okay, tommy. you?
chili palmer. chilly outside. chili inside. it's a regular fuckin' chili-fest. hey, waiter -- give mr. chili pepper a big fuckin' bowl of chili!
jesus . . . oh, god . . .
fuck, man . . .
somebody call 9 fucking 111.
you gotta do somethin', jimmy. this man's got no respect for us.
you cut straight hair in this place, or just fags?
why don't you geezers take your game over to the park.
you got a miss. leo devoe. guy's six weeks over.
how'd you know he died, he tell you?
personally?
what get away jet?
yeah, well, maybe the guy took out flight insurance. check with the wife.
momo's dead. which means anything was his now belongs to jimmy capp, including you.
which also means when i speak, i'm speakin' for jimmy. so e.g. as of now, you start affording me the proper respect.
bullshit. e.g. is short for 'ergo'.
e.g., i.e., fuck you. the point is, i say jump, you say okay. okay?
you owe me the dry cleaner's fifteen grand plus the juice which is what another, uhh . . .
exactly. you either get it from the wife or out of your own pocket, i don't give a fuck. you don't ever hand me a book with a miss in it.
hi, i'm ray, a friend of chili palmer's.
have your spoken to mr. palmer since your husband . . . you know, blew up?
what was it you talked about?
fay . . . fay.
fay, i want us to be friends. and friends don't hit each other, 'less they have to. so whatta you say we start all over and you tell me exactly what the fuck is goin' on?
coming out one of the gates. he looks at a guy holding a square piece of cardboard that reads mr. barbone.
i hope you drive better than you fucking spell, jackoff. my name's barboni, not bar-bone.
i live in miami and you want to show me a fuckin' beach? the sun ever come out here, or you have this smog all the time?
that's what they say, huh? what a buncha fuckin' bullshit.
the dipshit who's never been out've miami.
extending the 9mm at chili, comes out of the bathroom.