Bad Country Page #2

Ten months ago, judge

gets popped with a .357.

Well, I got a Ruger from Weiland's

toilet and rushed it through Ballistics.

- And?

- It's a solid match. Dead on.

There's a dozen ways Weiland

could've got that burner.

- It don't prove a thing.

- How about this?

A stack of bonds taken from the home

of a Baptist minister, murdered.

Looked like a robbery

gone bad then.

I want it opened back up.

I still got tests pending,

more guns, more cases.

This guy ain't crazy, Mike.

He's the ticket to something big.

Something happening now.

- So who's backing him?

- I don't know.

But I do know they'll

post his bond.

That's why I need a price that

they can't come up with overnight.

I'm right about this, Mike.

When a guy's looking at 200

years and he ain't upset,

it's like when your wife is accusing

you of f***ing the neighbour

but she don't know you're

f***ing her sister, too.

You're pretty calm about it, right?

Did we hit the wrong nerve?

All the guns, all the

other sh*t, the time.

He's having that conversation,

he can have it.

He's not upset.

He's making eye contact

'cause we're falling short.

This guy knows things.

He knows where bodies are.

I'll bounce it up to the DA.

Yeah?

Bud? Charlie Broward. Just got

your message. What's so urgent?

Hey, Charlie, thanks for calling.

Listen.

You had a inmate in '75

named Jesse Weiland.

What's your interest

in this guy, Bud?

Well, we got him on

weapons and burglary.

- But I get the feelin' there's more.

- There's way more.

Race riots, smuggling,

extorting a guard.

I had a few run-ins

with him myself.

What else?

You could say that

in here, he peaked.

Came in on armed

robbery and assault,

but word in the system said

he's a contract killer

controlling hits, movements inside the

system, prison-to-prison, state-to-state.

Their number one guy.

Heard you refused

a public defender.

Yesterday morning, when you were

arrested, I put a gun to your head.

You expected someone else.

Y'all don't look like cops.

Your house, guns, mass supply

tells me intent to sell.

Cyanide in the fridge, explosives,

tells me you're scared.

I know who you are.

If you knew that much, you

wouldn't be in here all by yourself.

Tell you what I do know.

There is no bond.

Your parole's been violated,

and you and your brother, Tommy,

are headed back to prison.

Open number eight.

This place is bad.

There's eyes everywhere.

Like I got a sign

on my back, Jesse.

They all think I talked.

Just the other day,

some spic fish got killed.

These 10 other guys,

they beat him,

they stabbed him until there

weren't nothing left.

And the guards,

they just let it happen.

His brains were on the wall.

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