we are totally fucked!
and not just fucked, like elephant dick, pounded in the ass, no reach around, jungle fucked!
oh, i disagree. now's the perfect time to panic. we're all accessories to.
smecker hand picked her? aw, man. this brawd's gonna be a nightmare.
great. a bull dike, annie oakley wanna- be. we gotta get rid of her.
let's rock this bitch.
t'sup. i mean, what? yeah, well, funny as in ha ha, though not like funny as in gay cuz. i'm not. played high school football.
what? no, yeah, no. of course.
do you want a cup of coffee or something?
david. you can call me david.
that's wicked short.
the saints killed his daddy six years ago, right? he was inside when that happened doing a nickel for extortion.
so, it fits. he's gone to the mattresses with his top brass. he's protecting them till this is over.
and you know they'll send us to the hoag. we put half those deranged sex freaks in there. i hope you guys like cock sandwiches. cuz we'll be eating them for breakfast, lunch and dinner!
yeah. that could totally happen. they could not come back.
it's not them.
they call him "gorgeous" cuz he likes his silk suits and jewelry. he's even got the 'out of season' fake bake going on, a real peacock, this guy.
yeah, or like bringing a really small gun. to a gunfight.
fine, they're back. what's the plan?
tap's up and running on george's cell.
rosary bead. they found it pushed into the carpet near the victim. father mckinney wasn't wearing a rosary so it's probably been there a while. duffy comes in with a stack of papers. he heaves it down.
aw, man. daddy would knock that out like mike tyson.
what?! i didn't say nothing!
hey, dmv came up dry on the partial. interpol's still working it. should only be another couple of hours.
yeah. nothing big. we just dumped a text message from george's cell. just two words. "el cava." it's a mexican joint down by the docks. he sent it to his enforcer, jo jo rhama. guess gangsters gotta eat too, huh?
you need a body guard?
bye.
oh, shit.
interpol came through.
you were right. five foot five. gotta be the shooter.
that ain't all. short stuff's work visa was signed by a sponsor that doesn't exist and look at the date. two months after nine eleven.
ins red flagged it like a motherfucker. it's a shit storm.
it's after hours. i mean, if you wanted a drink then.
why don't you just do it on center ice at a fucking bruin's game?!
hey, i got balls for days, pally. i'm a fucking sack-o-matic.
come on. there's nothing to be afraid of. it's all over.
if the windows were shattered by gunfire coming from inside the room, the glass would have been blown outward. as you can see, most of it is on the inside.
i don't know! it just stopped!
it won't turn back on! it just died!
should we. clap or something?
if you hurt her, you piece of shit, i will kill you! do you fucking hear, me? i'll kill you!
get a hostage negotiator down here and put some stank on it! he could be in there all. touching her and shit!
did this little motherfucker?
sack-o-matic, i said!
naw, boys. it's over. don't worry. proudest day of my life.