Original subtitles

Police have identified the body parts of a man found

in six bags in the Hastings River at Wauchope

as those of missing prisoner Terry Falconer.

You were the dog who murdered my grandparents.

Take a look at this.

These are the ones who killed Terry Falconer.

That's Anthony Perish.

My old man used to say, you gotta do the right thing,

even if it hurts.

The more it hurts, the righter it is.

Mate, are you sure this informant of yours

isn't just leading you by the nose?

He's not a bad suspect for Falconer himself.

This guy is as sound and as reliable as they get.

Gary Jubelin.

You dropped me in it, didn't ya, hey?

You told Perish I was doggin' him.

Anthony Perish hasn't ever had an account with Telstra

or any of the private phone companies.

He's not registered with the housing commission, Medicare,

or any private health fund.

No super fund has any record of him.

He's got no outstanding fines, no traffic infringements.

He's not on the electoral roll, got no tax

file number, no credit history.

Only someone with serious badness to hide

would go to this much effort to cover their tracks.

It's a jungle out there.

It's a jungle out there.

It's a jungle out there.

Gary Jubelin?

Pam Young?

Mm-hm.

No.

No.

No, Sandro.

I can drive myself.

Mm-hm.

OK, I'll see you down there.

There's a murder in Wollongong.

Sounds like a gay bashing.

Sometimes, I wonder what it's like--

a normal life.

No, you don't.

See you when I see you, Jubelin.

Good luck catching your ghost.

Be careful.

Almost a year into the Terry Falconer

murder investigation, Gary Jubelin

was no closer to finding his elusive prime suspect, Anthony

John Michael Perish, the ghost.

What Gary didn't know, the ghost was

studying him and his illustrious career just as closely.

Know your enemy.

You're a star, mate.

Cop star.

For more than a decade,

Anthony Perish had managed to fly under the radar,

invisible to police eyes.

Unlike most criminals, he went to great trouble

to leave no trace of his passing.

He had never put a foot wrong, until Terry

Falconer came along.

Clear?

Don't rush me, OK?

For fuck's sake, Frank, I'm bustin' for the loo.

Are we clear? - We're clear.

Go on.

Go on, get in, get in.

You, sometimes, I swear--

Shut the door.

All right?

Pippa!

Come here.

What?

Fucking hell.

What?

Look.

Yeah, looks like a Jatz cracker.

It's a sign.

It's a biscuit.

Rooster and Undies have been here, eh?

More likely that little kid from next door.

No, it's a warning, OK?

Now, get inside.

Did you lock the front door.

Jeepers, you-- you're scaring me.

You ought to be scared, eh?

No, you.

You're scaring me. - Hey, inside.

Go. Move it.

Let's go. - Fucking hell.

Get inside. Inside.

Gary Jubelin's

second major focus was the man codenamed "Informant X."

He knew Francis Xavier O'Rourke's evidence would

be crucial if he ever got the chance to put Anthony

Perish on trial for murder.

You tipped off Rooster, eh?

And why would I do that?

Well, you're in his pocket.

You're up to your fucking eyeballs in Falconer's murder.

You, Rooster, Undies.

And now, you're trying to stitch me up over it.

That's a load of paranoid bullshit, Frank.

Correct.

And I'm just crazy enough to pull that trigger, huh?

Oh, shit.

What?

Now, you agreed to come alone, right?

Sorry, Frank, it's procedure.

Listen to me.

Listen.

If I wanted to fit you up, I would have planted Terry

Falconer's DNA in your house.

Well, maybe you did, huh?

Maybe I just haven't found it yet.

Well, why am I telling you?

Yeah.

Good point.

You know the best way to lock this guy up?

Rooster?

Rooster.

Get him bragging about it--

who did what, all the fucking gruesome details.

Then you record it.

You know who the best person to do that is?

You want me to wear a wire, huh?

Against Anthony Perish?

Oh, shit, was I wrong.

Nah, you're not trying to stitch me up.

You wanna get me killed. - No, Frank.

Yeah, that's what this is about, you

lyin' bloody squarehead, huh?

I get blamed for Falconer.

You and Rooster go on your merry way,

like a couple of bloody schoolyard

loves, you fucking idiot.

Jesus Christ, eh?

Fucking dreaming.

You like you little boys, do you?

You get your fucking head read, mate.

Gary, you can't hang an entire murder

brief on one tattooed lunatic.

- He'll come around. - Bullshit.

It's not bullshit.

He's turned his life around.

Just have some faith in human nature, will you?

I got a ton of faith, mate.

I just don't have unlimited bucks to back it up.

My strong advice?

Concentrate on catching Anthony John

Michael Perish while you've still

got a strike force to do it.

Dickhead alert.

Permission to come aboard.

Oh, shit, is this necessary?

Can't stay here now, can I?

Not secure anymore, all thanks to you.

Can I have a private word?

I've been thinking.

Yeah, well, don't.

You know, the best means of defense is attack, right?

The last thing the Living Deads will expect

is a direct assault on their clubhouse.

Yeah?

Nah, listen.

We firebomb the pricks.

They come running outside, we put a few rounds into 'em.

Not to kill, just to panic 'em, teaching

'em who they're messing with.

I got all the men lined up, all the hardware.

All I need is my orders.

It'd start a bloody war, mate, not finish it.

And get the gang squad up our arse.

No.

And how am I supposed to do business with 'em after

a stunt like that, eh?

Well, you got a better plan?

Yeah, I do.

Peace summit.

A peace summit with the Deads?

Better work on your apology, mate.

The keystone of a successful enforcement relationship

is trust, yeah?

You have to believe what he tells you.

He has to believe he's safe in your hands.

The trouble with your Mr. X is after a lifetime's

bad experiences with authority figures,

he naturally assumes you're going to betray him.

And therefore, he'll never let himself trust you,

unless he knows you trust him.

And so how do we handle him, Sonya?

You're late.

Were you organizing backup?

I'm on me own, Frank.

I give you my word.

What do you want, huh?

I've already told you everything I'm gonna tell you.

Then why are you here?

Aren't you gonna pat me down, huh?

No, I'm not.

If we're going to work together, I've got to learn to trust you

and vice versa.

Sit down, Frank.

Who says we're working together, hmm?

Here's what I reckon.

I reckon you got two voices in your head telling

you two very different things.

Just two?

Happy days.

[ON SPEAKER] One of 'em's

saying never trust a cop.

And the other one's saying, he's telling

you to do the right thing.

And I reckon that's your old man, Frank.

And I reckon that's why you're here.

I'm already a dead man talking to you.

Why would I stick my neck out even further?

Well, what have you got to lose?

They can't kill you twice.

And you told me you didn't want to go back to that life.

It doesn't mean I want to be a dog either.

But you do want to be a better man, don't you?

Is that what you want, Frank?

Think about your old man, mate.

Oh, every day, I do.

And what was he like?

He was an army man, drill sergeant.

He was all spit and polish.

He hated bikies, eh?

Thought they were all crims.

Said if he ever caught me on a Harley, he'd put a bullet in me

head.

I joined me first club before I had me first naughty.

You good?

You know how it is.

Mm-hm.

How are the kids?

Yeah, they're good.

You OK?

Yeah, I'm good.

Thanks for asking.

I know it's you, Frank.

Babe, what's wrong?

I'll do it.

Well, you're doing the right thing, mate.

Come here, beautiful.

First, this maniac beats my godson to a pulp.

The kid'll be lucky to walk again.

Then he comes after me with a pair of freaking six guns.

Yeah, and the reason we're all sitting here

freezing our tits off, the man wants to apologize, Jasper,

all right?

Look, I had no idea he was connected.

What can I say?

The kid never said anything.

So it's at least 50% his fault. Why didn't he speak up?

It's 'cause you were kicking seven shades

of fucking shit out of him.

Put it down to collateral damage.

You are a deadset fuckwit, mate.

We want compensation.

I'll give you 50 cents to fuck off.

Fuck you.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.

Not in me car.

A little decorum, for fuck's sake.

Hey. - Get off.

Fucking settle down, you idiots.

Fucking hell.

Christ.

Look, you got the moral high ground here, Jasper.

No argument.

How much we talking?

A million, cash.

Plus 20 kilos of pills.

Might have to dock your wages there, digger.

And I heard you supplied the Bloods with grenade launchers.

We might be able to rustle up a few more.

Will you take a deposit?

Say, uh, 20 grand?

You wouldn't be thinking of stiffing us, would ya?

Jasper, mate.

How long have you and I been doing business for, eh?

Come on.

Forever.

Fuck.

Looks like the Living Dead are in the market

for a new president, eh?

Any thoughts there, Kenny?

Congratulations, mate.

Couldn't have picked a better man.

Thanks, mate.

Yeah, congratulations, Mr. president.

Now, piss off.

And don't forget who done you this good turn.

Man, right in the heart.

No blood, no mess.

Beautiful.

I owe you, Rooster.

Yeah?

You think?

You're fucking joking me, right?

I'd be OK if you wear a baggy shirt.

Mate, I got a boombox smaller than that thing.

I'm getting a beer, drown me sorrows, you bloody amateurs.

I'm going straight back to the tech department

after this, find the boss, rip his head

off, and shit down his neck.

You got my word we'll do better, Frank.

Say you do, right?

Then what's me excuse for lobbing on Rooster's doorstep?

Well, the thing is we can't tell you what to say.

That's entrapment.

Just gets fucking better, doesn't it, hey?

Frank, have you been summonsed to appear at the new inquest

into the Perish grandparents?

Me?

No.

Bit of an oversight.

Yeah.

Could work.

Cops.

Had to be.

Tink'd never tell.

It's not in his--

whatcha-ma-call-it-- DNA.

Besides, he knows what would happen to him if he did.

I don't know.

Have you told Rooster?

Nope.

Don't.

No need upsetting him for no good reason.

Yeah, and what if he finds out we

knew, but never said nothing?

The main LD's in the bum bag.

What if Undies asks what's in it, eh?

Well, just tell him bums.

That's funny, eh?

Dark horse. Funny.

Hey?

First backup's in your phone battery compartment.

For fuck's sake, don't drop it.

First backup?

The second backup's in your smokes, behind the foil, see?

Right.

Don't forget and chuck the pack away.

Righto.

That's it.

What if he gets onto me?

Where's my backup, huh?

There isn't any, Frank.

You're on your own.

Oh, right.

You really know how to make a bloke feel

appreciated, Jubes, hey?

Mr. Positive.

Hey?

We all set?

Recording.

Right, this is Detective Sergeant Gary Jubelin

and Francis Xavier O'Rourke.

The time is 3:19 PM, the date, the 30/11/02.

This is the commencement of an operation

for Strike Force Tuno.

In a short time, you will be speaking

to people who may be involved in criminal activities.

You may be asked questions.

You may need to give appropriate responses.

I've also been authorized to provide you

with the following inducement--

nothing you say or do can be used against you

in any court in this state.

Do you understand that, Frank?

I heard a whisper that you'd been talking to Tuno.

Talking to tuna?

What are you--

It's the task force that's looking

after the Falconer thing.

Now, is that true, Tink?

Yeah.

Yeah, you bet I've been talking to cops, eh?

Check this out.

Yeah, I've been summonsed.

The new inquest, your grandpa's murder.

I mean, shit, why do they want to hear from me, huh?

So where's Rooster?

He around?

So this-- this is why the cops came round?

Serving you with a summons?

Yeah.

That's why I need to see him, mate.

I want to know how to play it and what to do, right?

Call him, will ya? - Yeah.

Go on, call him now.

Yeah, I'll fucking call him.

Good.

See them photo-fits in the paper?

It looks like Rooster and me.

I never read papers.

There's too much news, eh?

Someone's been talking.

What, are you saying I dogged?

When have I ever dogged, you paranoid fuck, hey?

Fucking hell. - I'll call him later.

Oh, now, you're pulling my dick.

Ring the right fucking number, dude, hey?

Hey, darl, have you got the code for star pickets?

I'll be back in a sec.

Take that.

04--

Don't take the fucking code sheet off the fucking wall.

OK, um-- I'll talk to him, OK?

Righto.

Make sure you do, eh?

Take it easy, Undies, eh?

Have a good day, mate.

Yeah.

0491570-- something, something, something.

I didn't get it, eh?

And this is Anthony's number, yeah?

Yeah.

Didn't get the last three digits?

Well, slap my wrist.

Stick a finger up me arse if you want.

I did get the make and model the dog and bone though, yeah?

Smart piece of work, mate.

Well done.

Thanks, Gary.

Am I happy?

Well, a Nokia 3315 plus the first seven digits

of the number.

I'm optimistic you'll be happy.

OK.

And so we need warrants for local phone tower dumps

for that period, yeah?

Say, an hour either way.

You realize a single tower dump could cost $1,000 or more?

All right, well, get it done.

You can't hide forever, pal.

Want me to help?

It's a job for experts.

You see, every mobile phone has its own electronic signature.

It's just a matter of cross-checking

the right make and model with the partial number.

I know, Kevin. I know.

When you find it, can you call Gary Jubelin ASAP?

Only if you give me his number.

Camille?

Kevin?

You ID'd the number.

Of course I did.

Am I not a professional?

Now, all you have to do is get a warrant to pull it off.

I'll call Gary J immediately.

Wasn't expecting you this week.

Just making sure you're putting in the work.

Look, how long do I have to stay in this bloody dump?

Long as I say so, hey?

Hello?

Sergeant Jubelin?

Technical branch.

We've identified the number.

Anthony Perish's mobile number?

Fuck!

What's this in aid of?

It's a carrot cake.

And we're all just stopping work to have cake now, are we?

It's for your birthday, Jubelin.

Happy birthday, Gaz.

Yes, Kevin?

There's been a slight mix-up, mate.

Fuck!

Have you got any idea how hard everyone's

been working to do this?

You had one job to do--

one job.

Get out of here before I--

It would be over a year

before Gary Jubelin got another chance to bring down his prey.

You are too cranky.

I'm not cranky.

You are.

You're too cranky.

I'm not.

Really, I'm not.

Gary.

Al right.

I'm very bloody cranky.

My fat aunt could

have figured out his number from what I told you, eh?

Yeah, it's a little more complex than that,

the whole warrant thing.

The Listening Devices Act's a prick.

What are you driving at?

I need you to put the wire back on.

Fuck me, Gary.

Every time I front them dudes, I risk me life.

Don't you get that?

Or you just don't give a fuck?

Huh?

Huh?

Hey, I know what they're capable of, all right?

I saw Terry Falconer's body parts.

That's why it's imperative we put him away.

And your role in this is vital, Frank.

You're the only one who can do it.

It's the right thing to do.

You know it.

You mention my old man again, I'll fucking chop you up.

It's 'cause you left the pen lid off,

it's not working anymore.

I haven't had a chance to call him ye.

Bullshit, Undies.

Lazy cowboy.

Give us his number.

I'll call him.

If I gave you his number, he wouldn't be happy.

Leave the summons with me and I'll call him, OK?

Just leave me to fucking eat my hummus in peace.

There's another thing.

You know that money for me boat?

I wanna pay him back.

It's only a couple of grand.

Don't stress out about it.

Oh, I know the way he works, right?

I want to pay back every cent.

You tell him that, OK?

OK.

So one more thing.

You're giving me a fucking headache, Tink.

Mate, it's important, right?

What?

Now, you know that document?

What document?

This one?

No.

The document you and Rooster came round

and showed me, right?

The one that said Falconer had been dogging to the jacks.

I just remembered something.

What?

I handled it.

You know what I'm saying?

It's got me fingerprints on it.

Tink, there's probably a hundred fingerprints

on that fucking document.

What if these Tuna dudes decide

I'm suspect number one 'cause of me record,

and then they link me to you? - Tink--

That's why I've gotta talk to Rooster.

I gotta bloody clear this up, right?

Tink, shut up, all right?

You just need to relax.

I will-- I will call him and set up a meeting, all right?

But you just need to relax, all right?

'Cause nobody knows that we did it.

Nobody knows it was us who killed the prick.

Nobody knows it was us who killed the prick.

Yeah?

- You sure that's what he said? - Yeah.

What do you say, boys? Huh?

Huh?

Hey?

- Sensational. - Eh?

Eh?

Gold star, mate.

Gold, gold.

I fucking-- I deserve a beer, eh?

Six bloody beers.

A hundred bloody beers.

Bring 'em on!

It's a forklift or something.

We sent it off-site to get it enhanced.

They've sent it on to some experts in London, but--

What about the backups?

Same, only worse.

Better luck next time.

We can't take a fucking trick.

Who's gonna tell Francis Xavier?

Fuck!

So what, you want me to go back, try again, huh?

That'd be good.

Fuck!

We'd also like you to make a full statement, Frank.

Put down on paper everything you've told us--

names, dates, details.

Your full criminal history. - What?

No. No way.

Look, it's just a way of formalising--

I make a statement, the whole world knows

I've dogged me mates, right?

No.

They're not your mates.

You fucking idiots don't understand a thing, right?

Now, get out!

Go on, get out.

Wait up, idiot.

Fuckin'-- take this bastard, right?

I was gonna give it to you anyway.

What the fuck is this, Frank?

Haven't you ever seen a pipe bomb before, hmm?

Had it rigged to protect me front door, yeah?

They usually make 'em out of galvanised pipe,

but this one's PVC, so don't bump it.

Now, get out of my face, you bloody idiots,

and take that piece of junk with you.

Go on.

Get.

Watch your step.

I'll call the bomb squad.

We can't risk bringing them here and exposing Frank.

Tell 'em we'll meet them in a park.

Hey.

Youse blokes want a Coke?

No thanks.

No?

We get the bomb there how?

Stick it in the boot and drive very fucking carefully.

Mum wanted me to be a dentist.

Brownie.

Sorry, Pippa.

Transporting an IED in the boot of a car?

Didn't you idiots do any explosives training?

Anthony Perish

had a habit of using people.

Buy them, bully them, manipulate them.

As long as they did exactly what he wanted, nobody got hurt.

Decker was handy.

He had his uses, but he was accident-prone

and he had to be punished for past mistakes.

That's one reason Anthony kept him

a virtual prisoner at his Girvan property

for three lonely months.

And since he was sitting up there, cooling his heels,

Anthony put him to work installing a defense system.

After all, there was a lot to protect.

A single cookup from this one drug lab

could produce several million dollars worth of amphetamines.

Eat up, champ.

It'll get cold.

Well, why are you all eating pizza and I'm not?

I brung you a special treat, that's why.

Don't you like it?

It smells funny.

What are you talking about?

It's the best chicken and chips on the coast.

It was lovely the other night when we had it,

wasn't it, Muzzy? - Yeah.

Uh, Monday?

It was scrumptious.

Monday?

That's a-- that's a week ago.

Fair enough.

Cheers.

Woo.

Look out teeth, look out gums, eh?

Oh, come on.

Where are you going?

By the way, cops have posted a reward for that little

shootup of yours at JB's.

A hundred grand.

I hope you haven't been big-noting

yourself to your bogan mates.

Security's my middle name, Rooster.

Glad to hear it.

Eat up.

It's rude to leave food on your plate.

There's a story going

around that when Anthony Perish was a teenager,

he shot 200 cats.

It's probably apocryphal.

I mean, who was counting?

But where there's smoke--

Did the Gillespies say why

they were getting rid of it?

Well, see, they're going back to England and mom's allergic.

You're my last resort.

And what about the RSPCA?

I can't believe you said that.

Hello?

Sweetie, if I wanted a dog, I would have got a proper dog,

all right?

Not a white, fluffy dog.

Who is it?

Some guy called Frank says his life's in danger.

What's the matter?

Is that your son just now?

No.

It's the guy who cleans my guns.

He sounds all right, eh?

What do you want, Frank?

This'd be what you cops call an induced statement, yeah?

[ON PHONE] We'd never

use it to bring charges against you, unless of course,

you lie to me.

Then they'd want to throw the book at you.

Let's be clear, Gary.

I'm not signing it, all right?

It'd just be for you.

I can't risk word getting back to our mate.

You know what I'm saying?

And I need my bloody head read, that's for sure.

Later.

Oh, my giddy aunt.

Hey?

Hey, Rooster, you fucker.

Hey!

How'd you know where I was, you fucking bastard?

Come on.

Come and get me, you bastard.

Hey?

You fucker.

Hey.

Come on, Rooster.

I'm not afraid of you.

He was here a minute ago.

What have you done with him?

Frank, you're not well.

Come back to the hospital.

Fuck off.

Babe, don't do this to me.

Frankie.

You need blood.

You need surgery.

You need antibiotics.

We can protect you from Rooster.

No one can protect me from the Rooster.

He's everywhere.

It was an accident.

Rooster had nothing to do with it.

Frank, get in the fucking car.

Frankie.

Soldier, get in the car, mate.

Brownie, grab his arm.

Gary decided

a remote, secluded beach house was the best place to debrief

Frank O'Rourke-- far away from girls,

and booze, dope, and helicopters.

So Undies picked you up and took

you to a restaurant in Newtown.

That's where you met Anthony Perish.

Yeah, well, it sounds right, yeah.

What, it sounds right or is it right?

Right-right, captain, eh?

Was this October 16th or 17th?

Uh, I give up, eh?

I can't remember.

Well, what day of the week was it?

Uh, Pippa wasn't working that night.

Could have been a Wednesday, eh?

Yeah, Wednesday.

Wednesday was the 17th.

What was the name of the restaurant?

How am I supposed to remember that?

Well, try concentrating.

Where was it?

Was it King Street?

Oh, shit.

Look, we've been over this before, Frank.

All right, what sort of cuisine was it?

Was it Asian?

Was it Italian?

Was it Martian? Did you like it?

Could you eat it? Did you enjoy it?

Gary, how would I know, mate, hey?

All I remember is I didn't want to be there

and I was shitting bricks.

What does it matter?

It matters, Frank.

All right?

We have to dot every I, get every detail correct,

or the defense is going to rip us apart.

That's assuming we get to court.

Court?

I never agreed to no court.

I'm not going nowhere near no fucking bloody court.

All right, all right, relax.

All right, just think.

Was the-- was the restaurant, was it flash,

was it downmarket?

Think, Frank.

It was flash.

Flash, yeah.

OK, I've got the Newtown restaurants.

Jesus, there are hundreds, so get comfy.

This could take a while.

From the top, Alberto's Pizzeria?

Does it ring any bells, Frank?

Anise.

Booze.

Rooster.

Making good progress, champion.

You'll be asking for a pay rise.

Any wage at all would be a bonus.

Yeah, nah, I'm gonna miss you.

What do you mean?

You can't hang around up here enjoying yourself forever, hey?

So you're cool if I just leave?

Yeah, you done a good job, mate.

Useless till he signs it, if he signs it.

Well, you can use it as a scribble pad if he doesn't.

Having said that, it's quite an achievement.

Well done him and you, Gary.

He will sign, yes?

Well, it's his better nature fighting his criminal instinct.

But yeah, I think he will.

I'm afraid there's not very much in the budget

to resettle him.

Well, how much is not very much?

Two grand?

Pull the other one.

That is a disgrace.

We can't go back to him with that.

Don't have much choice, do we?

Short of robbing a bank.

What if we chipped in ourselves?

If I sign, I'm dead, yeah?

Well, if you don't sign, you don't get relocated.

You're dead anyway.

Mm.

Only closer to home.

What about the relocation money?

Just another lie, was it, huh?

It's a bank statement.

Account's in your name.

Your new name.

This six grand?

For me?

It's not a lot, mate.

It's all we could do.

I can't believe you're for real sometimes.

But you've got to sign and date every page of that.

And you gotta stand by it.

Which means what?

You know what it means, Frank.

It means you gotta look Rooster in the eye in court one day

and you've got to tell the jury what happened.

That's what it means.

Might like to learn a trade, eh?

Something with me hands.

You any good with your hands, hey?

No, I'm not, Frank.

Yeah, I wouldn't think so.

Give me that pen.

Francis Xavier

O'Rourke is a fictional name.

The man himself is real, but his true identity cannot be

revealed by order of the court.

He was relocated, instructed to keep his head down, and wait

for the day Tuno officers would call

on him to testify against Anthony John Michael Perish.

You are not so cranky today.

How can you tell?

I cannot hear your teeth grinding.

Things going better at work?

Yep.

And at home?

Got a dog.

He likes cheese.

Cheese is good, in moderation.

Now, fei chang fang, monkey style.

It's a jungle out there.

It's a jungle out there.

It's a jungle out there.