Fort Apache the Bronx Page #2

- We'll be back to see if you're okay.

- Thanks, Murphy.

It'll take about an hour.

- Good. Let's go eat.

- Bye, Andy.

So long, Slick.

Take care of yourself.

So, what'll it be?

Puerto Rican, Puerto Rican

or Puerto Rican cuisine?

Decisions, decisions.

Isn't that our man up there?

- The guy with the World War I cap.

- I don't wanna chase this dude.

The big, bad policemans is here,

so don't rip nobody off.

- Son of a b*tch! Right in our faces!

- Let's get him.

Murphy, Murphy, Murphy.

You got a cigarette?

- Why didn't you just drop the bastard?

- Here.

Oh, yeah, right.

Shoot a purse snatcher.

They'd crucify me.

You say he pulled a knife,

and we back you up.

That's all you gotta do, Murph.

You lay it on 'em.

I know how to flake a guy

as good as you do, Morgan.

You'll get a heart attack

before you ever catch a n*gger, Tarzan.

What's his problem?

He thinks I'm a liberal.

Get back here,

you motherf***er!

My recollection don't recall it.

I don't remember. What do you want?

Captain Dugan's office.

Don't you monitor the people

who ask to see the commander?

What if I was a lunatic

with a gun?

Then you wouldn't be

a police officer, Captain Connolly.

Or would you?

What's your name, Sergeant?

Kickin' ass and taking names,

huh, Captain?

Well, I'm

Sergeant Anthony Pantuzzi.

I got 22 years on the job...

and I'm ready to retire tomorrow if I

get a hard time from my new commander.

I'll take the half pension

before I'll take any crap from anybody.

Captain Dugan's office

is over on the right...

as close to the street

as he can get.

Thank you, Sergeant.

Come in.

Captain Dugan.

- Connolly.

- Yeah.

You picked a great day

to take over.

This place was jammed

with reporters all morning.

Page one of

your first day up here.

- You like press conferences?

- They're part of the job.

That's for sure.

They put it out

you volunteered for this job.

- I did.

- I'll tell you something.

You'll do better walking the beat

in Beirut than you will here.

You're supposed to have

some background material for me.

Yeah, I got it.

Block-by-block rundowns.

Ongoing investigations,

trouble spots...

community people...

personnel evaluation.

I'm interested in the ratio

of rookies to veterans.

I didn't break it down that way.

Two rookies in a car

is always a mistake.

So I'm going to be blamed

for those killings?

And I'll be blamed

till they're cleared.

How about corruption?

Anybody on the job now

in my precinct is clean.

Your precinct has the worst

absentee record in the city...

the most disability claims...

the highest percentage

of men on sick call...

the least convictions per arrests,

and there are no men on the take?

So they toss a numbers runner

for a couple of dollars...

turn a pimp upside down

for some loose change.

There's nobody

getting rich up here.

There's nobody doing anything.

These men aren't motivated.

Motivated?

I mean, this is Siberia, Connolly.

Sixty-five percent of the men here

have been transferred.

We got the connivers,

the slobs, the shirkers...

guys who beat up

the wrong guinea...

who gave a diplomat

a parking ticket...

screwed a bigmouth hooker

or shook down the wrong peddler.

There are plenty of good

police officers in your command.

You're the one

falling down on the job.

That's right, blame Dugan.

Sure, let the politicians

and everybody else off the hook.

Blame Dugan.

That's the easy way.

You got a 40-block area

with 70,000 people...

packed in like sardines,

smelling each other's farts...

living like cockroaches,

and that's Dugan's fault.

You got the lowest income per capita,

the highest rate of unemployment...

and that's my fault.

Why aren't I out there

getting all these people jobs?

The largest proportion

of non-English-speaking population...

in the city.

Dugan's fault. Why ain't he out there

teaching 'em to speak English?

Four percent Spanish-speaking cops

on the force.

Hey, Dugan, get your ass

out in the barrio and recruit.

Families that have been on welfare

for three generations.

Youth gangs...

winos, junkies...

pimps...

hookers...

maniacs...

cop killers.

- You finished?

- Yeah, I'm finished.

I'm going to Florida, Connolly.

I'm going fishing.

So you can bring up your computers

and your slide rulers...

and all your

psychological techniques.

I mean, this neighborhood'll

bury you.

There's enough dirt in this precinct

to bury every smart-ass cop in the city.

What you readin'?

Oh, Jesus.

Another one of

them self-help stroke jobs.

Why don't you read something ordinary

like Dick Tracy or the Yellow Pages?

No, man. This is crucial.

See, you don't understand.

People give out a certain

kind of message with their clothing.

Oh, yeah?

I'll be out of these pajamas

in a couple of years.

How about that fashion plate?

What's his message?

What the f***

you talkin' about, huh?

- The b*tch is treacherous, man!

- Keep it off the streets.

I put her out on the line,

and she don't come back with nothin'.

She used to be the main whore

on the set.

- It's not that bad.

- She could pull anybody.

Pull 'em out of

a goddamn Cadillac...

doin' 75 on the FDR.

But now she ain't worth nothin'!

Nothin', the motherfuckin' b*tch!

You gonna run this guy a benefit?

I'm not kidding you, man.

The b*tch is nuts, man.

She been smokin'

that angel dust, you dig?

I mean, that sh*t'll

make you crazy.

I mean, I can't even deal with it!

Just keep it off the street, huh?

Let's run a nice, clean sector here.

Come on.

Yeah.

I don't know you, huh?

- Do we sit in the same pew?

- I guess not.

Easy there, Wild Bill.

I'm just going for my wallet.

I wanna show you

my driver's license.

That's a nice coat.

How'd you like me to cut it open

and let all the rats out?

This coat cost more than you make

in a year, motherf***er.

He knows your name.

I told you I was famous.

- That's yours, huh?

- Yeah. That's legally parked.

- Oh, motherfuck!

- That's a defective headlight.

Oh, sh*t!

Man, that's my car!

No windshield wipers.

Don't try to buy me, you scumbag!

Try to grease me again,

and I'll turn your head like a doorknob.

Murph, slow down, man.

Come on.

- Keep it off the street!

- Come on, Murph!

What's the matter with you

all of a sudden?

Son of a b*tch thinks he can own me

for a couple of bucks.

Like he owns a lot of other cops.

He's just doin' business.

Like we do too, huh?

We're living in a world

we never made, my man.

Keep it off the street!

Everything's cool.

Get over here, b*tch.

What's wrong with you, Charlotte?

Now you're puttin' the man on me.

What the f***'s gotten into you?

Get over here.

You want it?

What's all this Indian junk?

Well, the precinct

is nicknamed Fort Apache.

The men put that up, Captain.

Guy goes on vacation,

he brings back some kind of souvenir.

It makes the place look

like a fraternity house.

- Take it down, Lieutenant.

- It's not a good idea, Captain.

Let's see about

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