Homicide Page #2

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- Coffee Cup in 15.

- At the Coffee?

- Right.

- I'm gonna get the stuff.

- Hey, Bob.

Don't let him get you down.

What, are you guys all going out?

- That's right.

- Don't forget your gun.

- Forwhat? To protect myself?

- That's right.

Homicide. Detective Gold.

Hi, Bobby.

The F.B.I. 's been taken off

the Robert Randolph case. Our plan?

Our plan is to serve and protect.

Can I get back to you?

- Now, where's my shells?

- What you doin' in this morning? Sit down.

Well, dear, they put us on the big one.

What, are you going out

to conquer France?

Yeah. What do you got?

Walter B. Wells. Killed his wife and kiddie

this a.m. with this here deer rifle.

Well, that sounds like an interesting case.

What did you do, apprehend him?

Yeah, we got him. Mighty hunter.

- Could we get some ink in here?

- What, did you mistake 'em for a deer?

Hey, all we gotta do is catch 'em.

We don't gotta figure 'em out, thank God.

- Did you think they were a deer?

- Yes, I thought they were a deer.

What'd you kill 'em for, pal?

What'd you shoot 'em for, pal?

- I did it to protect them.

- ''Protect them.''

- Well, they're safe now, wouldn't you say?

- Hey, leave it, Dougie.

Wife, three kids, four shots.

Good shooting, wouldn't you say?

- See ya.

- Nice shooting, old son.

-See ya, Doug.

- I got him! I got him!

- I got him! I got him!

- Give him to me! You son of a b*tch!

- Give him to me!

- You son of a b*tch!

- Son of a b*tch!

- Oh, sh*t -

- Sorry sack of sh*t! Stand up!

- F*ggot!

- Get him up! Give him to me!

- Get up! Get up!

- I said stand up!

- Get him up!

- That's right!

- Get the f*** up! Yeah!

Stupid son of a -

What the f*** you think you're doin; huh?

- Throw him in there.

- You f***in' a**hole!

It's okay.

We got him. We got him.

Stupid son of a b*tch!

- You okay, Bobby?

- Yeah. He got me a good one in the head.

Oh, Christ.

You tore my f***in' holster.

What the f*** do you wanna do that for?

- You okay, Bob?

- What the f*** do you wanna do that for?

- I wanted your gun.

- Why didn't you just say so?

- What'd you want the gun for?

- I wanted to kill myself.

Bates, Brown, in my office.

- Are you okay, Bobby?

- No, I'm fine, Lieu.

- Somebody get him a drink of water.

- I got it.

What the f*** is wrong with you, man?

What'd I ever do to you? Huh?

What the f*** did I ever do to you?

- You stupid son of a b*tch.

- I'm sorry.

You tore my holster, and I got work to do.

What the f*** did I ever do to you?

- Nothing.

- And I stood up for you, didn't I?

Yes. Y-You did.

- Thank you for your help.

- Uh-huh.

Perhaps someday I could help you.

Now, how can you help me?

Perhaps...

someday I could tell you

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