Original subtitles

Let me tell you what Like a Virgin is about.

It's all about a girl who digs a guy with a big dick.

The entire song, it's a metaphor for big dicks.

No, it ain't. It's about a girl who's very vulnerable.

She's been fucked over a few times,

and then she meets a guy who's very sensitive.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time-out, Green Bay. Tell that fucking bullshit to the tourists.

Toby? Who the fuck is Toby?

Like a Virgin is not about some sensitive girl who meets a nice fella.

That's what True Blue is about. No, granted, no argument about that.

- Which one's True Blue? - Oh, you ain't heard True Blue?

It was a big-ass hit for Madonna.

I don't even follow that Top 10 pop shit,

and even I've heard of True Blue.

Asshole, I didn't say I ain't heard of it, you know.

All I asked is, how does it go?

Excuse me for not being the world's biggest Madonna fan.

Personally, I can do without her.

I used to like her early stuff. Borderline.

When she got off into that Papa Don't Preach phase, I tuned out.

Hey, you guys are, like, making me lose my train of thought here.

I was saying something. What was it?

Oh, Toby's that little Chinese girl.

- What was her last name? - What's that?

It's an old address book I found in a coat I haven't worn in a coon's age.

- What was that name? - What the fuck was I talking about?

You said True Blue is about a guy...

Sensitive girl who meets a nice guy,

but Like a Virgin was a metaphor for big dicks.

Okay. Let me tell you what Like a Virgin is about.

It's all about this cooze who's a regular fuck machine.

I'm talking morning, day, night, afternoon.

Dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.

- How many dicks is that? - A lot.

Then one day, she meets this John Holmes motherfucker,

and it's like, "Whoa, baby."

I mean, this cat is like Charles Bronson in The Great Escape.

He's digging tunnels.

All right, now, she's getting the serious dick action.

And she's feeling something she ain't felt since forever.

Pain. Pain.

Chu? Toby Chu?

It hurts. It hurts her. It shouldn't hurt her.

You know, her pussy should be Bubble Yum by now.

But when this cat fucks her, it hurts.

It hurts just like it did the first time.

You see, the pain is reminding a fuck machine

what it was once like to be a virgin.

Hence, Like a Virgin.

Wong.

Give me that fucking thing.

Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing? Give me my book back.

I'm sick of fucking hearing it, Joe. I'll give it back to you when we leave.

What do you mean "when we leave"? Give me it back now.

For the past 15 minutes now, you've been droning on about names.

"Toby.

"Toby?

"Toby? Toby Wong.

"Toby Wong? Toby Wong.

"Toby Chung. Fucking Charlie Chan."

I've got Madonna's big dick coming out of my left ear,

and Toby the Jap, I don't know what, coming out of my right.

Give me that book.

Are you gonna put it away?

I'm gonna do whatever the fuck I want with it.

Well, then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep it.

Hey, Joe, want me to shoot this guy?

Shit.

You shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize.

Burn.

Have you guys been listening to K-Billy's Super Sounds of the '70s Weekend?

Oh, yeah. Man, it's fucking great, isn't it?

Can you believe the songs they've been playing?

Know what I heard the other day?

Heartbeatby little Tony DeFranco and the DeFranco Family.

Man, I haven't heard that song since I was in the fifth fucking grade.

When I was coming down here,

The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia came on.

I ain't heard that song since it was big.

But when it was big, I must have heard it a million trillion fucking times.

But this is the first time I ever realized

that the girl singing the song is the one who shot Andy.

What, you mean you didn't know

that Vicki Lawrence was the one who shot Andy?

I thought it was the cheating wife shot Andy.

Yeah, but they say that at the end of the song.

Yeah, I know, motherfucker. I just heard it. That's what I'm talking about.

Hey, don't call me motherfucker. I was just telling you what's in the song.

I must have zoned out during that part before.

All right. I'll take care of the check.

You guys can get the tip.

Should be about a buck apiece.

And you. When I come back, I want my book.

Sorry, it's my book now.

Hey, I changed my mind.

Shoot this piece of shit, will you?

All right. Everybody cough up some green for the little lady.

Come on. Throw in a buck.

I don't tip.

You don't tip?

No, I don't believe in it.

You don't believe in tipping?

Do you know what these chicks make? They make shit.

Don't give me that. She don't make enough money, she can quit.

I don't even know a fucking Jew who'd have the balls to say that.

Let me just get this straight. You don't ever tip, huh?

I don't tip because society says I have to.

All right, I mean, I'll tip if somebody really deserves a tip.

If they really put forth the effort, I'll give them something extra.

But I mean, this tipping automatically, it's for the birds.

I mean, as far as I'm concerned, they're just doing their job.

- Hey, this girl was nice. - She was okay.

I mean, she wasn't anything special.

What's special? Take you in the back and suck your dick?

I'd go over 12% for that.

Look. I ordered coffee, right?

Now, we've been here a long fucking time. She's only filled my cup three times.

I mean, when I order coffee, I want it filled six times.

Six times? Well, you know, what if she's too fucking busy?

Words "too fucking busy" shouldn't be in a waitress's vocabulary.

Excuse me, Mr. Pink,

but the last fucking thing you need is another cup of coffee.

Jesus Christ! I mean, these ladies aren't starving to death.

They make minimum wage. You know, I used to work minimum wage.

And when I did, I wasn't lucky enough to have a job that society deemed tip-worthy.

You don't care they're counting on your tips to live?

You know what this is?

It's the world's smallest violin, playing just for the waitresses.

You don't have any idea what you're talking about.

These people bust their ass.

This is a hard job.

So is working at McDonald's,

but you don't feel the need to tip them, do you?

Well, why not? They're serving you food. But no.

Society says, "Don't tip these guys over here, but tip these guys over here."

That's bullshit.

Waitressing is the number one occupation

for female non-college graduates in this country.

It's the one job basically any woman can get and make a living on.

The reason is because of their tips.

Fuck all that.

Jesus Christ!

I mean, I'm very sorry the government taxes their tips.

That's fucked up. That ain't my fault.

I mean, it would appear that waitresses are one of the many groups

the government fucks in the ass on a regular basis.

I mean, if you show me a piece of paper

that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it.

Put it to a vote, I'll vote for it. But what I won't do is play ball.

And this non-college bullshit you're giving me, I got two words for that.

Learn to fucking type.

'Cause if you're expecting me to help out with the rent,

you're in for a big fucking surprise.

He's convinced me. Give me my dollar back.

Hey!

Leave the dollars there.

All right, ramblers, let's get rambling.

Wait a minute. Who didn't throw in?

Mr. Pink.

Mr. Pink?

Why not?

He don't tip.

You don't tip?

What do you mean, you don't tip?

- He don't believe in it. - Shut up.

What do you mean, you don't believe in it?

Come on, you. Cough up a buck, you cheap bastard.

I paid for your goddamn breakfast.

All right. Since you paid for the breakfast, I'll put in.

But normally I would never do this.

Never mind what you normally would do.

Just cough in your goddamn buck like everybody else.

Thank you.

That was the Partridge Family's Doesn't Somebody Want to be Wanted,

followed by Edison Lighthouse's Love Grows,

as K-Billy's Super Sounds of the '70s Weekend

just keeps on trucking.

Oh, God!

Oh, shit!

I'm gonna die.

I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die!

Just hold on, buddy boy.

- I'm gonna die! - Hey.

I'm sorry.

- I can't believe she killed me, man. - Give me your hand.

Who'd have fucking thought that?

Hey!

Just cancel that shit right now.

You're hurt. You're hurt real fucking bad, but you ain't dying.

I'm gonna die! I'm gonna...

All this blood scares the shit out of me, Larry.

I'm gonna die, I know it.

Excuse me. I didn't realize you had a degree in medicine.

Are you a doctor? Are you a doctor?

Answer me, please. Are you a doctor?

No, I'm not. I'm not.

Okay. So you admit you don't know what you're talking about.

So if you're through giving me your amateur opinion,

just lie back and listen to the news. I'm taking you back to the rendezvous.

Joe's gonna get you a doctor.

The doctor's gonna fix you up, and you're gonna be okay.

Now say it!

You're gonna be okay.

Say it!

You're gonna be okay.

Say the goddamn words. You're gonna be okay!

Oh, God!

Say the goddamn fucking words!

- Say it! - I'm okay, Larry.

Correct!

Correct.

I'm okay.

Look where we are.

Look where we are. We're in the warehouse.

Larry! She had a baby, man!

- She had a baby! - Now we're in the warehouse.

Who's a tough guy?

- Come on. Who's a tough guy? - I'm a tough guy, Larry!

You're a tough guy. You're a fucking tough guy.

Okay. Okay. We're in the warehouse.

Look where we are. We did it.

We made it. We fucking made it.

We have fucking made it.

We're in the warehouse. Look where we are, huh?

Look where we are. Just hold on, buddy boy. Hold on.

Hold on. Hold on.

- Shit! - Stop banging your head.

You're gonna bang a fucking hole in the floor.

Yeah. You don't wanna hurt the fucking floor, do you?

Can't do anything for you. But when Joe gets here,

which should be anytime now,

he's gonna help you out. He's gonna take care of you.

Okay? We're just gonna sit here, and we're gonna wait for Joe.

Who are we waiting for?

Joe.

That's right.

Larry? I'm fucking scared, man.

- It's okay. You're all right. - Would you please hold me?

Yeah, sure.

It's all right. This is what we're gonna do.

You go ahead and be scared.

You've been brave enough for one day.

I just want you to relax now, okay?

You're not gonna fucking die. You're gonna be fine.

When Joe gets here, he'll make you 100% again.

I'm hurt. I'm hurt bad, Larry.

It's not good. No.

Hey, Larry,

bless your heart for what you're trying to do.

I was panicking for a minute back there,

but I got my senses back now.

Situation is, I'm shot in the belly.

Without medical attention, I'm gonna die.

- I can't take you to a hospital. - Fuck jail, man!

You don't have to take me in. Just drive me up to the front, man.

Just drop me on the sidewalk. I'll take care of myself.

I won't tell them anything, man. I won't tell them anything.

I swear to fucking God, man.

Just look in my eyes, Larry. Look in my eyes.

I won't tell them anything.

You'll be safe, man.

You're not gonna fucking die, kid, all right?

Listen to me. You're gonna be fine.

Along with the kneecap,

the gut is the most painful area a guy can get shot in.

- No shit. - But it takes a long time to die from it.

I'm talking days.

You're gonna wish you were dead.

But it takes days to die from your wound. Time is on your side.

Was that a fucking setup or what?

Fucking right!

Shit. Orange got tagged?

Gut shot.

Fuck!

Where's Brown?

Dead.

How did he die?

How the fuck do you think?

The cops shot him.

This is bad. This is so fucking bad.

Is it bad?

As opposed to good?

Man, this is fucked up. Man, this is so fucked up.

Somebody fucked us up big time, man.

You really think we were set up?

Do you even doubt it, man?

I don't think we got set up. I know we got set up.

I mean, really, seriously, where did all those cops come from, huh?

One minute they're not there, and the next minute they're there?

I didn't hear any sirens.

The alarm went off, okay? When an alarm goes off,

you got an average of four minutes' response time.

Unless a patrol car is cruising that street at that particular moment,

you got four minutes before they can realistically respond.

And in one minute, there were 17 blue boys out there, all loaded for bear,

all knowing exactly what the fuck they were doing.

And they were all just there.

Remember that second wave that showed up in the cars, okay?

Those were the ones responding to the alarm, man,

but those first motherfuckers, I'm telling you, man,

they were there, and they were waiting for us.

Haven't you fucking thought about this?

I haven't had a chance to think.

First, I was just trying to get the fuck out of there.

And after we got away, I've just been dealing with him.

You better start fucking thinking about it, man,

'cause that's all I'm thinking about, man.

I wasn't even gonna come here. I was gonna drive, just drive off, man,

because whoever set us up knows about this place.

There could have been cops here waiting for us, man.

There could be cops coming here right now!

Let's go in the other room. Hey! Right in there.

Don't leave me. I'm gonna die.

I'm not going anywhere. Just on the other side.

I'll be right in the other room, okay? I'll be right there looking at you.

I'm right here looking at you, okay? Don't be nervous.

Yes. Come on, lie down.

Right in there. I'm right over there.

Larry?

I'm gonna fucking die.

Larry!

What the fuck am I doing here, man?

You know, I felt funny about this job right off.

Soon as I felt it, I should have said, "No, thank you," and walked,

but I never fucking listen.

It was like that every time I ever got caught buying weed.

Same thing, man. I didn't trust the guy. I felt funny about him,

but I wanted to believe him, you know?

Because if he's not lying and he delivers his Thai stick, then it's great, right?

But, no, it's never Thai stick.

And I always said if I felt that way about a job, I'd fucking walk.

And I didn't. I didn't because of the fucking money!

What's done is done. I need you cool.

Are you cool?

I am cool.

Splash some water on your face.

Take a breather.

Relax. Have a cigarette.

I quit.

- All right. - Why, you got one?

Yeah.

Yeah.

Here you go. Have a Chesterfield.

Thanks.

Okay.

- Let's go through what happened. - Okay.

We're in the place. Everything's going fine.

- Then the alarm gets tripped. - Right.

I turn around and all these cops are outside.

You're right. It was like bam! I blinked my eyes, and they're there.

Everybody starts going apeshit.

Then Mr. Blonde starts to shoot all the...

That's not correct.

- What's wrong with it? - Okay.

The cops did not show up after the alarm went off.

All right? The cops didn't show up

until after Mr. Blonde started shooting everybody.

As soon as I heard the alarm, I saw the cops.

No, man. I'm telling you, it wasn't that soon, okay?

They didn't let their presence be known until after Mr. Blonde became a madman.

All right? I'm not saying they weren't there.

I'm saying they were there, but they didn't make their move

until after Mr. Blonde started shooting everybody.

I mean, that's how I know we were set up.

Come on, Mr. White. I mean, you can see that, can't you?

Look, look, enough of this "Mr. White" shit.

Wait, wait, wait, man! Don't tell me your fucking name, man!

I don't wanna know it. Jesus Christ, I ain't gonna tell you mine.

You're right. This is bad.

How did you get out?

I shot my way out.

Everybody started shooting, so I blasted my way out of there.

Move it! Get out of the way!

Get the fuck out of the way!

Get the fuck out of the way!

Move it! Get out of the way!

Jesus Christ! What the fuck is your problem, man?

You fucking asshole! Fucker!

- Side! - Fucking people.

- Move! - Get down, Ernie!

- Jesus! - Get out of the car!

Get the fuck out of the car!

Move it! Move out of the way!

I tagged a couple of cops.

Did you kill anybody?

A few cops.

No real people?

Just cops.

Man, could you believe Mr. Blonde?

That was the most insane fucking thing I have ever seen.

Why the fuck would Joe hire a guy like that?

I mean, I don't wanna kill anybody.

If I gotta get out that door and you're standing in my way,

one way or the other, you're getting out of my way.

That's the way I look at it.

Choice between doing 10 years and taking out some stupid motherfucker

ain't no choice at all,

but I ain't no madman, either.

What the fuck was Joe thinking?

I can't work with a guy like that.

We're awful goddamn lucky he didn't tag us when he shot the place up.

I came this close to taking his ass out myself.

I mean, everybody panics. Everybody.

Things get tense. It's human nature. You panic.

I don't care what your name is, you can't help it.

Fuck, man, you panic on the inside, in your head, you know?

Then you give yourself a couple of seconds.

You get ahold of the situation. You deal with it.

What you don't do is start shooting up the place

and start killing people.

Yeah, what you're supposed to do is act like a fucking professional.

Psychopath ain't a professional.

Can't work with a psychopath.

'Cause you don't know what those sick assholes are going to do next.

I mean, Jesus Christ, how old do you think that black girl was, 20?

Maybe 21?

If that.

Hey, look, did you see what happened to anybody else?

Me and Orange jumped in the car. Brown floored it.

- After that, I don't know what went down. - Oh.

At that point it was every man for himself, man.

As far as Mr. Blonde and Mr. Blue are concerned, I ain't got the foggiest,

'cause once I got out, I never looked back.

What do you think?

What do I think? I mean, you know, the cops either caught them or killed them.

No chance they punched through? You found a hole.

Yeah, and that was a fucking miracle.

But even if they did get away, then where the fuck are they?

You don't think it's possible one of them got ahold of the diamonds and...

- No. No way. - "No way"?

How can you be so sure?

I got the diamonds.

That's my boy.

Where?

I stashed them. Look, if you wanna come with me,

let's go get them right now, right this second, man,

'cause I think staying here, man,

we should have our fucking heads examined.

- That was the plan. We meet here. - Well, then, where the fuck is everybody?

I say the plan becomes null and void once we find out we got a rat in the house.

We ain't got the slightest fucking idea what happened to Mr. Blonde and Mr. Blue.

I mean, they could both be dead, or maybe they're arrested.

The cops could have them right now at the station house, sweating them down.

Yeah, they don't know our names, but they could be singing about this place.

I swear to God, I think I'm fucking jinxed.

What?

Two jobs back. It was a four-man job.

We discovered one of the team was an undercover cop.

No shit.

Thank God we discovered it in time.

Had to forget the whole thing, just walk the fuck away from it.

So who's the rat this time?

Mr. Blue?

Mr. Brown?

Joe?

You know, listen. I mean, Joe set this whole thing up.

- Maybe he set it up to set us up. - No, I don't buy it.

Me and Joe go back a long time.

I can tell you definitely Joe didn't know a fucking thing about this bullshit.

Hey, look, I've known Joe since I was a kid, okay?

And me saying he definitely had nothing to do with it is ridiculous.

I mean, I can say I definitely didn't do it,

'cause I know what I did or I didn't do.

But I cannot definitely say that about anybody else,

'cause I don't definitely know.

For all I know, you're the rat.

For all I know, you're the fucking rat!

All right. Now you're using your fucking head.

I mean, for all we know, he's the rat.

Hey. That kid in there is dying from a fucking bullet I saw him take,

so don't you be calling him a rat!

Look, I'm right, okay? Somebody's a fucking rat.

Where's the commode in this dungeon? I gotta take a squirt.

Go down the hall, make a left, go up the stairs, then make a right.

- By the way, how's Alabama? - Alabama?

I haven't seen Bama over a year-and-a-half.

I thought you two were a team.

We were for a little while.

Did about four jobs together, then decided to call it quits.

Why?

You push that woman-man thing too long and it gets to you after a while.

What's she doing now?

She hooked up with Frank McGarr. They've done a couple jobs together.

Hell of a woman. Good little thief.

- So explain the telegram. - Five-man job.

Busting in and busting out of a diamond wholesaler's.

Can you move the ice afterwards? I don't know nobody that can move ice.

No problem. We got guys waiting for it.

Hey, what happened to Marcello Spivey? Didn't he always move your ice?

He's doing 20 years in Susanville.

Twenty years? Holy God!

- What for? - Bad luck.

I guess you could say that again.

What's the exposure like?

Two minutes, tops, but it's a tough two minutes.

Daylight, during business hours, dealing with a crowd.

But you'll have the guys to deal with the crowd.

How many employees?

I'd say around 20. Security pretty lax.

They most usually just deal in boxes.

You know, uncut stones from the diamond syndicate.

But on this particular day, they're getting a shipment of polished stones from Israel.

They're like a way station, you know.

They're to get picked up the next day and sent to Vermont.

No, they're not.

What's the cut, papa?

Juicy, junior.

Real juicy.

Look, man, you do what you want. I'm out of here, man.

I'm gonna check into a motel for a few days.

You know, I'll lay low and I'll call Joe.

Shit. Did he fucking die on us?

Huh? Is he dead or what?

He ain't dead.

What is it?

I think he's just passed out.

Scared the fucking shit out of me, man. I thought he was dead for sure.

Without medical attention, he will die for sure.

What are we gonna do, man? We can't take him to a hospital.

Without medical attention, that man might not live through the night.

That bullet in his belly is my fault.

Now, while that might not mean jackshit to you, it means a hell of a lot to me.

Well, first things first, okay? Staying here's goofy. We gotta book up.

So what do you suggest we do, go to a hotel?

We got a guy who's shot in the belly, can't walk.

He bleeds like a stuck pig.

And when he's awake, he screams in pain.

You got an idea, spit it out.

Joe could help.

We could get in touch with Joe.

Joe could get him to a doctor.

Joe could get a doctor to come to see him.

Assuming we can trust Joe, how are we gonna get in touch with him?

He's supposed to be here, but he ain't,

which is making me very nervous about being here.

Even if he is on the up-and-up,

I don't think he's gonna be too happy with us, okay?

He planned a robbery, and he's got a bloodbath on his hands now.

He's got dead cops, dead robbers, dead civilians.

Jesus Christ, I tend to doubt he's gonna have a lot of sympathy for our plight.

I mean, if I was him, I'd try and put as much distance

between me and this mess as humanly possible.

Before you got here,

Mr. Orange was asking me to take him to a doctor,

to a hospital.

Now, I don't like the idea of turning him over to the cops,

but if we don't, he's gonna die.

He begged me to do it.

Well, all right. Then I guess we take him to a hospital.

I mean, if that's what he said, let's do it.

Since he don't know nothing about us, I say it's his decision.

Well, he knows a little about me.

What?

Wait, wait. You didn't tell him your name, did you?

I told him my first name and where I was from.

Why?

I told him where I was from a few days ago. It was just a natural conversation.

What was telling him your name when you weren't supposed to?

He asked.

We had just gotten away from the cops. He just got shot.

It was my fault he got shot.

He's a fucking bloody mess.

He's screaming.

I swear to God, I thought he was gonna die right then and there.

I'm trying to comfort him,

telling him not to worry,

everything's gonna be okay, I'm gonna take care of him.

And he asked me what my name was.

I mean, the man was dying in my arms.

What the fuck was I supposed to do?

Tell him, "I'm sorry, I can't give out that fucking information"?

"It's against the rules!

"I don't trust you enough!"

Well, maybe I should have, but I couldn't.

- I don't... - Fuck you, and fuck Joe!

Yeah. I'm sure it was a very beautiful scene between you...

- Don't fucking patronize me! - I have one question for you.

Do they have a sheet on you where you're from?

- Yeah! - Well, that's that, then, man.

I mean, Jesus Christ, I was worried about mug shot possibilities as it was.

Now he knows: A, your name, B, what you look like,

C, where you're from, and D, what your specialty is.

They're not gonna have to show him a hell of

a lot of pictures for him to pick you out.

I mean, that's it, right?

You didn't tell him anything else that could narrow down the selection?

If I have to tell you again to back off, me and you are gonna go round and round.

We ain't taking him to a hospital.

If we don't, he's gonna die.

And I'm very sad about that, but some fellas are lucky and some ain't.

What the fuck are you touching me for, man?

You wanna fuck with me? I'll show you who you're fucking with.

You wanna shoot me, you little piece of shit?

- Go ahead. Take a shot. - Fuck you, White.

I didn't create the situation. I'm dealing with it.

You're acting like a first-year fucking thief. I'm acting like a professional.

They get him, they can get you.

They get you, they get closer to me, and that can't happen.

And you're looking at me like it's my fault?

I didn't tell him my name. I didn't tell him where I was from.

Shit! Fifteen minutes ago, you almost told me your name.

Your buddy there is stuck in a situation you created.

So if you wanna throw bad looks somewhere, throw them at a mirror.

You kids shouldn't play so rough.

Somebody's gonna start crying.

Mr. Blonde.

Shit. Fucking kicking me?

What happened to you?

Figured you were dead.

Hey! You okay?

Did you see what happened to Blue?

We didn't know what happened to you and Blue.

That's what we were wondering about. What... Come on, man.

Look, Brown is dead. Orange got it in the belly.

- He's still alive... - Enough! Enough!

You better start talking, asshole,

'cause we got shit we need to talk about.

We're already freaked out.

We need you acting freaky like we need a fucking bag on our hip.

Okay, let's talk.

We think we got a rat in the house.

I guarantee we got a rat in the house.

- What makes you say that? - Is that supposed to be funny?

Look, we think this place ain't safe.

This place just ain't secure anymore. We're leaving. You should go with us.

Nobody's going anywhere.

Piss on this fucking turd!

We're out of here.

Don't take another step, Mr. White.

Fuck you, maniac!

It's your fucking fault we're in this trouble.

What's this guy's problem?

What's my problem? Yeah, I got a fucking problem.

I got a big fucking problem

with any trigger-happy madman that almost gets me shot!

What the fuck you talking about?

That fucking shooting spree!

In the store, remember?

Oh, fuck them. They set off the alarm.

They deserve what they got.

You almost killed me!

Asshole!

If I'd known what kind of guy you were, I never would've agreed to work with you.

Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie,

or are you gonna bite?

What was that?

I'm sorry. I didn't catch it.

Would you repeat it?

Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie,

or are you gonna bite?

Oh, Christ. Hey, look, you two assholes calm the fuck down.

Hey, come on. Back up! What, are we on a playground here, huh?

Am I the only professional?

Fucking guys are acting like a bunch of fucking niggers, man.

Did you ever work with niggers, huh? Just like you two,

always saying that they're gonna kill each other.

You said yourself you thought about taking him out.

Fucking said that?

Yeah, I did, okay? I did. But that was then.

Right now, this guy is the only one I completely trust.

He's too fucking homicidal to be working with the cops.

- You're taking his side? - No! Fuck sides, man!

What we need here is a little solidarity.

Somebody's sticking a red-hot poker up our asses.

I wanna know whose name's on the handle.

Fuck.

Look, I know I'm no piece of shit, and I'm pretty sure you're okay.

And I'm fucking positive you're on the level.

So let's try and figure out who the bad guy is, all right?

Wow.

That was really exciting.

I bet you're a big Lee Marvin fan, aren't you?

Yeah, me, too. I love that guy.

My heart's beating so fast, I'm about to have a heart attack here.

Yeah?

I got something outside that I'd like to show you guys, so follow me.

Follow you? Where?

To my car.

What, did you forget your French fries to go with the soda?

- No, I had them already. - Yeah?

I got something I think you might wanna see, though.

- What? - It's a big surprise.

I'm sure you'll like it. Come on.

Hey, we still gotta get out of here, you know.

No. We're gonna stick around. We're gonna wait.

- What for, the cops? - No. Nice Guy Eddie.

- Nice Guy Eddie? - Yeah.

What makes you think he isn't on a plane right now halfway to Costa Rica?

Because I spoke to him on the phone, and he said he's on the way down here.

- You talked to Nice Guy Eddie? - Yeah.

Why the fuck didn't you say that in the first place?

'Cause you never asked me.

Hardy-fucking-har. What did he say?

He said stay put. So in the meantime,

I'll show you guys something.

Jesus Christ.

Maybe our boy in blue here can answer some of these questions

about this rat business you've been talking about.

You're a piece of work, my friend.

Ain't a bad idea. Let's get him the fuck out of here.

Hey, Sid, will you relax?

I know you a long time. I'm not worried. I know you'll pay me back.

Don't tell me what I already know. Don't embarrass me.

So you had a few bad months.

You do what everybody else does,

I don't care if it's JPMorgan or Irving the tailor,

you ride it out.

- Vic Vega's outside. - Hold on.

- Who? - Vic Vega.

Oh, tell him to come in. I gotta go.

- Come on in. - A friend of mine's outside.

Keep your chin up. I'll be talking to you.

Don't worry.

Hey, welcome home, Vic.

Joe.

How does freedom feel, huh?

It's a change.

Ain't that the sad truth?

Sit down. Take your coat off. Make yourself at home.

- Want a little drink? - Yeah.

How about a little Rémy Martin?

Sure.

Who's your parole officer?

Seymour Scagnetti.

How is he?

He's a fucking asshole.

Won't even let me leave the halfway house.

You know, it never ceases to amaze me.

A fucking jungle bunny goes out there, slits some old woman's throat for 25 cents,

he gets Doris Day for a parole officer.

Good fella like you winds up with a ball-busting prick.

I want you to know I appreciate all the packages you sent me on the inside.

Hey, what the hell was I supposed to do, forget about you?

I just want you to know that it meant a lot to me.

Hey, it was the least I could do.

I wish to hell I could have done a lot more.

Thanks a lot, Joe.

Vic.

Toothpick Vic.

Tell me your story, kid.

What are your plans?

You son of a bitch.

I see you sitting there, but I don't believe it.

- How you doing, Toothpick? - Hey, Eddie.

Listen, I'm sorry. I should have picked you up myself.

I was... My fucking... I mean, it's been...

This week's been crazy. I've had my head up my ass the whole time.

It's funny you should say that,

'cause that was what me and your daddy were just talking about.

- That I should have picked you up? - No, that you had your head up your ass.

I walk in the door, he's like, "Vic, Vic, I'm so glad somebody's finally here

"who knows what's going on.

"My son Eddie's a fuck-up.

"He's ruining the business.

"I mean, I love the guy, but you know, he's flushing everything down the toilet."

I mean, that's what you said, right, Joe? I mean, tell him yourself.

Well, Eddie, I hate for you to hear it like this,

but, you know, Vic come in and asked me how business was.

You don't lie to a guy who's just done four years in the slammer.

That's very true.

All right, enough of this shit. Break it up.

Come on, this ain't a playground.

You guys wanna roll around on the floor, you do it in Eddie's office, not mine.

- Daddy, did you see that? - What?

Guy had me on the ground, he tried to fuck me.

- You wish. - You sick bastard, Vic.

You tried to fuck me in my father's office.

Look, Vic, whatever you wanna do in the privacy of your own home,

go to it, but don't try to fuck me.

I mean, I don't think of you that way.

I like you a lot, buddy, but I don't think of you that way.

Listen, if I was a butt cowboy, I wouldn't even throw you to the posse.

No, you wouldn't. You'd keep me for yourself.

You know, four years fucking punks up the ass,

you appreciate a piece of prime rib when you see it.

I might break you in, Nice Guy, but I'd make you my dog's bitch.

Ain't that a sad sight, Daddy?

Man walks into prison a white man, walks out talking like a fucking nigger.

You know what?

I think it's all that black semen been pumped up your ass so far,

now it's backed into your fucking brain, it's coming out your mouth.

Eddie, you keep talking like a bitch, I'm gonna slap you like a bitch.

- Come on, man! - All right, enough of this shit.

I'm sick of it. Now, both of you, sit down.

Now, Eddie,

when you came in here, we were talking some serious business.

- Now, Vic here's got a parole problem. - Who's your PO?

Seymour Scagnetti.

Scagnetti? Fuck.

- I hear he's a motherfucker. - Oh, he's a fucker.

Won't even let me leave the halfway house unless I get some shitty job.

You're coming back to work for us, right?

Well, I wanna.

But first I gotta prove to Asshead

that I can get a regular, you know, job-job-type job

before I can move out on my own.

I can't come back to work for you guys

if I gotta worry about making some silly-ass 10:00 curfew every fucking night.

All right. We can work this out, can't we, Eddie?

This ain't all that bad. Look, we can get you a lot of legitimate jobs.

I'll get you down in Long Beach as a dockworker.

I don't wanna lift no fucking crates, Eddie.

Vic, you ain't gonna lift shit.

You don't even work there.

But as far as the records are concerned, you do.

I call Matthews, the foreman, I tell him he's got a new guy.

Boom, you're on the rotation.

You get a time card. It's clocked in and out for you every day,

and at the end of the week you get a nice paycheck.

Dockworkers do very well.

So you can move into a halfway decent place

without this Scagnetti fuck going, "Hey! Where the fuck's the money coming from?"

And if he decides to make a surprise visit,

that's the day we sent you to Tustin, pick up a load of shit and bring it back.

If he comes back again, hey, "Sorry, Seymour. You just missed him.

"We had to send him to the Taft airstrip five fucking hours away.

"We had a load of shit we had to have him pick up there and bring back here."

Look, part of your job, Vic, is going different places.

That's the beauty of it. We got places all over the place.

See, Vic? Did I tell you not to worry? Yeah, Vic was worried.

I'll take you out to Long Beach tomorrow.

We'll get you fixed up with Matthews. I'll tell him what's what.

You know, I really appreciate what you guys are doing,

but I'd like to know when I can come back, you know, do some real work.

Well, it's hard to say.

It's kind of a strange time now. Things are kind of...

They're a little fucked up is what they are.

Look, we're just getting ready for a big meeting right now in Vegas.

Look, just let Eddie, for now, set you up at Long Beach,

get you a job, give you some cash

and get this Scagnetti fuck off your back,

then we'll talk to you, all right?

Dad.

I got an idea.

Now, just hear me out.

I know you don't like using the boys on these jobs,

but Vic here, I mean, he's only been nothing but good luck for us, and...

The guy's a fucking rabbit's foot, for crying out loud.

I'd like to have him in.

You know he can handle himself, and you damn sure know you can trust him.

Well, there, Vic, how would you feel about pulling a job

with about five other guys?

I'd feel great about it.

K-Billy's Super Sounds of the '70s continues.

And if you're the 12th caller,

you'll win two tickets to the Monster Truck Extravaganza

being held tonight at the Carson Fairgrounds,

featuring Big Daddy Don Bodine's truck, the Behemoth.

Hey, Dove, we got a major situation here. I know you know that.

I gotta talk to Daddy and find out what he wants done.

All I know is what Vic told me, man.

He said the place turned into a fucking bullet festival.

He took a cop hostage just to get the fuck out of there.

Get up! Get up!

Do I sound like I'm fucking joking?

He's fucking driving around with a cop in his trunk!

Look, I don't know who did what.

I don't know who's got the loot. I don't know if anybody's got the loot.

I don't know who's dead. I don't know who's alive.

I don't know who's caught. I don't know who's not.

I will know. I'm practically there now.

But what do I tell these guys about Daddy?

All right. You're sure that's what he said?

Okay, that's what I'll tell them.

Fuck you! Fucking hero, huh? You like being the fucking hero, huh?

You like being a fucking hero? Fuck you.

Fuck!

You're gonna suffer for nothing, pal.

You hear me? 'Cause you're gonna fucking talk. You're gonna fucking talk.

- I don't fucking know anything! - You fucking know.

You know. Look at me. You fucking know.

What in the Sam Hill's going on here?

You're asking me what's going on?

- Hey, Nice Guy, we got a cop. - Where the fuck is Joe?

Holy shit, Orange is dead.

No, he's not dead, but he will be if we don't get him taken care of.

Listen to me. We were set up. The cops were there waiting for us.

What? Nobody fucking set anybody up.

- The cops were there waiting for us, man. - Bullshit.

Hey, fuck you, man. You weren't there, we were.

And I'm telling you, the cops had that store staked out.

Okay, Mr. Fucking Detective, you're so fucking smart, huh? Who did it?

What the hell do you think we've been asking each other?

Yeah? And what'd you come up with, huh?

You think I did it? You think I fucking set you up?

I don't know. But somebody did.

Nobody did.

You fucking assholes turned a jewelry store into...

Don't you call me an asshole.

You fucking idiot! Turned a fucking jewelry store into a Wild West show.

Don't you call me a fucking idiot!

And you wonder why the fucking cops show up?

Where's Joseph?

I don't know. I ain't talked to him.

I talked to Dove,

and he says Daddy's coming down here, and he's fucking pissed.

He's pissed? I told you he'd be pissed.

- What'd Joe say? - I told you, I ain't talked to him!

All I know is he's pissed.

What are you gonna do about him?

Jesus Christ, give me a fucking chance to breathe.

I got a few questions of my own here.

You ain't dying. He is.

All right, Mr. Fucking Compassion, I will call somebody!

Who?

A fucking snake charmer. Who do you think?

I'll call a doctor. He'll fix him right up.

Now, what happened to Brown and Blue?

Brown's dead. We don't know what happened to Blue.

- Brown's dead? Are you sure? - I'm sure. I was there.

He took one in the head.

Nobody's got a clue what happened to Mr. Blue?

Either he's alive or he's dead,

or the cops got him or they don't.

I take it this is the bastard you told me about?

Why are you beating on him?

Maybe he can tell us who the fuck set us up.

If you fucking beat this prick long enough,

he'll tell you he started the goddamn Chicago Fire.

Now, that don't necessarily make it fucking so!

Come on, man, think!

All right! First things fucking last.

Who's got the stones?

Please, somebody at least tell me. One little fucking favor, just for my sake.

- Somebody just... - I got a bag. I got a bag, okay?

I stashed it till I could be sure this place wasn't a police station.

Good for you. Now let's go get it.

But first we gotta get rid of those cars outside.

Looks like Sam's Hot Car Lot out there.

Okay. Blondie, stay here and baby-sit them two.

White and Pink, you take a car each.

I'll follow you. You ditch them. We'll pick up the stones.

And while I'm following you, I'll arrange some sort of a doctor for our friend.

- You can't leave these guys here with him. - Why not?

'Cause he's a fucking psycho.

And if you think Joe's pissed off,

that ain't nothing compared to how pissed off I am at him

for putting me in the same room as that bastard.

You see what I've been putting up with, Eddie?

I fucking walked in here,

I told these guys about staying put,

Mr. White whips out his gun, and he's sticking it in my face,

calling me a motherfucker,

saying he's gonna blow me away,

and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

He's the reason the joint turned into a shooting spree.

What are you, a fucking silent partner? Tell him!

He went crazy in the store, but he seems all right now.

This is what he was doing.

Yeah, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam.

I told them not to touch the fucking alarm, they did.

If they hadn't done what I told them not to do, they'd still be alive.

My fucking hero.

Thanks.

That's your excuse for going on a kill-crazy rampage?

I don't like alarms, Mr. White.

What does it matter who stays with the cop?

We ain't letting him go, not after he's seen everybody.

I haven't been looking at you guys. I don't...

Fuck up, man!

You guys should never have taken him out of the trunk in the first place.

We were trying to find out what he knew about the setup.

There is no fucking setup!

Now, here's the news.

Blondie, you stay here and take care of these two!

White and Pink, you come with me,

'cause if Joe gets here and he sees all these cars parked outside,

I swear to you he's gonna be just as mad at me as he is at you.

Fine, let's go.

Alone at last.

Guess what?

I think I'm parked in the red zone.

Now, where were we?

I told you, I don't know anything about any fucking setup.

I've been on the force for only eight months.

They don't tell me anything.

Nobody tells me shit. You can torture me all you want.

Torture you? That's a good idea. I like that one. Yeah.

- Sounds fun. - Even your boss said there wasn't a setup.

- My what? - Your boss.

Excuse me, pal. One thing I wanna make clear to you.

I don't have a boss.

Nobody tells me what to do.

You understand? You hear what I said, you son of a bitch?

All right, all right, all right. You don't have a boss. All right.

You got that fucking shit all over me.

Lookit, I'm not gonna bullshit you, okay?

I don't really give a good fuck what you know or don't know.

But I'm gonna torture you anyway.

Regardless. Not to get information.

It's amusing to me to torture a cop.

You can say anything you want, 'cause I've heard it all before.

All you can do is pray for a quick death,

which you ain't gonna get.

Oh, God.

You ever listen to K-Billy's Super Sounds of the '70s?

It's my personal favorite.

Joe Egan and Gerry Rafferty were a duo known as Stealers Wheel

when they recorded this Dylan-esque pop-bubble-gum favorite

from April of 1974

that reached up to number five,

as K-Billy's Super Sounds of the '70s continues.

Well, I don't know why I came here tonight

I got the feeling that something ain't right

I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair

And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right

Here I am, stuck in the middle with you

Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you

And I'm wondering what it is I should do

It's so hard to keep this smile from my face

Hold still.

Lose control Yeah, I'm all over the place

Hold still, you fuck.

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right

Here I am, stuck in the middle with you

Well, you started out with nothing

And you're proud that you're a self-made man

And your friends, they all come crawling

Slap you on the back and say please

Was that as good for you as it was for me?

Hey, what's going on? You hear that?

Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back.

But I can see it makes no sense at all

Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor?

'Cause I don't think that I can take any more

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right

Here I am, stuck in the middle

Please

Please

And I don't know why I came here tonight

I got the feeling that something ain't right

I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair

And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right

Here I am, stuck in the middle with you

Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you

Stuck in the middle with you

Here I am, stuck in the middle with you

Don't! Stop! Stop! Stop.

- What? What's the matter? - Don't. Don't do this.

- Please! Don't. - Does that burn a little bit?

- Just stop! Stop! - Oh, it burns a bit?

Please, stop. Just stop.

Stop. Stop. Just talk to me for a minute.

Don't. Please! Don't. Don't burn me, please!

I'm begging you.

I don't know anything about any of you fucking guys!

I'm not gonna say anything.

Don't! Don't! Don't! Please don't!

- You all through? - No, don't!

- Stop! - You all through?

Please.

- Look, I got a little kid at home. Please. - Come on, come on, come on.

You all done?

- Don't. Don't! Don't light the... - Have some fire, scarecrow.

Hey.

Shit.

Hey, you.

What's your name?

Marvin.

Marvin what?

Marvin Nash.

Listen to me, Marvin, I'm a...

Listen to me, Marvin Nash, I'm a cop.

Yeah, I know.

You do?

Yeah. Your name's Freddy something.

Newandyke.

Freddy Newandyke.

Frankie Frechetti introduced us

about five months ago.

Shit, I don't remember that at all.

I do.

Fuck.

Freddy.

Freddy.

Freddy.

How do I look?

What?

What?

I don't know what to tell you, Marvin.

That fuck.

Oh, that sick fuck!

That fucking bastard!

Marvin, I need you to hold on.

There's cops waiting to move in a block away.

What the fuck are they waiting for?

This fucking guy slashes my face,

and he cuts my fucking ear off!

- I'm fucking deformed! - Fuck you!

Fuck you! I'm fucking dying here!

I'm fucking dying!

They're not to make a move till Joe Cabot shows up.

I was sent in to get him.

All right? Now, you heard them.

They said he's on his way. Now, don't pussy out on me now, Marvin.

We're just gonna sit here and bleed

till Joe Cabot sticks his fucking head through that door.

Say hello to a motherfucker who's inside. Cabot's doing a job,

and take a big fat guess who he wants on the team.

This better not be some kind of Freddy joke, man.

This ain't no joke. I'm in there. I'm up his ass.

Nice Guy Eddie tells me Joe wants to meet me,

says I should just hang in my apartment and wait for a phone call.

Well, after waiting three goddamn days by the fucking phone,

he calls last night and says Joe's ready.

He'll pick me up in 15 minutes.

- Who all picked you up? - Nice Guy.

- We get to a bar... - What bar?

Smokey Pete's in Gardena.

We get there, and I meet Joe and a guy named Mr. White.

It's a phony name. My name's Mr. Orange.

- Mr. Orange? - Mr. Orange.

Okay, Mr. Orange, have you ever seen this motherfucker before?

- Who? Mr. White? - Yes, Mr. Orange, Mr. White.

No, he ain't familiar.

He ain't one of Cabot's soldiers, either. He's gotta be from out of town.

- Joe knows him real good. - How can you tell?

The way they talk to each other. You can tell they're real buddies.

- The two of you talk? - Who, me and Joe?

- Mr. White. - A little.

- About what? - Brewers.

Milwaukee Brewers?

Yeah. Apparently they won the night before.

He made a killing off them.

Now, this is sweet, man, 'cause if this crook's a Brewers fan,

his ass has gotta be from Wisconsin.

And I bet you everything from a diddle-eyed-Joe

to a damned-if-I-know

that in Milwaukee they got a sheet on this Mr. White motherfucker's ass.

So, what I want you to do

is to go through the mugs of all the guys from old Milwaukee

with a history of armed robbery.

Put a name to the face.

- Nice work, man. - Thank you, my man.

How was Long Beach Mike's referral?

Perfecto. He's backing me up a long fucking way.

I told him it was Long Beach Mike I did the poker game with.

When Nice Guy called him to check it out, he said it was a-okay.

He said I was a good thief.

I didn't rattle. I was ready to make a move.

So do right by him. He's a good guy.

I wouldn't be inside if it wasn't for him.

No.

No, no, no, no.

Long Beach Mike is not your fucking amigo, man.

Long Beach Mike is a fucking scumbag.

He is selling out his amigos.

That's what kind of a nice guy he fucking is, all right?

I'll take care of his fucking ass, man,

but you get that lowlife scumbag out of mind,

and you take care of business, you hear me?

Gone.

You use the commode story?

- What's the commode story? - It's a scene, man. Memorize it.

A what?

Look, man, a undercover cop's gotta be Marlon Brando, all right?

To do this job, you gotta be a great actor. You gotta be naturalistic.

- You gotta be naturalistic as hell. - Okay.

'Cause if you ain't a great actor, you're a bad actor,

- and bad acting is bullshit in this job. - Yeah.

What is this?

That's an amusing anecdote about a drug deal.

- What? - Something funny that happened to you

- while you were doing a fucking job, man. - Damn!

I gotta memorize all this? There's over four fucking pages of this shit here.

Look, man, just think about it like it's a joke, all right?

You memorize what's important, the rest you make your own, all right?

- You can tell a joke, can't you? - No.

Well, pretend you're Don Rickles or some-fucking-body

- and tell the joke, all right? - All right.

Now, the things you gotta remember are the details,

'cause it's the details that sell your story.

And this particular story takes place in a men's room.

So you gotta know all the details about the men's room.

You gotta know if they got paper towels or a blower to dry your hands with.

You gotta know if the stalls ain't got no doors or not, man.

You gotta know if they got liquid soap or that pink granulated powdered shit

they used to use in high school, remember?

You gotta know if they got hot water or not, if it stinks,

if some nasty, lowlife, scum-ridden motherfucker man

sprayed diarrhea all over one of the bowls.

You gotta know every detail there is to know about this commode.

So what you gotta do is to take all them details, man,

and make them your own.

And while you're doing that, you gotta remember that this story's about you

and how you perceived the events that went down.

The only way to do that, my brother,

keep saying it

and saying it and saying it and saying it and saying it.

"This was during the Los Angeles marijuana drought in 1986.

"I still had a connection, which was insane,

"'cause you couldn't get any weed any-fucking-where then.

"Anyway,

"I had a connection with this hippie chick up in Santa Cruz,

"and all my friends knew it. They'd give me a call and they'd say,

"'Hey, Freddy...'

"They'd say, 'Hey, dude, you getting some?

"'Think you can get some for me, too?'

"Like, they knew I still smoked,

"so they asked me to buy some for them when I was buying for me.

"But it got to be..."

"Got to be..." "Got to be..."

"Got to be

"every time I bought some weed,

"I was buying for four or five different fucking people.

"Finally I said, 'Fuck this shit.

"'I'm making this bitch rich.'

"She didn't have to do jackshit. She never even had to meet these people.

"I was doing all the work."

But then that got to be a pain in the ass.

People calling me on the phone all the fucking time.

I couldn't even rent a fucking tape

without six fucking phone calls interrupting me.

"Hey, when's the next time you're getting some?"

"Motherfucker, I'm trying to watch The Lost Boys." You know?

"When I get some, I'll let you know."

Then these rink-a-dink potheads come by.

They're my friends and everything, but still, you know?

I got all my shit laid out in $60 bags.

They don't want $60 worth, they want $10 worth.

And breaking it up is a major fucking pain in the ass.

I don't even know what $10 worth looks like.

This is a very weird situation,

'cause I don't know if you remember back in '86,

there was a major fucking drought. Nobody had anything.

People were living on resin,

smoking the wood in their pipes for months.

But this chick had a bunch,

and she's begging me to sell it.

So I told her I wasn't gonna be Joe the Pot Man anymore,

but I would take a little bit and sell it to my close, close, close friends.

She agreed to that, says we'll keep the same arrangement as before,

10% free pot for me,

as long as I helped her out that weekend.

She had a brick of weed she was selling. She didn't wanna go to the buy alone.

Her brother usually goes with her, but he's in county unexpectedly.

What for?

His traffic tickets. Got a warrant.

They stopped him for something, found warrants on him, took him to county.

Now, she doesn't wanna walk around alone with all that weed.

I don't wanna do this. I have a very bad feeling about it,

but she keeps asking me, keeps asking me, keeps asking me.

Finally I said okay, 'cause I'm sick of hearing it.

Now, we're picking the guy up at the train station...

Wait a minute. You go to the train station to pick up the buyer with the weed on you?

Yeah. The guy needed it right away. Don't ask me why.

Anyway, we get to the train station, and we're waiting for the guy.

Now, I'm carrying the weed around in one of those little carryon bags.

I gotta take a piss.

So I tell the connection I'll be right back. I'm going to the boys' room.

So I walk into the men's room, and who's standing there?

Four Los Angeles County sheriffs and a German shepherd.

They're waiting for you?

No, it's just a bunch of cops hanging out in the men's room, talking.

When I walked through the door,

they all stopped what they were talking about and they looked at me.

That's hard, man. That's a fucking hard situation.

German shepherd starts barking.

He's barking at me.

I mean, it's obvious. He's barking at me.

Every nerve ending, all my senses,

blood in my veins,

everything I have is screaming, "Take off, man.

"Just bail, just get the fuck out of there."

Panic hits me like a bucket of water.

At first there's the shock of it, bam! Right in the face.

And I'm just standing there drenched in panic,

and all these sheriffs looking at me.

And they know, man. They can smell it sure as that fucking dog can.

They can smell it on me.

Shut up.

It's okay. So, anyway, I've got my gun drawn, right?

And I got it pointed right at this guy.

And I tell him, "Freeze. Don't fucking move."

And this little idiot's looking right at me,

nodding his head yeah, and he's saying, "I know. I know. I know."

But meanwhile, his right hand is creeping towards the glove box.

And I scream at him. I go, "Asshole!

"I'm gonna fucking blow you away right now!

"Put your hands on the dash!"

And he's still looking at me,

nodding his head, you know, "I know, buddy. I know. I know."

And meanwhile, you know, his hand is still going for the glove box.

And I said,

"Buddy, I'm gonna shoot you in the face

"if you don't put your hands on the fucking dash!"

And then this guy's girlfriend,

this real sexy Oriental bitch, you know,

she starts screaming at him, "Chuck, Chuck, what are you doing?

"Listen to the officer and put your hands on the dash!"

So, you know, then like nothing,

the guy snaps out of it and casually puts his hands on the dash.

- What was he going for? - His fucking registration.

- You're kidding. - No, man. Stupid fucking citizen,

doesn't know how close he came to getting blown away.

That close, man.

That's all we need, is another bonehead running around the neighborhood.

- Yeah, right. - Police brutality and all that shit.

You knew how to handle that situation.

Just shit your pants and dive in and swim.

- Tell me more about Cabot. - Well, I don't know.

He's a cool guy.

He's funny. He's a funny guy.

You remember The Fantastic Four?

Oh, yeah, with that invisible bitch and "flame on" and shit, right?

Thing.

Motherfucker looks just like The Thing.

- Yeah. - Hey.

Showtime. Grab your jacket. I'm parked outside.

I'll be right down.

He'll be right down.

Don't pussy out on me now.

They don't know.

They don't know shit.

You're not gonna get hurt.

You're fucking Baretta.

They believe every fucking word, 'cause you're super-cool.

There goes our boy.

I swear, a guy has to have rocks in his head the size of Gibraltar

to work undercover.

- You want one of these? - Yeah. Give me the bear claw.

Hey, I know what I'm talking about, okay?

Black women ain't the same as white women.

There's a slight difference.

Very funny. You know what I mean.

What a white bitch will put up with,

a black bitch wouldn't put up with for a minute, man.

They got a line, and if you cross it, they fuck you up.

I gotta go along with Pink on that one. I've seen it happen.

Okay, Mr. Expert, if this is such a truism,

why is it that every nigger I know treats his woman like a piece of shit?

I'll make you a bet that those same damn niggers

who are showing their ass in public,

when their bitches get them home, man, they chill the fuck out.

- Not these guys. - Oh, yeah, those guys, too.

Tell you guys a story.

One of Daddy's clubs,

there was a black cocktail waitress named E. Lois.

- E. Lois? - Yeah, E. Lois. "E" and Lois.

- They called her Lady E. - Where was she from, Compton?

She's from Ladera Heights.

Oh, Ladera Heights. That's the black Beverly Hills.

No, it's not the black Beverly Hills.

It's the black Palos Verdes.

Anyway, Lady E,

I mean, she was a man-eater-upper. Un-fucking-believable.

Every guy that ever, ever laid his eyes on her

had to jack off to her at least once.

You know who she looked like? She looked like Christie Love.

Remember that TV show,

- Get Christie Love? - Oh, yeah, yeah.

About the black female cop?

She always used to say,

- "You're under arrest, sugar." - "You're under arrest, sugar."

What was the name of the chick who played Christie Love?

Pam Grier.

No, it wasn't Pam Grier. Pam Grier was the other one.

Pam Grier did the film.

Christie Love was like a Pam Grier TV show without Pam Grier.

- So who was Christie Love? - How the fuck should I know?

Great, now I'm totally fucking tortured.

Whoever it was, it doesn't matter. She looked exactly like E. Lois.

- Anne Francis. - No, that was Honey West.

- Anne Francis is white. - Shut up, all right?

I'm trying to tell a story here. She looked exactly like E. Lois.

Anyway, I come into the club one night,

and there's Carlos. He's the bartender.

He's a wetback. He's a friend of mine.

And I says to him, "Carlos, where's Lady E tonight?"

And now, apparently Lady E was married to a real piece of dog shit.

I mean, a real fucking animal. He used to do things to her.

"Do things"? Do things like what? What would he do?

I mean, he beat her up or something?

I don't know what he did. He just did things, all right?

- All right. - So, anyway,

one night she plays it real cool.

She waits for this bag of shit to get drunk.

He falls asleep on the fucking couch.

She sneaks up on him, and she puts some wacko glue on his dick

and glues his dick to his belly.

- No! - Jesus Christ.

Hey, I'm serious, man. I'm serious. I'm dead serious.

They had to call the paramedics to cut the prick loose, literally.

You could do some crazy things...

Was he all pissed off?

How would you feel if every time you had to take a piss,

you had to do a fucking handstand?

Oh, you guys like to tell jokes and giggle and kid around, huh?

Giggling like a bunch of young broads in the schoolyard.

Well, let me tell a joke.

Five guys sitting in a bullpen,

San Quentin,

wondering how the fuck they got there.

"What did we do wrong? What should have we done?

"What didn't we do? Whatever.

"It's your fault, my fault, his fault," all that bullshit.

Finally someone comes up with the idea, "Hey, wait a minute.

"While we were planning this caper,

"all we did was sit around and tell fucking jokes."

Got the message?

Fellas, I don't mean to holler at you.

When this caper's over, and I'm sure it's gonna be a successful one,

hell, we'll go down to Hawaiian islands. I'll roar and laugh with all of you's.

You'll find me a different character down there.

Right now, it's a matter of business.

With the exception of Eddie and myself,

whom you already know,

we're gonna be using aliases on this job.

Under no circumstances

do I want any one of you

to relate to each other by your Christian names.

And I don't want any talk about yourself personally.

That includes where you been,

your wife's name, where you might've done time,

or a bank maybe you robbed in Saint Petersburg.

All I want you guys to talk about, if you have to,

is what you're gonna do.

That should do it.

Here are your names.

Mr. Brown,

Mr. White,

Mr. Blonde,

Mr. Blue,

Mr. Orange

- and Mr. Pink. - Why am I Mr. Pink?

Because you're a faggot, all right?

- Why can't we pick our own colors? - No way. No way.

Tried it once. It doesn't work.

You get four guys all fighting over who's gonna be Mr. Black.

But they don't know each other, so nobody wants to back down.

No way. I pick. You're Mr. Pink.

Be thankful you're not Mr. Yellow.

Yeah, but Mr. Brown, that's a little too close to Mr. Shit.

Well, Mr. Pink sounds like Mr. Pussy.

How about if I'm Mr. Purple?

That sounds good to me. I'll be Mr. Purple.

You're not Mr. Purple.

Some guy on some other job is Mr. Purple. You're Mr. Pink!

Who cares what your name is?

Yeah, that's easy for you to say.

You're Mr. White. You have a cool-sounding name.

All right, look, if it's no big deal to be Mr. Pink, you wanna trade?

Hey, nobody's trading with anybody.

This ain't a goddamn fucking city council meeting, you know.

Now, listen up, Mr. Pink.

There's two ways you can go on this job,

my way or the highway.

Now, what's it gonna be, Mr. Pink?

Jesus Christ, Joe. Fucking forget about it.

It's beneath me, you know. I'm Mr. Pink. Let's move on.

I'll move on when I feel like it.

All you guys got the goddamn message?

I'm so goddamn mad hollering at you guys, I can hardly talk.

Let's go to work.

Let's go over it. Where are you?

I stand outside and guard the door. I don't let anybody go in or go out.

- Mr. Brown? - Mr. Brown waits in the car.

He's parked across the street till I give him the signal,

then he pulls up in front of the store.

Mr. Blonde and Mr. Blue?

Crowd control. They handle the customers and the employees.

- That girl's ass? - It's sitting right here on my dick.

Myself and Mr. Pink?

You two take the manager in the back and make him give you the diamonds.

We're there for those stones, period.

Since no display cases are being fucked with,

no alarms should go off.

We're out of there in two minutes, not one second longer.

What happens if the manager won't give you the diamonds?

When you're dealing with a store like this, they're insured up the ass.

They're not supposed to give you any resistance whatsoever.

If you get a customer or an employee who thinks he's Charles Bronson,

take the butt of your gun and smash their nose in.

Drops them right to the floor.

Everyone jumps. He falls down screaming, blood squirts out of his nose,

freaks everybody out. Nobody says fucking shit after that.

You might get some bitch talk shit to you,

but give her a look like you're gonna smash her in the face next,

watch her shut the fuck up.

Now, if it's a manager, that's a different story.

The managers know better than to fuck around.

So if you get one that's giving you static, he probably thinks he's a real cowboy,

so you gotta break that son of a bitch in two.

If you wanna know something he won't tell you,

cut off one of his fingers. The little one.

Then tell him his thumb's next.

After that, he'll tell you if he wears ladies' underwear.

I'm hungry. Let's get a taco.

Come on!

Fuck!

Fuck.

Jesus. I've gone blind, man. I'm fucking blind.

You're not blind. You just got blood in your eyes, all right?

Is he dead? Did he die or not?

Let's go.

Hold it! Hold it right there.

Get out of the fucking car.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Larry.

I can't believe she killed me.

Who'd have fucking thought that?

Hey!

Just cancel that shit right now.

You're hurt. You're hurt real fucking bad, but you ain't dying.

All this blood scares the shit out of me, Larry.

I'm gonna die, I know it.

What the fuck happened?

He slashed the cop's face, cut off his ear and was gonna burn him alive.

What? I didn't hear you.

I said

Blonde went crazy.

He slashed the cop's face, cut off his ear and was gonna burn him alive.

This cop?

He went crazy? Something like that? Worse or better?

Eddie, he was pulling a burn, man.

He was gonna kill the cop and me.

When you guys walked through the door,

he was gonna blow you to hell and make off with the diamonds.

What did I tell you?

That sick piece of shit was a stone-cold psycho.

You could've asked the cop if you didn't just kill him.

He talked about what he was gonna do when he was slicing him up.

I don't buy it. Doesn't make sense.

Makes perfect fucking sense to me.

You weren't there during the job, Eddie. You didn't see how he acted. We did.

He's right about the ear. It's hacked off.

All right, let me just say this out loud,

'cause I wanna get this straight in my head.

You're saying that Mr. Blonde was gonna kill you,

and then when we got back, he was gonna kill us,

take the satchel of diamonds and scram.

I'm right about that, right? That's correct? That's your story?

I swear on my mother's eternal soul that's what happened.

The man you just killed just got released from prison.

He got caught at a company warehouse full of hot items.

He could have fucking walked.

All he had to do was say my dad's name, but he didn't.

He kept his fucking mouth shut.

And he did his fucking time, and he did it like a man.

He did four years for us.

So, Mr. Orange,

you're telling me that this very good friend of mine

who did four years for my father,

who, in four years, never made a deal,

no matter what they dangled in front of him,

you're telling me that now that this man is free

and we're making good on our commitment to him,

he's just gonna decide,

out of the fucking blue,

to rip us off?

Why don't you tell me what really happened?

What the hell for?

It'd just be more bullshit.

This man set us up.

Dad, I'm sorry, but I don't know what the hell's happening.

It's all right, Eddie. I do.

What the fuck are you talking about?

That lump of shit's working with the LAPD.

Joe, I don't have the slightest fucking idea

what you're talking about.

Joe, Joe, I don't know what you think you know,

- but you're wrong. - Like hell I am.

Joe, trust me on this. You've made a mistake.

He's a good kid.

I understand. You're hot. You're super fucking pissed.

We're all real emotional. But you're barking up the wrong tree.

I know this man. He wouldn't do that.

You don't know jackshit. I do.

The cocksucker tipped off the cops and had Mr. Brown and Mr. Blue killed.

- Mr. Blue is dead? - Dead as Dillinger.

How do you know all this?

He was the only one I wasn't 100% on.

I should have my fucking head examined, going ahead when I wasn't 100%.

That's your proof?

You don't need proof when you have instinct.

I ignored it before, but no more.

Have you lost your fucking mind?

Joe, you're making a terrible mistake. I'm not gonna let you make it.

Come on, guys. Nobody wants this.

We're supposed to be fucking professionals.

Larry, look.

It's been quite a long time. Lot of jobs.

There's no need for this, man.

Let's just put our guns down,

and let's settle this with a fucking conversation.

Joe, if you kill that man, you die next.

Repeat, if you kill that man, you die next.

Larry, we have been friends,

and you respect my dad, and I respect you,

but I will put fucking bullets right through your heart.

You put that fucking gun down now.

God damn you, Joe.

Don't make me do this.

Larry, stop pointing that fucking gun at my dad!

I'm sorry, kid.

Looks like we're gonna have to do a little time.

I'm a cop.

Larry,

I'm sorry.

I'm

so sorry.

I'm a cop.

Sorry. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, Larry.

I'm sorry.

Freeze!

Drop the fucking gun, buddy!

- Now! - Put the gun down!

- Don't do it. - Drop the gun, man.

- Don't do it. - Drop the gun!

- Drop the fucking gun! - We're gonna fucking blow you away!