what's that?
a lot.
give me this fucking thing.
i'm sick of fuckin hearin it joe, i'll give it back when we leave.
for the past fifteen minutes now, you've just been droning on with names. "toby. toby. toby.  toby wong. toby wong. toby chung. fuckin charlie chan." i got madonna's big dick outta my right ear, and toby jap i-don't- know-what, outta my left.
when you're annoying as hell, i care a lot.
you gonna put it away?
well, then, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to keep it.
shit, you shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize.
sorry, it's my book now.
uh-uh. i don't tip.
i don't believe in it.
don't give me that. she don't make enough money, she can quit.
i don't tip because society says i gotta. i tip when somebody deserves a tip. when somebody really puts forth an effort, they deserve a little something extra. but this tipping automatically, that shit's for the birds. as far as i'm concerned, they're just doin their job.
our girl was okay. she didn't do anything special.
the words "too busy" shouldn't be in a waitress's vocabulary.
these ladies aren't starvin to death. they make minimum wage. when i worked for minimum wage, i wasn't lucky enough to have a job that society deemed tipworthy.
do you know what this is? it's the world's smallest violin, playing just for the waitresses.
so's working at mcdonald's, but you don't feel the need to tip them. they're servin ya food, you should tip em. but no, society says tip these guys over here, but not those guys over there. that's bullshit.
oh yeah, i don't see them cleaning fryers.
fuck all that.
hey, i'm very sorry that the government taxes their tips. that's fucked up. but that ain't my fault. it would appear that waitresses are just one of the many groups the government fucks in the ass on a regular basis. you show me a paper 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 telling me, i got two words for that: "learn to fuckin type." cause if you're expecting me to help out with the rent, you're in for a big fuckin surprise.
because you paid for the breakfast, i'm gonna tip. normally i wouldn't.
hey, just cancel that shit right now! you're hurt. you're hurt really fucking bad, but you ain't dying.
oh 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?
say-the-goddamn-words: you're gonna be okay!
correct.
just hold on buddy boy. hold on, and wait for joe. i can't do anything for you, but when joe gets here, which should be anytime now, he'll be able to help you. we're just gonna sit here, and wait for joe. who are we waiting for?
bet your sweet ass we are.
i ain't going anywhere. i'm right here. i'm not gonna leave ya.
go ahead and be scared, you've been brave enough for one day. i want you to just relax now. you're not gonna die, you're gonna be fine. when joe gets here, he'll make ya a hundred percent again.
you're not gonna fucking die, all right?
it's not good.
i can' take you to a hospital.
lie back down, and try to--
gun shot.
dead.
how the fuck do you think? the cops shot him.
as opposed to good?
you really think we were set up?
i haven't had a chance to think. first i was just trying to get the fuck outta there. and after we got away, i've just been dealin with him.
let's go in the other room.
what's done is done, i need you cool. are you cool?
splash some water on your face. take a breather.
i'm gonna get me my smokes.
want a smoke?
okay, let's go through what happened. we're in the place, everything's going fine. then the alarm gets tripped. i turn around and all these cops are outside. you're right, it was like, bam! i blink my eyes are they're there. everybody starts going apeshit. then mr. blonde starts shootin all the--
what's wrong with it?
as soon as i heard the alarm, i saw the cops.
look, enough of this "mr white" shit--
you're right, this is bad. how did you get out?
a few cops.
uh-uh, just cops.
that was one of the most insane fucking things i've ever seen. why the fuck would joe hire somebody like that?
that's the way i look at it. a choice between doin ten years, and takin out some stupid motherfucker, ain't no choice at all. but i ain't no madman either. what the fuck was joe thinkin? you can't work with a guy like that. that mother- fucker's unstable. what do you think? do you think he panicked, or ya think he's just trigger- happy?
what you're supposed to do is act like a fuckin professional. a psychopath is not a professional. you can't work with a psychopath, 'cause ya don't know what those sick assholes are gonna do next. i mean, jesus christ, how old do you think that black girl was? twenty, maybe twenty-one?
me and mr. orange jumped in the car and mr. brown floored it. after that, i don't know what went down.
what do you think?
not even a chance they punched through? you found a hole.
you don't think it's possible, one of them got ahold of the diamonds and pulled a--
how can you be so sure?
where?
where? are they out in the car?
that was the plan, we meet here.
i swear to god i'm fuckin jinxed.
two jobs back, it was a four man job, we discovered one of the team was an undercover cop.
thank god, we discovered in time. we hadda forget the whole fuckin thing. just walked away from it.
i don't buy it. me and joe go back a long time. i can tell ya straight up, joe definitely didn't have anything to do with this bullshit.
for all i know, you're the rat.
jesus christ!
he ain't dead.
i think he's just passed out.
he will be dead fer sure, if we don't get him to a hospital.
without medical attention, this man won't live through the night. that bullet in his belly is my fault. now while that might not mean jack shit to you, it means a helluva lot to me. and i'm not gonna just sit around and watch him die.
so what do you suggest, we go to a hotel? we got a guy who's shot in the belly, he can't walk, he bleeds like a stuck pig, and when he's awake, he screams in pain.
joe could help him. if we can get in touch with joe, joe could get him to a doctor, joe could get a doctor to come and see him.
before you got here, mr. orange was askin me to take him to a hospital. now i don't like turning him over to the cops, but if we don't, he's dead. he begged me to do it. i told him to hold off till joe got here.
i don't know anybody.
well, he knows a little about me.
i told him my first name, and where i'm from.
i told him where i was from a few days ago. it was just a casual conversation.
he asked.
we had just gotten away from the cops. he just got shot. it was my fuckin fault he got shot. he's a fuckin bloody mess - he's screaming. i swear to god, i thought we was gonna die right then and there. i'm tryin to comfort him, telling him not to worry, he's gonna be okay, i'm gonna take care of him. and he asked me what my name was. i mean, the man was dyin in my arms. what the fuck was i supposed to tell him, "sorry, i can't give out that information, it's against the rules. i don't trust you enough."? maybe i shoulda, but i couldn't.
don't fuckin patronize me.
of course.
if i have to tell you again to back off, me an you are gonna go round and round.
if we don't, he'll die.
that fuckin did it!
you little motherfucker!
you wanna shoot me, you little piece of shit? take a shot!
enough! you better start talkin to us, asshole, cause we got shit we need to talk about. we're already freaked out, we need you actin freaky like we need a fuckin bag on our hip.
we think we got a rat in the house.
is that supposed to be funny?
this place just ain't secure anymore. we're leaving, and you should go with us.
piss on this turd, we're outta here.
fuck you, maniac! it's your fuckin fault we're in so much trouble.
what's my problem? yeah, i gotta problem. i gotta big problem with any trigger-happy madman who almost gets me shot!
that fuckin shooting spree in the store.
you almost killed me, asshole! if i had any idea what type of guy you were, i never would've agreed to work with you.
what was that? i'm sorry, i didn't catch it. would you repeat it?
so you wanna git bit, huh?
you said yourself, you thought about takin him out.
you takin his side?
follow you where?
why?
for what, the cops?
you talked to nice guy eddie? why the fuck didn't you say that in the first place?
hardy-fuckin-har. what did he say?
no shit, he's gonna fuckin die on us if we don't get him taken care of.
what are you gonna do about him?
you ain't dying, he is.
who?
we can't leave these guys with him.
because this guy's a fucking psycho. and if you think joe's pissed at us, that ain't nothing compared to how pissed off i am at him, for puttin me in the same room as this bastard.
he's the reason the place turned into a shooting gallery. what are you, a silent partner? fuckin tell him.
this is what he was doin.
that's your excuse for going on a kill crazy rampage?
what for?
that's hard, man. that's a fuckin hard situation.
there's a slight difference.
okay, mr. expert. if this is such a truism, how come every nigger i know treats his woman like a piece of shit?
not these guys.
elois?
where was she from, compton?
jesus christ!
was he all pissed off?
who cares what your name is? who cares if you're mr. pink, mr. purple, mr. pussy, mr. piss.
let's go over it. where are you?
mr. brown?
mr. blonde and mr. blue?
myself and mr. pink?
when you're dealing with a store like this, they're insured up the ass. they're not supposed to give you and 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 'em right to the floor. everyone jumps, he falls down, screaming, blood squirts out his nose. freaks everybody out. nobody says fuckin shit after that. you might get some bitch talk shit to ya. 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 one's givin you static, he probably thinks he's a real cowboy. so what you gotta do is break that son-of-a- bitch in two. if you wanna know something and he won't tell you, cut off one of his fingers. the little one. then you tell 'im his thumb's next. after that he'll tell ya if he wears ladies underwear. i'm hungry, let's get a taco.
is he dead?
did he did or not?
what? snap out of it!
get us outta here!
the bitch's got a gun!
just hold on buddy boy.
i don't believe you just said that.
the situation as hand isn't that fuckin satchel. you and joe have a responsibility to your men.
the man is fucking dying.
he needs a doctor, not a fuckin nurse.
obviously not enough.
if he dies i'm holding you personally responsible.
cut the shit! i don't think you called anybody except some cooze you once fucked, who happens to wear orthopedic shoes. and i don't think that's good enough care for a gut-shot man.
what happened?
uhuh, uhuh, what's i tell ya? that sick piece of shit was a stone cold psycho.
it makes perfect fuckin sense to me. eddie, you didn't see how he acted during the job, we did.
he told you what really happened. you just can't deal with it.
what the fuck are you talking about?
joe, i don't know what you think you know, but you're wrong.
joe, trust me on this, you've made a mistake. he's a good kid. i understand you're hot, you're super-fuckin pissed. we're all real emotional. but you're barking up the wrong tree. i know this man, and he wouldn't do that.
how do you know all this?
that's your proof?
joe, you're making a terrible mistake i can't let you make.
joe, if you kill that man, you die next. repeat, if you kill that man, you die next!
goddamn you, joe, don't make me do this!
don't ask me that.
sorry, kid. looks like we're gonna do a little time.