All language subtitles for The Guard Eng resynced

♫ Fuckin' posers

♫ Yeah

♫ Fuckin' posers

♫ It's almost over now,
it's almost over now

♫ For you fuckin' posers

♫ Yeah

♫ It's almost over now,
it's almost over now

♫ You think the way you live's OK

♫ You think posing will save the day

♫ You think we don't see
that you're running

♫ Better call your boys
cos I'm coming... ♫

I don't think your mammy'd be
too pleased about that now.

What a beautiful fuckin' day.

- Who the fuck are you?
- Aidan McBride, Sergeant.

- Don't know you.
- Just transferred from Dublin.

Big city boy, huh?
And me just a lowly country nobody.

- Lonely?
- Huh?

- Lonely country nobody?
- Lowly. Lowly.

Lowly. I thought you said "lonely".

Not too sharp on the uptake, are you?

You'll go far in this outfit.
Fuckin' latte's my drink.

They told me cappuccino.

What the fuck is he doing here?

- He's the scene-of-crime photographer.
- Are you soft in the head or what?

Get out, Mick,
or I'll tell your mammy about you.

I got what I need anyways, Gerry.
It's all good clean fun, huh?

I'm worried about that young lad.

He's an interest in the photographic arts
I can only describe as unhealthy.

He looks like Brendan Foley.

I knew his father.
He ran off with me second cousin.

When I say "ran off", he was
in a wheelchair, the old fella.

He was a what, er,
what do you call it?

- Er, paraplegic?
- Spastic, yeah.

Wheeled off.

Brendan Foley. I'll get onto this.

I said he looked like Brendan Foley.
I didn't say he was Brendan Foley.

Should you, er,
should you be removing those?

From the Bible, looks like. I knew
there'd be a fuckin' religious angle.

Aye, he was a good-looking lad.
Lovely lips.

The significance of the pot plant
has me somewhat perplexed.

- Maybe its genus is a clue.
- Oh, genus, huh? Fancy.

- What the hell are you doing?
- I have the gift. Nobody tell you?

Clairvoyant, like.

Never interfered with a corpse before,
no? It's great gas.

- I don't think you should...
- I'm only messing.

- Lighten up!
- I don't think it was appropriate.

Fuck off to America with your
"appropriate" fuckin' Barack Obama.

I was just saying.

- Is there any money in the house?
- What? No.

I mean, I haven't checked.

You haven't checked
if there's any money?

What sort of a fucking guard are you,
anyways?

Five and a half...

Five and a half.

Now what the fuck would that mean?

There's a film called "8½".

Fellini.

There's another film called "Se 7 en".

Are you going to list
a load of film titles with numbers?

I can do that.
That's your idea of police work?

Maybe this is the killer's
five and a half... halfth victim.

Go on.

Maybe he's killed four people before
now, and he's maimed another lad.

Cut off his legs maybe,
which'd be the half.

So this'd be victim number
five and a half.

Interesting theory.

So what you're saying is, we may well
have a serial killer on our hands.

It's a distinct possibility.

Well, that'd be a first for Galway.

Rabbit.

Sergeant Gerry Boyle. Cop shop.

Hi, little piggy. I've got information
about that murder last night.

What murder?

How many fucking murders
have you had in the last 24 hours?

That's for us to know
and you to find out.

That doesn't make any sense.

Have you any information or are you
sitting there playing with yourself?

What's your name? Boyle?

Sergeant Gerry Boyle,
the last of the independents.

The murder in Lettermore.
The one with... occult overtones.

Occult overtones, yeah.

Do you know what I mean
when I say "occult"?

Aleister Crowley.

Anton La Vey.

- Simon Magus, that kind of thing.
- Well done.

Round of applause.
Red roses for the blue meanie.

Anyways, it was Billy Devaney
did for him.

He's into all that black magic.
That's "magik" with a K.

Yeah, he told me last night
when he was locked.

Little Billy Devaney
wouldn't hurt a fly.

He didn't hurt a fly.
He put a bullet in your man's brain.

Good point. Could I have your name?

Yeah, Bozo the fucking clown!

Bozo... the... fucking... clown.

I didn't know the circus was in town.

Little Billy Devaney a serial killer?

Sure, he's a lovely little lad.

Fuckin' Andy Murray.

You won't be playing tennis again
for a long time, boy.

I was playing squash.

No squash courts where you're
headed, Ted Bundy of the West.

- Now...
- What are you, Italian?

No, I am not fuckin' Italian! Why does
everybody keep saying that?

- Cos you look Italian.
- I fuckin' don't.

Yes, you do.
Doesn't he look Italian?

You've been cautioned
under the Bestiality Act.

Man, that was fuckin' years ago.

I thought that had been
forgotten about.

Same thing happened to Polanski.

What was it?
A sheep or something?

It was a llama.

I didn't know it was illegal
to interfere with a llama. Did you?

I would have assumed so, Billy.
I mean, what would its parents think?

William Montmorency Devaney,

where were you at approximately nine
in the pm last night? Thereabouts.

I was approximately in Hanley's
battering Joey Brennan about the head

until he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Why were you bat...?

- Why were you battering him?
- I was provoked, like.

Look, we're having a few jars, right,

when he brings up yet a-fucking-gain
this 200 euros I owe him.

He's had me computer
that I lent him for a year.

I says, "Give me my fuckin' computer,
I'll give you your euros."

Then suddenly, right out of nowhere,

he rears up at me
screaming for his money.

I grab hold of the nearest thing
that came into me hands.

This antique blunderbuss
me granddaddy got me...

Antique what?

Blunderbuss.

I was, er, showing it off, like,
and then the next thing you know,

I was battering him around
the fuckin' head with it.

I mean, that is vicious, like, I'll admit.

What are you talking about?

You shot him in the head. You stuffed
pages from the Bible into his mouth.

You put a pot plant on his body
and painted "5½" on the wall.

Sweet Jesus on a stick,
you have me under false pretences.

Now, look, I thought this was
about Joey Brennan. Huh?

- What the fuck?
- The murder in the holiday home.

Jesus, lads, this was about 9:00pm,
wasn't it?

Aren't I telling ye I was in Hanley's?
I have about 20 witnesses.

Joey Brennan was fuckin' alive when
I left him, so you can't get me on that!

Wasn't he roaring at me
with his fuckin' broken lip?

You said he lapsed
into unconsciousness.

Yes, he lapsed into unconsciousness
and after that he fuckin' woke up.

- And that's the whole story?
- That is the whole story.

- Has he made a complaint?
- No, he hasn't.

He's made a fuckin' nuisance call,
it looks like.

Haul in this Joey Brennan,
see what he has to say.

See if we can charge him
with wasting police time.

Then get round
to this gobshite's house,

and charge his grandda
with illegal possession of a firearm.

- No, come on.
- I'm on it, Sarge.

"I'm on it, Sarge."
He thinks he's in fuckin' Detroit.

So, your mother...
Six to eight weeks is the prognosis.

- That's what they told me.
- That is how long she has, then.

- She looks fine. Healthy.
- Hmm.

It's not what is on the outside
that counts,

it's what is on the inside...
eating away at you.

I just want her to be comfortable.

That's all.

- What are you reading?
- Oh.

Never got into the Russians.

They take too long
getting to the feckin' point.

Not even Dostoyevsky, no?

Come on, he was the main offender.

Gogol was good.

He went doolally in the end, though.
God love him.

How are you settling in?

Oh, all right, I suppose.

They're all so fuckin' boring.

Who?

The inmates.

Including me.

I suppose they've a right
to be gloomy.

There's no need to make such
a fuckin' song and dance about it!

'You're gonna die, copper.'

- 'Come on, copper.'
- Little early for a drink.

You're still on duty.

- You've been gone all afternoon.
- 'Flesh wound. Flesh wound.'

Are you going to make
declarative statements

or fuckin' tell me something?

The murder over in Lettermore,
the victim's a John Doe.

He's a John Doe, is he?

- Yeah. It means...
- I know what it fuckin' means. Go on.

'Good shot! '

The name and address he gave
are false. We sent off his prints.

Anything else?
You're boring the hole off me.

You got a call from Galway.

You're to head in tonight to attend
a briefing from a fella over from the FBI.

Special Agent Wendell Everett.

So what?

Maybe it's about the murder.

Maybe he's got a psychological profile
on the killer or something.

It's drug smuggling.

Or they've had another sighting
of Whitey Bulger

at some fuckin' museum.

Yeah, well, drug smuggling...
I mean, that's pretty exciting.

Yeah, it's fuckin' exciting.

If you think standing
on the fuckin' pier at Rossaveal

in the pouring fuckin' rain
for hours on end

waiting on a fuckin' ship

that's never gonna fuckin' arrive
is fuckin' exciting.

Now go get me a pint.

'- Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!
- Good shot. Oh, oh, oh, oh! '

The vessel
we are looking for is a 60-foot ship

called the "Annabel Lee".

We lost it three weeks ago
when it left the Dominican Republic.

The DEA believe it to have
somewhere in the vicinity

of $500 million worth
of cocaine on board.

- It may well...
- Er, that's half a billion, lads.

Half a billion.

Er, thank you, Inspector Stanton.
Yes, that's half a billion.

Slide.

The men we believe to be involved
in the trafficking

are Francis Sheehy-Skeffington
out of Dublin.

Next.
Liam O'Leary also out of Dublin.

Next.
Clive Cornell out of London.

Next. And James McCormick
out of Limerick.

Now, these men
are highly dangerous and if...

And if you do make a si...

Yes, Sergeant?

I thought only black lads
were drug dealers.

I'm sorry, what?

I thought only black lads
were drug dealers. And Mexicans.

They have a word for them.

There's a word for you too, sir,
but I'm not gonna go into that now.

Anyway, as I was saying, these men
are highly dangerous. And if...

Mules! Drug mules!

That's enough of your guff, Boyle.
Apologise to the man.

Huh? Apologise for what?

- Er, you know for what.
- For your racist slurs for one thing.

I'm Irish, sure.
Racism's part of my culture.

Enough. You're showing us up.

- Fucking knacker.
- Fuck off back to Dublin.

- I'll rip your fuckin' head off, Boyle!
- Relax.

Sit down!

Now, now, lads, come on,
not in front of the American.

- He's just messing, Agent Everett.
- Deliberately disrupting my lecture.

Ah, I'm only having a bit of fun, like.
Don't mean anything by it.

Half a billion dollars' worth of cocaine
is a subject for levity?

- Street value.
- Excuse me?

Street value. You always announce
a seizure of drugs

worth a street value
of ten million dollars

or 20 million dollars
or half a billion dollars.

I do wonder what street it is
you're buying your cocaine on,

because it's not the same street
as I'm buying my cocaine on.

That's enough. We've had enough
of your wisecracks for one day.

If you continue on in this vein, you can
consider yourself under suspension.

- Oh, I doubt that.
- You doubt that?

You got balls talking
to your superior officer like that.

If we were in Atlanta...

- We're not, though.
- If we were in Atlanta...

- Galway.
...you'd be ticketing jaywalkers.

- Galway!
- That's it. Consider yourself...

You're not hunting four men,
only three.

- How's that?
- McCormick is dead.

- What makes you think that?
- Well, I hope he's dead.

They've put him into
the fuckin' morgue anyways.

- Schopenhauer.
- I'd say Nietzsche.

Nietzsche! You haven't fucking
read any Nietzsche.

- I have, too. Erm, "The Antichrist".
- Quote me something, then.

- "What does not kill me..."
- Fuck's sake. Every child knows that.

- Bertrand Russell.
- Bertrand Russell. Are you listening?

Fuckin' English.
Everything has to be fuckin' English.

Name your favourite philosopher,
Io and behold, he's fuckin' English.

- He's Welsh.
- Huh?

Bertrand Russell was Welsh.

- Bertrand Russell was Welsh?
- Yeah.

You know, I never knew that.

Didn't think anybody interesting
was Welsh.

- Dylan Thomas.
- Like I said.

Ah. "You will not get the crowd
to cry hosanna

"until you ride into town on an ass."
Nietzsche.

- Yeah, that's a good one.
- Good quote. Nice one.

Oh, fuck it.

The guards.

- We weren't speeding.
- I know.

- One of the back lights out there?
- No, you're fine there.

Well, what did you
fuckin' stop us for, then?

Excuse me?

What did you fucking stop us for, then,
you stupid fucking cunt?

Get out, the lot of you.

- Nice friend you got.
- These English, what can you do?

- IDs, please.
- From Dublin, are you?

- IDs, please.
- Your name? I know a lot of guards.

- You know a lot of guards?
- He's a very friendly fella.

- No harm in it. What's the name?
- Get this over with, for fuck's sake.

- What's the name?
- McBride.

McBride.
We know all about you, McBride.

- Do we know about McBride, Liam?
- We do, Francis.

Should we be using our real names,
though?

- What does it matter now, Liam?
- You're right.

- We know all about you, McBride.
- You know nothing about me.

- Stop, McBride. It's no use.
- Stop, McBride!

Turn around, now, there's a good lad.

Nah. I'll take it as it comes,
if it's all the same to you.

- Show you up for the cowards you are.
- Suit yourself!

- He took that very well.
- He was very philosophical about it.

- Are we going now?
- We have to dump the body.

- I don't do manual labour.
- Come on.

No. When I applied for the post
of international drug trafficker,

it said nothing about "must have
experience of heavy lifting".

Into the west.

Been to Ireland before, Wendell?

Can't say that I have, no.

Where are you from, originally?

Originally, Wisconsin.

Oh. Whereabouts in Wisconsin?

Kenosha.

Kenosha, Wisconsin.

So how would you wind up
in Tennessee?

How did you know
I was in Tennessee?

Wasn't that where you were stationed

when you caught Tyrell Lee Dobbs,
the Knoxville Ripper?

You been doing your research on me?

Ah, I'm sure you did the same
with me.

Sorry, I didn't really have the time.

Ah, sure, you're a busy man,
I know that.

- D'you know where I'd like to go?
- No. Where would you like to go?

- Tupelo. Birthplace of the King.
- Mississippi.

My wife's from Jackson.

- How long have you been married?
- Eight years.

- Any kids?
- Two boys.

Stokely's five years old.
Huey just turned three months old.

- I got a picture of him.
- I don't want to see it.

Excuse me?

I don't want to see it.
Babies all look the same.

The only time a baby doesn't look like
every other baby

is when it's a really ugly baby.

So, unless it's a photo of a really
ugly baby, I don't want to see it.

- Well, that's pretty fuckin' rude.
- Maybe it is, maybe it isn't.

Oh, it is.

I'd like to have a family someday.

Too busy whoring around
and getting fucked up now.

I don't think
you should be telling me this stuff.

You know, I've been reading...
where they're smuggling the cocaine

out of Colombia in little submarines.

Submarines they've built themselves,
like.

Yeah, sounds insane, but it is true.
You are correct.

Crafty little beggars.
You have to admire their enterprise.

- No, Sergeant. You don't.
- You do.

You ever been to the States?

Yeah, once. Disney World.

What, when you were a kid
with your family?

No, this was last year.

- You went with a girlfriend?
- No, God, no.

You went to Disney World
by yourself?

Yeah. Great gas it was.

Had me picture taken with Goofy.
He's my favourite, Goofy.

I can't tell if you're really
motherfucking dumb

or really motherfucking smart.

'Put your fingers to your ears
when you want me to stop! '

Sergeant Boyle?

There's been a mix-up.
You've the wrong night.

I'm sorry?

- You're from the agency?
- No. My husband is missing.

Oh, God, I'm sorry.
Come in, come in.

I'll just slip into something
a little less comfortable.

Nice mug of tea.

Now...

So your husband is missing,
you were saying?

- I didn't get your name.
- Gabriela.

Gerry. So?

My husband is missing, yeah.
I think so, yes.

- Name?
- Aidan McBride.

Aidan McBride.
Not the guard, Aidan McBride?

Yes. He started working here today.

- How long has he been missing?
- Since tonight.

That's no time at all, sure.
He might be on the tear somewhere.

- He does not drink.
- He doesn't drink?

He called me at eight o'clock.
He said he was on his way home.

I've tried his cellphone, but it's dead.

Ah, there's been no accidents
on the road as far as I know.

I'm only after getting in meself.

- Would it be to do with your work?
- Ah, no.

Do you mean, has he gone
undercover with the Mob?

Ah, no. You'd have to head down
to Limerick for that sort of excitement.

- How long have you been married?
- Three years.

- Where are you from? Romania?
- Croatia.

Ah, Croatia.
Good footballers, the Croatians.

They used to be, anyway.

Listen, I'm sure
there's an innocent explanation.

If you still haven't heard anything
by tomorrow evening,

that'll be 24 hours, and I can put out
a county-wide alarm.

What did they used to call
those things? On the telly?

- I'm sorry?
- APB.

"I'm putting out an APB."

You never hear that any more, do ye?

- Thank you again.
- Good luck.

I'll see ya.

Bit chilly out, huh?

Looked pretty impressive out there,
Sergeant.

I was fourth in the Olympics.

Bullshit.

Yeah, Seoul '88. Lovely people,
the South Koreans. Lovely food.

Bullshit.

No, 1500-metres freestyle.

I thought I was odds on
for the bronze.

The two Germans I was prepared for,
but fuckin' Salnikov.

Supposed to be over the hill. Russians
never know when they're beaten.

"The Monster in the Waves",
they called him.

You were fourth in the Olympics?

You don't get anything for fourth.
It's a cruel world.

So, Kenosha, Wisconsin,
you were saying.

Did you grow up in the Projects?

- What?
- Did you grow up in the Projects?

Or do they not have Projects
in Kenosha?

No, I did not grow up in the Projects.

It might surprise you to learn,
Sergeant Boyle,

that I come from
a very privileged background.

And by "privileged",
I mean prep schools, Yale.

I was a Rhodes Scholar. Bet you don't
even know what a Rhodes Scholar is.

- I do know what a Rhodes Scholar is.
- Enlighten me.

Kris Kristofferson.

Yeah, Kris Kristofferson
was a Rhodes Scholar.

You are correct.

Privileged background, huh?

Summer in the Hamptons,
skiing in Aspen. That kind of thing.

Skiing, yeah?
I thought black people couldn't ski.

Or is that swimming?

Ho. Ho.

So what do you have planned
for your day?

Well, we obviously don't know
who killed McCormick or why.

There was no useful forensic
evidence at the crime scene,

so I thought we might start
by canvassing the neighbourhood

where the body was discovered,
see if anybody heard something.

We also must consider the fact
that McCormick was probably

reconnoitring drop-off points
all along the coast.

- Sergeant.
- What?

Sorry, you lost me at "we".

We. You and I.

It's my day off. Did I not tell ya?

It's your day off?

I've had it booked for a good while.
You can ask Stanton.

We're investigating a murder,
trafficking of half a million dollars'...

Billion.

...half a billion dollars' worth
of cocaine,

and you're telling me it's your day off?

I'm sure 24 hours
won't make any difference.

24 hours won't make any difference?

They say it does on these cop shows,
but it doesn't. Not in my experience.

Ah, why do you keep repeating
everything I say?

How you doing?

Special Agent Wendell Everett,
Federal Bureau of Investigation.

I was wondering
if I could ask you a few questions.

Bartley!

There's a black man at the door!

Oh, you don't... You don't speak
any English, huh?

What can I do for you?

And you don't speak any English?

This is Ireland. Go over to England
if you want to speak English.

I just wanna show you a few pictures,

see if you've seen any of these men
in the last few days. This gentleman?

No, I haven't. And if I had,
I wouldn't tell you.

Now you'll have to excuse me,
I have to fix this lamp.

It was a birthday present
from my aunt in Australia.

Good day to you.

I'm sorry.
Is there anyone else here that I...?

So where are you taking us
to have your wicked way?

- I've a room booked at the G.
- Oh, fancy.

- No expense spared.
- Are we not too official for the G?

Whether you are or you aren't,

they'll have Sergeant Gerry Boyle
to deal with if they don't like it.

- He's power mad.
- They say power corrupts.

And I'm corrupted absolutely.
You'll find that out soon enough.

- Are you the FBI man?
- Yes, I am.

- Behavioural Science Unit?
- Er, no.

Actually I'm investigating
the smuggling of narcotics.

Ah, drugs.

- Hurry up, Aoife.
- I'm tumescent.

You're not in bad shape
for an auld lad.

- So me mother's telling me.
- Sergeant!

- You're not that old, Sergeant.
- Don't listen to her.

Ah, I'm old enough to be your father.

You think about that while you're
fucking us, if that's what turns you on.

Oh, Sinead, you're one sick puppy.
I think I'm in love.

What's the craic?

- Just a little memento. Looky.
- You can put it in your archive.

- I know what I'd put in your archive.
- The man's obsessed.

Ha, Wonderbra.

Now it can be revealed.
I have very small breasts.

That's OK. I have a very small penis.

Sergeant!

How you doing, sir?

Special Agent Wendell Everett of...

Sir?

Sir?

Seen this guy?

What about this one?

No? You don't speak English
either, huh?

This is the life.

Are we to assume
you're satisfied with the service?

I'm totally drained, sure.
I've no jism left.

Be giving us a good review
at the agency now.

Oh, five stars.

- Only wish I'd brought me handcuffs.
- There's always next time.

- You'd be into a bit of bondage?
- Only for you, Sergeant.

Only for you.

Ah, for fuck's sake.

I do not understand.

Just because his car is here,
why does it mean he killed himself?

It's a suicide hot spot.

A lot of the locals have
drowned themselves here.

That's why we have to put up
with these prima donnas.

I do not think
Aidan committed suicide.

Neither do I, to be honest with ye.
Didn't seem intelligent enough.

Course, if it's not suicide,
then it's foul play.

Foul play?

Murder. Malice aforethought.

But I cannot think who would have
wanted to do something bad to Aidan.

He's a guard.

Somebody somewhere probably
had a grudge against him.

It's a better theory than suicide,
in my view.

Is there anything you can tell me
that might have a bearing on all this?

- Anything personal?
- He's gay.

He's gay. You know,
when one man puts his...

I'm familiar with
the mechanics of it, yeah.

I just didn't realise.

Do you think he met someone there
who would do something bad to him?

Like, you know, what do you say?

- Like a rent boy or something?
- Yeah, a rent boy.

No, there's not much call for rent boys
around here, as far as I know.

Maybe in town.

Why'd you marry him?

For the visa, I suppose?

It's just between you and me.

Yes. I get a visa and he looks...

- Respectable.
- Yes, respectable.

Wendell.

Hmm, nice outfit.
Do you juggle as well?

Fuck you, Sergeant.

Hot whiskey, John-Joe, please.
And a cold one while I'm waiting.

- Yourself?
- Er, Guinness.

Two Guinnesses as well, John-Joe.

Like the fat man said, if you have
to be careful not to drink too much,

it's because you're not to be trusted
when you do. Any luck?

Not a damn thing.
Man, these people out here are...

- I know. It's like Compton, huh?
- Exactly.

They're not too keen on talking
to the law, that's for damn sure.

- Most don't even speak English.
- They speak English well enough.

This is a Gaelic-speaking region.
Did they not teach you that at Langley?

No, they did not teach me that
at Langley.

For the simple fact that Langley's
the CIA, you idiot, not the FBI.

You didn't know people in the west of
Ireland speak Gaelic and I'm the idiot?

Whatever.

- How was your day off?
- Energetic.

Something's come up.
I'm not talking about my cock.

One of my men's gone missing.
McBride.

I spotted his car in a known suicide
spot. He was on duty at the time.

- Any sign of foul play?
- Not as far as we know.

But you don't think it's suicide.
What, then?

First McCormick gets murdered,
now a guard disappears.

It's too much of a coincidence.

Could be he stumbled
onto something and got...?

- Whacked?
- Whacked, yeah.

His first day on the job in Connemara,
too. Talk about bad luck.

Yeah. But, er, where do we start?

I say we start with these two lads
and we take it from there.

Slàlnte.

That's Gaelic.

What's the first case you ever solved?

- Stealing an ostrich.
- What?

Guy stole an ostrich,
transported it across state lines.

Had something to do with the eggs
or something.

It's more original than dealing crack,
anyway. You ever have crack?

- Do you think I'd tell you if I had?
- I've had it.

Yet again, I don't think you should be
telling me these kinds of things.

They say if you have one hit
you're hooked, but that's shite.

It's propaganda for kids.

You certainly are an unconventional
police officer, Sergeant Boyle.

- Thank you.
- That was not meant as a compliment.

Ah, now, you're only messing,
I know that.

What's so fascinating?

Hmm.

I had what I thought was a crank call

saying the person responsible
for McCormick's death

was this lad Billy Devaney.

Oh.

- Which one's Devaney? The Italian?
- Yeah.

Devaney's alibi is that
he was in Hanley's on the night

battering Joey Brennan there.

- So?
- So I was thinking...

Maybe whoever made the crank call
was there on the night, saw Billy...

Saw Billy Devaney assaulting Brennan

and decided to throw him in the frame
for McCormick too.

Exactly.

Jesus, he gave him a hell of a clout.
Christ, he's strong for a little lad.

Whoa. Freeze it, freeze it.

- No, no, go back.
- Fuck.

Give it...

Goddamn, that's Sheehy and Cornell.

Look at it. They're here.

Like a donkey fucking
a hippopotamus, it's party time.

What?

Like a donkey fucking
a hippopotamus, it's party time.

- What the fuck are you on about?
- Sheehy said...

He was taking the piss,
for fuck's sake.

That's nice. Is that real leather?

Why, what am I, fucking cheap?

It's all there, yeah?

- Excuse me?
- It's all there?

No, it's not. I've skimmed
a couple of grand off the top.

- What?
- Course it's fucking all there.

This is the pay-off, yeah?
We pay you off,

you and your pals keep your
fucking noses out of our business.

That's the dynamic of this situation.

Why the fuck would I then cheat you
out your money? Eh?

Why would I do that?
That doesn't make any sense.

That'd defeat the entire purpose
of the fucking interaction. Fuck me!

Somebody got out of bed
the wrong side this morning.

Fuckin' Brits.

The big city boys.

But these are the three main ports?

Barna, Spiddal, Rossaveal.

OK, let's get three teams
in each of those places.

And I wanna move up and down
the coast, point by point.

Big map. People pointing.

Must be important.

I wanna move the teams up and down
the coast, point by point.

We'll do it in about 48 hours.

All happening now, huh?

Excuse me a moment.

Sorry, I didn't mean to insult...

Don't you ever fuckin' grab me
like that again.

Don't you ever speak to me
like that again.

You have your fuckin' zombies
around you now.

Mobile phones, computers.
Very fuckin' sophisticated.

We're working on a vitally important
case. What I need from you...

What do you need from me, Wendell,
apart from a cup of fuckin' coffee?

Boyle, some mad lad
wants to talk to ya.

His cat's probably stuck up a tree
or something.

You should probably take that.

So, logistically,
what we're gonna need is...

- Where is it?
- Beyond.

They didn't hide it very well. Sloppy.

Well, they were probably out here
after dark.

Be a lonely old job up here at night.

Yeah, probably ghosts up here
and everything. Poltergeists.

I don't know about the poltergeists.
There's nothing to peg around.

- What were you doing up here?
- Heroin.

You'll get a belt, Eugene,
if you carry on with that craic.

Give us a hand here.

- What?
- You've taken something.

- I have not.
- You've taken something.

You didn't even act surprised.

This is like the Birmingham Six
all over again!

Hand it over, you little shit.
Don't make me frisk ya.

You're trippin', nigga! If you frisk me,
I'll have you up on charges!

You want me to batter the hell
out of you?

Cos I will, boy. No questions asked.

What in hell are you doing?

- It's tiny.
- It's a Derringer.

John Wilkes Booth used one
to assassinate Abraham Lincoln.

Wouldn't think it'd do much damage.

They get the job done. But I can't see
what use they'd be to the 'RA.

Maybe they're for killing
little Protestants.

Killing little Protestants.
That's funny.

I fucking hate bent coppers.

- Did they try something?
- No, they didn't try something.

What's the problem, then?

I'm fucking tired of the kind
of people we have to deal with.

What d'ye expect?
We're drug traffickers.

Dalai Lama's hardly gonna be
looking for a piece of the action.

It's dispiriting, though, innit?

What's the point?

It's all so fucking meaningless.

- The money?
- The money, yeah.

How much money do you need
to be happy?

- The whores?
- The whores, yeah.

I'm at that stage where I'm looking
for a more meaningful relationship.

I'm with you there.

Monogamous.

There's one guard
Stanton couldn't vouch for.

Says he's too unpredictable.

Don't tell me. Let me guess. Boyle.

Yeah, that's him.

I like sharks.

They're soothing.

He was no use.

Sure, what have you got to confess,
at your age?

What's my age got to do with it?

Sure, Pol Pot was in his 70s
when he died.

I think Pol Pot's shenanigans
were a little more malicious

than anything you might've got up to.

Shows what you know.

Really? You took part in a sex orgy
or something, did ya?

- One of them bacchanals?
- Get away.

Or bust a cap in the ass of a homey?

So how are things
in the world of law enforcement?

- We've had a lad over from the FBI.
- Oh. The Behavioural Science Unit?

Drugs.

- Ah, sure.
- Yeah.

- What kind of drugs?
- Cocaine.

Cocaine?
I could do with some cocaine.

They say it gives you
great get-up-and-go.

Oh, it perks you up, all right.

Helps you get off with the lasses, too.
They're mad for the stuff.

- Who could blame them?
- True enough.

- What about amyl nitrate?
- What?

- What does amyl nitrate do for you?
- Am I a fucking drugs aficionado?

What's with the sudden interest?

I don't know.
I... I feel I've missed out.

- You missed out on amyl nitrate?
- Well, generally, I'm saying.

Ah, sure, we all fucking
missed out generally.

You're not alone there.

What's going on in that tiny little
brain of yours? Come on, tell me.

I was just thinking I haven't...
listened to music in a long time.

Live music, you know?
Like a ceilidh band.

If that's all,
I can sort something out for tonight.

- You will?
- Bound to be something good on.

It's not as if
you're that hard to please.

Yeah, that's what they said to me
at the orgy.

- You've been in the wars, huh?
- Yeah.

- Who did that to ya?
- Just a fella.

Just a fella. Not a very nice fella.

There are no nice fellas.

Oh, I wouldn't be too sure
about that, now.

That's a very pessimistic world-view.

Two more of them, please, Yuyang.
Chocolate.

What brings you back to Galway,
Aoife? Nothing good, I'm betting.

It's about those pictures.

- What pictures?
- The ones from the G.

("Ode to Billy Joe")

What about them?

I'm to tell you to keep your head down,
if you know what's good for you.

And if I don't keep me head down,
what then?

Are we making any headway?

- Sheehy.
- Sergeant Boyle.

So it was a set-up from the start?

- How'd you work that?
- No, it was just a random thing.

Heard there was a guard in Galway
with a penchant for whores.

Decided to take advantage of it.
Totally opportunistic on my part.

This song really freaks me out, man.

What did they throw off
the fucking Tallahatchie Bridge?

- I always thought it was a baby.
- Yeah?

Could be a gun.
Well, could be any fuckin' thing.

Bobbie Gentry said
she didn't know what it was.

Supposed to be mysterious, like.

It gives me the fuckin' creeps.

You know what gives me the creeps?
Cunts who beat up women.

Ah, that wasn't me, now. It was one
of me overenthusiastic minions.

- Cornell or O'Leary?
- You're very well informed, Sergeant.

- I keep abreast of current events.
- Good man yourself.

No, I'm not a fan of violence
against women

and I'm not a fan of blackmail either.

So, er, as an added incentive...

- Now...
- What's the point in paying me off?

You'll have to pay off
every other guard on the west coast.

- The lot of them?
- Enough as makes no odds.

- Even Wendell?
- Who's... Oh, the Yank?

No, I decided that discretion
was the better part of valour there.

You know what the Americans are like
with their fuckin' ideals.

I'll say this now, so as we're clear.
This is a one-time-only offer.

Cross me on this and you're finished.
And this is not just about me.

You can't just arrest me and it's over.
There are men behind the men.

Do you understand?

I understand, Sheehy.

I understand.

Good.

Goodbye, amigos.

Are you all right?

That milkshake's after giving me
a fuckin' milkshake headache.

Oh, I hate them.

- What are you gonna do?
- I'll be all right. It'll go in a minute.

♫ And drop them into the muddy
water off the Tallahatchie Bridge ♫

You know when you about someone
being liquidated by the Mob?

- Hmm.
- What does that actually mean?

Means they've been killed.
I mean, what else would it mean?

I know that. But does it mean they've
actually been turned into liquid?

Turned into liquid.

No. Just... killed.

Suppose turning someone into liquid
would be too time-consuming, huh?

Take ages.

Ah. Mrs McBride.

- You've found him?
- No, I'm sorry.

We just wanted to ask you
a few more questions.

- Please.
- I thought Sergeant Boyle was...

- He's been relieved of those duties.
- Why?

- There was a jurisdictional issue.
- He's not right in the head.

I don't think we need to involve
Mrs McBride in that discussion, do you?

Right you are.
You know more than me.

I'm sorry. We were wondering if there
was any reason you could think of

that your husband might have
chosen to disappear.

- No. I told Sergeant Boyle all I know.
- No, I understand.

- Was he on the take?
- I... I don't understand...

McBride. Was he taking money
from people? Gangsters?

- Whoa!
- He is a good man. Why would he...?

- No, no. Of course he's a good man.
- Ah, sure, we're all good men.

The fact remains,
he shows up in the west

at the exact same time
a bunch of drug smugglers

are landing half a billion dollars'
worth of cocaine

and then he suddenly goes missing?

- Hmm, sounds fishy to me.
- Inspector Stanton!

- You're saying he is a criminal?
- No, we're not...

Many a blind eye be turned
for that money.

- He is from Dublin after all.
- Oh!

I thought you wanted to find
my husband, but you insult him?

Mrs McBride, I would like to sincerely
apologise for the insensitivity...

I will only speak to Sergeant Boyle.
Please do not come to my work again.

- Mrs Mc...
- Good day to you.

Mrs McBride, if I could...

Hmm! Touchy, huh?

They're like that, the Romanians.

- Sergeant.
- Colum.

D'you want one of these?

- What are they?
- I dunno.

Libyan lad gave them to me.
All different colours, look.

I'll pass, Colum.

I'll have one of the purple ones.
They make you feel frisky.

Right. We'll have a little look-see
for ourselves.

- Who found 'em?
- Young lad.

- We won't have any trouble there?
- No, he's a good lad.

He's a bit cracked, anyways, so, like,
even if he did say something...

- Is that the lot, yeah?
- Yeah. What's the problem?

There's supposed to be
two of those Kalashnikovs

and two Glocks, and a Derringer.

- What's a Derringer?
- It's like a baby gun.

One of the gay lads used to like
secreting it on his person, you know.

- There were gay lads in the IRA?
- There are one or two, like.

It was the only way we could
successfully infiltrate the Ml5.

What?

I mean, an AK-47,
a Glock and a Derringer.

That's a lot to go missing, like.

Have you any idea
what happened to them?

- Maybe the mice ate them.
- Huh?

Maybe the mice ate them.

I can't be after putting that in
me report. "Maybe the mice ate them."

- No?
- Not really, no.

Why don't you put in your report

that Sergeant Boyle
went out of his fuckin' way

to do you boys a fuckin' favour,
and he got really fuckin' annoyed

when you started asking him stupid
questions about missing fuckin' guns,

and trying to fuckin' catch him out
as if he was some fuckin' gobshite?

- No need for that.
- You have your explosives, don't ya?

It's not as if you lads were ever keen
on getting in close for a scrap, now.

Blowing up Australians by mistake
from a distance

was more your modus operandi.

There's no need for that.
I'm after upsetting you.

I apologise.
Now can we leave it at that?

I accept your apology, Colum.

You boys owe me one, though.
For going out of me way.

I'll have to put it
to the high command.

- Is there still a high command?
- There is, yeah.

Well, I can't ask fairer than that.

Ta.

The boot's at the other end, Colum.

Jesus.

I'm always doing that.

Nothing.

Tomorrow night, so. We're good to go.

- I fuckin' hate that.
- What?

Americanisms.

"Good to go."

What about the guard?

- I don't know.
- That's an anomaly.

Is that the right word?
I don't think it is.

Why? The guard, I mean.

The blackmail didn't bother
him and he didn't take the money.

- I'm impressed.
- I was, too, I have to say.

Yeah, good luck to him.

It's not often you come across
that kind of integrity in our business.

- Still...
- Yeah, we can't have that.

We'll have to make sure
he's out of harm's way.

- Why's it always me, though?
- Cos you're a psychopath.

I'm a sociopath, not a psychopath.
They explained that to me in Mountjoy.

- What's the difference?
- Dunno. It's a tricky one.

So... what did Dr Oleyuwo
say to you?

Sure, what could he say?

He won't be happy.
Me out gallivanting.

I told him I'd have him deported
if he made trouble.

Oh, you're a terror.

You OK?

Thanks for taking me out, Gerry.

You're a good boy.
Always a good boy.

Oh, stop it.

No, you never gave me
a moment's grief.

Ah, now stop. Now we both know
that's not true.

Let's pretend that it is.

Lovely music, huh?

We checked the dispensary.

There was nothing missing,
as far as we could tell.

She probably
saved 'em up herself.

She was always crafty like that.

She did not leave a note.

She didn't have to leave a note.

What needed to be said?

She was a proud woman.

She was a brave woman.

She was my mother.

Thank you.

I was sorry to hear about your mother.

You know,
I lost my father a few years ago.

Didn't really hit me at the time.
It was only later that I...

It's tough, all right.

Yeah.

Yeah, it is.

So what's happening?

With the investigation?

Oh. Well, reliable intelligence
says they're down in Cork now.

- Who's down in Cork?
- Cornell, Sheehy and O'Leary.

- Where's this intelligence from?
- Garda sources.

- Garda sources?
- Yeah.

The Naval Service
will stand down here.

We'll concentrate the operation
in Cork.

- So you're moving on?
- Yeah.

There's another agent
in place down there already.

I'll be heading out tonight.

I wanna thank you for all your help.
Really. It's much appreciated.

Well...

Take care of yourself, now, Wendell.

I will.

- Good luck.
- I'll see you.

("Everything Happens To Me")

♫ I make a date for golf...

♫ Everything happens to me

♫ At first my heart thought...

No, leave it. I like Chet Baker.

You should get a dog.
Or a parrot, maybe.

Something to raise the alarm,
you know.

Ned Kelly had a peacock.

I've always wanted a giraffe.

A giraffe?

That wouldn't work. I mean...

You'd have to put in a cupola
or somethin'.

Be too expensive.

Sit yourself down there now.

Thought you lads were
supposed to be down in Cork.

It's called misinformation
in the intelligence community.

- Disinformation.
- Disinformation, then, smartarse.

- You're down at Rossaveal, so?
- Close. Spiddal.

You know, I don't know whether
to kill you or just tie you up,

make sure you don't do anythin' silly.

D'you have any rope and, er,

what d'you call it?
Erm, masking tape?

There might be some
down in the shed below.

Ah, sure. Can't be traipsing round
out there at this hour of the night.

You couldn't just let me be, no?

Why d'you kill McCormick,
if you don't mind me asking?

- We thought he was an FBI informer.
- Thought he was an FBI informer?

- Turns out he wasn't.
- Unlucky for Mr McCormick.

Better to be safe than sorry,
though, huh?

Right enough. Can't be too careful
in your line of work.

It's a hard life.
Not a lot of people understand.

I'm on tablets, like,
for the stress. Lithium.

You want to be careful with that stuff.

You all right there?

I think I might have picked up
a little something I shouldn't have.

Got a little fungi from Dingle, huh?

I was with two lasses.
Got a bit carried away, like.

Ran out of the old prophylactics
but decided to chance it?

We've all been there.

- Where were these girls from?
- Dublin.

Sure, Dublin.
You've only yourself to blame.

Be nice if we had some dips.
While you're making up your mind.

Yeah. Some nachos. Guacamole.

- I mean, we might be here a while.
- Nah, we won't be here that long.

This'll all be over soon.

- What was the deal with McCormick?
- Just to confuse you lads.

Why "5½", though?

Fuck knows. I was locked, sure.

Oh, Christ.

They're eating you alive, the beggars.

And McBride? You did for him, too?

Now that was pure happenstance.
Hmm.

He pulled us over for no reason.
Should've minded his own business.

- What did you do with the body?
- Dumped it in the sea.

Little fishes will have
eaten him away by now.

Not bad, huh?
Getting away with two murders?

You haven't got away with them yet.

I admire your confidence, Sergeant.

I admire yours.

Fuck.

I think... I think you've done for me.

I think I have, yeah.

Are the lights growing dim?

- Don't mock me.
- It's good enough for ye.

There were so many...

There were so many things...
I wanted to do.

Like what, for fuck's sake?
Running with the bulls at Pamplona?

Special Agent Wendell Everett.

- It's Gerry Boyle, Wendell.
- Hey, Sergeant, what's up?

- Where are ye?
- I'm almost into Galway now.

You gotta get back. They're landing
at Spiddal tonight. Cork is a decoy.

Look, I know that you've had a lot
of fun batting around the American.

No, it's not a joke.
I'm after running into O'Leary.

- You ran into O'Leary?
- Well, he ran into me. I shot him.

- You shot him?
- In self-defence.

- Is he dead?
- Hang on.

- He is now, yeah.
- No.

No, it can't be right. It's Cork.
They're coming into Cork.

Well, you know best. I'll see ya.

Idiot.

- He's dead?
- Yeah, I'm pretty sure of it.

- Did he kill himself?
- No.

- He was murdered.
- He was murdered?

Yeah, they shot him, I think,
and threw him into the sea.

I finished off
one of the lads that did it.

I have to go down now
and sort out the others.

- What are you talking about?
- No, I just... I just wanted to say

I'm sorry I didn't get to know you
better. You're a lovely woman.

See ya.

Gerry?

Gerry!

He's taking his time,
for fuck's sake.

Yeah. Thought he'd got over
his predilection for torture.

I'm not sure you ever get over
something like that.

- How do you mean?
- It's not like it's a hobby, is it?

It's more of a psychological hang-up.

I suppose.

God, those hookers'll be
the death of me.

Don't fuckin' drop any of those.

Where the fuck
did you find those three?

Oh, I put an ad in the paper saying,
"Henchmen wanted".

- What did I tell you?
- I'm here, aren't I?

Good man yourself.

- OK, I called for backup. So...
- Why?

Why? Cos if we don't have backup
we're both gonna die, that's why.

Nobody will come.
It's just you and me.

- What the hell are you talking about?
- You know what I'm talking about.

But they wouldn't just...

I mean, they're not just gonna...

Half a billion, Wendell.
That's half a billion.

It's just you and me.

- Shit.
- That's right.

I suppose that's what accounts
for this monstrosity right here.

- That's for you.
- What?

Come on, you can't shoot
a Kalashnikov in the middle of Ireland.

Be an international fucking incident.

You have to. I'll need covering fire.

Covering fire for what?

I'm going to arrest those lads

for the murders of James McCormick
and Aidan McBride

and on the lesser charge
of smuggling cocaine.

- Yes, Wendell?
- Point I'd like to make.

It's fucking suicide.

I know. Even if I get away with it,
the big boys'll be after me.

I'll have no fuckin' peace.

It's all right for you. You can go
to the States. Where can I go?

That's the trouble with the Irish,
Wendell. They never forget.

But I'm still going to go down there,
anyways.

Now, I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking, those men
are armed and dangerous.

You being an FBI agent,

you're more used to shooting
at unarmed women and children.

Fuck you, Sergeant!

Are you gonna help me or not?

- Have you ever been shot before?
- Yeah.

Does it hurt?

Does it hu...?
No, it doesn't hurt! It's kind...

Yeah, it hurts!
What the fuck do you think?

You got any more ammo
for this thing or what?

They say that the shock
counteracts the pain.

- Who are "they"?
- I don't know. I'm just saying.

It hurts, all right?

It fuckin' hurts like hell, man.

- Oh, shit.
- That's right.

Right.

How many times have you been shot?

- Three times.
- Three times? Jesus.

You must be getting used to it
by now, then, huh?

- Anybody you want me to call if you...
- Nah. I don't have anybody.

Just pin a medal to me body, like
those lads coming home from Iraq.

- Fuck you again, Sergeant.
- Thanks for coming to help, Wendell.

I appreciate it.

See ya.

- Oh, you gotta be fucking joking.
- It's the guard!

I'm here for Sheehy and Cornell!

The rest of you can go,
if you've a mind to!

I'll take that as a no.

Let's get the fuck out of here, Clive!

Are you kidding me? This is better
than fuckin' Christmas!

What?

Come on, move it out!

Ah, fuck.

Good shot.

Flesh wound.

Wait, wait, I give up! Me hole!

- Aargh!
- Oh!

Boyle!

Boyle!

Lucky shot.

Ah, now, don't be a sore loser.

Although it's not every day
you lose half a billion dollars.

Two hundred million it was.

They're always fuckin' overestimating.
Didn't I fuckin' know well?

You don't know anything
about anything, you stupid little man.

Ah, I think I did all right for meself.

I did for you,
Francis Sheehy-Skeffington.

And your pals.

Who was up there
firing that fuckin' cannon?

The FBI lad.

Probably hasn't had this much fun
since they burnt those kids at Waco.

- Fuckin' O'Leary.
- He wasn't the sharpest all right.

And the Englishman
wasn't much better.

Colombians are more reliable.

I'm not gonna beg you to help me,
if that's what you want.

I know how to die.

Good for you, Sheehy.

Good for you. I'll see ya.

Boyle!

Boyle!

Boyle!

Boyle!

Fuck.

- You from the press?
- Oh, God, no.

- Asshole.
- That's a good one now.

Moody.

You can use it
for the cover of your book.

What book?

You yokes are always writing books
about your fuckin' experiences.

Probably sell it to the movies, then.
A fish-out-of-water story, huh?

Lots of action, bit of humour.

Throw in some young ones getting
their kit off and you're well away.

- Need a happy ending to sell it.
- Happy ending?

Didn't you foil a multimillion-dollar
drug-trafficking operation

and knock off a trio of drug barons
to boot? What's unhappy about that?

- Lost a good man.
- I wouldn't be sure about that, now.

They never recovered a body,
did they?

It's a big sea out there.

He's dead.
Either burned up or drowned.

But he was a really good swimmer.

I'm sorry, son, that was just bullshit.
He was never in the Olympics.

Well, maybe so. Sure,
it's easy enough to look up, anyways.

You know, I can't tell
if you're really motherfucking dumb

or really motherfucking smart.