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.

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