Original subtitles

The first time he called me, darling.

Well, what are you going to do?

The rules have changed.

He can't just come in and throw his weight about. I'm really sorry, sir. I

serve you.

What? We'll be talking soon. I have to close up.

I don't want any trouble.

Neither do I, sweetheart.

Here's the deal. I give you the money, you give me the drink.

Double whiskey and a can of lager. Your move.

If you don't leave the bar, I'm calling security.

I'm warning you.

Please, can someone get security?

I'm losing my temper here.

Anybody moves and she's dead.

How about we take the open -minded approach?

Wait until we meet him.

Look, what you think? Everything we've heard about in this fantasy?

Can I hit first, ask questions later?

Sounds brilliant.

Don't even think about it, mate.

Whiskey, slowly.

All you had to do was serve me. Why was that so hard?

I mean it, love. Move and you're dead.

£2 .75 for that mouthful.

That's robbery.

Another.

You can't go around treating people like this, you know that?

Winding them up.

One minute I'm minding my own business, next minute I got myself a situation

here. You need teaching some manners, you know that, bitch?

I'm with you, pal. Get back. Do you know you can't get a bottle of cheap booze

at Gatwick anymore without travelling outside Europe?

I mean, what bastard thought that up? Some dodgy geezer in Brussels. Are you a

kamikaze pilot or what? Don't waste a bullet on that silly tart.

It's the arseholes in power you should be getting after.

Name's Frank, by the way. Mind if I join you?

Right, please tell me they're filming something.

Stop there, please.

Police. Two more doubles, please.

You've got some bottle, haven't you? Three booze? It's got to be worth the

Come on, hurry up.

Cheers.

You'll nip...

Three guesses.

Very soon.

This way, sir.

Got one, sir.

Door closing.

Got one.

Door closing.

It's a bit of a risky business.

Taking out a shooter in a public eating area.

Yeah, well, I blame the caterers, sir.

Yes, well... Welcome to the NCS, Frank.

Thank you, sir. Oh, it's a first.

I've never had someone with so many years' experience join us.

Of course, in the NPS, reputations don't count for much. It's teamwork that's

important. That's why we're here.

A new way of policing.

Targeting criminals, not merely trying to solve their crimes.

Still, you know all that.

Well, I'm sure it does no harm to be reminded, sir.

Time to meet the team, I think.

You've already met D .S. Dave Summers and D .C. Sam Phillips, D .C. Chris

Gibson, D .C. Peter Moss. I'm sure D .C. I.

Burnside's well -earned reputation has preceded him.

Anyway, I'll leave you to get acquainted.

Yes, thanks for that, sir.

He's probably right.

I expect most of you have heard something about me.

As far as I'm concerned, I'd like to get to know you through your work.

Now, you're not a load of glove puppets with my hand up your backside.

But any moves you do make, I want to know about them. The final decision

with me.

All right?

Now, you all know what the underworld call the NCS?

Yeah, arseholes.

The British FBI.

They shit themselves when they know you're on their case.

That's why I'm very pleased to be working with you.

Right, why don't we break for lunch?

Can I have a word, guy? Yeah, certainly.

You know my dad, Jim Summers?

I should have realised.

He was the best DI I ever worked for. I reckon you'd work it out eventually.

I was hoping it wouldn't affect things.

Well, if you're worried about anyone else knowing we've got history, I won't

opening my mouth.

You get no favours from me.

Thanks.

Brad knows my new rock already.

Why would I need to do that?

Oh, there's team crap.

What exactly have you got against him?

Well, for a start, have you seen the colour of him?

I mean, either the guy's a sunbed freak or he's rotting.

Dinosaur. Has it crossed your mind he may have been brought in for a little

balance? Why?

We're modern, streamlined, low profile.

No place for him here. Yeah, and another thing, all the... Oh, I'm honoured to

be working for the British FBI.

Shit, it's so fire.

All this elite crime squad bollocks.

Anyone would think we'd never nicked major villains before they came along.

never did get old, Ronnie. Yeah, and that's the only reason I'm prepared to

listen to that pompous wanker, Lee.

Now I've got the resources, I am going to nick him. Yeah, but he's a celebrity

now, Frank. I mean, he does movies, for God's sake.

He's left that all behind him. He murdered my pal, Tony.

He ain't left that behind him.

Sipping, you extreme fellow, sipping champagne.

Dirty, no -good slag.

Far too personal. One paragraph.

That's all Barry Foxton got.

Nine frigging lines.

Come on.

I may have done some terrible things in my time, but blow a copper away.

I mean, honest reader, would I do that? And they're buying it, the mugs.

£14 .99 a throw.

What do you expect me to do? Earn your money.

Get me something fast.

You see the news?

A nutter waving a Mac -10 on a ferry.

I don't show up to nutters.

Yeah, but who knows who I've punched or fell onto.

The bloody point is, it might be one of ours.

Yeah, all right.

The more things go well, the easier it is to get complacent.

Complacent?

I don't know the meaning of the word.

You're right. Sure.

Look, don't apologise.

You're my mate.

You're having my ulcer for me.

Look, I tell you what, after you've done next week's deliveries, why don't we

knock it on the head for a bit?

You can have holiday.

Operation Gascoigne was what we were working on with DCI Temptley.

Drugs, kidnap across two continents.

So how long have you been working on that?

Nine months. Pan -European cooperation.

If they give it another month, then we'll have it wrapped up.

We like to be very good.

Are you regular oppos with Dave?

Yeah. Right, you two stick with Operation Gascoigne.

You two stay here.

All right, come in.

This is Diane Cutler, ballistics expert extraordinaire.

That trip to France has gone to your head.

One kiss on the cheek and I'm out of here.

Don't flatter yourself.

So what have you got for us?

Right, your bloke on the ferry.

I took a look at his gun.

It's unusual.

What does it have to do with that?

I checked the computer.

It seems the NPS have a file open on illegal firearms.

We're collecting evidence.

So how about getting the bastard who's putting them out there? Bet it doesn't

quite work like that, boss.

We don't deal with the individual crimes. We're trying to pinpoint the

source. Sounds good to me. Get on to the Nick who's holding that slag. What sort

of blokes and guns are you talking about? Boys and ties?

You're short on imagination, Samantha.

No. Your turn.

I'll make it simple. I don't want to confuse her.

Whoever your gunsmith is, this guy's more than just a craftsman.

His improvements to the acting on each gun are superb, by the way.

He's also a bit of an artist.

Before he sells the gun on, he likes to add a little flourish, just so you know

it's one of his.

That's a must, again.

Could be Celtic, Indian.

There was life on this planet before Hitler.

Your man is one very busy and dangerous operator.

That symbol's been found on at least 48 other guns that have come into our

possession. Now, you add that to the bullets taken from victims that have

fired from guns supplied by him... So what are we talking about?

I'd say your guy's responsible for the hardware on at least...

150 shootings.

Right. Well, thanks a lot, Di. Are you a drink?

Last time I went for a drink with you, I ended up dancing half -naked in a Greek

taverna.

A tip, Samantha.

Don't ever accuse me of confusing a gun with a toy.

I find it offensive.

Now, that is one very insecure man.

How did you make that out?

Well, it's classic.

Take over a new job, start sidelining all the stuff your predecessor was

on.

Moss tells me you've picked up the reins on Operation Gascoigne.

Yeah. Good. The international involvement's huge. I want it to be a

priority, OK?

Absolutely, Gav.

His name's Matthew Hutchins.

Used to be quite a handy -minded, but he developed a habit.

Took to beating up the clients he was supposed to be protecting.

No political affiliations.

See if you can come up with a list of ex -clients.

What's he up to now?

Runs a couple of toms.

Lives with one, Linda.

We searched the flat, just some ammo, couple of knives.

She says she knew he had a gun, but not where he got it. So what was he doing on

the ferry?

Coming back from a little business.

Not sure.

I wonder if I have a check.

It'll be a monologue.

Even cold turkey will be a challenge.

We'll see about that.

We got you on attempted murder, possession of a firearm, illegal

Tell us where you got the gun.

Well, the judge knew you helped him.

Might work in your favor.

I can make sure you're reminded to a nick with a good drugs unit.

Maybe after the psychiatrist has examined you, he might find you unfit to

Come on, you must be feeling bad.

Do you want me to ask the FME to organise some methadone for you?

Come on, Matthew, talk to me.

What's she laughing at?

You laughing at me?

Look!

Well, that went awfully well.

Luscious Linda.

Hutchins tart.

All tastes catered for.

You see the guy in that programme?

Liked to rub his dick on a grater.

Give him half cheese for a week.

DCI Burnside.

Don't do gangbangs.

Well, that is a disappointment.

It was for our protection.

That's what he said.

He loved the bloody thing.

He used to practise drawing it.

Put it to my head, pull the trigger.

Bang, you're dead.

Stupid pillock.

Can I have a lift to your Panthers?

You must be joking.

Look, we're not after you, Linda.

And you're going to need the money even more now.

Nobody's going to trace us back to you.

I promise.

Can I use your toilet?

Yeah, it's up there.

Mr.

Kemp Thursdays. He's lovely.

I've only got a cough and he comes.

Don something Friday, two o 'clock usually.

Fag. Oh, don't smoke. I gave it up years ago. Got pleurisy.

She'd had a visitor.

Male. What makes you say that?

He'd had a dump.

How do you know it was male?

I was nearly overcome by the fumes.

The paper was open at the racing page.

There was a fag end floating in the pan.

I raised my case.

A panther?

I don't think so. She wasn't wearing any flap.

It's probably nothing.

And if you're comfortable enough to be reading the paper on the ball, maybe

a mate of Hutchins.

Maybe he came round as soon as he heard he'd been arrested.

Far -fetched.

Forget it.

Set up an oboe.

Get photos of every face that goes in and out over the next 24 hours.

You guys fancy a drink before we head off?

My shall.

Any preferences?

Why don't you two go?

Ten quid to plough.

You're the man of type.

You're right.

Rat and ferret.

Just do it.

Hiya, Reversa.

So what would you like?

They may choose.

Shabbily? Fine.

No, double tequila and Red Bull, please.

OK.

No make -up, trousers, suits.

Max and the lad, drink for drink, you know. I don't have to do that. I don't

have to grin and bear it when some arsehole DI comes up and says I'm a

tart and thinks it's funny.

And I don't have to apologise for being a woman, you know.

Superintendent Lee, Rick, 97.

He understands them. Sorry to interrupt you in mid -flow.

I don't think they just nicked your handbag.

A word of advice.

Let your head disappear too far up your arse.

It's difficult to see what's going on around you.

Bingo!

Chewing gum.

This place is so bloody clean, I was beginning to think I was working with

androids.

Paddington emailed a list of clients Matthew Hutchins used to mind.

Any faces?

One.

John Petrie.

Drug dealer.

Connections with the Yardies.

Suspect in the murder of a Jez Holt.

Holt was shot with a bullet that came from a gun with similar barrel work to

Hutchins. So where can we find him? Caught on camera last night.

Going into the block of flats where Linda lives.

Hutchins squeeze.

Has he come out yet?

No. Right.

Let's go and lift it.

Shouldn't we wait till we've got a search warrant?

No, no. Zane.

Oh. You've got a result at Linda's.

This Petrie is with Linda.

Why would he give anything up about Bentcombe?

Even when you had Hutchins with an attempted murder charge, he still gave

the silent treatment.

Yeah, well, I've done my homework.

John Petrie.

Animal.

Weaknesses.

Sick mum.

Greyhounds.

Fear of flying off multi -storey car parks.

Well, there is one thing I've heard. Petrie may be carrying.

First sign of shooting.

No heroics. Call SO19.

Right. We're not waiting out here.

Look, if this goes real... Then I will say we defined an order.

I'm with Sam.

In fact, this isn't really convenient.

Working the early shift, I am. Oi!

John Petrie, I'm arresting you for living off immoral earnings. Look,

laughing at you, mate. You don't have to say anything. What are you talking

about? Mate is my pimp, you know that. Where's your search warrant? In the

Have a look under those pillows.

Clean.

Nothing. So, what do you do? Leave your shooter at home, in case the old bill

came back? He ain't got a gun. Leave it, Linda, it's a wind -up. Arrest her and

all. I haven't done it! Anything.

Assaulting a police officer.

Bullets. You grabbed my arm on the way in. I could be in physio for months.

Boss. Just do it. And make sure you caution them separately.

Don't want them complaining we didn't go by the book.

My Lord's going to have me out before you have time to load the tape, you see.

Compensation for a legal arrest. What are we talking, a hundred grand?

Why don't we walk?

Them lifts are pretty unreliable.

You don't want to get stuck in there all morning, do you, mate? Seemed all right

on the way out.

You two take the next one.

Me, Dave and Mr Petrie want to be alone.

Keep your finger on the close button.

It's done. Do it.

You lot were cleaning up your act.

Come on then, hit me.

It's got to be worth 200 grand.

I'm not going to touch you.

Then get the lift going.

All right, mate, very funny.

Now just get the lift going.

You never get the feeling.

But the walls are closing in.

No oxygen.

Oh, no, no, no.

Three men in a lift.

Three men in a lift.

How long have we got?

Five? Six hours?

I haven't got any plans.

How about you, Dave?

I've got... You've got to let me out. I've got asthma.

Oh, you haven't.

You've got claustrophobia.

You were paroled out of Wandsworth early because of it.

Went around bragging about how you fooled the authorities.

Yeah, I did.

I know a geezer who knows another geezer who told him that in those tiny cells,

four of you, one on top of the other, you lost it.

You let me out now or what?

Do you remember what you said?

Unreliable, dangerous things lifts any sudden movement.

Just tell me what you want. I want the name of the man who supplied

Matthew Hutchins with his gun.

Same man who sold you yours.

One name and the door's open.

Come on, Petri.

You know you want to.

Billy Holden.

What now?

You don't look too clever, pal.

You want to get out more.

Listen, just no favour, because you know my dad.

It works both ways.

Is that right?

Look, playing outside the rules isn't how I do things. If you're expecting me

back you up, you've got the wrong person, guys.

Billy Holden owns a gun shop in Margate. He's been a police -approved dealer

since 1987.

Single parent.

Eight -year -old daughter.

What happened to the wife?

Divorced. So how come he got custody?

Well, being a mother doesn't automatically make you a saint.

Form?

Completely the opposite.

What do you mean?

Billy Holden's ex -job.

Three years as an AFO.

In fact, he was the longest -standing police shooting champion.

Do what?

I reckon Petrie's bullshitting you.

He'll pull out Holden's name, name the police champion. Good jokey.

I don't think Petrie was in the mood for jokes.

Actually, it's not the first time Holden's name's come up. What?

When I ran him through ENSYS, he was flagged.

What for?

A third year of someone we're keeping an eye on.

Since when?

Eighteen months ago.

Eighteen months?

Get me up to speed on Operation Gascoigne.

Well, the French are ring -fencing the points of distribution.

And we're still negotiating with the Turkish authorities about who mounts

on a port of entry.

Soundbites. Give me the true story.

Sir?

Gibson and Moss are dealing with Gascoigne by themselves, while you and

of the team do what?

Holden. Illegal arms dealer.

I haven't stepped out of line. You've got a file open on him. It's not a

question of stepping out of line. It's a question of prioritising.

You've been sitting on the Holden stuff for 18 months. Compiling evidence.

At present, we're aggressively pursuing Operation Gascoigne for all the reasons

previously stated.

Holden is a peripheral concern.

He sold a gun that almost killed an innocent girl trying to do her job.

If you thought you could use the NCS to pursue personal agendas, Frank, resign

now or I'll write you a glowing reference.

Keep Holden in the background.

Focus on Gascoigne.

My office, 15 minutes. Tell Gibson and Moss I want them to bring me up to speed

on Operation Gascoigne and find out if Holden's got his name down for a

competition. If he has, sign me up for it. Go.

Go.

You'd better come in.

Who'd have thought you'd end up being my son's DCI?

Yeah.

He's a bright boy.

You're not kidding.

Changed from our day.

How do you mean?

We didn't need degrees to be good coppers.

You were the smartest DI I ever worked for. Didn't count for much, though, did

it?

I would have liked to have made it to DCI, if only for Dave's sake.

Well, he must understand.

I'm not sure he does.

I go down the street, couples of all races all mixed up together.

In my day, Christ, the stuff they used to say in the canteen, it still gets me

going. Yeah, well, we were all desperate to be one of the chaps.

Look at Dave.

Me and Lucille go through all that.

And he's got his head in the air.

No worries.

Good luck to him.

Has he got a girlfriend?

No, too busy concentrating on the career.

So what the hell are you doing at the NCS?

What is it the lads call them? No crime solved?

Yeah, well, I'd prefer it if I didn't have that prat Brian Lee breathing down

neck.

He's like someone auditioning for the Labour front bench.

Why are you still hanging on?

I never had you down as a white knuckler.

What, you reckon I haven't got the bottle to quit?

Take away the warrant card, and who's Frank Burnside?

I rang Dave to ask him how you were settling in.

He said you had a copy of Ronnie Buchan's book on your desk.

Yeah, well... I have read Geoffrey Archer, too.

It's been nearly 20 years.

We couldn't prove Bucking killed Barry then.

You won't do it now.

So what am I supposed to do?

Slug down another whisky.

Chase a bit of skirt.

What does it matter?

After 20 years, all I know is you can't win.

Maybe. Ronnie Bucking's face is on every billboard.

Every sodding bush.

Everywhere I turn, that little shit is laughing at me.

I'll tell you, Jim.

I'm not taking up knitting till I've wiped the grin off Ronnie Buchan's face.

Forget all the anti -gun crap. Look at him. He's lovely.

You shoot?

Yeah, for self -defence.

Or the protection of others.

He's right.

You should listen to yourself sometime.

We were mates before you came along.

We are mates.

Yeah, well, maybe if my dad had served with Burnside.

Chris lent me Ronnie Buck and Spook.

Page 124.

The formidable theme of Burnside and Summers.

Maybe if everyone knows Burnside and my old man were mates, they'd be afraid to

give me a break.

And if you're right and Burnside is a sexist pig, when he gives you a break,

lads will think he did it to get in your knickers.

And you won't know which it is.

If you know what I mean.

Shit.

Am I talking in the air, Steve?

Yeah.

But you still like me a little bit, don't you?

Don't you? Don't look at me in that tone of voice.

Get you nowhere.

Oh, please.

Hasn't he had enough yet?

Billy Holden's in a police friendly on Sunday.

Invitation only.

All right, Fairy Godmother, wave your magic wand and get me an invitation.

That's him.

Who is he now?

No idea.

It's good.

The boss is good too.

Considering his age.

Failing eyesight.

Shaking hands.

I'm not mean -spirited. I must concede he has done well.

A bastard.

We have a tie between Billy Holden and Frank Burnside.

So if both parties agree, I suggest we go to a shootout.

Good luck, Dove.

Yeah, well, always pay to let the enemy think he's better than you.

Frank Burnside.

Congratulations. Billy Alden.

And this is a mate of mine.

John Winfrey.

How you doing?

Sam Phillips.

Dave Summers.

That was fantastic shooting.

Cheers. Can I have a look at your gun?

Yeah, of course.

Modified it yourself, did you? It's all in competition rules.

I wonder if we could have a chat.

In private.

Sure.

I've got a problem.

I'm investigating illegal gun dealing.

You're not saying I handle banned guns. Of course I'm not. I mean, you're one of

us. No, it's just that my boss has handed me a file. He expects me to get

speed overnight.

Well, I was just wondering if maybe you could show me what to look for. That

sort of thing.

That would be my pleasure.

How about tomorrow?

What the hell were you doing, letting him examine your gun?

He's an amateur.

What would he say?

He threw the competition, no?

What? I watched him.

Maybe he knows.

He don't know shit.

Maybe then he wouldn't have to play stupid mind games.

Suppose he is on this.

Now, you see, this is why British justice is the best in the world.

Because he's got to prove me guilty.

He don't know where to look.

I'm just a dealer on a list.

He's our man.

How do you know?

Cut him straight.

Maybe he just ate something dodgy, Gav.

You sure I can't drop you off?

Sam goes right past my door.

All right. See you in the morning.

Yeah.

Now, for somebody who hates guns, you seem to enjoy yourself today.

Can I see a drink?

How do you mean, a drink?

A drink.

A bloody drink.

What a dump.

Cheers. Cheers.

You ever killed anyone?

What?

No. Wanted to?

I will.

You ever had anyone die on you?

No.

I'll tell you something.

I couldn't give a toss whether you liked me or not.

Do the work. Obey orders. Don't score a known goal.

It's good enough for me.

But there are some things that do matter to me.

Mock them.

And forget offended.

I'm angry.

That's 20 years ago.

When dinosaurs walked you.

Me and my partner, Barry Foxton, were on a shout.

He had an attractive young wife, who he adored.

And a son called Tommy, who he worshipped.

Shall we get the violins out and set the mood?

We had information that Ronnie Buchan was going to pull an armed robbery.

As it happens, it was a no -show.

Barry and I were walking back to the car.

Shot rang out.

Cliché.

I thought it was a car backfiring.

One of those seconds you can put your foot through.

At first I thought I'd been hit.

There was blood on my suit.

Then I realised it was Barry.

I even remember wondering how I'd get the stain off.

Then reality kicked in.

I was screaming into my radio.

I'm holding him.

I was on my hands and knees trying to stop my friend's life oozing into the

gutter.

When the ambulance man told me that Barry was dead.

I'm sorry.

Not as sorry as me.

Hey, here you go. Go get your chalmers on. Be in in a minute.

Hey, you going to introduce me then, Frank?

No, no, Tom.

No, all right, now, listen, I'll talk to you later. All right, see you later.

So, who pulled the trigger?

Ronnie Buchan.

But that's not what he says in his book.

He pulled the trigger.

What are you going to do?

Take him down.

And if you can?

Bide my time.

And kill him.

I'd read it.

Mick?

Talk me through deactivated guns.

Imagine I know nothing.

Well, the normal way is you bring in a load of deactivated guns from abroad.

Well, you know, the Europeans alone are a bunch of slack bastards.

And they're not that difficult to put back together again.

Yeah.

OK.

Our bloke sends a deactivated proofing house. They take a look at it, say, well

done, he gets a certificate.

And all he's got to do is whack in some new parts, take off the serial number

and put it back on the street.

Sounds like a nice little earner. Oh, yeah, but he's costly on the nose.

If the dealer gets caught, he's in big shit.

Oi,

Markham out.

We're on our turf.

Move it.

Ignore him. He's pathetic.

I'm sorry.

You obviously love your job. Take a pride in my work.

That's why I'm good.

That's a very rare call out of you these days.

You're not kidding.

Well, it's like my dad, you know. He used to run a little family grocer's.

And deliveries, no order too small, everything on tick pay up by Saturday.

Is he still going?

Of course he isn't.

Packy's family took over the newsagents across the road.

I used to sell everything.

Toffees to Tampax.

I don't mean to be offensive, but they breed like rabbits. They could keep the

shop man 24 hours a day.

My dad couldn't compete.

Finished him in the end.

What, he sold her?

Yeah. Eventually, my mum had to go into her home. And here's an irony for you.

Because they saved their money and didn't squander it, they ended up paying

their fees out of their own pocket.

Disguised to show.

Play by the rules, you get shafted. It's like Margate.

You know, I feel sorry for anybody who's homeless.

The DFF are bussing them here from other towns. Same as the immigrant.

All I'm saying is sometimes you've got to look after your own first, that's

I agree.

All these do -gooders.

Bunch of wankers.

Don't get me started.

I mean, why should you lot be scared to stop and search somebody just because

his skin's a different colour to yours? How can that be racist? Tell me about

it. It's been proved.

The blacks commit the majority of the crimes.

That's been proved.

You know it is, Frank.

If I had my way, the police would be on. There's a matter of course.

What are you going to do if some lunatic shoots at you? Hide behind your

trenchant? I've been there, pal.

Seems to me everyone's tooled up these days.

I try and look on the bright side.

Some drug -dealing coon shoots another drug -dealing coon. I ain't exactly

to grieve, am I?

You got kids, Frank?

No. Yeah, well, I have.

It's Maddie.

She's eight years old.

Beautiful. Yeah.

And every night I go to bed and I pray to God to keep her safe.

Do you know how to clean a cesspit for her?

No.

You get rid of all the shit.

You reckon Hitler had a point then?

I wouldn't go as far as that.

Just looking at the memorabilia.

It's just a reminder of Britain's finest hour, Frank, that's all.

Billy Holden is a poisonous, racist, cowardly, bollockless piece of shit.

He'd probably enjoy watching people blow each other away. Anyway, he's only in

it for the money.

Two kids slogging it out over turf.

The deceased was found in possession of a deactivated Mac -10, or the same

symbol as the others.

He obviously didn't have time to draw it before he was hit.

What do we know about him?

16. His brother's pretty influential with a yardie party, the Black Knights.

So what have you heard? The Black Knights aren't happy.

They've let it be known they're out for revenge.

What do you mean? We could be looking at a gang war.

A war requires a higher level of armoury.

Now, it's not unreasonable to assume that the Black Knights will source from

same quartermaster as before.

Holden.

Dyer. Well, he won't be operating out of his main workshop.

He'll have to have another one somewhere where he keeps the lathe that he uses

for the illegit work.

Think of the lathe as the gunsmith's fingerprint.

The way it cuts into the barrel of each gun, and consequently the marks that are

left on the bullets when they're discharged, is unique.

If you know what to look for, the barrel work of each piece is as distinctive as

the symbol on the casework.

Holden needs someone to market the stuff.

He doesn't want faces going to his shop.

So to nail him...

We're going to have to find the lathe and the middleman.

The yardies want their order the day after tomorrow.

They've come to live in his country.

They can learn to queue like everyone else.

There's some ruck going down.

They're prepared to pay extra.

Ten percent.

Five.

Have you heard any more from Burnside?

Give your imagination a rest, will you?

Hey, I'll tell you what.

Why don't you go and pack your sun cream?

John Renfrew.

Middleman?

Holden's best pal, Chris and Pete, are on surveillance on Holden and Renfrew.

Sam, dig up what you can to link Renfrew.

What about Lee?

What, Operation Gascoigne?

Don't worry about it.

Any comebacks, I'll take the flak.

Right?

OK, they're covering one angle.

What about the other?

Fancy some fresh air?

I want you to get cosy with the brothers.

See if you can find out when the Black Knight party are taking delivery of

Holden's gun.

If we know the day he's shipping out, we might be able to nail him and his lay.

A little bit.

Well, here's another one.

If things get tight, no fronting it out.

What will you be doing?

Me?

Catching up on my paperwork.

What else?

Dave Dunlop.

What?

When?

I'll be there.

Problem? My partner's been assaulted.

I'll drive you. It's okay. I'll drive you.

What's the verdict?

Looks worse than it is, thank God.

Do I get an introduction?

Stephen, this is my boss, TCI Burnside.

Call me Frank.

I've heard Frank Burnside's been making inquiries about him.

Let's return the compliment.

I want to know everything about him, what he's up to, who he's shagging.

To save his bank balance.

Why waste your valuable time on him?

He's just some copper from the old days.

I had this dog once.

Big brute, soft as a brush.

One day it bit the missus, sunk its teeth in and just locked on.

Poor love's screaming her head off while I'm trying to price its jaw up.

Never underestimate Frank Burnside.

So what happened to the dog?

I'd have it put down.

Are you ready for me now, Ronnie?

Any time, darling.

What's going on here?

Get out!

Out! Now! Out! Come on!

Get out! You're not supposed to be here now.

Customers have to use these toilets.

Hi, Arden.

Leave me alone.

A brother who's a cop.

You ain't going to do my reputation any good.

Come on.

Haven't you seen the posters?

I'm supposed to be a role model.

You certainly were.

Well,

in those days, we didn't go around beating

up old ladies for their pensions.

Don't ever guess further.

We had a strong code of honour.

So how could you join the enemy, man?

I fancied the job.

What, a black man jumping on other black men's heads?

Do any of the brothers in this market know you're gay?

No, of course not.

Why not?

Because if they found out, they'd kick the shit out of you, that's why.

Regardless of whether you've the same colour skin.

You must know someone connected to the Black Knights.

Tell them I need to buy a gun.

You want to get me killed?

Do you seriously believe that?

Don't look at me like that, Dave.

You look at me like that and I can't say no to nothing.

You'll never be traced back to you.

I promise.

You walk in there and they're bound to smell police.

My partner Steve got attacked last night.

What they're going to smell is personal.

of the cesspit.

Get rid of the shit.

You've got the name of the shooter.

Ben Renfrew.

Renfrew? Son of John Renfrew.

Billy Holden's best mate.

What the hell happened here?

Guns.

Clear! I'm sick.

And the only person responsible here is you.

For God's sake, Frank, he's just a kid. He can still be armed. Hey, you have a

little attitude problem.

Good luck.

Much appreciated.

You got what you wanted, Frank.

Our attention.

Now everyone's watching you.

You better get a result.