All language subtitles for peaky.blinders.s06e02.1080p.bluray.x264-carved-HI

Ever since you began
to build your empire,

you've had a crutch to lean on.

MICHAEL: Mum, I swear
in the name of Almighty God,

I will take revenge
on Tommy Shelby.

That, my friend, is the finest
opium in the world.

Perhaps we can meet
after you've spoken

to your wife's uncle,
Jack Nelson.

Tommy Shelby wants to do
business with Jack Nelson?

So speak to your uncle
and get me out of here.

If he doesn't want to buy
my opium,

I will sell
to the East Boston Jews.

It's Ruby. She's not well.

I'm coming home.

POLLY: There will be a war
in this family,

and one of you will die.

MICHAEL: You've been too busy

to punish the people
who killed her.

How is the family?

Daddy!

Hello, Ruby.

Come here.

Let me see you.

I missed you.

I missed you.

There's the Black Madonna.
(KISSES)

What presents did you get us,
Dad?

Son.

She's all better, Tommy.

You came back for nothing.

But I'm glad you're back.

Right,
before we do anything else,

we're going to go for a drive,
OK?

- Let's go.
- What about me?

Yeah, you can come too,
come on.

A drive where?

I've asked the driver
to take us to see Dr Robert.

I want him to have
a look at Ruby.

Why, love?

The appointment is in one hour.

You can stay here
or you can come.

Right.

Right, let's go.

(GRUNTS)

(COUGHS)

(DOOR CLOSES)

LIZZIE: Tommy?

Yeah?

It was all good.
Everything was clear.

That is a relief.

(SIGHS) That's a relief.

Yeah.

Driver's bringing the car
round.

- (TAPPING ON WINDOW)
- Daddy.

LIZZIE: Hiya.

Come here.

When did you last sleep?

Not much since we last spoke
on the phone.

Well, now you know Ruby's
all clear, you can sleep.

Yeah.

Lizzie, I am very happy
that Ruby's results are clear.

But still you won't sleep.

I will speak to Johnny
and I will speak to Esmeralda.

(LIZZIE SIGHS)

(SIGHS) We could be on holiday.

We could be up a mountain
in America.

That wouldn't have been
possible.

The man I'm dealing with
is coming to London.

I need to be there.

No escape.

We will escape, Lizzie.

One last deal to be done.

It'll be difficult.

Difficulties are to be
expected.

This is why I must move
from item to item.

Do you feel that?

Do you feel anything?

You know, you talk as if
you're watching everything

on a screen.

When we go home...
When we go home,

we'll give the kids to Frances,

and then you and me
will go to bed.

And I will be the next item.

That's how it feels now, Tommy.

Yeah.

Everything on a list.

- Hey, baby.
- When are we going home?

Soon.

(THUNDER CRASHES)

- (THUD)
- (GLASS SHATTERS)

Tommy? Tommy!

(MEN GRUNT)

Tommy? Tommy,
tell me what's happening!

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Tommy, come here. Come here.

What's happening?

Tommy!

(EXHALES SHARPLY)

It is four years...

...one month and six days
since I had a drink.

My head is clear.

I am myself.

Is this the first time?

Once on the ship back.
Not as bad.

Tommy...

...you need to see a doctor.

I've work to do.

(SCOFFS)
It's the work that's to blame.

The people you meet,
the lies that you tell.

We're going to keep going until
the Boston business is done.

Then we rest.

Then we Peaky Blinders
fucking rest.

Comrades, before we end
this planning meeting

and send you out
into the rain...

(CHUCKLING)

...we have a surprise.

He just arrived back from
a trade mission to America.

He came back early
and he has insisted

on addressing you volunteers
in person.

Comrades,

your Labour representative
for South Birmingham,

- Mr Thomas Shelby MP, OBE.
- (CHEERING)

- (CHEERING FADES)
- Silence, please!

I bring with me...

...on the train from London...

...a message from Westminster.

No. No, no, no, not a message.

Not a message.

An instruction, in fact.

(AUDIENCE MURMURS)

You must be silent.

(AUDIENCE GRUMBLES)

You must say nothing.

Say nothing

about the present situation
in this city.

Say nothing about hunger.

Say nothing about jobs.

Say nothing about pay.

But those in greener pastures,

- they may speak.
- (SHOUTS OF AGREEMENT)

- They may raise their voices.
- (AUDIENCE SHOUTS OUT)

But here in the smoke,
you men and women,

Irish and Italian

and English, who support
the socialist cause...

And your socialist cats
and dogs and canaries.

(AUDIENCE LAUGHS)

...you must hush,

because the King
and all the King's horses

- and all the King's men...
- (AUDIENCE LAUGHS)

...want you to be silent.

But it is you, my friends,
who must suffer

the cuts in wages
and in welfare and in dignity!

And you must not complain,

because that would be
unpatriotic.

You soldiers
who have fought in France,

you are traitors
if you speak up.

You veterans of their wars

and their booms
and their busts,

it is you
who must take the blows,

and carry the burdens
for the sake of

those in greener pastures
who bellow at you...

(BANG ON TABLE)

..."Silence!"

(ANGRY SHOUTING)

Well, watch this, comrades.

I will not be silent.

MAN: Never!

Not this Englishman.

(CHEERING)

No silence from me.

No silence from me,

because I have heard
your voices

when you come to me

and tell me about the cries
of your hungry children,

and I will gather up
every single one of those cries

and I will take 'em with me
on the train

back to Westminster...

(CHEERING)

...and I will let them
out of the bag

in the House of Commons,

and let them
try to silence that, eh?

(CHEERING CONTINUES)

(TOMMY CONTINUES SPEECH)

Shouldn't that involve
some sharing of the burden?

(SHOUTS OF AGREEMENT)

All of us taking a smaller
slice of the cake, eh?

(SHOUTS OF AGREEMENT)

After all, it's bloody us
who bakes the cake

and makes the cars
and melts the metal.

(SHOUTS OF AGREEMENT)

And the King, remember him?

The man who ordered
all of this.

Shouldn't he be taking
some of the cuts?

Eh? Some of the blows?

Some of the pain? No or yes?

AUDIENCE: Yes!

(CHEERING FADES)

Sh.

Hush, you working men
and women.

Silence.

Good.

(WHISPERS) Save your voices.

You're going to need 'em

on Saturday
when we rally together

at the Bull Ring Market...

- (WILD CHEERING)
- ...and together,

we'll raise the roof,

we'll break
the damned silence...

...and bring down
this broken government.

(CHANTING) Tommy! Tommy!
Tommy! Tommy!

Thank you.

Laura McKee.

Battalion Commander,
Fermanagh IRA.

You missed the first
and second act.

WOMAN: Thank you for coming,
Mr Shelby.

Thank you. Thank you.

The third act was enough.

You both have reasons
to hate me

and to want to seek revenge
for the killing...

Sh!

Gypsy tradition.

We do not mention the name
of the dead in company.

Laura McKee,

in the Shelby family,

business comes
before issues of vengeance.

Our beloved departed
would understand and approve.

Let's go, boys.

Our agreement was we meet
in a crowded place.

No need for crowds.

We need you alive.

After you.

You know, Mr Shelby,

even though we've been doing
business for a while,

we've never met in person.

You spoke with passion...

...and compassion.

You understand forgiveness

and you drink water.

Yet I heard
from many reliable sources

that you have a reputation
for moral turpitude.

(TOMMY SNORTS)

Moral turpitude...

It's a good name
for a racehorse.

You don't know what it means?

I know what it means.

It means you fuck people.

Fuck people over.
Don't give a fuck.

It means you covet and steal

and burn all principles
for the sake of self-interest.

Well, I'm changing,
Laura McKee,

and my organisation
is also changing.

So, what happened in Boston?

Jack Nelson said no.

Are we accepting no
as an answer?

These are letters...
(CLEARS THROAT)

...written to and by
Jack Nelson

over the last three months.

(TRAIN RUMBLES BY)

(GLASS RATTLES)

This...

This is a private letter

from the President
of the United States.

Where the fuck
did you get this?

My racehorse, Moral Turpitude,

is just one of many
in my stables.

Sometimes, even now,
I'll take her out for a run

if there is a good cause
that requires her services.

Jack Nelson's coming to London.

Officially, he's coming
to buy liquor import licences.

Unofficially, he's on
a fact-finding mission.

He's come to measure

the strength of support
for fascism in Britain.

He'll report back
to the President.

And how does that help us?

In this letter to his son,

Jack Nelson expresses
strong support for fascism.

In this letter
to a friend in Berlin,

he says some, erm,
interesting things about Jews.

He's not coming to Europe
to find facts.

He's coming to find proof
that fascism will prevail.

And you and I...

...are going
to help him in that task.

I thought you were a socialist.

Well...

...since I've entered politics,

I've learned that
the line doesn't go out

from the middle to the left
and the right.

It goes in a circle.

I'll show you.

You go far enough left,

eventually you'll meet someone
who has gone far enough right

to get to the same place.

Working-class socialists
like me,

working-class nationalists
like you.

The result?

National Socialism.

And that's me...

...in the middle.

Just a man trying to make
an honest living

in a very dark world.

You have friends in Dublin,
Laura McKee,

who are actively fighting
for a fascist Ireland,

and you are acting
on their behalf, ain't you?

When Jack Nelson
comes to London,

I can give him access
to Oswald Mosley

and to fascist sympathisers

in the House of Commons
and the House of Lords,

on both sides of the divide.

Fascism is quite the thing...

...among the very best people.

And with your help,
I can also offer him Dublin.

And you think this will allow
us to ship our merchandise

to Boston?

Perhaps.

There may be other benefits
for your cause.

All you have to do
is sit with Jack Nelson

and talk to him about
a new golden age,

and let him put a pin
in the map of Ireland

for the President
of the United States.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)

I came to collect Arthur
and put him to bed.

I found him in Garrison Lane
with a syringe in his hand.

(EXHALES)

A friend loves at all time.

A brother is born
for adversity.

Proverbs 17:17.

I have two brothers in need,

but yours is the more urgent,
Tommy.

Will you come with me?

So, Laura McKee...

...are you going to help me
change the world?

Mr Shelby, this meeting
is not what I expected.

Never is.

Is that a yes or a no?

My answer's yes.

(SNORTS)
The answer's always yes.

The back door is unlocked.
You can let yourself out.

And tell your friends
back home -

Tommy Shelby has changed.

Where is he?

When I found him,
the syringe was empty.

He's sleeping it off
on the cobbles.

Shit, Tommy. Shit.

It's all under control, Ada.

Well, I'm not under
fucking control!

I'm not you, Tommy,
and I'm not Polly either.

Even though I'm trying to be.

She would have stopped this.

We will pull Arthur
through this.

I'm not talking about Arthur,
I'm talking about you!

I heard everything
you were saying in there.

Ada, this will be the end
of it, do you hear me?

This is the way out
for all of us,

and along the way,
I will be doing good.

No, along the way,

you're going to make yourself
a lot of fucking money.

All right, fair enough.

Any incidental rewards for
my good work will be welcome.

But you will get
your fair share, sister.

(SCOFFS)

And by being
among the fascists,

by being among 'em,
I can undermine them.

Polly would approve.

Beneath all the gold
and diamonds

and fucking... fucking mink
and lace,

she was a solid socialist.

(TRAIN RUMBLES BY)

Look, I know it's too late
for this, Tom, but...

This doorway.

This same fucking doorway.

We used to come here
for Dad's beer.

And we were so little, it took
two of us carry one bucket.

Yeah, I remember.

Look at us now, eh?

Yeah. Fucking look at us.

Take a good look, Tom,

cos one of us isn't going
to be here for long.

Fuck! Opium and presidents!

Ada, if you don't want
to help me carry the bucket...

...then I wouldn't blame you.

But this is my mission.

And I will have no limitations.

Where are you, Tom?

Hmm?

My big brother?

You know, you used to stop
sometimes and laugh.

Do you even remember
this place?

You walk into The Garrison
like a stranger

and you sip fucking water.

But I'm alive, Ada.

Yeah.

And you're still looking for
trouble big enough to kill you.

Well...

...I think
you might have found it.

I have children, Tommy.

You have to carry
this bucket on your own.

One brother half-dead in
the rain in Garrison alley,

and the other
has no limitations.

(TRAIN RUMBLES BY)

(OPERATIC MUSIC)

I'm expected.

(MUSIC CONTINUES)

Oh, and Mr Solomons
no longer tolerates

the smoking of tobacco
in his presence.

(MUSIC CLIMAXES)

(MUSIC ENDS)

I always thought that opera

was just fat people
fucking shouting.

Yeah? What do you think now?

I think the sound of a tenor
in full passion

reminds me of the crying out
of Italian soldiers

when they had my bayonet
inside them.

Ever since my own death,

I have been somewhat
haunted by it.

Dear me.

But instead of fighting
these voices,

I decided to write
their songs down,

you know, and turn them
into an opera of my own.

Do not light that.

No. No. Were you not told?
I have a condition.

What I was told, Alfie...

...is that you have withdrawn

and that you spend your days
alone...

...obsessing
about opera singers.

Opera's not fucking singing,
is it?

It's not singing.

It is the sound
that people make...

...before words.

And I do not allow smoking

because I do need to see
fucking clearly,

all right?

What, do you sense weakness
in the Israelite?

Not a sense of weakness,
no, Alfie.

- Huh?
- A certain knowledge of it.

Since you've been sat here,
writing your opera...

...a member of your family
has died.

Charles Solomons. Your uncle.

He ran all the narcotics,
bootlegging,

prostitution,
gambling syndicates

out of East Boston.

But last January,
poor old Charlie, well...

...he was shot
in the Cotton Club,

in the lavatory,

by men that you know,

and yet you did nothing, Alfie.

(CLATTER)

Now, my opera is called
America.

America is my fucking
masterpiece!

The truth is,
your uncle is dead...

...Boston is gone...

...and you,

once the big man
who ran Camden Town...

...now can't even extinguish
another man's cigarette...

...let alone his fucking life.

You need favours,

- Alfie.
- I need

a fucking final act, right?

Just a final fucking act
for my opera.

Yeah?

Alfie...

I think I may have
written your final act.

Why don't you sit down
and have a listen, eh?

I have five tons of pure,
refined opium

sitting in one of my warehouses
in Liverpool.

I have safe storage
off the coast of Canada.

I have men willing
to distribute it in Toronto,

Quebec, New York and Boston.

The income would be immediate

and would shift the balance
of power in Boston

back in the favour
of the Solomons family.

In the final act
that I am giving you, Alfie,

it is you
who takes the revenge.

Why would you sell?

The Irish are being difficult.

The Italians are not an option.

Also, Alfie, you are my friend.

Pay you with credit?

- No.
- Oh...

I will take property.

You own half the warehouses
in Camden.

I'll take 'em
and knock 'em down,

build houses for the needy
and the deserving.

Oh.

(GROANS SOFTLY)

Yeah, well, the, erm...

The Irish have always been
difficult, Tommy, ain't they?

For about fucking 700 years.

(SNIFFS)

You know that I once saw
an Irishman

arguing with the statue
of Oliver Cromwell

in Parliament Square.

The argument went on
for quite a while, actually.

It went into the night,

as his little voice echoed
all around

the Houses of Parliament

as he got more and more angered

Oliver Cromwell
was reluctant somewhat

to answer
his legitimate questions,

so angered, in fact,
that eventually he punched

the statue on the nose

and broke his fucking hand.

And there it is, you know,
the Irish question, innit?

(INHALES SHARPLY)

How come
you can remember so much

about what happened
200 years ago,

but you just can't remember

what fucking happened
last night?

(SNORTS)

(SIGHS)

How much is a ton?

(DOOR OPENS)

Johnny.

Only me today.

Jack says a few more weeks...

(KEY TURNS IN LOCK)

...then you'll be free.

When do you travel to London?

Tomorrow.

I came to say goodbye.

When you go to London,
stay away from the devil.

Block your fucking ears,
if you have to.

I'll be with you, Michael.

I've been thinking about you.

Only you.

And don't worry
about Tommy Shelby.

I have no interest
in a dead man.

Jack says he has to die.

Well, you tell Jack to wait.

If anyone's going to kill
Tommy Shelby...

It will be you.

I know.

I told Jack.

And Jack said, "OK.

"Let the kid do it."

And in return, he can collect
the cash that Tommy won't.

$5 million.

The devil will be dead.

The future belongs to us.

Oh, and, uh, Michael...

Every night...

..midnight in Boston,
5am in London...

...I'll be wide awake
in my big, wide bed,

and you'll be wide awake
in this prison cell.

And our souls
will come together...

...and we'll fuck.

I won't need an alarm clock.

And you won't sleep
until I'm done.

Midnight fucks 5am.

Every day.

Because we trust each other.

Hmm?

(SHOUTING AND CHANTING)

You're a fucking traitor,
Shelby! You're a fucking...

Darker.

Bluer.

Sharper.

I want to see it from below.

Darling, how's that?

You look absolutely terrifying,
my love.

(BOTH CHUCKLE)

Fuck lipstick.

Fun.

To launch the ship.

(CHANTING OUTSIDE)

A long and terrible journey,
Diana.

Don't fucking let me down.

Mr Shelby!

Mr Shelby!

Daily Mirror.

- Mr Shelby!
- Off!

May I ask why a socialist MP

would attend a fascist rally,
sir?

Let him in,
let me answer the question.

Mr Mosley's constituency
borders my own.

We have worked together
in the past.

He was once a socialist
himself.

My role here tonight

is to... to act as a bridge

between ideologies.

I'm in the middle.

Mr Shelby, you once shared
a platform with Mr Mosley.

Will you be sharing the stage
with him tonight?

No. I am simply here
to remind my friend, Mr Mosley,

that the way of the British
people is compromise.

And you can print that, pal.

Fucking rag.

Lizzie, you should know

that Mosley's wife died
six months ago.

So give him your condolences,
will you?

Tonight,
he will be with his mistress,

who is apparently
a lady of some standing...

...and has given him great
comfort in his time of grief.

ARTHUR:
Fuck off, you dozy bastard!

Move out my fucking way.

What is Arthur doing here?

Mosley invited him. I agreed.

Arthur made me a promise,

which he appears
to have broken.

Move! I said fucking move.

I tried my best.
He's hid some junk in his sock.

- OK.
- ARTHUR: Move along.

(SHOUTING)

Oi!

- Oi, Tommy!
- Come on!

- Tommy!
- You're in! You're in.

- Come on, you're in.
- My brother.

- Tommy!
- Yeah.

Johnny Dogs.

Mosley invited me.

He said,
"Wear a black fucking shirt."

Here you are.

I said, "I'd look like
every other bastard."

Lizzie!

- Come on.
- For fuck's sake.

You're an angel. I know
I've fucking let you down.

I've fucking let you down,
I know I have. All right?

I've fucking said sorry
a million times

and I'll say it again.
I'm sorry, all right?

- Yeah.
- I'm fucking sorry.

Look at Johnny Dogs.

Fucking look
at the state of him.

He looks like a fucking waiter.

- Oh, shut up.
- Get me a fucking drink.

Johnny, take your shirt off
and give it to me.

For fuck's sake, Tommy.

Take your fucking shirt off
and give it me now.

Get it off!

Arthur, this is my fault.

- This is my fault.
- Yeah.

Remember, we voted on getting
involved in the opium trade?

- You voted no.
- I said no.

Remember? I overruled you.

I've not been here,
I've been away.

Where you been, Tom?

And Ada tells me you've been
hanging out with Mosley.

- Yeah, he's...
- Yeah?

In his big, beautiful
fucking house.

And they have parties there,
in Belgravia.

And they give me
fucking respect.

Yeah?
And what do you give them?

Snow and junk from the company.

Hang on.

Look at you, brother.

Half of you's gone.
Half of you's gone.

- What the fuck?
- Rag and bone.

You fucking slapped me.

You slapped me.

I have to remain unresolved.
Do you understand?

Unresolved.
Unresolved in everything.

I have to move between left
and right, light and shade,

and maintain the trust of both.

And I cannot have my brother
wearing a fucking black shirt

on the cover
of the Daily Mirror.

If anyone takes my picture
in this,

they'll find their fucking
camera under my heel, Tom.

They are throwing petrol bombs
out there, Tommy.

I thought Ada was
taking care of you.

Ada's got decisions to make
about working with us.

She doesn't know
what she wants.

I'll speak to Ada.

Listen, I'm going home,
all right?

No, you stay there.

I have something for you.

Lizzie, you can go in
with Johnny.

Johnny, take Lizzie
to her seat.

But I don't have an invitation,
Tom.

Johnny, you're wearing
a fucking black shirt,

you can do what you like.
Go on. I'll follow you. Go on.

Go on, Dogs.

And get me a fucking drink
while you're there.

(ARTHUR GROANS)

I know, Tom. Look at me.

Arthur, before I went
to America,

I wrote a letter.

Yeah? Who to?

To Linda.

And in that letter, I wrote,

"Linda, as a Christian woman,

"do you believe
in forgiveness?"

And this is what I got back.

Two days ago. Have a look.

(FALTERING)
"As a Christian woman,

"I do believe in forgiveness."

Yeah, and the word do
is underlined.

Arthur, I'm no Christian.

But I also believe
in forgiveness.

So, get yourself clean,

stay clean for two weeks,

I'll write Linda
another letter.

Cos I know where she is.

First, I need you back.

I need my brother.

I have a lot to do.

Need someone
to do the real work.

Yeah. (CHUCKLES)

Yeah. Look at your smile, Tom.

Look at your smile, brother.

It's been so long.

Come on. Let's see what this
bastard has to say. Come on.

- All right. All right.
- Come on.

Yeah, I'm coming.

He is a bastard an' all, Tommy.

Black shirts and Jews.
Here we go. Here we fucking go.

(SHOUTING)

Stay in the middle
and do nothing, Tommy.

But not fucking me.

Come here, you,
you Nazi bastard!

(GRUNTS AND GROANS)

Come here, man,
I'll take your fucking eye.

Not here! Not here!

(GRUNTS)

Come here. You've had your fun,
now let's go home.

- We have business.
- (SCOFFS)

Johnny, you get him home.

This time,
check his fucking socks.

For fuck's sake!

Tommy, we should get out now.

Forget this American business.
We've got enough.

Not near enough.
Here she comes.

Remember to smile. Come on.

Shit.

(GLASS CLINKS)

Ladies and gentlemen,

tonight, he has truly earned
your adulation.

The future Prime Minister
of this great country,

Sir Oswald Mosley!

(CHEERING AND APPLAUSE)

Fuck you, Mosley!

(SHOUTING)

(APPLAUSE)

(WHISPERS)
Fuck. I look terrible.

You look beautiful, Lizzie.
I need to impress this woman,

so I will act
as if she is beautiful as well.

Mosley.

Diana,

this is Tommy Shelby MP, OBE.

Mr Shelby, Lady Diana Mitford.

Oswald's most recent
and last-ever mistress.

This is my wife, Lizzie Shelby.

Beautiful earrings.

TOMMY: Oh, I stole them
from Tiffany's.

Actually, he bought
the earrings in Paris.

We were in Paris
on our honeymoon.

- God, I hate Paris.
- Hmm.

I hear you prefer Berlin.

Oswald and I are going to marry
there, aren't we, Oswald?

Hmm.

Mosley, I have business
to discuss.

Perhaps you and I could find
somewhere a bit quieter, eh?

Darling, Mr Shelby just made
the astonishing suggestion

that we men go off
and discuss business

while you women wait around
looking glamorous.

(CHUCKLES) Goodness.

What year do you think this is,
Mr Shelby? 1807?

In Birmingham, the centuries
grind by quite slowly.

But, Mr Shelby,
if it's business,

Diana is the engine
of my enterprise.

It's the modern way, Mr Shelby.

Yes, we know.
I am company director.

I will join the meeting
as well.

But of course, you must come
as well, Elizabeth.

By the way,
I really don't like "Lizzie".

I prefer liberated "Elizabeth".

She must be part of this.

She's been
all the way to Paris,

so she is a woman of the world.
Bravo.

Do you know, Oswald has told me
everything about you...

Only three...

...because I know
these days Mr Shelby doesn't.

Our friend in Berlin
doesn't either.

Well, they have that in common,
at least.

Oh, I imagine
they have lots in common.

Hmm.

Report to me, Shelby.

Officially,
Jack Nelson is in London

to buy import licences.

And unofficially,
he's Roosevelt's envoy.

Well, as you can see
from this private letter...

...he is far
from a neutral point of view.

Look at the bottom
of the second paragraph.

"Individually Jews are fine,
but as a race they stink."

Hmm.

Elizabeth, do you even know
why the bridge

to President Roosevelt
is so important?

Actually, no.

I don't really know much
about this business at all.

(GLASS BANGS)

But I have fucked
your future husband,

so I know lots of things
about him.

Tommy, I'll be outside.

Well done, Elizabeth.

(TOMMY CLEARS HIS THROAT)

Do you people want
to meet Nelson or no?

Mr Shelby, from now on,
can I call you Thomas?

If you like.

Of course we would.

And we are very grateful
for your efforts.

But, Mr Shelby,

before this enterprise
goes any further,

you really must do
something about your wife.

Mr Shelby.

Yes.

Mr Nelson.

I came early.

I wanted to come
and take a look

around this beautiful church.

You're Catholic, Mr Shelby.

I hoped that by suggesting
we meet in church,

it might make us both
more... cautious

with lies and truth.

Well, your hope
would be forlorn.

There ain't no-one listening
here.

You don't believe in God?

No.

It was the way Catholics
were treated in my country

that made me angry.

Made me what I became.

What made you angry?

Slowness... in anything.

I wanted to have everything
already.

Two working-class
Catholic boys.

Did they mess with you
when you were small?

Some man in the shadows.

I carried a screwdriver
and a blade,

and everyone believed
I had the power to lay curses.

And do you?

Yes, I do.

First man I killed
was a priest.

You?

A Prussian boy with green eyes.

He was already underground.

When did you last kill a man,
Mr Shelby?

Four years ago.

His name was Thomas Shelby.

He drank whiskey.

You want me to allow you
to enter my city

and deal narcotics
that'll kill people?

You deal in whiskey, Mr Nelson.

I recently read a report
by the Vatican, actually,

which said that whiskey
disproportionately kills

more of our Catholic brothers
and sisters,

whereas opium is the sedative

more often chosen
by Protestants and atheists.

In return,
there are people in England

who you think I should meet?

Yes.

Yes, like minds.

I'm here to buy import licences
for booze.

The booze
of the blue blood elite.

In America, we... we like
labels and aspiration.

Well, I have a brand of my own
vodka and gin.

You can add that
to your portfolio.

I hear Shelby labels are
favoured by the working class.

Indeed.
A fact of which I'm very proud.

They say you are a poet, too.

No, I only read it.

There are some people in this
country who I'd like to meet.

Fascists.

Not the ones in boots
and black shirts.

The ones in tuxedos.

I know men who are friends
of the cause.

I also know men who are enemies
of the cause.

For many years now,

I have been working closely
with Winston Churchill,

in many different capacities.

I have his trust.

He's opposed
to the rise of fascism.

You, I believe,
see it as inevitable.

Well, I can give you
men of influence

who support your cause.

I can also offer you
a full report

on Churchill's strategies.

All this in return for access
to South Boston?

Alternatively,

you can take on Churchill
on your own,

without my intelligence,

and I can sell my opium
to the Jews.

You're a brave man, Mr Shelby.

A war hero, I hear.

Every war hero I ever met,

they're just someone who wanted
to get themselves killed.

(SNORTS SOFTLY)

Do we have a deal, Mr Nelson?

I'll think a great deal
about what you've said.

Ruby, have you finished
your spelling, love?

Ruby?

Ruby?

Ruby?

Ruby?

What are you doing, love?

I can hear voices...

...coming from up the chimney.

What voices?

The grey man.

Gentlemen,

Mr Thomas Shelby.

Birmingham South.

Mr Speaker.
I was raised in a family

that endured living conditions
that would test

the morality of
even the most virtuous.

Indeed...

Indeed, even the best of us
would have our virtues trounced

and thwarted by life
in the meanness

and the bitterness of
an overcrowded British slum.

What would you know
about virtue?

(SHOUTING)

Quickly, please.

Therefore, Mr Speaker, I intend
to put before this House

a bill which will offer
radical reform

in housing policy
in this country,

in which slums are cleared,

new houses are built

with new standards
in health and hygiene.

Westminster 245.
House of Commons.

(PHONE RINGS)

The time has come for change,
the people have had enough.

Let's open the windows,
let in new light,

build a new Jerusalem

brick by
Government-owned brick.

(CHEERING)

- Into there.
- (COUGHS)

Good.

Doctor?

Yeah, Westminster 245.

Mr Shelby.

LIZZIE: "Tickner maura, o beng,
o beng" over and over again.

MICHAEL: How is the family?

POLLY: And one of you will die.

RUBY:
He's staring at me, Daddy.

LIZZIE: A man with green eyes.

(WHISPERS)
Can you stop the voices?

There are no voices, my love.

It's the grey man.

He says he's coming for me...

(WHISPERS)...and he's coming
for Daddy as well.

(BREATHES HEAVILY)

(GRUNTS)

(PHONE RINGS)

(GROANS)

(PHONE RINGS)

- (SQUELCHING)
- (GROANS)

- (SCREAMS)
- Sh...

(MUFFLED KNOCKING)

(MUFFLED) Mr Shelby?

Is everything all right
in there?

- (KNOCK ON DOOR)
- Mr Shelby?

Everything's fine.

Everything's fine.

(PHONE RINGS)

- Hello?
- Tommy.

Tommy, she has a temperature
of 101 and nothing is working.

- Just get here now.
- Lizzie?

- Please.
- Lizzie?

(SIGHS)

Where is she?

She's with the doctor upstairs.

Listen, Tommy.

He said we shouldn't come close
to her, in case...

In case of what?

When she coughs, there's blood.

Madonna,

put me through to the number
I gave you for Esme Shelby Lee.