Original subtitles

NARRATOR: Coming tonight on Hill Street Blues...

According to ballistics,

Miss Gilliam was shot with a .45 automatic.

Certain people in certain positions

are already demanding a quick and easy solution.

Hold it right there!

I'm scared, Frank. I'm really scared.

We'll get him, Joyce.

I promise you.

(screaming)

Put it down. Put it down!

(screams)

Big-time dope expert, huh, Crimmons?

I thought you told me this guy was okay!

I didn't know, Mr. Goldberg-- I thought he was cool!

(growling)

(suspenseful music playing)

(indistinct chatter on police radio)

RAY: Frank, it's terrible.

Let me have a look.

The ID is still tentative.

I can't be the one to make it positive, but I think so.

RAY: How well did you know her, Frank?

Just casually. Did she resist her assailant?

No witnesses.

Seems to me like she and her companion were nailed coming through the door.

Kill and rob.

-Her companion? -RAY: George Hobart.

We got him outta here a minute ago in critical condition.

A young male was seen running to a car.

Flashy jacket, maybe gang colors.

Nobody got a license or a make.

I want Howard Hunter in my office first thing in the morning.

RAY: All right.

-Does she have family here, Frank? -No-- I-- I don't know.

She was from out of state.

Who do we call for an ID?

I know a close friend.

Joyce? Yeah.

(stammers) Listen.

I have some bad news.

ESTERHAUS: Item eight...

We had a bad one last night, people.

Pamela Gilliam was shot to death in an attempted robbery

outside a neighborhood restaurant on Jefferson.

Her companion was critically wounded.

Some of you may have known Miss Gilliam in her capacity as a public defender.

Others, in her private work with young offenders.

For those of you who didn't, suffice it to say,

we've all suffered a grievous loss.

As part of a subsequent operation,

the, uh, captain would like the following teams

to remain after roll call--

Bates/Coffey, Shorcoff/Walsh, Prentice/Milatello.

(clears throat) Item nine,

it appears that, um,

congratulations are in order for one of us. Uh...

late yesterday afternoon, the Black Police Officers' Coalition

met to elect its annual congress.

Officer Hill, conspicuous by his non-presence,

was nominated vice-president in absentia

by Lieutenant Ozzie Cleveland of Midtown,

and dually elected by a convincing margin!

(cheering and applause)

I, for one, am certain Officer Hill

will contribute magnificently to the new administration,

and stand as a sterling example of Hill Street fortitude and diplomacy

race-wise, police-wise, and otherwise.

All right, that's it. Let's roll.

And, hey! Hey!

Let's be real, real careful out there.

This must be some kind of damn mistake.

I don't want to run for any vice-president. I wasn't even there!

What the hell is Ozzie-- What's the number of Midtown?

It's written on the wall there.

You know, I was elected sergeant-at-arms in high school one time.

Punched out two other guys to get that.

Okay, Renko.

Uh, Lieutenant Cleveland?

Hey, I want to report 57 people

being held hostage in an apartment building.

-57? Where? -Yes, sir. 2642 Richmond.

A guy named Sosa and his two goon sons are responsible.

-Are they armed? -Yeah, you could say that.

He's got the title to the building.

I don't understand, sir.

Well, it's simple. You buy yourself a rent-controlled building

with people who have a fixed income.

Then you gotta get them out to jack up the price,

so you let the furnace break down,

the toilets back up, and you let the rats run free.

And you do cute little things,

like put glue in the mailbox so nobody can get in there.

And then if you complain, he tells the tenants,

"If you don't like it, take a walk."

Do you live at this address, Mister, um...

Bustamante, Joe. Yeah, we're new tenants.

You report any of this to the Department of Buildings?

What, are you kidding? So they can condemn the building? Then what?

Now, Mr. Bustamante, soon as I can free somebody,

I'll have the matter investigated.

Leave the information with the Khaki Officer. Thank you.

Mr. Bustamante, I'm not entirely clear

as to the criminal nature of whatever it is.

Harassment, 140.25. Criminal mischief, 140.40.

Penal code class C misdemeanors.

I'm a law student.

Don't look so impressed.

We'll do our best, Mr. Bustamante.

I tell you, the guy's crazy!

(man screaming)

No! You're not gonna get me! No!

MAN: Come on, stay back, now!

Put it down. Put it down!

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!

You'll never get me! You'll never get me! You'll never get me!

No! No!

No! No! You'll never get me! No! No!

(growling)

WOMAN (on radio): Dispatch. We have a 9-11.

Armed robbery in progress.

See Surplus Store, corner People's Drive and 124th Street.

(sirens wailing)

(theme music playing)

It's unfortunate, but a lot of cheap-shot politics

are gonna come out of this one.

She was Black, and she was prominent. She comes from a highly respected family.

Certain people in certain positions

are already demanding a quick and easy solution.

I don't need to tell you who's expected to get it for them.

(chalk squeaks)

Damn calcium carbonate impurities!

According to ballistics,

Miss Gilliam was shot with a .45 automatic.

That's an expensive piece for a kid,

so the killer's likely to try to hold onto it.

Somebody saw gang colors at the scene.

Inasmuch as it's Royal Blood turf,

we figure their Hodge Street playground hangout

is as good a place as any to start.

The D.A. says we can sweep it,

ask questions, conduct a stop-and-frisk.

If the gun's in the park, we're gonna find it.

Captain, how hard can we pat 'em down?

If it's hard enough to dent a skull, pull it.

Our right to frisk in this instance

extends only so far as protective necessity,

so let's try to keep it clean, okay?

If we do find any evidence,

we don't want it kicked back on a technicality.

Lieutenant Hunter will fill you in on the specifics.

Thank you, Captain. (clears throat)

It's a joint operation, people.

Emergency Action Team and regular forces

working in unison to achieve a maximum tactical effect.

Our objective is the Hodge Street playground.

Now, this is a formidable playground,

but by no means an impregnable one.

I plan to deploy you much in the same way Hannibal deployed his Nubians

when taking the sea wall at Syracuse.

We have 20 Uniforms and detectives now.

We'll have five more by this afternoon.

You want miracle results, get me a miracle budget!

Tell me, how do you reconcile your job with your own personal gut feeling

that crime should be punished?

Sometimes, it isn't easy.

Doubts concerning one's client

are inevitable for any public defender.

I'm sure any D.A. has parallel doubts about witnesses, police officers.

Fortunately, we've got a judicial system

which leaves the ultimate judgment up to a jury of one's peers.

My role as a public defender is simply to facilitate that process

by giving my clients the best possible defense the law allows.

I do have occasional doubts about my job,

but all in all,

I believe in this clumsy,

-overloaded system. -Henry.

We're working on it, Joyce.

(voice shaking) I hardly recognized her down at the coroner's, Frank. (gasps)

Her hair was all tangled. (sniffles)

Isn't that crazy? Huh.

(sniffles) That's what got to me most.

She was always so meticulous about it.

You ever wished you'd been there when it happened, with a gun?

(sniffles)

We live in the freest, most secure society in the world,

and you can get blown away...

just because...

you just happen to leave a restaurant at the wrong time.

What's happening in this country?

Listen to me, the crusading public defender.

What if the animal who did this

is somebody I helped put back on the streets

because of some legal technicality?

How's Hobart?

Out of surgery, that's all I know.

I'm scared, Frank. I'm really scared.

We'll get him, Joyce.

I promise you.

I'd like to stay here for a little while, if I could.

Sure.

Stay as long as you want.

(door opens)

(sniffles)

(sobbing)

What are you doing to me, Ozzie? I didn't ask for this post.

Hell, I didn't even know I was nominated till two hours ago.

All I did was throw your hat in the ring, Bobby.

It's not my fault you came up a winner.

I got other interests in my life right now, Ozzie.

I don't want to be active in politics!

Ozzie, it's not like I don't support the goals of the Coalition, it's just--

Ozzie, I would make a lousy vice-president anyway.

Well, it appears that 284 of your fellow Black officers feel differently.

Well, seeing as how I got in on your coattails,

I'd say that's more a testament to your popularity than mine.

You're wrong, Bobby.

Sure, I endorsed you, quite strongly, in fact.

But in the end result, it was you they voted for.

Ozzie, you just gonna have to find yourself another man.

I know, Bobby.

I felt the same way when I was first nominated

to the presidency six years ago.

Why make waves? Maybe a few enemies.

There's always some other guy who'll take up the slack.

But let me tell you something--

if every one of us had copped the same attitude,

there wouldn't be a coalition in the first place,

in which case, I seriously doubt you'd be standing there

-in that uniform right now. -Wait a minute, Ozzie.

I may owe you guys a few back dues,

but these Blues are bought and paid for with more than just my money.

Do you have any idea how many Blacks were on the job

before the Coalition was founded 18 years ago?

-No, I-- -Twenty four in the entire city!

Within four years of our quota-hiring proposal,

that figure jumped to 180.

-Ozzie, don't get m-- -And that is just the beginning.

Do you realize

that in the present Black enrollment of 384,

there are only three ranking officers in the whole department? Three!

Hill Street has none...

but we are bringing that up to quota, too.

We could use you, Bobby.

But if you don't want the responsibility, I understand.

I just thought you should know who your friends are.

Oh, right this way, Mr. Simms.

Mr. Goldberg has been one of our leading manufacturers

of ladies' apparel for the past ten years now.

Our blouson has been featured in Cosmo magazine last month.

I bet the coolers got a big bang out of that.

So what, Sidney? Fourteen percent of nothing is still nothing.

Hey, you can burn 'em in the street for all I care.

I wouldn't wrap a sick dog in those shmattes.

It's Rozniak.

He's trying to unload 5,000 yards of flip rayon on me.

You ever try to work with Filipino rayon?

I can't say that I have.

This is Eddie Simms, Mr. Goldberg,

the fellow I was telling you about.

Hey, hey, terrific.

Nice to meet you, Eddie.

You, uh, bring the party supplies, or what?

No, actually, Mr. Goldberg,

I was here to discuss a profit-sharing plan

for your employees out front.

(all laughing)

Good, that's very, very good.

I like this guy already.

Hey, and you can stop that "Mr. Goldberg" crap.

Eddie, my name is Stan, huh?

Stan, feast your eyes on this.

(whistles)

Stuff this pure a lot of dudes would have jumped on

with everything but hiking boots.

Hasn't been touched by human hands since Bogota.

You mind if I run this up the flagpole?

Be my guest.

-If you don't mind my asking, Stan... -Hmm?

...what is a big-time garment manufacturer like yourself

doing buying eight ounces of Columbian flake?

(scoffs) I got a 19-year-old wife.

She goes through this stuff like breath mints.

And her friends... (chuckles)

My place is like a regular convention on weekends.

First-rate, Mr. Goldberg. First-rate.

Uh, how much you say this was?

Eight ounces-- $2,250 per. 18-grand even.

(tongue clicks)

On second thought, why don't you just empty the safe?

-What the hell is this? -EDDIE: It's called a rip-off, Stan.

Let's go. In the briefcase. Move!

Big-time dope expert, huh, Crimmons?

I thought you told me this guy was okay!

I didn't know, Mr. Goldberg. I thought he was cool!

Yeah, well, you're fired.

You hear me? You're through!

When I get done with you,

you won't be able to get a job as a seamstress!

Nice doing business with you, lovers.

Feeling's mutual, cupcake.

(grunts)

Hey, you cool, baby?

No sweat, Cal. Belker's down there.

(growling)

(siren wails)

(clamoring)

Come, my pan-faced children. Follow well in order.

Get your weapons ready.

Have you your pistols?

Have you your sharp-edged axes, pioneers?

Oh, pioneers.

(sighs)

Judging from the literacy rate at this corner of the globe,

I doubt they'd recognize Walt Whitman

if he fell in their (indistinct).

This is bogus, man.

Every time something happens, you come down here and you jump on us.

Whoa, do you believe this?

Why don't you stuff it? I'm studying to be a dentist.

(whirring)

This is madness.

They got murders uptown, man,

but I don't see you frisking the stock exchange.

Yeah, well, how many brokers do you know

who hold up their pants with a Harley-Davidson primary chain?

-It's a look. -MAN: Come on, now,

you're breaking my arm.

Be nice, this is no picnic for us, either.

Is this a look, too?

Come on, come on.

Come on.

Webster?

If that's your mama, tell her she hurt my back bad last night.

Bring in the backup transport.

It's starting to look like the NBA playoffs here.

Only queens tuck trousers in their boots, chief.

Any .45 automatics in there, Coffey?

No, sir, just the usual.

Saturday Night Specials, flare guns, stuff like that.

Hmm.

(indistinct chatter)

It's the Walther PPK of the methadone set.

Judas H.!

These people have about as much appreciation

for small arms weaponry as a Marseilles pimp.

HUNTER (over megaphone): Stay right where you are there, young man.

Would you please retrieve that person, Coffey?

Yes, sir.

(engine turns over)

Turn it off! Turn it off!

Get out of the car.

HUNTER: What have we here?

My goodness, a Caribbean toothpick.

-Ooh. -Whew!

I imagine we'd be making a big mistake

if we didn't arrest this felon, hey, Ballentine?

-I'll pop the trunk, sir. -No, no, no. Stay right there.

This one we'll tow directly to Impound and search it there.

-Say what? -"Say what," yeah.

That's impound procedure, Ty.

You wouldn't want us to leave all your worldly goods

in a garage overnight without a proper inventory?

Come on.

(knife opens and closes)

-"Say what." -"Say what."

What is this world coming to?

The departmental lot was bumper-to-bumper, Frank,

per usual, I might add.

We were therefore compelled to use

the licensed impound facility of one, uh, Barnard T. Kaczmarek.

Fine, Howard, just so long as it's by the book.

Schmeltzer is just emerging from the rear of the vehicle

even as we speak, Frank, with what appears to be--

Schmeltzer, come here.

...a set of bongos, a baseball bat.

Ah! Two sharpened Afro-American combs.

Spare me the play-by-play, Howard.

Just phone me here at the station

if you find anything the least bit relevant.

BALLENTINE: Looks like a department store in here, sir.

Kudos, Ballentine,

but it's not the least bit relevant to the matter at hand.

Are there any small arms in there?

There doesn't appear to be.

Just radios and tape decks and the like.

Well, let's check the spare tire well, shall we?

Good call, sir.

Three .45s, automatic.

Get 'em down to Ballistics posthaste, Ballentine.

If we get lucky, I'll let you ride point on the next maneuver.

(indistinct chatter)

Darlin', Renko. Two sandwiches, two coffees.

What do you got there?

LUCY: Cherries jubilee.

-Mm. -Yo, Hill!

Think you could sit with the brothers?

We got a few matters to get straight.

Uh, yeah, yeah. I can-- I can do that.

Say, Renko, I'm gonna go and sit with the brothers for...

No problem.

-Yep. -Yep.

Well, it's not that I'm denying the Afro-Americans

their inalienable right

to gather and converse about their problems

to bring themselves out of the poisonous oppression

they have endured for these many years,

but I have been eating lunch with that guy

for three and a half years.

Well, you're just gonna have to cool it, Renko,

because you are married to a politician now.

In 1965, we had 7/10ths of one percent brothers

at Detective Two or above.

1973, 5.2.

This year, we're down to 4.8.

Hey, Vernon, I'm not arguing your numbers, man.

I'm just saying that before we start issuing ultimatums,

we better make sure we can back them up.

You know why you got elected, bro?

Because Ozzie Cleveland knew that you don't offend people.

Well, I want to offend people. I don't care about eating lunch with them.

Just give me what's mine, Jack.

Okay, Bobby, let's go.

Yeah, wait, wait, wait.

Uh, this is Vernon Lee, one of the founders of the B.O.C.

This is my partner, Andy Renko.

What's happening, bro?

(laughter)

You coming?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I just want to talk to the guys awhile.

You want to pick me back up?

Old European tradition, to shake a hand.

Never knew there was much improvement needed on it.

Whoa.

There's a fascinating article in here titled

"Castration By Design," about our Panama Canal fiasco.

You realize we may as well have given Cleveland to the Russians.

What would be so bad about that?

-Have you got something alive-- -I got a pet mouse.

You know, I remember in Da Nang, we had a pet Komodo Lizard.

We kept it near the interrogation room.

Ate an entire chicken once.

I notice you're fond of fauna.

I love animals, Lieutenant.

They're loyal, they're reliable--

I think they're much more giving of affection than humankind.

He's cute, isn't he?

Ooh, you like smoked fish head, you little guy.

(high-pitched voice) Gotta eat your protein, grow very, very big.

Very, very good for you.

His name's Mickey.

-Fascinating creatures, rodents. -Yeah.

Indeed, there's some top-drawer research now

that indicates that mice in confined spaces

exhibit the same kind of sociopathic disorder

that you find in your Third-World brown types.

Not this little fella, Lieutenant.

Have you ever noticed how some dogs immediately take to fire engines?

Well, this little guy's got a real talent for police work.

I met him on a stakeout.

Just the two of us up in an attic alone for nine hours.

The whole time this little guy never made a peep.

Fascinating. Simply fascinating.

Mm-hmm.

A symbiotic relationship.

I'm training him to sniff out drugs.

You know, marijuana, cocaine.

I think I gave him a little too much last night.

He really got wiped out.

Didn't want to come to work this morning.

(chuckles)

-His name's Mickey? -Yeah.

Mouse?

Not Mickey Mouse, Mickey Belker.

I tell you, Lieutenant, I just love this little guy.

Hey, Mick! Great collar today.

(whimpers)

(growling)

(man laughing)

So, listen, they call my Caddy "The Yom Kippur clipper."

Not only stops on a dime, gets out, goes, picks it up.

(laughter)

-Hi, Henry. -Fay.

Hey.

See those guys?

We're talking bargain basement of the legal profession.

They're still making 60-grand, hitting Aruba twice a winter.

I'm as smart as they are, I work twice as hard,

and I take my life in my hands every day I come to work.

Shoulda listened to your mother and gone to law school, Henry.

Hey, I thought you guys were gonna help.

-We been a little bit busy. -You're a little bit late.

Miss Keitel sends her regards from the hospital.

It seems she fell down and broke her hip.

The banister collapsed.

Oh, brother.

Hey, by the way, for your information, I talked to Sosa.

You know what he said to me?

It's not only 73-year olds who can break a hip.

It can happen to me, too, if I'm not too careful.

Oh, I completely forgot.

Me, too. I'll go over there.

There's a major, uh... (sniffs)

"snowfall" in the garment district every day, gentlemen.

Uh-huh. And your client wants to help with the cleanup.

Very civic-minded of him, counselor.

Well, let's just say that Mr. Simms is

privy to a great amount of information...

which with the appropriate promises, assurances...

We'll have to talk to our captain, Mr. Wachtel.

(door opens, closes)

MAN: This little Jewish guy gets hit by a car, right?

Ambulance is coming, people crowding all around.

It doesn't look good for him.

Now, this Irish cop comes over, puts a blanket on top of him,

balls up a jacket,

puts it under his head, and says to him, "Are you comfortable?" Right? (chuckles)

Little Jewish guy opens up his eyes, looks at him, and says,

(in Jewish accent) "I make a nice living, thank you."

(laughing)

Hey, answer me this.

You guys do anything for your $80 an hour?

Anything?

It's a disgrace and an embarrassment, Frank.

I mean, here I am, the newest member of W.A.D.,

and my own ex-husband's precinct hasn't got a single ranking Black officer.

-W.A.D.? -Women Against Discrimination.

-It's Midge Dolson's group. -Midge Dolson the lesbian?

Oh, Frank!

That hasn't got anything to do with it.

I just mean she's a radical activist.

She is an angry, concerned citizen of the community.

When I read about her and her W.A.D.,

I went right over there to join up.

Oh, Fay.

Just because you've had

some disappointments with the men in your life...

Well, I'm not planning to become a lesbian,

if that's what you're thinking.

And I'm certainly not going to burn my bra.

That's a relief.

Frank, I came here to warn you, that's all.

We are a wraparound support group.

And Midge wants us to come out strongly for the Black Officers' Coalition.

In view of this precinct's abysmal lack of Black equality,

you're gonna get a lot of steam from us.

Fay, appointments come up through the department.

I don't hire or fire anyone.

(knock on door)

Excuse me, Captain.

Our suspect's lawyer's interested in a deal.

Why don't you ask him what he thinks about it?

Fay, please. What are they offering?

They didn't get specific.

Well, tell him we'll have to talk to the D.A.

You wanna try to pin him down before I make the call?

You wanna talk to him now? He's right out here.

Oh, it's all right. I gotta go.

-Hi. -Hi.

So, Frank, don't say I didn't warn you.

Oh, by the way, I'd love for you to meet Midge,

she's wonderful.

Wouldn't mind a one-night stand with that, huh?

Nice pillows.

Ballistics for you, Frank, on 1-9.

-Furillo. -MAN: Captain Furillo?

-Yes. -We got your .45.

Yeah, thanks.

We have the gun that killed Pam Gilliam.

Based on the evidence, counselor,

we're prepared to press first-degree murder charges against your client.

My client here, Mr. Bragg,

maintains he knows nothing about the shooting of Miss Gilliam.

Mr. Bragg can maintain all he wants.

The fact remains the murder weapon was found in the trunk of his car.

So, unless he has something to add,

we're prepared to turn him over for arraignment.

(whispering) Do everything I tell you to do.

Uh, my client, Mr. Bragg here,

informs me he may have some things to say.

But we've gotta stop talking about Murder One, Captain.

I can't promise you anything.

But if he wants to tell us who his accomplice was,

maybe we can work something out.

Assistant D.A. Zeiger's in the next room on another matter.

Why don't you two talk it over while I get with him?

(man coughing)

(woman coughing)

(man coughing)

MAN: Who is it?

Sergeant Goldblume from Hill Street.

Listen, I did my bit.

You're the people that are supposed to do something.

I got a wife. I gotta study.

Hey-- Look, I just wanna run down

a few of the allegations before I talk to Mr. Sosa,

or at least get the names of the harassed tenants.

I wish you wouldn't have knocked on my door.

Mr. Bustamante, this was your complaint.

Well, I'm sorry. I've already wasted half my day on this.

Hey, I'm the middle of exams. Thanks.

What's your problem?

I'm looking for a Mr. Sosa.

We're all Sosa. What do you want?

I'm Sergeant Henry Goldblume, Hill Street station.

We've received some complaints about the building,

and I was hoping maybe we could talk for a few minutes.

Talk? About what? (scoffs)

Talk to my lawyers.

Who's complaining, anyways?

Mr. Sosa, I been in here less than five minutes.

I already seen at least eight code violations.

A woman was seriously injured here today.

You got a warrant?

No warrant? Get out of here. Beat it.

I don't need a warrant to be in a public hallway.

What, are you making the rules up as you go?

This is my building.

My hallway, my tenants. Beat it!

Take a good look at that, gentlemen.

Now, it may still be possible to settle this

without a criminal prosecution.

You're bluffing.

You ain't got nothing.

Excuse me.

Next time, wise guy, call my lawyers!

Can I give you some help with those?

Ma'am, I'm a police officer.

I'd like to talk to you about conditions in this building.

Don't you worry about anything, sweet stuff.

Pete here will give you a hand.

Mr. Simms is not totally out of touch with reality, gentlemen,

and he feels as you do that his interests will best be served

by some sort of creative settlement.

You want me in County a couple of months for show, I can dig that.

-But you gotta guarantee me no hard time. -(scoffs)

I've turned over on so many guys, you send me upstate...

I'm dog meat.

What kind of arrangement are we talking about, Mr. Wachtel?

Hey, come on. Look.

We got a first-rate bust on a third-rate sleaze, Captain.

Possession, Possession With Intent, Rob One.

Let's not throw this away.

Gentlemen, can we negotiate this somewhere in private?

That's a shame about Pam Gilliam.

Hell of a bright girl. What a bod.

Legs all the way up to her--

-Ray, in my o-- -Five minutes, Frank.

Lark and Sanchez brought in a rape suspect.

We had no place else to put him.

How about the old toilet, huh?

Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Yeah, hell of a woman, Joycie.

Shoulda seen her first year of law school.

I mean, what a number.

BELKER: Don't squeeze it so hard.

COFFEY: It won't fit if I don't.

-BELKER: Just be gentle. -COFFEY: It's as stiff as a board.

A new department, huh, Frank?

What's going on in there, Mick?

Having a little funeral, Captain.

I killed his mouse by accident.

-(laughing) -(Belker growling)

Could you make it snappy? We need a little privacy.

Sure, Captain.

(splash)

Goodbye, little fella.

(toilet flushes)

Excuse me, Captain.

The nuts are taking over the asylum.

Now, you check my arithmetic, Wendell,

but it's a classic case of little fish, big fish.

Now, I got a middle-level coke dealer I could probably spring on entrapment,

but he doesn't want to take the chance.

Now, that gives your side and our side

a mutuality of interest in the, uh, bigger fish.

What's your guy willing to take?

"B" misdemeanor, maybe an "A," couple of years of probation.

And before you guys give me any phony groans,

my client is ready to hand over possibly the largest PCP lab in the state.

-Interested? -Frank?

If it pans out.

Let's keep talking, Alan.

Damn bladder infection's killing me.

Leastwise, I hope it's bladder, because if it's prostate again,

I... Eh.

Anyway, I'll pass the word onto my client that there's a deal in the works, huh?

Wendell, Frank, pleasure as always.

Oh, Wendell, whi--

while I have you here, I could use your input on another negotiation.

What is this, "Let's Make A Deal"?

We may have a line on the kid who shot Pam Gilliam.

I was there! I was there.

But I didn't know about no gun he had, or nothing like that.

Who's "he"?

-What's the name? -Uh, uno momento there, Captain.

Before we say another word, I've gotta know

my client's not gonna be charged with First-Degree.

I just spoke to Assistant D.A. Bernstein, whose case this is.

In return for the name of the shooter, and assuming

the surviving witness's testimony corroborates,

the district attorney will be disposed towards a plea of Second-Degree,

or maybe even voluntary manslaughter, for Mr. Bragg.

That offer is alive for exactly one hour.

All right, now listen, you just tell them what they want to hear.

Wilbur. Wilbur Harmon.

310 Jefferson Street, apartment 3-B.

-Get a warrant, Ray. Let's bring him in. -All right.

Just once, I'd like to see one of these things come down clean.

-If he kicks this one up-- -I don't think he'll let it happen, baby.

Gentlemen, so you'll know,

we traded your coke dealer for a PCP lab. You want it?

Yes, sir. Sounds good to me, Captain.

11:00 tomorrow morning, Jerry Fuchs' office over at Division.

It's a joint operation. He'll set it up.

We'll be there.

All right.

Ready?

Kick it in!

All right, hold it right there!

Don't let this one get away, Frank.

I want his head on a stake in the middle of Decker Avenue.

(pinball machine dings)

-Hey, LaRue. -Hey, Bobby.

Cowboy.

What, are you a sadomasochist, going to the sports arena in your uniform?

Oh, man, I can't go.

I got a recruitment meeting tonight.

Wait a minute, wait a minute.

I got tickets here, scalped, $30 a ducat. Look here, tickets!

Hey, I'm really sorry, cowboy.

Look, if you can't sell mine outside, I'll give you the bread for it.

No, no, I think I'd rather just go

and sit there all alone, watching the game.

I said I was sorry.

I guess I just don't understand

this sudden political activism, that's all.

I didn't go looking for it, you know that.

But it's on my hands now.

I'm sorry if you feel left out.

But the BOC's important, not only for me,

but for every Black in the entire department.

Please, stop.

Those people have sold you a can of pork and beans, buddy.

Nobody sold me anything.

All right. If this is about my precocity

for telling ethnic-type jokes all the time, then I--

It's not about your lousy jokes, Renko.

I'm used to your lousy jokes.

Actually, come to think of it, yeah.

I'm sick and tired of your lousy jokes.

Heard you and Neal Washington tell a lot worse jokes than I tell you.

But that's between ourselves.

So what are you saying here?

You saying you're closer to him than you are to me?

That what you're saying?

-Is that it? -I don't know what I'm saying,

but I gotta get through it, Renko.

And a little understanding on your part

would certainly go a hell of a long way right now.

Understand what? Get through what?

You don't know what the hell you're talking about!

I'm doing what I have to do, Renko.

If you can't support that, and if you can't live with it,

-then I don't know-- -Go!

Just go.

Lovers' quarrel?

No, more like irreconcilable differences.

Hmm. It happens, my man.

I'll tell you, Andy, life's kinda like a yo-yo.

The big guy upstairs is the Duncan Royal man.

You're up, you're down.

Myself, right now, things couldn't be better.

I'm on a hell of a case.

PCP lab, biggest one in the state.

What are you drinking?

To tell you the truth, J.D.,

I don't much feel like socializing right now.

It is not healthy to drink alone.

Take it from an expert.

Come on, what are you having?

Shot and a beer.

Yo, ace, a shot and a beer, twice.

J.D., are you, uh...

You off the wagon now?

Yeah, you know what the problem was?

Lousy self-image. I couldn't face myself.

Booze wasn't the problem. I was the problem.

I don't have to duck out anymore.

Things are different now. Hey, I like myself, huh?

I'm not gonna hurt myself. No way.

I can handle it now.

Cheers, huh?

Ah!

Cheers.

You know, I've sprung kids like Wilbur Harmon dozens of times.

On technicalities, on making cops look like liars.

This one was on the streets

because Rob Pragersing got an Armed Robbery Second

kicked down to a misdemeanor assault.

When he found out it was Harmon who killed Pam,

he went out, got drunk, then came back to the office and resigned.

Can't say I blame him, either.

I'm thinking of quitting myself.

That won't make the problem go away.

At least I won't have to be a part of it.

I just don't know if I can walk into an interrogation room again

and look into one of those kids' faces

without wondering who he's going to kill next time.

We teach them the law is a game.

It's easy to play.

Then we go home, watch the news,

lock our doors and windows,

and lie awake frightened to death,

wondering what's happening to the quality of our lives.

It just isn't fair.

She was so young...

so special.

Oh, God, I'm going to miss her so terribly.

(closing theme playing)