
And what about Freddie?
Right, it's like this...
...he's not dead, but he's in a bad way.
He's been cut to ribbons.
Had three hundred something stitches, shot three times.
He's on the lot. Morphine, you name it.
They're going to try and operate again in the morning. It's touch and go.
But he's strong.
No.
Look, you fucker, I want to see Freddie. I want to see my mate.
Not possible. They won't let you see him.
There's a situation.
- What fucking situation? - A serious fucking situation, Tommy boy.
Fuck off!
Listen to me closely, Tommy.
Lennie Taylor has been killed.
- What? - Tonight. Hacked to death at home.
Do you understand what that means?
Christmas has come early for my colleagues up there.
They're charging Freddie with murder.
It's perfect.
They've been after him for a long time. It's a win double.
Freddie didn't kill Lennie.
But what it comes down to is Freddie is finished.
- Now, piss off. - Yeah?
I want to see Freddie.
Tommy, for fuck--
You are some cunt.
- It's just money to you, ain't it? - All right, Tom.
Is there an admission price for this fucking freak show?
Is that it?
- Is that fucking it? - Fuck off.
Fuck off.
Tommy?
You all right, mate?
Jesus.
All right, son?
Put that in your hand.
All right, mate?
Poor fella.
Jesus.
All right.
Silence in court.
You show them!
Old Judge Mumbling said in all his however many fucking years...
...the murder of Leonard Bertram Taylor...
We laughed.
Silence in court!
...was the most barbaric case he'd ever had the misfortune to try.
Judge told Freddie he was an animal.
And gave him thirty years, to serve a minimum of twenty-five.
How's that?
Take him down.
Fuck off!
- You arse-hole! - You can't do that!
British Justice, eh!
What the fuck's that about?
Poor old Freddie.
The king is dead.
I told you. I fucking told you!
Someone should listen to me for a fucking change.
- None of this would have happened. - You was right.
Well, so what? It's no fucking good to us now.
- Fucking right I was right. - Come on, Tommy!
Maxie? What's his fucking fate?
That's why we're here. Not all this old fanny.
Don't be fucking stupid.
- Don't you call me fucking stupid! - All right.
He's right, we can't go fucking near him.
- Anything happens to Maxie, we're fucked. - There's no way.
There's no way on this fucking earth is that cunt, that fucking cunt...
...going to do what he done to Freddie and get away with it.
There's no way he's going to avoid me. No fucking way--
It's a very difficult time. I'm trying to deal with it as best I know.
This ain't helping.
He's dead.
- He's fucking dead. - All right. Just calm down.
Everyone, just fucking calm down.
Act like men.
Use your fucking loaf.
You got something to say?
'Cause if you have, say it.
I want to hear it. Fucking say it.
- Are you sure? - Fucking say it!
He's right. You're wrong.
Fucking right I'm right.
Are you saying I'm not up to it?
I don't fucking know, Tommy, you tell me.
You cunt!
- I'll fucking-- - You'll fucking....
What?
What are you going to do?
Start crying?
Sit down, Tommy.
Get Tommy a drink, eh?
The king is dead.
Long live the king.
1970, a new decade.
No more Double Six.
No more Freddie.
No more Lennie.
Bye-bye, Maxie.
Fucking monster.
1972.
Nothing can touch us. We're moving, raking it in.
Way out of Freddie's league. Sort of thing he'd never have dreamed of.
I'm going to fucking knock you out!
January 1, 1973.
Grand opening. The casino. Black tie.
Freddie always said gambling was for mugs.
It is. Took £2 million in the first year.
Never understood that thing Freddie had for the horses till I bought one.
Brown Bomber. Earnt me a packet.
Then disaster, it won!
1976. Tommy's wife dies.
So he retires.
Lost his bottle since Freddie got all banged up.
1977.
1978, 1979, 1980.
1981, I've got 300 people working for me.
Top that, Mr. Mays.
1982 to 1986: cocaine.
Fucking fortunes.
Fucking wanker, don't you fucking knock? Look at this gear, eh?
1987, 1988: Billy offends me.
The one good thing I learned from Freddie: Keep your own house in order.
1993: Maggie's children suffer the consequences of the 1980s.
Don't we all? Do we fuck!
Business is as good as ever.
Poor little merchant bankers?
Still got enough for a little toot, though.
1994: Not such a good year.
Mad John murders his wife in a domestic. Nothing I could do about it.
As it happens in the supermarket. Fucking sad way to go down.
Taken out of the fucking place like a poxy, junkie shoplifter.
Last of Freddie's boys. End of an era.
1995, 1996, 1997, 1998...
...1999.
Freddie Mays is back.
Lock up your daughters.
Chinatown.
Well, Freddie...
...all those years.
How's it been, son?
Tough? Was it tough?
Tough on you? Hard to bear?
Still...
...for my part, I'd just like to say, Freddie, congratulations.
You're out, fit and well, and I'm happy.
Fuck off. Look at me now, Freddie.
You want a job? Me and you, Freddie.
Just like the old days.
Can't do it.
Hello, Eddie.
Hello.
It's been a while, eh, Eddie?
We really should catch up.
Be nice catching up. Let's catch up.
Old mum well?
Good. Great. Magic.
What the fuck is going on with Freddie Mays?
When did he get out?
Wednesday.
- Do you mind if I get back to work? - No.
Let's go somewhere more private.
I don't like it. Nobody told me he was getting out.
You don't know about the wedding then?
Wedding? What fucking wedding?
Freddie's wedding.
Everyone will be there.
He's well, too, from what I hear.
He's got a B.A.
Bachelor of Arts.
Who's he marrying anyway? Somebody he met in the nick?
Karen. You remember.
Singer, lovely face, throat cut, nearly died.
You ever kill somebody, Eddie?
- How do you mean? - Well, you know, like kill 'em.
What, like dead?
Yeah, dead.
I'd have to say no.
Why not?
Well, I don't want to.
I think you could if it was somebody you really hated, you know?
What, and he's done something like, to me and my family?
Now look, I want to ask you a question.
No ifs or buts.
I want a straight answer.
Who...
...if you had to choose, would you sooner kill?
Me or Freddie Mays?
- Truth? - Yeah, truth.
You.
Sorry.
- Can I ask you a question? - Yeah. Fire away.
Why haven't you killed me?
Who says I'm not going to?
Come on.
Karen?
Karen.
Imagine bumping into you after all this time. It must be what?
- Twenty-five, thirty years? - You know exactly how long it's been.
I thought maybe you were dead.
Healed up nice.
I know why you're here. You just stay away from Freddie.
He don't want to see you or hear from you.
He don't want to smell you and your cheap fucking aftershave.
Me and Freddie have waited too long for some evil punks to fuck things up.
That's not very ladylike, is it?
Fucking freak.
You stay away.
I told you I'd kill for Freddie.
Yeah. You told me a lot of things.
"You're not a bad looking bloke. Why don't you find yourself a nice girl?"
What makes you think that you're so special?
You know, I wouldn't mind a wife. Someone to love.
I deserve some love.
I want a Valentine's card.
I don't care if she is a slag, I'll look after her all right.
Spoil her.
Buy her stuff.
Maybe I'd like to settle down some time, eh?
But nobody ever thinks about that...
...I mean, nobody ever thinks about me! Well, fuck you!
You tell Freddie I want to see him or there'll be consequences.
Serious fucking consequences!
Get out of my fucking way, you cunt!
So, Freddie...
...heard you was getting hitched.
Getting yourself a ball and chain.
No, I didn't get no invitation. Not to worry.
I couldn't have gone anyway. Business.
Still, hope it all goes well.
And for my part, Freddie, I'd just like to say congratulations.
You're out. Fit and well.
And well...
...here's to you.
Love what you've done with the place.
Sit down, Freddie.
Been a long time.
Yeah.
Like a cup of tea?
Yeah, that'd be nice.
So, Freddie...
...how are you doing?
All right.
- Yeah? - Yeah.
Look, what do you want?
I hear you're getting married?
At some point, yeah.
A little something. Go on, take it.
Go on, take it.
It's for you, take it.
Freddie, I want you to take it. I want you to take the money.
I took your money. You take my money. It's for you.
Don't take it.
What do you want?
The flat, is that it? You want to move in?
You and Karen? Cosy Karen?
Well, take it. I'm out of here.
Redecorate.
Why not, eh? New carpet. Lick of paint.
Lovely! Patter of tiny feet.
Yeah, well, you're probably past it. Can't get it up.
And she's no spring chicken.
Probably come out all twisted and mental.
Baby Freddie. Spastic.
Well, she's barren probably. All dried up.
But you could always adopt.
What do you want?
The shoes, is it?
The handmade fucking shoes?
Here, they're yours. Have them.
Here, take them. They're yours.
The tiepin? Oh, you like the tiepin?
Oh, fuck me. It's even got your initials on it.
Take it! Have it! Here, it's yours! Have it!
You're mad.
No, it's you.
You drive me fucking nuts, you do.
I don't want your flat.
I don't want your shoes and I don't want your fucking tiepin.
That Freddie's dead.
What is it with you? I mean, where are you coming from?
Explain it to me, because I'd like to know.
Really, I would. I want to know.
What have you got that I haven't got?
I've done better than you. I'm the better man.
Wasn't me who spent fuck knows how long inside.
Fucking professor.
What? You think I wouldn't kill you? Do you think that, do you?
Just 'cause it's you. Is that what you think, is it?
Well, I can kill somebody. It's easy.
It's easy to kill somebody. It's nothing.
I avenged you.
I didn't want to kill Lennie Taylor.
I did not want to kill Lennie Taylor.
I didn't enjoy it.
Had to be done. Somebody had to do it.
Yeah.
Karen's spent the past thirty years telling me the whole thing stank of you.
That bitch.
Take it.
Pick it up.
There it is. Pick it up.
Shoot me.
Shoot me! Shoot me, you cunt!
Who do you think you are?
Pathetic.
Yeah.
Oh, yeah, I was.
I was vain, I was a prat.
"Handsome Freddie Mays, Butcher of Mayfair."
What a load of old cobblers.
Who'd want to be Freddie Mays?
Fuck off.
You're a nutter.
Yeah, well, I ain't going away, so you may as well kill me.
Come on! Kill me! Come on!
For old time's sake. Down memory lane and all that.
I was there.
"Get your hands off her! Karen!
"Maxie, please, no. Not the girl.
"Not the girl. No!"
Sound familiar? Huh?
You crawling around in your own blood.
Pathetic.
Hilarious.
Maxie has his knife out.
No!
Come on, Freddie, come on!
Maxie with his blade digging in her flesh, ripping that lovely throat.
- Karen! - No!
And you going, "shoot me, shoot me," like a sick cow.
Come on, Freddie.
Come on.
Come on, Freddie, two more yards.
What? What's that she's saying?
Love you....
What's that?
"I love you, Freddie.
"I love you. I love you, Freddie."
Does she still love you?
With your "pruney" bollocks and your old bird's hair?
Handsome Freddie Mays.
How can she still love you? Seeing what you are.
I mean, what are you? A cunt? What are you? Milky tea?
Yeah, come on, Romeo.
Give her a kiss. Work the old magic.
Come on, Freddie.
Come on, my son.
Shoot me.
Shoot me!
Kill me!
Shoot me!
No.
I'm just an old man in a crap suit.
I like it that way.
Bitch!
One day I'll catch up with you.
You want a war?
I'll give you a fucking war, one arm tied behind me back.
I'll shoot you.
Blow you to kingdom come.
They'll need a dustpan and brush to scrape you off the walls.
Make mincemeat out of you.
Pie and mash. Puddles of blood.
I'll leave you lying there, the rotten lot of you.
Calling me a cunt.
Calling me a cunt!
Calling me a cunt! You cunt!
I'll fucking kick you.
I'll kick fuck out of you. I'll kick you to fuck, you....
Fuck you! Rip your face off.
I'll fucking....
I'll fucking...
...burn you.
Freddie Mays.
I don't need you, Freddie.
Who am I?
I'm Superman! King Fucking Kong!
I can pick you up and throw you a million miles.
I'm number one.
Number fucking one.
I'm number one.
Number fucking one!
Number one. Number one!
One, one!
Number fucking one!
I'm number one.
Fuck you!
Yeah, go on!
Number one.