All language subtitles for The Fall of the Krays (2016).en

Provided by explosiveskull
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London in the '60s
was a magical place.

The old class barriers
had been swept aside,

and if you wanted it bad enough,
anything was possible.

It was our time.

By the mid '60s the Krays had become
the criminal overlords o' London.

The great and the good
flocked to their West End clubs.

They'd become celebrities.

But like the pet snakes they kept,
appearances could be deceptive.

Upset them, and things
could turn very nasty.

No one messed with them,

and you had to hope that they
had no cause to mess with you.

When Reg surprised everyone
with the announcement of his wedding,

there were those who said that
a wife might calm him down,

send him straight.

Leave the engine running, mate.
Won't be long.

But no one
said that about Ron.

Wedding or no wedding, for Ron,
it was always business as usual.

Sit down, Lennie.

Good of you to come over
on a Saturday morning.

Cheer up, Mum.
It'll work out, I promise.

Frances...

there is still time to change
your mind.

You don't have to
go through with this, you know.

Mum, please. I'm 21.
And Reg is a good catch.

Such a good catch that Father
Hetherington refused to officiate?

Mum, don't let us argue.
Reg has been the perfect gentleman.

He's been straight for two years.

-Is that right?
-Mum, that's enough.

This is supposed to be
the happiest day of my life,

and you're ruining it.

Lennie, I thought
we might have a little chat...

before I rush off
to the wedding.

I'm the best man, you know.

Sure thing, Ron.
Anything you say.

It's about that little business

between you and
Curly Parker's son the other day.

Oh, that.
There's nothing to it, Ron.

I bumped into Curly's kid
down the pub.

During a conversation
with his young lady,

I called her "love,"
totally harmless, like.

But the kid explodes, pulls out a razor,
and tries to stripe me.

What else am I supposed to do
but give him a smack?

Kids, eh?

- What can you do with 'em?
- Don't let it bother you, Ron.

Mm.

But that's just it, Lennie.

It does bother me.

You see, Curly's a mate of mine,
and the pub's on our patch.

Punishment is the preserve
of the law, Lennie.

And round here...

we are the law.

Get hold of him.

Oh, come on, Ron!

What was I meant to do?

You look like a picture.

Thanks, Mum.

Mum, stop worrying.

Well, maybe in time
I'll warm to Reg.

Your father was a bit of a tearaway
when he was courting me.

Soon reined him in once we were married,
and look at him now... good as gold.

I love you, Mum.

Come on, lads. Please.

He put a blade on me!

A man does what he must,
Lennie.

A man does what he must.

And now I'm gonna burn
your fucking eyes out.

-Blimey, there you are, Ron.
-What's up, Dickie?

Uh, Ron? The time, Ron.
We gotta go.

I guess we'll have to leave this
to another time.

I'll tell Reg and his wife
that you send your regards.

I'm sure he'll be
very appreciative.

Get him out of here.

Congratulations, Reg.

Frances.

What the hell
are you grinning at?

Nothing. Just, uh...

Just thinking how far you and Ron
have come since the Regal.

-Congratulations, Reg.
-Cheers, Dickie.

We've done alright.

Ain't she something else?

Yeah,
she's beautiful, mate.

Lovely girl with it.
You got a real winner there.

Every happiness
to you both, Reg.

Thanks, mate.

It don't get much better than this.

A couple more years,
and we'll be able to retire...

to a nice little pile
in the country.

Pull the other one, mate.
You'll never retire.

What would Ron do without ya?

He won't be without me.
He'd come, too.

Reg, come on!
We'll miss the flight.

Excuse me, Dickie.

Duty calls.

Reg, don't worry
about last night.

I'm sure it happens
all the time.

It... it was a long flight.

And you did have a lot to drink
in the bar before coming to bed.

Yeah, I guess I did.

Reg...

Why don't you come
back to bed, and...?

What? And lie in bed all day?

When there's so many
famous sights to see?

Do me a favour.

Get dressed, Princess.

Let's explore this place.

OK.

Gimme five minutes.

I believe
congratulations are in order

to you and the new Mrs. Kray.

-Thank you, Angelo.
-Please, take a seat.

I'd like to start by saying
how impressed we are

with your abilities.

Not everyone
can persuade a British peer

to stand up in Parliament,
and demand their release from custody.

You also rigged the trial,
sued the press

and received £40,000
for your troubles.

That sort of influence is...

well, very interesting to us.

That sort of influence, Angelo,

is also very expensive.

It's the sort of influence

that ensures trouble-free business
for all our friends.

Quite.

That's why we're here.

We're prepared to buy in.

Now I won't insult
your intelligence by negotiating,

so I'll table our best offer.

$3,000 a week.

How much is that in pounds?

Around 1,000 a week.

A grand a fucking week.

Are you taking the piss?

We get half that
from the Colony Club alone.

You see
all those pink bits there?

That's the British Empire.

Who the fuck do you think's
responsible for that?

Hm?

We are.

And why?

Because we saw it,

we liked it...

we took it.

Why the fuck do you think

that half the fucking world
speaks English?

'Cause we speak it!

Who stood
on the fucking beaches

shedding blood, sweat, and tears

while your lot um'd and ah'd,

and scratched their fucking orchestras?

The answer, gentlemen,
is Englishmen!

Churchill said that,
"The empires of the future

will be the empires of the mind."

So...

what's in your mind?

Come on, then!

You fancy it, do ya?
Let's fucking 'ave ya!

Ron, cool it.

I think you'd better sit down.

Angelo, if you don't mind,

Ron and I are gonna step outside
and have a little chat.

What the fuck
are you playing at?

You're half an inch away

from screwing
the whole fucking deal.

They're treating us
like a pair of wankers, Reg.

And if that big bloke
so much as looks at me again,

I'll blow his fucking head off!

Ron! Please,
calm the fuck down.

I'll sort it.

You sort it, or I will.

Reg, Ron, gentlemen.

There's obviously
been a misunderstanding.

I should have explained.

The $3,000 is clear of expenses
and syndication payments.

What sort of figures
do you have in mind?

$3,000 a week. Each.

So we're really talking
about $9,000 a week?

We are.

I think we have a deal.

Let me make one thing
crystal clear, gentlemen.

The payments cover
all costs and all syndicates.

Including the Richardson gang
south of the river.

Oh, you don't need to worry
about the Richardsons.

Even those pricks have got more sense
than to fuck with us.

Well, I think that's it.

Angelo, I hope you'll be able
to join us for dinner tonight.

I would love to, Reg,

but, uh, we're on
the last flight to New York.

Before we go,

I have something
you might be interested in.

Clients of ours hold $2 million
in Canadian bonds.

We're offering them
to chosen European partners.

Call me on this number
tomorrow.

Any fucking time.

I think that went well.

As Mr. Churchill said,

"You can always count on the Americans
to do the right thing...

after they've tried everything else."

Winston Churchill said that,
did he, Ron?

Was he another friend of yours?

A friend of a friend.

Mighty impressive that, Ron.
Mighty impressive.

Enter.

Nice offices, Fred.

Assistant Commissioner
of Police, eh?

Christ, you've come up
in the world.

Thanks, Nipper.

Too much paperwork,
not enough time on the beat.

Yeah. Tell me about it.

Right, Nipper.
What can I do for you?

I'd like another crack
at the Krays, Fred.

I think they're vulnerable.

What makes you say that?

Gut feeling.

Instinct, if you like.

Neither of those qualities
served you very well last time, Nipper.

Yeah, I know.
Things are different now.

We've got a new Home Secretary,
a new Commissioner.

The newspapers are again
reporting on the London gangs.

Soon we'll be obliged
to go after 'em.

I'm just anticipating something
that's gonna be blindingly obvious...

in and out of the force.

OK.

Report to Assistant Deputy
Commissioner John Du Rose.

He'll make sure he gives you
all the resources you need.

We'll need to nail them this time, Nipper.
Is that understood?

Yeah, of course, Fred.

Do whatever you have to do
to bring the Krays to justice.

And how's the bond scheme
going, Leslie?

Very well.

The last batch of bonds, $70,000 worth,
needed registration certificates,

and Angelo put us on
to a man called Cooper.

He not only forged
some splendid certificates,

but also sold the whole lot
to a German bank.

-He sounds like a find.
-He is.

But he comes with a problem.

The Richardsons
are putting the squeeze on him.

He's asking for protection.

Tell him he's got it.

Well, if that's all, gentlemen,
I'll be off.

So, what are we gonna do
about the Richardsons?

They're refusing
to share their spoils

from the gaming machines
and the Heathrow parking scams,

and they want to do their own deal
with the Americans.

As a concession,
they said they might consider a deal

where they take half of our share
from the Mafia pension.

Like fuck they will.

You want me to go
and see 'em, Reg?

Are you out of
your tiny fucking mind?

Haven't you heard?

Mock trials.

Pulling teeth out with pliers.
Nailing feet to the floor.

Attaching wire to
your fucking testicles, Dickie,

and then turning the power on.

They'll chop you up,
and send you back in pieces

just for the fun of it.

Second thoughts,
I might just drop 'em a line.

Oh, you'll meet up
with 'em alright.

But it'll be on neutral territory.

Meet somewhere
where there's a lot of people.

The Astor Club,
somewhere like that.

Leave it to me, Reg.

Me, Teddy, and Ian
will be somewhere close by.

Them bastards
try anything funny,

it won't be their feet
we nail to the floor.

It'll be their
flaccid fucking cocks.

I've come
to offer you a deal, Charlie.

Carry on.

The twins will leave
the south of the river to you.

In return, you'll keep out
of the East End.

And the twins will also waive all claims
to the Heathrow parking racket.

It's not much of an offer that leaves
a man with what he's already got, Dickie.

Let me and the boys take this
piece of shit outside, Charlie,

and dump what's left of him
on Vallance Road.

That'll show 'em what we think
of their fucking offer.

Steady, Frankie,
he came at my invitation,

and under my protection.

I'm waiting.

The West End
will be divided fairly.

Each firm being given
a free hand to work its own patch.

But you take your gaming machines
out of all pubs in the Kray manor.

-What type of shit is this?
-Slow down, Frankie.

How are we gonna divvy up
the Mafia money?

That stays with the twins,
but, uh, 500 quid a week

should leave you feeling,
how shall we say...

well treated.

It's a good offer, Charlie.

OK. Tell the twins that they...

Ho, ho, ho.

Tell us what...

scumbag?

Ron, can you just
leave this to me, yeah?

Everything's under control.
We're just talking.

You don't tell the Krays anything.

It's the Krays
what do the telling.

And if you don't like that...

well, you know
what you can fucking well do.

Alright, just get Ronnie
out of here now!

Yeah, that's right, fuck off back
to your bum boys, you fucking fat poof.

You know, if I was you,
George...

I'd stay well away from me...

'cause if I see you again...

I'll kill you.

You still here?

Huh?

You take care now, Cornell.

So you want
another crack at the Krays, eh?

Yes, sir.

They're slippery bastards, Read.

They won't make it easy
for you.

A bottle of the finest malt whiskey
says you can't make it stick.

Before I take that bet, sir,

how long have I got,
and how many men can I have?

Three months, six at the most,
and a dozen men.

You'll operate out of Tintagel House,
south of the river.

You'll officially be working
on a police corruption enquiry.

Anything else?

Yes, Assistant Commissioner.
There is, actually.

Gerrard said to me...

that I should do
"whatever it takes."

What exactly
did he mean by that?

Nothing untoward, Read.

Normal rules of policing
should suffice.

Quite, sir.

-And sir...
-Mm-hmm?

Care to make that two bottles?

Yeah.

That's the last one
signed up.

If any of the crews get hit
by the Richardsons,

we all retaliate.

Fuck!

A warning.

Yeah.

And we know who from.

It's war.

What do you want from us?

So we know the Richardsons
are gonna move in on Mr. Smith's tonight.

We want a promise from you

that you'll give us the tools
to do the job.

Back us up.

You've got both.

We'll get you all the guns
you need.

And take Dickie Hart here.

He's one of our best.

Right, drink up. Bar's closing.

Who says so?

I do.

Well, maybe I don't feel like
finishing my drink right now.

Then you'll be leaving
without finishing it.

Either way, you're leaving.

-Ha! Dickie!
-What the fuck, Reg?

Haven't you heard about the "do"
at Mr. Smith's last night?

-Eh?
-Eddie Richardson and Fraser got shot up,

and the rest of the Richardson crew
have been banged up.

Reg, Dickie Hart is dead.

I've come back from seeing his old lady.
She's beside herself.

They've got babies, Reg.

Yeah, well...

I'll send Jack over
with a monkey to tide her over.

We take care of our own, right?

Teddy, hey. Just the man.

Alright, Les.

Dickie.

I'll say goodbye, then.

Yeah, yeah. Of course, yeah.

Does he know
you're leaving?

He'll find out soon enough.

-I'm sorry, Dickie.
-No, no.

I can't be involved with murder.

What's going on?

I thought we'd have a nice
romantic evening in tonight.

I can't be doing
with romantic evenings.

I've got a business to run.

What the hell are you doing?

You look like a common tart.

A right old scrubber.

My God. What have I married?

I'm going to Ron's.
Don't wait up.

I only wanted you
to want me!

-Ronnie, there you are.
-Alright, Nobby. Calm down.

George Cornell's
in The Blind Beggar, Ron.

He's what?

In The Blind Beggar.
Cornell is in The Blind Beggar.

Bastard!

Alright, get the car.

Gonna sort that fucker out
once and for all.

Shouldn't we wait for Reg?

It's too late for that, Teddy.

I told him
to keep away from me.

What you got on you, Ian?

What have you done, Nobby?

Phone. Come on.

Dickie? Yeah, it's Teddy.

Ronnie's gone to The Blind Beggar
to shoot Cornell.

Well, look who it is, then, eh?

I did him, Reg.

I killed Cornell.

Jesus.

An eye for an eye, Reg.

-As Mr. Churchill would say--
-Fuck Winston Churchill!

I'm sick to death
of Winston fucking Churchill

giving a running commentary
on every fucking thing we say or do!

Any witnesses?

Barmaid. An old soak.

Two blokes who were
drinking with Cornell.

Fuck.

Get Ron upstairs.

Me and Dickie
will join you later.

You still got the shooter?

Make sure you lose it.

And get Ron cleaned up.

Ron...

you need to get upstairs.

Out of the way.

They ain't gonna talk.

I wish I knew
who Cornell was drinking with.

Let's be honest, Reg.

Probably just faces. And if they are,
they ain't gonna squeal.

But what if they're not?

Well, if they're not,
we'll take care of 'em like we always do.

We've got bigger problems
than witnesses, though, Reg.

What do you mean?

I mean... you know he's gone
too far this time, right?

-Reg?
-Of course I fucking know.

I'm not an idiot, am I?

But what
am I supposed to do, eh?

What the fuck
am I supposed to do, Dickie?

I'm sorry.

Hey, I understand.

-I...
-Hey, hey.

Harry, kindly arrange
for this young lady to be taken home.

I'm telling you, Reg,
you've got a grass in your firm.

Read knows what you're gonna do
before you do.

Do you have a name?

Nah. He's playing it
very close to his chest.

Try and get one.

-And quickly.
-Will do.

In the meantime, you'd do well
to keep your head down.

Frances, love,
please come back.

I wanna look after you.

No, Reg.

You promised me
you were going legitimate.

We have, love.
We're in the security business.

It's good work protecting
other people's property.

Yeah, like the Mafia's.

That's just newspaper talk.

You know how
they like to make up stories.

It sells papers.

What about George Cornell?
In The Blind Beggar?

Dad says everyone knows
it was Ron what did it.

That's just not true, Frances.

I swear on my life.

I don't believe you anymore, Reg.

You're a liar.

Anyway... why would
I wanna go back to you?

You'd rather spend all night
with Ron at one of his sick parties.

It's work, darlin'.

Making contacts.
Establishing a profile.

You know we work funny hours.

As for Ron, he's sick.

-He needs looking after.
-Yeah, sick alright.

Sick in the bleedin' head.

He should be put in the nut house
where he belongs.

Don't you talk about Ron
like that.

I'll speak as I find.

If I don't, who will?

I hate Ron.

He has ruined my life.

Mum and Dad was right.
We should never have married.

Don't say that, Frances, please.

We can still make a go of it.

I just need a little more time
to work things out.

Then it'll be the way
we planned it.

We planned it? You planned it,
you mean.

I've never planned anything
since we got married!

-You made sure of that.
-Love...

And as for sorting things out,
you'll never sort things out

while you're wedded
to that brother of yours.

You can't see it,
but everyone else can.

He dominates you!

You're at his beck and call
every minute of the day.

If he barks, you jump.

You spend all your time
cleaning up the mess he leaves.

Why don't you put on an apron?
At least you'll look the part!

Don't you ever
talk to me like that!

You're my wife, and you'll
show me some respect.

What do you want?

Can't a man have a private
conversation with his wife,

without the whole
bleeding street joining in?

But that's just it, Reg.

We're not married.

Not in the accepted sense, anyway.

I'm leaving ya,
and I'm not coming back.

Frances, please. Don't go.
Not like this.

I don't wanna talk about it,
Reg.

I've got nothing more to say.

I just wanna get away from...
From all this.

I can't take much more
of this. I can't.

Frances, please...
Can I come back tomorrow?

Just to talk?

Why don't you just
leave her alone?

Can't you see
you're making her ill?

You did the right thing, pet.

He'll only bring you pain
and unhappiness.

I'm so scared, Mum.

I don't know what to do.

The look on Read's face

when that girl said
she didn't recognize me

was fucking priceless.

You'd have to have a heart o' stone
not to feel sorry for that man.

What the fuck's so funny, Ron?

Hmm?

Killing Cornell was
a fucking stupid thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. He had it coming.

It's completely fucked
the business.

Payne's quit.

So has half the Firm.

They don't wanna know
about murder.

Neither do the clubs.

They're all talking about
pulling out.

The Colony has just phoned,
offering us ten grand,

ten grand, to end
the pension arrangement.

How fucking bad is that?

Very fucking bad, Ron!

-And the Old Bill all over us.
-Fuck the Old Bill!

I just walked, didn't I?

Read knows something.

Our contact at the Yard
says there's a grass in the Firm.

Shut the fuck up!

The shooting has put us
on the fucking map!

We are the fucking map!

Now everybody knows
we mean business.

And as for the fucking grass...

When I find out who it is...

he'll wish
he'd never been born.

It seems to me that what we need
is a good news story.

Something that will show the Firm
in a good light.

Like what?

What about a prison bust?

Jesus Christ!

Hear me out, Reg.
I went down Dartmoor last week,

and met one of Ron's old mates,
Frank Mitchell.

He's desperate to get out.
Why don't we help him?

What a crap idea. Don't you think
we're in enough trouble as it is?

Shh.

Go on, Teddy.

Well, Frank's
a trusted prisoner now.

He spends most of his days
on the moor with the one guard.

It'll be a piece of cake to lift him,
and bring him to London.

Once there, he could write
a letter to the Home Secretary

asking for a release date.

Write a letter to the Home Secretary?

Frank can't write
to save his bleedin' life!

He can't... but I can.

I like it. Let's fucking do it.

Teddy, get yourself to Dartmoor.

Tell Frank we'll have him out
by Christmas.

Then get on to Driberg
and Boothby.

It's time to call in
a few more favours.

It's a fucking great idea,
Teddy.

We'll be fucking heroes.

Keep me out of this.
I don't wanna know.

I need another drink.

Let me in.
I wanna see my wife!

I have a right to see Frances!

You've no rights as far as
this house is concerned!

Open the door, or I'll--

Or you'll do what?

Fuck!

Now leave here
before I call the police.

Rot in hell! Fuck you!

Fuck you, Mr. Kray!

I curse the day
my daughter met you!

Can you fucking believe it?

I've been summoned to appear
as a prosecution witness.

That bent copper
who offered to turn a blind eye

for a score a week.

What did you expect?

Why do I have to testify?
They've got the bleedin' tape.

Ron, you know better than that.

Yeah, well, they can forget it.

I'll go on the missing persons list
till it all blows over.

So we're shelving
the Mitchell escape plan, then, yeah?

No, Reg can handle it.

He don't need me
to hold his hand.

The escape goes ahead,
alright?

Where's Ron?

'King hell, Frankie.

Who's that? Is that him?

Any problem?

Nah. It'll be hours
before they realize I've gone.

No Ronnie?

Ron stayed in London, Frank.

-Hello, mate.
-Alright.

How are ya?

Where's Ron?
You said he was here.

Calm down, Frank.
I said Ron stayed in London.

The Old Bill knows
how close you two are.

It's best everybody lies low
for the next couple of days.

Reg is on his way. He's bringing
a bit of company for you, Frank.

A right little goer
by all accounts.

Sounds like Reg now.

-Reg!
-Hello, Frank!

How ya doin'?

-Good to see ya.
-And you.

How's things?

So we meet again.

What the hell
do you think you're doing?

What?

You do know I expect you
to fuck that bloke Reg is talking to?

So I understand.

What's the matter?
Can't stand the competition?

Nah. You told me
you were working as a hostess

entertaining old Arab sheiks
who didn't want sex.

What happened?

The sheiks got younger,
and the sex got better.

Anyway, what's it got to do
with you?

Nah, nothing.

You're right. Nah, you whore yourself away
for all I care.

What right have you got
to criticize me about anything?

You're an errand boy
for a bunch of crooks.

Just call me
Santa Claus, Frank.

I brought you an early
Christmas present.

Steady on, tiger.

I believe we have some
unfinished business, Mr. Kray.

Look after Frank here,

and there'll be a nice bonus
at the end of it.

'Course.

Anyway, Frank, gotta get back.

Ron'll come over
just as soon as the heat's off.

Give it a few days, yeah?

Now... go and enjoy your present.

Right, he's out.
Start writing those bleedin' letters.

Yeah, sure thing, Reg.

Let's go.

What's up with you?

What the fuck are we doing, Reg?
This is madness.

There's no way
Her Majesty's bleedin' Government

is gonna release
a fucking psychopath

on the strength of
a couple of letters from Teddy.

What happens
when Mitchell twigs that?

It worked with Ron.

Yes, but Ron was
an unknown inmate, Reg.

Frank's the "Mad Fucking
Axeman" for Christ's sake!

If the Home Secretary won't do a deal,
which he won't,

and if Mitchell doesn't agree
to go back to prison,

-which he obviously won't--
-Carry on, Dickie.

Well, fuck, I dunno, Reg.
You tell me.

What happens if Mitchell
doesn't agree to go back, hey?

What the fuck are you expecting me
to do about it?

Everything lands
on my fucking plate.

We've got a madman sitting in that flat.
Reg'll deal with it.

We've got Ron on the run.

Reg'll deal with it.

We've got a grass in the Firm.

Guess who'll
fucking deal with it?

On top of everything else,
Frances has left me.

Look, I'm really sorry, mate.

It'll all work out.

I'm sure.

Come on. How's about we get
you home to see Frances, eh?

No.

Take me back to the Regency.

I've got work to do.

And I need a drink.

Frances...

you're not listening.

You're going nowhere.

No man would dare go near ya.

Even if I did let you go.

And I'll never, ever do that.

I've booked a holiday for us
next week.

We'll talk about it then.

No Dickie?

He's sorting out a problem
at one of the clubs.

You spoken to Driberg?

No, Reg. Sorry.
He's gone to ground.

His old number just rings out.

A neighbour said he moved a few weeks ago
without leaving a forwarding address.

-Boothby?
-He's a no-go, too.

Says he can't get involved after
his House of Lords intervention last time.

Besides, he's a busted flush.

What about Mitchell?

Not good news, Reg. Not good at all.
Frank's taken Billy's gun.

Says he'll kill anyone who tries
to make him to go back inside.

He also said if you don't do
something soon, he's gonna...

Out with it. What did he say?

He said he's gonna go round Vallance Road,
and "talk" to your mum.

He said that?

He wrote it in a letter.
To Ron.

Ungrateful fucking bastard.

We'll see about that.

That was lovely. Thanks, Lisa.

You're welcome.

That'll be the car. It's time.

Go and get your things, Lisa.
We're leaving.

Not Lisa, Frank.

The last thing we need
is her getting caught up in this

if we get stopped on the road.

She'll follow on
in a second car.

Don't worry.
We'll all arrive at the same time.

Yeah. OK.

Don't be late.

I'll be waiting for you.

Don't worry, Frank.
I'll be there as soon as I can.

Make yourself comfortable, Frank.
Gonna be in here for a while.

They just did Mitchell.

Christ! What a fucking mess!

Now... you be a good girl.

I won't say anything, I promise.
I just wanna go home.

Forget about everything you've seen
over the last few days, yeah?

Smart girl.

Now take this.

And have a nice Christmas.

Dickie, make sure
this delightful young lady gets home.

Safe and sound.

You look worried.

Things happen.

Are you...

Am I what?

Are you gonna kill me?

What a waste that'd be, eh?

Look, Reggie
meant what he said.

Just forget about the last few days,
you'll be fine.

I believe you.

Am I a fool to?

Well, I think you're a good enough
judge of character

to answer that one for yourself,
don't you?

Come on. Let's get you home, eh?

Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead.

You're home.

I don't wanna be on my own tonight.
Will you stay with me?

Yeah, 'course.

It's Christmas Day.

Merry Christmas, Lisa.

Where are you going?

Uh... it's time to leave.

Look, I'm sorry about
what I said.

About you being an errand boy.
I didn't mean it.

No. No, you got it right
the first time.

Pretty much sums me up.

What does that make me, then?

I can't bear the thought
of life without her.

I know, Reg.

It was her fucking parents
that made her do it.

Frances and I...
booked a holiday the day before...

The day before she killed herself.

I can't understand it, Dickie.

How could she do this to you?

Knowing how much you loved her.

Well, I'm back for good now,
Reg.

I'll make sure
no one ever hurts you again.

I'll make a start
by sorting out the grass.

I've figured out who it is.

'Ere, come here.

Come here.

You leave it to me, eh, Reg?

I'll sort it out.

W... What you...

W-w-what about Teddy?

Reg said he... he...

He was about to get done for hijacking
a lorry load of meat or something

and he went overseas
till the heat died down.

Yeah.

Yeah, Reg was half right.

He went "over the sea"
alright, but he, uh...

He didn't quite make it
to the other side.

What happened?

You need me to spell it out?

So you killed him, did ya?

You killed him.

Let's just say we...

facilitated his passing.

So it's come to this now,
has it?

Reg?

Killing our own?

Teddy was an original, Reg.

He was... he was an usher

at your fucking wedding,
for Christ's sake!

He should never have
persuaded us to spring Mitchell.

And the word from the Yard
is that he was the grass.

Teddy? A grass?

Oh, do us a favour. Teddy's as loyal
as the day is long, Ron.

He was fingered by our source
at the Yard!

He was the grass, Dickie.

Yeah. Yeah, 'course he was.

'Course he was.

Come on, then.

Let's get out of here.
I've had enough of this.

Gentlemen...

Today is the beginning
of the end for the Krays.

This will not be
a quick campaign.

Nor will it be easy.

I can't promise you
any shortcuts.

And while we might hope
for Lady Luck to smile down on us,

chances are,
like most ladies of the night,

she'll let us
sweat our bollocks off...

...whilst she condescends to deliver
the barest minimum in return.

Are you speaking
from personal experience here, boss?

Yes, I am actually.

We are gonna take the battle
to the East End o' London.

We are gonna fight them
on their own fucking doorstep.

And we will win,
because we will not give up.

Well done, boys.

All done.

What's going on
with the "Payne" contract, Jack?

Ah, Billy and I
went round to Payne's house.

Asked his wife
if we could see him.

I see.

And what
did she say?

Uh, she said he wasn't in.

And you said?

"Don't worry, Mrs. Payne.
We'll come back later."

Well, how very fucking civilized.

I'm surprised
she didn't invite you in

for tea and fucking cream cakes
till he came home.

At best, he'll scarper.

At worst, that devious bastard
will go to Scotland Yard.

I don't think so, Ron.

Don't worry. We'll nail him.

Oh, you'd better, Jack.

Because if you don't nail Payne,
I'll nail you.

To the fucking floor.

Now get this fucking thing
sorted out.

Yes.

That's an accurate statement
of the Krays' business affairs.

Thank you, Mr. Payne.
I won't ask you to sign the statement

until the Krays and their gang
are under lock and key

on a sustainable charge.

Your statement may place
you and your family in some danger.

Would you like police protection?

I can take care of myself, Inspector.

But I'm told by an impeccable source
at the centre of the Firm

that there is already
a contract on my life,

and that the would-be assassin
is a drunk called Jack "The Hat" McVitie.

I'll start work on him straight away.

Is there anything else?

There is, actually.
And it concerns Dickie Baker.

Gentlemen, I'd like
to introduce you to Alan Cooper.

Good friend of mine.

It's on, boys.

I'm telling ya.

Frankie Iliano from the New York mob
is up for an alliance.

He said we should be
upping the ante.

They're making a fortune from drugs,
and he said he could supply the stuff.

We don't do drugs, Ron.

Well, if you don't, someone else will,
and where will that leave you?

Whoever controls the ports in the south
controls the country's drug market.

Distribution centres will need
to be set up in the big cities,

but the profits
could be phenomenal.

All sounds a bit too easy.

Not easy, I'm afraid, Reg.

A country-wide distribution
network won't be cheap,

and the local importers
won't take too kindly

to anyone muscling in
on their turf.

It could be a long, hard fight,
but... the rewards would be huge.

Fuck 'em.

Any firms who don't convert,
we eliminate.

Cooper will deliver the armoury,
won't you, Alan?

I understand
your reservations, Reg,

but I've proved I can deliver.

I arranged forged certificates
for the Canadian bonds.

I got the visa for Ron,

and introduced him
to the top-flight Mafia members.

That's not all.
Tell him the rest of it.

Ron has identified a number of,
shall we say, problems

that need dealing with.

I have an experienced operator,
who can do the jobs on behalf of the Firm.

So what's wrong with our operatives?

Nothing, I'm sure.

But what we have in mind
requires specialist skills.

Such as?

Well, firstly, I understand
you have a certain witness

that needs to be eliminated
in a very public place,

namely the Old Bailey.

Are you serious?

Right, how the fuck, Alan,
do you propose we do that?

It's surprisingly simple.

Our operator has a briefcase
with a hypodermic needle

concealed within the frame,
activated by a lever on the case's handle.

The needle contains cyanide.

Within two minutes he'll be dead,

showing every sign of having
suffered a massive heart attack.

Tell Reg about the crossbow.

Our operative has a steel crossbow
that can kill, silently, from 200 yards.

I doubt any of your operatives
could master such a weapon.

Finally, we're sourcing a car bomb

to take care of
a certain Maltese club owner.

Which one?

George Caruana.

Oh, you're completely fucking mad!

You're a dead man, Dickie.

Take him out back,
and wait for me.

Dickie's my man.

I'll deal with him.

Pick up your stuff...

and leave, Dickie.

Get out.

You're finished here.
Permanently.

Reg... we go back a long way.
Right back to the beginning.

We don't go back to the beginning.

Only Ron and I do that.

But we do go back a long way,

and that's why I'm letting you
walk out of here.

Look, Reg. Please. Just...

Show Dickie out.

Yeah.

Send Dickie's missus a wreath.

He's a dead man walking.

He's divorced, Ronnie.

Send it anyway.

So, car bombs.

Elvey is on his way to Glasgow

to pick up three dozen
sticks of dynamite as we speak.

We'll have them tomorrow,
and we can work through our options.

We have options?

Where are they?

I hear they want
their fucking money back!

I said, where are they?

I'm gonna do the fucking Krays!

Tell 'em they're dead men.

What's wrong with you?

McVitie.

That's what's wrong with me.

Look, forget about him.
He's probably as high as a kite.

He'll be as high as a kite
when I finish him.

I'll string him up
by Wembley Towers.

Oh, Christ.

I'm gonna have to do it,
aren't I?

Everyone round here
ponces round like old fucking women

leaving me to do the dirty work.

Why don't you just have
a quiet night out for once, Ron?

And relax?

I can't relax.

No. He'll be in the Regency
around 11 tonight.

I'm gonna do him then.

Ron, you can't do him in the Regency,
for Christ's sake!

I'm not gonna do him there,

but that's where
I'm gonna get hold of him.

I'll do it.

Don't talk shit.

You haven't got the bottle
for it.

I said I'll fucking do it.

Really?

Fantastic!

We'll bring him
to blonde Carol's place.

Carol!

- Yes, Ron?
- Everyone, out. Now.

We're having a private party
in here. Right here, right now.

Fucking now!

OK, Ron.

Stop fucking dawdling would ya?

Come here.

You go outside. Tell me when
McVitie gets here, alright?

They're here.

Look at him. Dozy git.

Neither use nor ornament.

Reg.

It's on, boy.

Right, where's all the birds
and the booze?

Ron.

Fuck.

You fucking piece
of fucking shit!

- Ron, wait.
- I'll fucking kill you!

Get back here! Get up!

Fucking... stand up, you fucking...

Be a man, Jack.
Be a fucking man.

I'll be a man,
but I shan't be a dead one.

Give Reg the knife.

- What?
- Kill him, Reg.

Kill him!

Do it now, for fuck's sake!

Reg... Why are you
doing this to me?

For Christ's sake, Reg, please!

Reg...

That's the stuff, kid.

Look at you, eh?

You've finally earned
your fucking buttons.

Come here, come here,
come here.

Good boy, good boy, good boy.

Right.

Get this shit sorted.
Get him out of here.

Reg and I'll get cleaned up.

Pop down to Limehouse,
grab a Chinese.

All this fucking exercise
has made me hungry.

So you do not know a man
named Paul Elvey?

Never heard of him.

Maybe you can explain this.

When you get to Glasgow,

take a taxi to the White Hart
in Clyde Street.

There you'll find a man stood
at the bar with a blue anorak.

He will ask you if you're in Glasgow
for the religious ceremonies,

and you'll reply that
you don't believe in God.

Use that phrase.

As soon as you've got the dynamite,
make your way to Glasgow airport

take the first flight to London.

Any problems, call me.

Elvey was arrested last night
at Glasgow Airport

carrying 36 sticks of dynamite.

He has said he was operating
under your instructions,

and that the dynamite was to be used
in a car-bomb attack

on a London club owner,
on orders of the Krays.

-That is preposterous!
-Is it?

Very well, Mr. Cooper.

I'm not gonna waste
any more time on you.

I am charging you
with conspiracy to commit murder.

Before you do that,

you may wanna speak
to Assistant Deputy Commissioner

John Du Rose at Scotland Yard.

Why would I wanna do that?

'Cause for the past two years,

I've been working
for the U.S. Secret Service.

Mr. Du Rose
is my handler in Britain.

Perhaps you'd like to tell me
what's going on.

Cooper is indeed
working undercover for us

and the U.S. Secret Service.

And why wasn't I informed?

Let me explain.

Cooper, a seasoned
drug trafficker and arms dealer,

was arrested and turned
by the U.S. Drug Squad two years ago

when he tried to smuggle LSD
into America.

His role was to gain
the confidence of the Mafia,

and keep the FBI informed
about their dealings.

The FBI knew the Krays
had links with the Mafia,

and saw them as an easy entry
to their main target.

So it was a setup?

We've gone after them
on a trumped-up charge?

That's one way
of looking at it.

Another is that we presented
them with a criminal opportunity...

and they jumped at it.

Excuse me, sir.

But whatever happened
to "normal rules of policing?"

You set me up as a stooge,

whilst you and your American
friends played James Bond,

conducting a secret operation
to frame the Krays,

orchestrated by the FBI!

Yes, and it's exactly that attitude
that obliged us to keep you in the dark!

Tell me this, Read.

Where have your "normal rules
of policing" got you? Where?

The Americans and I have handed you
a golden opportunity

to nail every single one
of those bastards,

while still preserving
your precious bloody reputation

for playing by the rules.

Ever heard of the phrase,
Never look a gift horse in the mouth?

Read, this is your chance.

Are you gonna take it,
or do I give it to somebody else?

It's not gonna be pretty.

If you have any compunction
about fighting dirty,

now is the time
to bow out gracefully.

For everyone's sake.

I'll do my duty.

I'll do whatever it takes, sir.

A little tip.

All living matter dies from the inside.

Concentrate on the centre.

It's at the heart of the Firm

where you'll find
the means of its destruction.

Whatever it takes, Read.
Finish the job.

Gentlemen,
you're not gonna get any sleep tonight,

because in the morning

you are gonna arrest
Ronnie and Reggie Kray

and 24 members of their gang.

60 hand-picked police officers,

drawn from all areas
of the Metropolitan Police,

will be raiding 24 separate addresses
across London at 7:00 a.m.

You've all been given
photographs of the men

you'll be arresting,
and the addresses of where to find them.

The men are likely
to be armed and violent.

Take no unnecessary risks.

We all need to be well prepared,
and properly coordinated.

It's a dangerous operation.

Good luck.

Sir.

Late night, boys?

Oh, fuck off.

Not you again.

What is it this time?

Ronald and Reginald Kray,

you're both under arrest
for the murders

of George Cornell, Jack McVitie,
and Frank Mitchell.

You have the right
to remain silent,

but anything you do say

will be taken down,
and used in evidence against you.

Take 'em away.

Another trumped-up charge,
is it, Nipper?

Murder?

You must be getting desperate.

You might wanna tell
your little friends 'ere...

to bring my pills
when they come along.

Without them I'm, uh...

Well, I'm quite mad.

Go on. Take 'em away.

We know you were
Reggie's best friend.

He would have told you
everything.

I've got nothing to say,
Nipper.

You know, I have to say...

so far, 28 members of the Firm...

have turned Queen's evidence
in return for immunity.

Do yourself a favour, Dickie.
You owe the Krays nothing.

We all know that
you were on Ronnie's list...

and that he sent a wreath
to your ex-wife.

No disrespect intended...

but from what you say...

you've got
more than enough evidence

to put the twins away
for a very long time.

So, my testimony won't make
a blind bit of difference, will it?

OK.

You have it your way, son.

Where's our brief?

I demand to see our solicitor.

I'm afraid that's not possible.

Why not?

'Cause you're both skint.

And Legal Aid just won't cover
the fees

for your fancy lawyers
that youse two have been employing.

Oh, piss off!

So are you offering any evidence
against the defendant, Richard Baker?

No, Your Honour.

Then the charges are dropped,
and the defendant may leave a free man.

Leslie...

Thank you.

My counsel told me that
part of your deal with Read

was that he'd drop
all charges against me.

It's, um... It's very kind.
Thank you.

Don't mention it, old boy.

If you hadn't warned me
about McVitie's visit that day,

I wouldn't have been around
to help.

So there is
honour amongst thieves, eh?

I wouldn't bank on it.

You're not staying
for the verdict, then?

No. I-- I think
I've heard enough.

Me, too.

Well, look after yourself,

and let me know if ever
you need a good accountant.

I'll pass on that one
if you don't mind, Leslie.

I bid you farewell.
I have a train to catch.

Well, look who it is.

The ghost
from Christmases past.

Finally freed from his chains.

Come on! Cheer up, for God's sake.

You've just been acquitted.

Yeah. I know. It's just...

What?

Well... after 15 years in the Firm...

I suppose my future looks...

pretty empty.

It's what's called a clean sheet.

Grab hold of it with both hands,
'cause some of us aren't so lucky.

What will you do?

Carry on as usual, I guess.

Oh, come on Lisa.
You're better than that.

-Get yourself a proper job.
-What, like shorthand typing?

Nah, settle down.

You know, find yourself
a decent bloke to look after ya.

You applying for the job?

Well, what a pair we'd make, eh?

A failed gangster with eyes
bigger than his pockets and a...

Go on.

The belle of the ball
with no dances to go to.

Seriously though, Lisa.

You should think about
changing things.

We play the hand we're given.

As you said, "Things happen."

Yeah, but we still have a say in that.

Well, well! Listen to you!
Fatalist turned man o' destiny.

Where are you heading?

Chelsea. What about you?

Mile End Road.

That just about sums us up,
Dickie.

Always heading
in opposite directions.

Well... maybe some other time,
then, eh?

You never know.

I never saw Lisa again.

I heard a few years later
she found a decent bloke,

got married, had a kid.

Didn't know whether
to laugh or cry.

It was the longest criminal trial
in English legal history,

but the result was
a forgone conclusion.

I am not wasting
any words on you.

You are each sentenced
to life imprisonment.

In my view, society has earned
a long rest from your activities,

and I recommend that you be detained
for no less than 30 years each.

Jailer, take 'em down.

Ian Barrie got 20 years.

The Lambrianou brothers got 15 each.

Freddie Foreman got ten.

Alan Cooper,
international man of mystery,

simply disappeared
off the face of the Earth.

Harry Mooney left the service
at the end of his career

and practised as a solicitor.

Nipper Read finished
a long and distinguished career

as Deputy Chief Constable
of Nottinghamshire.

The twins were 34 years old
when they were sentenced.

Ronnie Kray
never tasted freedom again.

He died of a heart attack
at the age of 61.

Reg was allowed
to attend the funeral.

His wreath read,
"To the other half of me."

Five years later,
Reg was diagnosed with terminal cancer,

and was released on compassionate grounds
after serving 32 years.

He died a couple of months later,

and was buried in the same grave
as his twin brother.

Ron was always gonna jump red lights
until his luck ran out.

Reg had no choice in the matter.

He could never control his brother,
and he could never leave him.

It was his fate from birth

to join the car crash
that was his brother's destiny.

The Krays became the legends
they always dreamed of,

and Violet Kray's pact with the devil,
if there was one,

delivered their immortality.

Ron was always regaling us with quotes
from his hero, Sir Winston Churchill.

"Everyone has his day," he would say,
"and some days last longer than others."

What Churchill failed to add...

was that no day lasts forever.

Provided by explosiveskull
https://twitter.com/kaboomskull