luzius

What to say about this piece of work? Fuck if I don't find myself without the right words. Me, as gifted a golden throat as any of you cocksuckers, being loose from religion, are ever likely to hear. What can I say about the dearly departed? I mean really? [...]
He was the black sheep. The permanent pariah. He asked no quarter of the bosses and none was given. He learned no lessons. He acknowledged no mistakes. He was as stubborn a Mick as ever stumbled out of the Northeast parishes to take a patrolman's shield. He brooked no authority, he did what he wanted to do and he said what he wanted to say and, in the end, he gave you the clearances. He was natural police.
And I don't say that about many people, even when they're here on the felt. I don't give that one up unless it happens to be true. Natural po-lice. [...]
But Christ, what an asshole. And I'm not talking about the ordinary gaping orifice that all of us possess. I mean an all-encompassing, all-consuming, out-of-proportion-to-every-other-facet-of-his-humanity chasm. From whose bourn, if I may quote Shakespeare, no traveler has ever returned. [...]
To conclude! To conclude I say, he gave us 13 years on the line. Not enough for a pension, but enough for us to know that he was... [...]
Despite his negligible Irish ancestry, his defects of personality, and his inconstant sobriety and hygiene, a true murder police. Jimmy, I say this seriously: If I was laying there dead on some Baltimore street corner, I'd want it to be you, standing over me, catching the case.

Because brother, when you were good, you were the best we had.