Homicide

- F.B.I.! Don’t move! - W-W-Wait!

- -

Go on! Do the door!

- Move! Move! Move! Move! -

He’s in the closet! He’s in the closet!

In the closet! Hit him! Hit him!

Open it. Open it.

Open it! Give me the fuckin’ – Give me the fuckin’ light!

Give me an update from the medic. How are my guys?

We’ll do it floor by floor. Now tear this building down.

- -

The whole squad’s assembled, sir. I got ’em in here as soon as you called.

Nobody gets in.

Be seated.

The mayor has got every black citizen and every black citizen’s group in this city tearing at him.

He’s got a black man that the F.B.I. is trying to lynch.

We’ve got people going around, yelling “Black Panthers! Government Assassination Squad!”

Excuse me, sir. If you’re talking about Robert Randolph, he’s a drug dealer.

- We’ve had him on our books. - I believe the man is speaking.

I need this Randolph. I need to bring him in.

Now, the mayor’s called off the F.B.I. They’re off. They’re out of it.

I need you to go out there, find this man and bring him in alive.

Have you got anything? Can you give me something?

- I’ve got banks, I’ve got promotions. - What do you think?

He yanked you off the case once, he’ll do it again. It’s a can of worms.

Just lay back and watch it like a play.

I don’t know what else I can say.

- Sir. - Yeah?

Sir, we, uh– My partner. We had this Randolph, my partner and I.

His brother-in-law, a year or two ago, Willie Sims, who were very tight in the old days.

I think we can get to Randolph through –

- You know the whereabouts of this Sims? - Well, yes, sir. He’s a creature of habit.

- How long have you known this? And why didn’t you come forward? - Well, sir, we were yanked off the case.

- The F.B.I. – You know, the F.B.I. – - You could’ve passed a tip to them.

Well, sir, they say never kiss an F.B.I. agent because then you might have to take him to dinner.

I don’t get it. I don’t get the fuckin’ humor.

- I – - We got a black man killed. The mayor’s besieged.

You don’t come forward till Mr. Walker’s handing out promotions, and you come up with a joke.

It’s no joke, mister. If it was a white man, wouldn’t be no joke.

- Sir – - You work for this city?

Are you a member of this police force or aren’t you?

Yes, sir. We were told to stand down. The lieu passed it down. This case didn’t exist.

Do you have something? What do you have? We got the mayor out there hanging in the breeze.

Yes, sir. I’m saying, but the F.B.I. –

What have you got?

I’m saying, I think we can bring the man in.

Well, then you bring him in.

- Who was that? - Detective Robert Gold.

He’s our hostage negotiator. Good cop. Fine record. Twenty-two citations for valor.

Look, you have to bear with me because I am not gonna eat this attitude.

- We got the city burnin’ – - Sir, I’m sorry if I said something –

Hey, pally, I don’t need you to wax my car. I need you to go out and do what you’re paid to do.

- Mr. Walker, I’m sorry to subject you to this. - Listen, let’s just find this guy.

Dale, there’ll be a lot of reporters out there.

- Listen to what the man’s telling you. - Mr. Patterson! Mr. Patterson!

- Nobody’s asking you to eat attitude here! - Excuse me, sir. Excuse me.

- What did you say? - I said, do your job.

- Mister, I’m trying to do my job. - And you got an answer for everything. Is that it, smart guy?

Mr. Gold? Detective Robert Gold?

Hostage negotiator. Barracks room lawyer. Is that it?

- No. I – Sir. - Bobby.

- Mr. Patterson. - Bobby.

Sir. Sir!

- It seems you’re – - I’m what?

I’m through with you, Mr. Gold.

- Hey! - “Hey”?

- How would you like to be suspended? - How’d you like to be Queen for a Day?

- Little kike. - What?

- Don’t you move. - What did you say? What did you fuckin’ say?

You wanna step out in the alley, I’ll tell you what I said.

Step out into the alley? You fuckin’ faggot, I’ll kill your ass right here!

- Sully! - You talk to my partner that way?

- Tim, leave it. - Do you know what this man has done in the line?

Stand down!

- I’m sorry, Bob. - Hey.

Ah, fuck him, huh? Any self-respect, he’d work for a living!

- Ah, fuck him. Right? - Yeah.

Good morning.

- You all right, man? - Yeah.

Fucker had no call to get on you like that.

Fuckin’ case wasn’t even a case till the F.B.I. came on it.

Two-bit, two-bag pusher till the F.B.I. turned the fuckin’ guy into Young John Hitler.

Hey, we could’ve found him in a heartbeat, the fuckin’ F.B.I. don’t come on it.

Hey, give me a couple of serious Irish cops, cigars in their mouths...

- go out there, go bring their man in... - That’s right. That’s right.

and spare me the fuckin’ F.B.I.

Hey, F.B.I. don’t put you on their Ten Most Wanted list...

till they know where you are and how long you’re gonna be there.

Uh-huh. Who is this guy, Tim?

Willie Sims. This is the brother-in-law of our Mr. Randolph.

- We had him 1979, 198 – - We had him all the fuckin’ time.

It’s a piece of cake. He lives at the boys’ gym down on Federal.

- Boxer. - Him – Yeah, him and Randolph.

It’s a fuckin’ walk. You want this Randolph, we go down to this gym.

He’s not there, we get Sims.

- We tail him, we nail him, we turn him over, we shake him, he gives us Randolph. - That’s right.

- Let’s go get ’em. - Frankie, I’ll meet ya at the car.

Gym don’t open till 10:00. Let’s get the fuck out of here.

- Meet down at the Coffee Cup in 15. - Coffee Cup in 15.

- At the Coffee? - Right.

- I’m gonna get the stuff. - Hey, Bob.

Don’t let him get you down.

What, are you guys all going out?

- That’s right. - Don’t forget your gun.

- For what? To protect myself? - That’s right.

Homicide. Detective Gold.

Hi, Bobby.

The F.B.I.’s been taken off the Robert Randolph case. Our plan?

Our plan is to serve and protect. Can I get back to you?

- Now, where’s my shells? - What you doin’ in this morning? Sit down.

Well, dear, they put us on the big one.

What, are you going out to conquer France?

Yeah. What do you got?

Walter B. Wells. Killed his wife and kiddie this a.m. with this here deer rifle.

Well, that sounds like an interesting case. What did you do, apprehend him?

Yeah, we got him. Mighty hunter.

- Could we get some ink in here? - What, did you mistake ’em for a deer?

Hey, all we gotta do is catch ’em. We don’t gotta figure ’em out, thank God.

- Did you think they were a deer? - Yes, I thought they were a deer.

What’d you kill ’em for, pal? What’d you shoot ’em for, pal?

- I did it to protect them. - “Protect them.”

- Well, they’re safe now, wouldn’t you say? - Hey, leave it, Dougie.

Wife, three kids, four shots. Good shooting, wouldn’t you say?

- See ya. - Nice shooting, old son.

- See ya, Doug. -

- I got him! I got him! - I got him! I got him!

- Give him to me! You son of a bitch! - Give him to me!

- You son of a bitch! - Son of a bitch!

- Oh, shit – -

- -

- Sorry sack of shit! Stand up! - Faggot!

- - Get him up! Give him to me!

- Get up! Get up! - I said stand up!

- Get him up! - That’s right!

- Get the fuck up! Yeah! -

Stupid son of a – What the fuck you think you’re doin’, huh?

- Throw him in there. - You fuckin’ asshole!

It’s okay. We got him. We got him.

Stupid son of a bitch!

- You okay, Bobby? - Yeah. He got me a good one in the head.

Oh, Christ.

You tore my fuckin’ holster. What the fuck do you wanna do that for?

- You okay, Bob? - What the fuck do you wanna do that for?

- I wanted your gun. - Why didn’t you just say so?

- What’d you want the gun for? - I wanted to kill myself.

Bates, Brown, in my office.

- Are you okay, Bobby? - No, I’m fine, Lieu.

- Somebody get him a drink of water. - I got it.

What the fuck is wrong with you, man?

What’d I ever do to you? Huh? What the fuck did I ever do to you?

- You stupid son of a bitch. - I’m sorry.

You tore my holster, and I got work to do. What the fuck did I ever do to you?

- Nothing. - And I stood up for you, didn’t I?

Yes. Y-You did.

- Thank you for your help. - Uh-huh.

Perhaps someday I could help you.

Now, how can you help me?

Perhaps...

someday I could tell you the nature of evil.

W-Would you like to know how to – to solve the problem of evil?

No, man, ’cause if I did, then I’d be out of a job.

Let’s go to work.

69-10, 69-10, relay from 2-Homicide-16.

What is your 20?

69-10, we’re en route to Beales’ Gym, 12th and Loomis.

On the turnoff to 10-11 with 2-Homicide-16.

69-10 on the 10-11.

69-10.

Robert Randolph.

Man’s got no call to question my loyalty.

- How’s your head? - He had no fuckin’ call to get racial on me.

So he called you one, you called him one.

- We get to the gym – - Son of a bitch is gonna go.

- Yeah, I feel it too. - Piece of cake.

Either a piece of cake or a slice of life. You notice that?

- Yeah, I’ve remarked that. Ain’t that the truth? - That is the truth.

We could’ve brought the son of a bitch in with a knock on the door.

- Well, let’s go bring him in then. - That’s right.

- Garner some of them kudos and all that they got. - That’s right.

- F.B.I., man. - That’s right.

F.B.I. could fuck up a baked potato.

F.B.I. couldn’t find Joe Lewis in a bowl of rice.

- You know what’s needed here. - What, Sully?

- Police work. - Yeah.

Some of that police work that people talk about.

- What happened to the job? - Hmm.

Fuckin’ politics, man. Nothing but politics.

- Motherfucker called me a kike. - I heard him.

Job’s changed. It ain’t the same job.

- Job’s the same. - Yeah?

People dyin’, people killing ’em.

How’s your head?

- Son of a bitch whopped you a good one. - Yeah.

We get to the gym –

That son of a bitch whopped you mean. You’re getting a bump on there.

Here, uh, put the – put the meat on it from my lunch. Put the meat on it.

- You’re kidding. - No, that’s –

Draw it. Really.

Hey, what don’t you know?

- Isn’t it? - You are one smart Indian.