Layer Cake

When I was born, the world was a far simpler place.

It was all just cops and robbers.

Fucking get down! Get down now!

And you! Stay down! Stay down!

But it wasn't for me.

Then came the Summer of Love.

Hashish and LSD arrived on the scene.

There were villains locked away for 12 years...

...for robbing a bank of 10 grand...

...doing time with drippy hippies doing 12 months...

...for smuggling 2 million quid's worth of puff.

I mean, work it out, mate. We're in the wrong fucking game.

Drugs changed everything.

Always remember that one day this drug monkey-business will be legal.

They won't leave it to people like me when they figure out...

...how much money there is to be made: not millions, fucking billions.

Recreational Drugs plc. Giving people what they want.

Good times today, stupor tomorrow.

But this is now.

So, until prohibition ends, make hay while the sun shines.

I'm not a gangster.

I'm a businessman whose commodity happens to be cocaine.

Ten years ago, charlie was for pop stars or a celebrity's birthday bash.

It was demonized by Daily Mail readers getting drunk in wine bars.

Now they're my biggest clients.

This is Clarkie. Double first at Cambridge in industrial Chemistry.

Well, he's gotta pay off his student loan somehow.

Today, I only deal in kilos.

Depending which tariff you use...

...that'll cost you either 28 grand or 15 years in prison...

...which is more time than a rapist.

C'est la vie.

It is vital that we work to a few golden rules.

Always work in a small team.

Keep a very low profile. Only deal with people who come recommended.

It's like selling anything:

washing machines, handmade shoes, blowjobs.

As long as you don't take the piss, people will come back for more.

That's not to say we don't weave that magic that makes two kilos three...

...but never be too greedy.

Know and respect your enemy.

It is only very, very stupid people who think the law is stupid.

And avoid like the fucking plague...

...loud, attention-seeking wannabe gangsters...

...in it for the glory, to be a face, to be a name.

Hello, Slavo. Yeah, it's the Duke.

Everything's sweet. When can we meet?

They don't mean to fuck up. They just do.

Forgive me for stating the obvious, but stay away from the end-user.

They are guaranteed to bring you trouble.

As do guns.

I hate guns. And violence.

But as some Roman general once said:

"if you seek peace, plan for war."

Morty and his assistant Terry, they watch my back.

Morty learnt caution the hard way. He did 10 years inside.

He's my bridge to the criminal world...

...and he ensures that the traffic is one-way.

Look, there's Amsterdam, and there's Oofdorfe... dorfe.

Not a fucking clue. None of them speak English.

- Get in the car. I'm sure it's that way. - Move up.

- I bet you it's that way. - We've already been that way.

Yeah, but we're gonna go that way again. Give us the map.

Oh, don't start, the pair of you.

It's like being out with a pair of kids.

- All day you've been moaning. - It can't be that difficult.

How many fucking greenhouses can there be?

Morty.

Terence.

Clarkie.

Very, very important: pay your supplier prompt.

In our case, that's Mr. Jimmy Price. He's the top of the pyramid.

Pay him. In full, on time, without fail, no short counts.

You get no second chances. Jimmy calls the shots.

Where the fuck is Gene?

- I don't know. Ask me one on sport. - What time does your watch tell?

- The same as yours. - He's never late.

Shut the fuck up.

Patience.

Gene here is Jimmy's right-hand man.

Been with him since way back.

All the drugs and cash go through Gene.

Jimmy trusts him with his life.

By the way, Jimmy would like to see you tomorrow for a spot of lunch.

Wait a minute. Is there a problem?

Why does everybody assume there's a problem because he wants a word?

Maybe he's grateful. He fucking should be.

See you at Stoke Park at 1.

This is just so beautiful.

We need to get in and out of here sharpish.

Paul and the tide ain't gonna wait.

Everyone likes to walk through a door marked "Private."

Therefore, have a good reason to be affluent.

I own a share in a very successful letting agency.

It gives me an honest income. Looks good on the self-assessment.

Whereas years ago scallywags were trying to get money out of banks...

...now your problem is how to get your ill-gotten gains in.

That's a job for Mr. Singh. He does my laundry.

And in a week, it will be ready for collection...

...in the form of a nice clean check for a round million.

The business is on the up and up.

But I've always said, have a plan and stick to it.

Quit while you're ahead.

So barring any fuck-ups, I'm leaving it all behind.

No, we got the parcel.

Yeah, better than expected, actually.

It's just that things have gone a little bit slightly turbo this end.

Come on, boys, lively, lively.

If we miss this tide, we're not going anywhere till daylight.

Paul, you ain't being paid to moan.

You're being paid to get my cargo home.

Come on, babe. You all right? Careful here, it's a bit wobbly.

Life is so fucking good, I can taste it in my spit.

I'll treat tomorrow's lunch like the Last Supper, feign interest in his tales.

And then leave quietly forever.

This is pure class.

Please, follow me, gentlemen.

Mr. Price is in the Oval Room.

- Your guests, Mr. Price. - Thanks, Angelo. Welcome. Sit down.

How is it with that Paki accountant I put your way?

- He still doing the business? - Raj is doing a very good job.

Good. Paying your bit of straight-goer's tax, eh?

We all have to do our bit.

Say hello from me next time you see him.

You hungry? The grub here will make your bollocks tingle.

Let's eat.

Right.

We've gotta test the "snap, crackle and pop" factor on these.

Don't ask me. I ain't fucking touching them.

You are a miserable bastard, you really are.

- Brian. - What?

Sit down, mate. Got a little treat for you.

Help yourself.

A little privacy, please, Angelo.

What do you want, son?

- Excuse me? - In life. What are you after?

A shot at the title? A seat by the band?

Well, I don't know, Mr. Price. That's a very expansive question.

Right, expansive. Good answer.

Years ago, people would've thought you were a homosexual...

...using a word like "expansive."

- You're not a homosexual, are you? - No.

- Not behind with the rent? - No.

No, I didn't think you were.

No harm in it, I suppose. Times change.

You know why people like you can't leave this business?

Because you make too much money for people like me.

Anyway, I'll get to the point. I need a favour.

I need someone who's a bit cute, a smooth operator.

Not a two-a-penny loudmouth. Too many grasses around.

- It would be a pleasure, Mr. Price. - Jimmy. You can call me Jimmy.

Now, this favour. It's not for me, truth be told. It's for a good friend of mine.

Like a blood brother. We were at school together.

Now he's a right wheeler-dealer.

Flinging up skyscrapers. His wife's a proper blue blood.

I'll give you a clue. Eddie Temple.

Does that name mean anything to you?

- I know who you mean. - Now, Eddie's got a daughter.

Charlie, bless her.

The light of his life. He worships the ground she walks on.

She's a proper beauty, Charlie.

Or to give her her correct moniker, Charlie Spencer-Temple.

But she ain't behaving like a lady.

She's hooked on the white powder and loves a wrong one.

This is where you come in, right? You're gonna find her.

- Find her? - She's gone missing.

Well, you should get a private detective.

Oh, right. Some nosy ex-policeman, still on the Scotland Yard payroll?

She's done a runner from a drug rehabilitation unit in the West Country.

Rehab.

She got loved up in there with some lowlife crackhead called Kinky.

I reckon they've gone back to London.

I wouldn't know where to begin.

Now and then we're asked to do something beyond the call of duty.

It's called sacrifice, son.

Ask Gene. Ask Morty.

- I'll do my best. - You do your best and find her.

Keep Mr. McGuire posted.

I've also got a little business more in your usual line.

Gene will fill you in.

Everything was to your satisfaction?

- Fucking excellent, Angelo. - Thank you.

Details, details. Things to do, things to get done.

Don't bother me with details. Just tell me when they're done.

- Who said that, son? - Winston Churchill?

Close. No, I said it. James Lionel Price. Good boy.

I'll see you at the yard tomorrow. Say, 4: 00.

Tell you about that bit of business. I've set up a meet for 5 with the Duke.

- What's with him? - He's just had one of these.

These are super Es. We'll make millions!

I don't care. This is my boatyard.

I want those pills and that fucking idiot out of here now.

- I can't afford to get nicked. - Paul. Calm down, mate.

I've got Gene coming down with a buyer. You'll be in your whack.

Here, chill. Have a pill.

Gene, why are we doing business with the Duke?

Yeah, why are we dealing with this joker?

He's a fucking maniac, a relic, a throwback, belongs to the Dark Ages.

Will you just shut the fuck up?

We're dealing with him because he has 1 million Ecstasy pills...