The Punisher

Hi.

Hi. Good to see you. Yeah. Welcome to the club. Good to see you again.

Yes. How are you?

Thank you for coming.

- Hi, guys. - Congratulations.

- Enjoy tonight, will you? Thanks. - Wonderful. Great.

Good to see you. Glad you could make it.

Come on in. Have a good time.

- Thank you. - Thanks.

Twenty years ago, these people wouldn't even let me in their homes.

Now they'd elect me governor.

Smile for the newspapers, Quentin. It's the only thing in Tampa I don't own.

Well, not yet.

- How's your drink? - Perfect.

Where are the twins?

There's some idle chit-chat about you and a Russian boat.

Father would disapprove.

Well, Father doesn't need to know.

- Go with him. - No.

It's my deal.

So I'm gonna get a 3-to-1 return on my money?

Bobby, he's the real deal.

I met him at a hash bar in Amsterdam.

He speaks Russian, German, Arabic...

Mr. Astrov's trust is not gained easily.

Two years it took me. You see, Micky, he doesn't like new faces.

So tell me, why am I looking at a new face?

Otto Krieg, meet my friend, Bobby.

He's helping me with the financing. He's not a cop.

Let's see the money.

You like it?

Yeah, I like it.

We have deal?

We have deal.

- Bring them down! - Move!

Move in!

This is the FBI. Put your hands in the air.

What is this?

You brought a cop, Micky, and he brought his fucking friends!

Don't look at me.

This is not good. My father's gonna kill me.

You're under arrest for the importation and sale of contraband firearms.

- Gun! Gun! - Drop the gun!

- Drop the gun! - Shoot him!

Otto!

This is not my deal.

This is not my deal! I don't even know these guys!

Cease fire!

Team Two, let's go.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Bobby.

Bobby.

Stay down.

I'm calling it. It's 1:37 a.m.

Bag him and ship him.

God, I hate this job.

- Give me a hand, fellows. - Yeah.

Hurry up, Frank, we gotta get you out of here.

- What the hell happened? Who's the kid? - Well, it was definitely not in the plan.

- But we beat the spread. - This isn't football.

- Yeah, it's a figure of speech. - People weren't supposed to die out there.

Get them ID'd and get them to the morgue.

- And get me my pants! - Can we get some pants over here?

- Ah, shit. - Surprise!

To Frank Castle...

the finest soldier, the finest undercover op, the finest man I've ever known.

What am I gonna do without you?

Get a girlfriend.

You son of a bitch. Never do that again.

Remember that watch you gave me 13 years ago?

Small payment for saving my life.

Hell, that Iraqi would have missed anyway.

It was sweet for you to wait, Jim.

Here. Now we both have one, Frank.

Jesus, Jimmy.

Have fun in Puerto Rico, man. Say hello to your folks.

Thanks.

Agent Weeks.

He's Robert Saint. Howard Saint's son.

More paperwork for Tampa PD.

No, we can handle this.

- Stay out of the casino! - What, me?

- See you, fellas! - See you, buddy!

Come on.

Bail him out. Bring him to the club.

Don't hit me. Don't hit me.

- Hey, Micky. - Don't hit me.

You sell homegrown pot by the ounce, Micky, not by the barrel.

You sell badly forged fake passports to Haitians.

So what inspired you to become...

the Mr. Universe of international arms dealers?

Micky, you should apologize for the death of Mr. Saint's youngest child.

Okay, I know how it looks.

But Bobby, he buys pot from me.

And when he found out what I was doing, he insisted on coming in.

He put up half the cash. He came of his own free will.

If you're gonna kill me, will you leave my face alone, for my mother?

We just made your bail.

Now if I wanted to kill you, I would have left you in jail where we have friends.

And in some way that I can only describe as deeply pornographic...

you would have been killed. But you're a small piece of shit...

and I don't want the karma of your death on my soul.

But on the other hand, maybe I don't believe in karma, so, guys...

No, no, I'll tell you anything you wanna know.

Okay, then this'll be quick.

I wanna know one thing only. Who brokered the deal?

His name is Otto Krieg.

And if it's any comfort to Mr. Saint, he's dead, too.

Well, it's not.

It's actually no comfort at all.

But what might be comforting to me...

is to watch the slow death of the man who was supposed to be taking care of my son...

and making sure that he did not get into trouble.

Now, Micky.

What would your father think of this?

Your father, who gave his life for me, what would he say?

I didn't know it was gonna happen like this. Please.

Well, ignorance is no excuse.

The man who's responsible for my son's death must die.

I told you to never let him out of your sight.

Mr. Saint, Bobby told me to stay.

Tell him, John. John!

Mr. Saint, it was Bobby's idea.

He wanted to go alone. He thought he could impress you or something.

Thank you for that explanation.

My son didn't need to impress me.

More boxes, guys.

This was a hard one.

This was the last one.

It's over.

Tell that to your son. He doesn't believe me.

- Where is he? - You know.

You know what I miss most about Buck? He could catch a ball.

No matter how hard you threw it...

he was right there.

- Why are we always moving? - This is the last time.

You said that last time.

I did?

Yeah.

You said we were leaving California...

and we were gonna move to Virginia, and you'd work in Washington...

and we'd never move again.

I guess I've said a lot of things, huh?

So why London?

London's a safe place where we can all be together.

No more moving around, I promise.

Someday when you're older, Will...

I'll tell you why we had to move so much.

He was such a special boy.

Mr. Saint, are you identifying this body as your son, Robert Saint?

He deserved better.

Somebody lied to him.

Promised him one thing, gave him another.

Do you know that I used to have to dress him till he was 13?

I would tie his ties, comb his hair.

I'll have to get him a new suit.

Who is Otto Krieg?

Who are the people who work for him?

Who are his friends?

Who would stand to make money from this deal? Tell me.

We can't talk about the case, Mr. Saint.

Now, I understand your grief, but for your own safety...

leave this to professionals.

Professionals? Yes.

I'll do that.

I'll do that.

Goodbye, Son.

We called New York, we called Las Vegas, we called Europe and Hong Kong...

we even got the Sicilians in it for old times' sake.

What about Weeks?

FBI Special Agent James Weeks, age 37, former Green Beret.

Recruited by the FBI eight years ago.

Recently assigned to the Bureau's Florida division.

Divorced. Pays his taxes, avoids hookers. No drug problems.

One note of interest.

He frequents an establishment in Ybor City owned by two of our clients...

the Toro brothers.

He gambles?

Roulette when he's up. Blackjack when he's down.

It sounds like fate to me.

As far as Weeks is concerned, a man who gambles has a history.

I can guarantee you that.

Let's go.

Hoyo de Monterrey.

The best.

For 10 years, we've done business.

Ten years you've handled our money and this is the first time you come to my office.

This is actually the first time you guys have seen where the money comes from.

You never invited me to your house, Howard.

And I know you're not a silver spooner any more than me.

So why not be social?

My son is dead.

We didn't kill him.

I didn't say you did.

I can't bring him back, Howard.

So, if you think I'm Jesus Christ, you came to the wrong church.

That man knows who killed my son.

We can kill him right now, Howard, if that's what you want.

Just talk. Just talk to him, that's all.