Episode 1-8 Original Airdate: November 20, 1990
Written by Jacob Brackman Story by Jack Richardson Directed by E.W. Swackhamer
John Finn [Officer Freddo Parisi], Erik King [Dorian "Silky" Ford], Erika Alexander [Doris Carver], Al Freeman Jr. [Reverend Thayer], Jack Gwaltney [Officer Davis], Saundra McClain [Mrs. Richardson], Joe Pentaglio [Sergeant], Gregg Almquist [Gowdy], Christopher Wyn Koop [Corey], Jake Weber [Wesley Parker], Graciela LeCube [Mrs. Rodriguez], Barry Sherman [William Harrison Jr.], Josh Pais [Medical Examiner], Daryl Edwards [Richard], Dayton Callie [Monaghan], David Sharp [Hurley], Lawrence Weber [Judge Sirkin], John Fiore [Profaci], Minnie Gentry [Bernice], Martha Guilante [Adela], Karen Myrie [Claudia], Shirley Rumierk [Cissy], Damien Leake [Guard], Dan Moran [Policeman #2], Michele Wagner [Laurie], David E. Weinberg [Policeman #1], Howard Wesson [Baker]
The streets of New York City, at night...
Two uniform police officers are in their squad car, cruising. FREDO PARISI is behind the wheel. OFFICER DAVIS is consulting a college class schedule.
DAVIS: Code 1602, Wednesdays, 7 o' clock.
PARISI: College degree isn't good enough for ya.
DAVIS: Something wrong with improving myself?
PARISI: Improve my stomach, will ya? Roast beef on rye. Coffee...
DAVIS (joining in as Parisi speaks): Very light. No sugar. Mayo. No mustard.
PARISI: Very good.
Parisi has pulled the cruiser over to the curb near an all-night deli. Davis gets out...just as three black youths emerge, arguing, shoving. They see Davis, turn and run down an intersecting street.
Davis jumps back into the cruiser and Parisi takes off, lights flashing, siren going, screeching around the corner in pursuit. The black youths split up -- two head down an alley, one continues running down the street towards a park. Parisi stops the car, sets out on foot after the two in the alley. Davis pursues the third. In the alley, Parisi, gun drawn, catches up with the two trying to climb a fire escape...
PARISI: Hold it! Don't move! Don't even breathe.
The two black youths freeze.
PARISI (moving closer): Drop down. Now!
Just as he reaches the park, Davis hears a single gunshot from the alley. Drawing his service revolver, he whirls and runs back. In the alley, he finds Parisi standing against a wall. Nearby lays one of the black youths, shot in the chest, a revolver in his left hand.
PARISI: He drew on me.
Davis kneels, checks for a pulse, leans over to listen for any breathing, then looks at Parisi.
DAVIS: Call it in, Fredo. Now, Fredo! He's dead.
The alley, night...
The police are working a crime scene; cruisers with lights flashing, a few onlookers beyond the yellow tape. DET. MIKE LOGAN is coming out of the alley with Officer Davis...
DAVIS: Kid I was after, I never got a decent look at. He was young, 13, 14.
LOGAN: What about the one that got away from Fredo?
DAVIS: Him I saw. Got a blotch, a birthmark, on his face, running from here down to here.
Logan makes a notation on his pad, turns to a uniformed sergeant.
LOGAN: Somebody heard that shot.
SERGEANT: In this neighborhood you couldn't get a witness to a sunrise.
LOGAN: Well, bang on a few windows. ID on the dead kid?
Nearby, Lt. GOWDY, Internal Affairs, standing by a cruiser, where Fredo sits, dejected, in the front passenger seat.
GOWDY: Fredo, go home.
Gowdy walks over to Logan, Det. Sgt. MAX GREEVEY and Capt. DONALD CRAGEN.
GOWDY: Snitch told 'em a drug sale was going down on the block. No muss, no fuss. Punk drew on him. It's over.
GREEVEY: That's it? Wrap it up?
GOWDY: Yeah, far as Internal Affairs is concerned. Why?
GREEVEY: We still got to do our own investigation.
GOWDY: We're all one family here, Sergeant.
GREEVEY: You an only child? I've got people in my family I wouldn't believe when they told me the sky was blue.
Greevey and Logan walk away, under the yellow tape, to their unmarked car.
GREEVEY: You think I like investigating cops? You're looking at me like I got something caught in my throat.
LOGAN: Not what it looked like to that lieutenant. What's his name?
GREEVEY: Gowdy? Internal Affairs. Open and shut. You buy that?
LOGAN: What are you selling, Max?
GREEVEY: This is a dead kid.
GREEVEY: If a civilian shot a kid, no witnesses . . . All I'm saying is, I wouldn't wrap it up in ten minutes.
A neighborhood grocery, daytime...
Greevey and Logan are emerging from the grocery with a stout woman carrying a small box outside.
WOMAN: Four dollars an hour I pay him. Good money for delivery. Disappeared.
LOGAN: Shooting in the neighborhood. Did you hear about it?
GREEVEY: We're canvassing all the merchants, looking for a young man, 22, 23, black, with a birthmark on his cheek.
WOMAN: Huh! I've got five orders waiting to deliver. Who knew you have to wait before you report somebody missing, huh? A birthmark...like this? He comes in every afternoon. He buys two chocolate moon pies. Two. Hangs out in the schoolyard.
Three girls are on the steps, dancing to music blaring from a boombox, as Greevey and Logan approach.
GREEVEY: How ya doing?
GIRL # 1: You ain't cool, get outta my school. I'm no fool.
GREEVEY: You seen a guy with a birthmark on his face?
GIRL # 2: The name of the game is finding fame. Silky's the name and he's to blame.
GIRL # 3: Wouldn't tell 'em nothing.
GREEVEY: Silky who?
GIRL # 2: Ford. Lives over on Vice Avenue, 108.
Greevey and Logan turn and, as they walk away, begin to groove to the music.
Residential area, in front of an apartment building...
A middle-aged black woman is sitting on the stoop, Greevey and Logan standing in front of her.
WOMAN: Silky. Silky Ford.
GREEVEY: Live around here?
WOMAN: Don't I wish he didn't.
LOGAN: One of your favorites, huh?
WOMAN: Some boys make trouble 'cause they got trouble. Silky? He's looking for trouble. What did he do? Walk off a white man?
GREEVEY: In this building here?
WOMAN: You all only come up here when a white man gets hurt. Why aren't you here all the time?
LOGAN: Silky Ford?
WOMAN: Fourth floor. Just come in.
Inside apartment building, fourth floor...
Greevey and Logan are standing in the hallway; RICHARD has opened the apartment door.
RICHARD: Naw, Man, nobody here but here.
GREEVEY: Let's take a look.
He and Logan push past Richard and go inside.
RICHARD: Oh no, you blind without a warrant.
Still walking, Greevey holds up a warrant.
RICHARD: Well, let me see that.
GREEVEY (pausing to throw open closet door): Black male, five foot seven, birthmark on his right cheek.
RICHARD: Birthmark. Uh. Right cheek. Uh. Oh yeah, that sound like Silky.
GREEVEY: You seen him lately?
RICHARD: No, uh, he's been in Philadelphia, visiting his sister. She's in the hospital. Mumps.
Greevey glowers at him then checks the closet.
RICHARD: Whoa! Be gentle! You want to tear my suits?
Greevey moves on down the hallway, following Logan.
RICHARD: Where you going, Man? That's just the kitchen. Ain't nobody in there.
Already in the kitchen, Logan looks around, goes to a freestanding cabinet, opens the doors to reveal SILKY FORD crouched inside amongst buckets, mop, broom.
LOGAN: Waxing the floor, Silky?
SILKY (climbing out of the cabinet): Yeah. Yeah, we're cleaning up. C'mon, Man.
GREEVEY: Who'd you clean up last night?
SILKY: I was home. All night long.
GREEVEY: Doing the floor?
LOGAN: Well, they got dirty real fast.
SILKY: We had a party.
GREEVEY: Who was here?
SILKY: Me and Richard. It was a...private party.
GREEVEY: Let's take a ride, Silky, huh?
SILKY: Hey! Hey, I got...I got things to do...
LOGAN: Your first appointment is with us, okay?
Greevey leaves the kitchen; Logan pushes Silky after him.
LOGAN: What you looking at?
SILKY: Let go, Man!
27th Precinct, hallway...
Greevey and Logan are waiting outside the line-up room.
GREEVEY: Take Davis out the back before Fredo comes in.
LOGAN: Davis? What, you think he's going to lie for Fredo?
GREEVEY: They're both choirboys.
Det. PROFACI emerges through a door.
PROFACI: Yeah. I even found another black kid with a birthmark.
27th Precinct, line-up...
Greevey is watching Davis as the latter looks through the one-way glass at Silky Ford and several other black youths in the line-up room.
DAVIS: Number Three.
GREEVEY (flipping on the intercom; his voice reverberates in the line-up room.): Number Three, step forward, please.
In the line-up room, Silky steps forward.
DAVIS: Yeah. More than the others. I'm playing elimination here.
27th Precinct, hallway...
Logan escorts Davis out.
DAVIS: I saw him ten seconds, in the dark. You want me to say I'm sure?
LOGAN: Hey, Davis. Take it easy, all right? I'm not asking you to lie.
27th Precinct, line-up...
Now Greevey is watching Fredo Parisi study Silky and the others in the line-up.
PARISI: Could be...could be Number Three. Jeez. I'm not sure enough for an ID. It was dark.
27th Precinct, hallways...
Greevey and Logan are descending a narrow flight of steps. At the bottom they turn a corner and reach a cold drink machine.
LOGAN: What was that about? Keeping those two apart.
GREEVEY: Ten years ago I was working Central Park in the Fall. Whole place smelled like a sewer. Captain says I'm imagining things. Lieutenant says I'm imagining. Turns out it's some tree with flowers that rot. Lasts about a week.
LOGAN: Hey, what...Am I missing something here?
GREEVEY: This thing smells too. Internal Affairs says I'm imagining it. Cragen says I'm imagining it. (Greevey points a finger at Logan.)
LOGAN: And you're not imagining it.
GREEVEY: Silky? Two maybes? Both cops aren't sure?
LOGAN: Max, these guys are cops. They're cops!
GREEVEY: Ninety percent of all police officers forget about killing. They go thirty years, never fire a gun. Fredo? I heard this morning. Second time. (Greevey hits a button, a soda drops in the machine.) Makes you wonder.
LOGAN: Yeah, and it also makes you wonder how many cops died thinking 'That's not a gun in his hand'. (A long pause.) Well, we can't hold Silky.
Greevey and Logan follow the MEDICAL EXAMINER out into a hospital hallway.
M.E.: I sent the prints out. No ID.
GREEVEY, in disbelief: No record?
M.E.: Came up clean. You get that evidence bag?
GREEVEY: What evidence bag?
M.E. (stops and turns around.): I sent it over. Wheel of fortune. The kid had three thousand bucks on him. In his sock.
One Police Plaza, Forensics...
A lab tech hands Greevey a plastic bag containing a revolver.
LAB TECH: One set of prints.
GREEVEY: The dead kid's.
LAB TECH: Yeah.
GREEVEY: Only one set of prints. Like somebody wiped the gun.
LOGAN: Hey, Max. You're drawing conclusions.
GREEVEY: Let's just say I heard a dog bark. Serial number?
LOGAN: Clean. Not a file job. Acid.
GREEVEY: The dog's barking louder. (He hands the gun to Logan.) Ballistics.
One Police Plaza, Ballistics...
A lab tech fires the revolver into the tank, then retrieves the bullet, places it under a microscope.
LAB TECH: Beautiful piece, that Magnum. Tender loving care to clean it up.
LOGAN: Had it been worked on?
LAB TECH: By someone very good. (She looks into the microscope.) R-10 twist. Clear as a bell.
LOGAN, taking a turn at the microscope: Let's go back a few months. See if we can find a match.
27th Precinct, Homicide...
Greevey is at his desk when Logan comes in, hands him the Ballistics report.
LOGAN: Magnum's clean.
LOGAN: Hoover in Washington Heights, Bernie on 116th Street.
GREEVEY: Silky'd stay close to home.
Bernie's, 116th Street...
Greevey and Logan stand across a counter from Bernie. Logan hands Bernie the bag containing the revolver.
BERNIE: They're like opinions. Everybody's got one.
GREEVEY: It's been cleaned up.
BERNIE: Nice work, whoever did it.
GREEVEY, indicating a dead bolt lock on display on the counter: New kind of lock?
BERNIE: Uh, double cylinder, spring release.
LOGAN: Yeah. Illegal in this city.
BERNIE: Ah, to install. Not sell. Unpickable.
While Bernie is occupied with the lock, Greevey reaches over and opens two drawers under the counter.
GREEVEY: Yeah, for six months. (He takes an automatic pistol out of a drawer.) Single cylinder?
BERNIE: Wait a minute.
GREEVEY: This one hot? (He slams the automatic down on the counter.)
BERNIE: No. Bust me for a misdemeanor. I'll be out in an hour.
LOGAN: We keep busting you and them hours add up.
Greevey puts a picture of the dead black kid on the counter.
BERNIE: He dead? Never laid eyes on him.
Greevey puts a picture of Silky Ford on the counter.
GREEVEY: Lose a lot of business when the doors lock.
BERNIE: The Magnum's his. Month ago. Six weeks.
LOGAN: You positive?
BERNIE: What do ya want? The name of his dog? Yeah, that's him.
Apartment building, fourth floor, Silky Ford's place...
Silky answers a knock on his door. As soon as he does, Logan bulls into the apartment, shoves Silky roughly against the wall. Greevey steps inside.
SILKY: Hey! What...
LOGAN: The one the cop shot? He had your gun in his hand.
GREEVEY: Sing a song for me, Silky. This is murder. If you're involved, it won't be probation. The other night, when you were waxing the floor. This kid with you?
SILKY: I...I seen him around here and there, but I don't know his name.
LOGAN: How did he get your gun?
SILKY: I...I sold it to him.
GREEVEY: You don't know his name and you sold him your gun?
SILKY: I didn't need to know his name. Sister I know brought him over.
LOGAN: What's her name?
SILKY: Doris. She's real fresh...
LOGAN: Turn around. Put your hands on top of your head.
SILKY: For what?
LOGAN, spinning Silky around and against the wall again: Turn around and put your hands on top of your head! Felony, Silky.
SILKY: Oh, Man.
LOGAN, as he handcuffs Silky: You just confessed to selling a weapon. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say...
SILKY: What is it, a Class D? Class E? It's a walk...
Logan marches Silky out as he reads him his rights.
LOGAN: Shut up, Man!
Criminal Courts Building, lockup...
Silky Ford is locked in a cell. Greevey and Logan are there.
SILKY: Hey. You know what this is going to cost me? My lawyer gets three hundred dollars an hour.
GREEVEY: Think about where you were the other night, Silky. I'd like to know.
Greevey and Logan walk away.
Criminal Courts Building, outside the South Entrance Hall...
LOGAN: You know the kid Fredo shot? Maybe he did have the gun.
GREEVEY: Right. Silky sold him a Magnum, he gave him an IOU, and then stuck three thousand in his shoe.
LOGAN: Max, he could have bought the gun a week ago.
GREEVEY (laughs): Run this by me again. Fredo and Davis saw a guy with a birthmark, but it wasn't Silky. Silky sold the dead kid a gun, but he wasn't there that night.
DORIS: I don't know any Silky and I don't know nothing about dope.
GREEVEY: Who said anything about dope?
DORIS: Well, I got nothing to tell you.
LOGAN: Well, how about we take you down to the precinct?
DORIS: Come on, you can't take me. You got no charge.
GREEVEY: Doris, a guy is dead.
DORIS: Good. Well, like you care.
DORIS: You care so much you probably belong to the NAACP.
GREEVEY, showing Doris the picture of the dead youth: You introduce this kid to Silky?
LOGAN: He had Silky's gun in his hand when he died. Silky says you were there when he sold the kid the piece.
DORIS: No way. That's a lie.
GREEVEY: Who is he, Doris?
DORIS (shaken): It's Tommy Richardson.
LOGAN: Where's he live?
DORIS: 103rd. Lexington and Park.
Richardson apartment, 103rd Street...
Greevey and Logan are in the hall, talking to a young kid, Abel Richardson, who has opened the door.
GREEVEY: You seen your brother Tommy?
ABEL: He ain't here.
LOGAN: Well, where is he?
ABEL: I dunno. But you better come back when my mom gets home.
GREEVEY: Where is your mom, Abel?
GREEVEY: Where does she work?
ABEL: Office building. She's a cleaning lady. She doesn't get back until late.
LOGAN: Abel, you better come with us.
27th Precinct, Homicide...
Logan guides Abel Richardson to a chair beside Greevey's desk.
LOGAN: Abel, why don't you take a chair right here, all right?
ABEL: Did you call Reverend Thayer?
GREEVEY: Yeah, we called him.
LOGAN: When was the last time you saw your brother?
Det. Profaci enters with REVEREND THAYER, a gray-haired black gentleman.
Seeing Thayer, Abel leaps up and into his comforting arms.
PROFACI, to Thayer: Detective Logan, Sergeant Greevey.
THAYER: You bring the boy down here -- what's the reason? What did he do?
LOGAN: Well, it seems his brother pulled a . . . a gun on a policeman, night before last.
THAYER: No. No, no, no, no. You got the wrong boy.
GREEVEY: I don't think so.
Greevey, holding the snapshot of Tommy Richardson, motions for Thayer to come closer. Thayer does, looks at the picture and sinks into a chair, shocked. He shakes his head.
THAYER: Tommy Richardson wouldn't have a gun. Tommy Richardson was a . . . an honor student at Princeton University!
27th Precinct, main entrance...
Greevey and Logan arrive in a car to find the sidewalk filled with protesters shouting and carrying placards. They get out, make their way through the protesters, ignoring questions fired by several reporters.
GREEVEY, pausing at the doors to look back: Whatever happened that night, we just got shoved out of a plane at thirty thousand feet, no parachute.
27th Precinct, Capt. Cragen's office...
Cragen turns from the window where he has been watching the demonstration on the street. Greevey and Logan stand at his desk.
CRAGEN: Nice, straightforward little case, huh?
GREEVEY: Gonna wrap it up, no problem, the boys said. We're gonna get strung up.
CRAHEN: Why did Fredo and Davis go soft on Silky at the line-up?
LOGAN: They made a mistake.
GREEVEY: Yeah. They thought nobody would know they were lying.
CRAGEN: Hey, if you're wrong, and you go after cops....
GREEVEY: If I'm wrong, I'll go to the grand jury and say I killed the kid.
Parisi carries a bottle of beer to the kitchen table, sits down facing Greevey, with Logan sitting to his right.
PARISI: Yeah, I can use the time off.
GREEVEY: You heard about the kid?
PARISI: Princeton? Yeah. Just goes to show you. Homeboys. No matter how fancy you dress 'em up. They'll still soon gun down a cop, just like any street scum.
GREEVEY: The dude you and Davis passed on in the line-up, Fredo. It's hard to believe his gun was there and he wasn't. Now, if he happens to say he was there, and contradicts you....
PARISI, explodes in anger: What is this! I got twenty three years on the force! Now who you gonna trust? Me or some eggplant?
GREEVEY, sarcastically, to Logan: Hey, Mike, he sure sounds trustworthy to me. How about you?
Greevey leaps out of his chair. Logan's up, too, restraining him.
LOGAN: Hey, hey! Easy, Fredo.
PARISI: Next time you want to ask me something, talk to my POBA rep.
27th Precinct, Capt. Cragen's office...
Cragen and Greevey are there, with two representatives from the Police Officers' Benevolent Association.
POBA REP. # 1: The man has two decades. From where the Police Officers' Benevolent Association stands, that merits a certain respect.
GREEVEY: Benevolent means I don't investigate?
POBA REP # 2: You know, you arrive at the man's home unannounced, and you treat him like some punk murderer.
GREEVEY: Fredo is no punk.
POBA REP # 2: Oh, but he is a murderer?
GREEVEY: That's what we're investigating.
CRAGEN: Look, it's Sergeant Greevey's job to investigation, but Max, if you're all over this officer it's going to have to stop.
The two POBA reps get up to leave.
POBA REP # 1, to Cragen: We'll talk.
The two reps leave.
GREEVEY: Rock and a hard place.
CRAGEN: My butt, Max. Mine. Not yours. This is not a bad cop.
GREEVEY: Neither are you. Neither am I. But some things we don't do.
CRAGEN: If we don't fix this fast the brotherhood is going to crucify us. If we do, the black community is going to crucify us.
GREEVEY: Then let's do it right.
Logan walks in, sees Officer Davis using a free weight. As Logan approaches, Davis drops the weight, almost on Logan's foot.
DAVIS, standing up: Yeah, we all got to be careful.
Other policemen in their sweats gather around Logan, glaring at him.
LOGAN: More careful than Fredo was.
DAVIS: Enough people have already gotten hurt.
LOGAN: Which is why we're investigating.
DAVIS: Detectives. Sit behind a desk. You guys have no idea what it's like on the streets these days.
LOGAN: Oh, come on. What's that suppose to mean?
One of the other cops steps in, stabs Logan in the chest with his fingers.
COP # 1: Close ranks, Logan.
LOGAN: Hey. I have, okay? With my partner.
COP # 2, grabbing Logan's trenchcoat: Your partner?
Logan and Cop #2 start to get into it, but Davis steps in and breaks it up.
COP # 1: Tell him to join the ACLU, huh?
DAVIS: This...this punk....Okay, he went to some fancy school. I don't care if he was head of the class. Those three skells were doing a drug deal.
LOGAN: Yeah, well, we're all on the same side. Right, Davis?
DAVIS: You coulda fooled me.
27th Precinct, Homicide...
Greevey and Logan are at their desks. Logan is typing up a report. He rips the report out of his typewriter, wads it up and throws it away, then reaches for a fresh form. Greevey looks up at him.
GREEVEY: This week. Not easy, is it?
LOGAN, laughs bitterly: Yeah, well, we're out there all alone, Max. Let me tell you something. Everybody else is wrong, and I think you like that.
GREEVEY: I don't like being told to roll over.
LOGAN: Davis swears the kid was doing a drug deal. He swears it.
GREEVEY: Okay. Fine. Assume everybody's telling the truth. A Magnum on the street. What's it go for?
LOGAN: Five hundred.
GREEVEY: Right. Half a pound of crack?
LOGAN: Twenty five hundred.
GREEVEY: The Richardson kid had three thousand in his sock -- suppose, to buy a gun and drugs. Drug dealers don't take credit.
LOGAN: All right, the deal never went down.
GREEVEY: Which means the kid never had the gun. Fredo shot him, put the Magnum in his hand, and he gave Silky a walk. That's why nobody's talking.
LOGAN: We still got to turn up the third guy.
Doris Carver's apartment...
Greevey is sitting at a table with Doris. Logan stands nearby.
GREEVEY: If Silky's not your friend...
DORIS: I don't have any friends. They die too quick.
LOGAN: How about enemies?
DORIS: Enemies, too. Up here, nobody gets to forty.
GREEVEY: Three people that night, Doris. You knew Tommy. You know Silky.
DORIS: And I know whatever I tell you it only means you lock 'em up.
LOGAN: Hey, hey. Now, we're trying to find out why Tommy Richardson is dead.
GREEVEY: The way we hear it, he was your friend. Seems to me you owe him this. Who was the third guy?
DORIS: He's just a skinny little boy....
GREEVEY: Abel. Tommy's little brother.
Richardson apartment, 103rd Street...
Greevey and Logan are talking to Abel.
GREEVEY: Tommy and Silky were doing a drug deal.
LOGAN: Do you think Tommy would shoot a cop?
ABEL: Tommy never had a gun.
LOGAN: If your brother was here now, what would he tell you to do?
ABEL: Tommy was going to buy the gun.
GREEVEY: For five hundred. And the dope?
ABEL: Crack. A half a pound.
LOGAN: For twenty-five hundred.
ABEL: Twenty left. We were going to go to the movies. But the cops came, we ran. Silky still had the gun.
Outside the apartment building...
Greevey and Logan go down the stoop to their car.
GREEVEY: Okay what?
LOGAN: Sometimes when I don't want to see something I put blinders on.
GREEVEY: What's that, a confession?
GREEVEY: Richardson had the money. Silky had the gun. What happened to the dope?
Criminal Courts Building, lockup...
Greevey and Logan are in Silky's cell.
SILKY: There was no dope. Never had it.
LOGAN: Oh, yeah. Richardson met you to buy groceries, huh?
SILKY: My lawyer -- he'll have me out of here in an hour.
LOGAN: You could still go up on that gun charge, Silky.
SILKY: I ain't never been convicted of no felony. Even if you prove I sold him the gun, I still walk.
GREEVEY: Jailhouse lawyer, here. A witness puts you at the scene that night.
SILKY: Abel. All right. I was there. That's what you want to hear? Tommy had the gun. He drew on the cop, the cop shot him. That's what happened.
GREEVEY: Playing this all wrong, Silky.
SILKY: I'm still breathing, ain't I?
Criminal Courts building, lockup...
Greevey and Logan are being let out of the cellblock by a uniformed officer.
OFFICER: What did this guy do, shoot the Pope?
GREEVEY: What are you talking about?
OFFICER: Had another cop in this morning.
OFFICER, consulting his logbook: Parisi. Fredo Parisi.
27th Precinct, Cragen's office...
Greevey and Logan are present, along with Cragen, and Gowdy from Internal Affairs.
GREEVEY: The kid says 'I'm breathing' means Fredo threatened him
GOWDY: I admit it doesn't sound good. Silky's lying.
LOGAN: Fredo's lying. And Davis is covering for him. If Fredo's arrested, maybe somebody breaks.
CRAGEN: DA says the same thing. But it's a cop, so it has to be an Internal Affairs collar.
GOWDY: IAD cuts the guy some slack and his own precinct burns him. What a world.
Gowdy, Greevey and Logan enter the crowded bar, filled mostly with cops and their dates. As they walk along the bar to where Fredo Parisi sits, the conversation dies down, and all eyes are on them.
GOWDY: You're under arrest for the murder of Thomas Richardson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be...
PARISI: Save it, wiseguy. I know it by heart.
District Attorney's office, conference room...
EADA Ben Stone is sitting across a table from Officer Parisi. ADA Paul Robinette is standing in a corner, watching. Parisi's attorney, Wesley Parker is sitting on the edge of the table.
STONE, perusing the police report: Tommy Richardson was a good boy. No record. No gun.
PARKER: Says his 13-year-old brother.
STONE: With no reason to lie.
PARKER: The kid's a lousy witness. He wasn't even there. When I get finished with him, a jury won't take his word for what he ate for breakfast.
STONE: And Patrolman Parisi?
PARKER: A veteran cop. His word. Davis' word. Silky's word, all against the kid, who wants to protect his brother's reputation. Now who's a jury going to believe?
STONE, to Parisi: By the time we go to trial, Patrolman, Silky will be telling the truth.
District Attorney's office, hallway outside conference room...
Stone and Robinette leave the conference room.
STONE: It turns out Abel's not clean, they scuff him up on the stand, Fredo walks.
ROBINETEE: Abel has no record.
STONE: Neither did his brother. I don't want a last-minute sandbag. Make sure, Paul.
Robinette and Thayer are present.