Transcript of Detective Michael Bernstein’s recorded interview with Justin Sugarman, aka Shuggie, currently residing in a homeless camp on Lemon Hill
MICHAEL BERNSTEIN: Justin? Hey, man, you around? I’m looking for Justin Sugarman!
JUSTIN “SHUGGIE” SUGERMAN: Quiet down, yo, I’m tryin’ to sleep.
BERNSTEIN: That you, Justin? It’s your old pal Mickey Bernstein!
SHUGGIE: Man, stop that Justin shit. You know everyone calls me Shuggie.
BERNSTEIN: Ah, there you are. Come on out, let me see that pretty face. How’s it going, Shuggie?
SHUGGIE: Living my best life, man. You know me. The usual ups and downs. Mostly downs, if I’m being honest. But I don’t let that keep me down, if you know what mean.
BERNSTEIN: I don’t understand half the shit you say, if I’m being honest. But I think you can help me out with something.
SHUGGIE: No way, man. I don’t help the police. Y’all hear that? (Shouts) I don’t help law enforcement, like, ever!
BERNSTEIN: Save the outrage, Shuggie. No one else is around right now. Who could handle all the raccoons and garbage?
SHUGGIE: No, that’s cool, man. You always insult people whose help you desperately need?
BERNSTEIN: Often as I can. Did you happen to see Archie Hughes’s Maserati a few nights ago?
SHUGGIE: Come on, man. Get out of my camp.
BERNSTEIN: This so-called camp belongs to the city. I could tell you to leave.
SHUGGIE: Yeah, that’s just perfect. Price hardworkin’ people out of every affordable living space so we’re all forced to live in a dump like rats. And then you want to take away our dump! So what are the rats supposed to do, huh, Mr. Detective?
BERNSTEIN: I don’t know, Shug. Maybe the rat should just answer my questions. Did you see the Maserati or not?
SHUGGIE: Screw you.
BERNSTEIN: You’ll have to talk to the missus about that, but I don’t think she’s flexible.
SHUGGIE: I’m serious, man. I don’t need this grief.
BERNSTEIN: In that case, Mr. Working-Class Rat, start packing your things because I’m gonna have a sanitation crew up here in twenty minutes, and you’ll be spending the next few days fishing your crap out of the Schuylkill.
SHUGGIE: [unintelligible]
BERNSTEIN: What’s that, Shuggie? Couldn’t quite make that out.
SHUGGIE: I didn’t see no Maserati.
BERNSTEIN: But…
SHUGGIE: But…I heard about a guy who’s trying to fence a Super Bowl ring. That might be of some interest to your current investigation.
BERNSTEIN: See that, Shug? I knew you were the right man to talk to. Who’s selling the ring?
SHUGGIE: You must be high if you think I’m giving you a name.
BERNSTEIN: Dude, you’re as high as giraffe balls right now. And I know you’re going to give me a name because you don’t want me throwing your skinny little ass into the river with the rest of your junk.
SHUGGIE: Damn, man.
BERNSTEIN: Come on. Nobody’s around—it’s just you and me, brother. Tell me a name. I probably know the guy already.
SHUGGIE: Brother, my ass. You know the guy. It’s Percy.
BERNSTEIN: Crazy Percy Marshall? From Kensington?
SHUGGIE: Told you.
BERNSTEIN: What’s Crazy Percy doin’ with a Super Bowl ring?
SHUGGIE: I’m just telling you what I heard.
BERNSTEIN: Okay, Shug.
SHUGGIE: He’s killed people, you know.
BERNSTEIN: Is that a fact.
SHUGGIE: I’m serious. You’d better be careful out there.
BERNSTEIN: Always am.
SHUGGIE: No, man, don’t you get it? The line? You know, from Hill Street Blues? Probably before your time…
BERNSTEIN: Try that joke on my dad sometime. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.
SHUGGIE: Your daddy was a psycho fascist and everybody in the city knew it.
BERNSTEIN: Want to know a secret?
SHUGGIE: What’s that?
BERNSTEIN: I’m worse.