Michael Collins Page #3

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And if prayer...

...can transcend these things...

...there's hope, surely.

There must be.

Raid!

Out! Everybody out!

Move! Get out!

Ma'am, how do l get out of here?

Grand.

Give me The Mail.

That's for the job on Friday.

Get them! Get those two men!

Stop them!

These are the best premises

you could get?

A temporary stopgap, l swear.

What'll be next, the knackers' yard?

Made the front page.

What does it say?

'Dublin Detective Riddled With Bullets.'

'Riddled'? Riddled?

Why are you riddling people?

Ten bullets, when the one would do?

To make sure he died.

Lads, try and remember

they don't grow on trees.

-What don't they grow on?

-Trees.

Get out.

-From the chief.

-When?

This morning.

Boys, you did well.

But go easy on the riddling.

Go on.

Sure it's from Dev?

Christ, pure genius.

Look.

Yeah, l want peace and quiet.

l want it so much l'd die for it.

You mean you'd kill for it first.

No, not first. Last.

You know you are good at it.

At what?

Bloody mayhem.

You're not so bad yourself.

But Mick, you're more than good.

You leave them sitting

in the halfpenny place.

We haven't seen anything yet.

Are you saying things will get worse?

So we'll have to get worse?

Yep.

Know what?

l hate them.

Not for their race or their brutality.

l hate them for leaving us no way out.

l hate whoever put a gun in Vinny's hand.

l know it's me and l hate myself for it.

l hate them for making hate necessary.

l'll do what l have to do to end it.

Fancy a good time?

Not tonight, girls.

Relax, you bastard.

Dev, two minutes to the next watch.

F***'s sake.

Mind your language.

The bleeding key broke.

I'll try mine.

You can't. The f***ing keyhole's jammed.

That's no excuse for obscenities.

Maybe I can force it out.

Come on, Mick.

Come on!

Come on, Dev. Push.

Got it! Got it!

Emergency supplies!

Man, you are blessed.

What's this?

A fur coat. Pretend you're a whore.

Come on! Up ahead!

All l'm missing is the high heels.

Drive! Hop to!

Get out! Get out!

You look good in furs.

There are certain things

one should not do for one's country.

Like what? Go on the game?

Some died for lreland,

but Dev whored for lreland.

l suppose it does set

a historical precedent.

l'll take you home again, Kathleen.

l see you've had fun in my absence.

Right. Fun and games all the way, chief.

l know.

l read the papers.

God, we're famous.

No, he is. Lay low for a week.

That nose of his is hard to hide.

Then all of Dublin can throw a hooley.

-Did Dev speak to you?

-About what?

He wants to go to America.

Aye. And he wants me to go with him.

You can't do this to me!

l want American public support and...

...recognition from the U.S.

for an lrish Republic.

l want international opinion brought

to bear on the British government.

There's only one force they

understand and you know it!

Our job is at home!

Our job is where l say it is.

As president of the lrish Republic...

...l want recognition from the U.S.

Go to America then, blast you!

But leave me Boland!

What's so special about Harry?

-l can't do it without him.

-Do what?

l can't run a war without Harry Boland!

You could run it without me.

Christ, all of Dublin must be out there,

Harry.

Look! Look at the face on Smith.

So near, yet he can't touch him.

Don't worry. He'll try.

Not here, he won't.

No. But we can't let the

Long Fella hang around.

Harry, come on! Move!

Dev!

Chief!

Good luck, mates.

-Open up!

-Get out of my house!

Upstairs!

Remember one thing.

You're my chief, always!

Go on!

Move!

Since you Dublin boyos

can't sort out this Collins...

...l suppose it's up to us.

Files on the lRB, England,

Scotland, America.

The lrish Volunteers.

Sinn Fein, more Sinn Fein.

Forget files!

l want anyone with a remote connection

to this geezer lifted! Tonight!

lt's not that simple, sir.

But it is that simple, Mr. Broy.

We'll make it that simple.

There's a new regime in here...

...and it's starting now!

Good day, Mr. Broy.

Belfast efficiency's what they need.

Passport.

You're Harry Clyne till you get there.

Here's a birth-cert for you,

some money and the like.

There.

Thanks, Mick.

F*** and blast him!

l told him l can't do without you!

Why do you think he chose me?

He's scared to leave us together.

We might achieve the Republic

he's talking to the world about.

l don't know.

They're filling up the Castle from Belfast.

Things'll get rough.

Rougher than we can imagine.

You don't let them near you, hear me?

Don't let them near you.

They can't imagine a gunman in

a pinstriped suit on a bicycle.

F*** it. lt's worked for us so far.

Let's hope my luck holds

and the wheels don't buckle.

-Coming to the train?

-l will.

There's someone to say hello to.

Yeah? l wonder who that is, now.

She needs looking after while l'm away.

-He's leaving me, Mick.

-l thought he was leaving me.

Shut up, you two. l'm leaving no one.

Do all the women in America

wear trousers?

Yes. Shameless hussies, the lot of them.

Did you hear?

A butterfly's been seen in West Clare.

lts wings are green, white and yellow.

lt's a sign.

My foot.

-l'm telling you.

-Know the problem of butterflies?

-What?

-They only last one day.

But what a day, Mick.

-This one's empty.

-What a day.

l leave you so. Here's your ticket.

lt'll be all right.

l pray it will.

See you, Mick.

l don't want to go.

-Will you write?

-l will.

You promise?

See you.

Papers, miss.

Lads, lads...

...let a man say good-bye

to his wife in peace.

Sorry, Kitty.

We call it taking liberties.

l promised Harry l'd look after you.

Come on.

Take a section each.

The sooner we finish,

the sooner we go home.

Toothcomb, gentlemen.

Toothcomb.

Black and Tan scum!

F*** off!

We put up with this bollox

every f***ing day!

Stupid lrish cow!

l love trains. Don't you, Ned?

What's so special about them?

They make me think of places

l know l'll never see.

They're the elite of the

British Secret Service.

Churchill handpicked them.

Give me everything you've got.

No addresses?

They keep to themselves.

They were sent here for one reason.

To eliminate you and your boys.

l can't hold on much longer, Mick.

lt's pulling me to ribbons.

Neither can l, Ned.

But sure keep it a secret.

Doesn't he have a face, this Collins?

Doesn't he have corporeal form?

This the best you've got?

Afraid so, sir.

That'll be all, boy.

Broy, sir.

Broy.

Yes. Broy.

Trouble you for a light, sir?

Ta.

So that's Mr. Soames. How many to go?

Nineteen.

Tom, move.

l'll handle it, Liam. Tom.

How are you, Charlie?

This is Rosie.

How are you? Sit down.

Tell him about Mr. Soames.

Well, he tips me every day.

Not like some.

What time does he get up?

l come in at nine.

He's washing behind the screen,

so l don't see him.

l empty the basket and take the linen.

And then he reaches over the screen

with a half-crown.

You shouldn't take it.

He's a gentleman.

And you're a lady. Shut up, you.

Thank you, Mr. Collins.

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