All language subtitles for Underbelly Land Of The Long Green Cloud s01e01 Disorganised Crime.eng

This is a coming-of-age story.

Them...and us.

Marty Johnstone was one of them.

The Real Mr. Asia.

Before the name got highjacked
by some pretender in Oz.

It's about the drug dealers and the cops growing up.

And the country too, really.

We all learned some pretty tough lessons.

No one more than Carole.

Working mum...best detective I was ever partnered with.

- You're under arrest!
- OK...

Should never've run the platforms.
Could have been long gone.

Marty and his mates had
gotten a bit ahead of themselves.

But then, so have I.

Around six years earlier, in '69,

the long white cloud had started
taking on a distinctive tinge.

New Zealand "green" was on the up.

And the hippies were living the high life.

The cops were chasing the smoke,

not the people who were lighting the fires.

While police were uprooting crops,

Marty Johnstone was up rooting in Northland.

Trading weed for sex.

Just the homegrown cabbage, sure, but maybe
the seed of what was to come was sown right then.

Along with his own seed.

Free love...cheap weed.

In 1971, I'd just joined a
pretty wobbly "thin blue line".

While I was towing the line,

the hippies were hoeing the weed.

For me...being a copper was what it was all about.

But Marty...he just wanted everything...fast.

Come on, bones. Give me a double.

So, let's see...

with doubling that's...three bucks.

A Samaritan...with a chorus of angels.

The girls are hitchin' as well.
You'll have to put your pack on top.

- So, Marty.
- Rhymes with party... Anybody fancy a joint?

And that's how Marty met Andy.

By the time I met them,

they'd be burglaring warehouses by night
and working in men's fashion by day.

Big collars, no cuffs. While I'd be carrying
cuffs and trying to make collars.

No, mate, I don't move the goods.

But I can put you in touch with a fella.

Yeah... For a fee, I bet.

Fair enough.

- Come on.
- Whoops, that's thirty-five dollars.

You'll pull lots of chicks in that gear.

Trust me.

Helen.

- Something for hubby?
- Oh, that'd be lovely, but...this isn't him.

Detective Constables Charlton and Derwent.

Detectives...

No way! Far too stylish to be detectives, are you?

- Johnstone and Mayer, is it?
- It's Maher.

I'm Marty Johnstone...

Purveyor of fashion...strides, ties.
That sort of thing.

We're with crime squad... burglaries, thefts.
That sort of thing.

We've received some complaints
from Mr. Farquson, your boss,

- Lovely man, know exactly...
- ...about thefts...from the till.

- That's bullshit.
- I haven't seen anything.

- Andy?
- Nope.

According to Mr. Farquson, it's only been
going on since you started here, Mr. Maher.

- Listen, if that prick is accusing me...
- Mr. Farquson's wasted your time, officer.

If Andy'd had his fingers anywhere he
shouldn't...I'd've chopped them off.

*** your, ah...suprasternal notch?

Once we've had a wee chat with Mr. Fuckquson,
he'll be withdrawing his complaint, bet on it.

You make a habit of monstering people, do you, Andy?

Understand, I am good with
faces...and I'll be remembering yours.

Step out of line, we'll be on you.

And fair enough, too. "Truth and
justice", eh? The rule of law?

"Super..sternal notch". "Rule of law".

Lucky Marty was there. For you'd
punched him out and ended up in jail.

Bonnie Marie Jones, tough as a nail...sharp as a tack.

They done fuckin' wrong. Fuckin' cops, eh?

Bloody boss he's talkin' to. Huh. I'll give you
such fucking day in courts. Fuck 'em. Fuck the lot of 'em.

Excuse me. You want try
moderating your bloody language a bit?

What's your problem?

Him. Swearing in front of my
old lady. Stay out of it, cow!

Cow...

- ...quack, quack...
- Huh?

...duck.

Sucker punch at me? On my turf?

You don't know who you're messing with, shithead!

We'll see, fuck-knuckle!

Quack, quack, here!

And a moo, moo, there!

Here a fuck, there a fuck, everywhere a fuck, fuck!

Come on then, come on!

Let's get out of here! The "farm" is on it's way!

You need to stay cool. We don't
need another visit from the cops.

- Bro, I'm into something big, here.
- Found some breakthrough?

Big ones, Andy. There's money to be made.

- Even from warehouses, aye!
- No, that's work. This is a bloody adventure.

Get you ticket on the bus, mate.

Magical bloody mystery tour with treasure at the end.

And a whole bunch of
high-fucking-highs, along the way.

We can make names for ourselves in this town.

Old-school bastards like that bloke,
they'll be looking up to us when we're done.

We'll be somebodies.

Drinking French champagne.

Riding acid gas with a-hundred-dollar nights.

We take the cash from the burgs, do
serious buys of weight, and we're on our way.

- What, local green?
- Who talking local?

Mack the Mick's bud, the fence - my
information is he's got all these contacts.

The big times, guys.

Yeah...pretty nice stuff, mate.

Greg Ollard hadn't been too long out of Wetecho prison.

Hmm, one toke and you're flying...first class.

He had a habit and a girlfriend to support.

But not for long. Three years later, he'd be dead.

No!

Jolly good stuff is it, Anju?

- Wanna try some?
- What? Try before we buy?

I don't think Greg here would like that.

We'll just buy straight up.

How much dope you want, mate.

Ten grand's worth, plus whatever
this lot's worth, net-fresh.

Eh, so, say two for this, that's
twelve grand worth of dope allotment.

- Twelve and a half.
- Eh? Twelve.

- Half's on top - my commission, from putting you in touch.
- Fair enough.

Ah, but, I get to keep the lava lamp.

- So! "In touch" with who?
- Ehm...

Well, he's a steward on the Dutch
freighters. Everybody calls him Chinese Jack.

Boys.

- Jim.
- Mr. Shepherd.

Yeah. That's more like it.

You looking for Marty Johnstone?

He's here, mate.

Marty. Pleasure.

Piss off, Greg.

- You want a drink?
- Business.

Cops like it here, do they?

Cops can't afford threads like these.

You turn out to be one, you're gonna wake up with
blood on your sheet, and your dick, and your mouth.

My mouth isn't big enough.

What's your interest...heroin?

- Buddha?
- Buddha, for now. I know there's good market for that.

I can move more grass than "H" here.

I got good connections with Thai growers.

You got cash, I will organize sticks.

They grow their maryjane close
to a poppy. Makes it stronger.

Grows like shit!

And how much are we talking for this "good shit".

Marty knew that the thing about
the poppies was just an urban myth...

but...Chinese Jack's promise of a more
potent product was right on the money.

Buddha would turn out to have THC up to
10x as strong as "New Zealand Green".

So, do we shake hands, or do
we compare the size of our dicks.

The statistics pretty much speak for themselves.

- Safe breaks. We have burglaries,...
- Break-ins.

Have you got something you want
to share with us all, Detective?

- You two swapping knitting patterns?
- I was just adding pharmacies to the list, sir.

What's that got to do with these
figures, Detective Constable?

Well, the spike in the stats, sir, it's seasonal.

This time of year, the local crop of grain's
down, so the potheads look for alternatives.

Chemical, if necessary.

So pharmacy hits go through the roof, class
speed drug thieves - speed instead of weed.

- "Speed"?
- Amphetamines, sir.

Speed costs more, so more thefts ensure to pay for it.

These safe jobs are good as bloody well signed. The
work of old pros, not your smokers of funny cigarettes.

- Some of them, I agree, sir, but I think...
- Oh, "you agree", do you, Detective Constable?

This bloke's not long out
of in-service training, isn't he?

Sir.

So, maybe this time next year, you
might know your ass from your elbow.

- Sir.
- Yeah.

Regarding the safe jobs...

Turned out I DID know my ass from my elbow.

But what none of us knew was that the
chemists were about to get a reprieve.

Courtesy of Marty and his mates.

All right, Bonnie... There you are.

So, that was Marty...

...bold swagger, shirt open to the navel,
money to burn, and boy, did he burn it.

Fresh clothes, expensive cigars. Cuban, of course.

Only the very best.

The gold medallion was just one of a few,
but it was the one that he'd always wore.

Ah Fu Hau, Chang Shau Mein,

Chinese symbol for long life.

Ironic, that.

In five years, Marty's mutilated and very dead body

would be dumped in a flooded quarry
on the other side of the world.

With the medallion still round his neck.

Naryingly a bloke with speedy star would choose
such a salubrious venue for his near-miss facilities.

All charges dropped.

And a justice system's loss is our gain.

- To Speedy Stan.
- To Speedy! Well lad!

Look at all these old bastards!
They think they still run things.

They still do, Andy.

Aye! Not for long, eh?

Oh, stop flexing your muscles! You'll tear your shirt.

She's right.

These guys have still got big
balls...and even bigger ears.

Like Greg Ollard, Terry Clark had
graduated from Wetecho Prison,

where he'd served three out of
four years for burglary and receiving.

He'd come north to Auckland with Norma Fleet,
an addict who had married while he was inside.

Maybe not such a great move.

Norma's looks and her easy ways made her
a bit too popular for Terry's liking.

You blokes print your own invites, did you?

Good God, no, Gary. Wouldn't dream of gate-crashing.

*I was thinking - get a drilled fried

Now me and my friends, we're getting up a party
of our own. And everyone's invited to that one.

Just over a month, and I'm already
paying my top people three grand a week.

You wanna play? You know where to find me.

The most significant event at Speedy Stan's near-miss
party probably seemed the least remarkable.

Terry?

Marty.

Was when Marty first met Terry Clark.

Terry Clark.

- Haven't seen you around. Where you been?
- Wecheto, mate.

Heh, got out a couple of weeks ago.

Yeah? Well, you ain't got that
jailhouse look about you, kid.

It's a soft joint.

Yeah. You don't let it happen, you stay fit.

You stay on top of your game.

And what is your game, Terry?

Now that depends on what's being offered, Marty.

You like Bahli? It's fuckin' neat there.

Come meet the team.

Mate, I thought we agreed...no product in the house.

Mike missed the pickup. What was I
supposed to do? Take it out there by myself.

- There's an idea.
- Shut your mouth...Gaza!

I can take it.

- Burgundy, right?
- Yeah.

Excellent.

Fast learner. Be after my job next.

Take my car.

Bit too flashy a run, isn't it?.

Terry knows the rules.

You stick to the limits. You get pulled over for anything, you tell him you stole the wheels.

You've driven a yank tank?

I could go with him.

A bloke and a sheila - less attention.

You can bloody well stay here.

Maybe next time.

Hey!

What's the go with him? Is he on the payroll now?

Terry's gonna own Cell for us.
Gaza's been showing him the ropes.

I don't trust him.

Plus, that he's a psycho. And his wife, a
smack-addict and a booze-artist with a big mouth.

"Smack", eh?

That's recreational.

I don't have a problem.

I'll handle Terry.

He's jealous because I've been...showing him the town.

You're still my best friend, choochy face.

He's just an ordinary mate.

See.

That's where you fall down, Marty.

There's no such thing as "mates". Not in this game.

Where did you think I got the smack?

Terry can run a sideline if he likes.

I made a market decision. For now, we stick to grass.

Because the grass, my son, is greener.

Wharf police got lucky.

Found a package floating.

There's about 600 more of these.

Any sign of a bird?

No, unfortunately quiet.

Not "New Zealand Green", is it?

Indonasian? Thai?

The bale was sealed and waterproofed.

Now, our intel says that all the different
products on the street's being imported.

Now we know how. These drops have
to be happening on the harbor.

Alright. I'll talk to HQ.

You check out emergency departments.

Someone's gonna cop a beating for losing this lot.

I don't think he nicked it, Gary.

What?

Well, he's the obvious choice.

- Unless it was you.
- Hey. I brought him straight to you.

Soon as he told me it fell off the boat.

First of our shipments coming on
line, then we lose half a bloody drop.

Word around the traps is...

That Chinese Jack supplied another major player.

Maybe that's why our supply's thin.

Who?

Buggered if I know.

Put this prick in my car.

What're you gonna do with him?

In the boot! I don't want my seats messed up.

Soon as that shit's cleared off
the wharf, you find Chinese Jack.

Marty's gonna wanna meeting.

Get the rest of that shit to Ponteloo.

Not a connoisseur of the female form, Jack?

It's just...tits.

Well?

- Mr. Shepherd.
- Jim.

Do your business and get out of here, Marty.

Jim, best club in town,

great booze, sexy girls,

what'd be the place for a business conference?

Anywhere but my place.

I don't like drugs.

You lot'd shit on grandma's cabbages if
you thought it'd save you on fertilizer.

Now have your meeting and piss off.

He likes us, really.

You've bendin' with these boys now?

What's this about?

It's about you screwing us over,
and supplying another wholesaler.

I got another customer, so what?

You think you made a monopoly?

You're supplying a competitor, Jack.

If we're making a bundle for you,
why complicate it with another party?

My other guy's money is same color as yours.

You don't like it...

find another supplier.

Who's your other buyer?

Don't be stupid.

I treat you equal.

I wouldn't tell him your name, either.

But I'll tell you what I just told him.

The price is going up...

five percent.

Margins got tighter.

Just...business.

Bizpoopa,

straighten his bandy little legs for him.

And gain what?

Put some feelers out.

Find out who this other buyer is.

See if we can come to a mutally beneficial arrangement.

Things had changed.

I was now working in murder,

but Carole still kept me up to speed.

Imports...from Thailand.

According to the expense. You
wanna say I told you so?

Who to? No one's listening.

Skinner is.

He's trying to convince HQ to
put together a task force.

You gotta feel sorry for him.

Commanders don't get it.

They've let the drugs thing bubble
away on the back burner for years

and now the lid blowing off the
pot and people are getting burned.

So, we need to get organized, this is at stave.

If they take it.

Maybe they'd rattle their dicks a bit harder if
the newspapers got wind of your lack of resources.

Hey,

- I didn't hear that.
- I didn't say it.

You still pulling out a ton?

Divorce material?

Not if Max and I were married.

Yeah, same on the murder. Quite
a candidate, believe me.

You got faces?

We haven't even got a board to put them on.

I reckon this newbie's behind this.

That's what I'm thinking.

Another? Or-Or do you have to...
get back to Max "de facto".

I'll give you another.

Ease up.

That guy in the flash suit,

- I understand he spends plenty.
- Yeah.

"Big Ari". He runs the woman's mag.

- "Marianne", I think.
- Um-huh.

Officers are around the corner.

The other guy is.. "Harry" or something.

*

Be the best reaction.

That's modern product on the premises.

You got what you wanted now?

Some of it.

Wow! You ever considered * holder?

Hey! It's rude to talk with your mouth full.

Yeah! Oz - to see the wizard, is it?

Well, there's more scouts for my music stuff there.

I don't want to spend my whole life dealing dope.

What the fuck?

Marty.

Where's ever drink?

I got a line on Chinese Jack's other customer.

Brilliant.

When will you leave?

Ah..not sure. Sooner rather than later.

You want to go to Oz, Greg, that's fantastic.

We'll be sorry to lose ya, though.
You been doin' a great job.

Have to organize a bonus, help you on your way.

Thanks, Marty. Thanks.

Well, eh... Better get to work.

Are you fleeing the ditch, Greg?

Yeah, sometime soon. Music scene, you know.

Well, we should get a drink before you go.

Yeah. Sure. Whatever.

This is turning into shit, Bamber.

All these hassles with supply,
consignments gettin' lost.

Now we lose one of our main distributors.

His music. Bullshit, eh?

He's going to have a crack at the scene.

Who's asking you, fuckhead?

Hey!

"Glass half-full" guys,

Greg can bugger off across the Tasman if he likes.

With him out of the picture, we'll cut on the
cheap the distributor. Make even more money.

So.

Tell me, Terry. Who's our mate
Chinese Jack dealing with?

- Hey, take your hands off...
- Hey, hey, hey, hey.

Calm the fuck down.

Ari.

It's only my friends call me this, heh.

I have people, they will ask questions.

What about?

I just wanna talk. There's no
need for any unpleasantness.

You wanna talk?

Send an invitation.

Otherwise, go fuck yourself! Heh!

No need. I'm well catered for in
that department, thanks, Ari.

I've got a different proposition for you.

Save you a lot of pain. Save us both a lot of money.

You're a smart bloke, Ari.

You know if you own the market,
you own the supplier, right?

OK.

What's the plan?

What the hell is this?

Call it a stakeholder's meeting.

Make yourself comfortable, Jack.

In unity...is strength.

Now, Ari and I have been having
a little business conversation.

Marty, Andy, Ari, and Peter Miller working as a team...

...for now.

You've got to be kidding me.

Come on, Jack.

It's a good offer and you know it is.

I suggest you accept.

Of course, he did accept.

It made sense.

A "5%-less-than-before"
price is better than no price at all.

We can work with somebody else.

Chinese Jack now had only one client to serve.

And that's how the syndicate was born.

For us in New Zealand, it was
the start of a whole new world.

A world of organized crime...

...a world of violence...

...greed...

...and murder.

Special delivery!

1975 and Greg Ollard was finally off to Australia.

That's not your bonus, Gregory.

For Marty and his mates, life was one big party.

Not that Greg's girlfriend would have agreed.

He was leaving her behind to have his kid on her own.

True love?

Forget it.

Doug and Isabel Wilson,

two of Marty's best street dealers, could
teach Greg a thing or two about love.

Sweethearts since childhood...

...never apart...

...even at the end...

...when their luck finally ran out.

Terry.

Got a taste?

For you, Dougie.

Nice discount, huh?

You just pay me later.

You're a prick!

That's what you are.

You leave her to drop your sprog,

while you live it up in Oz.

Now then,

he'll carve his nation anywhere telling him to be father-of-the-year.

- Shiiit.
- Yeah!

Maybe you and me can do more business too, Greg,

when we go international...conquer the world.

Sounds like a plan.

Don't worry about it. Everything's
gonna be fine, I promise.

I'll give you some money.

Stay out of it, babe. None of our business.

Don't look so worried.

I'm not like Greg.

I know how to treat a woman.

For now, maybe.

Bonnie, though, was a one-man girl.

She wouldn't always be 1 in Marty's harem.

The women were all part of a lifestyle,

and there'd be lots of them.

As the joints were passed around, so were the girls.

Oh! Bloody hell, Andy!

And most of them seemed to enjoy it.

Only Isabel and Doug Wilson were forever.

Still...

when you start tasting your own
product, it's a slippery slope.

Before long, the taste buds shrivel
and you look for something sharper.

Which is what Terry Clark was planning to cash in on.

You runnin' a pension's game, Terry?

Maybe I can help.

Let's talk.

To our continued investment in Cannabis Sativia.

- Success!
- Success!!

Like the Wilsons, Norma had developed a
real taste for Terry's imported product.

Amazing how many heart attacks there are in userland.

Terry's loss was everybody else's gain.

And for Marty and Andy, for now,

the Cannabis beat went on.

Things were getting out-of-hand.

As far as the papers were concerned,

that was all down to us.

To mix a couple of cliches,

the cat wasn't exactly among the pigeons,

but it sure as hell was out of the bag.

What's this bullshit?!

Listen to me.

You must have had someone...

Not from my...

Well, it's come from somebody.

Yeah. Well, it wasn't here, alright?

It's the 5th time this month.

Every bust we make, we find these.

Start with pot, and hello heroin.

No, no, no, no. Look, I've worked undercover.

- Here we go.
- I know this scene.

Kiwis, my children, are a race of potheads.

People move with the times.

- Why? We don't.
- Yes, we do...

She's got a desk, hasn't she?

All I want, Clive,

is the will to deal with this.

Nobody seems keen.

- I thought Skinner was.
- Do you hear this?

Voice in the wilderness.

Not quite.

The man's starting to listen.

To us AND the drug squad.

Are you talking heroin?

Look. The usual run of things is to wait until
"the problem" becomes "the major problem".

And right now, "the major problem"...is Thai product.

You and Carole are parting company, Clive.

You two are being requested by CIS.

To work on drugs?

Unfortunately, that's not part of their brief.

You just got handed the shit stick, sticky end first.

CIS is still focused on the old school.

You two are going to be sitting in cars

doing surveilance on safe crackers
until your asses are spread like pancakes.

Be careful what you wish for.

Where the hell is our ride?

I'm freezin' my balls off.

He's late!

Oh, yeeeah!

Police! Stop!

We were still getting lucky, occasionally.

Like when a routine patrol
scored thirty thousand sticks.

Dear old price on the street.

Oh! Please!

500 grand, that's how
much you cost us, you piece of shit.

A good beating was the order of the day.

Actual dead bodies hadn't started to mount up yet.

None we knew of, anyway.

Please!

My girlfriend's alarm clock didn't go off.

Lie!

You better get a new fuckin' alarm clock, eh?

I only asked you to find out what happened.

We were as gentle as we could be, considering.

You didn't kill him, did ya?

Why? You want us to?

We can go back and finish it.

So, Marty...

Big hole in the budget.

Short term supply problem and a
bit of a glitch in the cash flow.

Thanks for coming over.

- You up for this?
- Sure.

I can supply twenty, twenty-five grand for a pickup.

Local product from south Auckland.

Bridges the gap till Jack's next run.

Cabbage?

* won't be happy.

That's better than nothing.

Thanks, Peter.

I might make a pickup or two myself.

Well, you think that's wise?

It's good business, Terry.

Show my face on the street a bit.

You blokes have been letting the troops get slack.

- It's Tom Laren's spot.
- Aye.

Tehy're in need of a wake-up call.

..or decent clocks.

Which is where we came in.

Marty was about to get a wake-up call of his own.

Someone had a whole separate agenda.

And Mr. Johnstone was starting
to become a pain in the bum.

Max, I'm so sorry, I completely...

Write this down.

Who is this?

Jag[uar]. Burgundy.

"BC5534".

Follow it tonight.

Now why would I want to do that?

You interested in drugs?

"BC5534".

You've got the address.

Dee, I got a 'tap.

On a switch I get an address.

And tell Drugs.

Go for your "joint op".

Finn, you want to maintain line-of-sight?

So will we.

Sarge will cover up the road. Over.

'Kay, it's not too far.

Yes, ma'am.

Just hold for my call.

Any ideas on your tipster?

No.

Definitely Kiwi, not foreign.

Here we go.

- You are Nick?
- Yeah.

D'you got what I need?

OK, boys and girls, crunch time!

- It's the right size, yeah?
- Excellent.

Go on, you got some money?

In pursuit of a maroon Jag,

Bravo Charlie 5534.

- Coming up to the bridge. You nearly in position?
- Affirmative.

Sarge, guys nearly in position.
You come in behind us. Over.

We got the bastard.

- You're under arrest!
- Bugger. Should've never run the platforms.

Could've been long gone.

- I know you.
- Yeah!

-"Marty-" something..kings on *?
-Oh, yeah.

What was in the bag?

What bag? I thought the bloke had broken down.

- Stopped to help!
- Sure you did.

Come on this way, angel.

Nothing! You got nothing!

Smartass!

Hey...Guys.

That bag!

Yes, take it to the shore!

Turn away, you mates are smoking out?

You were there.

You got me. Simple.

I'm not...

It's all circumstantial - everything you've got.

We'll see about that.

Wait in here.

We retrieved about 50%
of these from the chase.

Well, some pothead would have got very lucky.

They're not much use.

Especially when it comes to Johnstone.

Yeah. All local products, same as that sack floating in water.

Makes it hard for us to tie this guy to the imports.

Still, they're not going to be able to
claim all this for personal use, are they?

Who knows...Johnstone's lawyer's downstairs.

Wants to walk him.

I'll start the paperwork.

What'd they say?

Not enough evidence he was receiving the dope.

Apparently we haven't got a dogshow.

We try to oppose bail in court tomorrow
and the judge will laugh in our faces.

We can try.

Get him held over on remand while
we lean on that Jag driver.

- He might cut a deal.
- We can try.

Not my best angle.

You'll be fine for the charge.

Obviously not fine enough.

Why you and Carol have the hots for this bloke?

We both knew him from way back.

He was a thief and a liar then and look at him now.

He's a player.

All grown up.

If Carole had been successful at
having Marty refused bail,

It might have taken him a lot longer to ramp things up.

As it was, he had money to invest
and a business to build.

And the system had handed him an
opportunity to build it...

...on a solid.. gold.. plate...

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