All language subtitles for A.Touch.Of.Cloth.S02E01.720p.HDTV.x264-BiA

So we have to repossess
your house and everything in it

and that stick you're leaning on.

It'll be hard to walk...

Then lie down and drag
yourself along with your lips.

Cashier number three, please.

Today.
Help a Blameless Child?

Thank you, sir, thank you very much.

Lay off it.

Put a smile on a kid's face.

Help a blameless child.

Right. Straight in, straight out.
No messing.

And Twitch, watch that trigger
finger.

Mr Macratty don't want no mistakes.

Go! Go! Go! Go!

Help a Blameless Child?
No change, mate.

Help a Blameless...?
Woo!

Go! Go! Go!

Everybody get down on the floor!

Now!

Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt.

Shut it.

And you.

Uh-uh. Eat it. I said eat it!

That's right! We'll even
stand on the bloody counters!

Any of you try and stop us,
you'll end up like these leaflets.

Woo!

Reckon you'll be telling
your grandkids about this, eh?

I'm-I'm gay.

Right. Well. You can
turn it into a musical

Go on! Oi!

Don't try and be a hero.

Robber number one, please.

It's OK, I'm a cop.

You're Todd Carty.

And a cop.

No-one said it'd be locked.

Why's it locked? New guidelines.

We have to lock the money up
so the notes don't blow away

if there's a draught. Right...

Get it open
or I'm going to do your knees.

I haven't got a niece.

Code! Now!

Two, two, double two,
then two twos and two more twos.

Double two again,
two, two, two, two...

two, two, two, two and two.

Go, go, go, go. Go.

Woo!

Who's whispering?

Ahh...

Hey are you talking to God?

Do you want to talk to him
face to face?

Does God even have a face?

WELL, DOES HE?

Not in any meaningful
anthropomorphic sense...

I don't talk ponce-a-nese.

Leave the ponce alone.

Now drop it.

You ain't got the guts.

Maybe not, but I've got the balls.

Two of them, big as mangoes.

Each as warm and heavy
as a baby's head,

with a similar covering of fine hair

and tendency to wrinkle up
when I need feeding.

Now put the gun down.

No.

Don't I know you from somewhere?

That's rich, coming from you.

You sound just like this
little scrote

that used to cause trouble
on my patch.

They called you Twitch.

No, they never.

What was your guvnor's name again?
Macreedy?

Macratty.

And that ain't his name, anyway.
Stop with the mind games!

Macratty's not going to be
happy with you.

Stay back.

Or what?

You'll shoot me?
Go ahead I don't care.

I've got nothing to lose,
I'm crazy, you see? Loco.

And don't even think about
taking her hostage.

I hadn't.

Good.

Come here!

Now you drop it, otherwise her kid's
gonna grow up a widow.

Go, go, go, go, go, go, go!

Come on!

Woo!

Go, go, go, go, go.

Twitch you idiot,
what did I tell you?

It was him or me. Get up.

Come on.

Out of the way.

Go.

They shot Todd Carty.

Robber number five, please.

Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells
http://UKsubtitles.ru.

We're interrupting that
music for a Crimi-News update.

We're hearing about an armed bank
robbery in the City of Town.

There are reports of casualties

but it's not yet clear how many
are dead,

or which brilliant yet tortured
policeman

might soon be on the tail
of the culprit.

I don't play those games any more.

Sorry, are we going to be sitting
here much longer...?

It's just that my flight's at 2:30,

and the airport's a fair distance,
so...

Oh, great.

When I become mayor, crimes like
this will be a thing of the past.

Like Max Headroom.
Or the Renaissance.

Aggressive armed robbery.

Four armed men wearing stockings,
15 denier, back seam.

Ј6.49 from department stores
and/or larger branches of Boots.

Who's that on the steps?

Mayoral candidate Hope Goodgirl.

Centre-right, libertarian,
currently unmarried, feisty,

blood group AB,
5,000 Twitter followers.

Mobile number 077...

Whoever she is, she's in our way.

This is a crime scene. Now fold
up your typewriters and leave.

Visible policing.
You're an inspiration.

And you're an obstruction.

The force could use more bodies
like yours.

Here's my card.

Let me slide my fingers into
that warm little pocket of yours.

Help a blameless child...

Witness number one, please.

They even shot the owl.

Why would a bank have an owl?

All banks do.

Where's the manager?

Roger Quiver.

I'm pretty sure that's what
they looked like.

Left-handed, golf handicap 15,
never eaten moussaka,

enjoys Homes Under the Hammer
and Steely Dan.

DI Anne Oldman.

The men who did this, was there
anything distinguishing about them?

Accents? Stature? Hobbies?

Witness number two, please.

Thank you.
If you think of anything...

Wait.

What about their weight?

They looked... normal.
I mean they were made of skin...

But one of them had a tattoo.

Sketch it for me.

Asap. Guv!

Get this to the
boys down the station, Asap.

Des.

Des?

Poor bastard wasn't even on duty.

Just popped in to look at the money.

Paid the ultimate price trying to
save a member of the public.

Killed by his own dedication.

Killed by a bullet, actually.

At least he died a hero.

The kind of hero that shits himself.

It seems fearless Mr Carty bravely
defecated as the bullet went in.

Which either indicates terror or
a severe lead allergy.

Try focussing on the evidence,
Natasha. I have.

Carty may have brown-buttered
his britches like a petrified girl,

but at least he had the presence
of mind to write that as he died.

I assume it's a lead.

It says "Macratty"
not that it's easy to tell.

He ran out of room and had to
scrunch the last letters up.

Hero he may have been.
Typographer he was not.

Should've measured it
out in his head first.

"Macratty".

Is that all he wrote?
No.

He also did some doodling as
they tried to revive him.

Looks like he was bored.

Oh. And he was clutching
this in his other hand.

Some sort of rag.

Perhaps he was planning to mop
up after himself.

At least someone's tried to clean
up this mess,

even if they were selfish enough to
turn dead in the process.

Don't expect you've generated any
evidence of your own?

Not much but whoever did this, sir,
knew what they were doing.

I don't care if they knew all four
members of the Vengaboys.

I'm the big man round here and
I want them caught, and caught hard.

Have you seen our crime
statistics lately?

No. Because someone stole them.

Together with a kilo of heroin
from the vice squad tuck shop.

It's not good enough, Oldman.

OldMAN. Sir.

It's not good enough, Old Man.

You wanted a promotion.

I suggest you earn it.

And I also suggest you watch me
leave, grandly.

Ad break number one, please.

Assistant Chief Constable!

Chief Constable - Mitt Sniff,
The Mirror. How much was taken?

A figure in the region of many
pounds.

Robin Stork, Bird-watching Now.

Is it true they shot the owl?

I heard it was a tawny owl,
they're increasingly rare.

Yes, in the face.

Jill Tits, Pestering Journalist.
Is the force losing control?

What's that word women use?

"No."

What about the rumours
regarding your leadership?

What rumours?
That no-one trusts you

since that string of baroque revenge
killings you carried out last year.

There was a full inquiry.

I apologised and I went
on a rehabilitation course,

so as far as everyone is concerned
that is the end of the matter.

Does "everyone" include Jack Cloth?

Jack Cloth is ancient history.
He's last week's hummus.

Burnt out, washed up and bummed off.
He quit the force.

He's out. He's gone away-o.

And as far as I'm concerned,
that's the opposite of bad riddance.

We never so much as mention
his name round here.

We need Cloth, now.

What?

Look.

Get rid of these vermin.

Dave Clegg, Victim Today.
Are we being led to our deaths?

In my office.

That man turned his back
on the force.

There's no second
chances in this job.

Usually.

I don't like it any more
than you do.

The situation between Jack and me,
it's...

complicated.

"Complicated"?

It's not just "complicated"...

But...

Painful.

Things got messy on Jack's last case.

Too messy.

NOOOOO...!

I know.
But Todd died giving us this lead.

If we don't follow it up,

it's like he died for nothing
in some pre-titles opening sequence.

There's no choice.
We need Jack back.

No-one's heard sight of him
since he left the force.

Do you think he'll ever forgive me
for what I did to Kate?

Jack doesn't blame you, Tom.

He blames himself.

There you go, my love.

All nice and neat,
just the way you like it.

I remember
when you used to trim my garden.

Hello Jack.

I thought you never wanted to see me
again, Oldman.

OldMAN.

I thought you never wanted to see me
again, Old Man.

I didn't.

So then why are you here?

The boys down the station...
they need your help with something.

I don't fix vending
machines any more.

There was a bank job.

I read about it on the radio,
looks complicated.

It also looks like it's
none of my business.

Jack, they shot the owl.

Owls die.

They shot Todd, too.

Don't tell me he's dead.

Is he dead?

Yes. Agh!

I said don't tell me.

Before he died, Todd wrote
a name in blood.

Macratty.

Michael Macratty.

You know him? Only by reputation.

If it's unpleasant and unlegal,
he's into it.

Guns, drugs, gluing dogs to planks

and throwing them out of
helicopters.

What does he look like?

We don't know.

Macratty's like a ghost.

Timothy Claypole?

He can't be caught.

We could catch him.

Together.

Jack, you know Macratty's world.

You've lived on Earth
the whole of your life.

It's like you were born there.

I was born in hell
the day my wife died.

Egg and sweets with toast.

I know you want to bring
Macratty down.

You're still hungry.

I can see it.

You expect me to put this down
and come and work for Tom Boss?

I've got two words for you. No.

Boss went on a course.
He hasn't killed anyone in months.

Both answers are still no. Jack!

If this is about what
happened between us...

Nothing happened between us.

And nothing ever will again.

That's a lie and you know it.

Lean closer and say that.

I said that's a lie and I want you.

Closer.

I want you Jack, is that enough?

I was wrong to leave.

I cry so much these days my face
thinks it lives underwater...

I need you, you bastard...

I need you in me right here,
right now...

When I said no, I meant no.

And no.

Jack, wait.

You don't want me anyway.
You're gay.

Bi, Jack.

Egg and piss.

The funeral of beloved
actor-turned policeman Todd Carty

took place today,

as a stunned nation entered its
fifth official day of mourning.

Friends and colleagues of Carty
continued to pay their respects

and make specific requests of
embittered hard-drinking mavericks.

Why would someone shoot Todd?
Todd never shot anyone.

Not on purpose.

Someone should avenge him.

Someone Scottish.

The person who did this
is walking around free,

while Todd, he's lying in the ground
like a parsnip.

Never been so angry
since Willmott-Brown.

I'm sick to the tits.

In all my years as an officer

I've never seen a crime
shatter a community like this.

I mean look around,
their eyes, they're pissing tears.

It's like they can't believe it.

They don't want to believe it.
They're like "Oh, no - not Todd.

"Oh, no. Not Todd.

"Oh, please, not Todd."
That's what they're like.

Someone in a position to do
something about this has to

ensure justice is done.

They need to stop being so bloody
maudlin,

put down that drink,

rejoin the force and stride manfully
into the briefing room

saying, "OK, listen up.
It's time to catch these bastards."

OK, listen up.
It's time to catch these bastards.

This is crime boss and mega-turd
Michael Macratty.

As you can see, he's mysterious.

So mysterious we don't even know
what he looks like.

But we know he's black.

That's just an artist's impression.

Macratty's as slippery as greased
Hellmann's,

as unpredictable
as a werewolf on malaria pills.

Long suspected to be behind a series

of increasingly audacious
scrap metal thefts...

He's recently graduated to
armed robbery and murder.

We somehow have to prove
a link between him and this.

We need to map Macratty's network.

I want to find out who he knows,
where he goes,

what he does,
in which size gloves...

What he eats, how he sleeps...

Under blankets? Under sheets?

Is he single? Is he taken?

How crispy does he like his bacon?

Upper, middle, working class?

Which hand's employed to wipe
his arse? What's his blood group?

What's his sign?
What's his take on Palestine?

Who's his mother, who's his dad?
Has he read Beevor's Stalingrad?

What's his height,
what's his weight?

How often does he masturbate?

Is he churlish, shy or chatty?

Who is the real Mike Macratty?

Solve these riddles if you can...

and together we can stop this man.

Any questions?

OK.

Let's po-lice.

Qureshi, set up a wiretap,
we're going to need monitors,

microphones, lights,
Steadicam operators

and some sort of distribution deal

for first-run satellite
and DVD rights. I'm on it, guv.

Anne, Des, we're going to sit
in a car looking at a scrap yard.

Think you can handle that?
Is the car on fire?

Absolutely not.
Piece of piss, guv.

What's that?

It's a prehensile extremity used to
manipulate the environment.

To offer friendship.

That hand killed my wife.

Actually that was this hand.

A murderer and a pedant?
You're pathetic.

I hear you're back on board
for the Macratty investigation.

It's good to have you back, Jack.

I'm doing this for Todd -
and the owl.

Not you. You're nothing to me.

I wouldn't cross the street to watch
you urinate into a teacup.

I'm sorry about Kate.

Don't you EVER say her name.

What, Kate? Gah!

Stop it! Jack, stop it.

No-one's expecting you
to like each other.

But you're working together.

Think of Todd. Oh, fuck Todd. Oh!

I'm sorry you had to hear that,
Mrs McCluskey.

And I'm sure Jack is sorry too.

Oh...

Both of you shake hands.

I'll shake your hand.

But don't expect me to hold you down
and kiss you roughly on the mouth.

I don't. Good.

Guy in the T-shirt is
one of Macratty's goons.

You and Des go see
what you can get out of him.

Is Macratty in?

Who wants to know?

Police.

Not here. What's your name?

Who wants to know?

Us again.

Hairy hand.

Oh, you can read then,
whoever you are.

They call me Bullock.

Yah!

Has Macratty been here today?

Who wants to know?

Tell you what, Bullock.

I'll make it simple.

Where were you Wednesday
morning, 12:30?

And before you ask who
wants to know, I do.

I was here. All day.

Anyone that can back that up?

Tumbler can.
Isn't that right Tumbler?

He was here all day.

Where'd you get the tattoo?

I don't ask questions.

Don't you?

Who wants to know?

Thought you said you don't
ask questions.

Where will we find Macratty?

By the way...

there's something
I'm not telling you.

There's something he's
not telling us.

Not yet.

Not with his mouth.

What does that mean?

I don't know.

Our first mark.

Street-name, "Bullock."

Tattoo puts him at the scene.

Get close to Bullock, he'll lead us
straight to Macratty.

The question is,
how do we earn his trust?

With some sausages?

With a disguise.

I'm going undercover.

If they find out you're police,
they'll shoot you in the head.

So what? Or cut your throat open and
pull your tongue through the hole

so it flops around like a necktie.

Nothing I can't handle.

Or drive you to Swanage
and just leave you there.

I love Swanage.

Jack, they're right.

You can't go undercover,
it's too risky.

You could die.

I've got nothing to live for anyway.

That's not true, Jack.

Isn't it?

What do I have to look forward to?

I don't even have any DVD box
sets on the go.

Things change, Jack.

Pain never changes.

Look at me. I've lost everything
I ever cared about.

Even my shoes.

Not everything, Jack.

Don't.

Can't you see?
You'd be kissing a dead man.

Fellating a corpse.

Rimming a... I don't care.

Maybe not. But so do I.

Hello?

Anne Oldman?

It's pronounced "Old Man."

Who is this?

Mayor-in-waiting Hope Goodgirl.
Pronounced just how I said it.

Is this a good time?

Who gave you this number?

999? You're in the book.

This better be important.

I don't have time for a sub-plot
right now.

Prickly. I'll keep it short.

The future fascinates me.
Does it fascinate you?

Yes.

No...

I don't know.

Well, it should.
I'd like to discuss your future.

Maybe... over dinner?

OK, fine, whatever.

Tonight.

Sappho restaurant Ladyglove Street.

Don't let me down.

OK.

These guys are ruthless criminals.

The only way to earn their respect

is to walk in there and pay them
absolutely no respect.

This wire of yours better be
discreet.

Don't worry, guv.
It's invisible to the naked eye.

Apart from this transmitter.

OK.

The important thing about these
operations is to stay in character.

So, ask me some questions. Test me.

Where'd you get the goods from?

Stole them. Illegally.

You done time?
Five-stretch, Belmarsh, GBH.

Kicked a nonce to death
with his own leg.

You a copper? Probably not.

What's your name? Jack.

That IS your name.

This is spelt J-A-C-Q-U-E-S.
Jacques.

But pronouncing it "Jack"
means that if anyone calls my name

I'll react naturally, as though Jack
was my name - which it is.

Try it.

Jack? Yeah.

Jack. Yeah.

Jack. Hello.

Jack, wait...

Don't forget which side you're on.

I'm not on a side.

I'm on the edge,
and edges don't have sides.

No, I meant this side...

opens onto the road.

Check it out.

What's your name?

Jacques. Pronounced "Jack."

Jack what?

My surname?

It's, er...

Copper

Jack Copper?

Pronounced "Coppaire."

Jack Coppaire.

Do you have a name, or do you just
go by that distinctive odour?

Bullock.

I don't like smart arses. Uh-huh?

What kind do you like?
Little pink ones?

He's a comedian.
Tell us a joke, funny man.

What's the difference between a
King Edward and your mother?

Surprise me.

One's a potato. The other's a whore.

He's going to over-cock.

Jack knows what he's doing.

Augh-augh-augh...

Mm-mm-mm...

Ohh...

Augh-augh-augh...

Ugh-ugh-ugh-ugh...

Oh-oh-oh-oh...

Augh-augh-augh...

Pffrrt-pffrrt-pffrrt...

Mm-mm-mm.

Mm-mm... Mmmm.

That's your mother
on What's My Line.

Hope you like the taste of fists,
funny man.

Not as much as she does.

Although she doesn't take them
orally.

He's right.

It's a car.

I've seen cars before. Yeah.

But you break that car down

and you've got at least Ј400-worth
of scrap metal on your hands.

400...?

You can get your hands on more
motors, can you?

Is the Pope a Catholic?

What's a "Pope"?

I can get more motors
than you can think of.

More than six?

Will they all have wheels?

Doors too.

And not just cars.

Trains, planes, submarines,
mole-machines.

You want a battleship?
I can hotwire one like that.

Now, do we have a deal,

or are we just jerking
each other's tits here?

Let's go see the boss.

Sounds like we're in.

Mr Macratty.

This calls itself Jack Coppaire.

Does she, now?

Nice place... if you're into shit.

We've got to get him out of there.

Not yet. Just give him a chance.

I don't like lip.

More of an arse man?
Like boyfriend, like son?

Get us a pint of milk
on your way to the afterlife.

Guv!

Let's get him out of there.

Shoot me if you want.
But I've got something you need.

Oxygen?

Wait...

Jack's up to something.

Merchandise.

Where's this "merchandise"?

Let's just say I had to bring it
through customs...

In my brown suitcase.

It still there?

I don't walk this way out of choice.

Bullock, take a look.

What's happening?

Sounds like...

someone's pulling a large skittle
out of a bucket of wet clay...

They've thrown summat on the table.
What is it?

A kind of furniture.
And the thing they threw?

According to the waveforms...

it's a kilo of pharmaceutical grade
heroin.

From the vice squad tuck shop.

Jack! You've forgotten which
side you're on.

Maybe you should've
washed your hands before dinner.

Well?

Looks like I'm about to
make a new friend.

I'm not on Facebook.

Ahh.

That could've been sticky.

Does this burn DVDs?

Take a good look.

Because this is Michael Macratty.

I thought he'd be bigger.

And rounder.

And have arms and legs.

Well, this is just a photograph.

The real Macratty's 3D
and in colour.

Like Toy Story 3?

Of course I like Toy Story 3,
it's absolutely magical

but that's irrelevant, Des.

We need to take a good hard
look at Macratty close up...

and keep looking at him close up, no
matter who or what gets in the way.

Even if it means we have to steal
heroin from the vice squad tuck shop

to earn his trust?

You can't wipe away vile human scum

without getting your fingernails
dirty.

Ask my cleaning lady,
she'll tell you.

In Polish.

But you stealing that heroin
makes no sense, guv.

Why? Because it's wrong?

Because you weren't even working
here when Boss said it'd gone,

back at the bank. So?

So, it's against all established
rules of narrative.

I don't have time for
rules of narrative.

But in terms of continuity alone...
Forget continuity!

Sometimes you've got to break
the law to protect the law.

I'll steal that heroin before it
exists if I have to.

And there's not a damn
thing you can do to stop me. Jack!

You're forgetting which side
you're on. Not Macratty's side.

Our side. Homicide.

Work it out amongst yourselves.

I've got somewhere to be.

Mm.

I love eating out.

Do you love eating out?

I love eating out.

Oh, um, I'll have the lesbian
special, please.

Mm-hm, OK.

Um... Why don't you try the clam?

It comes drenched in its own juices.
You'll lap it up.

I'll take that. Great.

Here's to our future job prospects.

"Our" prospects...?

When I become mayor, which I will...

I'll need a new chief of police.

What? What about Tom Boss?

Tom Boss will be replaced.

He'll be devastated to lose his job.

He's a big man, he can take it.

He's a great policeman.
Who murdered 13 people.

Apart from that.

A leopard can't change its tune.

Maybe you should keep an eye on him.

When he's not near a sword,
I trust Tom Boss with my life.

Loyal.

I like that.

And you're... upfront.

Upfront is good.

Do you like it upfront?

Or would you prefer us to lie
side by side

and rub our fannies together
like two pieces of chamois leather?

In the nude.

I look forward to us
working together.

Mm. I think your clam is ready.

And it's absolutely steaming.

Hey.

I think Macratty's about to say some
important dialogue to Jack.

I think you might be able to help me
out with something, Jack.

I need an extra pair of hands
on a job that's coming up,

someone high up is calling.

The big man needs us to hit the
local museum,

top secret, top dollar, top pocket,

top gear, top bollocks, top hat,
white tie and tails.

We're not meant to talk about that.

What if someone's listening
on headphones?

Shut it. No, the big man said we're
not meant to...

I said shut it!

Eat your lolly.

There's someone above Macratty.

Run a search for "big man".

I'm on it.

OK...

got a description for "big man."

Black, well-built, distinctive ribs,

wipes clean for storage,

twin-speed with pulse function,
takes 4 AA batteries.

Add it to the shopping basket.

Stay loyal,
and I'll look after you, Coppaire.

Betray me and I'll rip you inside out
from your arsehole to your teeth.

You'll be staring at the back
of your own head

while I use your guts
for a skipping rope.

I'll tear you into eight pieces
and rearrange you into...

sort of an octopus.

Darling?

Katya.

Everything is OK?

I hear men-voices and I scared.

Just business talk, sugar-slit.

Want you to meet our new friend
Jacques, Katya.

Hello Jacques.

It's pronounced "Jack".

I think you should extend
Mr Coppaire the usual hospitality.

Yes, darling.

I don't need second-hand goods.

Oi.

Mr Macratty doesn't like having his
generosity slung back in his face.

And I don't like it
rammed down my throat.

No, but Katya does.

Eh?!

Go on, son.

She gwan gobble yuh up
like rice and pea.

Hm. She slurp yuh down to yuh
bone marrow,

leave you wid hollow legs bwoy.

Hear mi now?

She gwan suck out all
the know-how in yuh brain,

till yuh drooling inna cripple style

like dem Diving Bell Butterfly,
Mistah Man.

Yeah... That's enough Nigel.
This is a classy establishment.

Let's go and listen to them do it.

I wanna hear it going in
to see if he's a cop or not.

Ahh...

You don't have to do this.

You don't have to do that.

You don't have to touch those.

I don't want to hear this.

I'll cover it.
Leave me in here, if you like.

Come, take off shirt.

Just play with those for an hour,
that'll do me.

I want to see what you
have under here.

No.

Why so shy? Why you...?

What is this?

Oh, my God.

She must've found his cable.

Jack? Jack?

Jack? Jack? Jack?

Jack? Jack?

Jack? Jack?

This... shaver with bullet in?

It has sentimental value.

Augh!

I wondered why I put that in there.

No, I'll keep my clothes on.
That's the way I like it.

Complex body-image issues.

OK. You stay dress
while do me up... like this.

I don't think my old man
would approve.

Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!

Jack! Jack!

Look, I had quite a big breakfast.

You must have me.

Fried bread and everything, so...
Please.

Mr Macratty he throws me
out on streets

if I not satisfy his man-guests.

Well, I'll just tell him I was
satisfied. They listen outside.

We must have sex on here now.

Jack! Jack!

Augh... Jack!

Wait... Bloody hell...

He's turned on.

Oh, yeah... Ah, ah... Ohh...

Bloody hell, that's... Ohh...
Oh, God... Oh, yeah...

You like bum and also buttock? Oh...

Both halves of the bum are... great.

Come round to front... OK...
Conventional orifice is nicer.

Jack's forgotten which side he's on.

Do you think she'll blow it?

I...am... in... your...

balls.

He's in too deep.

If he doesn't pull out soon there'll
be one hell of a mess in there.

Oh... Oh... Oh...

Oh, oh... Aah! Aah!

Ohh! Aah!

Ohhh.

You're not like others, Jack.

Most men do sex,
then turn over and snore

and do guff stink from poo-pipe.

You different.

And you're too good for this.
I know.

Mr Macratty ship me from homeland
inside big tin.

He promise a good job as CEO
of Marks & Spencer with own car,

health insurance and share options.
But when I get here...

It only last nine years.

Now he treat me like rubber dolly
full of air with mouth like this...

I miss family back in Fokkraine.

My little brother Lukaz he loss
eyesight working in egg mine.

My mother go mad, grow beard.

How they cope?

Now Mr Macratty say museum job
very shocking and important,

writer's not certain
this plot point quite clear,

so they record me, say this later.

That's why picture still on you
and not show me talk.

Macratty also say
he kill anyone who get in way.

I not know what to do.

You am help me?

I am help you.

Thank you.

Time... to die.

We have Des Sergeant here,
vouched for by our man Coppaire.

Des is the best shot on the force.

And when I say "on the force,"
I mean "in the world of crime."

We can't do this.

You're injured.

I'll bleed when I'm dead.

That's not how blood works.

Call the papers, tell them Mr Boss
has taken leave of his senses.

You'll regret this.

And that his breath
smells of quavers.

Time to die... again.

Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells
http://UKsubtitles.ru.