Чёрная рубашка

РАНЕЕ В СЕРИАЛЕ

С тех пор, как вы начали строить империю,

у вас был костыль,

на который вы опирались.

Клянусь богом:

я отомщу Томми Шелби.

Это, друг мой, лучший опиум в мире.

Надеюсь, мы встретимся после разговора

с Джеком Нельсоном — дядей твоей жены.

Томми Шелби хочет

вести дела с Джеком Нельсеном?

Поговори со своим дядей,

чтобы он меня отсюда вытащил.

Если он не хочет покупать мой опиум,

я продам его евреям восточного Бостона.

Я по поводу Руби. Ей плохо.

Я возвращаюсь домой.

В этой семье

будет война, один из вас умрёт.

Ты был занят тем,

что наказывал людей, которые её убили.

Как семья?

Папочка!

Привет, Руби.

Иди сюда.

Дай на тебя посмотреть.

Я скучал по тебе. Так скучал.

Чёрная мадонна.

Какие подарки ты нам привёз, папа?

Сынок.

Ей уже лучше, Томми.

Ты зря вернулся.

Но я рада, что ты здесь.

Так, прежде чем делать что-то,

мы поедем кататься, хорошо?

— Поехали.

— А я?

Да, ты тоже, давай.

Куда едем?

Я попросил водителя

отвезти нас к доктору Роберту.

— Хочу, чтобы он осмотрел Руби.

— Зачем, любимый?

Приём через час.

Либо оставайся, либо едем с нами.

Ладно.

Так, поехали.

ОСТРЫЕ КОЗЫРЬКИ

6 СЕЗОН, 2 СЕРИЯ

САНАТОРИЙ ШЕЛБИ ДЛЯ БОЛЬНЫХ ДЕТЕЙ

УЧРЕЖДЁН 12 ИЮНЯ 1930 ГОДА ТОМАСОМ ШЕЛБИ

НИКТО ИЗ ВХОДЯЩИХ НЕ ДОЛЖЕН ПЛАТИТЬ.

ТЕМ, КТО МОЖЕТ ЗАПЛАТИТЬ, ВХОД ВОСПРЕЩЁН.

Томми?

Да.

Всё хорошо. Всё в порядке.

Какое облегчение.

— Какое облегчение.

— Да.

Водитель подгонит машину.

Папочка.

Привет.

Иди сюда.

Когда ты в последний раз спал?

Почти не спал с момента

нашего последнего телефонного разговора.

Теперь ты знаешь,

что Руби в порядке, можешь поспать.

Да.

Лиззи, я очень рад,

осмотр Руби прошёл хорошо.

Но ты всё равно не отправишься спать.

Я поговорю с Джонни,

поговорю с Эсмеральдой.

Мы могли бы быть в отпуске.

Могли бы быть в горах в Америке.

Это невозможно.

Человек, с которым у меня дела,

едет в Лондон. Мне нужно быть там.

От этого не убежать.

Мы сбежим, Лиззи.

Осталось совершить последнюю сделку.

Это будет сложно.

Трудности вполне ожидаемы.

Вот почему я должен

двигаться от пункта к пункту.

Ты чувствуешь это?

Чувствуешь хоть что-то?

Знаешь, ты говоришь так, будто

наблюдаешь происходящее на экране.

Когда приедем домой… Вот вернёмся домой,

отдадим детей Фрэнсис

и ляжем с тобой в постель.

И я буду следующим пунктом.

— Вот как это ощущается, Томми.

— Да.

Всё по списку.

— Привет, детка.

— Когда мы поедем домой?

Томми? Томми!

Томми! Что произошло?

Блядь, блядь.

Блядь.

Томми. Вот так, держу.

Что случилось?

Томми.

Прошло четыре года,

один месяц и шесть дней

с тех пор, как я не пью.

Моё сознание чисто.

Я в себе.

Это впервые?

Раз было на корабле. Не так сильно.

Томми…

тебе нужно к доктору.

Мне нужно работать.

Эта работа и виновата.

Люди, с которыми ты встречаешься,

вся ложь, которую говоришь.

Надо продолжать,

пока не решим дело в Бостоне.

Потом отдохнём.

Потом Острые козырьки, мать их, отдохнут.

Товарищи, прежде чем

мы закончим эту встречу

и отправим вас под дождь…

ЛЕЙБОРИСТСКАЯ ПАРТИЯ ЮЖНОГО БИРМИНГЕМА

…у нас есть сюрприз.

Он только что вернулся

из торговой поездки в Америку.

Он вернулся раньше

и настоял на личном

обращении к волонтёрам.

Товарищи,

Представитель Южного

Бирмингема от партии лейбористов,

мистер Томас Шелби, член парламента,

кавалер ордена Британской империи.

ТИШИНА

Я привёз с собой, поездом из Лондона

сообщение из Вестминстера.

Нет-нет-нет, не сообщение.

Не сообщение.

А инструкцию.

Вы должны молчать.

И ничего не говорить.

Ничего не говорить

о текущей ситуации в городе.

Не говорить о голоде.

Не говорить про работу.

Не говорить про оплату.

Но те, кто на более зелёных пастбищах,

вот они могут говорить.

Они могут повышать голоса.

Но здесь, в дыму — вы, мужчины и женщины,

ирландцы, итальянцы

и англичане, поддерживающие социалистов…

И даже ваши коты, собаки и канарейки.

Вы должны молчать.

Потому что король,

вся его конница и вся его рать

хотят, чтобы вы молчали.

Но именно вы, друзья мои, страдаете

от урезания зарплаты,

унижения и очернения.

И вы не должны жаловаться,

потому что это было бы непатриотично.

Вы, солдаты, что воевали во Франции —

станете предателями, если заговорите.

Вы, ветераны их войн, взлётов и падений

должны принимать на себя удары

и нести бремя ради тех,

кто на более зелёных

пастбищах и рявкают вам:

«Молчать».

Но знаете что, товарищи…

Я не стану молчать.

Только не этот англичанин.

Тишины от меня не получат.

Тишины от меня не будет,

потому что я слышу

ваши голоса, когда вы приходите ко мне

и рассказываете,

как плачут ваши голодные дети.

Я соберу их плач воедино,

возьму с собой на поезд до Вестминстера

и выпущу его в Палате общин,

и пусть только попробуют его заглушить!

…разве это не предполагает

разделение бремени?

Каждому из нас полагается кусок пирога.

В конце концов, это мы печём пироги,

производим машины и плавим метал.

А король, раз уж зашла о нём речь —

Человек, который заказал всё это,

разве не должен и он

в чём-то себя ограничить?

Принять часть ударов?

Часть боли? Да или нет?

Да!

Тише.

Тише, работники и работницы.

Молчите.

Отлично.

Поберегите свои голоса.

Они вам понадобятся

в субботу, когда мы соберёмся

на рынке Булл-ринг…

И вместе мы сорвём крышу,

мы нарушим проклятую тишину

и свергнем гнилое правительство!

Томми! Томми!

Томми! Томми!

Благодарю.

Лора Макки.

Командир батальона,

отделение ИРА в Фермана.

Вы пропустили первый и второй акт.

Спасибо, что пришли, мистер Шелби.

Вам спасибо. Спасибо.

Третьего акта было достаточно.

У вас есть причины меня ненавидеть

и желать мести за убийство

Цыганская традиция.

Мы не упоминаем

имён покойных при посторонних.

Лора Макки,

в семье Шелби

деловые вопросы важнее мести.

Те, кто уже не с нами,

поняли бы и одобрили.

Пойдём, парни.

Мы договаривались

встретиться в людном месте.

В публичности нет нужды.

Вы нужны нам живой.

Дамы вперёд.

ВИНОКУРНЯ ШЕЛБИ

Знаете, мистер Шелби,

хоть мы и сотрудничаем довольно долго,

но ещё никогда

не встречались лицом к лицу.

Вы говорили со страстью и состраданием.

Вам ведомо прощение,

а пьёте вы воду.

Тем не менее, я слышала

от многих надёжных источников,

что у вас репутация

человека с порочной моралью.

«Порочная мораль».

Хорошее имя для скакуна.

Вы не знаете, что это значит?

Я знаю, что это значит.

Это значит «наёбывать людей».

Что я наёбываю людей, и мне насрать.

Это значит завидовать, воровать

и плевать на принципы

ради личной выгоды.

Но я меняюсь, Лора Макки,

как и моя организация.

Так что случилось в Бостоне?

Джек Нельсон отказал.

И с каких пор вы принимаете отказы?

Вот письма, написанные

Джеку Нельсону и им самим

за последние три месяца.

Это…

Это личные письма

от президента Соединённых Штатов.

Где, чёрт возьми, вы их взяли?

Мой скакун, Порочная Мораль —

лишь один из многих в моей конюшне.

Иногда я им пользуюсь,

если на то есть уважительная причина.

Джек Нельсон едет в Лондон.

Официально он приедет закупать

лицензии на импорт спиртных напитков.

Неофициально — он собирает данные.

Он едет, чтобы измерить силу

поддержки фашизма в Великобритании.

И доложит об этом президенту.

И что это нам даёт?

В этом письме своему сыну

Джек Нельсон выражает

мощную поддержку фашизма.

А в этом письме берлинскому другу

он говорит кое-какие

интересные вещи про евреев.

Он едет в Европу не для сбора данных.

А чтобы найти доказательства,

что фашизм победит.

И мы с вами поможем ему в этом.

Я думала, вы социалист.

Что ж…

С тех пор, как я пришёл в политику,

я понял, что линия не идёт

от середины ровно влево или вправо.

Она идёт по кругу.

Я покажу.

Если идти достаточно далеко влево,

в конце концов встретите того,

кто шёл достаточно далеко вправо,

чтобы попасть в ту же самую точку.

Социалисты, как я,

националисты, вроде вас.

И что в результате?

Национал-соционализм.

А я вот тут…

в середине.

Просто человек, пытающийся

честно жить в очень мрачном мире.

У вас есть друзья в Дублине, Лора Макки,

которые активно борются

за фашистскую Ирландию.

Вы действуете от их имени, верно?

Когда Джек Нельсон приедет в Лондон,

я могу предоставить ему

доступ к Освальду Мосли

и прочим сочувствующим

фашизму как в Палате общин,

так и в Палате лордов,

по обе стороны баррикад.

Фашизм очень популярен

среди элиты.

И с вашей помощью

я могу предложить ему Дублин.

И вы думаете, что это позволит

поставлять наш товар в Бостон?

Возможно.

Возможны и иные выгоды для вашего дела.

Всё, что вам нужно сделать,

это встретиться с Джеком Нельсоном,

поговорить с ним

об очередной «эпохе расцвета»

и позволить воткнуть

булавку в карту Ирландии

для президента Соединённых Штатов.

Я пришла забрать Артура и уложить его.

Нашла его в баре со шприцем в руке.

«Друг любит во всякое время

и, как брат, явится во время несчастья».

Книга притчей, глава 17, стих 17.

У меня два нуждающихся брата,

но твоё дело срочное, Томми.

Пойдёшь со мной?

Так что, Лаура Макки,

поможете мне изменить мир?

Мистер Шелби, не этого

я ожидала от нашей встречи.

Всегда так.

Так «да» или «нет»?

Мой ответ: «Да».

Все всегда отвечают «да».

Задняя дверь не заперта.

Выход найдёте сами.

И расскажите своим друзьям,

что Томми Шелби изменился.

Где он?

Когда я его нашла, шприц был пуст.

Он спал на мостовой.

Чёрт, Томми, чёрт подери.

Всё под контролем, Эйда.

У меня, блядь, ничего не под контролем.

Я не как ты, Томми. И не как Полли.

Хотя я пытаюсь.

Она бы положила этому конец.

Мы вытянем Артура.

Я говорю не про Артура, а про тебя.

Я слышала всё, что ты там говорил.

Эйда, этим мы со всем покончим, слышишь?

Это выход для всех нас.

И в процессе я сделаю всё правильно.

Нет, в процессе ты заработаешь

охуительную прорву денег.

Ладно, справедливо.

Любые случайные награды

за мою работу приветствуются.

Но и ты получишь

свою честную долю, сестрёнка.

А находясь среди фашистов,

будучи в их рядах,

я смогу им навредить.

Полли бы одобрила.

Под всем золотом, бриллиантами

и чёртовыми норками да кружевом

она была упёртой социалисткой.

Слушай, я знаю, что слишком поздно, Том,

но эта вот дверь…

Это всё та же дверь.

Мы приходили сюда за пивом для отца,

и мы были так малы,

что ведро приходилось нести вдвоём.

Да, я помню.

И взгляни-ка на нас.

Да.

Да уж, блядь, только взгляни.

Хорошенько взгляни, Том,

потому что кое-кто из нас

надолго тут не задержится.

Блядь, опиум и президенты!

Эйда, если не хочешь

помогать мне нести ведро,

я не стану тебя винить.

Но это моя миссия.

И предел мне будет неведом.

Где ты, Том?

Старший братик?

Знаешь, раньше ты заходил сюда и смеялся.

Ты вообще помнишь это место?

Теперь ты приходишь в бар,

будто чужой, попивая дурацкую воду.

Но я жив, Эйда.

Да.

И по-прежнему ищешь

неприятностей, способных тебя уничтожить.

Ну…

думаю, ты их нашёл.

У меня дети, Томми.

Тебе придётся нести ведро в одиночку.

Один брат валяется

полумёртвый под дождём в переулке,

а второму «неведомы пределы».

Меня ожидают.

Мистер Соломонс больше не приемлет

курение табака в своём присутствии.

Я всегда думал, что опера —

это когда толстые люди тупо кричат.

Да? А теперь как считаешь?

Я считаю, звук тенора полон страсти,

он напоминает мне

крики итальянских солдат,

когда в них был всажен мой штык.

С тех пор, как я умер,

этот звук меня преследует.

Батюшки…

Но вместо борьбы

с этими голосами, я решил

записать их песнь,

превратить их в собственную оперу.

А вот этого не надо.

Нет-нет, разве тебе не сказали?

Мне по здоровью не положено.

Я лишь знаю, Алфи…

что ты отошёл от дел

и проводишь дни в одиночестве,

одержимый оперными певцами.

Опера — это тебе не блядское пение.

Это не пение.

Это звук, производимый

прежде, чем что-либо сказать.

И я не разрешаю курить, ведь мне

нужно охуительно чистое сознание,

понятно?

Ты что, полагаешь этого еврея слабым?

Никакой слабости, Алфи, нет.

Это знаю это наверняка.

С тех пор, как ты засел

здесь писать свои оперы,

член твоей семьи умер.

Чарльз Соломонс. Твой дядя.

Он заправлял наркотиками,

бутлегерами, проститутками,

игорными синдикатами

из восточного Бостона.

Но в январе прошлого года беднягу Чарли…

пристрелили в «Коттон-клабе»,

в сортире, и ты знаешь

тех, кто это сделал.

И ты ничего не предпринял, Алфи.

Моя опера называется «Америка».

«Америка» — это, сука, мой шедевр!

Правда в том, что твой дядя мёртв.

Бостон не вернуть, а ты —

когда-то «важный дядя»,

который управлял Камденом —

не способен потушить сигарету.

Не говоря уже о чужой жизни.

— Тебе нужна помощь, Алфи.

— Мне нужен чёртов финальный акт.

Просто последний акт для моей оперы.

Алфи, думаю,

я уже написал твой последний акт.

Почему бы тебе

не присесть и не послушать?

У меня лежит пять тонн

чистого, первосортного опиума

на одном из моих складов в Ливерпуле.

У меня есть безопасное

хранилище у берегов Канады.

У меня есть те, кто готов

распространять его в Торонто,

Квебеке, Нью-Йорке и Бостоне.

Моментальный доход,

способный изменить баланс сил

в Бостоне в пользу семьи Соломонс.

В финальном акте,

который я тебе предлагаю, Алфи,

ты совершаешь отмщение.

Почему продаёшь?

С ирландцами сложно.

Итальянцы не вариант.

К тому же, Алфи, ты мой друг.

— Расчёт в кредит?

— Нет.

Я возьму недвижимостью.

Тебе принадлежит

половина складов в Камдене.

Я их снесу и построю дома

для тех, кто нуждается и заслуживает.

Да, что ж…

С ирландцами всегда

было сложно, разве нет, Томми?

Уже лет 700 как.

Я однажды видел, как ирландец ругался

со статуей Оливера Кромвеля

на Парламентской площади.

Спор продолжался довольно долго.

Уже наступила ночь,

и его тихий голос эхом отзывался

по всему парламенту, а он всё сильнее

и сильнее злился

на нежелание Оливера Кромвеля

отвечать на его обоснованные вопросы.

В итоге он так разозлился, что вломил

статуе прямо по носу и сломал себе руку.

В этом вся суть темы с ирландцами.

Как можно столько помнить

о том, что было 200 лет назад,

и не помнить,

что произошло буквально накануне.

Сколько за тонну?

Джонни?

Всего лишь я.

Джек сказал, ещё пару недель —

— и ты будешь свободен.

— Когда отправляешься в Лондон?

Завтра.

Я пришла попрощаться.

Когда будешь в Лондоне,

держись подальше от дьявола.

Заткни уши, если понадобится.

Я буду с тобой, Майкл.

Я думала о тебе.

Только о тебе.

И не волнуйся о Томми Шелби.

Меня не интересует этот покойник.

Джек говорит, он должен умереть.

Скажи Джеку подождать.

Если кто и убьёт Томми Шелби…

Это сделаешь ты. Знаю.

Я сказала Джеку.

Он сказал: «Хорошо,

пусть парнишка этим займётся».

Взамен он заберёт деньги,

которых не получит Томми.

Пять миллионов долларов.

Дьявол умрёт.

Будущее принадлежит нам.

Ах да, и Майкл…

Каждую ночь,

в полночь по Бостону,

в пять утра по Лондону

я буду не спать

в своей огромной кровати,

а ты будешь не спать в тюремной камере.

Наши души найдут друг друга,

и так мы будем трахаться.

Мне не понадобится будильник.

А ты не уснёшь, пока я не кончу.

Полночь будет трахать пять утра.

Каждую ночь.

Потому что мы доверяем друг другу.

Ты предатель, Шелби! Чёртов паршивец!

Темнее.

Больше синего.

Резче.

И снизу тоже.

Дорогая, как тебе?

Выглядишь устрашающе, любимый.

К чёрту помаду.

Весело.

Чтобы спустить корабль.

Это долгий и ужасный путь, Диана.

Не подведи меня, чёрт подери.

Мистер Шелби! Газета «Daily Mirror».

Руки!

Почему депутат-социалист

идёт на фашистский митинг, сэр?

Пустите его, я отвечу на вопрос.

Наши с мистером Мосли

избиратели граничат между собой.

Мы уже работали вместе.

Когда-то он сам был социалистом.

Моя роль сегодня вечером — стать мостом

между идеологиями.

Я посредник.

Мистер Шелби, раньше вы выступали

с мистером Мосли на одной трибуне.

— Вы выйдете сегодня на сцену?

— Нет.

Я здесь, чтобы напомнить

моему другу мистеру Мосли,

что британцы предпочитают компромиссы.

Можешь так и напечатать.

Чёртова подстилка.

Лиззи, ты должна знать,

что жена Мосли умерла полгода назад.

Выкажи соболезнования, хорошо?

Сегодня он будет с любовницей.

Она, по-видимому, женщина с титулом…

Утешила его в час скорби.

Отъебись, тупой ублюдок!

— Уйди с дороги.

— Что Артур тут делает?

Мосли его пригласил. Я согласился.

Артур дал мне обещание,

которое, судя по всему, не сдержал.

Пустите. Пустите, блядь, говорю!

Я пытался изо всех сил.

— Он спрятал дурь в носке.

— Ладно.

Отвали!

— Томми, братишка.

— Давай, пойдём внутрь. Давай-ка.

Томми, скажи, чтобы отвалили.

Томми. Джонни Догс.

Мосли меня пригласил.

Сказал надеть чёрную рубашку.

Я сказал, что тогда

буду выглядеть, как все эти ублюдки.

— Лиззи.

— Блин, господи.

Ты ангел. Я знаю, что подвёл тебя.

Я знаю, что подвёл тебя, понятно?

Я извинился уже

миллион раз и скажу это ещё раз.

Извини меня, ладно?

Прости. Посмотри на Джонни Догса.

Ты только, сука, взгляни на него.

Похож на официанта.

— Заткнись.

— Принеси мне выпить, сука.

Джонни, снимай рубашку и давай сюда.

Мать твою, Томми.

— Снимай рубашку и дай её сюда.

— Снимай.

Артур, это моя вина.

— Это моя вина.

— Да.

Помнишь, мы голосовали

по поводу торговли опиумом?

— Ты проголосовал против.

— Я голосовал против.

Помнишь, как аннулировал твой голос?

— Я был не в себе, меня унесло.

— И где же ты был, Томми?

— Эйда говорила, ты зависал с Мосли?

— Да, он…

— Да?

— Да, в его огромном пиздатом доме.

Вечеринки в Белгравии.

И меня там охуенно уважали.

А ты им что взамен? Нашу наркоту?

Посмотри на себя, брат.

Ты полутруп. Полутруп.

— Блядь.

— Кожа да кости.

Ты меня ударил!

Ударил меня.

Я должен беспристрастным, понятно?

Беспристрастным. Во всём!

Бегать между левыми

и правыми, светом и тенью.

Беречь их доверие.

И мой брат не может

быть в чёрной рубашке

на обложке «Daily Mirror».

Если меня кто-то сфотографирует,

я разломаю блядскую камеру, Том.

Там уже самодельными

бомбами кидаются, Томми.

Я думал, Эйда за тобой следит.

Эйде нужно решить,

работает она с нами или нет.

— Она не знает, чего хочет.

— Я поговорю с ней.

— Слушай, я пойду домой, ладно?

— Нет. Ты остаёшься здесь.

У меня есть кое-что для тебя.

Лиззи, ты пойдёшь с Джонни.

Джонни, сопроводи Лиззи на её место.

У меня нет приглашения, Том.

Ты в чёрной рубашке —

можешь делать что вздумается.

Я присоединюсь к вам. Идите.

Вали, Догс. И принеси мне выпить.

Я знаю, Том. Посмотри на меня.

Артур, перед тем,

как уехать в Америку, я написал письмо.

Да? Кому?

Линде.

И в этом письме я написал:

«Линда, будучи христианкой,

веришь ли ты в прощение?»

Вот что я получил.

Два дня назад. Посмотри.

«Будучи христианкой,

я правда верю в прощение».

И слово «правда» подчёркнуто.

Артур, я не христианин.

Но я верю в прощение.

Приведи себя в порядок.

Продержись две недели,

и я напишу Линде снова.

Потому что я знаю, где она.

Но сперва мне нужно,

чтобы ты пришёл в себя.

Мне нужен мой брат.

Работы предстоит немало.

Нужен кто-то для серьёзных дел.

Да.

Вот это улыбка, брат!

Братишка, ты улыбаешься. Наконец-то.

Пойдём. Посмотрим,

что этот урод хочет сказать. Давай.

Да, вот так. Идём же!

Да, иду.

Такая он скотина, Томми.

Чёрнорубашечники и евреи.

Начинается. Ну начинается, блядь.

Держись в стороне

и ничего не делай, Том.

Но я так не могу.

Иди-ка сюда, нацистский ублюдок!

Эй, ты!

Иди сюда, мужик,

я тебе, сука, глаз вырву!

Не здесь. Не здесь!

Иди сюда. Повеселился, едем домой.

У нас дела.

Джонни, отвези его домой.

В этот раз проверь его блядские носки.

Твою мать.

Томми, надо уходить. Забудь об Америке.

Нам хватит.

Ещё не хватит. Вот и она.

— Помни, что надо улыбаться. Идём.

— Чёрт.

Дамы и господа,

сегодня он правда заслужил вашей похвалы.

Будущий премьер-министр

этой великой страны,

сэр Освальд Мосли.

К чёрту тебя, Мосли.

— Я выгляжу ужасно.

— Ты выглядишь прекрасно, Лиззи.

Я должен её впечатлить,

так что сделаю вид,

что она тоже прекрасна.

Мосли.

Диана, это Томми Шелби, депутат,

кавалер ордена Британской империи.

Мистер Шелби, леди Диана Митфорд.

Новая и последняя любовница Освальда.

— Это моя жена, Лиззи Шелби.

— Красивые серёжки.

Я украл из «Тиффани».

На самом деле, он купил их в Париже.

— Мы были там в медовый месяц.

— Боже, ненавижу Париж.

Слышал, вы предпочитаете Берлин.

Мы с Освальдом собираемся

там пожениться, не так ли?

Мосли, нужно обсудить дела.

Может, найдём более тихое место?

Дорогая, мистер Шелби сделал

потрясающее предложение,

чтобы мужчины пошли обсуждать дела,

пока вы, женщины, будете

с роскошным видом ждать.

Боже.

Какой, по-вашему, сейчас год? 1807?

В Бирмингеме

века проходят довольно медленно.

Но, мистер Шелби,

если хотите обсудить дела —

Диана стоит за моими инициативами.

Это более современно, мистер Шелби.

Да, мы знаем. Я директор компании.

Я тоже присоединюсь к переговорам.

Конечно, приходите, Элизабет.

Кстати, мне не нравится имя «Лиззи».

«Элизабет» лучше. Она должна участвовать.

Она доехала до Парижа,

а, значит, повидала мир. Браво.

Знаете, Освальд много о вас рассказывал.

Только три, я ведь знаю,

что мистер Шелби не пьёт.

Наш друг из Берлина тоже.

Хотя бы это у них общее.

Мне кажется, у них много общего.

Докладывайте, Шелби.

Официально Джек Нельсон приезжает,

чтобы купить лицензии на импорт.

Неофициально — он посланник Рузвельта.

Можете узнать из этого письма,

что он далёк от нейтральной точки зрения.

Посмотрите в конец второго абзаца.

«По отдельности евреи нормальные,

но как раса они омерзительны».

Элизабет, вы вообще знаете,

почему «мостик» к Рузвельту так важен?

На самом деле, нет.

Я вообще мало знаю об этих делах.

Но я спала с ваши будущим мужем,

так что многое знаю о нём.

Томми, я буду снаружи.

Умничка, Элизабет.

Хотите встречу с Нельсоном или нет?

Мистер Шелби, могу я вас звать Томасом?

Если хотите.

Конечно.

И мы очень благодарны за ваши старания.

Но, мистер Шелби, прежде чем

дело куда-нибудь продвинется,

вы должны совладать со своей женой.

Мистер Шелби.

Да.

Мистер Нельсон.

Я пришёл раньше.

Хотел посмотреть

на эту прекрасную церковь.

Вы католик, мистер Шелби.

Я надеялся, что встреча

в церкви заставит нас обоих

быть более осторожными

с ложью и правдой.

Ваши надежды тщетны.

— Здесь нас никто не услышит.

— Вы не верите в Бога?

Нет.

То, как к католикам

относились в моей стране,

обозлило меня.

Сделало меня тем, кто я сейчас.

А что обозлило вас?

Медлительность в чём-либо.

Я хотел иметь всё и сразу.

Двое католиков из рабочего класса.

К вам лезли, когда вы были маленьким?

Пока никто не видел.

Я носил с собой отвёртку и лезвие.

И все верили,

что я могу накладывать проклятия.

А вы можете?

О да.

Первый человек,

которого я убил, был священником.

Что насчёт вас?

Зеленоглазый пруссак,

он уже был под землёй.

Когда вы в последний

раз убивали, мистер Шелби?

Четыре года назад.

Его звали Томми Шелби.

Он пил виски.

Ты просите меня пустить вас в город

и торговать наркотиками,

от которых умирают люди?

Вы торгуете виски, мистер Нельсон.

Я недавно читал

отчёт Ватикана, что на самом деле

виски непропорционально убивает

больше наших братьев и сестёр католиков,

тогда опиум в качестве успокоительного

чаще выбирают протестанты и атеисты.

По-вашему, есть те,

с кем мне стоит встретиться в Англии?

Да. Люди со схожими взглядами.

Я прибыл, чтобы купить

лицензии на импорт для выпивки.

Выпивка элиты голубых кровей.

В Америке нам нравятся…

нравятся этикетки и пьянящее дыхание.

У меня есть свой бренд водки и джина.

Можете добавить к себе в портфолио.

Я слышал, ваши бренды

предпочитает рабочий класс.

Именно. И я этим весьма горжусь.

Также поговаривают, что вы поэт.

Нет, лишь читатель.

В этой стране есть люди,

с которыми я бы хотел встретиться.

С фашистами.

Не с теми, кто в сапогах

и чёрных рубашках. С теми, что в смокингах.

Я знаю сторонников цели.

Как знаю и её противников.

Вот уже много лет

я тесно работаю с Уинстоном Чёрчиллем,

касательно всевозможных вопросов.

Он мне доверяет.

Он против воцарения фашизма.

А вы, полагаю, считаете это неизбежным.

Я могу свести вас

со сторонниками вашей цели.

Я также могу предложить вам

полный отчёт стратегии Чёрчилля.

Всё это — в обмен

на доступ к югу Бостона.

В качестве альтернативного варианта,

вы можете выйти

против Чёрчилля один на один,

без моей информации.

А я могу продавать опиум евреям.

Вы храбрый человек, мистер Шелби.

Герой войны, насколько я слышал.

По моему опыту, герои войны

лишь ищут варианты смерти.

Так мы договорились, мистер Нельсон?

Я подумаю о том, что вы сказали.

Руби, ты закончила

с правописанием, дорогая?

Руби?

Руби?

Руби?

Руби?

Дорогая, что ты делаешь?

Я слышу голоса.

Из дымохода.

— Какие голоса?

— Сумрачный человек.

Господа, мистер Томас Шелби.

Южный Бирмингем.

Господин спикер.

Я вырос в семье,

условия жизни в которой испытали бы

моральность даже самых добродетельных.

В самом деле,

даже лучшие из нас пошатнулись бы

под напором суровой жизни

и горечи переполненных британских трущоб.

Да что вам известно о добродетели?

Прошу, быстрее.

Поэтому, господин спикер,

я намерен предложить этой палате

законопроект, который предполагает

жилищную реформу в этой стране

по расчистке трущоб

и строительству новых домов

с новыми стандартами здоровья и гигиены.

Вестминстер, 245. Палата общин.

Пришло время перемен,

народу надоело. Надоело!

Давайте откроем окна,

впустим свежий свет,

построим новый Иерусалим

из казённого кирпича.

Сюда.

Доктор.

Да, Вестминстер, 245.

Мистер Шелби.

ПОЖАЛУЙСТА, ПРИЕЗЖАЙ. РУБИ ПЛОХО.

«Tickner maura, o beng, o beng».

Снова и снова.

— Как семья?

— Один из вас умрёт.

— Они смотрят на меня, папа.

— Человек с зелёными глазами.

Можешь прекратить голоса?

Нет никаких голосов, дорогая.

Сумрачный человек.

Он сказал, что идёт за мной

и идёт за папочкой.

Мистер Шелби, всё хорошо?

Мистер Шелби?

Всё хорошо.

Всё в порядке.

— Алло?

— Томми.

Томми, у неё температура 38,3,

и ничего не помогает.

— Приезжай сейчас же.

— Лиззи.

— Прошу тебя.

— Лиззи.

— Где она?

— Она с доктором, наверху.

Послушай, Томми.

Он сказал, не подходить близко, вдруг…

Вдруг что?

Она кашляет кровью.

Милочка,

соедини меня с номером,

который я давал. Эсме Шелби Ли.

Переведено студией FOCS

при поддержке зрителей

Перевод: Ирина Тычук

Редактура: Анастасия Цюпер

РАНЕЕ В СЕРИАЛЕ

ОСТРЫЕ КОЗЫРЬКИ

6 СЕЗОН, 2 СЕРИЯ

САНАТОРИЙ ШЕЛБИ ДЛЯ БОЛЬНЫХ ДЕТЕЙ

УЧРЕЖДЁН 12 ИЮНЯ 1930 ГОДА ТОМАСОМ ШЕЛБИ

НИКТО ИЗ ВХОДЯЩИХ НЕ ДОЛЖЕН ПЛАТИТЬ.

ТЕМ, КТО МОЖЕТ ЗАПЛАТИТЬ, ВХОД ВОСПРЕЩЁН.

ЛЕЙБОРИСТСКАЯ ПАРТИЯ ЮЖНОГО БИРМИНГЕМА

ТИШИНА

ВИНОКУРНЯ ШЕЛБИ

О НОЧЬ, РАССЕЙСЯ!

ИСЧЕЗНИТЕ, ЗВЁЗДЫ!

ЗАРЯ ПРИНЕСЁТ МНЕ ПОБЕДУ!

ПОБЕДУ!

ПОЖАЛУЙСТА, ПРИЕЗЖАЙ. РУБИ ПЛОХО.

ДЕВОЧКА МЕРТВА. О, ДЬЯВОЛ!

Ever since you began

to build your empire,

you've had a crutch to lean on.

MICHAEL: Mum, I swear

in the name of Almighty God,

I will take revenge

on Tommy Shelby.

That, my friend, is the finest

opium in the world.

Perhaps we can meet

after you've spoken

to your wife's uncle,

Jack Nelson.

Tommy Shelby wants to do

business with Jack Nelson?

So speak to your uncle

and get me out of here.

If he doesn't want to buy

my opium,

I will sell

to the East Boston Jews.

It's Ruby. She's not well.

I'm coming home.

POLLY: There will be a war

in this family,

and one of you will die.

MICHAEL: You've been too busy

to punish the people

who killed her.

How is the family?

Daddy!

Hello, Ruby.

Come here.

Let me see you.

I missed you.

I missed you.

There's the Black Madonna.

(KISSES)

What presents did you get us,

Dad?

Son.

She's all better, Tommy.

You came back for nothing.

But I'm glad you're back.

Right,

before we do anything else,

we're going to go for a drive,

OK?

- Let's go.

- What about me?

Yeah, you can come too,

come on.

A drive where?

I've asked the driver

to take us to see Dr Robert.

I want him to have

a look at Ruby.

Why, love?

The appointment is in one hour.

You can stay here

or you can come.

Right.

Right, let's go.

(GRUNTS)

(COUGHS)

(DOOR CLOSES)

LIZZIE: Tommy?

Yeah?

It was all good.

Everything was clear.

That is a relief.

(SIGHS) That's a relief.

Yeah.

Driver's bringing the car

round.

- (TAPPING ON WINDOW)

- Daddy.

LIZZIE: Hiya.

Come here.

When did you last sleep?

Not much since we last spoke

on the phone.

Well, now you know Ruby's

all clear, you can sleep.

Yeah.

Lizzie, I am very happy

that Ruby's results are clear.

But still you won't sleep.

I will speak to Johnny

and I will speak to Esmeralda.

(LIZZIE SIGHS)

(SIGHS) We could be on holiday.

We could be up a mountain

in America.

That wouldn't have been

possible.

The man I'm dealing with

is coming to London.

I need to be there.

No escape.

We will escape, Lizzie.

One last deal to be done.

It'll be difficult.

Difficulties are to be

expected.

This is why I must move

from item to item.

Do you feel that?

Do you feel anything?

You know, you talk as if

you're watching everything

on a screen.

When we go home...

When we go home,

we'll give the kids to Frances,

and then you and me

will go to bed.

And I will be the next item.

That's how it feels now, Tommy.

Yeah.

Everything on a list.

- Hey, baby.

- When are we going home?

Soon.

(THUNDER CRASHES)

- (THUD)

- (GLASS SHATTERS)

Tommy? Tommy!

(MEN GRUNT)

Tommy? Tommy,

tell me what's happening!

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Tommy, come here. Come here.

What's happening?

Tommy!

(EXHALES SHARPLY)

It is four years...

...one month and six days

since I had a drink.

My head is clear.

I am myself.

Is this the first time?

Once on the ship back.

Not as bad.

Tommy...

...you need to see a doctor.

I've work to do.

(SCOFFS)

It's the work that's to blame.

The people you meet,

the lies that you tell.

We're going to keep going until

the Boston business is done.

Then we rest.

Then we Peaky Blinders

fucking rest.

Comrades, before we end

this planning meeting

and send you out

into the rain...

(CHUCKLING)

...we have a surprise.

He just arrived back from

a trade mission to America.

He came back early

and he has insisted

on addressing you volunteers

in person.

Comrades,

your Labour representative

for South Birmingham,

- Mr Thomas Shelby MP, OBE.

- (CHEERING)

- (CHEERING FADES)

- Silence, please!

I bring with me...

...on the train from London...

...a message from Westminster.

No. No, no, no, not a message.

Not a message.

An instruction, in fact.

(AUDIENCE MURMURS)

You must be silent.

(AUDIENCE GRUMBLES)

You must say nothing.

Say nothing

about the present situation

in this city.

Say nothing about hunger.

Say nothing about jobs.

Say nothing about pay.

But those in greener pastures,

- they may speak.

- (SHOUTS OF AGREEMENT)

- They may raise their voices.

- (AUDIENCE SHOUTS OUT)

But here in the smoke,

you men and women,

Irish and Italian

and English, who support

the socialist cause...

And your socialist cats

and dogs and canaries.

(AUDIENCE LAUGHS)

...you must hush,

because the King

and all the King's horses

- and all the King's men...

- (AUDIENCE LAUGHS)

...want you to be silent.

But it is you, my friends,

who must suffer

the cuts in wages

and in welfare and in dignity!

And you must not complain,

because that would be

unpatriotic.

You soldiers

who have fought in France,

you are traitors

if you speak up.

You veterans of their wars

and their booms

and their busts,

it is you

who must take the blows,

and carry the burdens

for the sake of

those in greener pastures

who bellow at you...

(BANG ON TABLE)

..."Silence!"

(ANGRY SHOUTING)

Well, watch this, comrades.

I will not be silent.

MAN: Never!

Not this Englishman.

(CHEERING)

No silence from me.

No silence from me,

because I have heard

your voices

when you come to me

and tell me about the cries

of your hungry children,

and I will gather up

every single one of those cries

and I will take 'em with me

on the train

back to Westminster...

(CHEERING)

...and I will let them

out of the bag

in the House of Commons,

and let them

try to silence that, eh?

(CHEERING CONTINUES)

(TOMMY CONTINUES SPEECH)

Shouldn't that involve

some sharing of the burden?

(SHOUTS OF AGREEMENT)

All of us taking a smaller

slice of the cake, eh?

(SHOUTS OF AGREEMENT)

After all, it's bloody us

who bakes the cake

and makes the cars

and melts the metal.

(SHOUTS OF AGREEMENT)

And the King, remember him?

The man who ordered

all of this.

Shouldn't he be taking

some of the cuts?

Eh? Some of the blows?

Some of the pain? No or yes?

AUDIENCE: Yes!

(CHEERING FADES)

Sh.

Hush, you working men

and women.

Silence.

Good.

(WHISPERS) Save your voices.

You're going to need 'em

on Saturday

when we rally together

at the Bull Ring Market...

- (WILD CHEERING)

- ...and together,

we'll raise the roof,

we'll break

the damned silence...

...and bring down

this broken government.

(CHANTING) Tommy! Tommy!

Tommy! Tommy!

Thank you.

Laura McKee.

Battalion Commander,

Fermanagh IRA.

You missed the first

and second act.

WOMAN: Thank you for coming,

Mr Shelby.

Thank you. Thank you.

The third act was enough.

You both have reasons

to hate me

and to want to seek revenge

for the killing...

Sh!

Gypsy tradition.

We do not mention the name

of the dead in company.

Laura McKee,

in the Shelby family,

business comes

before issues of vengeance.

Our beloved departed

would understand and approve.

Let's go, boys.

Our agreement was we meet

in a crowded place.

No need for crowds.

We need you alive.

After you.

You know, Mr Shelby,

even though we've been doing

business for a while,

we've never met in person.

You spoke with passion...

...and compassion.

You understand forgiveness

and you drink water.

Yet I heard

from many reliable sources

that you have a reputation

for moral turpitude.

(TOMMY SNORTS)

Moral turpitude...

It's a good name

for a racehorse.

You don't know what it means?

I know what it means.

It means you fuck people.

Fuck people over.

Don't give a fuck.

It means you covet and steal

and burn all principles

for the sake of self-interest.

Well, I'm changing,

Laura McKee,

and my organisation

is also changing.

So, what happened in Boston?

Jack Nelson said no.

Are we accepting no

as an answer?

These are letters...

(CLEARS THROAT)

...written to and by

Jack Nelson

over the last three months.

(TRAIN RUMBLES BY)

(GLASS RATTLES)

This...

This is a private letter

from the President

of the United States.

Where the fuck

did you get this?

My racehorse, Moral Turpitude,

is just one of many

in my stables.

Sometimes, even now,

I'll take her out for a run

if there is a good cause

that requires her services.

Jack Nelson's coming to London.

Officially, he's coming

to buy liquor import licences.

Unofficially, he's on

a fact-finding mission.

He's come to measure

the strength of support

for fascism in Britain.

He'll report back

to the President.

And how does that help us?

In this letter to his son,

Jack Nelson expresses

strong support for fascism.

In this letter

to a friend in Berlin,

he says some, erm,

interesting things about Jews.

He's not coming to Europe

to find facts.

He's coming to find proof

that fascism will prevail.

And you and I...

...are going

to help him in that task.

I thought you were a socialist.

Well...

...since I've entered politics,

I've learned that

the line doesn't go out

from the middle to the left

and the right.

It goes in a circle.

I'll show you.

You go far enough left,

eventually you'll meet someone

who has gone far enough right

to get to the same place.

Working-class socialists

like me,

working-class nationalists

like you.

The result?

National Socialism.

And that's me...

...in the middle.

Just a man trying to make

an honest living

in a very dark world.

You have friends in Dublin,

Laura McKee,

who are actively fighting

for a fascist Ireland,

and you are acting

on their behalf, ain't you?

When Jack Nelson

comes to London,

I can give him access

to Oswald Mosley

and to fascist sympathisers

in the House of Commons

and the House of Lords,

on both sides of the divide.

Fascism is quite the thing...

...among the very best people.

And with your help,

I can also offer him Dublin.

And you think this will allow

us to ship our merchandise

to Boston?

Perhaps.

There may be other benefits

for your cause.

All you have to do

is sit with Jack Nelson

and talk to him about

a new golden age,

and let him put a pin

in the map of Ireland

for the President

of the United States.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)

I came to collect Arthur

and put him to bed.

I found him in Garrison Lane

with a syringe in his hand.

(EXHALES)

A friend loves at all time.

A brother is born

for adversity.

Proverbs 17:17.

I have two brothers in need,

but yours is the more urgent,

Tommy.

Will you come with me?

So, Laura McKee...

...are you going to help me

change the world?

Mr Shelby, this meeting

is not what I expected.

Never is.

Is that a yes or a no?

My answer's yes.

(SNORTS)

The answer's always yes.

The back door is unlocked.

You can let yourself out.

And tell your friends

back home -

Tommy Shelby has changed.

Where is he?

When I found him,

the syringe was empty.

He's sleeping it off

on the cobbles.

Shit, Tommy. Shit.

It's all under control, Ada.

Well, I'm not under

fucking control!

I'm not you, Tommy,

and I'm not Polly either.

Even though I'm trying to be.

She would have stopped this.

We will pull Arthur

through this.

I'm not talking about Arthur,

I'm talking about you!

I heard everything

you were saying in there.

Ada, this will be the end

of it, do you hear me?

This is the way out

for all of us,

and along the way,

I will be doing good.

No, along the way,

you're going to make yourself

a lot of fucking money.

All right, fair enough.

Any incidental rewards for

my good work will be welcome.

But you will get

your fair share, sister.

(SCOFFS)

And by being

among the fascists,

by being among 'em,

I can undermine them.

Polly would approve.

Beneath all the gold

and diamonds

and fucking...fucking mink

and lace,

she was a solid socialist.

(TRAIN RUMBLES BY)

Look, I know it's too late

for this, Tom, but...

This doorway.

This same fucking doorway.

We used to come here

for Dad's beer.

And we were so little, it took

two of us carry one bucket.

Yeah, I remember.

Look at us now, eh?

Yeah. Fucking look at us.

Take a good look, Tom,

cos one of us isn't going

to be here for long.

Fuck! Opium and presidents!

Ada, if you don't want

to help me carry the bucket...

...then I wouldn't blame you.

But this is my mission.

And I will have no limitations.

Where are you, Tom?

Hmm?

My big brother?

You know, you used to stop

sometimes and laugh.

Do you even remember

this place?

You walk into The Garrison

like a stranger

and you sip fucking water.

But I'm alive, Ada.

Yeah.

And you're still looking for

trouble big enough to kill you.

Well...

...I think

you might have found it.

I have children, Tommy.

You have to carry

this bucket on your own.

One brother half-dead in

the rain in Garrison alley,

and the other

has no limitations.

(TRAIN RUMBLES BY)

(OPERATIC MUSIC)

I'm expected.

(MUSIC CONTINUES)

Oh, and Mr Solomons

no longer tolerates

the smoking of tobacco

in his presence.

(MUSIC CLIMAXES)

(MUSIC ENDS)

I always thought that opera

was just fat people

fucking shouting.

Yeah? What do you think now?

I think the sound of a tenor

in full passion

reminds me of the crying out

of Italian soldiers

when they had my bayonet

inside them.

Ever since my own death,

I have been somewhat

haunted by it.

Dear me.

But instead of fighting

these voices,

I decided to write

their songs down,

you know, and turn them

into an opera of my own.

Do not light that.

No. No. Were you not told?

I have a condition.

What I was told, Alfie...

...is that you have withdrawn

and that you spend your days

alone...

...obsessing

about opera singers.

Opera's not fucking singing,

is it?

It's not singing.

It is the sound

that people make...

...before words.

And I do not allow smoking

because I do need to see

fucking clearly,

all right?

What, do you sense weakness

in the Israelite?

Not a sense of weakness,

no, Alfie.

- Huh?

- A certain knowledge of it.

Since you've been sat here,

writing your opera...

...a member of your family

has died.

Charles Solomons. Your uncle.

He ran all the narcotics,

bootlegging,

prostitution,

gambling syndicates

out of East Boston.

But last January,

poor old Charlie, well...

...he was shot

in the Cotton Club,

in the lavatory,

by men that you know,

and yet you did nothing, Alfie.

(CLATTER)

Now, my opera is called

America.

America is my fucking

masterpiece!

The truth is,

your uncle is dead...

...Boston is gone...

...and you,

once the big man

who ran Camden Town...

...now can't even extinguish

another man's cigarette...

...let alone his fucking life.

You need favours,

- Alfie.

- I need

a fucking final act, right?

Just a final fucking act

for my opera.

Yeah?

Alfie...

I think I may have

written your final act.

Why don't you sit down

and have a listen, eh?

I have five tons of pure,

refined opium

sitting in one of my warehouses

in Liverpool.

I have safe storage

off the coast of Canada.

I have men willing

to distribute it in Toronto,

Quebec, New York and Boston.

The income would be immediate

and would shift the balance

of power in Boston

back in the favour

of the Solomons family.

In the final act

that I am giving you, Alfie,

it is you

who takes the revenge.

Why would you sell?

The Irish are being difficult.

The Italians are not an option.

Also, Alfie, you are my friend.

Pay you with credit?

- No.

- Oh...

I will take property.

You own half the warehouses

in Camden.

I'll take 'em

and knock 'em down,

build houses for the needy

and the deserving.

Oh.

(GROANS SOFTLY)

Yeah, well, the, erm...

The Irish have always been

difficult, Tommy, ain't they?

For about fucking 700 years.

(SNIFFS)

You know that I once saw

an Irishman

arguing with the statue

of Oliver Cromwell

in Parliament Square.

The argument went on

for quite a while, actually.

It went into the night,

as his little voice echoed

all around

the Houses of Parliament

as he got more and more angered

Oliver Cromwell

was reluctant somewhat

to answer

his legitimate questions,

so angered, in fact,

that eventually he punched

the statue on the nose

and broke his fucking hand.

And there it is, you know,

the Irish question, innit?

(INHALES SHARPLY)

How come

you can remember so much

about what happened

200 years ago,

but you just can't remember

what fucking happened

last night?

(SNORTS)

(SIGHS)

How much is a ton?

(DOOR OPENS)

Johnny.

Only me today.

Jack says a few more weeks...

(KEY TURNS IN LOCK)

...then you'll be free.

When do you travel to London?

Tomorrow.

I came to say goodbye.

When you go to London,

stay away from the devil.

Block your fucking ears,

if you have to.

I'll be with you, Michael.

I've been thinking about you.

Only you.

And don't worry

about Tommy Shelby.

I have no interest

in a dead man.

Jack says he has to die.

Well, you tell Jack to wait.

If anyone's going to kill

Tommy Shelby...

It will be you.

I know.

I told Jack.

And Jack said, "OK.

"Let the kid do it."

And in return, he can collect

the cash that Tommy won't.

$5 million.

The devil will be dead.

The future belongs to us.

Oh, and, uh, Michael...

Every night...

..midnight in Boston,

5am in London...

...I'll be wide awake

in my big, wide bed,

and you'll be wide awake

in this prison cell.

And our souls

will come together...

...and we'll fuck.

I won't need an alarm clock.

And you won't sleep

until I'm done.

Midnight fucks 5am.

Every day.

Because we trust each other.

Hmm?

(SHOUTING AND CHANTING)

You're a fucking traitor,

Shelby! You're a fucking...

Darker.

Bluer.

Sharper.

I want to see it from below.

Darling, how's that?

You look absolutely terrifying,

my love.

(BOTH CHUCKLE)

Fuck lipstick.

Fun.

To launch the ship.

(CHANTING OUTSIDE)

A long and terrible journey,

Diana.

Don't fucking let me down.

Mr Shelby!

Mr Shelby!

Daily Mirror.

- Mr Shelby!

- Off!

May I ask why a socialist MP

would attend a fascist rally,

sir?

Let him in,

let me answer the question.

Mr Mosley's constituency

borders my own.

We have worked together

in the past.

He was once a socialist

himself.

My role here tonight

is to...to act as a bridge

between ideologies.

I'm in the middle.

Mr Shelby, you once shared

a platform with Mr Mosley.

Will you be sharing the stage

with him tonight?

No. I am simply here

to remind my friend, Mr Mosley,

that the way of the British

people is compromise.

And you can print that, pal.

Fucking rag.

Lizzie, you should know

that Mosley's wife died

six months ago.

So give him your condolences,

will you?

Tonight,

he will be with his mistress,

who is apparently

a lady of some standing...

...and has given him great

comfort in his time of grief.

ARTHUR:

Fuck off, you dozy bastard!

Move out my fucking way.

What is Arthur doing here?

Mosley invited him. I agreed.

Arthur made me a promise,

which he appears

to have broken.

Move! I said fucking move.

I tried my best.

He's hid some junk in his sock.

- OK.

- ARTHUR: Move along.

(SHOUTING)

Oi!

- Oi, Tommy!

- Come on!

- Tommy!

- You're in! You're in.

- Come on, you're in.

- My brother.

- Tommy!

- Yeah.

Johnny Dogs.

Mosley invited me.

He said,

"Wear a black fucking shirt."

Here you are.

I said, "I'd look like

every other bastard."

Lizzie!

- Come on.

- For fuck's sake.

You're an angel. I know

I've fucking let you down.

I've fucking let you down,

I know I have. All right?

I've fucking said sorry

a million times

and I'll say it again.

I'm sorry, all right?

- Yeah.

- I'm fucking sorry.

Look at Johnny Dogs.

Fucking look

at the state of him.

He looks like a fucking waiter.

- Oh, shut up.

- Get me a fucking drink.

Johnny, take your shirt off

and give it to me.

For fuck's sake, Tommy.

Take your fucking shirt off

and give it me now.

Get it off!

Arthur, this is my fault.

- This is my fault.

- Yeah.

Remember, we voted on getting

involved in the opium trade?

- You voted no.

- I said no.

Remember? I overruled you.

I've not been here,

I've been away.

Where you been, Tom?

And Ada tells me you've been

hanging out with Mosley.

- Yeah, he's...

- Yeah?

In his big, beautiful

fucking house.

And they have parties there,

in Belgravia.

And they give me

fucking respect.

Yeah?

And what do you give them?

Snow and junk from the company.

Hang on.

Look at you, brother.

Half of you's gone.

Half of you's gone.

- What the fuck?

- Rag and bone.

You fucking slapped me.

You slapped me.

I have to remain unresolved.

Do you understand?

Unresolved.

Unresolved in everything.

I have to move between left

and right, light and shade,

and maintain the trust of both.

And I cannot have my brother

wearing a fucking black shirt

on the cover

of the Daily Mirror.

If anyone takes my picture

in this,

they'll find their fucking

camera under my heel, Tom.

They are throwing petrol bombs

out there, Tommy.

I thought Ada was

taking care of you.

Ada's got decisions to make

about working with us.

She doesn't know

what she wants.

I'll speak to Ada.

Listen, I'm going home,

all right?

No, you stay there.

I have something for you.

Lizzie, you can go in

with Johnny.

Johnny, take Lizzie

to her seat.

But I don't have an invitation,

Tom.

Johnny, you're wearing

a fucking black shirt,

you can do what you like.

Go on. I'll follow you. Go on.

Go on, Dogs.

And get me a fucking drink

while you're there.

(ARTHUR GROANS)

I know, Tom. Look at me.

Arthur, before I went

to America,

I wrote a letter.

Yeah? Who to?

To Linda.

And in that letter, I wrote,

"Linda, as a Christian woman,

"do you believe

in forgiveness?"

And this is what I got back.

Two days ago. Have a look.

(FALTERING)

"As a Christian woman,

"I do believe in forgiveness."

Yeah, and the word do

is underlined.

Arthur, I'm no Christian.

But I also believe

in forgiveness.

So, get yourself clean,

stay clean for two weeks,

I'll write Linda

another letter.

Cos I know where she is.

First, I need you back.

I need my brother.

I have a lot to do.

Need someone

to do the real work.

Yeah. (CHUCKLES)

Yeah. Look at your smile, Tom.

Look at your smile, brother.

It's been so long.

Come on. Let's see what this

bastard has to say. Come on.

- All right. All right.

- Come on.

Yeah, I'm coming.

He is a bastard an' all, Tommy.

Black shirts and Jews.

Here we go. Here we fucking go.

(SHOUTING)

Stay in the middle

and do nothing, Tommy.

But not fucking me.

Come here, you,

you Nazi bastard!

(GRUNTS AND GROANS)

Come here, man,

I'll take your fucking eye.

Not here! Not here!

(GRUNTS)

Come here. You've had your fun,

now let's go home.

- We have business.

- (SCOFFS)

Johnny, you get him home.

This time,

check his fucking socks.

For fuck's sake!

Tommy, we should get out now.

Forget this American business.

We've got enough.

Not near enough.

Here she comes.

Remember to smile. Come on.

Shit.

(GLASS CLINKS)

Ladies and gentlemen,

tonight, he has truly earned

your adulation.

The future Prime Minister

of this great country,

Sir Oswald Mosley!

(CHEERING AND APPLAUSE)

Fuck you, Mosley!

(SHOUTING)

(APPLAUSE)

(WHISPERS)

Fuck. I look terrible.

You look beautiful, Lizzie.

I need to impress this woman,

so I will act

as if she is beautiful as well.

Mosley.

Diana,

this is Tommy Shelby MP, OBE.

Mr Shelby, Lady Diana Mitford.

Oswald's most recent

and last-ever mistress.

This is my wife, Lizzie Shelby.

Beautiful earrings.

TOMMY: Oh, I stole them

from Tiffany's.

Actually, he bought

the earrings in Paris.

We were in Paris

on our honeymoon.

- God, I hate Paris.

- Hmm.

I hear you prefer Berlin.

Oswald and I are going to marry

there, aren't we, Oswald?

Hmm.

Mosley, I have business

to discuss.

Perhaps you and I could find

somewhere a bit quieter, eh?

Darling, Mr Shelby just made

the astonishing suggestion

that we men go off

and discuss business

while you women wait around

looking glamorous.

(CHUCKLES) Goodness.

What year do you think this is,

Mr Shelby? 1807?

In Birmingham, the centuries

grind by quite slowly.

But, Mr Shelby,

if it's business,

Diana is the engine

of my enterprise.

It's the modern way, Mr Shelby.

Yes, we know.

I am company director.

I will join the meeting

as well.

But of course, you must come

as well, Elizabeth.

By the way,

I really don't like "Lizzie".

I prefer liberated "Elizabeth".

She must be part of this.

She's been

all the way to Paris,

so she is a woman of the world.

Bravo.

Do you know, Oswald has told me

everything about you...

Only three...

...because I know

these days Mr Shelby doesn't.

Our friend in Berlin

doesn't either.

Well, they have that in common,

at least.

Oh, I imagine

they have lots in common.

Hmm.

Report to me, Shelby.

Officially,

Jack Nelson is in London

to buy import licences.

And unofficially,

he's Roosevelt's envoy.

Well, as you can see

from this private letter...

...he is far

from a neutral point of view.

Look at the bottom

of the second paragraph.

"Individually Jews are fine,

but as a race they stink."

Hmm.

Elizabeth, do you even know

why the bridge

to President Roosevelt

is so important?

Actually, no.

I don't really know much

about this business at all.

(GLASS BANGS)

But I have fucked

your future husband,

so I know lots of things

about him.

Tommy, I'll be outside.

Well done, Elizabeth.

(TOMMY CLEARS HIS THROAT)

Do you people want

to meet Nelson or no?

Mr Shelby, from now on,

can I call you Thomas?

If you like.

Of course we would.

And we are very grateful

for your efforts.

But, Mr Shelby,

before this enterprise

goes any further,

you really must do

something about your wife.

Mr Shelby.

Yes.

Mr Nelson.

I came early.

I wanted to come

and take a look

around this beautiful church.

You're Catholic, Mr Shelby.

I hoped that by suggesting

we meet in church,

it might make us both

more...cautious

with lies and truth.

Well, your hope

would be forlorn.

There ain't no-one listening

here.

You don't believe in God?

No.

It was the way Catholics

were treated in my country

that made me angry.

Made me what I became.

What made you angry?

Slowness...in anything.

I wanted to have everything

already.

Two working-class

Catholic boys.

Did they mess with you

when you were small?

Some man in the shadows.

I carried a screwdriver

and a blade,

and everyone believed

I had the power to lay curses.

And do you?

Yes, I do.

First man I killed

was a priest.

You?

A Prussian boy with green eyes.

He was already underground.

When did you last kill a man,

Mr Shelby?

Four years ago.

His name was Thomas Shelby.

He drank whiskey.

You want me to allow you

to enter my city

and deal narcotics

that'll kill people?

You deal in whiskey, Mr Nelson.

I recently read a report

by the Vatican, actually,

which said that whiskey

disproportionately kills

more of our Catholic brothers

and sisters,

whereas opium is the sedative

more often chosen

by Protestants and atheists.

In return,

there are people in England

who you think I should meet?

Yes.

Yes, like minds.

I'm here to buy import licences

for booze.

The booze

of the blue blood elite.

In America, we...we like

labels and aspiration.

Well, I have a brand of my own

vodka and gin.

You can add that

to your portfolio.

I hear Shelby labels are

favoured by the working class.

Indeed.

A fact of which I'm very proud.

They say you are a poet, too.

No, I only read it.

There are some people in this

country who I'd like to meet.

Fascists.

Not the ones in boots

and black shirts.

The ones in tuxedos.

I know men who are friends

of the cause.

I also know men who are enemies

of the cause.

For many years now,

I have been working closely

with Winston Churchill,

in many different capacities.

I have his trust.

He's opposed

to the rise of fascism.

You, I believe,

see it as inevitable.

Well, I can give you

men of influence

who support your cause.

I can also offer you

a full report

on Churchill's strategies.

All this in return for access

to South Boston?

Alternatively,

you can take on Churchill

on your own,

without my intelligence,

and I can sell my opium

to the Jews.

You're a brave man, Mr Shelby.

A war hero, I hear.

Every war hero I ever met,

they're just someone who wanted

to get themselves killed.

(SNORTS SOFTLY)

Do we have a deal, Mr Nelson?

I'll think a great deal

about what you've said.

Ruby, have you finished

your spelling, love?

Ruby?

Ruby?

Ruby?

Ruby?

What are you doing, love?

I can hear voices...

...coming from up the chimney.

What voices?

The grey man.

Gentlemen,

Mr Thomas Shelby.

Birmingham South.

Mr Speaker.

I was raised in a family

that endured living conditions

that would test

the morality of

even the most virtuous.

Indeed...

Indeed, even the best of us

would have our virtues trounced

and thwarted by life

in the meanness

and the bitterness of

an overcrowded British slum.

What would you know

about virtue?

(SHOUTING)

Quickly, please.

Therefore, Mr Speaker, I intend

to put before this House

a bill which will offer

radical reform

in housing policy

in this country,

in which slums are cleared,

new houses are built

with new standards

in health and hygiene.

Westminster 245.

House of Commons.

(PHONE RINGS)

The time has come for change,

the people have had enough.

Let's open the windows,

let in new light,

build a new Jerusalem

brick by

Government-owned brick.

(CHEERING)

- Into there.

- (COUGHS)

Good.

Doctor?

Yeah, Westminster 245.

Mr Shelby.

LIZZIE: "Tickner maura, o beng,

o beng" over and over again.

MICHAEL: How is the family?

POLLY: And one of you will die.

RUBY:

He's staring at me, Daddy.

LIZZIE: A man with green eyes.

(WHISPERS)

Can you stop the voices?

There are no voices, my love.

It's the grey man.

He says he's coming for me...

(WHISPERS)...and he's coming

for Daddy as well.

(BREATHES HEAVILY)

(GRUNTS)

(PHONE RINGS)

(GROANS)

(PHONE RINGS)

- (SQUELCHING)

- (GROANS)

- (SCREAMS)

- Sh...

(MUFFLED KNOCKING)

(MUFFLED) Mr Shelby?

Is everything all right

in there?

- (KNOCK ON DOOR)

- Mr Shelby?

Everything's fine.

Everything's fine.

(PHONE RINGS)

- Hello?

- Tommy.

Tommy, she has a temperature

of 101 and nothing is working.

- Just get here now.

- Lizzie?

- Please.

- Lizzie?

(SIGHS)

Where is she?

She's with the doctor upstairs.

Listen, Tommy.

He said we shouldn't come close

to her, in case...

In case of what?

When she coughs, there's blood.

Madonna,

put me through to the number

I gave you for Esme Shelby Lee.

Ever since you began

to build your empire,

you've had a crutch to lean on.

Mum, I swear

in the name of Almighty God,

I will take revenge

on Tommy Shelby.

That, my friend, is the finest

opium in the world.

Perhaps we can meet

after you've spoken

to your wife's uncle,

Jack Nelson.

Tommy Shelby wants to do

business with Jack Nelson?

So speak to your uncle

and get me out of here.

If he doesn't want to buy

my opium,

I will sell

to the East Boston Jews.

It's Ruby. She's not well.

I'm coming home.

There will be a war

in this family,

and one of you will die.

You've been too busy

to punish the people

who killed her.

How is the family?

Daddy!

Hello, Ruby.

Come here.

Let me see you.

I missed you.

I missed you.

There's the Black Madonna.

What presents did you get us,

Dad?

Son.

She's all better, Tommy.

You came back for nothing.

But I'm glad you're back.

Right,

before we do anything else,

we're going to go for a drive,

OK?

- Let's go.

- What about me?

Yeah, you can come too,

come on.

A drive where?

I've asked the driver

to take us to see Dr Robert.

I want him to have

a look at Ruby.

Why, love?

The appointment is in one hour.

You can stay here

or you can come.

Right.

Right, let's go.

Tommy?

Yeah?

It was all good.

Everything was clear.

That is a relief.

That's a relief.

Yeah.

Driver's bringing the car

round.

- Daddy.

Hiya.

Come here.

When did you last sleep?

Not much since we last spoke

on the phone.

Well, now you know Ruby's

all clear, you can sleep.

Yeah.

Lizzie, I am very happy

that Ruby's results are clear.

But still you won't sleep.

I will speak to Johnny

and I will speak to Esmeralda.

We could be on holiday.

We could be up a mountain

in America.

That wouldn't have been

possible.

The man I'm dealing with

is coming to London.

I need to be there.

No escape.

We will escape, Lizzie.

One last deal to be done.

It'll be difficult.

Difficulties are to be

expected.

This is why I must move

from item to item.

Do you feel that?

Do you feel anything?

You know, you talk as if

you're watching everything

on a screen.

When we go home...

When we go home,

we'll give the kids to Frances,

and then you and me

will go to bed.

And I will be the next item.

That's how it feels now, Tommy.

Yeah.

Everything on a list.

- Hey, baby.

- When are we going home?

Soon.

Tommy? Tommy!

Tommy? Tommy,

tell me what's happening!

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Tommy, come here. Come here.

What's happening?

Tommy!

It is four years...

...one month and six days

since I had a drink.

My head is clear.

I am myself.

Is this the first time?

Once on the ship back.

Not as bad.

Tommy...

...you need to see a doctor.

I've work to do.

It's the work that's to blame.

The people you meet,

the lies that you tell.

We're going to keep going until

the Boston business is done.

Then we rest.

Then we Peaky Blinders

fucking rest.

Comrades, before we end

this planning meeting

and send you out

into the rain...

...we have a surprise.

He just arrived back from

a trade mission to America.

He came back early

and he has insisted

on addressing you volunteers

in person.

Comrades,

your Labour representative

for South Birmingham,

- Mr Thomas Shelby MP, OBE.

- Silence, please!

I bring with me...

...on the train from London...

...a message from Westminster.

No. No, no, no, not a message.

Not a message.

An instruction, in fact.

You must be silent.

You must say nothing.

Say nothing

about the present situation

in this city.

Say nothing about hunger.

Say nothing about jobs.

Say nothing about pay.

But those in greener pastures,

- they may speak.

- They may raise their voices.

But here in the smoke,

you men and women,

Irish and Italian

and English, who support

the socialist cause...

And your socialist cats

and dogs and canaries.

...you must hush,

because the King

and all the King's horses

- and all the King's men...

...want you to be silent.

But it is you, my friends,

who must suffer

the cuts in wages

and in welfare and in dignity!

And you must not complain,

because that would be

unpatriotic.

You soldiers

who have fought in France,

you are traitors

if you speak up.

You veterans of their wars

and their booms

and their busts,

it is you

who must take the blows,

and carry the burdens

for the sake of

those in greener pastures

who bellow at you...

..."Silence!"

Well, watch this, comrades.

I will not be silent.

Never!

Not this Englishman.

No silence from me.

No silence from me,

because I have heard

your voices

when you come to me

and tell me about the cries

of your hungry children,

and I will gather up

every single one of those cries

and I will take 'em with me

on the train

back to Westminster...

...and I will let them

out of the bag

in the House of Commons,

and let them

try to silence that, eh?

Shouldn't that involve

some sharing of the burden?

All of us taking a smaller

slice of the cake, eh?

After all, it's bloody us

who bakes the cake

and makes the cars

and melts the metal.

And the King, remember him?

The man who ordered

all of this.

Shouldn't he be taking

some of the cuts?

Eh? Some of the blows?

Some of the pain? No or yes?

Yes!

Sh.

Hush, you working men

and women.

Silence.

Good.

Save your voices.

You're going to need 'em

on Saturday

when we rally together

at the Bull Ring Market...

- ...and together,

we'll raise the roof,

we'll break

the damned silence...

...and bring down

this broken government.

Tommy! Tommy!

Tommy! Tommy!

Thank you.

Laura McKee.

Battalion Commander,

Fermanagh IRA.

You missed the first

and second act.

Thank you for coming,

Mr Shelby.

Thank you. Thank you.

The third act was enough.

You both have reasons

to hate me

and to want to seek revenge

for the killing...

Sh!

Gypsy tradition.

We do not mention the name

of the dead in company.

Laura McKee,

in the Shelby family,

business comes

before issues of vengeance.

Our beloved departed

would understand and approve.

Let's go, boys.

Our agreement was we meet

in a crowded place.

No need for crowds.

We need you alive.

After you.

You know, Mr Shelby,

even though we've been doing

business for a while,

we've never met in person.

You spoke with passion...

...and compassion.

You understand forgiveness

and you drink water.

Yet I heard

from many reliable sources

that you have a reputation

for moral turpitude.

Moral turpitude...

It's a good name

for a racehorse.

You don't know what it means?

I know what it means.

It means you fuck people.

Fuck people over.

Don't give a fuck.

It means you covet and steal

and burn all principles

for the sake of self-interest.

Well, I'm changing,

Laura McKee,

and my organisation

is also changing.

So, what happened in Boston?

Jack Nelson said no.

Are we accepting no

as an answer?

These are letters...

...written to and by

Jack Nelson

over the last three months.

This...

This is a private letter

from the President

of the United States.

Where the fuck

did you get this?

My racehorse, Moral Turpitude,

is just one of many

in my stables.

Sometimes, even now,

I'll take her out for a run

if there is a good cause

that requires her services.

Jack Nelson's coming to London.

Officially, he's coming

to buy liquor import licences.

Unofficially, he's on

a fact-finding mission.

He's come to measure

the strength of support

for fascism in Britain.

He'll report back

to the President.

And how does that help us?

In this letter to his son,

Jack Nelson expresses

strong support for fascism.

In this letter

to a friend in Berlin,

he says some, erm,

interesting things about Jews.

He's not coming to Europe

to find facts.

He's coming to find proof

that fascism will prevail.

And you and I...

...are going

to help him in that task.

I thought you were a socialist.

Well...

...since I've entered politics,

I've learned that

the line doesn't go out

from the middle to the left

and the right.

It goes in a circle.

I'll show you.

You go far enough left,

eventually you'll meet someone

who has gone far enough right

to get to the same place.

Working-class socialists

like me,

working-class nationalists

like you.

The result?

National Socialism.

And that's me...

...in the middle.

Just a man trying to make

an honest living

in a very dark world.

You have friends in Dublin,

Laura McKee,

who are actively fighting

for a fascist Ireland,

and you are acting

on their behalf, ain't you?

When Jack Nelson

comes to London,

I can give him access

to Oswald Mosley

and to fascist sympathisers

in the House of Commons

and the House of Lords,

on both sides of the divide.

Fascism is quite the thing...

...among the very best people.

And with your help,

I can also offer him Dublin.

And you think this will allow

us to ship our merchandise

to Boston?

Perhaps.

There may be other benefits

for your cause.

All you have to do

is sit with Jack Nelson

and talk to him about

a new golden age,

and let him put a pin

in the map of Ireland

for the President

of the United States.

I came to collect Arthur

and put him to bed.

I found him in Garrison Lane

with a syringe in his hand.

A friend loves at all time.

A brother is born

for adversity.

Proverbs 17:17.

I have two brothers in need,

but yours is the more urgent,

Tommy.

Will you come with me?

So, Laura McKee...

...are you going to help me

change the world?

Mr Shelby, this meeting

is not what I expected.

Never is.

Is that a yes or a no?

My answer's yes.

The answer's always yes.

The back door is unlocked.

You can let yourself out.

And tell your friends

back home -

Tommy Shelby has changed.

Where is he?

When I found him,

the syringe was empty.

He's sleeping it off

on the cobbles.

Shit, Tommy. Shit.

It's all under control, Ada.

Well, I'm not under

fucking control!

I'm not you, Tommy,

and I'm not Polly either.

Even though I'm trying to be.

She would have stopped this.

We will pull Arthur

through this.

I'm not talking about Arthur,

I'm talking about you!

I heard everything

you were saying in there.

Ada, this will be the end

of it, do you hear me?

This is the way out

for all of us,

and along the way,

I will be doing good.

No, along the way,

you're going to make yourself

a lot of fucking money.

All right, fair enough.

Any incidental rewards for

my good work will be welcome.

But you will get

your fair share, sister.

And by being

among the fascists,

by being among 'em,

I can undermine them.

Polly would approve.

Beneath all the gold

and diamonds

and fucking...fucking mink

and lace,

she was a solid socialist.

Look, I know it's too late

for this, Tom, but...

This doorway.

This same fucking doorway.

We used to come here

for Dad's beer.

And we were so little, it took

two of us carry one bucket.

Yeah, I remember.

Look at us now, eh?

Yeah. Fucking look at us.

Take a good look, Tom,

cos one of us isn't going

to be here for long.

Fuck! Opium and presidents!

Ada, if you don't want

to help me carry the bucket...

...then I wouldn't blame you.

But this is my mission.

And I will have no limitations.

Where are you, Tom?

Hmm?

My big brother?

You know, you used to stop

sometimes and laugh.

Do you even remember

this place?

You walk into The Garrison

like a stranger

and you sip fucking water.

But I'm alive, Ada.

Yeah.

And you're still looking for

trouble big enough to kill you.

Well...

...I think

you might have found it.

I have children, Tommy.

You have to carry

this bucket on your own.

One brother half-dead in

the rain in Garrison alley,

and the other

has no limitations.

I'm expected.

Oh, and Mr Solomons

no longer tolerates

the smoking of tobacco

in his presence.

I always thought that opera

was just fat people

fucking shouting.

Yeah? What do you think now?

I think the sound of a tenor

in full passion

reminds me of the crying out

of Italian soldiers

when they had my bayonet

inside them.

Ever since my own death,

I have been somewhat

haunted by it.

Dear me.

But instead of fighting

these voices,

I decided to write

their songs down,

you know, and turn them

into an opera of my own.

Do not light that.

No. No. Were you not told?

I have a condition.

What I was told, Alfie...

...is that you have withdrawn

and that you spend your days

alone...

...obsessing

about opera singers.

Opera's not fucking singing,

is it?

It's not singing.

It is the sound

that people make...

...before words.

And I do not allow smoking

because I do need to see

fucking clearly,

all right?

What, do you sense weakness

in the Israelite?

Not a sense of weakness,

no, Alfie.

- Huh?

- A certain knowledge of it.

Since you've been sat here,

writing your opera...

...a member of your family

has died.

Charles Solomons. Your uncle.

He ran all the narcotics,

bootlegging,

prostitution,

gambling syndicates

out of East Boston.

But last January,

poor old Charlie, well...

...he was shot

in the Cotton Club,

in the lavatory,

by men that you know,

and yet you did nothing, Alfie.

Now, my opera is called

America.

America is my fucking

masterpiece!

The truth is,

your uncle is dead...

...Boston is gone...

...and you,

once the big man

who ran Camden Town...

...now can't even extinguish

another man's cigarette...

...let alone his fucking life.

You need favours,

- Alfie.

- I need

a fucking final act, right?

Just a final fucking act

for my opera.

Yeah?

Alfie...

I think I may have

written your final act.

Why don't you sit down

and have a listen, eh?

I have five tons of pure,

refined opium

sitting in one of my warehouses

in Liverpool.

I have safe storage

off the coast of Canada.

I have men willing

to distribute it in Toronto,

Quebec, New York and Boston.

The income would be immediate

and would shift the balance

of power in Boston

back in the favour

of the Solomons family.

In the final act

that I am giving you, Alfie,

it is you

who takes the revenge.

Why would you sell?

The Irish are being difficult.

The Italians are not an option.

Also, Alfie, you are my friend.

Pay you with credit?

- No.

- Oh...

I will take property.

You own half the warehouses

in Camden.

I'll take 'em

and knock 'em down,

build houses for the needy

and the deserving.

Oh.

Yeah, well, the, erm...

The Irish have always been

difficult, Tommy, ain't they?

For about fucking 700 years.

You know that I once saw

an Irishman

arguing with the statue

of Oliver Cromwell

in Parliament Square.

The argument went on

for quite a while, actually.

It went into the night,

as his little voice echoed

all around

the Houses of Parliament

as he got more and more angered

Oliver Cromwell

was reluctant somewhat

to answer

his legitimate questions,

so angered, in fact,

that eventually he punched

the statue on the nose

and broke his fucking hand.

And there it is, you know,

the Irish question, innit?

How come

you can remember so much

about what happened

200 years ago,

but you just can't remember

what fucking happened

last night?

How much is a ton?

Johnny.

Only me today.

Jack says a few more weeks...

...then you'll be free.

When do you travel to London?

Tomorrow.

I came to say goodbye.

When you go to London,

stay away from the devil.

Block your fucking ears,

if you have to.

I'll be with you, Michael.

I've been thinking about you.

Only you.

And don't worry

about Tommy Shelby.

I have no interest

in a dead man.

Jack says he has to die.

Well, you tell Jack to wait.

If anyone's going to kill

Tommy Shelby...

It will be you.

I know.

I told Jack.

And Jack said, "OK.

"Let the kid do it."

And in return, he can collect

the cash that Tommy won't.

$5 million.

The devil will be dead.

The future belongs to us.

Oh, and, uh, Michael...

Every night...

..midnight in Boston,

5am in London...

...I'll be wide awake

in my big, wide bed,

and you'll be wide awake

in this prison cell.

And our souls

will come together...

...and we'll fuck.

I won't need an alarm clock.

And you won't sleep

until I'm done.

Midnight fucks 5am.

Every day.

Because we trust each other.

Hmm?

You're a fucking traitor,

Shelby! You're a fucking...

Darker.

Bluer.

Sharper.

I want to see it from below.

Darling, how's that?

You look absolutely terrifying,

my love.

Fuck lipstick.

Fun.

To launch the ship.

A long and terrible journey,

Diana.

Don't fucking let me down.

Mr Shelby!

Mr Shelby!

Daily Mirror.

- Mr Shelby!

- Off!

May I ask why a socialist MP

would attend a fascist rally,

sir?

Let him in,

let me answer the question.

Mr Mosley's constituency

borders my own.

We have worked together

in the past.

He was once a socialist

himself.

My role here tonight

is to...to act as a bridge

between ideologies.

I'm in the middle.

Mr Shelby, you once shared

a platform with Mr Mosley.

Will you be sharing the stage

with him tonight?

No. I am simply here

to remind my friend, Mr Mosley,

that the way of the British

people is compromise.

And you can print that, pal.

Fucking rag.

Lizzie, you should know

that Mosley's wife died

six months ago.

So give him your condolences,

will you?

Tonight,

he will be with his mistress,

who is apparently

a lady of some standing...

...and has given him great

comfort in his time of grief.

Fuck off, you dozy bastard!

Move out my fucking way.

What is Arthur doing here?

Mosley invited him. I agreed.

Arthur made me a promise,

which he appears

to have broken.

Move! I said fucking move.

I tried my best.

He's hid some junk in his sock.

- OK.

- Move along.

Oi!

- Oi, Tommy!

- Come on!

- Tommy!

- You're in! You're in.

- Come on, you're in.

- My brother.

- Tommy!

- Yeah.

Johnny Dogs.

Mosley invited me.

He said,

"Wear a black fucking shirt."

Here you are.

I said, "I'd look like

every other bastard."

Lizzie!

- Come on.

- For fuck's sake.

You're an angel. I know

I've fucking let you down.

I've fucking let you down,

I know I have. All right?

I've fucking said sorry

a million times

and I'll say it again.

I'm sorry, all right?

- Yeah.

- I'm fucking sorry.

Look at Johnny Dogs.

Fucking look

at the state of him.

He looks like a fucking waiter.

- Oh, shut up.

- Get me a fucking drink.

Johnny, take your shirt off

and give it to me.

For fuck's sake, Tommy.

Take your fucking shirt off

and give it me now.

Get it off!

Arthur, this is my fault.

- This is my fault.

- Yeah.

Remember, we voted on getting

involved in the opium trade?

- You voted no.

- I said no.

Remember? I overruled you.

I've not been here,

I've been away.

Where you been, Tom?

And Ada tells me you've been

hanging out with Mosley.

- Yeah, he's...

- Yeah?

In his big, beautiful

fucking house.

And they have parties there,

in Belgravia.

And they give me

fucking respect.

Yeah?

And what do you give them?

Snow and junk from the company.

Hang on.

Look at you, brother.

Half of you's gone.

Half of you's gone.

- What the fuck?

- Rag and bone.

You fucking slapped me.

You slapped me.

I have to remain unresolved.

Do you understand?

Unresolved.

Unresolved in everything.

I have to move between left

and right, light and shade,

and maintain the trust of both.

And I cannot have my brother

wearing a fucking black shirt

on the cover

of the Daily Mirror.

If anyone takes my picture

in this,

they'll find their fucking

camera under my heel, Tom.

They are throwing petrol bombs

out there, Tommy.

I thought Ada was

taking care of you.

Ada's got decisions to make

about working with us.

She doesn't know

what she wants.

I'll speak to Ada.

Listen, I'm going home,

all right?

No, you stay there.

I have something for you.

Lizzie, you can go in

with Johnny.

Johnny, take Lizzie

to her seat.

But I don't have an invitation,

Tom.

Johnny, you're wearing

a fucking black shirt,

you can do what you like.

Go on. I'll follow you. Go on.

Go on, Dogs.

And get me a fucking drink

while you're there.

I know, Tom. Look at me.

Arthur, before I went

to America,

I wrote a letter.

Yeah? Who to?

To Linda.

And in that letter, I wrote,

"Linda, as a Christian woman,

"do you believe

in forgiveness?"

And this is what I got back.

Two days ago. Have a look.

"As a Christian woman,

"I do believe in forgiveness."

Yeah, and the word do

is underlined.

Arthur, I'm no Christian.

But I also believe

in forgiveness.

So, get yourself clean,

stay clean for two weeks,

I'll write Linda

another letter.

Cos I know where she is.

First, I need you back.

I need my brother.

I have a lot to do.

Need someone

to do the real work.

Yeah.

Yeah. Look at your smile, Tom.

Look at your smile, brother.

It's been so long.

Come on. Let's see what this

bastard has to say. Come on.

- All right. All right.

- Come on.

Yeah, I'm coming.

He is a bastard an' all, Tommy.

Black shirts and Jews.

Here we go. Here we fucking go.

Stay in the middle

and do nothing, Tommy.

But not fucking me.

Come here, you,

you Nazi bastard!

Come here, man,

I'll take your fucking eye.

Not here! Not here!

Come here. You've had your fun,

now let's go home.

- We have business.

Johnny, you get him home.

This time,

check his fucking socks.

For fuck's sake!

Tommy, we should get out now.

Forget this American business.

We've got enough.

Not near enough.

Here she comes.

Remember to smile. Come on.

Shit.

Ladies and gentlemen,

tonight, he has truly earned

your adulation.

The future Prime Minister

of this great country,

Sir Oswald Mosley!

Fuck you, Mosley!

Fuck. I look terrible.

You look beautiful, Lizzie.

I need to impress this woman,

so I will act

as if she is beautiful as well.

Mosley.

Diana,

this is Tommy Shelby MP, OBE.

Mr Shelby, Lady Diana Mitford.

Oswald's most recent

and last-ever mistress.

This is my wife, Lizzie Shelby.

Beautiful earrings.

Oh, I stole them

from Tiffany's.

Actually, he bought

the earrings in Paris.

We were in Paris

on our honeymoon.

- God, I hate Paris.

- Hmm.

I hear you prefer Berlin.

Oswald and I are going to marry

there, aren't we, Oswald?

Hmm.

Mosley, I have business

to discuss.

Perhaps you and I could find

somewhere a bit quieter, eh?

Darling, Mr Shelby just made

the astonishing suggestion

that we men go off

and discuss business

while you women wait around

looking glamorous.

Goodness.

What year do you think this is,

Mr Shelby? 1807?

In Birmingham, the centuries

grind by quite slowly.

But, Mr Shelby,

if it's business,

Diana is the engine

of my enterprise.

It's the modern way, Mr Shelby.

Yes, we know.

I am company director.

I will join the meeting

as well.

But of course, you must come

as well, Elizabeth.

By the way,

I really don't like "Lizzie".

I prefer liberated "Elizabeth".

She must be part of this.

She's been

all the way to Paris,

so she is a woman of the world.

Bravo.

Do you know, Oswald has told me

everything about you...

Only three...

...because I know

these days Mr Shelby doesn't.

Our friend in Berlin

doesn't either.

Well, they have that in common,

at least.

Oh, I imagine

they have lots in common.

Hmm.

Report to me, Shelby.

Officially,

Jack Nelson is in London

to buy import licences.

And unofficially,

he's Roosevelt's envoy.

Well, as you can see

from this private letter...

...he is far

from a neutral point of view.

Look at the bottom

of the second paragraph.

"Individually Jews are fine,

but as a race they stink."

Hmm.

Elizabeth, do you even know

why the bridge

to President Roosevelt

is so important?

Actually, no.

I don't really know much

about this business at all.

But I have fucked

your future husband,

so I know lots of things

about him.

Tommy, I'll be outside.

Well done, Elizabeth.

Do you people want

to meet Nelson or no?

Mr Shelby, from now on,

can I call you Thomas?

If you like.

Of course we would.

And we are very grateful

for your efforts.

But, Mr Shelby,

before this enterprise

goes any further,

you really must do

something about your wife.

Mr Shelby.

Yes.

Mr Nelson.

I came early.

I wanted to come

and take a look

around this beautiful church.

You're Catholic, Mr Shelby.

I hoped that by suggesting

we meet in church,

it might make us both

more...cautious

with lies and truth.

Well, your hope

would be forlorn.

There ain't no-one listening

here.

You don't believe in God?

No.

It was the way Catholics

were treated in my country

that made me angry.

Made me what I became.

What made you angry?

Slowness...in anything.

I wanted to have everything

already.

Two working-class

Catholic boys.

Did they mess with you

when you were small?

Some man in the shadows.

I carried a screwdriver

and a blade,

and everyone believed

I had the power to lay curses.

And do you?

Yes, I do.

First man I killed

was a priest.

You?

A Prussian boy with green eyes.

He was already underground.

When did you last kill a man,

Mr Shelby?

Four years ago.

His name was Thomas Shelby.

He drank whiskey.

You want me to allow you

to enter my city

and deal narcotics

that'll kill people?

You deal in whiskey, Mr Nelson.

I recently read a report

by the Vatican, actually,

which said that whiskey

disproportionately kills

more of our Catholic brothers

and sisters,

whereas opium is the sedative

more often chosen

by Protestants and atheists.

In return,

there are people in England

who you think I should meet?

Yes.

Yes, like minds.

I'm here to buy import licences

for booze.

The booze

of the blue blood elite.

In America, we...we like

labels and aspiration.

Well, I have a brand of my own

vodka and gin.

You can add that

to your portfolio.

I hear Shelby labels are

favoured by the working class.

Indeed.

A fact of which I'm very proud.

They say you are a poet, too.

No, I only read it.

There are some people in this

country who I'd like to meet.

Fascists.

Not the ones in boots

and black shirts.

The ones in tuxedos.

I know men who are friends

of the cause.

I also know men who are enemies

of the cause.

For many years now,

I have been working closely

with Winston Churchill,

in many different capacities.

I have his trust.

He's opposed

to the rise of fascism.

You, I believe,

see it as inevitable.

Well, I can give you

men of influence

who support your cause.

I can also offer you

a full report

on Churchill's strategies.

All this in return for access

to South Boston?

Alternatively,

you can take on Churchill

on your own,

without my intelligence,

and I can sell my opium

to the Jews.

You're a brave man, Mr Shelby.

A war hero, I hear.

Every war hero I ever met,

they're just someone who wanted

to get themselves killed.

Do we have a deal, Mr Nelson?

I'll think a great deal

about what you've said.

Ruby, have you finished

your spelling, love?

Ruby?

Ruby?

Ruby?

Ruby?

What are you doing, love?

I can hear voices...

...coming from up the chimney.

What voices?

The grey man.

Gentlemen,

Mr Thomas Shelby.

Birmingham South.

Mr Speaker.

I was raised in a family

that endured living conditions

that would test

the morality of

even the most virtuous.

Indeed...

Indeed, even the best of us

would have our virtues trounced

and thwarted by life

in the meanness

and the bitterness of

an overcrowded British slum.

What would you know

about virtue?

Quickly, please.

Therefore, Mr Speaker, I intend

to put before this House

a bill which will offer

radical reform

in housing policy

in this country,

in which slums are cleared,

new houses are built

with new standards

in health and hygiene.

Westminster 245.

House of Commons.

The time has come for change,

the people have had enough.

Let's open the windows,

let in new light,

build a new Jerusalem

brick by

Government-owned brick.

- Into there.

Good.

Doctor?

Yeah, Westminster 245.

Mr Shelby.

"Tickner maura, o beng,

o beng" over and over again.

How is the family?

And one of you will die.

He's staring at me, Daddy.

A man with green eyes.

Can you stop the voices?

There are no voices, my love.

It's the grey man.

He says he's coming for me...

...and he's coming

for Daddy as well.

- Sh...

Mr Shelby?

Is everything all right

in there?

- Mr Shelby?

Everything's fine.

Everything's fine.

- Hello?

- Tommy.

Tommy, she has a temperature

of 101 and nothing is working.

- Just get here now.

- Lizzie?

- Please.

- Lizzie?

Where is she?

She's with the doctor upstairs.

Listen, Tommy.

He said we shouldn't come close

to her, in case...

In case of what?

When she coughs, there's blood.

Madonna,

put me through to the number

I gave you for Esme Shelby Lee.