Episode #1.7

Business has been pretty fuckin' great so far.

-How's your cash flow? -Maybe we're too generous

with too many people, and maybe we had a bit too much fun.

I'm gonna be a little bit short for the next buy.

The only one way to learn how to do this, Jimmy, is to do it.

You're not gonna give me any money?

No, but I got a guy. Ruby Stein.

He'll lend you the money.

That's only 50 grand.

You guys are obviously

getting into a very risky business,

one that might very well get you killed

before I get repaid.

-Gimme the bag. -He wants me to sell coke

for him, so he doesn't get whacked by Castellano.

I still owe Ruby Stein a shit ton of money.

-I am fucked! -Borrow it from Sweeney!

He told me I have to do this on my own.

He takes a profit when you sell the stuff,

and then what when there's a loss?

Any idiot can see that this motherfucker

is out for himself. This is the same motherfucker

that killed Davey O'Brien.

And he wanted you to shoot me. And you know what?

I haven't heard shit about Pat

since he said he was lookin' into it.

You know, everyone around here,

they treat you like a fuckin' saint.

We both know what you really are.

Eddie Breen was the wrong mark.

- - Who's the right mark?

-Dukey Sullivan. -You'll bring Dukey in

to testify and not for revenge, right?

I have my failings, but I'm a professional.

- -Colonel Markham personally

interrogated you. Someone else should do it.

And that someone else is you?

My whole family died

at Markham's hands. Let him die at mine.

- -Markham, go home!

Do it!

We can't sell for John Gotti.

Do what you want. But if you don't pay me back,

I'm gonna have you both killed.

What about Sweeney? He can't ever find out

-we're doin' this. -Neither can Big Paul.

We're in the same fuckin' boat.

There's just one more thing. You gotta end him.

Do you want the fucking deal or not, Jimmy?

-We do. -No!

That was fucking amazing!

Hey, I got a lil' treat for you.

-Time's up. -Sorry, we gotta go now.

Girlies? What, hey, where ya goin'?

Fuckin' hell.

God. My prayers have been fuckin' answered.

Oh, my God.

Fuck.

What's your name?

Mr. Trouble. What's yours?

Candy.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah.

You married, Mr. Trouble?

No, but I fall in love easily.

Yeah. And right now, I wanna fuckin' propose.

Propose what?

Whatever the fuck you want.

Mm!

What've you got there?

Some seriously good shit.

You want a little toot?

Yeah, me and every customer I come across.

Oh, yeah?

What if I...

what if I front you some? As much as you want.

I like that.

Yeah? Yeah?

How much have you got?

Eight ounces.

So, baby...

Yeah?

You want me to sell this for you?

Fuck yeah. Yeah.

Well, Mr. Trouble.

You're in real trouble now.

You're under arrest.

-What the fuck? -Hey! Don't be a hero.

-Oh, shit. -Put your hands on your head!

-Come on, hands up, hands up! -What the fuck?

Motherfucker.

Fuck.

Might as well have walked into Midtown North

and tossed eight ounces on the desk!

What the fuck was he doing walking into

a strip club with eight ounces, for fuck's sakes?

Well, it's a smart place to sell. You never fuckin'

-done coke in a strip club? -Shut your fuckin' mouth--

Hey how 'bout fuck you, Cliffie!

Look. Sean had the bad luck

of running into an undercover cop, all right?

It fuckin' happens. But he won't talk,

he won't flip, so there's nothing to fuckin' worry about!

Is that right, there, tough guy?

You've done time, have ya?

All it takes is one prick of an FBI agent--

just fuckin' one-- to threaten him

with 20 years in Sing Sing, then that

-fuckin' eejit Sean starts... -Fuck you.

...singing like a fuckin' blackbird!

-He'll cave. -D'ya understand me?!

-He's a fucking pussy! -Hey, you better watch

-your fuckin' mouth! -Fuck did you just call 'im?

What the fuck are you talkin' about?

What did you just call him, huh?

- -All right.

Hey!

Enough. Jesus fuckin' Christ,

you're giving me a fuckin' headache.

Look, what's done is done.

Sean's in custody.

Now, we gotta figure out what the fuck

we're gonna do about it.

What do you mean, what the fuck do you do?

You get him a good lawyer and bail him out!

You lean on who you have on the payroll downtown.

All right? The judges, the clerks,

whoever the fuck you usually lean on.

Yeah.

But first...

you two've been dealing a lot of coke,

you've been keeping my fuckin' name out of it.

Yeah, like you requested.

So. Where you been getting your supply?

Yeah.

It's a simple question, Jimmy. Fuckin' tell me.

Well, I mean, you kinda put me in a tight spot,

and I had to do something to pay back Ruby Stein.

So... John Gotti.

Jesus fuckin' Christ!

Fuckin' moron. Jesus.

You're fuckin' with me, right?

I hate that fucker as much as you do.

Goddamnit!

You fucked up good, this time, boy.

-All right, Eddie. Just-- -You...

-All right, hey. -...fuckin' prick, you.

Here we are. Yeah.

We gotta get that fuckin' idiot Sean a good lawyer.

Call Victor Paulson, eh?

And I shouldn't have to fuckin' say this,

but this shit with Gotti ends now.

Understood?

Understood.

You think Sweeney and Gotti are working together.

Maybe. But I know for a fact that Sweeney

cares more about this Javits project

than anything else.

Probably shitting himself thinking this coke bust

will get back to Castellano.

Well, maybe he can lead us to our prize.

Well, let's just let him sit there a little longer.

Marinate. Get him scared shitless.

How well do you know this kid?

Since he was little.

He started off running numbers, sending messages,

stealing car radios for Sweeney,

and it's all the same shit my son Danny was doing.

But with this kid, despite his record,

he's never faced this kinda time before.

Can we flip him?

Well, if I thought it would move him,

I'd go in there and beat the balls off him but...