i'm old-fashioned. i listen first.
what if your brother's inside?
i say we go hit `em all. wipe `em out, suicide-by-cop--
but we don't got the time to infiltrate `em--
it'd have to be him--
hold it right there! hands on your head!
he's at rikers. tucked in, nice and comfy. we're taking him to the a.d.a. next week, for a meeting.
you got it.
shut your fuckin' mouth.
give me that lighter.
no i.d. on the guys in the car. probably illegals. but mike-- --we had that place locked up tight. how they knew where they were, i go no idea.
all our uncles on the street been hearing about a big deal, goin' down maybe monday or tuesday.
everybody's out there, bustin' balls, left and right! what else you want us to do?
clean. we tailed him for weeks. goes out with his grandkids, takes `em horseriding at floyd bennett field.  checks on his fur business from time to time--we even looked at some of the coats and tore `em apart. turned out to be fake sable, if you could believe it.
the feds?
bobby's right.
you know, they're laughin' at us, out there on the street. now when we get there, it'll be up to you what we do. but i hope you think about droppin' the hammer on `em.
i mean--after your father and everything? these people're like fuckin' lice.
stop! halt!
we got the old man--buzhayev. up by the cars. his grandkids are safe--they're in the van.