Thank you! Don't forget to confirm subscription in your email.
Cornered by the DEA, convicted New York drug dealer Montgomery Brogan reevaluates his life in the 24 remaining hours before facing a seven-year jail term.
[Monty standing in the men's bathroom, talking to himself in a mirror with "FUCK YOU!" written on it] Monty Brogan: Yeah, fuck you, too. Fuck *me*? Fuck *you*, Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car - get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped-up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for FUCKING LIFE! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Worldcom! Fuck the Puerto Ricans. Twenty to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their Jason Giambi Louisville Slugger baseball bats, trying to audition for "The Sopranos." Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermès scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on! Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus-violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck J.C.! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin' Otisville, J.! Fuck Osama Bin Laden, al-Qaeda, and backward-ass cave-dwelling fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel-headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass! Fuck Jacob Elinsky. Whining malcontent. Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. Fuck Naturelle Riviera, I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back, sold me up the river, fucking bitch. Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar sipping on club sodas, selling whisky to firemen, and cheering the Bronx Bombers. Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park Slope to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place. [pause] Monty Brogan: No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you *dumb* *fuck*!
[last lines] [On imagining an alternate ending for Monty] James Brogan: We'll drive. Keep driving. Head out to the middle of nowhere, take that road as far as it takes us. You've never been west of Philly, have ya? This is a beautiful country, Monty, it's beautiful out there, like a different world. Mountains, hills, cows, farms, and white churches. I drove out west with your mother one time, before you was born. Brooklyn to the Pacific in three days. Just enough money for gas, sandwiches, and coffee, but we made it. Every man, woman, and child alive should see the desert one time before they die. Nothin' at all for miles around. Nothin' but sand and rocks and cactus and blue sky. Not a soul in sight. No sirens. No car alarms. Nobody honkin' atcha. No madmen cursin' or pissin' in the streets. You find the silence out there, you find the peace. You can find God. So we drive west, keep driving till we find a nice little town. These towns out in the desert, you know why they got there? People wanted to get way from somewhere else. The desert's for startin' over. Find a bar and I'll buy us drinks. I haven't had a drink in two years, but I'll have one with you, one last whisky with my boy. Take our time with it, taste the barley, let it linger. And then I'll go. I'll tell you don't ever write me, don't ever visit, I'll tell you I believe in God's kingdom and I'll see you and your mother again, but not in this lifetime. You'll get a job somewhere, a job that pays cash, a boss who doesn't ask questions, and you make a new life and you never come back. Monty, people like you, it's a gift, you'll make friends wherever you go. You're going to work hard, you're going to keep your head down and your mouth shut. You're going to make yourself a new home out there. You're a New Yorker, that won't ever change. You got New York in your bones. Spend the rest of your life out west but you're still a New Yorker. You'll miss your friends, you'll miss your dog, but you're strong. You got your mother's backbone in you, you're strong like she was. You find the right people, and you get yourself papers, a driver's license. You forget your old life, you can't come back, you can't call, you can't write. You never look back. You make a new life for yourself and you live it, you hear me? You live your live the way it should have been. But maybe, this is dangerous, but maybe after a few years you send word to Naturelle. You get yourself a new family and you raise them right, you hear me? Give them a good life, Monty. Give them what they need. You have a son, maybe you name him James, it's a good strong name, and maybe one day years from now years after I'm dead and gone reunited with your dear ma, you gather your whole family around and tell them the truth, who you are, where you come from, you tell them the whole story. Then you ask them if they know how lucky there are to be there. It all came so close to never happening. This life came so close to never happening.
Monty Brogan: Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends.
Frank Slaughtery: You know what a man should never ask in a Victoria's Secret shop, Jake? Jakob Elinsky: What? Frank Slaughtery: "Does this come in children's sizes?"
Agent Flood: Shiiit... Mr. Brogan, I do believe you're fucked... royally! SHIIIIIT...!
Naturelle Riviera: One minute ago, you were my friend. Are you drunk? Tell me you've been drinking too much. You're fucking drunk. Frank Slaughtery: I'm Irish. I can't get drunk, all right? I know exactly what I'm saying.
Uncle Nikolai: This is my advice to you: When you get there, figure it out who's who. Find the man nobody's protecting. A man without friends. And beat him until his eyes bleed. Let them think you are little bit crazy, but respectful, too. Respectful of the right men.
Frank Slaughtery: You know, you're wearing a striped shirt with a striped tie, you know that, right? Phelan: Yeah, I do it for the ladies. Frank Slaughtery: Oh - the ladies ever tell you that you look like a fucking optical illusion? Phelan: Yeah? Frank Slaughtery: Go away, disappear... come on. Phelan: I'm outta here.
Jakob Elinsky: I kissed her. Frank Slaughtery: You what? Jakob Elinsky: My student. I, I kissed her. Frank Slaughtery: Who are you trying to be... R. Kelly?
Naturelle Riviera: What are you boys up to? Jakob Elinsky: Frank's just flirting with the bartender. Naturelle Riviera: Oh, yeah? What's the verdict? Frank Slaughtery: Guilty of lookin' good. Naturelle Riviera: She's just tits, Francis. Frank Slaughtery: Oh, yeah? Did you see her ass? That girl's got a fine ass... I mean, she's oozing sex-appeal. Naturelle Riviera: Yeah, she's oozing somethin'. Frank Slaughtery: See that right there, that is so typical... that's what I'm talking about, Jake. Frank Slaughtery: Why is it that a woman walks in a room with great tits, every other woman in the joint says that she's a slut? Why is that? Naturelle Riviera: I have great tits, I'm not a slut. Frank Slaughtery: Says you.
Jakob Elinsky: What do we say to him? Frank Slaughtery: We say nothin'. The guy's going to hell for seven years, what are going do wish him luck?
Kostya Novotny: I pick her out special just for you. Monty Brogan: The last girl you picked out special for me had three teeth, all in the back. Kostya Novotny: Funny you should say that. [laughs] Monty Brogan: Why? Why is it funny I should say that? Kostya Novotny: What you say, it was funny. Monty Brogan: Kostya, you can't... when you... Monty Brogan: It's an expression. If you say that... Frank Slaughtery: It's a, uh, euphemism, right? Monty Brogan: Can you explain this? You're the English teacher. Jakob Elinsky: Uh... Jakob Elinsky: I think what he means, Kostya, is that when you say, "Funny you should say that," that means that it reminds you of a funny story. Monty Brogan: Exactly. Kostya Novotny: No, no. It was funny what you say... "Funny you should say that." Monty Brogan: It still makes no fucking sense. This is what I deal with.
Jakob Elinsky: [about the poem] To his coy mistress. Mary D'Annunzio: Well, it's not real deep or anything. The guy wants to get laid and he's telling her to give it up.
Marcuse: You know, it's funny - I don't see you picking up the phone to sell those contracts, and I'm pretty sure I just heard your daddy come over here and cut off your allowance, so I'm a little surprised. You're not gonna disobey a direct order, are you? Frank Slaughtery: You know, Marcuse... do I come into your bedroom and tell you how to blow your boyfriend? No. Go away.
Frank Slaughtery: [Frank is trying to explain to his boss why he's sold 100 million dollars in contracts] Sal, you knew. They raised my limit to 100. Salvatore Dominick: A week ago. They just raised your limit a week ago. Frank Slaughtery: What am I gonna do? Sit on it? Is that what you want? Salvatore Dominick: First of all, you're not gonna raise your voice to me. That's first off. You cannot put me, you, or this firm in jeopardy by putting 100 million dollars in one idea. Right or wrong? Frank Slaughtery: Right or wrong, yeah. Listen. I think we're in for a low number, alright? 140, 135! Salvatore Dominick: I really don't give a shit what you think Frank. You're becoming a cowboy. You come in here, you're not even clean shaven, Frank. Stop playing with this fucking ball and pay attention to me. You come in here drinking your Red Bull shit, you stink like booze, you're out all night partying, and that's OK. But when you become a cowboy, that's when I draw the line. I am still your boss. And I am telling you now. You sell half those contracts. Do I make myself clear? Do I make myself clear, Frank? Do I make myself clear to you? Frank Slaughtery: Yeah. Salvatore Dominick: Yes? Good. Have a good day. And by the way, we're still on for Friday night, courtside, front row. Don't be late.
Monty Brogan: [from deleted scene] Y'know, people think I was after the money... and I was in a way. I mean, let's face it, money gets you nice things. I like... Italian shoes and a fast car like anybody else, but I don't need 'em. It's not like I grew up poor. I wasn't chasing the money, I was chasing a feeling. What I hungered for... was *sway*. Kostya Novotny: Sway... helps you make money. And money... helps you make sway. But sway is not money. *This* is sway. Naturelle Riviera: Sway is walking into the Import Warehouse in Brooklyn... all the clothes from Europe straight off the boat, still wrapped in plastic... Gucci, Prada, YSL... You can pick out what you want... because everybody knows your boyfriend, and everyone owes him a favor. Jakob Elinsky: Sway is walking into the best five-star restaurant in the city, without a reservation, and being seated... right away. Frank Slaughtery: Sway? Ha ha ha. That's making a phone call in the morning, and having courtside seats, Madison Square Garden, that evening. Lakers vs. Knicks, Kobe and Shizzaq in the hizzouse! Mary D'Annunzio: Sway is entering a club through the staff entrance, so you can skip the line, the cover charge... and the metal detector. Monty Brogan: Sway is locking eyes with an undercover cop on the subway. You know what he is, and he knows what you are, and you *wink* at him... because he drives a battered Buick and you drive a vintage muscle car, and he can. Not. Touch. You. That, my friends, is sway.
Uncle Nikolai: I have been in three different prisons, Montgomery. Three different countries. And you know what I learned? I learned prison is a bad place to be.
Uncle Nikolai: I tattooed "survive" on my hand the night before I went away to prison. And I did. We do what we have to do to survive.
Monty Brogan: I need you to make me ugly.
Mary D'Annunzio: I wanted to know why I got a B minus on my paper. Jakob Elinsky: You got what you earned. Mary D'Annunzio: Nobody else in that class can write! You know it! I know it! Everyone knows it! Jakob Elinsky: Don't worry. You're not competing with them. Mary D'Annunzio: Yeah. But I am. Okay. I am competing with them. When you apply for college, you might have heard of this, they look at these things called grades and if your grades aren't good enough... Jakob Elinsky: Your grades are going to be fine. Mary D'Annunzio: Vincent Phiscalla writes a story about his grandmother dying and you give him an A plus. And meanwhile, the night of the funeral, you wanna know where Rhodes Scholar Vince is? Getting smashed at a basketball party and slapping girls asses. I mean, what is that? A charity A+? You wanna know why everybody always writes about their grandmothers dying? It's not because it's so traumatic. It's because it's a guaranteed A+! And you sit there all sentimental "Oh, Vince it was very powerful, very moving." No, it wasn't. You didn't care. Nobody cared. That's what grandmothers do. They die! Jakob Elinsky: Sometimes, guys have a hard time showing their emotions. Mary D'Annunzio: So, slapping my ass is a way of mourning his dead grandmother? Jakob Elinsky: [points to Mary's stomach] What did your mother say when you got that? Mary D'Annunzio: Um, she said, "Where did you get the money for that?" Jakob Elinsky: And? Mary D'Annunzio: What did I say or did I get the money? Jakob Elinsky: What did you say? Mary D'Annunzio: I said, "He likes me." Jakob Elinsky: Does he? Mary D'Annunzio: No. Why do you care so much? Jakob Elinsky: Just curious. Mary D'Annunzio: So, you're not gonna change the grade? Jakob Elinsky: No, I'm not going to change the grade. Mary D'Annunzio: Great! You know what, this was a big waste of my time! Jakob Elinsky: Wait!
[first lines] Monty Brogan: Look at this. He's alive. Kostya Novotny: This dog, how you call it? Bull pit? Monty Brogan: No, Pit-Bull. But that's not a pit bull. I don't know, I don't know what he is. I bet he lost somebody some money though. Give me your gun. Kostya Novotny: Shooting him? Monty Brogan: Yeah.
Jakob Elinsky: Jesus Christ! Frank Slaughtery: Yeah. Jakob Elinsky: Yeah, the New York Times says the air is bad down here. Frank Slaughtery: Well, fuck the Times... I read the Post. Frank Slaughtery: EPA says it's fine. Jakob Elinsky: Well, somebody's lying.
Monty Brogan: [Mary drinks her champagne all at once] Did you like that? Mary D'Annunzio: Yep.
Kostya Novotny: [as he arrives late for the party] So how can you start this party without me? Monty Brogan: Oh shut up, you fat Russian fuck! Kostya Novotny: Fat UKRANIAN fuck!
Agent Flood: You don't read the papers much, do you smart guy? In New York? We've a wonderful thing called the Rockefeller laws. Let me educate you. You had a kilo in your sofa. That kind of weight makes it an A1 felony. 15 years to life minimum for a first offense. Now with that much spread in the sentencing guidelines, the judges take their cues from the prosecutors. So if the prosecutors wife busted his chops that morning, you're fucked. You're gone for good. If you get lucky? Really lucky? And let's say he got some good trim the night before. Maybe he'll plea you off to an A2. But that's still 3 to 8 for first time, minimum. How much of that stretch you pull is all up to the mood of the prosecutor. And he's gonna ask us, "Did he play ball?" So, why don't you tell us about your friend, Nikolai? Let us make it easy on you. Monty Brogan: [to Agent Cunningham] Can I ask you one question? Agent Cunningham: Sure. Monty Brogan: When you have your dick in his mouth, does he just keep talking like that? Cause it seems to me he just never shuts up. I'm just curious does that get annoying? You know, you're fucking a guy in the mouth and he just won't shut up? Agent Cunningham: Look here, you vanilla motherfucker. When you're upstate, takin' it in the culo by a buncha guys callin' you Shirley, you'll only have yourself and Governor Rockefeller to thank for the privilege.
Monty Brogan: [puts abused dog in the trunk] I'm trying to help you, you little prick! Huh? Come on, come on... quién es más macho? Monty es más macho! Kostya Novotny: What goes on in your little head? Monty Brogan: Little the tricks, little the quicks... boom, bam, snap! Kostya Novotny: Yeah... little tricks, little quicks. You're bleeding, you get bite. Monty Brogan: Dog's blood. You gotta learn to relax a little bit... live a little. Kostya Novotny: You have hole in neck and blood is coming out. Monty Brogan: A little love bite for saving his raggedy ass. Kostya Novotny: Rule number one; you can not grab half-dead animals! We have people waiting for us! People with money! You want to play this cowboy, no... dogboy, in the middle of the highway. Monty Brogan: Dogboy? That's funny, Kotsya... you really mastered the language. Kostya Novotny: Yes, funny... funny. You're bad luck... you bring bad luck on me. Always everything that can go wrong, go wrong. It's not just you and me anymore, when we go out... it's you and me and Doyle. Monty Brogan: Who's Doyle? Kostya Novotny: Doyle! Doyle's law. What? Monty Brogan: It's Murphy. Kostya Novotny: Who is Murphy? Monty Brogan: Who's Murphy? Who's Doyle! It's Murphy's law... "whatever can go wrong, will go wrong"? Kostya Novotny: Him, yes! Monty Brogan: Yes, him.
Phelan: Uhm, Sally's looking for a high number... two hundred and eighty thousand is their call. Frank Slaughtery: Fuck Salamon Brothers. Phelan: Fuck, uh... fuck Salamon Brothers? Frank Slaughtery: Yeah, fuck Salamon Brothers... they're hedging their bets, they want everybody on their side of the fence. Phelan: Uhm, what's the big deal with the unemployment number anyway? Frank Slaughtery: Fellan... Phelan: It's, uh... Phelan. Frank Slaughtery: Whatever, look... more jobs means fewer people looking for work, means it's harder to find good people to fill those jobs, means you gotta raise wages to get them, means inflation goes up. You got it? Phelan: Yeah. Frank Slaughtery: No, I didn't think so. That's why I'm doing what I'm doing and you're handing out junk mail.
Kostya Novotny: Monty, I have beautiful woman, very nice! Monty Brogan: Yeah, well, I'm not really in the mood for that. I've got a nice girl. Kostya Novotny: I know, I know. Tonight is a special night. Last night as free man. I pick her out special, just for you. Monty Brogan: The last girl you picked out special for me had three teeth, all in the back!
Monty Brogan: [bows down over abused dog, which starts lashing out] Oh, shit... AH! Fuck, he's got a lot of bite left in him, huh? Kostya Novotny: I think bull-pit is not playing with you, Monty. Monty Brogan: Yeah, no shit. Kostya Novotny: Come... you want police coming? Monty Brogan: Ah, look they used him like a fucking ashtray, man... what a bunch of assholes. Let's get him in the trunk. Kostya Novotny: What? Monty Brogan: Yeah... there's a vet emergency room, right over here. Come on, I like this guy. Kostya Novotny: He tries to bite your face off... he is mean! You want dog, I buy you nice puppy tomorrow. Monty Brogan: Ah, no... what the fuck I want with a puppy, Kostya. Kostya Novotny: Where you go, Monty? Monty, wait. What the... I not go near bull-pit, Monty. This thing is disgusting! Monty Brogan: I told you, I told you... it's not a pit bull. He's... look at him, he's a good dog, I can see it in his eyes. He's a tough little bastard, he wasn't lying down for anybody. Kostya Novotny: Sometimes I think you very stupid man! Monty Brogan: Look at him... come on! If we wait much longer he's gonna be dead, alright? Kostya Novotny: You wanted shoot him with my gun. Monty Brogan: That was a mercy thing... he's not ready to go yet, he wants to live. Kostya Novotny: Oh, he tell you this now? Monty Brogan: No... but it's like a baby, OK. They all bitch and scream like that, you know... they see the doctor coming with the needle. It's good for him in the long run. Kostya Novotny: You have no baby? Monty Brogan: I can't talk to you, Kostya.