Original subtitles

Hey, get me something to drink.

- Like what? - Anything. I'm thirsty.

All right.

Laura, don't.

Just buy me something to drink.

Buy me something to drink.

- Huh? - Just buy me my drink.

Yeah, yeah, sure.

You drifted off on me there, pal.

Who the hell's Laura?

Who... who the hell are you?

- Thanks. - You're welcome.

You wanna type up the prosecution report for me?

Why not? G's had me in office since the beatdown.

Might as well be helpful.

Feel the secretary, be the secretary.

Sheppard, you're back in rotation.

Type your own report.

Homicide. Lewis.

Hey. We've got a dunker in Canton.

We'll be back in black before you can say, "Cadillac."

Right. I'll get us a car.

Yeah. 1800 block.

So, partner, guess I'm saddling up again.

Yes, indeedy! Glad to have you back!

- Got a live one? - Yeah, yeah. Uh-huh.

- A live one. Ready to go? - Ready, willing and able.

Yeah. Listen, I've gotta tidy up round here a little bit.

You wanna go get us a Cavalier?

- All right. - Good to have you back, partner!

Hey, Falsone. Trade cases with me.

A decomp victim in the projects, for a cut-and-dry dunker.

Let's see, that's like trading Mark McGwire for... anybody.

I know. It's Sheppard.

I don't think she's ready to go back on the street.

- She seems fine to me. - Help me out here.

You serious?

Dead.

Am I crazy or have we been called to a scene with no shell casings?

You are not crazy. The dead guy got run over by a car.

Well, that's not homicide. That's a traffic accident.

In which case, Sergeant Nagel here,

who makes his home in the traffic investigation section,

can pursue this case on his lonesome. God bless you, Stevie.

- You're a noble race of warrior. - Not so fast, Munch.

This one has more lumps than the average hit and run.

More lumps?

The dead guy, he's on the sidewalk making his way down the street.

The vehicle that hits him, it veers across two lanes

and jumps a curb without so much as a skid mark.

No sign the guy tried to brake,

or that he made any effort to regain control of the vehicle.

Yeah, well, so if this guy was targeted,

if it wasn't a random accident, then what we're talking about is murder.

Whose side are you on?

Was the vehicle damaged when it hit the guy?

From what we found, he broke a headlight

and maybe a parking light or two.

And we got some paint chips. Blue in color.

Probably from the front part of the quarter panel where the victim bounced.

And a dead guy? No wallet or ID?

He's holding a dollar and change

and a receipt for a can of Dinty Moore stew

purchased at that convenience store moments before he smacked.

He's probably from around this neighborhood.

He steps out of his house with a few bucks

on his way to the 711, never makes it home.

We also took this off him.

- Wow. It's some blade. - Yeah, I thought so.

- What? That was in his pocket? - On his front belt loop.

Well, what do you expect? The man is on the mean streets of Baltimore,

stalking the big game quarry, which is Dinty Moore in a can.

Of course he's gonna be armed.

It's awfully pretty

You're one eyewitness?

She's in that beauty shop looking through the window.

She can't even say if the driver's male or female.

You got your work cut out for you.

Yeah, thanks, pal. Hey, you know that rule

that says you can't cover cases as a primary?

Oh, no, no, no. I'm FBI, not Baltimore PD.

And yet there you stand with pen and notepad Akimbo,

adding another name in red to my corner of the board.

- Munch. - Don't munch me.

You just caught this case, okay?

I don't care where the red letters get read.

You own this nonsense. I'm just along for the ride.

Let's go talk to the witness.

Detective [indistinct]. Keeper of the mean bean.

I'm gonna have a talk with those night guys.

They leave the pot on the burner till it fries the leftovers.

Second shift can't tell the difference.

Where'd you pick up this?

- Off a victim. - Victim?

Yeah, some guy got clobbered by a car.

Hey, talk to that shift about the cream, too.

Some weed whacker, huh, Stu?

This is no weed whacker.

You got something on that?

- I don't know. - You don't know what?

I'll go around and pick up some fresh cream.

I gotta get coffee filters anyway.

Make that half and half.

Hey, fingerprints on your victim came up clean on the city computer.

Nothing on NCIC either.

So the guy lives, what, maybe half a century

without ever managing to get arrested,

only to become the hood ornament on someone else's four wheeler?

Huh... How fair is that?

When it comes to life, I think that a probability curve

is the only thing that we're entitled to.

You know, your Harford road guy, he walks into the 711

thinking that he is a master of his own destiny,

and he walks out, the rube in a small moment of cosmic slapstick.

Life itself should come with a money back guarantee.

If not completely satisfied, return unused portion for a full refund.

Put up a return window on the department store of life.

You gotta figure the universe goes busts in four days.

Right? Right. No satisfied customers at all.

Not our John Doe, anyway.

I have to wait for the family and friends,

see if someone files a missing persons report.

Well, maybe we can take it a step further.

Run the prints down to Washington,

the bureau can do a full federal personnel search.

That's creepy.

The federal government stockpiling fingerprint cards on law abiding citizens?

No doubt a preamble to some draconian crackdown on dissent.

I'll call Washington.

A Faustian bargain with big brother.

Today his computers give us John Doe's name.

Tomorrow we all get a number

and they ship our asses off to some high desert Gulag in Nevada.

Thomas Paine said it best:

"Disorder is the only handmaiden to true democracy."

Thomas Paine never said that.

He was getting around to it.

Well, this doesn't have the look of a slam dunk.

Or the smell, for that matter.

In fact, this doesn't look like Canton, Toto.

I meant to tell you, I switched cases with Lewis.

What?

I'm your partner. Doesn't even dawn on you to ask me first?

Look, he was worried about Renee, so I switched. End of story.

Well, you bought into Lewis's fears.

Aren't you the lucky ones?

- Hey, Jay, what do we got? - Look what the dog drug in.

Got a decomposing body.

It's difficult to tell how long he's been there, though.

Maybe a week, maybe a month.

Cold is a pretty decent preservative.

Yeah, not decent enough.

Maybe he's some street person

who died peacefully in his sleep?

Nope.

Rats have been gnawing in his face,

so I couldn't find an entrance wound.

But I got a doozy of an exit wound.

Right occipital.

And I've got one compressed projectile.

Jimmy Ferguson. Date of birth, 8-12-70.

Okay, bag him up.

- Any witnesses? - Dream on.

You think this is funny?

That's what you get for being altruistic.

Ferguson's gonna be in red for a long time.

So you killed your roommate with this here shovel?

Sick of him telling me what to do all the time.

I told him if I didn't need this cane,

but he said, "you do, Marty. You're just a gimp."

I hate that word.

Something just snapped.

What do you think of that, huh?

Two Baltimore City's finest bang off another one

before the rest of Charm City poured their queen cornflakes.

Answer me straight on something, Louis.

Do you still want to ride with me?

What'd I do?

You left that hat on my desk. What's it about?

It was a souvenir. You know, like, you know, we've been through the war.

- Yeah. Souvenir, right? - Yeah. Souvenir.

- Ain't no big thing. - No big thing?

- No. - We both could have been killed.

You dropped that hat on my desk. That's what you're saying?

- I think you're overreacting. - Am I?

- Yeah, little. - Then why'd you switch calls with Falsone?

He answered the phone on this call.

You think I'm deaf?

Excuse me, sir. Baltimore police.

- Can we ask you a few questions? - I'm just visiting here.

- We got a few questions. - I don't know anything.

- Well, can we have your name? - No.

- Okay, sir? - Hey.

Falsone. Don't ever raise your hand to an officer.

- I didn't do anything, man. - Paul. It's all right.

- Paul! - What's your name?

- Rick Castro, man. - Get off.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

- He's a mess, isn't he? - That's hardly a clinical term.

He got run down by a car. Where's the science in that?

Oh, physics, Munch, physics.

Mass and matter, energy and inertia.

The elemental forces of the known universe unleashed on the human condition.

And yet you stand there like a craven Luddite,

denying the exquisite precision of it.

Let me be blunt, gentlemen: the cause of death certainly

was blunt force trauma, vehicular in nature.

The car was traveling at least 30 miles per when it hit the victim.

Massive damage to most organ systems.

The death was near instantaneous.

In short, an irresistible force meets a fairly movable object.

Extinguishing marks? Capped front teeth.

And an old scar from stitches on his right knee, and this.

What does that look like to you?

Some kind of bird or something?

- Can we get a close up photo on that? - Already done.

Igor, would you give these gentlemen the overhead photos on the John Doe?

And go to the cemetery and dig me up a fresh human heart.

I have been here all day trying to create life,

and you have been no help whatsoever.

Thanks, Griscom.

I want you to know I had no part in Falsone and Lewis switching calls.

I know that.

What the hell gives them the right.

Patronizing bastards.

I mean, Falsone, he is dangerous.

I'm trying to conduct an interview,

and out of nowhere, he just slams the guy to the ground.

- Slams him? - Yeah, unprovoked.

What, he thinks he's protecting me.

He's looking to get us hurt.

Nothing back yet on the bureau's fingerprint search.

What would our lab come up with on those paint chips?

Still waiting on that, too.

I go over to traffic and follow the idiot investigator Nagel to the city garage,

hoping to get some actual analysis.

Know what he winds up telling me?

The color of the car is still blue.

Look, you want to do some fancy dance with a few paint chips,

you got to deal with the FBI lab down in Washington.

That could take weeks.

I got some drag with my colleagues.

Come on. I'll drive.

Let me just check in with missing persons

make sure no one's called in our John Doe.

You got it.

- Where are you headed? - FBI lab in Washington.

Have to have him take a look at some debris from our hit and run.

- Your ID your victim yet? - Munch is upstairs

checking with missing persons before we leave,

but no. Nah, nothing so far.

Well, uh, Look, if no one comes forward,

that knife goes unclaimed. I'll take it.

What's the deal with that knife?

D distal?

I'll be damned if I've even seen one since 'Nam.

About the best hunting knives money can buy.

You had one in Vietnam?

If you were doing a long range recon, you either had a d distal or you needed one.

So, you know, let me know.

That knife doesn't find a home, okay?

Hey, Gharty. Ah.

You recognize this tattoo?

Yeah. 13th aircraft, second battalion.

That was... That was their marker.

A lot of them guys had that on their arm.

I knew one of their captains had it stamped on his butt.

Nothing filed with missing persons.

You were in air cavalry weren't you?

Not that regiment, no.

Excuse me.

What was that look all about?

Gharty ID's the knife as from Vietnam days.

- Something that was prized. - More war stories, huh?

Until this day, my law enforcement career has remained aloof

from the ghost of J. Edgar Hoover.

Blackmailer, racist, fascist, subverter of legitimate dissent.

Here I am walking into a building that memorializes him.

- What's the problem? - No problem, detective.

We're just confirming your credentials.

- What's that supposed to mean? - It means we're confirming your credentials.

What, like cross checking my anti war activities,

my drug history, maybe my Greenpeace membership.

You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna put in a Freedom of information act request

for my file and see what UFBI collected on the radical Johnny Munch.

You're okay to go.

So you're the two from Baltimore.

Mike Giardello, FBI field office.

John Munch, Baltimore homicide. Jonas Mavens.

I did your chem and scope work.

Let me guess, our guy was hit by a blue car.

I can do better than that. Your samples came back OEM.

- German mile, huh? - No, that means original equipment manufacturer.

I'm telling you that your car hasn't been repainted.

But the car we're talking about is--

Paint chips were laser blue, metallic, tinted clear. A tri coat with a taupe primer.

Probably either a '98 or '99 Ford Expedition or Lincoln Navigator.

Tell me it has that fine quarantine leather.

No such thing exists, smart guy.

You find your driver and I'll testify it's his car.

Oh, hey, guys.

Robert Corrigan.

- What about him? - He's your John Doe.

Oh, let me guess, military records. Access to via fingerprints.

Indeed. PFC Corrigan was honorably discharged in 1970.

And his last address was on file with the Veterans Administration.

You've got to notify next of kin.

And I got to get this on teletype to the district

to see if anybody saw a Blue SUV with front end damage.

How'd you know it was military?

Gharty knew. Gharty?

Yeah, I don't know, John. All that grief you were giving him,

I think that Stu might have seen his fair share of that war.

Kiss my ass.

I hear you and Lewis put a case down yesterday.

- That's great. - It was a gimme.

Gimme a no gimmie, that's a good thing.

Did Lewis ask you to come talk to me?

No. I just thought, you know,

I mean, I know what you're going through.

- Excuse me. - No. Hey. Really?

Three years back, I had my head handed to me on a platter.

Bunch of smoke on six or seven of them. Beat me silly.

I didn't know that.

You get so scared that a beat down's gonna happen.

And then when it does, and once you realize that you've survived it,

the fear goes away.

And then when it happens again you still know this.

When it happened again. Now, what are the odds of that?

Well, maybe a little less for me than for you, but yeah, it could happen again.

- More of a chance for me. - That's not what I'm saying.

No. Took six, seven guys to beat you down.

It took two to take me, and it'll probably happen again.

Thanks for the pep talk, Stu.

Hey, Renee, that's not what I meant.

That's not what I meant.

I think the knife is the key.

Corrigan carried it with him wherever he went.

Maybe he was looking for trouble. Maybe he found it.

He's a messed up Vietnam vet.

Didn't do him much good against the bumper of that car, though.

What, you're thinking he picked a fight and then flashed the knife?

Yeah. The other guy walks away, then gets in his car and runs Corrigan down later.

- This wife number two? - No, this is numero uno.

Wife number two is in Las Vegas. This is Verna Henderson.

Verna. First in a series.

- Are you Mrs. Henderson? - Yes.

You are Verna Henderson, formerly Verna Laramie, formerly Verna Corrigan.

What's this about?

- We're here to tell you that your husband-- - First.

Excuse me, of course. Your first husband, Robert,

was the victim of a fatal car crash.

Robert.

Dead? Lord, haven't seen or thought about him in years.

Don't tell me I'm his next of kin.

We were divorced in '76. I know. He got married again.

- If I'm all he's got. - No, ma'am.

We're just here to ask some questions about Robert.

Get more information about his background.

Come in, please.

What can I tell you?

We got married before he went over to Vietnam.

He came home, we fought, we split up.

We got back together for a little bit, but I don't know.

We never really had it anymore.

- Any children? - Three of them, all grown.

But not with Bobby. I don't think he ever had kids.

We were wondering if he had any enemies.

Or if he had a past that we need to know about.

Well, he was in Vietnam, right?

Can make a changed man.

Changed? From what?

He went over there carrying a load.

I grew up with him in this neighborhood.

His father used to beat him every day.

Then he died when Robert was in the fourth grade.

He was sent to live with his grandmother.

She was no great shakes. She beat him, too.

Broke his collarbone when he was in high school.

Long before he goes over to that war, stop caring about himself.

Nothing over there was ever going to change him from what he was.

He got murdered early.

It took 30 more years for a car to finish the job.

This Corrigan, he's like a cipher.

Living alone, no children, no contact with ex wives, no close friends.

The accident scene indicates that the driver actually targeted our victim.

Maybe he was targeted, but it was random.

Some kid in a stolen car thinking life is a video game.

This is nothing more than an accident.

We should turn it back over to the traffic division.

There's more to know about this Robert Corrigan.

- What would you suggest? - He's a Vietnam vet, right?

I'd like to call DOD, pull up his records.

Do it. But if I don't hear anything by tomorrow,

- send it back to traffic. - War records?

Why don't we just pull his fifth grade report card,

see if you have any problems with fractions or long division.

That vehicle you put on the teletype?

It showed up at the Pulaski highway impound lot.

Thank you. I have to go tell my lieutenant.

Calling in a lunch order, order me up a sandwich, huh?

What am I, your food run flunkie now?

Just give me a ham and cheese sandwich.

I'll settle up with you later.

Hey.

Military records.

This is Detective Munch from Baltimore Homicide.

I have a couple of names I'd like you to check.

First is Corrigan, Robert.

Thar she blows. Where was it abandoned?

The rail station parking garage. It's a rental listed to Hertz.

Time in is 10 45, 20 minutes after the hit and run.

The ignition hasn't been stripped,

no sign of damage to the doors or door locks.

If this was a corner kid taking a joyride,

he would have scratched the trim getting in

and wrecked the ignition with a screwdriver.

And no corner boy's gonna drive over to the train station parking lot.

Probably dumped the damn car in the street somewhere.

Walter Drummond. Columbus, Ohio address.

Rented yesterday. BWI due back today.

Okay, a police tow truck's gonna come for this vehicle.

I want it processed for fingerprints and trace evidence.

Until then, no one so much as touches a fender.

Where are you, Mister Drummond.

Who are you, Mister Drummond?

Mister Drummond, you knew Robert Corrigan.

- Who? - You had a beef with him.

I don't know what you're talking about.

You're lying about your car. You're lying about not knowing Corrigan.

- No. - You mendacious son of a bitch.

You didn't report the rental stolen because it wasn't stolen.

It was used to run down Robert Corrigan on Harford Road.

No, I did. I did report it.

There's nothing about it on the computer.

No complaint number, no report. Who'd you report it to?

A police officer. I don't remember his name.

- I called Hertz, too. - They can't confirm that either.

And there's no record that you asked for a replacement vehicle.

I didn't need one.

My business meeting was over, so I merely took a cab back to the hotel.

I was leaving for Ohio tomorrow.

You say that you reported your rental stolen downtown.

An hour later, a pedestrian is run down with your car.

You are in deep trouble... Mister. Drummond.

Say, Bayliss, you double check the computer?

Uh, yeah, yeah, I did. There is still no complaint.

But I did find that the missing vehicle was added to the hot sheet.

How could it be on the hot sheet without a police report?

You got me, but the report was added to the sheet

by a sector sergeant working the morning shift at central.

These faxes came over for you from military records.

Please.

How much paperwork did they send you on Robert Corrigan?

- You pulled Gharty's file? - I'm a detective.

I don't respect anyone's privacy as a matter of principle.

This is a fellow detective.

If he's such a warrior, why's he being so cagey about it?

I know this is wrong. Real wrong.

Gharty's history? I mean, where do you get off?

- What were you doing back then? - Going conscientious objector.

Me and this kid, Randy Driessen, my best buddy, we had it all figured out.

Before we went down to the induction center,

we read everything there is to read about how to get C-O status.

- You and Driessen, huh? - Mm hmm.

Yeah, well, I know you ended up on your feet.

Where's your friend at?

He's a plastic surgeon up in Scarsdale.

You're out of line on Gharty.

Have a good day, Stuart.

Oh, hey. Hey. Hey, Billie Lou.

I finally got my new place fixed up.

Yeah, I bought a couple of throw rugs and standing lamp. Boombox.

Looks nice.

You should come up and see sometime.

Stuart, you know I'm seeing John.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know.

But like you say, you're not married to him.

Entre nous, we're engaged.

- You're engaged? - Since New Year's Eve.

Oh, that's great. That's just great.

You know, he's been married three times.

So have I.

Hey, Stu, you still want that ?

- No one's claiming it? - Next of kin consists of

a third ex-wife who had to be convinced it was on her to bury the man.

I don't think anyone's gonna miss that knife.

Is that his DOD file?

Yeah, but there's nothing here. An ordinary service record.

- Was I right about the unit? - Yeah. Second battalion, 13th Regiment.

- You called it. - He was in country in '67?

Yeah, yeah, '66 to '68.

So...

He was with the second battalion in May of '67.

Read 'em and weep.

The charge of insubordination with no disposition noted

- in a general discharge. - What?

Stu Gharty, general discharge. Not honorable. I called it.

Who are you to call anything?

I didn't start all this crap up, Mike.

He wants a piece of his history, I'm gonna give it to him.

- Afternoon, detective. - Hey. Whatcha up to?

Where'd you get a peach. It's winter. Peaches are out of season.

Peaches are never out of season.

Well, I mean to say that you're never out of season.

Do you know what you're doing to me right now?

I hope so.

I...

Okay, yeah, I have-- I have work to do.

Hey, Tell your partner Gharty I'm into his crap.

What's your problem? Tell him yourself.

He's got a problem with me. He rolls up on my partner Bayliss in the garage,

talking about how I'm gonna see his Irish. Fine.

I'm here with you now saying he's gonna see my chutzpah.

He talks all this GI Joe nonsense.

You know what happened to Stu Gharty in Vietnam?

None of my business or yours.

Insubordination and a general discharge.

He was a screw up, a coward.

- Who are you to talk? - He brought it up.

Turns out not to be his finest hour.

He served. Why don't you just let it go at that?

Served what? An obscenity to no purpose.

Hell, maybe it is cowardice that got your buddy kicked out of Vietnam.

Uh, Gharty is no coward.

Maybe he's got something worse going on.

Are you accusing my partner?

Because Gharty is a stand up detective, Munch.

He brags about being Air Cad, then's got nothing to say when I call him on it.

Maybe he got tossed over an indiscriminate killing or two.

Uh, You go to hell.

Stu is a good man.

The army didn't think so.

Bayliss said you were looking for me.

What aren't you telling me?

- What are you talking about? - You're not saying something?

- About what? - About the victim in my case.

Guy's a hit and run. It was random.

You know about his tattoo, his knife, his unit.

- So you're saying what to me? - Well, you tell me.

You think this has something to do with war?

This guy's over in Vietnam doing dirt, and 30 years later,

he stands too close to a Baltimore curve

and his enemies, are able to get even.

Maybe Ho Chi Minh has a long reach from the grave.

Why'd you say he's doing dirt?

It's just a figure of speech. I'm guessing.

No. You know Corrigan's history.

Second battalion, 13th Air Cavalry,

Quang Tri province, spring of '67. There was...

...some mix up.

They were in some sort of, some kind of incident.

Some friendlies. A lot of them got killed.

Incident?

Some sort of massacre or something.

This was early. Before My Lai.

You were there.

I wasn't involved.

But you were there.

You know, I've never been so ill treated in all my life.

You've led a charmed life then.

This how your city treats visitors?

You're not going to be a center for tourism, I'll tell you that.

You've made me miss my flight out.

Now I'm stuck here for another night.

- Have you seen the aquarium? - Oh. You'll hear from my attorney.

Excuse me, Mr. Drummond, you're free to go now.

We're sorry for any inconvenience we have caused you.

Don't forget to check out the dolphin show.

Southern District sergeant brought him in five minutes ago.

Kid wants to put himself in for the hit and run.

- That little runt? - 5'4". I measured.

- Just big enough to reach the pedal. - You joking me?

He had a nightmare last night. He woke up crying.

Told his mommy about it. Here they are.

- What's your name? - Petey. Petey Rapolo.

Petey, you know the man you struck was killed.

Yeah.

Say you're sorry, Petey.

Sorry.

You know that there was no attempt to brake or slow the truck.

Eyewitness said that you veered across two lanes

as if you were aiming for the man.

No, I didn't see the guy.

I was trying to change the station.

- What? - The radio station.

He was on a commercial forever and I wanted tunes.

I reach over, and the next thing I know, I'm on the sidewalk.

And, uh, why'd you leave it at the train station?

I mean, why there?

My friend Del Mar,

he works across the street at the Amaco.

I wanted to hook up with him that night.

I just liked driving.

I never ran no one down before this.

Tell the man you're sorry.

Sorry.

- Hey. - Oh, I'm getting a fresh pot on lickety split.

Yeah, you know what? Never mind the coffee, Stu. It's okay.

Um. Why don't you tell me about Vietnam?

Never a dull moment, if that's what you're asking.

And that's what your records say, huh?

What are you talking about, my records?

I see Munch, he starts asking questions about your past.

He says that you've got something on your records.

He what?

He comes to you about my records?

That son of a bitch.

I'm just saying that we need fresh ideas.

Look at this. Look at this. We gotta start doing better business in here.

- A mariachi band? - Tourist music?

No, we call it swivel hips night. We give out free tequila shots.

Yeah, you're the only guy drinks that stuff here, John.

What about a wet t-shirt contest? - For men?

- Oh, yeah, there's a thought. - Bite my tongue.

We just gotta try something different. I'm not in the--

the income bracket to be using this bar as a write off.

- This is not good. - It tastes wrong.

No, it's fine. Nothing wrong with that.

Evening, Mr. Gharty.

Stuart. Where you been keeping yourself?

I've been working.

What can I get you there, Stu? The usual?

I'm not drinking.

- Black and tan, isn't it? - I don't drink.

This one's on the house.

Uh, you know, this beer is not coming out right.

- Maybe you should check the lines, John. - I did that already an hour ago.

Maybe it's a bad connection.

Hey, Stu, I just got a call. I need you to take a ride with me.

You can handle it yourself, I have no doubt.

Yeah, well, do me a favor, come with.

- What's the call? - A call?

There is no call, is there?

I'm telling you, there's a call.

Do me a favor. Don't blow smoke up me, all right?

What's a man supposed to do, huh?

Hey, Stu, why don't you have--

- Excuse me, who's talking to you? - Gharty, come on.

Hey. Hey. What?

I'm just asking my fellow detectives something.

Ask the question.

I can't hear you. What'd you say?

Ask the question.

I got smoke up my ass. It must be going deep.

I still can't hear you. Come on around.

- Let it go, Munch. - Wait!

- Get off me, Bayliss! - John! John!

- Off me, Bayliss. - John, it's been a long day.

Long day for who? Get the hell off me.

What exactly can't you hear, buddy boy?

What, you need your partner to bail you out?

Hey, why don't you find the front door, Gharty?

Why don't you find my ass, Bayliss?

You gonna step into my crap, Munch? Huh?

You wanna spit into my blood? You are who.

- Come on. - Come on. I'll show you who I am.

Ah!

- Come on. - Let me go.

- Come on! - Come on!

- Hey, you stop, Gharty. - Billie, are you okay?

- Sure, I'm fine. - No, you're not.

- I said I'm all right. - What? Billy Lou, you hurt?

You want to kill each other, go ahead.

You hurt her, Gharty. I will stomp you.

- Off me, Bayliss! - John.

- You happy now, Stu? - This is on me?

- Just be a moron. - What?

- This is me? - Yeah, this is you.

This is Munch.

You call up my service records. Who is he to do that?

No, who the hell are you?

- And you doubt me too, huh? - No, Stuart, I do not doubt you.

Oh, that's crap. Otherwise you don't ask.

I tell myself one thing before going in country.

I'm 19 years old. I promised myself one thing.

I'm going in breathing. I'm walking out breathing.

And I-- and I'm not asking anybody about anything what happens in between?

And you, Mr. FBI peacemaker here.

You see my records? What does my discharge say, huh?

You got a lot you don't want people to know about.

Insubordination and a general discharge.

- Not exactly honorable, Gharty. - And this is what to you?

I get my suspicions.

What is it I did in Vietnam?

- That's right, pal. - And you doubt me?

What-- what is it exactly that you want to know?

- The date, the time, the place, the weather? - No.

It's 200 degrees in the shade, 300% humidity.

It's May 23rd, Sunday night, Quang Tri province.

It's a peaceful village. Friendly village.

Supposed to be pacified.

And my unit, we just got our asses handed to us by these friendlies.

And so now we're going back in.

We're gonna tell 'em who's who in the real world.

Men on one side, women and children on the other.

I'm coming in with my unit. Coming in...

coming into the LZ, and I see the men in this village.

And they're all lined up.

They're all being lined up and shot by us.

By my buddies. My unit.

They have the women and children lined up in that ditch and they're locking and loading.

I put my gun on my guys, my buddies.

And I-- And I say to them, "stop!"

And they. They aim down at me.

Then there's this commanding officer, right, some colonel.

And he comes over and he tells me,

he says, he orders me back up into the area.

He tells me, "get back up in the helicopter."

He says, "I got-- I got things in order now."

You know.

I aim my rifle at him.

I have him in my sight, and for just one second...

I got written up for disobeying a commanding officer.

I'm 19 years old. I should've have known better, huh?

You son of a bitch.

I should have just let it go, and... hell, I could have come out honorable.

- Stu, you did good. - You go to hell, Ballard.

Let me go, Tim.

- You sure, John? - Where's the trust?

- Are you cool, Gharty? - Well, you all got what you wanted.

What else is there?

Munch? It's good that you come out so pure from those days, ain't it?

What'll you have? I'm buying.

You don't have anything in this joint I need.

You remember that kid I was telling you about? Driessen?

Yeah. Yeah. You and him went conscientious.

He's no plastic surgeon up in Scarsdale.

No, huh? What is he?

- Dead. - What?

He went over to Vietnam.

Well, you told me you and him got CO status.

I did... but he bailed out at the last second

as we're walking into the interview room.

Sent him over as a medic.

He never made it out.

You know this.

I've been carrying this with me for a long, long time.

I think a Mariachi band would be nice.

But at least you could ask me if I would like to give a performance here.

But how would I do that now?

You ever try to bow a base with a swollen hand?

Doesn't work.

Billie Lou, I apologize.

I knew I never should have come here.

Never speak to me again, Stuart.

- You okay, Gharty? - Oh, sure, sure.

I get ordered back on to that chopper.

And I figure it's okay, you know, 'cause...

Commanding Officer is now on scene.

I get-- I get on and start lifting off.

I'm more than 50ft in the air and...

I see that son of a bitching colonel

start shooting down the women and children.

I should have stayed on the ground.

I should have shot that son of a bitch when I had him.

But I didn't, did I?

How old were you then, Munch?

- 18. - At least you were younger than me.

We were young then.