Fifty Dead Men Walking

His name is Martin McGartland...

and when I met him, he was an unemployed Catholic hood selling stolen goods.

Now, these are a guarantee for action, all for a couple of quid, like?

- Take yourself off. - Well, would you have a dollar?

See, now, I had you down for something a wee bit silky...

- Oh, not again. - Oh, come on, it's sexy...

Martin helped support his family. I liked that about him.

- We don't want any! - Wait, don't go!

Have any Hugo Boss?

- Only the entire line at my fingertips. - All right.

No, there's no way, man. No way.

Please?

Okay, I'll do you nine if you take the Hugo Boss for 10.

Done. Do you want to have a look, Lara?

You know I'm not.

Oh, thank God there's you and the Pope looking after our souls.

You seem to be under the wrong impression. These goods are not stolen.

They're... manufacturer overruns.

How about some shoes, Mrs. Flaherty? Like, I've got loads of shoes.

I can get you any shoes you like. Anything from this catalogue here.

There's no point in me looking, love.

Not that I care where it comes from.

Well, maybe next month.

Okay, well...

- Here, Mummy, can I have another tenner? - No, you cannot.

Oh, please?

What did you do with that 20 I last gave you? What did you do?

I don't know. It just adds up.

So if there's anything you need...

Jobs were generally controlled by the Protestants, which meant...

most of the young Catholic men were unemployed, and angry about it.

Martin and Sean have lived on the edge for so long...

they didn't know any other way.

No way, man. Who'd you kill for this, you wanker?

1800, twin cam, and up to 60 in seven seconds.

Outrun any peeler in the city.

The boot's a wee bit small, but it'll do. I can get you a deal anytime.

It's no use. I can't afford the petrol.

And that's where I come in.

I was a peeler. That's what they call the police in Belfast.

I was a Handler with the Special Branch. My codename was Fergus.

You see, by 1988, Belfast had been a battleground for 20 years.

The Irish Republican Army against Unionist Ulster Defense Force.

Both were illegal armies.

It was about freedom.

Police barricaded all roads leading to...

Unionists want Northern Ireland to stay as part of the United Kingdom.

Catholic Republicans want free of British rule.

Both sides were willing to kill for their cause.

By 1969, violence was so bad British troops were sent to keep the peace.

They've been there ever since.

To the IRA, they were also an occupying army.

B-20. We have a report of sniper fire.

- Thanks, love. - Two officers down.

Send available blue lights to Falls Road area.

This is B-20, out.

Is everybody all right?

- Outcome? - Result.

Six shots fired. Two officers down. Two casualties. I repeat...

Go on, you mad bastard. Tell the boys to pull out.

Six shots fired. Two officers down. Two casualties.

I repeat, two officers down. Send blue lights. Over.

K-9 response to Falls Road. Six shots fired.

Trying to locate gunman. Looks IRA.

We had real respect for the IRA as a military force.

We sealed the communities.

Protestants one side of the wall, Catholics on the other.

The reality was we couldn't stop what was happening...

because we didn't have the minds of the people.

In war, truth is the first casualty, and information is as powerful as bullets.

Growing up an Irish Catholic lad in a Republican community...

where police and security forces were not trusted, Martin had few choices.

What are you talking about? You've never done a day's work in your life...

But he was his own man, and that meant he had real potential to work with us.

I really don't think stealing cars is what you would call employment.

- You know what I mean? - It depends on how you look at it.

If the peelers catch you this time, that's it, man. You're fucked.

Sean, tell me you didn't steal that car.

I didn't steal that car.

I knew someone like him could make a real difference.

All I had to do was convince him.

Where you off to, lads?

Aye, we're just going to the shops, you know.

- All right. Name? - Mickey Mouse.

- Mickey, what street are you from? - Sesame Street.

No, it's Disneyland. Mickey Mouse is Disneyland.

Aye, right, Disneyland, eh?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, where are you going?

Didn't you hear him, man? We're, like we're just going to the shops a second.

Me sister's birthday's coming up. We're getting her a present. Is that okay?

- Just a wee bike, aye? - Name!

You fucking hard of hearing? Mickey Mouse.

What are you doing? What, are you going to shoot him, is that it?

Oh, now you're going to shoot me? First you, and now it's me?

Go ahead, man. Shoot.

Go on, man, fire away. Fucking shoot me, man.

Is someone going to do something about this psycho here?

It's all right. Put it down.

Wait! After them, lads!

Come on, move it!

Peelers!

This way, let's go!

Fuck!

Come on!

After doing 90 on the Shankill, your mate Sean spun out...

took off before the officers chasing him could say "wanker."

I gather you're in sales.

A bloke like you gets around the area.

Not me, man. I make it a point to see nothing.

How about easy cash...

the kind that doesn't see you going to jail for selling stolen goods?

I show you some faces, you tell us what you see them doing.

What makes you think that I would be a tout for anybody?

The comings and goings of neighbours is not exactly being an informer...

or a "tout", as you call it.

A car. No record.

Not even on police files yet.

Martin didn't go for any of our usual offers or threats.

He sold stolen goods in Catholic areas against strict IRA rules...

which were brutally enforced.

Are we done? Can I go now, please?

That meant he wasn't afraid of them.

All right. Thank you very much.

Which is why I also knew I could trust him.

Well?

I'll take him out on a road test.

If he's useless, I'll give him to MI5, tell them he's bloody brilliant.

Jeez, Paddy. You watching your family videos again?

Ray here came by to make your acquaintance.

Marty's been working for me. Like I say, he's a good lad.

- Is he? - Fuck this.

Didn't have anything on you, did they? Here you go, Paddy.

Oh, Jesus. How you doing, Ray?

So, Martin, Sean here says you're a good man.

Look, man, I didn't see nothing.

That's true, you didn't, and you'll do well to remember that.

I know your ma. She's a good woman.

- Thanks for what you did today. - Aye, no problem.

We'll not forget it.

Aye.

Sean, man, how do you know him? He's IRA.

- Is he now? - Yeah, he is.

Where's me money?

Paddy, is there any chance of getting a pair of these, like, in black?

Size eight?

Please, God, no, it's a pipe. It's just a pipe! The bathroom's just upstairs.

Do I look like I shot anybody?

What reason could you have to search my house for guns?

- I live here, okay? - Two officers have just been shot.

What else do I need know?

Where were you two hours ago?

I was playing football, man. Where were you?

- Bullshit! - Don't! Don't!

I didn't raise you to be thick as a plank!

Listen. If I find out you were anywhere near this trouble...

I'll drag you to the police myself!

But I had nothing to do with it!

Evil can only do its work if decent ordinary people turn a blind eye...

- even if only for a moment. - Keep searching!

He's made an impression on the IRA, for sure, right up the line.

From here on, I'm out.

Can't figure out what you'd want with a 10p hood like him.

What's this? Huh? What's this?

What, you were heading round your Ma's house and doing a wee bit of fixing?

Wouldn't be for stealing cars, would it? Not our Frankie.

Breaking into people's houses? Yeah? Yeah?

Joyriding their cars? Now I'm hearing about drugs?

These are crimes against the community, and you've been found guilty.

It's not me. I swear.

What?

Help, help!

Fuck!

What the...

Fucking shit, is that it? Well, you're one lucky fucker, Frankie.

If I'd have brought my.097, your football career would've been done for.

You want this lying down or standing up?

- Standing. - Right.

No! Fucking leave him! Leave him!

- My jeans! - Fuck your jeans.

The peelers mightn't give a shit about our community...

and how you wankers like you who fuck it up for everyone, but we do, so...

thank God for the IRA.

Fucking bastard!

Frankie! That's my brother!

That's my wee brother! Frankie!

Funny coincidence running into you, huh?

Frankie! Frankie...

That's for getting involved in something that doesn't concern you.

I'm assuming you have no plans for this evening...

because there's somebody who wants to meet you.

Fucking bastards!

Fred, Fred?

Do you know that kid, Martin McGartland? Well, I've taken a special interest.

Goddamn it. That's been less than 10 minutes.

Who told you about the meeting going down with Mickey Johnson?

Just lose the file.

- And not a word to anyone, right? - Yeah, right.

Jesus Christ.

Sorry about the drama. You've got to be careful.

Would you get us some ice and a tea towel there, love?