All language subtitles for Peaky.blinders.S04E04.BluRay.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.COM

Translated By The Community Of WWW.MY-SUBS.COM

We are in the middle
of a vendetta,

we need Luca Changretta dead.

Where are we going?

Somewhere I've not been
in a long time.

- We used to come here.
- Who?

Some girl before France.

What is it that you
want from me, Mr Gold?

I want you to help my son
achieve his ambition.

- What do you have?
- We found another enemy.

Arthur Shelby killed her son
in a boxing ring four years ago.

There's 15 Italians out there.

There's 13.
I just killed two of them.

The boy in the hospital
is out of bounds.

And I'll ask you to spare
Finn and Arthur.

In return for what?

Tommy Shelby.

Tom.

Good morning, Mrs Ross.

Have a seat.

Thank you for seeing me, Mr Shelby.

I know how busy you are.

How can I help you?

Well, you see, tomorrow would have
been my son's 21st birthday.

Had he lived.

And I'm having a bit of a thing.

Just sandwiches and beer
and looking at old photos.

And, as a gesture,

I thought I would
invite your brother, Arthur.

A gesture of what, Mrs Ross?

Not exactly forgiveness.

But something like that.

And also it's a way of saying
thank you to the Shelby family

for helping me and my children get by

since the death of my Edward.

That's very kind of you.

That's very kind.
Well, I will let Arthur know.

It'll be at my house at midday.

He should come at midday.

Your house, midday tomorrow.
All right.

One of us will be there.

It ought to be Arthur.

Goodbye, Mrs Ross.

Yay, you keep it slow

Yayyay, you keep it low

You cast a spell that keeps me wired

Keeps me red, you keep me on fire

So why do you take me down,
down to nothing

Always out cold, never been higher

All right, at midday today,
Arthur will be here.

47, Artillery Square.

Like a goat tied up
for the fucking tiger, eh, Arthur?

Yeah, right.

Dear Lord, forgive me.

But vengeance is forthcoming
and long overdue.

Right. There are two ways
into Artillery Square.

One here, the tow path,
and here, Navigation Street.

Finn, take a rifle.

You'll be here, Finn,
covering the tow path.

Most likely, they'll come down
Navigation Street.

Johnny and Isiah will set up here
as hawkers selling stolen pork.

When you get the signal from me,
then you can open fire.

- From you, eh?
- Yep, I will be here,

in a window, overlooking.

You still know what end
the bullets come out of, Tom?

He knows.

These men are coming for my brother,

believing him to be unarmed
and unprotected.

So this is my fucking business.

Arthur, let's go.

Look alive, soldier.

Just put them on the table.

Buy yourself bacon here!
Ribs, cheek and tongue.

And your trotter.

Ribs, tongue and cheek. Huh?

Mr Shelby.

- I'm glad you could come.
- Yeah, well...

Thank you for the invitation.

So...

I don't allow firearms in the house.

It's a good thing I'm not carrying
a firearm then, ain't it, Mrs Ross?

Do you mind if I check?

No.

Come in.

Take a seat.

Would you like some tea
while we wait, Mr Shelby?

What are we waiting for?

The other guests.

At threepence for the four. Huh?

Pig's blood,
penny a gallon, pig's blood.

So, where are these other guests?

They will be here very soon.

But in the meantime,
there are some things I want to say.

Before they get here.

By all means.

I've heard stories that you have
welcomed Jesus into your life.

I have indeed.

At the beseeching of your wife,
who they say is a good woman.

She is my shining light.

Though her mother,
by all accounts, was not.

Do you think your repentance will mean
you are forgiven of your sins?

We both know that forgiveness
is out of my hands.

I mean, for murdering my son.

That was a sporting accident.

Because I have not yet found it
in my heart to forgive you.

And don't think I ever will.

Well, then why have you
invited me here today?

Hmm?

Off you go now.

Why am I here, Mrs Ross?

Why did you
invite me here today?

Too late to back out now.

Now, Johnny, fire!

It's a fucking decoy!

Bring the car round, now!

What are you doing?

Oh, shit!

Arthur!

Arthur, they're not here for you.
It must be Michael.

You fucking slag!

You set me up, eh?

You set me up!

Unarmed.

Arthur, you need to get
to the hospital now!

Fuck off!

If your faith is real,
I've got other kids.

If you're here in one hour,
I swear to God,

I will cover you in tar
and fucking feathers.

C'mon, Finn, let's go.

Uh-uh-uh.

Where I'm from,
a hat on the bed is unlucky.

My family say it brings doubt.

Maybe... Maybe that's what happened.

Last time my man was sent for you,
you got lucky.

Now...

Your luck's run out.

And tell your mother we have a deal.

Come here!

Michael? What happened, eh?
What happened?

They heard you, er...
They heard you coming.

The gun misfired.

They ran away.

Johnny!

You came just in time.

You all right? You hurt?

I'm fine. I'm fine.

Oi... Get out!

Small Heath, 333.

Charlie.

Listen, Bonnie Gold will be
calling you in four minutes.

Tell him the Italians
are on the road south.

A Rolls-Royce, maybe two. Black.

Tell him to expect
a full complement of men.

We inflicted no casualties.

I said we inflicted
no fucking casualties.

There's been an accident.

Why don't you move it out of the way?

What?

I said, why don't you clear it
so that we can get past.

What's that accent?

We're Americans.

We're here on business, so...

Well, you're going to have to wait.

Jesus Christ, this guy.

We waited for you
fucking Yanks until 1918.

It'll be clear in 20 minutes,
all right?

Yeah, all right. Thank you, Officer.

Thank fucking hell.

Talking about the war.

Everything here is about the war.

Right, come on,
let's go move it ourselves.

Fucking idiots.

What's this?
Whose wagon is that?

They're Gypsies.

A tribe of fucking Gypsies.

- Well, we can move it...
- Oi!

I said it'll be clear in 20 minutes.

Let's go.

We'll find another way out of here.

Go. Get us the fuck out of here.

Come on, fucking move!

Make a fucking move!

Put the guns down!

Put the guns down!

He spared me.

He said, "Tell your mum
that we have a deal."

What deal?

Just be you and me
going to Australia, Michael.

- Think about that.
- What deal, Mum?

What deal did you make
with Luca Changretta?

A deal to spare your life

In return for what?

Men don't have
the strategic intelligence

to conduct a war between families.

Men are less good at keeping secrets
out of their lies.

You agreed to give up Tommy
to save my life.

You never forgave him, did you?

We're out of our league.

No.

- No, we don't do that to our own.
- Think!

If it wasn't for me, you'd be smoke
blowing out of a mortuary chimney.

Think about that.

Nah, two.

We killed two.

You also shot a copper.

Shot in the arm, with purpose.

There's a copper on the floor,

the Stratford Constabulary
will swarm all over it.

The copper's alive,
got a description of the Italians.

The Italians will be
forced underground.

We're Gypsies.

We're already underground.

You yourself inflicted
no casualties this end, so...

You know, Mr Shelby,

maybe you've been pushing
pieces of paper around too long.

Luca Changretta got away.

You let him get away.

When our paths cross,
I won't be so careless.

And when will your paths cross?

Soon.

If Her Majesty smells of paraffin,

it's because my old lamp is smoking
for want of fuel.

Times are hard,
in case you hadn't noticed.

I hope your insistence
that I take a boat

rather than a cab from the station
wasn't purely for your own amusement.

No. For the avoidance
of death or kidnap.

And by boat, you get to see
the nicer parts of a city.

You're in the Garrison now,
so you'll be all right.

This way.

Good morning, Lady Carleton.

I'm not a lady.

Too right you're not.

For shoeing, stabling, feed,
and two hours a day in the gallops.

Did you think of a name?

Yes. "Dangerous."

Dangerous, eh?

A horse called Dangerous
won the Epsom Derby in 1833,

so I stole the name.

I thought you'd approve.

You should visit her.

If I leave Small Heath,
I'll be shot dead.

Anyway, I'm busy.

Well, the good news is,

your horse is the fastest filly
that I've ever ridden.

These are her registration papers.

Ready for your signature.

So is this why you came here?

All this way, in person?

For my fucking signature?

You've lost your wife,
and now your brother too.

I thought it would make you different,

but it doesn't seem to change you.

Nothing seems to change you.

The end-of-year accounts for the
Grace Shelby Institute, Mr Shelby.

Beg your pardon, madam.

I've already
signed off on those, Lizzie.

What do you think of his shirt?

He's having them made in London.
I'm not sure about them.

All right, Lizzie, thank you.

But you know, sometimes he sees
something glamorous and expensive,

he just can't resist it.

He's so weak.

Actually, speaking of the
Grace Shelby Foundation,

I'd like to make a donation.

I'll leave it blank.

You can decide how much, Mr Shelby.

Then perhaps... Lizzie?

...can pop to the bank
and pay it in for me.

That'll be all, Lizzie, thank you.

Drink?

No, thank you.

Did you pack an overnight bag?

No.

Pity.

Why?

Well, because 25 minutes ago,

the Birmingham branch
of the train drivers' union

called a wildcat strike
in support of the coal miners.

No trains to London until tomorrow.

It wasn't in any of the papers.

That's why they call it a wildcat.

No one knows.

Apart from you, of course.

Your city.

So where will I stay in your city?

I'll be free at 4:00.
I could meet you then.

Meet and do what?

I will pour you some gin
that I make myself,

from my father's recipe.

Distilled for the eradication
of seemingly incurable sadness.

I'm going to put that on the label.

I'll book myself a room.

Already done. The Midland. Suite.

I stay there myself sometimes.

Sometimes, it's where you stay.

But not tonight, it would seem.

Well, since I'm stuck here,
maybe I should try your gin.

- 4:00 then.
- Where?

I'll find you.

What the fuck
was that about, Lizzie? Eh?

Have a guess.

You know what,
I can't even guess any more.

I'll be back at 4:00.

Why is she still here?

Something to do
with the coal miners, apparently.

Oh, today's your lucky day, sir.
Give you 3-1 on Raging Robbers.

Come on, gents, get your bets on...

Small Heath, 552.

Mrs Gray.

I wanted to illustrate to you

that at any time,
we can reach your son.

And we will kill your son

if you cannot deliver Tommy Shelby
as you promised. Huh?

You just tell us where and when.

And we'll do the rest.

Where is he?

Fucking.

- Fucking what?
- Fucking her.

Ten thousand pounds?

She left it blank,
so I filled it in for her.

What's Tommy's diary looking like
for the rest of the week?

Fuck Tommy and his cock and his gin.

And his stuck-up whore.

I saved this.

Read my leaves, Poll.

You haven't done my leaves in ages.

I haven't done
anyone's leaves for ages.

Okay.

Pour.

Swirl the teacup.

Think about the man you love.

Fuck him.

Think about your white wedding gown.

Now pour the tea back into the pot.

Okay, I'll read your tea leaves
if you go and get Tommy's diary.

See if Tommy's got a free afternoon
in the next seven days.

Friday.

Now, read my future
and make it fucking good.

Make sure he keeps it free.

- Just read my leaves, Poll.
- Already have.

Plain as day.

What are you doing?

Stop drinking whisky. Switch to stout.

Why?

Make sure Tommy
keeps that Friday free.

Tell him I have an
appointment for him.

And then go and see a doctor
about that baby in your tea leaves.

Next.

You're not at the fucking
fairground now, son.

Get down and skip me 200

for taking the piss
out of a fine fighter.

He's got a head on him, that boy.

And a fist.

So what do you say, Mr Maine?

He works hard. He's game.

I'll need to work on his defence.

Right now, his left hand
is just good for wanking

You don't have to earn your money.

We're paying you anyway. Is he ready?

Is he even registered?

I put him down as a welterweight,
Midlands division.

Amateur turning pro.
Just need your counter signature.

What?
Like I'm going to say no to you boys?

Just tell us, is he ready?

In 30 years, I've never seen
a raw boy so ready.

That's 200, Mr Maine.

So who am I fighting first, Mr Shelby?

When you step in the ring, Bonnie,
who do you see across the canvas, eh?

I see myself.

Forty years old having done fuck all,
except tramping the lanes.

I see my life wasted.

I won't let it happen.

Me, I'm going to be a champion.

Fight out at Camden Town.

Boy's name is Goliath.

He said he's at a meeting.

Yes, I was wondering,

do you have any boots
that I could borrow?

Why do you need boots?

Well, no one here will speak to me,

so I thought I'd take a walk
by the canal.

Is he really making gin?

He's going mad cooped up here
is what he is.

Like a wasp in a beer glass.

Ma'am.

You'll look a bit funny
in these, I think.

- Oh.
- Thank you, Curly.

If you're going to take
a walk along the canal,

you'll also need this.

Are you serious?

Italians north, Italians south.

He makes gin to take his mind off
being stuck inside a prison.

If you had any sense, Mrs Carleton,
you'd get out of here now.

Curly can sail you
to Snow Hill Station

hidden in the coal sacks.

I said I would wait.

The man you're waiting for
doesn't exist.

While you're waiting
for the man who doesn't exist,

would you like to try some of his gin?

The strikers
blocked the Coventry Road,

made all the men get off the buses.

Where were the police?

They were busy.

Apparently, there was a report
of armed men in the Small Heath area.

And there was a murder
at the Summer Lane hospital.

And something happening
on the Stratford Road.

The strikers threatened
the men's families.

They said, come the revolution,
their names would be on a list.

Like in Russia.

And the buses turned round?

Yes. They turned round.

Mr Shelby, factories are shut,

mines are shut, coal's running out.

Did you ever consider the possibility
that the communists might win?

And you and me, traitors to our class,

will be put up against a wall
and shot.

As a businessman,
I consider all possibilities.

But Mr Devlin,
I'm not a traitor to my class.

Small Heath, 551.

I am just an extreme example
of what a working man can achieve.

Hello, Ada, it's me.

I need your help.

Hole in her sock
where her toe poked through

It's 4:00.

Is it?

What do you think?

Er, nice. A little sweet.

I've heard not sweet enough.

Come and see.

My God, Tommy.

What is this, a hobby?

No. I don't really have time
for hobbies.

This is more of a...

More of a place
where I try things out.

I've decided, if I'm gonna be
stuck here in Small Heath,

I might as well do something useful.

Less of a hobby.

More of a venture.

Since the start of prohibition,

I've been sending
single malt Scotch whisky to Boston,

to Halifax, Nova Scotia,
hidden in crates of car parts.

But my supply lines from Scotland
have been unreliable.

There's been a lot of thefts.

And in this modern age, American women
drink as much booze as the men.

And women, apparently, prefer gin.

So with the help of a friend of mine
in Camden Town,

I've set up my own source of supply.

Junipers, potatoes, sugar and water,

all turned into US dollars.

When we're up and running,
we'll produce over 200 gallons a week.

But before then,
I need to get my recipe right.

So tell me the truth.

- The truth?
- Mmm-hmm.

You're unlike any man I've ever met.

- And the gin?
- Too sweet.

You said you'd booked a room.

No, I booked a suite.

Thank you.

If you book a taxi, I'll go.

You're a businessman, Tommy.
A good one.

- If only you could...
- If only I could what?

If only you could change?

Go on, say it.
If only you could change the bad.

And "the good" is laying off
a thousand men, which I do.

Like a good businessman,
and I do it like that.

And people go hungry.

And the bad, the bad's
a fucking win on the horses

and a gun
and some fucking self-respect.

You fucking people...

You bite like your horse.

I don't trust taxis any more.

Come with me.

There we go, brother.

Home sweet home.

A place for you to bring women back,
bring your mates.

Play games, gamble, cards,

and you keep an eye on our backyard.

It's Artillery Square, the place
is full of communists and strikers.

Having a Shelby round here
will keep them in order.

Light the fucking fire.
Take some of this shit off the walls.

Curly'll be over later
with some poison for the rats.

- Arthur?
- Huh?

This morning, I wouldn't
have been able to pull that trigger.

I know I wouldn't.
They would have just walked past.

I'm not John.

- I know I'm not.
- All right.

All right, brother.

I know you're not.

I know.

In the end, it's God who pulls
that fucking trigger anyway.

We don't get to decide
who lives and who dies, Finn.

Not us.

You just have to flick a switch
in your head.

Charlie said it wasn't safe
to walk by the canal.

And he's right.

Italians north and south, he said.

No, it's mostly chancers.

Local kids trying to get famous.

Sabini's boys. Sheffield boys.

Manchester, Glasgow.

They all know we're on the ropes.

- And that's not including the mafia.
- Yup.

Here's your carriage.

You can catch the 7:15 train.

I thought there was a strike.

What gave you that idea?

My God.

I know.

The bad I can't help.

I wanted you to stay.

And normally, I get my own way.

Losing occasionally makes me worse.

Thank you, Curly.

She looks a picture in my boots,
doesn't she, Tom?

- Walk her to the train, Curly.
- Yeah.

"Not a minute on the day,
not a penny off the pay."

This talk of national austerity,

this talk of tightening our belts
must be met with a resolute certainty.

We will not accept any cuts in pay.

We will not accept working
longer hours for the same wage.

Shoulder to shoulder
with the coal miners,

dock workers, railway men
and steel workers,

we will stand united

through the storm
that is surely coming to our city!

- Jessie Eden?
- Yes?

I'd like to buy you a drink.

I'm afraid the pubs round here

don't allow unaccompanied
female drinkers.

I'm sure we'll be fine.

I know you from somewhere.

I'm Ada Thorne.

Formerly Shelby.

I have a settlement proposition

that my brother's too arrogant
and proud to offer you in person.

Sorry, ladies, we don't...

Don't what?

It's all right. I'm sorry. I didn't...

"What are you drinking, ladies?"

- That's what you're supposed to say.
- Yes.

Sorry. Er, what are you drinking?

Beer. Pint.

And a whisky on ice.

I'm afraid we don't have ice.

Next time, make sure you have ice.

This pub's come to our attention
for its lack of ice.

There's more than one way
to achieve equality.

Before you begin to
congratulate yourself,

I'm not impressed with your power
to terrify people.

Hmm.

Whereas, I am impressed
by your ability

to stand up in front of an audience
and speak.

I was never able to do it.

I've heard people talk about you.

You used to advocate armed revolution.

Shelby Company Limited
is prepared to offer parity

for male and female workers across
all the factories in our ownership.

And withdraw the pay cut for men.

In return for what?

In return for something very unusual.

But very typical of my brother.

- What does he want?
- To sit down with you and talk.

If he withdraws his pay cut,
we have no need to talk.

He wants to talk about socialism
and revolution.

Dear God, are you serious?

My brother's a bookmaker.

Bookmakers hedge their bets.

Sometimes, long shots come in.

And because we emptied
his buses today,

he thinks we are among
the runners and riders.

Beneath it all,
my brother is a very rational man.

Beneath all what?

You mean, beneath the beatings,
the cuttings,

- the shootings, the murders.
- Yeah. Beneath all that.

Tell your brother
that when we take power,

all means of production
will be owned by the workers.

Essential industries
will be taken into state control.

Birmingham Town Hall
is a rather beautiful building

and we plan to preserve it.

What else does he need to know?

It's going to happen.

Aren't you a bit sorry
you jumped ship too soon?

He wants to take you for dinner.

I really have nothing to wear.

You'd need to wear boots.

He's suggesting dinner
in a scrap metal yard.

He said you'd appreciate
the sentiment.

If you don't show up,
the offer of parity is withdrawn.

This is not how you conduct
union business.

Well, we must all make
personal sacrifices

for the good
of the good old cause. Right?

All right.

Fucking hell, it smells
of pig round here, doesn't it?

Definitely not kosher.

Come to Small Heath,
you will go to hell

for fucking breathing.

Where is everybody?

Stretch your legs, Treacle.

Fuck me, he looks like he's grown
since we left London.

He's like a mushroom, isn't he?
He grows in the dark.

- I need a piss.
- Do ya?

Yeah? Well, the place is a shit hole.

Yeah? So why don't you
just knock yourself out.

Where is everyone?

Ishmael, please,
will you hit the call to prayer?

Well, hit it.

Thank you. Thank you.

- Morning Alfie.
- Yeah, it is. It is.

So how come
everybody's in fucking bed?

So this must be Goliath.

Right.

Let me introduce you to David.

This way, boys.

I assume that David's out of bed?

Oh, right, the problem, right,
between rum and gin

is that gin, right,
it leads to the melancholy,

whereas rum incites violence.

You know, it also allows you
to be liberated from your self-doubt.

I hear you're probably
more in need of the old rum

at the moment
rather than gin, mate. Hmm?

Oh, dear. Tommy,
you've got fucking starlings, mate.

Oh, yeah.
That shit will rot your pipework.

Those bastards only
understand one language.

It's all right, Alfie.
There's no need.

It's all right, I'm, er...
I'm getting a kestrel.

I hear that you've got Italians, mate.

You've got a kestrel for them and all?

- Yes.
- Hmm.

I have a kestrel for them as well.

Well, everything is confirmed, innit?

Yeah. Weakness behind the eyes,
didn't blink too much. All right.

You smell of smoke and coal
and horses. Hmm?

You are back where you belong, Tommy.

I know you don't touch it,
but you have a good nose.

Right. Well,
you've got to ask yourself,

seriously though, you know,

did I even want to
piss and shit indoors?

Or was I actually born that I were to
defecate in fields and the outhouses?

This is a serious issue,
though, Tommy,

'cause your people, your class

and my religion
is quite similar, actually,

because you just cannot
wash it out, right?

Because it come out
of your mother's tits.

Hmm. No.

The Americans want it sweeter.

What have you heard, Alfie?

I heard a copper got shot.
Who shot him?

- My kestrel.
- Right, oh, up the stakes, very good.

Where are the Sicilians?

They're still using Sabini
for vehicles and for places to stay.

Mmm-hmm. And reinforcements?

Ah, they know the Sicilians,
don't they?

They don't trust nobody who ain't
fucked a goat on the morning

of their first pubic hair.
They've got traditions.

- How many are here?
- Eleven.

Enough to drop a man
who wrapped his balls in an OBE,

till they fell off.

Well, the real question is, Alfie,

which side are you playing for, eh?

Fucking hell.

What kind of world is it
to bring up children

when your own mate
can ask you that question, eh?

But the truth is, Tommy,

you're going to be
fucking dead soon, yeah.

Then your starlings, right,

they will peck out
your blue eyes, won't they?

And the jackdaws, they will steal
your gold and your medals

and pretty soon it'll be as if

it never even
fucking happened, mate.

Tommy, there are men approaching.

Yeah, let 'em pass.

Right. You tell Darby Sabini from me,

that if the Italians win,
they're not planning on leaving.

And after me, it'll be him,
and then you, then the Titanic.

They're the fucking mafia, Alfie.

They've come here and can't believe
our coppers are unarmed.

They can distil their liquor
and it's against the law.

They've come here
and they like what they see.

They're coming
and they're here to stay.

Mr Shelby?

We've come to talk purse
for the fight.

Your kestrel?

Tommy, when a pikey walks in
with hair like that,

you've gotta ask yourself,
"Have I made a mistake?"

- Who the fuck are you?
- Who the fuck am I?

- Who the fuck is this?
- I, my friend,

I am the uncle,

I'm the protector
and the promoter,

of that fucking thing right there
in whose shadow

nothing good nor godly
will ever fucking grow.

That there, right, is the Southern
Counties welterweight champion.

He is of mixed religion,
therefore he is godless,

he was adopted by Satan himself,

before he was returned
out of fear of his awkwardness.

He is impossible to marry off
due to his lethal dimensions,

his mother terrified,
she's fucking abandoned him.

And there he is stood before you

like the first of some
brand new fucking species.

Any man that you put before him,

right, it'd be like entering
a fucking threshing machine, mate.

Now, will you offer your son?

Name the day, Mr Shelby.

That's me finished
for the weekend, Tommy?

Yeah. Your mother wants me to go
to the Foundation... Prize giving.

Just you?

Just me.

Why?

No reason.

No reason.

No reason.

Bye, Michael.

Tommy?

Yeah?

Have a good weekend.

You have forsaken
all the love you've taken

Sleepin' on a razor
there's nowhere left to fall

Your body's aching,
every bone is breakin'

Nothin' seems to shake it,
it just keeps holdin' on

Your soul is able,
death is all you cradle

Sleepin' on the nails,
there's nowhere left to fall

On a gathering storm
comes a tall handsome man

In a dusty black coat
with a red right hand