All language subtitles for 21.Bridges.2019.720p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTG_Track03

"But if you do wrong,
be afraid,

for he does not bear the sword
in vain.

He is the servant of God,

an avenger who carries out
God's wrath

on the wrongful."

I often thought of my friend,

Officer Reginald Dean Davis,

when I would read Romans 13:4.

That he punished
two of the three men
who attacked him

before he himself was killed

means I will never think of
anyone else ever again

when I read or speak this verse.

He died protecting his family,

his friends and this city.

He was a servant of God.

I assuage my rage
that a third man escaped

by trying to remind myself
of a few things.

First,

Reginald found a woman

as strong, driven
and smart as he.

And then I think of his boy,

Andre,

and I see the same,
sometimes infuriating,

fearlessness,

inquisitiveness.

I know it may not
feel like it now,

but you got more
from your father, Andre,
in 13 years

than most men will
in a lifetime.

He taught you to follow
your conscience,

to not take
anyone else's word
about what is right and wrong,

to find a just code

in an often cruel world.

Thank you
for making time for IA
at the end of your shift.

I didn't have a choice.

You could choose
not to be a cop.

Being a cop
isn't a choice for me.

What is it, then?

DNA.

At this point,
we don't need to spell out

why we're all here.

Yes, we do. Official procedure.

Any officer who discharges
his or her weapon
in the line of duty

must justify
every round of ammunition.

You've shot
eight people in nine years.

Good shootings. Cleared on all.

Three since you
were made detective.

Four now.

The one who survived
was sentenced to life without.

Do you regret any?

I've been to the psychologist.

That's not an answer.

No, I do not regret any.

Faces don't come to you
in your sleep?

Justice comes at a cost.

Justice is not determined
by you.

But I am the sharp end
of that determination.

Says who?

My badge.

My oath.

Your DNA?

During the Civil War,

some soldiers just kept
loading their muskets
without ever firing.

Five or six balls
loaded on top of each other.

In Vietnam, only 30%
of frontline infantry soldiers
ever fired a shot.

So, ten soldiers in battle,
only three truly fighting.

Are you really using
war analogies here,
Detective Davis?

What do you imagine
the other seven were doing?

Hi, Andre.

How's she doing?

Tired, but I just
gave her her meds.

All right, you can head home.
I got this.

Okay.

You know where to find me
if you need me.

What are we watching?

You left me.

No, Ma. I had to pull a triple.

I've been here too long.

I've--

I've overstayed my welcome.

Nah. You can never overstay
your welcome.

You're here to take me home.

This is home.

Don't leave me here, Reginald.

Ma...

it's Andre.

It's Dre, Mama.

I need to take my meds.

No, no, no. You took them.

You already took them.

You look tired.

You work too hard.

Yeah, you got that right.

It's the job.

It's what I do.

I know.

You gotta look the devil
in the eye.

Yeah.

Yeah, Ma.

Well, it looks just like
you said it would.

Hey, does yours smell
like your beard?

It smells like your girl.

Let's go.

Who the fuck are you guys?

We're the guys
that are taking your cocaine.

Not smart. You guys
are gonna fucking die.

Where is it?

Freezer. Downstairs.

We need a key?

Just two of you?

You're gonna be here all night.

Yo!

Move!

That's not 30 keys.

It's 300.

Somebody fucked up.

Shut up. On your knees.

Jeez.

This stuff hasn't been cut yet.

Jackpot! Fuck yeah!

No way. We walk.

- What?
-We walk.

Small ain't always smart.

You can help or you can watch.

This is fucking stupid.

This is fucking freedom.

Shit.

Shh.

The fuck is this guy at?

He might be by the back door.
Check it out.

Car back here
is still running.

Back gate open.

Possible 30 in progress.

Shit. All right.
We're coming in.

Stay back.

Shots fired! Shots fired!
Officer down!

Shots fired! Shots fired!

Officer down!

Cop! Run!

We don't want any more blood!

You don't have to kill him.

More are coming.

Drive.

Cover me.

Move the car.

8-5 Adam.

8-5 Charlie.

8-5 Charlie, on the air?

8-5 Frank?

Any units at Mosto's,
please advise.

Don't drive like an asshole.

Stop for this light.

-What the fuck are you doing?
I said stop.
-We just fucking killed cops.

Fuck!

Central,
we got multiple officers down!

Put a rush on the bus.
I repeat,
put a rush on the bus!

Central,
notify highways, blood banks.

Emergency Adam. Main Central,
show us en route.

Officers down.

Eight officers down.

Captain McKenna.

Okay, boys.

Detective Davis.

Captain McKenna runs the 8-5.

These are his boys
that died tonight.

My condolences.

Thank you.

It's Andre, right?

Yes, sir.

I never met your dad,
but I heard good things.

Thank you, sir.

Guys, I need you to get up.

You're sitting
in my crime scene.

Come on. He's got a job to do.

It's okay, Kelly.

I heard you were with IA today.

And I'd fucking love it
if you were right back there
tomorrow.

If they give me cause.

Cause?

Here's your fucking cause
right there. Okay?

-You understand
what I'm saying?
-Give me the room.

Your fucking cause
times seven lying dead
in the fucking street.

Motherfuckers are giving you
all the reason you need--

Mac! You're not the only one
hurting here.

You're in public.

The public who never sees shit
when a cop goes down.

Lower your voice.

What were their names?

Uh, yeah.

Jennifer Montgomery
in the ambulance.

She's hanging on by a thread.

Massimo Adams, Charlie Cobb.

Jake Dominguez
and Danny Williams.

Out on the street
is Marcus Fernandez.

What?

Marcus Fernandez.

I knew Marcus.

We were at the academy together.

Out there with Marcus...

is Reuben Kizer
and Patrick Graham.

Just so you know,

they leave behind four wives,

one fiancée,

six kids.

Three are my godkids.

Now I'm gonna go wake them up
in the middle of the night,

let them know
their lives are shattered.

You know the drill.

Look, I fucking refuse

to allow these families
to be traumatized even more

with fucking trials
and appeals
and horseshit narratives,

parole hearings for, fuck,
three, four decades.

I'm asking you...

to protect them from that.

I understand.

Why were they here?

My guys interrupted a robbery.

How much cocaine is this?

Crime Scene
estimates about 300 kilos

before the scumbags cut into it.

How much did they take?

About 50 keys.

One hundred and ten pounds.

That's A1 weight.
You're looking at 25 years.

Ninety-plus percent pure.

Two million, plus or minus,
before you step on it.

It's quadruple after.

Detective Andre Davis,
Detective Frankie Burns, DETF.

-She'll be working with you.
-With me doing what?

This is
the biggest coke seizure
in I don't know how long.

-Narcotics will be involved.
-I appreciate the politics.

But if I don't catch
these guys in the next three
or four hours, they vanish.

I don't do fucking politics.

And she's not the second team.

You can either fight me
or use me.

You good?

We should
fucking kill ourselves.

Don't be like that. Not now.

We just killed more cops
than I can fucking count, Ray.

I did all the killing.

You think they give a shit
about the body math?

They're gonna figure us out.

It was dark. We moved fast.
Car's not ours.
Plates are stolen.

It'll get solved, Ray.
All right?

We both hate the fucking cops,
but they're smart.

They're gonna figure out
our names by sunrise.
We need to run.

We need a plan. We need money.

Fuck!

Employee?

Yeah. Came up whistle-clean.

No-scroll good citizen
named Tom Cheaver.

So, Tom took his bullet
from just a few feet.

Notice the stippling
around the entrance wound.

And judging from
the proximity of that knife,

Tom tried to make a move.

Over here,

double taps.

Automatic weapon, suppressed.

I say two shooters.

Where are you seeing that?

No one's smooth enough
to murder all these officers

and hit Tom
coming up with a knife.

And one guy probably
isn't carrying 100-plus pounds
of cocaine out by himself.

Yeah, but it could be
more than two.

Nah. Look at
the shell groupings.

One was back there. He hit Tom.

The second one came this way.

Then he murdered all four of us.

Yeah.

Second one's a talented killer.

You left a zero off,
motherfucker.

What?

That wasn't 30 keys stepped on.

It was 300 pure.

Wasn't my fuckup.

Whose fuckup was it?

Hawk Tyler's, maybe?
He put the job out for bid.

But you guys
got something, right?

-Fifty keys.
-Well, good.

-Fuck you!
-I'm changing the deal.

You're not selling it for us
anymore.

You're gonna bring us
to Hawk, and we're
gonna sell it ourselves.

And we're not splitting it
three ways.

I owe a lot of money
to a lot of people--

Me and Ray have to run for
the rest of our fucking lives!

Hawk ain't gonna hear
new deals.

Yeah, well, Hawk
hasn't heard 50 pure yet.

Give me your phone.

Hit.

We got a hit!

It's a red light cam.

Two men.

Alert everybody.
Send it through
the mobile unit at Mosto's.

Detective Davis.

Sergeant Yolanda Bell,
shift supervisor at LMSI.

Good to know you, Yolanda Bell.

We got something for you.

How much you wanna bet
when we find that BMW,
it's burnt to the chassis?

A nickel.

If you were gonna rob
660 pounds of coke,

would you drive a BMW two-door
to the job?

Would you bring
just one other guy with you?

Would you only take 50 keys?

No, no, and no.

They weren't expecting 300.

They weren't expecting cops,
either.

This was either dumb luck...

or a setup.

No, fuck you!

The FBI's here
because the shooters

are out of the state by now.

Half hour
since the final whistle.

Please, make one more
sports analogy.

If and when we get confirmation

that they crossed over
to Jersey or Connecticut--

The mayor
would prefer that the FBI
take over sooner than later.

The mayor shits on us
every chance he gets.

The fucking guy
eats pizza with a fork.

He wants them
brought to justice.

No shit.

Dre.

Toine.

How'd it go
with Internal Affairs?

I'm here,
so not the way you hoped.

Like I said, the mayor
wants them brought to justice,

i.e., arrested, arraigned,
put on trial.

Not killed in a gun battle,
the details of which
are foggy.

Like the seven behind us?

Who are you?
Narcotics.

Beautiful.
What could go wrong?
We got a narc and a trigger.

You better have
perfect diction,
calling me a "trigger."

Cut the shit, everybody.

Has the mayor
got his thumb on this?

This an ask or an order?

They're still in New York.

You don't walk away
with 50 keys of 90% pure

unless you have
a big local buyer.

You don't move it far
unless you're into transport.

These guys were hitters,
not drivers.

You don't know that.

Good enough to kill seven cops,

dumb enough to run a red?

What they need to do
is sell the coke, vanish.

I'm not heading east.

Long Island runs out,

and it's all accountants

and dentists out that way,

so I'm a sore thumb.

I'm not going to Queens.

You don't wholesale coke
in the middle class.

I'm not staying in Brooklyn,
scene of the crime.

Plus, it's all pop-ups
and strollers
and guys like you now.

Anyone left on Staten Island
who can move this kind of
weight as quick as they need?

Not since the days before
Gotti murdered Castellano.

What about Jersey?

"Sopranos" was a TV show.

And upstate?
That's fucking ridiculous.

Ain't no way to move
50 keys of yayo in Utica.

Leaves Manhattan.

Detective Davis?

What, you got a hit for me?

911 call.

Black BMW, two-door,

on fire
in an alley in Chinatown.

Uh-oh, where's Chinatown?

-Manhattan.

- Feel good?
-It does.

-How long ago was the 911?
- Ninety seconds.

-Let's go.
-Wait, wait, wait.

-For what?
-Everything about these guys,

save the speed camera,
has been competent so far.

Yeah, so?
They'll sell the coke,
catch a train,

catch a cab, jack a car,

and we're right back to hoping
we get a hit from a cam

before they vanish, show up
in Pennsylvania somewhere.

Good point.
Whereas the FBI is national--

Close the island.

What island?

Manhattan.

You having a seizure?

No, the mayor will buy it.

He's in the low 30s,
crime is ticking up,

homeless are pissing
in front of Tiffany's again,

and it's 1:00 a.m.,
not 1:00 p.m.

Anything goes wrong,
you can blame us.

Something will go wrong,
and then you're all fucked.

We get the concept
of sacrifice is like quantum
physics to a fucking fed.

The mayor can say
he was listening to
his commanders in the field.

Now, if your boss had a chance

to catch the murderers
of seven New York City cops

and chose not to, this city
would never forgive him.

Catch them by 5:00.

Wait, is that a yes or a no?

Catch them by 5:00.

You all got balls,

not a lot of brains.

Good luck to you.

We'll be awaiting
your phone call.

Yeah, hold your breath.

How you gonna do this?

There are 21 bridges
in and out of Manhattan.
Shut them down.

Three rivers, close them.
Four tunnels, block them.

Stop every train that leaves
the island. Amtrak, PATH,
New Jersey Transit,

LIRR, Metro-North,
and loop the subways.

Then...

we flood the island with blue.

You wanna ditch a car,
you drive five blocks,
not to Manhattan.

Two sets of tire tracks.

This was a meet-and-greet.

Miss Yolanda.

Hey, I need pictures
of every car that went into
the alley after the BMW.

There aren't any cameras
aimed right at the entrances.

Alley backs up
into massage parlors
and Chinese restaurants.

It's illegal workers.
Every time a camera goes up,
it gets pulled back down.

Can you pick up every
passing vehicle on either end?

What interval?

From the time the BMW
went into the alley

to the first fire call to 911.

Will do. Stand by.

Are you who they say you are?

Who do they say I am?

You tell me.

You killed a lot of perps
in the last ten years.

Never shot first.

Never?

All right, let me be
more precise, Detective Burns.

I've never fired
without just cause.

Seven dead cops feels like
a lot of just cause.

These guys are killers.

So I need to know that we got
each other's backs tonight.

'Cause I got a kid at home.

Doesn't need to wake up
without her mother.

You wear that badge,
I got your back.

Talk to me.

All right.

Where we going?
Uptown.

...has closed all access
into and out of Manhattan.

In a statement from city hall,
the mayor's office
was only able to offer

a vague description
of the two suspects.

They tell us both are men.
One is white, one is black.

They are known to be armed
and extremely dangerous.

Deputy Mayor Antoine Mott
defends the decision
to lock down the city.

His statement says,
"With no way off the island
for these two fugitives,

the NYPD has every available...

-Nice.
- ...officer scouring
Manhattan. "

How much have you got?

Fifty kilos.

..."until this manhunt
is successfully completed."

-What up, B?
- What up?

This ain't usual and customary.

Nothing is tonight, man.

This is Ray Jackson.

And this is Michael--

The bid you put out
was for 30 keys.

We walked in on 300.

Sometimes lightning strikes,
right?

And even better when you're
a borough away from it.

Yeah, most definitely.

Look, we killed cops,
and now we gotta run forever.

Then get on with
your negotiations and fuck
your little guilt trip, word?

I'm a drug dealer
who hit a rival drug dealer,

and you're the guns
I got to do it.

You think I fucked you
because someone somewhere
forgot a zero?

Our business doesn't attract
a lot of detail-oriented
motherfuckers.

You don't like it,
make your own moves.

Or go drive an Uber.
Either way, let's make this deal

so I can get you America's
Most Wanted motherfuckers

out of my crib fast as I can.

One million.

Pesos?

Yo! I love it when fools
strike gold but don't know
the market price.

Fifty keys cuts into 200.

Going rate for a cut key
in Manhattan is 32 G's.

That means
after a million to us,

that's still 5.4 million
for you.

He's one of those
detail-oriented motherfuckers.

Police!
Don't move! Search warrant!

To the left!

Police! Show me your hands!

Turn around!

Hey, come on.

What's going on?

Get off of him!
No, he didn't do anything!

He can't breathe!

You know if you kill him,

he can't tell us anything?

-Stand up. Step over here.
-Okay.

What's going on?
Is this you?

-No, that is not my car.
-It's registered in your name.

My ex-boyfriend,
he had terrible credit,
so I put it in my name.

He said he sold it!

-He lied.
- All the time.

You beat up the wrong man!

He'll live.

Get him out of here.

Let's go.

Hey. You okay?

Turn around.

Oh, God.

Knock it off. Knock it off.

It's all right. It's all right.

So, this ex-boyfriend
of yours...

Toriano Bush.

-What'd he do now?
- Seven cops
were murdered tonight.

Well, Toriano didn't do that.
-He picked up these two men.

We think they're the murderers.

There isn't a version of this
where these two aren't found.

Cooperate now.

Tell me something I don't know,

and that's
the beginning of the end
of our time together.

Toriano couldn't
kill anyone, you know?

You said that.
But he's a criminal, right?

Small-time.
Wanted to get out. He was
always just too deep in debt.

Is that why you left him?

Debt don't bother me.

Who was Becky
with the good hair?

This waitress ho at the Pan-Am.

-Check it.
-Thank you.

Sit.

Give us a sec.

Hey, Yolanda,
get me everything you have
on Toriano Bush.

And get cameras up and around
the Pan-Am Lounge.

He has a girlfriend there.

Got it.

You have it in hundreds?

Brown people spend Benjamins,

brown people get followed.

Weighs as much as the coke.

You about right.

A million in 20s is 110 pounds.

And stay away from all canines.

They go Cujo because
every dollar in circulation
is covered in cocaine atoms,

and y'all got
50,000 of those bills
in six small bags.

-How do I clean it?
-You don't know some dude
who owns a strip club

-or a parking lot?
-This is seven figures.

Who do you use?

Who everybody else with
seven or more digits does.

Sudanese brother over in
the Meatpacking named Adi.

Cops, too. He's Switzerland.

What does that mean?

Means he's gonna take 300,000,

but he can sort bank accounts,
passports, whatever you need.

I heard about this dude.
Exclusive.

He owe you money?

Bush owes everybody money.

Yeah? How much?

$17,512, as of this morning.

What are you doing?

I just bought your Lincoln.

Let's get out of here.

They'll never know.

You'll never see me again.

I promise.

Yeah, that's...

probably Raymond Jackson.

"Probably"?

Because he always wears
a demon mask?

Not many white dudes
born and raised where we were
during World War Crack.

Okay.

So he's a tough guy.

Yeah, fighting his whole life.

When we were kids,

I watched him beat a grown man

for stepping on this boy
Arvell's sneakers.

This was before the army.

Arvell?

Who's Arvell?

Arvell Trujillo.

He and Ray,
they joined up together.

They just did everything
together.

Is that who else is in the car?

No.

Arvell was blown up
in Afghanistan.

The other man in that car...

is probably Arvell's
little brother, Michael.

Because Ray protects him now.

Michael's smart, you know?

He could have been anything

if he'd have just been born
somewhere else.

But after Arvell was killed,

Michael joined up.

But I heard
he attacked a sergeant.

Okay.

Thank you.

-Come on in.
- We are
getting reports

of huge traffic jams
at the outbound entrances,
bridges, and tunnels.

No one is getting off
this island tonight.

You're causing quite a stir.

...wanted for the slaughter
of seven officers

in Brooklyn tonight
are Raymond Jackson
and Michael Trujillo.

Jackson, at 32 years old,
a long history
of violent crime.

Trujillo,
26 years old, also with
an extensive rap sheet.

Both men are ex-military...

Put your bags in here.

Trujillo was
dishonorably discharged.

Fuck.

We're just getting a statement
from the NYPD, just issued.

We have been told that
the injured officer,
Jennifer Montgomery,

was taken off life support
and declared dead
just minutes ago.

Don't wanna count it?

No one cheats the man
who knows where
all their money is.

Do not close that fucking safe.

What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't buy it.
-Buy what?

This guy, this place.

Where the fuck are we, Mike?

What are we doing?
This isn't us.

We have a million
in fucking cash.

You ever think we'd see that?

You ever think Arvell
even dreamed of this shit?

Now we're just gonna give it
to him? Then what?

He's gonna put it
in the fucking safe, type,

and give us
some fucking gift cards?

-It's that easy?
-Bush knew about this dude.

"Exclusive," remember?
Bush heard about him.

Fucking Toriano's
how all this started.

No, us not walking away
is how this started.

Look, Ray, I get it.
None of this shit
makes any sense.

It ain't like anything
we've ever known.

But ain't no plan B I can see.

They shut down the island.

We can't run around
with 100 pounds
of stained cash.

He puts this money
in some accounts
somewhere far from here,

and then we figure out
how to get to it later.

Ray, put it down.

You fuck us,

and I will fucking bury you
where you stand.

I need a fucking scotch.

I'll pour us both one.

We got a match.

We got a hit.

Bush is at the club.

Positive ID on Toriano Bush
at the Pan-Am.

Closest units,
converge on the Pan-Am Lounge.

Toriano Bush inside.

- Stay on the exits.

Nobody enters until I get there.

No, no! Listen to me, baby.

Police! Drop it!

-Bush!

-Hey, get the fuck back!
-I'm an EMT.

I don't give a shit!
Get the fuck back!

Out of the way.
Get out of the way!

Watch it, watch it, watch it.

Move, move, move!

Come on, Andre.
Answer your fucking phone.

What the fuck is this?

Hey!

-Didn't I say wait?
- We disobeyed.

-You disobeyed?
-He didn't kill
one of your brothers.

So fuck if I'm gonna
let him get away with--

What are you, fucking stupid?
He didn't kill anybody!

He could have led us
to the two who did!

We yelled.
He pulled. We shot.

End of story.
One down, two to go.

That's fucking bullshit!

Says the side piece
of a man who helped

fucking cop killers!

How many drinks
you have tonight?

Hey, don't do
what you're doing right now.

Get your fucking hands off me.

No!

What? What?

Officer, get them the fuck
out of here. Let's go.

You said Bush pulled.

Pulled what?

A fucking .38?

The other two got suppressed
submachine guns,

and Bush was carrying
a piece you only ever see in
a meth addict's glove box...

or a fat cop's ankle holster.

Hey, whoa, whoa.

Who was that, LMSI?

Nanny. Sorry.
My little girl's...

Is everything all right?

No, but we'll be fine.

What the fuck is going on here?

That's what I'm trying
to figure out.

Bahamas is right
for your skin color.

You'll go via Miami.

Three hundred twenty-six
is short.

The rest is cash.

You are now Christopher James.

And, Ray, your new name
is William Simpson.

Take separate buses to Miami.

There's a man named Swift
in Little Havana.

He runs a bar at the corner
of Flagler and 27th Street.

He also sells passports.
They'll be under
your new names.

Then you will pay cash
for a charter boat to Nassau.

There is a ski boot bag
and backpack behind that door.

I'll put 15 in each--

What was that?

It's exactly
what it sounds like.

Whoever is at my door,
you wait and you think.

NYPD! Open up!

What precinct are you from?

Because I'll have your fucking--

Going in!

Fuck!

You two
better not have fucked up.

Are we good?

Is this my case, Captain?

This is all hands on deck,
but you're lead.

Someone should tell them.

Look, they're angry.

They're in pain.

Butchco and his wife
were close
with Jennifer Montgomery.

She didn't make it.
They just pulled the plug.

10-13, we need backup!

This is Kelly!

We're on Ninth and 13th,
shots fired! 10-13!

Ninth and 13th! Suspects
Trujillo and Jackson here!

How the fuck
did Kelly find them?

I can't see anything.

I can't fucking see.

We didn't fuck you over, man.
I swear.

Put those guns
in your mouths,
you motherfuckers!

Fucking 8-5.

What?

Throw your guns down,

you motherfuckers!

It's his thumb drives.

The thumb drives!

What is it?

-"Coolhand."
-Huh?

"Coolhand," one word, lowercase.

Get the shotgun.
Get the shotgun!

We gotta fucking move.

All units, suspects
are 90Z on foot!

-Right there. Don't call it in.
- Vicinity of Ninth and 13th.

They're ours.

We gotta split up.

We're too easy to track
if we're together.

No. No way, man. You need help.

Head down, eyes up.

I'll see you in Miami.

Go!

Okay.

He ain't like me.

He ain't like me.

Mike.

He ain't like me.

Is Ray dead?

I hope so.

Michael?

Is he dead?

Yes.

Stop walking.

You got a clear shot. Take it.

Don't worry about me.

You got lucky.

Yeah.

Luckier than the civilian
he just murdered.

Add that to the list of cops.

How many bodies
stacked up against you
now that Ray is dead?

-Don't try and get
into my head, okay?
-Simple truths, Michael.

And don't use my name!

Take the shot!

Stop fucking walking!

I think most of this mess
is his.

But you're balls-deep
in it now, Michael.

For guys like Ray,
I'm natural causes.

But what about you?

Fuck you know
about guys like Ray, huh?

Fuck you know
about guys like me?

Saw your records.

Marine. Tried to follow in
your brother's footsteps after
he got sent home in a box.

But you...
dishonorably discharged.

Insubordination.

I get it.

Some of us are killers, Michael.

But you, I think
the last thing you want is
to take a life for no reason.

And how you know that, huh?

Because you would have
killed her by now.

Shoot him!

- No!
-Fucking shoot him!

Michael wants to talk.

So, come on, Michael.
Let's talk.

He wants to talk, tell him
to do it without a gun
to my fucking head, Andre.

Burns, be cool.

This is fucking cool.

Just give me a second here.

None of this shit
makes any sense.

The manager
at the spot we hit,
he knew the cops were coming.

It's called a silent alarm.

No. He checked his watch
before it all happened.

And the first four
came peacefully.

I mean, one fucking knocked
with his knuckles
like a Jehovah's Witness,

not with the side of his hand
like a fucking cop.

Andre, for the love of Christ,
are you really gonna entertain
this shit?

Three hundred keys, pure.

I mean, what the fuck?

This whole thing is filthy.

You can't move that type
of weight around without
cartels or cops or both.

And the cops shot
the Cleaner upstairs,

fired right through
the peephole, no warning.

They were there
for more than just us.

And right before we left,
the Cleaner
gave me thumb drives.

Gave what?

Drives.

USBs and shit.

-What's on them?
- Andre.

All he said was "8-5."

Cop-killing piece of shit!

-There's no fucking--
-Burns, stop! Stop!

Michael, look at me.

-Don't fuck with me!

But facts: You shoot her,
I'm gonna kill you
in the same breath.

And everything
you think you know or may
have means nothing.

So drop your weapon,
and let's take a look
at the drives.

No. No, I can't do that.

-Michael,
I need you to trust me.
-I don't trust anybody!

You have no choice.

You're not gonna escape
to some island somewhere,
even after they open this one.

You're smart enough
to know that.

I am, huh?

The world's just gonna
keep closing in on you.

But you can survive this
if you just give yourself up
to me.

No! Michael!

No!

Are you okay?

What the fuck are you doing?

-This is Davis.

Lock down everything
in a seven-block radius

from Weichsel Beef's
center of the circle.

Positive ID
on Michael Trujillo
leaving there 90 seconds ago.

Trujillo has information
vital to this case.

He must be brought in alive.

-Let me see.
-I'm fine.

Yeah, you look it.

I wanna know
what's on those drives.

Central, advise the units that
are 84 to set up a perimeter

from West 12th Street
to West 19th and from
Eighth Avenue to the water.

No one in or out.

What? Can you believe that?

Disgusting. It's disgusting.

And the pool
is on the 26th floor.

- Shh!

I won't hurt you
if you stay quiet.

You got it?

Nod.

Shit. Fuck.

What's the password?

Um...

"Eightclap1."

Gotta spell the word "eight."

One is the number.

One word?
Mm-hmm.

Close your eyes.

Why didn't you shoot him?

They told me you were fearless.

The guy who kills cop killers.

I just need the truth,
that's all.

You believe a cop killer?

Good work, Kelly. Get some rest.

You took down
one vicious son of a bitch.

Yeah, not before he killed
an innocent civilian.

World's a better place
with that guy gone.

You seen his record?

Glanced at it.

I knew I had the right guy
for this.

All hands on deck, right?

It was your boys
who smoked them out
of this apartment.

How did Lieutenant Kelly
even get here so quick?

Look at this fucking mess.

-You still got one guy
on the run, right?
-Yeah.

It's 4:37 a.m.

You've got less than an hour
before I gotta open
the island.

You haven't gotten him
by then, we're all eating shit
for breakfast.

Don't worry about
the other perp.

Andre put that motherfucker
in a seven-block box.

He's on borrowed time.

Michael Trujillo
is still at large,

but police believe he is
surrounded somewhere inside
the Meatpacking District.

The mayor's office
has praised NYPD officers

for the progress
they've made in this manhunt.

Deputy Mayor Antoine Mott
had this to say

in a press briefing
just moments ago.

Mayor Drum cut short
his trade mission to the EU

and is already on a plane home
from Brussels.

Asked me to pass along
his gratitude to the citizens
of this city.

"World's greatest," his words.

Without your patience
and assistance,

and, I'll add, the boldness
of Mayor Drum's idea

to close Manhattan
in the first place,

we wouldn't have
already neutralized two of
the three men responsible

for the ambush at Mosto's

that claimed the lives
of eight of our finest

from the 85th Precinct
last night.

A gunman identified as
Raymond Jackson

and his accomplice,
Toriano Bush,

both died resisting arrest
in the early hours
of this morning.

Both men were armed
and dangerous.

Our brave officers
at the 85th Precinct...

Eighty-fifth.

"Eight-five."

We believe
we have the third man,

Michael Trujillo,
within our grasp.

Eighty-five.

We ask all residents
to shelter in place

while we apprehend Trujillo
and hold him accountable
for his crimes.

Badge numbers.

Every number's a cop.

Help! Help! Help!

Could I speak to the director
of security, please?

I'm sorry, Officer,
just one moment.

Reception.

What?

Sir, you can't be back here.

Where are we going?

We gotta bring him in alive.

...assault
at the Parallax Hotel.
Sounds like Trujillo.

Direction of flight was
through the kitchen at rear.

That's 13th Street. Lock him in.

Nobody approach him! He's mine!

Sir, stop.

Hold it right there!
Show me your hands!

Take the car!
Cut him off on the other side!

Don't shoot!

Trujillo! Drop your weapon!

Police.
Stop, drop on the ground.

Don't shoot! Don't shoot!

Police.

Police, don't move,
don't move, don't move.

Clear the doorway.
Clear the doorway.

Clear the doorway.

NYPD. Take cover.

Clear! Clear!

Come on, clear!

Police. Clear, clear.

Out of the way. NYPD.
Take cover.

Move. Move. Move.

Clear. Clear. Clear.

Drop it!

You're the only cop tonight
who speaks first
and shoots second.

It's fucking morning,
and you killed eight of us.

Not all eight were clean.

Who cares?

You do.

How do you know
I'm any different?

Because you would have
shot me by now.

Where are those drives
we were talking about?

I stashed them.

Okay.

Give them to me,
and I'll keep you alive.

No.

You want the drives,
you let me go.

If you don't walk out
with me, you'll be
carried out by others.

Michael, your only hope
is to tell the truth,

pray to God for forgiveness,

and make peace with the fact
that you may die in prison.

Shooting you sounds
a whole lot better right now.

You don't want my face
and this dirty subway

to be the last things
you ever see.

If I die,
you'll never find out
what's on those drives.

I may not find the drives,

but I will find out
why tonight happened.

But could you prove it?

I only have to prove it
to myself.

Come on, Michael.

Come on.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

Cease fire!

Cease fire!

Cease fire!

What the fuck?

What the fuck, man?

He was surrendering.
He was giving himself up.

He was gonna shoot you.

You didn't see the gun down?

You didn't fucking see
the gun down?

I thought he was gonna shoot.

Central, this is homicide 4-3.
Do you copy?

Central, do you copy?

Be advised, we have shots
fired on the 6 train

coming into Grand Central.

Suspect is down.
Suspect is down.

"Coolhand."

Do you copy?

Central?

"Coolhand."

Central, do you copy?

Central?

Central, advise if you receive
my transmission.

Shit.

Is he gone?

What do you think?

I think they called
the right man for the job.

Hey. Good job.
You did great work.

Way to go. Well done.

Congratulations, Detective.

Thank you, sir.

-Amazing.
-Thanks, guys.

Hey.

What's up?

-This fucking thing is dead.
- Oh.

Can I borrow yours?

Yeah, of course.

-I'll bring it right back.
-Sure.

Good work, Detective.

Great job, Burns.

Thanks, Kelly.

-How's the hand?
-Okay.

Okay. Yes, ma'am.

Voice mail.

Shit.

It's been a long night.
You get some rest.

Yeah, you too.

Go hug that daughter of yours.

Manhattan reopened
at 7:05 this morning

after a night of carnage that
saw eight police officers...

...into and out of Manhattan
were closed last night.

...personally
oversee the successful
conclusion of the manhunt...

...flooded by the NYPD

in what looked and felt like
a military invasion.

What's up?

Goddammit.

Okay, all right, calm down.

Just come over to my place.

Yeah.

I understand.

We'll figure something out.

Just--

I gotta go.

I got a visitor.

Put your gun down here.

Who was on the phone?

My wife.

She's a nurse.

Shift just started.

And that's the story
of all married life.

Guy that owned Mosto's
was your partner.

Mosto's was your vault.

The 8-5 was armored security,
moving drugs around the city
in NYPD vehicles.

Last night was just fucking
bad luck on every level.

A rival hits Mosto's at the same
time your boys drop by
to move a load of coke,

run into men
with training, die, badly.

Those men with training
escape, sell the drugs
and clean the money,

coincidentally with
the same launderer you use.

And you scorch earth
trying to cover it all up.

You're really good.

Not good enough.

Not all the cops killed
last night were a part of it.

Clean or dirty,
they're all dead
'cause of you.

So you know,

this is not about
Cadillacs and fucking Rolexes,
material bullshit.

Not for me.
Not for most of my guys.

It's about having a life.

My first month
running the 8-5, I went to
two of my cops' funerals.

First one
went 60 miles an hour
into a bridge abutment.

His blood alcohol was .25.

Second guy
drank himself to death too.

Cirrhosis.

Three of my cops
had their homes foreclosed on.

Another guy lost his apartment.

Shitty landlord
doubled the rent.

The divorce rate in the 8-5
was over 70%.

This is about my cops
staying married,

raising their kids,

not having to spend
four hours a day
sitting in traffic,

crawling to and from a city
they can't afford to live in,

a city that actively
fucking dislikes them.

But a city that they protect...

with their lives
every fucking day.

That's what this is about.

I'll tell you what,
anybody tells you money can't
buy happiness is full of shit.

And the 8-5 is proof.

Frankie Burns is proof.

Did you put her on this
just to make sure
I did your bidding?

I put her on this 'cause she
might be as good as you.

And she's got everything
to lose.

Three guys murdered my father.

He took two with him.

But the third,

he hit my dad so many times
he broke every bone
in his face.

That's why we had to have
a closed casket.

Guy told the judge...

he didn't even remember
doing it.

He was so jacked, so...

so high on cocaine
and angel dust.

The drugs
have always been there.

And they always will be.

And people will always die
because of them.

That blood, that blood
cannot be on the badge.

You can't prove where
those flash drives came from.

And nobody is gonna
take the stand against me.

So if you go down this road,
Andre, you're on your own.

You'll be looking
over your shoulder
the rest of your life.

-I know.

Or you could just look
the other way.

I'd rather
look the devil in the eye.

I get you?

You wouldn't ask
if you didn't know.

Hurts like a motherfucker,
right?

I'll live.

You can if you give yourself up.

It's the only choice
available to you right now.

Maybe.

Don't do it.

He's gone.

It's over.

So put your gun down.

I'm gonna turn around
and face you, Burns.

No.

I'm gonna turn around.

I have the drives.

I copied them.

They're already
out in the world.

You're going down, Burns.

Every dirty cop in the 8-5
is going down.

You pull that trigger,
you get life.

Your daughter
doesn't need to grow up
without her mother.

Badge too.