Thanks.
That's your excuse for going on a kill-crazy rampage?
I don't like alarms, Mr. White.
What does it matter who stays with the cop?
We ain't lettin' him go. He's seen everybody.
Shut the fuck up, man!
You guys should never have taken him outta the trunk...
in the first place.
We tried to find out about the setup.
There is no fuckin' setup!
Now here's the news!
Blondie, you stay here, take care of these two!
White and Pink...
you come with me, 'cause if Joe gets here...
and he sees all these cars parked outside...
I swear to you he's gonna be...
just as mad at me as he is at you.
Fine. Let's go.
Alone at last.
Guess what.
I think I'm parked in the red zone.
Now, where were we?
I told you, I don't know anything...
about any fuckin' setup.
I've been on the force for only eight months.
They don't tell me anything.
Nobody tells me shit. You can torture me...
all you want.
Torture you? That's a good.
That's a good idea. I like that one, yeah.
Even your boss said there wasn't a setup.
- My what? - Your boss.
Excuse me, pal.
One thing I wanna make clear to you.
I don't have a boss.
Nobody tells me what to do. You understand?
You hear what I said, you son of a bitch?
All right, all right, you don't have a boss.
Get that fuckin' shit off.
Look, I'm not gonna bullshit you, okay?
I don't really give a good fuck...
what you know or don't know...
but I'm gonna torture you anyway...
regardless.
Not to get information.
It's amusing to me to torture a cop.
You can say anything you want...
'cause I've heard it all before.
All you can do is...
pray for a quick death...
which...
you ain't gonna get.
Oh, God.
You ever listen to K-BILLY's "Super Sounds of the '70s"?
It's my personal favorite.
Joe Egan and Gerry Rafferty...
were a duo known as Stealer's Wheel...
when they recorded this Dylanesque, pop...
bubble-gum favorite from April of 1974.
That reached up to number five...
as K-BILL Y's "Super Sounds of the '70s"continues.
Hold still.
Hold still, you fuck.
Was that good for you too?
Hey, what's goin' on?
You hear that?
Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back.
Don't! Stop! Stop!
- What? What's the matter? - Don't do this.
That burn a little bit?
Don't! Stop!
Please stop.
Just stop. Stop.
Just talk to me. Don't. Please.
Don't burn me, please.
I don't know anything about...
any of you fucking guys.
I'm not gonna say anything.
No! Please, no.
- You all through? - Stop!
You all through?
Please. I got a little kid at home.
You all done?
- Don't! - Have some fire.
Oh, shit.
Hey, you.
What's your name?
Marvin.
Marvin what?
Marvin Nash.
Listen to me, Marvin. I'm a...
Listen to me, Marvin Nash. I'm a cop.
Yeah, I know.
You do?
Yeah. Your name's Freddy somethin'.
Newendyke.
Freddy Newendyke.
Frankie Ferchetti...
introduced us about five months ago.
I don't remember that at all.
I do.
Freddy.
How do I look?
What?
I don't know what to tell you, Marvin.
That fuck.
That sick fuck!
That fuckin' bastard!
Marvin, I need you to hold on.
There's cops waiting to move a block away.
What the fuck are they waiting for?
This fuckin' guy, he slashes my face...
and cuts my fuckin' ear off!
I'm fuckin' deformed!
Fuck you!
I'm fuckin' dyin' here!
I'm fuckin' dyin'!
They're not to make a move 'til Joe Cabot shows up.
I was sent in to get him.
All right?
You heard 'em.
They said he's on his way.
Don't pussy out on me now, Marvin.
We'rejust gonna sit here and bleed...
'til Joe Cabot sticks...
his fuckin' head through that door.
Say hello to a mother-fucker who's inside.
Cabot's doing ajob. He wants me on the team.
This better not be ajoke.
This ain't ajoke.
I'm in. I'm up his ass.
Nice Guy Eddie tells me Joe wants to meet me.
He says I should just wait for a phone call.
After waiting three days he calls me last night...
and says Joe's ready.
He'll pick me up in 15 minutes.
Who picked you up?
- Nice Guy. We get to a bar. - What bar?
Smokey Pete's in Gardena.
We get there...
and I meet Joe and a guy named Mr. White.
Phony name. My name's Mr. Orange.
- Mr. Orange? - Mr. Orange.
Okay, Mr. Orange.
- You ever see him before? - Who? Mr. White?
Yes. Mr. White.
No. He ain't one of Cabot's men either.
He's gotta be from out of town.
- Joe knows him good. - How can you tell?
The way they talk.
You can tell they're buddies.
- You two talk? - Me and Joe?
Mr. White.
- A little. - About what?
The Brewers.
Milwaukee Brewers?
They won the night before. He made some money off them.
Good. If this crook's a Brewers fan...
he's gotta be from Wisconsin.
And I'll bet they got a sheet in Milwaukee...
on this Mr. White's ass.
So I want you to go...
through everybody in Milwaukee...
with a history of armed robbery...
and put a name to the face.
- Nice work, Freddy. - Thank you, my man.
How was Long Beach Mike's referral?
Perfect.
His backing me up went a long way.
I told them I played poker with him.
Nice Guy checked it out and said it was A-okay.
Said I was a good thief, I didn't rattle...
and that I was ready to move.
He's a good guy.
I wouldn't be inside without him.
Long Beach Mike is not your friend.
Long Beach Mike is a fucking scumbag.
He's selling out his friends.
That's how nice he fuckin' is.
I'll take care of his ass...
but you get that scumbag out of mind...
and take care of business.
Gone.
Use the commode story?
What's the commode story
It's a scene. Memorize it.
A what?
Undercover cops gotta be Brando.
To do thisjob you gotta be...
a great actor, naturalistic.
You gotta be naturalistic as hell.
If you're a bad actor, that's bullshit in thisjob.
What is this?
That's an amusing anecdote about a drug deal.
Something funny that happened to you...
while you were doing ajob.
I gotta memorize all this?
There's four pages of this shit.
Think about it like it's ajoke.
Memorize what's important. The rest you make your own.
You can tell ajoke, can't you?
Well, pretend you're Don Rickles...
and tell ajoke, all right?
The things you gotta remember are the details.
The details sell your story.
This particular story takes place...
in a men's room.
You gotta know all the details.
Whether they got paper towels...
or a blower to dry your hands.
You gotta know...
if the stalls ain't got no doors or not.
You gotta know if they got liquid soap...
or that pink, granulated shit...
they used in high school.
You gotta know if they got hot water or not.
If it stinks...
if some nasty, lowlife, scum-ridden mother-fucker...
sprayed diarrhea all over one of the bowls.
You gotta know every detail there is...
to know about this commode.
What you gotta do is take all them details...
and make 'em your own.
While you're doing that...
remember that this story is about you...
and how you perceived the events that went down.
The only way to do that...
is keep sayin' it...
and sayin' it and sayin' it.
This is during...
the L.A. Marijuana drought, 1986.
I still had a connection, which was insane 'cause...
you couldn't get any weed anywhere then.
Anyway...
I had a connection with this hippie chick...
in Santa Cruz and all my friends knew it.
They call me and say, "Hey, Freddy"...
And say, "Hey, dude.
You gettin' some?
Can you get some for me too?"
They knew I still smoked...
so they asked me to buy some for them.
It got to be...
Every time I bought some weed...
I was buyin' for four or five people.
Finally I said, fuck this shit.
I'm makin' this bitch rich.
She didn't even have to meet these people.
I was doing all the work.
That got to be a pain in the ass...
people calling all the time.
I couldn't even rent a tape without interruptions.
"When's the next time you're gettin' some?"
"Mother-fucker, I'm tryin' to watch The Lost Boys.
When I get some, I'll call you".
Then these rink-a-dink potheads come by.
They're my friends and everything, but still.
I got it laid out in 60-dollar bags...
they don't want 60 dollars worth.
They want ten dollars' worth...
and breaking it up wasn't easy.
I don't even know...
what ten dollars' worth looks like.
This was a very weird situation.
Remember back in '86...
there was a major fuckin' drought.
Nobody had anything.
People were livin' on resin...
smokin' the wood in their pipes.
This chick had a bunch...
and she's beggin' me to sell it.
So I told her...
I wasn't gonna be Joe the pot man anymore...
but I would take a little bit...
and sell it to my close friends.
She agreed, we kept the same arrangement as before.
Ten percent and free pot for me...
if I helped her that weekend.
She was sellin' a brick of weed
and didn't wanna go to the buy alone.
Her brother usually goes with her...
but he's in County unexpectedly.
What for?
His traffic tickets gone to warrant.
They stopped him, found warrants on him...
took him to County.
She doesn't wanna walk around alone...
with all that weed.
I don't wanna do this.
I have a very bad feeling about it.
She keeps asking me, finally I said okay...
'cause I'm sick of hearing it.
So we go to the train station.
Wait. You're goin' to the station with the weed?
The guy needed it right away.
Anyway, we get to the train station...
and we're waitin' for the guy.
I'm carryin' the weed in a carry-on bag.
I gotta take a piss...
so I tell her I'm goin' to the boy's room.
So I walk into the men's room...
and who's standing there?
Four L.A. County sheriffs and a German shepherd.
- They're waitin' for you? - No, they'rejust talkin'.
When I walked in, they all stopped talkin'...
and they looked at me.
That's hard. That's a fuckin' hard situation.
German shepherd starts barking.
He's barkin' at me.
I mean, it's obvious he's barkin' at me.
Every nerve ending, all of my senses...
the blood in the veins was screamin':
"Take off, man. Just bail.
Get the fuck outta there".
Panic hits me like a bucket of water.
Bam! Right in the face.
I'm drenched in panic and these cops...
are lookin' at me and they know it.
They can smell it...
sure as that fuckin' dog can.
They can smell it on me.
Shut up.
So anyway...
I got my gun drawn.
I point it at this guy and I tell him...
"Freeze. Don't fuckin' move".
This little idiot's looking right at me...
and saying "I know I know."
But meanwhile...
his right hand is creepin' toward the glove box.
I scream at him, "Asshole!
I'm gonna blow you away right now!
Put your hands on the dash".
He's still looking at me, nodding his head.
"I know, buddy, I know".
Meanwhile his hand is still going for the glove box.
And I said...
"Buddy, I'm gonna shoot you in the face...
if you don't put your hands on the dash".
Then this guy's girlfriend...
this real sexy Oriental bitch...
she starts screaming at him: "Chuck, what are you doin'?
Listen to the officer! Put your hands on the dash!"
So then the guy snaps out of it...
and puts his hands on the dash.
What was he goin' for?
His fucking registration.
- You're kidding. - No, man!
Stupid citizen doesn't know how close...
he came to gettin' blown away.
That close, man.
You knew how to handle that situation.
You shit your pants, dive in and swim.
Tell me more about Cabot.
I don't know.
He's a cool guy.
He's funny. He's a funny guy.
You remember the Fantastic Four?
Yeah, with that invisible bitch...
and "Flame on" and shit, right?
Thing.
Mother-fucker...
Looksjust like the Thing.
Hey! Showtime!
Grab yourjacket. I'm parked outside.
I'll be right down.
He'll be right down.
Don't pussy out on me now.
They don't know.
They don't know shit.
You're not gonna get hurt. You're fuckin' Baretta.
They believe every fuckin' word...
'cause you're super cool.
There goes our boy.
The guy has to have rocks...
in his head the size of Gibraltar...
to work undercover.
- You want one of these? - Yeah, give me the bear claw.
I know what I'm talking about.
Black women ain't the same as white women.
There's a slight difference.
Very funny. You know what I mean.
What a white bitch will put up with...
a black bitch wouldn't for a minute.
If you cross their line, they fuck you up.
I gotta go along with Pink on that.
Okay, Mr. Expert, if this is such a truism...
why is it that every nigger I know...
treats his woman like a piece of shit?
I'll bet those same niggers...
who show their ass in public...
when their bitches get 'em home...
they chill the fuck out.
- Not these guys. - Oh, yeah. Those guys too.
Tell you guys a story.
In one of Daddy's clubs...
there's a black cocktail waitress named Elois.
- Elois? - Yeah, Elois.
E-Lois. We called her Lady E.
Where was she from? Compton?
She's from Ladora Heights.
Ladora Heights. The black Beverly Hills.
It's not the black Beverly Hills.
It's the black Palos Verdes.
Anyway...
Lady E...
she was a man-eater-upper. Un-fuckin'-believable.
Every guy who ever saw her...
had tojack off to her at least once.
You know who she looked like?
She looked like Christie Love.
Remember that TV show Get Christie Love...
about the black female cop?
She always used to say...
"You're under arrest, sugar!"
- Who played Christie Love? - Pam Grier.
No, it wasn't Pam Grier. Pam Grier was the other one.
Pam Grier did the film.
Christie Love was like a Pam Grier TV show...
without Pam Grier.
- So, who was Christie Love? - How should I know?
Great. Now I'm totally fuckin' tortured.
Whoever it was...
she looked exactly like Elois.
Anne Francis.
No. That was Honey West.
Anne Francis is white.
I'm tryin' to tell a story here.
She looked exactly like Elois.
We come into the club one night...
and there's Carlos, the bartender.
He's a wetback. He's a friend of mine.
I says to him: "Carlos, where's Lady E tonight"?
Apparently Lady E...
was married to real piece of dog shit...
a real animal.
He used to do things to her.
Like what? What would he do?
Beat her up?
I don't know. Hejust did things.
So anyway...
one night she plays it real cool.
She waits for him to get drunk.
He falls asleep on the fuckin' couch.
She sneaks up on him...
She puts some glue on his dick...
and glues his dick to his belly.
Jesus Christ!
I'm serious, man. I'm dead serious.
They had to call the paramedics...
to cut the prick loose.
Was he all pissed off?
How would you feel if you had to do...
a fuckin' handstand to take a piss?
You guys like to tell jokes...
and giggle and kid around, huh?
Giggling like a bunch of girls...
in the schoolyard.
Well, let me tell ajoke.
Five guys sittin' in a bullpen...
San Quentin...
wonderin' how the fuck they got there.
"What did we do wrong?
What shouldn't we have done?
It's your fault, his fault"...
All that bullshit.
Finally somebody says...
"Wait a minute.
While we were planning this caper...
wejust sat around tellin' fuckin' jokes".
Got the message?
I don't mean to holler at ya.
When this caper's over,
and I'm sure it'll be successful...
we'll go down to Hawaiian Islands...
I'll laugh with all of you.
Find me a different character down there.
Right now it's a matter of business.
With the exception of Eddie and myself...
who you already know...
we're gonna be using aliases on thisjob.
Under no circumstances...
do we want any one of you to relate to each other...
by your Christian names.
And I don't want any talk about yourself personally.
That includes where you been...
your wife's name...
where you might've done time...
or a bank maybe you robbed in St. Petersburg.
All I want you guys to talk about...
if you have to...
is what you're gonna do.
That should do it.
These are your names...
Mr. Brown, Mr. White...
Mr. Blonde, Mr. Blue...
Mr. Orange and Mr. Pink.
- Why am I Mr. Pink? - Because you're a faggot!
Why can't we pick our own colors?
No way. No way.
Tried it once. It doesn't work.
You get four guys...
all fightin' over who gets to be Mr. Black.
They don't know each other...
so nobody wants to back down.
No way. I pick.
You're Mr. Pink.
Be thankful you're not Mr. Yellow.
But Mr. Brown, that's too close to Mr. Shit.
Mr. Pink sounds like Mr. Pussy.
How about Mr. Purple?
That's sounds good. I'll be Mr. Purple.
You're not Mr. Purple.
Some guy on some otherjob is Mr. Purple.
You're Mr. Pink!
Who care what your name is?
Easy for you to say. You're Mr. White.
You have a cool-sounding name.
If it's no big deal to be Mr. Pink...
you wanna trade?
Nobody's tradin' with anybody.
This ain't a goddamn fuckin'...
city council meeting, you know.
Now listen up, Mr. Pink.
There's two ways you can go on thisjob...
my way or the highway.
What's it gonna be, Mr. Pink?
Jesus Christ, Joe. Fuckin' forget about it.
It's beneath me.
I'm Mr. Pink. Let's move on.
I'll move on when I feel like it.
Do all you guys got the goddamn message?
I'm so goddamn mad hollerin' at you guys...
I can hardly talk.
Let's go to work.
Let's go over it. Where are you?
I stand outside and guard the door.
I don't let anybody go in or out.
- Mr. Brown. - He waits in the car.
I give him the signal, he pulls up in front.
Mr. Blonde and Mr. Blue.
Crowd control.
They handle the customers and the employees.
That girl's ass.
Sittin' right here on my dick.
Myself and Mr. Pink?
You two take the manager...
and make him give you the diamonds.
We're there for those stones, period.
Since no display cases are being fucked with...
no alarms should go off.
We're out in two minutes, not one second longer.
What if the manager won't give you the diamonds?
A store like this is insured up the ass.
They're not supposed to give you...
any resistance whatsoever.
If you get a customer or an employee...
who thinks he's Charles Bronson...
smash their nose with your gun.
Drops him right to the floor.
Everyonejumps.
He falls down screaming...
blood squirts out of his nose.
Freaks everybody out.
Nobody says fuckin' shit after that.
Some bitch might talk shit to you.
Give her a look like she's next.
Watch her shut the fuck up.
If it's the manager, that's different.
The managers know not to fuck around...
so if he's giving you static...
he probably thinks he's a real cowboy...
so you gotta that bastard in two.
If he won't tell ya something...
cut off one of his fingers.
The little one.
Then tell him his thumb's next.
After that, he'll tell you if he wears ladies underwear.
I'm hungry. Let's get a taco.
Fuck.
Jesus.
I'm blind, man. I'm fuckin' blind.
No, you just got blood in your eyes.
Is he dead?
Did he die or not?
Let's go.
Hold it! Get out!
Get out of the fuckin' car!
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Larry.
I can't believe she killed me.
Who'd have fucking thought that?
Hey...
just cancel that shit right now.
You're hurt.
You're hurt real fuckin' bad.
But you ain't dying.
All this blood's scaring the shit out of me, Larry.
I'm gonna die. I know it.
What the fuck happened?
He slashed the cop's face, cut off his ear...
and was gonna burn him alive.
What? I didn't hear you.
I said...
Blonde went crazy.
He slashed the cop's face...
cut off his ear and was gonna burn him alive.
This cop?
He went crazy? Something like that?
Worse or better?
Eddie, he was pulling a burn, man.
He was gonna kill the cop and me.
When you guys walked in...
he was gonna kill you and run with the diamonds.
What'd I tell ya?
That sick piece of shit...
was a stone-cold psycho.
You should've asked the cop...
notjust killed him.
He talked about what he was gonna do...
when he was slicing him up.
I don't buy it.
Doesn't make sense.
Makes perfect fuckin' sense to me.
You didn't see how he acted during thejob. We did.
He's right. The ear's hacked off.
Let mejust say this out loud...
'cause I wanna get this straight.
You're saying that Mr. Blonde...
was gonna kill you...
and then when we got back...
he was gonna kill us...
take the diamonds and scram.
I'm right about that, right?
That's your story?
I swear on my mother's soul...
that's what happened.
The man you killed...
just got released from prison.
He got caught at a company warehouse...
full of hot items.
He could've fuckin' walked.
All he had to do was say my dad's name...
"but he didn't;" he kept his mouth shut.
He did his fuckin' time like a man.
He did four years for us.
So, Mr. Orange. You're telling me...
that this good friend of mine...
who did four years for my father...
who, in four years, never made a deal...
no matter what they offered him...
you're telling me that now that he's free...
and we're making good on our commitment to him...
he'sjust gonna decide...
out of the fucking blue...
to rip us off?
Why don't you tell me what really happened.
What the hell for?
It'd just be more bullshit.
This man set us up.
Dad, I'm sorry, but I don't know what's happening.
It's all right. I do.
What are you talking about?
That lump of shit's workin' with the L.A.P.D.
I don't have the slightest fucking idea...
what you're talking about.
Joe...
I don't know what you think you know...
- but you're wrong. - Like hell I am.
Trust me on this. You've made a mistake.
He's a good kid.
I understand you're super-pissed.
We're all real emotional.
But you're barking up the wrong tree.
I know him. He wouldn't do that.
You don't know jack shit! I do.
The cocksucker tipped off the cops...
and got Mr. Brown and Mr. Blue killed.
- Mr. Blue is dead? - Dead as Dillinger.
How do you know all this?
He was the only one I wasn't 100 percent on.
I should have my head examined...
going ahead when I wasn't 100 percent.
That's your proof?
With instinct, you don't need proof.
I ignored it before, but no more.
Have you lost your fuckin' mind?
I'm not gonna let you make a terrible mistake.
Come on, guys. Nobody wants this.
We're supposed to be fuckin' professionals.
Larry, look...
it's been quite a long time.
A lot ofjobs.
There's no need for this, man.
Let'sjust...
put our guns down...
and let's settle this...
with a fucking conversation.
Joe...
if you kill that man, you die next.
Repeat: You kill him, you die next.
Larry, we have been friends.
You respect my dad and I respect you...
but I'll put bullets in you.
You put that fuckin' gun down now.
Goddamn you, Joe, don't make me do this.
Larry, you stop pointin' that gun at my dad!
I'm sorry, kid.
Looks like we're gonna...
do a little time.
I'm a cop.
Larry...
I'm sorry.
I'm...
so sorry.
I'm a cop.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Sorry.
Freeze!
Drop the fucking gun, buddy!
- Now! - Put the gun down!
- Don't do it! - Drop the gun, man!
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