Gangster No. 1

What, with Scotland Yard breathing down me neck?

Fuck off!

Do me a favour.

Solomons.

That was round the back, wasn't it? Yeah, down that alley.

We went there to meet what's his name? Mickey? Mick?

Mikey?

No. Harry....

Oh fuck.

- Not Harry Michaels? - That was it!

Harry Michaels. Harry fucking Michaels.

Of course it was. Harry Michaels.

What was it about?

Didn't he have some kind of problem?

What the fuck is he going on about?

No, his brother had a record business. Funny sort of name.

- I can see it spinning round. - They usually do, Dodgy.

Here, someone take him home.

Barry! That was it. Barry.

Deram Records.

- What the fuck am I talking about? - I'm fucked if I know.

You wouldn't think he'd just got out the clinic.

Is he losing it?

- Fucking senile, ain't he? - He's an old cunt.

Here, you'll never guess who I bumped into the other day.

- Larry Lord! - Old Lordy?

He ain't half put on weight. Cor blimey!

Fat as a pig.

Here.

Talking of golden oldies...

...Freddie Mays is getting out next week.

Be good to see old Freddie again after.... What is it?

Thirty years.

Thirty years?

That's a bit of a stretch, ain't it?

- Lock up your daughters. - Lock up your granny more like!

Hello. Where's he gone?

You haven't invited that cunt to the party, have you?

Do me a favour!

You done well for yourself, didn't you?

Come here, pops.

Here you are, granddad.

Go get yourself a nice bird.

What do you take me for?

A cunt?

This is 1968.

I'm playing Jack-the-lad at snooker when all of a sudden Fat Charlie's come in.

Not that he was fat, 'cause he wasn't. He was skinny.

But he was called fat 'cause his mum was fat.

And it's how he was distinguished from the other Charlie, Skinny Charlie.

Now he was fat, but it was too late by then to swap it around.

Anyway, he says to me:

Go and see Freddie Mays.

Fucking hell! My heart was going mad.

Freddie Mays.

Freddie Mays, "The Butcher of Mayfair."

The man was a legend.

He'd only done a copper in Bethnal Green and got away with it for fuck's sake!

That's how you get to the top: Kill a bent cop. Make a splash.

After that Freddie was king.

What a place!

A fucking palace.

In he came.

There he was in those handmade Italian leather shoes, silk socks.

The suit? Do me a favour. The man was class. A class act.

What a man.

I mean a real man.

- All right, how are you doing? - Yeah, good.

- Do you want a drink? - Yeah.

'Cause you look a bit scared, son. Are you scared?

No.

Scared?

I didn't need a drink. I was drunk enough.

Drunk on the smell of Italian leather.

Arse-holed on the smell of success.

I hear you've been hanging around with Mad John.

Yeah.

This incident last week. Apparently you handled yourself quite well.

Yeah.

- Trevor heard that as well, didn't you? - Yeah.

- He thinks you're a bit of a laugh, I think. - Does he?

He's a bit of a wide boy, our Trevor. Bit of an independent thinker.

Enjoys taking the piss. The things he gets up to.

You see, when you work for me you do things my way.

There's no going behind my back. There's no going out on your own.

And there's no independent fucking thinking.

Fuck!

Freddie.

Because it irks me.

I can't fucking see.

Yeah. That's the word, "irks."

Anyway...

...it appears we have a vacancy.

You're in, son.

Straight off he gives me £500.

£500 in my hands! I mean, this is 1968.

And do me a favour. Take out the rubbish.

And get yourself kitted out.

There we were, suited up. Wasted on these fucking toe-rags.

- Come here, you cunt! - Come here, boy!

Come here, cunt!

No!

- Give me till next Thursday, please. - Thursday never fucking comes!

"Give me till next Thursday"? Slags.

It's pathetic. Fucking excuses. All sorts!

From "A" to "Z." The whole alphabet.

Jokers.

Two minutes later they're in the Green Man giving it the big 'un...

...like you're Harry the spastic or something.

Hold him.

- Wait a minute! What's the problem? - You are!

- Still, nothing I can't fix with a few tools. - Come on, don't do anything stupid.

What, like wasting my time speaking to an arsehole like you?

Remember the last time we went through all this?

That put a smile on your face, didn't it?

Leather seats? You want to open the windows in this weather.

Freddie, come on. It's not even my taxi.

It's not even my fucking taxi, you bastard!

Get off me. What are you looking at?

Freddie, don't fucking do it, you bastard!

What are you looking at?

What is it with you Cockneys?

There you go. I've got the name of a bloke who'll take a look at that for you.

Now let's see that money.

By tomorrow.

- Come on! - Freddie!

You cunt!

Get back to work, you lazy cunt!

No, please!

Now, let's get this car back on the road.

Come on, Freddie. No, please!

Stop! No!

Now, Giggler, you stay lucky.

Get it off me!

- You all right? - Yeah.

Nice.

Very nice.

Creative.

Like that. Deserves a drink. What are you having?

Put it on. Here we go.

Is it on? Here we go.

Go on, Billy.

My old woman loves this one. Pity she ain't here.

I like that.

Nice bit of bubbly, darling?

Not right now.

It's good for the fucking carpet, ain't it?

Charlie, you got no sausage rolls?

He's all right.

Hold tight.

All together now.

If we had a good day, well, we always had a good day...

...we'd end up at Fat Charlie's.

The whole gang of us.

There was Mad John.

Yeah, well, he was really mad.

Billy, not-so-smart.

Roland, always with two birds.

Derek, one would do for him.

Eddie. Poor little Eddie.

And Tommy, Freddie's old house pet.

Happy as fucking monkeys in a cage.

Shag pile and Babycham.

No ambition. Not like Freddie.

Not like me.

Yeah?

Shut up a minute.

Turn that fucking music off!

Eddie! Turn it off!

- What? - Turn the music up, Eddie.

- Turn the music on now, man. - He's on the phone.

Right.

Boys, get in the car.

The club is on fire.

- Did he say the club's on fire? - See you later.

Fucking hell. Come on, Derek. Let's get a move on.

Derek, come on!

- How long you been here? - Just got here. Just pulled up.

- Do you see anyone? - No.

- No one on the door? - Supposed to be Joe. Didn't turn up.

I don't know where he is.

- Everyone get out all right? - Yeah, I think so.

Tell him.

I'm really sorry.

What's Freddie going to do? Take it out of your bleeding wages, girl? Tell him.

There were two of them. Table six.

Ordered champagne. They didn't eat nothing.

Couple of minutes after they left....

Lennie Taylor.

Regulars, were they?

All right. It was an oversight. She's obviously paid for it.

All right, angel, try and describe them.

What the hell is he up to?

Lennie Taylor's goons...

...torching our club.

Lennie Taylor, you cunt. Think you're better than Freddie Mays?

Lennie fucking Taylor.

You little piece of dead meat.

Pea-brained little fuck!

What did I say?