What defines a man? It's a question I've often asked myself. Is it his mannerisms or ways of talking? Is it the cut of his suit? Is it the knowledge he gains, or the power he exercises? Or is it more--like how he uses that power to act on the information he's given? When you look into the world of men like Frankie, or families like the Pascettis, you tend to want to see things in absolutes. But looking closer you see the smudges, where the black and white become shades of gray.
We may have thought we were one or two steps ahead of Frankie, but as it turned out he was running in completely different directions. Apparently there was information leading back to the restaurant where it all began, only under new management it would seem. And apparently there was a power shift that came earlier than we anticipated. Sadly, we were just a few pieces of evidence and an anonymous phone call short of catching it when it happened.
It was a model set up if ever there was one. Louis had planned out everything so far in advance I'm surprised even he knew what was going on. LaRousse's bomb was originally meant to take out Frankie too, but when out of his anger and our zeal he turned immediately on Anzio, Louis was happy to adjust. Poor Walt just never seemed to figure well into Louis' ambition, but he served enough of a role with his untimely demise to dig the very much alive Frankie into an even deeper hole.
Eventually that piece of evidence surfaced along with a convenient tip leading us to get everything we needed for ol' Big Eyes' relocation. He fit nicely into his jumpsuit, but the cuisine was a far cry from his usual comfort. Inmates like Anzio and Louis can be slippery though, and sometimes they get to check out sooner than they were booked for. And somebody else knew that...
I'd like to see the day where men like Frankie actually do change. A day and time when justice is achieved within the lines of the law, and vengeance takes a back seat.
But that's enough deep thinking for me. It's easier to talk like that while wearing a badge and uniform. Truth is, I'm not Frankie, and he's not me. Justice may sit more easily with most decent people. Here though, decency's got nothin' to do with it. Vengeance can taste so much better.