Colmyer: Phelps, welcome to Vice. This is your new partner, Roy Earle. Take a seat. A special request was made to transfer you to Ad Vice. We need a man with your kind of starch on this desk, son. We have two dead Negroes, found in an apartment this morning on Yucca Street. Number 6358. Apartment five.
Roy: We've got better things to be doing than wasting our time on two dead junkies.
Colmyer: Did I ask your opinion, Detective? Two men dead on US Army issue morphine. That makes it an Ad Vice case. Beat it!
Roy: Yes, sir.
Phelps: You and the Lieutenant have some history?
Roy: You could say that. We used to be partners. So you're working with the big boys now, Cole!
Phelps: I guess so, Roy. I thought Homicide was the primo assignments.
Roy: That may be the case. I asked for you personally, Phelps. I had to pull a few strings to get you over to Ad Vice. How does it feel?
Phelps: The Lieutenant seems to think I'm doing okay.
Roy: Okay? Don't get humble on me, Phelps. You're doing great. You're the Department pin-up boy. War hero and crime fighter. What a combination.
Phelps: I can assure you I'm no war hero, Detective.
Roy: Let's roust some hopheads.
Phelps: You can drive. Nice car, Roy. Is it Department issue?
Roy: No. This is my sled. You can't be seen slumming it in a Nash if you're in Vice, Cole. Meanwhile, we got needle freaks kissing it goodbye all over Central Avenue.
Phelps: They really picked a prize shithole for our first date.
Cop: It's up the stairs, Detectives. Around the corner and last door on the left.
Photographer: I'm all done. Your show now.
Phelps: I've been reassigned to Ad Vice. What have we got?
Carruthers: Two stiffs. Overdosed. Been dead a couple of days.
Phelps: Government issue morphine. We used the same syrettes on Okinawa.
Roy: Fucking negro junkies can't take supply this pure.
Phelps: You know these guys?
Roy: I know of them. The younger one is a two-bit horn player by the name of Cornell Tyree. The other one works in distribution. He started using a little too much of his own product and Jack D took exception. He wasn't born that ugly. His name is Lamont. Tyrone Lamont.
Phelps: So who's supplying the drugs?
Roy: That's easy. Whoever knocked of the wharves in San Pedro. Jack Dragna, Mickey Cohen, dope has been all upside down ever since Jimmy Utley started the long walk at Quentin.
Phelps: You talk about it like it's a system.
Roy: It was a system, but those days are long gone.
Phelps: We're supposed to uphold the law.
Roy: Yeah, and we do. But we can't change people. The truth is everyone wants the license to get a little dirty now and then. Our job is to keep it manageable.
Phelps: That's how you see it?
Roy: See it any other way and you better forget about being a Vice cop.
Carruthers: Can we get on with this? Today, preferably.
Phelps: Took his jolt and drifted off. And I suppose his friend wasn't in any condition to notice that he had stopped breathing. Tyrone Lamont. Not even 23 years old. A small chance in life was probably better than no chance. One syrette is enough to knock you out for a combat trauma. Two of them will stop your heart.
Roy: These clowns lived on popcorn?
Phelps: Must have been messy eaters. It's all over the floor. They say only the good die young. I hope it was true in your case. Who is JJ, and why do these two care about his taste in music?
Some kind of fruit, a bell and 'win'. Strange doodle? Black Caesar. From the joint across the street. Bit heavy for an empty cup. They've been getting their fix right over the counter in broad daylight.
Roy: The Emperor across the street appears to shift a lot of popcorn. Let's shake him down.