[Luke has run into Cottonmouth at the funeral parlor where Pop's body is being prepared for viewing]
Me and Henry didn't see eye to eye. But I always had his back. He wouldn't want any drama. Especially here.
What Pop would have wanted is for you not to pay for his arrangements with bloody guilt money. We set a parley. I thought your word was bond.
It is. A former associate of mine was feelin' himself. He's not feelin' much of anything right now.
Doesn't matter. Pop's death is still on you.
Step off. Before you get hurt.
Why? I'm just getting started.
[laughs] Good to know. How's the job search coming? Dishwasher.
[Cottonmouth and Spurlock the funeral director stand over Pop's corpse]
Pop was a friend. He deserves the best.
SSpurlock
Yeah. I see you've been busy. [He brings Cottonmouth over to another sheet covering what's left of Tone's body] What about this man right here?
Tone? I had to let him go. Nothing humbles a man like gravity. [Cottonmouth grabs some money from his coat pocket and hands it to Spurlock] Remember, same as always. This body can't exist.
SSpurlock
[pockets the money] ...What body?
[Misty is looking at a board of crime scene photos from the Crispus Attucks raid]
Damn it, you're doing it again.
Damn it, you just broke my concentration.
As usual, your priorities are all out of whack. Now, you're looking at a picture of an empty husk of a building. I'm looking at millions of dollars of contraband.
You know this money belongs to Cottonmouth, allegedly.
Allegedly. Thing I can't figure out why would somebody go through all this hell outside, cause all this mayhem, and then leave the money behind?
To take it off the streets. Once it's logged, whoever it belongs to doesn't have access to it anymore.
That's quite a message someone's trying to send.
All that gunfire and no bodies.
Oh, you got that right. They are nobodies.
I mean, no bodies. Not one. Some big black dude in a hoodie takes on direct bullet shots slaps, punches and pulls people all over the place and doesn't kill a single one? That doesn't seem strange to you? It's like this person wanted us to shut this place down.
I'm serious. Who cares? How many investigations from the time we put boots on the ground, begin and end in these projects?
And now somebody comes along and wants to clean up a year's worth of patrol work by himself? I don't see anything wrong with that.
A vigilante? Yeah. There's something wrong with that: it's anarchy. A complete breakdown of the system. There are rules and regulations to what we do.
And lawyers and paperwork and excuses? [He and Misty sit back down at their desks] Other than mopping up blood... and arresting the same piece of shit over and over, you know, not much we can do as cops.
Jesus, Scarfe, whose side are you on?
I saw the Incident up close. What we can do as cops, what we can't do. [motions to his duty pistol] Now, unless this sidearm that I'm wearing suddenly turns into some kind of magic hammer, this whole job is irrelevant.
They have no training! No responsibility. You have to know what you're doing. They don't have the right to just start weeding out justice. Come on!
Some guy in a hoodie hits various gun running spots around the city today? I think that's wonderful. I think we should thank him.
Exactly. I don't like paperwork. But I'd rather get a papercut on my finger than a bullet in my ass. Look at—look at all them rounds! Look! [motions to Misty's wall of crime scene photos] You really wanna be in the middle of all this? And for what? For-for a chicken banquet dinner, and a photo with the Mayor as a reward? Shit. Hell no.
Wow. You are a credit to the badge, Scarfe.
