you know what, you remind me of my grandma. tom whips out a sawed-off shotgun from his pants.
ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. my name is tom. these are my assistants, jerry and jerry. why're we doing what we're doing, you ask? we got one word to say to you folks.  recession.
thank you, jerry. tom is referring to jerry's demonstration of the lotus jerry does not respond.
and while i take care of business, my associates will be making their rounds. the jerrys leap into action - guns pointing. they rummage the helpless patrons for jewelry, cash and collectables.
don't hate me 'cause i'm beautiful. she's too scared for speech. but back on the bank floor.
no heroes! no heroes! jerry #2 returns, bad news on his tongue.
fuck! fuck! a wave of sirens punctuate their state of "fuck." it crescendoes around the building.
i'm not going back. mary, amongst the crowd, takes a glance at the clock --one thirty.
i want that car, ted!
 a car and i want it now! and on this cue, the sky answers with a thunderous surprise - a car comes crashing down before the bank entrance. it came from the clouds and it looks familiar - it's the getaway chevy, bruised and punctured beyond recognition, its hubcaps still reeling from the impact. the sky answers again, this time with the tattered body of fred, the getaway driver fred lands on the hood of the chevy, sinking into its metal frame. shock waves across faces of stone. the cops all look up.
stay away. hancock does not respond.
what's going on, here? hancock no response. tom raises his gun, and meaning it.
answer me! say something!
fuck.  my shirt.
don't. i told you.  i'm not going back.
what's eating you, man?
man, you're jaded. i'm not asking for a rainbow.
you don't got to shower me with respect. just a little.  tenderness, is all. have you no mercy, mister?