All language subtitles for Elementary - 2x13 - All In The Family.HDTV.en

For the last time,

give me your leg.

No.

What is this?

This is a court order,
Mr. Riley.

It means we get to take
a look at your leg.

Now.

I don't understand
what any of this is.

Sure you do.

During the 16 months you worked

as a guard at the Aster museum,

you've stolen

a Fabergé egg,

a Cape of Good Hope stamp,

and a scrap
of Ancient Egyptian papyrus.

That's ridiculous.

We became
quite certain that a woman

named Adrien Harper was selling
the pilfered items

on the Japanese black market.

But the mystery remained.

Who was her inside man?

We were at the opening of
the new Tiffany exhibit tonight.

We saw her signal you.

Mr. Riley...

your prosthesis.

Miss Harper was
actually quite discreet

when signaling which item

she expected you to smuggle.

It was only

your clumsy nods
which gave you away.

Adrien Harper is
currently shackled

to a table in an interview room
down the hall.

Her testimony will be more
than enough to convict you.

So this is all
rather superfluous.

But I suppose we are
all dressed up

with nowhere to go,
aren't we?

Most prosthesis

don't have a hidden compartment.

Do they, Mr. Riley?

Okay, you made
your point.

Time to give me a minute alone
with our friend.

I beg your pardon, Detective.

This is our case.
We only included you--

Let's not fight in front
of the perp, okay?

I said I can take
it from here.

Come on.

Hey, I need that!

We've been going
in circles for two weeks

because Nash missed
the guy's priors,

and now it's
"I'll take it from here."

The man is an
ingrate and a clod.

We'll be lucky if he checks

that Riley signs
his own confession.

Looks like you two had
an interesting night.

The museum business is settled.

No thanks to Detective Nash.

Oh? Is there a problem?

Too many to enumerate.

This chair would be a more
suitable collaborator.

He's not wrong.

I don't know
what to tell you guys.

But if you want to be
consulting detectives,

you got to consult with someone.

You've burned
through half the squad

since Bell transferred
to Demographics.

Well aware, but I believe
I have a solution.

You.

You could take on
more casework yourself.

I understand the rote
administrative elements

of your position demand
much of your time,

but you could rely
on us to carry

the bulk of your
investigative load.

I'm sorry, I've got

some rote administrative work
to do.

Why don't you take him
for a walk?

Crash a prom or something.

Hashemi and Mukerji,

I want you listening
to the chatter

coming out of Bensonhurst.

Sengupta and Theil,

you're gonna vet
this Moti Bagul fella.

And last but not least-- Bell.

To the young man who picked
against the Knicks

in the pool yesterday,
a special prize.

You and, uh, Wozniak,
you get to visit

Nemetz Oil Recycling.

A man of advanced years called
the tip line 'cause he thought

he saw a man with dark features
up to no good there.

You have fun.

I hear Port Morris

is really beautiful this
time of year.

Okay, that's it.

Do some good out there.

What did you do?

Research and analysis.

Thought that was the job.

Yeah, not when you're picking
NBA games with the boss.

That's when blind loyalty
is expected.

Mm-hmm.

Well, what is this?

Guy was seen wheeling a
barrel onto the premises

of an oil recycling
center after hours.

You make a bomb, got some
toxic chemicals left over,

that's a good way to make
sure they never turn up.

More like someone didn't want
to pay the drop-off fee.

Hey, it's field work.

It's the first
I've seen in a while.

Well, as long as
I'm the only one

carrying a gun in
this relationship,

I go where you go.

So don't sign us up for
any more field work

until the spring, okay?

I was on duty
the night you're talking about

and I didn't
see a thing.

If I had to guess,

this guy who called you

probably just saw
Rajiv or Amit working.

Got a few
Indian employees here.

One of them was
probably just

shuffling some inventory
toward the loading dock.

What's up with
these green ones?

Uh, semi-toxic stuff.

Comes to us from mechanics,
service stations.

They give us their used oil,

we got to take their
transmission fluid

and Freon in
the bargain.

Those get dumped in a landfill
up near Saratoga.

That's why we came.
I'm gonna have a look.

I'm gonna check
the security tapes.

Where it's not
nine degrees.

Careful.

I got it.

Ugh!

I think
I'm gonna be sick.

This is Bronx Intel
to Central K.

Please advise Captain Gregson
we need detectives

and additional units at Nemetz
Oil Recycling in Port Morris.

We got a homicide here.

♪ Elementary 2x13 ♪
All in the Family
Original Air Date on January 9, 2014

== sync, corrected by Romesh ==
RiVaL

♪

You never call,
you never write.

Yet when somebody jams
a body in a barrel...

Yeah, I wish it was
a happier occasion.

Now, we got a call.

Tipster thought they saw
a guy wheeling a drum

onto the premises
last Friday.

I found the
lucky winner.

How?

With my eyes.

UPC tag was low,

but the barrel had a
fresh coat of paint.

It was older
and dented.

Did they get
the guy on tape?

System must have been
set up by chimps.

There's blind
spots all over.

So, nothing
in the other barrels?

Well, whoever took
this guy's head and hands

knew better than to dump them
in the same spot as the body,

and he's got no
clothes, no I.D.--

this thing is ice cold.

How's the new gig?

It's nice people.
Big job.

But the threat
briefings we get...

I used to
sleep better.

I've read about your detail.

A municipality-- even as one
as large as New York--

launching its own
counter-terrorism unit--

fascinating experiment.

Well, we should
get to this.

Um, it was good to see you, Marcus.
You too.

Hey.
Mm-hmm?

You know Bell's not gonna
hold onto that anger forever.

Time heals all wounds,

sometimes it just
takes a larger dose.

Well, if that
were true,

it would be a tremendous comfort
to this gentleman.

Without a face,
dental records,

or hands... even the chance
of getting some sediment

from underneath
his fingernails...

identification may
prove beyond our grasp.

Well, we could get lucky.

DNA might match somebody

in the NYPD CODIS system.

Well, that is a job
for a computer. Ours...

is to inspect
this man's rusty tomb.

Now...

Well, it's the same cast
as the others, but it's older.

Brought in from elsewhere,

and recently painted
to match the Nemetz inventory.

Barrel was previously sky blue,
which could limit

our scope of inquiry to

Navy shipyards...

and, uh...
Handsome Bobby.

Beg your pardon?

I think I might
know who this is.

That's him.
That's Handsome Bobby Pardillo.

I take it "Tiny Bobby Pardillo"
was already taken.

This was the last time
he was seen-- 21 years ago,

walking out of court,
after his father

was acquitted of racketeering.

The body that Detective Bell
found was fresh.

It was less than 72 hours old.

Bobby was missing,
but he was never presumed dead.

Federal undercovers heard
that he was on the lam

for a beef that he had
with the Ferrara family.

At the risk of stating
the obvious,

uh, our body
in the barrel has got to be

a couple hundred pounds lighter.

These scars-- they're from
laparoscopic gastric surgery.

He had lap band.
Dropped so much weight

he had to have
the excess skin removed.

But the knees are another
piece of the puzzle.

I can't even guess how many
surgeries this guy's had.

If you feel the patella,
you can tell it's artificial.

Handsome Bobby was
on those crutches

because Big Teddy Ferrara
had him kneecapped

over gambling debts-- that's
how the whole feud started.

And severing heads
and hands was SOP

for the Ferrara
button men, right?

What?

Big Teddy, kneecapped,
button men.

From where
does this expertise come?

Grade school. I grew up
in Queens, there were always

kids around who said
their dads were in the Mob.

I was curious,
and it was fun

to follow it all in papers. The Mob
was like a soap opera back then.

Oh, Handsome Bobby
was a pretty big story.

I'm surprised you never
heard his name.

Well, it's likely I did, but ejected it
from my memory.

Mafia law interests me about
as much as the criminal

derring-do of the Freemasons
or the druids.

After decades of police scrutiny
and the relentless tide of modernity,

La Cosa Nostra poses a less
potent threat to New Yorkers

than 20-ounce sodas.

Give or take a
body in a barrel.

Well, for now, let's just
assume that you're right.

While we're waiting
for the DNA to come back,

we should hit up as many
Ferrara soldiers as we can find.

You think any of them will talk?

I doubt that their
cherished omertà

has held up any better
than their stranglehold

on the bootleg liquor trade.

But it might be advantageous to
talk to Handsome Bobby's father.

He may be able to identify the
remains, and if he does,

he might be able to tip us to which
of his rivals decapitated his son.

That's him.

Our sympathies.

Mr. Pardillo,
I'm sure you understand

there's a few questions
we'd like to ask you.

When was the last
time you saw your son?

Couple of months ago.

We had to keep it quiet,
as you know.

He was suspected
of killing a made guy

in the Ferrara family in 1992.

He was a good boy.

Made it big
up in Albany.

Fresh start, no old ties.

How did you manage
to stay in touch?

It would appear

that one of your
son's old enemies

managed to find him.

I'm wondering if
your communiqués

could have been used
to trace back to him.

We did e-mail.

Made it look like
insurance spam.

Bobby was smart,
very smart.

He got surgery,
stayed out of sight.

He only came into town

for the doctors.

We couldn't find
a good gastro guy upstate.

Somebody must have spotted him
on the street.

Do you have any idea who

in the Ferrara family
might have done this?

Some malandrine.

Look, I understand Bobby rubbed
some people the wrong way.

I get that.

But to deny a man
a proper burial?

I'm a law-abiding citizen,

but if I wasn't,

the mutt that done this

would be in the ground tomorrow.

You got
any more questions,

you call my lawyer.

Come on, I'll walk you out.

Obviously, he's intent
on retaliation.

If we're gonna find the killer
before he does,

I suggest you dig
into all police files

pertaining to the Ferrara family
current infrastructure.

The suspect may present himself.

And while I'm doing that,
you're going to...

Pay a visit
to the Demographics unit.

If we can identify the man
that called in the tip

regarding the barrel,
then he might be able

to pick the killer out
of a Ferrara family photo array.

You know you can just call
and find out if it's possible

to locate the tipster.

I could, if I was content
to trust

another person's judgment
about what is possible.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but
according to our tech people,

the man who saw your perp
didn't give his name.

Odd.
Actually, it isn't.

Uh, at least not
for the Demographics Unit.

People want
to call in tips

about people
from certain backgrounds,

but in case they're wrong, they
don't want to come off racist.

And we don't pressure
because, uh,

we don't want the information
to stop coming in.

Do we end up
on the occasional goose chase?

Yeah. But it's worth it for
the intel we get that is good.

And the number used
to place the call?

Our tech people traced it
to a pay phone

down the street
from the recycling place.

Vocal analysis
tells us he's old,

from the area.

That narrows it down
to about a million folks.

Mmm.
Anyway, I'm sorry.

Not what you wanted to hear.

Well, I suppose we should be
grateful that the man thought

to call it in at all.

You know...

try this number.

Our tech people should be able
to... work some other angle

for you.
Feel free to drop

my name. I'm at your service.

Actually, Deputy Commissioner,

my reasons for coming to see you
were twofold.

I wanted you to know that
I'm at your service as well.

Holmes.

What was that?
As I mentioned before,

I think the work down here
is very worthy.

Preventing terror attacks
and the like.

And since pattern recognition is
something of a hobby of mine...

Wait, you volunteered
to work here?

The deputy commissioner thought
that you might object at first,

given our past,
but I assured him

we're both professionals
willing to put

our personal differences
aside in the interest

of the greater good.
Watson and I will now

be splitting our time
between this unit

and Captain Gregson's squad.

Did I mischaracterize
your professionalism?

You mischaracterized
our relationship.

Perhaps what you and I require
is an airing of grievances.

You have a problem with me?

You seem incapable
of accepting my sincere apology.

A bit petty, don't you think?

What do you call latching on
to my new unit

when you know
I don't want you around?

For this unit?
A profound stroke of luck.

I think Watson and I
could do great things here.

Uh, with the help of analysts

like yourself,
of course.

Or do you prefer the term
"number cruncher"?

This isn't over.

My point.

Sherlock!

Should I be afraid?

Let's say you wish
to cut a person's head off.

To avoid a posthumous spray

from your would-be victim's
jugular,

you lay them facedown,
loom over them like so.

I've been attacking a ham hock
from this position

for the last 15 minutes,
trying to replicate

the wounds that we saw.

I've come
to the conclusion

that our killer is left-handed,

probably quite tall.

His name is Dante Scalice,

and he's a capo
in the Ferrara family.

Did you collect these people's
trading cards as a child?

Actually, before tonight,
I'd never even heard of him,

but he's in all the
Ferrara files and he is a fit

for something
that Robert Pardillo said.

Didn't it strike you as odd
that he was so outraged

that his son didn't get
a proper burial

and in the next breath
he's hinting

that the mutt who'd done this

was gonna be in the
ground tomorrow?

I thought it was
a simple quid pro quo.

I don't think "mutt"
was a generic slur.

I think it was a slip
of the tongue, Pardillo's way

of referencing
the killer's mixed ancestry.

Dante Scalice's father
is from Sicily.

His mother is from Israel.
In the Jewish faith,

the dead are supposed to be
buried as quickly as possible.

So Pardillo is a respectful
angel of vengeance

looking to honor the customs
of his would-be victim?

I know it doesn't sound like
much, but take a look at this.

These were taken
from a raid

last year, in New Jersey,
at a club.

Dante Scalice
owns the place.

Check out the barrel
they use for collecting grease.

Sky blue.
Just like the one

Handsome Bobby was stuffed into
before someone painted it green.

Well, I don't think it's
enough evidence for an arrest,

but perhaps
we can find some more.

You really think
he did it here?

You know what? All this stuff's
over a week old.

I'm starting
to think Mr. Scalice...

hasn't cleaned house
since the crime.

We can't go inside.
His car's right there.

He's obviously home.

That's our cue.

Hey.

The hell'd you do
to my garbage?

Mr. Scalice, we're
consultants for the NYPD.

There's no point in denying it.
We're investigating you

for the murder of
Robert Pardillo, Jr.

I don't know what you're talking
about or what you're doing here,

but unless you have a warrant,
you need to go.

I just told you that
Handsome Bobby was dead.

You don't find
that surprising?

Where were you
last Friday night?

I have an alibi.

I have an alibi
for any time you want.

But I got nothing to say to you
unless you have a warrant.

Well, in that case, we'll
just come back later.

Calling Captain Gregson?

He'll need to send men

to Scalice's nightclub
in New Jersey.

There might still
be evidence there.

But after
that cock-up,

the chances of him
spending a day in prison

just plummeted.

I was right.

Not one day in prison.

Bomb squad thinks the explosive
used was Tovex.

Real popular
in building demolition.

Half the Pardillo family's
revenue comes

from construction and concrete.

They sell union books,
work no-show jobs, but...

Yeah, the problem is
they all use the same stuff.

That's why Tovex is damn
near impossible to trace.

If we don't get
the evidence to charge

Pardillo quick, this might just
be the first shot fired.

There hasn't been anything like
a Mob war since I was a kid.

Yeah? Well,
this is how they start.

Captain,

Holmes is asking for you inside.

All right.

This sliver of supraorbital
ridge is all that remains

of Handsome Bobby's head.

If the man didn't
have such

a Neanderthal brow, it would've
dissolved with the rest of him.

Scalice left that
on the stove?

No, I found it in the cupboard
beneath the sink.

I suppose if one

must witness a fireball
consume a human life,

let it be a man who dissolves
heads in battery acid.

Well, odds are

that's closure on the
Handsome Bobby case,

but it also ans meat
the goalposts just moved.

Pardillo, Sr.

Mmm. We gotta hang
this car bombing on him quick.

The last thing we need is
for this thing to escalate.

Well, I'll get back
into the files,

see which one
of Pardillo's soldiers

might've planted the bomb
in Scalice's car.

That is one course
of action, yes.

But this bucket is not the only
thing of interest I found here.

They're e-mails.

They're correspondence
exchanged between

the recently decapitated
Handsome Bobby

and his father Robert.

How did Scalice
get his hands on these?

Probably the same way he got
hold of Bobby's phone records.

A care package

from your National
Security Agency.

I don't have a clue what
you want me to do with this.

An acknowledgment

that the American government is
in bed with the American Mafia

would be a lovely place
to start.

Said government's reasons
for wanting

Handsome Bobby Pardillo dead
would be even lovelier.

For the last time, I don't work
for the government.

I do Web development--
that's what we do here.

Mr. McNally-- if that is indeed
your real name--

please be advised that
this is not Ms. Watson and I's

first time engaging with the
American Intelligence community.

I would be remiss if I delved
into our previous dealings,

but suffice it to say that yours
is one of several NSA fronts

that I have identified
in the last 18 months.

Lantera Digital Solutions
does not exist.

It is a cheap facade

with an expensive view,

and it would calm my
nerves considerably

if we could all just be
adult and admit as much.

We found those printouts
at the home

of a high-ranking member
of the Ferrara crime family.

They're copies of e-mail
correspondence between

Robert Pardillo
and his son Bobby--

disguised as spam,
but apparently not well enough.

Bobby's dead now.

There are also
phone records.

Impossible to explain,
as they're only days old.

They were generated
by someone or something

with access to a cell phone
carrier's computer system.

You are holding the means
by which a killer

triangulated
his victim's location

and hunted him down.

These unassuming alphanumeric
sequences are stamped on

every document which is
generated by the PRISM system,

PRISM being a proprietary
program which was created

for the sole use of the
National Security Agency.

I'm not a deranged lunatic,
Mr. McNally,

but, by all means,
keep pushing me.

I'm not saying
anything because

I don't know anything.
This is a Web development shop.

Well, I suppose all we can do
is thank you for your time.

Yeah. Sorry I can't help
with anything else.

Even so, please expect
a small token of our gratitude.

Did you know that there are
several subscription-based

Web sites for plushy
enthusiasts?

And it would
be my great pleasure

to treat you to a membership

with each and every one of them.

If I'm wrong about what
you do here,

then you will not
have to explain

to your Federal overlords

why you find stuffed
animals so arousing.

Hey.

Hey.

I heard you lost a
suspect this morning.

I'm glad you're okay.
Yeah.

I'm picking up the bomb squad's
report right now.

What-What brings you back?

Um, I'm actually here
to talk to the captain

about this time-sharing plan
your partner's got.

You two helping out
in Demographics?

Sorry, but I don't think
it can work.

Wait-- what?

Yeah, we deal with
sensitive material over there.

Our CI's are skittish.

A little friction
could lead to big problems.

I just don't think

his bull-in-a-china-shop
routine is a good fit.

When Sherlock dropped by
your unit yesterday...

He volunteered
his services.

He didn't tell you?

I'm sorry-- I doubt
I get a real vote in this, anyway,

but you gotta get why I don't want
to see him around.

For what it's worth,
he's really...

I know, I know, but can
you do me a favor?

'Cause he listens to you.
Can you tell him to back off?

So... cadmium?

Well, according to the bomb
squad, there wasn't any...

What are you...
what are you doing?

I'm detonating a series
of controlled explosions

using Tovex,
the main ingredient used

in the bomb
which killed Dante Scalice.

If we
can tie the bomb

to a particular Pardillo
construction site,

then we can shift our focus

to the NSA strand
of the investigation.

It's not the first time,

of course, that your
government was thought

to have ties to the Mob.
It was theorized

that the CIA teamed up
with the Mafia in 1963

to assassinate JFK.

Not true, of course.

The truth is
much stranger.

Inconclusive, again.

You know...
I have an idea.

Why don't we call
our new boss,

Deputy Commissioner
Da Silva?

I'm sure he can

put you in touch
with an explosives expert.

I was gonna tell you.

You should have.
I would have explained

how little interest
I have in working

for Demographics.
The unit is swimming with data.

It's a fascinating vantage point
from which to view the city.

I can understand
why sifting through

the world's biggest haystack

would appeal to you,
but we both know

that is not what
this is about.

Detective Nash
and the museum thief.

Detective Petersen
and the Somalian chef.

Since Bell left, we've had
one bad date after another.

You're trying to force
some sort of reunion,

because you don't like
consulting for anyone else.

I'm hardly that naive.
Even if I did think

the relationship was reparable...

Interesting.
It appears...

Yes?

Actually,
I'm not at liberty to say.

I'll be back
by morning.

You won't want to touch
any of this while I'm gone.

Mr. Holmes.

Coded text messages,

frequency jammer,

meeting in an unfinished
sewage treatment plant--

you must be
the most security-conscious

Web developer at Lantara.

My superiors insisted
we not be seen together.

You're meant to understand
that this is, by no means,

an invitation for you to
visit our office again.

We saw the records
you found.

We had to make sure
we didn't have a breach,

a backdoor into our system.

We don't.
PRISM is secure.

So you're saying
the NSA has a mole?

No, I'm not.

Someone at the agency
found Bobby Pardillo

via his e-mails and
his phone records, so unless you're

telling me that Dante
Scalice is moonlighting

as a government cryptologist,
you have a leak.

This came through channels.

It was requested by a cop.

So you would have me believe
that the NSA makes a habit

of conducting
electronic surveillance

of questionable legality
for any local authority

who requests it?

No. NYPD has a unit--
Demographics, it's called.

They work to prevent
terrorist attacks.

Yes, I am familiar
with that group.

What Deputy Commissioner
Da Silva wants, he gets.

He wanted Robert
Pardillo Jr. found.

That said, the events

of the last few days aren't sitting right
with some of my bosses.

We thought
you should know.

Did the deputy commissioner
say why he wanted him found?

No. He protects eight
million lives, Mr. Holmes.

He doesn't need to say why.

He told you Deputy Commissioner
Da Silva is dirty,

as in Bell's new boss
Da Silva?

It has the ring of truth.
It has the ring

of something-- you yanked his
chain, now he's yanking yours.

The Demographics Unit
is in touch with half

the country's
intelligence-gathering agencies.

Now, if Da Silva was to give
even the flimsiest

counterterrorism context
for wanting Pardillo Jr. found,

then no good spook is going
to blink at that request.

Well, why would he do
something like that?

Historically, money is the most
effective corruptor of lawmen.

But there's always the possibility
that the Ferrara family

made him an offer
he couldn't refuse.

Either way, Da Silva gave
the command, and a man

who had eluded the Mafia
for more than two decades

was found in a
few keystrokes.

So what now?

If we're gonna make
an allegation against

the fourth-highest-ranking
police official in New York,

we're gonna need more than
the shadowy utterances

of some third-rate
Deep Throat.

Investigating Da Silva
without alerting him is

going to be a challenge.

We're going to
need some help.

You guys are
really something.

I can only imagine
what it must sound like.

I'm sorry.

For which part?

Lying and telling me
you needed me to come here

to answer questions about
the morning I found the corpse,

or plotting against my boss?
We couldn't

very well plot against him
at your office.

Given the commissioner's
electronic omniscience,

I thought it wise to provide a credible
pretext for our meeting.

Just in case.
He's not corrupt.

You don't have a shred of proof
against him.

These accusations
are not my own.

They come
from the NSA.

But you are correct--

we have no proof.

That's why
you're here.

Well...

forget it.

He assigned you
to investigate an anonymous tip,

which led directly
to the discovery of

Handsome Bobby's remains.

Now, I cannot

currently explain why
he may have wanted them found...

but it's a startling coincidence

Maybe you're just not as smart
as you think you are.

Maybe the biggest
spy agency

on the planet managed
to sell you a line.

It's possible.

But we want to make sure.
Bear in mind,

if your boss
did decide to out Bobby,

it's possible he did so
for a very good reason.

The man may have
been a pederast,

or a homegrown terrorist,
or both.

I can conceive
of any number

of scenarios where
this all gets swept

under the rug, but we
should know the truth

before we decide,
don't you agree?

You know, I expect
this kind of garbage from him.

Excuse me.

Detective?
Uh, you said your piece.

I'm not gonna sit here and listen
to you smear a good cop.

It's not about smearing,
this is about...

What is it with you?! Huh?

What, I-I won't
forgive you, so you want

to send me on a witch hunt,
wreck my career?

Oh, your "career"? Is that
what you're calling it, is it?

Sitting behind a desk,
analyzing data?

Oh, I'm sorry, wasn't it
you who, just two days ago,

told my boss you wanted
a piece of the action?

I was attempting to get
a rise out of you,

to remind you that
no matter where you go

or how tedious
the work you undertake,

it will not change what
you are-- a detective.

I am a detective.

Well, you still carry
the title, yeah.

But it's more than that,
isn't it?

It's a calling.
It's your calling.

You are not an analyst;
you are not an assessor of data.

You transferred from Major
Crimes either because your pride

would not allow you to occupy
the same space as me

or because you're feeling
sorry for yourself.

In either case,
a pathetic excuse.

I have a tremor in my hand.

I can't shoot,
can't get out on the street

and work cases because of you!

Bollocks! You could've
stayed in Major Crimes

until you completed your rehab!

You're assuming my rehab
can be completed!

Because I have
faith in you!

I have faith in
your perseverance!

Be my friend,
don't be my friend--

whatever--
but don't be so foolish

as to confuse punishing me
with punishing yourself!

You know what I thought
the first time I met you?

Man, it comes easy
for that guy.

Oh.

Well, I'm sorry.

It doesn't come that easy
to the rest of us.

I am a drug addict, Marcus.

A drug addict.

And it might seem
like an abstraction to you

because I have been sober
since I made your acquaintance.

But two years ago,
I was as pitiable a soul

as you will ever meet.

With help, I fought back,

and I got a little bit better.

I know what I'm supposed
to do with my life.

Do you?

This doesn't feel right.

Well, forget your fantasies
of stone-walled Mafia compounds,

it's actually quite a good place
to "go to the mattresses."

It's incongruous.

I'm not saying that we've
got the wrong place.

I don't think Big Teddy's
mistress lied to us.

Neither would you with the threat
of deportation hanging over your head.

Rather fiendish of you.

What I'm trying to say is,
I don't like the idea

of accusing a violent
crime boss of having a cop on the take

without backup.

Well, I suppose we could
always announce our arrival.

All right, make it quick.

Couple of...
police errand boys

or whatever you are.

Well, actually, Mr. Ferrara,
we suspect you

of having a police errand boy
of your own, and that's

why we're here.

That right?
You fancy yourself

a businessman-- so which
of these deals sounds better?

You tell us how Dante Scalice
managed to locate

Handsome Bobby Pardillo,
and in exchange,

we will not divulge

your assistance.
Or...

don't tell us what you know,
and you can add

two new enemies
to a long and growing list.

You threatening me?

We think it's only
a matter of time

before police prove
that Scalice was working

under your orders
when he killed Bobby Pardillo.

Give us the name
of the officer

we believe you have
on your payroll,

and we will talk to our captain,
see if a deal can't be struck.

We don't have a cop.

Dante didn't have a cop.

And if one of you has sent him
that packet, it's news to me,

and it's your problem.

Packet?

Dante got it in the mail
ten days ago, out of nowhere.

"A bolt from the blue," he said.

Telling me that there's all
this crap about our old friend.

I said to him, "You know what?

Who cares about
Bobby Pardillo anymore?"

You think I like being out here
in the sticks

with a gun under my pillow?

See, I didn't tell him
to do what he did.

And you can take that back
to your, uh, pigpen.

Sir, uh, Casey said I might
be able to get a minute?

Of course.

I just wanted to talk
to you about something.

When Holmes came over here
the other day,

he asked you
about the tip we got

about the barrels?
Yeah.

It's just... he reached out
to me this morning.

He thought the tip
might have been fake.

Fake?

He thinks maybe someone
wanted us to find that body.

To what end?

Not a clue.

But that's sort of what
I wanted to talk to you about.

You know my history
with the guy, and now you see

that some of the theories
he comes up with

can be pretty out there,

and I just don't think

he'll be a good fit around here.

Consider him gone.

I trust your judgment.

Just not about the Knicks.

We officially need
a new pizza place.

This one is taking forever!

We visit a Mobster in hiding,
and you order Italian.

Can a Godfather marathon
be far behind?

It certainly seemed

like Big Teddy was
telling the truth, right?

But if Da Silva wasn't working

for the Ferraras,
I don't get it.

There is no trace of any grudge

against Handsome Bobby
in the old case files.

Well, perhaps the motive
is not from the past,

but from the present.

We must ask ourselves,

"What might compel

"a decorated officer
to risk his career

in order to facilitate the
demise of a washed-up gangster""

Oh. Finally.

You know what?

Maybe after dinner,
we can... Marcus.

Come in.

Thanks.

So, I, uh...

I had a talk
with the deputy commissioner.

You shared our suspicions?

I asked him about
the tipster,

same as you,
and he didn't blink.

He was comfortable, open.

But there was something
in his voice.

It bothered me.
Couldn't tell you why.

You have instincts.

My point is,
I wanted to know.

I had to.

So I walked him out,

and I doubled back.

Found this in
his office.

What is it?

Proof that you were right.
He's dirty.

It's a career case.
It's three career cases.

The deputy commissioner
has enough there

to put Robert Pardillo
behind bars

for about a thousand years.

Well, if you line up
the sentences

back to back,
you might be right.

Accessory to
murder, racketeering,

tampering with union elections.

I still can't believe
how old some of this stuff is.

Da Silva must have been working
on this since the '70s.

It makes no sense.
He had the goods

on a Mob boss for over 30 years,
never told a soul.

Then he flips the guy's son
to his enemies?

This was in the file.

Yeah, I noticed.

The handwriting
is Robert Pardillo's.

I just compared it to a sample
the police had on file.

The article was written
12 days ago,

a mere 48 hours
before Dante Scalice

received the packet which helped
him locate Handsome Bobby.

Everything else in the dossier
predates the Internet.

This could be the straw that
broke the camel's back.

But it's just an article
on a union election.

It could also be
the Rosetta Stone

which unlocks the meaning of the
file, and gives us Da Silva's

true motive.
Which was?

He sacrificed Pardillo
Junior in an effort

to wriggle out from under
Pardillo Senior's thumb.

That doesn't make any sense.

Doesn't it?
Think it through.

The oldest evidence here
dates back

to Da Silva's first year
as a beat cop in Murray Hill.

He's been cleaning up

the Pardillo family's
messiest missteps

since he joined the force,
which strongly suggests why

he was put on the force
in the first place.

Da Silva is Deputy Commissioner.

You think he's a Mob plant?

At first.
But as you say, he rose.

You can't achieve his rank
via subterfuge alone.

He was, by all accounts,
an excellent police officer.

I believe he was converted
to his new cause.

The guy's closing in
on a gold watch.

It's a little late in the day
to grow a conscience,

don't you think?
Louis Martinez.

His candidate
for treasurer

of the local 127--

a construction union which has
provided health benefits

and a steady income to the
Pardillo family for the last

50 years.

Martinez is a reformist,
churchgoing citizen.

His election would be
a crippling blow

to a decaying
crime family.

That clipping...

Is a death sentence--
yes, I suspect so.

Oh.

You're not
suggesting Da Silva's

been ordered to kill
this Martinez guy?

His role will
most likely be

to cover up the murder, as it
has been so often in the past.

All right,
back up a second.

Why have Handsome Bobby killed?

Having him killed

was not the point.

Having him found dead was.

And with due respect
to your contribution,

Da Silva orchestrated

both the death
and the discovery.

I imagine that he tracked

Scalice's progress
with an assist from Big Brother.

He wanted a Mob war.
A chain reaction

of violent reprisals

which would at least
weaken the Pardillo family.

At best, it would result
in the death

of the one man
who knew his origins.

The only way Da Silva
sails off into retirement

is if the boss dies.

That file is unusable

as a nuclear arsenal.

He kept it solely
to remind Pardillo

of their mutually-assured
destruction.

Well, it won't be much use
to a DA, either.

I stole it from his office.

It would be inadmissible
in any case against Da Silva.

He might not go to jail, but
he certainly won't keep his job.

Neither would
the detective.

Fortunately, I don't think

that level of self-sacrifice
will be necessary.

All right, thanks.

Uh, Commissioner?

Thought you'd
want to hear this.

The lab was able to link the car
bomb that killed Dante Scalice

to explosives from one of Robert
Pardillo's construction offices.

Apparently, they went and
pulled the security tapes.

They got the old man
giving the nod himself.

Is that right?
Captain Gregson said

he's gonna hold off
on the warrant

till they know
Pardillo's whereabouts,

but with a little luck, should
be wrapped up by end of day.

Well, that's a damn fine
collar for Tommy Gregson.

You tell him I said so.

All right.

Robert?
You're late.

I'm on my way.

What the hell is the matter
with you?

I shouldn't even be showing
my face here.

There's a nice Barolo

down in the galley.
Go help yourself.

Be there in 15.

I don't think you understand
the spot that I'm in.

Yeah, I know.

You got problems.
You got problems.

But we gotta get
on the same page,

how we're handling Martinez.

Bobby, I wouldn't
have asked you here

if it wasn't serious, huh?

Something you got to see.

Won't take five minutes.

Commissioner Da Silva,

put down your weapon.
You're surrounded.

Police! Don't move!

Stay right there!
Do not move!

Let me see your hands!

Clear the boat!

Robert Pardillo...

come out with your hands
behind your head.

It's safe.

We're not gonna let the
deputy commissioner hurt you.

All right, lock it down! Go!

Move! Move!

A silencer.

You were gonna take me
on a boat ride?

You son of a bitch!

Come over here,

you rat bastard!

"We're not gonna let him
hurt you" was a nice touch.

No kidding.

I bet he did.

And-and thank you, sir.

All right. Bye.

You're allowed a television

in your room
at Beacon Correctional, correct?

You could hear all that?

I couldn't.

The deposed deputy
commissioner is going

to a minimum security
facility upstate

for the remainder
of his natural-born life.

He struck a deal.

You testify against Robert
Pardillo and his entire family,

you get basic cable.

I would have thought
bread and water would suffice.

Well, he's never gonna
have a good night's

sleep again.
That's for sure.

Department's gonna take
a black eye on this one.

Small price to pay
for cutting out a cancer, no?

While you're here,

I wanted to thank you

for straightening everything
out with Marcus.

It's good to have him back.
What?

They're good-looking kids, man.

Yeah, they're
gonna love you.

The crazy guy at Dad's office
who bankrolled their new bikes.

For a desk.

Well, you sold low.

I would've went
twice as high.

You're an odd one, Bell.

Don't know what
to tell you, man.

It's my desk.

== sync, corrected by Romesh ==
RiVaL