whoop-di fuckin' do.
like a twelve year old's dick.
my pleasure.
your old man was a hump from southie. baggage-handler at the airport. family's all criminals except your old man.
i ain't sure about him, either. family's dug into the southie projects like ticks. lifers down there. three decker men at best. you grew up, however, up the north shore. la di da.
you were kind of a double kid, i bet, right? one kid with your old man. one kid with your mother. upper middle class in the week, and then dropping your 'r's and hanging in the southie projects with daddy the donkey on the weekends. i got that right?
what's the matter, smartass? you don't know any fuckin' shakespeare?
what the fuck did you say to me, trainee?
hey asshole, he can't help you. i know what you are, and what you aren't. i'm the best friend you ever had on the face of the earth. i'm gonna help you understand something: you're no fuckin' cop.
guaranteed.
luck of the irish. all that and you're still young enough to fuck undergraduates.
given your nature.
i need you, pal. you've already pretended to be a costigan from south boston.
perfect.
that was quick. he dead already?
you think you can pop someone. there's no special card to play. the guy whose jaw you broke was boston police department.
most of the people in the world do it every day. what's the big deal?
you're nobody. you signed the paper. we're the only people in the world who know that you're a cop. maybe we'll just erase your file.
and zip, you're a soldier for costello, open to arrest for how many felonies? maybe we'll do that.
just because you play a fucking tough guy doesn't mean you are one, you lace curtain fucking pussy.
well. that would stick.
keep your ears opened. no bullshit.
why the fuck did they turn off their phones?
where?
this is unbelievable. fuck it, who put the cameras in the fucking place?
i'm the guy who does his job. you must be the other guy.
i can't wait to wipe that fuckin' smirk off your face.
queenan had a funeral to go to. this is my shift. calm down.
he's not here.
and how do we do that mr.  fucking genius who didn't even graduate the academy?
are you deaf? he's not here. call me when you get something real.
yeah, i run rat fucks like you. i don't like them.
fuck yourself.
blow me. not literally, there's no promotion in it for ya.
a better question is why your fuckers were following him.
why?
that's a fucking lie.
i don't have the password. why don't you come down to the garage.
no one calls me a liar. especially when i'm lying.
leave of what?
i'll hand in my papers first.
good.