End of a Gun

Hello, Decker.

I'm at Chateau Nightclub, on 17...

...with some of my girl friends.

Are you coming tonight?

I can't wait to see you.

Text me when you're out, bye.

Decker, just seeing if you got my message about tonight.

It would be great if you can text me.

That's me, Michael Decker.

Ex-pat, ex a lot of things,

but none of them for the reasons you might think.

In my life, nothing ever happens for the reasons you might think.

Hey.

Hey, what's going on here?

- What was that for? - It was money for you!

For me, it was my fucking money, so give me my fucking money.

Don't buy jewelries with my money, girl.

- Hey. - What?

Leave her alone. Get your hands off the lady.

We're fine, man. We're good, okay.

We're just having a little, fuck...

How do you say, a little, disagreement.

- Come with me. - No, no, no.

I already told you, man.

Alright, we're fine.

We got no fucking problem.

We don't need any fucking around, alright.

This stupid bitch.

The lady's coming with me.

So you're a fucking American, is that...

Come with me, I'll take you home.

The fuck... come back here.

Mother fuck...

We're done here.

He's got a gun!

What the hell happened to my car?

That's my car!

Just wait. We will take care of everything.

The shooter's over there.

He says he would only speak with you. Says he knows you.

Girl over there is a witness, backs up his story.

Look what the cat dragged in, Michael.

- How are you doing? - Doing good.

But I've been better.

How's Delphine?

Oh, you know how it is.

We are getting older.

But she keeps herself fit, can't complain.

I think, uh, some folks are gonna want to look at this, though.

Didn't turn out very good but...

Is that all you are carrying?

That's it.

By the way, you know, he did have a gun

and he was shooting at me, and if I hadn't had that, I'd be dead now.

Obviously, I can carry gun wherever the American flag flies,

but I do have a special arrangement here once in a while, so.

You didn't answer my question, Michael.

What's your question?

Are you carrying another piece?

No.

Okay. Let them conduct the investigation.

Well, you know, please keep in mind, like I said, if I hadn't been armed,

I'd be dead right now and there ain't nothing wrong

with self defense, even in France.

Michael... Yes.

Still, believe me when I tell you

that that shooting team over there is going to watch long

and hard at you, because of your past.

But I was exonerated.

That doesn't mean you didn't put the scumbag into a bag, does it?

No, it doesn't.

Well, come on, let's get some coffee down at the station,

while I fill out the paper work.

I need to ask you a few questions about last night.

Mademoiselle, please.

Mark and initial any correction, and sign it.

Why are you getting so motherfucking formal with me, man?

I'm a fucking ghost over here, man.

I don't exist.

Michael, I didn't know you were working undercover here.

Well, that would be the reason for being undercover

is to not tell people you're undercover.

Whatever, just sign the goddamn statement.

Sun is coming up and I'm tired.

What the girl said...

I can't discuss that with you.

I just wanna know if she's backing up my story,

you know, if she's sharing the same version that actually happened.

Your version?

Hey, man, no two people remember the same shit the same way.

I can't tell you what the other witness said.

Look, man, I killed this guy tonight.

All I want to find out is who he is.

'Cause I'm stuck here and I can't get to my people to find out nothing.

Michael, listen to me.

How long have we been friends?

Back when you was young, dumb, and full of cum,

and had a fucking full head of hair, and you were about 50 pounds lighter.

Funny. Long enough for me to know you got a bum wrap from the agency.

I get it, I get it. American style, fuck the police.

You know what? I would have felt the same way, too.

Old school guys like you and I,

are the only one left who still respect each other.

So, read it and sign it.

Let's go home.

Why in the world would I shoot some dumb-ass

white bitch in the fucking parking lot,

to blow my fucking cover and get me into all kinds of bullshit.

You typed the motherfucker up, you sign it.

And by the way, that's my favorite fucking gun y'all took.

It's evidence.

Since when do you give a fuck about the evidence?

It's a justifiable shooting, man.

It's procedure, Michael. I'm sorry.

You took my favorite gun.

Ronnie Martin, Ronnie Martin.

Thirty-two years old, born in Houston, Texas.

I already stole that shit off the reporter.

I don't need you no more.

Owns a nightclub.

Owned, I guess I should say.

Yeah, you should.

That's trouble right there.

In my life, trouble always comes

in a small black dress and legs for days. Always.

- Long night, huh? - Yeah.

But, then again, it's a new day.

Sorry about your boyfriend.

You seem completely torn up about that.

Well, we were only together for a short time.

I see.

We met at the club where I used to dance.

He made me quit dancing and ended up buying the club.

Hey, can we smoke out here?

It's France, man.

You can smoke, like, in the Louvre.

You can smoke anywhere here.

Thanks.

Ronnie had money, too.

A lot of money.

A lot of money, lot of money.

Where do you think he got all that money?

Lieutenant said you used to be a cop back in the States.

Something like that.

Well, then, I shouldn't have to spell it out for you.

Yeah, but you see, folks can make a lot of money a lot of different ways.

They can make money pimping hos,

they can make money killing people. They can...

He sold crystal meth.

Or at least worked for the people that did.

And during his hard schedule of selling drugs,

he also beat you up, didn't he?

Only when I was bad.

Why'd you stay with him?

He kept me from being bad.

So what do you think you're gonna do now?

I wanna get his car and go home, but the police won't let me have it.

And that's why you're here, because you need a relative

like a wife or someone, right?

Could you get it for me?

What are you talking about?

His car.

I have a spare set of keys.

What if I give you something?

I'll probably pass on that at the moment.

Ronnie had a lot of money stashed away.

How much is there?

Two million.

I'll give you ten percent.

Technically, it's not stealing.

Ten percent of two million that's in his car.

That's not stealing.

- It's kind of stealing. - But they're bad people,

and they don't deserve to get it back.

What do you think's gonna happen if we don't steal it?

I think it'll go back to Ronnie's bitches

and they'll put the drugs on the street,

which means it's better if we steal it,

because at least less people will be hurt.

Precisely.

Let me ask you something.

You sure the money's there?

He liked to brag. Thought it got me hot.

It did.

Do you have any idea what he did with the money?

Once a month, he'd drop a bunch of it off at the bank.

- Do you know what bank? - I don't know.

I'd go shopping while he did it.

Do you know who's money it was.

Who cares? Some cowboy that lives in Houston, Texas.

They call him Mr. Vargas.

They're bad people.

They don't deserve to get it back.

If we take it, we'd be doing society a favor,

and you would be doing your job.

Yeah, boss.

He's not saying anything.

I'm working on him all day.

- Where is he? - He's inside.

Hi, Mom.