"[to Doug] You and your boys didn't just roll a Star Market over in Malden for a box of quarters. No, you decided to bang it out in the North End at nine o'clock in the morning with assault rifles. You fucking dummies shot a guard! Now you're like a half off sale at a Big & Tall - every cop is in line. Fortunately though, for you, this guard, who is two-thirds to a retard, has miraculously clung to life. Now, if it were up to me, and they gave me two minutes and a wet towel, I would personally asphyxiate this half-wit so we could string you up on a federal M1 and end this story with a bag on your head and a paralyzing agent running through your veins. This isn't fucking Tommy Hopscotch anymore, Doug. But I did wanna say one thing: You're here today so I can personally tell you that you are going to die in federal prison. And so are all your friends. No deal. No compromise. And when that day comes when you start trying to be my hero collaborator so hard that I have to slap you to shut up, and it will come, despite your pitiable, misguided, Irish Omertà. When your code of silence finally gives way to fear of trafficking in cigarettes to prevent sexual enslavement, I just want you to know that it's gonna be me who tells you to go fuck yourself."