Frank Costello:
I'm going to have my associate search you.
Billy Costigan:
No, no one's fucking searching me. Searching me for what?
Frank Costello:
Contra-fucking-band. Take your shoes off.
[French slams Costigan into a chair]
Mr. French:
Shoes.
Frank Costello:
[to Costigan] I knew your father.
Billy Costigan:
Yeah? You know he's dead?
Frank Costello:
Oh, sorry. How'd he go?
Billy Costigan:
He didn't complain.
Frank Costello:
Yeah, that was his problem.
Billy Costigan:
Who said he had a problem?
Frank Costello:
I just said he had a fucking problem. There's a man who could have been anything.
Billy Costigan:
Are you trying to say he was nothing?
[French slams Costigan onto a pool table and continues his search]
Frank Costello:
I'm saying he worked at the airport.
Mr. French:
He's clean.
Frank Costello:
Arm.
Billy Costigan:
Arm? What fuckin' arm?
Mr. French:
[French pulls Costigan to a pool table] Show me your arm. Flip it. mmhmmm, mmhmmm...
[French slams Costigan's arm on the table until the cast breaks, while Costigan screams in pain]
Frank Costello:
It makes me curious to see you in this neighborhood.
Mr. French:
[removing the cast] He's clean.
Frank Costello:
And if I can slander my own environment, it makes me sad. This, uh, regression. Plus, I don't know if it's beyond some fucking cop prick like Queenan to pull you out of the Staties and send you gift-wrapped to me. I just can't know. I wonder what they do in that particular department, anyway.
[Costello slams on Costigan's broken arm with Costigan's boot]
Frank Costello:
[yelling] Are you still a cop?
Billy Costigan:
[in severe pain] No!
[Costello whacks his arm again]
Frank Costello:
[yelling] Swear on your mother's grave. You're still not a cop?
Billy Costigan:
[painfully] I'm not a fucking cop!
[Costello whacks his arm again, this time re-breaking it]
Frank Costello:
[yelling] Are you going to stop doing coke deals with your jerk-off fucking cousin?
Billy Costigan:
[weakly] Yes, yes, yes!
Frank Costello:
[patting his back] All right, all right. It's okay. You'll be be all right. Get your hand taken care of.
[throwing down some money]
Frank Costello:
I'm sorry, but it was necessary. As for our problem with Providence - let's not cry over some spilled guineas.