The Boondock Saints Page #8

The boys look puzzled. Murphy helps Connor down to his seat.

MURPHY:

Listen Doc, we need a favor.

DOC:

A-anything.

Murphy hands Doc a partially filled garbage bag.

CONNOR:

Hold this sh*t for us, Doc. We'll be

comin back for it when we get out.

DOC:

Right.

Doc exits, say one more "F***,...Ass", on the way out.

INT. BOSTON POLICE STATION PRECINCT OFFICE DAY

The station is abuzz with the story. Connor and Murphy's

names are on all tongues. A legend starts. Every available

officer is in the room along with the homicide detectives.

Smecker walks right down the middle.

SMECKER:

First of all, I'd like to thank

whichever one of you donut munching,

barrel-assed dip-shits leaked this

to the press. That's just what we

need now, some sensational story in

the papers making these guys out to

be super heroes, triumphing over

evil. And let me squash the rumors

now. These two aren't heroes.

(rolls his eyes)

They are two ordinary men who were

put in an extraordinary situation

and they just happened to come out

on top. Yes, nothing from our far

reaching computer system has turned

up jack sh*t on these two. All we

know is what we found out from their

neighbors. And the general consensus

is that they're... angels.

(pause)

But angels don't kill and we got two

bodies in the morgue that look like

they've been...

Smecker looks to Greenly. Dripping with sarcasm.

SMECKER:

...serial crushed by a huge f***in'

guy.

Some of the cops and homicide detectives laugh and chide

Greenly.

CHAFFEY:

Are these me considered armed and

dangerous?

SMECKER:

Well, not armed. If they had guns,

they'd have used them. But dangerous?

Oh yeah.

MITCHELL:

What makes you think they're

dangerous? They were just protecting

each other.

EXT. BOSTON POLICE STATION STEPS DAY

The two are limping up the precinct stairs. Connor is draped

over Murphy who helps his brother along, they are still

attired as in the E.R.

INT. BOSTON POLICE STATION PRECINCT OFFICE DAY

SMECKER:

Look, look! I'm not saying one way

or the other. Just be careful and go

by the protocol on this one.

CHAFFEY:

Any tips on where these guys may be?

SMECKER:

(to Officer Mitchell)

Any word back from the E.R.s?

MITCHELL:

No help at all. Swamped from St.

Patty's. Packed with drunk, bloody

Irish.

SMECKER:

Just hit the bricks nice and hard.

Grunt police work is going to bring this one in.

GREENLY:

(talking loudly)

These guys are miles away by now.

The brothers quietly enter in the back of the room. All the

officers are seated with their backs to them. Smecker and

the brothers make eye contact. He knows who they are. They

don't interrupt Greenly.

GREENLY:

But if you want to beat your head

against a wall, then here's what you

look for. These guys are scared like

two little bunny rabbits. Anything

in a uniform or flashing blue lights

will spook them. So the only thing

we can do is put a potato on a string

and drag it through South Boston.

There is light chuckling from the police at this crack.

MURPHY:

(loud)

You'd probably have better luck with

a beer.

Everyone turns and looks.

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM BOSTON POLICE STATION LATER

The boys sit in two chairs at a plain table with a recording

device on it. They are very serious and alert. Mitchell enters

with coffee for them. He shakes their hands and says he really

respects what they did. Surprised, they thank him. Chaffey

enters with donuts and a repeat performance of respect. Slowly

officers start to gather around the interrogation room door.

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM BOSTON POLICE STATION DAY LATER

There are at least 20 officers and detectives packed in the

tiny room. The MacManus' visit with the excited cops. All

are in high spirits.

The room is loud as Smecker walks in.

SMECKER:

What the f*** is this!? This isn't a

f***in' tea party. Get out! Only

thing I want in here is them.

They all file out. Smecker and the boys look each other over.

SMECKER:

This conversation is going to be

recorded. Just answer to the best of

your knowledge.

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