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Was it Dillinger got shot through the eyeball
or am I thinking of somebody else?

Moe Greene got shot through
the eyeball in The Godfather.

Yeah, I'm talking about in real life.

Somebody in real life
got shot through the eyeball.

Who was that?

Well, no, Larry, many people in real life
have got shot through the eyeball.

I'm just saying
I think Dillinger was one of them.

That's really good aim.

- No, that ain't really good aim.
- How is that not really good aim, Tommy?

That's 100 fucking cops
shooting 1 ,000 bullets a minute.

One of them's bound to go through
somebody's fucking eyeball.

Eyeball. Eyeball, eyeball, eyeball.

You ever shoot a guy in his eyeball?

I stabbed a guy in his ear once,
ice pick, right in his fucking ear.

Yeah, see, that'd be a different subject.
That'd be "ears."

- What's the matter with you, Tommy?
- Nothing's the matter with me.

Are you nervous because
we're killing a chick?

Yeah, look at me, I'm shaking.
I got the chick-killing shakes.

The last thing the boss says to me, he says,

"Tommy, the moment
I first saw Angela's eyes, I knew it.

"I knew it was love, I knew I was fucked.
And lo and behold, I was.

"So, Tommy, the moment after you kill her,

"please, shoot her fucking eyeballs out."
Those were his exact words.

I got one exact word for that.

"Overkill."

I got two exact words for that, "Hear, hear."

I got three exact words for that.
"You're damn fucking straight."

In Cuba, the torturers used to have a device,
two thin metal spikes,

placed here, that they adjusted,

and slowly, millimeter by millimeter,
pricked into the eyeballs.

You're kidding me?
Those Communist motherfuckers.

Well, no, Larry. These are the ones
those Communist motherfuckers kicked out.

What is it with you today, Tommy?

First it's should we or shouldn't we
shoot this chick through the eyeballs,

and second, it's you've gone soft...

Hey, Martin, it's your agent calling again.

Just wondering when we're gonna see
that new screenplay of yours.

I'm not sure what the holdup is,
but the old clock's ticking, buddy,

so give me a call, okay?

Hiya, Kaya.

Martin's writing today, Billy.

Should I just stand outside like a dick, then?

You doing yoga?

- Was.
- Can I watch?

What happened to you?

I got in a fight at my audition.

Who with this time?

- The director guy.
- He broke his nose.

How are you ever gonna get a job, Billy,

if you break the director guy's nose
before you even got the part?

I didn't mean to break his nose.

His nose was just in the middle
of where I was punching.

- I'm going to work.
- Are you pissed at me for something, baby?

Why would I be pissed at you, Marty?

- Because you're a cunt.
- Billy!

I don't remember
doing anything to piss her off.

Don't worry about it.

She's probably pissed at you
not for anything specific,

more because she's a fucking bitch.

She's not a fucking bitch, Billy.
She's just got issues.

Yeah, she's got issues.
She's got "being a fucking bitch" issues.

When are you gonna get a girlfriend anyway?
Why do I have to do all this shit on my own?

Maybe I've already got a girlfriend.

A girlfriend I can't tell you anything about
in the interests of your own safety.

That just means you haven't got a girlfriend.

Proof be if need proof... Never mind.

Proof be if need be.

And how's everything
in the dog-kidnapping business?

Dog-"borrowing" business.
I ain't talking about that shit neither.

Dog-borrowing business.

Big boy.

His name's Abel.

- Hi. Is this your dog?
- Oh, my God!

- I have to pay you.
- No, please. I can't.

- Take this. Thank you so much.
- Are you serious?

Hey, hey. So where do you wanna go, Hans,
now that we're back in the money?

- The cancer ward, Billy, if you don't mind.
- One cancer ward coming right up.

Five hundred bucks, baby.
A blonde lady with a big fat basset hound.

When you gonna get a job
that ain't just stealing from folks, Hans?

I'm a 63-year-old, ain't worked in 20 years.
Myra, where am I gonna get a job?

Government.

Government?

"A job that ain't just stealing from folks"?

Government?

Government.

Five hundred bucks for a dog.

Come on. I'm gonna put it here,
and you can take it if you want.

So how's the Seven Psychopaths
coming along, Marty?

Slow, slow.

I got the title.

Just haven't been able to
come up with all the psychopaths yet.

- How many you got?
- One.

And he ain't really much of a psychopath.
He's more of a, kind of a Buddhist.

A Buddhist?

Yeah. See, I'm sick of all these stereotypical

Hollywood murderous
scumbag-type psychopath movies.

I don't want it to be one more film
about guys with guns in their hands.

I want it, overall, to be about love and peace.

But it still has to be about
these seven psychopaths,

so this Buddhist psychopath,

he doesn't believe in violence.

I don't know what the fuck
he's gonna do in the movie.

Maybe he could karate chop somebody.

You know?

So what happens to
the seven psychopaths at the end?

I don't know what happens to them
at the start.

Yeah, it'll be all right.

Hey. Shit in my pants,

I got a psychopath fool you can write about.

Did you see this thing
in the paper the other day

about those two Mafia guys
who got whacked?

How about this?

There's a serial killer going around,
a major whacko.

However, he ain't like
your usual limp-ass serial killer,

tie up a freckle-headed hitchhiker
on a highway.

No, this guy,
he's got a little bit more integrity.

This serial killer will only kill
mid- to high-ranking members

of the Italian-American
organized crime syndicate.

Or the Yakuza.

- That's a great fucking psychopath, Billy.
- Do you think?

A serial killer who will only kill

mid- to high-ranking members
of the Italian organized crime syndicate.

Or the Yakuza. Yakuza.

I'll keep with the Mafia,
saves doing Jap dialogue.

Good idea.

That's a great fucking psychopath, Billy.
Can I keep him?

You can if you let me help write
the movie with you.

You can keep him, Marty,
I'm just kidding you.

The daughter of a Quaker went missing.

And when she was discovered,
the slit in her throat

turned out to be the least
of the damage done to her.

Her killer, whose name shall not be noted,

could not bear
the guilt and the horror, he said,

and a year to the day of her death,

he walked into a police station
and gave himself up.

And though he asked for execution,
the judge gave him life,

and the killer was sent off to Sing Sing
to serve out his sentence.

Seventeen long years went by.

The killer found religion.

And was sincere about it. He had changed.

And if he had ever been a psychopath,
he was not one anymore.

This story isn't about him.

Many more years went by

and the authorities finally realized
that it wasn't a scam,

that he did truly mean it.
That he had truly repented.

And they decided to set him free.

And he found himself a place to stay

and he determined to live a simple,
joyous life in the years now left to him.

A simple, joyous life
was not what was left to him.

This went on for 11 fucking years,
till finally the killer went mad.

And one winter night,
while recalling a Catholic tract he'd read,

which stated that
the only people guaranteed a place in Hell

were not murderers, were not rapists,

but were those who had died
by their own hand.

The killer accepted such an idea as beautiful,

for he knew that at least in Hell
the Quaker would not be there.

So he cut his own throat open,

and the last thing that the killer ever saw

was the old man take out
a cut-throat razor of his own,

put it to his throat,

and slice.

Where were you walking him, Sharice?

The La Brea Tar Pits.

Mr. Costello, please don't hurt me.

I promise, I didn't mean to lose Bonny.

I just turned around and he was gone.

If it was a genuine error, Sharice,

if it wasn't your fault and he just run off,

why did you run off,

have us piss away 12 hours
just to find your fat ass?

You love your dog so much, Mr. Costello,

and you're such an angry-type person,

I didn't think you'd listen to
anything I had to say about losing Bonny.

You'd just think it was my fault

and drag me back here
and tie me up and kill me.

Well, yeah, that was a pretty good...

Yeah.

- You should get a new one, boss.
- I know, but I like the handle, the blue.

I'm sorry about this, Sharice.
What it is, I don't oil it.

Please, Mr. Costello, I always loved Bonny
like he was my own child.

One, I do not want that image in my head.

Two, you shouldn't take advantage
just because my gun got stuck by accident.

Because that's low.

There's been a bunch of dog disappearances
down by the La Brea Tar Pits, I heard.

This Norwegian chick I was banging,
she got her dog back.

Been missing a couple of days.

Gave the guy a big reward,

then she started to think
there was something fishy about it.

She asked around.

Same thing happened
to three people down there.

And, I'm sorry, Dennis,
when were you gonna mention this?

I'd have mentioned it straight off
if I hadn't been looking for fat-ass all night.

Dennis,

could you go make some inquiries?

Get my fucking dog back for me.

Sure, boss.

What about fatso?

She still lost my fucking dog, man.

Just kidding, Sharice. You can go.

You think I'm gonna see Wendy again
when I go?

We'll both see her again, baby,
but not anytime too soon.

You ever worry we was wrong all those years,

and there ain't no Heaven
and there ain't no nothing?

Of course I worry, but God loves us.
I know He does.

He's just got a funny way
of showing it sometimes.

Sometimes I think
God's gone crazy sometimes.

Stuff He does, stuff He don't do.

Well, He's had a lot to contend with
in his time, too, you know.

Bastards killed His kid, too.

Don't say "bastards," honey.

It's just a word, Myra.

It's just a word, you know.

"Bastards."

You're gonna have
a nice time tonight, Billy. Relax.

He's your best friend, ain't he?

Kaya ain't so bad.
It ain't her fault she's a fucking bitch.

Must be hard coming all the way here
from Australia.

Or New Zealand.
Or wherever the fuck she came from.

Hey, I'm Billy. Billy Bickle.

What's your name? I didn't catch your name.

Hey. Come again?

Dimitri, I like that. Where you from?

Hey, happy birthday.

Hey, Bonny.

We'll get you back to your daddy
in a day or two.

Don't be sad.

That's good. You're not sad.
Oh, you're happy!

Paw.

No paw. That's okay, too.

And the last thing that the killer ever saw

was the Quaker take out a cut-throat razor,

put it to his own throat, and slice.

What's up, Bickle? Don't you get it?

- I get it.
- You don't look like you get it.

Maybe it ain't clear enough.

Maybe I should have
had you write it with me.

Maybe you just drink too much, Marty.

What did you just say?

You're a dog kidnapper, Billy.

I'm taking advice on drinking
from a dog kidnapper.

I ain't a dog kidnapper, Marty.

Stop it, Martin.

- Don't you fucking start.
- Yeah, don't you fucking start.

- Don't talk to her like that!
- You started it.

Shut up!

Kaya, that Quaker story,

I told Marty that story
in a bar two months ago.

A friend of mine told that to me.

So there might be copyright issues,
at the very least.

What are youse looking at?

I'm gonna go, okay?

Thanks for... It was a nice party.
You look nice.

What you doing, honey?
Ain't you getting undressed?

If I could massacre every person in this
godforsaken country...

...that helped tear apart mine, I would.

I must focus, however, on the
gruesome task I have in hand.

What are you talking, baby? Chinese?

Vietnamese. Vietnamese.

Vietnamese. Yeah, didn't we have
like a big war with you guys one time?

Yes.

It isn't over.

What am I doing at your place, Billy?

Kaya threw you out.

What did Kaya throw me out for?

You don't remember?

For calling her a fucking bitch
in front of all of her friends.

I'd never do that.

At least not to her face.

Well, call her up and see.

Hello?

Honey, listen, I can't exactly remember
what happened last night.

Do the words,
"My girlfriend's a fucking bitch,"

mean anything to you?

Poodles always look like they've been crying.

Maybe they've just got dumped
by their girlfriend

because they've got a drinking problem, too.

I don't have a drinking problem.
I just like drinking.

Of course you do, Marty.

One, you're a writer.

Two, you're from Ireland.

It's part of your heritage. You're fucked!

Fuck off now, Billy!
Seriously, just fuck off now!

I'm not in the fucking mood!

You were fucked from birth.

Spanish have got bullfighting.
The French got cheese.

And the Irish have got alcoholism.

And what have the Americans got?

Tolerance.

Shoot, you're reading LA Weekly, are you?

No, no, no.

Shoot, did I leave any water
in Bonny's bowl?

I'd better go home and do that,
and while I do,

there's something I put in the LA Weekly
that you should maybe read.

'Cause it's possible in the short term
that you might be slightly mad at me.

- What are you talking about?
- Page 163.

Calling all psychopaths!

Are you mental or deranged?

Maybe you've recently been hospitalized,

but are now okay.

Or maybe the world
just doesn't understand you.

Yeah, right!

Well, I'm writing a screenplay with my friend
called the Seven Psychopaths,

and if your story is crazy or quirky enough,
we might use it for our movie.

So please call Billy Bickle at 310-555-01 ...

Fucking asshole dog-fucker.

Really? That's nice.

- No, no, thank you.
- Are you sure?

- Please, really.
- Thank you.

All right, old man, get in the car.
Get in the car. Come on.

- What?
- "What?" Get in the car, man.

Don't make me repeat myself, dog fucker.

Where do you keep the dogs?

What dogs?

- To repeat, where do you keep the dogs?
- 1228 Bayside.

Who are you?

- I'm Billy's friend.
- Well, just keep out of our way, Billy's friend.

Al, check the cages.

- He ain't here!
- Where is he, old man?

Little shih tzu, name of Bonny.

Shih tzu? We ain't never had
a shih tzu in here.

You don't listen too good the first time,
do you, old man?

Tell me where Bonny is,
or else this guy gets it!

I don't even know this guy.
What the hell do I care?

I know where the shih tzu is.
I know where the shih tzu is.

Where is he?

Kid, I don't know who you are
or why you're here,

and I don't know if you do know
where this shih tzu is

or if you don't know where this shih tzu is,

but either way have some pride in yourself.

Have some faith in Jesus Christ as your Lord,

and don't tell
these scum-sucking motherfuckers nothing.

Don't! Don't, I'll tell you! I'll tell you!

Billy! Billy! Billy.

- Holy fuck! What the hell happened?
- Some punks jumped us.

Said they were looking for a little shih tzu.
Then some other punk killed those punks.

I've only been gone 10 fucking minutes.
Marty, are you okay?

- You looked fucked.
- I just didn't need this today.

He's okay. It's their blood. It's his puke.

You wanna go to the bathroom,

clean some of the blood
and the puke off you?

Marty's my writer friend
I was telling you about.

I could smell the booze.

Where did you get this little shih tzu, Billy?

I got her off some fat black chick
down at The Elephants.

You think she's the one that they're after?

I think there's a strong possibility, Billy.

So are we gonna give him his dog back?

That jerk's forfeited all right
to having a nice dog like this.

Miss?

Well, what are we gonna do?

I think we should try and find
this Jack O' Diamonds guy

and get him to join forces with us.

And then we could take on all the bad guys,
like maybe in the desert.

And what do you think
we should do in real life?

Well, we could sober up, Marty.
How's that grab you?

- I think we should go to the cops.
- Fuck the cops! Fuck them!

- Fuck them.
- All right. Jesus Christ.

There are some nice cops, aren't there?

He's from Ireland.

I'm gonna head to the hospital.

I said I'd be with Myra
when her results come in.

No fucking cops.

No cops.

- Who's Myra?
- His wife.

She's just had surgery for cancer.
And you think you've got problems.

He ain't here, and now we don't know

where this guy is
or what the hell he looks like.

Yeah, can we get Dennis
to a hospital now, Charlie?

Yeah, let's get him to a hospital.

And let's get on to the ASPCA

and have 'em take care
of these poor bastards.

Maybe we should go
to the hospital with him, Charlie.

You know I don't like hospitals.

Yeah, but it's where the guy's wife is.

You know, Marty,
the way you're feeling today,

all depressed and alcoholic and shit?

You know what you should do?
Put it into your writing, man.

Use it. Mad idea?

Thanks, Billy, that's what I'll do.

I'll put the way
I'm feeling today into my writing.

And then I'll go blow my fucking brains out.

Come on, man.

You know your writing helps alleviate
your suicidal self-loathing and shit.

I don't have suicidal self-loathing and shit.

Yeah, right. Hey, who's this chump?

Hey, are you waiting for somebody, old guy?

Are you Billy Bickle?

No.

Well, my name is Zachariah Rigby.

I left a message on Billy's telephone
in answer to the advertisement.

For fuck's sake!

Well, I tell you, Zachariah.

If you sounded like a nut,
I probably just deleted you.

I don't think I sounded like a nut.

Were you screaming about eating
my heart off a tray and then shitting on it?

No. No, I wouldn't do that.

Okay, you seem normal. Come on in.

We gotta get this dog off the street
because it's kidnapped from a maniac.

Dandy.

Testing, one-two. Testing. Okay.

Zach, unfortunately
I gotta go play tennis with my girlfriend now,

but it's Marty
who'll be doing the writing anyway.

You ain't leaving me with this nut, Billy.

And you ain't got a girlfriend.
He ain't got a girlfriend.

Tennis?

But it's voice-activated,
so just start telling your kooky stuff, Zach,

and see you guys soon, okay?

- Zach?
- Yeah.

All right, listen. Why don't you just tell me
whatever you wanna tell me,

and I'll go make us a coffee. How about that?

Tea.

Tea? Why not?

Well, I guess

it all began back when I was 17.

I...

The distant mists of time.

I was a little wet behind the ears back then.
I don't mind admitting it.

I was burglarizing the house
of this judge down in Delacroix.

Let me tell you something,
don't never burglarize

the house of no judge down in Delacroix.

Because when I went down
into his basement,

you know what I found down there?

I found the corpses of
two negro girls down there.

And then I found
a half-alive 'nother negro girl

chained right along with them.

Well,

the girl's name was Maggie.

She told me all about the judge

and she told me what a terrible man he was,

and I think I fell in love with Maggie
right then and there.

And I think she did a little with me, too.

Then the judge came home.

Yeah, and he was awful angry.

We just didn't know what to do.

And what did you do?

Well, we hung him from his neck
until he was dead,

and that's when Maggie and me
got this idea, see?

What idea?

Well, the idea that we'd go
around the country killing people

who go around the country killing people.

Like serial killer killing.

I guess that's what you'd call it nowadays.

Get in the house.

Get in the house!

Maggie!

1975 it was, she burned that hippie.

I've been looking for her ever since.

There is something
I'd like you to do for me, Martin.

When you use my story in your movie,

I'd like you to put
a little message up there at the end.

I want you to tell her that I miss her.

And I love her.

And I should have helped her kill that hippie.

And I'm sorry.

And to call.

You think you could do that for me, Martin?

I'd be glad to, Zach.

Promise?

I promise on my life.

That's a big promise.

- Can I help you?
- Yeah.

I'm looking for a Polish lady.

A Mrs. Kieslowski.

She's having an operation.

How long's that gonna take?

I don't know.

What do you want Mrs. Kieslowski for?

Her husband's got something belongs to me.

You gonna shoot her?

No. No, "shoot her"?

No, no, I'm just gonna
scare her so she tells me

where her husband's at
and where my dog's at.

And what if she don't know?

Well, then I'm gonna get mad.

Can I go use the bathroom?

I think you'd better wait
around here for a while.

Maybe do it in a pan or something.

I can wait.

I don't use no pans.

Suit yourself.

What's your dog's name?

Bonny.

That's a nice name.

I'm sure Mr. Kieslowski
will take good care of your dog

and get it back to you safe.

He always seems like a sweet man
when he comes in.

He come visit her a lot?

Every day.

What kind of times every day?

Different times, you know.

And not every day.
He misses a day now and then.

Oh, yeah?

He been in today?

Yeah.

He came in earlier this morning,
about 10:00 or so.

So the Polack married a nigger, huh?

Yeah.

The Polack married a nigger.

Where is he now?

I don't know.

Where's my dog?

You figure it out, dumb-ass.

Goodbye, Mrs. Kieslowski.

Goodbye, Hans.

- We should get out of here.
- I ain't leaving.

I'm gonna wait down there
till that dog-thief motherfucker

You looking at something?

No. Nothing at all.

Are you hurt?

A little.

What's that?

A cravat.

It's nice. It's very...

Of a bygone era.

You have it.

No, really.

Please.

I want you to have it.

Have it.

I don't want your cravat, man.

- What's wrong, honey?
- I don't think I can keep it up, Ang.

Nope.

Look at that limp piece of shit.

- Jeez, I hate these frigging condoms.
- Then take it off, baby, I trust you.

You trust me?
But you're still screwing that Mafia guy.

God knows what shit that prick's given you.

Get the fuck off me, Billy.

I didn't mean AIDS or nothing, honey.

Honey, I meant like chlamydia or something.

Three weeks I haven't seen you,
and that's the way you talk to me?

I've been busy, baby.

I've been busy trying to help you out,
if you must know.

What are you talking about?

Well, you know you said
your asshole boyfriend loves his dog

more than anything in the world, right?

- You haven't?
- I have!

Billy! Billy, you've gotta give it back.

Give it back? I ain't gonna give back shit,
let alone my shih tzu.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God!

- "Give it back." It's kidnapped.
- Oh, my God!

It's a kidnapped dog.
You don't just give back a kidnapped dog.

Defeats the entire object of the kidnapping.

They didn't just give Patty Hearst back,
did they?

No, this dog is my Patty Hearst.

Except I ain't gonna keep it in a closet
and make it rob a bank.

No, I'm gonna hold on to it
until your asshole boyfriend

starts behaving like a decent human being
and gives me a bunch of money.

The guy's a psychopath, Billy!

Well, did you ever ask yourself

what you're doing
screwing a psychopath in the first place?

Screwing two psychopaths
is what the question is.

What? Who's the second? Who, me?

I'm gonna call him, clear this entire thing up.

No, you ain't either. Shit.

- Hello?
- Charlie?

- Hi, Hans. Angela?
- Charlie...

- How are you?
- We were a little worried,

you were late home is all.

Yeah, I know. I just got held up at the library.

Hey, did Myra get her results back?

The results came in. She got the all-clear.

Oh, my God, Hans,

I'm so happy for you.

Well, no, that gangster guy
whose dog we got,

he come down and he killed her.

He what?

I guess he must have found out
the connection somehow.

He came down, he shot her in the head
in the hospital there,

so she's dead now, unfortunately.

I'll be home in 20 minutes.

Charlie, I know, I know we've been
going through some tough times,

but it's all gonna work out fine,
I promise you.

Hi. Can you send an ambulance
to 2618 Mountain Drive?

So don't say I never
do nothing for you. Okay?

Monday the 14th.

Sat watching the shadow of the neighbor's
flagpole across my lawn again

from 7:00 in the morning
to 7:00 in the evening.

That's 11 hours.

They've got a right to fly a flag, don't they?

Note to self,
do not set fire to the neighbor's flag.

Work out more ways
of being a better friend to people.

Kaya, for instance.
She is the girl Marty loves.

Deep down, she is possibly not a cunt.

Marty. Do everything to keep his mind
on track about the Seven Psychopaths.

He is the best writer of his generation,
but he needs to stay focused.

But do not bother him anymore
about writing his screenplay with him.

If he wants your help, he will ask for it.

Hey, hey. Let's go, let's go, let's go.

Hans!

First thing you gotta do, Charlie,
you gotta pull yourself together.

I gotta pull myself together, I know.

I have no idea where my dog is now.

Right, second thing,
we simply speak to Angela,

see what else she knows about this guy,
where he might have got to.

What if she don't know much more?

All right, then we bide our time,

wait until they get in touch with us.

Bonny ain't gonna be no value to them dead.

Don't say "Bonny" and "dead"
in the same thing, Paulo, please.

I'm finding it hard enough to cope.

You're not pulling yourself together,
are you?

I am, I am.

My dog's gonna end up killed.

There's something else, Charlie.

The guy's got about a hundred packs
of playing cards,

and all the Jacks of Diamonds are gone.

The guy's a fucking psychopath.

He's so calm.

Man, if I'd just had my wife murdered,
I think I'd be...

- Angry.
- Yeah.

That's Hans, man. He's a proper Christian.

You know, proper old-time Christian.
Not like these Fox News fucks.

I feel bad, man.
I kind of feel like all this was my fault.

I kidnapped the guy's dog and all.

Come on, Billy. How could you have known
it was that psycho's dog?

Do you wanna help me
write Seven Psychopaths, Billy?

Are you being serious?

I thought I could bounce some ideas
off you, you could tinker with some stuff.

I would love that, Marty.

I would really love that.

I think I'm gonna quit drinking
till the movie's done.

That, right there, is a deal, man.

It's not a deal, no.

I'm just gonna stop drinking for a while.
There's no deal involved.

That, right there, is

not a deal. Equally cool.

But if we go there, we're gonna get lost.

You don't drink, Hans, no?

I take peyote, sometimes.

Billy has some peyote I might take later.

I'm sorry about your wife, Hans.

But I guess she's in Heaven now.

You believe in Heaven?

I'm not sure what I believe, you know.

I put a lot of Heaven and Hell stuff
in my stories, but I'm not sure what I believe.

Why don't you tell me one
of your Heaven and Hell stories, Martin?

Billy said he didn't think you'd like it much.

I like stories.

Okay.

This one is kind of a Heaven and Hell story.

It's more of a Hell story.
It's all about this Quaker psychopath.

Out in the fields, one day,
he comes upon his daughter.

She's been murdered brutally.

...the only ones guaranteed to go to Hell
are those who die by their own hand.

- Stop!
- So he took out a...

- Stop! Stop, stop, stop.
- ...cut-throat...

- What?
- Yeah, what?

I just... I don't think that's a very nice story.

I wanna know what happens at the end.

Well...

So...

The killer took out a cut-throat razor
and as he

cut his throat open, he whispered,
"Now are you happy, old man?"

- And the last thing that...
- The killer ever saw...

That the killer ever saw, yes,
was the old man take out a razor of his own,

put it to his throat and...

And slice.

That's a very good story.

Did you make that up all by yourself?

Some of the details aren't exactly right,
of course.

I wouldn't necessarily call myself
a psychopath, you know,

and I didn't go to Hell, obviously.

I don't know if he did. Yet.

Our beautiful daughter was black.
I don't think you mentioned that.

And I was not on my own the whole time,
following him.

You know, you can't do that kind of work
all on your own.

But looking back on what's been wasted...

At the time, I thought it had to be done.

I'm not so sure anymore.

Course it had to be done. He killed your kid.

You had to fuck him over
by any means necessary.

Well, as Gandhi said...

Oh, you two. If it ain't Gandhi,
it's Jesus Christ.

"An eye for an eye
leaves the whole world blind."

I believe that wholeheartedly.

No, it doesn't.
There'll be one guy left with one eye.

How's the last blind guy
gonna take out the eye

of the last guy left who's still got one eye?

All that guy has to do is run away
and hide behind a bush.

Gandhi was wrong.

It's just that nobody's got the balls
to come right out and say it.

Hans, I'm trying to write something about
the kinds of things you're talking about.

Yeah. Would you like
to help write it with me?

- You said I could help write it with you.
- Yeah, we can all help write it with me.

He doesn't even wanna help write it with you.
His wife just died.

I don't mind helping,
as long as it isn't gonna be too violent.

- Of course it's gonna be too violent.
- That's the whole point.

I told you 20 times, Billy,
I don't want it to be violent.

- I want it to be life-affirming.
- Life-affirming? Schmife-affirming!

- It's about seven fucking psychopaths!
- Hey!

No, you know what I think
the movie should be?

The first half should be a perfect setup
for an out-and-out revenge flick.

- Yeah.
- Violence. Guns.

All the usual bullshit. And then...

I don't know, man, it's...

The lead characters should just walk away.

They should just drive off into the desert
and pitch a tent somewhere

and just talk for the rest of

the frigging movie.
No shoot-outs, no payoffs.

Just human beings talking.

What, are we making French movies now?

That sounds like the stupidest ending.
No shoot-outs?

That sounds like the stupidest ending
to a movie I've ever fucking...

No shoot-outs?

- No?
- No!

Wow.

Now if we were gonna have a shoot-out,
that'd be the perfect place.

I know we're not gonna have a shoot-out.

I'm just saying
if we were gonna have a shoot-out.

Jesus. Gandhi. Joseph.

Martin, I've been reading your movie.

- What do you think?
- Your women characters are awful.

None of them have anything
to say for themselves.

And most of them get either shot
or stabbed to death within five minutes.

And the ones that don't
probably will later on.

Well...

It's a hard world for women. You know?

- And I guess that's what I'm trying to say.
- Yeah, it's a hard world for women,

but most of the ones I know
can string a sentence together.

Didn't you like anything in it?

- You know who I'm intrigued by?
- Who's that?

This Vietnamese guy with the hooker.
Is it like a dream sequence?

No. The Vietnamese guy...

I just know his story
ain't gonna end in nothing

but carnage and horror and...

So I didn't even wanna write it.

He's not even a priest.

I just like the image of a Vietnamese guy
in a priest's outfit with a snub-nosed .44.

Anyway, his story is...

He was in the Vietcong for many years.

A brilliant warrior but a sicko. A psycho.

And when the war was ended,
he returned to his little farming village

with all intentions of living a peaceful life
with his wife and daughters.

But the little farming village
he came from was called

My Lai.

And his wife wasn't there anymore.
And his daughters weren't there anymore.

And he ventured to the USA to track down

all the members of Charlie Company

who raped and butchered
his whole entire family.

You see where I'm going with this, right?

Well, he'd already slaughtered six of them
by the time he got to Phoenix,

where some kind of convention
was about to be held

on the rights and wrongs of the Vietnam War.

And he's got a big bomb with him
that he's gonna strap to a hooker

and send her
into the middle of this convention.

So this is the night that we meet him,
and the hooker's there in her panties.

And, like I said, there's no way
that story's ending but grimly.

That's a great fucking psychopath, Marty.

Yeah. But it's not what I wanna
really be writing about anymore.

New idea. How about we change the title
from the Seven Psychopaths

to the Seven Lesbians Who Are All Disabled
And Have Overcome All This Spazzy Shit

And Are Really Nice To Everybody
And Two Of 'Em Are Black?

How about that?

I'm out here in the wilderness

trying to think about some ideas.

Anyway, the way I picture your screenplay,

especially with this Vietnamese guy who,
of course, I'm fascinated by.

Pressure. Pressure.

I'm a little nervous.

Okay, everybody comfortable?

Cell phones off, right?

Okay, here we go.

Exterior.

Cemetery. Night.

The shoot-out. Yeah!

The Jack O' Diamonds
is waiting there with Bonny,

and he's arranged to give him back
and have this whole thing end

because all he really wants is peace.
You know,

like Gandhi or Jesus or that other guy.

Anyway, he's waiting there
for the Mafia boss,

who's agreed to show up alone
and unarmed. But, yeah, guess what?

Wait, wait a minute.

Surely he knows that
the Mafia boss is a psycho?

Why would he believe
he'd show up alone and unarmed?

- You know?
- Yeah.

Exactly!

Maybe the Jack O' Diamonds
was expecting to get double-crossed

because he just happens to have
brought a couple of friends along.

Suddenly, from out of every fucking grave

burst the seven psychopaths,
a gun in every hand.

Flamethrower! Who the fuck is that?

It's the Vietcong guy.
He was hiding up a tree.

You! You're there, but you're just there
to observe, and that's all right.

Nobody thinks you're a pussy.
But it's started raining now.

Lightning.

And oh, no, look who's wandered in
like a fucking idiot.

It's Kaya. She's come to say sorry to you,
and she loves you,

and that she didn't mean
to be such a fucking bitch.

You scream out, "Kaya! Stay back!"

Too late, she's fucking mown down.

Fucking mown down!

Her head almost comes off.

Her head does come off. You scream out
her name, all sad, and she dies.

"Kaya! Kaya!"

You throw your notepad away.
Art and peace and all that shit can wait!

Now's the time for men to be men!

"Fuck you, you cunts!"

It's really emotional.

And then... Hold on.

Yeah...

The black chick from the serial killer killers.
She fought good, but she's the next to croak.

Zachariah dies, too. He buys it.

Dies in her arms. And they die and
they're old and mental, and so much in love.

You know, it's really sad.

But his rabbit gets away, though,

because you can't let the animals
die in a movie. Just the women.

Anyway, guns, guns, guns!
Blam, blam, blam.

The Vietcong gets hit. Then he dies,

and he never even had a fucking name,
and he's so good.

With his dying move,
he throws his nunchakus

and he kills two of the bastards.

Nunchakus are Japanese.

So the only ones left are you

and Hans.

Peace is for queers.
And now you're gonna die.

But the Jack O' Diamonds isn't dead at all.

He was just a bit injured and
he had a fucking crossbow up his sleeve.

That's not enough,
so he pulls out a shotgun.

Goodbye.

And as the Jack O' Diamonds
dies in their arms, he whispers,

"We did good, we did good,
didn't we, Marty?"

And through your tears, you say,
"Ah, bejesus, Jack,

"we did more than good. We did grand."

Jack says, "All I ever wanted was to be your
friend. Marty, I'm your friend now, ain't I?"

And you say, "Ah, bejesus, sure,
you're me best friend, Jack.

"You're me best friend."

And then the Jack O' Diamonds dies.

And as his soul leaves his body
to go dance with the angels,

we pan up over the blood-strewn cemetery
and off into the pretty blue skies of dawn.

Skies blue enough to suggest
that maybe there can be peace

one day in this troubled but beautiful world.

Maybe there can be peace
because that would be good!

That's the end?

Yeah!

So, opinions?

Well...

It's very...

- I like it.
- You like it? Hey!

All right.

- It's got layers, you know.
- Layers?

Like a pie. Like a cake.

It's got... It's got many layers.

This is an important demographic.

So, what do you think?

I think it's very, it's very, you know...

- Moving.
- Very... Moving. Moving.

I was paying attention, I'll tell you that.

You were... Moving.

It's impossible

for someone's head to actually explode,
isn't it? When it gets shot.

No, no, it's possible.

If the person's head
was made out of explosives, it's possible.

Yeah. I like that.

Hans.

Billy's a psychopath, Hans.

I guess he's made it into your movie, then?

Hi, Hans. Hi, Mart.

Marty, is that what I think it is?

If you think it's a bottle of bourbon,
then yeah.

Do you want some?

- Hans.
- Are you not gonna say something?

Where's the peyote, Billy?

Oh, are we gonna have a peyote party?

Why not?

I think

I'd have made a great Pope.

- I'd have been very lenient.
- You'd have made an awesome Pope, Hans.

Hans,

isn't one of us gonna address
the elephant in the room?

The what?

Yeah, who's on the fucking peyote
around here, Marty?

Paw.

I'm sorry if I haven't been
a very good friend to you, Billy.

Paw.

You've been a good friend to me, Marty.
What are you talking about?

Why did you kill all those people?

Like I told you at Kaya's party, I killed
all those people to spur you on a little bit

and give you something to write about
and get you to finish your screenplay.

You told me...

When?

I can't believe you told me about this
at the party, man!

Maybe I am an alcoholic
if I could forget something like that.

Maybe I am an alcoholic.

Okay, listen. I didn't tell you about it
at the party.

I was just kidding about that
because you surprised me,

and it would have been ridiculous
telling you at the party.

You might have told somebody,
got me in trouble.

Then why did you just tell me
that you told me?

To make you think a little bit about
your alcohol issues. How about that?

Billy, you kill women!

I killed a woman. Take it easy.

- You shot her in the stomach, Billy.
- That's better than the head, ain't it?

- Not really, no.
- I said I was sorry, didn't I?

Yeah, well...

I don't hang out with people
who kill women, Billy,

and I certainly don't
write screenplays with them.

What are you talking about, Marty?

You'd best pack the tent up, Billy.

It's over.

It's over?

Now what...

Where's this other fucking nutcase?

Hans!

Hans.

Hans. We're leaving.

My wife is sitting on a chair someplace.
Some gray place.

I thought she'd be in Heaven,
but she's sitting on a chair

with a bullet in her head.

I thought they'd have cleaned
that kind of stuff up.

Maybe you've just eaten too many
hallucinogenic cactuses tonight, Hans.

Nothing to do with the hallucinogens.

But you've just seen Myra on a chair
with a bullet through her head.

In some gray place.

England?

It seemed a lot worse than that.

Wow.

Listen, Hans, what say we talk about this
on the drive home?

I mean, we may find
some perfectly reasonable...

Jesus.

Billy.

Billy?

In the tent, dumbo.

What?

Now don't get mad.

What the hell did you do?

I set the car on fire.

How the hell are we supposed to get home?

We're in the middle
of the fucking desert, Billy.

Yeah, that's the least of our worries.

What else did you do?

I'll give you a clue.

Come on in.

So, yeah, I just called up old Charlie Costello

and I told him where we were and
to come down and get his dog back

and said if he had any trouble finding us,
just look for a Buick on fire.

But I did tell him to promise to come alone
and unarmed, and he said he would.

And he'll be here in a couple of hours,
depending on traffic.

Now, I've labeled these guns for you,
but you totally don't have to use them.

I won't think you're pussies,
but I'm gonna hang on to mine.

I think we've done enough of this
"talking about peace in the desert" type stuff.

Don't you?

I do. This movie ends my way.

Well, that's just fucking great! Oh, great!

You know what that is?
Do you know what that is?

- Great?
- That's just fucking great!

How far is the walk to the Welcome Center?

We can't leave him.

You ain't gonna fight.

Of course I ain't gonna fight,
but I ain't gonna run.

- What are you gonna do, then?
- I guess I'm gonna die.

- Friends don't make their friends die, Hans.
- Psychopathic friends do.

You're the one who thought
psychopaths were so interesting.

They get kind of tiresome after a while,
don't you think?

Is that a guinea pig? It's a gerbil, isn't it?
That's enormous.

Hey, Marty, we just seen
some kind of giant gerbil.

Marty, you alcoholic fucking bastard.

You might wanna stop drinking, Martin,
if this is the way you're gonna behave.

If this is the way I'm gonna...

This guy just telephoned a psycho-killer
to come down and psycho-kill us.

And this guy's doubting a lifelong belief
in the afterlife

because of a psychedelic cactus he just ate.

And you motherfuckers
are telling me to behave?

Time out. What's all this about doubting
a lifelong belief in the afterlife

because of a psychedelic cactus
you just ate?

- Hans, what the heck?
- I met Myra.

On the ridge. She had some things to say.

About the afterlife being non-existent
or something?

That was the gist.

No, no, it might have sounded like Myra.

But you know why?

Now don't get mad, but you know
I can do Myra's voice pretty good.

Yeah, I snuck up there a little while ago
and I pretended to be her.

I started saying all kinds of crazy stuff.

But what specifically did you say?

About the place

you were in. The place Myra was in.

How did you describe it, specifically?

- You mean specifically?
- Yeah.

I just kind of said it was all kind of...

I just kind of said it was all kind of

gray and shit.

No.

Oh, great, now I have to kill everybody
all on my own.

Sorry for hitting you in the face so hard.

That's all right.
It was a pretty good punch for a pacifist.

I love you, man.

I love you, too.

Listen, if you're not gonna be
really doing any shooting,

maybe you should just go with Hans,
see he gets back all right.

I think I'll see how this plays out.
Sure I'm drunk now anyway.

Seriously, Marty,
you gotta do something about your drinking

because, I swear to God,
it's gonna wind up killing you.

This is kind of like that window of time
when you're waiting in the waiting room

of the VD clinic, isn't it?

For the door to open and the doctor to
come out and say, "Billy, you're good to go."

Or, "Billy, you've got VD."

Or chlamydia or whatever.

He's all alone.

What the hell's he all alone for?

Turn around again.

And lift up yourjacket.

- You shot him in the back.
- Of course I shot him in the back.

I was going for his spine.

- But he was unarmed.
- My ass, he was fucking unarmed.

Where's your guns?

- Where's your guns?
- You said don't bring none,

so I didn't bring none.

Hey, Bonny baby.

You didn't bring a gun
to the final shoot-out? Bullshit.

And don't talk to my dog!

He said don't bring none,
so I didn't bring none.

- Who are you?
- Just Billy's friend.

- Found it, motherfucker.
- Your friend's a fucking nut.

My ass, you was fucking unarmed.
I found it, motherfucker.

It's a flare gun, Billy.

You could do a lot of damage
with a flare gun.

- Think I'm gonna die.
- What?

- I think I'm gonna die.
- Well, don't keep going on about it!

You fucking cunt.

Fucking ruined everything now.

Will you let me give him a couple of kisses
and a couple of scratches?

No, I ain't gonna let you give him
a couple of kisses and a couple of scratches!

Billy, we gotta get him to a hospital.

Are you out of your alcoholic fucking mind?

You don't take the chief fucking villain
to a fucking hospital.

Put your hands up.

No.

- What?
- I said no.

- Why not?
- I don't want to.

- But I've got a gun.
- I don't care.

But...

It doesn't make any sense.

Too bad.

Well...

- Where are your friends?
- I don't know.

- Yes, you do know.
- No, I don't know.

- You do know.
- Shoot me, then.

Fucking dick-bags.

This is just un-fucking-believable, man.

- We can't just let him bleed to death.
- We totally can.

We totally can let him bleed to death.
That's totally what we can do.

I'm not leaving without my dog.

Listen up, you bald-headed fag.
It's you or your fucking dog!

I gotta pick me, don't I? 'Cause if I'm dead,
I ain't gonna have a dog anyway.

That's very good. That's very brainy.

And if I'm alive, I can always come back here
and get my dog

and blow your goddamn head off, can't I?

That's exactly right.
With your faggy little flare gun.

You cunt.

- Can I have my flare gun back?
- No, you can't have your flare gun back.

What, is he drinking and driving?

I'll be back for you.

That was the worst final shoot-out
I've ever fucking seen, man.

Why would he only bring a flare gun
to the big final...

Oh, I get it.

Motherfucker.

You got a gun?

You don't got a gun, do you, Quaker?

You better keep out of the way now, all right,
old man? I like you.

Hey.

Stop! Police!

It isn't gray

at all.

Shit!

- Should've brought that gun along, buddy.
- Don't believe in them.

In guns? You don't believe in guns?

They ain't fucking leprechauns,
you dumb Mick. What are you talking about?

I was trying to save your life, man.

It's a flesh wound, you fucking idiot.

Give me my gun.

Cops are coming, Charlie.

We had to whack that Quaker guy.

Don't you wish you had a gun now?

No.

I don't.

So why don't you go fuck yourself.

Where's the other guy, Charlie?

Down the road a-ways with my dog.

What are we gonna do?

We're gonna go get my dog.

What's with your sour fucking puss?

I could've just killed you now, couldn't I?

You've had your friend killed, and you're
just about to have your other friend killed,

but that still only makes two friends killed.

I've had four of my guys killed,
and also my girlfriend killed,

who I didn't like much,
but that's still five friends killed.

That's three more friends killed
than you've had friends killed,

so don't give me
that moany fucking face, okay?

What? What do you see?

Oh, nothing.
Just the perfect place for a final shoot-out.

Get away from the car! Get away from the car!

Throw your guns down,
or the alcoholic gets it!

Don't throw down shit, Billy!

No, no. This is working out perfect.

Here's my guns, mister.

And the other one!

- I only had two.
- Man, I saw you with three!

All right, all right, you're one smart cheese!

Now get down here with my fucking dog!

Are you gonna let Marty go if I do?

Yes, I'm gonna let Marty go if you do.

He didn't have anything to do
with any of this.

He was just writing a movie.

- Are you?
- Yeah.

- What's it called?
- Seven Psychopaths.

I'm coming down.

I was just trying to buy

some time because I had to

reload something.

Forgot about the flare gun, you fucking idiot.

- Bonny.
- Yeah, Bonny, I know.

And I like this dog.

Please. Bonny's not part of the gang.
That's not fair.

You gonna cry?

Marty, get going.

They killed Hans, Billy.

Ah, man.

I didn't kill him. He killed him.

Don't kill my dog.

Marty, get going. Write it up.

Come with me, Billy. Please.

I told you, didn't I, Marty?

- Told me what, Billy?
- This movie ends my way.

Oh, fuck.

- What's the matter with your fucking gun?
- Gets jammed sometimes.

At the fucking standoff?

- Paolo, shoot him.
- At the fucking standoff?

Paolo, shoot him while he's not looking.

- I am looking. Clearly, I'm looking.
- And I ain't shooting.

What do you mean, you ain't shooting?
He's gonna shoot my dog.

Yeah, well, fuck your dog.

Fuck my dog?

Hey, mongoloid, fix your fucking gun,

or your little gay dog's little gay head's
gonna fucking explode.

- He doesn't have a gay head.
- Five.

- He has a normal head.
- Four.

- Three.
- Can you go back to five?

I ain't going back to five, man.

I ain't going back to five.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Drop your gun! Let me see your hands!

Hands, move!

Come here, baby. Come to Daddy.

Paw.

He's my friend.

To Martin, I...

Well, I ain't any kind of a screenwriter
as you know,

but I've been kind of trying to
come up with some sort of solution

to your Vietcong psychopath conundrum
and, goldarnit, I think I may have found one.

So, there's this

Vietnamese guy, and he's in this hotel room
in Phoenix,

and he's sweating. He's sweating like hell.
He's burning up.

He takes out from his pocket a .44.
He checks it's loaded.

I don't know why he checks it's loaded.
Surely he's the one who loaded it?

Anyway, a hooker comes out
of the bathroom in a beautiful red dress.

She says, "Would you like to make love,

"or should we have
an intelligent conversation instead?

"I've been reading a lot of Noam Chomsky
lately, I think he's a marvel."

The Vietnamese guy, you know,
he doesn't know what she's talking about.

He's Vietnamese. So, anyway,

you said you wanted some sex in it,
so I guess they're having sex.

Desist, brother.

You know this will not help us.

He sniffs the air. He says the single word...

Gasoline.

The hooker, she studied Vietnamese at Yale.

I don't smell gas.

You will.

He drags her to the place

where the convention's being held.

She's got the dynamite tied to her.
He's got the gasoline he's just bought.

She backs away, petrified.

He pours the gas out onto the floor.
It reaches her feet.

A little of it has splashed over himself.
It doesn't matter.

He takes out a match. In perfect Vietnamese,
the hooker whispers...

Desist, brother.

You know this will not help us.

He shuts his eyes.
Then he opens them again.

He ain't in Phoenix anymore.

He's sitting in the middle of a street
in Saigon circa 1963

in the orange robes of his Buddhist order,

and he's drenched himself in gasoline.

As he finally manages to push

the thoughts of anger and hate
out of his gentle mind,

a fellow monk pleads with him one final time.

Desist, brother.

You know this will not help us.

And all angry thoughts finally dispelled.

The first monk ever to burn himself to death
to protest the war whispers,

"It might."

It might.

"It might." And he lights the match.

So, you know, your Vietcong psycho story

becomes the final thoughts of a man
who chose not the darkness,

but the light.

The light being, you know,

suicide by self-immolation.

But I think that's the best we're gonna get.
And, you know...

I know you said

dream sequences are for fags,
but I think it could work, don't you?

We all gotta dream,

don't we?

Not just fags.

Oh, by the way, I don't think
they like being called "fags" anymore.

I think nowadays they prefer "homos."

- Hello?
- Is this Martin?

- Yeah, who's this?
- It's Zachariah Rigby.

The guy you promised you'd put his number
up at the end of your movie.

Well, I went to see your movie yesterday.
Guess what?

- Shit.
- Now how's she ever gonna fucking find me?

- I didn't think you were...
- Serious?

You didn't think I was serious
just because I carry a rabbit around?

Listen, I'll get them to change the credits.
I'll get them to put your number up.

No, no, no.

You're miles too late, you know that, Martin.

And you promised on your life.

You know what that means, don't you?

I said,
"You know what that means, don't you?"

I'm gonna be over to kill you on Tuesday.

That's good.

I'm not doing anything Tuesday.

You sound different.

You sound like
you've been through a wringer.

A little.

Tuesday doesn't really work for me.

Can I get back to you?

Sure.

I'll be right here.

I know.

Come on, Carrie.