This unit is new, and you are the newest members of it. You have been selected from the basis of intelligence and aptitude. This is an elite unit. Our job is to smash, or marginally disrupt, organized crime in the city by enhanced cooperation of the FBI, represented here today by Frank Lazio. And we will do it. By organized crime in the city, you know who we mean – that’s Jackie Costigan, that’s an old picture. Jackie met his demise. Last known photograph. Costello uses three key guys: that’s Fitzy – off-the-boat psycho who lives with his mother, who’s straight out of Going My Way. Delahunt – muscle. French – the number one. But of course the rock star – you know who. We’ve done a briefing. Books, so read up. I want any and all ideas so I can pass them off as my own. Word hard, you’ll rise fast. You’re in the best possible position in the department. Let’s go to work.
The Departed Monologues
I don’t want to be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me. Years ago we had the church. That was only a way of saying – we had each other. The Knights of Columbus were real head-breakers; true guineas. They took over their piece of the city. Twenty years after an Irishman couldn’t get a fucking job, we had the presidency. May he rest in peace. That’s what the niggers don’t realize. If I got one thing against the black chappies, it’s this – no one gives it to you. You have to take it.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s say you have no idea and leave it at that, okay? No idea. Zip. None. If you had an idea of what we do, we would not be good at what we do, now would we? We would be cunts. Are you calling us cunts? … Your fuckin’ family’s dug into the Southie projects like ticks. Three-decker men at best. You, however, grew up on the North Shore, huh? Well, la-di-fuckin’-da. You were kind of a double kid, I bet, right? Huh? One kid with your old man, one kid with your mother. You’re upper-middle class during the weeks, then you’re droppin’ your “R”s and you’re hangin’ in the big, bad Southie projects with your daddy, the fuckin’ donkey on the weekends. I got that right? … Yup. You have different accents? You did, didn’t you? You little fuckin’ snake. You were like different people. … Well, if I was I’d ask you why you’re a Statie making 30 grand a year. And I think if I was Sigmund fuckin’ Freud I wouldn’t get an answer. So tell me, what’s a lace-curtain motherfucker like you doing in the Staties?…Hey asshole, he can’t help you! I know what you are, okay? I know what you are and I know what you are not. I’m the best friend you have on the face of this earth, and I’m gonna help you understand something, you punk. You’re no fuckin’ cop!