Veronica Guerin Page #4

- Well done on the Brinks job, Gerry!|- What the f*** you doing following me?

- I'm gonna write about it.|- I don't give a bollocks what you write.

- What are you doing with the money?|- It's none of your business what I do.

There you go.

You know, I've forgotten my manners.

You've been to my home.|Maybe it's about f***ing time I visit yours.

- Straight ahead, sir.|- Thanks. I'll see you again.

- Night, Ma.|- Night, love.

- What are you reading, Ma?|- Just some of me notes.

- On the bad guys?|- No. There's just one bad guy I'm after.

It's the one who's up way past his bedtime.|Now, let's go.

You're getting much too big for|your old ma. I'll have to read you a story.

Jesus.

What the hell was that?

- Stay there.|- All right.

That's great. Thank you.

Ronnie. We're all nervous.

Ma's nervous, I'm nervous.

Even Graham.|He just won't say anything about it.

Everyone knows|it's no use talking to you.

Jimmy, those people issue death threats|if their laundry's folded wrong.

Ma! Ma, where did you put the candles?

They're on top of the bread box!

Ah, right.|Besides, it's not the first.

You remember those religious fanatics|after the Bishop Casey story.

There's always someone.|You get used to them.

No, Ronnie, you get used to cold water,|not bullets. This is madness.

You'd do the same. If you saw those kids|on the street, you would do the same.

- Not if there was people shooting at me.|- Ma, look!

- Cathal, that's great! Who gave you that?|- You and Dad.

Yeah.

I am listening, actually. Whoever did it|made sure I was not in the room.

Could you do this? You're better at it.

- There's nothing to worry about.|- Nothing to worry about?

I'm the only Guerin in the phone book.|Who do you think they'll come after next?

Don't flatter yourself, little brother.

Are you going to dance on this|or are you gonna go fast on it?

- Here, give someone else a go.|- Give me a turn!

Are you coming to bed?

- What?|- I know you can hear me. Coming to bed?

I'll be along in a minute.

Fine. Suit yourself.

Turn it down. Turn it down!

Come on. I love it. I love my work.

I'm finally doing something|that can make a difference.

What am I gonna do with you?

- Oh, come on.|- No.

OK.

Come on, man.

Come on. Good boy!

Did we wake you up?

What can I say?|I don't think Gerry Hutch is into drugs.

The Brinks heist, probably.|But drugs is just not his scene.

I understand, but I've been|tracking his movements.

I just need to source the drugs.|The connection's easy. I need your help.

- I need you to stop coming to my office.|- He's got the money.

We're talking about a fella|with no visible source of income

who paid tax on 2 million last year.

It's laundered|through the government's tax amnesty.

- He's got too much money not to be into it.|- In your esteemed journalistic opinion.

I know you seized shipments from Cork.|It's coming from somewhere. Where?

We've impounded drugs from|Liverpool, Scotland, Amsterdam, Pakistan.

You're not the only one trying here, and|Hutch isn't the only one with dirty money.

- Who else you got?|- I could name you a dozen.

Here's the latest candidate,|just in from Interpol.

John Gilligan, one year|out of Portlaoise Prison.

Can you tell me|how this Ballyfermot lowlife

has 300,000 to launder in an Amsterdam|casino? You're the star journalist.

Gilligan. Certainly keeps a low profile.

Yeah?

Hi, Aengus. Yeah, can you hold?

- Can l...?|- Go on. It's a copy.

- Great.|- Just go.

I owe you lunch.

No, run the Brinks story.|Just hold off on the drugs claim.

What for? This stuff you sent is great.

Just give me 24 hours.|I got a tip. This could be big.

- I'm trusting you on this one, Veronica.|- Oh, aren't you great!

Nice tan there, John!

Hope there's no hard feelings between us.

I'm not one to take a bullet|through my window personally.

Get lost.

I told you to be careful|with the likes of Gerry Hutch.

But you didn't tell me|about a fella named Gilligan.

Who?

You provided him with a car|when he got out of prison.

John Gilligan. Do you want me to spell it?

I run a bleedin' garage.|I provide loads of cars to people.

Hardly gonna remember|every one of them, now, am l?

- Is that him there?|- Why should I give a shite?

No reason, really. Just the fella behind|the security guard looks a lot like you.

- Now, there's a coincidence.|- Where's his money coming from?

Is he providing|hash and heroin to Mitchell?

I can't help you, Veronica.|Don't know nothing about him.

If I hear of anything,|I'll let you know, OK? Molly!

You can keep the photo if you like.|It's a nice one of you. We got plenty.

- You sell horses yourself?|- I do.

- You have a number.|- I sell them on to Germany mostly.

Myself and Geraldine are planning|to make this the largest and finest

equestrian centre in all of Ireland.

Well, I must say the size is impressive.

Said the nun to the sailor.

How about an apritif?|Some champers, caviar? It's all imported.

John and I have great plans for this place.

Hang on.

Hello?

- Hello?|- John...

You're breaking up there. Hello?

- It's Traynor.|- Johnny.

Listen, Veronica Guerin's got hold of|a photo of us in Amsterdam.

But, John, I swear I had nothing|to do with it. I never mentioned your name.

But she was asking about you.

Johnny, I told you before, if she so much|as mentions my f***ing name, you pay.

F***ing eejits!

F*** 'em!

Happy Christmas!

- Now, isn't this great?|- When's Mum coming here?

She'll be here soon.|We'll want something stronger than that.

Yeah? Ma, how are you?

- Happy Christmas, Ann. You look great.|- Happy Christmas.

- Where's your mum?|- You know her. Always going for the gold.

All right.

There's someone at the door, Ma.

My phone'll be on all night.|You can call me whenever you want.

I love you too. OK. Bye. Bye.

Yeah, all right, all right.

Veronica's been shot!

How are you?

- How are you?|- You look gorgeous.

- Look at you. For God's sake.|- Hey, Willy.

Can't find any sport on. Can you believe it?

..extensive investigations|into organised crime in Dublin...

Why do they always use|that brutal picture?

It was a very serious incident.

Veronica Guerin|is a very talented journalist.

An attack like this could be seen|as an attempt to muzzle her

because of certain publications|or articles she wrote.

This would be connected|with last month's 3 million robbery?

We all know who pulled that one,|don't we, Hutch? He threatened me.

Veronica, please, stop this.|Write about fashion, about football.

Write about anything you like, but stop this.|You don't have to do it any more.

I don't see myself covering the catwalks|or doing a gardening column, Aengus.

You've always wanted|to write about politics.

I am. Drugs are political.

What if I told you|I wouldn't publish your stuff any more?

But you never would tell me that.

For Christ's sake, there's no sport channel.

- We have to go.|- What kind of hospital is this?

Is this what we pay health insurance for?

- Where Cathal?|- He's at your sister's with your mum.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes