End of a Gun

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Hello, Decker.

I'm at Chateau Nightclub,

on 17...

with some of

my girl friends.

Are you coming tonight?

I can't wait to see you.

Text me when you're out, bye.

Decker, just seeing if you

got my message about tonight.

It would be great

if you can text me.

That's me, Michael Decker.

Ex-pat, ex a lot of things,

but none of them for the

reasons you might think.

In my life, nothing ever happens

for the reasons you might think.

Hey.

Hey, what's going on here?

- What was that for?

- It was money for you!

For me, it was my f***ing money,

so give me my f***ing money.

Don't buy jewelries

with my money, girl.

- Hey.

- What?

Leave her alone.

Get your hands off the lady.

We're fine, man.

We're good, okay.

We're just having

a little, f***...

How do you say,

a little, disagreement.

- Come with me.

- No, no, no.

I already told you, man.

Alright, we're fine.

We got no f***ing problem.

We don't need any

f***ing around, alright.

This stupid b*tch.

The lady's coming with me.

So you're a f***ing American,

is that...

Come with me,

I'll take you home.

The f***...

come back here.

Mother f***...

We're done here.

He's got a gun!

What the hell

happened to my car?

That's my car!

Just wait.

We will take care of everything.

The shooter's over there.

He says he would only speak

with you. Says he knows you.

Girl over there is a witness,

backs up his story.

Look what the cat

dragged in, Michael.

- How are you doing?

- Doing good.

But I've been better.

How's Delphine?

Oh, you know how it is.

We are getting older.

But she keeps herself fit,

can't complain.

I think, uh, some folks are

gonna want to look at this, now.

Didn't turn out

very good but...

Is that all you are carrying?

That's it.

By the way, you know,

he did have a gun

and he was shooting

at me, and if I hadn't

had that, I'd be dead now.

Obviously I can carry gun

wherever the

American flag flies,

but I do have a

special arrangement

here once in a while, so.

You didn't answer

my question, Michael.

What's your question?

Are you carrying another piece?

No.

Okay. Let them conduct

the investigation.

Well, you know,

please keep in mind,

like I said,

if I hadn't been armed,

I'd be dead right now

and there ain't nothing wrong

with self defense,

even in France.

Michael... Yes.

Still, believe me

when I tell you

that that shooting team over

there is going to watch long

and hard at you,

because of your past.

But I was exonerated.

That doesn't mean you didn't put the

the scumbag into a bag, does it?

No, it doesn't.

Well, come on, let's get some

coffee down at the station,

while I fill out

the paper work.

I need to ask you a few

questions about last night.

Mademoiselle, please.

Mark and initial any

correction, and sign it.

Why are you getting so motherfucking

formal with me, man?

I'm a f***ing ghost

over here, man.

I don't exist.

Michael, I didn't know you

were working undercover here.

Well, that would be the

reason for being undercover

is to not tell people

you're undercover.

Whatever, just sign

the goddamn statement.

Sun is coming up and I'm tired.

What the girl said...

I can't discuss that with you.

I just wanna know

if she's backing up my story,

you know, if she's sharing the same

version that actually happened.

Hmm, your version?

Hey, man, no two people remember

the same sh*t the same way.

I can't tell you

what the other witness said.

Look, man,

I killed this guy tonight.

All I want to find out

is who he is.

'Cause I'm stuck here

and I can't get

to my people to

find out nothing.

Michael, listen to me.

How long have we been friends?

Back when you was young,

dumb, and full of cum,

and had a f***ing

full head of hair,

and you were about

50 pounds lighter.

Funny. Long enough for me to know

you got a bum wrap from the agency.

I get it, I get it.

American style, f*** the police.

You know what? I would have

felt the same way, too.

Old school guys like you and I,

are the only one left who

still respect each other.

So, read it and sign it.

Let's go home.

Why in the world

would I shoot some dumbass

white b*tch in the

f***ing parking lot,

to blow my f***ing cover and

get me into all kinds of bullshit.

You typed the motherf***er

up, you sign it.

And by the way, that's my favorite

f***ing gun y'all took.

It's evidence.

Since when do you give a

f*** about the evidence?

It's a justifiable

shooting, man.

It's procedure, Michael.

I'm sorry.

You took my favorite gun.

Ronnie Martin, Ronnie Martin.

Thirty-two years old,

born in Houston, Texas.

I already stole that

sh*t off the reporter.

I don't need you no more.

Owns a nightclub.

Owned, I guess I should say.

Yeah, you should.

That's trouble right there.

In my life,

trouble always comes

in a small black dress

and legs for days. Always.

- Long night, huh?

- Yeah.

But, then again, it's a new day.

Sorry about your boyfriend.

You seem completely

torn up about that.

Well, we were only

together for a short time.

I see.

We met at the club

where I used to dance.

He made me quit dancing

and ended up buying the club.

Hey, can we smoke out here?

It's France, man.

You can smoke, like,

in the Louvre.

You can smoke anywhere here.

Hmm.

Thanks.

Ronnie had money, too.

A lot of money.

A lot of money, lot of money.

Where do you think

he got all that money?

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