This is a true story
about a friendship that runs deeper than blood.
This is my story,
and that of the only three friends in my life who mattered.
Two of them were killers
who never made it past the age of 30.
The other is a non-practising attorney
living with the pain of his past,
too afraid to let it go -
never confronting its horror.
I'm the only one who can speak for them
and the children we were.
My three friends and I were inseparable...
Happy and content in the closed world of Hell's Kitchen.
The west side streets of Manhattan
were our private playground,
a cement kingdom
where we felt ourselves nothing less than absolute rulers.
Hell's Kitchen was populated
by an uneasy blend of Irish, Italian, Puerto Rican,
and Eastern European labourers.
Hard men living hard lives.
Shut the fuck up!
We lived in railroad apartments
inside red brick tenements.
Few mothers worked,
and all had trouble with the men they married.
Get the fuck out and shut up!
Shut the fuck up!
I buried one fucking wife,
I can bury another one!
Domestic violence was a cottage industry in Hell's Kitchen,
yet there was no divorce and few separations.
The will of the church was forceful.
For a marriage to end,
someone usually had to die.
Yet despite the harshness of life,
Hell's Kitchen offered the kids on its streets
a safety net enjoyed by few other neighbourhoods.
Crimes against neighbourhood people were not permitted.
When they did occur,
the punishment doled out was severe,
and in some cases final.
A drug dealer from an uptown neighbourhood
moved heroin into Hell's Kitchen.
Packet killed a 12-year-old son
of a Puerto Rican numbers runner.
It was the last packet the dealer ever sold.
Hell's kitchen was a place of innocence ruled by corruption.
My friends and I spent lots of time inside Holy Angels.
We each served as altar boys.
Everyone wanted to work funeral masses
since the funeral included a $3.00 fee -
and more if you looked sufficiently sombre.
There was an active competition between the four of us
to come up with the best and boldest prank.
Two weeks into the new school year,
I found the nuns' clacker in the school hallway,
and I was ready for the big leagues.
In church, it was used to alert the girls
as to when they should stand, sit, kneel, and genuflect -
all based on the number of times a clacker was pressed.
In my pocket, it was cause for havoc.
You will be defenders of the faith,
you will be soldiers of Christ...
..gifts of the Holy Spirit...
Well...
It's going to be a great day,
and your parents will be very proud of you.
When you were baptised, godparents made promises and...
Let me have the clacker.
What clacker?
Now.
..great day.
Let everyone rise.
Let us pray.
Nuns are such easy targets.
John and I spent more time in church than the others.
We were the only two to think to entering the priesthood.
John and I were intrigued by the powers a priest was given.
A secret world of betrayal and deceit
where people admitted dark misdeeds and vile indiscretions.
Confession was better than any book we could get our hands on
or any movie we could see,
because the sins were real,
committed by people we knew.
The temptation to be part of that was too great to resist.
If we get caught, they'll burn us.
What if our mothers are out there?
What if we end up hearing their confessions?
Yeah, what if we end up hearing something worse?
Like what?
Like a murder.
What if somebody cops to a murder?
Relax. All we gotta do is sit back, listen, and not laugh.
Hurry.
Seconds later, our booth comes to life.
I, uh, sleep with married men.
Men with families...
In the morning,
I tell myself it's the last time,
but it never is.
Yes?
You see, I'm, uh...
I'm pregnant.
The father?
Huh!
Take a number.
What are you going to do?
I know what you want me to do,
and I know what I should do,
I just don't know what I'm gonna do.
Look, I gotta go.
Thanks for listening, fellas,
I really appreciate it,
and I know you'll keep it to yourselves.
She knew.
Yeah. She knew.
Why do you think she told us all that?
I don't know.
I guess she had to tell somebody.
Father Robert Carillo was a longshoreman's son
who was as comfortable sitting on a saloon barstool
as he was standing at the altar during high mass.
He'd toyed with a life of crime before finding his calling.
He was a friend -
a friend who just happened to be a priest.
Know what crap like that does to your body?
Come on. It beats smoking. And it's cheaper, too.
Maybe.
So, what'd you hear? Anything?
No, nothing.
I hear you're interested in becoming a priest.
Who says?
Word is,
you want to get the feel of a confessional booth.
I don't know what you're talking about, Father.
- You don't, huh? - No.
Well, maybe I got the wrong information.
Yeah, I guess you did.
I'll see you later tonight.
What's tonight?
I got to drop some books and magazines off
for the elderly and disabled around the neighbourhood.
Your mother said you'd love to help.
Yeah, I bet she did.
Shakes...
I don't want you getting into any trouble.
Come on, Father, you know I never do.
That's all I wish for you and your friends.
That's it?
That's it. Nothing else, I swear.
You know, a priest shouldn't swear.
And kids shouldn't listen to other people's confessions.
I'll see you tonight.
All right. See you.
OK.
Michael was the most sexually experienced of our group,
which meant that he'd kissed a girl
on more than one occasion.
But his real love was Carol Martinez.
Hell's kitchen's half-breed -
halfPuerto Rican, half Irish -
she was raised by her father,
her mother having died at childbirth.
Carol stayed pretty much to herself,
but was always comfortable in our company.
We could always count on Carol to stand sentry
on the first night of the Ice Capades.
While families lined the front of the garden
waiting to see the skaters perform,
we each had one eye in a hole
watching two dozen beautiful, nearly-naked women
get into their skaters' outfits.
This is what heaven must be about.
Oh, my God.
Hey, uh, Carol, you want to take a look?
Like it's something I haven't seen.
Oh, you're so lucky.
Oh, wow.
She's so beautiful.
Oh, my! I could die now, and I wouldn't be sad.
When my friends and I were young,
Hell's Kitchen was run by a man named King Benny.
When he was young, King Benny was a hitman for Lucky Luciano.
Lucky Luciano did a lot of good for this country during WWII,
but you ain't gonna read about that in any history book.
There was talk King Benny was the shooter
of "Mad Dog" Call, that prick on West 23rd Street.
He went bootlegging with Dutch Schultz,
and he opened a couple of clubs
with "Tough Tony" Anastasia.
I was 14 when I first hear about him.
The story goes, as a kid he wasn't much of anything.
He always got the shit kicked out of him in street fights.
And then one day -
and who the fuck knows why -
some Irish guy, about 25 years old,
takes King Benny, and flings him down a flight of stairs.
King Benny breaks all his teeth in the front.
Know what King Benny does?
He waits.
He waits eight years to get even with that prick.
He walks into a public bathhouse.
The guy's soaking in the tub.
King Benny takes out his front teeth.
He lays them down on the sink.
Then he looks at the guy and says...
"When I look in the mirror,
"I see your face."
Then he pulls out a gun,
and he shoots the guy twice in each leg.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Then he says to the guy,
"Now when you take a bath,
"you'll see mine."
No-one ever fucked with King Benny after that.
Revenge.
Can I talk to you for a minute?
I'd like to work for you.
Help you out, whatever you need.
You're the butcher's kid.
Am I right?
Yeah.
Well, what kind of job you looking for?
Whatever, it doesn't matter.
Oh, doesn't matter, huh?
Everybody says this is the place to come for jobs.
Who's everybody?
People from the neighbourhood.
Oh, them. Let me ask you,
what the fuck do they know?
They know you got jobs.
Sorry I wasted your time.
Hold on a sec.
Yeah?
Come back tomorrow if you want to work.
What time tomorrow?
Any time.
You'll be here?
I'm always here.
My first job for King Benny paid $25 a week
and ate up only 40 minutes of my time.
In the dark clubroom,
one of the guys would hand me a crumpled paper bag,
and direct me to the local police precinct for delivery.
It was a perfect way to handle pay-outs.
Come on, let's go! Right here.
See what kind of cash you got in that bag.
You gotta be nuts. You know who you're taking off?
Yeah, we know. We're scared shitless.
Give me the bag.
Give me the fucking bag!
Hey, what you do there?
Answer me! What you do there?
He stopped me and took my money.
You took the money from the boy?
- In the bag. - Let me have the bag.
Fuck you!
Oh, yeah? How about now?
Take it easy.
Ah, you're not smart any more.
Now this make you stupid.
Let me have the bag.
All right.
Thanks, kid.
Now, go.
What about them?
You care?
- No. - Then go!
I need somebody with me.
What if the old guy hadn't shown?
What you need?
My friends.
Your friends?
What, do you think this is camp?
These kids you can trust.
I've known them half my life.
OK, get your friends.
Father Bobby knew my friends and I worked for King Benny,
and he wasn't pleased.
He wasn't worried about the pocket money,
but the next step:
when they ask you to pick up a gun.
He didn't want that to happen to us.
You think running for King Benny's a good idea?
It pays.
A lot of things pay.
Not like this. Whoa!
Most priests like to preach from the pulpit.
Father Bobby liked to talk
during the bump and shove of a pickup game.
Oh, good shot.
I found an art class for you to take.
You know I can't afford to take any art classes.
You don't have to pay anything.
Teacher's a friend of mine. Hmm?
I don't know.
Could be nothing but a waste of time.
Or it could be the first step.
Step to what?
Doing something with your life.
It may help you get out of here.
You all could get out of here.
Are we gonna talk or play basketball?
Listen, I got a story I want to tell you.
It ain't the one about the lepers, is it,
'cause that one gave me nightmares.
No lepers. This is Michelangelo.
He was born poor like you guys.
He was a painter, a sculptor.
He takes this job from the Pope.
Good money, good work.
Why'd the Pope call him?
'Cause the Pope was looking
for the best guy he could find
to paint the ceiling of his church in Rome.
Don't sound like that big a job.
To Michelangelo it was.
Michelangelo needed the job 'cause it paid more money
than he ever had in his life.
So he could pay off the loan sharks chasing his father.
What's his father?
He was, like, a low-level con guy
who conned people out of money, goats, sheep...
Goats?
Chickens, whatever he could.
Chickens?
- You know what happened? - What?
He painted a ceiling no-one will ever forget.
Painted like it was touched by the hand of God.
Did he pay off the loans?
Every single one.
Hey, how long did it take him?
Took him about 9 years.
Nine years?
That's right.
I had a Puerto Rican guy do my whole apartment in 2 days -
and he had a bum leg.
I don't know what I'm gonna do with you guys.
Just give us a job and leave the rest to us.
You know what it was? The Sistine Chapel.
- 16th chapel? - Sistine Chapel.
Who painted the other 15?
Outside events meant little.
In a society changing radically by the hour,
we watched the images scatter nightly across the TV screens.
Young protesters spoke about how they were gonna change our lives
and fix the world.
But while they shouted their slogans,
my friends and I went to funeral services
for the young men of Hell's Kitchen
who came back from Vietnam in body bags.
We viewed with scepticism the faces on television -
those protected by money and upper middle-class standing.
A growing army of feminists marched across the country,
demanding equality...
Yet our mothers still cooked and cared
for men who abused them mentally and physically.
For me and my friends,
these developments carried no weight.
They might as well have occurred in another country,
in another century.
Our attention was elsewhere.
We sat with Father Bobby visiting John,
hoping he would recover from a punctured lung -
a gift from one of his mother's overzealous boyfriends.
Hope you like these.
You better not tell me you don't.
OK.
Father Bobby didn't let that situation rest.
I gave on Sunday. I'm in a rush, OK?
John Reilly.
Little punk.
He got out of line, so I put him back in line.
You put him in the hospital.
He's alive, ain't he?
Look, if he's smart, he learned himself a lesson.
What are you, about 220? 230?
Yeah.
You're a big guy.
How much you think John Reilly weighs?
80? 85?
That's not even a featherweight.
If this were a fight,
you'd be way out of your division.
Look, it was a slap. It was nothing.
Well, next time, you'll be meeting me.
And I may not be in your division,
but I do weigh more than 85 pounds,
and you won't need a doctor when I'm done.
You'll need a priest...
to pray over your body.
See you in church.
Father Bobby would've made a good hitman.
It's a shame we lost him to the other side.
We were down 7-6
in the last inning of a sewer-to-sewer stickball game
against Hector Maldonado and three of his friends.
Come on, baby, strike this chump out!
He got nothing!
Shut up!
Who's that?
His sister.
What happened to her?
I'm not sure.
Some kind of cancer got in her legs or something.
Worry about the game. Come on.
Come on, baby, strike this scum bag out!
He can't touch it, baby, he can't touch it.
While you don't got legs, you got a lot of tongue!
This is it. Home run.
Oh, easy, Mike.
Yeah, baby!
What the fuck you looking at, little dick?!
She's nothing but charm.
Come on, baby.
Take him, Mike.
Yeah! I told you he wasn't shit, baby!
Hey, swallow your tongue, you little gimp bitch!
Could've helped her across the street
or bought her an ice-cream,
but you didn't have to throw the game.
Yeah, now we're the Salvation Army.
You ever wonder why there ain't a Salvation Navy?
Game over, losers. Cough up the cash.
A buck each.
He's no better than you.
He was today.
No. You let him beat you -
'cause Irish here has a thing for little girls with no legs.
Stay away from us, Fat Man, all right?
You boys are soft like bread.
It's going to catch up to you...
And when it does, it's going to hurt bad.
What happens is our business, not yours, OK?
You gotta stay tough to be tough.
Guys smells it when you're weak?
Eat you like a salad.
You see that street?
That street is the dish of life,
and you boys are appetizers.
Somebody going to come along, eat you up,
and forget about you by dessert.
Take it easy, Fat Man.
It was just a stickball game.
Yeah, but going soft is a habit.
You have to keep yourself mean
and guide your life around it.
All right. Calm down.
It's like hanging out with fucking Confucius over here.
Be funny, limp dick.
Look, this just free advice from me to you.
You take it or you throw it away.
It don't matter.
In truth, we were all surprised by Michael's actions,
but in his mind, losing that game
and handing a feeling of victory to a girl in a wheelchair
was more than the right thing to do.
Come on. I'm so sweaty.
The temperature topped out at 98 degrees
on the day our lives were forever altered.
I'm frying like an egg up here.
I say we get some butter rolls, a couple of sodas,
then make off to the dock.
Can't you feel the breeze up here?
What breeze? We're surrounded by a wall, genius.
The devil couldn't even stand this.
Will you guys shut up? I'm trying to get my burn.
It's 98 degrees.
We haven't hit the hot dog vendor in a couple of weeks.
I don't know, Mikey.
Hot dog guy ain't like the others.
I mean, he was pretty pissed -
like crazy - when you tried to take him off.
We can eat hot dogs, or we can eat air.
Choose.
Air's probably safer, Mike.
Yeah. Hot dogs ain't worth bleeding over, Mikey.
Yeah. But anyway, whose turn was it?
Yours.
- Yours. - Yours.
Mine? It's not my turn.
Yes, it is.
I went last month.
He went two weeks...
Last month?
I went right after him.
I'm not going.
- Why not? - It's too hot.
Musta, onions.
No soda.
I know you.
I look like a lot of people.
The scam was simple.
I was to walk up to the hot dog vendor
and order what I wanted.
The vendor would then hand me my hot dog
and watch as I ran off without paying.
This left a vendor with two choices, neither very appealing.
He could stand his ground and swallow his loss, or give chase.
The second forces him to abandon the cart,
where my friends could feast in his absence.
Uh, I'm gonna need two napkins.
Hey! My money, thief!.
Yes!
All aboard.
Need the ketchup.
I took it from him and ran.
I scooted past Tommy Mung's Dry Cleaners
and Armand's Shoe Repair.
The vendor gave chase.
A wooden-handled, pronged fork in one hand.
All right.
You gonna do it, do it.
These things are heavier than they look.
Genius, these are the gas tanks to keep the food hot.
They're heavier than shit.
Think we can push it, the three of us?
Push it where, huh?
Couple of blocks.
Be a nice surprise for the guy,
when he comes back from chasing Shakes,
not to find his cart.
The vendor tired at 47th and 9th,
I was on the other side of the street.
He was beat...
But not beaten.
He could go 10 minutes more just on hate alone.
Come on.
Give it up.
What's wrong, Mikey?
Shakes is taking too long.
He should have been back by now.
He'll be fine. He's Shakes.
You guys supposed to take hot dogs, not the wagon.
All right, now we know -
- he's coming fast! - He's coming?!
I got a plan. Come on, over by the subway.
The plan, as it turned out,
was as simple and as dumb as anything we'd ever done.
We were to hold the cart
on the top edge of the stairwell,
leaning it downward, and wait for the vendor.
We were to let it go the second he grabbed the handles.
Then we'd leave as he struggled to get the cart on the sidewalk.
To this day, I don't know why we did it,
but we would all pay a price.
It only took a minute,
but in that minute everything changed.
I can't hold it!
Slow down!
I can't hold on!
Hold it up!
I can't hold it!
- Shit! - No!
Stop! Get out of the hall!
Damn!
Oh, my God.
Sweet Jesus.
What have you boys done?
What in the name of God have you boys done?
I think we just killed a man.
While James Caldwell was slowly recovering in hospital,
we were charged with reckless endangerment
and remanded into our parents' custody.
Sorry, Dad.
It ain't gonna do you much good.
Take it easy!
You don't have to get crazy.
You're going to jail,
and you don't even know what the fuck that means!
Ma!
Oh, Papa.
He's just a kid.
He shouldn't have to do time.
Nobody in this family should have to do time!
I did enough time for everybody!
I hear you're short of an altar boy.
You still remember what to do?
Easy on the water...
Heavy on the wine...
And ring the bells whenever I see someone start to nod off.
Get ready.
We got 5 minutes to showtime.
I'm gonna miss this.
I'm gonna miss all of this.
I've been doing all I can,
but so far every door I touch is locked.
I could run.
We all could run...
Disappear for a while.
Nobody's gonna come looking.
Nobody's gonna care about us...
About where we go.
You run now...
you're gonna run till you die.
Hiding's not gonna make it go away.
People aren't gonna forget.
You've got to face this.
I can't, Father.
I don't want to face it.
Too scared to face it.
I'm scared, too.
Nobody's more scared than I am...
But you got to do it.
You're gonna be OK.
You're gonna make it through there.
You understand?
Come on.
We got an audience.
I counted three rummies and four widows on my way in.
Plus, Fat Ralphie's sleeping one off in the last row.
It's the rain.
Bad weather always brings in the crowds.
This is one of my favourites.
What is?
"Whatever you do to the least of my brethren...
"you do to me."
Come on.
We never saw the vendor as a man -
not the way we saw other men of the neighbourhood.
And we didn't care enough about him
to grant him any respect.
We gave little notice to how ha he worked,
or that he had a wife and two kids in Greece,
and hoped to bring them to this country.
We didn't pay attention to the long hours he worked.
We didn't see any of that.
We only saw a free lunch.
Thomas Markano, the court hereby sentences you
to be remanded for a period of no more than 18 months,
no less than one year,
at the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
John Reilly, the court hereby sentences you
to be remanded for a period of no more than 18 months,
no less than one year,
to the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
Lorenzo Carcaterra,
taking into consideration
that you arrived on the scene
after the theft had already occurred -
in consideration of that,
the court hereby sentences you
to serve no more than one year,
no less than six months at the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
Michael Sullivan...
The court hereby sentences you
to be remanded for a period of no more than 18 months,
no less than one year, at the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
And I might add,
had it not been for the intervention of Father Carillo,
who spoke in glowing terms on your behalf,
I would have sentenced you
to a much stiffer punishment.
I still have my doubts as to your inherent goodness.
Only time will serve to prove me wrong.
Could you do me a favour, Father?
What do you want? Name it.
The past couple of weeks,
my mother and father looked ready to kill each other.
Could you watch over them for me?
I will.
And no matter what you hear,
tell them I'm doing OK.
You mean, you want me to lie?
It's a good lie, Father.
You can do it.
Come on. Let's go.
Be strong.
I will.
The Wilkinson Home for Boys held 780 youthful offenders,
housed in five separate units.
From the outside,
the facility resembled what those who ran it wanted it to:
some kind of nice school or university.
Michael, Tommy, John, and I
were assigned to the second floor of group C.
We each had a private 12-foot room.
I'd been in my room less than an hour
when the panic set in.
It doesn't take very long
to know how tough a person you are
or how strong you can be.
I knew from my first day at Wilkinson
that I was neither tough nor strong.
Hello, Carcaterra.
Toss your clothes on the floor.
Here?
What, are you expecting a dressing room?
We don't have any. Now, lose the clothes.
In front of you?
Let's go, let's go.
What's that piece of shit around your neck?
Take it off.
It's Mary...
The mother of God?
I don't give a fuck whose mother it is. Take it off.
Everything.
You want me to stand here naked?
Now you're catching on.
I knew you Hell's Kitchen boys
weren't as dumb as everyone says.
Now what?
Get dressed.
There were four guards assigned to each floor,
with one - in our case Nokes -
designated group leader.
Ferguson was the only son
of a slain New York state trooper,
and was on the waiting list
for both the NY City and Suffolk County police departments.
Styler was using his job at Wilkinson's
to finance his way through law school.
Addison was a graduate of the local high school
who wanted nothing more than a steady job that paid well.
It was not a group of innocent young boys at Wilkinson.
Most, if not all of the inmates belonged there.
A number of them were riding out second and this convictions -
all were violent offenders.
Few seemed sorry about what they had done.
And as for rehabilitation?
Forget it.
Hey, what the fuck did you do that for?!
You got close to me.
So?
It bothers me.
I don't want to be near you
or your creeped-out friends.
You know, your time here hasn't taught you shit.
You're still the same fucking bunch of clowns
you were the day you walked in here.
OK.
Everybody go on back
and finish your lunches.
There's nothing more to see.
Go on! Go!
Sit down!
Get out of here!
Go on.
Go ahead.
That go for me, too?
No, it don't go for you.
You go back to your room.
You're through with your lunch.
Go on.
You and me... we're gonna finish this
sometime real soon.
Maybe at dinner.
So...
You Hell's Kitchen boys get any lunch?
I got to smell it.
You got to smell it.
That's good.
Hey, hey, hey,
where you going?
You said to get lunch.
Oh, you boys don't need to get back in line to get lunch
'cause there's plenty to eat right where you're standing.
You can smell it.
I'm not hungry.
Well, I don't give a fuck if you're hungry or not.
You eat because I'm tellin' you to eat.
I'm still not hungry.
I'll tell you when you're hungry or not.
Now eat.
Excuse me. What the fuck are you looking at?
Get the fuck down on your knees now
and finish your goddamn lunch!
Come on, now, eat!
Don't think you got all fucking day here.
Eat.
You got some mashed potatoes...
Come on, suck up some of that Jell-o.
Come on, you fucking assholes, eat.
Don't be thinkin' you got all day.
Hurry up. Come on, let's go.
Hey, none of you clowns are leavin' here
until these assholes finish their goddamn lunch.
You got that?
Hey, you, here's a piece of bread. There you go.
You can't have a good lunch without a nice piece of bread.
Eat!
Let's go. Come on, now.
That's good, that's good.
Yeah, show the boys how you follow my rules.
Rules!
You understand?
Hey, look, boys, see how he follows my rules?
Shift's over, Nokes.
No, I-I-I'm not ready to go yet.
I still got a few more things I got to clean up here
before I can leave.
This is my tour now. I'll clean what needs cleanin'.
Stay outta this one. It's got nothin' to do with you.
This one...
I'm stayin' in.
Don't fuck with me, boy.
No, Nokes...
You fuck with me.
I'm askin' you.
You're eatin' into my shift.
I'll get outta your way...
For now.
I'll take what I can get.
You boys get off your knees.
It's a tragedy.
I'll tell ya...
I don't understand you boys.
I want you to know what it means to have rules.
You got to have rules, and you got to have discipline.
I don't know what it was like in your homes,
but in my house with my father...
there were rules.
And if you didn't follow the rules,
there was hell to pay.
You had rules, and you had discipline.
Sometimes it wasn't nice, but, boy, we learned.
We sure did learn.
Yeah, right around there to the right.
There you go. Come on, now.
I mean, it's a simple thing, really.
You got rules, and you got discipline.
That's the beginning and that's the end of the story.
Do we understand each other?
Turn and face the wall.
Now, we got interrupted earlier in the lunchroom,
but there's no-one to interrupt us here now.
What do you want?
A blowjob.
Down on your knees.
Face the wall.
There are no clear pictures of the sexual abuse we endured.
I buried it as deep as it could possibly go.
What I remember most clearly from that chilly October night
was that it was my 14th birthday...
and the end of my childhood.
Early in my stay I'd written and asked my father not to come.
I couldn't have him see in my face what had happened to me.
Michael did the same with the members of his family.
Tommy's mother couldn't get it together to visit.
John's mother came up once a month.
But no-one could stop Father Bobby from visiting.
So listen, let's try to keep this on a happy note, OK?
Nokes warned us not to say anything to Father Bobby.
If we did,
the reprisals would be severe.
You lost a few pounds.
It's not exactly home cookin'.
Sit down.
So I get to see all four of you guys today.
I loved Father Bobby,
but I couldn't stand to look at him.
I was afraid he'd look right through me,
past the fear and the shame,
right through to the truth.
Shakes, is there anything you want to tell me?
Anything at all?
You shouldn't come here any more, Father.
I appreciate it and all...
I don't think it's the right thing for you to do.
I stopped off at Hackett today on my way up here
to see an old friend of mine.
You have any friends not in jail?
Not as many as I would like.
What's he in for?
Triple murder.
He killed three men about 15 years ago.
And he's a good friend?
Yeah. He was my best friend.
We hung out together.
We were close, just like you and the guys.
We were both sent up here.
That's right.
And it wasn't easy.
Just like it's not easy for you and the guys.
This place killed him.
Made him not care anymore.
Don't let this place do that to you, Shakes.
Don't let it make you think you're tougher than you are.
I've gotta go, Father.
I'll see you in the Kitchen, hmm?
I'm countin' on you, now.
Wipe the tears off your face.
Don't let them see 'em.
Don't let them see you crying.
Don't give them the satisfaction.
You'll be outta here before you know it.
You're gonna be OK.
I didn't want to let him go.
I never felt as close to anyone as I felt to him that moment.
A number of the inmates, as tough as they acted during the day,
would often cry themselves to sleep at night.
There were other cries, too.
These differed from those filled with fear and loneliness.
They were low and muffled,
the sounds of pained anguish.
Those cries can change the course of a life.
They are cries that, once heard,
can never be erased from memory.
On this one night, those cries belonged to my friend John
when Ralph Ferguson paid him a visit.
I was expecting to read 30 book reports over the weekend.
There were only six for me to read,
which means I'm missing how many?
Man, this is English class.
Math's down the hall.
I want to help you.
You may not believe that
or you may not care, but it's the truth.
You got a second?
What, I do something wrong?
No. You did a great job on your book report.
You really seemed to like the book, The Count of Monte Cristo.
It's my favourite.
I liked it more since I've been in here.
Why is that?
It's like...
He wouldn't let anyone beat him, the Count.
Took what he had to take -
the beatings, insults, whatever -
and he learned from it.
Then when the time came for him to do something,
he made his move.
You admire that?
No, I respect that.
You...you got a copy of the book at home?
I got the classics illustrated comic.
No, it's not the same thing.
Listen, I gotta go.
I'm gonna miss...
Wait, wait. One minute, one minute.
I've got something for you.
Thought you might like to have it.
Are you serious?
Well, you loved the book that much,
you should have a copy of your own.
I can't pay you.
No, it's a gift.
You've gotten gifts before, haven't you?
It's been a while.
Well, it's my way of saying thanks.
For what?
That somebody listens...
Even if it's just one student.
You're a good teacher, Mr Carlson.
We can discuss the book on Friday in class
if you, uh, think the Count can hold their attention.
He's got a shot.
Any particular section I should read from?
That's easy.
The part where he escapes from prison.
Here you go. Here's your locker room.
It was only a game.
Just a touch football game, nothing more,
but a game I wish we'd never played.
Guards against inmates.
The guards practised four times a week.
Our team was picked the Monday before the game.
We had a 2-hour practice.
Didn't matter much.
We weren't supposed to win.
We were just supposed to show up.
Who's the toughest guy out here?
How do you mean, tough?
Who can talk and have everyone listen?
Black kid over there.
Michael saw an opening,
a chance to bring the game to our level,
even out the field,
but he needed help.
He needed Rizzo.
Black kid with an Italian name.
With Rizzo on our side, we had a chance.
Look, white boy,
I don't know what you play in the streets.
I don't care,
but in here, the guards call the play,
and the play calls them to win the game.
Why?
Oh, man...
Guards steer clear of me, all right?
They stay back and let me do my time.
If I play in a game and I put a hurtin' on one of them,
that just might change my cushion.
I'm not saying we gotta win.
I just don't want to take a beatin'.
We do every day.
Why's Saturday special?
'Cause on Saturday, we can hit back.
Really?
They don't fuck with you like they do us,
but they fuck with you another way.
You're just an animal to 'em.
I don't give a fuck.
Yeah, you do.
And beatin' them on Saturday,
that's not going to change a thing.
Then why, white boy? Why?
To make them feel what we feel...
Just for a couple of hours.
Now, don't try anything funny, Sambo.
Nobody'll get hurt. You know what I'm sayin'?
I call heads.
He calls heads.
He called heads. It is a head.
Let's go.
You're gonna die, motherfucker.
You're gonna fuckin' die.
None of you motherfuckers can cover me!
We got ourselves a game!
I'm feelin' good today.
This shit feels good.
Yeah!
Yeah, keep smiling, you little pissant.
Yeah.
For 90 minutes, we took the game out of the prison,
moved it miles beyond the locked gates
and the sloping hills of the surrounding countryside.
We brought it back down to the streets
of the neighbourhoods we'd come from.
For those 90 minutes, we were once again free.
Rizzo! Rizzo! Rizzo!
Rizzo...
Rizzo! Rizzo!
Hey, Nokes...
Good game.
For once, we had a victory,
but it didn't last.
It couldn't last.
And all I wanted to do was die.
I was not alone in the hole.
I knew my friends were down in the depths with me,
each in his own cell, each in his own pain,
suffering his own demons.
Rizzo was there, too.
I had lost any sense of time.
Thought you'd never wake up.
Thought I'd never want to.
John and Tommy are down on the other side there.
How are they?
They're alive.
Who isn't?
Rizzo.
They killed him?
They took turns beatin' him
until there was nothing to that kid to beat.
Rizzo was dead because of us.
We made him think that going up against the guards
at a meaningless football game had some value,
that it would give us a reason to go on.
Once again, we were wrong.
They give you your release date yet?
Nokes had a letter from the warden.
Waved it in front of me and then tore it up.
When do you figure?
I don't know. End of spring, early summer or something.
Wish we were comin' with ya.
Would have been nice for all of us to walk out together.
No use thinkin' about that.
We're gonna do a full year, not an hour less.
When I get out, I'll get Father Bobby to make some phone calls.
Shave a month or two off.
There's nothin' to talk about.
There's a lot to talk about.
Maybe if people knew what goes on in here, they'd make a move.
I don't want anybody to know.
Not Father Bobby, King Benny, Fat Mancho, not my mother.
Nobody.
Yeah. I don't either.
I mean, I wouldn't know what to say to anyone who did know.
I can't think of anybody who needs to hear about it.
I mean, either they won't believe it,
or they won't give a shit.
Yeah, I don't even think we should talk about it
once it's over, you know?
We got no choice but to live with it,
and talkin' makes livin' it harder.
So might as well not even talk about it.
The truth stays with us.
I want to be able to sleep one night...
and not have to worry who's coming in my room,
what's gonna happen to me.
If I can get that...
then I'll be happy.
Some day, John.
Promise.
I was in my last hours as an inmate
at the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
I was given four copies of my release form,
the final reminder of my time at Wilkinson.
I never heard the key turn in the lock,
and I never heard the snap of the bolt.
You should be asleep.
I just wanted to say goodbye.
We all do.
I told him right to his face.
"I don't care if you're paying the overtime or not.
"I'm not workin' those 9 hours."
- Yeah, but you put in for it? - Yeah, but...
What part of all this was left there that night,
the night that will never be removed from my mind?
The night ofJune 1, 1968,
the summer of love,
my last night at the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
At 8:25 pm, two men walked through the doors.
The bartender knew their faces,
as most of the neighbourhood knew their names.
They were two of the founding members of the West Side Boys.
They were also its deadliest.
The blond man had been in and out of jail since he was a kid.
He robbed and killed at will or on command.
He's presently a suspect in four unsolved homicides.
He was an alcoholic and a cocaine abuser
with a fast temper and a faster trigger.
He once shot a mechanic dead
for moving ahead of him in a movie line.
The dark-haired man was equally deadly
and had committed his first murder at the age of 17.
In return, he was paid $ 50.
He drank and he did drugs,
and he had a wife he never saw living somewhere in Queens.
Well, we've got a lot of work to do.
It's gonna take more than four years.
It'll take you to the mid-term elections...
Hey, Jerry.
Huh?
Who they talkin' about?
They're talkin' about Reagan's speech.
Order those two men some drinks and put it on my tab...
And tell them Republicans are not welcome in Hell's Kitchen,
and either a political conversion
or a change of conversation is in order.
Sure thing.
Gentlemen...
The gentleman there
would like to buy you a drink on one condition...
You know the rules.
No religion and no politics.
You get my meaning?
Order something for me.
I got to go to the bathroom.
Can I help you with something, chief?
Not right now.
Enjoy the rest of your meal.
Ichi tai-tai himorah
Ho-ra-nika ho-ra-nika
Hey-ney hey-ney nowah
Ichi tai-tai himorah
Ho-ra-nika ho-ra-nika
Hey-ney hey-ney nowah.
I, uh, I ordered the brisket on a roll with fries
and, uh, two baskets of soda bread.
I know how you like that shit.
That OK by you?
Take a look at the guy at the table.
Take a good look.
Motherfuck.
That's him.
You're fucking kidding me.
Bingo.
This is amazing.
Hello.
It's been a long time.
Who the fuck are you guys?
Who the fuck asked you to sit down?
I thought you'd be happy to see us.
I guess I was wrong.
You know, I thought you'd do a lot better, you know?
With all that training and all that time you put in,
just to end up watching someone else's money?
That seems like a waste.
I'm askin' you for the last time what the fuck you want?
Why don't you take your time?
It'll come to you.
I can see how he might forget us.
Yeah.
We were just something for you and your friends to play with.
It's a little harder for us to forget.
You gave us so much more to remember.
Can't quite place us, can you, chief?
Let me help you out.
You're looking at John Reilly and Tommy Marcano.
Oh, yeah.
Yeah, that's right.
That was a long time ago.
So how ya been?
Yeah, we ain't kids now.
Yeah. So what do you want?
What I've always wanted -
to watch you die.
Ohh...you ordered the meat loaf.
The brisket's really good here,
only you'll never know it.
You fucked up.
Ah, you were scared little pricks,
both of youse...
All of youse.
Scared shitless, but I...
I tried to make you tough.
I tried to make you hard.
Oh, I had you all wrong then, Nokes.
All this time I thought you just liked
fucking and beating up little boys.
You two motherfuckers
are going to burn in hell.
You're gonna burn in hell.
Yeah, after you.
Did that hurt, Nokes?
Jerry...
Sorry. Should have made those brisket sandwiches to go.
Jesus!
John Reilly, how do you plead?
Not guilty, Your Honour.
Thomas Marcano?
Not guilty, Your Honour.
John Reilly and Thomas Marcano,
you are hereby held without bail.
In all the years since Wilkinson's,
we had never once spoken to each other
about what had happened there.
We remained caring friends,
but the relationship had been altered.
We drifted together,
always wondering if that moment would arrive
that would force us to deal with the past.
One down, Shakes.
One down.
One what?
One...
Sean...
Nokes.
Nokes?
At the time of Nokes' shooting,
Michael was working as an assistant New York district attorney.
I got a call he wanted to meet me on 45th Street in Queens.
Then he hung up.
Hey. So what'd they say?
What?
John and Tommy, what'd they say?
A little cloak and dagger, isn't it, Mike?
Come on, man, Nokes - they talk about him?
John did.
Yeah?
What'd he say?
He said, "One down, Shakes. One down."
I hear they hired Danny Snyder as their lawyer. is that right?
Its Temporary...King Benny's going to move over one of his lawyers.