The Art of the Steal

Seasoned crooks swear you only remember two days

about your stretch in jail:

The day you get in...

- Oh, boy. - ...and the day you get out.

But I'll tell you, those guys, they never been to a Polish prison.

'Cause, buddy, you don't forget a second of your stay

in the Warsaw penal system.

Oh, boy.

And you never stop thinking about what you done that got you there,

and what you're going to do when you get out.

And who you're going to do it to.

I reckon it takes a betrayal before you realize

the real currency in the world ain't money... it's trust.

Hey. So, guess I'm topsies, huh?

'Cause if you got no trust...

Oh, boy.

...then what do you got?

Now, there's no such thing as one last big job,

but Poland was pretty close.

We were doing a smooth switch using a standard base to our scam.

The first thing you need is a mark.

Stash Bartkowiak was just like all the others:

rich, corrupt and most definitely dangerous.

So Stash picks up a stolen Gauguin ripped from an Oslo gallery

by a couple of smash-and-grabbers.

So, of course, he wants to get the painting authenticated.

But what he didn't know, was the man he turned to was Nicky Calhoun.

And Nicky Calhoun is my half-brother.

A crew needs an idea man and ours was Nicky.

Paddy McCarthy, he was our Rolodex,

the guy who knows any guy you need to know.

And Guy De Cornet was our forger.

Best scratcher I've ever known.

Now there was a time, if you ask anyone in our game,

who the best damn wheelman around was,

and I'm guaranteeing you, you're going to hear the name Crunch Calhoun.

And that's got nothing to do with how fast I drive

and everything to do with trust.

'Cause without that you've got anarchy.

I like that jacket.

Well, clothes tell you a lot about the man.

That's why it's a saying.

I don't know, Nicky. Take Guy there.

The only thing his fancy white leotard tells me is that

- he ain't circumcised. -

You misunderstand fashion. Fatsoes. Look at you.

- Fatsoes? - Women go crazy for this...

Boys! There it is!

I'll see you at the lab, Crunch.

Don't touch the art, lad. All alarmed.

Wow! Love the track suits.

Fellas, I'd like you to meet Professor O'Connor.

Doc, these are the fellas.

As I said, Dr. "O" here, is real discreet.

Very discreet, gentlemen.

Oh. Paul Gauguin. "Tahitian Beach, " 1893.

Painting is stolen. But is real?

We'll see. Needs a density scan.

What is density scan?

I'm not so sure myself, but doctor knows best.

OK, great. So a guy walks into a bar with a monkey.

Oh. What is this?

What?

- No, no, no, no, no. - What?

- More red. More red. - No, no, no, no, no.

Don't do this, Guy, please. You're killing me.

They're identical. Just swap the frames!

My work...

Oh fuck, Guy! Come on, they're identical!

- Just change them! - My work must be perfect-o!

You've got five minutes.

So I say, "I'm looking for Mario."

And this kid says, "There's a thousand Marios in Naples."

I say, "Yeah, but this one's a criminal."

And he goes, "Two thousand!"

Guy. Guy.

Guy! They will fucking kill Nicky and Paddy

if I don't make it back there in time!

Guy, you got ten seconds. That's it. Ten!

Nine, eight, seven, six, five. Put it in.

- Three, two, one. Now! - Au revoir.

- - You fuck!

Bastard!

So naturally I tell the Turkish prostitute, "I'll take two."

So are any of you guys Ukrainian?

No? OK then.

Ah, fuck!

She's a genuine Gauguin, boys. Priceless.

I don't believe this.

There's millions of dollars of paintings and we're doing nothing.

- Leave it, lad. - This is Poland!

We can do whatever the fuck we want.

Nicky, boy, the Gauguin's worth more

than five rooms of paintings in this place and they're all alarmed.

Are you kidding me? There's no alarms.

There's alarms.

Boys, let's all split up!

Train to Berlin. Ten AM. Bright and early like!

Shit!

Go! Here. What are you... what are you...?! Wrong way!

That crash was a stroke of luck.

And the cops showed up before Stash could kill him.

Uh...

Did I tell you the one about the, uh,

three prostitutes and the bruised melon?

We only want painting back.

One painting, one arrest.

It could be you or someone else.

You have record in Europe, so that's 20 years sentence.

We make deal, huh?

The painting and a fall guy.

For Nicky, I figure it was just basic math.

He's facing 20 years and I got a clean sheet.

I can't blame him for that. But I can hate him for it.

Oh, boy.

So I went home.

And I couldn't go back to the life.

The trust was gone.

Crew was gone.

And everybody went their separate ways.

And I met a girl. Someone I could bank on.

And even if I couldn't, buddy, I'll tell you,

she wasn't the worst person I shared a bunk with lately.

But I could bank on Francie.

Francie was a young buck I caught pinching hubcaps off my truck.

Most folks probably would have called the cops, but I gave him a job.

'Cause every now and then, you got to take a leap of faith.

Hey, Crunch. Lace 'em up.

The only way we're gonna get the crowd tomorrow is if you take a dive today.

Nope, not gonna happen, not again.

It pains me to say it, Crunch, but the only reason why these folks are here

is in the hope that you crack your skull open.

You have to crash your bike. That's what you do.

One hundred eighty-eight stitches, 26 broken bones.

Twelve totaled bikes. Three comas.

Twice pronounced legally dead.

- I'll give you $700. - The one, the only, Crunch Calhoun!

Let me say this out loud, 'cause I can't believe my own ears.

You expect me to deliberately take a dive, risk my life, for 700 bucks?

- -

- Twelve. - Seven.

- Eleven. - Six.

- Eight. - Deal.

Call the ambulance.

Ladies and gentlemen,

let's give old Crunch a moment of silence

as he prepares to go down, down, down into the ring of fire!

How'd she do? Tell me at least a thousand.

No, $800. So just don't do it, Crunch.

I'll pay you $800 not to spill 'er.

If you got $800, I'm payin' you too much.

- Just don't do it, bud. -

I'll be all right, Francie. Besides, "Fortune favors the bold."

Who said that one?

- Virgil. - Right.

Excuse me, sir. Would you consent to a voluntary search?

- Right this way, please. - Bad luck, chief.

Thank you.

Ground rules, same as last time.

You talk when I tell you to talk and when I don't, you do not talk.

Don't bark at me. I'm not your dog.

Did I say to talk? Because I don't recall telling you to talk.

How many more times must I do your job

before I've paid my proverbial debt to society?

Warning: You make me look stupid, I will crush you.

- That looked hot. - Yes, a little bit.

We're going to start with "good cop, bad cop".

- I'm not a cop. - OK.

How about "good cop, just do what I fuckin' say"?

You're not a cop.

Correction. The "pol" in Interpol, it stands for police.

- Then where is your pistol? - I don't need a gun.

I've got something far more dangerous than that.

Is it a whistle that you blow to summon the real police

- when a crime is being committed? - No. It's actually a pen.

And, with it, I can deny your parole.

So why don't you shut the hell up and follow my lead?

Where's the fucking painting, fucko?

Whoa.

My name is Agent Bick. This is my associate, Samuel Winter.

I know Sam.

Sam, what are you doing with Dirty Harry, here?

You know how they pair professional athletes

- with slow kids? - Yep.

It's kind of like that.

Two weeks ago, this painting "Model, Rear-View"

by Georges Seurat was stolen by an art collector in Mexico City

by a woman we had under surveillance.

Yeah, I've never seen that woman before...