Lonely Hearts

Hey, we're all proud of you, Buster.

Charlie.

Small town cops dropping

a pair like this.

Wait a lifetime, never even

sniff one this good.

Wanna make a move to the boroughs,

you let me know.

It's a phone call.

Hey, maybe you

wanna throw the switch.

I can fix that, too.

You are such an asshole.

You don't even know

what you have here.

Whatever it is,

consider it our gift to you.

You know,

you don't have to go in there.

Yeah, I do.

If any two maggots ever deserved

to boil in their own shit,

it was Ray Fernandez

and Martha Beck.

They'd probably still be cozy

in a Lansing jail cell

if it weren't for Buster.

Or, maybe it was Annie.

Buster's wife.

Who one September night stuck

a service thirty-eight in her ear.

No note. No nothin'.

Just blew her brains

out all over the bathtub.

Cops don't talk about what they see.

They push it down with a stiff Bromo

and a bourbon back, hide behind a...

newspaper and hope nobody notices.

But after...

Buster found Annie in the bathroom,

that all changed.

And he took it out on Fernandez

and Beck with a vengeance.

If they wrote

a book on confidence men,

Ray Fernandez would've

been the pinup boy.

He wasn't the first rat-f*ck barnacle

to play the lonely hearts game.

But he might've been the smoothest.

He knew the game, he knew his marks.

He loved the way it made him feel.

Hell, he was so slick, he even convinced

himself he was Don-fucking-Juan.

Oh Bea...

I'm so sorry I'm late.

A thousand apologies.

So sorry I'm late.

The meetings with my lawyers ran over.

I'm so sorry I'm late.

Had a meeting with my lawyers.

It went over.

I nearly missed the plane.

I was in such a hurry I...

left my wallet and my passport.

I left my wallet and my passport.

And I left my passport

and my wallet...

on the counter at the airport.

You're even more...

beautiful than your picture.

Stunning.

Today's a special day.

It's the oldest con in the book.

He pen paled 'em, war widows,

old maids, spinsters, anyone alone.

Was like picking plums.

They advertised, for Christ sake,

through correspondence clubs

and lonely hearts rags.

He was quite the bard.

Always slipping in a little

fishing expedition to feel...

out their bank account.

If he smelled... money, Valentino.

If he thought they were broke...

he'd bounce 'em...

like a bad check.

Buster was my partner.

We went all the way back to a squad car,

for Christ sake.

He was the toughest badge

I'd ever seen.

Turned more collars than

a Chinaman drycleaner.

But after he lost Annie,

he parked himself behind the desk,

pushing paper, taking phone calls,

and a lot of other people's shit.

I didn't understand that.

Robinson, Homicide.

You don't know shit

because Jackie Robinson is a...

I don't know shit?

veteran baseball...

F*ck Jackie Robinson.

Jesus Christ, let me tell you

something so everybody can hear me.

You gave me a hundred to one.

Hundred to one I wouldn't drop

a nickel on the first team

to put a n*gger in baseball.

Okay? Even, even if he

is a cousin of Robinson's here.

Okay?

It's okay.

Hello. Oh, Mrs. Reilly?

Oh, Reilly,

your wife's on the phone.

Her negro lover just left,

wants to know if I can

come down there and finish her off.

How you gonna...

finish her off,

you haven't seen your prick

in six months, you fat f*ck.

That's funny, your wife...

found it real good.

You think I'm scared of you...

you big fuckin' sack of meat?

- Get outta here.

- Why don't ya...

keep your mouth shut

and learn something?

F*ck you.

I'm telling you, he's gonna

burn your house... down one day.

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