whatta you got -- four more years, walter?
christ, by the time you get out all this shit'll be legal.
sure, i know popeye. the master of undercover, whose brilliant idea of disguise is to limp into a room on his left foot and limp out on his right. whose brilliant hunches cost the death of a good officer --
that's just my opinion.
strictly small potatoes.
you really know how to pick 'em, doyle.
still wearing your gun on your ankle?
somebody told me the reason you did that was so's when you met a chick and rubbed against her she wouldn't know you were a cop.
i said that was bullshit. it must be some kind of fast-draw gimmick or something.
he's gettin' too far ahead. you're gonna lose him.
you about ready for a break?
christ you should o' collared him right there.
why don't you do the same, doyle? you look like shit.
case? so far i haven't seen a damn thing.
yeah, we got the westbury covered like a tent.
charnier and his wife checked out of the westbury. nicoli checked out of the edison --
that's crazy. you lost the frog in the subway and you blew our cover. if they haven't moved already they're not gonna move now.
with pleasure -- it's all yours. walter, if anything develops outta this charade give me a call.
the last time you were dead certain we ended up with a dead cop.
nothing in there except a new york street map.