This is a true story about friendship that runs deeper than blood.
This is my story & that of the only 3 friends in my life who truly mattered.
Two of them were killers who never made it past the age of thirty.
The other is a non-practicing attorney living with the pain of his past...
...too afraid to let it go, never confronting its horror.
I'm the only one who could speak for them... and the children we were.
My three friends and I were inseparable...
...happy and content to live in the closed world of Hell's Kitchen.
The West Side streets of Manhattan were our private playground...
...a cement kingdom where we felt we were nothing less than absolute rulers.
Hell's Kitchen was populated by an uneasy blend of...
Irish, Italian, Puerto Rican,
and Eastern European laborers. Hard men living hard lives.
We lived in railroad apartments inside red brick tenements.
Few mothers worked and all had trouble with the men they married.
I buried one fucking wife, I could 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 neighborhoods.
Crimes against people of the neighborhood were not permitted.
When they did occur, the punishment doled out was severe...
...and, in some cases, final.
A drug dealer from uptown moved heroin into Hell's Kitchen.
A packet killed the twelve-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 fee...
...and more if you looked sufficiently somber.
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 nun's 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 the clacker was pressed.
In my pocket, it was cause for havoc.
You will be defenders of the faith. You will be soldiers of Christ.
And you will receive the gifts...
...of the Holy Spirit.
It's gonna be a great day and your...
...parents will be proud of you. When you were baptized...
...godparents made promises for you. And now...
- You're gonna confirm those promises. - Let me have the clacker.
What clacker?
Now!
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 in the group to give any thought of entering the priesthood.
And John and I were intrigued by the powers the priest was given.
A secret world of betrayal and deceit, where people...
...openly 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 far 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?
What if we hear something worse?
Like what?
Like a murder. What if somebody cops to a murder?
Relax. All we've got to do is sit back, listen and remember not to laugh.
Seconds later, our booth comes to life.
I... 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... l'm pregnant.
The father?
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.
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 Carrillo was a longshoreman's son...
...who was as comfortable sitting on a bar stool in a back alley saloon...
...as he was standing at the altar during High Mass.
He had toyed with a life of petty crime before finding his calling.
He was a friend... a friend who just happened to be a priest.
You know what crap like that does to your body?
Come on, Father, it beats smoking. And it's cheaper, too.
Maybe. So, what do 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?
Maybe I got the wrong information.
I guess you did.
I'll see you later tonight.
What's tonight?
I gotta drop some books and magazines off...
...for the elderly and disabled around the neighborhood.
Your mother said you'd love to help.
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, that's it.
You know, a priest shouldn't swear.
And kids shouldn't be listening to other people's confessions.
I'll see you tonight.
All right... see you.
Michael was the most sexually experienced of our group,
which meant that he kissed a girl on more than one occasion.
But his real love was Carol Martinez, Hell's Kitchen's half-breed.
Half Puerto 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 crowds of 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 and nearly naked women...
...get into their skaters' outfits.
This is what heaven must be about.
Carol, you want to take a look?
Like it's something I haven't seen?
You're so lucky!
She's so beautiful. My God, 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 hit man for Lucky Luciano.
Lucky Luciano did a lot of good for this country during World War II.
But you ain't gonna read about that in any fucking history book!
There was talk King Benny was the shooter of "Mad Dog Coll"...
...that prick on West 23rd Street. He ran bootleg with "Dutch" Schultz.
And he opened up a couple of clubs with "Tough Tony" Anastasia.
I was 14 when I first heard about him. The story goes:
As a kid, he wasn't much of anything.
He was always getting 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, he takes King Benny...
...and he flings him down a flight of stairs.
King Benny breaks all his teeth in the front.
You know what King Benny does?
He waits. He waits 8 years...
...to get even with that prick.
He walks into a public bath house.
The guy's soaking in the tub.
King Benny takes out his front teeth. He lays them down on the sink.
Then he looks over 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.
Then he says to the guy:
"Now, when you take a bath, you 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?
What kind of a job are you looking for?
Whatever, it doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter?
Everybody says this is the place to come for jobs.
Who is everybody?
People from the neighborhood.
Let me ask you, what the fuck do they know?
They know you got jobs.
Sorry I wasted your time.
Hold on a sec!
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 club room, one of the guys would hand me a crumpled paper bag...
...and direct me to one of the two local police precincts for delivery.
It was a perfect way to handle payouts.
Come on, let's go! Right here.
Let's see what kind of cash you've got in that bag.
You gotta be nuts! Do you know who you're taking off?
Yeah, we know, and we're scared shitless.
Give me the bag. Give me the fucking bag!
Hey, what you do there? Answer me! What you do there?
This time they took my money!
You took the money from the boy?
The money they took is in the bag.
Let me have the bag.
Fuck you!
How about now?
All right, take it easy.
You're not smart anymore. This make you stupid.
Let me have the bag.
Now, go!
What about them?
You care?
Then go! Go! Run!
I need somebody with me. What if the old guy hadn't showed?
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!
Okay, get your friends.
Father Bobby knew we 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 is a good idea?
It pays.
A lot of things pay.
Not like this.
Most priests liked to preach from the pulpit.
Father Bobby liked to talk during the bump and shove of a pick-up game.
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. The teacher's a friend of mine.
It could be nothing but a waste of time, Father.
Maybe, or it could be the first step.
First step to what?
Doing something with your life.
You never know, it may help you get out of here.
You all can get out of here.
Guys, 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. Michelangelo. He was born poor, just like you guys.
He was a painter, he was a sculptor.
He takes this job from the Pope. Good money, good work.
Okay, Father, but why'd the Pope call him?
Because the Pope was looking for the best guy he could find...
...to paint the ceiling of his church in Rome.
It don't sound like that big a job, Father.
Well, for Michelangelo it was.
Michelangelo needed the job...
...because it paid more money than he ever had in his life.
And that way, he could pay off the loan sharks that were chasing his father down.
What's his father?
He was like a low-level... con guy.
Conned people out of money, goats, sheep...
Goats?
Chickens, whatever he could, you know.
- Chickens? - Chickens?
You know what happened?
He painted a ceiling no one will ever forget.
Painted it like he was touched by the hand of God.
Did he pay off the loans?
Every single one of them.
How long did it take him, painting the ceiling and all?
It took him about 9 years.
9 years?!
That's a big ceiling!
I had a Puerto Rican do my whole apartment in two days.
And he had a bum leg.
You know, I don't know what I'm gonna do with you guys.
Hey, just give us a job painting, and leave the rest to us.
You know what it was? The Sistine Chapel!
Sixteenth Chapel?
Who painted the other fifteen?
Outside events meant little. In a society changing radically by the hour...
...we watched the images scatter nightly across the T.V. screens.
Young protesters spoke about how they were going to 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 skepticism 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 in a third floor hospital ward, visiting John...
...hoping he'd recover from a punctured lung.
A gift from one of his mother's over-zealous boyfriends.
I hope you like these. You better not tell me you don't.
Father Bobby didn't let that situation rest.
I gave on Sunday. I'm in a rush, okay?
John Reilly.
The little punk!
He got out of line, so I put him back in line. No big deal.
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?
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 hit man.
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, Davy... take 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, Davy, strike the scumbag out.
He can't touch you Davy, he can't touch you.
Hey, while you don't got any legs, you got a lot of tongue!
This is it... home run!
Easy, Mike.
What the fuck you looking at, little dick?!
She's nothing but charm.
Come on, Davy!
You can take him, you can take him, Mikey.
Yeah, I told you he wasn't shit, baby!
Hey, swallow your tongue, you little gimp bitch!
You could've helped her across the street...
...or you could've bought her an ice cream.
You didn't have to throw the game.
Yeah, and 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 be.
All because Irish, here, has a thing for little girls with no legs.
Look, stay away from this, 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, okay?
You gotta stay tough to be tough.
Guy smells it when you're weak; eat you like a salad.
Do you see that street?
That street is the dish of life, and you boys are appetizers.
Somebody gonna come along, eat you up and forget about you by dessert.
Take it easy, fat man. It was just stickball.
Yeah, but going soft is a habit.
You have to keep yourself mean and cut your life around it!
All right, all right, calm down.
It's like hanging out with fucking Confucius over here.
Be funny, limp dick.
Look, this is just free advice from me to you.
You take it or you throw it away. It don't matter.
Thanks a lot, fat man.
In truth, we were all surprised by Michael's actions.
But in his mind, losing that game meant...
...handing a feeling of victory to a girl in a wheelchair...
...was more than the right thing to do.
Come on, let's go swimming.
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 buttered rolls,
a couple of cold sodas, and head down to the docks.
Can't you feel the breeze up here?
What breeze? We're surrounded by a wall, genius!
The devil couldn't stand this heat.
Will you guys shut up, please?
I'm trying to get my burn.
It's 98 degrees!
- There's some breeze up here. - It's a hot breeze.
We haven't hit the hot dog vendor in a couple of weeks.
I don't know, Mikey. That cart guy ain't like the others.
I mean, he gets pretty pissed, like crazy when you try to take him off.
We can eat hot dogs... or we can eat air... choose.
Air is probably safer, Mike.
Yeah, a hot dog ain't worth bleeding over, Mikey.
Yeah, anyway, whose turn is it?
Yours!
- Yeah, it's yours. - Mine? It's not my turn.
- Yes, it is! - I went like last month.
- He went two weeks. - You never went.
- Last month. - Are you nuts? I went right after him.
I'm not going.
- Why? - It's too hot.
If I walk down the stairs, I'll pass out.
Mustard and 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 the vendor with two choices, neither very appealing.
He could stand his ground and swallow his loss, or he could give chase.
The second forces him to abandon the cart...
...where my friends could feast in his absence.
I'm gonna need two napkins?
Pay my money, thief!
Wow! Ketchup!
I took it from him and ran!
I scooted past Tommy Mug's Dry Cleaners and Armond's Shoe Repair.
The vendor gave chase, a wooden- handled, pronged fork in one hand.
You gonna give me two?
You know, these things are heavier than they look.
Genius, it's 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?
A couple of blocks. It'll 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 ten minutes more, just on hate alone.
Give it up.
What's wrong, Mikey?
Shakes is taking too long. He should've been back by now.
He'll be fine. He's Shakes.
You guys were supposed to take the hot dogs, not the wagon.
- Now he tells us. - He's coming fast, Mikey.
He still near?
I got a plan! Come on over by the subway!
The plan was as simple and as dumb as anything we had 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 the scene as he struggled to ease the cart back onto 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.
Guys, I can't hold it!
- Don't let go! - I can't hold it!
I can't hold it!
Stop! God, no!!
Damn!
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 at St. Clare's Hospital...
...we were charged and remanded into our parents' custody.
I'm sorry, dad.
'Sorry' ain't gonna do you much good.
Take it easy! This is no time to get crazy!
You're going to jail and you don't even know what the fuck that means!
Ma! Come look, Ma!
I don't know. Bastard!
He's just a kid! He shouldn't have to do time!
Nobody in this family should have to do time. I done enough time for everybody!
I hear you're short 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 till show time.
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 gotta face this.
I can't, Father.
I don't want to face it.
I'm too scared to face it.
I'm scared, too.
Nobody's more scared than I am, but you gotta do it.
You're gonna be okay. 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 sleeping one off in the last row.
It's the rain. Bad weather always brings in the crowds.
This is one of my favorites.
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 neighborhood.
And we didn't care enough about him to grant him any respect.
We gave little notice to how hard 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 Marcano, the court hereby sentences you to be remanded...
...for a period of no more than 18 months, no less than 1 year...
...to the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
John Reilly, the court hereby sentences you to be remanded for a period...
...of no more than 18 months or less than 1 year...
...to the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
Lorenzo Carcaterra.
Taking into consideration that you arrived on the scene...
...after the theft of the cart had already occurred...
...in consideration of that, the Court hereby sentences you to serve...
...no more than 1 year, no less than 6 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 1 year at the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
And I might add... had it not been for the intervention...
...of Father Robert Carrillo who spoke in glowing terms on your behalf...
...I would've 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 favor?
What do you want? Name it.
The past couple of weeks...
...my mother and father looked like they were 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 okay.
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 5 separate units.
From the outside, the facility resembled what those who ran it...
...wanted it to resemble...
...some kind of nice school or university.
Michael, Tommy, John and I were assigned to the 2nd floor of Group C.
We each had a private 12 ft 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?
Were 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, you know, 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 New York 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 a 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, the inmates belonged there.
A number of them were riding out their 2nd and 3rd convictions.
All were violent offenders. Few seemed sorry about what they had done.
And as for rehabilitation, forget it.
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.
Okay, everybody go on back and finish your lunches.
There's nothing to see.
Go on, go, sit down... get out of here.
Go on.
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.
Where you going?
You said to get lunch.
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 could smell it.
I'm not hungry.
Well, I don't give a fuck if you're hungry or not.
You eat... because I'm telling 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 goddam lunch!
Come on now, eat! Don't think you got all fucking day, here! Eat!
You've got some mashed potatoes... come on, suck up some of that jello.
Come on now, you fucking assholes, eat! Don't be thinking you got all day.
Hurry up. Come on, now, let's go.
None of you clowns are leaving here until these assholes finish their goddam lunch!
You got that? Hey you...
There you go, you can't have a good lunch without a nice piece of bread. Eat!
Come on now, that's good.
Show the boys how you follow my rules.
Rules! You understand?
Hey look, boys, see how he follows my rules?
Your shift's over, Nokes.
I'm not ready to go yet. I still got a few more things...
...I gotta clean up here before I can leave.
It's my tour now. I'll clean what needs cleaning.
Stay out of this one. It's got nothing to do with you.
This one, I'm staying in.
Don't fuck with me, boy.
No, Nokes... you fuck with me.
I'm asking you.
You're eating into my shift.
I'll get out of your way... for now.
I'll take what I can get.
You boys get off your knees.
It's a tragedy. I'll tell you.
I don't understand you boys.
I don't think you know what it means to have rules.
You gotta have rules, and you gotta have discipline.
I don't know what it was like in your homes and your home lives, 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 we learned. We sure did learn.
Right around there to the right. There you go.
I mean, it's a simple thing, really. You got rules, and you got discipline.
That's the beginning of the story, and that's the end of the story.
We understand each other?
Turn and face the wall.
Now, we got interrupted earlier in the lunch room, but...
...there's no one to interrupt us here now.
What do you want?
A blow job.
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 fourteenth birthday...
...and the end of my childhood.
Early in my stay, I'd written and asked my father not to come.
I couldn't look at my father and have him see on my face...
...all that had happened to me.
Michael had done the same with the interested 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, okay?
Nokes warned us not to say anything to Father Bobby.
If we did, reprisals would be severe.
You lost a few pounds.
It's not exactly home cooking.
Sit down.
This is where 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 shame, right through to the truth.
Shakes, is there anything you want to tell me?
Anything at all?
You shouldn't come here anymore, Father.
I appreciate it and all, but...
...I don't think it's the right thing for you to do.
I stopped off at Attica today on my way up here to see an old friend.
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 fifteen years ago.
And he's a good friend?
He's 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 got to go, Father.
I'll see you in the Kitchen.
I'm counting on you.
Wipe the tears off your face. Don't let them see it.
Don't let them see you crying. Don't give them the satisfaction.
You'll be out of here before you know it.
You're gonna be okay.
I didn't want to let him go.
I never felt as close to anyone as I felt to him at 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 lower 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 are only 6 for me to read... which means I'm missing how many?
This is English class. Math is 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 favorite. I like it more since I've been here.
Why is that?
It's like... he wouldn't let anyone beat him, the Count.
Took what he had to take, beatings, insults and 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 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 morning roll call.
I've got something for you.
I thought you might like to have it.
Are you serious?
Well, you love the book that much. You should have a copy of your own.
- I can't pay you. - 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.
Listen, we can discuss the book on Friday in class if you...
...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.
There you go, All Star. Here's your locker room!
It was only a game... just a touch football game, nothing more.
But a game I wish we had never played.
Guards against inmates. The guards practiced four times a week.
Our team was picked the Monday before the game.
We had a 2 hour practice.
It didn't matter much.
We weren't supposed to win. We were just supposed to show up.
Who's the toughest guy here?
How do you mean, tough?
Who can talk and have everyone listening?
Rizzo. 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 him 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 for them to win the game.
Why?
Look man...
...guards stay clear of me, all right?
They stay back and let me do my time.
If I play that game and I put a hurt on one of them...
...they just might change my cushion.
I'm not saying we gotta win. I just don't want to take a beating.
You do every day.
- Why is Saturday special? - 'Cause on Saturday, we can hit back.
They don't fuck with you like they do us, but they fuck with you another way!
You're just an animal to them.
- I don't give a fuck! - Yeah, you do.
And beating them on Saturday is not gonna 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 will get hurt. You know what I'm saying?
I call heads.
He called heads. It is a head.
Let's go.
You're gonna die, mother fucker! You're gonna fucking die!
None of you motherfuckers can cover me!
We got ourselves a game! I'm feeling good today.
This shit feels good.
Fuck!
Get the fuck off me!
Yeah, keep smiling, you little piss ant.
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...
...and brought it back down to the streets of the neighborhoods we'd come from.
For those 90 minutes, we were once again free!
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.
I thought you'd never wake up.
I thought I'd never want to.
John and Tommy, they're on the other side there.
How are they? They're alive.
Who isn't?
Rizzo.
They killed him?
They took turns beating him until there was nothing of that kid to beat.
Rizzo was dead because of us.
We made him think that going up against the guards...
...in a meaningless football game...
...had some value... that it would give us a reason to go on.
Once again, we were wrong.
Did they give you your release date yet?
Nokes had a letter from the warden.
Waved it in front of me, then tore it up...
When do you figure?
End of spring, early summer or something.
I wish we were coming with you.
It would've been nice for all of us to walk out together.
No use thinking about that. We're gonna do a full year, not an hour less.
When I get out, I could get Father Bobby to make a couple of phone calls.
Shave a month or two off.
- There's nothing to talk about! - There's a lot to talk about.
Maybe, if people knew what was going 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.
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.
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.
We got no choice but to live with it. And talking makes living it harder.
So, we 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.
Someday, John, I 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. I told him right to his face. I said,
I don't care if you're paying me overtime or not.
I'm not working those kind of hours.
Yeah, did you put in for it?
I put in for it!
Because I put in for it. They don't give it to me.
I come in early for three days. Do they give me overtime? No!
A part of all of us was left there that night.
That night will never be removed from my mind.
The night of June 1, 1968... the Summer of Love.
My last night at the Wilkinson Home for boys.
At 8:25 p.m. two men walked through the doors.
The bartender knew their faces as most of the neighborhood knew their names.
They were two of the founding members of the West Side Boys.
They were also its deadliest.
The blondhaired man had been in and out of jail since he was a teenager.
He robbed and killed at will or on command.
He was 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.
He's making a noble attempt to really change things.
- The Republicans will take the House. - Well, we got a lot of work to do.
It's gonna take more than 4 years to get...
They'll take it at the mid-term elections.
He's got the charisma. He's gonna do it.
He's our man. Reagan's the man who's gonna do it.
Hey, Jerry... What are they talking about?
They're talking about Reagan's speech.
Order those two men some drinks and put it on my tab.
You tell them that Republicans are not welcome in Hell's Kitchen...
...and either a political conversion or a change of conversation is in order.
Sure thing.
The gentlemen there would like to buy you a drink on one condition.
You know the rules: no religion, no politics.
You get my meaning?
Order something for me. I gotta go to the bathroom.
Can I help you with something, chief?
Not right now. Enjoy the rest of your meal.
I ordered brisket on a roll, with fries and...
...two baskets of soda bread. I know how you like that shit.
Is that okay by you?
Take a look at the guy at the table. Take a good look.
Motherfucker.
That's him.
Are you 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... all that time you put in...
...just to end up watching someone else's money.
That seems like a waste.
I'm asking you now for the last time, what the fuck do you want?
Why don't you take your time? lt'll come to you.
I can see how he might forget us.
You know, 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.
You can't quite place us, can you, chief?
Let me help you out. You're looking at John Reilly and Tommy Marcano.
Yeah, that's right.
That was a long time ago.
So how you been?
Yeah, we ain't kids now.
So, what do you want?
What I've always wanted is to watch you die!
You ordered the meat loaf.
The brisket's really good here, only you'll never know it.
You fucked up.
Yeah, you were scared little pricks, both of you.
All of you... scared shitless. But I...
...I tried to make you tough. I tried to make you hard.
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 gonna burn in hell!
You're gonna burn in hell.
Yeah, after you.
Did that hurt, Nokes?
Jerry, sorry, should've made those brisket sandwiches to go.
John Reilly, how do you plead?
Not guilty, Your Honor.
Thomas Marcano?
Not guilty, Your Honor.
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 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 that he wanted to meet me on 45th Street in Queens.
Then, he hung up.
- So, what did they say? - What?
John and Tommy, what'd they say?
It's a little cloak and dagger, isn't it, Mike?
Nokes? Did they talk about him?
- John did. - Yeah?
What did he say?
He said, "One down, Shakes. One down."
I hear they hired Danny Snyder as the lawyer, is that right?
It's temporary. King Benny's gonna move in one of his lawyers.
Don't let him do that. Snyder's perfect.
- Perfect? The guy's a fall down drunk! - Then he is perfect.
Perfect for what?
Are you covering this story for your newspaper?
- Me? - Yeah.
I'm a timetable clerk, Mikey. Ask me what movie's playing at what time.
I'm lucky they let me in the building.
Get some coffee?
Let's take a walk.
I'm gonna prosecute John and Tommy in an open court.
What, are you fucking nuts?
Just hear me out.
You should stay home tomorrow. Call in sick and save your life, counsel.
I'm not taking this case to win.
I'm taking this case to lose.
What does that mean?
It means it's payback time.
Look, John and Tommy started this. It's begun.
It's messy, it's not how I had it planned but... here it is.
And you and I, we can finish it.
Finish what, Mikey?
You read "The Count of Monte Cristo" lately?
I don't know... ten years ago.
You see, I read a little bit of it every night.
I read words like 'revenge'. Sweet, lasting revenge.
Payback time.
It's our time.
What are you saying, Mike?
I'm saying it's time for all of us to get a taste.
I'm saying it's time to put an end to this.
Let's walk.
So, I asked for the case.
I told them I was from the same neighborhood as the accused...
...knew the mentality of the area, blah, blah, blah...
They bought it.
And the connection between John, Tommy and Nokes?
What connection? All juvenile records are destroyed after seven years.
We were never at Wilkinson's.
We gotta go after the guards. I gotta get Wilkinson's.
Bring it all down.
Adam Styler, plain-clothes cop, works narcotics in Queens.
Known to shake down dealers for dope and cash. He's got a cocaine problem.
Other personal information there.
Henry Addison now works for the Mayor, if you can fucking believe that.
He's a Community Outreach Director in Brooklyn.
His sexual habits haven't changed. He still likes sex with young boys.
Ralph Ferguson works in a Social Service agency in Long Island.
How long have you been working on this, Mike?
He's recently divorced, got one child, and on weekends...
...teaches Catholic Sunday school.
Well, he seems clean then, right?
That's exactly why I want the piece of shit.
The plan is to call Ferguson in as a character witness.
Get him talking about his best friend, Sean Nokes.
Once I got him on the stand, I'm gonna open the door to Wilkinson's.
Mike, are you sure you want to go this way?
I mean, we buried this a long time ago.
Do you still sleep with the light on?
John and Tommy, do you want them to know anything about this?
No, it'll play better in court if they don't know.
The 'not guilty' verdict had to be a verdict that no one would dare question.
Danny Snyder was to remain as Tommy and John's attorney.
Michael's plan relied heavily on Hell's Kitchen...
...to deliver information and keep quiet.
Both were skills the Neighborhood had in abundance.
We'd set up a simple method of communication.
If Michael was sending, messages were left at work...
...for me to call my non-existent girlfriend, "Gloria".
If I needed to get word to Michael, I'd have someone from the neighborhood...
...pick up an early edition of the New York Times...
...write the word "Edmund" in the upper right hand corner of the Metro section...
...and drop it in front of Michael's apartment.
For this plan to succeed...
...we needed total secrecy of the only people we completely trusted.
The plan depended on keeping Michael alive...
...which meant that word had to get to John and Tommy's killing crew...
...that he was not an open target.
After this night, Michael would not be available to any of us.
The only time we would see him would be in court.
- That's it? - Not quite.
We've got four witnesses who saw the shooting and are willing to testify.
Gotta get that number down.
- I'll talk to King Benny. - Good.
I can handle two, but... you gotta get us one for our side.
- One of what? - One witness.
A witness who'll put John & Tommy elsewhere on the night of the murder.
A witness they can't touch.
Don't they have a name for that?
A judge would call it perjury.
And what are we calling it?
A favor.