No question about it. Shoot him in the leg.
Come on with that leg shit.
-Everybody deserves a little dignity. -What about my dignity?
Your crackhead will be missing a kneecap. I'll be in a body bag.
-So sad. -What's so sad?
Your untreated control issues.
It's not your fault.
What in the hell is that supposed to mean?
Your mama probably refused you her tit when you were a baby.
You grew up a malnourished high-school softie.
Got your gun, little tight T-shirt...
...and became a overcompensating tough guy.
That is the last time you will ever refer to my mother's titties.
I don't even want them up in your head.
You know, I said all that, Mike, and all you heard was "titties."
Man, you can't keep suppressing my spiritual growth, Mike.
You need to suppress my mother's titties out of your psychoanalysis.
You just remember one thing, my friend. I may not always be here.
What's up, lcepick?
Jesus is the way, my brothers. Step inside.
You just went number one on Uncle Mike's shit list.
-We got two lousy bags, man. -My brothers.
Haitian blond with dreads. Where is he?
Blondie Dread?
He's very expensive.
You and you have to do something for me.
Oh, you trying to get gangster on me like that?
-Yeah, he went gangster. -So we should probably--
-So we want to do the-- You got them? -Yeah, sure.
Me and my partner, we're on the Miami PD tandem dance team.
We got a routine. We won all the local talent shows.
We thinking about going national.
You want to show him some of the routine?
Warm it up. Don't hurt nothing.
Yo, yo, watch this. Watch this.
This the shit right here. This is the shit.
-What you doing to my shop?! -Watch this spin.
Wait.
-What are you doing?! -Oh, give me some.
You're ruining my shop. Stop!
-Do the dance thing. -I'm gonna bring the house down.
Stop! Stop!
He lives in a pink house eight blocks from here on Carl Street.
One....
-Police! Get down. -Police!
Who that? Who in my house?!
-I'm the devil, who's asking?! -The devil is not welcome here!
You got to call yourself the devil in his house?! Shit!
You're in my house!
This is all your fault!
-You're in my country, though. -Fuck you, how's that?
-I'm gonna kill you, motherfucker! -Your country, my ass!
-Fuck you. -Fuck me? Fuck you!
You no problem!
Mike, do you have to be so combative?
Fucking--!
You calling me a bitch?!
Do or die, man!
A bullet in the head'll really mess up your extensions.
Take your bullet and eat that shit, man.
How about that?
What the fuck?
Sir, we just want to talk.
You want to talk?! Well, go ahead. Go ahead.
We're not lmmigration.
They can't hear you because they're still shooting at you.
Fucking Haitians in a fucking little-ass room...
...with fucking guns. Shit!
Got to make it home to my babies. Damn, now.
Motherfucker! You killed my brother!
That's a bitch!
Shoot them. Fucking shoot them.
They shot me. They got me, man. Yo!
Got you.
Oh, shit! Motherfucker!
They killed the boy!
They kill me!
They're killing everybody!
Motherfucker!
My eyes!
I'm gonna kill you, motherfucker!
Come. Come kill me, motherfucker.
Come. You don't take me alive.
You got three seconds to drop your weapon!
I got a present for you!
-A nice present for you! -One!
-Two! -I'm gonna kill you.
Don't shoot. Don't shoot, man. Don't kill me.
-Bullets and all-- Excuse me. -You all right, man?
Apologize to that man. Apologize to that man.
Apologize! Apologize.
Hey, listen, I owe you--
It's just that, you know, you was disrespect--
But that don't mean it give me the right, though. It don't.
Excuse me. Whoosah. Whoosah.
Whoosah, motherfucker!
See, the interesting thing is he's the one of us that's not pissed off.
-I don't know nothing. -I didn't ask you no question yet!
-I don't know nothing. -Lying already?
-No, get-- -How'd you know about the drop?
-I don't know nothing! -Stop lying!
Do you know anything?
I'm gonna be nice about it. Do you know anything?
Let's ask some other suspects.
-Hey, look, man, fuck it. -Let's try this. Let's talk to his homeys.
Hey, look here, man.
Can you tell me who was driving the black Suburban?
Oh, he don't know nothing.
His brains is under the end table.
He can't tell us shit, Mike.
-He's all fucked up. -What's your point?
Dead suspects can't say shit.
It seems like live suspects don't say shit either, so I'll hot this dude here.
-Save us the paperwork. -I don't know nothing!
I don't do motherfucking surveillance, man. He do surveillance.
He don't let nobody touch his camera.
-What's on that camera? -Trigger Mike strikes again.
Hi, welcome to Phat's. How can I help you?
-Miami PD. -Whoa. Cops. I love that show.
-We need to see what's on this video. -Absolutely.
You got a little bullet hole in there. You guys tell me about it?
Guess not. We'll put this in our central floor model.
It has kick-ass bass. You like hip-hop? I love it.
We freestyle in the break room. If you guys ever want to kick it, we'll flow.
We're gonna set you up on the wide-screen. Correct ratio.
There you go.
"Spanish Palms Mortuary."
Why would they be doing surveillance at a funeral home?
Is that a Cuban flag?
Right there. See the gun?
Never knew guards at funeral homes needed to carry them kind of weapons.
It just seems like we should turn it off...
...because my dad owns the store.
She got a tongue ring.
-This is like a porno. We're not-- -Dude. Dude.
-All right? -Yeah.
Okay. Okay.
It's just, you know, my dad's gonna be--
I just need to-- I think l--
-I think I screwed this up. -Relax.
-My dad's gonna-- This is like a porno. -Oh, yeah. I want more.
-Okay. -This is official police business.
-What the fuck's going on here? -Out of my way.
My dad is coming. My dad is coming.
What the hell is going on in my store?
Son, how did this porno crap get on my videos in my store?!
What the hell is going on in here?!
-You all right? -No, I'm not all right, Mike.
Three days of this shit. Got my nerves all rattled.
My ass still hurts...
...from what you did to it the other night.
Oh, my Lord.
Yeah, it got rough.
You know?
I mean, we got caught up in the moment, shit got crazy.
You know how I get.
When you popped me from behind, I think you damaged some nerves.
Okay.
Now, I can't--
I can't-- Now, I can't....
-Can't what? -I can't even get an erection.
What's an erection?
I tried taking Viagra, you know, pop one, pop two.
Been eating them like Skittles.
That poor man is pouring out his heart.
And I'm still flaccid.
Okay. I'm comfortable talking to you...
It's got 5.1 Dolby.
...about what I did to your ass...
...but you not getting an erection...
...that's a real problem for me.
-I just figured I could talk to you. -Yeah. No, no.
We're-- We partners, but we are partners with boundaries.
We got a new rule.
From now on you can't say the word "flaccid" to me.
He's a mean fuck.
Look here. This is our little boundary box.
So we gonna take the word "flaccid"...
...and we're gonna put it in there with my mom's titties...
...with your erection problems, and we're gonna close this box...
...and we're gonna throw this bitch in the ocean.
And the only way that you can get to this box...
...is you got to be motherfucking Jacques Cousteau.
We cool?
Oh, shit.
We gotta go.
In front of my babies you got porno and homo shows up in here?
What kind of freak-ass store is this?
And you two motherfuckers need Jesus.
Cover your ears, baby.
Palm Mortuary, owned by an offshore holding company...
...which, after 1 7 layers of bullshit...
...turns out to be registered to Donna Maria Tapia...
...mother of Hector Juan Carlos Tapia, who calls himself Johnny.
Johnny Tapia. Shit.
Every time the PD goes after him...
...he sues for wrongful arrest. And, oh, does he win.
Last year he was awarded $9 million.
And got a dozen dumb-ass officers like you fired.
Well, he hasn't run across us yet.
We'd love to hear what's going on in that house.
Use your computer brain and tap the phone.
Well, that happens to be highly illegal without a judge.
We were thinking of something more along the lines of a training operation.
No, I can't do that.
-Get you tickets to the Heat game. -I need floor seats.
With thick-ass glasses you don't need floor seats.
He can see the game from the parking lot.
-I can't work under these conditions. -Floor seats to the Heat. You got it.
-Lakers. -Yes, Lakers.
Okay. Watch me work.
Hello? Is this the pest control?
Yeah. We got a fucking problem.
You know where we live.
-Yeah, South Miami. -We got it.
Got our way in.
-lllegally? -You got to put a word to it.
It's like, secret.
So y'all want to kill roaches?
-lllegal. -We'll plant a couple gypsy wires...
...find out what Tapia's up to.
These are your basic household bugs.
Dog, this is what we do.
-What's the sprayers for? -The roaches.
-Roaches? We got rats. -Say what?
That's not an issue. We can handle that.
We'll just have to slightly adjust our approach a little bit.
Nope. Nope. I don't mess with no rats.
Hey. Stop it.
-We're in. Get your head right. -Mike, I'm a grown-ass man.
Get your grown-ass self together and let's do this.
-You got a beautiful house, sir. -Well, start looking.
They're all over.
Those ain't normal rats.
What he means is that they're obviously a special breed.
-What kind of breed are they? -Big motherfuckers.
Disposing of the rats isn't a problem.
But we should ensure there's no breeding elsewhere in the house.
Yeah, at Zook...
...we like to work from the outside in, you know.
So we gonna leave these-- Excuse me.
We'll leave these here and send in a special unit.
It'd be better to begin in the rest of the house.
You're not getting in the rest of the house.
We won't be able to guarantee our work.
The only thing that we can guarantee...
...is that these rats will keep fucking.
Giving off offspring until we find the colony.
Rats don't got no stinking colony.
Well, actually these are colonial rats.
What they do is they send out worker rats that are called....
Marsupials.
These drones, they're explorers of the rat world, you know.
They just looking for rat pussy.
-You know. -Are you fucking with me?
Hold on. You called us. We can leave.
But what you should understand is that these rats will hump twice a day.
All right. Down there. Just kill them and bring me the bill.
That's that bullshit. That's that bullshit right there.
-You see these rats? -Plant your wires.
-You're not leaving me with them. -Plant your wires.
Gentlemen. Alexei, Josef.
Oh, I really like that word, Johnny. "Gentlemen."
I'm just trying being civil. This is business, we can all relax.
-Alexei, would you like a Cohiba? -Why not?
Of course. And you? Josef.
I'm told you're a wine connoisseur.
I am.
Carlos, have Josef pick a wine and Alexei and I will have a cigar. Come.
-Where the fuck you going? -Pretty bad problem you got here.
I'm gonna head down to the truck, get some poison pellets and stuff.
Come straight back. No screwing around.
They're all over.
Nice place you got here.
It's Mama's. And it's a shithole. Built a fucking million years ago.
-Expensive shithole, eh? -Oh, no.
My new place I'm building in Cuba. Esto va a set tremendo, brother.
Almost finished. Everything fucking shiny new. Come on upstairs.
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit! Look at the balls on that motherfucker.
Roberto...
-...the general's office camera is out. -Everything in this house is broken.
My wire's planted.
-How about yours? -Almost got three wires planted.
Mike!
There's a papa rat humping the shit out of this mama rat.
No, he's straight pile-driving her!
Now, how is that information gonna help me do my job?
They fuck just like us.
Where's the pest guy?
There's something going on down here.
Goddamn rats.
Yeah, they everywhere. Just like cockroaches.
No disrespect...
...but I do not wish to talk business until my partner return.
It's baffling. You secretly decide to pay me less and you talk about respect?
Let's wait for Josef. You know, me and digits.
Carlos, could you bring Josef in?
So...
...your partner is here.
Would you like to talk now?
Carlos, another box.
So you sign over ownership papers for all the Florida clubs you own...
...and I will control everything...
...from point of origin to sale. Okay?
No middleman. Especially Russian middleman.
With all due respect, Mr. Tapia...
...in my country, I see such things all the time.
I'm sorry for your country.
That must be some Cuban stupid tradition to put them in a tortilla bin.
Now, listen to me, you Russian punk.
I, me, Johnny Tapia, will sever your head off!
You kill me and you will have a shit-storm.
Should I screw your young wife...
...or visit your son, the soccer player?
My daughter knows your son.
-You're gonna regret this. -I hope that we can remain friends.
Because at the end, what else do we have but friendship, trust...
...honor.
Without this, we are no more than beasts.
The kitchen monitor's out.
What the hell's going on out there?
Shit.
I found something.
-It's a guy's finger. -What, did the rats eat the rest of him?
-What the fuck are you doing? -Hey, I was just looking for you.
I think I figured out your problem.
Y'all a bunch of filthy motherfuckers.
Blow out!
-What's going on? Shit! -Get out of the house!
This shit's got to stop.
Fuck!
We should go.
Go! Go!
Just another day with Mike Lowrey.
-Damn! Go! -Come on!
Roberto thinks they were the gangbangers...
...that tried to hijack the drop, boss.
How did this thing happen?
I don't know. We called the rat people and these guys showed up.
Maybe you're the rat, huh?
They tried to steal from me, and you let them into my mother's house.
Johnny. Hey, no.
I would never....
Nobody puts in danger my daughter, my mother...
...or my money.
Send him to the mortuary.
Johnny. Johnny, what happened to Roberto?
He killed himself, Mama.
-Very sad. -Write a nice letter to his mother.
I'll do it.
Okay. Bye.
-Yo, run the print. -Mike, stop playing, man!
-Run the print. -Don't touch me with no dead finger.
Excuse me, run this print. I need to find the owner.
Thank you.
Think you can find out what's on these shreds?
Of course.
We're thinking about ordering lunch.
Should we put you down for some extra crispy and a couple of grape sodas?
"Couple of grape sodas."
-Very funny. That's hilarious. -lsn't it low tide?
I think it is.
-Don't you have relatives to pick up? -What?
Yo, now you crossed the line, man. Okay, no, that's not funny.
We're fucking with you. We planted wires, we need some help. No bullshit.
I want you...
...to find out...
...who those two black puta de mierda are.
And I want them lying right here...
...in Mama's garden in these coffins!
And our mystery finger belongs to:
Josef Kuninskavich.
He was a lieutenant in a Russian mob.
Owned a couple dozen Florida nightclubs.
Tapia's starting to knock off Russian mob bosses.
Got something.
What you got, dickhead?
The computer matches half tones, gray tones, densities.
Sort of like a visual code-breaking.
Little something I put together.
The shredded papers was a photo. Some kind of boat. "Dixie 7. "
Dixie 7.
-It's registered to a one Floyd Poteet. -The Poteet brothers.
One of the KKK guys we busted. You blew his ear off, remember?
Mike, can you teach me how to shoot people?
Listen to what we got at Tapia's.
The second-in-command is talking.
He's telling him, "Yes, boss. We found a bunch of fat doe fuckers...
-...and we're getting them emptied." -Fat does emptied?
-The hell does that mean? -He has a meeting this afternoon.
-You know who I am? -Name sounds familiar.
Sense of humor. I like that.
Meet me on the sand, 2:00, Shore Club.
-She has no idea. Let's roll. -Y'all come with us.
I ordered a couple of Bacardi Mojitos.
Miami.
Okay, zoom in on nine. A little more audio, please.
So, why don't we take a swim? Cool off.
Or we could just stay here and get drunk. How about that?
Or we could drink this later.
Unless you have a reason...
...why you don't want to get that beautiful body of yours wet.
Why not just ask if I'm wearing a wire?
I'd rather go swimming.
-What the hell's he doing? -Son of a bitch.
Shit. He's taking her into the water.
This guy's smart.
I want you to work for me. Why waste time on this unnecessary talking?
It's very unnecessary. What do you need with another banker?
For the same reason as your previous employer.
But now I own all the Russian clubs. No middleman.
I'm about to be the biggest importer and distributor of X in North America.
You're gonna be a very rich young woman. That's why I thought--
I know what you thought, Mr. Tapia.
As long as you don't think it more than once...
...I'm happy to be in business with you.
All right.
Let's do business.
What are you, a cop or a model?
What do you mean? I threw something on. I like looking good. What?
For who?
Don't hate the player. Hate the game.
I hate the tailor.
Good job. We'll get him.
Your brother would love to talk to you down the street.
Whoa, what's going on?
You trying to blow my case or you just insane?
You're the one taking a dip with the Cubano maniac.
-How'd you know that? -We had a wire in the house.
-You two have a warrant for that wire? -Look, fuck that, okay?
You don't know the kind of danger that you're in, Syd.
I am fully aware and I am fully capable of what I am doing.
I am not your baby sister anymore.
For the DEA you ain't nothing but a honeypot.
What'd you just say?
That's why you got the job, because you look good in a bathing suit.
All right, let's sit down somewhere.
All right, look, Syd, there's some shit you need to know.
Johnny Tapia is cutting up Russian mob bosses in his mom's kitchen.
In the kitchen, Syd.
He found a severed finger by the crock pot.
You're about to be in the middle of a drug war.
Miami PD has arrested this guy 1 2 times with no convictions.
Why don't you just hang back and let us bring him down?
Guys, look, I need this, okay? And I am this close.
What's "this close"?
I'm in charge of money laundering for his entire operation.
In a month or two we'll have enough for a conviction and it'll be over.
What about a day or two? Sound better?
Marcus and I think we found the key to Tapia's whole operation.
You have nothing to say now, huh?
-Just stuck, right? -Okay, time-out, y'all. Damn.
We got this peckerwood that'll put us down...
...with the transport end of Tapia's operation. Do you want in?
-Why would you--? -When?
-Tonight. -Page me.
Should I bring my thong?
Get your bitch hands off. I'll knock you the fuck out.
Mike, we're trying to keep her out of trouble, man...
...not invite her in.
Man, I just figured, you know, if she with us...
...that's just less trouble she could get into.
I'm gonna keep it real with you too, man. I think she can handle herself.
I'm gonna keep it real with you. Don't nobody know my sister like I do.
Okay? She doesn't make good choices, Mike.
-She's not street-smart. -Doesn't make good--?
-Like, what kind of choices? -Men, for one.
She's attracted to these dumb...
...flashy, just musclebound dickheads, Mike. You know?
Cock diesel motherfuckers that can't even fucking turn to wipe their ass.
-You feel me? -Yeah.
You know? Just dumb as a bucket of shrimp.
Yeah. Yeah. That shit's crazy.
I mean, you don't think maybe you--
Maybe you didn't, like, get a chance to know any of them?
I'm gonna give the next one a chance.
A chance to whup his ass.
-Whup the shit out of him. -Oh, you gonna fight him?
What I'm gonna do ain't even gonna be legal.
I might be up in here with these motherfuckers.
Do you know what I mean?
The fuck you looking at?
Thank you kindly.
-Who sprung me? -Hey, Cousin Floyd.
-Oh, you. -Remember me?
Cheese.
Y'all look great together.
-What the fuck you doing? -Just a little insurance.
You gonna help us find Dixie 7...
...and tell us what that boat has to do with Johnny Tapia.
-I ain't no snitch. -Oh, you ain't no snitch?
-Oh, damn. That's a shame. -Know what I'm gonna do?
I'm gonna send a special 8 x 1 0 to his KKK buddies back in jail.
You know what, it's a digital photo too.
So we can do whatever we want to do with it.
By the time we get done with you...
...you gonna be in the next Busta Rhymes video on BET.
Tuck ass.
I got my rights.
I'm worried. There's too much heat around in Miami.
I can feel it. I can feel it.
We need to put my money in coffins to Cuba faster.
You should tell the mortuary to speed things up. All right?
That's the channel marker way out there.
They make the drop mostly at dawn, but there'll be one today, though.
Syd, you talk to Mama? She's got hives.
Oh, and I told Mama about your Cubano boyfriend.
He ain't invited to Christmas dinner.
Change the station. More music, less Marcus.
If you open the door he'll be a black Dr. Phil for the next 40 minutes.
Syd, you might not want to get too flirty with Mike.
Your boyfriend might cut off his trigger finger.
Maybe Mike's been flirting with me. Did you ever think about that?
Trigger Mike?
Not like this. Don't play with that boy.
-Seriously. Don't play with that boy. -Just tell him about New York.
-Do it. -Tell me what?
Oh, shit. Is he walking down the steps?
Oh, shit. He coming down.
-It's okay. -Yeah, you done fucked up.
You done fucked up.
You remember....
Remember I went to New York? You remember?
And...
...I said, "Syd."
I ran in--
Syd ran into me in New York on the street in that place.
And I said:
"What's up?"
And we was hungry, so then...
...she had fish.
It was grouper.
And then I had some chicken.
Remember I was supposed to come home?
But I didn't.
We went out on a date.
Five, actually. Now we're seeing each other.
Hold up.
You know, really out of respect for you, Marcus, nothing happened.
Hey, Mike, why you tripping, man?
I mean, we wanted to make sure you was cool with it.
Doesn't matter what I think, you know. Hey, I had to find out like this, right?
Don't matter.
Let me ask you, y'all gonna have babies? Little bunch of mini Mikes?
Bunch of little lying, violent motherfuckers?
Marcus, nothing happened.
I just want to say, Mama's gonna be thrilled.
All right, you know what, you need to "whoosah" or something for a second.
Hey, here comes the Dixie 7.
Whoosah.
Just leave it alone.
-Why you acting like that? -Go on about your business, man.
-We gonna talk about this. -No. Get out of my face.
-I'm trying to talk to you. -Get the fuck off me, Mike.
What the hell is your problem, man?! Why you acting so stupid?!
This is a dysfunctional partnership. That's why I'm acting like that.
-You know-- -There ain't no trust.
I didn't lie to you!
I was waiting for the right time to tell you. But that ain't your issue.
Why don't you bring it to me real. What is your problem with this?!
You know what? You a dog, man.
-That's it. There it is. I said it. -Oh, okay.
You like a pit bull with that little pink thing hanging out.
Oh, it's like that. Oh, okay.
I'm not good enough for your sister.
Guys, enough. The boat's coming.
Okay. We gonna handle that shit. Go ahead, man.
In about an hour, the drop boat's gonna come.
We got them.
Wonder what mortuary that coffin's going to.
Keep going straight by.
You seeing what I'm seeing?
Get the load to the mortuary and don't screw up.
I got it.
Load up.
They're getting away!
Stop! Stop!
We need your car. All right?
-Get out the car. -Can't you get a better car than that?
Let that man go!
-Don't be coming at me with that tone. -Freak.
-Small cars don't hurt the ozone layer. -That's what I'm talking about.
-Stop the car. -Get-- Yeah.
-Pop the trunk. Get out. Get in. -Get out. Get out.
-Get your ass in. -Okay.
-I am in the middle of a sale. -Do I have to pull my gun?
Oh, shit. Dan Marino. What's up? Back up, Dan. Hey, you're the truth.
-Whatever you need, officers. -That's Dan Marino.
-Hey. Back up. -Let me know how it rides.
He's gonna test-drive the shit out this.
Go. I don't want to blow my cover.
Got them. Got them right there.
Why you gotta get so close?
-I won't let that coffin get away. -But they're all around us.
Shit, those are the gangbangers.
Relax, they don't know us.
Boss, we got a problem here. We're being followed.
This is a big problem, Carlos.
-Sorry, boss. I'll take care of it, okay? -Kill those black bitches. All right?!
They made us. Get some undercovers to roll with us.
We're splitting up. Everybody go to Third and Boxter, now!
Here we go.
I didn't sign up for no goddamned car chase!
Have you lost your mind?
I see you got your mind set on doing dumb shit, so please let me out!
I seen this in a movie once. They didn't make it!
Oh, shit!
-Dump truck! -I got it.
-Mike! -I'm fine. I'm fine.
Right there! Oh, shit, Mike!
-Did you see that shit? -No shit.
Dan Marino should definitely buy this car.
Not this one. I'm fucking this one up. But definitely one like this.
I almost missed that.
All right, that was almost fucked up. I almost fucked up.
Shit!
This is not necessary.
Oh, shit!
-Damn! -Dead man on the hood! Dead man!
-I'm trying to get it off. -Get it off!
I'm trying to get it off.
-That shit's nasty. That's nasty. -Get it off! Get--
That shit is nasty.
-Undercover police! Everybody move! -Undercover police!
-Move! -Move! Move! Move!
Coming around the corner!
Get ready, they're coming around the block. Move!
Up top!
Shit!
Boy, if this was my car, I'd be pissed!
Get down! Get down!
Trying to break the world record for gun fights in a week!?
This is not the time to criticize!
I can't work with you blaming me all the time!
-This is not your fault? -This is not-- No! No!
Bullshit, Mike! Everything's your fault!
Okay, let's go! Let's go!
-Clear around! -Cool!
I'm going around!
-Mike, got him! -They got the coffin.
Move!
Move! Move! Get down! Police! Get down!
Move! Move!
Police! Move! Move!
Get out of my way! Move! Move!
Get down! Get down!
Shit! Open the door! Police!
No!
Whoa! Shit!
Mike! Mike!
That boy bit me!
Mike!
Move! Move!
Police! Move!
He under there?
We lost the coffin...
...and you barbecued our only lead, Mike.
This has got to be the worst, most emotional cop week of my life.
Yeah, it's been a little rough.
-Where were these bodies going? -I don't know. It's really strange.
All the John Does we found out here are empty.
Empty Does. Fat Does.
Cut them open, took the organs out. Sewed them back up.
Nice work.
The more you guys fuck up, the more we look like rock stars.
The van you was chasing is a transport for the city morgue.
The John Does were being delivered to the university for medical research.
-Nice going. -I can't believe you guys.
Do you both wake up in the morning, call each other up?
"Good morning, Marcus." "Morning, Mike."
"How you doing?" "A'ight."
"So how are we gonna fuck up the captain's life today?"
"Gee, I don't know." "l don't know."
"Ooh. Look, over there.
Let's kill three fat people...
...and leave them on the street."
They were dead before we ran over them.
It doesn't matter whether they were dead or not, goddamn it!
Every time you leave a corpse on the street...
...I have to get these forensic coroner guys to come to see what happened.
Then I gotta get detectives. See? They're detecting shit.
Then I gotta get these forensic guys to stick them back in the fucking bag!
Jesus Christ!
You guys, you're like....
You're like a bunch of bloodsucking ticks...
...draining the life's blood out of this department.
-Whoosah. -Damn the whoosah, captain.
-Did you just call me a tick? -I was referring to him.
-Thought so. -These aren't normal corpses.
If I threw you out of a speeding ice truck...
...and then ran over your head, you wouldn't be normal either.
Think about this for a second. These bodies have been emptied...
...from a drug smuggler that just happens to own a mortuary.
I got a bunch of bodies waiting with plenty of room in them...
...I could smuggle some shit.
-Johnny Tapia has the perfect cover. -Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
Johnny Tapia?
I want a warrant to go into his mortuaries immediately.
No warrant. What? For what? For what?
For a bunch of dead guys on their way to med research?
No. Every time we go after him, he sues us and wins.
This shit stops now or they'll fire us, disband TNT...
...and stick me in a fucking coffin.
-This is over now! -What happened to "whatever it takes"?
That was pre-vehicular manslaughter. Not to mention Johnny Tapia--
-What the fuck is that? -Oh, shit.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
This man has violated my rights!
Who the fuck is that?
Running people over is not enough for you? Now you're into kidnapping?
That man is a criminal. Okay? We busted him at the--
Excuse me, I have so much brass up my ass...
...I could be playing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
I ain't cut out for this, man.
Come on, man. I can't do this with you right now.
-I'm re-evaluating what's important. -About what? Being a cop?
No, about you being my partner.
Is this about Syd? God! Hey, Marcus, man--
That was messed up, but that ain't what this is about, Mike.
Once we nail Tapia, you and me, we're over.
I already signed my transfer papers.
Megan, what's the name of this boy taking you to the movies?
Reggie.
Daddy, please don't embarrass me and ask him a lot of questions.
Everybody knows you're a cop, and it makes people nervous.
Well, why nervous? He on crack?
-It's cool? -Yeah. Come in.
What'd you--?
I got a sneak and peek.
Judge Sinclair said we can go into the mortuary tonight.
We can't touch nothing, but if we find something...
...he'll give us a righteous warrant.
You love pissing Captain Howard off, don't you?
It's what I do.
So when you start playing golf?
Hey, so you real serious about this transfer thing, huh?
I mean, you been quitting for 1 0 years. I just always thought it was...
...how you dealt with all this shit.
It's what's best for me and my family.
Look, I'm gonna get my stuff, man.
"We ride together, we die together.
Bad boys for life."
We getting old, Mike.
One of them young punks coming to take my baby out on her first date.
-Who the fuck are you? -Hi, Mr. Burnett. I'm Reggie.
-What you doing here? -I came to take out Megan.
-What?! -I came to take out Megan.
-How old are you? -I'm 1 5, Mr. Burnett.
Motherfucker, you look 30.
-Show me some lD. -I don't have none on me.
You don't have no lD. Get your ass up against that wall.
What is your problem?
You think you know it all. Little young Thundercats.
-Got joints on you? -No.
-You smoke that shit? -No, sir.
You trying to get my daughter high? Do you smoke that shit?
-Nigga, who that is at the door? -It's Reggie.
-Who the fuck is Reggie? -Came to take Megan out.
-What you want, nigga? -I'm here to take his daughter out.
-What's your name? -Reggie.
I heard the motherfucker say your name Reggie.
You taking Megan out?
-How old is you? -Fifteen.
-Shit, nigga, you at least 30. -This is Mike.
-Can you fight? -Yeah.
You can fight? Motherfucker. You can't fight. Look at you--
-Cut it out. -I want to know if--
When somebody taking my niece out, I want to know if he can fight.
Somebody might come say something, the nigga can't fight, she can't go.
This is Megan's godfather, okay? He just got out the joint.
Why you putting all my business in the street?
-They call him-- -I got out of jail. I ain't going back!
I ain't going back!