All language subtitles for Blood, Guts, Bullets and Octane

#NEEDLES, CA#

#FOR SALE#

#THE PONTIAC#

Bano? El bano?
- Bano? You mean, el bano?

The bathroom's that way, asshole.
- Gracias. Muchas gracias.

#BLOOD GUTS BULLETS AND OCTANE#

#SHUCK AND JIVE#

I'm gonna speak to something now cause I see
you over here and I know you're concerned.

Something that's largely unspoken, something
almost taboo that we choose to ignore.

People, people like you, buyers, you come on
to this lot with expectations and with fears

and with this belief that all
salespeople are basically conmen.

Swindlers, hustlers, out to do you in.
Out for blood, your blood.

So you talk to friends and family and
they tell you you gotta go in there...

you gotta be concerned,
you gotta watch these guys.

You gotta duck whatever
sucker punches they throw.

You're both asking yourselves right
now, "When will this guy make his move?"

You said some things, I said
some things. I've apologized.

I just wanna make this right.
Elda, dear, where did we go astray?

You make me sick. Leave me alone!
- Helda, had I known

your son had been killed in a similar
vehicle, I certainly wouldn't have pushed.

Unfortunately, yes, you should
be watching me, absolutely.

Because the best in this business
are by virtue fabulous magicians.

Their sleeves are loaded.
Now you see it, now you don't.

But you have to understand the nature of
the sale, in order to understand the sell.

I don't know if you know this, but as
a rule the Japanese machine everything.

All the cranks, the gears, the struts,
down to the micronometer. - Micronometer.

You got various metric measurements,
centimeter, millimeter, so on and so forth.

Then you got the micronometer, which is
roughly the circumference of a human hair.

And what their machinists do
at that microscopic level...

it would be the equivalent of you or I
trying to perform heart surgery on a fly.

At any rate, listen... you look like
a guy from my neck of the woods.

Let me do you the courtesy of being blunt.
Permit me that, let me be frank with you.

They lab test these goddamn things
in Japan. They bury the tach at rpms

for days on end... they simulate,
100000 miles. Manifolds are red hot,

the bearings finally snap. The
engine collapses. They go through it.

They find out what went out
where, and they correct it.

That is why these folks have been making
light of the big three for the last 20 years

On this they did that?
- Absolutely.

It's pressure. It's movement. It's
commission. It's incentive. It's hard sell.

This is it! What do you say? I saw
this and I knew your name's on this.

Where you going? No, no, no!
Wait, wait, wait! Come on, come on!

You take a walk over to Danny Woo's. He's
the biggest resaler on the West Coast.

You'll see that embodied
in his sales policy.

I used to work for the guy, so
I know a few things about him.

He told me once in a moment of candor,
"I don't hire salesmen, I hire hitmen."

You walk on that lot, and you're stepping
into the crosshairs of some zealot.

Some guy so bent on selling you an auto,
it becomes his primary means of existence.

I don't think they ever publicly
referred to it as a "timebomb."

Maybe it was "deathtrap," "rolling
coffin," something or other.

You gotta keep in mind how heavyhanded
the media is with the adjectives.

What everyone seems to forget is
the sterling performance record...

that the Pinto had achieved
up until that incident.

Coupled with the fact that it was a
Peterbilt fifthwheel diesel truck...

doing upwards of eighty on impact...
and all four passengers, driver included,

were packaday plus smokers. You know you
don't need to be Mr. Wizard to deduce...

a semitruck travelling at high velocity...
colliding with a subcompact car...

gasoline, cigarettes. You come out of that
situation without resembling charcoal...

I'd say you've been personally
touched by the hand of God.

You don't smoke, do you?
- No, not at all.

Ever been rearended by a runaway
eighteenwheeler? - No. - Bingo.

I'm gonna tell you folks flat out... we are
not here to gouge the buyer, to stiff you.

The knocking will go away.
Listen, listen.

That's dual port, that's fuel
injection, that's sixteen valve.

I don't know the technical terminology,
but I can assure you that's good.

If that's disrupting the
status quo, giving pause...

giving truth to a business
that thrives on untruth...

Listen to that. That's music to
my ears, and I hope to yours too.

...then I say so be it. Because there are no
jukes or jab steps here, no Jekyl and Hyde.

We deal straight, with
a smile and a handshake.

Does that make us part of a dying breed?

By God, I hope so.

Ray, I frankly... I never said that.
I never said that, Ray.

Let me put you on hold. Ginger,
wait a minute. What's going on?

I'm out of here. - I need two weeks notice.
- Two weeks notice? Forget two weeks notice.

I need ten working days.
- I have kids to worry about!

Kids? How old are you? - That doesn't
matter. I gotta go down to Mr. Woo' s.

Do you know what I get down there?
I get full medical, full dental.

I can get acupuncture if I want. - What the
hell is acupuncture? - Don't worry about it.

Don't expect a reference out of me.
- I don't need your reference.

Good, 'cause you won't get it.
Do you hear me? You won't get it!

Ray? Ray, are you there?

No. Listen to me. Two months
I've been waiting on this.

You come back with a list, "Lincoln
Continental, Cadillac Eldorado"?

How am I supposed to move vehicles get five
miles to the gallon in this kind of economy?

There's no small makes,
there's no midsize.

And what is this Zephyr, AMC
Javelin, Volare shit about?

What are we, a fucking orphanage?
Come on, Ray!

I feel like I'm getting blindside with
a different line of bullshit every week.

I feel like I need a flak
jacket every time we talk.

Jesus what happened to you? - Can we get the
trunk on the Charger fixed? It got me again.

Ray, I did not say
that... I did not say that.

It don't know where you hear that...
- Mike, Julie, bless your patience.

Can I get you anything while I'm in
here, coffee perhaps? - That'd be great!

Sons of bitches want coffee.
- I need a better list than this.

I cannot work with this list.
This list is shit!

Is that that fucker Ray? Don't let
him off the phone. I wanna talk to him.

You know what, Ray... I
don't understand how you live.

I don't understand how you're still
in business. - Get the blue book.

I need the blue book.
- What you're doing to us is bullshit!

That's right. It sure as hell
is. Delivery? Ray...delivery?

You couldn't deliver an old lady across
an intersection. - Let me talk to him.

Ray, guess who this is. It's
me, yeah, asshole. Listen to me.

You know what? It is me. Bob's a
nice guy. I'm not a fucking nice guy.

Where are our cars?
I can't believe you gave us this list.

Do you really think this is gonna fly?

You must or you wouldn't have sent
it to us. Where are our cars, Ray?

Do you understand me? - This isn't my sale,
this is his fucking sale. - Yeah, let's go.

The idea is we want you to roll off this
lot, not walk. - Jesus! - Are you all right?

She's okay. Did it scald? - I don't think
this is gonna happen. - Don't touch me!

My partner's got a fairly nasty cut. - My
wife is in some serious discomfort here.

He's inside, he's bleeding badly.
Please, try and be understanding.

Okay, one minute, one minute. - Hang there,
I'm gonna be right w,ith you, Mister...

No, no, asshole. You don't song
and dance me with that bullshit.

You sold my kid this sack of shit,
which has no fucking airbag, by the way.

If you don't give me that money, I'm gonna
lay my BoogPowell all over your fucking lot!

Okay, sir. Please, the language.
Who...what's your son's name?

Dickie. That is my kid, Dickie
Dupree, and I'm his father Dick Senior.

I don't doubt that for a second.
Folks, give me fifteen seconds.

I'm gonna be right with you. Folks,
fifteen seconds, that's all I ask, okay?

Folks, folks? Wait a minute. What
are you doing? Sir, don't do that.

Please, you're being very discouraging.
I don't need you dissuading my clientele.

You listen, cocksucker. You're gonna
give me that money, my kid's money.

My kid, who works his ass off...
throwing people's papers on their porches

at five in the morning...
mowing their lawns in degree weather...

doing all the shit that kids do to earn money
and you sonsofbitches robbed him blind!

Give me a moment to compose.
How much was it?

Two thousand six hundred and ninety nine
dollars plus tax you owe him, jerkoff!

What? What did you say?
Where did you get that figure?

You must've pulled that
out of your ass, Ray.

Do you know how many cars we have on
the lot right now? Do you have any idea?

We have eleven cars on the lot.
We have eleven fucking vehicles.

Do you know how much passing
interest that elicits right next door

to the biggest dealer on the West Coast?
You obviously have a grudge against us!

Listen to me. Forget about
that shit, listen to me.

You have until noon to make something happen,
to get us a list that's not this bullshit.

Do you understand? You have till noon.
If you do not give me that list...

I will hit you with a lawsuit that will
make Nuremburg look like small claims court.

Do you understand me, Ray? Do it!

They walked. - You let them walk?
- I didn't let them walk, you went AWOL.

Look at this shit. Does this look like I can
go back out there? They asked me for a quote

So come off the top of your head with
something. You don't let them stew.

You turn your back on them, we're dead - You
couldn't handle them while I handled Ray?

Five minutes? - I was doing fine.
- You were not doing fine?

I gotta go out there and fill in for you...
this idiot is outside scaring everybody off.

Saying we cracked his kid's piggybank
on that Starlet. - Dupree, from last week.

The ugly little carrottop
hick? His old man showed up?

And the son-of-a-bitch was shooting flames.

What did you do about the money? - Obviously
he ain't getting it back. - Obviously.

I don't see the pursuit of
legal action in this halfwit...

so I made a small, cursory move toward
the Buick, the Skylark out there...

and he was all over
it like long lost love.

So long, asshole...

You traded up even. You didn't let him roll
with the Starlet and roll with the Skylark.

The guy was cancer. I had to get him off
the lot. - That's a tenth of the inventory.

We still made a profit. I am not gonna argue
with you on this. - It sticks, so I can't...

You sure Dick and Jane are gone? - They've
flown, man. They're up the block at Woo's.

Don't blame me. I say, what? You don't
believe in killing the messenger? Hello!

I wish I could keep the visit
strictly social, fellas...

but to tell you the truth,
I'm in a bit of a spot.

I don't wanna take you through
all the twists and turns...

but to be perfectly pinpoint
with you, I'm being audited.

Damn it, Dan.
- IRS. Backbiting bastards.

Cheap shot sonsofbitches,
they pick on the good guys.

Save the venom, boys. No sense in
beating a dead horse, it's done.

They're gonna put my books through the
paces and see how the pennies line up.

I got the gals in accounting on
override trying to shore things up.

Nip and tuck. Keep it from getting nasty.
Trying to shield Dottie from this mess.

How's she doing, anyway, Dan?
- It varies week to week.

Got a bushel of medical bills.
Specialists, second opinions...

crap shoot crackpots, witch doctors.
What do they know, anyway? - Nothing.

What exactly is it that's wrong with her?
- She's anemic.

She inherited it. Weak
circulatory system,

transfusions...it s ugly.
But I love her.

God damn it, I love her. Take the
world off its axis if she asked me to.

It's a tough time.
- What can we do? You say it...

You say it, it's as good as done.
- Boy... Jesus, that is...

Thank you. I do sincerely appreciate it.

Fact is, fellas, they are gonna
be sending someone down to see you.

They are going to be interviewing all
my former employees, associates, so on.

I'd be indebted if you could
possibly...I don't know.

Kudos and kind words across
the board for you, Dan.

Bob, that's what I needed to hear.
- A better man we have not known.

Consider it done.
- Sid, you're a very gracious man.

Thank you, thank you both.
I am gonna take care of you for this.

I am eternally, eternally grateful.
- No more than we are. It's not necessary.

Not necessary at all. - It certainly is.
I mean it. I'm going to repay you for this.

You can't imagine what this
means to me. You have no idea.

Knock, knock. - Hello, beautiful.
Did you come dpwn to eat with me?

I brought some sandwiches and some
orange slices and some other goodies.

You remember these nice young men, don't
you? - Hello, ma'am, it's good to see you.

How are you, ma'am?
- I'm trying to get back on my feet.

You're going to be back on your feet
for keeps, sweetie. Don't forget it.

We're going to take off and let you
eat lunch. - Let me know how it goes.

They'll be calling you. Just remember,
answer them straight. No dancing or dodging.

I have absolutely nothing to hide.
- Sure thing. Take care, okay?

I will be making good on this.
Believe it.

Danny Woo. That son-of-a-bitch...
If I bear but one grudge in this life.

He got Stan... - And Cliff,
and Ginger walked today, too.

He took Ginger. - She walked today?
- He's a fucking born money man.

If I had what he had, I'd
run it ragged, I would.

We worked for that guy for three years,
and in that time I never understood.

Understood what?
- How that guy makes money.

One, he's connected like
a fucking switchboard.

Two, he's got a network that
puts the Hebrews to shame.

And three, he's got the
gals, and the skirts sell.

No shit. Loan me a vagina,
I'll show you how to sell.

No shit. We're down here busting our
asses, dumping sticker prices left and right

and that bastard wraps a sale,
financing and all, inside an hour.

Tell me he ain't doing that with mirrors.
- You gotta suffocate them to sell them.

That's all there is to it. - It doesn't
require any talent to sell at Woo's anymore.

It's not like it was when
we were there. The staff now

has all the subtlety of a fucking great
white. - This is a now business, my friend.

Do you know what that means?
It means you're here... - Now.

The car's here... - Now. - The deal's
here... - Now. - Sign it! - Right now!

It doesn't require any skill anymore,
any aptitude. The showroom sells it.

You put a Mercedes sedan under glass,
people are curious. It's the presentation.

A guy can go out and move this...
he can sell a '78 Vega wagon.

Get a price for that, you got my
undying respect. You cannot sell shit.

I know. Because shit don't sell.
- Have you looked at this lately? - No.

You need to look at this. We are
eightythree thousand dollars in the hole.

Eightythree...eightythree
thousand in the fucking red?

One eight, one three and three zeros.
Come on, you're not blind.

It's gotten bad. What do we have out
there that's moving? And be honest.

We need a draw. - We just need
something. I don't care if it's one car.

We just gotta goose business a little.
'Cause all we got right now is a parking lot

A bunch of cars sitting
around waiting to die.

#DEAD ASPHALT#

#CONFAB WITH RAY#

You got trouble telling time now
or what? - So I'm a little late.

You are a little late. Where's
the list? - I don't have a list.

What do you mean, I don't have a list?
- I have one car for you.

A '63 convertible Le Mans. - You're
kidding. I know you're kidding, Ray.

A 63' convertible Le Mans and...
- And a '63 convertible Le Mans.

That's it. - Are you honing your
standup routine? You must be.

One car? One car, asshole? - I said noon.
Didn't I say noon to you on the phone?

Right now, it's ten after two, and
you re gonna show up with one car?

Worth two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars. - Jesus.

Must be pretty cherry then, right, Ray?
- Like a tricked up, turned out,

fucking fantazmobile, be worth
a quarter of a million dollars.

Must be. Right Ray?
- I want that list. I asked you for a list.

I don't have a list. I have one car worth
two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

That's bullshit. I don't want some
deal... - Two days. You sit on it.

It ain't for sale, it's ain't
for shit but show. And that's it.

I don't want to hear this out of you.
I want my list.

This is a bullshit deal, and I cannot
believe you would bring this to us.

I cannot believe you would bring this to us.
- I bring this to you, throw you this bone,

because I know you've been sitting
back on the dime quite a ways.

Because you put us there.
Let me ask you something.

How come I gotta trudge
through this shit...

Volares and Aspens and every other
piece of shit Gremlin you wanna bring me?

And I look over at Woo's lot, and
I know that you're bidding for him.

And I don't see any of
that crap over there.

And you want me to take some deal about
some Le Mans that's carrying something?

I got nothing out of you, Ray.
- How many times do I have to tell you?

It's worth two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars. All you have to do is let it sit.

If I take a bag of coke and
walk it across the street...

it's probably worth 250000 dollars...
That doesn't mean I'm gonna do it.

I give you my word. Nothing
will happen. - Your word?

Your word is useless to me. - You park the
car on the side, and let it sit there.

Your word is useless to me.
- And you collect 250000 dollars.

And I know you need it.
I pity your situation.

I don't want your pity.
I'm so sick of your ass.

I'm trying to come
here and help you out.

We've been out on a limb for two months
'cause you haven't come through with a list.

A simple list. That's all we're asking for.
- I'm sorry, I made a few mistakes.

I'm trying to apologize and bring
it back to you by giving you

something worth two hundred
and fifty thousand dollars.

Your word means shit to me.
How do I know what's in that car?

I wanna know what's in that car.
- I don't know what's in that car.

Sometimes in life you have
to do things sight unseen.

The car is worth to you two hundred
and fifty thousand dollars...

in bigass, cold, hard cash...
No strings attached.

#THE FEDS# Over the past two months,
nearly thirtyfour bodies have been found...

in varying stages of post mortem decay...
stretching from here to South America.

While the supposition that
these deaths are somehow linked

may seem both premature and remote... we
have established a plausible connection.

The method of killing differs in each one,
but the bodies, all thirtyfour,

were found in close proximity to a road
or freeway. This is what we have thus far.

The most recent discovery
yielded seven dead in a 48 hour span.

Victor E. Drubb, 33 years of age,
shot six times at close range...

Frank R. Priolo. 29. He was
identified from dental records.

It seems most of his face was removed by
two short range blasts from a gauge shotgun.

And finally, Mitchell Wayne Richter. 26.

He was found about five days ago
with four other unidentified men.

his entire chest cavity, clavicle,
sternum and lower torso...

are crushed by what appears to
be the impact of a moving car.

He also had superficial
knife and bullet wounds.

The common denominator shared by these
men outside of their present condition...

is the fact that each of them has
an extensive criminal history...

from the three I've just profiled
to the remaining thirtyone.

From shoplifting, domestic
terrorism, petty thieves...

convicted arsonists, mercenaries, rap
sheets and arrest records abounding.

Intelligence gathering up to this point
has been rather marginal and slow in coming.

But given this initial information, we
have ruled out any aimless murder spree.

These were not wanton,
random acts of violence...

they were measured, calculated attacks.

Continuing on, we have two witnesses,
both freight line drivers...

that remember seeing Drubb outside the El
Matador truck stop in Needles, California.

They say they saw him exchanging what appea-
red to be money with one of the mechanics.

money the mechanic denies ever receiving.
No one witnessed the shooting...

but we have strong physical evidence
suggesting that Mr. Priolo was the gunman.

A discarded pistol
found near the body...

matches the grain and the caliber
of the slug extracted from Drubb.

The spacing of the wounds and the pattern
of the muzzle burns on Priolo's body...

indicate that he was
shot while he drove.

His car has not been recovered.
This brings us to Mr. Richter.

We have impounded a orange Oldsmobile
Toronado from the murder scene...

but the fiber on one of the victims
doesn't match the vehicle's interior.

The wounds on Richter are also
inconsistent with the Toronado's design.

And there was a noted absence
of bone and blood fragment...

on both the front and rear bumper.

Two months ago, near Quito,
Equador in the Andes Mountains...

a small indigenous tribe called
the Machu Pica was slaughtered.

Their emaciated bodies were
discovered piled up near a riverbed.

Each of the victims was bled almost
to the point of being drained dry.

We're operating under the
premise that this tribe...

somehow tampered or disrupted
the local drug trade...

and they were subsequently slaughtered.

Now, strangely enough, we have
several confirmed sightings...

of a 1960's model red convertible
car of American make...

that was seen in the area
before and after the killings.

A week later in Cali, Columbia,
the same car is spotted...

and five men are butchered
outside a reputed drug den.

Eight days later,
same car, three dead...

found chainsawed and burned with
a blowtorch in a sugar cane field.

This pattern continues through
Guatemala, Vera Cruz, Mexico,

and ultimately Needles, California,
where both freight drivers interviewed

regarding the Drubb shooting, remember
seeing a, quote, "red convertible car."

Speculation is that this car is carrying
an exceptionally large narcotics shipment...

uncut cocaine, heroin, any
number of possibilities exist.

One thing we know for certain is that each
of these men was ambushed in succession...

each knowing exactly what the cargo
was, as well as its potential cash value.

Agents from the ATF and the Drug
Enforcement Agency have been tracking...

an elusive and very lucrative smuggling
operation for the past ten years now.

We have centered our efforts right here.
And believe me, gentlemen...

something or someone, dead or alive...
will lead us directly to that car.

Did you get the thing, that
La Chappell, the financing?

'Cause I gotta wrap them up now. - I didn't
get that, but you're gonna love this.

What is this? #NOTICE OF EVICTION#
You gotta be fucking kidding me.

#STONEWALLED AND SNAKEBIT#

Are you serious? - We're out
of here. Tipped and turned.

These bastards ever consider
the concept of a grace period?

How the fuck do you do business
like this? - You don't, Sid, you don't.

Thirty day billing cycle, all their
bullshit, they give us five fucking days.

They don't budge. They never
Hardons, one and all.

I hope their mothers contract cancer.
- Kicking us when we're down.

They're killing us when we're down.
What do we got left in the bank?

Bus fare, chump change.
You know that.

Yoy know what? I do not wanna
go out soup kitchen swan song.

I've seen it happen to too many guys.
You understand me?

We're going down, and
that is a factual fact.

And I don't know what to do,
and I don't know what to say.

I'm gonna say the only thing left to
say. I say we get liquid. You understand?

We get loaded, cash in hand, shed the
overhead, and bury this whole place.

What do we got to sell off, the cars?
- I'm not talking about that.

I'm talking about the Le Mans.
I'm talking about Ray's thing. - Jesus.

I'm talking about Ray's thing, because
that's all there is to talk about.

Jesus Christ, are you kidding?
- Do you have a feasible alternative?

If you don't, it's pretty much a one way
street. Are we in agreement about that?

Because we are flushed from every angle.
We are leveraged till doomsday,

we got creditors riding our ass into
a Chapter Thirteen. - So what, Sid?

We start clutching at straws...
- We start doing something...

Listen to me. We both know there is no
Pontiac convertible worth 250000 grand.

So it's not the car, it's what
the car is carrying. - Yeah, no shit!

And what that car is carrying
carries with it my concern.

It could be suitcases of
smack, guns, bodies, who knows.

So there's a wrinkle, there's a catch.
No shit, for that kind of money.

We're still talking about a
quarter of a million dollars.

I'd turn cartwheels for that kind of money.
- There's another way, there's another way.

You have a way to make that kind of money.
- What about insurance? - What do you mean?

A burn. Get somebody to put a match to
this place. - Are you fucking kidding me?

Do you have any idea how difficult it
is to pull a successful insurance scam?

You got cops and claims adjusters looking
you sideways, secondguessing everything.

That's assuming you got
somebody who understands fire

and all its flammable cousins
intimately. - What about us?

What, we do it? Are you fucking
nuts? Are you kidding me?

The guys that skimp are the
same guys that get caught.

They try to pull the job themselves,
they leave big bread crumb clues.

Any idiot first day fire investigator
can tell you the job is a rig.

Didn't you hear about Jerry Goldman?

I didn't know him that well. - He had
that little tittie bar over on Jefferson.

You know the one I'm talking about?
Six months ago it burns.

They go through it, you know what they
find? A little bag of charcoal briquettes...

halfassed hotwired with Dcell batteries
and some kind of gasoline trigger.

Isn't that funny? Needless to say, Jerry
now spends his days strolling C Block...

swinging off some fucking inmates
belt loop. You wanna end up like that?

I know you don't.
- So you've made up your mind?

I've made up my mind. I shouldn't
have to hit you over the head with it.

I think Ray's a bullshitter, too.
What do you want me to do?

Because this is gone. And we
have nothing. We have nothing.

And you think it's worth it.
Assuming the cash end is solid...

you think it's gonna be worth whatever the
hell is waiting for us on the other end.

It beats the shit out of the
alternative. - Which is obvious.

Which is painfully etched in stone, sealed
in blood obvious. We do this or we fry.

Darling, I called in a
large burger and fries.

Why don't you slide on over
there and let me have a sit down.

Whatever. Who are you?
- Cash. Vernon Cash.

That's great, Vernon Cash. Where's Ray?
- Don't you go worrying about Ray.

Ray handled his shit. He got you
here. I'm the one you got to deal with.

#THE MAN IN BLACK#

You any relation to Johnny?
- No, it's kind of funny, though.

A buddy of mine fucked Johnny
Cash one time. - Come again?

A buddy of mine fucked Johnny Cash.
- There it is. - Would you like ketchup?

You got Tabasco.
That makes everything nice.

Johnny Cash. The man in
black. Johnny Cash. - The same.

When you say fucked, you mean, like what,
got over? - I mean like sodomy and shit.

My buddy was at Folsom, Johnny was at
Folsom. They bunked together, same cell.

Johnny Cash was not at Folsom in general
pop or anything. He was there as a performer

He was the block bitch. That's what my
buddy said. Cons be loving them song birds.

Your buddy had relations with
Johnny Cash. - Vern, listen up here...

Vernon, brother. That Vern shit
ain't happening. - All right, Vernon.

I don't wanna come out outright
and say your pal's full of shit...

But my mother, big Johnny
Cash fan, she passes it down.

I get an album collection, age
six, nothing but Johnny Cash.

"Ring of Fire," "I Walk the Line"...
"Forty Shades of Green,"

"Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down."
Beautiful, moving ballads.

Fact remains, he was my partner's trick.
- Understand that by saying that,

you are not only slandering one of the
greatest folksingers of the last halfcentury

you are also pissing on a very sacred,
very cherished part of my childhood.

He wrote a song called "Folsom Prison Blues.
What'd you think made him so blue at Folsom?

Black and blue with that convict love.
- Are you backing this bullshit?

Let it go. You're a fan, leave
it at that. We know you're a fan.

Vernon's not passing judgment on Johnny Cash
- It's got nothing to do with being a fan.

It's a man's good name being dragged through
the mud. - I'm just stating it flat out.

When a motherfucker writes a
song called "A Boy Named Sue"...

you got to be wondering how he got the
inspiration to be writing that shit.

Johnny Cash was never jailed at Folsom.

Nor was he ever fucked by an inmate,
either figuratively or literally.

He's been married to his wife
June Carter Cash for years.

Having said that, let's just let it go.
- All right. Enough of this chitchat, anyway

Y'all listen up, 'cause what I got to
say is gonna be coming fast and furious,

I ain't gonna go repeating shit that's been
said already, so you best have your ears on.

And what I do have to say has to be held
in the strictest motherfucking confidence.

You don't go repeating this to nobody,
not even the good lord himself, you dig?

I know Ray spooled some
shit to you about a car.

That's a very important car, gentlemen.

It's a 1963 burgundy Pontiac
Le Mans convertible.

And its cash value to you is two
hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

To get that money, all y'all gotta
do is play valet a couple days.

Money don't come easier
unless you mint it yourself.

Wait a minute, I don't understand.

We park a car in our lot
for two days and that's it?

That's all. You save the farm just like that
This ain't no sales pitch bullshit neither.

I know you two are down, 'cause you wouldn't
be here if you weren't down for the dirt.

I'm gonna make my money whether
it's cut long ways or lengthwise.

Whether you take it or some other fool,
I don't care, I'm still getting paid.

We're taking the car. Here's my
concern. Wanna hear what's on my mind?

I don't care if it's you saying
it or Ray saying it or whatever.

If I see anything contrary
to what you said to me...

it constitutes a bullshit, null and void
deal. You understand what I'm saying?

Anything henkie and it's fucking off - Don't
sweat yourself, brother, it's all good.

I am gonna sweat.

Now that we got ourselves a little
arrangement, let me tell you something.

First, when the car arrives day
after tomorrow at twelve noon...

it will be under surveillance
for the rest of its stay.

What do you mean, under surveillance?
- I mean big, ugly men with big guns

looking at your ass.

And the trunk is going to be
wired, trunk and ignition to blow...

So any attempt on your part to start
the car after it's been stopped...

or to open the trunk
after it's been parked...

there will be little pieces of your
jenky ass flying through orbit. You dig?

You don't fuck with the car,
and the car don't fuck with you.

In the event of an absolute, end of the
world, fucked up, Armageddon emergency...

you call that number. Are we clear?
- We're solid. - Good.

#FLAME TO FUSE#

Come in. What do you got?
Forensics finally got around

to ID'ing the John Does from the
Drubb shootings. You all right?

This happens all the time. It's
just stress, nothing big. - You sure?

That's a lot of blood.
- It's nothing. Let me take a look.

The first three are strictly mercenary
material... low rent lifelong felons,

not much practical experience.
The fourth one's interesting.

Frank Manzano. - Three years
hazardous recon duty in the Marines.

Worked covert demolitions in Desert Storm.
Highly decorated, much maligned soldier.

Fought and drank recklessly.

He and another soldier wound
up beating their CO into a coma.

Dishonorably discharged two months
later. Charges filed, later dropped.

Who have you questioned? - I had
phone interviews with Charles Gordean...

who went through boot camp with
Manzano at Paris Island. And Felix Hale,

head of Intelligence for the Corps.
- Alright. Paint me a picture.

According to Gordean, Manzano was
a short fuse with a mean streak...

and he traveled in kind.
Diaz Ortega Carbajal.

Cuban born, exiled to Freedom City, Miami,
age three, adopted, raised in South Beach.

So he was the other
soldier with Manzano.

Discharged one month after him.
According to Gordean,

they were inseparable
through boot camp and beyond.

I pulled this out of the classified.

"One ace for a trigger, the
other makes the boom bigger"

"Sempre fi, eye for an eye,
make them die" Splended.

I traced the PO box listed back to Manzano.

So he's fielding black ops
offers, presumably with Carbajal.

This morning sheriff's
deputies found a '68 Mustang

deserted off a county access road
upstate. The interior was wiped clean,

no partials, nothing, but SDI matched the
blood spray on the exterior passenger door

to Priolo's. Type 0-positive, the exact
same blood type found on Manzanos forearm.

Manzano is B-negative. Ballistic
results put Manzano behind the trigger.

And Carbajal behind the wheel.

Which brings us to Mitchell Wayne
Richter and the red convertible.

What do you think?
- I think they killed Priolo for the car.

Ambushed him like they were
ambushed by the other four.

One party intercepts the other, they tangle,
shots are exchanged, Carbajal escapes...

but not before ramming the back of the
convertible into Richter, killing him.

That's patent plain right there.
Let's move off that assumption.

If Carbajal is alive and in possession of
that car, we need him locked down in a hurry

Give me a standard canvas,
discretionary searches.

Use the local Police Departments
and Sheriff's Departments.

Let them know this guy is A and D in
a big way, so brief them accordingly.

We get our hands on him, this whole things
gonna go from a simmer to a boil in a hurry.

#WHITE TRASH TRIGGER#

What did he say, noon?
Didn't he say noon? - What?

What time did he say?
- He said noon. It's like ten after.

You know, punctual is professional. - You're
this close to driving me nuts. Listen to me.

You're letting a man's opposing view
of Johnny Cash cloud your judgment.

Just relax.
- You know what I got right now?

I got that shit back that I haven't had
since Natalie left, that thing with my chest

I cannot believe you are so worked up
about this it's affecting your health.

It's fucking with me real bad.
It may turn out to be a real stroll,

but right now it's killing my ass.
- Take this shit. Drink. Shut up.

Just relax. They're due any second.

Yeah. - Out on the lot, white LTD...

back seat, black case, get it.
Car gonna be there in five minutes.

Who was it? - I don't know. - Was it
Vernon? - I didn't recognize the voice.

He said there's a black case
in the LTD. The car is coming.

The LTD, a black case... wait.
The car is on its way?

That's what he said. - This is not good.
Sid, this is not getting off good.

Bob, relax. Drink that. Just relax,
I'll be back in a second. Sit tight.

B and S Auto. - Right side
one-one-two, left side three-nine-five.

Come on, what is this?
- Was it them?

Yes, it was them.
- What did they say?

I don't know. Something...numbers and
some other shit. I wasn't ready for it.

Numbers? This is a combination.
Did they give you the combination?

It's a combination lock. Can you
remember the numbers, the sequence?

What did they say? - He blew right through
them. I didn't have a chance to...

Perfect. - See?
This is how things get out of hand.

All this cloak and dagger bullshit.
- You have to listen!

Jesus Christ, these guys aren't gonna
fuck around. - Wait, wait a second...

They must be watching us. The phone
rang as soon as you hit the door.

They gotta be watching
us, man. Go signal them.

Let them know we didn't get the
combination. - All right, hang on.

Shit, what the hell are you doing?
This is gonna be fun.

I'm gonna take you down like a...

Shit! Fuck! Fuck! - Jesus! What
the hell! What the hell happened?

You're shot! Are you shot?
You're shot!

Don't pull me! Don't pull me!
Get the case! Get the fucking case!

You got the case? - Yeah. Oh, fuck...

Get that. Answer the phone. Forget
about me, just answer the phone.

Hello, B and S Auto...hello? - Another move
like that and the bullet's in his head.

Fuck you! What the... Hello?

It was them. - I know.
Help me to the bathroom.

They fucking shot you!
- Help me to the bathroom...

#SIDESWIPED#

Okay, get off me. I'm all right. Get
off me! Give me that bottle of peroxide.

I can't fucking believe this!
- I gotta tourniquet my leg.

You want this? - No, just help
me tie this fucking thing off.

I can't believe they shot you!
- Help me tie this thing off.

They shot you, man!
- Not so fucking tight!

It's all right, listen to me.
I blew that, I fucked up.

Piss! God damn it,
does that fucking hurt.

Not so... don't fuck with it! - They shot
you, man! I can't believe they shot you!

Listen to me. I fucked
that up, I fucked that up.

I'm all right. - Have you gone fucking
insane? Jesus Christ, man...

These guys put a bullet in you!
- I'm ok. It doesn't hurt. Listen to me!

The legs are vascular. I got a
lot of blood in there. I'm fine.

Who are these people? They just
shoot a man... - It exited clean.

The situation is not as delicate
as we thought. I fucked up.

I shouldn't have been
waving so much. I blew that.

You know what? Forget the car.

Forget the goddamn car, 'cause we are
obviously way the fuck out of our league.

We are taking that car. I do not care what
it takes, we are taking that fucking car.

Sid! With guys like these, we
go any deeper than we are...

there's not gonna be any... These guys
do not wanna fucking powwow with us!

All they understand is brute force.
- They're just letting us know. It's okay.

Listen to me, Bob, listen carefully.
I am counting on you now

like I have never counted on you
before and I never will again.

Please, please calm down.
Listen to me.

Go out in the desk drawer.
In the desk drawer is a 38...

What the hell you doing with a...
- Just get it, Bob.

And get the case and bring it in here.
- Are you sure you're all right?

I'm all right. Please, just
go. I'm fine, Bob. I'm fine.

Just get me on my feet. - Are you
sure you're okay? - Yes. Watch the leg.

Hand me that, hand me that.
Turn that. Turn that thing.

Get back, get back.

It gets this good once.

Mr. Franklin, sir...

Go, Bob, 'cause they're coming.
- How do you know they're here?

Trust me, they're here. Are you all
right? - I'm all right. You all right?

I'm gonna wrap my leg.
Just go, I'm fine. - Tight.

Hi.

You have any gum?
Any type of mint?

I have Rolaids, Mylanta.
They're mint flavored.

Are we good?
- He only gave me the ignition key.

That's the only key we're gonna need.
- Are you sure you don't need a hospital?

I'm fine. I wrapped it. It went
through clean, it just bled a lot.

The car looks good.
- Good. No problems with the guy?

Basic convertible, it looks fine.
So now what?

Now... let's get something to eat...
and sit back and see what happens.

#COLDBLOODED HOTHEADS#

Ray? - No. - Get him.

Ray's not here. Let's try and
handle this like a pair of gentlemen.

Get Ray, get my money, get it now.

Ray has served his purpose
and has been dealt with.

No, there is no money. No, we never
intended on paying you that money.

What we intend is to kill
you and dispose of your body.

In this case are saws and other cutting
implements to assist me in that task.

That being said...

#STICKER SHOCK#

We got caddies, and we got
coups and wagons and trucks.

All this and more for just a few bucks.
- Look at that shit. Unbelievable.

Does that guy have it
tagged and bagged or what?

Did you talk to the IRS about him?
- They came by, day before last.

They came by to see me. Did
you burn him? - No. - You? - No.

I could've handed him over cap and coat.
- For the shit with the Cadillacs.

All that back door brokering he was
doing. Remember that fleet of Town Cars?

Came from wherever.
- Had them shipped up, paid shit for them.

Boot jacked cargo...come on, man. - Come
on down to Woo's Wild World of Resale!

Feeling charitable, I guess. - He owes us.
Whether he beats this audit or not,

he's into us for the good load.
- Who cares about Danny Woo?

Reasonably, who cares about him?

We got a bag of money and no
place special to be. - Right.

How you feeling? - I'm feeling
good, man. I'm feeling real good.

Nothing a little Cutty and water can't
take the edge off of. I'm sore, but...

No big blood loss, a lot
of pain, lesson learned.

Now they know we won't fuck them.
- That remains to be seen.

What do you mean?
- Have you been thinking about this?

I've been thinking about Natalie, the
dealership... - Forget the dealership.

The dealership's dead.
As far as Natalie is concerned,

she can't take you back with thousand in
your hand, she cannot take you back, chief.

I just wanna talk to her.
I get wistful with the booze,

end up in a knockdown, drag out,
hate her guts all over again.

That's what women are
for. Look at Sylvia.

She's wound tighter than
a two-dollar wristwatch.

I gotta go bark for bite with that bitch
every week, and for what?

That's anybody's guess. - I'm not saying
that all women are worldclass ballbreakers,

But the vast majority... - They have the
potential. That's what I'm saying.

Put your finger on the one thing
that made Natalie walk. - I can't.

No, you couldn't possibly. Can I explain
Sylvia's vanishing act? I could try.

But I'd be miles away
from any specific reason.

That's because women, they
fucking hoard, they tabulate. - Yes.

Some bullshit, snide comment... long
forgotten remark you made six years ago...

it has a shelf life with most women.

She's filing away a folder in her head
every time I fuck up, big or small.

Forget it. The defense rests. - In peace.

I think of how fucked it's been,
in general, you know, women.

Then I look at Danny Woo and see
how he dotes over that old girl.

That's pity, not to be confused with
love. She's a cripple, he's obligated.

No, no... - What did she crank out
for him, six, seven kids? - Eight, I think.

So he dumps her ass, he's a fucking
heel, his business fishtails...

his associates cast him out,
cut him off. For what reason?

It's smart management.
You hang on to her...

parade her through once in a while, show
everybody what a sweetheart you are...

That's bullshit. We both agree, Danny's
not the sharpest cat on the planet.

You're confusing smart with savvy.
Danny's not textbook bright...

but he's got a shitload of panache,
showmanship. - He still loves his wife.

I don't know how you can't see that.
For that, I am envious.

I loved Natalie. I still love her right now,
this minute. - I know what you're saying.

Why do you think I keep
this strapped to my finger?

Hope springs eternal.
- Hope can spring as long as it likes.

Natalie, like Sylvia, is gone for good.

We re gonna be two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars richer.

What kind of pay day would our
old ladies have offered up...

in lieu of a quarter million dollars?
- You're right.

I can't keep, you know...
- You beat yourself up.

"I could have done this if..."
You know what I'm saying?

Now. That's the thing. You take it,
snatch it, seize it, grab it now.

You flinch, it's blown. - It is.
- Hindsight, retrospect.

Everybody's brilliant looking back.
- 'Cause it's easy. - It is!

And that's the only thing that taunts
you in the end. Not the things you did...

The things you didn't do.
- That's why we're doing what we're doing.

You need one reason, that's why. 'Cause
I don't wanna "what if" looking back.

On that note, permit me this hypothetical.
I've been thinking about this a little bit.

Cop shows up on the lot.
This is just "what if".

Cop shows up on the lot,
report of a stolen vehicle.

Looks a lot like that red
convertible you have over there.

Mind if I see the bill of sale... we
don have that. Mind if I see the title...

we don't have that either. Where's the
registration, your guess is as good as ours.

Open the trunk...
- We can't 'cause it would explode.

You're both under arrest for grand
theft auto, receiving stolen merchandise.

You have the right to remain,
etcetera... Listen to what I'm saying.

What are you saying?
- Keep your voice down.

I'm saying we have the car,
we act on that. - Act on it how?

This car gets laid on us, quarter
million, only half of which we've seen.

Day after tomorrow, somebody
shows up, pops the trunk.

Where did all this cocaine come from?
My god, theres a dead body in here.

Now you've got a possession
rap and a major murder beef

you couldn't beat on your best day.
Think about it.

No tags, no title, no bill of sale.

This thing looks, feels and
smells like a fucking setup.

You're fucking nuts! Is this
speculative, are you speculating?

What is this? - I'm suggesting.
I'm offering a suggestion.

You're suggesting what? - We take
the car. - The Le Mans? Take it where?

Take it, lift it, steal it, hijack it...
- For what purpose?

Ransom it back. - Ransom it back?
- What is this, connect the dots?

We take the car, we put a price on it, we
ransom it back. We run the table on them.

You wanna take what, from all
appearances, is a heads up gig...

You wanna take that and put an extortion
twist on it. Are you fucking nuts?

We took the ether on that lot,
something we really wanted.

We got sewn up and shut out,
now we're getting suckered.

How do you know we're getting suckered?
- Come here, come here.

You are letting that hole
in your leg dictate the shot.

You got some vendettarevenge combo
you wanna run, keep me the hell out.

You said you could still smell bullshit.
We got fallguy patsy stenciled all over us.

Someone stickered us chumps. You wanna
sit tight and see what transpires?

Who's fucking nuts now? - You knew
it was gonna come to this all along.

But the fact of the matter
remains... - we made a deal, Sid.

One that is neither binding now
permanent. Think about what I'm saying.

The consequences if we sit still.
- Consequences which can double if we run.

I don't plan on spending the
rest of my life as tumbleweed.

This is a one shot thing. You have to ask
yourself, do you have the stomach for it?

Can we gut it out and make for ourselves
like we did when we started the lot?

Fuck the lot, this is bigger than that.
- This whole thing is a big slice of voodoo.

It is what it is. Opportunity and nothing
more. To get it, you must take it now.

How do you know the car will start?
- 'Cause we have the key.

#DUMPSTER DU JOUR#

What's the status on the room?
- It's clean. No latent prints, no spillage.

SDI found traces of
cordite artifact in the rug.

It appears the victim was first
shot... and then dismembered.

What do you got? - Nothing for you.

What about the maid service, desk
clerk...anything? - Nothing but vagaries.

Tall, blonde man, sunglasses.
Nondescript.

Okay, I got a right foot.
Removal was accomplished by a hacksaw

or some kind of general carpentry saw.

Victim's scalp seared off
by a hunting knife or a...

Excuse me, Mr. Sportcoat. You're gonna
have to take this business somewhere else.

You're killing me. What the
hell you got going on over there?

Are you the proprietor here?
- Right. My name is Milt Huggins,

owner-operator of Huggins Roadside Hacienda,
formerly known as Holiday AGoGo Inn.

Before I contact some sort of legal
service, which I do have a right to do...

I got a card here in my pocket. My associate
is a trial lawyer right here in town.

Before I do that, I just wanna
know what the hell's going on here?

Mr. Huggins, right? - I'm Agent Jared,
this is Agent Littel. We're with the FBI.

We're investigating a murder
scene here. Do you understand that?

I understand that.
But I'm the one you're killing here.

I'm in peak season here.
My hotel is full to capacity.

I understand your concern for your
business, but we cannot disturb this area.

If we do, we put the integrity
of the evidence here at risk.

You do want to catch this guy? - I don't give
a frog's ass if you do catch this character.

All I know is I got a
hotel full to capacity.

I got people going down to the kidney
pool expecting a nice afternoon.

They run across some guy hacked to
hell, that reflects poorly on me.

We can appreciate that.
I tell you what we' re gonna do.

We're gonna try to conduct as
discreet an investigation as possible.

I got fingers! I got the left hand!

Get those fingers to SDI and
have them dusted for prints.

Get a hazmat crew out here
and remove that dumpster.

Excuse me, sir, I'm terribly sorry.
These folks are federal agents.

They're gonna be done with their job
in just a minute. In the meantime,

we got complimentary beverages
and finger food down by the pool...

we got backgammon, we got baccarat, and
competitive shuffleboard for the seniors.

I got the head!
- Please enjoy your stay.

#THE BIG BUSTOUT#

Get down! Get your head down!
Do you see anything?

Do you see any wire?
Start it, goddamn it, start it!

#REDNECK RECKONING#

Hi. I was just calling you.
- What happened?

We missed them.
- What's this "we" shit?

#326 PM#

Outside of the severed limbs, this is the only
piece of saline evidence out of that dumpster.

This from Carbajal? - Yeah.
The killer sawed through the clothes,

tore it up quite a bit,
but we ran the number. - And?

It belongs to a Raymont Phelps.
- Raymond? - No, Raymont.

We sent a unit over to the
house to question the landlady.

Said he was late with his
rent, chronically, in fact.

Last time she saw him two days
ago, he was with another guy.

You get a description on that?
- Who? - The guy he was with.

Blonde, 6.1. - Blonde...

The desk clerk at the motel
rented 260 out to a blonde man.

Anything else, specifics? Did you check
the place? - Yeah, it's clean, nothing.

Witnesswise, what do we got? We got two
truckers that made Drubb at the El Matador.

We got one mechanic who
testified under oath.

Room service slash housekeeping saw
Carbajal... blonde man, very nonspecific.

The only one who had contact...
- The mechanic.

Who says he A, knew nothing about the
car, and B, received no money from Drubb.

That's testimony that runs completely
counter to the two freight drivers.

Somebody's not saying something.
- No, they're not.

Let's just dismiss Earle Ray Enteman's
testimony. - Who? - The mechanic.

Let's just assume it's diluted. - Which
it probably is. - Which it certainly is.

He lies under oath... - On a sworn summons.
- On a sworn summons from the Grand Jury.

This is a man tiptoeing on a tightrope. And
he's risking a fullblown federal prosecution

Why? - That's what we're gonna find out.

#GRAB BAG UGLY#

What's the number we're
playing with here? - Four grand.

Four grand? You're looking under the
trunk, Bill. - It's very dirty under there.

That's a fucking gouge.
Just do it. That's fine.

#BILL'S AUTOMOTIVE 351 PM#

How much? - Four grand. - What?
- Do you wanna do what he s doing?

Do you wanna crawl underneath there? It's
risk rates. This is hazardous duty pay.

And he's cool? You know him?
- I don't know him personally.

He's a friend of a friend. He's solid.
Don't worry about it. - Jesus Christ, Sid.

You guys got yourselves an hones to god
rolling warhead here, a powder keg on wheels

What's up? - Your number if
you fuck around with this.

Your whole chassis, stem to
stern, is wired with C plastique...

molded along the transmission and
keyboxed at the end, probably the trunk.

Keyboxed, what's that? - It's like
a strongbox, takes a key to get in,

disarm whatever detonation
system you got there.

Without a key and likely a coded sequence,
ain't nobody getting into this trunk.

But the guy that dropped
it off, he popped the trunk.

And he probably armed the fucking thing when
he shut it. - This is the real fucking thing

These people actually wired... Somebody
went to a hell of a lot of trouble.

Great pains to make sure
nobody tampered with this trunk.

Rather blow it than show it. - Looks
like it's counterweighted, NG based.

NG? - Nitroglycerine. - Beautiful.
We're tooling around in this thing...

with the most unstable compound known
to men, sloshing around. Fuck this.

Is it safe to drive? - Not likely.

You got enough boom under here to blow
this thing six or seven stories high.

How did you know it wasn't wired
into the ignition? - We didn't know.

You are a pisser, aren't you?
- Can you do anything with it?

Clip a wire, cut a fuse?
- Common sense.

Don't deny it and you ought not to defy it.
And common sense say simply, don't touch it.

Alright, Sid. We are in a bigtime pinch here
- Thanks for cueing me in on that.

I am not anywhere remotely hipped
about driving around on top of a bomb.

How safe is it? I gotta get the
fucking car out. - You got it here.

Don't go over 40, treat it like your
greatgranny, you'll be all right.

That's not good enough.
It's not gonna be good enough.

We take a pothole, hit
a speed bump too hard...

Why are you telling me
shit that I already know?

Gentlemen, you got a problem here.
We got a big problem. - What, what, what?

You got some kind of leakage here.
- Where? Not from the trunk.

Yeah, from the trunk.
What kind of fluid is that?

This is blood!
- Bill, this is not...

that is not fucking
blood. This is not blood!

You're overreacting.
This could be any number of things.

It's brown, for Christ's sake.
- Are you colorblind? It's red.

It's not red. - This isn't tranny
fluid, it's not motor oil.

It's blood on my hand.
- It could be any number of things.

Don't pull that shit 'til we get this sorted
out. - There's a pool of it collecting...

Relax. Both of you, fucking
relax. It's not blood.

Jesus Christ, he says it's
blood, I say it's blood...

it's fucking blood red in color,
and it looks exactly like blood.

How many more forms of ID
do you need? - So it's blood.

We got Hiroshima strapped to this,
you're worried there's blood in the trunk?

Listen! - You gotta go.

#HUB BUB FOR VIC DRUB#

I already filled out one of them
after Davids, so fuck you and David.

Mr. Enteman, the penalty for perjury in
a federally sanctioned investigation...

will put you in Leavenworth for
the rest of your natural life.

Howdyho, hello to you,
too, Mister Motherfucker.

I hope you can appreciate
the gravity of the situation,

because you're going down a long, dark
road. You withheld on the Drub shooting.

I want to know what you omitted, right
here and now. - I told them all I know.

I was inside, I hear this bang, bang, bang,
I come out, Drubb's lying extra dead.

This offer expired in the next sixty
seconds. I want the truth and nothing but,

only this time in its entirety.
Earle, I know the day-to-day.

I got surveillance guys
catching all kinds of shit...

prostitution, meth sales, stolen shipment
swapping, I got weapons trafficking.

I could go on, but the point
is, I got your country ass.

I got you dead to rights if I so desire.
If you wanna cooperate,

this whole file remains inactive.
You wanna play games with me,

we come back, bugles blaring...
I'm leading the charge.

Know that you have no other choice.
Was there a vehicle here?

If so, was Drubb here to
pick that vehicle up? - Yeah.

Elaborate. Make and model. - I don't
know...it was a GTO, a Le Mans.

You know what? It had a "for
sale" sign in the window. - For sale?

The guy gives me five grand, tells me
this cat named Vic is gonna show up.

He'll add another three thousand to
the kitty if I just give him the keys.

What guy? - The one who delivered the car.
Big dude, blonde. Big blonde motherfucker.

Big, what, over six feet? - Yeah.

So he hands you the keys to the
car, some instructions, then what?

Then this slick, pimplooking,
bolotie Drubb shows up.

He doles out the cash, I deal him the
keys... I go inside. You know the rest.

Friday, 4:29 p.m. Regarding
the incidental evidence

surrounding the Drubb-Priolo shootings...
After reinterviewing Earle Ray Enteman...

I have determined that the
original witness testimony

was inaccurate. Now Enteman
revised previous testimony...

and made another link to our
unidentified blonde suspect.

It's my belief that the blonde man is
intrinsically linked to all the murders.

I think he's hiring career criminals
and turning them on one another.

This is all to encumber
any ensuing investigations.

And I also believe that this man
is covering for someone else...

because he simply
cannot be working alone.

#GUTCHECH#

In the event of an absolute, end-of-the-
world, Armageddon, fucked up emergency...

you call that phone number.
- Who's this?

Vernon, my man.
Cash money man Vernon.

Sid, you are one dead
bitch, you understand me?

I'm not gonna talk to you
when you're acting like this.

We have the car. - You do?
- Yes, we have the car.

I know you ain't this motherfucking
stupid! - Vernon, listen to me.

I'm gonna hang up the goddamn...

Hello? Who's this? Who is this?

Hold on just a second.

Who is this? - This is the guy that just
put two slugs into the former Vernon Cash.

Where is my car?
- Listen to me very carefully,

'cause the line is going dead in 10 seconds.
You understand me? The line goes dead.

Five hundred thousand dollars to get the car
back in any kind of salvageable condition.

You meet me out Route near the reactors.
If you don't know where it's at, find out.

You understand me? I hope you're
listening to me. End of call.

#427 PM#

You know what? This is everything bad.
This is all the wrong we have ever done.

I've been listening to you
for the last hour. I'm done.

I'm done hearing that shit.
- This is fucking weird.

The last two days have been nothing
but how bad it is. I'm tired of it.

This is fucking weird. - What? - I just had
a dream about this fucking place.

You know, that's wonderful.
- You know what? You died at the end.

It's fucking weird. I don't like this.
- Why the fuck would you tell me that?

Why would you say that to me now?
- It was a dream.

I don't give a shit if it was a dream.
Why would you say that to me?

I had a dream. - Do me a favor.
You've totally lost composure.

The last two days have been a joke.
Do me a favor.

Shut up, or say something that
makes sense. Do one or the other.

It's getting old. It's getting
really old. Get your act together.

#DOUBLE BARRELED DOOMSDAY#

You the guy that I spoke with?
- I am he, yes.

You're good? You understand the gist,
the upshot of what we're doing here?

What? - You know what I'm talking about.

Are you sure you're the guy I talked to?
- I'm the guy, yes.

Where's that commanding phone presence?
- The money, the extra money.

Did you bring the extra money? I want
the money. - No. - What do you mean, no?

What, no? It was you and I that talked
on the phone. - I was aware of that.

The contract called for thousand down,
remainder on delivery of the vehicle.

There were no revisionary clauses
concerning theft and ransom of said vehicle.

You broke the contract. - Forget it.
We're not talking about the contract.

Bob. - Now what are you doing?

Listen to me, five hundred
thousand dollars right now...

or me and this guy behind me take you
down dead. You understand me, right now.

I did not bring half a million dollars with
me. In fact, I didn't bring any money at all

We forfeited the balance
when you fled with the car.

Get your buddy. I wanna see
him. Get him out of the car.

Get him out of the fucking car right now.
- I can see that we're reaching an impasse.

And frankly, I don't feel all that well.
I'd like to get out of here,

go home and take a shit.
So here's the situation.

You, neither of you, have ever
killed a man. I'd venture to say,

no matter how extraordinary the
circumstances, right now included...

you're both too morally
inclined for murder.

Your friend Ray, I shot him sixteen times
and poured quick dry cement down his throat.

Vernon, you heard what happened
to Vernon. But after I reloaded

and shot him again, I doused him
with propane and roasted his corpse.

The guy who delivered your car?
Cut him up digit for digit,

then decorated a dumpster
with what was left.

This is the work of a guy with
no ethical attachments at all.

A silly, screwy guy.
Now, if you don't mind...

What are you doing? Don't do
that. - It's okay, it's all right.

It's not okay, it's not all right.
Put the gun away.

It's all right, don't worry.
Nothing's gonna happen. - Bob! Bob!

You don't shoot on a regular basis, you're
not gonna hit anything over 20 feet away.

I can get both of you from right
here in about half a second.

I'm just trying to help you out now.
- Give me the money right now!

Dan? What... what?

Kiddo, my profound apologies.
I'm very, very disappointed.

It should have been handled differently.

I know Sid. In all
fairness, he's blind greedy.

He played this thing
with epic stupidity.

This was a standup arrangement
he personally shot to hell.

What is this? You don't sound like...

A cornball car hustler extraordinaire?
No, that's a public face, a bit player.

Dan, what is this? Sid is dead.
I mean... - It's very involved, Bob.

You know my wife.
She has a condition.

You already know she's very
ill, has been for some time.

Bad blood, diseased, infected.

Heart pumps poison through
her system at all hours.

I have exhausted every means of modern
medical technology in an effort to cure it.

Nothing.

Now, I have friends...
connections, far and wide.

Some time ago, word reaches me,
a native tribe in Equador...

A small indigenous tribe called
the Machu Picu was slaughtered.

...rumors, myths their blood
is blessed, supercharged.

Something about the mountain air.
No history of cancer, plaguefree.

The elders live to be, 110-120 years old.

I receive a pint, a transfusion
for my wife. Instantly she responds.

She's up, moving around under her
own power... spirits lifted, laughing.

I hadn't seen my wife
laugh in six years.

It lasts for a month... then she's back
to bedridden, meals through straw status.

I try to secure more
blood, am flatly denied.

I pour money into the offer by the bushel. I
plead, I grovel, just shy of shedding tears.

imploring the tribal
heads to reconsider.

I offer them every worldly possession
I own in exchange for their help.

They refuse my every entreaty.
They spite me.

And they hold the fate of my wife
of 43 years in their third world grasp.

Each of the victims was bled, almost
to the point of being drained dry.

So arrangements are made, men are hired.

I don't hire salesmen...
I hire hitmen.

Thugs, crooks, mercenaries. Mr. Reich
over there handles the contracts.

Goon squad versus peaceful mountain
village. The entire tribe is slaughtered.

Their blood is spilled,
bottled, and shipped back to me.

I wish it could have been
prevented...it couldn't.

Dottie would never have
condoned any of this.

She grew up with strict,
Protestant parents.

You had people killed so your wife...
Blood for your wife?

Dan, you're responsible...
- It's a hitandrun world. Savage.

Swallow you whole, spit out the bones.
You gonna draw a line

on what you would or wouldn't do for
someone who meant the world to you?

There are still things
in this life, Bob...

things that are
unbreakable, vows, promises.

My family is the only
thing that matters to me.

'Cause when it's all said and done
and your business is dead and buried...

it's only your family that cares if you live
or die. Everybody else is a Christmas card.

The thought of me without her, the
children without their mother...

was a thought I didnt want to think.

I love my wife more than I will ever
be able or ever care to put into words.

And with that love comes
complete commitment.

So if I'm required to pistol-whip
the Pope on her behalf...

then the Papal robes are
running red, make no mistake.

'Cause I'm in it to win it.

I've been selling cars for almost forty
years. That's not where I made my money.

Agents from the ATF and the Drug Enforcement
Agency have been tracking an elusive

and very lucrative smuggling
operation for the past ten years now.

I've done enough bad shit in my day
to land me in the hottest spot in hell.

If that's where I'm headed, so be it. I
don't know hell. It's not tangible to me.

When I kiss my wife, that is,
and that's all I wanna know.

And heaven? I'm a punishable soul,
a sinner in every sense of the word.

But since the only redemption
I've ever sought in my life...

was on cash back dealer
incentives and factory buybacks...

which the big three in their
divinity always grant...

my afterlife status is unimportant.

Mr. Reich, heaven or hell, any thoughts?
- They're both overrated.

I agree wholeheartedly.

I'm no better than any of them.
Never was, never will be.

Why did you do this to us?
- You helped me, I tried to help you.

The audit... I will be making
good on this, Bob, believe it.

If you'd have just sat on the car you would
have been fine. I had the IRS all over me.

I couldn't take delivery with the federal
government camped out on my doorstep.

So the car was a gift?
- You read into it.

You thought it was a setup.
It wasn't... this is.

What do you mean? - We have a trunk
full of stolen drugs, contraband.

But you just put that there.
- I did?

You got a dead partner who exchanged
bullets with a dead mercenary.

You got a closed case,
blood simple murder scene.

And you, kiddo, have
earned fugitive status.

You can't explain any of this, you
can only run from it. - It's a frame, Dan!

I'm telling you, it is
this and nothing more.

Are you gonna turn me in?
I'm handing you a clean slate.

The Camaro over there, it's
yours, it's unregistered.

We're two hundred and sixty
miles from the Mexican border.

The remaining hundred and twenty
five thousand is in the trunk.

Are you gonna turn me in?
- It wouldn't make. It wouldn't wash.

They'd never believe... - No, they wouldn't.
I know I've given you reason.

Maybe I destroyed your
business, maybe I meant it.

Maybe I've given you this
chance all along, maybe not.

It doesn't matter now. I'm a bad guy.

That's my cross to bear.
I'm only sorry about Sid.

The rest...the rest are
fading into forgotten.

I'm going home now. Good life
to you, kiddo. You deserve it.

#EPILOGUE#

Fiftysix pounds of unprocessed,
Bolivian cut cocaine...

recovered from the trunk of one
1963 Pontiac Le Mans convertible.

Two dead. One, tall, blonde,
ponytail, pending identification.

The other, Sidney J. French, twentynine.
Ran a now defunct auto dealership.

He had a partner, Robert Douglas
Melba, thirtyone... unaccounted for.

He is still at large.