MobLand

We need to find a solution, all right?

We have to find a way forward.

I appreciate the relationship between the Dogans

and the Lazaros goes back more than three decades.

I appreciate that it's an ecosystem

spanning North and East London.

Myriad complex, interdependent revenue streams,

the collapse of which will affect entire communities

and cost literally millions.

I mean, not just to us. Right?

But to you, Costas, yeah?

And you, Mehmet. And your families.

Why? Because of some stupid fucking beef

that-that we can put to bed right here, yeah?

Right now.

With a handshake and an apology.

I will shake hands.

Okay.

For the sake of peace...

I will also.

But apology? No.

[overlapping arguing in foreign languages]

I don't understand a fucking word you're saying.

Uh, wh-what are you saying? Are-are you saying

you are willing to accept a truce?

Based solely on a handshake but with no apology?

I will shake hands.

Okay. Mehmet?

I will shake hands.

Okay. That's good.

That's a start, innit?

That's good. Hold that thought.

Okay?

Uh-huh.

Where are we?

They've agreed to shake hands.

Hmm.

No apologies?

No.

Well...

...what does your gut tell you?

Honestly?

That it's a bit of sticky plaster, innit?

Last maybe five, six months at best.

Then they'll kick off and we'd be back where we started.

Maybe worse.

My source inside the Dogans tells me that, uh,

Mehmet has been skimming off the top.

And it's a damn sight more than two or three grand

here and there.

And it turns out that Costas has been a naughty boy, too.

It's always the same, in any orchard.

You plant the trees.

The trees grow tall.

Then, sooner or later, they begin to get mangled,

and before you know it,

the apples start to rot.

And that, Harry, my son, is pruning time.

All right.

Right. Change of plan.

Fuck.

Paul.

Yes, Conrad.

Take the boys over to Hackney.

Dot the i's, cross the T's.

Harry.

Call the Maltese.

Tell them there's a gap in the market on the brown.

They have 24 hours in which to make an offer.

Uh... Yeah.

Huh.

Thirty years.

When I think of all the fucking Turkish delight I had to eat...

You fucking whore, you.

You.

All right.

Twenty-four hours. Hmm?

Nah, that's it, bro. I'm-I'm cooked.

Not yet, you're not.

We've got a date with Destiny.

And Bethany, and Alexis, and, oh, Zara.

- Oh, hello. - T-T-Taxi!

What the actual fuck? Stevers.

Stevers, you penis.

Mink, Kingster. What are you bellends doing here?

Stevers, come on.

Oh, where are you off to?

Nowhere.

Harrigan knows a banging spot. Roll with us.

- Nah, you're all right. - Come on, let's roll.

- We're rolling. -

For fuck's sake.

- Fucking love it. - Me first.

Ladies first.

Fuck.

Here you are, get that up your schnoz.

- -

- The fuck are you doing? - Historic moment.

Eddie Harrigan and Tommy Stevenson in the same cab.

- What would their dads say? -

It's like being with the Kray twins. What the fuck?

What's the matter?

Nothing to say to the Krays?

It was just a joke.

Oh.

It was my new phone.

Here.

Dry your eyes with that.

This should get you a new one, a better one. Bash.

I'm flagging. Give us a bump?

Come on, then. This is the energy we need!

We're out, fellas.

Yeah. My dad would skin me alive if he knew I was out with you.

My dad wouldn't bother skinning me alive.

He'd just fucking kill me.

Eddie Harrigan. I'm on Valjon's list.

Just about there.

Yeah, it says you only got a plus-one, Eddie.

Well, now... it's plus three.

Let's have it! Large and in charge!

All right, my darling. How you getting on? You all right?

I'll be seeing you later. What you looking at? Huh?

Whoo! Feisty one.

- Oy, look at that! -

Fucking hell. Pump it up. Put your back into it.

- Fuck off! - Right, sir.

Valjon. This is my mate, Tommy.

You said one, not three.

My squad, mate? Four Musketeers.

One for all and all for one, right, lads?

Keep an eye on them.

Listen, Eddie. I've had enough.

What are you talking about?

- I'm going home. - No, come on.

Watch out, mate.

You all right, mate? You look a bit wet.

Yeah. I am looking a bit wet. Yeah, hold that, Boggle.

How about you getting a bit wet, you cunt?

Ooh! Keep your hair on. We're only having a bit of fun.

Fun's over, now fuck off.

Where's your blade now, cunt?

Jesus, Eddie. Fuck me!

Who's fucking next? Huh? Come on, cunt.

You fucking want some? Come on!

Fucking hell.

- Fuck off. - Easy now, bro.

Get out of the way!

Move!

Hey!

Move! Stop!

- Move! - Hey!

Hey, get down!