The Long Good Friday

Harold:
I'll have his carcass dripping blood by midnight.

Harold:
The Mafia? I've sh*t 'em.

Harold:
What I'm looking for is someone who can contribute to what England has given to the world: culture, sophistication, genius. A little bit more than an 'ot dog, know what I mean?

Harold:
It's Good Friday. Have a Bloody Mary.

Harold:
You don't crucify people! Not on Good Friday!

Harold:
The Yanks love snobbery. They really feel they've arrived in England if the upper class treats 'em like sh*t.

Pool Attendant:
They kept it all incognito. They're gonna collect the body in an ice cream van.

Harold:
There's a lot of dignity in that, isn't there? Going out like a raspberry ripple.

Casino Manager:
It was a good night. Nothing unusual.

Harold:
"Nothing unusual," he says! Eric's been blown to smithereens, Colin's been carved up, and I've got a bomb in me casino, and you say nothing unusual?

Erroll:
Well, he don't like Colin. I mean, queers get right up his hooter, you know?

Harold:
After what happened this morning, you'd have to find his hooter to get up it.

Erroll:
Is something up with him, then?

Harold:
Well, let's put it this way. Apart from his arsehole being about fifty yards away from his brains, and the choirboys playing "'unt the thimble" with the rest of him, he ain't too happy.

Harold:
What the hell was Colin doing with a Lime'ouse minicab driver in Belfast?

Jeff:
Colin can't drive.

Harold:
Oh, that makes sense. Second question: Belfast? What was he doing there? I know Colin fancies soldiers, but that's taking his buggery a bit far, isn't it?

Harold:
Alan found him dying. He'd been nailed to the floor.

Jeff:
When was this, then?

Harold:
Well, it must've been just after you saw him and just before Alan saw him. Otherwise, you'd have noticed, wouldn't you? I mean, a geezer nailed to the floor. A man of your education would definitely have spotted that, wouldn't he?

Harold:
I'm glad I found out in time just what a partnership with a pair of wankers like you would've been. A sleeping partner's one thing, but you're in a f***ing coma! No wonder you got an energy crisis your side of the water!

Harold:
Who's having a go at me? Can you think of anyone who might have an old score to settle or something?

Razors:
Who's big enough to take you on?

Harold:
Well, there were a few.

Razors:
Like who?

Harold:
Yeah, they're all dead.

Harold:
No one's heard nothing? That just ain't natural. It's like one of them silent, deadly farts. No clue, and then pow, you go cross-eyed.

Harold:
Remember, scare the sh*t out of them, but don't damage them. I want 'em conscious and talkative. And lads, try and be discreet, eh?

Harold:
Move to the car, Billy, or I'll blow your spine off.

Billy:
That's not a shooter, is it, Harold?

Harold:
Oh don't be silly, Billy. Would I come hunting for you with me fingers?

Harold:
Don't you ever tell me what I can or can't do! Bent law can be tolerated for as long as they're lubricating, but you have become definitely parched. If I was you, I'd run for cover and close the hatch, 'cause you're gonna wind up on one of those meat hooks, my son.

Harold:
I'm setting up the biggest deal in Europe with the hardest organization since Hitler stuck as swastika on his jockstrap.

Harold:
It's my manor!

Parky:
Not anymore Harold, they're taking it away from you.

Harold:
Tell 'em what your name is.

Razors:
Razors

Harold:
Or as the youth of today call him, the human spirograph.

Harold:
I want the name of your top grass.

Parky:
He trusts me Harold, I've known him a long time.

Harold:
Then you should remember his name.

Charlie:
This is like a bad night in Vietnam.

Harold:
Don't you ever worry about your liver?

Jeff:
Nah, we're just good friends.

[in the lift on the way to Harold and Victoria's penthouse]

Jeff:
I wanna lick every inch of you...

[the lift stops, the bell pings]

Victoria:
Saved by the bell. Goodnight.

[Harold's lads have rounded up all the local villains who are now hanging upside down from meat hooks in the abattoir]

Harold:
For more than ten years there's been peace - everyone to his own patch. We've all had it sweet. I've done every single one of you favours in the past - I've put money in all your pockets. I've treated you well, even when you was out of order, right? Well now there's been an eruption. It's like f***in' Belfast on a bad night. One of my closest friends is lyin' out there in the freezer. And believe me, all of you, nobody goes home until I find out who done it, and why.

[first lines]

Colin:
Two large Bushmills, please, darlin'.

[last lines]

Harold:
'Ere, 'old up, where's Victoria?

Harold:
[to Erroll, the informant, after cutting him] The only decent grass is the grass that grasses to me.

Harold:
[tosses used syringe to prostitute in Errol's bed] Here, give yourself another prick.

Harold:
[glancing around at Brixton slum, where he came from] These people deserve more than dogshit on the doorstep.

Harold:
I want verbals with you...

Victoria:
[to Harold] Don't treat me like one of your thugs!

Victoria:
I hate lifts. It gets very claustrophobic in here with a lot of people.

Jeff:
Depends on the people.

Harold:
Right... it's up to you. Frostbite or verbals...

Harold:
I'm going to annihilate them!

Jeff:
You can't wipe them out.

Harold:
You just watch me!

Jeff:
Kill 10, 20. Bring out the tanks and the flamethrowers! They pour back, like an army of ants! Work with them.

Jeff:
Jesus Christ, British army's been dying up there with sh*t flying at them from all angles for the last 10 years, and you're not impressed? They can take over here any time they want!

Harold:
Shut up, just shut up!

Jeff:
You won't stop them. To them you're nothing, nothing! The sh*t on their shoes.

Charlie:
Things change, Harold. Don't get nostalgic. Look to the future. You realize you're 35 minutes away from Europe? Great potential. I live in a new country, and I respect the past, but I always keep my eye on the future.

Carol Benson:
You're a bastard, Harold Shand, a vicious bastard.

Harold:
Everything's alright. All the troubles are over!

Charlie:
[to Tony, his lawyer] What did he say?

Harold:
The days when Yanks could come over here and buy up Nelson's Column, a Harley Street surgeon and a couple of windmill girls are definitely over!

Harold:
So he took a dip?

Jeff:
Yeah, he stupidly helped himself.

Harold:
How much?

Jeff:
Five grand.

Harold:
Do what? You mean all this anarchy is for five poxy grand?

Harold:
Blown up! He's dead! Eric is dead - car bomb. Mother's all right, suffering from shock in a hospital.

Jeff:
I don't understand.

Harold:
You need a million-dollar computer to understand this!

Harold:
Get a good sleep, Charlie, we got a tight schedule. I want you to meet my property lawyers - the best! And then there's an accountant who specializes in gambling tax.

Charlie:
This isn't a horse race. Don't rush me, Harold.

Harold:
And then there is someone you have got to meet!

Charlie:
I said don't rush me. I hate tight schedules. I'll get everything covered that I have to cover, but in my own time.