The Instigators

I can't talk about it.

- - Why not, Rory?

Well, I can tell you this.

I took a... an honest look at my life,

and, the truth is, I fucked things up, you know?

And I'm not blaming anyone, I'm not feeling sorry for myself,

but that-that really is the truth of the thing.

I fucked things up.

That's good.

How do you think you fucked things up?

It doesn't matter. It can't be fixed.

It matters.

Do you wanna fix things with your ex-wife?

No. No, she's not coming back. Um...

And... ...I don't blame her. I mean, that's on me.

How about your son?

- Why are you reluctant to talk? -

Do you feel hopeless?

I feel fine.

Look, there just... You know, I...

I can't answer some of these questions. I'd put you in a bad spot.

Or you're gonna section me. You're gonna put me in a bad spot.

Are you a danger to yourself?

Not today.

What does that mean, Rory?

Look, I'm doing what I'm supposed to do.

I'm doing all the right things, and...

...I figured out a while back... ...it's not gonna get better.

And so I told myself,

"If this is how you still feel in a year,

then you could cash in your ticket."

When did you come up with this plan?

It's about a year ago.

Rory?

Are you sure you've tried everything?

Not everything.

Ah, big fucking man, huh?

You think you're something, huh?

Open your big fucking mouth about our score?

What in baby Jesus's name were you fucking thinking?

What happens when you shoot your mouth off right before elections, hmm?

Got a hypothesis on that one?

You send flares up, no one wants to fucking work.

- Everyone's too afraid. -

Now, I'm fucked.

Because I got this score, huh?

A once-in-a-lifetime type of score,

and now I can't find a single goddamn soul who wants to work

'cause of the fuckin' mess you made.

- I can fix it! - How the fuck are you gonna do that?

I got guys. I got a whole crew. We'll do it.

You work with loony tunes who push mops in Quincy

and fuck everything up for everyone else.

Who in their right fucking mind is gonna wanna do this job right now?

- - You gotta blow harder.

- Okay. I'm trying! - Like a balloon. Put your lips on it.

- Balloon. -

No alcohol detected. Vehicle unlocked.

Cobby Murphy!

- What on earth? - All right.

Bring him back right now!

What are you looking at? Go on. Get inside.

Cobby!

The next time you come around here, I'm calling the cops.

- Terry. Hey. - I don't want...

Huh? Yeah, you wanna hear a joke?

- What? - Huh?

You wanna hear a joke I heard today? Terry. Wanna hear another one?

- Hello. - Yo. Is Cobby Murphy there? It's Scalvo.

Cobby Murphy. Put Cobby Murphy on the phone.

Hang on.

You don't got room for a joke?

Cobby!

What the fuck is it? Jesus Christ.

Yeah?

The fuck is your problem?

You liked it up at Walpole?

You wanna go back?

Play grab-ass with all your friends?

Jesus. Calm down, Mr. Kelly.

- Hello. - I've got a big job.

- Yeah. - If you want it, meet me in an hour.

Um, yeah, all right. All right, bye.

If that was what I think it was, then shove that keno card up your ass

and get out of my bar.

Fine.

Best of luck.

You know what?

I make my own luck.

Oh. Um,

Mr. Kelly?

You had anything, uh, to drink today?

You Brenda's cousin? The marine?

- Yeah. - What do you do now?

I sand floors.

You the ex-con?

The fuck does that mean?

Fuck does what mean?

Yeah, I did time, but you don't gotta cast aspersions at me, guy.

What is this, huh? What's his fucking problem?

He's a stand-up guy. Kept his mouth shut.

Yeah, I'm a professional fucking apologist, aren't I, Scalvo?

Hey, we took care of you, didn't we?

Yeah, two to three in Walpole, prick.

- You had 18 months. - Eighteen more than I fucking deserved.

Oh, Jesus Christ. Fuck me.

After a life in this business,

this is what I get for my fucking troubles?

Bunch of Woody Woodpeckers over here...

- - A bunch of g... Oh.

You think that's fucking funny?

Doughnuts...

Now, I'm under the assumption

you're all aware of the fact that in about a week,

the city of Boston's gonna be holding a runoff for mayor.

Now, it's a foregone conclusion that Miccelli will be reelected.

Every four years he wins.

Four more years, four more years.

Let's go!

And that party on election night

is gonna be the be-all to end-all of political graft-taking.

Five hundred just to get in the door.

Miccelli's old school.

Cash bar. Hundred a drink. No Venmo.

No PayPal. No fucking crypto, Google bullshit.

Cash.

And everyone and anyone who wants a contract's

gonna show up with a black fucking bag.

And none of this is gonna be declared to the Democratic Party of Massachusetts.

So where's the party?

The Wharf.

There's gonna be money there like none of you shitbums ever seen.

And it'll remain there, naked as the Lady in the Clam,

till the armored truck shows up in the morning.

All right, so we're robbing the mayor.

In so many words.

How much?

Fifteen minutes of work.

Each of you are looking at 10% of about 300,000.

- What if there's more? - Then you get more.

And what if there's less?

Then you get less. That's how a percentage works.

I need $32,480.

Well, I mean, I need a 15-inch cock,

but I'll tell you the same thing God told me.

"Maybe next time."

All right. Nice knowing you guys.

How much you need?

$32,480. Exactly.

So, what if your cut is more?

You can keep it.

- Yeah? - Yeah. But if it's less...

I know. You get your money no matter what.

Yeah.

- Deal. - Deal.

Will you mind if I continue then?

Go in from the water.

Under the docks, you tie up.

Head in up the back stairs.

Should be four or five guys in there opening up, cleaning the place, whatever.

Right off the kitchen is the office. In here's the dough.

- Jackpot. - All goes well.

You cruise right on out of there.

Scal here takes the dough.

Oh. That's the last we'll see of that.

Look. Okay? All right. Sit down.

All right, sit down.

One more fucking comment, you go into the fucking drink.

Now, the two of you get dropped off back at the docks.

Go about your business.

A couple of days, you'll get a visit from Mr. DeChico.

That's Mr. DeChico.

After that, none of us ever gotta see each other ever again.

Yeah, but what if Choi wins the runoff?

What if what?

Mark Choi, the challenger.

Not a relic of the past, a vision for the future.

Ch-Choi. Choi for choice.

Same dirty tricks.

The same corruption that we've seen over and over again.

- He's a hell of a candidate. - Yeah, what if he wins?

- The Chinaman ain't gonna win. - Listen, you don't gotta yell.

I'm just saying there's a lot of unknown unknowns here.

Would you two excuse us for a moment?

Hey, you had the dough, would you buy a yacht club?

Kind of a fucking smorgasbord for douchebags, ain't it?

Hey, is that how this kind of thing normally goes?

What do you mean?

Just... The whole thing in there.

This your first job?

I know what I'm doing.

Little late for a career change, ain't it? What are you, 60?

Not changing careers.

What the fuck is this then?

It's... It's something I gotta do.

Once.

Don't turn this into another bag of dicks.

They don't touch the money.

Of course.

And you cut out that fucking idiot.