The Fifth Amendment, by the way, gives citizens the right to not incriminate themselves in court. After decades of cooking the books and bullying anybody who peeks too closely at his deal with Bulger, Connolly is finally getting his feet held to the fire. And poor wittle Connolly hates to have his toesies singed.

Wow—that means that Judge Wolf's ruling is almost as long as Moby Dick. Not exactly easy reading. Also, keep in mind that Bulger isn't even the defendant in this case: his informant kerfuffle is a mere sideshow. But no one can deny that it's one juicy piece of gossip.

Whitey isn't the only one gaining steam: Connolly's making major moves himself, emerging as a minor celebrity. Okay, okay, so he might not break C-tier, but that's pretty impressive for an FBI agent. And you can believe that Connolly is going to milk his 15 minutes for everything they're worth.

It might be preposterous, but it's a fairly accurate depiction of the twisted relationship Flemmi and Bulger develop with the FBI. Connolly and Morris have turned a blind eye to crime after crime—and murder after murder. Why shouldn't Flemmi believe that he has a license to kill? He certainly hasn't been treated like your average murderer.

Flemmi has no idea which way is which. Is he the informant? Or is he the FBI agent? It's hard to blame him for his confusion, however. By now, he's been living inside his FBI-maintained bubble for decades, so he hardly remembers what it's like to be an average, accused criminal.

Morris knows that he's done awful stuff and is rightfully ashamed. That's not much to write home about, but it's a lot better than Connolly, who pleads the Fifth in court so many times that his tongue probably has blisters. That guy can't say remorse, much less have it.