Black Mass

1

Before we start,

I want you to know something.

I'm not a rat.

You understand?

I want that on record before we start.

Okay. You are not a rat.

And it's on record.

Mr. Weeks, the charges against you,

racketeering, extortion, kidnapping,

and accomplice to murder,

are very serious.

Am I correct in stating that

you are here today

to make a deal

with the federal government?

Correct.

And am I correct in stating

that you are going from

trusted confidant to one of

South Boston's most notorious

and violent gangsters

to government witness?

Correct.

Then I need to know everything you know

about the Winter Hill Gang,

the FBI and John Connolly,

and specifically,

what you know about your former boss

and now fugitive, James "Whitey" Bulger.

Well, let's start.

It'll be a good time tonight. We gotta...

Sorry, buddy. I can't let you in.

Yeah. That's cool, man.

I'm friends with Jimmy.

- Really?

- Yeah.

- You're with Jimmy?

- Yeah.

Well, I still can't let you in.

Who the f*ck are you?

The guy who works here.

You probably don't remember this,

but you were here last Saturday night

with a few of your friends,

around 2:
00 or 3:00 in the morning.

You took a piss up against the bar.

And that's frowned upon here.

But if you go down to Brannigan's,

just right down there,

they'll let you take a shit

in the middle of the floor,

if that's what you wanna do.

But you can't... You can't do it here.

All right. Yeah.

- Okay?

- Oh, yeah, we'll go.

Hey, look. No hard feelings, okay?

F*ck out of my fucking way,

you fuckin' retard.

Whoa!

Tough guy wants to dance.

Come on! Step the f*ck...

She's all fired up,

she knows he's over

at the Bulldog, running his mouth again.

She go over there

and she got a little fork

in her pocket, you know?

She walk right in there,

tap him on the shoulder,

take his fuckin' eye out,

right there, in front of everybody.

And Connors was fuckin' in there.

He couldn't even look.

He had to look away.

"MARTORANO". Connors ain't no tough guy.

DeNucci whipped his ass in '59.

'Course he did,

he's a professional fighter.

Yeah, so is Connors.

Connors's a tough kid, but, you know,

Joe DeNucci's the real thing,

is all I'm saying.

Well, I'm saying that Connors

didn't want no part of this broad.

Hey, you know something?

MARTORANO What?

For 15 straight minutes,

I been watching you

putting your big fat fuckin' fingers

into your disgusting mouth,

which is filled with God knows

what kind of fuckin' bacteria,

and then you take the same

big fat fuckin' filthy fingers

and you stuff 'em back into the bowl

that is there for public consumption.

Now what the f*ck are you thinkin', John?

Well, I wasn't thinking, Jimmy.

I'm sorry.

Just don't do it again.

"BARMAN". Jimmy.

Uh, sorry to bother you.

We got trouble outside.

F*ck!

Ronald, hold him up straight!

"MAN". Put him up against the car!

Get him up! Get him up!

Put a stop to it.

Charlie! Charlie,

he's a fucking kid, Charlie.

- Charlie!

- Come on.

The f*ck! He's fucking dead!

Charlie. Come here.

- What the f*ck, Jimmy?

- Shut up.

- Where're you going?

- You're fuckin' dead, you...

Did I fuckin' tell you to shut up?

You listen to me. I won't say it twice.

- Get in the fuckin' bar.

- Come on, pretty boy.

Asshole!

Hey, you know,

Charlie, the guy you was just beatin' on?

Yeah.

Yeah, he's Charlie McTiernan.

He's married to one of Jimmy's cousins.

How the f*ck am I supposed to know that?

I don't know.

Good luck, kid.

Get in the fuckin' car.

No, no, no, no, no. You drive.

Are we meetin' Carmelo out here?

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