Jack Irish: Black Tide

1

(Woman speaks Thai

on airport intercom)

(Speaks Thai)

My name is Dean Canetti,

and I think

the, ahem, technical term

for your situation, Gary,

is what we call 'rooted'.

Wrong country for half a kilo

of smack in your Louis Vuitton.

You planted this.

You bloody well know.

You're looking down the barrel

at 20 years.

You know, we got thirty bodies

to a four man cell.

You got rats

crawling up your arse.

Or...

Your flight leaves

in 90 minutes

and you go back

to your swanky apartment

and your small penis compensating

convertible if you talk to me.

Feel free to name names. Levesque.

No?

TransQuik?

It was planted.

(Sighs) Well, enjoy your stay

at the Bangkok Hilton, Gary.

Wait.

Can I have your attention, please?

This is the final boarding call for

all passengers on Flight 141

from Bangkok direct to Melbourne.

Your flight is now boarding...

Thank you, Mr Connors.

Dave, you there? Dave, we got him.

Rolled and boned him.

Wait till you see it!

He spilled his guts!

There are intestines everywhere.

This'll hang the Teflon bastard when

we get it out there.

Just hang on a sec.

You there?

Yeah, no, no, no.

I'm just, uh, making sure

young Gary gets home

safe and sound.

He's no good to us dead, right?

.

NICK CAVE:
Red Right Hand

It's like a Munchkin convention.

Jockeys without horses.

It never looks right.

COMMENTATOR:
But he's not going to

get there

and Pax Americana racing away

the last little bit.

Strides away

and wins it by a half...

Not much of a turn out.

Mid-week races at Pakenham.

Dougie'd understand.

Is that the widow?

Yeah. Talk about lucky.

She was at a hen's night

sticking 50 dollar bills

into a Chippendale's G-string

while Dougie snored

through the house fire.

Mmm. Well, he probably

couldn't reach

the smoke alarm

to change the batteries.

Who's the white shoe with the tan?

Ricky Kirsch. From Bris-Vegas.

Ah, obviously wracked with grief.

Reflex action.

Ricky made his first million

in the fruit business.

..always see it through

Win or lose, we do or die

In defeat, we'll always try

Fitzroy, Fitzroy

The club we hold so dear

Premiers

We'll be this year...

A bar fighter,

your father, Jackie.

Labourer and a bar fighter.

We wear the colours

maroon and blue.

Harry.

See you in the members.

What happened to Quarantine

prohibiting cane toads

leaving Queensland?

Ricky Kirsch? Yeah, I saw him.

What's he doing down here?

Well, I gather he's not exactly

on Racing Queensland's Christmas

card list. Talk of race fixing.

How'd we go in the fifth?

Pax Americana?

BOTH:
Half a length.

Wouldn't be dead for quids.

Jack f***in' Irish.

That's for you.

Ah, Brendan.

You shouldn't have.

Should he, Drew?

Brendan insisted

on thanking you himself.

The, uh, Crown

dropped all charges.

You're the bloke got the result,

Jack.

If it weren't for you trackin' down

those hookers

I was innocently banging

in a three-way

on the night of the murder,

I'd have had no alibi witnesses,

would I?

My poor missus'd be visiting me in

jail now.

Oh, it's a feel-good story

all round.

I'd donate a kidney for you

if you needed one.

I really hope you haven't, mate.

It's not mine, is it?

A symbol of my gratitude.

My number's on the card there.

Anything you want, Jack.

Any time. I'll fix it.

You know, a bottle of port would have

done the trick.

I mean it. Grateful don't even begin

to cover what I feel.

I wanna have your babies,

that's more like it.

I wanna have your bloody babies.

Right.

The perks, Jack. Perks.

Yeah, thanks, mate. Thanks.

You looking for me?

Jack Irish,

well, I'll be buggered.

Last time I saw you, about this high

you were, in short pants.

Des Connors. How are you, fella?

Des...

Yeah, look, the daughter-in-law's

been driving me mad

about getting me will done,

and I happened to look up

the phone books

and I happened to see

this John Irish.

Thought, 'I wonder...'

and here you are.

And by Christ, son, you're the dead

spit of your old man.

Him and me were teammates,

you know, a long time ago,

and you would have to be

a ruck rover.

Oh, Des, I'm considered a bit

of an evolutionary cul-de-sac

in the Irish family.

Anyway, come inside.

Hey, Jack, you wouldn't happen

to have a local around here, would

you mate?

And tell me, son, your mother.

Is she still sound?

No, she kicked the bucket,

I'm afraid.

Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. That

happens. That's a pity.

She a good looker, your Mum.

She was.

I was with Bill the first day

he spotted her.

I guess you've heard that story

a million times.

No. No, I haven't, actually.

Anyway, here we are.

My other office.

Ah, Bill and I sank some frothies in

here back in the day.

Yeah, I bet you did.

Of course, it's all changed

since then.

The Fitzroy Youth Club.

Afternoon, gents.

G'day, mate. Hey, Jack.

Can you give us a round, Stan?

Sure, mate.

Des Connors...

Half back flank,

53 games for the Roys.

Done your knee, what was that,

round 17, 1969, Windy Hill?

Just a player.

Played with your old man, Jack.

Ah, yes, I did that, but I was never

in Bill Irish's league.

Never. One hell of a footballer, was

Bill Irish.

Deadset champion.

Prince among men.

God-like, he was.

A hard God.

Legs like tree trunks.

What was he like, Des?

Yeah, you must have some stories.

His feet stunk.

He had very, very smelly feet, that

fella.

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