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Yeah.
Fucking Richie chumped out.
How?
Uh, he had him here alone this morning,
and he let him go.
You still there?
Well, where else would I be, Al?
Okay, well, look,
Shelly's been hanging out at McAuley's all afternoon.
I think she's waiting for Richie to bring back Jimmy.
All right. If Jimmy shows his face again,
you take the shot.
In front of Shelly?
You take the shot, Al.
Look,
it's Thursday night.
McAuley's is crawling with cops.
If you have a shot, you take it.
You should have let me take the shot this morning.
Yeah. Well,
if hindsight was foresight,
I wouldn't be in fucking prison now, would I?
Oh!
Hey, sorry.
Oh, this doesn't look like a matter of life or death to me.
Sit. I'll explain.
Unless you're intent on drinking yourself to death.
It's chardonnay.
Chardonnay before noon is like coffee.
It's after 5:00, Mom.
It is?
Well, then it's happy hour. I'll get you some.
What about your deposition today?
Fuck 'em.
You didn't go?
Big glass or little?
Not chardonnay. Something with vodka.
Exactly how drunk are you?
If Richie can't talk your father into backing Big Bud,
then Richie has to kill your father,
or Richie's current bosses will kill Richie.
How is this complicated?
We're talking about cops, Mom.
Ex-cops. Chicago cops.
You're Bud O'Rourke's granddaughter. Work with me here.
Okay, well, if what you say is true,
as an unrepentant pacifist, I take issue with cops...
Chicago cops, any cops...
co-opting mob tactics to settle interpersonal disputes.
Richie's bringing your father here so I can talk to him.
What could you possibly have to say to Jimmy?
- Stop calling him that. - That's his name.
- It's disrespectful. - Respect is earned.
However much you think he ruined your life,
he's still your father.
I could say the same thing to you about you and your father.
How can you be so unforgiving?
I learned from the best.
Who?
"Who?" Mom!
Buy a clue. You.
Wait. Who's gonna kill Richie?
- His current bosses. - Ah.
Oh, this is great.
- That is great. - I need you to help me
- talk your father into backing Big Bud... - I'm getting married in three days,
and not only has my maid of honor
just dropped out at the last minute, but now
the man who's supposed to give me away,
the father of the groom... he could be dead by then.
Listen, bridezilla,
- I understand that rite of passage... - Just because I'm not knocked up
beyond all redemption like you were with me
when you got married doesn't make everything that I have planned
- postponable. - I understand that, Katie,
- but we... - And how am I bridezilla, you lush?
- Bridezillas are batshit irrational. - You're not bridezilla, all right?
So, if Richie's dead by Saturday,
do you really suppose that Donny's gonna be in any shape
- to go through with this? - Will you shut up and listen already?!
That's why I called you!
Nobody kills anybody if we...
I mean, I guess Big Bud is getting out of prison this weekend,
so I could just have him walk me down the aisle.
Fine.
Make this all about you.
I'm supposed to walk myself down the aisle?
God forbid.
Okay, assuming Donny's not prostrate with grief.
What about Hal?
Hal doesn't know it yet, but I'm divorcing him.
- So just cross him off the replacement list. - You are so not divorcing him.
- He's cheating on me. - Well, forgive him and move on.
Oh, that's not batshit irrational?
You're the big-ass Catholic in this family.
Don't mock my faith.
Just because you over-tip Father Flattery every Sunday
and you suffer convincingly,
it doesn't make you a model Christian.
Just do me a favor.
No, I'm not feeling particularly charitable right now, Katie.
Just don't tell Hal you're divorcing him
until after my wedding.
I'll tell him when I tell him.
Hey!
Watch it, asshole.
Come on.
So, Ellen backed out of being your maid of honor?
- Yeah, I know. Can you believe it? - Why?
Her cancer's back. Stage IV. Everywhere.
I guess if she's doing her chemo and radiation,
- then she "won't be up for it." - Oh, the poor thing!
Oh, pity her and not me. Thanks.
- More surgery? - Yeah, she's waiting to hear.
I'm starting to think this wedding is cursed.
- Oh, it is not, honey. - Yeah, there's a jinx on it, Mom.
Yeah, the gods have it out for you.
Just another fucked-up day in the life
of the daughter of Jimmy Pariah.
When your father gets here,
you should ask him to give you away.
That is batshit irrational.
He should do it, Katie.
He's your father.
No way in hell, Mom.
There's your forgiving nature.
Big Bud told Paulie that he was in the middle
of setting up a seven-figure trust fund for each of us
when Jimmy brought the axe down.
Paulie saw Big Bud?
- When? - You're such a hypocrite.
How am I a hypocrite?
Because you turned your back on your own father,
and then you jump all over me and Paulie
for doing the same thing to Jimmy?
Apples and oranges, Katie.
Just because you don't visit Big Bud in prison
doesn't mean the grandkids can't.
Apples and oranges!
Hi, hello.
Uh, you're sitting on my jacket.
Oh, yeah. There you go.
- Sorry. - Oh.
Thanks.
Motherfucker.
And just because you keep saying "apples and oranges," Mom,
doesn't make the two comparable things distinct.
If Jimmy hadn't been such a shit,
then Paulie and me would be millionaires today.
I would be a millionaire
instead of a fucking court reporter
with bilateral carpal tunnel syndrome, Crohn's disease,
and engaged to be married to Chicago's Barney Fife.
Barney Fife?
Mom, you should see Donny
when he puts on his Chicago cop uniform.
What, no improvement?
He looks like Barney Fife before Barney Fife bulked up.
Oh, Donny's not that skinny.
Skinny? He's a stick.
Having sex with him is like bumping uglies with skeletor.
Oh, I don't need to know that.
He still shops at the boys' department in Macy's.
Donny's other brothers are beefy.
What happened?
I thought Italian men are supposed to be beefy.
Richie shamed Donny into going into wrestling in high school,
and Donny became bulimic.
Doesn't the Chicago Police Department
have height and weight requirements?
Donny got in the same way Paulie did.
I guess he knows a guy who knows a guy who pulled some strings.
Yeah, but Paulie's no stick.
No, but he has all those drug felony convictions.
And someone made a call and made that all go away, right?
Who?
My dad?
If you're really, truly curious, why don't you go visit him?
I tell him all that, I'm a stink-ass fucking rat.
You made it this far, yeah?
I don't think I can do this, Jimmy.
I... I'm not as strong as you.
It's not strong. It's what's right.
I'm helping you, Richie.
I don't feel so good.
I should have never let you talk me into this!
My head hurts. My stomach feels worse.
I got this awful stabbing pain in my hip suddenly.
Would you rather be a living stink-ass fucking rat
or a dead man?
Frankly, I don't see the appeal of either one.
Think about your wife, your kids.
That's all I'm thinking about.
Uh, Mr. Destefano, Mr. Parerra,
I'm so sorry to keep you waiting.
I'm Special Agent Ken Waltham.
Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?
I can't do this, Jimmy.
Take a stand, Richie, for once in your life.
Every fiber of my being is resisting this.
- Come on. Man up. - Mr. Parerra tells me
that you have information that could help us in our investigation.
I assure you, Mr. Destefano,
that anything you tell me in that office
will be held in the strictest confidence.
I can't, Jimmy. I can't.
I... it's nice to meet you, g-man.
It's... it's nothing personal. That's a very nice suit.
Can... can... can we just...
Don't blame your father for the trust funds, Katie.
Mom, I could have gone to college
instead of vocational school.
Oh, you can always go to college.
When it's age-appropriate.
I'd be married to Dylan Donahue today.
Dylan was a schmuck for dumping you.
I would be living in Barrington Hills,
deeply in love with the mayor's chief of staff,
home-schooling three kids
in a six-bedroom, six-bathroom house
that I paid for with cash.
You're not still in love with Dylan?
I'm not saying that a seven-figure trust fund
would have maybe made Dylan overlook the ungainly fact
that I'm Jimmy Pariah's daughter, but...
It might have helped.
You didn't answer my question.
I'm almost 30,
and my biological clock is ticking.
And
if Chicago's Barney Fife is the best thing that I can do, then he's
the best thing I can do.
Oh, Katie.
What is that?
- What is what? - That "oh, Katie."
You do that to everybody. "Oh, Hal." "Oh, Paulie."
- I don't know. It's nothing. - Is it pity?
Shame?
Stop picking on me.
You know, the first time that Donny put on
all the gear... his holster and everything...
it made his pants fall down.
And I tried not to laugh, but the man has no hips.
- He has no butt. - No, he's got no junk in the trunk.
You always encouraged me and Paulie to follow our hearts.
Yeah, I could have set a better example.
Following your heart when you're the kid of Jimmy Pariah?
More likely than not you're getting kicked in the teeth.
Or parts thereunder.
Another drink?
Mom, you've been sober two years.
What is this?
I'm thirsty.
Should I be calling your A.A. sponsor?
I'm buyin'.
Fine.
Just vodka on the rocks this time.
Belver Bears if they have it.
It's super-premium, Mom.
Don't be a peasant.
Uh, excuse me, boys.
- I just saw all your texts. - Oh, Jesus, Phil.
What? I'm off duty. Why didn't you come in?
My aunt and my cousin are in there.
- And... ? - And it's none of your fucking business.
All right.
Let's not tangle.
Richie Destefano has become a major problem.
I need you to take care of it.
So you just, what, throw a stick and I fetch?
- Is my name Fido now? - Please, Phil.
What did Richie do?
My uncle Jimmy roped him
into taking a stroll over to the FBI offices for a chat.
Jesus. Where's Richie now?
Oh, I don't know, Phil.
Maybe you should ask a fucking cop.
He did. He did.
He was mean!
No, and I was just walking.
- I didn't even do anything do you. - Mom,
you know, if, um, you don't show up for a subpoena,
it's contempt of court.
Well, maybe I'm feeling contemptuous today.
They could fine you or put you in jail or... or both.
Fuck them.
- Mom. - Fuck Hal.
Fuck the D.O.J.
And fuck my dad!
Okay, okay.
No. Fuck them all!
- Mom, okay. - Really.
Richie told me today
that all the awful things we know about Jimmy are lies.
The kiddy porn, the heroin.
Kiddy... what kiddy porn?
Every time
your dad tried to win back shared custody
of you and Paulie,
some new nightmare scenario materialized.
It was payback.
It was Big Bud.
He manufactured everything from prison.
Through friends on the outside.
Jimmy's been a pariah to you, to me,
to everyone in this city
because my dad turned him into one.
Unjustly.
What could I possibly have to say to Jimmy?
I owe him an apology, for starters.
Maybe you do, too.
Why did I turn my back on the only good man
I ever met to marry a pale imitation of my father?
Come on. We should go.
- No. Wait. - Jimmy's not coming.
He has to!
Why shouldn't I blame Jimmy for the trust funds?
You can't blame him for everything, sweetie.
I'm not as Catholic as you or as Christian,
so, yes, I can. And I do.
I blew the whistle on the trust funds.
After my dad got indicted,
he and his lawyers were scrambling around
trying to hide money anywhere they could.
And my dad told me that he was setting up
trust funds for you and Paulie.
And I told him I'd call the D.O.J. myself.
Why?
- It was blood money, Katie. - To you.
To anybody.
Who are you to make that call, though?
I'm your mother.
Do you understand the difference that that money
would have made in my life? In Paulie's life?
- Assuming money fixes everything. - It doesn't fix everything,
but it fixes some things,
you self-righteous wino.
You married Hal for his money.
Look, you have every right to be mad at me.
But not your father.
Do you think the Kennedy brats refuse the billions of dollars
that they got from Joe Kennedy selling bootleg liquor?
You and Paulie are the Kennedys now?
You should have let us decide what was best for ourselves.
I do.
I'm uninviting you to the wedding.
Then you can't use the house in Lake Forest for the reception,
and I'm not getting you a wedding gift.
That's truly petty.
You have to understand, Katie,
everything I had...
my education,
my clothes, my house, my car...
was bought and paid for with blood money.
Jimmy's and my wedding even, our honeymoon.
Do you know how little salary cops pulled down back then?
My dad paid for everything.
He put Jimmy on the payroll
because he wanted Jimmy to take care of Big Bud's little girl
in the manner she was accustomed.
I didn't divorce Jimmy because he ratted out my dad.
I divorced him
because everything I had,
everything I was,
was bought and paid for with blood money.
What?
I was just thinking it would be really nice
to see the two of them dancing.
Who two?
Big Bud and Jimmy.
Dancing?
Yeah.
They danced at our wedding.
With each other?
You wouldn't remember. You weren't there.
I was there,
just not quite.
They were very, very drunk,
and it was very, very funny.
Think I have a videotape of it somewhere.
I should try to find it.
Do you remember when your father
taught you how to shoot baskets?
Jimmy?
He's the only father you have, Katie.
Every time you missed one,
you'd say "do over, do over!"
You two were out there all day long,
till the sun went down.
How old was I?
5.
Jimmy stuck with it until you got a basket.
You were both so happy.
Seriously?
Oh, my God. Okay, Mom,
- let's just get out of here. - Okay, no, I got this.
You got what?
- Oh, my God. - Hey!
The world is not your toilet, motherfucker.
- What the hell, Mom?! - Yeah, mess with me,
I'll carve you two new assholes, asshole!
Okay, g... oh, my God. Give me that.
What?
Where the... how did you get this?
Oh, it was my grandfather's.
Cops drink here, you crazy woman.
For Christ's sake.
Katie...
Only your parents give you do-overs till you get it right.
Nobody else.
Okay.
Let's get you home.
Come on. This way.
Richie Destefano come back around?
Your ex and your daughter are here, though.
Where?
Out back.
I'll show you.
Quitting time already, Al?
You had him?
No.
I didn't have him exactly.
All right, get me a fucking gun, Al.
I'll take care of Jimmy myself.
Out on parole, it's... it's too risky.
What are you, my vocational counselor suddenly?
You should have let me take the shot this morning, boss.
Now get me a fucking gun, Al.
I'm out Saturday. I need it by then.
- No, listen... - Not one more word, Al,
and make sure it's a throwaway.
Hang up now and go do your fucking job!
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