The Sweeney

Here, Carter. What do you reckon? Nice bit of glass, eh?

Yeah, it's a nice ring.

Just don't feel the same way about you, Miller. Sorry, mate.

Yeah. It's for Sue. Cost me two months' wages.

Gonna pop the question.

Miller.

What's up? I thought you'd be happy.

The problem is she's a six out of 10, Miller.

- Right, Sim? - Yeah, a six.

- Six and a half, and I’m being generous there, mate. - You what?

If you’re gonna tie the knot with someone...

you make sure they're a nine or a three.

- A stunner or a complete shitter. -

You fall in the middle, you're fucked, mate. It's never gonna last.

- That's bollocks, man. - I'm talking bollocks, yeah?

All right. We'll ask the others.

Oi, text Clarke. Ask her.

Back up! Back up! Go!

Everyone on the floor! Get on the floor now!

Move!

Go! Move over in there!

Get over to the wall! Get over to the wall!

Don't fucking look at me! Keep your head down!

You! Get over here!

- Stay fucking down! - Don't fucking look at me! Look at the fucking floor!

Sixty seconds.

Got a text from Carter.

Wants us to score Miller's girlfriend out of 10.

Don't know. I ain't slept with her.

- Oi! It's based on looks. - Four and a half in a balaclava.

What about you, Lewis?

Don't know her.

What about me, then? What would you rate me?

Well, if it was prick size, I'd give you a two...

but since we're talking about faces...

give you a two.

Thirty seconds! Stay down there!

- - Ah.

- Average. - Average?

- Yeah. - Average.

Not low enough to be grateful to you...

not high enough to make you grateful to her.

Fucking recipe for disaster.

What about your girl, then? What's she score?

We're not married.

- Armed police! - Right! Get on the floor!

- Get on the fucking floor! - Police!

Get on the fucking floor, now!

- - Miller!

Get out of the fucking car, now!

Are you all right, Miller?

Armed police!

Armed police! Get on the fucking floor!

Come here!

- Oi! -

- You all right, girl? - Yeah. Go, go, go.

Get down on your fucking front!

Come here! Come here!

Move! On your fucking— Don't fucking move!

Get over here, now!

Fuck.

We're the Sweeney, shithead. You're nicked.

Yeah. Nice work, Regan.

But did you really have to destroy the whole place in the process?

We got the villains, didn't we?

Well, I've got the headache of explaining why you smashed their heads in and wrecked the whole depot.

You know we'll have Internal Affairs on our back again.

We got the villains, didn't we?

Yeah, shit always rolls downhill, Jack— to me.

Yeah. Well, I'm sorry about the mess, but there just happened to be an armed robbery in progress.

Well, listen. If we wanna stay operational, we've gotta play the game.

It ain't a game when you've got a G3 sticking in the back of your nut.

You get Internal Affairs off my fucking case, I'll get you results.

Oi. Remember who runs this unit, Jack. All right?

Yeah. Well, you know how we go to work. Deal with it.

Yeah, who put it all together in the first place?

- - Who keeps the wolves from your door?

Yeah, all right.

- Well done, kid. - All right.

What was the estimate?

Half a mill plus.

- Krugerrands and ingots. - Everyone's okay?

Yeah, Miller took one, but he'll live to fight another day.

World's running out of men like you, Jack.

Yeah. Well, fuck you.

- Hey, hey. - Hey. A toast. A toast to the new boy.

Popped his cherry on the pavement.

- - Raise a fucking glass.

- Go on, the Sweeney! - Go on, paddy.

Yeah, yeah, and maybe next time, Regan will give you a weapon to hold.

- Fuck that. -

I became a copper 'cause— 'cause I'm Irish.

Well, all right. Well— I became a copper because I’m black.

- - What about you, Wex?

I become a copper 'cause I'm black.

What about you, pretty boy?

As pretty as my face is...

obviously I don't give a fuck about it that much, as you can see.

As far as I'm concerned, there ain't any other job in the world...

that'd give me the kind of buzz this one does.

Good boy.

So if this pretty little face of mine has to take a couple more beatings...

from time to time, so fucking be it, right, Sim?

Got you, boy. To Carter's face!

To Carter's face!

- An improvement on when you left the house this morning, darling. - Yeah?

- Yeah? That right, is it? - I’m only kidding.

You're better-looking than this lot.

I love it.

- When you gonna leave him? - When you gonna ask me?

- I don't like the fact you go home and fuck him. -

- I haven't fucked him in over a year. You know that. - Ooh. Please.

He hasn't made me laugh in over two.

- Duty calls. - Yeah.

Always does.

All right, Harry?

How's your luck?

Okay. Yourself?

Well, still in with a shoot.

- How's your leg? - Ah, it's still giving me agg.

I hear the work went off well.

Yeah. It was just like you said. Almost fell in our laps.

Word is one of 'em got a good hiding.

George did it.

Well, you got anything else for me?

Heard about a private bank on Trafalgar Square.

Apparently, it's being looked at.

Nah. No one's that fucking silly any more.

They say it's a sitting duck.

I'll swing past it tomorrow with George.

How is he?

Who, George? George is George, isn't he?

- What about you, Jack? You seeing anyone special at the moment? - Ah, shtoom. Shtoom.

What's the matter with you?

You're getting a nosy old bastard.

I'd better get back in there, make sure Carter's behaving himself.

- Sweeney! - Sweeney!

Sweeney! Sweeney! Sweeney!

- -

Uncle Jack! What you doing?

- What are you doing? - Looking for a cigarette.

Give us one.

Ta.

- Anyway, you shouldn't be smoking. - Why?

Because you're training for your sports day.

Looks like you should be in training as well.

Saucy little sod. Go on.

And don't listen to George. He's a bad influence.

You listening, Neil?

- Your stepdad's a bad seed. -

You can talk, can't you, mate?

Very romantic, toilets.

God, is that the time?

- We gotta go. - When was you gonna tell me?

We've gotta flop on that jug that, uh, Harry was talking about.

How long you been banging her for, Jack?

And Haskins has called for a briefing.

You do know she's married, don't you?

I’ve known you half my life and you didn't think to tell me.

What you don't know won't kill you.

Do you know him?

- Yeah, we knock about together, don't we? - I mean, do you know who he is?

- Armchair Old Bill. - And he knows about you and her, does he?

What, me banging her? Yeah, he thinks it's a great idea.

- Nice bloke then? - He couldn't roll downhill.

- He what? - He's a fucking square.

Right. You've got 30 seconds to tell me how you'd rob this bank.

Wouldn't worry about the C.C.T.V., 'cause they don't feed out externally.

Getting your hands on the tape shouldn't be a problem.

It's a private bank, innit, private security?

And this lot ain't got a licence to carry firearms.

So, what— pistols, cable ties to keep them quiet.

Driver out the front, two to three for the door.

Neutralize the desk clerk, dominate the room, disorientate the security.

They'll need one geezer to hold the floor while the other two take the lift up to the strong room...

but only after collecting all mobiles and depositing them over there.

Got the London Underground situated conveniently close by again.

If it all goes tits-up out the front, I'd definitely use that as a possible route.

QTZ.

As for the loot, I'd settle on any high-denomination bills.

Nice to see you learned something in your childhood, George.

- Yeah. Well, you gotta act like a criminal to catch one, ain't you? -

Officers? Mr Bledisloe is here to see you.

Well, I'd much rather talk to you.

Unlikely.

What about me?

Thank you, sir. Please hold.

Regan, Flying Squad. Just a routine check.

Uh, what you actually do here?

I'm the manager.

No, I mean what does the bank do?

We're a private clearing bank.

We hold large amounts of foreign currency for mostly Middle Eastern clients.

We work with Abu Dhabi, Qatar, Dubai—

How large?

On the right day and the right week, up to 10 million in cash.

And you ain't got proper security?

- Yes, we do. - No, you ain't.

They'd shit theirself with a nine-mil in the back of the canister.