All language subtitles for 27.The Boondock Saints II-All Saints Day-eng

There's two kinds of people in this world
when you boil it all down.

You've got your talkers
and you've got your doers.

Most people are just talkers.
All they got is talk.

But when all is said and done,
it's the doers who change this world.

And when they do that, they change us.
And that's why we never forget them.

So, which one are you?

Do you just talk about it

or do you stand up
and do something about it?

Because believe you me, all the rest
of it is just coffeehouse bullshit.

Peace, they say,
is the enemy of memory.

So it had been for my boys.

For some time now,
the past had felt like a dream to them,

faded and worn.

And then suddenly,
as if not a day had passed,

it was back.

I could see it in their eyes.

I could feel it,
heavy in their presence.

Something calling them back.

Something's happened.

No! Stop! Stop, stop!

Please, stop! Oh, God!
Please! Please!

God, no, stop...

A priest?

Did they release his name?

No, but I made a few calls.
I still have friends in the diocese there.

McKinney. Father Douglas McKinney.

- You knew him?
- Knew of him. Everybody did.

He's a good man.
Youth hostels, soup kitchens.

He even made it to the papers sometimes.

Look, boys,
I think it's best if you just stay put

until we try to figure out
what the hell is going on.

Aren't you at least gonna try
and talk them out of this?

For all we know, it could be somebody
just trying to get away with murder here.

Aye.

Only there's a thousand easier ways
to do that.

Trust me.

Someone's trying to call them out.

You kill a priest, in a church,
and make it look like it was them.

Bring them back with a vengeance.

Someone thinks it's really clever.

- Only one problem with this little plan.
- What's that?

It worked.

Exactly what do you intend to do?

Every last motherfucker
that had anything to do with it.

There is no new information
on the victim found slain

this morning inside
the Church of the Holy Saints.

As you can see, the size of the crowd here
has increased substantially

as we have confirmed that the body
was ritualized with pennies in the eyes.

Many remember this
as the grisly calling card

of the prolific vigilante killers
known as the Saints,

who went on a murder spree here in Boston.

A rampage that ended eight years ago when
the Saints brazenly walked into open court

and executed Mafia don
Poppa Joe Yakavetta

before a courtroom of terrified witnesses

and then simply disappeared
without a trace.

As police have yet to confirm
the Saints' possible involvement,

the ominous question
hangs heavy in the air.

“Are they back?�

We need to keep our heads here.

It's probably not even them.

Course it ain't them.
It doesn't really matter, does it?

All our skeletons just came screaming
out of the closet.

- We're fucked!
- We're not fucked!

We are totally fucked!
And not just fucked.

Like elephant-dick-pounded-in-the-ass,
no-reach-around, jungle-fucked...

Now's not the time to panic,
green beans!

I disagree! Now is a perfect time
to panic. We are all accessories...

- Don't fucking say it!
- I'm gonna say it, all right.

- You've got a mouth on you, Greenly.
- Both of you calm down.

- Just calm down.
- Shut the fuck up!

Her ETA's 10 minutes.

Thanks, Seamus.

It's game time.
How we playing this?

Feds love to pull
the divide-and-conquer routine.

We hardline her.
Stick together on this.

- Agreed?
- Agreed.

We're a brick wall.

Let's rock this bitch.

Eunice Bloom.
It's a pleasure.

Now, you have got to be Greenly.

Smecker always said
you were the funny one.

Well, funny as in ha-ha, though,

not like funny as in... gay,
'cause I'm totally not.

What we're trying to figure out is,
with all due respect, Agent Bloom...

- Special.
- Excuse me?

You see, there's a... special
before my agent.

If we're gonna address each other formally,
I'd appreciate if you popped it in there,

because it makes me feel special.

Of course, I was hoping
we could be a bit more personable.

In fact, I'd welcome you
to call me Eunice, and maybe I...

Okay, Eunice.

I don't see why the fuck the Fed...

- is even involved.
- Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Fuck?...
This isn't a fuck situation, is it?

I mean, I can understand a goddamn
or two, but why skip all the way...

What is the Fed's
interest in this?

Their interest, Detective,
is capturing the men responsible...

for the murders
of 22 of Boston's finest criminals.

They could have sent anyone.
They sent me.

Now, why do you think that is?

Well, since we've already broken
the fuck barrier, allow me to be blunt.

It is because I am so fucking smart...

that I make smart people feel
that they are retarded.

- Motherfuckers! Which one do you want?
- Me first, man, me first!

Bust his head!

That son of a bitch over there!

All right! House is closed, motherfuckers!

Why are his hands chained?

Romeo is very fast, man.

He says the Frenchman can't lay
a hand on him.

But he can't hit him back.

That's the bet, ese.

He's got to last five minutes.

- Fifty on the Mexican.
- Fifty on the Mexican.

Never fight a Mexican, Pierre.

Pound for pound,
toughest motherfuckers on Earth!

Attaboy!

You know why? We like pain, Pierre.

Come on, come on, come on!
Come on, come on!

Think about it, man. Tabasco sauce?

What kind of fucked-up people
would even invent that shit?

Get the fuck out of the way!

Whore.

Don't be scared, now.
Remember, I can't hit you.

I ain't gonna hit you!

Found a loophole, bitch!
I ought to be a lawyer.

Thank you!

Shit, man!

Please, stop! Oh, God! Please!

Please! Oh, God. Oh, God! Oh, God!

It wasn't them,
but I'm sure you boys already knew that.

All their vics were criminals.
Clearly not the case here.

So, it wasn't them,

which makes this a local matter
and falls under our jurisdiction.

So, with all due respect,
we'll see you later, Special Agent Bloom.

With all due respect.
Man, I hate it when people say that,

because it is inevitably followed
by a disrespectful remark.

Here, let me give you an example.

With all due respect, Detective,

this matter falls
under whatever jurisdiction...

I fucking say it does.

- You fucking...
- Let's just...

What can you tell us
about the shooters?

"Shooter"... singular.

And I can tell you...

How shall I put this delicately?
He's a short little fucker.

One guy. Dwarf. Got it.

Let me show you what I'm talking about.

Detective Greenly,

you're the victim.

David. You can call me David.

Very well, David.

The Saints' signature stance,
Copley Plaza Hotel eight years ago.

Two men of identical height
put Yuri Petrova on his knees

and each dropped iron
to the back of his head.

Power hath descended forth from Thy hand.

Eyes front, David.

The position of the victim and the angles
produced by the killers' stance...

created a unique scenario.

The bullets crisscrossed in the skull
and exited the eyes.

Here, this did not occur. The rounds
moved on a straight trajectory...

through the back of the victim's head
and out the front,

which happens when...

One guy's holding two guns
to the back of your head.

One guy.

But you said he was wicked short.

The Saints were later determined
to be 5 feet 11 inches tall.

The rounds exit
Petrova's eyeballs.

Here, they came out the lower cheek,
three, four inches below the eyes.

That puts him at 5... 7-ish.
That's not uncommonly short.

The killer posed
as a late-night confessor.

Once the victim entered the booth,
the killer had him isolated. No escape.

Short stuff comes out of the confessional,
kicks in the door of the priest's chambers,

leaving a crescent-shaped indentation,

which tells us that this cowboy was
wearing a boot with a pronounced heel.

Gave him a couple inches.

We're looking about
five foot five, gentlemen.

- That's wicked short.
- Wicked.

Speculation on the Saints'
possible involvement...

in the murder of Father
Douglas McKinney continues to boil over.

In fact, it has split the public
right down the middle.

My cousin was there. He saw the body.
His hands were crossed over his chest.

- It was them.
- It wasn't them.

You know,
maybe the priest did something.

There were pennies in his eyes,
they did it.

- They didn't do it.
- It wasn't them.

- You're on the air, caller.
- Well, finally, man, yeah.

This guy was indicted last year
for ordering the murders of 22 people.

And it slid right off his back.
Piece of shit!

Indeed, Boston has been under the
terrible reign of this thug for years now.

Where's the DA's office?

Why can't they make anything stick
to Concezio Yakavetta?

I can't believe that none of us
were consulted on this!

The disrespect!

We never would have okayed
such a thing. A priest! It's infamit�!

Are we not Catholics?
For Christ's fucking sakes!

And for what? Revenge?
There's no business in it, Concezio.

The cops.
They can be all over us.

Forget the cops.
What about these Saints fuckers?

These guys were long gone,

and now you're trying to bring the devil
right back to our doorstep?

Eight years ago,

these vigilante fucks
put my father on his knees...

and executed him...

in public.

Mi padrino, a blood relative
and benedictator to all of you.

You think that I don't know
that each one of you...

has been waking up with the
night sweats over this for 8 years?

These sons of bitches
prison-fucked us!

In the ass!

And then they wiped their dicks
on our grandma's drapes!

And we have been living in silent fear
ever since.

We don't talk about it.

Rape victims seldom do.

Concezio is right.
Pretending you don't got a problem

don't solve nothing.

Let's take a moment

and look at the serendiculous…

Seren… Seren… Seren…

Serendipitous.

type situation we find ourselves in.

There's a wicked good chance
that these Saints are gonna show.

And this time,
they don't catch us with our pants down.

This time, we deal with them
proactiviously, huh?

And don't forget Boston's finest.

With their second bite at the apple

they've got every reason in the world
to crank up the heat.

And as for the Saints' doting fans,

fuck them!

Bad luck.

How would he even recognize us?

You don't remember the fucking sketches
on the news channel?

- Shit, that's right.
- Fuck's sake.

You know,
every time you see those composites on TV

and they catch the guy,
it looks nothing like him.

- But ours...
- Just our luck, right?

We draw Leonardo fucking da Vinci
as a sketch artist.

And two days ago,
we looked like Jesus Christ.

- What the fuck we cut our hair for?
- Yeah, that's right.

I don't know, it seemed like the thing
to do at the time, though, didn't it?

- Maybe we should dye it.
- What?

Well, they're always dying their hair
in the movies, like The Fugitive.

It's covert and shit.

What color would you dye it?

Lighter, I guess.

- Do you mean blonde?
- I didn't fucking say that.

Like California surfer boy.

- It's not what I'm saying.
- Like gay, gay, gay,

- faggoty blonde.
- I'm fucking warning you!

- Stay gold, Ponyboy!
- I'm fucking warning you!

- Stay gold...
- Fuck you!

You fucking cunt!

Jesus fucking Christ!

- Well, I was fucking mad!
- Shit!

What kinda fucking crazy...

- I know who you are. You guys are...
- Shut it!

This is so fucking cool, man!

I'm from Boston and I love you guys.
Shit, everybody loves you guys.

Maybe I can get on this thing.
You know, bring some raza into this.

Hey, is it true that you guys say a prayer
before you grease somebody?

And an awesome wailing
was heard throughout heaven.

And the terrible hand of the Lord
struck upon the Earth.

And as Almighty God
created you,

now he calleth you home!

Busy signal.
Will have to call us back.

Let's have a shot
while we're waiting.

- I think he took a little piss.
- That shit was not funny!

It just came out me fucking nose.

Thank you, Jesus.
Thought I greased my drawers.

No.

I've got connects
all over Beantown, man.

Romeo will hook you up
like a tow truck.

- No.
- Why not?

We don't have to give you
fucking reasons. Forget it.

It's because I'm Mexican, isn't it?

How dare you, sir,
insinuate such a thing?

The fact that you're a greasy spic,
it's got nothing to do with it.

Okay, I'm gonna let you have that one,
but, look, I can do this.

This isn't rocket surgery.

You guys find the bad guys
doing bad stuff and you kill them, right?

Well, it's not that simple, actually.

- Yes, it is.
- Suppose you're right.

I was just hoping that we was
a bit more artistic about it, I think.

Yeah? Well, you ain't.

Now, what do you plan on doing
when you get to US soil?

We don't really have, you know,
a succinct plan yet, you know, per se.

Haven't really worked it all out,
as it were.

As it were.
Not fully developed, per se.

You two leprechaun dicks
need to chill in the greenroom...

sipping on some Pellegrino
and let your manager handle the details.

And you'd better have
my Cub Scout badge ready.

Because if you wanna kick Yakavetta
in the nuts,

have him wake up
with a horse head in his bed,

Romeo's got an ace in the hole
for you.

And that's all she wrote.
Everything points in the same direction.

Get out.

Look, I have been stonewalling
the media on this thing.

I've got half of New England
thinking the Saints whacked the priest

and the other half
thinking they're innocent.

It's a powder keg.

And we're talking riot gear
at Celtics games here.

Now, I can clear them of this murder
and take the piss right out of this thing.

Now, give me one reason
why I shouldn't take this public right now.

Walk with me, Chief. Let's talk.

This is not good.

She's gunning for the boys hard.

This broad trying to put a feather
in her cap is gonna get us all locked up.

- I mean, this couldn't be going any worse.
- Just calm down.

Calm down? Calm down? You know
they're gonna throw us in the Hoag.

We put half those deranged
sex freaks in there.

I hope you guys like
cock sandwiches,

because we'll be eating them
for breakfast, lunch and dinner!

Now, I understand
you've got a job to do, Chief.

But this pint-sized killer
is the only thing...

that puts Yakavetta
right in the middle of this.

And if Concezio even sniffs
that we on to him,

he puts a bullet
in Napoleon's head,

plants him at the bottom
of the ocean and walks.

Now it is imperative
that we find this little man.

You've said some dumb shit in your days,
but that�I... you know, that... that...

What? We're all assuming
Smecker didn't tell her.

Oh, yeah, by the way,
me and three Boston detectives...

are accessories to murder.
Pass the malt vinegar...

Smecker may have been a lotta things,
but he was a stand-up guy.

- And we took an oath. The four of us!
- Yeah!

- Okay! I was just thinking.
- Well, don't do that.

- You're no good at it.
- Fuck you!

You're as dumb as a fucking heel,

- you know that, you blowjob?
- Fucking, cocksucking, hard-on...

Jesus Christ! Look! We need to figure out
what we're gonna do...

when the boys show
and start doing what they do best.

Because that's when the shit's
really gonna hit the fan!

But everyone is assuming
that the boys are gonna turn up.

We got no way of knowing that for sure.

Yeah, that could totally happen.

They could not come back.

What dream world did you two
just slip into?

We know the boys.

Is there any part of you that thinks
they're just gonna let this slide?

Believe this.

They're either on their way
or they're already here.

I thought you said your car
was inconspicuous.

Yeah, well, I don't like words
with “spic” right in the middle.

Besides, it is where I live.

Yeah? Where's that? Margaritaville?

Hey, I hail from a colorful people.

Besides, you wouldn't know style
if it pitched a tent in your ass.

Ace in the hole time.

Been a lot of chatter about Yakavetta
being in bed with the Chinese.

This here is little Yaka's yeyo.

All right, here's the plan.

Then we skin out,
we go to Doc's for a shot of Irish,

we're at home in time for tacos.

That's what we do, huh?

- What?
- Well, it's... it's just this plan...

- What the fuck's wrong with the plan?
- It's... it's...

Genius.
I can even drive an f-lift, man.

- Got my Class D license and everything.
- That's the fucking spirit!

I'm gonna need a gun.

- Forget it.
- Forget it.

What the fuck, man?
I'm in on this shit. I'm working here!

- Okay.
- For fuck's sake!

Here's what you're gonna do.

You're gonna consider yourself a
fucking pledge until we tell you different.

Can I consider myself
your girlfriend, too?

That's what you get.
Is there a fucking problem?

It's fine.

I'm fucking watching you.

You understand me?
Now, you stow that shit.

Don't you worry, Rome.
Shit like this, it builds character.

Yeah, the character of a little bitch.

Now, that's just unprofessional.

So, what do you think?

I think Yakavetta killed a good man
just to send us a message.

Well, let's send him one right back.

Motoring...

night...

right...

And something
that rhymes with light...

- Why?
- I don't know.

It's not them.

It's them.

A wise man once told me,

when a man's actions are firmly bound
to an unshakable faith,

one's worst nightmares
become sudden... terrifying reality.

You didn't have to bash me
in the skull!

Sorry, man,
we got a plan going here.

Technically, I was supposed
to knock you out.

But they gave me this faggoty little gun,
see... and the weight's just not, uh...

Christ, that's a gun?

Why didn't you just point it at me
and say scram?

- Scram! Get the fuck outta here! Now!
- You got it!

Hey, guys, let's not let this
one little incident get in the way of...

Shut up and get back
behind the fucking wheel!

- Jeez!
- Well,

at least your plan's
off to a winning start.

Go fuck yourself.

Oh, fuck.

That's heroin.

- How the fuck would you know?
- Fuck you. I know shit.

What's the symbolism here?

- Symbolism?
- Yeah. What does this symbolize?

Well, it symbolizes a huge fuck-up.

This is a plan that fell to pieces.

A lot of it don't make sense,
which is why it all makes perfect sense.

- Christ, what the fuck's he doing?
- I don't know. Hang on!

Fuck's sake.

All right, all right.

Christ, he can't fucking see
where he's going!

Shit! Turn to the left now!
Tell him!

- Go left! Go left!
- What?

- That's it! Go that way!
- Left? Fuck!

I can't believe I let you talk me
into this fucking stupid plan.

It's all in the execution. And your
negative attitude ain't helping any!

- What? What the fuck?
- Negative attitude?

- My fucking negative attitude?
- Yeah, your negative attitude!

You've got to visualize
the end result!

You've got to force it into reality!
Believe!

You've got to fucking believe!

I'm about to believe my fist
right up your fucking ass!

You'll do what?

- Not a believer!
- That's another thing,

don't be down at me,
'cause I'm right fucking there, man!

You've got to believe!

This bitch is fast-a-rooney.

- What's that fork-lift doing here?
- Where?

- Wait, wait, hold on.
- Uppey-downey!

Shit!

Hey! What the hell
is going on here?

Boys, I believe things
in our fair, little city...

just got downright biblical.

Wait, wait, wait, wait.
Wait! Hold it right there!

Why you're doing this?

And shepherds we shall be,
for Thee, my Lord, for Thee.

Power hath descended forth
from Thy hand,

that our feet may swiftly
carry out Thy command.

So we shall flow a river forth to Thee
and teeming with souls shall it ever be.

- Spiritus Santi.
- Spiritus Santi.

While the wicked stand confounded,

call me with Thy Saints surrounded.

Ballistics just dug it out.

A 22? Oh, you got to be kidding me.
That's like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

Yeah, or like bringing a really
small gun... to a gunfight.

I don't know.

Ballistics is reading 3 shooters,
and this is one of them.

I find it hard to believe that 1 of the 3
most lethal individuals on the planet...

just switched over to birdshot.

Maybe we're reading this wrong.
Priest was a frame job, right?

Yeah, maybe somebody's trying
to eliminate some competition here?

Yeah.

No, sir, it's them.

Here he comes.

- Doc!
- Doc!

Boys!

You're a sight for sore eyes.
Come on in here with that. Get in quick.

Get in out of the cold.
Come on.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
I saw the... the... the news channel.

- Are you boys all right?
- Sound as an Irish pound, Doc.

- Is it too late for a shot?
- The Lord told me you'd be coming.

Doc, he said. They'd be coming.
And I was to have everything ready.

And I have.
I have everything...

It's all set.

This is our Mexican.

Nice to meet you, lad.
They call me... Fuck! Ass!

How you doing, Fuck Ass?
I'm Romeo.

This used to be a speakeasy in the '40s.
I only use it for storage now.

- Holy shit.
- Holy shit.

This is so fucking cool!

Nobody knows it's up here.
You'll be safe.

And... you can get in and out
the... fire escape.

Know what this is? This is our hideout.
We got a fucking hideout, man!

He thinks he's fucking
five years old.

You know, Rome,
we got sticks and blankets.

You can make yourself a fort.

Fuck the both of you, man.
This is fucking sweet.

We even got
pinball machines, man.

Lobster dick!
Look at me! Lobster dick!

Not this time, you little shit.

We'll see about that, old man.

Would somebody
please come over here and...

- Fuck!
- Me up the...

- Ass!
- Yes! That's what he done!

That's what he's done every time!
I took you down, old man, I took you down!

Are you hungry, lad?
I sent Louie out for some sandwiches.

I could eat.

Decent work.

Do you know what I'm thinking
would be a nice match for the back?

That chocolate hide with the heavy marbling

we've been trying to get rid of
for the last six months.

We'll make a leather man
out of you yet, son.

Go to it, lad.

I can't help you with that, lads.

But if you need something, anything,
made out of leather,

we'd be happy to do the job.

How many times have I been nice to you?

How many times do my people come here
and talk to you?

This song and dance is over.
It's over, motherfucker!

You didn't see anything!

Noah!

No, no, no. No, no, no, no!

We got to call the polizia, Noah!
We got to call somebody.

Noah! No.

You young guys worry too much.

We always bounce back.

Besides, better the chinks than us, right?

This is some serious shit here!

Something amusing you, queer bait?

- No, I was just...
- You should be focused on the next step!

That shipment of H was gonna
square our books for the next six months!

- Any thoughts on that?
- Yeah, I got some thoughts on that.

I was just thinking,
not too serendipitous for us.

You…

It's like the Roman Empire in here.
You even got concubines and shit.

- George. What gives here?
- A little cannoli, shrimp cocktail, huh?

I need to see the boss, right away.

Jimmy the Gofer, la cortina.

Get over here.

Hey, boss,
I just came by to tell you...

Push the talk button, numb nuts!

Hello, can you hear me? Over.

I can hear you fine.
Now what the fuck are you doing here?

Copy that. Everything's in motion.

All our guys
are gunning for these Jesus freaks.

I figure there's no need for me to be
on the streets no more.

So, which one of these rooms
do you want me to take, huh?

Are your ears fucking painted on?
Did I not make it perfectly clear

that you're to stay on the streets
until this is over?

- I was...
- Now get the fuck outta here!

Douche bag!

And don't come back till I say you can
or you're going back to Brooklyn,

you fat fucking waste of space!

You wanna find something in Boston
that don't wanna be found,

my Uncle Cesar is a veterano.

Out the game,
but still got his name.

Yakavetta's gunning for you
muchachos, and hard.

Even posted a reward, like... um,
Jesse James-style shit.

Anyway, any of his guys
that take you out...

gets his palm crossed.

Two hundred
and fifty big ones.

Quarter mil for us?

Us?...
What're you talking about, us?

Uncle, why do you disrespect me
in front of my friends?

I'm disrespecting you?

A year ago you were washing
my pots and pans.

Yes, but I don't wash
fucking pots and pans anymore.

I'm a part of this Uncle.

Nephew, this is not
my first barbeque, eh?

He's with us.

Is he?

And is my nephew here
pulling his own weight?

A lot of heart.

Ahora, Gorgeous George is running
the show right now for little Yaka.

And if anyone knows where he is,
it's that fat, fucking ugly perico.

I'll get it out on the wire.

Anybody hungry?

- Maybe we should stop at an IHOP or...
- Shut up!

Romeo's crying.

Fucking assholes!

Shut up!

Oh, yeah.

Yeah, that feels good.

Somebody had their Wheaties
this morning.

Yeah, get after it, girl.

Oh, that's good.

Hey, let's keep this
professional, baby.

No offense, but I don't need you
calling me all the time.

What the fuck!
I'll kill you, you fucking bitch!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa...

What the fuck
did you just say to me?

I'm... I'm sorry
I called you that.

How courteous of you
to apologize.

Courtesy is so important,
don't you agree?

Yeah. Yeah,
I'm down with that.

Good.
Now sit your fat ass down.

Where is Concezio Yakavetta?

- I don't know.
- Yeah, there's a lot you don't know, hoss.

For instance,
you're the only New York guy, George.

Your blood just ain't quite as blue
as the rest of them, is it?

Explains why you ain't safely tucked away
in some ivory tower

with the rest of them bigwigs sucking on
cannoli and cocktail shrimp right now.

That's why you're the one
he left on the streets, George.

Like you know shit all of a sudden.

Somebody's got to run
our legitimate businesses.

- Somebody's got to be out there making...
- Someone's got to chum the waters.

Bullshit! And I ain't saying
another fucking word to you!

Good. You can just listen.

We know Concezio had that priest killed.

That's another thing you don't know,
I reckon.

But then why would he tell you
that, George?

You and your boys on the street,

y'all is bait.

Gorgeous George, huh?

Expendable George is more like it.

By the by, you've got a pretty nice ass
for a fat man.

A priest. Sick fuck, huh?

So, until the Saints get popped,
we're all lambs to the slaughter.

And he don't care how many of us
they wipe out in the meantime.

What do you need me to do, Skip?

- Down the brugliones.
- What, everyone?

North and South?
That could get a little dicey.

- Fuck their old grudges!
- Grudges have nothing to do with it.

- They're all in this!
- You know I don't take sides.

I don't care, Jo Jo!

- You know I don't.
- You don't take sides?

- Never me! Never me!
- You don't take sides?

You're gonna take my fucking side
on this, Jo Jo!

- You talk to that mick Jimmy Green.
- Here we go again.

- Jimmy'll tell you that!
- Jimmy Green! Jimmy Green!

I don't care if Jimmy Green hollowed
out your sister like a Chippewa Indian!

You're gonna get in there, Jo Jo,

and you're gonna middle-of-the-road
this fucking thing for me,

and you're not gonna fuck it up!

You tell them everything
that we discussed!

Even the panic room thing?

Sure.

Good. Because that's a nice
icebreaker, they'll like that.

You know, I didn't even know
those things were real.

I thought they made that up
for that movie.

Remember the one
with the broad and the kid?

The guys in the house?

Panic… Panic Room?

- No, the other one.
- Stop fucking around!

This is serious shit here, Jo Jo!
You tell them we meet tomorrow night.

- All right.
- I'll call you with the fucking location.

- Okay.
- Fucking thing.

Come on, kid.
It was a fucking...

It was a fucking accident.

We can work this out.

He ain't gonna do shit.

You're Italian Kid.

Help us out here.

Think it over.

I am his friend.

Fuck him and fuck his friend.
Deal the cards! He ain't got the balls.

What did we do?

Connor.

God! No!

Why did they use his mug shot?

What? No.

Yeah, you remember
when he said he was all embarrassed

because that fellow had to hold up
all his long hair behind his head?

Aye.

That's an arm.

Hey, Rocco!

Qu� pas�?

I got the info you wanted, mijo.

The place is called Tando's
Tanning Salon on Bunker Hill.

That's where the fucking gero
gets his fake bake at.

European cut.
Far superior.

Yeah! You've just been paid
So split now

Lovely singing voice there, Georgie.
We'd like you to sing for us.

Can you do that for me?

Can you do that for me?
Can you do that for me?!

It's getting hard to be a gentleman
of fucking leisure around here!

I want the name of the shooter
you motherfuckers used on that priest!

What priest?

His fucking name!

- I don't know who it is!
- That's fucking bullshit!

It's the truth! Concezio didn't tell
nobody what he was doing...

'cause he knew
nobody would have okayed it!

The shooter's an independent contractor!
That's all I fucking know!

Where the fuck
is Yakavetta hiding?

Prudential Building, 40th floor.

Jesus Christ!

You meeting someone tonight?

Yakavetta's racket chiefs.
Street guys.

Your kinda guys. You could take
a real bite outta crime here.

- And I can help you.
- What the fuck is that?

Nobody forgot
what you guys did to us last time.

Everybody's hiding indoors.
They give out the location an hour before.

My uncle's place is closed tonight.
I got the key.

How does Mexican work for you, George?
Do you like that?

Doesn't matter to me. I think I just shit
my European-cut Speedos.

- What's this?
- Rosary bead.

Found it pushed under the carpet
near the victim.

Father McKinney wasn't wearing a rosary,
so it's probably been there a while.

The results on all 864 prints
found at the scene.

All matched churchgoers
and clergy... but one.

Partial on the priest's watch
is still unidentified.

No. No, that's horseshit.
Everybody gets printed nowadays.

They even are inking up these snot gobblers
in kindergarten now.

It's a brick wall anyway.

We know Napoleon was wearing gloves.
The lab got zilch on the lock and chain.

Even the pennies came up clean.

I'm gonna go powder my nose.

Man. Daddy would knock that out
like Mike fucking Tyson.

- Hey!
- What? I didn't say nothing.

McKinney wore his watch on his left wrist.
Where was this found exactly?

Right here, off his left elbow.

Just occurred to me that priests
wear the rosary while taking confession.

- She's right.
- Dolly, get on the phone...

and find out which wrist
he wore his rosary on.

Duffy, push that partial
through the DMV.

David, you put it through Interpol
just to get an ID now.

Come on, vamoose!

You took your gloves off,
didn't you, cowboy?

Now why would you go
and do a damn fool thing like that?

Just two more to go.

You guys are gonna let me go, right?

I guess we'll just have to wait and see,
won't we?

Jesus Christ,
this is some embarrassing shit.

Don't worry. We worked
on a sheep farm, smelled way worse.

Although that is right up there.

Yo, spicaroo.
More nachos and m�s salsa, capisci?

- Hey, and I need a refill here, pepe.
- xxx

Oh, easy! Jesus!

- Howdy, David?
- Hey!

We just dumped a text message
from George's cell. Just two words.

"Silver Peso". It's a Mexican joint
down by the docks.

Sent it to his enforcer,
Jo Jo Rhama.

Guess... gangsters
gotta eat, too, huh?

I think I'll drop in
on their little supper,

see if I can shake things
up a bit.

Need a bodyguard?

No, thank you, Mike Tyson.
Bye, now.

Bye.

These dagos are getting antsy, man.
I'm getting spicarooed and pepe'd.

All right, calm the fuck down.

You got to stick it out.
Just wait on one more.

He is not with them.

It is only the sons.

They have a Spaniard with them.

They will slaughter everyone.

Let them.

If you kill the sons…

the father will come.

Gentlemen.

All right. The gang's all here.

Give me my fucking BB gun.

No, Rome. You've earned your stripes.

Hey, tighten it up.

So?

Where's Gorgeous?

Is that George?

What the fuck is that?

It's Irish for,
You're fucked...

Que viva M�xico, bitches!

I've seen the light!

You guys have really
turned me around on this.

I'm, like, born again and shit!

Should we let him go?

You know what I think
we should do?

I think we should let God decide
if he gets a second chance.

What the fuck you doing?

What the...
No, man, come on.

Hey, what the fuck
you gonna do?

You had best be right
with your Jesus, boy.

Well! Praise be to Jesus!

- Georgie.
- Yeah?

You know all good boys
go to heaven.

You know, that was perhaps one of the
finest examples of spiritual guidance...

I've ever had the good fortune
to witness.

It was wonderful, wasn't it?

Mysterious ways, I tell you,
mysterious ways.

You know, it's about time
one of your fucking plans...

- Put it down!
- Drop the gun!

Put the goddamn gun down
right fucking now!

Easy, fellas. And I'm alone.

- He's gone.
- Who the fuck are you?

My name is Eunice Bloom.
And I'm your new guardian angel.

The torch was passed to me
by a mutual friend.

A mutual friend?
By the name of fucking who?

Paul Maximilian fucking Smecker.

We heard. He was a good man.

- Aye. You have our condolences.
- And you mine.

Well, I'm glad everybody...
Who the fuck was that guy?

That, I suspect, was the shooter
you boys have been looking for.

Who the fuck is this broad?
What the fuck is going on here?

Let's speed this up before your new
sidekick's gotta dig any deeper

into his impressive vocabulary.

- Oh, no, you didn't!
- Oh, yes I did.

I am an FBI agent controlling
this investigation from within

in order to ensure that you gentlemen
never see the inside of a prison cell.

Now, I am conspiring to do this
with three like-minded individuals

who have aided you in the past.

Though I have yet to inform them
of my agenda because,

well, a girl's gotta have her fun.

- Dolly, Duffy and Greenly?
- The very same.

How are the lads doing?

Two of them are scared.
One's just horny.

- Bet you I can tell you which one.
- Bet you can't. Let's save it for group.

- Right now we've got a big problem.
- What's that, then?

This simply won't do.

Here's how it all went down.

A secret gathering of the brugliones.
Topic of discussion...

Yakavetta's lost control of the streets.
They're fighting over his throne.

This was not the work of the Saints.

Interpol came through.

You were right, five foot five.
Gotta be the shooter.

That ain't all. Short stuff's work visa
was signed by a sponsor that doesn't exist.

Look at the date.
Two months after 9/11.

What? I don't get it.

Someone maneuvered it through
the system using false information...

during the highest alert
in US history.

Yakavetta's just a gangster.
He ain't got the juice to do that.

You're darn tooting, he don't.

Irregardless, INS red-flagged it
like a motherfucker. It's a shit storm.

Something stinks
like a pig's ass in summertime.

Come on.
We've got someplace to be.

It's, like, 2:00 am.
There's nothing open now.

It's after hours. I mean,
if you want a drink...

Thirty-seven bodies later,
and we're finally back where it all began.

You boys ever heard
of the Southern expression,

"We have an elephant
in the living room"?

Hope you fellows
brought some peanuts.

What is this? What is this?

Who the fuck are you? You're either vice
or IAD. You're IAD, aren't you?

Okay, come on, fucking arrest us!
Arrest us! I'm ready! Come on out!

Hands above your head!

Stop it! God damn it!

You don't write!
You don't fucking call!

- You should be ashamed of yourselves!
- Get the fuck outta here!

You knew all along?

Not keeping in touch
with your old friends! Fucking bitch!

- Shame on you!
- You're beautiful, babe!

Thank you! Thank you!

- This is the fellow?
- That's the fellow.

He's a Sicilian immigrant,
name of Ottilio Panza.

He'll be front-page news
in the morning,

but we have to assume that Yakavetta
already knows we've ID'd his guy.

Can't give him time to plan-B us.

We're hitting him in 48 hours.
That fast enough for you?

- Should be. Where is it gonna happen?
- The Pru.

The Prudential?
What are you, cracked?

Why don't you just do it on center ice
at a fucking Bruins game?

That's where the man is,
so that's where we're going.

- No guts, no glory, green beans.
- In fact, we could use a few extra hands.

That is, if you boys
can still get your Irish on.

Hey, I got balls for days, pally.
I'm a fucking sack-o-matic.

Yeah. He's a sack-o-matic.

- We're in.
- We're in.

Alright, you boys have fun. Connor,
Murphy, escort a lady to the door.

You sure you don't wanna hear
the plan?

I'm not one to sit here
and brag, but, uh...

Oh, Jesus.

this one's really Picasso.
Shut your hole.

No, I want to critique your masterpiece
with fresh eyes.

Besides, school night.

- Got some homework to do.
- What's the matter?

Panza knew you guys were in there tonight
and he just let it happen.

I mean, if he's working for Yakavetta,

why would he just stand by
and watch all his men get taken out?

What, you think maybe we've got
another fox in the henhouse, then?

It's starting to look that way.
Somebody pushed that visa through.

We could have ourselves a genuine
Ghost and the Darkness here.

They still live.

What if he does not come?
What if...

He will come.

Either that wily old man
is not as clever as we thought...

or he played me from the git.

You think he played me?

We got a mutiny on our hands.

Every 10-cent wannabe with a gun
is moving on us all over town!

And our fearless leader hasn't even
come out of his pussy room yet!

Capo fucking regime!

I want each one of you
to call your top button man,

the best that you have.

'Cause we are going to rip this city
a new asshole.

Starting tonight,

we reconnoiter our strength
on the streets.

Starting now,

we seize the day.

Law enforcement has classified
the Italian immigrant Ottilio Panza...

as its prime suspect in the murder
of the beloved local cleric.

An all-points bulletin
has been issued,

and it appears,
at least for the time being,

the Saints have been cleared
as suspects in the priest's killing.

Foolish, arrogant boy!

Expanded my operations
since I saw you last.

Word got out who may or may not
have outfitted you.

Turns out you got quite
the underground following.

Oh, please, gentlemen.

Preferred customers
select from my private reserve.

If I may make a suggestion.

I feel like that kid who found
the golden ticket in that candy bar...

in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.

- Charlie.
- Yeah, Charlie.

And I want an Oompa Loompa now,
Daddy, now.

I'll take these.

- Have you been crying again?
- Yeah! Tears of joy.

Those are queer. How much?

Oh, no, no, no, no.
You boys are on the house.

- Obliged.
- Well, let's see.

- What?
- Nothing.

- What, are you saying I look gay?
- No, you just hail from a colorful...

Hey, you don't know me.
Do these make me look gay?

You look like you might have seen one
up close.

On a sultry Saturday in September,
the Saints saved 17 souls.

Try saying that five times fast.

Nothing to be afraid of. It's all over.

Fucking pussy. He won't come out.

Special Agent Bloom!

You are hereby relieved of all obligation
to this investigation.

And as of now, you will all report to me.
Special Agent John Kuntsler.

So, how you doing, Bloomy?

Just fine, Kunty.

You are suspended.

Fine. But I'm gonna take
a crack at it first.

They gained access somehow
through one of the service entrances.

- What?
- Nothing.

- What is the matter with you?
- Nothing!

This is... uh, just some heavy shit,
that's all. I'm just...

I'm just having
a period of adjustment.

You're about to have a period
of getting your ass beat!

This is you. Fucking be on time.

You ready for this shit, my dear brother?

Let's do some gratuitous violence.

Meet! Front and center!

Make way.

Each one of you

is to stick to the guy who called you
like stink on quim.

Pick your own crews.

You arm yourself to the teeth.

And when these Bible-banging psychos
make their attempt,

it is your job to blow their soulless
hearts right out of their bodies.

Okay, here's the situation, Lloyd.

Me and a couple of friends of mine are
fitting to do some killing here tonight.

I'm talking bullets, blood,
custom wholesale slaughter.

You follow me, Lloyd-o?

Good. Now... uh,
I've run into a little snag.

You see, I'm trying to...
figure out a tag line.

You know, something cool to say
when it's all over,

like, we're gonna need
a bigger boat.

Or, I'll be back. But mine, you know?
I've gotta own this thing.

It's creative!
It happened to be a creative plan!

Fucking ridiculous! Probably based
on some stupid shit you saw in a movie!

And here I am again,
all tying myself up with fucking rope!

What's the deal with you
and the fucking rope? Honestly!

It happened to be a very useful thing,
so shut it!

You didn't get this from a movie, did you?

- The Eiger Sanction with Clint Eastwood.
- Fuck!

- And it worked like a charm for him!
- I fucking knew!

Now I'm gonna take the gag off,
nice and slow so it doesn't hurt.

- I know, I know. I know.
- Ow, ow...

- this fucking hurts this way.
- Shh...

- Fuck! Fuck...
- Shh... shh...

Fuck!

- I know, I know, I know!
- I can't believe you, man! I'm a janitor.

What do I know about guns and bullets
and shit, man?

- Well, then, just...
- No! I don't care what you're doing here

with your fucking friends.
It's none of my business.

- I'm just...
- I have a wife and a family and kids.

Actually, they're not even
my kids, right?

I'm taking care
of some other asshole's kids...

- on a fucking janitor's salary!
- I'm not riffing, Lloyd!

Now, I need an hasta la vista line,
toute fucking suite...

and you're gonna help me
think of one.

- What the fuck did you do?
- I don't know, it just stopped.

- Well, fucking get it going again!
- It won't turn back on! It just died!

- Shit!
- Fucking thing! Come on!

Come on!
Come on, you piece of shit!

Starting tonight, each one of you limp-dick
fucking slobs is back out on the street...

earning your daily bread.

- Come on, come on! No!
- Shut the fuck up! Shut up!

Okay, what about, take that,
you suckers?

No, that's not cool enough, man.

How much time?
How much fucking time?

- Sixty seconds!
- No, we gotta go right now!

- Right now!
- No fucking way!

What're you talking about?
If we're even a few seconds late,

Romeo is dead.

You'd better all dust off your ball bats!
You'd better find your inner gangster!

- Merry Christmas, motherfuckers!
- That's too sacrilegious.

- All right, we've got about 13 floors.
- Eleven more, ball park it!

It's about 15 per floor,
we need to get then... one sixty-five!

- Dude, wait!
- Count it up in fives!

5... 10...

- This is retarded!
- 15...

- Fucking Eiger Sanction!
- 20... shut it and concentrate! 25...

'Cause you got to break bones!
You've got to crush skulls!

You gotta do what you gotta do!

You're gonna need those.

You shoot everybody in there,

and then you're like... Yo, eat it!
You know what mean? Eat it!

- What, are we at a fucking buffet now?
- Fuck.

You guys can't do this!
Are you fucking crazy?

- Time!
- Jesus Christ. Seven seconds!

- Holy shit!
- Six,

- five, four...
- It's time.

three, two...

One thing has always amazed me.
How quiet it gets. You ever noticed that?

It's hard to imagine
that just a few hours ago

it was the goddamn O.K Corral in here.

We're gonna have ourselves
a good old-fashioned shoot-'em-up!

And shepherds we shall be,
for Thee, my Lord, for Thee.

Power hath descended forth from Thy hand,

that our feet may swiftly carry out
Thy command.

So we shall flow a river forth to Thee
and teeming with souls shall it ever be.

- Spiritus Santi.
- Spiritus Santi.

Who ordered the whup-ass fajitas?

- That's fucking stupid!
- It's completely retarded!

Was that the best you could do?

I just...

- I couldn't...
- Shh...

Broke down the door, didn't you?

Ding-dong, motherfucker, ding-dong!

- Fucking A.
- You said it.

And that, gentlemen,
is the sound of the fat lady singing.

- Should we clap or something?
- Shut up.

- Hey, hey!
- Hey!

You hurt her,
you piece of shit, I'll kill you!

She's not on there!
There's nothing on there!

Get a hostage negotiator down here,
you fucking wad!

Get off me! What is your fucking problem?

He could be in there
all touching her and shit.

Fuck! Come on!

Look, I was listening to you out there.
And that's, like, exactly what happened.

And that's what made me think
you were the person to talk to.

So, Yakavetta had a partner?

Everybody gave Concezio props
for building the family back up.

He's such a genius. What bullshit.
It was the Old Man all along.

- Old Man?
- Yeah, that's what he called him.

For the last three years, every play
we made came straight from him.

Teaming up with the Chinese,

keeping the feud going between
Southie and the North End, everything.

Concezio worshipped the Old Man
like some kind of fucking Mafia oracle.

I have no idea
what his real name is, though.

Concezio always called him
the Old Man.

Think. I mean, did he ever use a...
surname or a nickname or something?

- One time.
- Well, what was it?

He called him...
"the Roman".

That's just weird. The Roman?

What do you think it means?

- Feels like our ghost to me.
- Well, what's the plan?

'Cause the brothers ain't going nowhere
until we get Panza or they do.

Sack-o-matic, I said!

- I've got nothing.
- One in the hole.

Fuck you! One, two, three!

- Boys! Boys!
- Put them down! Throw them over.

I'll kill the old man! Throw them over!

Brothers, huh?
We gonna have us some fun.

So, which one first?
Which one do you love more?

This one?

Doc! Call a fucking ambulance right now!

You.

Where's the Old Man?

Never.

- Just hold on, man.
- Help's on the way, hang in there!

Boys, it's over.

It's okay. Proudest day of my life.

- Da!
- Easy, boys.

Jesus fucking Christ!

I'm gonna blow
this motherfucker's brains out right now!

Connor!

Son, Daddy's working.

What the fuck you talking about?

Where is he?

No matter how this turns out,
you fucking die today!

Believe it, motherfucker.

Where is the Old Man?

No!

Make me famous.

Where?

Where is he?

- You look good, Roc.
- You two don't.

- Yeah, we had a friend...
- I know.

He was a big boy.

If it weren't for us,
maybe the two of you would...

Would what?
Would never have stood for anything?

What are you talking about, Roc?

I made my decision and stood next to you.
And it was an honor.

And I wouldn't change that
for the whole world. Not one minute of it.

Now, sláinte.

You know, he was sort of a bad-ass, though,
wasn't he?

Shades of Eastwood.

Charlie Bronson.

Duke fucking Wayne!

- Duke fucking Wayne!
- Duke fucking Wayne!

Men build things.
Then we die.

It's in our fucking DNA!
That's what we do!

- And when it all falls down...
- We build it right back up again.

- But this time bigger. Better!
- Look! Look what we can do.

Look how fucking beautiful we are.

You think the men that built all this
had it easy?

- Hard men!
- Doing hard shit!

And that gives me a hard-on!

- But not in a gay way or anything.
- No, no, course not.

Yeah, goes without saying.

I am so sick
of this self-help, 12-step,

leftover hippie generation bullshit!

Now they don't want you to do anything,
right? Just sit there! Don't drink!...

Don't smoke!
Don't drive fast!

Kiss my ass!

Fuck it, do it all, I say!

You think Duke Wayne spent all his time

talking about his feelings
with a fucking therapist?

There's no fucking way he did!

John Wayne died with five pounds
of undigested red meat in his ass!

Now that's a man!
Real men hide their feelings. Why?

Because it's none
of your fucking business!

Men do not cry, men do not pout,
men jack you in the fucking jaw and say:

Thanks for coming out.

I am so sorry, boys.
This was all my fault.

There's a few things
your dad needs to tell youse.

Come on, kid, it's good for you,
it's good for us.

We'll take you right out the back
of this place.

- Easy, Noah.
- They'll never touch you.

So?

What's with this kid?
Show him how we do things here.

What're you
stupid or something?

Noah, mio amico.
No more of this!

I can't stop.

Okay, we think of something, eh?

We think of something.

Noah, look.

We got something for you.

My friend...

Bonnavese
is always with two men.

Both of them,
La Cosa Nostra, many years.

That's how it went for years.

Louie would do all the planning
and I would do the other.

Jesus.

How'd you end up inside, Da?

Back in '75 I did a piece of work.

I come out
and the police was waiting for me.

He set me up. Twenty-five to life.

- Why did he set you up?
- I can't wait to ask him.

Why didn't you flip on him, Da?
The guy fucked you.

He had learned
of the birth of my sons.

Hello, my old friend.

It's been many years.

Do you in need anything?

I am making a marinara sauce and...

I have run out of tomatoes.

To help an old friend...

how many can you spare?

Don't worry.

You are in luck.

I am in good supply of tomatoes.

Agent Kuntsler, you gotta see this.
We just found it.

It's Bloom. She just back-doored this info
from Fed archives.

Jesus Christ, she's gone rogue!

- Get an APB on her!
- John!

- I want that crazy bitch grabbed up now!
- John, think about this!

Jimmy!

What the fuck are you doing?

Who the fuck is this?

He's in York, Maine. About an hour
from here. But he's off the grid.

Logged on to an FBI database
to get the info.

Only a matter of time
before they flag it.

Better get a move on
or they'll get there before you do.

Will they know it's you?

Yeah.

Will you be all right, dear?

I hear Costa Rica's nice.

I never thought I'd ask this of another
human being, but please, kill this man.

Kill this man.

Hello, Louie.

Noah.

We haven't much time.

My garden is, uh...

she's... she's...
uh, beautiful, no?

Ah... but I forget,
your eyes are blind to beauty.

You are...

You are a destroyer, Noah.

You know my reasons.

But do you?

You think it's...
You think it's for your father.

No. You were born a killer.

Death, la morte, it is in the blood.

- No.
- No.

This is bullshit. We should go now.

It's only one fucking guy.

Explain these.

You were not there to raise them.

Not one single day.

But how closely
they followed their father's footsteps.

They got your blood, Noah,
tua rabbia.

Your anger.

And you? What are you?

I am a creator.

You see,

we were opposed.

As old as la storia di frog and...

Scorpion.

Scorpion.

Remember, not a scratch on the Old Man.

Copy that. Waiting for the signal.

What the fuck is this place?
It gives me the creeps.

Why did you sell me out, Louie?

You can never understand.

Twenty-five years.

- Try me.
- They were building something.

They?

They were creating something.
An empire.

- They?
- I was helping them!

I used you, Noah,

to destroy their competition,
to cut out their cancers.

I earned my place among them.

Is this your place amongst them?
Because all I see

is an old man in a broke-down palace,

sitting in a garden.

The scorpion and the frog

both lose everything.

See, without you,
I was no longer useful to them.

They cast me out!

My old man used to tell me
about a place like this.

Back in the woods,
he said that there's this guy...

Why the priest, Louie?

Why all this? Why now?

Because I knew it would bring you
and your sons.

You will destroy the Yakavettas for me.
Clear my way.

And this time, I will take
what is mine. Just...

Just a little piccolo pezzo.

For my old age.

After all,
I have never been a greedy man.

Beyond the River, done by
Anthony and Harrison, Edison Records.

Connor!

Murph!

Take me to him!
Take me to him now!

I'll see you in a minute, Louie.

No, Da! No, please!

God, no!

Look! Look, boys.

It's so beautiful.

- It's a beautiful day.
- No.

It is, Da. It is.

It is beautiful, Da.

Aye, it is, Da.

And they that holdest my name...

shall come with the shaking
of the earth...

and the roiling of the oceans.

It's a non-extradition country.
Passport under your name.

Money, contacts
and a map to your final destination.

- Which is?
- The monastery at Saint Escaz�.

A monastery?

Monasteries enjoy the protection
of the Holy See.

They're not even subject to local laws,
searches, et cetera.

A sanctuary within a sanctuary.

He's going to take you by boat
to a private airstrip down the shore,

where we have arranged for your travel.
Off the books, of course.

Father, I ain't one to look a gift horse,

but you still haven't told me
how you're involved in all this.

And second, I need to disappear,

you show up with plans and paperwork
in hand.

It's like you knew before I did.

The Lord works in mysterious ways,
my dear.

We wanted you to know
that you're not alone.

- We have many resources.
- You keep saying we. Now, who's we?

You ready to go?

I hear they party pretty hard
at that monastery.

Oh...

I'm not sure I'm in love
with that new look there, Betty Boop.

I attended your funeral,
you son of a bitch!

I know. Loved your shoes.

The skirt was a little risqu�
for a funeral, but, hey,

who am I to begrudge someone
their sense of individuality?

- What is this?
- Keep it down.

You don't wanna scare away
my little fishies.

Fuck your fish!
What the hell is going on here?

You are exposed, young lady!

You're a very clever little girl, Eunice.
That's why I chose you.

Now it's time for you
to put your thinking cap on.

We got all the financial backing
and protection...

of the biggest corporation
in the world.

And two CEO's worthy
of the public trust.

Now, what do you think
is going on here?

You wanna get them out.

I wanna get them out,
get them back to work,

take this thing
to a whole new level.

Where're they being held?

Set them free! Set them free!
Set them free! Set them free!

Set them free!
Set them free! Set them free!

The Hoag ain't just any prison.

Wrong. That's exactly what it is,
just a prison.

Run by men.
Men, as we both know, are fallible.

Well, whatever we do, we gotta do it quick.
Those boys aren't safe in there.

Oh, I don't know.

A little birdie tells me
they're gonna be just fine.