Bacon: Right. Let's sort the buyers from the spyers, the needy from the greedy, and those who trust me from the ones who don't, because if you can't see value here today, you're not up here shopping. You're up here shoplifting. You see these goods? Never seen daylight, moonlight, Israelite. Fanny by the gaslight. Take a bag, c'mon take a bag. I took a bag home last night. Cost me a lot more than ten pound, I can tell you. Anyone like jewelry? Look at that one there. Handmade in Italy, hand-stolen in Stepney. It's as long as my arm. I wish it was as long as something else. Don't think because these boxes are sealed up, they're empty. The only man who sells empty boxes is the undertaker, and by the look of some of you lot today, I'd make more money with me measuring tape. Here, one price. Ten pound.
Eddie: Did you say ten pound?
Bacon: Are you deaf?
Eddie: That's a bargain. I'll take one.
Bacon: Squeeze in if you can. Left leg, right leg, your body will follow. They call it walking. You want one as well, darling? You do? That's it. They're waking up. Treat the wife. Treat somebody else's wife. It's a lot more fun if you don't get caught. Hold on. You want one as well? Okay, darling, show me a bit of life then. It's no good standing out there like one o'clock half-struck. Buy them, you better buy them. These are not stolen, they just haven't been paid for, and we can't get them again. They've changed the bloody locks. Here. One for you. It's no good coming back later when I've sold out. "Too late, too late" will be the cry when the man with the bargains has passed you by. If you got no money on you now, you'll be crying tears as big as October cabbages.
Eddie: Bacon, cozzers!
Bacon: What's that?
Samoan Joe's Barman: It's a cocktail. You asked for a cocktail.
Bacon: No. I asked you to give me a refreshing drink. I wasn't expecting a fucking rainforest! You could fall in love with an orangutan in that!
Samoan Joe's Barman: You want a pint, you go to the pub.
Bacon: I thought this was a pub!
Samoan Joes Barman: It's a Samoan pub.
Nick the Greek: Dunno Tom. Seems expensive.
Tom: Seems? Well, this seems to be a waste of my time. That is 900 nicker in any shop you're lucky enough to find one in. And you're complaining about 200? What school of finance did you study? "It's a deal, it's a steal, it's the sale of the fucking century!" In fact, fuck it Nick, I think I'll keep it!
Nick the Greek: All right all right, keep your Alans on!
[Peels off notes from his wad]
Nick the Greek: Here's a ton.
Eddie: You could choke a dozen donkeys on that! And you're haggling over one hundred pound? What d'you do when you're not buying stereos Nick? Finance revolutions?
Nick the Greek: 100 pounds is still 100 pounds.
Tom: Not when the price is 200 pounds it's not! And certainly not when you've got Liberia's deficit in your skyrocket. Tighter than a duck's butt you are. Now, c'mon. Lemme feel the fibre of your fabric.
Tom: Rory Breaker?
Barfly Jack: Rory? Yeah I know Rory. He's not to be underestimated, you've got to look past the hair and the cute, cuddly thing - it's all a deceptive facade. A few nights ago Rory's Roger iron's rusted, so he's gone to the local battle-cruiser to catch the end of his footer. Nobody is watching the custard so he turns the channel over. A fat man's north opens and he wanders over and turns the Liza over. 'Now fuck off and watch it somewhere else.' Rory knows claret is imminent, but he doesn't want to miss the end of the game; so, calm as a coma, he stands and picks up a fire extinguisher and he walks straight past the jam rolls who are ready for action, then he plonks it outside the entrance. He then orders an Aristotle of the most ping pong tiddly in the nuclear sub and switches back to his footer. 'That's fucking it,' says the guy. 'That's fucking what' says Rory. Rory gobs out a mouthful of booze covering fatty; he then flicks a flaming match into his bird's nest and the man's lit up like a leaky gas pipe. Rory, unfazed, turned back to his game. His team's won too. Four-nil.
Eddie: They're armed.
Soap: What was that? Armed? What do you mean armed? Armed with what?
Eddie: Err, bad breath, colorful language, feather duster... what do you think they're gonna be armed with? Guns, you tit!
"Hatchet" Harry: You must be Eddie, J.D.'s son.
Eddie: Yeah. You must be Harry. Sorry, didn't know your father.
"Hatchet" Harry: Never mind son, you just might meet him if you carry on like that.
Barry the Baptist: When you dance with the devil, you wait for the song to stop.
Eddie: Twenty grand, open.
"Hatchet" Harry: Thirty thousand. Back to you, already-Eddie.
Eddie: Fifty grand.
"Hatchet" Harry: Eighty grand.
Eddie: One hundred grand.
Player: Whoa, whoa, whoa, look fellas, I know...
"Hatchet" Harry: I know you're not in. Which means, no-one cares what you know.
Rory Breaker: Your stupidity must be your one saving grace.
Nick the Greek: Uh?
Rory Breaker: Don't "uh" me Greek boy! How is it that your fucking stupid soon-to-be-dead friends thought they might be able to steal my cannabis and then sell it back to me? Is this a declaration of war? Is this some white cunt's joke that black cunts don't get? 'Cause Im not fucking laughing Ni-ko-las!
Nick the Greek: [shrugs nervously]
Rory Breaker: I know you couldn't have known my position 'cause you're not that stupid that if you did, you wouldn't have turned up here scratching your arse with that "what's going on here?" look slapped all over your chevy chase! But what you do know is where these people live.
[rises from his chair and walks towards Nick]
Rory Breaker: If you hold back anything, I'll kill ya. If you bend the truth or I think you're bending the truth, I'll kill ya. If you forget anything, I'll kill ya. In fact, you're gonna have to work very hard to stay alive, Nick. Now, do you understand everything I've just said? 'Cause if you don't, I'll kill ya! Now, Mr Bubble and Squeak, you may enlighten me.
Nick the Greek: [nods nervously]
Soap: A minute ago this was the safest job in the world. Now it's turning into a bad day in Bosnia.
Rory Breaker: If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kinda pussy to drink it.
Winston: Charles, get the rifle out. We're being fucked.
Rory Breaker: What did you shoot him with, an air rifle?
Winston: Look, we grow weed. We're not mercenaries.
Rory Breaker: You don't say.
Barry the Baptist: If you don't want to be counting the fingers you haven't got, I suggest you get those guns. Quick!
Gary: Shotguns? What, like guns that fire shot?
Barry the Baptist: Oh, you must be the brains of the operation. Yes, guns that fire shot.
Winston: Charles, why have we got that cage?
Charles: Uh, security.
Winston: That's right, that's right, security. So what's the point in having it if we're not goin' fucking use it?
Charles: Well, I would've used it but this is Willie and Willie lives here.
Winston: Yes, but you didn't know it was Willie until you opened the door, did you?
Willie: Chill, Winston, it's me. Charlie knows it's me. What's the problem?
Winston: The problem, Willie, is that Charles and yourself are not the quickest of cats at the best of times. So just do as I say and keep *the fucking cage locked!* What is that?
Willie: That's Gloria.
Winston: Yes I know that's Gloria, what's that?
Winston: You went out six hours ago to buy a money counter and you come back with a semi-conscious Gloria and a bag of fertilizer. Alarm bells are ringing, Willie.
Willie: We need fertilizer Winston.
Winston: Mmmhmm. We also need a money counter. This money's got to be out by Thursday, I'm buggered if I'm gonna count it. Just make sure if you do need to buy sodding fertilizer you could be a bit more subtle.
Willie: What do you mean?
Winston: We grow copious amounts of ganja, yah? And you're carrying a wasted girl and a bag of fertilizer. You don't look like your average horti-fucking- culturalist! That's what I mean Willie.
Plank: Ah! They fucking shot me!
Dog: Well, fucking shoot 'em back!
John: Jesus, Plank, couldn't you have got smokeless cartridges? I can't see a bloody thi - Ah! Shit! I've been shot!
Dog: I don't fucking believe this! Can everyone stop gettin' shot?
Little Chris: Fuckin' hell John, do you always walk around with this in your pocket?
Big Chris: Hey! You use language like that again son, you'll wish you hadn't!
Tom: Well, he can afford to do the deal at the price we're selling. It's not worth him giving us any trouble cause he knows we'll be a pain in the arse.
Soap: I'd take a pain in the arse for half a million quid.
Tom: You'd take a pain in the arse for air miles.
Soap: Tom, the fatter you get, the sadder you get.
Eddie: Will you two stop flirting for a minute?
Soap: You're not funny, Tom. You're fat, and look as though you should be, but you're not.
Eddie: Oh, and if Tom or anyone else for that matter feels like givin' them a bit of a kickin', I'm sure it won't do any harm.
Soap: Yeah, little bit of pain never hurt anybody. If you know what I mean. Also, I think knives are a good idea. Big, fuck-off shiny ones. Ones that look like they could skin a crocodile. Knives are good, because they don't make any noise, and the less noise they make, the more likely we are to use them. Shit 'em right up. Makes it look like we're serious. Guns for show, knives for a pro.
Tom: Soap, is there something we should know about you?
Bacon: I'm not sure what's more worrying. The job or your past.
Barry the Baptist: Fucking northern monkeys!
Lenny: I hate these fucking southern fairies!
Rory Breaker: Is this some white cunts joke that black cunts don't get? 'Cause I'm not fucking laughing Nicholas.
Bacon: Once there was this geezer called Smithy Robinson, who worked for Harry. It was rumoured that he was on the take. Harry's invited Smithy round for an explanation. Smithy didn't do a very good job. Within a minute, Harry's lost his rag, reached out for the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a 15 inch black rubber cock. He's then proceeded to batter poor Smithy to death with it. Now that was seen as a pleasant way to go. Hence, Hatchet Harry is a man you pay if you owe.
Eddie: The entire British empire was built on cups of tea...
Bacon: Yeah, and look what happened to that.
Eddie: ...And if you think I'm going to war without one, mate, you're mistaken.
Tom: Listen to this one then; you open a company called the Arse Tickler's Faggot Fan Club. You take an advert in the back page of some gay mag, advertising the latest in arse-intruding dildos, sell it a bit with, er... I dunno, "does what no other dildo can do until now", latest and greatest in sexual technology. Guaranteed results or money back, all that bollocks. These dills cost twenty-five each; a snip for all the pleasure they are going to give the recipients. They send a cheque to the company name, nothing offensive, er, Bobbie's Bits or something, for twenty-five. You put these in the bank for two weeks and let them clear. Now this is the clever bit. Then you send back the cheques for twenty-five pounds from the real company name, Arse Tickler's Faggot Fan Club, saying sorry, we couldn't get the supply from America, they have sold out. Now you see how many of the people cash those cheques; not a single soul, because who wants his bank manager to know he tickles arses when he is not paying in cheques!
Bacon: So how long do you have to wait for a return?
Tom: Probably no more than four weeks.
Bacon: Well what good is that if we need it in six... no, five days?
Tom: Well it was still a good idea.
Big Chris: I've got some bad news for you, John.
John: What the fuck?
[Chris closes tanning parlor on John]
Big Chris: Mind your language in front of the boy!
John: Jesus Christ!
[Chris does it again]
Big Chris: That includes blasphemy as well!
Soap: A little bit of pain never hurt anybody, if you know what I mean.
Dog: What the fuck is that?
Mickey: It's me bren gun.
Dog: Couldn't you have thought of something more practical?
Barry the Baptist: Hello son, would you like a lolly?
Little Chris: Piss off, you nonce!
Dog: I'll find you... I'll find you.
Bacon: 'Course you will sweetheart!
[Ties Dog's hands behind him]
Dog: I'll find you.
Bacon: What d'you think this is? Fucking hide and seek?
Eddie: As you know this puts us in an awkward position... I don't have enough to continue.
Big Chris: [Big Chris has just explained that Eddie is in debt with Hatchet Harry] I understand if this has come as a bit of a shock. But let me tell you how this can be resolved by you, a good father.
JD: Go on.
Big Chris: He likes your bar.
Big Chris: He wants your bar.
Big Chris: Do you want me to draw you a picture?
Gary: I've just spent 120 quid on me hair. If you think I'm puttin a stockin over me head you're very much mistaken.
Big Chris: [after rear-ending Eddie outside of Harry's] You alright, mate?
[Spots the bag of money he just gave to Harry in Eddie's lap]
Big Chris: Cheeky bastard!
Eddie: I don't know. What I do know is there's no more Harry. Which means there's no more debt. And if there's no more debt, there's no more problem. And there's no problem with the neighbors... because they're all dead. And I think, if I get this right, we haven't done anything wrong... we're in the clear.
Soap: What do they say about assumption being the brother of all fuck-ups?
Tom: It's the mother of all fuck-ups, stupid!
Soap: Brother, mother, any other sucker. It don't make any difference. They're still fucking guns and they still fire fucking bullets!
Rory Breaker: You think this is a coincidence? This white shite steals my things and thinks that he can sell it back to me? He's got less brains than you, Lenny!
Nick the Greek: Just get me a sample.
Tom: No can do.
Nick the Greek: What's that? Some place near Katmandu? Meet me halfway, mate.
Tom: Look, it's all completely chicken soup.
Nick the Greek: It's what?
Tom: It's kosher. As Christmas.
Nick the Greek: The Jews don't celebrate Christmas, Tom.
Tom: There's no money, there's no weed. It's all been replaced by a pile of corpses.
"Hatchet" Harry: I don't want to know who you use, as long as they're not complete muppets.
Big Chris: All right, son: roll them guns up, count the money, and put your seat belt on.
[Discussing their careers as marijuana growers]
J: I've a strong suspicion we should have been rocket scientists, or Nobel Peace Prize winners or something.
Charles: Peace Prize? Ooh. Be lucky to find your penis for a piss, the amount you keep smoking.
Soap: Where the fuck are they going?... Shift a piano? I thought this was meant to be a robbery.
Eddie: Where did they get those outfits?
Dean: He's got the guns. Go ahead. You get them.
Gary: Why me?
Dean: You're supposed to be the hard case.
Gary: [shrieks] You get the guns. I drive the car!
Soap: Rory Breaker? That psychotic black dwarf with an Afro?
Tom: That would be the same man, yes.
[haggling with Tom]
Nick the Greek: What else does it come with?
Tom: It comes with a gold-plated Rolls Royce, as long as you pay for it.
[after shooting each other]
Gary: What the fuck are you doing here?
Barry the Baptist: What the FUCK are YOU doing here?
Rory Breaker: Get Nick, that greasy wop, shistos, pesevengi, gamouri Greek bastard, if he's stupid enough to still be on this planet.
Rory Breaker: Your stupidity may be your one saving grace.
Nick the Greek: Uuugh?
Rory Breaker: Don't "uuugh" me, Greek boy!
Barfly Jack: He then proceeds to order an Aristotle of the most ping-pong tiddly in the Nuclear sub.
Gary: So who's the gov'? Who we doing this for?
Barry the Baptist: You're doing it for me, that's all you need to know. You know because you need to know.
Gary: I see. One of them "on a need to know basis" things is it. Like one of them James Bond films.
Barry the Baptist: Careful. Remember who's giving you this job.
Don: I'll fold.
Phil: Fold? Is that the only word you learnt at school?
Don: No, I also learned the word cunt!
JD: I do know your reputation. So I choose my words very carefully. You tell Harry to go fuck himself.
Big Chris: Now... I'll put that on a shock. Only once.
Tom: They lack any kind of criminal credibility. I might get laughed at.
Barry the Baptist: [Barry's video monitor is cutting out] Come on! Not now, please, not...
[monitor goes black]
Barry the Baptist: Oh, you fucking bastard.
Paul: Come take a look at this.
Traffic Warden: Take a look at what, exactly?
Paul: Well, the van's half-full. So all I have to do is fill it up, put you in it,
[knocks him out]
Paul: and I'm off.
Tom: [after having just robbed Dog and his crew] Jesus, that wasn't too bad, was it?
Soap: When the bottle in my arse has contracted, I'll let you know.
Eddie: Bacon, see what we've got.
Bacon: Let's have a butcher's, eh?
[as he inspects their loot]
Bacon: We've hit the jackpot, lads! We've got God-knows-how-much of this stinking weed, a shitload of cash... and a traffic warden.
[Bacon holds up an unconscious man]
Tom: Jesus, Ed, we've got a traffic warden!
Bacon: I think he's still alive - he's got claret coming out of him somewhere. What did they want with a traffic warden?
Eddie: I don't know, but I don't think we need him! Knock him out and dump him at the lights!
Bacon: Knock him out? What'd ya mean, knock him out? Knock him out with what?
Eddie: I don't know! Use your imagination!
[Bacon punches the Traffic Warden, who moans in pain]
Tom: Don't touch him up! Knock him out!
Bacon: I'll knock you out in a minute! Look, you want to knock him out? *You* knock him out.
Eddie: I fucking hate traffic wardens.
[after a pause, Tom and Eddie jump into the back of the van with Bacon; all three proceed to batter the Traffic Warden senseless]
"Hatchet" Harry: It's about time you paid our young friends a visit, Chris. Today's the day and mum's the word, and I can't have that, can I?
Big Chris: No, 'Arry, you can't.
"Hatchet" Harry: I mean, it's a liberty. And I can't have liberties taken, can I, Barry?
Barry the Baptist: No, 'Arry, you can't.
"Hatchet" Harry: I mean, it's enough to give me the arsehole. And I can't have the arsehole, can I, boys?
Eddie: That's quite a raise. That's 150 on my 100.
"Hatchet" Harry: Yeah. And is there anything else you want to say?
Dean: [after seeing Gary holding a candle under the house owner's feet] Whoa, whoa Kenny! What are you doing?
Gary: I am trying to find out where they keep their money!
Dean: You twat! Can't you see these people have got no money? They can't even afford new furniture! We've got the guns, whats the matter with you? Everytime we do a job, you have to go burning people's feet, whats wrong with you?
Barry the Baptist: [answering his phone] What?
Dean: I thought you said there'd be no staff Barry!
Barry the Baptist: Did you get those guns?
Dean: You wanna see what they did to poor Gary?
[calling out to a delirious Gary]
Dean: Gary? Gary?
Barry the Baptist: I said, did you get those guns?
Dean: YES, WE GOT THEM!
Barry the Baptist: Good, I'll speak to you later
[hangs up the phone]
Dean: Gary, if you can hear me, get back in the car now mate okay?
[turning his attention back to Barry]
Dean: Barry? Barry? Fucking sodding shandy-drinking bastard!
Eddie: Tom, you take those guns and you throw them off a bridge.
Bacon: And throw yourself off while you're at it.
Soap: You mean to tell me that the only thing connecting us with the murders is in the back of your car which is parked outside?
Tom: They cost me 700 quid. I'm not just going to throw them away. They're hardly likely to trace 'em back to us, now are they?
Soap: You really think it's worth taking the risk for 700 pounds? Tom, you're a dick.
Tom: I want to look fucking mean!
Nick the Greek: Of course you'll look mean! You'll look really scary...
[about to kill Willie with a machete]
Mickey: It's time to say goodnight, nurse!
Dog: So we've got a bit of a problem, ain't we? In fact, this is a bit more than a bit of a problem. I'd say it's the Mount fucking Everest of problems! And the reason it's such a fucking monstrosity of a problem is, *you haven't got the first idea who did this to us, have ya*?
Plank: We've been up all night. It's no one from round here. We've had 'em all lined up against the wall. If it was a toerag from the manor, we'd know.
Dog: [screaming] You'd know? You'd fucking know? You wouldn't know if it was the next door *fucking* neighbours! Get out there and find them! I'm sick of the fucking sight of ya!
[Kicks Plank's head through a wall, revealing a set of listening equipment]
Dog: Golf - the best way to spoil a good walk. Winston Churchill said that. I say it's a dog-eat-dog world. And I got bigger teeth than you two.
Tom: This is fucked. No money. No weed. Its all been replaced by a pile of corpses.
[Having noticed the corpses of both Rory's gang and the neighbors]
Eddie: [Entering Harry's office with corpses lying around] Oh no. Not again.
Rory Breaker: We're gonna do a proper decoration job. I want the grey skies of London illuminated. I want that house painted red.
Mickey: How'd you think I'm doing? He's fucking nearly chopped my arm off.
[after being attacked by Willie with a machete]
Dean: We're in shit. They were his fucking guns we sold.
[Realising the guns he sold belonged to Harry]
JD: So, you in the clear? More importantly, am I?
Eddie: It appears so.
JD: Appears? You'd have to do better than fucking appears, my friend.
Eddie: Well everybody's dead, Dad. I think that's about as clear as it can get.
Don: Apparently it's for security.
[Explaining the boxing arena]
Eddie: The Traffic Warden identified the neighbours' bodies. Which sort of puts us in the clear. The only thing connecting us with the case is those shotguns.
Bacon: And Tom took care of them.
Soap: You did take care of the shotguns?
Tom: I wanted to talk to you about that?
Bacon: Well, talk.
Tom: Well, actually no. I've got them sitting in the car. I was gonna sell them back to Nick the Greek, but I'm having a bit of trouble getting hold of him.
Bacon: You dippy bastard.
Eddie: So... the only thing connecting us with the case, is in the back of your car which is parked outside?
Tom: They cost us 700 quid. I'm not gonna throw them away. And they're hardly likely to trace 'em back to us, are they?
Soap: Do you really think it's worth taking the risk for £700?
Eddie: Tom, you're a dick. Now you take those guns and you throw them off a bridge.
Bacon: And throw yourself off while you're at it.
Soap: I don't think it's the right move.
Eddie: It's either that, the old boy's place and we lose a digit daily. I'm gonna phone him.
Bacon: As if he'll care.
Eddie: He'll care alright, that was supposed to be his money. Whether he cares about us or not is different.
Lenny: Hang on a minute, Nathan. Something stinks.
Nathan: Yeah, your fucking aftershave.
Lenny: Fuck you, funny man.
J: For God's sake, help me. I'm in pain. I'm in so much pain!
Lenny: Go in slowly, Nathan.
Nathan: Fuck you, funny man. You go first.
Lenny: Just get the fuck in there, will you?
Dog: Where the fuck did she come from?
Dog: That is it. Tie her up. We're outta here.
Rory Breaker: What do you want, a medal? I'll shoot you in the fucking throat if I don't get my ganja back.
Nick the Greek: Is that you, Dean?
Dean: No, it's Lord fucking Lucan. Who do you think it is?
John: So they had the cash.
Paul: And the puff.
Dog: Cheeky bastards. Count it.
John: Shit, Dog. There's a lot. Don't you wanna do it next door?
Dog: We're not going next door until we flay them dead men walking.
Soap: [Looks through bag with £500,000 Eddy brought back] What is going on?
Winston: He's the one we shot in the neck.
[Referring to Plank]
Rory Breaker: Is that right, Mr. Botanical?
Bacon: I don't believe this. What the fuck has happened here?
[Looking through a window smashed during the shootout]
"Hatchet" Harry: How did you get your hands on these, then?
Big Chris: The boys had 'em. I know you like these sort of things, wondered if you wanted 'em.
"Hatchet" Harry: Yeah, I'll have 'em.
Barry the Baptist: Was it hard work getting the money?
Big Chris: Not especially. Upset a few characters, though.
"Hatchet" Harry: Have you counted it?
Big Chris: Yeah, it's all there to the pound.
"Hatchet" Harry: And they were gonna pay?
Big Chris: Looks like it. But who knows? The opportunity was there. In my experience, it's best to take that opportunity. If it's there.
"Hatchet" Harry: Good work, Chris.
Rory Breaker: Now watch out for these fellas. They've got a bit of an arsenal, and they don't mind using it.
"Hatchet" Harry: Yeah? That you, boy?
Eddie: It's Ed, if that's you mean.
"Hatchet" Harry: Pay day, ain't it?
Eddie: Yeah... I wanted to talk to you about that.
"Hatchet" Harry: I'll bet you do. I got half a million nicker sitting here, which means some poor sod doesn't. You've upset a few people, boy. But that really isn't my concern, is it? What does concern me, is the guns you had. I want to talk to you about that. So get your arse over here now. And I do mean now.