The following programme contains very strong language and adult humour.
- What do you wanna talk about? - (INHALES) Betrayal.
ERIN: (ON VIDEO) Manolito wants our weed.
He wants to get rid of the MacDonaghs, divide and conquer.
Listen, Manolito knows.
- He knows that you know about him. - Be careful.
Fuck it.
Vin. Vin. Vin. Vin. Vin!
(SIRENS WAIL)
MANOLITO: A situation has arisen with Vincent O'Neill.
MCCANN: Do whatever you need to do.
(DOOR SLAMS)
♪ BARRETT STRONG: Money (That's What I Want) ♪
(SIGHS)
♪ The best things in life are free
♪ But you can give them to the birds and bees
♪ I need money ♪ That's what I want
♪ That's what I want
♪ That's what I wa-a-nt ♪ That's what I want
♪ That's what I want...
- Let's have a look. - (LAUGHING) It's erotic.
♪ I need money ♪ That's what I want
♪ That's what I want
♪ That's what I wa-a-nt ♪ That's what I want
♪ That's what I want... ♪
(SIGHS)
(WHISTLING TO "Money")
(ZIP FASTENS)
(WHISTLING CONTINUES)
(DRAMATIC MUSIC)
PASLOWSKI: Now then...
(HUSHED) What the fuck?
Clingfilm?
(BONES CRACK)
(UPBEAT MUSIC PLAYS ON LAPTOP)
INSTRUCTOR: "Ooh, let me see you stretch those legs apart.
- "And bend over." - Oh, no.
- "Ooh, yeah... Ooh, yeah." - Oh, no, please, no.
Dirty motherfucker.
Go on, stretch it, love. Go on.
- "I'm bad news." - Oh, God.
CARDI: I thought the plan were to plant these at Manolito's.
It was, but then we had a really serious upside-downy crash.
So, we need a minute now, love. Listen, these minges paintings
need putting on fucking ice, you know.
Hang on, hang on, hang on,
- Whitney Houston, we have a problem. - What's the problem?
The problem is thus, Ashley. That fucking massive canvas is not
- gonna fit down a tiny little hole, is it? - Course it will.
You just need to... angle it in.
Erin, Erin, it doesn't matter about angling,
- it's fucking physics i'nt it, love? - Shut up! It's fucking open?
Why is it open? Who left that up?
Stretch and pull. (INSTRUCTOR MOANING)
"Stretch, stretch it, pull, pull!" (MOANS)
Doors wide open and all the fucking lights on.
- (SHUSHES) Someone's there. - What?
- Someone's in there. - It's probably just Jim.
No, look, we've just done big robbery though, haven't we? Carol's right.
Could be a fucking bad man.
Or a woman. Or a trans woman.
Do you... Are we having this now?
- "Yeah, baby!" (MOANS ON LAPTOP) - Go on. Stretch it, pull it.
Hang about a minute, if I'm not mistaken, that there is the sound
of a faked female orgasm from circa, I'm gonna say, 1983.
Why would a 1980s woman be faking a creamer in the weed bunker?
- Creamer? - Yeah.
(MOANING CONTINUES ON LAPTOP)
(MOANS)
- ALL: Ugh, oh, my God. - Sorry.
- Fucking hell. - I can't stop it.
Don't finish it! (MOANS)
- Fucking hell, mate. - Ohhh...
Well I can't un-see that now, can I?
- Hey, don't try and wank-shame me. - You should be terribly ashamed.
Be ashamed, you've brought fucking Vaseline.
It's perfectly natural.
Having a wank doesn't make me a bad person.
It fucking does when you're doing it in someone's workplace.
You've got your lube there and cling filmed up
- your own fucking laptop for it. - So bad.
- I'm sorry... - I'm sorry. I'm gonna get a mop
because I can't have your jizzy smears in my general vicinity.
- Just wiping his hands. - It's not nice.
What are you even fucking doing 'ere?
- Oh, my sister's visiting. - Yeah, but it doesn't fucking mean
you can just come down 'ere and blow fucking loads
all over the shagging place, does it?
Why have you brought special wank shoes?
(GUN COCKS)
They're not mine. Mine are at home.
(THEY SHRIEK)
You motherfuckers underestimated me.
You decided to cross me...
well now, you're gonna pay.
- Oh... - Er...
(GUNSHOT)
(GENTLE ROCK MUSIC)
The duckies...
- Hiya, love. - Hiya.
You alright? (CRIES)
What's up with you now? (CRIES)
Poo scenario.
(SNIFFS) Have you had a poo?
(COOS)You have had a p...
It's not a problem. It's not a problem.
Little... Did you...? Ooh, fuck, whaaa...(COOS)
Argh, no, wow.
(COOS) Contain.
(GENTLE MUSIC PLAYS ON SPEAKERS) Oh, Christ.
- Oh, hey up. It's been a while, hasn't it! - Hey.
- You alright? - Yeah, I'm alright. Yeah.
What's happening?
- Had my face pissed on a little bit. - Didn't know you had a baba.
He's not mine. You remember Sugar, who cleaned your house?
Pregnant one?
Yeah, that's the badger. I'm just looking after it, aren't I?
Cos she's busy, and JJ, dad, he's...
He's away so...
Mad, I was thinking about you just yesterday.
How come?
Yeah, I'm doing a rat job up at Bletchley Dale and erm...
There's this old fella, Maurice Finch.
I've known him for years, but for some reason, yesterday,
he just starts telling me he used to be a career criminal.
Oh, aye, yeah.
Some of the mad stories he was coming out with,
and I thought you would get a proper buzz outta meeting him.
- Fuck yeah, let's do it. - I'm bobbing up there after.
- When are you dropping the nipper back? - Couple of hours.
I can't fucking wait.
- I bet. - Uh-uh.
So, this is where retired criminals go, is it?
Bletchley Dale Estate, with your fucking red
1970s Capri out front. Christ.
There we are. (CLEARS THROAT)
(BELL RINGS) Dong ding.
- Now then. - Hey up, Maurice.
Vinnie, I were telling you about.
(LAUGHS) I'm not, listen...
And there were a fucking bloke, with a tiny moustache
and a bell end for a bell end.
- Lowry minge paintings? - Fucking eh. Yeah man.
So, go on, tell me your game then?
- Booze and fags was our bread and butter. - Mm.
Back in the '80s, when everyone smoked,
we were smuggling in millions.
But I'll tell you this, Vinnie.
Nothing will ever achieve what my grandad achieved.
He was a great thief.
Well, go on then.
Yeah. You can't leave us fucking hanging.
You gotta tell us about your grandad.
You look like a man who can keep a secret.
- Fucking right. - But you must tell no one.
Uh-uh.
Swear on the rat catcher's life.
- Don't swear on my life. - 110%, swear on his life.
- Wow. - No one loves you anyway.
Fucking hell's bells.
- Who's are all these then? - I've no idea.
I got 'em from knocking off a trophy shop.(LAUGHS)
They're all a cover for this bad boy.
- (RUMMAGING) - Where's he going?
Oh... But I mean... I'm... What is it?
One of the greatest achievements in the art of thievery,
the original FA Cup.
- You're fucking joking. - No fucking way.
Stolen on September the 12th, 1895.
By my grandfather, Tobias Finch, and three other men.
Rumours of its whereabouts have circulated ever since.
Can I have a...? Can I have hold of it?
- As long as you don't drop it. - No.
Just be careful.
(TROPHY THUDS) Woah.
Fucking hell, Maurice.
Dude, that is... Oh, my God.
(WHISPERS) That's insane.
Has that been in your family and hidden, this whole time?
- How did they get hold of it? - Well, gentlemen...
...therein lies a tale.
- Hm. - But remember your promise...
you can't tell a living soul.
- I swear on his life. - Don't swear on it.
The actual FA cup.
I have been trusted with that information.
So, I'd like to see the zip gesture, please. Come on.
How the fuck did they steal a fucking cup?
Oh, it's sick, dude, listen to this shit. So...
It was just past midnight, and rumbles of thunder
disturbed the skies over Birmingham.
Four masked men stood in the darkness, on a flat roof.
Above a boot and shoe shop in New Town Row.
Before smashing a hole in the ceiling.
Two men, one of them my grandfather,
lowered themselves into the deserted shop.
And there, mounted on a stand,
was the original Football Association Challenge Cup.
Now, the question you might ask is...
What's the original FA Cup doing in a shop in Birmingham?
Five months earlier, Aston Villa played their arch rivals, West Brom,
in the 24th FA Cup final.
Aston Villa kicked off.
In the very first minute, they won a free kick.(WHISTLE BLOWS)
The ball was hit long, eventually gaining its way
to Villa's Captain Chatt,
who slammed his volley into the top corner.(CROWD CHEERS)
Villa held onto their lead, lifting the 1895 FA Cup.
They took the cup back to Birmingham
where it was stored in Villa's Perry Barr ground,
until a 73-year-old businessman,
William Tillcock... Or was it Shillcock?
William Thrillcock, more like. (LAUGHS)
He asked for permission to display the trophy in his shop for a week.
And when Shillcock opened up in the morning,
he was horrified to discover that the cup was missing.
The cup.
Detectives Mark Brown and Ian Slater arrived to investigate.
- Ian Slater as in Ian Slater bums dogs? - (LAUGHS)
Mr Shillcock?
They inspected the crime scene and concluded that...
They must have scaled that 12-foot wall.
And he made the assumption that...
The evidence suggests it's youths, probably high jinks.
We'll have that cup back before sundown.
His optimism was misplaced.
Back then, the cup was only worth £20,
but now, after all this time...
..it's priceless.
- Wow. - Wow.
Wow.
- Are we gonna nick it? - No, we're not gonna steal it.
I'm trying to tell you a special tale.
- I'm not selling you a fucking job. - It is a good story, Vin.
I have to go. Got a date with sandwich man.
I'm meeting his parents for the first time. Wish me luck.
We have to go as well cos I have a pasta bake in the oven,
and we have to watch the last three episodes of Minder.
What's Minder?
TV show. We've been binging it, 114 episodes.
I too must attend to my, er, pressing concerns.
- Why are YOU going? - Need I remind you, Vincent, that
I am the proprietor of Hawley's premier entertainment venue.
I thought it was half empty since the other place
- opened down the street. - Hey. Hey.
Don't mention that fucking shitheap round me, alright?
You have a very attractive angry face, do you know that?
Thank you.
(INTENSE MUSIC)
(SIGHS) (BELT CLINKS)
(URINATING)
Oh, fucking hell!
(SOFT MUSIC PLAYS ON SPEAKERS)
(WHISPERS) Jesus. Fucking fuck.
- Who you hiding from? - Who do you fucking think I'm hiding from?
Stupid old twat. Look, across,
fucking Davey MacDonagh and Donna MacDonagh.
Like a little fucking dachshund down there, sniffing round my arse.
- German dogs, dachshunds. - I know what they are!
- Rommel had one. - Oh...
- Aggressive, they are. - Right.
- And needy. - Right.
- Prone to obesity. - Stop telling me.
And chlamydia.
I don't give a fuck about fat slaggy dogs with fucking VD, do I?
Get me the fuck out of here, dude.
- What's in it for me? - What do you mean "what's in it for you"?
- What do you fucking want? - Four cans of stout
and a packet of Chilli Heatwave Doritos.
- Done. That's a good deal. - Right, on my mark, wait...
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
OK, now!
(BIRDSONG)
(SNORING)
- Vin?! - I'm coming... I'm... Ugh.
- Fucking open the door now! - I'm coming.
- Fucking outrageous. What's going on? - I'm gonna ask you once,
alright, and I want a fucking straight answer.
Mm.
- Did you nick the FA cup? - What?
Don't fuck about with me, Vin. He's been fucking robbed,
and he only fucking told me and you.
When...? When were...? When were this, then?
Last night.
- Oof. - He was with me all night.
- He got too pissed to walk home. - Oh, yeah?
- Same bed, was it? - Mm.
If I was gonna get gay, do you think I'd choose him?
I'd choose someone broad, someone masculine,
who works with their hands. And I've thought about this,
- I would not swallow. - Dude...
I tasted me own once, by accident,
and it was like fucking wallpaper paste, with lumps in it.
Fuck... Stop! Go and make a fucking
cup of tea or something, you wretched old bastard.
I mean, right, listen. The whole house has that been robbed,
- or is it just the fucking cup? - They knew to go to the garage.
They knew where the cup was.
Maurice, he is beside himself,
man he is fucking devastated.
I didn't tell a soul, so who the fuck did you blab to?
I did tell souls.
You fucking swore on my life, man.
I... fingers-crossed job, though,
- when I said it. - Fingers crossed?
- Don't get upset. - If I fucking drop down dead now...
Listen, it's just superstition that.
Really it is. Honest to God, Cardi, Carol and them.
They're not gonna rob the fucking FA Cup, are they?
Well, someone has, and Maurice thinks it's us.
All that fuss over a tin can.
I fuckin' told him an' all.
I'll tell you summat right now. It's gone and got robbed.
Yeah? Since I told all you, they think it's me, don't they?
It doesn't fucking sit well.
Listen, I'm going through every fucking one of ya. (ALL AGREE)
Cardi... who have you told?
- Why are you starting with me? - You're on the end, love.
I have to start somewhere, you know what I mean?
I went home,
and I watched Minder, with my wife, Carol, who is my alibi.
He did indeed because the theme tune won't stop playing round in my head
- like an "eargasm". - Thomas, who have you told?
Who the mucky fuck would I be talking to about football?
- I only know perverts, don't I? - That's true. Ashley...
- ...who have you told? - Not a soul.
I was on a date, sure. What would I be doing
telling anyone about an 1895 FA Cup from the...
- Lying high voice. - He's going very high voiced.
- Very high voiced indeed. - Right, OK, fine... Look...
- I panicked, alright... - Get talking. Come on.
It was the dinner...
with sandwich man and his parents.
They didn't like me from the beginning.
We always wanted grandchildren, didn't we, Stan?
So, there I was, trying to over compensate.
Did you know the original 1895 FA Cup was stolen and not found again?
- Fucking fuck. - Did it work, at least?
Yes, Tommo, it did work. His father gave me a brandy.
Fuck your brandy! Where does...?
Is his fucking dad the kind of dad that gets dressed up in dark clothes
and maybe break into someone else's fucking house
and rob an ancient trophy of some kind?
It's not him, I tell yer.
I didn't even tell him the name of the house.
You mean to tell me...
that you didn't mention a house on Bletchley Dale Estate.
No, I didn't say a word about the house, to the daddy,
- but I did tell sandwich man, himself. - AH!
(GROANS) Oh, Ashley!
- Don't start with the "Ashley"! - Fucking fucker!
He would never steal an FA Cup or not'in.
And I suppose, just putting this out there, I suppose, right, you are in fact his alibi,
are you not, because, you know, you spent the evening...
I'm surmising, making the beast with two backs?
- Well, not exactly, no. - What do you mean, "not exactly"?
There was an argument at the end of the night.
("Delilah" by Tom Jones PLAYS ON SPEAKER)
- Hi, gorgeous. - Hi. How's it going?
- Great. - Well done with the football chat.
Thanks.
- What are you doing? - Two minutes, they'll never know.
We can't... (MOANS)
- Two minutes? - Yeah.
You had sex in his parents' house?
I did, in his parents' bed, as well. Dog was sitting there watching.
Fair play to you. Fair play to you. (BED SPRINGS SQUEAK)
Oh, up the midfield.
(DOG WHINES) Up the midfield.
And what about the argument?
That was in the taxi on the way home.
First of all we were sitting there cuddling and then...
You brought the condom out, right, you didn't just leave it there?
- No. You said you were doing that. - The fuck?
(SCREAMS)
(CAR DOOR SLAMS)
I didn't even wanna fuck in your parents' bedroom.
Do you know what's happened here? You've pissed him off.
And maybe he's fucking stolen it
out of fucking revenge or summat like that.
Sandwich man would not steal the FA Cup.
He's our only suspect. In't he?
Aww, have you recovered darling?
(LAUGHS) He was smashed off his head in here last night.
What?
- Up on stage, singing karaoke. - Karaoke?
Hm, yeah. Did that duet with your brother.
- My brother? - Which brother? Niall or Mick?
♪ Cockles and
♪ Mussels...
♪ Alive, alive, oh... ♪
- Er, the thick one. - ALL: Mick!
It's Mick.
Yeah, motherfucker.
Start fucking talking right now.
I don't know nothin' about it. I swear on my Uncle Teagan's life.
- Uncle Teagan's dead. - Is he?
Yeah, they buried him, anyway.
- Christ. - Well... Well, all the same,
I don't know anything about any theft of any FA cup.
- Oh, right. So he told you the story? - Oh, yeah. It's a good story.
That old guy there, on the Bletchley Dale Estate.
Keeping that Cup all those years.
But I was too nervous last night to really care.
I was only in the pub for Talent Night.
The fuck is your talent?
- Stand-up comedy. - Gor... Fuck me.
So what if I don't know what "Armageddon" means...
It's not the end of the world.
(MIC FEEDBACK) WOMAN: Fuck off!
You did this last night at the Crow's Nest?
Yeah.
- Before the karaoke. - Who have you spoke to
after fucking blabbermouth here were done with yer?
Yeah.
No one, I swear. I came back here, and went I went to bed.
Oh no, no. I stopped off at the chippy.
Oh, fuck, you didn't tell Val and Ian?
No, no, I don't speak with Val and Ian, unless to say my order.
- And why not? - She has a man voice,
and he's a fucking lady voice. Freaks me out.
- (DEEP) There you go, darling. - (SHRILL) 4.50, please, mate.
It is strange. Alright, just listen.
You've been to the chippy, you've had your chips.
Right? Who have you spoken to after that?
- No one. - Thank God for that.
- Or did I tell Niall? - Fuck!
(PHONE RINGS) Carol, what's up?
- Niall, how's it going? - Is it my mother?
Oh, no, no, no, no emergency, no.
Just, er... Just thought I'd give my little brother a call,
- see how you were doing. - Bullshit, Carol. Who's dead?
No. No. I just haven't seen you in a while is all.
Thought we'd meet for an old pint and a catch up.
(WHISPERS) Ask him where he is? Where are ya?
- NIALL: I am busy, working. - Working?
Yes, working. I haven't got time to be standing here talking to you.
ANNOUNCER: The ferry to Dublin is now boarding from bay six.
Listen, I have to go. I have to go. OK. Bye. Bye. Bye. Bye.
- Bye. Bye. Bye. Bye. Bye. - Alright.
- Dublin. - Fuck.
- Dublin. - What the fuck's he gone to Dublin for?
He goes regular, for his poker tournaments
- and to off-load counterfeit dollars. - Counterfeit dollars?
- Yeah. - The Irish spend them in New York.
So, does he know a lot of dodgy folk in Dublin?
The cunt knows everybody.
He's a right sly bastard.
That's exactly the shit he'd do.
How often do the bloody ferries run then?
Twice a day, from Holyhead.
- W-When's the last one? - 3:00pm.
- How do you know that? - I like ferries.
And I know exactly where he'll go:
- Auntie Aoife's. - Yeah.
Because he's so fucking tight, he would not pay
for a hotel or a guest house.
He's as tight as a goat's hole going up the side of a cliff.
He'll be at Auntie Aoife's and Uncle Eldon's,
the nice little guest house on O'Grainy Lane. Come on.
♪ LE TIGRE: Deceptacon ♪
♪ Every day and night
♪ Every day and ni-i-ght
♪ I can see your disco, disco
♪ Dick is sucking my heart of out my mind
♪ One, two, three, four
♪ You got what you been asking for...
WOMAN: ..touch 'em, just left them.
No, they didn't stink. They were all kind of...
stained.
- Patchy. - Excuse...
No, they weren't mine, they were my stepdad's...
Excuse me, very important, important, can you...?
I gotta go.
(PHONE CLICKS)
Yeah. We want tickets for the Dublin ferry, for all of us and one car.
- Well, all the car ferries are gone. - Eh?
- There's only a foot-passenger ferry. - But it doesn't say on't website.
Write in.
- I will. - Do.
- I fucking will. - You should.
- Fine. - Fine.
Jesus... Fuck. Can someone just pay patchy pants here?(SIGHS)
♪ Is alright, alright, alright, alright, alright... ♪
Fuck you, other ferry.
(LAUGHS) OK, so I'm gonna start.
It's fucking hopeless this, it's shite.
I found out I'm afraid of elevators, so I'm taking steps to avoid it.
(LAUGHS)What's the problem with eating a clock?
- Eh? - Too time consuming.
(LAUGHS)You'll have to stop. It's fucking shite.
Found out my friend couldn't pay her water bill,
so I sent them a get-WELL-soon card.
- Oh, my God.(LAUGHS) - Stop fucking encouraging him.
No one's enjoying it, love. Come on, Michael.
Come and have a minute with us. Be a good lad now.
Hey, how's your mate, Erin?
- She's fine, yeah. All good. - Where is she?
Well now, therein lies a story.
Well, go on, then. We've got a...
- sea crossing to fill, eh? - Carol?
What love? UGH!
Jesus Christ. My good fucking coat!
- Sorry. - Jesus Christ, like.
♪ THE POGUES: Dirty Old Town ♪
♪ Dreamed a dream
♪ By the old canal
♪ I kissed my girl
♪ By the factory wall
♪ Dirty old town... ♪
Here's your new house now, lads. Look at this gaff.
- LADS: Ooh! - Great spot.
Aww fucking stiff as a board in there.
Christ.
Thanks, man. (DOORBELL RINGS)
They're lovely people now, are my auntie and uncle,
but there's a few things you'll have to ignore, OK?
When she's talking, an awful bit of spittle comes out.
- Hm. - Now and again.
But he has a very, very big facial wart,
OK, that the eyes are tend to be drawn to.
But please do not talk into it, OK,
cos he's very, very sensitive about it.
He's also in the closet still, very much. Like, we all know,
we're supposed to pretend we don't know. We know.
- They sound lovely. - You think he's a giver or a taker?
- He's a taker. No, he takes it. - Kids.
Carol, Ashley, Michael. Come in here now
and give your auntie a big hug. Oh!
(GIGGLES) MIKE: Hi, Auntie. Hi, Auntie.
(LAUGHS) And who are these reprobates?
Oh-ho, here he is now, Uncle Eldon, are you well?
How you getting on? That's, Vinnie and Tommo
and Cardi and this is, er, Curtis Plum, Uncle Eldon.
Well, eh, thanks for having us all the same.
- Oh, bring it in for a hug. (LAUGHS) - Alright, argh.
- Oh! - Argh!
- Argh. - (KISSES)
(FORCED LAUGH) No more of you.
Quite the day we're after having. To what do we owe the honour?
We're on our jolly, back in the Emerald Isle,
showing the lads the sights. (STAMMERS)
You haven't seen our Niall kicking about, have ya?
Now, he, er...
dropped his stuff off in room three, said he had business to attend to.
- Sound. - Room three.
Three it is.
Can we have a look around, maybe?
There you are. There... There you are,
- a bit of Schweppes. - BOTH: Oh...
- Well, that's a no, then. - Fuck.
(GROANS)
I remember Aston Villa's glory days,
not the 1895 ones,
the 1980's European Cup.
Their goalkeeper, Jimmy Rimmer, got a neck injury
and was stretchered off, replaced by a youngster,
Nigel Spink.
- (CHUCKLES SOFTLY) - Ha.
With his tight little blue shorts,
bum cheeks visible.
That's a very visceral image.
D-Did Niall say w-where he were going when he went out?
No, you know Niall,
always blustering around. (SPITS)
He used my laptop, though,
asked if he could go on it as he had no data.
Oh, oh. Oh, right, OK. And er, Aoife, love,
might we by any chance peruse the afore mentioned laptop?
Yep, for sure, laptop there.
(GROANS) Right.
- Now... - Come on, lads.
Here you are.
Right. (CLEARS THROAT) Ah.
The games awaits. OK. Password?
- Tonsillitis. (SPITS) - Ah!
Fucking hell, love. Like, "tonsillitis" as a password,
why have you got it as a password? I can't even spell it.
Exactly... so you'll never guess it.
(SPITTING) Two Ts, three Is, two S's.
I sort of, sort of asked for that didn't I, really?
Yeah, alright. Er...
(TYPING) Right, here we go.
We have one search for "how to back", bake,
"a light-as-a-fairy cake."
- Oh, that was me. - That's you, yeah, alright,
OK, and then we've got "Japanese boy wrestling."
That was me.
Theme emerging, I see.
Ah, and then a search for...
"tanning salon and nail bar. Glow Job."
Glow Job, is that that place up Tremaine Street, Aoife?
You know, I think it is. Now you mention it,
straight after he used the laptop, he used the landline.
Does your home phone happen to have a redial function on it?
- I've never really noticed it. - How does she reach?
MAN: "This is Glow Job, where the sun is always shining.
"No one here at the moment.
Leave a message, and we'll get back to you."
Oi, oi. Grab-c-Nesbit.
I recognise that voice. It's Mardie Fisher.
- Who's Mardie Fisher? - He used to be a contortionist.
- Extortionist. - Right, whatever.
He got into all kinds of bother.
He... It cost him his hair, all the worry.
He used to have lovely long locks, so he did.
Right. So we've got an ex extortionist, bald as a coot
but with a criminal past, runs a tanning salon-
- And nail bar. - And a nail bar, up this Tremaine Street.
Mm.This could be a front for illegal wheeling and dealing.
- Where's Tremaine Street, then? - A couple of miles as the crow flies.
- No, we can't go by crow. - Be a bit further then.
- You can use my car if you like. - Your car?
- There's seven of 'em. - Well, they can squeeze together.
Like we did in the Army.
- (LAUGHS) - No.
My grandfather had a heart of a lion
- but a lifetime ban at the local zoo. - Dude.
Shut the fuck up, Michael. Your jokes are terrible.
Come here, lad.
Fucking hair-do on him.
We're closed. Can you not read?
I struggle, dyslexic. (ROCK MUSIC PLAYS IN SALON)
What about your friends? Can they not read?
They're all dyslexic as well. Look, listen,
has Niall Dennings been in here, by any fucking chance?
Never heard of him.
Now give over. Cos we know he's been in there.
We don't want any trouble.
Let us in. We'll have a bit of a chat.
- We're closed. - Let me have a fucking word with him.
Mr Fisher, I'm Niall's sister, Carol, alright?
Now, he's after being an awful fucking eejit,
and he's also taken something that doesn't belong to him,
so you're gonna have to open that door now
or we are gonna start kicking it with our feet.
- Get at it. - Fucks sake.
(DOOR THUDDING) Alright, take it easy.
- Keep your bollocks on. - What a gentleman.
♪ SAULT: Don't Waste My Time ♪
♪ Remember when you said... ♪
OK, let me think. Let me think. It's coming back to me,
coming back to me. Niall... Niall... Oh, yeah, Niall.
- He WAS here... - Alright.
- ..but he just wanted a man facial and... - Hm.
And I don't know anything about any stolen items so...
Mm.
What's in that back room?
My stock and my tanning room.
- We're a tanning salon. - And nail bar.
- And nail bar. Correct. - Listen to me.
I don't want you thinking we're thinking you're untrustworthy.
I feel like I really need to check in the back room.
No one goes in my back room.
Unless I invite them in my back room.
- Oh... - Alright.
Well just invite us in, then.
I won't. There's nothing back there, I've nothing to feel guilty about.
So, you won't mind if we have a little peek then?
How about no peek?
I'm sorry I'm just gonna step in here.
Mardie, love, can you see how your resistance
is making us a little bit more suspicious, about yer?(SCOFFS)
Yous waltz in here,
I don't know yous from Adam,
and you demand to see in my back room.
Who the fuck do you think yous are?
Mr Fisher, look, we're Niall's brothers, that's Niall's sister there.
These are our mates. Tell us what he was doing here, and that's it.
- I'm not to telling yer. Yer deaf? - We have a fucking situation here, alright?
Now, I'm not leaving this fucking tanning salon-
- And nail bar. - And the fucking nail bar, Cardi.
We can't leave here until we check in that back room,
and make sure Niall and/or the stolen fucking item in't in it.
I can see the predicament we're in.
- Mm. - Here's what I can do for yer, right?
None of yous are coming in my back room,
but he did leave a package.
(CLICKS FINGERS) I dunno what's in the package,
but I can step back there, alone,
and bring it out to yous. How's that?
Or who's to say he's not just gonna fuck off out the back?
Out the back of my own tanning salon? Leave yous eejits here alone?
- Do I look insane? - Mm.
Do you want the package, or do you not want the package?
Fucking go and get that fucking package right now, and quick.
(BUTTONS BEEPING)
(SECURITY SYSTEM CHIMES)
I can't believe it. (DOOR CLOSES)
He's a full head of long hair. (LAUGHS)
It's a fucking wig dude. Come on, man.
W-Wig? How's it stay on?
(LAUGHS) It's stuck to his head, love.
W-What...? W-What...? Well, what if he hangs upside down?
- Oh, my God. - Who hangs upside down?
- Me, it's good for the brain. - I hate to say this, Mick,
I really do. You're not the best advert for inversion, are ya?
What with you being, sorry, but... thick as two short planks.
Tommo, you shut the fuck up. You're as thick as fucking one short plank.
(LAUGHS) I rest my case.
(LAUGHS)
You wanna see what's in my back room?
Here's what's in my fucking back room.
You lousy fucking poxy bastards. (ALL SCREAM)
Come on you fuckers, yeah!
Get yourselves a lovely spray tan.
Welcome to Glow Job.
Oh, I've missed a bit, did I?
Here. Here. (SCREAMING CONTINUES)
Get some fucking tan lines around that.
- Fuck me. Grab his fucking arms. - You're wanting some of that, do yer?
♪ BEASTIE BOYS: Sabotage ♪
Hold still for crying out loud, will yer?
You better start talking.
(LAUGHS) I'm not telling you shit about shit.
You will tell us shit about shit. I'll take your fucking eyebrow off.
Now, did Niall come here or not?
You know what you can do? Go and fuck your mother.
- Oh, rude. - Oh... Fucking piece of work
- Did he try and sell you a trophy? - Fuck your Uncle Eldon.
I tell you what. Thomas, pull his fucking eyebrow off.
No. No. Argh!
- Gone. - Argh!
Gone. You look like a fucking idiot.
On one side, you're a 50% twat right now.
I'll do the other one. When I run out of hairs,
- I'm gonna go down there. - I do my own genitals.
I'm like a fucking dolphin down there.
- Man after my own heart. - Fucking weird dude.
Alright, Mick, go and smash up all his shit in the back room.
We're fucking up your back room, pouring away the shampoos.
- No! - Smash it up.
- Pour it all out. - I'll talk.
No, not the shampoos. No!
I'll talk. I'll talk.
(BREATHES HEAVILY) Look in my phone.
- Where is it? - It's in my flaps.
Passcode: 0072. Roger Moore.
No, no, no. He was 0073.
George Lazenby, he was 0072. I mean everybody knows that, like.
Yeah. He was shite. Wasn't even a proper Bond.
- Hm. - Last calls.
(PHONE CHIMES) Don Randy?
Who the fuck's Don Randy?
Sounds like sort of, er, mid-level '70s porn star, doesn't it?
Hey. Hey. Who's Don Randy?
He's a scary fucker, and you do not wanna mess with him.
That's who he was meeting here,
and that's all I know. That's all I can tell yer. Now, fuck off.
Listen, what is that there? Is that a bloody five or a three?
- It's a three. Well, it looks- - No, five.
- Is it? - I don't... Fucking try three.
CARDI: What you gonna say?
(LINE RINGING) I'm gonna style it out, like a boss.
I'll lay the bait, he's gonna take nibble.
You gonna invite him to be in Be My Bitch Volume Seven?
Just shut up, ya gob shite.
- WOMAN: "Hello." - Oh, shit.
I'm looking to speak to a Donald Randy?
"Don Randy? Do I sound like Don Randy,
- "you filthy fucking bastard." - Oh, I'm sorry love. (LINE BEEPS)
- Oh, she's gone. - It must have been a five.
- Do you think (?) You fucking lemon. - Alright. What?
Well, I got all geed up for it, didn't I?
Give it here. You need to be more zen. You get way too wound about things.
You need to be better at fives.
My girlfriend told me to stop acting like a flamingo,
- so I put my foot down. - (LAUGHS)Michael...
(LINE RINGING) Honestly.
Weird timing. You'll change your tune when I'm famous.
- "Hello." - Oh, it's the same lady, man.
"You, you filthy bastard. Paul!"
- "This pervert keeps ringing me." - Don't tell Paul.
Don't tell Paul, it's an honest mistake, love.
My mate's bad at fives. Listen...
someone, put the right fucking number in this right fucking now.
- Here, I'll try. - No, you fucking won't.
Give it here.
- Give it to me. - Here you are.
Fucking thicks, the lot of you.
- Yeah? (LINE RINGING) - Here you go.
- Yes, Carol. - Right, go on.
Fuck, is it gonna be her again?
- No. No, listen. - Shit.
MAN: "Hello."
Now then... is that Don Randy?
- "Who's asking?" - I fucking am.
- And you are? - "Vincent O'Neill."
I have been given this number,
apparently it's the number of a very important entrepreneur
- called Donald Randy. - "This is his phone."
Fuck, doesn't answer his own phone, that's classy that. Very classy..
- What's the proposal? - "I am a marijuana,"
- er, botanist. - Ooh.
And I would like to dis... discuss distribution.
I'll ask. (LINE DISCONNECTS) (CLICKS TONGUE)
- He's just gone? - He's just fucked off. Oh... (SHUSHES).
(PHONE BUZZES) (PHONE CLICKS)
- Mr Randy. - MAN: "Who the fuck are you,
you perv, ringing my bird asking for John Randy?
- Fucking Paul. - It's Paul, in't it?
It's bloody Paul. Paul, listen,
it were a genuine mistake. My mate's really bad at fives.
It's one fucking number. We're looking for Donald Randy,
not fucking John Randy you turnip.
- "Ring again... - "Abort."
..I'll come over there and cut your cheek out!"
Do you know what, man, it's a very strange threat.
You don't even know where the fuck I am.
I'm on a mobile phone. Where you gonna come to?
(LINE BEEPS) "To where you are."
- Fuck me hang on. - "I'll fucking kill you!"
What's going on there, then?
- Paul, hang on a minute, love. - Is it call waiting?
- What do you press now? - Hey up, Paul. Listen to me, love.
Your bird's having an affair, in't she? She's cheating on ya.
- "Fuck you!" - See what's before your eyes.
Know what I mean? Chow.
- (POSH ACCENT) Hello? - MAN: "Vincent O'Neill?"
Er, this is his associate, one Mr Shaftner.
- That's cool as fuck. - He'll meet you at midday
tomorrow at Duffy's bar.
Bring samples. And sit by the window.
We will do exactly that, thank you.
- (LAUGHS) Voila, we have a meeting. - Well in.
One spliff I've got left. I were fucking saving it for t'ferry.
I want you on your fucking best behaviour. None of your nonsense.
- Obviously not. - It's big deal, get in there.
Get the fuck in the pub.
Ah ba-ba-ba, you're not going nowhere, you piss head.
- You're not drinking- - I want a drink.
Listen, it's a very serious situation we're all in. I want you out here,
chilling out, we can't go in mobhanded. Fucking give over.
- We can't go in mobhanded. - Go on, fuck off.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
Shite, Vin...
- ..there's no window seats left. - No, it's alright, we'll just...
We'll just loiter here for a bit.
He specifically said to find a fucking window seat, didn't he?
There's no window seats.
Unless we ask one of these starey bastards to move.
Why does he want us sat near a fucking window seat, anyway?
The demand of a gangster. They need to see people coming in and out.
I don't like this, Vin. We need to get out of here.
Don't be a...
- No, no, hang on. - Stop being a fucking tart, dude.
What if he's correct? What if Niall's got in over his head?
What if this a fucking trap?
What if this fucking Don Randy is,
- in fact, the Irish Don Corleone? - It's not gonna be Don Corleone,
- it's gonna be Donald. - Donald Corleone?
Not D... Right, give over now, pair of ya.
- Look hard. - Woah, woah, woah.
What? Oh, fuck me.
Oh, he looks hard.
- He's a big lad. - Oh, he looks like a killer.
(SHUSHES)
(THICK IRISH ACCENT) Vincent O'Neill!
- Er, D-Don Randy? - Vincent O'Neill?
- Oh, Don Randy? - Pleased to meet you, so I am.
Alright, then. Oh, get in there.
Always good to get a new business associate from the UK.
OK.I see all the window seats are taken, maybe we'll get a booth.
Ciaran here'll get us a few pints. You can drink your hole off. Come.
What was any of that?
- He wants to get a pint to drink our holes off. - Gross dude.
Now then, get your laughing gear round that.
Now honestly, that is the finest plant
you will ever fucking smoke in your life.
What I'm saying is, if you wanna get in the weed business,
we're good men to get in business with.
- Ciaran. - Go easy, Ciaran, for fuck's sake.
- It's bloody strong. - I-I don't touch it myself.
I like a brandy, like to slip my shoes off at the end
and I watch a police procedural and sip away at a fine, fine brandy.
- Summat about brandy? - He likes a tipple in the evening
- and watches a cop show on telly. - Right, yes, yes, now listen, er..
Now that your, er, beautiful assistant has parted ways with us,
perhaps we might pick your brains about a person of interest to us,
who you might've run into earlier today.
- And who's that then? - Niall Dennings.
Why do you wanna know?
He's got something belonging to an associate of ours. We want it back.
I see.
Yeah, that Niall is fucking idiot, less brains than a slug,
and he owed me money, big, big money.
Gambling debt. He ran off back to England.
So, I told Mardie Fisher to tell him, if ever he come back,
- he's gonna lose both his testicles. - Testicles.
Mardie called me today and said the gobshite is back,
but he had my money. I arranged to meet the fucker at Mardie's.
- None of it. - Niall owed Don Randy money,
- so Mardie Fisher linked 'em back up again. - Right.
- What's he stolen from yer? - The fuck...
- (WHISPERS) The FA cup. - The what?
The fuck... The fucking original FA cup, the cunt's got it.
- Have you seen him with it? - Trophy? No, didn't see that.
- He paid me what he owed me and went. - Fuck me.
- How much did he owe you? - Seven grand.
Seven... Seven grand, I got that.
- I got seven grand. - Where'd he get that from?
He said he got lucky, at Micky Flanagan's sports bar.
You know what I think, he's full of shit. Still...
I got my money, so you know,
- he keeps his testicles. - Testicles again.
We need to get to Mickey Flanagan's sports bar.
- Alright. - Alright, gentlemen.
- I got bits. You're a good lad. - Mm.
♪ LEROY SIBBLES: Express Yourself ♪
♪ Express yourself
♪ Express yourself... ♪
Keep your eyes out. It's gotta... Fuck me. It's gotta be in here, man.
It's gotta be, gotta be, got.. Oh, my God,
It's right in front of us. Dude. Michael, you fucking pleb.
Not having a beer.
- Do you know what I mean? - TOMMO: Hello.
It's that badger.
- Fucking it. - Uh-huh.
"This is a life-size replica of the original FA Cup from 1895.
"The original was stolen and was never seen again."
- Fucking replica? - Motherfuckers.
Excuse me, love.
How long's that been in here?
No idea, they're always changing stuff round.
- Well, was it here last week, this, duck? - Don't think so.
No? Well, that's fucking it! Innit? I'll tell you what's happened here,
he's fucking sold it, is what he's done.
He's sold it to these fuckers.
Now they're pretending it's a shagging replica.
You know what I mean? It's fucking real thing, innit?
Alright, come here. Oi, come here to me.
We're gonna have to nick it back.
- How? - What do you mean "how"?
- Method. - Listen to me.
Hundred year ago, this fucking thing here was robbed seamlessly.
We're gonna do the very same thing. We're gonna come in,
under the cover of darkness. We're gonna come through the fucking roof.
Like Maurice's granddad. Can I get a onetime? Come on.
Yeah.
♪ THE HIGH KEYS: Que Sera, Sera ♪
♪ Hey
♪ Get it set up ♪ Set up
♪ (VOCALISING)
♪ When I was just
♪ A little boy
♪ I asked my mother
♪ "What will I be?
♪ "Will I be handsome?
♪ "Will I be rich?"
♪ This is what she said to me
♪ "Que-e-e-e sera, sera, sera" ♪ Sera, sera
♪ "Whatever will be"
♪ Sera, sera ♪ "Will be, will be
♪ "The future's not ours to see" ♪ Sera, sera
♪ "Que sera, sera" ♪ Que sera, sera
♪ "What will be, will be" ♪ Que sera, sera
♪ When I was just
♪ A child in school
♪ I asked my teacher
♪ "What should I try?"...
(ALARM BLARES)
♪ "Should I sing songs?"
♪ This was her wise reply
♪ "Que-e-e-e sera, sera, sera" ♪ Sera, sera
♪ "Whatever will be"
♪ Sera, sera ♪ "Will be, will be
♪ "The future's not ours to see" ♪ Sera, sera
♪ "Que sera, sera" ♪ Que sera, sera...
(SIRENS WAIL IN DISTANCE)
♪ Mamma, will I be a singer? ♪ Que sera, sera
♪ Hey, hey, hey, hey ♪ Hey, hey, hey, hey...
(SIRENS WAILING)
♪ Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey ♪ Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey... ♪
(FEERY HORN BLOWS)
(SEAGULLS CRY)
♪ LINK WRAY: Black River Swamp ♪
♪ There's a place...
(GUNSHOT ECHOES)
♪ Where the pine trees...
(PHONE CLICKS)
♪ Grow so tall...
- No, let me have it a bit more, will yer? - Calm yourself, jeez.
Bloody hell. Will you let me have it a bit more?!
No!
Will you let me have it? We're trying to take a photo.
- Careful. - Stop.Mick.
- Let me have it. - Oi, eh...
- Let me have it! - Stop, you'll drop...
- Ah, Mick! - Awww!
- Fucking unreal. - No, fuck!
- Dude... - What's going on?
- Are you fucking serious, man? - Ya fucking... It was Ashley.
- Horrible wankers is what you are. - What?
Fucking trophy's gone in the fucking sea.
No!
Oh, Tommo. It was Mick!
- Fucking hell! - Fucking idiots.
Mind the pints. Three for a tenner.
Maurice is NOT gonna be happy about this.
Why did the captain leave the ship?
Are you fucking joking? Here's a fucking joke!
(ALL ARGUING)
It was fucking Ashley.
(ARGUING CONTINUES)
♪ Down there
♪ By the fishing hole
(OVER SPEAKERS) ♪ And the smell of old Black River...
- I've already got one. - Oh, no, no, no.
This isn't the replica, this is the original.
Original my arse. How's a twat like you got the original?
I swear to you on my Uncle Teagan's life.
This is from 1895.
(HOLLOW THUD) That's the real McCoy.
How much you looking for?
For you... seven grand.
You can get rid of that replica there
- and have the real thing on display. - You must be joking.
This is going in my house.
I don't know how you've got it,
but this is sporting fucking history,
- The replica stays where it is. - Mm-hm.
Right, wait there...
- ..I'll get your cash. - Good man yourself.
♪ I can hear them hound dogs howlin'
♪ Chasing that old fox where I used to roam... ♪
Where's Vincent?
MONOLITO: You motherfuckers underestimated me.
Well now, you're gonna pay.
- Just come and f.. Ugh. - CARDI: Vin? Fuck!
- ALL: Ah! - Put it down, what is ...?
Who else knows about this?
- Unhand me! Oh! - Oh!
This isn't normal, Vin.
Christ, I know it's not fucking normal.
Sub extracted from file & improved by Se7enOfNin9 for addic7ed.com
♪ SIR JOE QUARTERMAN & FREE SOUL: (I Got) So Much Trouble In My Mind ♪
♪ I got so much trouble in my mind
♪ Give me the strength to carry on
♪ Cos everything I got is just about gone
♪ And I think about it... ♪
Subtitles by Sky Access Services www.skyaccessibility.sky