The Bank Job

Dave Shilling:
Be lucky!

[first lines]

Eddie Burton:
[while drilling a mileage meter back] Another Terry Leather low mileage gem.

Terry Leather:
So, you're getting married tomorrow Ingrid?

Ingrid Burton:
I hope so.

Terry Leather:
Go on, get off home, go make yourself more beautiful than you already are... if that's possible.

Michael X:
You know, I always wanted to meet a white man by the name of Brown. You know what this is?

[Michael X puts a collar around Brown's neck]

Michael X:
It's a slave collar, and the white man made my mothers and fathers wear this to bend them to his will. Can I bend you to my will, Mr. Brown?

Martine Love:
I know you, Terry. And I know your mates. You've always been looking for the big score. The one that makes sense of everything. I have it for you.

Terry Leather:
What?

Martine Love:
A bank.

Terry Leather:
A bank, as in rob? How would you know about a bank?

Martine Love:
I've been seeing this guy, runs his own business - security systems. Next month they're installing new alarms in a bank in Marylebone. Seems like the trains have been setting off the tremble alarms in the vault, and so they've had to turn them off. So for a week or so, they won't have any.

Terry Leather:
Now why would he tell you all this?

Martine Love:
We were having a laugh about it. Imagine if half the villains in London knew about this, he said. And I thought, I know half the villains in London. I grew up with some of them.

Kevin Swain:
We're not bank robbers.

Terry Leather:
Maybe that's why we could get away with it.

Dave Shilling:
It's a bit daunting, isn't it?

Terry Leather:
You know what scares me more? Living and dying with nothing to show for it. You know how old Mozart was when he composed his first minuet?

Dave Shilling:
No.

Terry Leather:
Five. Five! A f***ing minuet!

Kevin Swain:
And how would you know that fact, Terry?

Terry Leather:
Because it's tattooed on that stripper's arse, Kevin. What the f***'s it matter how I know? It's a fact and you're missing the point, Kev. What I'm trying to say is, we stop f***ing about and stop picking the sh*t from under our fingernails.

Gale Benson:
Hakim, tell us more about your book.

Hakim Jamal:
It's about being born black in America. Can any of you imagine what it's like to be a black man in this world? Can any of you white women imagine what it would be like to bring a black baby into this world?

Kevin Swain:
So what are these films you're in?

Dave Shilling:
Ah, forget about it.

Kevin Swain:
Go on.

Dave Shilling:
Technically, it's what you call pornography.

Young Soldier:
[while being fitted for a jacket] A bit tight under the arms, don't you think?

Guy Singer:
Traditional fit, sir. One can't raise one's hands above one's head. It tends to inhibit any impulsive acts of surrender.

Wendy Leather:
So, come on then, what don't I know? Romantic dinner on Monday night?

Terry Leather:
Look honey, I'm going to be working some strange hours over the next week or two, so don't ask me what I'm doing because I don't want to lie to you.

Lew Vogel:
I think drugs are responsible for the moral decay of this country's young. Smut, smut, and more smut - that's my special area of interest.

Terry Leather:
This is The Major. Major Guy Singer. Final member of our team.

Bambas:
I don't know this man. Who are you?

Guy Singer:
None of your business.

Terry Leather:
No secrets around here. Major's a con artist, usually elderly widows.

Guy Singer:
There's no need to bring that up.

Miles Urquart:
They know what they're doing, these people, don't they?

Tim Everett:
Oh, absolutely. Professional criminals.

Philip Lisle:
What's the worst case scenario?

Tim Everett:
They get caught and go to jail. No possible connection to us.

Miles Urquart:
What about this model your screwing? What promises have you made to keep her in line?

Tim Everett:
None that can't be broken. Look, she's our only tie to the bank operation. If things do go belly up, it'll only take one cut to sever the knot.

[the Chicken Inn shakes from the construction work next door]

Chicken Inn Cook:
Bloody hell! What's going on?

Terry Leather:
Radio's in the bag. Binoc's as well. There's a bed set at the top floor of this building. Pay for the week. The ladder will get you to the roof. You're in from Liverpool, looking for work.

Eddie Burton:
I don't have a Liverpool accent.

Terry Leather:
Then don't talk to anyone, Eddie.

Eddie Burton:
[over radio] All clear on the western front, Guy.

Dave Shilling:
[grabbing the radio from Guy] No names, Eddie.

Eddie Burton:
[over radio] Sorry, Dave.

[Terry has fallen through into an underground vault while digging the tunnel to get into the bank]

Dave Shilling:
What's down there?

Terry Leather:
It's a pile of skeletons.

Dave Shilling:
You're joking. Let's hope they're not the last gang who tried to take this bank.

[robbers laugh]

[before cutting through the floor]

Kevin Swain:
If we hit the Chicken Inn, we'll be knee-deep in fried chicken.

Bambas:
I'll be happy if we don't hit the sewage.

Terry Leather:
[on radio] We can smell the money, over.

Eddie Burton:
[on radio] Look, money may be your god but it ain't mine, alright? I want a warm bath and a cup of tea, over.

Terry Leather:
Why'd you pick Kev and me? You could've found better thieves.

Martine Love:
Old times sake.

Kevin Swain:
Alright, let's make some money!

Dave Shilling:
[reading an old pair of underwear] Never washed after our magic moment - Snookie.

Kevin Swain:
[to Martine and Terry] Okay, what's going on? You two have been staring daggers at each other since we left the bank. What is it, lover's tiff?

Terry Leather:
These people aren't regular cozzers, Martine. They're above that. They do things coppers can't. They think we've seen these photos, and we're expendable as dog sh*t.

Sonia Bern:
[to police officer] The whole point of having a safe deposit box is so that people like you don't know what's in it!

Lew Vogel:
I'm afraid I have some potentially bad news for you, Michael. Your safety deposit box at the Baker Street bank - what's its number?

Michael X:
Why do you ask?

Lew Vogel:
Well, we had some weekender thieves break into the vault and robbed it. So if your box is in the one hundred to four hundred numbers, I'm afraid all your stuff will be gone. Mine too, unhappily.

Michael X:
What? How can this happen in London?

Lew Vogel:
I promise you it has happened, and I promise you these thieves will be found and dealt with. You can rely on it. I'll keep you informed.

Miles Urquart:
Might it not be prudent to get the committee to consider issuing a D-notice, to protect everyone potentially embarrassed by this criminal activity?

Philip Lisle:
Which we instigated?

Lew Vogel:
I've got a kidney stone, which can't seem to pass without painkillers.

Dave Shilling:
[bloodied] I could use a couple of those meself.

Dave Shilling:
I don't know anything about a bank robbery. Honest.

Lew Vogel:
Still an unconvincing actor, Mr. Shilling.

Catherine Leather:
Mummy! Daddy's on the radio!

Wendy Leather:
[to Terry] We heard you on the radio. You're famous, you know?

Lew Vogel:
Don't take me for a fool, Michael. You instigated this calamity by storing your blackmail materials in this bank.

Michael X:
Which you recommended! I will not be lectured by the porn king of Soho. Get my pictures back, or you will never see a black man on the streets of London without wondering if he's been sent to kill you!

Sonia Bern:
You don't understand. My box, and those of my friends, may have been rifled. Surely you can pull some strings. You're a minister of the government for god's sake!

Lord Drysdale:
Sonia, I really don't think I'm able to help here.

Sonia Bern:
Perhaps you don't fully comprehend. I have photographs, compromising photographs, live film of you, Miles Urquart, all my regulars - in this safe deposit box. You all know each other if that's any consolation.

Lord Drysdale:
You've got photographs of me? You conniving c*nt!

Wendy Leather:
The papers said there was a woman involved. Martine, was it? Was she involved?

Terry Leather:
Yeah, she brought us the job in the first place.

Wendy Leather:
Oh, and did you sleep with her Terry?

Terry Leather:
There's another problem. This robbery's pissed off some local villains.

Tim Everett:
The guts come with the glory, eh?

Terry Leather:
One of our mates has been killed.

Tim Everett:
Hardly surprising considering the roster of reprobates that are the safe deposit box customers. Listen Terry, our commitment is for the recovery of the royal portraits only. The proceeds and the piss-offs are both yours to deal with.

Terry Leather:
[to Martine, who's looking through newspapers] What, we don't make a mention? Strike you as strange?

Martine Love:
It's kind of scary, actually. If that news could disappear, so could we.

Philip Lisle:
Your documentations and guarantees. If I were you, I'd keep them in a very safe place.

Terry Leather:
Yeah, well it very well won't be a safe deposit box.

Kevin Swain:
[after being released by the police] How the hell did that happen?

Terry Leather:
F***ed if I know. Just keep walking.

[last lines]

Terry Leather:
[after capturing a fish] Fish fingers tonight, eh?

Dave Shilling:
I've got a question. What do we do with all the dirt we gonna dig out of the hole?

Kevin Swain:
[facetiously] It's all been worked out, Dave. We'll dig another hole in that corner over there and put it in that.

Eddie Burton:
[on radio] When are you guys gonna hit the vault? I'm freezing my tits off up here. Over.

Guy Singer:
In the Army, soldiers would pull on their puds to keep the blood flowing.

Eddie Burton:
[on radio] What regiment were you in? The Royal Corps of Wankers?

Guy Singer:
Yes, we welcome new members.

[in the vault, Dave is going round to each robber collecting any cash that they have found in the safe deposit boxes]

Dave Shilling:
Terry, anything for the Widows and Orphans Fund?

[Terry holds out a wad of cash]

Terry Leather:
Will that do?

Dave Shilling:
[fake Cockney accent] Gawd bless yer, Guvnor. Very generous.

Tim Everett:
You have no idea of the danger you and your chums are in, do you?

Terry Leather:
Is that right? And why would that be?

Tim Everett:
You've opened Pandora's box you dumb prick. That's why.

Terry Leather:
I know what's at stake, and I know how expendable we are. So I'm changing the deal.

Tim Everett:
Is that right?

Terry Leather:
Yeah. You get all your nasty pictures, but here's the twist - we get indemnity, fresh passports, safe passage out of the country for the whole team. And an official signed document guaranteeing that we won't be prosecuted and we won't be pursued.

Tim Everett:
You can't be serious.

Terry Leather:
You can bet your bollocks I'm serious. And we want it signed, sealed, and delivered by a public figure of substantial authority.

Tim Everett:
How about the prime minister?

Terry Leather:
Yeah, he'll do, if you can drag him off his yacht. You mess with us Tim...

[Terry shows Tim pictures of prominent public figures taken in compromising situations in Sonia Bern's brothel]

Terry Leather:
...we can drip-feed pictures like these to the press. We've got a stack of them.

Tim Everett:
[after being debriefed about Michael X] Well, it's all straight-forward enough. I'll send a team into this bank and take whatever he's got in his safe deposit box.

Miles Urquart:
That will have to be sanctioned at the highest level, and that's not going to happen.

Tim Everett:
Ah.

Miles Urquart:
Do you see our problem? There can be no connection to Five or Six.

Tim Everett:
So you want me to come up with something that avoids any accountability for anyone?

Miles Urquart:
We'd welcome suggestions, Tim.

Tim Everett:
And if it all goes pear-shaped? I assume it's my arse on the line.

Miles Urquart:
You're young and ambitious, Tim. A chance to make a name for yourself.

Mountbatten:
[Glances at the photos] My! She is a scallywag!

Lew Vogel:
[has just received the anticipated call from the bank robbers] Hello?

Terry Leather:
Who am I talking to?

Lew Vogel:
[very keenly] Terry Leather, Kevin Swain, Martine Love, Eddie Burton. Yeah, Mr. Shilling was kind enough to speak with me about this.

Terry Leather:
You put Dave on the phone now.

Lew Vogel:
Well I'd oblige to, but... he seems to be indisposed at the moment.

Terry Leather:
What do you want?

Lew Vogel:
Just a couple of things from what you've stolen. A ledger with a dark red cover. And some photos that I'm sure the MI-5 is interested in. The "Royal portfolio".

Terry Leather:
All we got is money and jewels.

Lew Vogel:
[takes glasses off, to rub his eyes] Then I suggest you look again. [gives phone to Eddie who's tied to a chair] Speak to your friends. [holds phone out and puts glasses back on]

Eddie Burton:
[terrified and miserable] Hello? Who is this?

Terry Leather:
Eddie, this is Terry.

Eddie Burton:
[crying] Oh Terry, f***ing hell. Dave's all messed up, and they're going to do the same to me. You got to help.

Terry Leather:
[calm] Listen to me, Eddie. I don't have what he wants.

Eddie Burton:
No? [off Vogol's bitter stern look who has heard this too starts panicking] No, you've got to have what they want, you've got to. You've got to help.

Terry Leather:
Eddie, what am I supposed to do? You tell him, we don't have it!

Eddie Burton:
[pleading] You've got to. You have to. You...

Terry Leather:
[yelling] What else am I supposed to do? Tell him that! You tell him, I don't have his f***ing ledger! You tell that c*nt now!

Eddie Burton:
[breaking down in tears softly to Vogol who has lowered the phone] No. [shaking his head] He doesn't have it.

Lew Vogel:
[nods/says understandingly but in reality sarcastic] Right. [nods to cohort]

Vogol's cohort:
[making a quick fluid motion takes his gun out and shoots/kills Dave]

Eddie Burton:
NO! [Lew Vogel puts the phone back up to Eddie's face so he can report the news to Terry] They just shot Dave. [tears streaming down his face] Dave is dead. [Terry Leather's face is covered with a shocked look]

Lew Vogel:
[takes the phone and says in it] I'll give you one hour to find what I want... or I'll kill this man too. [hangs phone up]

Terry Leather:
[more shocked then ever hangs up and runs with Kevin to the van. They start emptying every bag out, creating a heap of papers] F***!

Kevin Swain:
[sees a red ledger] Wait, is this it? This might be it.

Terry Leather:
[picks it up and reads] Lew Vogel. That's what this bastard is.