All language subtitles for Homicide life on the street S07E12 - The Same Coin

Get me something to drink.

- What?
- Anything. I'm thirsty.

All right.

Baby, please don't go

Baby, please don't go

Baby, please don't go
down to New Orleans

You know I love you so
Baby, please don't go

Baby, your mind done gone
Well, your mind done gone...

Well, your mind done gone
Left the county farm

You had the shackles on
Baby, please don't go

Before I be your dog

Before I be your dog

To get you way down here
I make you walk alone...

Baby, please don't go
Baby, please don't go

Down to New Orleans
You know I love you so...

Laura, don't.

Before I be your dog
Before I be your dog

Get you way down here
Make you walk alone

Baby, please don't go

Know how I feel right now...

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? Gee'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.

We've got a dunker in Canton.

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

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.
He got run over by a car.

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

In which case, Sergeant Nagel
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 veers
across two lanes and jumps a curve

without so much as a skid mark.

No sign the guy tried to break.

Or that he made any effort
to control the vehicle.

So if this guy was targeted,
and if it wasn't a random accident,

then we're talking about murder.

Whose side are you on?

Was the vehicle damaged?

He broke a headlight
and maybe a parking light or two.

We've got some paint chips.
Blue in colour.

Probably from the front panel
where the victim bounced.

And the dead guy? No wallet or ID?

He was holding a dollar in change and
a receipt for a can of Dinty Moore stew,

purchased at that convenience store
moments before he's smacked.

Probably from round this neighbourhood.
On his way to 7-Eleven.

Never makes it home.

We also took this off him.

- Wow! That's some blade.
- I thought so.

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

The man is on the mean streets
of Baltimore,

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

Course he's gonna be armed.

It's awfully pretty, as knives go.

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've got your work cut out.
- Yeah. Thanks, pal.

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

I'm FBI, not Baltimore PD.

Yet there you stand
with pen and notepad akimbo,

putting another name in red
to my corner of the Board.

- Munch...
- Don't Munch me. You caught this case.

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

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

Let's go talk to the witness.

Detective Gharty,
keeper of the mean bean.

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

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

Second shift can't tell the difference.

Where did 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 and pick up some fresh cream.
I've got to get coffee filters, anyway.

Make that half and half.

Fingerprints on your victim
came up clean in the City computer.

Nothing on NCIC either.

So the guy lives, what, half a century
without managing to get arrested,

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

How fair is that?

When it comes to life,

I think a probability curve is
the only thing that we're entitled to.

Now, your Hartford Road guy,
he walks into the 7-Eleven

thinking he is the master
of his own destiny,

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

Life should come
with a money-back guarantee.

If you're not completely satisfied,
return an unused portion for a refund.

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

The universe goes bust in four days.

Right. No satisfied customers at all.

Not our John Doe.

I'll have to wait. See if someone
files a missing-persons report.

Maybe we can take it a step further.
Run the prints down to Washington.

The Bureau can do
a 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, 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.
- Well, he was getting around to it.

Well, this doesn't have
a 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 it even dawn on you
to ask me first?

He was worried about Rene,
so I switched. End of story.

Well, you bought into Lewis's fears.

Aren't you the lucky ones!

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

Got a decomposing body.

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

Maybe a week. Maybe a month.

The cold is
a pretty decent preservative.

Not decent enough.

Maybe he's some street person
who died peacefully in his sleep.

Nope.

Rats have been gnawing at his face.
I couldn't find an entrance wound.

But I've got a doozy of an exit wound.
Right occipital.

And I've got one compressed projectile.

Jimmy Ferguson.
Date of birth, 08/12/70.

OK. 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 shovel?

Sick of him telling me what to do.

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 of Baltimore City's finest
bang off another one

before the rest of Charm City
even poured their Cornflakes!

Answer me straight on something,
Lewis. Do you still wanna ride with me?

- What did I do?
- You left that hat on my desk. Why?

It was a souvenir,
like we had been through the war.

- Yeah, a souvenir.
- Yeah. Ain't no big thing.

- No big thing?
- No.

We both could have been killed.
That's what you're saying.

You're overreacting.

- Am I?
- Yeah. A little.

Why did 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.

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

- Can we have your name?
- No.

OK, sir...

Hey!

- Falsone!
- Don't raise your hand to an officer!

- I didn't do anything!
- 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?

Physics, Munch. Mass and matter.
Energy and inertia.

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

Yet you stand there
like a craving Luddite

denying the exquisite precision of it.

Let me be blunt.
The cause of death certainly was.

Blunt force trauma.
Vehicular in nature.

The car was travelling at least 30mph
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.

Distinguishing marks?

Capped front teeth, an old scar from
stitches on his right knee and this.

- What does that look like to you?
- Some kind of bird.

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

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

Go to the cemetery,
and dig me up a fresh human heart.

I have been here 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?

Patronising bastards, man.

I mean, Falsone, he is dangerous.

I'm conducting an interview,

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

- Slams?
- Yeah.

Unprovoked.

What? He thinks he's protecting me?

He's looking to get us hurt.

Nothing back
on the Bureau's fingerprint search.

- What did our lab come up with?
- Still waiting on that, too.

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

hoping to get some analysis.

He tells me
the colour of the car's still blue.

You've got to deal
with the FBI down in Washington.

- That could take weeks.
- I got some drag with my colleagues.

Come on. I'll drive.

- Let me check in with Missing Persons.
- You got it.

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

Have to have 'em look at some debris
from our hit-and-run.

You ID your victim yet?

Munch is checking with
Missing Persons, but nothing so far.

Well, look, if no one comes forward,
that knife goes unclaimed, I'll take it.

What's the deal with that knife?

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

They're the best hunting knives
money can buy.

You had one in Vietnam?

If you were doing a long-range recon,
you needed one.

So, you know, let me know
if that knife doesn't find a home, OK?

- Hey, Gharty...
- Yeah?

You recognise this tattoo?

Yeah.

13th Air Cav, 2nd Battalion.
That was their marker.

A lot of them had that on their arm.

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 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 memorialises him.

What's the problem?

No problem, Detective.
We're just confirming your credentials.

- What's that supposed to mean?
- We're confirming your credentials.

What? Like crosschecking
my anti-war activities?

My drug history?
Maybe my Greenpeace membership?

I'm gonna put in a Freedom
of Information Act request for my file,

and see what you FBI collect
on radical Johnny Munch.

You're OK to go.

You're the two from Baltimore?

Mike Giardello, FBI Field Office.
John Munch, Baltimore Homicide.

I did your chem and scope work.

- Our guy was hit by a blue car.
- I can do better.

- Your samples came back OEM.
- Oh, German model, huh?

No, that means
original equipment manufacturer.

- Your car hasn't been repainted.
- But the car we're talking about is...

The paint chips are laser blue.
A tricoat with a taupe primer.

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

- Tell me it has Corinthian leather.
- No such thing exists, smart guy.

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

Oh, hey, guys. Robert Corrigan.

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

Let me guess. Military records.
Access via fingerprints.

Indeed, PFC Corrigan was
honourably discharged in 1970,

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

We gotta notify next of kin.

I gotta get this on Teletype
to the districts

to see if anyone saw a blue SUV
with front-end damage.

- How did you know it was military?
- Gharty knew.

Gharty?

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 gimmie.

Gimmie or no gimmie, it's a good thing.

Did Lewis ask you to come talk to me?

No. I just thought...
I know what you're going through.

Excuse me.

No. Hey, really.

I had my head
handed to me on a platter.

Smokehounds.
Six or seven. Beat me silly.

I didn't know that.

You get so scared that
a beatdown's gonna happen,

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

the fear goes away.

Then when it happens again,
you still know this.

When it happens again.
What are the odds of that?

Maybe a little less for me than for you,
but, yeah, it can happen again.

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

No? It took six, seven guys
to beat you. It took two to take me.

And it'll probably happen again.

Thanks for the pep talk, Stu.

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

That's not what I meant.

- I think the knife is the key.
- Corrigan carried it wherever he went.

Maybe he was looking for trouble.
He's a messed-up Vietnam vet.

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

He picked a fight and flashed the knife?

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

Is this wife number two?

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 your husband...
- First husband.

Excuse me. Your first husband, Robert,
was a victim of a fatal car crash.

Robert? Dead?

Lord, I 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 information about his background.

Come in, please.

What can I tell you? We got married
before he went to Vietnam.

He came home, we fought,
we split up, we got back together,

but, I don't know,
we never really had it any more.

- Any children?
- Three of 'em. All grown.

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

We were wondering if he had enemies,
or a past we need to know about.

He was in Vietnam, right?

- Came back a changed man?
- Changed?

From what?

He went over there carrying a load.

I grew up with him
in this neighbourhood.

His father used to beat him every day.

Then he died
when Robert was in 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,
he stopped caring about himself.

Nothing over there was gonna
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 the stolen car
thinking life is a video game.

This is an accident. We should
turn it over to the Traffic Division.

There's more to know about Corrigan.

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

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.

Why not pull his fifth-grade report?

See if he had any problems
with fractions or long division.

That vehicle you put on the Teletype,
it showed up at the Pulaski Highway lot.

Thank you.
I'll have to go and tell my lieutenant.

Calling in a lunch order?
Order me up a sandwich.

What? Am I your food-run flunky now?

Just get me a ham and cheese
sandwich. I'll settle up with you later.

Military Records.

This is Baltimore Homicide.
I have names I'd like you to check.

First is Corrigan, Robert.

- There 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 doors or locks.

If this was a corner kid taking a joyride,

he would have scratched the trim
and wrecked the ignition.

No corner boy drives
to the train station parking lot.

They'd probably dump the damn car
in the street somewhere.

Walter Drummond.
Columbus, Ohio address.

Rented yesterday.
BWI. Due back today.

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

I want it processed for fingerprints.

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

- Where are you, Mr Drummond?
- Who are you, Mr Drummond?

Mr Drummond,
you knew Robert Corrigan.

- Who?
- You had a beef with him.

What are you talking about?

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

No.

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

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

I did report it!

There's nothing on the computer.
Who did you report it to?

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

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

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

I didn't need one.

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

I was leaving for Ohio tomorrow.

You say you reported
your rental stolen downtown.

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

You are in deep trouble... Mr Drummond.

Say, Bayliss,
did you double-check the computer?

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

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

- How, without a police report?
- You got me.

The report was added to the sheet
by a sector sergeant at Central.

These faxes came over for you
from Military Records.

Cheers.

How much paperwork
did they send you?

You pulled Gharty's file.

I'm a detective.
I don't respect anyone's privacy.

This is a fellow detective.

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

This is wrong. Real wrong.

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

- What were you doing back then?
- Conscientious objector.

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

We read everything there is to read
about how to get CO status.

- You and Driessen, huh?
- Mm-hm.

I know you ended up on your feet.
Where's your friend at?

He's a plastic surgeon up at Scarsdale.

You're out of line on Gharty.

- Have a good day, Stuart.
- Hey, Billie Lou.

I've got my new place fixed up.

I've bought a couple of throw rugs
and a standing lamp.

Boom box. It looks nice.

- Come up and see it sometime.
- Stuart, you know I'm seeing John.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.
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.

- He's been married three times.
- So have I.

- Stu, do you still want that D Distel?
- No one's claiming it?

Next of kin was 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
but an ordinary service record.

- Was I right about the unit?
- Yeah. You called it.

He was in country in '67?

Yeah. '66 to '68.

So he was with the 2nd Battalion
in May '67.

Read 'em and weep.

Insubordination with no disposition
noted and a general discharge.

What?

Stu Gharty, general discharge.
I called it.

Who are you to call anything?

I didn't start all this crap up.

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

- Afternoon, Detective.
- Hey, what are you up to?

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

Peaches are never out of season.

What I mean to say
is you're never out of season.

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

I hope so.

Oh. OK.

Yeah... yeah, I have work to do.

Hey.

Tell your partner Gharty
I'm into his crap.

What's your problem?
Tell him yourself.

He rolls up on my partner,
Bayliss, in the garage,

talking about
how I'm gonna see he's Irish. Fine.

I'm saying he's gonna see my chutzpah.

He talks all this GI Joe nonsense.

Know what happened to Stu 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?
- Turns out not to be his finest hour.

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

Served what?
An obscenity to no purpose?

Maybe cowardice
got your buddy kicked out of Vietnam.

Gharty is no coward!

Maybe he's got
something worse going on.

Are you accusing my partner?
Gharty's a stand-up detective, Munch.

He's got nothing to say
about being in Air Cav.

Maybe he got tossed over
an indiscriminate killing or two.

Oh, 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 the war?

This guy's in Vietnam doing dirt,

and 30 years later
he stands close to a Baltimore curb,

and his enemies can get even.

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

- Why do you say he's doing dirt?
- Just a figure of speech. I'm guessing.

No. You know Corrigan's history.

2nd Battalion 13th Air Cavalry.
Quang Tri Province, spring of '67.

There was some... mix-up.

They were in some sort 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.

I've never been
so ill-treated in my life.

- You've led a charmed life.
- Is this how your city treats visitors?

You're not gonna be a centre
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?
- You'll hear from my attorney.

Mr Drummond, you are free to go now.

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

Don't forget to check out
the dolphin show, Mr Drummond.

A kid wants to put himself in
for the hit-and-run.

That little runt?

- 5'4". Big enough to reach the pedal.
- You're joking me?

He had a nightmare last night.
Told his Mommy about it. Here they are.

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

Petey, you know the man
you struck was killed.

- Yeah.
- Say you're sorry, Petey.

Sorry.

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

An eyewitness said you veered across
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.

It was on a commercial forever,
and I wanted tunes.

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

Why did you leave it
at the train station? Why there?

My friend Delmar. He works
across the street at the Amoco.

I wanted to hook up with him that night.
I just like driving.

I never ran anyone down before this.

Tell the man you're sorry.

Sorry.

Hey.

I'm getting a fresh pot on. Lickety spit!

You know what,
never mind the coffee, Stu. It's OK.

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

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

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 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 we need fresh ideas.
Look at this.

We've gotta start
doing better business in here.

- A mariachi band?
- Tourist music.

We call it Swivel Hips Night.
We give out free tequila shots.

You're the only guy
who drinks that stuff here, John.

- What about a wet T-shirt contest?
- For men.

- Yeah, there's a thought.
- Bite my tongue.

We've just gotta try
something different.

I'm not in the income bracket
to be using this bar as a write-off.

This is not good. It tastes wrong.

- Smells fine.
- It's fine. Nothing wrong with that.

Stuart, where have 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.

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

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

Maybe it's a bad connection.

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

- You can handle it yourself.
- Yeah, well, do me a favour. Come with.

- What's the call?
- A call!

- There is no call.
- I'm telling you there's a call.

Don't blow smoke up me, all right?
What's a man supposed to do, huh?

- Hey, Stu...
- Excuse me. Who's talking to you?

- Gharty, come on.
- Hey, hey, what?

I'm asking
my fellow detective something.

- Ask the question.
- I can't hear you. What did you say?

Ask the question.

I got smoke up my ass.
I must be going deaf.

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

- Let it go, Munch.
- Get off me, Bayliss!

- Get off me, Bayliss!
- John, it's been a long day.

For whom? Get the hell off me!
What exactly can't you hear?

You need your partner to bail you out?

- Why don't you find the front door?
- Why don't you find my ass?

Are you gonna step
into my crap, Munch, huh?

Want to spit into my blood?
You are who?

Come on! I'll show you who I am!

Come on! Come on!

Behave yourself, Gharty!

- Are you OK?
- I'm fine.

- No, you're not.
- I said I'm all right!

- Billie Lou, you hurt?
- You wanna kill each other? Go ahead!

You heard her, Gharty!
I will stomp you! Get off me, Bayliss!

Hey! You happy now, Stu?

- This is on me?
- Stop being a moron!

- What? This is me?
- Yeah. This is you!

This is Munch! You called up my
service records! Who is he to do that?

- No! Who the hell are you?
- All right, it's on me?

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

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,
and I'm walking out breathing.

And I'm not asking anybody about
anything what happens in between.

And you Mr FBI Peacemaker here,
you've seen my records.

What does my discharge say?

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

Insubordination and a general discharge.
Not exactly honourable, 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 is it exactly you want to know?

- The date, the time, 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.
It's supposed to be pacified.

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

So now we're going back in.
Tell 'em who's who in the real world.

'Men on one side.
Woman and children on the other.'

I'm coming in with my unit,
coming into the LZ,

and I see the men in this village,
and they're being lined up and shot

by us, by my buddies, my unit.

'They had the women lined up in a ditch,
and they're locking and loading.'

I put my gun on my guys! My buddies!

And I say to them, "Stop!"

And they aim down at me.

Then there's
this commanding officer, right?

Some colonel and he comes over.

He tells me...
He orders me back up into the air.

He says, "Get back up in the helicopter.
I've got things in order now."

I aim my rifle at him.

I have him in my sights.
And for just one second...

...I got written up for disobeying
a commanding officer.

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

You son of a bitch!

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

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

Let me go, Tim.

- Are you sure, John?
- Where's the trust?

- Are you cool, Gharty?
- 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 are you having? I'm buying.

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

Remember that kid? Driessen?

Yeah. You and him were conscientious.

He's no plastic surgeon up at Scarsdale.

No, huh?

- What is he?
- Dead.

- What?
- He went over to Vietnam.

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.

They sent him over as a medic.
He never made it out.

- You know this?
- I've carried this for a 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 bass
with a swollen hand? Doesn't work!

Billie Lou, I apologise.
I knew I never should have come here.

Never speak to me again, Stuart.

- You OK, Gharty?
- Sure, sure.

I got ordered back onto that chopper.

And I figure it's OK,

cos a commanding officer
is now on the scene.

I get on and I start lifting off.

I'm more than 50 feet in the air.

I see that son of a bitch 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.
- You were younger than me.

We were young then.