Rake (2010) s03e08 Episode Script

Who's the cow? My stepmother.
You're Tikki Wendon's stepson? A teensy little fund to cover unexpected costs.
A slush fund.
It's 120 million bucks, mate.
It could be fun, go to a few events, a couple of dinners, hold hands.
I want to make it right.
Why don't we move in together? He and I are getting a divorce.
That is big news.
You are my bum boy.
No, no.
Correction - you are my bitch.
We're gonna buy you out.
June 21, there was a break-in at TWE.
Computers were stolen, mainframes smashed and an elderly security guard was shot dead.
I only wanted to go in and get rid of the bloody email.
I never wanted anyone to die.
Another one? I'm not complaining.
Conference call at seven in the morning? Do such things exist? Crazy as the papers make out he is Does seven in the morning exist? .
.
or just a killer? I'll get a time.
We can't do anything before Monday.
Bye.
We've got to get through this week.
Right.
See ya.
Who was that? Dr Gordon Christie's former solicitor.
Christie, the surgeon with the dead hookers Christie? That'd be the one.
He's sacking Barrett, and he wants you to represent him.
Sacking Barrett? Barrett's brilliant.
What is he, nuts? The evidence would seem to point that way.
Mate, what is going on in this town? Nicole says six briefs have come in this morning, all good ones - major criminal activity, do you know what I mean? Nothing but blood, drugs and cash.
Two years' work, she reckons.
Good for you.
You're back.
Better than back.
No, no, no.
Don't think for a minute that God wants me to be successful and/or happy, mate.
This is an old trick of his.
I'm onto it.
Lulls you into a false sense of security, and then, bam! Roadkill.
This is your problem - you can't even recognise happiness.
Your career's firing up, you've got a great girl I don't got a great girl.
I don't even got a girl.
We haven't even done it yet.
I'm still hanging in there.
I get excited when she calls.
It's like I'm 14 years old again.
Cleave, you're dating.
Do you understand? I know I'm dating.
It scares the living Christ out of me.
She's very strong-willed, and she's very honest.
Do you know what I mean? She will not tolerate a scintilla of bullshit, which puts me at a terrible disadvantage.
I'm going to grab a coffee.
Do you want one? No.
I don't even need coffee.
I'm tickety-boo.
Hey, Cleave! Oh, bravo! Hey, Cleave? Cleaver! Cleave! Mate, I signed a contract in front of two people that I was led to believe were lawyers, yeah? It's just, the accountant .
.
stuffed up some of the calculations a little.
Oh, there's a shock.
We were 20 grand short.
We actually owed you 70 for the restaurant.
Here.
We want to make sure everything's nice .
.
and above-board.
What? And the 300 grand I owe you Forgotten, mate.
It's a clean slate, eh? Come here.
Come here, mate.
See ya, Cleave.
You've got a special technique, do you, mate? I beg your pardon? You clearly saw me push the button three times, but you pushed it twice more, so you know Just wondering, is there something I don't understand about the way pedestrian crossings function, or, got a little trick? Maybe you've got some special affinity with the button.
Are you some sort of crossing whisperer? You stupid corporate toolbag! Teach me anything about pedestrian crossings, will you? Cleave! What the hell are you doing? Cleaver! Get off, Cleave! Get off him.
Bloody idiot! Leave him alone! God's sake, mate! What are you doing, you idiot? Now let's talk about pedestrian crossings.
Here's your shoe, mate.
Anybody else want to have a chat about pedestrian crossings? Christ, mate! What are you doing? He started it.
He started it? Yeah.
How old are you? Hey, how good is today, huh? Not even midday.
Taxi! He was an arrogant wanker.
Because he pushed the button after you'd pushed it? No, that was just idiocy.
It was his whole argument, or lack thereof, that made him a wanker.
There were witnesses.
All of whom will be sympathetic to my cause.
Mate, I think you broke his nose.
If you get done for assault, you can forget the two years in clover.
You can forget ever practising again.
You'll be back inside.
Right.
Shit.
Someone's bound to have recognised me.
Why would someone have been bound to have recognised you? Well, I am quite well-known in this town.
You're known.
I wouldn't say well-known.
A little known.
Oh, a little known? A little known, yeah.
Did anyone scream out, 'Oh, my God, it's Cleaver Greene?!' I don't know, Barnyard.
There was a lot going on.
Maybe someone did yell that.
Well, I didn't hear them.
I will get bail, right? Yeah, you'll get bail.
There's something else I should probably mention.
What's that? Paulie told me about the break-in at the office, and how the old guy got shot.
What? He told me the day after it happened.
Why are you telling us this now? I thought it would be something you guys would want to know.
What you're telling us is you're an accessory after the fact to a murder.
I didn't do anything! Yes.
That's exactly what makes you an accessory.
Cleave, Barn.
Tommy, Sando.
There are the charges.
We'd read them out to you, but there are over 300, and we've got lunch at 12.
Right.
Well, that's Real quick.
OK, so Theft, theft, theft, theft.
Theft, theft, theft, theft, fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud.
OK, all looks in order.
All good.
Is that it? There's 120 million bucks' worth, Cleave, there's more than enough to be getting on with, unless there's something else we need to know about.
No, no.
All good.
Well, you dodged a bullet there in terms of accessorising.
Tell me, what was in Paulie's email? He didn't say.
He wouldn't say.
I asked him, and he just freaked out.
Hey.
Hey.
How was your day? I have no idea.
Is that what I think it is? Ah, no.
That's not blood.
Claret .
.
from lunch.
Well, would you like another one? Absolutely.
You know, it's funny - I'm actually fine with dried blood.
.
.
were shocked when a local businessman was attacked.
The assault took place around 11:00 this morning in Martin Place.
Police are appealing for any witnesses who can identify the assailant.
Who gets into a fight at 11:00 in the morning in Martin Place? Oh, there are some fruit bats around here.
Cheers.
So, listen, you've been more than patient, Cleave, I appreciate that.
Just Oh, shit.
Sorry, I actually need to Do you mind? I need to Really, now? I'm really sorry.
It's just a work Stay, uh Barnyard.
Have you seen the news? I've had three calls from mates.
Everyone thinks it's a huge joke, but it's just a matter of time until No, it isn't, mate.
Calm down.
Tomorrow, it's forgotten.
Bullshit, it is! I will not take the rap for this, Cleave.
I can't.
Mate, I'm not asking you to.
Good.
Well, don't.
Everything OK? Yeah, fine.
Just an anxious client.
So here's my thing.
Relationships have never been easy for me, and let's face it, you clearly have a basketload of issues.
Fair call.
I need you to understand that you're not my patient, nor are you a project.
I don't find dark, troubled souls particularly attractive.
Given what I do for a job, I like to spend as much time as I can with happy people who have their shit together.
I know happiness is a big ask, but .
.
do you think you could get your shit together in the not-too-distant future? Yeah .
.
definitely.
So tell me how you got blood on your shirt.
You're a far worse liar than you think you are.
Um .
.
the .
.
the fruit bat who got in the fight in Martin Place, that was me.
Oh, Jesus.
It wasn't my fault.
This isn't going to work.
Hear me out.
He threw the first punch.
And why did he throw a punch at 11:00 in the morning in Martin Place? OK, we're standing in the pedestrian crossing, alright, and I clearly pushed the button three times, OK? Then he leans over and he presses it two more times.
God, it shits me when people do that.
Doesn't it? And what, do they think they have a special gift? Exactly! Oh, you've got a lovely body.
Oh, my God.
Do you mind? I'm sorry.
I've had some old mates from the DPP calling, having a good, old laugh about the guy who looks like Barney.
I spoke to Barney, and it turns out the guy who looks like Barney is Barney.
Jesus! Cleaver, who picks a fight at 11 o'clock in the morning? I don't understand what the mystery is about a morning fight.
Some of my best fights, believe it or not, have been before lunch.
You can't do this to him.
You have to go to the police.
I don't have to go to the police unless the police go to him.
If one moment of grief hits him, I will be calling some old friends and you will be going back to jail.
You OK? Oh, yeah.
I am very good, thank you.
It's been known to us for some time here on the show that Paul Wendon suffered a serious cocaine problem that led him into a downward spiral of desperation.
I'm joined in the studio by Paul's stepmother and my boss, Tikki Wendon.
How does it feel knowing that young Paul faces the prospect of a lengthy jail term? Funny, isn't it? What's funny? How you and I came to be.
It's all so fricking random.
You know, I would never have met you if it wasn't for Malcolm.
I'd never have met Malcolm if it wasn't for the death of a dear, old man.
Fuck.
Fuck, indeed.
Speaking of randomness and old men's deaths, how long do you think Paul Wendon will get? He won't see much change out of five.
Five! He didn't mean to kill anyone.
If that's the case, then why did he send a killer? He's not very bright.
You know, he's a very troubled kid.
What about young Horny, is he another troubled kid, is he? No, Horny is a kid in trouble.
But he didn't have anything to do with Rod's death, right? No.
No, but what? Just fuck off, Cleaver! Will you listen to me? Vern and Phil were put on trial for a murder they didn't commit.
I perjured myself to get them off, and all this time, your mate knew what happened, but he didn't say anything because he was protecting his worthless fucking coward of a mate, and that makes him an accessory to murder.
But that's not a big deal.
You'll get him off that, make sure he's never even charged.
Kudos in advance.
Will you just listen to me, please.
These guys were my family, Cleave.
Vern literally held my hand all the way through my mum's funeral, and they all got fucked over by your coked-up little pals.
Whose side are you on? Whose side am I on? What are you talking about? If you're on their side, you're obviously not on mine.
I am not representing Paul Wendon, I'm representing James Horner, and on a charge that has nothing to do with Rod's death.
But he knew who was responsible for Rod's death and he did nothing about it.
My understanding is, that's a serious fucking crime.
You tell him, if he doesn't go to the cops, I will.
You cannot go to the cops with this.
Why not? It's information that was passed to me by a client in confidence.
It's privileged.
Privileged? Is that really the word? Yes.
Only the law could call something this fucked-up 'privileged.
' Goodbye, Cleaver.
Aw, come on.
Aw, for the love of God! And we're out.
OK, everybody, fuck off.
You heard the lady - get the fuck out of here! I thought that went well.
You're fired, Cal.
You can't and you won't.
You're retiring, Cal.
Why would I do that? Because unless you do, I will soon be shocked to discover that you're the one who fed Paul's cocaine habit.
Yeah, right.
His dealer has just had a very frank and very full conversation with my lawyers, which points the finger of guilt squarely at you.
If you check your phone and your emails in the next five minutes, you will discover a clear pattern of criminal behaviour on your part.
Such is the clarity of this pattern, one fears you could end up back in the cells.
Don't despair, darl.
There's always a reality show around the corner.
I think this one's called, Fuck With Me Again And You're A Dead Man.
Should rate its tits off, don't you reckon, pet? Hey, mate.
All good your end? You seen this? Oh, for the love of God! It was just a little brouhaha.
Why does everything always have to be so complicated? Why am I always in the fucking fray? Can't I just float above it occasionally? Fuck sake! Mum's upstairs.
What are you doing? What's going on? Ssh! Mum's huge in Jakarta.
Why? One of those freak stories - woman wakes up, suddenly speaking Indonesian.
There's 250 million people speaking the bastard.
Why are they getting excited about one more? Oh, Cleave! Hey, Cleave.
That's my sixth interview.
Right.
I'm sorry, and who are you, my little friend? This is May.
Hello, May.
My father is Wendy's therapist, and I'm translating for her.
Mum's getting some good coin, Cleave.
What happened? Oh! I had a nosebleed.
Cleaver! Cleaver? Barney Barney doesn't fight! You were the one in the fight, weren't you? You're a bloody idiot! Now Barney's in fucking trouble.
Hey! I just need the words, OK, not the attitude.
I was married to the attitude.
Alright, I may have gotten into a little fight.
Cue the outrage.
You need help, Cleave.
I'm serious.
Normal, healthy people do not get into fights in the city before noon.
The next fight I get into in the CBD, it's going to be in the PM, OK? For sure.
Fuck me.
I'm outta here.
Barnyard, where are you? Where do you think? In hiding.
Thank you very much.
Just give it another day, OK? That's easy for you to say.
First whiff of trouble, I'll haul myself in, I promise.
OK? You know we've got Horny in ten.
Why would Tikki Wendon need Bligh Phillips to syphon off 100-odd mill for her? She carries that around in her handbag.
Unless she wanted the 100 million to be untraceable.
Slush fund? That fucking casino.
When did the bad trades start? February.
Just before the tenders went in.
Bloody hell.
It's a long, long bow.
And there's no evidence.
Which means I'm still fucked.
No, not necessarily.
Cleaver seldom relies on trivia-like evidence.
We have to assume that the evidence is all against us, and it'll be impeccable.
I mean, it's Tikki Wendon and it's Bligh Phillips, so our only choice is psychological warfare.
We have to rattle them.
We have to surprise them into making a mistake.
What if we were to know the contents of the email that Paulie sent? Do you? No, we don't .
.
but we can say we do.
That's a really good idea, Barnyard.
Come on, you little rug rats.
Time for another terrifying tale of the macabre! No terror, please.
Some sleepy tales will suffice, thank you.
Aw.
Mum's boring, isn't she? Come on.
Sorry.
Do you want a drink? No, I'm good.
Funny old world, isn't it? Yeah? Which particular part, because I find it all hilarious.
Melissa and David, after all that time.
Oh, yes.
They're very funny.
You think they'll last? Who knows? Do you think he'll end up premier? Nah.
He's very popular now.
Only six months till the election.
It's hard enough fighting the government.
He's going to be fighting Tikki Wendon as well? They're going to outspend him four to one.
Yeah, I guess.
You sure you don't want a drink? No, I'm good.
I'm gonna get going.
You sure you're OK? Yeah.
We'll see you, hey? Yeah.
Night.
Night.
Hey, babe .
.
what are you doing? Sorry.
Don't worry about it.
Are you sure you're OK? Yeah.
Just .
.
it's just really hard not to miss you.
I know what you mean.
All good your end? Yeah, everything's fine.
Better than fine, I'd hope.
He's a great guy.
He is.
Where is His Greatness? He's with his other kids.
He said he'd be here at eight.
Maria.
This feels weird.
Mm.
Why does this feel weird? I suspect it feels weird because outside of chambers, in all these years, you and I have never sat down, just the two of us, for a cup of tea, a meal, anything.
Really? Rubbish.
Plenty of meals.
No, never the two of us.
Not once.
No? Night, Mama.
Goodnight, Maria.
She's elusive, your mum, isn't she? Really? I'm quitting, Cleave.
At least, I'm taking an extended break.
I don't know which yet.
No.
Mm.
No, you're not.
I want to spend some more time with my baby.
Come on, there's all this work coming in.
You don't want to do this now.
You'll be able to pay someone more than a seven-year-old sewing soccer balls in Bangladesh.
I fear .
.
there may be no-one else .
.
quite like you.
Huh? Thank you, Cleave.
Oh, shit.
What? It's Barney.
Ah What? It's not that stupid fight, is it? No, I wouldn't have thought so.
Cleaver! Fuck.
It was around 11 in the morning.
Mr Meagher.
Mr Greene.
You fellas know better than to question a witness without legal representation.
He's a criminal lawyer.
And I waived my right for legal representation.
Oh, did you? Right.
Well, look, I would like a quiet word with my client if you'd be so kind.
Not necessary, Mr Greene.
Nothing to hide here.
I see.
I was at the crossing.
I witnessed the fight.
I seem to recall you describing it more as a tussle.
The victim suffered a broken nose and a fractured cheekbone.
Really? Well, who's to say that he is in fact the victim? Who's to say that he didn't start this fight? He does.
Well, of course he does, because the poor man was humiliated.
He's obviously underestimated the sheer power of his opponent.
Look, fellas.
Come on, look at him.
Do you really think this fella could have landed such a perfectly weighted blow? I mean, look at him.
Come on.
Look at his little, funny arms.
Look at his shirt.
Plus, he's just recovered from cancer.
Only got one ball.
Hello! The salient question is, fellas, has your so-called victim identified Mr Meagher? No.
The victim has concussion, and is Oh! And is having some difficulty recalling things? So it would seem.
I think our work here is done, gentlemen.
I knew you wouldn't rat on me.
I knew you wouldn't confess.
Drink? Fine, whatever.
I did have an idea about Paulie's email, though, how we can get the best bang for our buck.
Oh, yeah? Let's assume that there is an email.
If we don't know its contents, what's its probative value? Nothing.
There's no probative value, you tool.
It's about wrong-footing them, smoking the buggers out.
All you have to do is to suggest that you might have access to it, and I'll do the rest, OK? What's my upside? Mate, this woman is your single biggest obstacle to government, OK? And this is going to take her down.
Call a press conference.
Announce something, anything.
It doesn't matter - free cats for amputees.
I will make sure that there's someone there to ask the right questions.
The people will get it.
They already do in many parts of the United States, where you either bring your own bag to the supermarket or pay for a paper one.
The benefits to the environment will be enormous.
Do you have any comment about Paul Wendon's various charges? Ah, well.
As you well know, Mr Wendon has admitted to sending an email, the contents of which he won't reveal.
However, I'm reliably informed that my office has been contacted by a source, and we will soon be in possession of what I'm told is a very, very revealing email.
Once we are in possession of it, we will be handing it to the police.
Can you tell us the name of the source? No, I can't, but if I were you, I would be asking those closest to Mr Wendon and his stepmother.
Cal McGregor is a trusted friend and colleague.
Who knows? Maybe he received a copy.
You fucking prick! I thought you said there was nothing about the casino on Paul's computer? If David Shitwit Potter knows who's got the fucking thing, why don't we? Don't you worry, Cal McGregor's my next call.
Fuck! Red? Hey.
Hey.
You want a martini? They do great martinis here.
Martini? Well, OK, yeah.
Martini? Now, look, if it's about the Barney shit, it's OK.
Trust me.
I've massaged it with the cops.
All under control.
You can ask him yourself.
No, it's not that.
It's Barney-related.
What? OK, let's not beat around the bush.
Barney and Nicole, they're solid, right? Yep.
They're solid.
Alright? I'm so close to losing it.
You're not going to lose it.
Oh, yeah, really? I'm not going to lose it? Ten minutes ago, I booked a room at the Four Seasons for you and me just in case we felt inclined.
I cancelled it 90 seconds later, of course, but you should know that I was seriously considering that as an option.
That's how much I'm not losing it.
There's only really been three significant men in my life.
Two of them are off-limits now, and you .
.
you've always been a sexual version of Doctors Without Borders.
Sexe sans frontieres.
Can I ask who the third is? David .
.
and I think that I love him.
I swear to God, if you say anything about him, I will lose it.
I'm not saying anything.
He's back with Melissa, though, and Barney's with Nicole.
So I'm the last man standing? God help me.
God help you.
I know the truth.
What truth? That I will never see you again, will I? Not the two of us, like this .
.
because you're Barney's, and you always will be Barney's, and this is awkward and we'll just drift apart.
That makes me sad.
You don't know what's in this email or who the source is? No.
So why the song and dance about it? Why set up a bullshit press conference? Strategy.
So there is no source, and we're not getting an email? Who knows? Someone might still bite, and I'm hoping it'll be Tikki Wendon on her fucking tongue.
It's a bluff.
He's got nothing.
He's just trying to rattle you.
Man, am I going to fuck him at the election.
Thanks, pet.
Cheque's in the net.
The illegal trades conducted by Mr Horner amounted to a little over $120 million.
He created seven fictitious accounts, through which he funnelled the money offshore.
It was a criminally brilliant scheme, and a huge embarrassment for Bligh Philips.
Mr Strong, did you ever have email contact with Paul Wendon? No.
Right.
So, he never sent you an email about the secret slush fund that Tikki Wendon asked you to create in order to bribe politicians and bureaucrats Objection.
.
.
to approve her plans for the casino? Your Honour? Mr Greene .
.
we have talked about this before.
You're now abusing your privilege to cross-examine.
On the one hand, the court has been presented with literally thousands of documents which confirm the proposition that the accused was responsible for the illegal trades.
You, on the other hand, have produced nothing more than a conspiracy theory.
Prosecution, you may call your next witness.
Your Honour, we call Mr Derek Martin Wimmer.
Derek Martin Wimmer.
Oh, my God! What do you mean? It's the guy! I was chief financial officer at Bligh Phillips until March of this year, before I moved to a new position at ZMC.
Could you please take a look at the bundle of documents in front of you? Yes.
These would appear to be trades totalling approximately $120 million, made by Foucault8X, who is James Horner.
Nothing further, Your Honour.
Mr Greene? Now, Mr Wimmer, you were CFO of Bligh Phillips until March this year, is that correct? Mr Greene? Your Honour? You're wearing sunglasses.
Much as this might make you feel at home, this is not a game of poker.
Indeed, Your Honour.
I've recently been diagnosed with photophobia, Your Honour.
I'm terribly light-sensitive.
I would suggest more time accustoming your eyes to the daylight hours.
Not being a doctor, of course.
I'm a mere judge.
You do have a medical certificate Ah .
.
confirming your unfortunate condition? Well, Your Honour Take them off, Mr Greene.
Yes, Your Honour.
Mr Wimmer, so, in your role as CFO, you had oversight of probably hundreds of thousands of Mr Greene? Your Honour? If it doesn't pain you too much, would you be so kind as to have the courtesy to look the witness in the eye when you're addressing him? Of course, Your Honour.
Mr Greene? Yes, Your Honour.
Ah, Mr Wimmer .
.
you were recently engaged in a fight, were you not? I was assaulted.
You lost a fight, Mr Wimmer, let's be frank.
There's no shame in that - two blokes, squaring up, settling a score.
One's going to lose.
But Mr Wimmer, did the extremely powerful blow that you sustained in this fight cause any memory loss? I have a mild version of amnesia.
Fortunately, my doctors say that my memory will return at any time.
Right, then.
Well, shall we not waste the court's time any more? I just watched you thumb through hundreds of pages of so-called illegal trades and declare my client their author.
Now Mr Wimmer, I don't mean to be cruel, but given the current condition of your memory, how can you be sure that these trades even occurred, let alone were conducted by my client? No, I can't be sure.
No further questions, Your Honour.
Hey.
Aw, come on.
I just wanted to see what he looked like, OK? Really, that's it? I'm sure I'm being unfair to you, but you need to understand that ever since Malcolm went to jail, I've had this thing inside me that's screaming that there's no justice in this world, and you're in there with all your theatrical flourish, defending him, and I know he's committed a crime.
He didn't commit the crime that he's charged with, and he didn't kill anybody.
I still want him to go to jail.
You want to punish somebody.
I get that, after all the shit you and Malcolm went through.
You want to have somebody to pin it on, but it's not this kid, OK? For whatever it's worth, it's not this kid.
Ms Wendon, I put it to you that you are dishonest.
How dare you? There is nothing I value more than integrity.
I put it to you that, contrary to what you have told this court, you in fact loathe your stepson.
Ms Wendon, can you tell us what you know of the contents of an email sent by your stepson on 18th April? Nothing.
I haven't seen it.
It's lies.
It's all lies from you and David Potter, lies designed to destroy me and my family.
If you or Mr Potter has the email, Mr Greene, produce it.
Well, you know the old adage - just add Cleaver Greene and stir to make a perfect fuck curry.
David, there's something you should know.
What? Selwyn has Tikki Wendon's mobile number in his phone.
I beg your pardon? He and I used to have a thing awhile ago, and I suspected he was cheating on me, which he was, and I went through his phone contacts.
Oh, hello.
Have you been to see His Lowliness? I was supposed to, but I had to cancel.
Told me he had to see you.
Yes, he does.
Could we just grab a moment, please? Thank you so much.
What's going on? Are you serious with him? Oh, Cleaver! Will you stop it? No, I mean it.
I want to know.
Why? Because if you're not serious, there's someone who is and has been for quite awhile.
Who would that be? Scarlet.
How much is she paying you? Come in.
Selwyn, this is Cleaver.
Cleaver, Selwyn.
Selwyn.
What a pleasure.
So .
.
now tell me, Selwyn, what sort of a mole puts Tikki Wendon's name in their phone as 'Tikki Wendon,' huh? I mean, that's not tiptop moling, is it? What we're going to do now is we're going to make a little recording, OK? Get me the Police Commissioner, and we're going to need a moment before a federal court judge.
It is federal, right? Oh, we're going to make a legal recording! I've never done one of those before.
Yep? Potter's got it.
Got what? The email.
Jesus Christ.
Is it bad? It's a rant, really, but it's everything - Bligh Phillips, the slush fund, you, names, all sorts of names - pollies, bureaucrats.
Oh, my God! Everything? Yeah, everything.
How did Potter get it? I think it was Cal McGregor.
That fucking egomaniacal piece of shit! What have we got on Potter? Nothing.
I told you - he is squeaky-clean.
So, there is a slush fund? How do you think you're getting fucking paid?! You're doing well, Cleaver.
Cal? What are you doing? Don't make a fuss.
Sit down.
I got it.
Got what? I was one of the people Paulie didn't mean to send that email to.
There was a party, a celebrity-bullshit thing.
I was invited.
So was Paulie, but that was a mistake, apparently.
He got an email saying that at Tikki's insistence, his name had been taken off the guest list.
So he wrote that, and hit 'reply all.
' Where are you going? I'm laying low until she's tucked away in a cell somewhere, mate.
She's a cut snake.
These are the blokes you should call.
They're the ones who have already done well out of the casino.
Fuck me.
Cal .
.
this is a bit of a game-changer, mate.
Come on, Cleave.
You don't need me.
Much as I hate to say it, you're pretty good at this racket.
Just make sure you put her away so I can get my fucking life back, alright? Paul Wendon's email reads in part, 'I don't understand why she goes out of her way to make me look and feel like a tool.
I fucking tried with her.
I think she wants me to be nothing.
I think she'd like me to be dead.
I don't understand.
All I've ever wanted was another mum.
' There you go, folks.
No evil power play, nothing to do with the casino, ladies and gentlemen, which is presumably why her people couldn't find it, because they're search engines wouldn't have been set to look for a sad, pathetic plea from a young man who just wanted another mum.
Thank you, mate.
Happy? What do you fucking reckon? You played it brilliantly.
Oh, I didn't play it.
You're innocent of the charges.
No, it was genius.
What can I do for you? Pay your bill.
I owe you more than money, Cleave.
Actually, there is something.
Yeah, anything.
You name it.
It's not going to be pretty.
Smile.
Thank you.
And so the mighty fall.
The conspiracy between Tikki Wendon, the Government and Bligh Phillips to desecrate the foreshores of Sydney harbour is no more.
Ms Wendon herself, senior government ministers and executives of Bligh Phillips bank have already been charged with fraud, perjury, conspiracy to pervert the course of justice The list goes on.
That's why I'm here - to shine your light on the ugly truths.
The people of Sydney had a big win today, but let's remain vigilant, because my work here has just begun.
I'm Cal McGregor.
This is Danish, mid-century, which is a good thing, apparently.
I saw it in a shop window, and I remembered you only had one dining chair, which I thought might a little .
.
inconvenient for you.
Now, I know what you're thinking, but I've had this chair tested by the Franco-Swiss squad, who built the hadron particle collider.
This chair is guaranteed not to hurt you.
A Cleaver Greene guarantee - isn't that an oxymoron? It's some kind of moron.
Come inside, and bring your Danish, mid-century chair with you.
Well done, mate.
Ah, yes.
That is quite a victory, if I do say so myself, really.
Barnyard, where are you? We need to be out and about, mate.
We need to paint this town.
We're pooped, mate.
We're looking at a night in.
What is wrong with you? We have brought down the rich and powerful.
It's not going to get much better than this.
Mate, I got a call from Magnus yesterday.
It's back.
What's back? The cancer.
It's not BAD bad, it's just back.
It's just another fight, mate.
Yeah, yeah.
Just, you know Do some more dance classes, you'll be fine.
Yep, we'll salsa together, hey? Into eternity, mate.
Into eternity - you and I, salsa-ing our arses off.
That's the way it's meant to be, mate.
Yep.
See ya.
What is it, Cleave? Barnyard.
Cancer's back.
Cleave.
He's going to make it.
Listen to me.
Listen to me.
That doesn't mean it's the end, alright? That doesn't mean it's the end.
Where is the cock? He's been gone 20 minutes.
I'm paying him by the hour.
This is what happens when you get ex-crims to do your balloon piloting for you - unreliability.
One hell of a bowel movement.
Mate, it's 20 minutes.
It's not like you're strapped for cash.
You are in the pink now.
I know.
It's good, isn't it? I'm ahead.
Ahead? Jesus, mate.
I'd say with the restaurant, you're doing a little better than just 'ahead.
' Kirsty paid me 70 grand.
What for? For my shares.
You sold your shares? Yeah.
What? Mate, it's been bought out by some big chain.
I read it in the papers yesterday.
What are you talking about? They're going to be opening them in Europe and in China, maybe even the States.
It's worth millions.
Are you fucking kidding me? So that's why she wanted me out.
That's why she wanted my fucking Oh, for the love of Oh, mate! Fuck me sideways! Mate.
Unbelievable.
Where is this bloody knobhead? I knew it was too good to be true.
What were you thinking? I put in to the bloody place, but 70! I thought, 'How can you lose? It's 70 grand.
How could you possibly go wrong?' It never stops, does it, mate? It never fucking stops.
Where is this tool? What size bladder has he got? Cleave! It never fucking stops.
You think? Come here, you mad bastard, and listen.
What? I really appreciate this, mate.
Thank you.
Yes, mate.
We've got to get out of this madness.
We've got to get up above the fray - up! Oh, shit.
Mate Barn, just grab that.
What are you doing, mate? Undo it! I'm trying to undo it.
You're going to Mate! Undo it! I'm trying to undo the bloody thing.
Where is that bloody idiot? Fuck me! These have got a mind of their own.
Oh, for the love of God.
Are you alright? No, I'm not OK.
Does this look OK? Nothing about this feels OK.
Fuck! You'll be right, mate.
It's nice to be above the fray, isn't it? Barnyard!