I'll tell you, LIKE A VIRGIN is all about a girl who digs a guy with a big dick.
The song is a metaphor for big dicks.
No. It's about a girl who is vulnerable and she's been fucked over a few times.
Then she meets some guy who's really... - Whoa, whoa, time out Greenbay.
Tell that bullshit to the tourists. - Toby, who the fuck is Toby?
LIKE A VIRGIN is not about a sensitive girl who meets a nice fellow.
That's what TRUE BLUE is about, no argument about that.
Which one is TRUE BLUE? - You don't remember TRUE BLUE?
That was a big-ass hit for Madonna. - I didn't say, I ain't heard of it.
All I asked was, how does it go? Excuse me for not being a Madonna fan.
I can do without her. - I like her early stuff.
But when she got into her PAPA DON'T PREACH phase, I tuned out.
You're gonna make me lose my train of thought. What was I saying?
Oh, Toby's that little china girl. What was her last name?
What's that? - It's an old address book I found
in a coat I ain't worn in a coon's age. What the fuck was her last name?
What the fuck was I talking about? - You said TRUE BLUE is all about a girl
who meets a nice guy, but LIKE A VIRGIN was a metaphor for big dicks.
Let me tell ya, what LIKE A VIRGIN'S about. It's all about this cooze
who's a regular fuck machine. All the time, morning, day, night, afternoon,
dick, dick, dick... - How many dicks is that?
A lot. - One day she meets a Holmes motherfucker.
And it's like, whoa. This cat's like Charles Bronson in THE GREAT ESCAPE.
He's diggin' tunnels. Now she's gettin' this serious dick action,
she's feelin' something she ain't felt for years. Pain.
Chew? Toby Chew? - It hurts. It hurts her.
It shouldn't hurt. Her pussy should be Bubble Yum by now.
But when this cat fucks her, it hurts. It hurts like it did the first time.
The pain is reminding a fuck machine what it was like to be a virgin.
Hence, LIKE A VIRGIN.
Wong? - Give me that fucking thing.
Give me my book back! - I'm sick of fuckin' hearin' it, Joe!
I'll give it back when we leave. - Give it back now.
For the past 15 minutes now, you've been droning on with names. Toby...
Toby... Toby... Toby Wong...
Toby Wong... Toby Wong, Toby Chung... Fuckin' Charlie Chan.
I got Madonna's big dick comin' on my left ear,
and Toby Jap I-don't-know-what, comin' on my right.
Give me that book. - Are you gonna put it away?
I'm gonna do whatever the fuck I wanna do with it.
I'm afraid, I'm gonna have to keep it. - Hey, Joe,
you want me to shoot this guy? - Shit, you shoot me in a dream,
you better wake up and apologize.
Have you guys been listening to K-BILLY'S super sounds of the seventies weekend?
Yeah, it's fuckin' great. - You know, what I heard the other day?
HEARTBEAT IS A LOVEBEAT, by the DeFranco Family. I haven't heard that since
I was in fifth fuckin' 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 this is the first time I ever realized,
that the girl singing the song is the one who shot Andy.
You didn't know Vicki Lawrence shot him? - I thought the cheatin' wife shot Andy.
They say it at the end of the song. - I know, motherfucker. I heard it.
I musta zoned out whenever that part came on before. I thought when she said
that little sister stuff... - Alright, I'll take care of check,
you guys get the tip. It should be about a buck a piece.
And you, when I come back, I want my book.
Sorry, it's my book now. - I changed my mind.
Shoot this piece of shit, will ya?
Ok, everybody cough up green for the little lady.
C'mon, throw in a buck. - I don't tip.
You don't tip? - I don't believe in it.
You don't believe in tipping? - You know, these chicks make shit.
Don't give me that. She don't make enough money, she can quit.
I don't even know a Jew who'd have the balls to say that. You never ever tip?
I don't tip because society says I have to. I tip when somebody really
deserves a tip. If they put forth an effort, I'll give them some extra money.
But this tipping automatically, that's for the birds. As far as I'm concerned,
they're just doin' their job. - This girl was nice.
She was ok. But not anything special. - What special? Take you in the back
and suck your dick?
I'd go over twelve percent for that. - Look, I ordered coffee.
We've been here for a long fuckin time, and she's only filled my cup three times.
I want it filled six times. - Six times? What, if she's too busy?
That shouldn't be in their vocabulary. - Excuse me, Mr. Pink, but the last...
thing you need is another cup of coffee. - These ladies aren't starvin' to death.
They make minimum wage. When I worked for that, I wasn't lucky enough to have
a job that society deemed tip-worthy. - But they count on your tip to live.
That's the world's smallest violin, playing just for the waitresses.
You don't know, what you're talking about. These people bust their ass.
This is a hard job. - So's working at McDonald's,
but you don't feel the need to tip them. Society says tip these guys over here,
but not those guys over there. That's bullshit.
Waitressing is the number one occupation for female non graduates in this country.
It's the one job basically any woman can get, and make a living on.
The reason is, because of tips. - Fuck all that.
Jesus Christ.
I'm very sorry that the government taxes their tips. But that ain't my fault.
Waitresses are just one of the many groups the government fucks on a regular basis.
You show me a paper, says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it.
And this non-college bullshit you're telling me, I got two words for that:
Learn to fuckin' type. Cause if you're expecting me to help out with the rent,
you're in for a big fuckin' surprise. - He's convinced me. Give my dollar.
Hey, leave the dollars there. - Ok, ramblers,
let's get rambling. Wait a minute,
who didn't throw in? - Mr. Pink.
Mr. Pink? Why not? - He don't tip.
What do you mean, you don't tip? - He don't believe in it.
Shut up! You don't believe in it? Cough up a buck,
you cheap bastard, I paid for your goddamn breakfast.
Because you paid for the breakfast, I'm gonna tip. Normally I wouldn't.
I don't care, what you normally do! Just pay the buck
like anyone else. Thank you!
That was the Partridge Family's DOESN'T SOMEBODY WANT TO BE WANTED,
followed by Edison Lighthouse's LOVE GROWS WHERE MY ROSEMARY GOES
as K-Billy's sounds of the 70's weekend, just keep on trucking.
I'm gonna die!
Hold on, buddy boy. - I'm gonna die!
I'm sorry. I can't believe she killed me.
Who would've fuckin' thought that? - Hey, just cancel that shit.
Right now! You're hurt. You're hurt really fucking bad,
but you ain't dying. - You're lying. I...
All this blood is scaring the shit outta me, Larry.
I'm gonna die, I know it.
Oh 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! - Ok, so you admit,
you don't know, what you're talking about. So if you're through giving me your
amateur opinion, 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 ok. Now say it:
You're gonna be ok.
Say it: You're gonna be ok! Say the goddamn words:
You're gonna be ok! Say the goddamn words!
Say it! - I'm ok, Larry.
Correct. Correct.
I'm ok.
Look, where we are. We made it.
Are you going to save me, Larry? Are you going to save me?
We're in the warehouse. Who's the tough guy?
Come on, who's the tough guy?
I'm a tough guy. - You're a tough guy.
You're a fucking tough guy
We're in the warehouse. Look, where we are.
We made it. We fucking made it. We have fucking made it.
We're in the warehouse.
Look, where we are. Hold on. Hold on.
Shit! - Don't bang your head.
You'll bang a hole in the floor. You don't want to hurt the floor.
I can't do anything for you, but when Joe gets here,
which should be anytime now, he'll be able to help you.
We're just gonna sit here, and wait for Joe.
Who are we waiting for? - Joe.
Larry, this is fucking scary, man.
Would you please hold me?
Go ahead and be scared. You were brave enough for one day.
I just want you to relax, ok? You won't die,
you'll be fine. When Joe gets here, he'll make you 100%.
I'm hurt. I'm hurt bad, Larry. - It's not good, no.
Bless your heart for what you're doing.
I was panicking for a minute. But I got my senses back now.
The situation is, I'm shot in the belly.
Without medical attention, I'll die.
I can't take you to a hospital. - Fuck jail, man.
You don't have to take me. Just drive me to the front.
Drop me on the sidewalk. I'll take care of myself.
I won't tell them anything. I won't.
I swear to fucking God, man.
Just look in my eyes, Larry. Just look in my eyes.
I won't tell them anything.
You'll be safe. - You're not going to die, kid, ok?
Listen to me. You're gonna be fine.
The knee and the gut is the most painful area you can get shot.
But it takes a long time to die from it. I'm talking days.
You'll wish, you were dead.
But it'll take days to die. Time is on your side.
Was that a fucking set-up, or what?
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?
This is fucked up. This is so fucked up.
Somebody fucked us up big time, man!
You really think, we were set up? - You even doubt it, man?
I don't think, I know we got set up! Where did all those cops come from?
One minute they're not there, then... I didn't hear any sirens.
When the alarm goes off, you got an average of four minutes response time.
Unless a patrol car is cruising, you got four minutes before they can
realistically respond. In one minute, there were 17 gunned blue boys out there.
All knowing exactly what they were doing, and they were all just there!
Remember that second wave that showed up? They were responding to the alarm.
But those other motherfuckers were already there, they were waiting for us.
You haven't thought about this? - I haven't had a chance to think.
First, I was trying to get outta there. Then I've just been dealing with him.
You better start thinking about it. In fact, that's all I'm thinking about.
I came this close to just drive off. Whoever set us up, knows this place.
There could've been cops sitting here waiting for me. For all we know,
there're cops, driving fast, on their way here now.
Let's go in the other room. Go in there.
Please don't leave me. - Don't be worry.
I'll just be outside. It'll only be a minute.
I'll be right there.
I'll be looking at you, ok?
What the fuck am I doing here? I felt funny about this job right off.
I should have said "No, thank you", and walked. But I never fucking listen.
Every time I ever got burned buying weed, I always knew the guy wasn't right.
But I wanted to believe him. If he's not lyin' to me, and it really is Thai stick,
then, whoa. But it's never Thai stick. And I always said, if I felt that way
about a job, I'd walk. - What's done is done,
I need you cool. Are you cool?
I'm cool. - Splash some water on your face.
Take a breather.
Relax. Have a cigarette. - I quit.
Ok. - Why? You got one?
Here you go. Match?
Ok, let's go through what happened.
We're in the place, everything's going fine. Then the alarm gets tripped.
I turn around and all these cops are outside.
You're right, it was like, barn! I blink my eyes and they're there.
Everybody goes ape shit. Then Mr. Blonde starts shootin' all the...
That's not correct. - What's wrong with it?
The cops didn't show up after the alarm went off. They didn't show up till after
Mr. Blonde started shooting everyone. - As soon as I heard the alarm,
I saw the cops! - I'm telling, it wasn't that soon.
They let their presence be unknown until after Mr. Blonde became a madman.
But they didn't move in, till Mr. Blonde started shooting.
That's how I know we were set up. You can see that, can't you, Mr. White?
Look, enough of this "Mr White" shit! - Don't tell me your fucking name,
I don't want to know it! I ain't gonna tell ya mine.
You're right, this is bad.
How did you get out? - Shot my way out.
Move! Get out of the way! - Get out of the way!
Get out of the way!
What the fuck is your problem? - Fucking asshole! Fuck off!
Get out of the car!
I tagged a couple of cops. Did you kill anybody?
A few cops. - No real people?
Just cops.
Make it to believe Mr. Blonde? - That was the most insane fucking thing
I've ever seen. Why the fuck would Joe hire somebody like that?
I don't wanna kill anybody. But if anyone is standing in my way,
they're gettin' outta my way. - That's how I look at it.
A choice between doin ten years, and takin' out some stupid motherfucker,
ain't no choice at all. But I ain't no madman either.
What the fuck was Joe thinkin'? You 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 fucking close to taking his ass out myself.
I mean, everybody panics. Everybody. Things get tense, everybody panics.
I don't care what your name is, you can't help it. You panic on inside.
You panic in your head. You give yourself a couple of seconds of panic,
you gonna hold and deal with the situation. What you don't do,
is shoot up the place and killing people.
What you're supposed to do, is act like a fuckin' professional.
A psychopath ain't a professional. I can't work with a psychopath,
'cause you don't know what those sick assholes are gonna do next.
I mean, Jesus Christ, how old do you think that black girl was? Twenty,
maybe twenty-one? - If that.
Did you see what happened to anybody else?
Me and Orange jumped in the car and Mr. Brown floored it. After that,
I don't know what else went down. - It was every man for himself.
As far as Mr. Blonde or Mr. Blue are concerned, I ain't got the foggiest.
Once I got out, I never looked back. - What do you think?
What do I think? I think the cops caught them, or killed 'em.
Not even they found a hole, like you? - Yeah, and that was a fucking miracle.
But if they did get away, where the fuck are they?
One of them got the diamonds and... - Nope.
How can you be so sure? - I got the diamonds.
Smooth boy. Where?
I stashed them. You wanna come with me and get 'em, right now.
Because I think, staying here, we should have our heads examined.
That was the plan, we meet here. - Then, where is everybody?
I say the plan became null and void once we found out we got a rat in the house.
We ain't got no idea what happened to Blonde or Blue. They could both be dead
or arrested. They could be sweatin' 'em, down at the station house right now.
They don't know the names, but they can sing about this place.
I swear to god, I think, I'm 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 in time. We had forgot the whole fuckin thing.
Just walk away from it. - So, who's the rat this time?
Mr. Blue? Mr. Blown? Joe?
Joe set this whole thing up. Maybe he set it up to set...
No, I don't bite. Me and Joe go back a long time. He definitely
don't know about this bullshit. - I've known Joe since I was a kid.
But me saying, Joe definitely couldn't have done it, is ridiculous. I can say,
I definitely didn't do it. But I can't definitely say that about anybody else.
For all I know, you're the rat. - For all I know, you're the rat.
Now you're using your head. For all we know, he's the rat.
That kid in there is dying from a fuckin' bullet that I saw him take.
So don't call him a rat. - Look, I'm right! Ok?
Somebody's a fuckin' rat.
Where's the commode in this dungeon? I gotta take a squint.
Go down the hall, turn left, up those stairs, then turn right.
How's Alabama? - Alabama?
I haven't seen Alabama over a year and a half.
I thought, you two were a team. - We were for a while.
Did about four jobs together. Then decided to call it quits.
Why?
You push that woman man thing too long gets in your way after a while.
What's she doin' now? - She hooked up with Frank McGar,
they've done a couple of jobs together.
So, explain the telegram. - Five-man job. Bustin' in
and bustin' out of a diamond wholesaler's. - Can you move the ice afterwards?
I don't know nobody who can move ice. - Not problem, we got guys waitin' for it.
But what happened to Marsellus Spivey? - He's doin' twenty years in Susanville.
Holy God. What for? - Bad luck.
You can say that again. - What's the exposure like?
Two minutes, tops. But 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? - Around twenty. Security pretty lax.
They almost usually just deal in boxes. Uncut stones from the diamond syndicate.
On this particular day they get a shipment of polished stones from Israel.
They're like a way station. They are gonna get picked up, sent to Vermont.
No, they're not.
What's the cut, poppa? - Juicy, junior,
real juicy.
Look, man, you can do what you want. I'm outta here now.
I'm going to check into a motel for a few days, and lay low and call Joe.
Holy shit. Did he fucking die?
So, is he dead or what?
He ain't dead. - What is it?
I think he's just passed out. - He scared the fuckin' shit outta me.
I thought he was dead for sure. - Without medical attention,
he will die for sure. - What we gonna do?
We can't take him to a hospital. - Without medical attention,
this man won't live through the night. That bullet in his belly is my fault.
Now, while that might not mean jack shit to you, it means a helluva lot to me.
First things first, staying here's goofy. We gotta book up.
What do you suggest, we go to a hotel? We got a guy who's shot in the belly,
he can't walk, he bleeds like a stuck pig, and when he's awake, he screams in pain.
You gotta idea, spit it out. - Joe could help him.
We can get in touch with Joe, Joe could get him to a doctor,
a doctor to come and see him. - Assuming we can trust Joe,
how we gonna get in touch with him?
He's supposed to be here, but he ain't, which makes me nervous about being here.
Even if he's ok, I doubt that he's too happy with us.
Joe planned a robbery, but he's got a blood bath on his hands now.
I tend to doubt he's gonna have a lot of sympathy for our plight. 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 askin' me
to take him to a doctor or hospital.
I don't want to turn him over to the cops, but if we don't,
he'll die. He begged me to do it.
Well, I guess we take him to a hospital. If that's what he said, let's do it.
Since he don't know nothin' about us, I say, it's his decision.
Well, he knows a little about me.
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.
Why did you tell him your name? - He asked.
We had just gotten away from the cops. He just got shot. It was my fault,
he got shot. He's a fuckin' bloody mess.
He's screaming. I swear to god, I thought,
he gonna die right then and there. I'm tryin' to comfort him,
telling him not to worry, everything's gonna be ok, 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, "Sorry, I can't give out that information,
it's against the rules. I don't trust you enough."
Maybe I shoulda, but I couldn't.
Fuck you and fuck Joe! - I'm sure it was very beautiful...
Don't fuckin' patronize me. - Do they have a sheet, where you're from?
Yeah! - Well that's that, then.
Was worried about mug shot possibilities. He knows: What you look like, your name,
where you're from, your speciality. They don't must show him many pictures,
to pick you out. Did you tell him anything to narrow down the selection?
If I have to tell you again to back off, me an you are gonna go round and round.
We ain't taking him to a hospital. - If we don't, he'll die.
I'm very sad about that. But some fellas are lucky, and some ain't.
What are you touching me for, man?
You wanna fuck with me? I'll show you who you're fuckin' with!
You wanna shoot me? Take a shot! - Fuck! I didn't create this situation,
I'm just dealin' with it. You're acting like a first-year fuckin' thief.
I'm actin' like a prof. They get him, they get you, they get closer to me,
and that can't happen. You are looking at me like it's my fault. I didn't tell him
my name. Or where I was from. Fuck, 15 minutes ago, you almost told me
your name. You are stuck in a situation you created. So if you wanna throw bad
looks somewhere, throw 'em at a mirror. - You kids don't play so rough.
Somebody's gonna start crying.
Mr. Blonde!
Fucking kicking me...
What happened to you? I figured, you were dead.
Hey, you ok?
What happened to Blue? We didn't know, what happened to you and him.
Come on, man! Brown is dead,
Orange got it in the belly... - Enough! Enough!
You better start talkin' to us, asshole, cause we got shit
we need to talk about. We're already freaked out,
we need you actin' freaky like we need a fuckin' bag on our hip.
Ok, let's talk. - We think, we got a rat in the house.
I guarantee we got a rat in the house. - Why do you say that?
Is that supposed to be funny? - Look, we think, this place ain't safe.
This place just ain't secure anymore. You should go with us.
Nobody's going anywhere. - Piss on this fucking turd,
we're outta here. - Don't take another step, Mr. White.
Fuck you, maniac!
It's your fuckin' fault, we're in trouble. - What's this guy's problem?
What's my problem? Yeah, I got a fucking problem.
I gotta big problem with any trigger-happy madman who almost gets me shot!
What the fuck, you're talking about? - That fucking shooting spree...
in the store. Remember? - Fuck 'em, they set off the alarm,
they deserve what they got. - You almost killed me!
Asshole! If I had any idea what type of guy you were,
I never would've agreed to work with you.
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, dog,
or are you gonna bite?" - Calm the fuck down, you assholes!
We ain't on a fuckin' playground! Am I the only professional?
You fucking guys act like a bunch of fuckin' niggers. They're just like you!
Always going to kill each other. - You thought about takin' him out.
Did you say that? - Yeah! But that time has passed.
Mr. Blonde is the only one I trust. He's too homicidal to working with cops.
You taking his side? - No! Fuck sides!
We need solidarity. Somebody's stuck a hot poker up our ass, I want to know, who!
Look, I know, I'm no piece of shit... And I'm pretty sure you're a good boy...
I'm fuckin' positive you're on the level. So let's figure out who's the bad guy,
alright? - Wow!
Well, that was sure exciting. I bet,
you're a big Lee Marvin fan, aren't you?
Me too. I love that guy.
I don't know about the rest of you, fellas, but my heart's beatin' fast.
I got something outside that I'd like to show you. Ok, you guys, follow me.
Follow you where? - To my car.
Why? You forget your French fries? - No, I had them already.
I got something for you to see. A big surprise.
I'm sure you like it. Come on.
We still gotta get out of here. - We' re gonna sit here and wait.
For what, the cops? - Nice Guy Eddie.
Nice Guy Eddie? What makes you think, he's not on a plane to Costa Rica?
Because I spoke to him on the phone. He said, he's on his way down here.
Why didn't you say that in the first. - 'Cause you never asked me.
Hardy-fuckin-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 questions about this rat business.
You're a piece of work, my friend. - Let's get him out of here.
Please, Sid, will you relax? I know you a long time.
I've known, you'll pay me back. Don't tell me, what I know.
So, you had a few bad months. You do, what everybody else done.
Whether it's J.P. Morgan or Irving, the tailor. You ride it out.
Vic Vega's outside. - Hold on. Who?
Vic Vega. - Tell him to come in. I gotta go.
A friend of mine's here. Keep your chin up, I'll talking to you.
Don't worry!
Welcome home, Vic.
How's freedom feel, hm? - It's a change.
Ain't that a sad truth. Take your coat of.
Make yourself at home. How about a little Remy Martin?
Sure. - Who's your parole officer?
Seymour Scagnetti. - How is he?
He's a fuckin' asshole, won't let me leave the halfway house.
Never ceases to amaze me. Fuckin' jungle bunny goes out there,
slits some old woman's throat for 25 cents, gets Doris Day as parole officer.
Good fella like you gets a ball-bustin' prick.
I want you to know, I appreciate the packages you sent to me inside.
What the hell did you expect me to do? Forget about you?
That meant a lot to me. - It's the least I could do.
I wish, I coulda done a lot more. - Thanks a lot, Joe.
Vic.
Toothpick Vic.
Tell me a story, kid. What are your plans?
You son of a bitch. I see you sittin' here, but I don't believe it.
How you doin, Toothpick?
I'm sorry man, I shoulda picked you up by myself.
This week's been crazy. I've had my head up my ass the whole time.
That's funny. That's what your daddy and me been talkin' about.
That I should've picked you up? - No. That your head's been up your ass.
I walk in the door and Joe says, "Vic, I'm so glad to see someone,
who knows what's going on. Vic, Eddie, my son, is a fuck-up.
He's ruining the business. I mean, I love the guy, but he's
flushing everything down the toilet!" Isn't that, what you said, Joe?
You tell him, Joe, yourself. - I hate for you to hear it like this.
But when Vic asked me how's business, well,
you don't lie to a man who's just done four years in the slammer for you.
Ok, ok, enough of this! Break it up. This isn't a playground.
You guys wanna roll around on the floor, you're doin' it in Eddie's office,
not mine! - Daddy, did you see that?
That guy on the ground tried to fuck me. - You wish.
You sick bastard, tried to fuck me in my father's office. Look, Vic,
whatever you wanna do in the privacy on your own, do it. But don't fuck me.
I don't think of you that way. I mean, I like you a lot,
but not that way.
If I was a butt cowboy, I wouldn't even give you to the posse.
No, you'd keep me for yourself.
Four years fuckin' punks in the ass made you appreciate prime rib when you get it.
I might break you in, but for my dog. - Ain't that a sad sight, daddy,
he walks into jail as a white man, walks out talkin' like a nigger.
It's all that black semen was pumped up your ass. It's backed up into your brain,
and it's coming out your mouth.
You keep talking like a bitch, I'll have to slap you.
Enough of that shit! I'm sick of it. Both of you sit down.
Eddie, when you came in, we were talking about some serious business.
Now, Vic, he's got a parole problem.
Who's your P.O.? - Seymour Scagnetti.
Scagnetti? Fuck! I hear, he's a motherfucker.
He is. He won't let me leave the halfway house till I get some shitty job.
You're coming back to work for us, right?
Well, I wanna. First I have prove to asshead, that I can get a regular job,
before I can move out on my own.
I can't come back to work for you guys and I have to worry about making
some stupid 10:00 curfew every night.
Ok. We can work this out, can't we, Eddie?
This isn't all that bad. We can get you a legitimate job.
How about in Long Beach as a dock worker? - I don't wanna lift crates.
Vic. You don't have to lift shit. You don't work there.
But as far as the records go, you do. I call Matthews, the foreman, tell him
he's got a new guy. You're on rotation. You had a timecard, it's clocked in
and out for you everyday, and at the end of the week
you get a nice paycheck. Dock workers earn very well.
So you move into a halfway decent place without Scagnetti thinking,
"Hey, what the fuck you got the money." If he decides to make a surprise visit,
you're gone that day. That's the day we sent you to Tustin.
If he coming back again: Sorry, Seymour, you just missed him.
We send him to Taft airstrip fucking 5 hours away.
We had a load of shit, we had to pick up there and bringing it back here.
Part of your job is going to different places,
and we got places all over the place. - Didn't I tell you, not to worry?
Vic was worried. - I'll take you to Long Beach tomorrow.
We'll get you fixed up with Matthews, tell him what's going on.
I really appreciate what you guys are doing, but I'd like to know,
when I come back... and do some real work.
Well, it's hard to say. It's kind of a strange time now.
Things are kinda... - Fucked up is what they are.
We just getting ready for a big meet right now in Vegas.
Look. Just let Nice Guy set you up at Long Beach.
Get you a job, give you some cash, get that Scagnetti
fuck off your back, and we'll talk to you, alright?
Dad, I got an idea. Now, just hear it out.
I know, you don't like to use any of the boys on these jobs,
but Vic here, has been nothing but good luck for us.
He's a rabbit's foot, for crying out loud.
I'd like to have him in. You know, he can handle himself,
you know, you can trust him. Now, Vic...
How would you feel about pullin' a job with about five other guys?
I'd feel great about it.
K-Billy's Sounds of the 70's continued.
If you're the 12th caller, you win 2 tickets to the Monster Truck Extravaganza
being held tonight at the Carson Fairgrounds.
Featuring BIG DADDY, Don Bodine's Truck THE BEHEMOTH.
The 12th caller wins on the station where the 70's survived.
Hey, Dov, we got a major situation here. I know, you know that.
I gotta talk to daddy and find out what he wants done.
Vic said, the place turned into a fuckin' bullet festival. He took a cop as hostage,
just to get the fuck out of there.
Do I sound like I'm joking? He's fuckin' driving around with the cop in his trunk.
I don't know, who did that. I don't know, who has the loot,
who's dead, who's alive, who's caught, who's not...
I will know, I'm practically there. What do I tell these guys about daddy?
Ok. You sure that's what he said?
Ok, that's what I'll tell 'em.
Fucking assholes. You want to be a hero?
You better stop bluffing, pal.
You'll fucking talk. - I don't know anything.
You fucking know. You know. Look at me! You know.
What in Sam Hill is goin' on here? - You're askin' what's goin' on?
Hey, Nice Guy, we got a cop. - Holy shit, Orange is dead.
No, he's not dead. But he will be. - We were set up,
the cops were waiting for us. - What? Nobody set fucking anybody up.
The cops were there waitin' for us! You weren't there. There were waiting.
Ok, Mr. fucking Detective. If you're so smart, who did it?
What you think, we've asking each other? - And what you come up with?
You think, I'm fucking set you up? - I don't know, but somebody did.
Nobody did. You assholes turn the... - Don't you call me an asshole!
You turn the fucking Jewellery store into a wild west show,
and you wonder why cops show up. - Where's Joseph?
I don't know! I ain't talked to him. I talked to Dov. Dov said, he's coming
out here, and he's fucking pissed. - I told you, he'd be pissed.
What did Joe say? - I told you, I don't talk to him!
All I know is, he's pissed. - What do we do about him?
Give me a fuckin' chance to breathe. - You ain't dying, he is.
Ok! I'll call somebody. - Who?
A snake charmer, who do you think. I'll call a doctor, fix 'm right up.
Now, what happened to Brown and Blue? - Brown's dead, we don't know about Blue.
Brown's dead? Are you sure? - I'm sure. I was there.
He took one in the head! - Nobody saw what happened to Mr. Blue?
He's either alive or he's dead or the cops got him
or they don't.
This is the bastard, you told me about? Why are you beating on him?
Maybe he can tell us who set us up. - If you beat on this prick long enough,
he'll tell you he started the goddamn Chicago fire.
That don't necessarily make it so. Come on, man, think!
Ok, first things fucking last, who's got the stone?
Please, someone do me a fucking favour...
I got a bag. Ok? I stashed it till I be sure
this place wasn't a police station. - Good for you. Let's go get it.
First we got get rid of all those oars. It looks like Sam's hot oar lot outside.
Ok. Blondie, stay here and babysit them two.
White and Pink, get a car each, I'll follow you. You ditch it,
I'll pick you up, then the stones. I'll arrange for some sort of a doctor.
We can't leave these guys with him. - Why not?
Because 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 puttin' me
in the same room as this bastard.
You see what I been puttin' up with? I walked in here,
I told these guys about stayin' put. Mr. White whips out his gun,
sticks it in my face, call me a motherfucker,
he's saying, I'm gonna blow you away, blah, blah, blah.
He's the reason the place turned into a shooting gallery.
What are you, a silent partner? Tell him. - He went crazy in the store.
He seems all right now. - This is what he was doin'.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Yeah! Bam! Bam! Bam! I told 'em not to touch the alarm.
They did. If they hadn't done
what I told 'em not it, 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.
What does it matter who stays with the cop? We ain't lettin' him go.
Not after he's seen everybody. - Shut the fuck up!
You should've never took him out. - We were trying to find out what...
There is no fuckin' set up! Now, here's the news.
Blondie, you stay here and take care of them two. White and Pink come with me,
If Joe gets here and sees all cars parked outside, he's going to be
as mad at me as he is at you.
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 set up.
I've only been on the force eight months. Nobody tells me anything!
You can torture me all you want.
Torture you? That's a good idea. I like that one.
Even your boss said, there wasn't a set up.
My what? - Your boss.
Excuse me, pal. One thing I wanna clear to you.
I don't have a boss. Nobody tells me what to do. You understand?
You hear, what I said, son of a bitch? - Ok, Ok. You don't have a boss.
Get that fucking shit off.
I'm not gonna bullshit you, ok?
I don't really give a good fuck what you know, or don't know.
I'm going to torture you anyway.
Regardless, not to get information.
It's amusing to me to torture a cop.
Say anything you want. I've heard it all before.
All you can do is pray for a quick death,
which you ain't gonna get.
You ever listen to K-BILLY'S Super sounds of the 70's?
It's my personal favourite.
Joe Egan and Gerry Rafferty Were a duo called Stealer's Wheel,
when they recorded this Dylanesque- pop-bubble-gum favourite from April 1974.
That reached up to number five as K-BILLY'S Super sounds of the 70's...
Hold still!
Hold still, you fuck!
Was it as good for you, as it was for me? Hey! What's going on.
You hear that?
Don't leave. I'll be right back.
Don't! Stop! Stop it! Stop!
What's the matter? - Don't do this! Please don't!
Does that burn? Does that hurt?
Please stop! Just stop! Don't! Don't burn me!
Please!
I don't know anything about any of you fucking guys.
I won't say anything.
Don't! No, don't! - Are you all trough?
Please, I got a kid growing up. Please!
You all done? Have some fire, scarecrow.
What's your name?
Marvin.
Marvin, what?
Marvin Nash.
Listen, Marvin, I'm...
Listen to me, Marvin Nash. I'm a cop.
Yeah, I know.
You do? - Yeah. Your name's Freddy something.
Newendyke. Freddy Newendyke.
Frankie Ferchetti introduced us, about five months ago.
Shit. I don't remember that at all.
I do.
Freddy...
Freddy!
How do I look?
What?
I don't know what to tell you, Marvin.
That fuck.
That sick fuck!
That sick fucking bastard!
Marvin, I need you to hold on.
Cops are waiting to move in, a block away.
What the fuck are they waiting for?
That fucking slashes my face and cuts...
my fucking ear off! - I'm fucking deformed!
Fuck you! Fuck you! I'm fucking dying here!
I'm fucking dying!
They are not to move until Joe Cabot shows up.
I was sent in to get him.
You heard 'em, they said, he's on his way.
Don't pussy out on me now, Marvin.
We're just gonna sit here and bleed until Joe Cabot sticks his fuckin' 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 Freddy joke.
It ain't no joke, I'm up his ass. - Congratulations.
Eddie tells me Joe wants to meet me. I should just hang around my apartment
and wait for a phone call. After waiting 3 goddamn days by the fuckin' phone,
he calls me last night and says, Joe's ready, he'll pick me up.
Who all picked you up? - Nice Guy. When we got to the Boots
and Socks in Gardena, I meet Joe and a guy named Mr. White.
It's a phony name. My name's Mr. Orange. - Mr. Orange.
Ok, Mr. Orange, you ever seen this motherfucker before?
Mr. White? - Yeah, Mr. Orange, Mr. White.
No, he ain't familiar. He ain't one of Cabot's soldiers and from outta town.
But Joe knows him real well. - How can you tell?
They talk to each other like buddies. - Did you two talk?
Me and Joe? - Mr. White.
A little. About the Brewers. - The Milwaukee Brewers?
They'd won a game. He made a killing. - If this crook's a Brewers fan,
his ass has gotta be from Wisconsin. And I'll bet you everything from a
diddle-eyed Joe to a damned-if-l-know, that in Milwaukee they got a sheet
on this Mr. White motherfucker's ass. I want you to go through the mugs of guys
from old Milwaukee with a history of armed robbery, and put a name to that face.
Nice work, Freddy. - Thank you, my man.
How was Long Beach Mike's referral? - Perfect. He backed me up all the way.
I told them it was Mike I did the poker game with. Ed checked it out, Mike said,
I was ok, I was a good thief.
I didn't boast, ready to make a move. Do good by him. He's a good guy.
He got me in. - No, no, no...
Long Beach Mike is not your fucking amigo. He's a fucking scumbag.
He's selling out his amigos. That's what kind of a nice guy he is.
I'll take care of him, but forget that scumbag
and take care of business. - Gone.
You use the commode story? Commode story?
It's a scene. Memorize it. - What?
An undercover cop has got to be Marlon Brando. To do this job,
you got to be a great actor. You got to be naturalistic as hell.
Ain't a great actor you're a bad actor, and bad acting is bullshit in this job.
What is this? - A amusing anecdote about a drug deal.
What? - Something funny that happened to you
while you were doing a job. - I remembering all this?
It's about four fucking pages. - Think about it, it's like a joke.
You memorize what's important, the rest you make your own. You can tell a joke?
No. - Think, you're Don Prickles,
and tell the jokes. The things you got to remember are the details.
It's the details that sell your story. This story takes place in this men's room.
So you gotta know all the details about this men's room.
You gotta know, if they got paper towels or a blower to dry your hands.
You gotta know, if the stalls ain't got no doors, if they got liquid soap
or that pink powder shit, they used in high school. Was there hot water?
Did it stink? Did some nasty lowlife man spray diarrhoea all over one of the bowls?
You got to know every detail about this commode.
You got to do, take all the details and make them to your own.
Remember, this story is about you and how you perceived the events there.
The only way to do that, my buddy, is to keep sayin' it, and sayin' it,
and sayin' it, and sayin' it.
This was during the Los Angeles marijuana drought of '86.
I still had a connection, which was insane, 'cause you couldn't
get weed fuckin' anywhere then.
Anyway, I had a connection with this hippie chick up in Santa Cruz.
And all my friends knew it. And they'd give me a call and say,
"Hey, Freddy... hey, dude!
You getting some, you get some for me too?" They knew, I still smoked,
so they'd ask me to buy some for them when I was buyin' for me.
But it got to be...
every time I bought some weed, I was buying for four or five different people.
Finally I said, "Fuck this shit." I'm makin' this bitch rich.
She didn't have to do jack shit, 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 called me all the fucking time. I couldn't rent a fuckin' tape.
"When's the next time you're gettin some?" "I'm tryin' to watch 'Lost Boys I',
when I get some, I'll let you know." Then these rinky-dink pot heads
come by, there's my friends and everything, but still...
I got all my shit laid out in 60 dollar bags. They don't want 60 dollar bags.
They want 10 dollars worth. I don't even know,
how much 10 dollars worth looks like. This is a very weird situation.
I don't know, if you remember in '86, there was an amazing fuckin' drought.
Nobody had anything. People were living on resin and smoking the wood in their
pipes for months. And this chick had a bunch, and she's begging me to sell.
So I told her, I wouldn't 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, said, we'd keep the arrangement, 10 percent free pot for me,
as long as I helped her out that weekend. She had a brick of weed she was sellin',
she didn't want to go to the buy alone... Her brother usually goes with her,
but he's in county unexpectedly. Traffic tickets gone to warrant.
They stopped him, took him to jail. She doesn't want to walk around alone
with all that weed. I don't wanna do this,
I have a bad feeling about it, but she keeps askin' me, keeps askin' me,
finally I said, I'm sick of listening it. This guy's waitin' at the train station.
You were at the train station to pick up the buyer? The weed on you?
The guy needed it right away. Don't ask me why. We get to the train station,
and were waitin' for the guy. I'm carrying the weed in one of those carry-on bags,
and I gotta take a piss. So I tell the connection, I'll be right back,
I'm goin' to the little 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 were waiting for you? - No. They were just talking.
When I walked through the door they all stopped talking and looked at me.
That's a fuckin' hard situation.
The German shepherd starts barkin'. He's barkin' at me.
I mean, it's obvious he's barkin' at me.
Every nerve ending, all of my senses, my blood, everything was screaming,
"Take off, man, just take off, get the fuck outta there!"
Panic hit me like a bucket of water. First there was the shock of it, BAM!
Then I'm just standin' there drenched in panic. And all these sheriffs
are lookin' at me and they know. They can smell it. As sure as the dog can,
they can smell it on me. - Shut up!
So anyway, I got my gun drawn, right? I got pointed right at this guy.
I tell 'em, "Freeze, don't fuckin' move." And the little idiot's lookin' at me,
nodding his head "Yes", sayin' "I know... I know... I know."
Meanwhile his right hand is creepin' towards his glove box. I scream at him,
"Asshole, I'll fucking blow you away! Put your hands on the dash!"
And he's still lookin' at me, saying, "I know... I know... I know."
And meanwhile, his hand's 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 fuckin' dash."
And than this guys girlfriend, a real sexy Oriental bitch,
she starts screamin' at him, "Chuck, what are you doing? Listen to him
and put your hands on the dash." And then like nothing, the guy snaps
out of it and puts his hands on the dash. - What was he goin' for?
His fucking registration. - You're kidding!
Stupid fuckin' citizen, don't know, how close he came to gettin' shot.
Boneheads running around the place.
You knew, how to handle that situation. You shit your pants, and dive in and swim.
Tell me more about Cabot. - He's a cool guy.
He's funny, he's a funny guy.
Do you remember "The Fantastic Four"? - Yeah, with that invisible bitch
and "Flame On" and shit. - The Ting.
The motherfucker looks just like The Thing.
Yeah?
Hey, show-time. Grab your jacket. We're 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 and they believe every word, 'cause you're super cool.
There goes our boy. - A guy has to have rocks in his head,
the size of Gibraltar to work undercover. - Do you want one of these?
Yeah, gimme the bear claw.
Hey, I know what I'm talkin' about, 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 won't put up anytime.
If you cross their line, they fuck you up. - I gotta go along with Pink on this.
Ok, Mr. Expert. If this is such a truism, why does every nigger I know,
treats his woman like a piece of shit? - I'll make you a bet that those same
damn niggers who were showin' their ass in public, when their bitches get 'em home,
they chill the fuck out. - Not these guys.
Let me tell you guys a story. In one of daddy's clubs there was this
black cocktail waitress named Elois. - Elois?
Yeah, Elois. E and Lois. We called her Lady E.
Where was she from, Compton?
No. She was from Ladora Heights. - The black Beverly Hills.
It's not the black Beverly Hills, it's the black Palos Verdes.
Anyway, this chick, Elois, was a man-eater-upper. Unbelievable.
I bet, every guy who's ever met her, has jacked off to her at least once.
You know, who she looked like? Christie Love.
'Member that TV show "Get Christie Love"? She was a black female cop.
She always used to say, "You're under arrest, sugar."
What's the name of the chick playing her? - Pam Grier.
No, 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 now?
Great, now I'm totally fuckin' tortured! - Whoever it was, it doesn't matter.
She looked exactly like Elois. - Anne Francis.
No. That was "Honey West". - Anne Francis is white.
Shut up! I'm telling a story. She looked exactly like Elois.
I come into the club, one night, and there's Carlos, the bartender.
He's a wetback, he was a friend of mine, and I say to Carlos,
"Where's Lady E tonight?" Well, apparently Lady E was married
to this real piece of dog shit. He used to do things to her.
Do things? What would he do? You mean, like beat her up?
I don't know what he did. He did things. Anyway,
she plays it real cool. She waits for this bag of shit gets drunk.
He falls asleep on the fucking couch. She sneaks up to him,
put some Wacko-glue on his dick
and glues his dick to his belly. I'm serious, man.
They had to call the paramedics to cut the prick loose.
Was he all pissed off?
How would you feel, if every time you took a piss, you had to do a handstand?
You guys like to tell jokes and giggle and kid around, huh?
Giggling like a bunch of young broads in a school yard. Well, let me tell a joke.
Five guys sitting in a bull pen, San Quentin.
Wondering how the fuck they got there. What did we do wrong or should have done?
What didn't we do? It's your fault, my fault, his fault. All that bullshit.
Finally, someone comes up with the idea, wait a minute,
while we were planning this caper, all we did was sit around and tell jokes.
Got the message?
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 Hawaii
and I'll roar and laugh with all of you. You'll find me a different character
down there. Right now it's a matter of business. With the exception of Eddie
and myself, who you already know, you'll be using aliases on this job.
Under no circumstances do I want any of you to relate of to each other
by your Christian name. 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, about a bank you've robbed
in St. Petersburg.
All I want you guys to talk about, if you have to, is what you're going to 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, alright?
Why can't we pick out our own colors? - I tried that once, it doesn't work.
You get four guys fighting over, who's gonna be Mr. Black.
They don't know each other, nobody wants to back down. No way!
I pick. You're Mr. Pink. Be thankful you're not Mr. Yellow.
Mr. Brown? That's too close to Mr. Shit. - Mr. Pink sounds like Mr. Pussy.
What, if I'm Mr. Purple? That sounds good to me, I'm Mr. Purple.
You're not Mr. Purple, some guy from another job's Mr. Purple.
You're Mr. Pink. - Who cares, what your name is?
That's easy for you to say, you're Mr. White. You have a cool-sounding name.
You wanna trade? - Hey! Nobody's trading with anybody!
This ain't a goddamn fuckin' city counsel meeting now!
Listen up, Mr. Pink. There's two ways you can go on this job,
my way or the highway. So, what's it gonna be, Mr. Pink?
Jesus Christ, Joe. Fuckin' forget it. This is beneath me.
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, 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. When I give him the signal, he pulls up in front.
Mr. Blonde and Mr. Blue? - Handle customers and employees.
That girl's ass? - Sitting 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 if the manager won't give up the diamonds?
When you're dealing with a store like this, they're insured up the ass.
They're not supposed to resistance. 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.
Drop 'em to the floor. Everyone jumps, he falls down, screaming, blood squirts.
Freaks everybody out. Nobody says fuckin' 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, different story. The managers know better than to
fuck around. So if one's givin' you static, he probably thinks,
he's a real cowboy. So what you gotta do is break that son-of-a-bitch in two.
If you wanna know something and he won't tell you, cut off one of his fingers.
The little one. Then you 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.
Fuck!
Jesus! I got blinded, I'm fucking blind! - You're not, it's blood in your eyes.
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 thought that? - Hey! Just cancel that shit right now!
You're hurt real fucking bad, but you ain't dying.
All this blood scares the shit out of me. I'm going to die, I know it.
What the fuck happened here? - He slashed the cop's face, cut off
his ear and was gonna to burn him alive. - What? I didn't hear you.
I said, Blonde went crazy, slashed the cop's face,
cut off his ear and was going to burn him alive.
This cop?
He went crazy? Some like that? Worse or better?
Eddie, he was pullin' a burn, man. He was gonna to kill the cop and me.
And when you guys walked through the door, he was gonna to blow you
and make off with the diamonds. - 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 going to do
when he was slicing him up. - I don't buy it.
It doesn't make sense.
It makes perfect fuckin' sense to me. Eddie, you didn't see how he acted
during the job, we did. - He's right about the ear, hacked off.
Let me say this out loud, just to get it straight in my head.
You're saying, Mr. Blonde was gonna to kill you. And when we got back,
he gotta kill us, grab the 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 killed was just released
from prison. He got caught at a company warehouse full of hot items.
He could've fucking walked. All he had to do was say my dad's name.
But he shut his mouth and did his time. He did four years for us,
and he did 'em like a man. And we were very grateful.
So, Mr. Orange, you're telling me this very good friend of mine,
who did four years for my father, who in four years never made a deal,
you're telling me, that now this man is free,
and we're making good on our commitment to him, he's just gonna decide
right out of the fuckin' blue,
to rip us off? - Mr. Orange, why don't you tell me
what really happened? - What the hell for?
It would just be more bullshit.
This man is set us up. - Daddy, I'm sorry,
I don't know what's happening. - That's ok, Eddie, I do.
What the fuck are you talking about? - That lump of shit
works with the LAPD. - I don't have the slightest...
fuckin' idea, what you're talkin' about.
Joe, I don't know what you think you know, but you're wrong.
Like hell I am. - Trust me on this, you've made a mistake.
He's a good kid. I understand you're hot, you're super-fuckin' pissed.
We're all real emotional. But you're barking up the wrong tree.
I know this man, and he wouldn't do that. - You don't know jacks shit.
I do. This cocksucker tipped off the cops and got Mr. Brown and Mr. Blue killed.
Mr. Blue's dead? - Dead as Dillinger.
How do you know all this? - He was the only one I wasn't 100% on.
I was crazy going, 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.
You lost your fucking mind? - Joe, you're making a terrible mistake,
I can't let you make. - Guys! Nobody wants that!
We're supposed to be professionals. - Larry, it's been quite a long time,
a lot of jobs, there's no need for this.
Let's just put our guns down and 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. You respect my dad, I respect you.
But I would put bullets right to your heart, if you don't put
that fucking gun down. Now! - Goddamn you, Joe,
don't make me do this! - Stop pointing that gun on my dad!
Sorry, kid.
Looks like we're gonna do a little time.
I'm a cop.
Larry... I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I'm a cop.
I'm so sorry, Larry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Freeze! Drop the gun buddy, now!
Put the gun down! Don't do it! Drop the gun!
I'll fucking blow you away!