بخش ۳

Hey, you Billy Costigan? - Yeah, who wants to know?

Well, nothing. I know a Sean Costigan down on L Street.

Yeah, that’s my cousin. - Connected. Not too bright.

Yeah, I know. - I mean, no offense.

Billy? - Yeah, it’s me.

Oh, my God. Good to see you. - Aunt Kathy, how are you?

Oh, good to see you. Come on in.

They said you was in the staties. I couldn’t believe it.

I got kicked out, like, four months ago.

Yeah, it was in the papers.

So you know.

And why are we graced with your presence?

I brought your mother some pictures of my father.

Look at the smile. - My mother had them. My.

My mother’s dead.

I’m sorry. Sorry for your troubles.

I was at a funeral myself, man.

Myles Kennefick. Knew him in school.

He was a young guy, you know? It’s terrible. It’s a shame.

You remember that. What a night. - Listen.

I got, like 30,000 bucks, right, insurance money. - Yeah.

You know, after my mother passed and everything.

In your line of work, if I gave you like, what, say, 10,000, what could I get back?

You know what you.

You know what you usually say at these moments.

What? What? - Come on, man.

Oh, come on, you fucking moron.

What, you want me to say it?

I’m not a cop, all right?

I’m your fucking cousin.

You’re bad.

You corrupt fuck, man. You must be my cousin.

Fucking Ricans think they know everything.

If they knew shit, they wouldn’t be Puerto Ricans.

R is for Ricans P is for pigs

Would you shut the fuck up for five seconds, huh?

That’s right. You used to be a cop.

When we’re working together just limit it to two eight-balls an hour.

We’re not even supposed to be doing this shit this close to Worcester.

This side of Worcester.

Says who?

Says him. Says Costello.

God says, as far as you’re concerned.

No, no, he’s no cop. He got out of the joint three weeks ago.

Cunt cop.

No, no, no.

He talks like his shit don’t stink, but he’s good people.

Well, I knew his father.

I liked his Uncle Jackie better.

Jackie was all right.

Uncle Jackie was excellent.

Fucking guineas.

To Jackie. - Uncle Jackie.

Cranberry juice.

It’s a natural diuretic.

My girlfriend drinks it when she’s got her period.

What, do you got your period?

Fucking.! - Get off!

Get your fucking hands off me! - Hey. Hey, hey.

Do you know me?

No. No.

Well, I’m the guy that tells you there are guys you can hit.

.and there’s guys you can’t.

Now, that’s not quite a guy you can’t hit.

.but it’s almost a guy you can’t hit.

So I’m gonna make a fucking ruling on this right now:

You don’t fucking hit him. You understand?

Yeah, excellent. Fine. Fine, fine.

I fucking know you. I know your family.

You make one more drug deal.

.with that idiot fucking cop-magnet of a cousin of yours.

.and I’ll forget your grandmother was so nice to me.

I’ll cut your fucking nuts off. You understand that?

Yeah, yeah, I do.

What are you drinking?

A cranberry juice.

What is it, your period?

Get him a cranberry juice.

Hey, fuckhead, that’s Jackie’s nephew.

What? “Oh,” fucking what?

Get the fuck out of here.

Sorry I’m late.

Staff Sergeant Dignam is our liaison to the undercover section.

His undercover work is extensive.

He’s here to give us his report. Sergeant Dignam.

Okay, my people are out there.

They’re like fucking Indians. You’re not gonna see them.

You’re not gonna hear about them except through me or Captain Queenan.

You will not ever know the identity of undercover people.

Unfortunately, this shithole has more leaks than the Iraqi navy.

Fuck yourself. - I’m tired from fucking your wife.

How’s your mother? - Tired from fucking my father.

Good. Today, girls.

.what I have is microprocessors.

Somebody, as you may already know, stole 20 microprocessors.

.from the Mass Processor Company out on Route 128.

These are the kind of process that they put into computers.

.that could put a cruise missile up the ass of a camel.

.from a couple hundred miles away.

These little pieces of plastic are worth about 100 grand apiece.

Not get this, we got a guy working for the company two months.

.walks out the door with a box of processors on Tuesday.

.has a ticket for Florida on Wednesday.

.but on Thursday, he gets found in a Dumpster.

You know where that dirtball started his life?

Southie projects.

What was his name, the departed? - Myles Kennefick.

Got the job with a forged UMass transcript. UMass, Boston.

.which happens to. - South Boston?

Oh, you’re a fucking genius. Who forged your transcript, dickhead?

His old man runs the Hibernian Liquor Mart. Kennefick’s.

We’re not here to solve the case of the missing scumbag.

We’re here to nail Costello.

All right, look. We got a guy.

.says Costello’s moving the processors to China.

He set up the whole fucking job and popped Kennefick.

You do not want to miss it if Costello takes a dump.

We’d miss less if you made your informants available to us and the Bureau.

Without asking for too many details, do you have anyone in with Costello presently?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe fuck yourself.

My theory on Feds is they’re like mushrooms.

Feed them shit and keep them in the dark.

You girls have a good day.

Normally he’s a very nice guy.

Don’t judge him from this meeting alone.

Now, Mrs. Kennefick, I knew your son.

I knew Myles.

He was a little younger than me, but he was behind me in school.

I wanna get these people who did this to him.

Would you like to help us? You wanna help us catch the people.

.who forced your son to do a robbery and then killed him?

Allegedly.

Allegedly.

If he was killed, he probably did something wrong.

But not the robbery. That’s not wrong.

He did something else wrong?

Wave to your girlfriend, honey.

I mean, fuck yourself.

Did you get that? - “Allegedly” or “fuck yourself”?

Welcome to the neighborhood. - Different breed down here, sarge.

I need a cup of coffee.