All language subtitles for lock_stock_s01e05_and_two_sips

All right, here we go.

Well? The accountant.

Excuse me, John, I didn't quite hear
you.

The accountant.

The accountant who was doing your books.

That's the third accountant in a month.

Who'd have thought we were particularly
so dangerous?

We were having a blinding year. We sold
enough lager to flood the Thames

Barrier.

We was in and out of that bank like the
tide at Margate.

In the kitchen, Moon had gone all ethnic
again, but even his tong and casserole

was doing a roaring.

Life was, what is it when everything's
as good as it can get?

Sweet. That's it.

Life was sweet.

And to cap it all, we had a very
peculiar offer from Moira.

You're offering us £50 ,000?

Yes. And we don't have to do jack shit
to get it?

That's what I like about you boys. Sharp
on the uptake.

This might sound like a stupid question,
Moira, but... It's not rocket science,

Jamie. I would have thought it was
obvious what was going down here.

I... I have a party who wishes to make
an investment in Lapland.

Ah, Lapland. That palace of dreams.

That he or she does not wish to be
identified.

Haven't you boys ever heard of Trojan
horse trading?

Anonymous investors?

Jumping out the wooden horse when the
damage is done.

You being the Trojan horse.

Oh, forget it. I'll find somebody else.

Hold up, Moira.

Can we have a little time to think about
it? No.

OK, we'll do it.

I'll bring the money round tomorrow.

She did and all.

And to show her appreciation, she even
threw in the catering contract on the

cabbie's ball.

Now, that was real clark.

People off the telly, politicians, a
radio DJ, even a minor royal was spotted

hanging around a beer tin.

And then there was the real faithful,
Miami's general, Greasy John.

If you needed a motor, he'd sort you
out. You'd have the car of your dreams

your doorstep within the hour.

Agus Moss.

Now that geezer's got more blags to his
name than any other face in town.

Rainham Ray.

Now, he's a different kettle of fish.

This geezer likes getting his fingers
dirty. He knows every inch of the pool

industry. Literally.

As for Rudolph, he does the dodgy boo
scam.

Word is, he runs most of it into his
gut.

Four of the most vicious bastards that
had ever been guests of Her Majesty.

Gold -plated, genuine hoods.

Not forgetting the top gun himself.

Miami Vice.

The top of the food chain.

And then there was Terry Gardner.

Now, rumour had it that Terry was more
than Miami's enforcer. Word was, he had

his eye on the pro.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the
annual charity ball for kids.

I'd like you to put your hands together
for our very special guest.

A man that needs no introduction.

I love this bloke.

Mr Miami!

Because this is an event, as you know,
dear to my heart.

You've seen my tenure.

Look,

I'm rushed off my feet here. Where's
Moon?

No idea.

What do you think I'm doing, sharpening
a pencil?

Oh, my God.

And this year, you generous people have
raised a record amount.

So a truly humanitarian body of men.

Thanks for all this murder on the
platter.

Let's talk as we walk, mate.

Desperate for an eyelash.

in Lapland.

I like it.

Not reindeer, but I like it.

That's what I like about you, Terry.

Always ready with a joke.

The verbals.

Sorry, mate.

What's the problem?

I bought this gap from my old man.

He used to be acquainted with the old
boy who runs it. What's her name again?

Moira. Silly name for a tarp.

Anyway, the old man used to have a soft
spot for this moira when she was on the

street corners hawking them mutton.

Used to be a hard spot, but age takes
its toll.

So, after birthday, I buys him the
warrant.

Only I let the old scrubber keep 10%. I
recently made her an offer for her share

of the business.

And?

I find myself in a bidding war with a
shagged -out old flapper.

Who's pulling my plonker?

Some fuckwits been bidding against me.

And the only fucker who can tell us who
it was is at the bottom of the Grand

Union Canal, right?

No flies on you, Terry.

Tell those I want to meet you after this
Jim's tea party's over.

That guy called my mum a scrubber.

Where have you been? Never mind that.

We've got a major fucking problem.

It makes sense, doesn't it?

He wants outright control.

And we're the little dicky birds who're
stopping him, can't we?

We've got to dismantle the situation.

What are you talking about, you wuss?

Have you been following any of this?

We signed a contract legal, didn't we?

Bacon? Let me make this easy for you.

Miami is a murderous psycho with a
criminal empire.

You are abundantly ponced with a
penknife.

The way I see it, Moira's not going to
flash that paper at Miami until she has

to. We give her her 50 long ones and get
the contract back.

Agreed?

I'll tell you what I think.

We've got a mouse in the pantry.

Another accountant goes for a midnight
dip in a Grand Union.

Miami! Excuse me, Agus, I'm not flapping
my gums here for dental exercise. I'm

trying to make a point.

So you can stop fucking about with the
matches.

You're not impressed with me, son?

Three accounts go belly up in a matter
of weeks.

It don't take Miss fucking Marple to
copy something to do with the figures.

So, I've been looking at the books. Or
rather, yours, yours and yours.

And I'm here to tell you your sums ain't
adding up.

A remortgage on the car yard, your 60
grand light.

The Bondi Warehouse you've done over in
May, it's nowhere in the figures.

Page 17.

Seven grand and seven grand ain't 13
grand. Miami Ice. Now, there are two

possibilities.

Either one or more of you has been
pissing in the swimming pool, which is

unlikely, given you know what I do,
or...

Some little fucking squirrel has been
nicking conkers and fiddling the books

order to hide his trail.

And when I find out who that is, he'll
wish his dad had had a wank on the night

he was conceived.

Clear?

Get the car.

Moira takes her cash back and we dug out
the old deal, right?

There's nothing else we can do.

Fucking death wish deal.

I don't feel so well.

Ernie.

Lovely piece you've got to do with. You
wouldn't pull it sitting here.

I could wipe mess with my wallpaper if
it went off.

What, um... What can we do for you,
Miami?

See that?

Harry Belafonte, Caesar's Palace, Las
Vegas. One of the truly great talents of

our age.

And it's signed, see?

And down here it says, knock them dead
tonight, Harry.

Your old pal, Frankie.

So it's signed not only by Harry
Belafonte himself, but by the legendary

Sinatra.

Any idea how much that cost me?

Go on, ask me.

How much it cost you? None of your
fucking business, son.

But I do know this.

I thought I was the most expensive
monarchist in the world.

But I saw that.

50 ,000 for four nights nobody's ever
heard of.

I mean, what is it with you lads? Every
time I turn around, there you are,

crawling out the woodwork like some kind
of carpet beetle.

You tired of living or something?
Because if you are, you've come to the

place.

It was only business.

What?

The lady came round, offered us a load
of money for doing fuck all.

He'd have been criminal to turn her
down.

All right.

Let's do business.

I want 20 grand by tomorrow.

Bitch.

Not so simple, since we used all our
cash on another little investment.

Cash flow?

Let's just say there's a major blockage
in the system, all right?

You want to give Miami...

Two ton 50, covered in shit.

Well, that was show moves, boss.

It's what I've got left.

I need a smack in the mouth.

Alone is what it comes down to. We're
all cleaned out.

Look. What about your uncle?

Uncle John?

Yeah. That's a great idea.

Jamie. He always promised. Jamie.

He's in Australia, isn't he?

I mean Uncle Keith.

OK.

I'm desperate, right?

Why have you landed yourself in this
shit again?

You always did have arsehole written
through you like a fucking stick of

We have to look out for the family,
don't we?

Do what?

Forget it.

I also know who you owe this money to.

My own fucking wife.

Uncle Keith.

I've always hated you worse than death.

You either help me out or you fuck off.

Don't piss off the pier till you know
which way the fucking wind's blowing.

I'm going to lend you some money.

Of course.

You've got to do something for me.

Which if you fuck up, your life's not
worth living.

Still interested?

Here he comes.

Well, you want me to count them
separate?

So you know the blame if it's short.

It's all there.

Here. You know what you've got down
there? What?

Dockett and Clark Imperial Lead Feedpipe
Blummy Fern.

Well, can you fix it?

Trouble is, someone's joined it to a
copper modern metric.

Does that mean you can't fix it? I mean,
that is like painting a tash on the

Mona Lisa.

Is there to fix the drains?

Well, I'm glad someone is.

Till the next time.

Bad news is, I'll have to have your
water off for at least an hour. Just do

Jamie.

Morning.

Well?

Uncle Keith.

He did make us a proposition.

What have we got to do for him?

Put someone up in a spare room for a few
nights.

What's the story?

It's an expat mate of Uncle Keith's from
the Costa. Goes by the name of Two

Sips. And?

It's an old face.

A face Miami will not want to see again.

Uncle Keith wants him watched like an
orc for a few days, makes sure he

wander into anywhere he ain't welcome.

What's he back here for, anyway?

That I do not know.

Let's be honest here.

If he's a friend of Uncle Keith's, he's
about as welcome as a dose of a clap.

When do you arrive?

Tonight? Sit your stance, dude.

It's not that simple, Lee.

That's it, Lee.

Go on.

You got it.

I got it, I got it, I got it. That's it,
mate. That's it. I got it, I got it, I

got it.

Grab on.

Bring that in on the slack.

What did he say?

Run that in on the ebb tide and bring it
alongside on the slack.

Don't give us that bollocks, just chuck
us the rope.

Can't find your sea legs, lads.

Listen, pupwash, I'm cold, wet, and I've
just ruined a pair of kinsos with more

than this boat.

I don't need your salty sea dog banter.

So if you know what's good for you,
you'll buy it.

Where is he?

Down below.

Take it.

Been like that since Bilbo.

So how long have we got to play
nursemaid to this old status quo

And two -uncle Keith says it's time to
go home.

I ain't keen on hanging out with anyone
who's in Miami's bad books, you know

what I mean?

Relax.

We just have to stay in a lot.

Oh, I could murder that.

So why'd they call you two...

Eh?

Nothing.

Right, you're round, I think. Get some
in, eh?

I was with these two Alsatians coming
towards me, but like I said, it is

how fast reactions of a couple of
elastic bands can get you right out of

trouble.

Yeah, well, you know, Reggie, he was a
great pal of my dad's and he was like an

uncle to me.

He never once forgot my birthday.

Two tips.

We've been told he was a nutter. But we
found a great bloke.

And then we learnt why he was here.

Or so we thought.

It's all right, ladies. I mean, what can
you do, you know?

It's just something you have to come to
terms with, right?

It's in my chest.

Don't know how long I got. Doctor said
six months, but I just had to feel my

feet on English soil, you know?

I'll tell you something, I ain't never
even been a man of two swords.

That's terrible, man.

Come on, come on, you can't hurt me now.

That's the spirit, man.

Got to say my farewells, you see.

Especially to old Agnes Moss.

Here, me and him done time together.

Here, his old sort, she used to smuggle
to Beckingham for us in her bra.

Does he still go to boxing?

Agnes? A regular as clockwork.

I'd like to see him just one last time.

one I had to get out of the country.

Well, at least you've got the weather
there. No, that don't matter as shit.

see, it's not just the usual bollocks
that you miss. You know, West Ham, warm

beer, right? What you really miss is the
great English pub fight.

Ah, yes.

It's eleven o 'clock.

Ding dong, down your pipe, steam
outside, bottle in your eye.

There's no cobbles.

Who do you fancy in the middle, mate?

I'm still thinking about the
heavyweight, James.

I wanted a word.

Just to warn you, things might kick off
later.

What's that?

Old Aggies was on his way over from a
bunch of number crunches in the city.

With some crystal clear results, my boy.

I've seen it all before.

They get two bob, two quid, two grand
and two hundred grand, but they get the

ump because you've got four hundred
grand.

Envy.

Envy of the other man.

Coughin' Terry.

Bottle -dobbin' was right.

Well, times change.

I can see that.

Shit. How about you to that, then?

I'd quite like to see Moira again.

Fucking joking.

Come on.

Now, she stopped doing that shit with a
pipe, then?

Look, I'll be the first to admit there's
better ways of raising 20 grand than

babysitting a psycho.

But what we've got to work out is how to
stop him taking out any more of his old

enemies.

Well, we keep him at home.

You know, we could rent him some videos.

Comedies, musicals, you know, nothing
violent.

Yeah, he might go for that.

Been on his last legs and that.

Lee! Lee.

He wasn't entirely truthful about the
cancer.

Fucking bastard!

Right, Jeremy, what's the plan?

Keep the fucker inside these four walls.

What is the plumber doing in the bar,
drinking a pint an hour before we open?

We paid him in pints.

He's got 50 in the bin.

That gives you 34.

Right, lads, we're going out.

We thought we'd stay in, keep our heads
down, you know. Yeah, loads on loads.

You've got it.

You know I'm missing out on a shaggy.

Got it for you.

Tony's going through one of her creative
periods.

Moon, he's going to do someone again.

We'll have to bag him up or something.

Don't be dense. He's a pro.

Yeah, I just wanted to have a little
word.

Oh, it's something I saw in a boxing
last night.

Yeah, it's something that happened in a
ball.

I'll say, I'll talk straight around and
we'll get down to business.

All right, sweet.

It's a bit of life, it's a bit of life.

So you and Rainham get on, do you, Two
Sips? Pete's in a pod, mate.

This place must be worth a fortune, eh?
Pete and the pod get on, then.

Me and Ray, brothers in all that night.

Two Sips, me old mucker.

Rainham, Ray.

Gorgeous as ever.

Come on in.

Lovely house, mate.

Put that pool in yourself?

Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact.

Almost did me back in, though, lifting
all that crazy paving off the Mrs

Rockery. Bet you weren't too happy about
that.

Oh, I fucking paid for it, lads.

Shagging was out for a month.

Those koi carp are nice. Are they rare?

No, son, you can eat them.

Fuck!

Fuck me!

You fucking mental, Keith!

Will you please stop shooting people?

You are supposed to be keeping a low
profile.

Poor bastard never even got a chance to
answer the question.

You can get caught a cop anywhere these
days, mate.

I think I'll drive.

So where's he now?

Only having a lie down.

He said he was tired.

Well, he's had a busy day, hasn't he?

I'll give you this, James.

Life around you is never boring.

I mean, if anyone else was to have a
friend of their uncle's over for a few

days, he'd know what to expect.

Tower of London, Nelson's Column, a bit
of the zoo, maybe.

But not Jamie's, mate, no.

His idea of a good time is to pop round
to an old chum's and blow his brains all

over the patio.

It was a bit of an eyebrow razor for me
and all.

So what do we do now?

We get in touch with Uncle Keith and we
sort out his escape route.

Terry.

Miami.

You sorting out our little problems?

You're not paid to not like things, son.
You're paid to stop them happening.

Just thought I'd let you know that me
and Frisbee have been making inquiries.

In our own way.

And let's just say that if we get
results before you do, well, that

look very good for your standing, now
would it?

Oh, I'm sure we can rely on you, Terry.

Good hunting.

Two Sips is seriously deranged. We can't
control him. We ain't going to keep him

no more. Nothing is worth this much
grief. You are fucking keeping him.

Or... Miami finds out where Two Sips has
been eating, sleeping and shitting.

Come on, Keith.

You took the job on.

Now you lot, sort it out.

Good luck.

Cheers.

What the fuck? We just kicked Two Sips
out.

What then I have to pay Uncle Keith back
his 20 grand?

Don't even say it. Don't even think
about saying it.

Look, maybe Miami's actually on Two
Sips' little list, you know, for burial.

Oh, that's all right, then.

I mean, we take on Two Sips for 20 grand
to pay Miami back, only to find out

that Two Sips is here to kill Miami, and
we're the little piggies in the middle.

That's fucking lovely, that is. Wait a
minute.

We don't know who's on Two Sips' list.

Raynham Ray is no more.

An old and trusted friend, he's left a
big hole where once he stood.

He was a man you could rely on, one of
the old school.

We all know these untimely departures
can leave a bit of a vacuum, which is

I've invited you here in a spirit of
free and frank discussion to help me

my problems. Greasy John, you wanted to
ask Rudolph a question.

Did you top Raynham?

No.

Do you believe him?

Do you fucking believe him?

Yeah.

Now I'll tell you.

Come on.

Ask me.

What's the problem? Let him ask you.

Did you talk Ray?

No way, John.

Now ask me.

Leave it at Miami.

Fucking ask me.

Was it you?

How fucking dare you?

Raymond was my friend.

I had nothing to do with it.

It was an outsider.

They found some communion wine in the
kitchen.

Two sips?

I thought he was dead.

No, he was in Spain.

Which comes to much the same thing,
doesn't it?

So what were you going to do about it?

I think... we should offer a little
reward.

That's your last one. It's way past last
orders, so finish that one and get out.

It's all sorted.

All right, lads.

He is on his way home tonight.

How? There's a boat waiting at Tilbury.
We slap him on it and we go Alzheimer's

on the old business.

We're not going anywhere.

There is now a price on our Mr Two
-Sips' head, put up by Greasy John and

Rudolph.

Where's Moon?

Christ,

I hope he's not in trouble.

How much do they offer him for two sips?

500 ,000.

Every psycho with a knuckle duster will
be out on the streets trying to get

lucky. You'd have to have a death wish
to step out the door with that fucking

geezer. We can't hang around here.

Okay.

We're fucked.

I couldn't have a shot at that, could I?

Correct.

Now then, what have you got to tell me?

Well, it's a little matter of money
first, isn't it?

Oh, no way! Hold on! Hold on!

Which one first, boss?

Left or right? Christ, no, please!

Where is Two Chips? I don't know!

get you to Tilbury. Order a minicab or
what?

I could get you there.

And not a single soul would see you.

So what do you reckon?

I reckon black suits you.

Brings out the colour of your eyes.

I didn't notice you looking at my eyes.

Lee, you don't want to be there.

Something wicked your way comes.

Meet us in the yard.

Come on!

I'll leave you for five minutes and all
hell breaks loose.

Go get the talk.

Very good, man.

So the plan is, I've got to walk knee
-deep in shit in a sewer. We're sticking

dump in charge. You've got a better one?
Yeah, I've got a good one.

Clint Eastwood here stops going round
chopping people.

This is not my idea of a good time,
Moon.

I can't believe it. The Lee Valley Spur.

I always wondered what this would look
like.

I don't know who you are, but you've got
to try and get out more.

What was that?

We're being followed.

Fuck.

Fuck me, where's two tips?

I'll have to go back.

Hey, you go back.

I'm out of here.

Oi!

I don't believe it. What?

This is a Farrington and Madeline double
-gated source.

Oh, come on.

Miracles of engineering, these things.

Let's just get out of here.

150 years old.

Who's that?

Good night, John.

That's all right.

I'm going to be sick.

Where are you?

Hold my hand. I am holding your hand.

No, you're not. Hang on. I've got a
lighter here somewhere.

I wouldn't do that, my dear.

Look, we're in a pocket of hydrogenated
sulphate.

Choked down to you.

One spark from that will ignite all this
gas and blow the three of us to shit.

Is everyone here?

Where's Tinker?

Oh, no.

I'll have to tell his mum.

Too soon?

No, stay for it.

No, I ain't want to complain.

But wouldn't a doctor's railway have
been easier?

That's it.

Nice steering, Lee.

Lee. Oh, bitch.

Chuck us a line.

You. Rope. Now.

I thought you'd never get here.

Mads.

You are really impressing me.

I thought you'd all be going mouldy in
the centre by now, but no.

You've pulled through.

Terrific.

I said the two fibs.

You'll probably have to take them out at
some point.

You're fucked up.

And now we're going to have to lose you.

John, scatter them in different
directions.

You can't get us all.

It's nothing personal, lads.

It's just Christmas.

I see we got shot at the fucker then.

I knew it was just a matter of time with
Terry.

He was too careless, too flash, too
fucking stupid.

What a world we live in, eh, Two Sips?

You never know who's your mate.

People running around, double -crossing
everyone else.

You know, it's fucked up.

It really is.

And you, Lord, keep out of my face.

And get off my fucking boat.

Now!