All language subtitles for CF3EFCDC906816DF1B3DA96D8796362E_eng (RESERVOIR DOGS) (IND AND ARAB)

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!