L.A. Confidential

Come to Los Angeles.

The sun shines bright, the beaches are wide and inviting ...

and the orange groves stretch as far as the eye can see.

There are jobs aplenty and land is cheap.

Every workingman can have his own house ...

and inside every house, a happy, all-American family.

You can have all this. And who knows?

You could even be discovered ...

become a movie star, or at least see one.

Life is good in Los Angeles.

It's paradise on Earth.

That's what they tell you, anyway, because they're selling an image.

They're selling it through movies, radio and television.

In the hit show "Badge of Honor", the L.A. cops walk on water ...

as they keep the city clean of crooks.

Yep, you'd think this place was the Garden of Eden.

But there's trouble in paradise ...

and his name is Meyer Harris Cohen, Mickey C to his fans.

Local L.A. color to the nth degree. And his number-one bodyguard ...

Johnny Stompanato.

Mickey C's the head of organized crime in these parts.

He runs dope, rackets and prostitution. He kills a dozen people a year ...

and the dapper little gent does it in style.

And every time his picture's on the front page ...

it's a black eye for the image of Los Angeles.

Because how can organized crime exist ...

in the city with the best police force in the world?

Something has to be done.

But nothing too original, because, hey, this is Hollywood.

What worked for Al Capone would work for the Mickster.

Mr. Cohen, you're under arrest. Non-payment of federal income tax.

But all is not well.

Sending Mickey up has created a vacuum, and it's only a matter of time ...

before someone with balls of brass tries to fill it.

"Remember, dear readers, you heard it here first.

Off the record, on the q.t. ...

and very hush-hush."

You're like Santa Claus with that list, Bud, except everyone on it's been naughty.

Guy's been out of Q two weeks.

Leave it for later.

We gotta pick up the booze and get it to the station.

Hollywood, this is 6-Adam-7.

Have Central send a prowler to 4216 Evergreen.

Parole violation. Assault arising from a family dispute.

We won't be here, but they'll see him.

Quit your whining.

Quit whining all the time. It makes me sick.

Shut up.

- Who in the hell are you? - The ghost of Christmas past.

- Dance with a man for a change. - What are you, some kind of smart-ass?

You'll be out in a year and a half. I'll get cozy with your parole officer.

You touch her again, I'll have you violated on a kiddie-raper beef.

You know what they do to kiddie rapers in Quentin.

You got someplace you can go?

Go get yourself fixed up.

Merry Christmas, huh?

- Merry Christmas, ma'am. - Let's go, Bud.

The guys will be waiting.

What do you do on "Badge of Honor", Jack?

I'm the, um, technical adviser.

I teach Brett Chase how to walk and talk like a cop.

Brett Chase doesn't walk and talk like you.

Well, that's because he's the television version.

America isn't ready for the real me.

Is it true you're the one who arrested Bob Mitchum?

Mm-hm.

These "Badge of Honor" guys like to pretend ...

but being the real thing must be a thrill.

Why don't you and I go someplace quiet?

I'd love to give you the lowdown on Mitchum.

- Big V. Jack Vincennes. - Hey.

- May I have this dance? - Of course.

Karen, this is Sid Hudgens from Hush-Hush magazine.

- Hello, Karen. - Hello, yourself.

Mm-hm.

What's that about?

We did a piece, "ingénue Dykes in Hollywood." Her name got mentioned.

Hey, Jackie boy ...

a friend just sold some reefer to Matt Reynolds.

He's tripping the "Light Fantastic" with Tammy Jordan.

Sorry, I lost you for a second, Sid.

Contract players, Metro. You pinch them, I do a nice feature next issue.

- Plus the usual 50 cash. - No, I need another 50.

Two 20s for two patrolmen, and a dime for the watch commander.

Jackie, it's Christmas.

No, it's not.

It's felony possession of marijuana.

Actually, it's circulation 36,000 and climbing.

There's no telling where this is gonna go. Radio, television.

Once you whet the public's appetite for the truth, the sky's the limit.

Sergeant Ed Exley, son of the legendary Preston Exley.

Must be a hard act to follow.

Why not make a mark somewhere else? Why become a cop, Ed?

I like to help people.

We heard two officers were assaulted this evening.

- What do you think about that? - Goes with the job.

I took the report. Luckily, they're okay.

Aren't you young to be watch commander?

It's only tonight.

The married men have Christmas Eve off.

- That's a good lead for the story. - Sure.

Merry Christmas, captain.

- Captain Smith. - Drop the formalities, Bobby.

- It's Christmas Eve. Call me Dudley. - I came up with a title for the story.

I'm calling it "Silent Night With the L.A.P.D."

That's grand.

Now, remember, Bobby, that's "Smith." With an S.

- Thank you, gentlemen. Merry Christmas. - Thank you.

Hold on there, lads.

- Merry Christmas. - Merry Christmas to you.

I saw the test results on the lieutenant's exam.

First out of 23. What'll it be, then?

Patrol Division? Internal Affairs? What?

I was thinking Detective Bureau.

Edmund, you're a political animal.

You have the eye for human weakness, but not the stomach.

You're wrong, sir.

Would you be willing to plant evidence on a suspect you knew to be guilty ...

in order to ensure an indictment?

- We've been over this. - Yes or no?

No.

Would you beat a confession out of a suspect you knew to be guilty?

No.

Would you shoot a hardened criminal in the back ...

in order to offset the chance that some lawyer --?

No.

Then for the love of God, don't be a detective.

Stick to assignments where you don't have to make those choices.

Dudley, I know you mean well ...

but I don't need to do it the way you did, or my father.

At least get rid of the glasses.

I can't think of a man in the bureau who wears them.

If I get held up, you guys better be here.

Hi, Nick. I need a delivery.

A case each of gin, rum, Scotch.

That sounds like a hell of a party. Be right with you.

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you, officer.

That obvious, huh?

It's practically stamped on your forehead.

There you go, White.

See what he wants, Buzz.

Hey.

Get lost, why don't you?

Down. Get your fucking head down.

I got a license for that.

Cut me some slack. I used to be a cop.

"Leland Meeks." Never heard of you.

They call me Buzz.

I don't give a rat's ass what they call you. Keep your head down.

And stay there, Buzz.

- You okay? - She's fine.

I'm not asking you, sir.

- Somebody hit you? - It's not what you think.

What is it, then?

You got the wrong idea, mister. I'm fine.

But it's nice to know you care.

Drive safely.

What's going on?

- You know him? - Yeah, I've seen him around.

He used to be a cop.

They're sitting in the dark, goofing on a Christmas tree.

All right. Put your camera right there.

When I walk out, I'll stop here. Get the movie premiere in the background.

I like it. I like it. "The Movie Premiere Pot Bust."

When I walk out, I don't want those floodlights in my eyes.

Big V, consider it done. You hear that, Chip?

All right, come on. Get down.

Go. Pop them.

Freeze. Police.

Hold it. - Come on. Come on, let's go.

I got my family coming --

- it'll be a nice Christmas gift. - Hi, Tammy. Hi, Matt.

Right over here.

- Just turn. - Hold it. Got it.

- "The Movie Premiere Pot Bust." - Take them in. I'll get the evidence.

It's Christmas Eve in the City of Angels ...

and while decent citizens sleep the sleep of the righteous ...

hopheads prowl for marijuana ...

not knowing that a man is coming to stop them:

Celebrity crime-stopper Jack Vincennes ...

scourge of grasshoppers and dope fiends everywhere.

You like it, Jackie boy?

Yeah, subtle.

What took you?

My partner stopped to help a damsel in distress.

His priorities are all screwed up.

Up to your old tricks again, Bud?

Bye.

Hollywood Jack, what brings you to our humble station house?

- How are you? - What are you doing here?

You know me. Keeping the streets safe, boys.

Take these two, get them dressed and book them.

- The party's upstairs. - Okay, I'll be right up. Exley.

What's that for?

Well, you are watch commander tonight, aren't you?

Yeah. So?

A gratuity from Hush-Hush magazine. Buy yourself a new pair of loafers.

No, thanks, Jack. You keep your payoff.

I'm not interested.