Washing machines, hand made rugs, blow jobs, as long as you don't take the piss people...

XXXX: When I was born the world was a far simpler place. It was all just cops and robbers. But it wasn't for me. Then came the Summer of Love. Hasish and LSD arrived on the scene. There were villains locked away for twelve years for robbing a bank of ten grand, doing time with drippy hippies down six months for smuggling two million quid worth of puff. I mean work it out mate. We're in the wrong fucking game. Drugs. Changed. Everything. Always remember that one day all this drug monkey business will all be legal. They won't leave it to people like me. Not once they figure out how much money is in it. Not millions. Fucking BILLIONS. Recreational Drugs PLC: "Giving People What They Want." Good times today, stupor tomorrow. But this is now. So while prohibition lasts, make hay while the sun shines. I'm not a gangster. I'm a businessman whose commodity happens to be cocaine. I mean ten years ago a bit of charlie was for pop stars or a celebrities birthday bash. It was demonized by Daily Mail Readers getting drunk in naff wine bars. Now they're my biggest clients. This is Clarkie. Double first at Cambridge in industrial chemistry. Only he's got to pay off his student loans somehow. Today I only deal in Kilos. And, depending on which tariff you use will cost you 28 grand, or fifteen years in prison. Which is more than a rapist. C'est la vie. It is vital that we work to a few golden rules: Always works in small teams. Keep a low profile. Never deal with anyone who doesn't come recommended. I mean it's like selling anything: washing machines, hand made rugs, blow jobs, as long as you don't take the piss people will always come back for more. And that's not to say that we don't have that special kind of magic that turns two kilos into three. But never get too greedy. Know and respect your enemy! It is only very very stupid people who think the law is stupid. And avoid like the plague, loud attention seeking wannabe gangsters who are in it for the glory, to be a face, to be a name. They don't mean to fuck up. They just do. Oh, and forgive me for stating the obvious, but stay away from the end user. They're guaranteed to bring you trouble. As do guns. I hate guns. And violence. But, as some Roman general once said. If you want peace, prepare for war. Morty, and his assistant Terry watch my back. Morty learned to be cautious the hard way. He did ten years inside. He's my bridge to the criminal world. And he insures that the traffic is one way.

When I was born, the world was a far simpler place. It was all just cops and robbers. Fucking get down! Get down now! And you! Stay down! Stay down! But it wasn't for me. Then came the Summer of Love. Hashish and LSD arrived on the scene. There were villains locked away for 12 years... for robbing a bank of 10 grand... doing time with drippy hippies doing 12 months... for smuggling 2 million quid's worth of puff. I mean, work it out, mate. We're in the wrong fucking game. Drugs changed everything. Always remember that one day this drug monkey-business will be legal. They won't leave it to people like me when they figure out... how much money there is to be made: Not millions, fucking billions. Recreational Drugs plc. Giving people what they want. Good times today, stupor tomorrow. But this is now. So, until prohibition ends, make hay while the sun shines. I'm not a gangster. I'm a businessman whose commodity happens to be cocaine. Ten years ago, charlie was for pop stars or a celebrity's birthday bash. It was demonized by Daily Mail readers getting drunk in wine bars. Now they're my biggest clients. This is Clarkie. Double first at Cambridge in industrial Chemistry. Well, he's gotta pay off his student loan somehow. Today, I only deal in kilos. Depending which tariff you use... that'll cost you either 28 grand or 15 years in prison... which is more time than a rapist. C'est la vie. It is vital that we work to a few golden rules. Always work in a small team. Keep a very low profile. Only deal with people who come recommended. It's like selling anything: Washing machines, handmade shoes, blowjobs. As long as you don't take the piss, people will come back for more. That's not to say we don't weave that magic that makes two kilos three... but never be too greedy. Know and respect your enemy. It is only very, very stupid people who think the law is stupid. And avoid like the fucking plague... loud, attention-seeking wannabe gangsters... in it for the glory, to be a face, to be a name. Hello, Slavo. Yeah, it's the Duke. Everything's sweet. When can we meet? They don't mean to fuck up. They just do. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but stay away from the end-user. They are guaranteed to bring you trouble. As do guns. I hate guns. And violence. But as some Roman general once said: "If you seek peace, plan for war." Morty and his assistant Terry, they watch my back. Morty learnt caution the hard way. He did 10 years inside. He's my bridge to the criminal world... and he ensures that the traffic is one-way. Look, there's Amsterdam, and there's Oofdorfe... dorfe. Not a fucking clue. None of them speak English. - Get in the car. I'm sure it's that way. - Move up. - I bet you it's that way. - We've already been that way. Yeah, but we're gonna go that way again. Give us the map. Oh, don't start, the pair of you. It's like being out with a pair of kids. - All day you've been moaning. - It can't be that difficult. How many fucking greenhouses can there be? Morty. Terence. Clarkie. Very, very important: pay your supplier prompt. In our case, that's Mr. Jimmy Price. He's the top of the pyramid. Pay him. In full, on time, without fail, no short counts. You get no second chances. Jimmy calls the shots. Where the fuck is Gene? - I don't know. Ask me one on sport. - What time does your watch tell? - The same as yours. - He's never late. Shut the fuck up. Patience. Gene here is Jimmy's right-hand man. Been with him since way back. All the drugs and cash go through Gene. Jimmy trusts him with his life. By the way, Jimmy would like to see you tomorrow for a spot of lunch. Wait a minute. Is there a problem? Why does everybody assume there's a problem because he wants a word? Maybe he's grateful. He fucking should be. See you at Stoke Park at 1. This is just so beautiful. We need to get in and out of here sharpish. Paul and the tide ain't gonna wait. Everyone likes to walk through a door marked "Private." Therefore, have a good reason to be affluent. I own a share in a very successful letting agency. It gives me an honest income. Looks good on the self-assessment. Whereas years ago scallywags were trying to get money out of banks... now your problem is how to get your ill-gotten gains in. That's a job for Mr. Singh. He does my laundry. And in a week, it will be ready for collection... in the form of a nice clean check for a round million.