MobLand

- Kev. - Richie's coming

for all of us.

What's happened?

Harry's found Tommy.

Jesus Christ.

How much did he pay you?

Ten grand.

He's a fucking liar.

Congratulations.

You've started a war.

Did Eddie kill Tommy Stevenson?

Richie'll believe what I want Richie to believe.

We do have an option.

It might work.

- Go on. - We've got Valjon, ain't we?

Thank you for bringing this man to me.

You can go now.

I'm gonna talk to our friend here.

Very, very thoroughly.

And if I find a single crack in his story,

the slightest flicker of doubt,

then you'll hear from me again.

He buy it?

I don't know.

Main switchboard just received an anonymous call.

It's about the location of Archie Hammond's body.

Hello, Archie.

Morning, sunshine.

You've got something that I want.

You've got my memory stick.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Oh, yeah? Come on, let me help you up. Up you get.

You've probably not done this before, yeah? But I have.

Let me tell you how it goes, yeah?

Normally, I'll take a blunt object, right?

And I'll smash your fucking teeth out,

and I'll break your ribs, I'll break your legs,

your forearm, yeah?

Take your fucking kneecaps off and smash both your feet.

So why don't you save yourself a week in intensive care

and just give me what I want?

Yeah.

Thank you. Can I have the copy please?

No, that's all there is.

Do you like hospital food?

Do you?

Thank you.

All right. Now, listen.

There will be no more shenanigans, dealings,

meetings, anything, with Bella Harrigan.

- Yeah? - Yeah.

Okay.

Have a lovely day.

Are you a rich man?

Come again.

Keep the stick, but this deal goes ahead.

Step back, and...

this is yours.

Fucking hell, how much is that?

- It's 40,000. - 40,000?

That's my mortgage that, mate.

If I was really flash, that'd be, like, a couple weeks in-in the Maldives for that.

Wow.

What would you choose? Mortgage or Maldives, mate?

Well...

Fuck!

I'm not here for bribes.

I'm here to get assurances.

That is yours. Yeah?

Speak.

All right.

For fuck's sake, Harry.

C-Can I help you?

Oh, hello. I'm, um, I'm a friend of Mike's.

Oh, Mike's away. And, uh, Wendy's...

Yeah, in Spain. Yeah. I'm-I'm here

with my wife and daughter. We're looking after his kittens.

Got it.

- What's your name? - Oh. Karen.

- Good luck. - Thank you.

You scared the life out of me.

It's nice here, innit? Ooh, what's that smell?

Kitten shit.

- Where've you been? - Busy.

- Last night, where were you? - What'd you mean?

I mean, Harry, where did you sleep?

Oh, Jesus, Jan, I'd love a cup of tea. Thank you.

- Harry. - Nowhere.

- Nowhere? - Yeah.

I haven't even been to bed yet.

- So where've you been? - Working.

You disappear, we have to move, then you show up in the morning like nothing's happened.

I'll tell you what. Why don't you go out there and sit in the sunshine, yeah?

And I'll make you a lovely cup of tea.

How about that?

Ah. Any joy?

Uh, nothing. Nary a bite.

Better luck next time.

- I did get a phone call. - Hmm?

Mm. From our tame undertaker,

Parlor Pete.

What did he have to say for himself?

Seems they've found Archie.

I'll put the kettle on.

That's a good idea. Come on, you.

Here we go.

Four nights ago, Eddie Harrigan murdered Tommy Stevenson.

Yeah.

Eddie stabbed Tommy 60 times,

and then he paid this bloke Valjon to chop him up.

Ow.

Richie Stevenson,

Tommy's dad, right? He gave me 24 hours to find Tommy.

Eddie's denying it, Kevin's gone berserk.

Next thing, I get a call to say that Conrad's

only gone and shot his childhood friend Archie, ain't he?

In front of the whole family. Stone dead.

Mm. So I go up, clean up,

come back, get pinched, get out,

by which time, it's a bit too late for Tommy.

Richie loses his shit,

blows up Kev's gaff.

I pick you up and come here. Head back to the yard,

and I manage to convince Valjon to take the fall

for Tommy's murder.

I drive him over to Richie's,

which is where he's at right now.

Oh, by the way, I managed to talk the old people's home

into giving a bed for Maria's mum.

Harry...

In 20-odd years of being together...

...we've firmly established three things.

One, I fucking hate cats.

Two, I can't swim.

Three...

I don't want to know what you do all day.

I don't care if you're a doctor,

a dustman, or a window cleaner.

Your work is your work.

I don't like it. I live with it.

Harry.

I want to go home.

Well, go pack a bag.

How did you get them to do it?

What? Valjon?

No.

The home.

How'd you get them to take Maria's mum?

Well, that's my job, isn't it?

Are they sure?

- Sure what? - That it's Archie.

It's Archie.

Yeah, but are you 100% sure, Conrad?

They found him in a box with a little old Scottish lady,

in Archie's clothes, with Archie's hands,

Archie's fingerprints, Archie's DNA!

In the exact same fucking spot they were tipped off!

I'm no expert, but it sounds a lot like Archie.

Paul, wait out in the corridor, would you please?

Course.

Archie may have been a grass,

but Archie never tipped off where Archie's body was.

Someone who was there that night,

someone other than Archie, is a rat.

Anybody who was here that night could've told the police,

and there's only two people who know where Archie was buried.

- Who? - Me and Harry.

- So, Archie gets done... - Mm-hmm.

...Harry takes his body to the parlor

and stuffs him in with Mrs. McFuckface.

What happens next?

Harry gets called back in.

Like, mad fast.

The next morning.

Hmm.

- It's not Harry. - Come on, Con.

It's a perfect cover.

- It's not Harry. - Well, who the fuck is it, then?

It's... not... Harry.

You told me only two people knew, you and Harry.

I'm assuming it's not you.

Paul!

Yes, Conrad?

I need you to do something for me.

So, where are we?

Tenterhooks, mate.

No word from Richie?

Nothing.

And right now, they'll be grilling Valjon.

What if he breaks?

Then all bets are off, aren't they?