francesco, 100 million and one.
poor baby.  here, bunny.
hello. bunny, ball-ball!
that's two hundred dollars a day? so he can get a hooker and some tequila. veto, darwin.
for god's sake, chain this convict.
we want da vinci's sketchbook, what do they call it, the codex.
bunny, ball-ball! bad bunny!
you go back, you won't be alone. you'll have a diabetic barkeep cellmate. you're still young enough to have fun shanking child molesters for a pack of smokes, but "alex" will go in knowing that the next time he gets out it'll be to attend his own funeral. depressing.
tomorrow, you're going to hit a church.
ooh, it's hudson hawk, you cease to amaze me, convict. you are a terrible cat burglar!
like a "cat", one could say.
no, let me!
get away from there, convict!
big girls don't cry-i-eye.
surely a master-thief like you can tell the difference.
cool, isn't it? weight, feel, mal1eability, they're all but identical. on the periodic chart of elements, they're but one proton apart. great minds worked for centuries to turn worthless into priceless.
market crashes. bomb drops. greenhouse effect affects. we'll still be the richest, most powerful people in the world. in 1992, europe is coming together to become one business superpower. it's one party we'd love to poop.
jail, you asshole! our foot soldiers will blow your brains out! bunny, ball-ball!
you've got a dilemma, tiger. i think i know what's going to help you solve it.
don't worry george, this is the reason we put the old diabetic guinea on the payroll to begin with. to keep hawk in line. they'll talk about "being buddies" and "chugging brewskis."
plan b, anyone.
i say who needs this hudson hawk anyway.
everybody here, in rome, wishes you tinsel boxes of love.
we're here to say, your government was right.
yum. this is the best meal i ever had.
breaks the standstill.
i hate a man with a sense of humor. while you corn dogs were comparing the lengths of your masculinity, we obtained the helicopter the new fashioned way: a thoroughly corrupt business deal.
i knew it! i told you it was a fake.
million five, lover.
alex. how's it going?
where's your insulin. no? well, bon appetite.
very good, alex, but you re still alive.
that's fair.
gold-fi-ing-er!
sorry, i couldn't resist. you're probably wondering why you're still alive. anna.
i want you to monitor the da vinci's directions from the apprentice diary. and hawk, i didn't want you to go to hell without knowing that darwin and i's dream came true. beside that, none of us can seem to put that damn crystal together. alfie and i were up all night with the thing.
it'll take a couple of years of steady production, but i'll flood the market with so much gold that gold itself, the foundation of all finance, will lose its meaning. brokers, economists, and fellow entrepreneurs will drown in the saliva of their own nervous breakdowns. markets will crash- crash. financial empires will crumble-crumble.
you can't, convict! you're just a shmoe! every shmoe has the fantasy the planet revolves around them. it rains, car crash stops traffic, you say "how could this happen to me?" it's a natural inclination. but for i, this isn't a fantasy, it is reality! you are on my planet! you walk around the corner for coffee, out of my sight, you do not fucking exist! the lives of shmoes like you have meaning only in relation to the rich, to the powerful, to me!
if you pull this off, i can't promise i won't kill you. i mean, who we trying to kid? but i will spare the flying nun here.
i killed some lovable working class italian-diabetic, but you killed the most significant male figure of the decade and a kind, gentle lover. so don't play with me.
oh hawk, don't ever change. go, team, go!
we're for real.
sees that the center of the machine gleams yellowish and molten. she moves closer, shouting into her head-set.
eureka, motherfuckers!