Original subtitles

Amsterdam's coat of arms says: Heroic, firm and merciful.

And that's nice, but also a bit of bullshit.

What did the mayor call it again?

'A kind city.'

A kind city. Yeah, right. Do you think he believed that himself?

Ask any random person in any remote corner of the Earth about Amsterdam...

...and they'll mention one thing first.

Not the kind people.

Not the merciful.

Drugs.

Weed, hash, XTC, coke.

You name it.

Nowhere else are so many varieties of dope so easy to obtain.

It started out so simple. We had gangsters back then too.

Gangsters are of all ages.

Back then you could still make deals and if you didn't stick to them...

...it was fought out on the street. Man to man.

In a cell for a night? No problem.

Nowadays, words like code of honor and loyalty...

...are punchlines to jokes you tell in the pub.

What was the turning point?

Where did we lose it?

Drugs and prostitutes became synonymous with the City of Amsterdam.

Hard drugs have changed a lot of things.

First brown appeared: heroin.

And then white: coke.

And the rest is history.

The more money, the more violence.

Amsterdam is no exception to that.

More and more men were stretched out on the streets with their brains blown out.

A conflict was no longer fought out.

You were killed, cast aside.

Sorry, pal, nice try. Game over.

One person was killed and one injured in a shooting.

A shooting took place.

A shooting with machine guns took place.

Those kids copied this. This was their destiny.

Although they kicked it up several notches.

There are no boundaries anymore. All there is left...

...is making money.

That wreck you see there is me.

Official widower.

And reporter.

Not exactly a cheerful beginning to this story. I get that.

Anyway, if you want to believe in fairy tales you should go to Disneyland.

When I was a kid, I grew up with those guys.

With the riffraff.

Later on, I wrote about them in newspapers and magazines.

Nearly 450,000 copies are sold of my book 'The Nose'.

It's called a bestseller, or something like that.

I don't know. That was back then.

Now I'm mostly very screwed up.

From...

Sanne didn't allow me to give this to you...

...until it was completely over.

I forgive you for everything. Enough tears shed.

Now write your fucking story. Yours forever, Sanne.

Vicious killing in broad daylight

Every war has a beginning.

The moment the shit hits the fan.

In hindsight, it always seems logical and explainable.

A carved moment in history.

In reality it often depends on bad luck.

Watch and learn.

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

196 KILOS OF COCAINE

You're crazy man.

No, you're fuckin' crazy.

McGregor would eat him alive.

Yeah, but he should never underestimate Badr, he's a beast.

So what?

He hasn't fought in what, three fuckin' years?

Doesn't matter, believe me.

Badr goes into training for a couple of weeks,

McGregor will be fuckin' breakfast.

Fuck off.

How long's that Polo been tailing us?

What?

That black one?

Think you're seeing ghosts, lad.

Oh yeah?

Let's take the next exit.

Ay, ya pussy.

See?

Told you.

Fuck.

Think it's the police?

They don't drive that obvious.

So what you want to do?

Pull over at the gas station.

Bro thinks we're being followed. Mocros or Turkoos What shall I do, boss?

What's wrong?

Babe? - Fuckers.

Motherfuckers.

Belgian?

What's up? - Get Silent One and Döner.

Why? - What do you mean 'why'?

Start walking, idiot.

Go home.

Hey, I feel a bit like a prostitute. - Not now.

What the fuck? Don't talk to me like that, freak.

We're being ripped.

Go on.

Silent One? Stress inside. Where's Döner?

Taking his parents to the airport. - Fucking Turk.

Where's Mouse?

Come on.

Mouse, where r u? Come to mistral. Romano has a job for us.

Switch off that phone.

Youssef. Switch off that phone.

Difficult. school.

Switch it off.

Gentlemen, I'm ready. Come through.

Hi. - Hello.

I thought it was a good idea to have a discussion with you present.

Because this can't continue.

From advanced high school to vocational school in two years.

It's almost...

Youssef, put that phone away. - Sorry.

I've heard that before.

We're not getting anywhere with just 'sorry'.

You're right.

What I'm trying to say is that he's trying his best at home.

I believe you, Mr. Tahiri.

But since school started, Youssef hasn't shown up...

...for the first hour for a single class. And it's November now.

In addition, he called his German teacher 'Hitler'...

...the gym teacher 'fucking fag'...

...and his Social Studies teacher 'a filthy whore'.

And there's also the incident with the firehose.

Oh, you think that's funny?

I fail to see the humor.

Do you? Or am I missing something?

I have to use the washroom. - Youssef...

Sorry, Mr. Tahiri.

I see no other way but to expel him.

I'm sorry.

Listen...

...someone's trying to follow our stash.

There's a car by the warehouse, but it isn't ours.

They're going to want to rip us.

Where are they? - They're parked at the gas station.

Here. Go to the warehouse and make sure they fuck off.

I'll put a tracer on that car so we can follow them when they leave.

Scare them.

Relax my friend, everything's going to be okay.

They're waiting for us at the warehouse.

Romano is sending in the troops.

We'll be on our way in a little bit.

Certainly, Mr. Dijkman, will do.

As soon as I've got the annual figures, we'll take care of it.

Then we can submit it officially.

Where are you?

Yeah.

No, this time the coffee's on me, as I promised.

Fine. Have a nice day.

My pleasure. Goodbye.

I just had to puke all the time.

Awkward.

Talking about awkward.

Hi, babe.

What are you doing? - Nothing.

I thought I'd drop by.

To see how you're doing.

Kiss, kiss. I can't wait to see you.

Daddy has to do something else first.

What do you think?

Yes?

I emptied that entire fucking display case.

The owner grabs me like this.

Who do you think you're talking to? - Get that fucking thing out of my face.

Are you sure? - Of course I'm sure, man.

Do you think I'll fix this thing without a gun?

I'm not a fucking target.

Put it on play.

And, I'll tell ya what.

This particular gun has a heck of a lot going for it.

OK, son. Are you ready?

Look at this. He thinks he's going to soccer camp.

You're sick.

What?

Do you know where Garage Hennie is?

Hennie? What the fuck Hennie?

I don't know a Hennie. Move on and ask someone else.

It has to be around here.

Hey, bro, start moving, or he'll screw you up your ass.

Sorry, man. - You should be sorry.

Tell your fat fucking mother that. - What did you say?

Repeat what you said.

What the fuck?

Did you never learn to listen at school?

With your weird fucking face.

He said: Say hello to your fat, stinking fucking whore of a mother.

Is there a problem, bro?

You're kidding.

In Amsterdam North?

Mhm.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I understand.

Two guys killed. Are you sure?

Yeah, okay.

Hey, I was watching something.

Everything seems to indicate that it's a gangland killing.

It doesn't look like an impulsive act of a jealous husband.

What we now know is that the car went up in flames.

Two bodies were found in the car.

The un-Dutch extent of violence is striking.

The killers went on a spree with automatic guns and Molotov cocktails.

It's terrifying.

Sander Paulus, thank you.

Aleppo in North?

Sounds like the title of your new book.

Sweetie, right now I have only one job and that's you.

Jesus.

Is that how you see me? As a job?

That's not what I mean. You know that.

Yeah, I know.

Gross, couldn't they have given it a flavor?

It tastes like sperm.

But it doesn't taste half as good as yours.

What went wrong here?

Watch, listen, listen. We're Muslims, right?

We belong to Allah and to Him we shall return.

OK, that's fine.

OK, Auntie, take care.

The Pope.

Once good friends with Romano, but now his own boss.

A freelancer, you could say.

The shipment of coke he invested in was intercepted in Rotterdam.

No coke, no cash.

But that doesn't exist in his world. It should have been a simple rip deal.

It became a clash.

What are you looking at, fatso.

Brother, this is screwed up.

You think I don't know that?

I just lied to my aunt, because she wanted to know why her son was int that car.

What are we going to do? - Well, what are we going to do.

We'll get back at them.

Get back at them? - Yeah.

Who got at who?

If you wanted to start a fucking war with Romana, then...

Then what? Huh?

Then what?

What do you want to do? Wait here?

Huh? For the next shipment?

All of our people joined the opposition.

It's not about that. - So what is it about?

Two mothers have lost a son.

Is that how we do things these days?

No one told me anything. - Bro...

Never mind 'bro'.

We've bled. So be it.

Now they're going to bleed.

That fucking black guy never took me seriously.

Never.

He'll pay for it. Motherfucker.

Who told you to take along Molotovs?

I told you to scare them, not to blow them up.

We fucked those fags up their ass.

They started it.

Where did you get the idea to take along Molotovs?

'The Big Guys Of The Cité.' - What?

'The Big Guys Of The Cité.' A documentary about men from France.

A film.

A fucking film.

I just wanted to scare them.

Silent One had placed the tracer.

Then we'd throw those Molotovs, nothing the matter.

They started acting crazy. We had to respond.

Belgian was right.

REIN DE WAARD CRIME REPORTER

THE NOSE

Certificate for Rein de Waard for crime book The Nose

Somewhat narcissistic, right?

Sorry, I...

Sorry, we don't have one with alcohol.

I've been sober for two years, ever since my wife got cancer.

I'd give my right pinkie for a real one with a vodka chaser.

Let's sit.

How may I help you?

I don't think it's narcissistic.

If I'd ever write a bestseller I'd do the same.

I'm going to sound like a groupie.

In high school I wrote a book report about The Nose.

My director of studies said it wasn't literary sound.

He thought Holleeder wasn't a topic that deserved attention.

What does he know?

So you're the new crime reporter.

No, I'm an intern at the newspaper. I just got my Master's.

Do you work with Rob? - I work for Rob.

When there's a shit job, I'm Rob's slave. - Am I a shit job?

No.

So what does Rob want to know? - Well, actually...

...some background information about the attack.

And in which quarter we could find the perpetrators.

Tip 1: Never call it an attack.

That's how civilians call it.

No matter how bad it is, we always call it 'a gangland killing'.

And record it with your iPhone. Got one?

You can't look people in the eye like this, so you don't know if they're lying.

Sorry. - Let's see.

Hello? Yes.

Do you think this is the old underworld? - They're nearly extinct.

And they aren't this brash.

People from the East Bloc, Romanians.

Or Armenians. - Could be.

It's possible. But what motive do they have?

They're well-organized, though.

If someone steps out of line, they take care of it quietly.

And they're active in female trafficking right now.

If it had happened in the Red Light District, you might have been right.

Italian mafia? - No way, you idiot.

The Italian mafia. No.

The Mocros? - Shooting each other so viciously?

Well, they are crazy.

But that crazy?

Fucking retards.

Who do you think it was?

No. - No?

No. - Why not?

He's got his own line, right? - It was intercepted.

Come on, man.

He knew the date, time and location.

The only ones who know that besides us are Jack and the Pope.

It wasn't Jack, in any case.

Fucking Pope.

We have to do something.

He lost two guys.

If other freaks hear they can test us, there's no end to it.

And those two guys aren't my fault.

I won't take responsibility for that. - I'm not saying that.

I'm just saying that if we go after them now, where will it end?

Let me go and talk to him. - You?

Neutral territory.

He crossed a line.

We reprimanded him.

He pays the fine and we're even and we'll forget about it.

What did she say? - Who?

Tamara, bro.

Of course she said yes.

Look at this man. Which chick would ever say no.

Congratulations, brother.

Hello mates, got me a delivery for you pussies.

Has it been taken care of? - The shit is safe.

Sure? - Hundred percent.

Youssef, wait.

You okay?

For Romano. For today.

We really couldn't help it.

We couldn't. - It doesn't matter.

What you did today, shit happens.

- Okay? - Okay.

Hey.

Want some tea?

I'm tired. - Tired?

I've never heard you say that before.

Go get some sleep.

I'm ashamed of you, Youssef.

My son, expelled from school.

What do you think your mom would say? - Mom isn't saying anything anymore.

Two victims. Mounir El Hams and Farid Ben Saleh.

How do you know this?

Friend of mine at forensics. They just received the dental records.

But the police has to inform the next-of-kin first.

That's why you're not going to use it.

So it is the Mocros.

Rob thought they weren't organized enough for that.

That's why Rob is still writing about petty thieves.

Do you know Romano Tevreden?

A Surinamese. Not a Mocro, right?

He invested in those street rats. Very clever of him.

In no time he had an entire soccer team.

Isn't he that dude from the DSB bank burglary?

Exactly.

He started with small raids, smash-and-grab thefts.

But soon after, runs for the big guys.

Pulling out shipments from the port.

After that DSB burglary, he ended up on the wanted list...

...and has been missing without a trace ever since.

About a year ago.

Some people say he's in the attic of a coffee shop...

...and others say he's at the back of the Anne Frank House.

They call him The Ghost of Amsterdam East.

Coke makes the most money. He must have noticed that.

Are you going to do something with this?

Going to write a new book?

I've started so many new books recently. - What if we do it together?

Do what together?

Well, look...

You can't really leave the house, what with your wife and all.

What if I'm your eyes and ears on the streets?

You tell me where to go and I do it.

If I have to interview someone, or whatever, I'll do it. For you.

For a book, or... - To impress the newspaper editors.

That too.

But you write the articles or the book, whichever way you picture it.

All I ask is that my name is on it as well.

Come on, Rein, I've learned more in two hours with you...

...than in three months with Rob.

This can work, right?

As I said, bad guys are of all ages.

A pen is a murder weapon too, but more on that later.

It wasn't a case of mistaken identity as the press officer claimed later.

She wasn't mistaken for someone else.

No.

It was a declaration of war, delivered in broad daylight.

The start of what the media would later call: The Mocro Mafia War.

Extracted from Amazon.us Sync by HCW for Adrenaline release.