This is a true story about friendship that runs deeper than blood.
This is my story and that of the only three friends in my life who truly mattered.
Two of them were killers who never made it past the age of 30.
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 can 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 ourselves to be 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.
Shut the fuck up!
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 forcefuI.
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, finaI.
A drug dealer from an uptown neighborhood
moved heroin into Hell's Kitchen.
A packet killed the 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 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 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 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 gift of the Holy Spirit.
It's going to be a great day, and your parents will be proud of you.
When you were baptized, godparents made promises for you.
Now, you're going to 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 of the group to consider entering the priesthood.
We were intrigued by the powers a 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
or any movie we could see because the sins were reaI,
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 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 Carillo was a longshoreman's son
who was as comfortable sitting 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 that crap 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 feeI of a confessionaI booth.
I don't know what you're talking about.
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 in 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? - Nothing else. I swear, that's it.
A priest shouldn't swear.
And kids shouldn't listen 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 he kissed a girl on more than one occasion.
But his reaI 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 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.
My God.
- Carol, you want to take a look? - Like it's something I haven't seen.
You're so lucky.
She's so beautiful.
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 World War II.
But you ain't gonna read about it 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 always got the shit kicked out of him in street fights.
And then, one day, 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 eight 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 he 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'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.
- 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. - 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 club room, one guy 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 got in that bag.
You gotta be nuts. You know who you're taking off?
Yeah, we know, and we're scared shitless.
Give me the fucking bag!
- What you do there? Answer me! Relax.
They stopped me and took my money.
You took the money from the boy?
- The money they took is in the bag. - Let me have it.
- Fuck you! - Yeah?
- 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? - No.
Then go! Run!
I need somebody with me. What if the old guy hadn't shown?
- What you need? - My 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 my friends and I
worked for King Benny, and 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 art classes.
You don't have to pay. The teacher's a friend.
It could be nothing but a waste of time, Father.
Maybe, or it could be the first step.
- First step to what? - To do something with your life.
- It may help you get out of here. - You all can.
Guys, are we gonna talk or play basketball?
Listen, I want to tell you a story.
It ain't the one about the lepers, is it? That 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?
The Pope was looking for the best guy to paint the ceiling of his church in Rome.
- It don't sound like that big a job. - For Michelangelo, it was.
Michelangelo needed the job because it paid more money than he ever had in his life.
That way, he could pay off the loan sharks chasing his father.
What's his father?
He was a low-level con guy.
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 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 nine years.
That's a big ceiling.
I had a Puerto Rican guy do my whole apartment in two days.
And he had a bum leg.
I don't know what I'm gonna do with you guys.
Just give us a job painting and leave the rest to us.
You know what it was? The Sistine ChapeI.
Sixteenth 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 our 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 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 deaI.
- 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 do 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.
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 have 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, Davy, strike this chump out. He got nothing!
Shut up.
Who's that? - His sister.
What happened to her?
Not sure, some kind of cancer got in her legs or something.
Worry about the game, come on. Hit a home run.
Come on, Davy, strike the scumbag out! He can't touch you!
You don't got any legs, you got a lot of tongue!
Home run.
Yeah, Davy.
What the fuck you looking at, little dick?
She's nothing but charm.
Come on, Davy!
You can take him, Michael.
I told you he wasn't shit, baby!
Swallow your tongue, you little gimp bitch!
You could've helped her across the street or bought her an ice cream.
You didn't have to throw the game.
And now we're the Salvation Army.
You ever wonder why there ain't a Salvation Navy?
Game over, losers. Cough up the cash. $1 each.
He's no better than you. He was today.
You let him be.
Only because 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, okay?
You gotta stay tough to be tough.
Guy 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 gonna 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 cut your life around it.
All right, calm down.
It's like hanging out with fucking Confucius over here.
Be funny, limp dick. 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
and 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. Let's get some buttered rolls,
a couple of sodas, head down to the docks, cooI off.
Can't you feeI the breeze up here? What breeze?
- We're surrounded by a wall, genius. - The deviI couldn't stand it.
Will you guys shut up? 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.
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.
Yeah, a hot dog ain't worth bleeding over.
Anyway, whose turn is it?
Yours.
- Yeah, it's yours. - Mine? It's not my turn.
- Yes, it is. - I went last month.
- He went two weeks... - You never went.
- Last month. - Are you nuts? I went right after him.
- I'm not going. It's too hot. - Why? Why not?
If I walk downstairs, 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!
Dogs, ketchup...
I took it from him and ran.
I scooted past Tommy Mug's Dry Cleaners and Armand's Shoe Repair.
The vendor gave chase, a wooden-handled pronged fork in one hand.
Ain't you gonna give me two?
These things are heavier than they look.
Genius, these are 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 10 minutes more, just on hate alone.
Come on. 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.
He's still on you? Go!
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 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 as he grabbed the handles.
Then we'd leave the scene as he struggled to ease the cart back 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!
- 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 HospitaI,
we were charged with reckless endangerment
and remanded into our parents' custody.
I'm sorry, Dad.
Ain't gonna do you much good.
Take it easy. This is no time to get crazy.
You're going to jaiI. You don't know what the fuck that means!
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 five 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 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's 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 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 of the cart 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 Robert Carillo 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 five 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 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?
You expecting a dressing room? We don't have any.
Now lose the clothes.
In front of you?
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 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, of the inmates belonged there.
Many were riding out their second and third 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 more to see.
Go on, 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 reaI 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.
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 goddamn lunch!
Come on now, eat! Don't think you got all fucking day here!
You've got some mashed potatoes. Suck up some of that Jell-O.
Come on, now, you fucking assholes, eat. Don't be thinking you got all day.
Hurry up, let's go.
None of you clowns are leaving here until these assholes finish their goddamn lunch!
You got that?
You, here's a piece of bread.
You can't have a good lunch without a nice piece of bread. Eat!
Let's go. Come on, now, that's good.
Show the boys how you follow my rules.
Rules! You understand?
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, boy, we learned.
We sure did learn.
Right around there to the right. There you go. Come on.
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.
Do we understand each other?
Turn and face the wall.
You, too.
Now, we got interrupted earlier in the lunch room,
but there's no one to interrupt us here now.
What do you want?
A blowjob.
Face the wall!
Down on your knees.
Face the wall.
There are no clearpictures of the sexuaI abuse we endured.
I buried it as deep as it can 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 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.
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.
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 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...
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 jaiI?
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? - 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 wanna 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 six for me to read, which means I'm missing how many?
This is English class. Math is down the hall.
I wanna help you. You may not believe that
or you may not care, but it's the truth.
- You got a second? - What, did 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 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, 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.
It's not the same thing.
Listen, I gotta go. I'm gonna miss morning roll call.
Wait one minute. I've got something for you.
- I thought you might like to have it. Are you serious?
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.
- 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 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, 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 two-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 out here? - How do you mean, tough?
- Who can talk and have everyone listen? - 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 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 for them to win the game. - Why?
Guards steer clear of me, all right? They stay back and let me do my time.
If I play that game and hurt 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 in 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?
To make them feeI what we feeI. 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 calls heads.
He called heads. It is a head.
Let's go.
You're gonna die, motherfucker. 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 of me!
Yeah, keep smiling, you little pissant.
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.
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 a release date yet?
Nokes had a letter from the warden.
Waved it in front of me, then tore it up.
When do you figure?
I don't know. 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.
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.
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 good-bye. We all do.
I told him right to his face.
I said, "I don't care if you're paying me overtime.
"I'm not working those kind of hours. "
Yeah, but you put in for it? Yeah, I did.
'Cause I put in for it, and they don't give it.
I come in early for three days, do they give me overtime? No.
A part of all of us was left there that night.
A night that will never be removed from my mind.
That 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 blond-haired man had been in and out of jail since he was a teenager.
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.
- It'll take more than four 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. Who are they talking about?
They're talking about Reagan's speech.
Order those two men some drinks and put it on my tab.
Tell them that Republicans are not welcome in Hell's Kitchen,
and either a politicaI conversion or a change of conversation is in order.
Sure thing.
- Gentlemen. - Yeah?
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 meaI.
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.
I thought you'd do a lot better.
With all that training, all that time you put in,
just to end up watching someone else's money.
That seems like a waste.
For the last time, what the fuck do you want?
Why don't you take your time? It'll come to you.
I can see how he might forget us.
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 meatloaf.
The brisket's really good here, only you'll never know it.
You fucked up.
You were scared little pricks, both of you.
All of you, scared shitless.
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 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 what?
One Sean Nokes.
Nokes?
At the time ofNokes' 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?
Come on. Nokes. Did they talk about him?
- John did. - Yeah? What did he say?
He said, "One down, Shakes. "
I hear they hired Danny Snyder as the lawyer.
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.
- He's 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.
Stay home tomorrow. Call in sick and save your life, CounseI.
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, 10 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?
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.
Told them I was from the same neighborhood as the accused,
knew the mentality of the area.
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.
I gotta go after the guards. I gotta get Wilkinson's.
Bring it all down.
Adam Styler, plainclothes cop. Works narcotics in Queens.
Known to shake down dealers for dope and cash. He's got a cocaine problem.
Other personaI information there.
Henry Addison. Now works for the mayor, if you can fucking believe that.
He's a Community Outreach Director in Brooklyn.
His sexuaI habits haven't changed. He still likes sex with young boys.
Ralph Ferguson. Works in a sociaI service agency in Long Island.
How long you been working on this?
He's recently divorced, got one child,
and on weekends, teaches Catholic Sunday schooI.
- 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, someone from the neighborhood
would pick up an early edition ofThe New York Times,
write "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 word had to get to John and Tommy's killing crew
that he's 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.
Four witnesses saw the shooting and are willing to testify.
We 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 and Tommy somewhere else 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.
Get up.
- Tony? - Yeah, King?
- Bring Danny Snyder to see me. - Who, Danny Snyder the lawyer?
- You know more than one Danny Snyder? - No, King.
Bring me the one you know.
I can't do this now, you gotta know that. It's been a long time for me.
You need somebody younger. Somebody like I used to be.
Younger is not better.
Doesn't have experience, doesn't know its way around a courthouse.
I'm lucky I can find the courthouse.
I had only four cases last year. You know how many I won?
None. That's how many.
In two of them, I think the jury blamed me personally.
They must've been innocent.
It's tough to get innocent men off a rap.
I wasn't even planning on going to court with this one.
I was just gonna plea it down best I could, and walk away.
I wasn't planning on taking this to triaI, sir.
Your plans have been changed.
I am afraid that I'll make a mistake and say the wrong thing,
make a wrong turn somewhere. You don't want to take that risk.
- Life is risk. - I'm sorry?
- Life is risk. - Life is a risk?
I haven't been in here before.
- What do you need me to do? - Listen.
You're gonna be given the answers and the questions.
All you have to do is read. You can read, can't you?
Is it in English?
Just don't drift. Don't drink, and don't lose.
- What if I do lose? - Then you go down for the dirt nap.
Never heard that expression before.
Dirt nap.
I'm not really cut out for this anymore. I mean, a guy gets hit by a bus
and sues, I like that.
Some lady slips in a supermarket, I'm with her.
The discussion is over.
I'm an alcoholic. This is a murder case. This isn't for me.
- It was, once. - Yes, but...
Before you let the drink lead.
Be sober by tomorrow. And don't look so worried, Snyder.
You've got nothing to lose, just like the rest of us.
I don't want to be a burden to you, but aside...
Or along with my alcohoI problem, I have a slight drug problem.
- Nothing big, just... - Go away.
Within days of Michael taking the case,
the West Side Boys got a visit from King Benny.
The King requested that the verbal abuse directed towards Michael continue.
Cries of "traitor" and "gutter rat" were heard up and down the avenue.
But there was never to be a death move against him.
The hit on Michael Sullivan, if there was to be one,
could only come from King Benny.
The underground word, the only one that mattered,
had spread through the streets at the speed of a late-night bullet.
King Benny's sleepers were making their play.
"Sleepers" was a street name for anyone who spent time in a juvenile facility.
You gonna pay for that, you little prick?
Need your help, Fat Man. Need a big favor.
See you outside.
- King Benny been to see you? - My goodness.
What a fucking team we put together, huh?
You have a drunk lawyer on one side, a kid lawyer on the other.
Fucking paper boy, making like Dick Tracy.
There are four sets of eyeballs that saw the whole thing.
Meanwhile, the two on triaI kill more people than cancer.
Fucking GeneraI Custer has a better shot at a walk.
There's no connection with the guard and us.
Cops think it's a drug-related homicide.
It's just we need you to pull a few strings.
If you get caught on this, you're looking straight-ass serious.
I'm talking reaI jaiI. The big house.
They are not good boys anymore.
They're killers now.
Cold as stone.
I know.
I know what they were and what they are, and it's not about that.
It's not worth it, throwing away life just to get even.
You and the lawyer have a chance to get out.
To get out the right way.
There's no choice. Not for us.
On occasion, I'd have dinner with Carol.
She still lived in the neighborhood, and was a sociaI worker in the South Bronx.
Her concern for us was undiminished by the passing years.
Whenever we went out as a group, she'd walk between Michael and John,
grasping their arms,
in step between the lawyer and the killer.
Mug me or marry me, Shakes. I'm too tired for anything else.
Won't you settle for a couple of beers?
If that's your best offer.
I'll throw in a hug and a kiss.
DeaI.
- You look tired. - Thank you.
They don't give you time to sleep in this new job of yours?
So, how much do you know?
Just what the neighborhood says.
And what I read in papers like yours.
What does the neighborhood say?
That they're gonna put Johnny and Tommy away.
That their best friend's gonna be the one to do it.
- You believe that? - It's hard not to.
Unless we all have it wrong. He did take the fucking case.
- He did take the case. - Then what else is there to say?
You know Michael very well, maybe even better than I do.
Yeah, I thought I did. Now, I don't know.
- You do know. - I don't know!
He went in there and he asked for the case!
Now, you tell me, what the hell kind of friend is that?
The best kind.
The kind who'll throw away everything to help his friends.
What are you telling me?
You know this neighborhood, Carol. Everything's a shakedown or a scam.
Why should this be any different?
I'm hungry.
I'm gonna get something to eat.
There's this point in Michael that you can't go beyond.
I mean, you can try. I tried.
And he just shut down.
Couldn't touch him, couldn't even breathe on him.
I thought it was me.
After a while, it just gets easier to let it go.
- Do you still love him? - I don't think about it.
If I did, I'd say yes.
- But you're with John now. - Yeah.
As much as anybody can be with John.
The man I know is not the boy you remember.
None of us are.
But there's something speciaI about John.
You just have to look a little harder to see it.
Why didn't you ever ask me out?
- Me? - Yeah.
Because you were Mikey's girI.
He got to you first.
- And after Mikey? - I think it was Tommy's turn.
Fuck you.
Because I didn't think you'd say yes, and...
Well, you were wrong, Shakes.
What? Go ahead and say it.
You work at SociaI Services. You got access to files.
And from time to time, we're gonna need some information.
- Whatever. - Wait. What?
What do you want? You want information?
You want me to get the files? I'll get the files. What do you want?
- You still visit John? - Yeah, once a week, for about an hour.
- Good. - Good?
Yeah, good. Just don't tell him that you've seen me.
Don't tell him anything.
The more he thinks this thing's hopeless, the better it might work.
Shakes, what is this about?
You want a Rolls-Royce? You don't come here.
You go to England, or wherever the fuck they make it.
If you want champagne, you go see the French.
If you need money, you find a Jew.
But if you want dirt or scum buried under a rock somewhere,
or some secret nobody wants anybody to know about, there's only one place to go.
Right here, Hell's Kitchen. It is the lost-and-found of shit.
They lose it, and we find it. Forget about it, man.
Now, you only got two witnesses who are gonna testify.
Two others changed their minds.
- Which two? - The suits at the bar.
- That still leaves the couple in the booth. - For now.
Everything else falling into place?
Except for your witness. That pocket's still empty.
I know.
When you were sent away,
I was always sorry I couldn't do more for you.
- I didn't know you liked pigeons so much. - I like anything that don't talk.
Michael's vision on where he wanted this case to go was very clear.
He was aiming for guilty. A charge of guilty against the Wilkinson Home for Boys,
against Sean Nokes, Adam Styler, Henry Addison, and Ralph Ferguson.
I will present to you evidence, and offer into account testimony to prove that.
I will place them at the scene of the crime.
I will bring witnesses to the stand, who will confirm
that they were there on the deadly night.
I will present enough evidence that you can then go into a jury room
and come back with a clear decision that's beyond a reasonable doubt.
I'm sure you all know what that means,
since you probably watch as much television as I do.
John Reilly and Thomas Marcano
are two innocent pawns, quickly arrested
and just as quickly prosecuted on the slightest threads of evidence.
Look on the bright side, he seems to know their names.
It's nice when you come around.
- Bring me another spoon. This one's dirty. - There you go.
No, she'll do it.
How's work?
I'm still there.
You know, Pop, I went down to the courthouse.
I saw John and Tommy.
And I started thinking back to when we were...
Where's the chicken?
- So? - Nothing.
I was just thinking things.
- But you're doing good, right? - Yeah. Doing good.
Good.
What the hell do these things do? - They're for praying.
Look at all this shit.
Does your mother think you're in the fucking army or something?
None of it on the approved list.
I'm sure your mommy got a copy of that list.
She can't speak English that well.
Don't blame us for your fucking mother being stupid, all right?
When are you gonna let us hear you pray?
Maybe he needs something to pray for.
Put your hands on the table and lay them down flat.
Spread your legs.
Now start thinking up some prayers.
We don't hear no praying.
You better start, or Styler might lose his baton up your ass.
"Blessed art thou among women
"and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. "
Pray nice and loud.
Louder.
Fucker, pray. Come on, now!
Louder!
HaiI Mary!
Louder, fucker!
Pray like you're in fucking church!
Sorry I'm late. I lost all track of time.
I got this idea for a witness, but I'm not quite sure yet.
But I want you to come along so you could see it.
Where are we going? - To his place.
- Where is it? - It's in the rectory.
No, Shakes.
How was court today?
Like the first round of a fight. Everybody just feeling each other out.
How did the boys look?
Like they wished they were someplace else.
It's the sheep that stray that you most want back.
It's not too late, Father.
We still have a chance to bring in a couple of stray sheep.
One more chance.
Is that chance legaI?
Last chances never are.
King Benny behind this?
He's in on it, but he's not calling the shots.
- Who is? - Michael.
I should've smelled it. The minute he went for the case,
- I should've figured something was up. - It's a good plan.
Michael's got it all covered. Just about every base you look at,
- he's got it covered. - Not every base.
You're short something or else you wouldn't be here.
- You don't shit a shitter, right? - That's right.
So, what is it? Where do you come up short?
Witness.
We need somebody to take the stand and say that they were with them
on the night of the murder.
So you figure if you had a priest, it would be perfect?
Not just any priest.
You're asking me to lie?
You're asking me to swear to God, and then lie.
I'm asking you to save two of your boys.
- Did they kill that guard? - Yes.
So what they said is true? They walked in and they killed him?
Yes.
They killed him exactly like that.
I think I need a drink.
Anyone want a drink?
Yeah.
This is some favor you're asking me.
We know that.
No, I don't think you do know.
You said if there was ever anything really important,
I could come to you, ask you.
I was thinking more along the lines of Yankee tickets.
I don't need Yankee tickets, Father. I need a witness.
What about the life that was taken, Shakes? What's that worth?
To me? Nothing.
Why not? Tell me.
He was a guard at Wilkinson's.
All right?
IfFather Bobby was gonna be involved,
he deserved to know what he was getting into.
If he wasn't, I trusted that the truth would go no further than his room.
I thought that Carol needed to know as well.
Jesus Christ, we were just boys. We weren't that tough.
They held us down.
I told them about the torture, the beatings, and the rapes.
I told them about the four frightened boys who prayed
to Father Bobby's God for help that never came.
I told them everything.
And then you can't fight anymore. We just took it all.
John used to waiI at night. You'd hear it all the way down the hall.
You know he wanted to be a priest.
Then he pulls his pants down. I didn't even know what a blowjob was.
I just blacked out. I remember I couldn't breathe.
Then I started to choke.
He was pulling the hairs out of the back of my head.
Then I blacked out.
But I do remember when, for fun, they'd take us down in the basement,
tie two or three of us together,
and make the others watch as they pulled down their pants and fucked them.
I got a decision to make.
I only pray it's the right one.
It will be, Father, whichever way you go.
So, you were sitting down, you were having dinner,
- and two men entered McHale's, correct? Yes.
Did you see them as they approached the table where Mr. Nokes was sitting?
I noticed it, yes.
Did you hear what was said between them?
No.
Did you see them pull out their guns?
No.
- Did you hear the shots? - Yes, I heard the shots.
And what did they do? What was their behavior after the shooting?
They walked out of McHale's as if nothing had happened.
And at that time, Mrs. Salinas, did you see their faces clearly?
Yes. I looked up as they walked away.
Are you positive? - Yes, very positive.
Are the two men you saw at McHale's in this room today?
Yes, they are.
Could you point them out for the jury, please?
They're sitting right over there.
Your Honor, will the record reflect
that Mrs. Salinas has identified defendants John Reilly and Thomas Marcano
- as the two men in question. Noted.
Thank you. No further questions.
Counsel, are you ready to proceed?
Yes, Your Honor, we are. Good morning.
I just have a few questions.
I won't take too much of your time, Mrs. Salinas.
You stated that you only had wine to drink with dinner. Is that correct?
Yes.
Are you sure about that? Are you sure that was all you had, one bottle of wine?
Yes, a bottle of red Chianti.
Had you anything to drink prior to that?
What do you mean, "prior"?
At lunch, maybe. Did you have anything to drink at lunch?
Yes, I did. - What did you have to drink?
I went shopping and I stopped at a place on Madison Avenue...
See, I didn't ask you where you went. I asked you what you had to drink at lunch.
- A martini. - And what else?
Probably some wine.
Yes, and how many glasses of wine did you have to drink?
One glass, maybe two.
- Closer to two? - Yes, probably two glasses.
Did you...
It's like pulling teeth.
I should've pinned the questions to his shirt.
And tell me...
Then at dinner, you...
Strike that.
What time, Mrs. Salinas, did you have lunch?
Objection, Your Honor.
What she did on the day of the murder
has nothing to do with what she saw that night.
How much she had to drink does, Your Honor.
Overruled.
Mrs. Salinas, what time did you have lunch?
- About 1:30. - And what did you have for lunch?
It was a while ago. Probably a salad.
I like to eat a little light in the day.
A martini, two glasses of wine, and a salad. Is that correct?
Yes, that's right.
And then you had wine at dinner, about six hours later. Is that right?
Yes, that's right.
How much wine did you have to drink
by the time my clients allegedly walked into McHale's?
- Two glasses. - Would you say that four glasses of wine
and a martini within a six-hour period is a lot for you to drink?
Yes, it is.
Have you ever heard a gun fired, prior to the night in question?
No.
- How would you describe the sound? - It was loud. Like fireworks loud.
- Did the sound frighten you? Very much.
Did you close your eyes?
At first, until the shooting stopped. Then I opened them.
Did you think the men who did the shooting were going to kill everybody in McHale's?
I really didn't know what to think. I just knew that the man had been shot.
Did you think you might be shot dead by the two cold-blooded killers?
Yes, I did.
Yet despite that fear, despite that risk to your life,
you looked at their faces as they left?
- Yes, I did. - Is that correct?
Yes, I did.
Did you look at their faces? Did you
really look, Mrs. Salinas?
I glanced at them when they walked by, but I did see them.
You glanced?
You didn't look?
I saw them.
You glanced at them, Mrs. Salinas.
You glanced at them through the eyes of a very frightened woman
who maybe had too much to drink.
- Objection, Your Honor. There is no need, Your Honor.
I have no further questions.
Thank you, Mrs. Salinas. You may step down.
It was 6:15 on Sunday morning.
Frank Magcicco worked out of a homicide unit in Brooklyn.
He was a first-grade detective with an honest name and a solid reputation.
He was also King Benny's nephew.
Nick Davenport was with Internal Affairs.
He was ambitious and wanted to make captain before he hit 40.
He knew the fastest way up the track
was to reeI in a maximum amount of dirty cops in a minimum amount of time.
Frank, what is this shit?
If I were you, I'd do what the kid says.
You make this, you'll be having breakfast once a month with the Commissioner.
You got a reaI hard-on for this Styler guy. What's your beef with him?
- One more thing. - I can't wait.
It's simple. No one knows who fed you this information. And I mean nobody.
How did you get it?
It fell into my lap. Just like it's gonna fall into yours.
Christ Almighty.
- You got everything here but a confession. I thought I'd leave that up to you.
My preference is that you beat it out of him.
There's even surveillance photos.
This piece of shit's pulling in about $5,000 a month, ripping off pushers.
- Has been for about three years. - More like four.
- He ain't gonna see five. - Got enough for a conviction?
That ain't up to me. That's up to a jury.
Show the jury this.
What do you got there, Ness?
About three weeks ago, the body of a drug dealer
named Indian Red Lopez was found in an alley in Jackson Heights.
Three bullets in his head, nothing in his pockets.
I'm with you so far.
This is the gun that killed him, and these are the shells.
What's behind door number three?
The prints on the gun belong to Adam Styler.
- Do me a favor, will you? - What's that?
If I ever make it onto your shit list, give me a call.
Give me a chance to apologize.
So you need anything else, you talk to Frank.
- He knows how to get a hold of me. - Take care of yourself, kid.
- Water gets choppy out your way. - I'll do what I can.
- Did you ever think of becoming a cop? - And leave the good guys?
- The body of Christ. - Amen.
The body of Christ.
Amen.
The body of Christ.
Michael had done all that could be expected
of an Assistant District Attorney seeking a conviction.
He had a forensic expert detail the make and caliber of the gun that killed Nokes.
He just never had the murder weapon to present as evidence.
And he never gave the jury a motive for the murder.
The tension of his task, the hours he was working,
and the uncertainty about the outcome weighed heavily on him.
Did you see their faces?
Yes, I looked at them, and they looked at me.
Did they say anything to you?
No, they just looked at me and walked out of McHale's.
Are you sure the two defendants killed Sean Nokes?
I know they killed him.
If the plan worked, it would be everyone's success.
If it failed, the fault would fall to Michael.
Father Bobby Carillo, the priest with the best hook shot on the West Side,
remained the key to a plan that called for all involved to get away with murder.
Did you turn around, look behind you, when you heard the shooting, Mr. Carson?
Why didn't you turn around, Mr. Carson?
I was concerned for my companion's safety.
Did the two individuals threaten you in any way?
No.
Did they threaten anyone in McHale's Restaurant, as far as you know?
I didn't see it, but I know it.
If you didn't see the defendants shoot the guy,
then how do you know it was the defendants that shot him?
What's the emergency?
Shakes shouldn't have sent you. It's too risky.
Nobody sent me. I wanted to see you.
Why?
Shakes met with Father Bobby two weeks ago.
- He hasn't heard from him since. - It's not an overnight decision for him.
- What if he doesn't testify? - Then we got a very serious problem.
Have Shakes talk to Father Bobby again.
Have him tell him the whole story. He'll know what that means.
He already has.
What?
I was with him when he talked to Father Bobby.
I heard everything, Michael.
So you know.
Yeah.
If only you'd told me...
I think things could've been different.
If you could've talked.
Maybe...
Hey, how you doing?
Carmine, that diet is working. I don't care what anybody says.
- You still have a thing for Doris Day. - She was a good woman.
You know the strega?
It's hard to miss a lady with four warts and only one eye.
She needs the heads.
Take this to the witch.
Now, why does she need the heads?
- She takes the eyes. - WonderfuI.
Puts them in a bowI and mixes them with water and oiI.
And then?
People get headaches, they go to her.
She looks into their eyes and tells them
who is wishing the headaches.
She says a few words and the headaches go away.
Once in a while the person who wishes the headaches goes away, too.
This guy, Addison, the one who works for the Mayor,
he quits his job in two weeks.
He don't want nobody to know what kind of a guy he is.
He don't want nobody to see pictures of him they shouldn't see.
- He knows this? - He will.
The boys he buys for parties are expensive.
Now, Addison makes good money, but he don't make reaI money.
How much does he owe?
$8,000 with a heavy vig. I paid that off.
You paid?
Addison's debts belong to me now.
- You hate debts. - I hate Addison.
We're in the dirty end of the field now. That's where I play.
And I like to play alone.
You're a nice kid. You always were. Don't let this change it.
His mother named him Edward Goldenberg Robinson
after her favorite actor.
To continue the Hollywood connection
Eddie Robinson took the street name Little Caesar
as he made his way up the ranks of the lucrative drug trade.
He had a 12-year-old son in a private school in upstate New York.
He named him Rizzo, after his youngest brother,
who died while in the custody of the Wilkinson Home for Boys.
- I want you to give me some money. - All right.
I'll play along.
- How long before you pay it back? - I ain't paying it back.
Somebody else is.
This somebody I know?
- Your little brother knew him. - Rizzo?
How did he know Rizzo?
Henry Addison was a guard in an upstate reform schooI.
He was there the same time as Rizzo, before and after he died.
Count out $8,000, put it in an envelope.
You go back a long time, old man.
Old men always do.
Ran with the guineas back when the guineas were tough.
I ran when I could.
Looked good doing it, too.
Gave the business some style, some class.
Made it a call for respect the way you wore it, the way you talked it.
I always liked that about you.
I'm no help to you. My tailor is dead.
I'll look up our friend and collect the money he owes me.
- He owes you something more than money. - Ain't nothing worth more than the green.
- This is. - What, old man?
What's this guy owe that means more than dollars?
He owes you Rizzo. He's the man that killed your brother.
- They said he died of pneumonia. - They said.
What is the relevance of this?
So Ralph Ferguson is a Sunday schooI teacher.
I don't know, CounseI. What you're asking is highly unusuaI.
I understand that, Your Honor. Again, I need to put a face to the victim.
Otherwise, it's just another name in the obituaries.
Mr. Snyder, any objections?
I don't have a problem with it.
Your Honor, the prosecution would like to call Ralph Ferguson to the stand.
- Good morning, Mr. Ferguson. - Good morning.
I thank you for coming. I realize, for you, this has been a long trip.
I'm just sorry it had to be for something like this.
You and the victim, Sean Nokes, were good friends.
Your testimony as a character witness will be very valuable.
We were great friends. It would be hard to find a better friend.
- Would you say you were his best friend? - I was his closest, that's for sure.
- How long did you know each other? - About 17, 18 years.
- Did you see each other often? - As often as we could.
Weekends, holidays, vacations, things like that.
- What kind of man was Sean Nokes? - He was a good man.
He was too good to be shot dead by a couple of street punks.
Objection. Statement is one of opinion, not fact.
- He was asked his opinion. - Overruled. Please proceed.
Mr. Ferguson, were you aware of any enemies he might have had?
Sean Nokes had no enemies.
Thank you, Mr. Ferguson. I have no further questions.
What is that, a prison?
No, it's a juvenile facility for young boys.
Your function was what at this juvenile facility?
Standard stuff.
Keep the boys in line, make sure they got to class on time,
keep an eye out for trouble, put them down for the night. Nothing exciting.
As guards, were you and Mr. Nokes allowed
to use force to, as you put it, "keep the boys in line"?
- What do you mean, "force"? - Were you allowed to hit them?
No, of course not.
Were any of the boys hit by any of the guards
at any time at the Wilkinson Home?
I'm sure something like that may have happened.
It was a big place, but it wasn't the common practice.
Sure. Let's narrow the place down.
Did you or Mr. Nokes ever hit any of the boys under your care
at the Wilkinson Home for Boys?
Would you like me to repeat the question?
No.
Then answer it, please. Remember, you're under oath.
A few of the boys who we considered to be discipline problems
were hit on occasion.
And how were they hit?
- I don't know what you mean. - A fist,
open hand, kick, baton, maybe?
- Depended on what the situation called for. - Who determined that situation?
The guard on the scene.
That's a lot of power to have over a boy, isn't it?
- It came with the job, sir. - Did torture come with the job?
Boys were tortured, weren't they?
Define torture.
Let's define torture.
Cigarette burning, random beatings.
Solitary confinement with no food and no light.
Say that took place?
- On occasion. - Who tortured them?
- Guards. - Which guards?
I can't remember all of them.
Remember one.
Counselor, this line of questioning better lead somewhere having to do with this case.
- It will, Your Honor. - For your sake.
Mr. Ferguson, was there ever any sexuaI abuse
at the Wilkinson Home for Boys?
Was there ever any sexuaI abuse at the Wilkinson Home for Boys?
- Yes, I heard that there was. - I'm not asking what you heard.
I'm asking what you saw.
- Please push the door closed. I thought you boys liked it.
Yes, I saw.
And did you and Sean Nokes ever force yourself on any of the boys?
Did you and Sean Nokes ever rape any of the boys at Wilkinson Home?
Counselors, approach.
I just fucked your little friend Johnny.
Counselor, what the hell is going on here?
I guess I called the wrong character witness.
I've given you wide latitude in calling this character witness.
Now it's blown up in your face.
Please, Ferguson, don't do this.
Mr. Ferguson, please answer the question.
Please, Ferguson. I'll come see you tomorrow.
Let me ask you, Mr. Ferguson. Sean Nokes...
I like it nice and slow.
...visited your home on numerous occasions, is that correct?
Did your ex-wife ever leave Sean Nokes alone with your child?
Our child?
Yes, in other words, would your ex-wife ever leave Sean Nokes alone
with your child?
There would be no reason for him to be alone with our child.
It wouldn't come up.
Never came up? Did she ever voice any concern?
We have a statement explaining why she would never allow
Sean Nokes to be in a room alone with your son.
- Objection. Sustained.
You ain't gonna touch me ever again!
Yes.
Yes?
Yes, what?
Yes, Sean Nokes had experiences with some boys.
Were you there? - Yes.
- Did you observe these experiences? - Yes.
Did you more than observe?
I was drinking then...
Were there any other guards around during these experiences?
Yes.
- With you and Mr. Nokes? - Yes.
- On more than one occasion? - Yes.
Mr. Ferguson, do you still think that Sean Nokes was a good man?
He was my friend.
A friend who raped and abused boys he was paid to look after?
I have no further questions.
I want this to be over.
Witness is excused.
Mr. Ferguson.
If I were you, I wouldn't stray too far from home.
People will want to talk to you. Do you understand?
Michael continued to swim both ends of the pool at the same time.
Playing prosecution and defense attorney, he exposed Ferguson for what he was
and still kept John and Tommy's motive for killing Nokes hidden
from the eyes of the court.
Little Caesar, who always kept a picture of his dead brother in his breast pocket,
called in the Henry Addison loan.
It was a loan Addison couldn't afford to pay back.
And it gave Little Caesar the only reason he needed
to even his score for Rizzo.
Davenport wasted little time on following up on Adam Styler.
He was quickly arrested and charged with the death of the Queens drug dealer
and eight counts of corruption and bribery.
That's six for me, two for you.
Most people play this game in the summer.
It's easier to see the ball without tears in your eyes.
I give a fuck about most people.
You're gonna have a heart attack, and I'm not breathing in your mouth.
I'm not going to marry you, either.
John and Tommy smell something. They just don't know what.
A spic be living in the White House by the time it reaches their fucking brains.
Snyder came through big. He's not half bad.
The way you told it, I thought he could hardly stand up.
He's a drunk, but he's not a fooI.
We only win when John and Tommy walk.
Then you'll have to get them out of the shooting hall.
You have to put them someplace else. And only a witness does that for you.
He's doing a Claude Rains so far. Nobody's seen the fucker.
What if he doesn't show? What if we have to go on the way we are?
The street is the only one that matters.
Court is for uptown people with suits, money,
lawyers with three names. If you got cash, you can buy court justice.
But on the street, justice has no price.
She's blind where the judge sits, but she's not blind out here.
Out here, the bitch got eyes.
We need both.
Then you need a witness.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are to disregard
the testimony of Ralph Ferguson.
His entire testimony is stricken from this record.
That concludes the people's case, Your Honor.
The people rest? - The people rest.
Is the defense ready to proceed?
I'm not sure, Your Honor.
- I don't know. - You don't know?
I'm not sure. We're waiting...
All right. 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. Present a witness or be prepared to sum up.
Everything good?
Glad to hear that.
You're late.
Very interesting attending the morning Mass.
Your Honor, the defense calls Father Robert Carillo.
Do you know most of the people in your parish?
I know all the people in my parish.
Do you know the two defendants, John Reilly and Thomas Marcano?
Yes, I do. How long have you known them?
Since they were boys. They were both students of mine.
Remain standing.
How long have you been there? It'll be 20 years this spring.
Raise your right hand. I'm a priest.
In the case of The People of the State of New York
against John Reilly and Thomas Marcano,
do you swear the evidence you are about to give is the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?
I do.
Acting pastor, serve Mass daily, listen to confessions.
Do you recall where you were on the night of November 1, this past year?
- Yes, I do. - Where was that?
I was at a basketball game at the Garden. The Knicks versus the Celtics.
And when did the Knicks game begin?
About 7:30. What time did it end?
Between 9:30 and 10:00.
- Do you remember who won that game? - Sad to say, it was the Celtics.
Kevin McHale and Robert Parish were too much for our boys that night.
Even if it was All Saints Day.
Next time, you give me a call, I'll try my guy.
I'll try that.
Father Carillo, were you at the game alone?
- No, I went there with two friends. - And who were those two friends?
John Reilly and Thomas Marcano.
- The two defendants? - Yes, the same two defendants.
Father Carillo, at 8:25 p. m., the time the police say
victim Sean Nokes was murdered,
were you still with Mr. Reilly and Mr. Marcano at the basketball game?
Yes, I was.
And what time did you, Mr. Reilly, and Mr. Marcano part company?
It was around 10:30, a little later.
They dropped me off in front of the rectory, near where they had picked me up.
Did they tell you where they were going?
No, they didn't, but I imagine, after a night spent with a priest,
they went looking for the first open bar they could find.
So, then, Father, if the two defendants were with you at 8:25,
the night of the murder, they couldn't have shot and killed Sean Nokes,
as the prosecution contends. Isn't that correct?
Not unless they shot him from the blue seats at the Garden.
He was not shot from there.
Then he was not shot by those boys.
No further questions, Your Honor. Thank you, Father.
- Your witness, Mr. Sullivan. - Thank you, Your Honor.
Did you buy the tickets, Father, or were they given to you?
- No, I bought them. - On the day of the game?
I went to the box office about a week before.
Did anyone know you were going to the game, other than the defendants?
I don't think so.
Was anyone with you when you purchased the tickets?
No.
No one saw you buy the tickets? That's right.
Did you get a receipt? No, I didn't.
Paid by check? MasterCard? Visa?
No, I paid by cash. I usually pay for things in cash.
You care for the boys in your parish, don't you?
Very much.
And there isn't anything you wouldn't do for them, am I right?
Anything in my power to do, I would make it a point.
Like a father, a good father, looking out for one of his sons.
Something along those lines, yes.
Is it true then, as a good father, you would want to protect them
from something they shouldn't have done?
As much as I would want to protect them from something someone else said they did.
- Like a murder? - Yes, like a murder.
Let me get this straight, then. No one knew you were going to the game.
No one saw you there. No one saw you buy tickets.
There's no record you even bought tickets. You have no receipt for the tickets.
Am I correct?
Yes, that's correct.
Then how do we really know, Father?
How do we know
you and the two defendants were at the game on the night of the murder?
I'm telling you as a witness and as a priest. We were at the game.
Yes, as a priest, and a priest wouldn't lie. Am I right?
A priest with ticket stubs wouldn't need to lie.
I always keep the stubs.
Do you want to see them?
Why is that, Father? Why do you keep the stubs?
Because you never know when someone might want more than your word.
Has anyone ever questioned your word before today?
No one ever has. But there's a first time for everything.
I have no further questions. Thank you, Father.
You may step down.
I've never recovered from seeing Father Bobby take the stand and lie for us,
to even the score for John and Tommy.
He didn't just testify for them, he testified against Wilkinson
and the evil that had lived there for too long.
Still, I was sorry he had to do it.
With respect to the charge of murder in the second degree,
do you find the defendant, John Reilly, guilty or not guilty?
Not guilty.
With respect to the charge of murder in the second degree,
do you find the defendant, Thomas Marcano, guilty or not guilty?
Not guilty.
Thank you very much. This jury is discharged.
Hi, how are you? Could I get a hot dog?
Mustard and relish. A lot of relish.
Give him two napkins.
You did good in there, Counselor.
- What happens to you now? - What happens? I walk away.
I'll wait a few weeks, I'll hand in my notice.
After the way I handled this case,
they won't be in a rush to keep me from the door.
So you switch to the other side and work as a defense lawyer. The money's better.
There's always gonna be more bad guys than good, Mikey.
And can you imagine the work you'd get from John and Tommy's crew?
That's a house and a pooI.
Not for me.
I've seen all the law I want to see.
- It's time for something else. - Like what?
I'll let you know when I know.
You're too old to play for the Yankees
and you're too young to take up golf.
Why are you shooting holes through all my plans? You're gonna make me panic.
You'll work it out. You always have.
It's time for quiet, Shakes.
I just want to shut my eyes and not have to see the places I've been.
I'm weary.
I don't know.
Maybe I'll get lucky, forget I was even there.
Don't disappear on me, Counselor.
- I may need a good lawyer one day. - You can't afford a good lawyer.
I may need a good friend, though.
I'll find you when you do. Count on it.
Always have.
A full month had passed since the acquittal and no one had made contact.
In those few weeks, our lives had reverted back
to what they had been prior to the murder of Sean Nokes.
Carol had returned to her stack of sociaI service files,
helping troubled teens and single mothers.
John and Tommy went back to the streets, running the West Side Boys.
I was promoted from clerk to reporter trainee, covering the entertainment beat.
Michael, as he promised, resigned from his job
after working the losing end of a can't-miss case.
Excuse me.
I don't know how to fucking thank you.
I can't believe what you did. I can't believe we got away with it.
It wasn't me, that was Mikey. It was all Mikey's plan.
When I first heard he was taking the case, I was gonna have him burned.
Then I figured, he's a friend,
and if you're sent away for murder, who better to do it?
The way he was handling the case, I thought he sucked.
I started feeling sorry for the bastard.
Never feeI sorry for a lawyer.
Get over here, Counselor.
You are the reaI Count!
Alive and well, and living in New York City.
- You fucking maniac. - All right.
What is this, a gay bar?
It was, until you came in.
Why don't you give me a kiss to go with that hello?
Get out of the way.
Let's have a drink.
The Four Gladiators.
Worst quartet to ever hold a Hell's Kitchen corner.
But what was that name that Shakes wanted to call it?
Genius wanted to call it "The Count and His Cristos. "
- Nice! It's so sweet, isn't it?
That would've sent albums flying out of the store.
We weren't that bad. Some people wanted to hear us sing.
The kids at the deaf schooI don't count.
One song for Carol.
- I retired a long time ago. - Come on, you mutts.
Wait. Don't you guys have to go and shoot somebody?
No!
We always got time for a song!
- Just kidding, you know what I'm saying? Wine, anybody?
You pick it, Mikey. Nothing too slow.
Start us up.
How many songs do you know? One.
Walk like a man
Fast as you can
Walk like a man, my son
Go tell the world Forget about the girl
Don't forget about the girI.
On March 16, 1984,
John Reilly's bloated body was found face up in a tenement building,
right next to the bottle of boiler gin that killed him.
At the time of his death, he was a suspect in five unsolved homicides.
He was two weeks past his 29th birthday.
Thomas Marcano died on July 26, 1985.
He was shot at close range five times.
The body lay undiscovered for more than a week.
There was a crucifix and a picture of St. Jude in his pocket.
He was 29 years old.
Michael Sullivan lives in a small town in the English countryside,
where he works part-time as a carpenter.
He no longer practices law, and he has never married.
He lives quietly and alone.
Carol still works for a social service agency and lives in Hell's Kitchen.
She has never married,
but is a single mother supporting a growing 12-year-old son.
The boy, John Thomas Michael Martinez, loves to read
and is called Shakes by his mother.
It was our special night, and we held it for as long as we could.
It was our happy ending.
And the last time we would ever be together again.
The future lay sparkling ahead,
and we thought we would know each other forever.