Law & Order (1990–2010): Season 6, Episode 2 - Law & Order - full transcript

A biker who posts to an Internet bulletin board refuses to reveal information that could help a murder investigation, arguing that he's a journalist protecting his sources.

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In the criminal justice system

the people are represented by two
separate yet equally important groups,

the police who investigate crime

and the district attorneys
who prosecute the offenders.

These are their stories.

Is this the place?

You don't want to
go in there, honey.

Our biker bar is
on the next block.

I see what you mean.

Beautiful machines, though.

You all right?



Oh, sweet Lord!
Hank, go call 911.

It happened in there.

Most of the customers split.

Those we could grab,
we're holding inside.

All right. Keep them cozy.

What do you got?

Gone. Gut looks like the
alien clawed its way out.

You want his wallet?

Meet Tommy Bell, NYU student.

Well, I guess he decided to
see how the other half lives.

It doesn't live very long.

How do you want
to split this up?

You want me to work the street?

What're you going to
do? Listen for echoes?



No, come on, let's
go inside and see

who was too fat, stupid
or lazy to get away.

Another victim?

Passed out. Drunk.

We have two blood trails.

Big one to the front door,
some drops to the back.

So either the victim took a
stroll in two directions at once,

or somebody else was on the
receiving end of the weapon.

Yo, innkeeper, tell me a story.

Missed it. I was in the basement
bringing up a case of Jack.

Yeah? I don't see any case.

You see it now?

What about you?

I must've been in the bathroom.

You want to see what
I was bringing up?

Oh! It rises!

And where were
you during the fight?

Been right here all night.

Well, I guess you
saw everything then?

I suppose.

But I got a short-term memory
problem ever since I fell on my head.

So your memory will come
back if you fell on it again?

I don't think so.

Hey, what do I got to
do to get another beer?

It's closing time.

Go ahead. What're
they going to do?

Call a cop?

You ever eat the worm at the
bottom of the mescal bottle?

Name.

Last thing I remember, I'm
slurping that pickled dirt sucker,

then like I'm dealing with
brain-bucket Nazi headquarters.

What's your name?

They call me Mountain.

That's your name? Mountain?

That's my last name.
First name's Rocky.

He learning?

He may get it figured
out by the time I retire.

He wanted to go
one-on-one with King Kong.

I think he thought
I had his back.

So did you get anything?

Anybody find a murder weapon?

CSU's still at the scene, but
I've got another witness for you.

Brought himself in, and doesn't
want to be seen by these apes.

I just saw Cats and
then I was trying to find

this jazz club listed in my
Zagat's, but I had to take a pee.

I'm from Lawrence, Kansas.

Really? So what happened?

Well, I went into the
bar and I saw this boy,

the one who was
stabbed, but before,

and somebody was yelling at him.

Well, what did the person
doing the yelling look like?

I kind of kept my head down.

I went right to the bathroom.

But when I came out,
the boy was bleeding,

his girlfriend was screaming.

Whose girlfriend?

The one who was stabbed.

What did she look like?

She was short, pretty,
her hair was in braids,

yelling her head off.

Did you get anything? Amnesia
victims with blood on their boots.

Well, we'll hold
the ones we can.

There've got to be some
with outstanding warrants.

Van Buren. Where is he?

I'm Louis Bell, Tommy's father.

Is it one of them?

I asked him to wait.

It's okay.

We're just beginning
our investigation, Mr. Bell.

I'm very sorry about your son.

I've been to the
morgue. I saw his body.

You ought to go home now.

We'll call you tomorrow
if we have anything...

I don't want to go home.

Isn't there anything
that I can do to help?

Mr. Bell, did your
son have a girlfriend?

Short, hair in braids?

She's involved?

Well, who would "she" be, sir?

Caridad Montero.

Trash.

My son was at NYU.

Why he was
fooling around with...

Is she pretty?

I'm sure my son thought so.

Yeah, I was with
Tommy last night.

I was going to call you,
but I didn't know anything.

I didn't see anything.

That's all right. Just
tell us what you can.

What'd you and
Tommy do last night?

He came by here.

We were going to go to a club,
but he wanted go to that bar

to meet somebody
about buying a motorcycle.

What'd you do
when you got there?

Tommy went to the bar.

I went to the ladies'
room and when I came out,

all these people were shouting
and Tommy was hurt bad,

and I was scared, so I just
ran home after Tommy was...

You missed the whole thing?

You didn't hear an argument?
You didn't see a fight?

I told you, I was
in the ladies' room.

And where is the ladies' room
in that club, Miss Montero?

Past the pool table, along
the wall with the hubcaps.

Sounds like you know
the place pretty well.

You recognize anybody in there?

No.

Tommy was the one
who wanted to go there.

He was a college student, but
he liked to be like a low person.

From what we hear, maybe you
helped him out in that department.

From who? Tommy's father?

I'm a Puerto Rican slut, right?

Una bandolera, right?

Take it easy, take
it easy, all right?

He's just a little
upset right now. Yeah.

Ruining his pretty
boy from Park Avenue.

The man's a pig and a racist.

Whatever. Look, we just want
to know what happened, that's all.

I left my Berlitz
dictionary in my other suit.

She just said again
that she didn't see.

A girl in a place like
that, she was scared.

She probably didn't want to see.

Hey, if she can lie in one
language, she can lie in two.

Oh, what, she's lying now?

Because a man like
Louis Bell doesn't like her?

Oh, she isn't? Just because
you and she parleyed español?

The blood trail to the
front door was your victim's.

The other trail is an unknown.

Proving once again
that you can't be

in two places at the same time.

Well, with something like this in
your belly, you can't be anywhere at all.

It was in a trash can about
a block away from the bar.

No prints.

What is it?

It's an oil can opener,

from when oil came in cans.

Yeah. With the guard cut off.

What? Somebody
carried that as a weapon?

It's also a beer tool.

Stick the point in the top
of the can, pour it down.

It's great for chugging.

You ever hear of a beer bong?

A what?

The guys in my college
dorm used to punch a hole

in the bottom of the can,

pop the top, shoot it down.

Well, in my college dorm,

which was a place called
Shorty's on Second Avenue,

we used to lower a shot
glass into a pint and swallow.

Called it a depth charge.

Well, that sounds
pretty good, too.

Maybe we ought to
try it sometime, huh?

I mean...

Never mind.

Sorry.

Sorry about what?

Nothing.

You checked me out.

Come on.

You checked me out!

Yeah. When I got assigned
to you, I checked you out.

It was the logical thing to do.

Well, as long as it was logical.

What'd you find out about me?

You were a good cop,
then you fell into a bottle.

You climbed out again,
but the jury is still out.

I see they don't teach tact
at the academy anymore.

Must've replaced it
with multicultural studies.

Well, I think we ought
to start to try to find out

who Tommy Bell
was meeting last night.

Unless you'd rather
continue investigating me.

All I knew is he was
going to Caridad's.

Two phones? What?

Roommates get an
extra line nowadays?

Three. Tommy had
one for his modem.

You mind if I play
around with it?

I'm sure Tommy doesn't.

Did Tommy get
any calls yesterday?

Have any visitors?

Just from his dad for
their monthly brawl.

Brawl? What about?

Tommy's lack of direction.

Tommy's waste of his talents.

Tommy's poor choice
of friends, me included.

And Caridad?

"That Puerto Rican slut,"

Mr. Bell's number one topic.

Mr. Bell wanted Tommy to
marry Suzy Creamcheese

and move to the suburbs.

But Tommy preferred
the urban lifestyle?

Said he was serious this time.

Either he dumped Caridad
and flew straight, or that was it.

No more money, no school,
get a job, the whole deal.

And?

Tommy said no way.

Oh, yes, makes a
father's heart proud.

Hey.

Here's a list of
motorcycles for sale.

Looks like a print-out from an
online download. Hold on a second.

Yeah, okay. He's got a biker BBS

in his telecom
address book here.

Electronic want
ads, chat groups.

Something called
"The New York Slimes:

"your weekly review
of outlaw action."

"Last weekend some
guy named Stiletto

"threw a garbage can through a
cop car window in Port Jefferson.

"Then he and his buddies
crotch-rocketed down the center line."

We need all that?

Tommy thoughtfully printed
out the ads for us right here.

No, he didn't print this.

E-mail. 5:00 p.m., yesterday.

"See you at Strokers at
10:00, I'll bring my bike. Axel."

Axel. Oh, Axel's phone
number's right here on the ad.

They call me a rubber,
"rich, urban biker."

I've been riding Harleys

since some of these
outlaws were on tricycles.

How long you been
using the name "Axel"?

Since I was born.

It's been in my mother's
family for generations.

You made a date to meet
Thomas Bell at Strokers, right?

Yeah, I was letting
go of my '75 Sportster.

Fifty-five hundred,
if you're Interested?

Mr. Bell was.

So what happened?

He never saw it.

He wasn't there by 10:30, so I left
for a midnight supper, post-opera,

with some friends from Virginia.

I was supposed to
go to the opera, too,

but how many times
can you see Tristan?

Yeah, I'm waiting for the
movie to come out, myself.

So you left at 10:30
for a midnight date?

That must be a
pretty slow Sportster.

Hardly, I would
have waited longer,

but the mood at Strokers
turned unpleasant.

A couple of Yankee
Rebels showed up.

The biker gang?

I believe they call it a club.

Anyway, they were drinking
heavily and getting pretty frisky.

Early withdrawal seemed prudent.

You think there's
a secret knock?

Yeah. Hard.

Well, Mr. Mountain.
Eat any worms lately?

You got the wrong address.

Yankee Rebels, right?

Yeah, and I'm sergeant-at-arms.

Oh! Fellow officer. How nice.

What's this? Father-son day
at the Wonder Bread factory?

They're cops, Igor.

That's cute.

We were just wondering
which of you fellows

might've been at
Strokers last night.

I stayed home to
watch the Ice Capades.

How about you?

I don't talk to spics
unless I'm drunk.

Go ahead, I'm buying.

I'll have a double
bourbon with a beer chaser.

All right, now take it slow.

Nice and slow. Rey.

Rey!

And what the hell
was that about?

I thought it was appropriate.

For what? D-day?

They pay us both to use our
best judgment, that's what I did.

Yeah? Well, your
judgment is a little limited

by the fact that you've been
on the street about 15 minutes.

Yeah, well, I know you don't get
any respect unless you kick a little ass.

I would've respected
the hell out of them

if they'd have kicked our
asses, which they almost did.

What? You think you talk
your way out of every jam?

Hey, hey, hey!
There wasn't any jam

until he called you a spic
and you pulled your gun.

My goal, no jams.

Now what? You
drafting a complaint

to the Anti-Defamation League?

Cellular modem. Remember that
review of outlaw action on the BBS?

Yeah. Maybe whoever writes it

has had time to write
about last night's action.

"Another non-boring evening
at Strokers, boys and girls,

"when a wannabe got in front of
more torque than he could handle."

Yada yada yada.

"And Dadi found out

"she should have stayed in
her ex-old man's bitch seat.

"She had to dive for cover

"when the opener juiced
her new cager squeeze."

Who's Dadi? The kid's father?

D-A-D-I. That's "Dadi."
It's a nickname for Caridad.

Oh, the one who spent the
evening in the ladies' room.

I told you, I don't
know these people.

Oh, yeah?

Then how come they
all know you, Dadi?

Don't even try. You
want to get locked up?

'Cause I'm ready to do that!

Good. Then I'd be safe.

If I know these
men, if they know me,

what do you think is
going to happen if I tell?

What's going to happen is
we're going to arrest the guys

who killed your boyfriend.

Is that before or
after they kill me?

We can protect you.

Look, what about Tommy? Huh?

Don't you feel anything for him?

Don't you want to get the
people that did this to him?

He's a nice boy.

I was thinking of maybe spending

the summer with
him, not eternity.

She's scared, and she
is not very sentimental.

I can work on her.

I'm sure.

This "New York Slimes" thing,

"Dadi should have stayed in
her ex-old man's bitch seat."

Yeah, that's the passenger
seat on a motorcycle.

Thank you.

Maybe her "ex-old
man" got jealous

when she walked into
Strokers with someone else.

She tell you who he is?

No. She's not in a
real talkative mood.

Well, you want to find out who
a girl dated, you ask other girls.

I think Curtis can
handle this one.

Hello, ladies.

Hola.

I'm Detective Curtis.

"Reynaldo." Is this real?

Doesn't it look real?

Listen, you mind if I ask
you a couple of questions?

Do you know a girl
named Caridad Montero?

She lives right up there.

Well, we see her.

Be careful, Rosa,
he's a policeman.

You wouldn't dare arrest
a girl like me, would you?

Depends on what you're carrying.

Caridad, what's she carrying?

I need to talk to the biker
she used to go out with.

Well, you're gonna do
a séance or something,

'cause that poor boy was killed.

No, not him. The
one before that.

He was thin.

Yeah. He had a scar on his face.

Yeah. He wore
one of those jackets.

What'd it say on it?

"Leather fools?" Yeah.

I don't know. It
had flags on it.

Yeah, Caridad, she'd
wear that jacket, too.

You know, like, she was showing
off or something. Like we cared.

With two flags? Mmm-hmm.

Do you remember his name?

Boris. Something like that.

Igor?

Yeah. Igor.

This is crap, man.

Well, you're going to be
swimming in it for 20 or 30 years,

so you better get used to it.

What for? Hurt your feelings
when I called you a spic?

And I don't need my
gun any more, Igor.

I got you in my clubhouse now.

Let me tell you, you got
some pretty sorry members.

Oh, but you're going to
love the secret handshake.

You can clean that up
when I walk out of here.

It's part of your job, isn't it?

Now pay attention, Igor.

There were two Yankee
Rebels in that bar.

You are a Yankee Rebel and
you used to go out with Caridad,

and Caridad's new
boyfriend winds up dead.

Oh, man.

You know, it's funny

'cause you don't look
like the jealous type to me.

Jealous? Over that bitch?
You got to be kidding.

You know, I bet she
made you feel about that big

when she walked on you, right?

She didn't walk, I pushed her.

After I passed her around
to a few of the guys.

She pulled the whole train, man.

After that, we don't touch them.

We can't hold Igor.

We're still going
to need a witness.

Did Curtis try to
shoot him again?

Robocop?

He's busy sending electronic
mail to Mr. New York Slimes.

Thinks he can draw him out.

What do you think?

Me? I used a computer once,
lost 27 straight games of solitaire.

Sent. So what do
you want to do now?

How about talking to somebody
we can actually look in the eye?

Fine.

I'll just freshen up.

He doesn't like me, does he?

I told you, I was
in the basement.

Yeah, when the
kid was being killed.

How about before?

Then I wasn't in the basement.

Very funny. You
know, I could have

the yellow tape
put back up outside

and close you down
for about a week.

Look, the kid stood
there and he had a beer.

Oh, yeah? Well, who
stood right here, then?

People were coming and going.

A guy named Igor,
did he come or go?

He was around.

Well, how'd he react when he saw

his ex-old lady walk
in with this college kid?

If he saw them, I
doubt he noticed.

Why is that? Is he blind?

She's used goods.

The Rebels had a little party
with her one night, and since then...

I did her myself once, behind the
bar, and Igor didn't even look up.

Well, I guess we can
shelve the jealousy theory.

You think you're going
to find a new one in there?

Maybe. E-mail from
Mr. New York Slimes.

And? You want to
look him in the eye?

He says he'll meet
tonight at his place.

He's got a great view.

He must be a squatter.

Is that a rat?

Yes, it is.

This has got to be the place.

This guy's yanking our chains.

I'm sorry.

Let's track this
son of a bitch down

and see how he likes
our practical jokes.

I can find the guy who runs
the electronic bulletin board.

I put an ad for my
shop on the net.

Next thing, I had my own BBS.

It's good for business.

We're interested in the guy
who does the outlaw news.

Very popular.

Most of my customers ride desks.

They love to read about guys
riding hogs through nude beaches,

stuff like that.

Hey, I save all his uploads.

"Then we all went out to hunt
sluts and score some brews."

Who sends these?

Beats me. The guy just
logs on once a week.

Calls himself "the Phantom."

Well, he missed
two weeks in July.

Then came back on with a story

about a bunch of guys
running wild in Columbia County

until a guy called Stiletto
wrecked his bike in Ghent.

He got hauled into a hospital.

Didn't he write
about Stiletto before?

Could be they're close.

Could be they're the same guy.

Right. Thank you.

Columbia County hospital.

Stiletto, a.k.a.
Milton Stillman,

was laid up for the same two
weeks the Phantom didn't publish.

Well, did you get an address?

No, he left a phony
one and dodged the bill.

But I got something better.

His blood type matches the trail

out the back door at Strokers.

So he must've had a front
row seat at the murder.

Or he's the murderer.

Could be.

At least our friend Milton's a
regular correspondent, if anything.

"Hello, cop idiots.

"Did you think I wouldn't
know who you were?

"How did you like
the apartment?"

This e-mail,
whatever the hell it is,

it's got to have a
return address, right?

I've monitored his
log-ins to the BBS.

They're coming from an
internet provider called NetFix.

Access times match the account

of a podiatrist in White Plains.

So the Phantom hacks
in and takes it over.

Use the local POP?

Mostly. Trap-and-trace
netted us a cloned cell phone.

Transmitter? 103rd and Broadway.

Yes! We got him!

We got who? The Phantom.

His modem's hooked up to a
cellular phone with a stolen number.

And he's using it within a mile
of 103rd and Broadway, right?

Oh, great. Only two
million people live there.

Yeah. But we have
a cellscope and yagi.

A yagi?

It's a radio tuner and
directional antenna.

I'll get him chatting.

We can hone in on him.

It's simple triangulation.

Well, you get the
yagi, I'll get the donuts.

Keep going straight.

He says we're
"cyberspace morons."

We're getting warmer.

Say something moronic.
Keep him talking.

"Dear Phantom. How
does biker scum like you

"learn to operate anything more
complicated than a kickstand?"

That ought to be moronic enough.

Slow down.

He says, "If cops want
to play with computers,

"they'd better just
stick with Ms. Pacman."

There, that
building, definitely.

Come here.

Go get him.

What's the crime here, McCoy?

Illegal use of a cellular phone?

It's a felony.

Probation. What's the big deal?

Actually, we're thinking of
charging you with murder, Mr...

What should I call you?

Stiletto, the Phantom,
or Milton Stillman?

You can call him a cab home.

How do you make
Mr. Stillman a murderer?

His own words on the biker BBS

put him on the scene where
Thomas Bell was killed.

He's got a wound in his back

from the same weapon
that killed Mr. Bell.

In the middle of my back,
in a spot I can't even reach.

I showed your doctor.

So you're saying
that he killed this kid,

and then he felt so bad about it

that he tried to commit suicide

by throwing an oil
can opener up in the air

and then lying down so
it'd hit him in his back?

Maybe there was a struggle.

Maybe Tom Bell grabbed the
weapon and stabbed your client

before your client grabbed
it back and killed him.

Or maybe whoever it
was that killed Mr. Bell

swung a little wide and
nicked my client, too.

Is that what
happened, Mr. Stillman?

Yeah.

If you were close
enough to be wounded,

you were close
enough to see the killer.

Who was it?

I don't have to tell
you a damn thing.

Fine. Then I'll hold you as a
material witness for the grand jury.

You don't tell them and
you go to jail for contempt.

Actually, he
doesn't have to tell

the grand jury anything either.

And why is that?

Because he's the Phantom?

Because I'm a journalist
protecting my sources.

Thomas Bell's father is going to
the papers, and I don't blame him.

You say we're stymied because
this Phantom says he's a journalist?

He's arguing that
his contributions

to the electronic bulletin board

qualify him as a reporter
under the Journalist Shield Law.

That law only applies to
professional journalists.

This electronic
thingamajig pay him?

Only in the
admiration of his peers.

But he has sold couple of articles
to Biker Mommas magazine.

Who's hearing the motion?

Judge Conners.

Oh, good. I don't
think she subscribes.

And what is your current
position, Dr. Farnsworth?

I'm the associate dean of the
Columbia Graduate School of Journalism.

Have you had a chance to
look at Mr. Stillman's postings

to the computer bulletin board?

Yes, I have.

And in your expert
opinion, are they journalism?

Oh, yes.

Even though they don't appear
in a newspaper or a magazine

or on a television newscast?

No. The proper question
is not where they appeared,

but what function they served.

People interested in certain
subjects consult these reports.

Any inhibitions on Mr. Stillman's
information gathering

limits the information
reaching his audience.

And that's what the Press Shield
Law was designed to prevent.

Thank you, Doctor.

Dr. Farnsworth, is this the
current catalog of courses

offered by the Graduate
School of Journalism?

Yes, it is.

Could you show me the courses in
writing for computer bulletin boards?

I'm afraid there are
no such courses.

So it's journalism,
but your own institution

doesn't even
recognize it as such?

Well, no, it's new.

When television started,

print journalists didn't think those
reporters were real reporters either.

So, many journalists
today would not

recognize Mr. Stillman
as a reporter?

Well, some would, some wouldn't.

But you do? Mmm-hmm.

So those who don't are wrong?

Objection. Argumentative.

Sustained.

"Then we all went out to hunt
sluts and score some brews."

Is that journalism,
Dr. Farnsworth?

Freedom of the press is not
reserved for good journalists.

If we decide that Mr. Stillman
doesn't deserve protection

because we don't
like what he writes,

well, then, we have
just taken the first step

onto a slippery slope
that leads to censorship.

You see who they're
calling tomorrow?

The assistant editor
of The New York Times.

To defend "The New York Slimes"?

"Slippery slope," Claire.

Stillman could
even win this thing.

What about the
victim's girlfriend?

The cops say
she's afraid to talk.

You take a run at her.

At least she's not claiming
to be Connie Chung.

"Might even win this
thing?" Because of my cross?

You were great. You made "hunting
sluts" sound like a capital crime.

I told the police,
Tommy was a nice kid,

but it's not like we're
in India or somewhere,

where I'm going to jump
into the grave with him.

Well, if you testify before a
grand jury, we can protect you.

Sure. I live around the
corner from these people.

They kill you.

We can put you up in a hotel.

What about my job?

You going to wipe
the floors for me, too?

We'll get you some money.

Yeah! And then you're
off to the next bad guys,

and I'm back here, unemployed,
with a target on my back.

Doesn't it bother you
that whoever killed

Tommy is out there
walking around free?

Are not you listening, lady?

It bothers me a hell of a lot
more than it'll ever bother you.

Don't give me that crap!

My son is murdered in a room full
of people, and you've got nothing!

Mr. Bell is certainly entitled
to know what you've found.

We're not keeping
anything from him.

You're not telling
me anything either.

If they're there, send them in.

Mr. Bell, Councilman Rabe,

Assistant District Attorneys
Jack McCoy, Claire Kincaid,

prosecuting your son's case.

What prosecution?

Status, Jack?

We believe we will get Milton
Stillman before the grand jury.

That bastard has rights,
but my son doesn't.

What about that
girlfriend of his?

She's terrified.

Why don't you terrify her more?

What are you people for?

Mr. Bell, rest assured,

the full resources of this
office will be brought to bear.

They'd better be, Adam.

Did you just throw us to the wolves
because his son was murdered,

or because he has brunch
with a city councilman?

Are you going to bring me
something or aren't you?

The girl is afraid.

Then make her unafraid.

Get her whatever she needs.

What about your Phantom?

Final arguments
tomorrow. It's up in the air.

Well, bring it down to Earth.

Get me a name. Make an arrest.

I refer Your Honor
to In re: Dan,

which the court may find at 363,

New York Sup 2nd, page 493.

Even if Mr. Stillman
is a journalist

entitled to protect his sources,

he's still obligated to testify

as to what he witnessed
with his own eyes.

And he's obligated to do
nothing if he witnessed nothing.

The uncontroverted
evidence of his wound

is that his back was
turned to the incident.

Afterward, he spoke to
people that had been involved.

They told him what had happened,

and at that point, he
was practicing journalism.

But the Press Shield
Law only applies

if the people interviewed know

they're talking to a reporter.

In this case, they most likely
thought they were talking to some guy

picking himself up off the bar
room floor asking what happened.

They had no expectation of
confidentiality and so no protection.

Okay, I've got your briefs.

You'll have my ruling soon.

Jack, the girlfriend went
for the full gift package.

She's changed her mind.

Good.

We appreciate
this, Miss Montero.

Well, when you said hotel, I was
thinking of something a little nicer.

We're limited by our budget.

We know you're
making a sacrifice.

Well, it was time for a change.

You can pay for me to get
to Miami? And get set up?

It's arranged.

And nobody knows
where I am, right?

Not unless you told them.

We'd like to get a
statement from you now.

I know.

I'll tell you everything.

It was this guy I was
hanging with. Igor.

Yeah. The police spoke to him.

His real name is Danny.

What happened?

I walked in with Tommy
and Igor didn't like it.

Well, he told the police
he wasn't jealous over you.

Is that what he said?

Well, maybe he was so
drunk he forgot he didn't care.

She told the police she
was in the bathroom.

She'll tell the grand
jury that she wasn't.

And the killer turns out
to be her ex-boyfriend,

who dumped her by passing her
around to his motorcycle friends.

"Dear John" letter just
doesn't suffice anymore.

Is that a problem?

It gives her a motive to lie.

I'd be a lot happier if
we had a second witness.

Yeah, well, while you were out
baby-sitting, the judge issued a ruling.

"Milton 'the Phantom'
Stillman does not have to testify

"about anything he
learned from sources.

"But he does have to tell
what he witnessed personally."

He'll probably say he
had a bag over his head.

I'm not sure I'd want to put him

in front of the
grand jury anyway.

He won't sign a waiver of
immunity, and he doesn't have to.

And?

Without the waiver, full
immunity's automatic.

I don't know enough about
what happened in that bar.

Do you think he killed that boy?

No.

Then you call him.

And you move this ahead.

Yeah, I was standing at the
bar, so were a lot of people.

Like who?

Spaceman, Super
Steve, a guy named Ed.

What about Thomas
Bell and Caridad Montero?

They were there.

And Daniel Smith,
otherwise known as Igor?

Him, too.

Did he say anything to
Mr. Bell or Miss Montero?

He might have.

Let me remind you, Mr. Stillman,
you answer these questions

or you will be held in contempt.

Yeah. Igor said
something to the kid.

I didn't hear what he said.

Did Mr. Bell say
anything to Igor?

I couldn't hear.

Did you see his lips move?

My view was blocked.

People were standing around.

Around his face?

The collar of his jacket was up.

Did Igor touch Mr. Bell?

Not that I saw.

Mr. Stillman, did
Igor kill Thomas Bell?

Nope.

If your view was blocked,
how can you be so sure?

Because I killed him.

I told you! Igor did it!

You're sure you're not bending
the truth a little, Caridad?

You don't believe me?

What am I doing here?

I messed up my whole life.

I can't go back home.

And all I got is this
crappy hotel room.

You got a new life in
exchange for this testimony.

Well, isn't that fair?

Only if it's true.

Do you know a
biker named Stiletto?

That's what he calls himself.

The others call him Stinky.

Did you see him in
the bar that night?

Yeah, so?

He says he killed Tommy.

But he doesn't have the
guts to kill a cockroach.

And if he says he did it, it's because
Igor and his friends made him.

He is just as scared
of them as I am.

Fine. You're
testifying tomorrow.

The can opener
thing was on the bar.

Igor picked it up,
and stuck it in Tommy.

I saw him.

Then I ran out.
That's all I know.

Thank you, Miss Montero.

I have no further
questions for this witness.

Yeah? Mr. Lang?

I have a question
for this witness.

She said she
recognized this guy, Igor,

because he was
her old boyfriend.

Did they part on
good terms or what?

As your legal advisor, I instruct
you the question is immaterial,

and I decline to pose it.

Miss Montero is excused,
and we'll take a little break.

Mr. McCoy. JACK: Yes.

The reason I ask...

We're off the record
now, Mr. Lang.

That's fine with me.
It's just some of us

aren't so sure about this Igor.

We're still thinking, maybe it's the
other one, that one who confessed.

Okay. Thank you.

You think that question
was a lucky guess?

They're kicking all the tires.

A confession does
make an impression.

You want to take it to
a different grand jury?

No. I'd like this
grand jury to hear

a completely convincing
account of how and why Igor did it.

Because that's
what I want to hear.

I think Caridad is credible.

Then explain to me once
again what Igor's motive was.

He wasn't jealous.

Stillman testified he
couldn't see Tommy's face

because his jacket
collar was up.

So Igor killed him
to get a better view?

There was no jacket on the body.

The motive was robbery?

Well, people get
murdered for their sneakers.

Find out what kind of
jacket Tom Bell was wearing.

Then we'll look
in Igor's closet.

Sure, Tommy had
a motorcycle jacket.

Plus boots, chaps, helmet.

For someone without a
motorcycle, he's pretty well equipped.

That was Tommy.
Lifestyle was fashion.

What did his jacket look like?

See for yourself.

This is his?

Yeah. His father didn't
want it, so I inherited it.

He was wearing a jacket
when he walked into Strokers.

Not this one. When
he left here that night,

he was wearing a T-shirt.

Where did he get this one?

Cycledrama, on Eighth Street.

You remember Tom Bell?

Good customer.

I love those college kids.

But he didn't buy
a jacket that night.

Are you sure?

I was closed.

Is there anywhere else around
here he could have gotten one?

Not around here.

Go on, try this on.

Duralon thread in the seams.

Anti-road rash padding in
the shoulders and over the ribs.

Yeah. A friend of
mine rides a Yamaha.

Rice burner.

Quarter-mile in 15 flat.

You have anything
brighter than this?

I'm all out of the pink.

How about something like that?

Club colors? Unless
you're a member, Miss,

you don't wear something like
that if you want to stay healthy.

Well, this poor boy
was killed because

someone was trying
to steal a jacket?

No, Adam, because somebody
objected to its color scheme.

These gangs are
very proprietary.

Making the killer who?

Igor. He was a
hardcore Yankee Rebel.

Stillman was just a hanger-on.

It's a motive.

Yeah, it's a motive.

If your victim was
wearing the jacket.

He stopped off at his girlfriend's
place before he went to the bar.

And she used to go
out with a Yankee Rebel.

The neighborhood girls said
that she used to wear Igor's jacket.

She could have kept it.

Was this boy wearing
the jacket or wasn't he?

We'll find out.

We might've found out already

if we didn't have to keep popping
in here every hour to report.

You'll report here
whenever I tell you to.

So we assume that he didn't
know it was dangerous to wear.

Did the girl know?

She must have.

She should have been
crazy about Tommy.

Not that she's shown it
by her subsequent actions.

Your son's roommate
told the police

you saw your son
on the day he died,

and tried to convince him
to break up with Caridad.

Convince him? I
offered to pay him.

Money?

He liked money. It
runs in the family.

I offered to give him
$10,000 for his birthday

if he just got his
damned act together.

Did that include
dropping Caridad?

And going to class
once in a while.

What'd he say?

I was a meddling old man.

He was Romeo and
that girl was Juliet.

Well, maybe he changed
his mind after you left,

and took your
checkbook with you.

He went to that bar to
buy a $5,000 motorcycle.

Could he afford it
without your gift?

No.

Maybe he thought you'd
give him the money anyway.

Buy him a motorcycle?
He'd have to...

Oh, my God, it
was because of me.

He must have
dumped that little bitch.

I don't want to get into
details, but Tommy and me,

we made each other plenty happy.

Miss Montero, don't you think
that we can find witnesses to say

that you owned a
Yankee Rebel jacket?

That Tom Bell wasn't wearing one

when he got to your apartment?

That he was wearing
one when he left?

That you knew how
dangerous that was?

So, what if you could?

So, what? I charge
you with murder.

Hey, I didn't kill Tommy.

This is called the penal law.

Section 125.25 defines
murder as reckless conduct

that creates the risk of
death to another person

and causes the
death of that person.

That's what you did.

I told you Igor stabbed him.

You didn't believe me.

Now, we do, because now
we know why Igor stabbed him.

It was because of you.

I want to call my lawyer.

So will Igor.

He'll want to tell his
side of the story first,

cut a deal and
nail you for murder.

It's not as if he loves you or anything
the way he passed you around.

What if I tell first?

We're listening.

I knew what was going on.

Tommy liked shoving
me into his father's face,

until daddy made him pay for it.

Tommy didn't want to be poor.

He just liked to play
poor and screw poor.

He told you about
his father's money?

Yeah. He was so stupid.

He said that he had to
meet this guy at Strokers.

I told him let's spend
one last night together.

Old times' sake.

I told him he'd fit in
better if he wore the jacket.

And he went for it?

He loved it.

He thought it'd impress
the guy selling the bike.

Look, I didn't think
he'd get killed.

I thought he'd maybe
get beat up. That's all.

But Igor was
there, he was drunk,

and some of the other guys
started ragging him about Tommy,

saying, "Hey, who's
the new Yankee Rebel?

"Ooh, I'm scared.
You guys are tough."

And Igor said he'd
show them tough.

He picked up the opener and
shoved it into Tommy's stomach.

Casual, like he was
passing him something.

What happened to the jacket?

Igor took it.

He said there was no way
Tommy deserved to be buried in it.

Look, I didn't mean
for this to happen.

You made it happen.

One boyfriend dead,
one going to jail.

Igor passed me
around like if I was a...

And Tommy traded
me in for a motorcycle.

How sorry am I
supposed to feel? Hmm?

Didn't we already
dance this dance?

This time it's going
to be a long slow one.

Daniel "Igor" Smith,
you're under arrest

for the murder of Thomas Bell.

You have the right
to remain silent.

We indicted Igor on murder
two, Stillman for perjury

and the girl pleaded to
reckless endangerment.

She sign a waiver of immunity?

It was part of our
original deal, fortunately.

Good. Night, Ben.

I did do a couple of
things right here, Adam.

You did, you did. Doggone good.

Three felons, three felonies.

Something for everybody.

Except the victim.