Poker Night

In truth,

they're bastard stepchildren...

wisdom and hindsight.

You only get it

after you need it.

It doesn't help you right now.

It only teaches you enough

to help you the next time.

I'm talking about the kind of

wisdom that comes from experience.

The kind that tells you if your wife

pushes you to take the night shift,

there's probably a reason.

And then there's hindsight.

It's like looking

in the rearview mirror.

You can't see what you're going

through until you've driven past it.

Hindsight, like, "Ah, what do you

mean I've had too much to drink?

I'll be fine."

Wisdom and hindsight.

They don't help you with today,

only with tomorrow.

But tomorrow is a day away.

And today, well...

Today's a shitstorm

I might not live through.

So let me take you back

to the beginning.

'Cause the only way to get

any wisdom out of my story...

is to look at it in hindsight.

Well, you're legit now, hero.

If you make it through poker night,

it's all downhill from there.

And, uh, considering you're a...

wet-nose, son of a b*tch

political appointee...

you did okay.

The boys seem to think

you got potential.

Glad to hear you approve,

Lieutenant.

I never said

I approve, shithead.

And don't f*** up, all right?

And don't ever make us look bad.

And get rid of that

piece of sh*t eyesore.

You're gonna be a detective,

you gotta start driving like one.

First thing tomorrow.

Hey, thanks, Lieutenant.

F*** you.

10-16.

10-16.

Domestic disturbance.

413 East Morris.

Any units in area respond.

Dispatch,

Unit 4334 is 10-76.

There's nothing out

this time of night...

except for trouble,

and there's no reason

to go looking for it.

But it wasn't as if there was anything

waiting for me at home anymore.

Hey!

That was it.

The first sign.

I could've seen it coming if my

brain was working, but it wasn't.

Doesn't matter

how often I replay it.

Hello?

I never get it right.

F***er.

Go! Run!

No.

Not again.

Please.

You said...

Taking the call.

I wasn't doing anyone

any favors.

Had a few two many at the game.

Wasn't really in any shape to go out,

and response is slow, not thinking clearly.

It's an empty street somewhere

between service towers,

but I had a radio in the car.

Just decided to go forward

without calling for backup.

And number four...

Go! Run!

Amy.

Well, she was a mistake in

more ways than one. Sh*t! Amy?

Where am I?

Who are you?

It is now day three, and still no word on

the whereabouts of Detective Stan Jeter,

missing since Sunday.

His car was found here

by the lake,

but there are no signs

of any struggle.

For the past two days,

search crews have dredged the waterway.

Lieutenant Calabrese, tell us what

you've heard about Detective Jeter.

We're not gonna give up

till we find him.

Anybody seen or heard anything,

please contact the station.

Channel 9 viewers

might remember Stan Jeter...

as the heroic officer who single-handedly

brought down Terence Alby.

Let me out of here,

you son of a b*tch.

Oh! Hey, listen to me.

Listen to me. Listen to me.

You know I'm a cop, right? You... You hurt

a cop and they're coming after you, man.

And-And no-no mercy.

Well, you let me out right now,

we can sort this out and...

Everything happens

for a reason, Detective.

Remember that.

Also remember...

people see what

they want you to see.

They're looking for you

at the river.

Not here.

In a week,

no one will be looking

for you at all.

No one will remember you at all.

In fact,

you're already being forgotten.

What the f*** is that?

Three days.

God, help me.

Three days in this room.

Three days lost.

Come on.

Three days since poker night.

Ah. Look who's here.

Guest of honor.

How often do we get a f***in'

genuine hero in our midst, boys?

Yeah. All right.

What'd you bring?

Come on. Come on. Listen.

Just get your stuff and listen.

I'm telling... I'm in the middle of a story.

Sorry.

All right, so...

Where was I?

You lost me at

"Once upon a time."

I got it. I got it. Okay.

Okay. So I spend, like, the next two

years... I'm following this guy, right.

Wherever he goes, I go.

Goes to a family reunion,

"Hello."

I mean, he's in a hotel room

banging some whore,

I'm in the room next door, you know, with a

glass against the wall, you know, listening.

- That's a little creepy.

- So...

I mean, this guy takes a piss, I'm so

close, I get tinkled on my shoes, you know.

And still nothing.

We get nothing.

And I can tell that the guys upstairs

are getting sick and tired of this sh*t.

'Cause every time I go in they give me the

"f*** you" eyes...

when I'm handing my card

for overtime.

But I don't care 'cause I know.

I know in my gut that this is the

motherf***er that capped Franklin and Meyers.

And I know I'll never sleep another night

in my life as long as he's still out there.

And then the day comes.

Then they tell me, we're done.

Case is retired.

No more overtime.

We've had two years.

Finito.

Really?

Thank you.

That was our best?

Yeah.

That's the best?

F*** them.

I go apeshit.

I'm-I'm destroying sh*t.

I'm throwing sh*t.

So there I am.

I'm driving home.

I'm furious.

I'm driving by Spike's,

and that bastard's truck is sitting there.

He's, you know,

inside having a beer or whatever,

and my two friends are dead

in a ditch somewhere,

and only that a**hole

knows where they're at.

And I sit there...

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