Live by Night

In 1917, I signed up to

fight the Huns in France.

Good men died all around me.

And I saw no reason for it.

The rules we lived by were lies.

and they didn't apply

to those who made them.

I swore If I made it home,

I would never follow orders again.

I left a soldier.

I came home an outlaw.

I lived one robbery to the next.

A good day was filled by sleep...

and a good night spent

running too hard to look back.

I lived that life for 10 years.

Until it caught up to me

It all started with an inside man.

The Albert White crew was

playing a high stakes poker game.

...and our inside man left

the back door open for us.

Three, two, one.

Where's the f*ckin' money?

You know whose

f*ckin' place this is?

Give it.

Well, you know whose f*ckin' card

game this is, you f*ckin' dunce?

You heard of Albert White?

Keep talkin', dead brother!

Miss, come here, come here.

Do you want a drink to

go with your robbery?

No, just the money,

put it in the bag..

In the bag, right here.

What's your name?

Emma Gould. What's yours?

You gonna put a sock in my mouth?

That's right. A sock? In my mouth?

Never been used before

and I wouldn't lie to you.

- That's what all the liars say.

- Open up.

Great!

Alright boys, Let's go!

You got some balls.

Slow down and stop driving

like we did something. Relax.

Made out pretty good.

It was a nice hit.

Yeah, it's all mine.

Very funny. Look forward!

Drive the car!

Good afternoon, I'm Albert White.

You must be Joe.

- Coughlin.

- Good to put a face to the name.

This is Brandon

Lumas...friend of mine

How are you?

You're too smart for the

stuff you been pullin'.

Nickel and dimin'

with two dumb guineas.

They're your friends but

they're stupid and they're Whops

And they won't live to see forty.

Take your time.

But you can't work on your own.

Not in this town.

Albert was rounding up the troops.

They was a war going on over rum.

- Dermott, go and have a word.

- Albert White ran the Irish mob.

...and Maso Pescatore

ran the Italians.

It was tit for tat.

The deadliest year in

the history of Boston.

White's gang set fire to rum trucks.

And a guy on Maso's

payroll went home

with a girl no one

had seen before.

The winner...disorder mess.

I wanted nothing to do with

Albert White and his war.

But I didn't have a choice.

His girlfriend was my inside man.

And I was in love with her.

He'd kill her if she

tried to leave him...

and he'd kill us both, 10 times over

if he found out we were together

But we were in love

and we were stupid..

And every time he was out of town,

we were together.

The fit was perfect.

Mind if I join you?

Sorry father,

but I've been waiting for someone.

No!

Emma, this is my father,

Tom Coughlin.

Dad, this is my friend Emma Gould.

Pleasure, Ms. Gould.

Mind if I sit down?

- Where are you from, Miss Gould?

- Dorchester.

No, I meant before.

You're clearly Irish.

On my mother's favor from Cork.

- Really? What's her maiden name?

- I don't know.

- You don't know?

- She died. She's dead, me mamso

So, what is it you do?

It's a really swank place this,

isn't it?

I know well how my

son earns a living..

I can only assume that if you've

come into contact with him,

It was either during a crime...

or in an establishment

populated by rough characters.

Are my questions making

you feel uncomfortable?

I don't know what you're on about.

and to be honest,

I don't really care.

I'm on about you being the type of

lassie who consorts with criminals.

The fact that the criminal

is my son isn't the issue.

It is that my son is still my son.

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