Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

In Philly, they said.
Him and the other Eastsiders moved into the Terrace...
That was Walt. Walt Stokes.
You want a coffee? Soda?
You're gonna do your son-in-law?
You gotta do better than that, Lester.
What was she firing, yo?
I mean, about Frank.
Don't use the phone.
By the plan, it's a hot box, but there's no one on a pick-up.
No use in dragging a headless torso around further than you need.
I figure when the detail's over, I go back to straight narcotics.
"What about Kima? What's up with my girl?"
of the security officer that was on this pier that night?
Instead of your union running out of this office...
The raids, the follow, one or both sent him underground.
Anything we could lift from the docks went straight to his store...
Look at this, Kima.
He put himself in, talked about buying the gun.
-What's the verdict? -He did good for us.
What's gonna happen, Nicky?
that if there's no cleaning up in here...
I don't know.
Okay, thanks.
He had to die.
What the fuck you gonna do?
he was a dead end.
Under the Key Bridge.
Port cops are sitting on a can that came off the Adriatica.
And what happened?
I guess we could offer up Dixon and Prop Joe to Narcotics.
I'm gonna charge his narrow ass.
This guy, Stephen Rados? What's he?
Okay, listen.
They killed my uncle.
-Tape is fucked up. -It's multiplexed.
Good looking out, Johnny.
Defense wounds on both hands.
They said that whoever did that to them girls was dead.
No one fucks with us on our turf.
In all likelihood, Frank Sobotka was going to speak to that.
Our old friend.
What I am saying to you is: I will take care of them myself.
You wanted us to get a place, right?