21 Bridges (2019) Script

"But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain.

He is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongful."

I often thought of my friend, Officer Reginald Dean Davis, when I would read Romans 13:4.

That he punished two of the three men who attacked him before he himself was killed means I will never think of anyone else ever again when I read or speak this verse.

He died protecting his family, his friends and this city.

He was a servant of God.

I assuage my rage that a third man escaped by trying to remind myself of a few things.

First, Reginald found a woman as strong, driven and smart as he.

And then I think of his boy, Andre, and I see the same, sometimes infuriating, fearlessness, inquisitiveness.

I know it may not feel like it now, but you got more from your father, Andre, in 13 years than most men will in a lifetime.

He taught you to follow your conscience, to not take anyone else's word about what is right and wrong, to find a just code in an often cruel world.

Thank you for making time for IA at the end of your shift.

I didn't have a choice.

You could choose not to be a cop.

Being a cop isn't a choice for me.

What is it, then?

DNA.

At this point, we don't need to spell out why we're all here.

Yes, we do. Official procedure.

Any officer who discharges his or her weapon in the line of duty must justify every round of ammunition.

You've shot eight people in nine years.

Good shootings. Cleared on all.

Three since you were made detective.

Four now.

The one who survived was sentenced to life without.

Do you regret any?

I've been to the psychologist.

That's not an answer.

No, I do not regret any.

Faces don't come to you in your sleep?

Justice comes at a cost.

Justice is not determined by you.

But I am the sharp end of that determination.

Says who?

My badge.

My oath.

Your DNA?

During the Civil War, some soldiers just kept loading their muskets without ever firing.

Five or six balls loaded on top of each other.

In Vietnam, only 30% of frontline infantry soldiers ever fired a shot.

So, ten soldiers in battle, only three truly fighting.

Are you really using war analogies here, Detective Davis?

What do you imagine the other seven were doing?


Hi, Andre.

How's she doing?

Tired, but I just gave her her meds.

All right, you can head home. I got this.

Okay.

You know where to find me if you need me.

What are we watching?

You left me.

No, Ma. I had to pull a triple.

I've been here too long.

I've...

I've overstayed my welcome.

Nah. You can never overstay your welcome.

You're here to take me home.

This is home.

Don't leave me here, Reginald.

Ma...

it's Andre.

It's Dre, Mama.

I need to take my meds.

No, no, no. You took them.

You already took them.

You look tired.

You work too hard.

Yeah, you got that right.

It's the job.

It's what I do.

I know.

You gotta look the devil in the eye.

Yeah.

Yeah, Ma.


Well, it looks just like you said it would.


Hey, does yours smell like your beard?

It smells like your girl.

Let's go.


Who the fuck are you guys?

We're the guys that are taking your cocaine.

Not smart. You guys are gonna fucking die.

Where is it?

Freezer. Downstairs.

We need a key?

Just two of you?

You're gonna be here all night.

Yo!

Move!

That's not 30 keys.

It's 300.

Somebody fucked up.

Shut up. On your knees.

Jeez.

This stuff hasn't been cut yet.

Jackpot! Fuck yeah!

No way. We walk.

What? We walk.

Small ain't always smart.

You can help or you can watch.

This is fucking stupid.

This is fucking freedom.


Shit.

Shh.

The fuck is this guy at?

He might be by the back door. Check it out.


Car back here is still running.

Back gate open.

Possible 30 in progress.

Shit. All right. We're coming in.

Stay back.


Shots fired! Shots fired! Officer down!

Shots fired! Shots fired!

Officer down!

Cop! Run!

We don't want any more blood!

You don't have to kill him.

More are coming.


Drive.


Cover me.


Move the car.

8-5 Adam.

8-5 Charlie.

8-5 Charlie, on the air?

8-5 Frank?

Any units at Mosto's, please advise.

Don't drive like an asshole.

Stop for this light.

What the fuck are you doing? I said stop. We just fucking killed cops.

Fuck!

Central, we got multiple officers down!

Put a rush on the bus. I repeat, put a rush on the bus!

Central, notify highways, blood banks.

Emergency Adam. Main Central, show us en route.

Officers down.

Eight officers down.


Captain McKenna.

Okay, boys.

Detective Davis.

Captain McKenna runs the 8-5.

These are his boys that died tonight.

My condolences.

Thank you.

It's Andre, right?

Yes, sir.

I never met your dad, but I heard good things.

Thank you, sir.

Guys, I need you to get up.

You're sitting in my crime scene.

Come on. He's got a job to do.

It's okay, Kelly.

I heard you were with IA today.

And I'd fucking love it if you were right back there tomorrow.

If they give me cause.

Cause?

Here's your fucking cause right there. Okay?

You understand what I'm saying? Give me the room.

Your fucking cause times seven lying dead in the fucking street.

Motherfuckers are giving you all the reason you need...

Mac! You're not the only one hurting here.

You're in public.

The public who never sees shit when a cop goes down.

Lower your voice.

What were their names?

Uh, yeah.

Jennifer Montgomery in the ambulance.

She's hanging on by a thread.

Massimo Adams, Charlie Cobb.

Jake Dominguez and Danny Williams.

Out on the street is Marcus Fernandez.

What?

Marcus Fernandez.

I knew Marcus.

We were at the academy together.

Out there with Marcus... is Reuben Kizer and Patrick Graham.

Just so you know, they leave behind four wives, one fiancée, six kids.

Three are my godkids.

Now I'm gonna go wake them up in the middle of the night, let them know their lives are shattered.

You know the drill.

Look, I fucking refuse to allow these families to be traumatized even more with fucking trials and appeals and horseshit narratives, parole hearings for, fuck, three, four decades.

I'm asking you... to protect them from that.

I understand.

Why were they here?

My guys interrupted a robbery.

How much cocaine is this?

Crime Scene estimates about 300 kilos before the scumbags cut into it.

How much did they take?

About 50 keys.

One hundred and ten pounds.

That's A1 weight. You're looking at 25 years.

Ninety-plus percent pure.

Two million, plus or minus, before you step on it.

It's quadruple after.

Detective Andre Davis, Detective Frankie Burns, DETF.

She'll be working with you. With me doing what?

This is the biggest coke seizure in I don't know how long.

Narcotics will be involved. I appreciate the politics.

But if I don't catch these guys in the next three or four hours, they vanish.

I don't do fucking politics.

And she's not the second team.

You can either fight me or use me.


You good?

We should fucking kill ourselves.

Don't be like that. Not now.

We just killed more cops than I can fucking count, Ray.

I did all the killing.

You think they give a shit about the body math?

They're gonna figure us out.

It was dark. We moved fast. Car's not ours. Plates are stolen.

It'll get solved, Ray. All right?

We both hate the fucking cops, but they're smart.

They're gonna figure out our names by sunrise. We need to run.

We need a plan. We need money.

Fuck!

Employee?

Yeah. Came up whistle-clean.

No-scroll good citizen named Tom Cheaver.

So, Tom took his bullet from just a few feet.

Notice the stippling around the entrance wound.

And judging from the proximity of that knife, Tom tried to make a move.

Over here, double taps.

Automatic weapon, suppressed.

I say two shooters.

Where are you seeing that?

No one's smooth enough to murder all these officers and hit Tom coming up with a knife.

And one guy probably isn't carrying 100-plus pounds of cocaine out by himself.

Yeah, but it could be more than two.

Nah. Look at the shell groupings.

One was back there. He hit Tom.

The second one came this way.

Then he murdered all four of us.

Yeah.

Second one's a talented killer.

You left a zero off, motherfucker.

What?

That wasn't 30 keys stepped on.

It was 300 pure.

Wasn't my fuckup.

Whose fuckup was it?

Hawk Tyler's, maybe? He put the job out for bid.

But you guys got something, right?

Fifty keys. Well, good.

Fuck you! I'm changing the deal.

You're not selling it for us anymore.

You're gonna bring us to Hawk, and we're gonna sell it ourselves.

And we're not splitting it three ways.

I owe a lot of money to a lot of people...

Me and Ray have to run for the rest of our fucking lives!

Hawk ain't gonna hear new deals.

Yeah, well, Hawk hasn't heard 50 pure yet.

Give me your phone.

Hit.

We got a hit!

It's a red light cam.

Two men.

Alert everybody. Send it through the mobile unit at Mosto's.

Detective Davis.

Sergeant Yolanda Bell, shift supervisor at LMSI.

Good to know you, Yolanda Bell.

We got something for you.

How much you wanna bet when we find that BMW, it's burnt to the chassis?

A nickel.

If you were gonna rob 660 pounds of coke, would you drive a BMW two-door to the job?

Would you bring just one other guy with you?

Would you only take 50 keys?

No, no, and no.

They weren't expecting 300.

They weren't expecting cops, either.

This was either dumb luck... or a setup.

No, fuck you!

The FBI's here because the shooters are out of the state by now.

Half hour since the final whistle.

Please, make one more sports analogy.

If and when we get confirmation that they crossed over to Jersey or Connecticut...

The mayor would prefer that the FBI take over sooner than later.

The mayor shits on us every chance he gets.

The fucking guy eats pizza with a fork.

He wants them brought to justice.

No shit.

Dre.

Toine.

How'd it go with Internal Affairs?

I'm here, so not the way you hoped.

Like I said, the mayor wants them brought to justice, i.e., arrested, arraigned, put on trial.

Not killed in a gun battle, the details of which are foggy.

Like the seven behind us?

Who are you? Narcotics.

Beautiful. What could go wrong? We got a narc and a trigger.

You better have perfect diction, calling me a "trigger."

Cut the shit, everybody.

Has the mayor got his thumb on this?

This an ask or an order?

They're still in New York.

You don't walk away with 50 keys of 90% pure unless you have a big local buyer.

You don't move it far unless you're into transport.

These guys were hitters, not drivers.

You don't know that.

Good enough to kill seven cops, dumb enough to run a red?

What they need to do is sell the coke, vanish.

I'm not heading east.

Long Island runs out, and it's all accountants and dentists out that way, so I'm a sore thumb.

I'm not going to Queens.

You don't wholesale coke in the middle class.

I'm not staying in Brooklyn, scene of the crime.

Plus, it's all pop-ups and strollers and guys like you now.

Anyone left on Staten Island who can move this kind of weight as quick as they need?

Not since the days before Gotti murdered Castellano.

What about Jersey?

"Sopranos" was a TV show.

And upstate? That's fucking ridiculous.

Ain't no way to move 50 keys of yayo in Utica.

Leaves Manhattan.

Detective Davis?

What, you got a hit for me?

911 call.

Black BMW, two-door, on fire in an alley in Chinatown.

Uh-oh, where's Chinatown?

Manhattan.

Feel good? It does.

How long ago was the 911? Ninety seconds.

Let's go. Wait, wait, wait.

For what? Everything about these guys, save the speed camera, has been competent so far.

Yeah, so? They'll sell the coke, catch a train, catch a cab, jack a car, and we're right back to hoping we get a hit from a cam before they vanish, show up in Pennsylvania somewhere.

Good point. Whereas the FBI is national...

Close the island.

What island?

Manhattan.

You having a seizure?

No, the mayor will buy it.

He's in the low 30s, crime is ticking up, homeless are pissing in front of Tiffany's again, and it's 1:00 a.m., not 1:00 p.m.

Anything goes wrong, you can blame us.

Something will go wrong, and then you're all fucked.

We get the concept of sacrifice is like quantum physics to a fucking fed.

The mayor can say he was listening to his commanders in the field.

Now, if your boss had a chance to catch the murderers of seven New York City cops and chose not to, this city would never forgive him.

Catch them by 5:00.

Wait, is that a yes or a no?

Catch them by 5:00.

You all got balls, not a lot of brains.

Good luck to you.

We'll be awaiting your phone call.

Yeah, hold your breath.

How you gonna do this?

There are 21 bridges in and out of Manhattan. Shut them down.

Three rivers, close them. Four tunnels, block them.

Stop every train that leaves the island. Amtrak, PATH, New Jersey Transit, LIRR, Metro-North, and loop the subways.

Then... we flood the island with blue.


You wanna ditch a car, you drive five blocks, not to Manhattan.

Two sets of tire tracks.

This was a meet-and-greet.

Miss Yolanda.

Hey, I need pictures of every car that went into the alley after the BMW.

There aren't any cameras aimed right at the entrances.

Alley backs up into massage parlors and Chinese restaurants.

It's illegal workers. Every time a camera goes up, it gets pulled back down.

Can you pick up every passing vehicle on either end?

What interval?

From the time the BMW went into the alley to the first fire call to 911.

Will do. Stand by.

Are you who they say you are?

Who do they say I am?

You tell me.

You killed a lot of perps in the last ten years.

Never shot first.

Never?

All right, let me be more precise, Detective Burns.

I've never fired without just cause.

Seven dead cops feels like a lot of just cause.

These guys are killers.

So I need to know that we got each other's backs tonight.

'Cause I got a kid at home.

Doesn't need to wake up without her mother.

You wear that badge, I got your back.

Talk to me.

All right.

Where we going? Uptown.

...has closed all access into and out of Manhattan.

In a statement from city hall, the mayor's office was only able to offer a vague description of the two suspects.

They tell us both are men. One is white, one is black.

They are known to be armed and extremely dangerous.

Deputy Mayor Antoine Mott defends the decision to lock down the city.

His statement says, "With no way off the island for these two fugitives, the NYPD has every available...

Nice. ...officer scouring Manhattan."

How much have you got?

Fifty kilos.

..."until this manhunt is successfully completed."

What up, B? What up?

This ain't usual and customary.

Nothing is tonight, man.

This is Ray Jackson.

And this is Michael...

The bid you put out was for 30 keys.

We walked in on 300.

Sometimes lightning strikes, right?

And even better when you're a borough away from it.

Yeah, most definitely.

Look, we killed cops, and now we gotta run forever.

Then get on with your negotiations and fuck your little guilt trip, word?

I'm a drug dealer who hit a rival drug dealer, and you're the guns I got to do it.

You think I fucked you because someone somewhere forgot a zero?

Our business doesn't attract a lot of detail-oriented motherfuckers.

You don't like it, make your own moves.

Or go drive an Uber. Either way, let's make this deal so I can get you America's Most Wanted motherfuckers out of my crib fast as I can.

One million.

Pesos?

Yo! I love it when fools strike gold but don't know the market price.

Fifty keys cuts into 200.

Going rate for a cut key in Manhattan is 32 G's.

That means after a million to us, that's still 5.4 million for you.

He's one of those detail-oriented motherfuckers.

Police! Don't move! Search warrant!

To the left!

Police! Show me your hands!

Turn around!

Hey, come on.

What's going on?

Get off of him! No, he didn't do anything!

He can't breathe!

You know if you kill him, he can't tell us anything?

Stand up. Step over here. Okay.

What's going on? Is this you?

No, that is not my car. It's registered in your name.

My ex-boyfriend, he had terrible credit, so I put it in my name.

He said he sold it!

He lied. All the time.

You beat up the wrong man!

He'll live.

Get him out of here.

Let's go.

Hey. You okay?

Turn around.

Oh, God.

Knock it off. Knock it off.

It's all right. It's all right.

So, this ex-boyfriend of yours...

Toriano Bush.

What'd he do now? Seven cops were murdered tonight.

Well, Toriano didn't do that. He picked up these two men.

We think they're the murderers.

There isn't a version of this where these two aren't found.

Cooperate now.

Tell me something I don't know, and that's the beginning of the end of our time together.

Toriano couldn't kill anyone, you know?

You said that. But he's a criminal, right?

Small-time. Wanted to get out. He was always just too deep in debt.

Is that why you left him?

Debt don't bother me.

Who was Becky with the good hair?

This waitress ho at the Pan-Am.

Check it. Thank you.

Sit.

Give us a sec.

Hey, Yolanda, get me everything you have on Toriano Bush.

And get cameras up and around the Pan-Am Lounge.

He has a girlfriend there.

Got it.

You have it in hundreds?

Brown people spend Benjamins, brown people get followed.

Weighs as much as the coke.

You about right.

A million in 20s is 110 pounds.

And stay away from all canines.

They go Cujo because every dollar in circulation is covered in cocaine atoms, and y'all got 50,000 of those bills in six small bags.

How do I clean it? You don't know some dude who owns a strip club or a parking lot? This is seven figures.

Who do you use?

Who everybody else with seven or more digits does.

Sudanese brother over in the Meatpacking named Adi.

Cops, too. He's Switzerland.

What does that mean?

Means he's gonna take 300,000, but he can sort bank accounts, passports, whatever you need.

I heard about this dude. Exclusive.

He owe you money?

Bush owes everybody money.

Yeah? How much?

$17,512, as of this morning.

What are you doing?

I just bought your Lincoln.

Let's get out of here.

They'll never know.

You'll never see me again.

I promise.

Yeah, that's...

probably Raymond Jackson.

"Probably"?

Because he always wears a demon mask?

Not many white dudes born and raised where we were during World War Crack.

Okay.

So he's a tough guy.

Yeah, fighting his whole life.

When we were kids, I watched him beat a grown man for stepping on this boy Arvell's sneakers.

This was before the army.

Arvell?

Who's Arvell?

Arvell Trujillo.

He and Ray, they joined up together.

They just did everything together.

Is that who else is in the car?

No.

Arvell was blown up in Afghanistan.

The other man in that car... is probably Arvell's little brother, Michael.

Because Ray protects him now.

Michael's smart, you know?

He could have been anything if he'd have just been born somewhere else.

But after Arvell was killed, Michael joined up.

But I heard he attacked a sergeant.

Okay.

Thank you.


Come on in. We are getting reports of huge traffic jams at the outbound entrances, bridges, and tunnels.

No one is getting off this island tonight.

You're causing quite a stir.

...wanted for the slaughter of seven officers in Brooklyn tonight are Raymond Jackson and Michael Trujillo.

Jackson, at 32 years old, a long history of violent crime.

Trujillo, 26 years old, also with an extensive rap sheet.

Both men are ex-military...

Put your bags in here.

Trujillo was dishonorably discharged.

Fuck.

We're just getting a statement from the NYPD, just issued.

We have been told that the injured officer, Jennifer Montgomery, was taken off life support and declared dead just minutes ago.

Don't wanna count it?

No one cheats the man who knows where all their money is.

Do not close that fucking safe.

What the fuck are you doing?

I don't buy it. Buy what?

This guy, this place.

Where the fuck are we, Mike?

What are we doing? This isn't us.

We have a million in fucking cash.

You ever think we'd see that?

You ever think Arvell even dreamed of this shit?

Now we're just gonna give it to him? Then what?

He's gonna put it in the fucking safe, type, and give us some fucking gift cards?

It's that easy? Bush knew about this dude.

"Exclusive," remember? Bush heard about him.

Fucking Toriano's how all this started.

No, us not walking away is how this started.

Look, Ray, I get it. None of this shit makes any sense.

It ain't like anything we've ever known.

But ain't no plan B I can see.

They shut down the island.

We can't run around with 100 pounds of stained cash.

He puts this money in some accounts somewhere far from here, and then we figure out how to get to it later.

Ray, put it down.

You fuck us, and I will fucking bury you where you stand.


I need a fucking scotch.

I'll pour us both one.

We got a match.

We got a hit.

Bush is at the club.

Positive ID on Toriano Bush at the Pan-Am.

Closest units, converge on the Pan-Am Lounge.

Toriano Bush inside.

Stay on the exits.

Nobody enters until I get there.


No, no! Listen to me, baby.

Police! Drop it!

Bush! Get the fuck back!

Hey, get the fuck back! I'm an EMT.

I don't give a shit! Get the fuck back!

Out of the way. Get out of the way!

Watch it, watch it, watch it.

Move, move, move!

Come on, Andre. Answer your fucking phone.

What the fuck is this?

Hey!

Didn't I say wait? We disobeyed.

You disobeyed? He didn't kill one of your brothers.

So fuck if I'm gonna let him get away with...

What are you, fucking stupid? He didn't kill anybody!

He could have led us to the two who did!

We yelled. He pulled. We shot.

End of story. One down, two to go.

That's fucking bullshit!

Says the side piece of a man who helped fucking cop killers!

How many drinks you have tonight?

Hey, don't do what you're doing right now.

Get your fucking hands off me.

No!

What? What?

Officer, get them the fuck out of here. Let's go.

You said Bush pulled.

Pulled what?

A fucking .38?

The other two got suppressed submachine guns, and Bush was carrying a piece you only ever see in a meth addict's glove box... or a fat cop's ankle holster.

Hey, whoa, whoa.

Who was that, LMSI?

Nanny. Sorry. My little girl's...

Is everything all right?

No, but we'll be fine.

What the fuck is going on here?

That's what I'm trying to figure out.

Bahamas is right for your skin color.

You'll go via Miami.

Three hundred twenty-six is short.

The rest is cash.

You are now Christopher James.

And, Ray, your new name is William Simpson.

Take separate buses to Miami.

There's a man named Swift in Little Havana.

He runs a bar at the corner of Flagler and 27th Street.

He also sells passports. They'll be under your new names.

Then you will pay cash for a charter boat to Nassau.

There is a ski boot bag and backpack behind that door.

I'll put 15 in each...

What was that?

It's exactly what it sounds like.

Whoever is at my door, you wait and you think.

NYPD! Open up!

What precinct are you from?

Because I'll have your fucking...

Going in!

Fuck!


You two better not have fucked up.

Are we good?

Is this my case, Captain?

This is all hands on deck, but you're lead.

Someone should tell them.

Look, they're angry.

They're in pain.

Butchco and his wife were close with Jennifer Montgomery.

She didn't make it. They just pulled the plug.

10-13, we need backup!

This is Kelly!

We're on Ninth and 13th, shots fired! 10-13!

Ninth and 13th! Suspects Trujillo and Jackson here!

How the fuck did Kelly find them?

I can't see anything.

I can't fucking see.

We didn't fuck you over, man. I swear.

Put those guns in your mouths, you motherfuckers!

Fucking 8-5.

What?

Throw your guns down, you motherfuckers!

It's his thumb drives.

The thumb drives!


What is it?

"Coolhand." Huh?

"Coolhand," one word, lowercase.

Get the shotgun. Get the shotgun!

We gotta fucking move.


All units, suspects are 90Z on foot!

Right there. Don't call it in. Vicinity of Ninth and 13th.

They're ours.


We gotta split up.

We're too easy to track if we're together.

No. No way, man. You need help.

Head down, eyes up.

I'll see you in Miami.


Go!

Okay.


He ain't like me.

He ain't like me.

Mike.

He ain't like me.


Is Ray dead?

I hope so.

Michael?

Is he dead?

Yes.

Stop walking.

You got a clear shot. Take it.

Don't worry about me.

You got lucky.

Yeah.

Luckier than the civilian he just murdered.

Add that to the list of cops.

How many bodies stacked up against you now that Ray is dead?

Don't try and get into my head, okay? Simple truths, Michael.

And don't use my name!

Take the shot!

Stop fucking walking!

I think most of this mess is his.

But you're balls-deep in it now, Michael.

For guys like Ray, I'm natural causes.

But what about you?

Fuck you know about guys like Ray, huh?

Fuck you know about guys like me?

Saw your records.

Marine. Tried to follow in your brother's footsteps after he got sent home in a box.

But you... dishonorably discharged.

Insubordination.

I get it.

Some of us are killers, Michael.

But you, I think the last thing you want is to take a life for no reason.

And how you know that, huh?

Because you would have killed her by now.

Shoot him!

No! Fucking shoot him!

Michael wants to talk.

So, come on, Michael. Let's talk.

He wants to talk, tell him to do it without a gun to my fucking head, Andre.

Burns, be cool.

This is fucking cool.

Just give me a second here.

None of this shit makes any sense.

The manager at the spot we hit, he knew the cops were coming.

It's called a silent alarm.

No. He checked his watch before it all happened.

And the first four came peacefully.

I mean, one fucking knocked with his knuckles like a Jehovah's Witness, not with the side of his hand like a fucking cop.

Andre, for the love of Christ, are you really gonna entertain this shit?

Three hundred keys, pure.

I mean, what the fuck?

This whole thing is filthy.

You can't move that type of weight around without cartels or cops or both.

And the cops shot the Cleaner upstairs, fired right through the peephole, no warning.

They were there for more than just us.

And right before we left, the Cleaner gave me thumb drives.

Gave what?

Drives.

USBs and shit.

What's on them? Andre.

All he said was "8-5."

Cop-killing piece of shit!

There's no fucking... Burns, stop! Stop!

Michael, look at me.

Don't fuck with me! Nobody's fucking with you.

But facts: You shoot her, I'm gonna kill you in the same breath.

And everything you think you know or may have means nothing.

So drop your weapon, and let's take a look at the drives.

No. No, I can't do that.

Michael, I need you to trust me. I don't trust anybody!

You have no choice.

You're not gonna escape to some island somewhere, even after they open this one.

You're smart enough to know that.

I am, huh?

The world's just gonna keep closing in on you.

But you can survive this if you just give yourself up to me.

No! Michael!

No!

Are you okay?

What the fuck are you doing?


This is Davis.

Lock down everything in a seven-block radius from Weichsel Beef's center of the circle.

Positive ID on Michael Trujillo leaving there 90 seconds ago.

Trujillo has information vital to this case.

He must be brought in alive.

Let me see. I'm fine.

Yeah, you look it.

I wanna know what's on those drives.

Central, advise the units that are 84 to set up a perimeter from West 12th Street to West 19th and from Eighth Avenue to the water.

No one in or out.


What? Can you believe that?

Disgusting. It's disgusting.

And the pool is on the 26th floor.


Shh!

I won't hurt you if you stay quiet.

You got it?

Nod.

Shit. Fuck.

What's the password?

Um...

"Eightclap1."

Gotta spell the word "eight."

One is the number.

One word? Mm-hmm.

Close your eyes.


Why didn't you shoot him?

They told me you were fearless.

The guy who kills cop killers.

I just need the truth, that's all.

You believe a cop killer?

Good work, Kelly. Get some rest.

You took down one vicious son of a bitch.

Yeah, not before he killed an innocent civilian.

World's a better place with that guy gone.

You seen his record?

Glanced at it.

I knew I had the right guy for this.

All hands on deck, right?

It was your boys who smoked them out of this apartment.

How did Lieutenant Kelly even get here so quick?

Look at this fucking mess.

You still got one guy on the run, right? Yeah.

It's 4:37 a.m.

You've got less than an hour before I gotta open the island.

You haven't gotten him by then, we're all eating shit for breakfast.

Don't worry about the other perp.

Andre put that motherfucker in a seven-block box.

He's on borrowed time.


Michael Trujillo is still at large, but police believe he is surrounded somewhere inside the Meatpacking District.

The mayor's office has praised NYPD officers for the progress they've made in this manhunt.

Deputy Mayor Antoine Mott had this to say in a press briefing just moments ago.

Mayor Drum cut short his trade mission to the EU and is already on a plane home from Brussels.

Asked me to pass along his gratitude to the citizens of this city.

"World's greatest," his words.

Without your patience and assistance, and, I'll add, the boldness of Mayor Drum's idea to close Manhattan in the first place, we wouldn't have already neutralized two of the three men responsible for the ambush at Mosto's that claimed the lives of eight of our finest from the 85th Precinct last night.

A gunman identified as Raymond Jackson and his accomplice, Toriano Bush, both died resisting arrest in the early hours of this morning.

Both men were armed and dangerous.

Our brave officers at the 85th Precinct...

Eighty-fifth.

"Eight-five."

We believe we have the third man, Michael Trujillo, within our grasp.

Eighty-five.

We ask all residents to shelter in place while we apprehend Trujillo and hold him accountable for his crimes.

Badge numbers.

Every number's a cop.


Help! Help! Help!

Could I speak to the director of security, please?

I'm sorry, Officer, just one moment.

Reception.

What?

Sir, you can't be back here.

Where are we going?

We gotta bring him in alive.

...assault at the Parallax Hotel. Sounds like Trujillo.

Direction of flight was through the kitchen at rear.

That's 13th Street. Lock him in.

Nobody approach him! He's mine!

Sir, stop.

Hold it right there! Show me your hands!

Take the car! Cut him off on the other side!


Don't shoot!


Trujillo! Drop your weapon!

Police. Stop, drop on the ground.

Don't shoot! Don't shoot!


Police.

Police, don't move, don't move, don't move.

Clear the doorway. Clear the doorway.

Clear the doorway.

NYPD. Take cover.

Clear! Clear!

Come on, clear!

Police. Clear, clear.

Out of the way. NYPD. Take cover.

Move. Move. Move.

Clear. Clear. Clear.

Drop it!

You're the only cop tonight who speaks first and shoots second.

It's fucking morning, and you killed eight of us.

Not all eight were clean.

Who cares?

You do.

How do you know I'm any different?

Because you would have shot me by now.

Where are those drives we were talking about?

I stashed them.

Okay.

Give them to me, and I'll keep you alive.

No.

You want the drives, you let me go.

If you don't walk out with me, you'll be carried out by others.

Michael, your only hope is to tell the truth, pray to God for forgiveness, and make peace with the fact that you may die in prison.

Shooting you sounds a whole lot better right now.

You don't want my face and this dirty subway to be the last things you ever see.

If I die, you'll never find out what's on those drives.

I may not find the drives, but I will find out why tonight happened.

But could you prove it?

I only have to prove it to myself.

Come on, Michael.

Come on.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

Cease fire!

Cease fire!

Cease fire!

What the fuck?

What the fuck, man?

He was surrendering. He was giving himself up.

He was gonna shoot you.

You didn't see the gun down?

You didn't fucking see the gun down?

I thought he was gonna shoot.

Central, this is homicide 4-3. Do you copy?

Central, do you copy?

Be advised, we have shots fired on the 6 train coming into Grand Central.

Suspect is down. Suspect is down.

"Coolhand."

Do you copy?

Central?

"Coolhand."

Central, do you copy?

Central?

Central, advise if you receive my transmission.

Shit.


Is he gone?

What do you think?

I think they called the right man for the job.

Hey. Good job. You did great work.

Way to go. Well done.

Congratulations, Detective.

Thank you, sir.

Amazing. Thanks, guys.

Hey.

What's up?

This fucking thing is dead. Oh.

Can I borrow yours?

Yeah, of course.

I'll bring it right back. Sure.

Good work, Detective.

Great job, Burns.

Thanks, Kelly.

How's the hand? Okay.

Okay. Yes, ma'am.

Voice mail.

Shit.

It's been a long night. You get some rest.

Yeah, you too.

Go hug that daughter of yours.


Manhattan reopened at 7:05 this morning after a night of carnage that saw eight police officers...

...into and out of Manhattan were closed last night.

...personally oversee the successful conclusion of the manhunt...

...flooded by the NYPD in what looked and felt like a military invasion.

What's up?

Goddammit.

Okay, all right, calm down.

Just come over to my place.

Yeah.

I understand.

We'll figure something out.

Just...

I gotta go.

I got a visitor.

Put your gun down here.


Who was on the phone?

My wife.

She's a nurse.

Shift just started.

And that's the story of all married life.

Guy that owned Mosto's was your partner.

Mosto's was your vault.

The 8-5 was armored security, moving drugs around the city in NYPD vehicles.

Last night was just fucking bad luck on every level.

A rival hits Mosto's at the same time your boys drop by to move a load of coke, run into men with training, die, badly.

Those men with training escape, sell the drugs and clean the money, coincidentally with the same launderer you use.

And you scorch earth trying to cover it all up.

You're really good.

Not good enough.

Not all the cops killed last night were a part of it.

Clean or dirty, they're all dead 'cause of you.

So you know,

this is not about Cadillacs and fucking Rolexes, material bullshit.

Not for me. Not for most of my guys.

It's about having a life.

My first month running the 8-5, I went to two of my cops' funerals.

First one went 60 miles an hour into a bridge abutment.

His blood alcohol was .25.

Second guy drank himself to death too.

Cirrhosis.

Three of my cops had their homes foreclosed on.

Another guy lost his apartment.

Shitty landlord doubled the rent.

The divorce rate in the 8-5 was over 70%.

This is about my cops staying married,

raising their kids, not having to spend four hours a day sitting in traffic, crawling to and from a city they can't afford to live in, a city that actively fucking dislikes them.

But a city that they protect... with their lives every fucking day.

That's what this is about.

I'll tell you what, anybody tells you money can't buy happiness is full of shit.

And the 8-5 is proof.

Frankie Burns is proof.

Did you put her on this just to make sure I did your bidding?

I put her on this 'cause she might be as good as you.

And she's got everything to lose.

Three guys murdered my father.

He took two with him.

But the third,

he hit my dad so many times he broke every bone in his face.

That's why we had to have a closed casket.

Guy told the judge... he didn't even remember doing it.

He was so jacked, so... so high on cocaine and angel dust.

The drugs have always been there.

And they always will be.

And people will always die because of them.

That blood, that blood cannot be on the badge.

You can't prove where those flash drives came from.

And nobody is gonna take the stand against me.

So if you go down this road, Andre, you're on your own.

You'll be looking over your shoulder the rest of your life.

I know.

Or you could just look the other way.

I'd rather look the devil in the eye.


I get you?

You wouldn't ask if you didn't know.

Hurts like a motherfucker, right?

I'll live.

You can if you give yourself up.

It's the only choice available to you right now.

Maybe.


Don't do it.


He's gone.

It's over.

So put your gun down.

I'm gonna turn around and face you, Burns.

No.

I'm gonna turn around.

I have the drives.

I copied them.

They're already out in the world.

You're going down, Burns.

Every dirty cop in the 8-5 is going down.

You pull that trigger, you get life.

Your daughter doesn't need to grow up without her mother.


Badge too.