Your dad's out. Busted out with Hate 'Em All this afternoon.
He's broken out to get the gold.
Get him off the street, just get him off the street.
Oi! They've blow-piped us, Hate 'Em.
Oh, look what
the pussycat dragged in.
You'll get nothing from me.
Do you think your friend Albert Hill
would take the same punishment for you? - I do.
Nas Stone is coming to London.
And we're happy about this why?
He wants the rest of the gold, Albert.
He says he'll take all of it.
Vic? - Bob?
You don't know, do ya?
Know what?
Yeah, Bobby Adams' gang.
I knew it! I bloody knew it!
When I bought this place off Jonesy five years back
he said "Tommy, I've had some dealings with a bit of a naughty crew".
"Nasty types", he says.
Used to come down here for all manner of mischief.
Last he heard, they'd buggered off to Spain.
Let the heat die down after something big.
Here you go.
Right.
Yeah. Yeah, that fits the intel.
Yeah, you did the right thing, calling this in.
Truth is I did some homework.
It says if no claim is made to articles found at the property
ownership rights refer to the landowner. That's me, right?
Yeah.
That is you indeed, sir.
Give us a hand, bringing it up, will ya? - Yeah, alright.
Sir.
I found something I think you should take a look at.
Morning, pal.
Bit chilly last night, eh?
The shelter's just opened on Dexter Street.
Wasn't much of a queue there when I went past.
Get a bit of breakfast and a shower before the rush starts.
Here you are...
Get yourself a bacon roll and a cuppa before you go back on the hard stuff.
Do you know who I am?
I'm Vic Hill!
This is my manor!
And this is my rubbish.
So piss off!
No sign of him.
Well...
Well, you need to get back out there, Albert, and keep looking for him.
Look, I've been traipsing around the neighbourhood looking for him all night.
OK? I got my own shit to deal with. He's a big boy.
I'm not gonna follow him around with a mop anymore, alright?
No, that's not OK. Your father is out there on the street on his own
and he's not safe! - OK, well, let's say I do manage
to track him down. Then what? You want me to dart him again?
Maybe this time I'll run him over
with the van? Have you considered, just once
that Dad is not the bloke you think he is?
He's a selfish prick that doesn't give a fuck about either one of us.
Oh!
Don't worry about it. - I'm sorry!
Don't worry about it.
Oh... Albert!
Oh, Scooter.
If I ever get out of here
I'm gonna make a few changes.
I'm gonna be more dependable.
You talking to the fairies, Charlie? - Piss off!
There's no need for that kind of hostility.
This is a good time of your own making.
I fail to see how being snatched
chained up and beaten by a delusional psychopath
is anyone's idea of a good time.
All you need to do is point me in the direction of my heart's desire.
If your information bears fruit
I'll unleash you from these shackles and furnish on you a finder's fee
of let's say... ten percent?
You can propel your finder's fee
where the sun don't shine.
Looks like I'm gonna have to give you a professional kicking this time.
Yeah.
But first...
breakfast.
Ah...
Don't get any bright ideas.
I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.
Nas is in a taxi on the way from the airport!
He's here in London, Albert.
Good, so where's the meet?
Well, I can't take him to Saul's so I'm meeting him in the market.
He'll be here in twenty minutes.
I'm on my way. - OK.
Come on, big guy, pick up, pick up.
Hate 'Em, where the hell have you been?
You match fit?
Vic, look, I'm a little bit confused here.
What exactly happened?
We got darted, Hate 'Em.
Like wild animals on the savannah.
They wanted us out of the picture.
Who wanted us out of the picture?
Albert, Lily. - Albert and Lily?
Don't be stupid.
Oh, well, it appears that I have indeed been stupid, Hate 'Em, very stupid indeed.
They were used to me not being around.
Lily all cosied up with Norman, and Albert wanting to be top dog.
And I reckon
they have the gold, Hate 'Em.
Or at least had it.
But I can't prove it.
I don't have all the pieces of the jigsaw... yet.
So what you're saying now, Vic, is that we're actually hunting jigsaw pieces, yeah?
Metaphorically speakin'.
Oh.
So, seeing as how I can't go after my own son
we're gonna start with the weakest link.
An old pal of Albert's.
So, you tidy yourself up
we're gonna pay a visit to the upper crust.
I'll make you right, Vic.
♪ Trouble you will find ♪
♪ If you look for trouble ♪
♪ Trouble you will find ♪
♪ If you look for trouble ♪
♪ Trouble you will find ♪
Norman.
I just don't get it.
The chair's not broken, rope's not cut.
Someone must have untied him. - Come off it, Lil.
We tied him to a chair and locked him in a garden shed.
The man had just broken out of a high-security prison. H-Honestly...
I don't know what we were thinking. - No, all I'm saying is...
if he'd done it himself, the chair would be broke and the rope would be cut.
What does it matter how he got free, Lily?
Well, he's gone now. God only knows where he is.
I will not have my family estranged for another fifteen years, Norman.
So where is he?
He's not here yet.
Strike that.
He's not too subtle, your mate.
What? Yo! Yo, that's my wallet!
Woah! - Yo!
Hey! Hey!
Whoa!
Welcome to London.
I am so sorry, Nas.
Sorry? For what?
First foot on the ground and I'm into some Oliver Twist shit.
I love this town!
Lovely. Shall we get going then?
Oh, no, business can wait.
Ain't every day I get to visit my, uh... favourite metropolis.
I gotta soak it up!
Hey, man! Yo!
Hey!
Ah! Charlie's residence.
Are you shitting me?
I shit you not.
Check upstairs, mate.
Sweet.
En garde, you cad.
What's that? - Music.
Drop the iron and put your hands where I can see 'em, slowly does it.
You're gonna be disappointed.
The family coffers were emptied long ago.
Bequeathed to various pawnbrokers by an esteemed line of forebears.
We're not here for the silverware, mate.
Then I'm not entirely sure how I can help you.
I can assure you that no one will pay my ransom.
Look out.
Shut up. You talk too much.
Stay down! Stay.
Now, where is Charles?
I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the whereabouts of my employers.
I was actually hoping you'd say that.
Now where is he?
Ripe!
Dried fruit!
A challenging note.
Make yourself comfortable, Vic.
I think this is gonna take a while.
Stay still. Where is he?
Tell me, where is he? Where is he?
Huh. You hit like a girl, sir.
Bob, what you fail to understand is I may well be a girl
but I'm the meanest girl on the playground.
And you...
You, you naughty boy you've been running round my playground
causing quite a mess.
Where is it? Where's the gold, Bob?
Teri...
Did you know...
Did I know what, Bob?
Did you know...
that you can never
lose a homing pigeon?
If your homing pigeon doesn't come back
all you've lost
is a pigeon.
Huh...
If I so much as hear your name whispered in relation to this case again
I'll find you and I will put an end to the quip that is Bob Fink.
Understood.
Sir.
Sling him out!
Ha-ha!
Yeah! This is some authenticated Brit-shit right here!
Ha-ha!
Is he taking us for a ride or what?
Let him get some new duds, he'll feel a million bucks.
Then we'll take him to Uncle Dean's. - I wanna know what a million bucks
feels like. - You will. Be patient.
Jimmy, Nas Stone. Nas, Jimmy the Chalk.
Who the what?
Uh, what sort of get-up does sir want to be fitted?
Help me out here, brother. - What kind of suit do you want?
Oh.
Three-button hunting jacket in an over-check twill tweed
bold pattern with a vest
and the uh-- - Uh, matching plus fours, sir?
My man!
Yeah.
♪ Checker-checker-checker pedigree ♪
♪ ...breakin' the beat, my survival is deep ♪
♪ Bring on the hype ♪
♪ ...I came to bring more picture to the frame ♪
♪ More picture to the frame... ♪
So, uh, how long is this shit gonna take to stitch up, Jimmy?
Um, two days, sir.
Oh. Two hours you said?
Two hours, sir. - Hmm.
Been making more friends, I see, Bob.
You're a curious one, Charlie.
Born into a family of note...
with all the opportunities that
blue blood coursing through your veins offers a young man.
Yet you...
you choose to knock about
with a gangster's kid...
...and an orphan.
Seems to me you're punching under your weight, mate.
You haven't got an inkling of who I am or what I want to be.
You see, that's where you're wrong.
I see you very clearly
cos I used to be walking in your shoes.
Oh, yeah. I, like you, was seduced by the Hill family.
Extending myself for crumbs of acceptance.
Wanting to be a part of the inner circle. Longing...
Longing, for a firm pat on the back.
But let me tell you from experience
the simple "Well done, Charlie"...
It'll never come.
You're not a Hill, you never will be.
To Albert, you're just a posh twat
who's there to be used and tossed aside when your novelty wears thin.
Albert is my friend. - No.
I am your friend.
And I need you to accept me as such
or I will presuppose you're my enemy.
And if you're my enemy...
Well...
Don't you touch me!
What's gotten into you, Scooter?
Eh? What's gotten into you, boy?
So our guest's been flirting with ya, has he?
Course. Breakfast, buddy.
It slipped my mind.
Dog food, Bob! Dog food, Bob!
Bloody psycho.
Not intruding, am I?
It's your house, Norman. It's us who's intruding.
Lily, you are always welcome in this house.
What is it, Norman? - Oh, Christ.
I, uh...
I did it for you, Lily.
You and Albert.
What precisely have you done, Norman?
It was me, Lily. I untied him. I let Vic go.
Why would you do that? - Lily, you've gotta realise
I did this for you.
I couldn't just stand by and witness him tear his family apart, again!
I see how he treats you, what he expects of you.
And I'm meant to just sit back and watch. You...
th-the most exquisite flower, wilting with neglect
poisoned by his selfishness! - Stop, Norm.
Just stop it. - The gold is more important to him
than his family, it always has been.
Look, you must realise. I would... - Just...
I would never treat you-- - ...stop it, alright, just stop.
Look, I'm gonna have to make this absolutely clear.
For you, me, Vic and Albert, there can't be any confusion.
Vic is my husband and I love him unconditionally.
I always have
and I always will.
And irrespective of what you might
see or think you see, I know
that he loves me and Albert more than anything else in the world.
Now, I know he doesn't always do the right thing.
And that's what you see, or perhaps that's...
Perhaps that's what you want to see, but I know Vic, Norm.
I know the Vic Hill that no one else knows...
and that is the man I love.
So what now, Vic?
The Kneecapping? Or the Spanish Donkey?
I...I don't know who you are
but your methods of...
information extraction are nothing in comparison to when
as a young lance corporal in the Middle East
I spent an uncomfortable week as guest--
I don't have time for wartime reminiscences, old man.
I'm Vic Hill, I'm sure you've heard of me.
Who?
- Vic Hill? - Yes.
Vic Hill.
No. Doesn't ring a bell.
Tell me where the boy is at, or the joke is over. Capeesh?
Mr Hill. I was brought into this world without a home and without kin.
After all manner of foster homes
a stint in borstal then a stretch with the armed services...
The Cavendish-Scotts, this unique family
- became my adopted family. - Vic
If you don't iron him out, I will!
Oh, be careful, you bloody philistines!
Ah!
Fink.
Sir?
Sit down.
What happened to you?
Jurisdictional disagreement, sir.
Dwyer.
I'm sorry, Fink.
This is... Well, it's partly my fault.
Dwyer was complaining.
Other officers muscling in, chasing leads above their station.
I told her to handle it.
Sir, I-- - You don't have to explain.
I respect a man with ambition.
We've all had to go a little off-piste at times
to get a leg up in our careers. I wouldn't trust a man who hadn't.
How can I help, sir?
The Flying Squad
is no cleaner now than in the bad old days.
Bunch of venal little bullies
promoted above their station. And for what?
Because they're better with their fists than with their brains.
No, no.
We need an overhaul.
Root and branch.
New leadership.
These leads of yours
I don't need details, just...
if they're admissible.
This case:
it's career defining.
If I hear of anything that could be of use
you'll be the first to know, sir.
There is a better version of us all out there, Fink.
We just have to want to succeed.
This is some Prince Charles shit right here!
I should run for King!
Nas, we gotta go.
Bag this shit up, Jimmy.
Bucket list complete.
Finally.
Now, where's my gold?
A gypsy camp. - A what?
The best.
Not this time. I said the best. I want Windrush.
I already tell you.
Windrush is not here. - And I don't believe you.
Now, I have the folding and I have the need.
This ain't some sink-estate leg-breaker bollocks.
This is gangland history in the making.
The culmination of over a decade of bile and bitterness.
This is mythology.
And for that, I require a legend.
So where is he, and what's the damage?
You think you come round here
and use my boys for this and that.
You never ask them name, you never shake them hand.
Always you sneerin'.
You flashin' your money.
But you're not look, man.
You're look meat.
But let me tell you one thing about Windrush.
Him no ask question, and him no judge nothin'.
But Windrush ain't no meat.
All him ask, all him expect
from any boss wantin' the kinda reputation way you mention
is a little respect.
Windrush is not here.
Stop!
Not that one, please.
It's the only pressing!
It's all I've got left of my childhood.
Oh my!
This is you. Your...
five minutes of fame. Your...
X-Factor moment as a cadet.
Alas, "please" isn't amongst the magic words I'm after.
Bastards.
I don't believe that's the magic word either.
The problem with these old seventy-eights is
they're made of Shellac, they shatter
like glass.
I drove him back from the country estate yesterday!
He was more than a little under the influence.
Blathering on about a, a golden bathtub!
Complete gibberish! Uh...
Golden bathtub?
No, no! And, and, and
something about gypsies and
smelting and a girl named Chloe! - Gypsies?
Get his car keys.
Give us your car keys.
Prick. Right.
Got his car keys, Vic. Where to now?
The Pikeys.
Pikeys. I hate Pikeys!
What the hell is this?
All part of the Anglo-rural experience, Nas.
How are your five-p specials holding up?
I ain't into getting shit on my shit.
Shall we get to the business at hand, gentlemen?
Who're these bastards then?
This is Nas Stone, Uncle Dean.
And what is a Nas Stone, then?
I'm a Nas Stone. What the hell are you?
Oh, I am an Uncle Dean, pal.
Jaysus, look at the size of this one.
Ah, your man, look at the trousers hangin' off his ass?
Hey. I'd fight you for a fiver.
I'd kill you for a tenner.
Nas is our buyer, Uncle Dean.
Oh, so that's not stolen then?
No, it ain't stolen!
Hey! Get them off my ride!
Rich Yank fella in my camp.
Thought I'd seen it all.
So ye'll be wantin' yer gold, Yank?
Or do you wanna buy a caravan?
Do I look like I'm here to buy a caravan?
Fresh out the oven.
Horseshoes?
Lucky horseshoes.
That's one way to try and cancel a curse.
Hold up.
What curse? - Didn't you tell him?
This is deadlier than a banshee's wail, this pile.
Killed more baddies than Clint Eastwood, so it has.
Makes Tutankhamen look like a fairy gobshite.
Ye'll probably be fine. - They're poking fun.
It's a cultural sign of affection, Nas.
So are you happy with the inventory?
It's all there, as promised.
Let's weigh this shit.
We got scales in the trunk of the limo.
"A sickness of the heart that only gold can cure".
I thought England was all Corgis, Spice Girls, tea and crumpets.
This is some off-the-tour-guide, deliverance shit!
We'll complete the transaction and get you out of here as soon as possible.
God damn it!
Get off my ride!
You're all crazy! Off-the-charts goddamn fucking crazy!
Eenie, meenie...
miney...
Mo.
Run! - Whoa!
Go, go, go!
Whoa!
What was that?
Where's the gold? - It's in the wheelbarrow.
Fink.
Who's this son of a bitch?
Looks like a bastard copper to me!
Tall Paul!
I ain't going out like this.
Not here, not now.
You know who I am?
I designed the diamond Brooklyn B.
The triple-weave gold dog rope.
I got my shit placed at Tiffany's!
I got more followers on Insta than all you joke-shop sons of bitches!
I am Nas Stone! Jeweller to the stars!
- And I was born to make - Shut your mouth.
A mother... fucking
...splash!
Sure you can't kill me! I'm Un--
Oh, jeez!
Give the Hill kid a send-off.
Didn't your mummy tell you not to play with guns?
Right. Let's go and get our gold.
Albert!
What happened?
What happened here? - What do you mean what happened here?
Look around you. Everyone's dead.
Dead!
Where's my gold, boy? Where's my gold?
I lost it.
Me.
Bob Fink's got it.
All of it.
OK, Charlie.
Now or nothing.
Come on!
I'm back, Charlie boy.
Yes!
Windrush.
Respect.
Best man gets the spoils.
I can't pretend to be disappointed, Detective.
That would imply, after all, an expectation of character.
Sir?
Windrush.
Boss.
So he's, what?
Undercover?
Windrush is one of yours?
Don't be silly, Bob.
Private hire.
Been on the books for years.
Very valuable asset.
I take it you're here to arrest me.
You were supposed to have been killed
in Vic Hill's lockup, fifteen years ago.
Often how these big cases go
Bob, sometimes you just keep plodding away
and get there in the end.
You were in on that.
Like I said
we all have to go a little off-piste at times to get a leg up.
Perhaps if you'd focussed on one thing or another
you might have made something out of your life.
But all these grudges, these...
seedy little agendas...
Yeah.
Oh, well.