- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -
Criminal contempt of court is a major big deal, Mom.
It's 180 days, a $500 fine.
Good time credit reduces my sentence by half.
Hal told me that he sent his attorney over,
and you told him to fuck off.
I didn't say that exactly.
He can get you out of here in five minutes.
By bribing a judge?
Hal can keep his blood money.
By rescheduling your D.O.J. deposition.
I'm not testifying.
Fuck Hal and fuck the feds.
You're upset about Paulie, Mom.
I get that.
We all are.
Don't you pretend you understand me, Katie.
You have no idea what I've gone through
or what I'm going through.
Just do the deposition, and you're out of here.
- I can't. - Why not?
Hal was in bed with my brother.
Uncle Buddy and Hal were having an affair?
Oh, for god's sake, what is wrong with you?
They were in business together.
I can't tell the truth.
I can't lie.
I can't win.
I'm done.
We have to bury Paulie, Mom.
Let Jimmy handle the details.
Mom, listen to me.
Hal's attorney told me that even if you do
the 180 days and you pay the fine,
they're still gonna try you before a judge.
- For what? - For criminal contempt of court.
You could get more jail time.
No, I... how can I do the time, pay a fine,
and still go back to jail?
They're trying to force you to testify.
Well, why didn't Hal's attorney explain this?
- Because you told him to fuck off! - I did not.
I told him to get screwed.
It's all my fault, Katie...
Richie, Jimmy, Paulie.
Well, now you're just being a drama queen.
No, I talked to Big Bud.
He can't be trusted.
Don't trust him, Katie.
I want to trust him, but I can't. My own father.
24 hours in the slammer has turned your brain to mush, Mom.
He wants me to set Jimmy up so he can kill him.
Big Bud is a harmless old man.
Oh, he was never that, Katie.
He's dying.
Cut him some slack.
I want to, but I can't.
Fine.
If you're gonna be this pigheaded,
I'm gonna bring Jimmy over to talk some sense into you.
Don't you dare, Katie.
I can't face him.
- Not like this. - Well, then testify.
I can't.
Fine.
If I can track him down,
I'm bringing him over.
He's not coming, Bud.
Who?
Jimmy is not that stupid.
Neither am I.
You promised
if I found a doctor who was willing
to falsify your medical records, you would drop this.
- You promised. - I thought I could, but I can't.
I put my career on the line for you.
- I appreciate that. I do. - But?
"But" what?
There's always a "but" with you, Bud, for fuck's sake.
The heart wants what it wants.
That is supposed to mean we can't help
who we fall in love with.
We can help who we hate?
There are politer ways to say this, but bluntly,
revenge at this point is a dumb shit move.
Hey, hey, hey. Go easy on me. I'm a sick man.
You're sick all right, but it's not cancer.
One of these days, you're gonna ask too much of me.
And then what?
Wait and see.
We got plenty of money down in the bank in Costa Rica now.
- More than one bank, though. - Yes, more than one bank.
We're set for life. All you have to do is behave yourself
- for three measly months. - What's not behaved about me?
Our first night out together in 18 years,
and you're already plotting Jimmy Parerra's murder.
Well...
Uh, a very dirty, very dry gin Martini
- with three olives for the lady. - Four.
- Oh. - I've upgraded.
And I'd like a pint of your finest Guinness, please.
You know, I barely recognize McAuley's
without the smoke hanging in the air.
I used to know everybody here.
And them you didn't wanted to know you.
I don't want revenge, Vera. I want justice.
Justice is rational, Bud. Revenge is emotional.
I'm an emotional guy.
Revenge is about retaliation.
Justice is about restoring balance.
Once Jimmy Pariah is dead,
it'll restore balance to my emotions.
We'll buy a condo in Costa Rica,
live happily ever after.
There's some people who actually think
that the best revenge is to forgive and forget.
Name one who ain't Jesus.
If you violate parole, you go right back to prison.
I'm not violating anything or anybody.
I'm exercising my right to free speech. I'm just talking.
Back to prison at your age is a death sentence.
What do you mean, "at my age"?
I'm gonna live another 50 years.
Hey, that's not a joke.
Oh.
Ah.
Cheers.
She wants to see me?
She specifically asked for me to find you.
She's kind of a mess, so pretend not to be shocked.
- She thinks Big Bud is still after you. - Ah, yeah.
The man knows how to hold a grudge.
Like father, like daughter.
This was all my fault, Katie.
Not you, too.
Christ, you and Mom are like club Jesus.
I should never have talked Paulie into wearing a wire.
It was his own choice.
He wanted to impress me.
Didn't he?
Hi, Shell.
Hey, Jimmy.
I look a mess.
You look beautiful.
All right, no more of your bullshit, Mom,
or else I'll get myself arrested
and come in there and strangle you.
I thought the human slug
who ran the joint with her was her husband.
They're brother and sister.
How creepy is that?
Captain Mary McKee and her witless brother, Max.
And the matching uniforms they wear.
They're Salvation Army.
They're matching sexless bookends, these two.
You know, I have to keep a journal of each day's activities
and turn it in to her at the end of each day?
A fucking girly journal!
And you know the punishment if I refuse?
After evening check-in, I have to sit face-to-face
with that fusty bitch in her musty parlor
and recount my day. And she writes it down,
presses me for details.
"How long did you piss?
What color and where?"
Fucking Mary McKee grills me.
You've met her. She's creepy.
I thought she was very professional.
She looks like a man with lipstick.
And she smells like bad cabbage soup.
- So, keep a journal. - Yeah.
Rumor circulating around the roach-infested gulag
is that Captain Mary McKee keeps her brother, Max's, spine
in a preserve jar in the back room.
And they share the same bed.
It's only three months, Bud.
If you don't incur any house-rule infractions,
I could get you out of there sooner.
And Captain Mary McKee came through on the day job
she threatened to get me. Guess what it is.
A fucking bagman, Vera.
I have to rub elbows with demented senior citizens
and a disgruntled dwarf and bag groceries eight hours a day.
Max, the spineless moo-cow with the day-beard...
he drops me off in a short bus
and picks me up in a short bus.
Compared to this unholy horse shit
Cook County Jail was Club Med.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
There the watchful yeti sits.
Jimmy.
Max. 2:00. End of the bar.
Did I exaggerate?
And to pile on the indignity,
Captain fucking Mary McKee tells me
I'm obliged to turn my bagman paycheck
over to her at the end of each week
to foot the bill for my room and board.
She's doing her job, Bud.
And the curfews?
What little free time I do have,
she sends Max to follow me.
Harbor Light has a huge contract
with the Justice Department to transition
high-profile huckleberries like you
back to society.
The McKees are subject
to strict rules and regulations themselves.
If you go rogue on their watch,
they could lose their government contract.
You said that I would get a parole officer
and check in a few times a week
and not be subjected to the gestapo version
- of grampy daycare. - It was the best I could do.
Yeah.
Now's our chance.
Let's move.
- Run for it! - What?!
Come on, woman. Move, move.
I feel like a kid in high school.
Ahh.
Uh, another round, please.
Captain Mary McKee confiscated my walking-around money.
- Did I tell you? - No.
She had that human troll Max
pat me down and toss my room.
- That's an infraction. - Well, I got a warning.
I get three freebies for the first two weeks
till I learn the house rules.
But why should I be forbidden
to walk around with pocket money?
It emasculates a man, doesn't make any sense.
Nothing makes any sense anymore.
When Katie first came to see me,
my heart skipped a beat.
I thought she was Shelly...
That time stood still.
Richie was giving her away,
so they had to postpone the wedding.
Katie asked me to walk her down the aisle if they reschedule.
Just let me know the new date.
Well, I don't want the entire city to come to an abrupt halt
if I don't show up to bag its fucking groceries.
Well, I'll have to accompany you, of course,
- if it's in the next three months. - Of course you'll accompany me.
I'm not gonna go to my granddaughter's wedding stag.
Thanks.
Cheers.
I don't understand it, Vera.
What's going on?
If I knew,
I wouldn't tell you.
Richie and three of my top crew chiefs
all gone the way of Frankie "Five Angels"?
- Who's left to back me now? - Back you for what?
Back you for what, Bud?
I've been away a long time, Vera.
I'm restless.
- You can't get back what you lost. - Why not?
It's too late. You're too fucking old.
That's heartwarming.
I didn't bend over backwards to get you early release
so you could regain power and settle old scores.
I swear to god, Bud.
If you don't stick to the agenda,
I will blow the whistle on you myself.
You wouldn't do that to me.
I will not only tell the judge how much of your blood money
you paid an oncologist to doctor your cancer-screening results...
I will recommend a new exam by an independent third party.
- You'd lose your job. - I don't care.
I'm sick of you telling me one thing and doing another.
Oh, no, you're not.
You use me like a welcome mat, and I put up with it.
Everybody uses everybody in this world.
- It's what we're here for. - I'm constantly compromised by you
since the first day we met.
Well, you say that like it's a bad thing.
I hope you know I've enjoyed being compromised by you
as much as you've enjoyed being compromised by me.
You are a dirty old man.
And you're a dirty old woman.
I was compromised by you
light-years before you were compromised by me, incidentally.
- That is simply not true. - I remember.
In the '70s, I told you about a pending federal investigation
on Nick Civella for Vegas casino scamming.
- You told Tony Chiavola. - Tony was a Chicago cop.
He was my number 2 at the time.
He was also Nick Civella's nephew.
It blew our entire operation.
- And then Allen Dorfman in '83. - Well, that wasn't me.
I told you he was taking a deal
in exchange for testimony before a grand jury
investigating mob-teamster connections in Chicago.
Days later, he was found gunned down gangland-style
in the parking lot of the Lincolnwood Hyatt.
Well, I fed you plenty of leads to make up for that.
They were chumps the mob wanted ousted anyway.
The feds got their stats.
- They were chumps. - And you got your promotions.
Name names in your line of work
would get you transferred to Albuquerque.
In my line of work, it'd get you dead.
If I was not compromised by you
sooner than you were compromised by me,
I was always compromised to a greater degree.
- What is this... a pissing contest? - I'm making a point.
Who compromised who first?
Who compromised who the most?
I work for the Justice Department.
You were chief of detectives.
We were supposed to share information openly.
I had no idea you were a virtual pipeline to the mob.
You knew I was married, though.
You knew that from the get-go.
What does that have to do with anything?
Compromised my marriage.
You never married. What risk did you take?
My wife killed herself after I was forced to plead guilty
to criminal conspiracy and racketeering.
And that's on my head.
Nobody forced you to plead guilty.
No, no, no. You D.O.J. types... you never play hardball.
If I'd have taken your immunity deal and named names,
I wouldn't have lasted three hours, let alone the 24
it takes you to process a rat into witness protection.
- That was your choice, Bud. - Was it really?
You shared all this privileged information with me,
and you did so openly.
Weirdly, though...
When I'm under federal investigation myself,
when my own son-in-law walks into your office
and straps on a wire to wear against me,
you say nothing.
I've had a lot of time to think about this, Vera.
And don't say you didn't know.
This was your investigation.
If you're so in love with me,
it doesn't make any sense.
I didn't warn you because I love you.
That's fucking twisted.
I didn't warn you
because you refused to leave your wife and marry me.
I was very clear about this at the time.
I told you that if you refused,
I would bring the wrath of god down on you.
Yeah.
And I thought my Chicago outfit buddies were ruthless.
The immunity-for-testimony deal was your out.
Oh, an offer I can't refuse from the Justice Department?
Nice!
I thought the threat of some serious jail time
- would help you see reason. - I get that in principle, Vera,
but this whole dipsy-doodle, see,
- it's irrational as hell. - I know that now.
I didn't know that then.
- I didn't know you wouldn't take the deal. - Wouldn't?!
I couldn't!
I thought you would take witness protection in Albuquerque,
and we'd be there together.
Oh, oh. So you do love me after all?
That is one truly fucked up way to show it.
Let's just say
we compromised each other equally
- and leave it at that. - No, no. No, no, no.
We should call it what it is.
Corruption.
Passion.
Could Paulie have a police burial?
Not a good idea.
No.
My dad gets out, and they throw me in.
What a world, huh?
Definitely a world unlike any other.
I never thought I would live to see this.
I'm locked up for criminal contempt of court.
Katie explained.
I hired Richie to follow Hal.
And he found out that Hal's been cheating on me.
Years it's been going on.
I'm that dumb.
No. You're not dumb.
You were never dumb.
Hal's a bigger crook than my dad,
but I married him anyway.
- I'm dumb as they come. - No.
Y... you got to do the right thing
and get yourself out of here.
I don't know what the right thing to do is anymore.
Yes, you do.
I don't, Jimmy.
- I really don't. - You do.
We all do.
Sometimes we do dumb things when the people in power
play hard and fast with the facts.
And we forget to follow our hearts.
But then we wise up
the day that we remember
that's the only moral compass we have.
Let me help you remember.
Even if I knew where Jimmy was,
you'd be the last person I'd tell.
Even if I asked "pretty please"?
And make myself an accomplice to his murder?
I'm not gonna murder him, Vera.
What do you take me for ... some common hooligan?
- Some no-necked hatchet man? - What, then?
He's my ex-son-in-law. I just want to talk.
Just talk?
Okay.
I would like to do something slow and painful to him
that eventually results in death,
but I won't do it personally.
I've had a long time to plan it.
- Stop talking about this. - I'm not that stupid.
I'm still FBI, Bud. It compromises me.
- You love being compromised. - You can stop that, as well.
I won't violate parole. I just want to be there to watch.
No more, please.
What if I guarantee it'll be made to look...
- Accidental? - Bud, I am serious.
Or self-inflicted? Something nice and tidy
so law enforcement can sweep it under the rug.
Will you help me flush the cheese-eater
out of hiding then?
Can't you just let go of it?
Letting go of it?
That would be like letting go of my lifeline.
I never would have survived 18 years in prison
if I didn't have the long, slow, painful death
of Jimmy Pariah to look forward to.
With Jimmy, it's personal
because he was family. I trusted him.
I reach out a hand to help him.
Out of what?
Out of love.
Is that my father's lucky knife?
Is it?
Can't be.
Take a look.
Careful, it's got a ca...
Holy shit, it is his lucky knife.
I told you about this.
"A.C." Al Capone.
This was my father's.
Police chief Timothy O'Rourke.
He took it from Capone?
Took it? Capone gave it to him.
They were best friends.
This was when Irish policemen
and Italian businessmen in Chicago
finally realized they'd fare better all around
if they quit kicking the shit out of each other and teamed up.
My father and Capone played poker together.
Those two...
they arranged the very first Irish-Italian reconciliation.
Where'd you get this?
Uh, my father must have lost this 60 years ago.
Poker game?
Tony Accardo's game, probably.
Or Tony Spilotro, maybe.
Mad Sam Destefano.
My father told me they all wanted this knife
because with it, he was unbeatable.
Until he was beaten.
Yeah, he was never lucky again after that.
The day he died, he told me
that he should never have thrown it in the pot.
He lost the hand, he'd lost the knife.
And like that, his good luck was gone forever.
Huh.
Are you giving this to me?
It was your father's.
Well, I don't mean to tell you your job,
but that is a major, major parole violation.
Well, if anyone comes after you in the next three months,
I don't want you caught off-guard.
Somebody's coming after me?
It's good luck.
Hmm.
I tried calling soldiers from the old crew.
Exactly the soldiers you're forbidden to consort with?
That old crew?
They're like family.
If you think Captain Mary McKee
is not monitoring your calls at the halfway house,
- think again. - Well...
I got a burner.
That's what they call these now, right?
Burners?
You are not supposed to have that.
But I hide it in a place where Max would never think to look.
Well, make sure you hide the switchblade in the same place.
Well, I'll see if there's room.
It's the strangest thing, Vera.
That you will never change?
Oh, all my old crew chiefs,
all my closest associates from the old days...
they're all dead.
Well, they're old, Bud.
That's what happens.
You got to admit, though, it's a little uncanny.
That people get old and die?
Sure, it's uncanny... to a 6-year-old.
Well, the soldiers I tracked down
are willing to run errands,
but they don't have access to the Cook County morgue.
All right.
I'll bite.
Why do you need access to the Cook County morgue?
That's where Paulie's body is being held.
Good god.
Your FBI credentials could get my guys in there.
I don't like this, Bud.
- You don't even know what it is yet. - Oh, knowing you...
I'm fairly certain that you want to use Paulie's dead body
as bait to draw Jimmy Parerra out of hiding.
Paulie was fourth-generation Chicago police.
He should be sent off with full honors.
Katie told me that Shelly and Jimmy
want a private funeral and a closed casket.
Paulie should be dressed in uniform.
He should be on full, glorious display for his last hurrah.
There should be color guard and music
and drinking and more drinking
and a professional mourner hired for the big event.
Closed casket. It dishonors Paulie.
Will I let this stand? I think not.
The more you tell me, Bud, the more I don't like it.
He is my grandson.
He was police.
You never heard of a real Irish wake?
- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -