Accident Man

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[KEYPAD BEEPS]

MIKE:
He's late.

That's a bit disrespectful, if you ask me.

A man should never be late...

...for his own death.

[DOOR OPENS THEN CLOSES]

But better late than never, I suppose.

A Hoptroff No.9, nonetheless.

Eleven-millimeter climbing rope.

One thousand, one hundred pound

breaking strain.

No room for mistakes in my business.

Not unless you intend on doing a stretch.

That's why when I hit,

I make it look like something it's not.

An accident, or in this case...

- Wait, wait.

- ...suicide.

Don't do this.

Do you know who I am?

Yeah, I know who you are, mate.

You're 25 grand.

That's it. Let it out.

[GAGGING]

I don't see him as a person.

I see him as a brand-new bike.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[CAMERA CLICKS]

After a hit, I'm really psyched up.

Getting rid of all that tension

can be a problem.

Some blokes have breakdowns.

- I break people.

- Mr. Fallon.

- Oh, God, I hope you're not here...

- Afraid so, Spence. Here's 50 sheets.

Why don't you and your mate take a break?

Good lad.

This is the Royal.

A detestable den of absolute filth.

This is where the dregs and lowlifes

come to drown their sorrows.

- Hey, you all right, love?

- Get off me.

Oh, look at these scumbags.

There's only one thing

these lot are good for.

And that's a good old-fashioned beating.

- Come on, don't be shy, love. Come on.

- MIKE:
Oi, fat boy.

That some sort of accent?

Or is your mouth just full of spunk?

[MEN LAUGHING]

You fucking what? Knock him out, Bazzer.

Come on, then, you cunt.

# All right ##

This gaggle of scum are nothing

but a pack of street fighters.

- No technique.

- Aah!

And I don't just fight people anymore.

- Aah!

- I fucking destroy them.

[SCREAMS]

[GROANS]

Cheers, love.

Helped me through my PMT. Tsk.

- Here you go, mate.

- Mm-hm.

PMT:

Post-murder tension.

It can be a right bitch.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Now, there are pubs for musicians,

lawyers, bankers, and builders.

This door,

although it doesn't look like much...

...is the entrance to my local:

[DOOR BUZZES]

the Oasis.

This is a pub for hit men,

a watering hole for predators.

How's it going, Colin? All right?

We're in the business of taking lives,

and business is booming.

And like all the locals...

...we have the regulars.

This is Carnage Cliff.

He's also a killer,

but opts for the more brutal...

...butchering-them-with-an-ax style.

Cliff's been driving Scotland Yard crazy

for years.

There's a fine line between a hired

psycho assassin and a serial killer.

Not much call for his style these days...

- ...except for the odd example killing.

- Aah!

But he's still one of the lads.

Evening, Cliff.

[CLIFF GRUNTS]

Meet Poison Pete.

He's a filthy, little runt who takes...

...keeping himself to himself

to new heights. Yeah, you guessed it.

[GRUNTING]

He poisons people.

Nobody really likes Pete because he's

got a vocabulary of about 12 words.

And, well, look at him.

Can't say I'm a fan of his style.

It's simple, effective, yeah,

but fucking spineless.

Apparently, even his parents hated him,

so much so...

...that his only bath-time toy was a toaster.

But for our clients,

it's the effective part they're after.

All right, boys?

- Mick and Mac.

- Man, you tripping. What up, Mike?

Ex-Special Forces.

Mac is British SAS.

Mick is a frogman

from the other side of the pond.

These guys are the best of the best.

As highly trained

as any soldiers in the world.

They classed Iraq, Afghanistan and

Syria as being on their holibobs.

They are bona fide war heroes.

Turbocharged soldiers of fortune.

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