Blitz

When Dreams Come True

Hello, lads.

F*** off, old man...

Yeah, you old git.

...or I'll smash your head in.

Yeah, give us

your f***ing wallet, you c*nt.

This lads...

is a hurley,

used in the Irish

game of hurling...

a cross between

hockey and murder.

You f***--

Why don't l

carve my name

in your f***ing face!

Hold on, hold on.

F***ing kill him!

Is that

a carpet knife?

Jesus wept. I've been looking

for one of these for weeks...

but this carpet

just keeps turning up.

A word of advice, girls.

If you're picking

the wrong fight...

at least pick

the right weapon.

Now, Sergeant, I'd like

you to tell me once again...

about your violent urges.

Uh, I must insist

that you extinguish that.

And you'll do what,

exactly, if I don't?

Arrest me?

I'm not sure you realize

the gravity of your situation.

Nice pen.

Sergeant?

Nice pen, I said.

Says a lot about you.

Oh, is that so?

Pray tell.

You like a solid phallic

symbol between your fingers.

Sergeant Brant,

in the last year...

you've been

charged with bugging

the Superintendent's office...

beating a felon unconscious

in a billiards hall...

and just last week

you assaulted three

innocent youths...

with a hockey stick.

Shall I go on?

My report will be a

major factor in whether

you remain in the force.

Ser-- Sergeant Brant,

sit down.

The thing is, Doc...

this is the only work l

can do, and if I get bounced...

I'm sure I'll do

something truly reckless.

Hi.

You got a

minute for me?

Yeah. What is it?

I don't know.

I thought two years

undercover on the Drug Squad

would help me out, but...

I don't know.

I thought maybe my past

went against me or...

I failed the

Sergeants exam.

Everyone fails

the first time.

Did you?

Now you've only

been out of rehab a few

months. Give it time.

Falls, go grab

some piss poor tea

in the canteen, okay?

You don't wanna

believe what you read

in the papers, sir.

It's not

what this station

needs right now.

You know we can't afford

any more bad publicity.

Imagine you walk

down the street...

and you bump into

three blokes carrying

carpeting knives.

Nah, they're not

carpet fitters.

They're after your wallet.

Maybe even that gold watch...

that you got for the highest

arrest rate in the Southeast.

One of the rats there even

very kindly offered to carve

their name in your face.

Now, would you be more

worried about whether

you're gonna have a fight...

than how it looks in the papers?

Well, just keep a

low profile until this

little sh*t storm blows over.

Business is brisk.

Have that, Daniel.

I don't think I can

go through with this.

You'll be okay.

It'll be over

in no time.

You think I should've

gone for a burial?

No.

You'll be glad.

We're ready for you,

Inspector Roberts.

Go on.

Who got

the flowers?

Owner of a stall

in Streatham owed

me a favor.

Does a clean line

in fruit and veg.

It's time.

Got some last words, Gov?

We'll miss you, love.

Coats and Hammond,

as quick as you can.

Let's get you legless.

Where's Fiona?

What?

The urn, Brant.

Where the f***'s the urn?

Someone must've

nicked that.

One of these guys.

Up, up and away.

We need a detective.

All right.

F*** you, pig.

Brant, are you there?

Brant!

What?

We need you down at

Smithfield yesterday, Brant.

An officer is down.

All hands to the pump...

and don 't go talking

to any f***ing journalists.

Sir?

I'm throwing you

a bone, Brant!

The officer

is Sandra Bates--

O h, no. It can't be.

The assailant

is armed and dangerous--

That is some dress.

Yeah, well you

look shitty.

I've been consoling the

Inspector. His wife passed.

Yeah. I heard.

I knew Sandra.

We were at Police

College together.

Brant.

Was there something?

Sir? There's a witness.

What? Why

wasn't I told?

I've been trying to tell you

for the past half an hour.

Take his statement.

The dead policewoman

has been identified as...

as 26-year-old

Sandra Bates of Camberwell.

Described as a credit

to her force...

she was shot

at point blank range...

and died instantly.

And now from our

Washington correspondent--

It's Tony, right?

Anthony.

You're Brant, right?

You know me?

Who doesnt? Last year

at Camberwell billiards...

when that nutter

come in with a crowbar,

attacked a couple of mates?

You rocked up,

beat matey to a pulp.

That makes me think

you're a legend.

I'm flattered.

They got names?

That's Posh.

That's Becks.

Posh and f***ing Becks?

You're f***ing right.

So run the description

by me again.

Ain't you gonna

take any notes?

Do I look

like I carry a pencil?

Morning. I'm

Porter Nash.

Superintendent Brown

said to talk to you

about getting a locker.

Due to the recent

death of his wife...

Chief Inspector Roberts

is on extended leave.

I'm therefore promoting

Sergeant Porter Nash...

to Acting Inspector...

and temporary head

of the inquiry.

Sir?

Yes?

Shouldn't we promote

one of our own?

Now, now gents.

I don 't need

to remind you...

that we're already

the focus of a media circus.

Sergeant Nash comes to us

from the prestigious

West London branch...

and it is my opinion that

he will instill a level

of professionalism...

hitherto lacking

in our primitive

Southeast Division.

I'm coming in.

You look like sh*t.

Take that hood

off your head.

I'm in trouble.

You got

any beers

or anything?

You know I haven't.

Sit down.

Talk.

Well, me, Macky and Bowes were

What? Looking for a madness?

I think we killed someone.

Some camel jockey.

Sorry, I mean

an Indian guy.

He weren't moving.

Okay.

Okay, I'll look into it.

Thank you--

Shut up.

I ain't finished yet.

If he's dead,

you're on your own.

Yeah? In fact, Ill

come round your yard

and nick you myself.

Now you go home

and you wait till

you hear from me.

It's choice time, John.

If he lives...

you either quit that gang

or you quit coming round

here, you understand?

Yeah.

Yeah, what?

Yes, ma'am.

Brant, can l

have a word?

I just need to

have a quick chat.

So what can l

do for you?

I need a favor.

A friend of mine is in trouble.

I need to get him off the hook.

Someone you're riding?

What?

No, nothing like that.

He's a kid.

There's a DI.

I used to know him

from way back.

We shared a snitch in Brixton.

He'll be able to help.

Name?

Stokes. Craig Stokes.

Thank you.

Now you owe me one.

Harold Dunlop.

I read your stuff

in the papers.

I've got some information

on the police killings.

All rig ht.

Hang on.

All right. Fire away.

Aw, have some

f***ing manners.

I'm offering you information.

You don't even say hello.

It's a pleasure to make

your acquaintance.

Is that better?

I detest sarcasm.

Maybe I'll start

on journalists when

I've finished my cop quota.

Oh, uh, heh...

Listen fellow.

You and me got off to

the wrong start, didn't we?

So let's try again now.

What's your name?

Oh, Christ. I'm not sure

you're even up to the task.

What task?

Reporting from inside

the police killings?

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