we're clear. rottovich closes the door and locks it behind him.
guy looked like he was trying not to shit himself. nice.
feels a little light, jake. next time we're in for twenty.
yeah well, sobo's kid needs braces.
don't get me wrong, jake. i like you boys. you guys are the steadiest business in town. but what can i say? twenty percent's still better than what we give to any of the other criminals.
was that a threat? did i hear a threat?
don't dick around too long. and if he stabs you or shoots you or causes any other form of profuse bleeding, call a cab because you are not getting back in this car! jake nods and approaches the door where harlin and lupus stand vigil. lupus wears another loud sweatsuit.
you sell it.
don't be an idiot. how hard do you think it is to sell one drug dealer's drugs to another drug dealer? if vig's right, we might be looking at a hundred, maybe a hundred fifty grand.
what's he going to do? file a missing drugs report? if it works out, this guy might be good for a few more turns. a hooded figure turns a corner onto the street, heading for the cigar shop. he wears a knapsack slung over his shoulders.
it's cosmetic. they don't cover cosmetic.
bullshit it's cosmetic! my fucking tooth was cracked in half. i made the son of a bitch write it in as a cavity. the department's dental is for shit.
that's right. we're the heat. stick `em up! the kid jumps back startled and throws his hands up. the cops share a laugh.
alright. put your hands dawn. what do you got in the bag?
i see. well, your pops has been making you carry around drugs for him. we're going to have to take them. the kid hesitates for a second before handing the knapsack over. rottovich opens it and pulls out two bricks of heroin, wrapped in plastic. he nods to sobozinski. the kid stays rooted right where he is, looking up at the detectives like a lost puppy.
give the kid a twenty. sobozinski fishes in his pocket starts to peel off bills for the kid who then sprints away.
special agent?
look special agent moonan.  we don't know what you're talking about. moonan takes out a microcassette recorder and hits play.
don't be an idiot. how hard do you think it is to sell one drug dealer's drugs to another drug dealer? if vig's right, we might be looking at a hundred, maybe a hundred fifty grand. click. moonan kills the recorder.
if you feds are so hot for him, why don't we just bring him in right now?
like we told you before, we think he's into something with the king pin---
hey jake. jake turns just in time to catch rottovich's fist square in the face. jake staggers back and sobozinski pushes him into an alley.
tip was fine, jake. we were a little more curious about the fed.
special agent gunther moonan. ring a bell?
ring it for him, sobo. sobozinski punches jake again.
well he's in town and he sure as shit remembers you. what are we going to do about this jake? we can't afford to have a fed onto us.
i don't know what you're into with the king pin, but whatever it is we get a piece, understand? we get a big piece. if we find out you're keeping us out, i may suddenly develope a conscious and give you up to moonan myself. say something stupid if we got a deal, jake.
good boy.
i think so. what'd he ever do to you anyway?
don't worry about moonan. we got him covered. when? it was him. there's a shipment coming through tonight. kennedy.
i don't trust anybody. you see how bad this guy wants vig? it's like a sickness. i say we collar vig ourselves. we got vig, then we got leverage. and we trade; vig for that tape. i want to see it right in front of my face.
that's what i'm talking about.
what are you doing?
put your hand down. i don't high five. there's the crackle from a walkie-talkie.
we're here. cut to:
oh yeah, we'll wait, jerk-off. sobozinski snorts a laugh as they get out of the car. cut to: int.- jfk airport. terminal- same gordo wheels the suitcase towards the exit when he spots the men's room. he stops and considers for a moment before he turns and enters. moonan watches a few yards back. he pulls his badge out from under his shirt, hanging from a chain.
hey asshole. they both grin like idiots. cut to:
we're on the job! we're active in the one-six. next to them, a federal agent opens the suitcase. coffee beans spill out on the asphalt, followed by the two bricks of heroin. the two internal affairs officers from before emerge from the crowd.