The Night Of

Homosexual?

No.

On any meds?

Ventolin for my asthma.

- Anything else? - No.

You sure? You're looking a little walleyed there.

Um... I'm nervous.

Suicidal ideations?

Ideations?

Are you thinking about killing yourself?

No.

You in fear for your life?

Should I be?

You a civilian?

No gang affiliation?

Okay.

Well, in that case, good luck to you.

Let me ask you something. Where were you before you came up here?

- Coffee room. - How did you get here?

What... what do you mean?

Did you consume caffeinated, dark beverages at 1100 hours

before commencing to proceed, in an orderly fashion,

to the present location, or did you walk here?

We walked here.

Do them again, in English.

Actually, I was wondering about the part where she mentions me throwing up.

You did.

I know, but is it okay if she leaves that part out?

See them?

Either one of them goes in front of a jury,

he's done for.

You know why? The eyes.

There's no one home.

They'll look at you like they'd just as soon gut you as ask you the time.

It doesn't make a difference if the prosecutor speaks gibberish, they're going away.

But Nasir Khan, he doesn't look like them.

He looks like any other normal college kid,

so the jury's gonna wonder, "Could he really stick that knife into that girl?"

We have to fight that.

I'm... I'm sorry. I don't... I don't understand.

- What's your first name? - Robert.

Office Robert Maldonado, fresh out of the academy.

He goes into a crime scene and he comes out throwing up.

And why shouldn't he? He's a new cop,

just saw his first dead body.

Now, Nasir Khan may very well be a human being,

but so was Andrea Cornish,

and so is Robert "Bobby" Maldonado.

So you throwing up... absolutely, keep it in.

Now, get out of here.

So who's the lead on the Khan kid case? Helen?

This concerns you, John, because...?

Because I'm representing him.

I'm sorry, but how on earth?

You had a chance to review or no?

You were at the precinct when they brought him in.

That's how it happened, isn't it?

He's a sweet kid, actually, soft-spoken, sincere.

Cool.

I'd like to give his loving parents some idea

of what it's gonna cost, and to do that, it'd be helpful

to know how strong a case you think it is.

- Strong. - Strong? Or strong?

Wait till you see the crime-scene photos.

Ah, come on.

- What do you got? - Everything.

I don't know why Helen's not on to the next murder. This one's done. Sorry.

Hey, you're not gonna get rich off of this one. It's gonna be quick.

- How's the feet? - Okay.

Ah, fuck.

Three. 105.

Yeah, here it is.

Okay.

Here goes nothing.

With the proofs the District Attorney's office think they have,

there's a good chance your son is facing life imprisonment.

The good news is that's why we go to court.

But any way you slice it, it's gonna be a long battle

with no guarantee of a successful outcome.

And any lawyer who comes to you with the words "I guarantee!" is a liar.

But I promise you this.

I'll work every angle I can for Naz,

and I won't rest until everything that can be done is done.

- Thank you. - However,

a good defense costs money.

How much? Let me tell you this before I tell you that.

Most lawyers charge by the hour. Why?

Because it's to their benefit.

Every phone call, email, meeting, motion, delay,

every note jotted down on every Post-it, the meter's running.

With a murder, that could easily run $150,000.

Now, I'm not gonna do that to you.

I'm charging a flat fee.

$75,000 if it goes to trial, and half of that if it doesn't.

If it doesn't what?

- Go to trial. - You mean if they drop the charges.

Oh, no, no, no, no. They're not gonna do that. I mean if there's a plea.

A plea to what?

To something less than first-degree murder,

like second-degree murder.

He didn't murder anyone. Why would you even say that?

There probably won't be a plea. The state seems confident.

I just mention it in terms of my fee.

$75,000.

I know it sounds like a lot of money,

but I guarantee you that no competent lawyer would take it on for any less.

How do you expect me to pay you?

We have $8,000 in the bank.

Can you get any friends or relatives to help out?

Everyone we know is in worse shape than us.

You own your own house.

Look, I'll do it for 60,

and that's only because I couldn't live with myself

if your son went down because of some cut-rate, take-the-money-and-run hustler.

I'm sorry. We can't afford you.

Okay.

Then here's your best option:

a legal-aid lawyer.

And here's what you get for your money.

It's a guy who starts his day in court,

fishing a half a dozen random case files out of a wire basket,

meets with his clients for a half hour before going in front of the judge,

takes the first deal off it,

goes around the corner to Starbucks, comes back with his latte,

opens up the next file, and does the exact same thing six times a day, every day.

Look, I'll take it on for 55,000.

Any less than that, it's Naz who will suffer,

since I'll be going up against the DA armed with nothing.

55?

I'm writing down...

$50,000.

This is my retainer.

If you can, uh, sign it now,

I can get to work and figure out a payment schedule later.

I need to read it.

Of course. I'll leave it. You take as long as you need.

But know that I can't get to work on behalf of your son

until you sign it.

Commentator: You can see why people liked him so much on his way up.

I was one of them. Rangy.

Look how fast his hands are, and he carries power, confident.

Distance in which they're fighting in favor of Sillah.

But Kovalev's timing is very good.

Another jab to the body.

If and when Kovalev can get going,

he throws four- and five-punch combinations with all power.

Let's go.

Out!

Commentator: Landed a right cross moments ago.

Got in another shot there.

Gate!

Gate!

Yeah, Freddy!

Yeah! Shit! Uh! Yeah! Yeah!

Oh, God! Yeah! Yeah!

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

Religion?

Baptist.

- Religion? - Muslim.

- Religion? - As-salamu alaykum.

Oh, come on, man. I can't eat that other shit.

Give me Arab food.

Religion.

- That's it? - Baby, I can't do this no more.

They're bringing in polygraphs.

- We still okay? - Yeah.

You don't got to pay my rent no more if you don't want to.

Take me back.

As per usual, I see some old faces here.

Glad you learned your lesson.

For the freshmen, I'll keep it simple.

You get told to do something, you do it.

You lay a hand on any one of us,

we will break out the riot gear, put you in the fucking hospital,

and add another charge.

So far this year, we've done this 2,000 times,

so you might say we look forward to it.

That's it. Gate!

When I call your name, you're gonna take a bed.

Oh!

Williams.

Goddamn!

Let's go! Keep the line tight!

Rogers!

Martinez! Brown!

Davis!

Holmes!

Khan!

Ortiz, W.

Ortiz, F.

Hernandez!

- Did he do it? - No question.

- You know who's repping him? - Actually, that's the best part:

- John Stone. - Who?

He's no one, a precinct crawler.

- Really? - Yeah.

Still, sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, and he's Muslim?

We're on "Nancy Grace" every night, so fast-track it.

- Get it before the grand jury now. - Yes, sir.

Johnny.