Penny Dreadful: City of Angels (2020–…): Season 1, Episode 3 - Wicked Old World - full transcript

Previously on Penny
Dreadful: City of Angels...

I saw what you did.

I'm Fly Rico.

You know the Cat?
Find me there.

Hello, Mrs. Branson.

Why, Dr. Craft!
Hello.

Would you like to join us?

Where is your wife?

Sister Molly, I'm here
about James Hazlett.

Have you been saved, Detective?

Are you offering?



The Arroyo Seco is finished.

And with Hazlett dead,
we got no one

to build the damn thing, anyway.

Don't we, though?

A firm with
your best interests at heart.

What the people need
is a champion

to channel their fear and anger

into something constructive.

Like the motorway.

We seen him before?

Sam, you and Anton
follow the Nazis.

We'll take the kid.

So they burned in the car crash?

Oh, yeah.
They burned...



but with these
inside their skulls.

Tell you what, Pat.
How about we pretend

you never saw these?

Lewis...

Just for a few days.

I gotta run something down.

I can't lie on the report.

Who's saying lie?

I'm just saying you temporize.

Lose the report.
Take your time.

Go take Jill for a steak.

A favor.
I'm asking.

Huh?

Muttering Hebrew

So when do you have
to go back to work?

Sunday.
They need me for a party.

Ay, mama.

I know.

He stood there like
fucking Pancho Villa

with a switchblade, like,
two feet long.

Fucking cops pissed themselves.

Jesus, those Pachuco
motherfuckers.

I swear to Mother Mary,

I never seen anything like it.

He was so smooth.

Fucking Fred Astaire.

So now you wanna be all Pachuco.

The man has pride, my brother.

When he's not stealing cars.

They had any pride,
they would've stood with us

down the street.

Where was Fred Astaire
then, huh?

You remember it?

What?

The police?
The whole thing?

Not really.

Once the shooting started,

it all went to smoke, right?

I don't remember anything
until the hospital.

You don't remember
when you got shot?

No, thank fuck.

You don't know who shot you?

It was probably you,
you sketchy motherfucker.

It was Tiago.

There...

there was a cop
down on the ground,

and you were...

Holy Mary.

Raul,

you were killing them all.

You were killing them all.

Tiago ran over.
He was yelling.

I don't think you heard him.

I'll tell you what.

I was a Pachuco,

I would slit his throat
for what he did.

That is your brother.

You respect him.

You think he wanted any of this?

Jesus Christ.

I'd rather be any fucking thing
in this world than Tiago.

He's not one of us.

He's not one of them.

He's a cop.
He's a Chicano.

He doesn't know
what the fuck he is.

You want to see hell, mano?

You look in his eyes...

And you be kind.

I'm tired.

Let me sleep, okay?

Go be a Pachuco already.

I just want to see
your skinny ass

in those stupid fucking pants.

You up?

Yeah.

Hey.

How you feeling today?

I don't know if I want
to be mayor this much.

An ounce of prevention, sir.

After the Rotary luncheon,

where you shall eat
a Waldorf salad

and eschew the bread basket,

you have a radio interview
and a zoning committee session,

and then tonight,
we have our dinner

with Via Hermosa Development,

where you shall have
a small steak and no potato.

Via Hermosa Development?

The motorway, sir.

Our German friends.

I must say, all the attention
since the press conference...

feels good to finally get
the recognition I deserve.

As to that, sir...

you're more in
the public eye now, as you say,

so you'll want to mind
your Ps and Qs a bit.

How's that?

I mean your life
is more exposed.

You need to be cautious
not to give your enemies

any... ammunition.

You need to behave yourself.

I promise
I'll eschew the bread basket.

Good morning, Councilman.

Getting agitated, are we?

Councilwoman Beck.

To what do we owe the pleasure?

Just a little Transportation
Committee business,

if you don't mind me
interrupting

your rigorous health regime.

If you'll excuse us,
Miss Malone.

She stays.

That bloody shirt

was quite a stunt.
It was very creative.

I swear, I can't turn
the radio dial

without hearing
your dulcet tones.

One would think
you're running for office.

When the people hear
an honest voice,

they want to hear more.

And now you think you're
gonna get that road built

on the graves of four dead cops
and eight dead Mexicans.

Yes, ma'am.

I call it healing
the city's wounds

in concrete and asphalt.

If you think I'm gonna let you

turn the Los Angeles
City Council

into your own
little Third Reich,

you are sadly mistaken, sir.

I've been knocking down
piss‐pot fascists like you

since you were at
your mama's titty.

You want a war, honey?
You got it.

Oh, and renaming it

the Maynard West
Memorial Motorway?

Over my dead body.

Suit yourself.

So I'll go downstage left.

You just keep playing
until I hit my mark,

and then I'll say,

"But the Lord doesn't always
make it easy for us, does he?"

Something, something,
something, keep vamping.

"He can make that climb
to the mountaintop

an arduous trek,

so when in doubt, keep listening

for that heavenly choir up above

and remember this."

That's great, Bob.
I have to run.

We'll finish up
with the boys tomorrow.

You ought to do
the whole song and the sermon.

I have a fitting with Brent.

Another fitting?

You want me to look
presentable, don't you?

Well, when will you return?

I've scheduled some things.
I‐‐

Oh, I don't know.

I think he wants
to show me some new designs.

Randolph can drive you.

I'll drive myself, thanks.

See you tomorrow.

Molly Joan.

Randolph should drive you.

Oh, for heaven's sake.

I am thinking of your safety,
dear.

No one's going to kidnap me,
I swear.

Look, I'll wear the glasses.
I'll wear the hat.

It's just
a darn costume fitting, Mother.

Darling, don't worry.

I'll be back soon.

You just keep adding up
the money.

Well, look at this,
Mr. Hazlett.

Good morning, son.
I'd like a word if I could.

‐ Over here, thanks.
‐ What?

Oh, don't ask me.
I'm just a worker bee.

My captain wants to see you
down at the station.

Why?
Is there something wrong?

It's just some routine thing.
I don't know.

Climb in.

Ours is not to reason why,
right?

Working on your day off.

That's initiative.

How's, um... your brother?

He's all right, sir.

Go home, detective.

We give you days off
for a reason.

Yes, sir.

They'll be just as dead
on Monday.

I had to learn that.

I worked
the Florence Moore case.

Little 12‐year‐old girl,
she was.

Couldn't get her out of my mind.

He cut off her arms
and legs and...

held her eyes open with wires.

How do you sleep with that?

How do you?

Seconal.

A fuck‐load of it.

Top right drawer of my desk.

Anytime.

Now go home.

Uh, Detective Vega?

Miss Finnister?

Might we talk?

Yes, of course.

Would you like to go inside?

Oh, no, no.
Here's fine.

How can I help?

I've been praying
for your brother.

I know this week
must have been challenging,

and... I'm terribly sorry.

Has there been a service?

No, uh, he recovered.
I mean, he‐‐he woke up.

Lord be praised.
His works are mighty.

You should get your bus.

I'm fine.

I don't do this a lot.

Buttonholing policemen
at bus stops?

I mean get out by myself‐‐

in my trousers, no less.

This your day off?

That, sir, I never have.

There's always work,
isn't there?

There's so many poor souls.

It's hard to leave them behind.

They just stay in your head.

My captain recommended Seconal.

Nembutal's better.

Do you ever wish
you were someone else?

I mean, someone else entirely?

Like an Arab sheikh?

No, like a normal person

who never heard of Nembutal,

who could walk
through the market

and buy things,
just like everyone else.

Not such a freak.

You're not a freak.

Oh...

that I am.

I was raised to be,

all around me,
the other snake‐handlers

and con men

and me, singing my heart out,

little Sister Molly.

Sometimes you just want
to be Molly.

Do you always want to be
Detective Vega?

Don't you sometimes
just want to be...

I'm sorry.
I don't recall your first name.

Santiago.
Tiago.

Yeah.

Sometimes, I wish
I could just be him.

As I remember,

he was a decent man
once upon a time.

Then I'll call you Tiago.

I've taken up
enough of your time.

I'm sorry.
I just wanted to‐‐

Wait.

How would you like
to be someone else,

just for today?

Yeah, I thought about college.

Maybe a football scholarship,
right?

Don't I like kind of like
a tailback to you?

‐ Where are we?
‐ Hmm?

Oh, yeah.
This is good.

Come along, son.

No.

Don't be a goose.

No.

Ow!
Oh!

What did I do?

You have a nice dinner
on Monday?

That Italian place

with your German friends?

Add a couple of Japs, you got
a regular Axis there, huh?

Why don't you tell me about it?

They'll kill me.

Hell, son, what do you think
I'm gonna do?

I just kidnapped you,
broke your teeth,

kicked the fuck
out of your nose,

and now I'm gonna throw you
off this cliff,

where the damn coyotes
will eat you.

I swear to God, they will.

Go ahead.

It would be the best thing
that happened to me all week.

So tell me about it.

I'm a cop.

I'm here to serve and protect.

Come on.
Don't make me hurt you.

I had about the worst week
of my life, too,

and believe me,
when a Jew says that,

it fucking means something.

Do you know what's going on
in Germany now?

Oh, surely you jest.

You ever heard of a man
named Wernher von Braun?

Educate me.

‐ Three shots?
‐ All right, I got three shots.

Three more, you get a Popeye.

You want a Popeye?

Mm.

What girl doesn't?

You are pretty pleased
with yourself, aren't you?

Enjoy.

He's precious.

It was just after
my seventh birthday.

We didn't get to go many places,

but my dad managed
to scrape up the bus fare

to bring us all out here.

I swear, it was like
the Arabian Nights for us.

We couldn't afford
to go on the rides,

but that didn't matter.

My brother Tomas and sister Gina

were alive then.

That was the best day
of my life.

What happened to them,

if you don't mind my asking?

Cholera.

It was all over el barrio.

We all got sick.

Some of us got better.

I'm so sorry.

Uh, Laura, has Mrs. Branson
arrived yet?

No, sir, but Mrs. Wayne
is here early.

You tried Mrs. Branson
at home, ja?

Yes.
No answer.

Shall I send in Mrs. Wayne?

Uh, please.

Uh, no.

Cancel my appointments
for the day.

Sir?

Ja, for the whole day.

Thank you, Laura.
That will be all.

Frank?

What's wrong?

Where's your mother?

Are you all right here?

Mrs. Branson,
it is Dr. Craft.

Mrs. Branson?

Oh, my God.

Ja, raise your chin
just a little bit for me.

Now, hope this doesn't smart
too much.

"Smart."

You are so American.

Mr. Branson‐‐you know
he cannot keep his temper down.

Frank makes him angry.

I send Frank outside
so he does not know,

but... he knows.

You may, uh, lower your chin.
Thank you.

It was so silly today.

Frank is having hardship
in school, you know.

He does not fit in
with the other boys...

with the Jews.

They punch him
and call him names.

Mr. Branson tells him
to fight back,

to punch them.

I tell him no,
Frank is too small for that.

You know how ill he is.

That boy breaks my heart.

He's all I have that is mine.

This place, this house‐‐

it is America.

What is that to me?

It'll get better.

When I first came here,
after the war,

oh, it was very hard...

but I found my friends,

my German friends.

Now, you will allow me
to introduce you to them,

I hope.

You are so good to me.

And you know, my boy, Tom,

is having a birthday party
this Sunday.

He is, I think, Frank's age.

Will you come?

Bring Frank,
and he will have friends.

Do say you'll come, yeah?

It will mean the world to Frank.

Well, then it is done.

All better.

You will, uh, keep, please,
the bandage on

until tomorrow.

No, no.

Not in Mr. Branson's house, no.

Uh, I‐I'm sorry.

Please.

If you would be so good
as to have us,

then Frank and I
would like very much

to come into your house
on Sunday, bitte.

Back to the real world
for us, Captain.

I don't think he's a captain,

just a sailor man.

In any case,
you'll have to take him.

Oh, he's yours.

I spent two good nickels
winning him.

You conned that poor man
out of him.

You ought to be ashamed
of yourself, Detective.

I can't bring him home, Tiago...

and someone so jaunty
has no place in my house.

Please, please, take him.

Now you make sure
he's always got lots of spinach

and, uh...

he's got plenty of tobacco
for his pipe.

Let me drive you
back to the station.

I think I want to stay here
for a while.

I just want it to last
a bit longer.

What?

The second‐best day of my life.

You can imagine, I'm confident,

the complexity
of the arrangements.

It's meant to obfuscate,
and does so commendably.

So the money goes
through Via Hermosa Development

and then to my campaign?

Through various
charitable organizations first,

but the details
are of no matter to you.

I like details.

Hmm.

I hesitate to bore you

after such a fine Chateaubriand.

Go on, bore me.

The details are not
of your concern.

Via Hermosa?

Spanish name's a little cheeky,

considering we're gonna
tear down their neighborhood.

It means "beautiful street,"

and what will be more beautiful

than your admirable road,

your golden pathway
to the future?

And that bloody shirt,

not to mention dragging
that poor widow up...

Really, sir, your audacity
knows no bounds.

Fortune favors the bold, right?

Oh, entirely.

And your audacity is truly
as Herculean as your appetite.

Thank you for the dinner,
Mr. Goss,

but we have a busy day ahead.

Hold on, Alex.

Councilwoman Beck's
pretty much opened fire on me

and the motorway.
She's hated me from day one.

We need to do something
about her.

As in?

Fucking do what you do.

Unleash your flying monkey
and kill the bitch.

So you want us to assassinate
a member of the city council?

Yeah, that's what I want.

Don't forget who's running
this show, fellas.

Without me, you've got nothing.

It's my fucking motorway,
and if you don't like it,

you can shove your Via Hermosa
all the way

up your Via‐fucking‐ass.

Would you like to rephrase that?

Let me think about it.

Fuck off, cunt.

If Councilwoman Beck
becomes an obstacle,

we will handle her
in our own way,

not with your
grotesque simian notions.

Now, you, sir, must recall
one salient factor.

You're an odious tub of guts

of which I'm making use.

You have a singular gift
for repellent rhetoric

and putrid demagoguery.

I'll give you that.

But then you, in turn,
must allow me this.

I speak for Adolf Hitler.

I speak not for tonight,

but for the next thousand years.

And when the Wehrmacht
is marching

down Sunset Boulevard,

you will either be at our side,

or under our boots.

Now, which is it to be,
little monkey?

Excuse me.
I'll say good night.

Now you've done it.

I'll be dealing with that
for the next week.

You know what he'll do now.

Let him sneak a chocolate malt.

They're all fat
in Berlin, anyway.

Jesus, you should see Goering.

If it were only a malt.

You know what?

You fuckers aren't as smart
as you think.

Charlton, sir, hold on!

Hold on.
Come on, let's get a drink.

Let's get lousy drunk
and spit in their eye.

Brother of my heart,
you gotta meet the queen.

Nobody sits with me
unless they kiss the ring.

Oh, hey, Reina,

meet little Mateo.

Call me Rio, baby boy.

You cut it up good out there.

Y‐yeah, you know.

Dancing is great.

This is that flash motherfucker
I told you from the hospital.

Stood there toe‐to‐toe
with fucking Reilly.

Didn't say spit.

How's your brother, man?

Good, good.
He's home.

Fucking cops, right?

Shot him in the fucking head.

What took you so long
to come here?

It was last week
we parlayed, huh?

Uh, I had to work
nights, you know?

Dude, work's for saps
and gringos.

When you gonna grow up?

And you're here, man.

Holy Mary, please do something.

You and me.

Let's go.

Don't fuck it up, baby.

What the fuck is this?
You come in the Cat?

Hey, Zorro.
Sorry to break up the fiesta,

but every one of you
is breaking curfew.

‐ What curfew?
‐ Oh, didn't you hear, miss‐‐

or whatever the fuck you are?

City's got a curfew now
for you folks,

as of about ten minutes ago.

So take your albino dyke

and your pretty faggots

outside to the paddy wagons.

You's all going to jail, amigo.

Sorry sons of bitches
cut my suave threads.

Sometimes the cops bring razors
to slash up our clothes

so we're not Pachuco anymore,
right?

Baby, I'm Pachuco stark naked

strutting down Wilshire.

But you're white.

Bite your tongue.

My parents are from Sevilla,
in old Spain.

I was born in Mexico

and moved to LA
when I was three,

so yeah, I'm not really a spic.

I'm a dago.

They coming into the Cat now?

Holy Mary, what the fuck next?

Next they shoot us down

like Belvedere Heights‐way.

That's what it was.

They were shooting us down
like dogs.

They would've used
fucking tanks if they had them.

Don't think they don't.

Brother, when are we
gonna get active?

‐ We have to fight.
‐ Fight who?

‐ Who you got?
‐ The cops?

Los gringos?

What more do you need, Rico?

They come into our neighborhood,

they come into our club,
they beat us up,

they put us in jail
for jack shit,

and what do we do?
How do we fight back?

We sit there stealing purses
and jacking cars.

Where's our pride?

We gotta get our piece
of that American dream.

‐ That isn't for us.
‐ That's exactly for us.

You take what you want.
You make your way up.

You use your brains.
You use your nerve.

No one's gonna give us
anything, Rico,

so we make them.

First we make them look.

Then we make them scared.

We are Pachuco.

We are Chicano.

We are Aztec.
We are spade.

We are wop.
We are dago.

We are chink.
We are queer.

We are everything they fear,

and we go out dancing.

Easy now, mamita.

You're gonna scare our baby boy.

She's right.

What does a Chicano have?

His skin.

Let me tell you skin, ese.

Minute I was born,
I was thrown out like garbage.

Mother's a stone junkie.

Daddy... who the fuck knows?

Shit, I did everything
to survive this city.

I stole.
I whored.

I ate the white man's trash
right outside his restaurants.

Then one day I meet this man,

Papa Pachuco from Juarez.

He gave me this.

Now I wear this skin with pride,

with style,

and I ain't gonna throw
it all away

on some crazy war with gringos
we never gonna win.

‐ So we do nothing?
‐ How do we beat them?

How we gonna do that?

We make Los Angeles bleed.

90 years ago,
you know what this was,

where we're standing right now?

It was Mexico.

It's our city, Rico.

We found it.
We made it.

We built it.
We take it back.

Before we hit the trenches,

let's get this boy fly.

Thanks for coming, partner.

Get my friend
one of these, Sammy.

Use the Rose's,
not that domestic crap.

‐ You like a gimlet?
‐ Never had one.

Thank God you met me.
You're so sheltered.

You'll like it.

Fights off scurvy, too,
so that's a plus.

So... I'm taking
a couple of days off.

Oh, okay.

I haven't used any vacation time

in about, well, never,
so I figure I'm due.

Where are you going?
You leaving the city?

Fuck, no.
I hate leaving LA.

But I gotta bury
this pal of mine named Anton.

He's got no one,
no wife or anything,

'cause he's a miserable cuss,

so I figure I'll do it.

That's good of you.

Oh, yeah.

Me and all the wailing Jews.

It's gonna be a riot.

Right?
Ambrosia, my friend.

When you die and go to heaven,
this is what you drink.

No fucking scurvy in heaven.

Oh, by the way,

Sister Molly
was fucking Hazlett.

It's all in there.

Temple records
and real estate contracts

from his office.

So he buys this love nest,
in Malibu, no less,

but he uses church funds,

so it's tax‐exempt.

He goes to a lot of trouble
to hide it,

so I figure he doesn't want
the dragon mother to know,

and why is that?

So he can fuck the daughter
as the waves roll in.

I told you she's a fraud.

‐ You don't know that.
‐ Of course I do.

Only reason men hide anything

is for money or for pussy,

and Hazlett had plenty of money.

Take the valise.

You run it down
and tell me I'm wrong.

Looks like we got
a new suspect, partner.

Oldest story there is.

Cherchez la femme.

Hey.

You didn't really believe
her spiel, did you?

I still do.

Well, grow up.

It's a wicked old world.

And it's only got you and me
to save it.

Make it two more, Sammy.