In a dim back room above a café on Kingsway, Officer Jake Hoyt drops into a chair across from Agostinho, frustration written all over his face.
“Ever seen Bad Lieutenant?” Jake asks, sliding a dusty DVD case across the table.
Agostinho squints at the cover. “That’s the one with Harvey Keitel, yeah?”
Jake nods. “Yeah. Keitel plays a corrupt New York cop spiraling into gambling, drugs, and dirty money. No badge honor. No thin blue line. Just appetite.”
He boots up the old TV. The grainy opening scenes flicker. Keitel’s lieutenant is already drowning in vice.
Jake leans forward. “That’s what scares me. It doesn’t start with evil. It starts with compromise. A favor here. A blind eye there. Then suddenly you’re owned.”
Agostinho folds his arms. “So what’s your situation?”
Jake exhales slowly. “Pressure. Guys skimming seizures. Protecting certain dealers. Internal Affairs sniffing around. And the worst part? They act like it’s normal. Like I’m naïve for not playing along.”
On screen, Keitel’s character breaks down in a church, wrestling with guilt.
Jake gestures at the TV. “See that? That’s the cost. You can fake toughness. You can flex power. But your conscience doesn’t shut up.”
Agostinho nods. “Corruption isolates you. First you’re in the club. Then you’re trapped by the club.”
Jake clicks pause.
“I joined to protect people. Now I’m wondering if I’m standing in a burning house pretending it’s fine. I don’t want to become that guy.”
Agostinho studies him carefully. “Then don’t normalize what you know is wrong. Document everything. Protect yourself legally. Find the honest ones. They’re quieter—but they exist.”
Jake smirks faintly. “You sound like a priest.”
Agostinho shrugs. “No. Just someone who’s seen what happens when men think power makes them untouchable.”
Jake looks back at the frozen image of Keitel’s haunted face.
“Maybe that movie’s not about corruption,” Jake says quietly. “Maybe it’s about the last chance to turn around.”
Agostinho replies, “Then take yours before someone else writes your ending.”