Aaron Stockard

I planted evidence on a guy once, back in '95. We were paying $100 an eight-ball to snitches. We got a call from our pal, Ray Likanski. He couldn't find enough guys to rat out. Anyway, he tells us there's a guy pumping up in an apartment up in Columbia Point. We go in, me and Nicky. Fifteen years ago, when Nicky went in, it was no joke. So it's a... it's a stash house, right? The old lady's beat to shit, the husband's mean, cracked out, trying to give us trouble, Nicky lays him down. We're doing an inventory, but it looks like we messed up because there's no dope in the house, and I go in the back room. Now, this place was a shithole, mind you? Rats, roaches, all over the place. But the kid's room, in the back, was spotless. No, I mean, he swept it, mopped it; it was immaculate. The little boy's sitting on the bed, holding onto his playstation for dear life. There's no expression on his face, tears streaming down. He wants to tell me he just learned his multiplication tables.

I mean, the father's got him in this crack den, subsisting on twinkies and ass-whippings, and this little boy just wants someone to tell him that he's doing a good job. You're worried what's Catholic? I mean, kids forgive. Kids don't judge. Kids turn the other cheek. What do they get for it? So I went back out there, I put an ounce of heroin on the living room floor, and I sent the father on a ride, seven to life.

Fucking A! You gotta take a side. You molest a child, you beat a child, you're not on my side. If you see me coming, you better run, because I am gonna lay you the fuck down! Easy.

Is the kid better off without his father? Yeah. But okay, I mean, could be out there right now pumping with a gun in his waistband. It's a war, man. Are we winning? No.

Kids forgive, they don't judge, they turn the other cheek, and what do they get for it?

It's the kind they give you in Lousiana.

Well, it all depends on how you look at it. I mean, you might think that you're more from here than me, for example. But I've been living here longer than you been alive. So who's right?

That's the worst thing we could do.

Because I don't want to see Cheese kill Amanda after he opens a bag full of newspapers.

I don't see a note. Do you see a note?

We're investigating a missing children's case here. Kidnapping has nothing to do with it. The fastest way to get Amanda home is go to Cheese, swap the money for her, and walk away. Plain and simple.

Just keep your mouths shut, okay? We'll get her back. It'll be fine.

Thought you would've done that by now. You know why you haven't? Because you think this might be an irreparable mistake. Because deep inside you, you know it doesn't matter what the rules say. When the lights go out, and you ask yourself "is she better off here or better off there", you know the answer. And you always will. You... you could do a right thing here. A good thing. Men live their whole lives without getting this chance. You walk away from it, you may not regret it when you get home. You may not regret it for a year, but when you get to where I am, I promise you, you will. I'll be dead, you'll be old. But she... she'll be dragging around a couple of tattered, damaged children of her own, and you'll be the one who has to tell them you're sorry.

I did what I did for the sake of the child. All right. For me, too. But now, I'm asking you for the sake of the child. I'm begging you. You think about it.

My only child was murdered. She was twelve. Did you hear about it? What you probably didn't hear, and what I hope you never have to deal with, Miss Gennaro, is what that feels like. What I have to deal with. Knowing that my little girl likely died crying out for me to come and save her. And I never did. My little girl died afraid and alone in a shallow ditch bank by the side of the road, not ten minutes from my house. I know what it feels like to lose a child. Now damn it, you force my hand and then you question the way I handle it.

I honor my child with this division. So that no parent has to go through what I've known. This child. That's all I care about. I'm gonna bring her home.

A four year old child is on the street. It's seventy-six hours and counting. And the prospects for where she might be are beginning to look grim, you understand? Half of all the children in these cases are killed, flat out. If we don't catch the abductor by day one, only about ten percent are ever solved. This is day three. He may look young, but if he wants to work this case, he better not act it.

I always believed it was the things you don't choose that makes you who you are. Your city, your neighborhood, your family. People here take pride in these things, like it was something they'd accomplished. The bodies around their souls, the cities wrapped around those. I lived on this block my whole life; most of these people have. When your job is to find people who are missing, it helps to know where they started. I find the people who started in the cracks and then fell through. This city can be hard. When I was young, I asked my priest how you could get to heaven and still protect yourself from all the evil in the world. He told me what God said to His children. "You are sheep among wolves. Be wise as serpents, yet innocent as doves."

Cheese, if you ever disrespect her again like that, I'm gonna pull your fuckin' card, okay? So you're saying you didn't do it, fine. We'll take your money, and we'll be on our way. When it turns out you're lying, I'm gonna spend every nickel of that money to fuck you up. I'm gonna bribe cops to go after you, I'm gonna pay guys to go after your weak fuckin' crew, and I'm gonna tell all the guys I know that you're a C.I. and a rat, and I know a lot of people. And after that, you're gonna wish you listened to me, 'cause your shitty pool hall crime syndicate headquarters is gonna get raided, and your doped-up bitches are gonna get sent back to Laos, and this fuckin' retard right here is gonna be testifying against you for a reduced sentence, while you're gettin' cornholed in your cell by a gang of crackers. 'Cause from what I've heard, the guys that get sent up Concord for killing kids, life's a motherfucker.

You know what? Maybe that'll happen. And if it does, I'll tell them I'm sorry and I'll live with it. But what's never gonna happen and what I'm not gonna do is have to apologize to a grown woman who comes to me and says: "I was kidnapped when I was a little girl, and my aunt hired you to find me. And you did, you found me with some strange family. But you broke your promise and you left me there. Why? Why didn't you bring me home? Because all the snacks and the outfits and the family trips don't matter. They stole me. It wasn't my family and you knew about it and you knew better and you did nothing". And maybe that grown woman will forgive me, but I'll never forgive myself.

He lied to me. Now I can't think of one reason big enough for him to lie about that's small enough not to matter.

And like that, she was gone. We gave our statements. Nick and Remy the same. All of us spared any blame for Amanda's death. Jack Doyle resigned on the condition that he and he alone be held accountable. He was granted the dignity of early retirement, but the humiliation of half a pension. It was an ignominious end to an illustrious career.

Fucking cops. This is just unbelievable. The whole force standing outside the house, guarding the sidewalk with their arms crossed. I mean, are the kidnappers coming back?

Look at this. Jesus. Fucking bloc party here. Four Cape Verdeans got killed here last year. No one gave a shit.

Well, he's been hired by a woman who's the victim of a crime, and by law he's entitled as her representative to be cooperated by the Boston Police Department. So he expects to be.

I couldn't stop running it over and over and over in my mind. The vague and distant suspicion that we never understood what happened that night; what our role was. Or maybe it was just like the hundreds of other children who disappear each year and never return. Amanda was even more haunting for never being found.

You're going to do this for me, or I'm going to clip your nuts, like I clipped your daddy's.

Son, I knew your daddy. He worked for me for years. Years. Then he wanted his own thing. You play the horses? You know they either geld the horse with a knife or with chemicals. When your Daddy said no to me, I did him the chemical way. Gave your mother a taste. Got the hook into her. Ahh, she doped up good and proper. Hung herself with a wire, on Melnea Cass. And you, running around the neighborhood looking for her. Your daddy didn't have the heart to tell his son that he was looking for a suicide doper who was never coming home. If there's a Heaven son, she ain't in it.

I wouldn't hire them without you. And I wouldn't hire you without them. You're a unit.

Not gonna cut it. Do you think I'm gonna put your flipper head on this? You're going to do what I ask.

Cash is brought out and stacked fifteen minutes before the van does the pick up. That is when you hit. On Monday morning, before game stands in New York, sixty thousand beers, food, merchandise. Total call; three and a half million. Taking down the cathedral of Boston? Priceless.

Do I hear you got a sweet new girlfriend?

You know they either geld a horse with a knife or with chemicals. When your Daddy said "no" to me, I did him the chemical way.

The loss, you know what I mean? The… the disappointment in yourself. The anger that turns into disappointment. The despair. Like the guy who's sittin' at the bar and a priest walks in, pulls up chair. The guy says, "Wait a minute." He says, "I hate to tell you this, don't waste you're time, but I happen to know there's no God." The priest says, "Yeah, how's that?" The guy says… uh, "I am an explorer in the north pole. I've been caught in a blindin' storm once. Freezing. I was blinded, freezing to death and I prayed, if there is a God, save me now. Now God didn't come." The priest says… you know, "How's that?" He says, "You're alive. He must have saved you." He said, "No. God never showed up. An Eskimo came along. Took me back to his camp and saved me." That's Janice. She's my wife and she's sittin' right there. She's my Eskimo.