All language subtitles for Penny.Dreadful S01E06

Previously

on Penny Dreadful:
City of Angels...

So then they went
back to the beach house,

stayed all night.

We know how this
is going to end,

don't we, Randolph?

What do you know about Kurt?

Don't you ever ask

anyone else about Kurt again.

Nice tie.

I couldn't be raped
one more time, Peter.

Your best buddy, Jimmy Reilly,

he was murdered last night.

So let's call it what it is:

a declaration of war.

I will fucking shoot you both.

Rio! Rio!

Hands up, son.

Mateo!

Did you kill James Reilly?

With these two hands.

Run!

Long night.

Long night.

Don't beat yourself up.

Guy gave you the slip.
It happens.

Seen him around before?

The guy who got away?

Never.

Well, we got this one.

Only a matter of time
till we find the rest.

Come on, son.

For Reilly?
This little piece of shit?

Take it easy.

This wetback piece of shit

that you put back on the street?

We brought him in, didn't we?

Just him, or did he have help?

We'll determine that
when we question the suspect.

Yeah, we sure will.

All right, get him
back into the cooler.

You remember the cooler,
don't you, Paco?

Yeah, I think you do.

- Hey, step back, Murphy.
- The fuck you say?

He's our collar.
We'll handle the questioning.

Your collar? He's probably
your goddamn cousin!

You saw what they did
to him last time.

If you hadn't stopped him,
Reilly would still be alive.

What if you hadn't done that
shit in the first place...

Hey, hey!

That's enough!

Come on, you, let's go.
Let's go.

What do we got?

Kid was staying at a flop

off North Main
with three other suspects.

We went in hard.
The rest got away.

- Can we ID them?
- Fly Rico and his girl.

Third one's a blank.

Young guy.
Might be new to their crew.

Got a witness who saw
the four of them jump Reilly

the night his body dropped:

Reilly's girl from Sonoratown.

Two-bit junkie.
Try that in court.

What's the kid say?

Nothing yet.

Well, that's what you got, then,

nothing, until he talks.

I'll make him talk, Captain.

He's from my neighborhood.

I know how he thinks.

I can get him to open up.

And that's why I put you
on the Hazlett case,

but look where it got me.

We got a dead cop, Captain.

You want to find out
what really happened to him

or just beat a confession

out of the first scared kid
we put the bracelets on?

Kid ready for us?

Michener and Vega
get first crack.

Speaking Spanish

We got a machine.

I know you're scared, Diego.

It's okay.

I'm not gonna hurt you.

I just need to go over
what happened,

get your side of the story.

You want, I can find your mom
when we get done here.

You guys live over the baker
in Alhambra, right?

Last time you were in here,
I helped you out, didn't I?

And I'd like to help you again,

but we know what you did.

We know.

So for me to help,

you gotta own up to it.

You saw those guys out there.

They're Reilly's boys,

and they don't give a shit
about why you did it,

how you might
have been justified.

But if you don't talk to me,

it'll be out of my hands,

and those guys
will get their turn,

and I don't have to tell you
how that's gonna go.

Son, this isn't a put-up job.

We can make our case already.

Reilly beat the shit out of you

right here, in this room.

I saw it, and so did
a dozen other guys.

So we know you had a reason
for wanting him dead.

And we got a witness
who puts you at the scene

when he got rolled.

The girl down in Sonoratown,

and she'll testify.

She won't have a choice.

Reilly's mob
will make damn sure of it.

Motive and a witness:

that's enough to convict
right there.

First that family
from Beverly Hills

turns up in the river,

then the riot.

And four God-fearing
white police officers

end up in the morgue.

Now we got another dead cop.

Half the city's out for blood

just like those bull necks
in the squad room.

And all they want
is someone to blame...

someone who looks
like you and me.

So when they find him,

when they find you,

they won't be content
to just put you away.

They're gonna try and send you
to the gas chamber.

They just built
a brand-new gas chamber

up at San Quentin.

You know that?

Been up there
to see it yet, Lewis?

No.

Read in the paper
they painted it seafoam green.

Supposed to be soothing.

That's where
you're gonna end up, Diego,

unless you play it straight
with us, and I mean right now.

We can talk to the DA
if you come clean,

but you can't get cute,
you understand me?

You can't try to pass it off.

You were the one.

You killed him.

You gotta admit
that you killed him.

Or maybe we got it wrong.

Maybe it wasn't you
did the killing.

Boss never does
the dirty work, right?

So I'm guessing it wasn't Rico.

And it wouldn't have been
the girl.

This is a waste of time.

But what about the other guy?

He got a name?

Look, we have enough
to convict you right now.

Okay.

Okay?

Okay.

I'm thirsty.

I'll take that Nehi.

Like to have a white man
fetch a drink for me

just this one time.

Sure thing, kid.

Coming right up.

He doesn't know.

Man, I been sitting here
trying to figure it out.

Are you a cop
pretending to be Mexican

or a Mexican
pretending to be a cop?

But now I get it.

You don't even know yourself.

- He's my brother.
- Right.

No, can't let your hermanito
go to the gas chamber, just me.

I told you, I'll talk to the DA.

You're here. He's not.

Yeah, funny how it happened
like that.

It doesn't fucking matter
how it happened.

You're here, now,

and burning Mateo, man,
that's not gonna save you.

That's not gonna do shit.

I'm not gonna burn him.

I won't have to,

because you're gonna help me.

Help you?

Get me the key

when they take me down
to the lockup, ese.

What, they don't let
the wetback handle the keys?

That's not my job.

Or whatever the fuck.

You got the badge.
You got the gun.

You figure out
how the fuck we do it.

You're not walking out of here,
no matter what I do.

What if I get the gun?

Maybe you leave it
lying around here some place,

or we get in a scrap,

I knock you down,
and I take the damn thing.

- They'll kill you.
- Then at least I get

a goddamn fighting chance.

Even if they light me up,

I'm taking a few
of these bastards with me.

That's for damn sure.

Shit.

They hate you worse
than they hate me.

You're still trying
to figure out

which side you're on,

but those motherfuckers
out there,

man, they decided
a long time ago.

That's it, baby.

Them or Mateo.

You gotta fucking choose.

Not interrupting something,
am I, boys?

Extra butter and molasses.
Must be important.

Can't a mother
just do something nice

for her girl?

Depends on the mother.

We used to make do

with shortening
and sorghum syrup

out in the circuit.
You remember?

It tasted just as good.

Ha!

Because we were hungry.

Mmm.

We were always hungry back then.

Mm.

Did you ever wonder
if I got lonely

back in those days?

Because I did.

Of course I did.

So what did you do?

I remembered my purpose,

that I wasn't living
just for myself

and what a privilege it is
not to live just for yourself.

It doesn't feel
like such a privilege to me.

Well, because you take it
for granted,

like the butter and molasses.

And what if I have...

feelings for Detective Vega?

Strong feelings?

Stronger than your feelings
for God?

God wouldn't ask me to choose.

God asks a great deal

from those that he touches.

Think of Jesus.

I'm not Jesus.

No, you're Sister Molly.

Sister Molly is just
the one on the stage.

Is that what you told him?

It's just a line, dear.

It's a silly slogan
you like to repeat.

I've known you all of your life,

and there's only ever
been one of you.

That's all I ever see, just you.

No, I'm not sure you do see me.

It will be your flock
who makes you choose,

not God.

They need to feel
as if you're married

only to the church.

Without that, your power
over them will be lost.

Or yours will.

Yes, both of ours...

and the soup kitchen
and the girls' home,

the medical clinic,
the gift drive at Christmas...

to say nothing of the salvation

you offer to all of those
who come to you in need,

all the good work
you do in the world.

All of it can go away.

Is that what
plain old Molly wants?

Where did you learn to do that?

Near Hamburg,

the mouth of the Elbe.

First thing they teach you
in Gestapo training.

I'm just kidding.

I grew up in Hermosa Beach,

learned to swim
before I could walk.

Got my first board
not long after that.

I didn't know Hitler
was recruiting in Hermosa.

My favorite thing in the world
used to be

paddling out just past the break

in Hermosa Pier

or Long Beach,

turning around to look
at the strip

of clean white sand
under a blue sky.

Then the mongrels came.

Mongrels?

The Chinks, spics, spades,
you name it.

More and more of them
every year.

I used to see the way

they were overrunning
this place and wonder,

"Why does nobody say anything?

Why is this allowed?"

And then I heard
about the Fuehrer,

and I read Mein Kampf.

Finally, here was someone
speaking the plain truth.

Felt like such a relief.

I knew then
that I'd move to Berlin,

that I could be happy.

Were you... happy there?

I was...

until I earned
my Gestapo commission

and they gave me
my first assignment:

to come back here

to this filthy city I thought
I'd never have to see again.

I love this city.

Do you know who I saw yesterday
just walking down Robertson?

Fred Astaire.

Just like that, there he was.

He looked just like himself.

That's what I wanted to be,

a dancer like that,
a song and dance man,

Fred Astaire or Eddy Cantor.

But I'm too big.

That's what I love about LA.

That you saw Fred Astaire?

That I could be Fred Astaire.

LA doesn't care who you are
when you arrive.

It only cares about who
you make yourself into.

Let us be frank with each other

for once, Linda.

You haven't been happy.

We both know it.

But you're the one
deciding this for both of us.

Because the fault is mine.

I haven't been able
to give you what you need

to make you happy.

But is happiness everything?

Because I can be happier.

If that's what you want,
I can change.

I can...

What about the boys?

They need a mother.

That Mexican maid,
she's not a mother.

They will have a mother.

If you think

you are bringing
that German whore

into my house

to take care of my children,
to satisfy

your filthy fantasies
in my bed...

- Lower your voice.
- I won't let you take my boys.

You can't stop me.

You are a drunk. I am a doctor.

No authority in the state
will side with you.

You will be checking in
to a sanitarium

to be treated for intemperance
and hysteria.

You're having me committed.

I can assure you,
it is a facility

of the highest medical standards

and also that you will go there

without even a hint
of unpleasantness

if you ever wish to speak
with the boys again.

You think that little harlot...

Elsa.

Her name is Elsa.

I know you, Peter.

You might feel strong right now,

but you're not.

Oh, believe me, you're not.

Me.

Vega have you draw up
that kid's walking papers?

Uh, Detective Murphy,
he wanted me to...

Fuck Murphy.

No big shock
when you've seen him before,

I know.

Think about it if you hadn't,

if you were just
some working stiff

on a jury, let's say.

So... you're looking at these

with Officer Reilly's widow
sitting ten feet away

and his three kids,

all scrubbed up,

bright and pink
in their church clothes,

and the greasy little spic
who did it,

he's sitting there too,

and you gotta decide
what to do with him.

This guy, you don't know.

Name's Luther Jones.

Killed some people
in Nevada last year.

And this...

is after they pulled him out

of the gas chamber
in Carson City.

Looks like he had fun
in there, doesn't it?

The gas they use, cyanide,

I guess it turns
your skin purple.

They strap you to the chair
in just your underwear

so none of it gets caught
in your clothes.

That's how nasty the shit is.

And they tell you

to take a few deep breaths
when it starts

because that will make things
go quicker...

but nobody does that.

Just an instinct, I guess.

You know the stuff's
gonna kill you,

so you try not to breathe,

but that just makes it
take longer,

makes it hurt,

like someone's squeezing
your chest in a vise.

Luther here, took him
a good ten minutes to die.

Diez minutos.

That's how you want
to go, Diego?

Do you fucking hear me, cabrón?

I'm trying to fucking help you.

I hear you.

Thing is, I didn't kill anybody.

You want me to say I did,

you're gonna have to come
across this table

and beat it out of me.

Damn, you look angry enough
to do it too.

Am I making you angry?

Let's hear it your way, then.

So come on, tell us
what happened.

It's Friday night.

You got a face beat to raw pulp
by the cops

and your whole life
in front of you.

So what's a nice kid like you
go and do

if you're not down in Sonoratown

making an extra hole
in Reilly's windpipe?

I was with my brother.

Your brother? All right.

And he'll tell it the same
if we ask him?

Oh, sure, he will.
He's my brother, right?

He'd do anything for me.

Just how it is with brothers,
you know?

You got a brother, Officer?

What did the two of you
do that night?

Went down to the river,

tried to catch ourselves
something to eat, you know?

Help out our ma

on account of money's tight
right now.

Sure.

Like to drop a hook
in the water myself

from time to time.

I don't fuck with fish.

Can't dig on no animal
that don't blink,

you know what I mean?

Nah, we go down there for birds.

These little mud hens,
nervous little fuckers.

That's how you catch 'em.

You just lay back in the reeds,

wait till they get up
out the water.

Then you jump out real quick.

You scare 'em bad enough,
and they just faint,

fall down and lie there
like a bitch.

Must be the stupidest
fucking birds in the world.

Then you stroll over,
nice and easy,

and you snap their damn neck.

Taste pretty good, though,
the way my ma cooks them up.

They're playing dead.

That's what they're doing,

not fainting.

Playing dead.

Play dead, get dead.

Just don't seem
like a real bright move.

That's all I'm saying.

So... this is like what,
a fucking parable?

Hey, man, I'm just talking.

I like talking to you.

Better than Mr. Angry over here.

Hey, Angry, I'm getting
kind of parched again.

How about this time,
you go and get the Nehi

so me and him
can keep up the chitchat?

We're done with all that shit.

No, we're just getting started.

I like talking,

and I got a lot more to say,
believe me.

Give us the room
for a minute, would you, Lewis?

Tell you what, kid.
You just sit tight.

Me and Detective Vega,

we're both gonna go see
about that soda.

Hey.

Come on over here.

We'll get in a scrap.

That's the only way.

I get that gun.

What the fuck's happening
in there?

He's full of shit.

You think?

Doesn't seem to like you much.

Yeah, well, he can get in line.

What did he say
when I was out of the room?

What do you think he said?

The same damn thing
they all say,

that I'm a fucking traitor
for wearing a badge.

That kid might be an asshole.

He might think
you're an asshole.

But he didn't kill anybody.

- You don't know that.
- Sure, I do.

You look into his guts,
it's not there.

He's no killer.

He fucking is. I know he did it.

He'll get what he deserves,
you know what I mean?

Hey, how's it going in there?

Did you get your little cousin
to sing yet, Vega?

Me, I like to hear
a wetback sing.

Where the hell is everybody?

Turning the whole damn city
upside down,

looking for those other
Pachuco bastards.

All except us.

Captain told us
we should stick around.

And why the fuck
would he do that?

Go ask him yourself.

We got him talking, Captain.

And what's he saying?

Told us how mud hens play dead
when they get surprised.

Terrific.

My daughter taught
her fucking poodle to do that.

It's a start.

You know how this works.

How it works is,

I give you two straight arrows
first shot

because that's the kind of world

I wish we lived in,

and then, like countless
well-meaning precinct captains

before me, I give in to reality.

Murphy's drunk in reality.

How it works is,
you find me a patsy

to take the Hazlett rap
like I told you to do,

and Reilly never gets killed,

and that poor dumb kid
never winds up

in the cooler
in the first place,

but you didn't do that, did you?

So now we got another problem,

and it just has to get solved
one way or another,

because that's just
how it works.

Fine, we'll solve it.

I told Murphy he was on
at the top of the hour.

That gives you
nearly 45 minutes.

Charlie,
you're not really afraid

of Mr. Karloff, are you?

Ah, well, ah, no.

But you've got to admit,
he's no Santa Claus.

Charlie, did I hear you
say you were going home?

How's a wooden dummy
make it on the radio?

You ever wonder about that?

Ahem, Charlie,
won't you say hello

to Mr. Karloff?

Uh, hello.

Well, good night.

Oh, no.

Don't run away.
I want to talk to you.

Well, I really should go home...

It's the only station
we get out here, baby.

- Hey, it's okay.
- I'm going in there!

- Cálmate, ese.
- It's not right!

- This ain't church.
- I'm the one who...

We all did it together.

We all didn't cut
that cop's throat.

You gave me the razor.
I did the cutting.

And I'm not gonna let
Diego swing for it.

- He's swinging already.
- She's right.

And there's a reason for it.

He's my friend.

But now we have to say
good-bye to our friend.

You're different than him.

He got caught
because that's who he is,

and you got away
for the same reason.

Speaking Spanish

You're not welcome here.

I think you better
step aside, miss.

Let her in.

How did you find us?

No me importa
what kind of trouble

you're in, Mateo.

Come home now.

Hmm?

Mama, I...

It doesn't matter
what you've done.

Do you hear me?

God already knows.

All that matters
is what you do now.

Hmm?

These people
are not your family, Mateo.

Please.

Por favor.

She's right.

You're not welcome here.

A piñata party!

That's good!

How many whacks
you think it'll take?

Depends on what
we use for a stick.

I ain't wearing no blindfold.

I want to see his face.

I'm keeping his teeth
for Reilly's kid

as a present
when he gets a little older.

What do you think we get
when we bust him open?

Candy?

Ought to ask Vega.
He's gotta know, right?

There you are, Angry.

You get me a soda pop?

I was just telling
our friend here

how long I've been doing this,

sitting in rooms just like this,

talking to guys like him.

A long time...
Too long, probably.

But you know one thing
I learned in all that time?

Guy tells you a story,

there's usually something in it.

I mean, even when
he's bullshitting you,

when he thinks he's not
giving you a damn thing,

most of the time,
he actually is.

Like with your little story

about the mud hens, for example.

You know the funny part
with that one?

The part that doesn't fit,

the brother.

You're making up
a bullshit story like that.

Why put the brother in?

Gee, I don't really know.

Probably means something,

would be my guess.

Like maybe your brother's
mixed up in this thing

with Reilly somehow.

You mean like what,

like maybe he's the other guy,

the one Mr. Angry chased
out of that apartment?

Yeah, for example.

Nah, not my brother.

Not my brother.

What if we go out
and get him, though,

run him in here
and put him through his paces,

just see what he has to say?

Yeah, what if?

Ruin his day,
I promise you that.

Hey, man,
how long we gonna do this?

Not much longer.

Captain gave us another
maybe half an hour.

Then those other boys
get to have at you.

Murphy and all them.

I told you how this shit
was gonna go.

- I told you...
- I told you, motherfucker!

You're not the one
doing the telling here!

I told you!

What did you tell us, Diego?

Fuck you, puto.

What do you want to tell us?

I ain't got no fucking brother.
How's that?

My brother's dead.

I'm sorry to hear that.

Yeah, he's dead, real dead.

I sure do miss him too.

Hell of a thing,
to lose a brother.

Why'd you put him
in the story, then?

What about Reilly?

What's it got to do with Reilly?

Nothing.

You want to know
about the other guy?

I'll tell you who
the other fucking guy is.

We're not doing this!

You killed him.

Say you killed him!

Tiago!

It's your brother.

The fourth guy.

Your brother.

Mateo.

His name is Mateo.

Your fucking brother.

And you didn't tell me!

How many times

have I stuck my neck out
for you?

You think anyone else
in this goddamn precinct

would've taken you on,

would've trusted you?

You should've told me.

He slit a cop's throat.

What the fuck could I tell you?

The truth!

So you could do what?

What were you gonna do?

What are you gonna do?

He was there when I shot Raul.

He saw it.

He just got so...

angry,

and I can't even blame him.

What he did to Reilly,

that didn't have shit
to do with Reilly.

It was about me.

He was a good kid
before all of this.

What about that kid in there?

He's not my brother.

That's too easy.

You think it's easy?

You think any of this shit
is easy?

This is my family.

For you, it's easy.

You got nobody.

Fuck you!

You say nothing.

Sit up straight
and look at me, kid.

We've talked a lot of shit
in this room today, haven't we?

But you and me are gonna get
on the level right now.

I grew up back East, myself,

Jersey City.

But it wasn't so different
from Belvedere Heights,

to be honest:

just crowded and poor.

My old man delivered ice
across the river in New York.

Ice was a big deal
in those days.

Only rich people
could afford it,

so that's who he delivered to.

And sometimes
I'd go with him in the wagon

to these big-money
neighborhoods uptown,

mansions
and swank apartment houses,

and everything
was just so clean.

That's what I remember most:

whole damn world was knee-deep
in horse shit back then

but not Fifth Avenue,
not Uptown.

It's like the horses up there
didn't shit at all.

It's different now...

No more horses...

Except that it's not really
any different.

You know what I mean?

Poor folks will always
be left with the shit...

whatever the shit is,

and there ain't a damn thing
God or Franklin Roosevelt

will ever do to change it.

Take a man like James Hazlett.

Big construction outfit,
big house in Beverly Hills.

Guy like that turns up dead
on the wrong side of town

with his dead wife and kids
right next to him?

Well, that's a big old
steaming pile of shit,

the kind that only ever leads

to more and more shit:

the riot, four dead cops,

eight dead Mexicans,

Reilly cuffing you
to that chair.

Shit begets shit...

begets shit.

And now...

just look where we are.

But if you go back
to the beginning,

Hazlett was the beginning.

You killed him.

What?

Him, the wife, the kids.

Reilly too, of course.

I know you want to talk
about Tiago's brother,

but I don't give a fuck
about Tiago's brother,

and neither should you.

All day,

you been playing this
like a gambler

sitting on a full house,

but let me tell you what cards
you're really holding.

You're going to San Quentin,
and you're not coming out.

That's gospel already.

All you still get to decide

is whether you go as a rat

or as a goddamn legend.

Now, that seems like
a pretty simple choice to me,

but let me spell it out for you.

Rats don't do so well
up in Quentin.

They tend to hang themselves
with the bedsheets

after the rest of the cons

have fucked them bloody
for a while.

But guys who take the weight,

they have it pretty good
up there.

And the more weight they take,
the better they have it.

Scrawny little half-pint
like yourself

who dumped a whole family
of swells in the river,

then went out and slit
a bad cop's throat,

who signed his name
to all of that

just to take the heat
off his neighborhood

and make sure his pals
got away scot-free?

Guy like that might just be
the king of San Quentin,

might just get his picture up
in every bodega in town.

A hero to his people...

assuming word got around

about what he did,

and I can see to that,
believe me.

We'll see to it.

Or just like that,
I'll make sure everyone knows

what kind of rat you are,

if that's the way
you want to go.

Up to you.

You got about five minutes
to make up your mind

before those other guys
come in here

and start putting cigars out
on your tongue.

You kill them all?

All by yourself?

That's the smart play, kid.

You're doing the right thing.

Michener and Vega!