The Last Boy Scout (1991) - full transcript

Green 88! Green 88!

Set! Hut!

Ladies and gentlemen,
that ends the first half of play...

with the score
Cleveland, 17, Los Angeles, 10.

Let's go. Move, move!

Billy Cole.

- Billy Cole.
- Your first half stunk!

Open the holes up.
Get in there like hogs, like pigs!

- Billy Cole, you got a call on Line 3.
- Come on, go out there in this half...

and kick some butt!
Let's get out of this town as a winner.

I hate Cleveland.



- Hello.
- Hello, William. This is Milo.

There's a lot of money
riding on this game.

You better start scoring
some touchdowns, William.

Just do whatever it takes. Understood?

Or else you're history.

Welcome back
to the second half. We're in Cleveland...

site of tonight's confrontation between
the L.A. Stallions and the Cleveland Cats.

I'm Vern Lundquist,
along with Dick Butkus.

And yes, friends, it really is that wet.

Well, Vern, even though
the Stallions trail 17 to 10...

there walks a happy man:

Sheldon Marcone,
owner of the L.A. Stallions.

His team sits atop the Western Division
at 6 and 2.

Sheldon is standing by with Lynn Swann.
Let's go down to them.



Forty-nine thousand,
two hundred and fifty-six.

That's pretty poor attendance even
for a night like this, wouldn't you say?

I wouldn't say, Lynn.

Perhaps then you can explain the drop-off
in attendance and TV ratings.

Is this the death of professional football?

No, I think that we're witnessing
the death of good journalism.

Mr. Marcone, are there any heroes
left in this game?

What game are you watching?
Let's talk about heroes.

Billy Cole is having the game of his life
out there tonight.

Set! Set!

Hut! Hut!

First and 10 at the Cleveland 47-yard line.

- Way to go.
- Good job. Good job.

First and 10,
less than two minutes remaining.

This is probably L.A.'s final possession.

The Stallions need 7.
A field goal will not do.

And Dick, you've got to be thinking,
"Get the ball to Billy Cole."

Hut! Hut!

The pass is complete to Billy Cole.

Go, go, go!

Ain't life a bitch?

- Dude's trashed.
- Shit, man.

We should do something to him.

Do it.

Goddamn. This dude is really trashed.

Go on. Take his watch.

He's got a gun!

Ugh.

This is Hallenbeck Investigations.

Leave your message at the beep.

Yo. Mike Matthews. I got a job for you.

Hold on. Hold on a minute.

- Mike.
- Joe.

I thought you were still in Las Vegas. I was
gonna leave a message on your machine.

You sound terrific.
What'd you do last night?

Think I fucked a squirrel to death
and I don't even remember.

Listen, Joe. You still taking charity?

- What do you got?
- Stripper. Excuse me, exotic dancer.

She's got some weirdo hassling her
and I'm booked solid.

She's hot, Joe.
She rates a three on my finger scale.

That means I'd cut off three of my fingers
if God would let me fuck her. Ha-ha.

Make her a one on your nose scale.
Improve your looks.

Yeah, yeah. Eat me.
So, listen, I'm booked. You got plans?

I'm thinking about
smoking some cigarettes.

Could you postpone?

- These are pretty good cigarettes.
- It's 500 bucks, Joe.

I gotta run some errands.
Meet you at your office in an hour.

Terrific. Comb your hair.
I'll lend you a nice jacket...

Nobody likes you.

Everybody hates you.

You're gonna lose.

Smile, you fuck.

Goddamn.

- Jimmy?
- Yeah.

You're still here?

I guess I am.

Help me!

Yo, Ray. What's with the girl, man?

- Bitch won't blow me.
- Help me.

It's too early in the morning for that shit.
Let her go.

She ain't coming up
till she starts blowing.

Ray, she's gonna drown, man.

- Hey, fuck you, you loser!
- Let her go, Ray.

What are you doing here? This is a league
party. You got kicked out, remember? Huh?

Remember?

You bastard!

- Come on, get out of here.
- Pig!

You fuckhead!

- Aah.
- Best arm in the National League.

Remember that, you fat son of a bitch.

Hey, Joe.

Thought you were in Las Vegas.

I was.

- Where'd you sleep?
- The office.

Hey, Furry Tom.

How much did you lose?

- I wasn't there to gamble.
- How much?

I was doing a skip trace.

Fifty bucks.

What is this?

Darian's class drew holiday pictures.
That was hers.

Obviously, her teacher wants to see us.

- Where is she?
- She's up at a friend's.

Boys still giving her a hard time
about the braces?

Are you kidding?

"Metal mouth," that's the latest.
Little bastards.

She'll be screwing them
by the time she's 14.

- Watch your goddamn mouth.
- Christ, Sarah.

You let her wear enough makeup.
She looks like...

a goddamn raccoon.

I come in the house, I think it's a burglar.
I almost shot her twice.

You're not funny.
And all the girls wear makeup.

I'm sure all the girls at that school
don't put it on with a paint sprayer.

For your information...

a lot of people think I'm very funny.
- Yeah? Well, go live with them.

Don't tempt me.

Who's the guy in the closet?

Excuse me?

That's right.
Sometimes you forget I'm a detective.

All this steam in the shower,
like somebody was just in there.

Only your hair is dry. So it must be
somebody else we're talking about.

A male somebody
because the toilet seat's up.

Not under the bed,
must've stuck him in the closet...

when you heard my key hit the lock
a day early.

So who's the guy in the closet?

Jesus Christ, nothing changes.

You're still a lunatic.

Gonna tell me who it is?

You want me to open the closet?

I'll do it, okay? And then we'll both know
that you're a fucking psycho!

- Is that what you want, huh?
- No.

Thank you.

That door stays shut.

What I'm gonna do is count to three.

- Then I'm gonna put a bullet in that door.
- Oh, Jesus.

You can stop me any time
by telling the truth.

- One.
- Call your shrink, Joe.

- Call and tell him you're fucking losing it!
- The truth is a beautiful thing.

- Two.
- How dare you come into this house and...

- Three.
- No!

- Look, Joe...
- Keeping her warm for me, Mike?

Easy. Don't do nothing dumb.

How was she?

On your finger scale, how was my wife?

- It just happened, Joe. It...
- Sure, sure, I know.

It just happened.

It could happen to anybody.

It was an accident, right? You tripped...

slipped on the floor and accidentally
stuck your dick in my wife.

"Oops. I'm so sorry, Mrs. H.
I guess this just isn't my week."

- Joe, put the gun down, please.
- Oh, yeah, the gun.

You know, Sarah, I think you're right.

I think I am losing it.

Get out of here.

Head or gut, Mike?

Joe, how long we been friends?

I'd say roughly till
you started banging my wife.

Head or gut?

Gut.

- You got that address for me?
- Huh?

The surveillance job.

You still want the job?

Five hundred bucks is 500 bucks, Mike.

Yeah. I guess you're right.

Cory, huh? Throw a shot into her too?

Get the fuck out of here.
Go shit in your own yard.

Joe!

Over here.

Somebody wired the car.

Who the fuck did this, Joe?

Mr. Rogers.

How the hell should I know?

You told the cops...

I told them Mike came by to farm out
a surveillance job this morning.

That's all?

You didn't mention...

No. I didn't mention it.

You knew, didn't you?

- I suspected.
- Goddamn it.

Why didn't you say something?

What do you want me to say, Sarah?
"Fuck you, Sarah"?

Yes. Yeah. Or anything
to get a rise out of you.

How about, "You're a lying bitch"?

How about, "If there weren't cops here,
I'd spit in your face"?

- You want me to spit on you?
- It would show you had some pride left.

Fresh out, honey.

You know what? Fuck you, Joe.
You were never around. I was lonely!

Buy a dog.

I'm not the one who hates you, Joe.
You're the one who hates you.

And I get to live with myself
24 hours a day.

Gett off

23 positions in a one night stand

Gett off

Alex, the astronaut.

Alex, the astronaut.

Hey, last time I saw you drink straight vodka
was because you just cheated on Cory.

- Yeah, well, why don't you pour me another?
- Oh, man. You didn't.

You gotta be crazy, partner,
cheating on her.

I gotta be something, Harp.

Because nowadays all I do is lose friends,
drink and nail anything with a heartbeat.

Yeah, well,
just stay on that side of the bar, huh?

Oh, Harp.

Gett off

Let a woman be a woman

And a man be a man

Gett off

- Should I pay you now?
- No, you should not. Put the money away.

Put it away. Sit down.

So you don't think the cops
can help you?

Sure. After I'm dead,
they'll perform the autopsy.

- I guess you don't wanna wait that long.
- Guess not.

This the only kind of music
they play in this joint?

- Mm-hm.
- I hate this funk shit.

- I may have to charge you extra.
- What'd you expect?

The Four Freshmen. Pat Boone.

- What are you, my father?
- Yeah, I'm your father.

- Go put some clothes on.
- You're hilarious.

Stick your head in that speaker.

You'll be screaming,
"Play that funky music, white boy."

The screaming part, I believe.

Hello, handsome.

So who's that stiff over there?

- That's nobody.
- Mm-hm.

It's my turn to dance. Shit.

All right, all right. Let's bring out a woman
who's always in the mood.

Put your hands together for
the lovely and talented Miss Cory!

Riding on the range

I've got my hat
On

I've got my boots
Dusty

I've got my saddle

Hi. You're nobody.

- Shh. Don't tell anyone.
- That's what Cory says, you're nobody.

Take it easy, junior. Nobody's raining on
your parade. I'm just keeping an eye on her.

What are you, some kind of bodyguard
or something?

Yeah, something like that.

- You got a match on you?
- No.

- Is Cory in some kind of trouble?
- I don't know. You tell me.

She didn't mention anything to me.

What, does that piss you off?

- Maybe.
- Don't sweat it.

Women have secrets.

Water's wet, the sky is blue,
women have secrets.

Who gives a fuck?

You want a beer?

So she just hired you, huh?
What, you're in the book or something?

She hired my buddy Mike.
I'm just filling in.

- And where's this Mike?
- He died.

I'm sorry to hear that.

- He was an asshole.
- Hey, look, man...

I don't know who the fuck you are
or what's going on, but Cory's my girl.

If she's in some kind of trouble,
I wanna know about it.

- Confidential, big boy.
- Well, why don't you just tell me anyway?

Nope.

Man, you couldn't protect
a cup of warm piss.

Why don't you just
go ahead and hit me?

Excuse me?

Come on, chickenshit.
Bust me in the chops.

You don't think an old guy like me
could hurt you, do you, Jimmy?

Oh, so you know who I am?

James Alexander Dix, quarterback
for the L.A. Stallions, '89, '90.

Banned from the league
on gambling charges.

Allegations of drug abuse.

Another tragic tale of wasted youth.

- Now you're starting to piss me off.
- It's about fucking time.

Joe Hallenbeck.

- I'm a private detective.
- You're a fucking lowlife to me.

At least I didn't shit
my talent away on coke.

I spilled my warm cup of piss.

- Cory, get your shit, let's go. Come on.
- What's the matter with you?

- Jimmy, man!
- Shut up! Keep your monkey ass in the cage.

It's cool. It's cool.

Uh... Let's hear it for Miss Cory.

Yeah. Let's hear it.

Baynard.

I didn't vote for you, you son of a bitch.

So I'm a lowlife.

That's him. He was with her.

- Get him out of here and kill him.
- There's no contract on him.

Then you'll do it for free,
but just do it elsewhere.

Alex, the pediatrician.

Alex, the pediatrician.

If I were a cat, I'd purr.

Behave.

I want you to come back
to my place with me.

I wanna give you your birthday present.

- Does it look like that?
- Do you want it?

Yeah. What is it? Give me a hint.

A hint? Okay.

How would you like
to get your old job back?

Go on. Get in there.

Wrong place, wrong time.
Nothing personal.

That's what you think.
Last night I fucked your wife.

Oh, you did, huh? Well,
how'd you know it was my wife?

She said her husband was a big
pimp-looking motherfucker with a hat.

Oh, you real cool,
for a guy about to take a bullet.

After fucking your wife, I'll take two.

So talk to me.

What's this about you
getting me my old job back?

- Where the hell is he?
- The detective?

Cory, what kind of trouble are you in?

Trouble? I'm not in any trouble.
Just some creep threatening me.

Let's go back inside
and wait for Hallenbeck.

Hey, what am I, chopped liver?
Hallenbeck's a bum.

What's he gonna do,
light a match and breathe on them?

If this creep shows up, I'll bitch-slap him.

Now, come on, I'll follow you home.
Get in your car.

- You'll bitch-slap him? Ha-ha-ha.
- Yeah. Bitch-slap him.

- Okay.
- Ow!

Watch it.

So now where you want it?
In the chest or in the head?

- Yeah, that's what your wife said.
- Hey, would you stop with the wife shit?

- Ask me how fat she is.
- Fuck you, man.

How fat is she?

She's so fat, I had to roll her in flour
and look for the wet spot.

You wanna fuck her, you gotta
slap her thigh and ride the wave in.

- Ha-ha-ha.
- I'm not saying she's fat...

but her high-school picture
was an aerial photograph.

- Oh, you bastard.
- And then some.

Fuck.

Cory, don't get out of your car.

Can't you fucking drive?

Cory!

Cory! Shit.

Let's get the fuck out of here.

Shit.

Hey, back up.

Back up.

Leather pants?

Yeah.

What's something like that run?

Six-fifty.

- Six hundred and fifty dollars?
- Yeah.

- They're pants?
- Yeah.

- You wear them?
- Yes.

They don't have, like, a TV in them
or something?

Nope.

I am very old.

Something stinks in here.

My God, it's his statement.

It's bullshit.
Hallenbeck is hiding something.

- How do you know?
- I know how the fuck his mind works.

Every lie has 80 percent truth to it.
I mean, it's scary.

- We looking at the same guy?
- Yeah, what is it you're looking at?

I see a guy, looks like
he just slept in his clothes.

Ah. That's what everybody sees.

- There's more?
- Oh, yeah. A lot more.

A long time ago, the same son of a bitch
saved the president's life.

That stuff Cory fed you about some
weirdo hassling her was bullshit, huh?

Yeah.

I don't know what she was into, but that
was a professional hit out there tonight.

Gangland style. The way I figure,
Mike was working for her, same as me.

He gets scared. Very scared.

- Bails out, dumps it in my lap.
- I guess he bailed out too late, huh?

They're still scraping him off my stucco.

If Mike knew this was dangerous...

why did he just hand it to you,
not say anything?

He was fucking my wife.

I die, he gets the wife.

Free to go. Pick up your gun
at the property desk.

- About time.
- You took all day.

And, Joe, I got a call
from the Bel Air P.D.

It seems like Senator Baynard
has been getting obscene phone calls.

I better not find out it's you.

- Anything else, lieutenant?
- Yeah.

There's a new invention.
It's called a razor.

Too risky. I might start thinking about you
and slash my wrists.

He got a beef with Baynard?

Yeah, the senator got him fired
from his old job.

What was he, a cop or something?

Secret Service, huh?

And Baynard had you fired? How come?

None of your business.

What the fuck are you doing here?

I knocked out four of his teeth.

Say, man, you ever played ball?
You got a good build.

What, are you a fag?

No, I'm just trying to break the ice.

I like ice. Leave it the fuck alone.

- You're a lot of fun to be with.
- Fuck you.

So what's the next move, ace?
Where do we go from here?

I'm going home.
It would seem my job is done.

Fuck you, your job is done.
We saw Cory get murdered.

Listen, Flash, you wanna get
your ass shot off, be my guest.

When you're dead,
I'll take your $600 pants.

Six-fifty.

You look real familiar. Do I know you?

You might. People recognize me.

Got it. Cue Ball Morton.
You used to sell hash in Boyle Heights.

No, I played football.
Jimmy Dix, L.A. Stallions.

- What position?
- Forget it.

Football. Free agents ruined
the goddamn game!

You know, we may run into a few more fans.
You wanna borrow my sunglasses?

- Fuck you.
- Snappy comeback.

So where did Cory live?

Harper Apartments on Melrose. Why?

Thinking about going by there,
take a look around.

- Oh, good. I'll come with you.
- The fuck you are.

Have a nice night, junior.

- Hey, I know where she keeps the extra key.
- I'm not gonna need a key.

Guess you're not worried about
the security system either.

It's pretty high-tech. I put it in myself.

But you probably know
how to circumvent, huh?

- Circumvent?
- It's called a vocabulary. You read much?

My subscription to Jugs Magazine
just ran out.

Get in the car.

How did she afford a place like this?
These joints must run a fortune.

- Tell me about it. I pay the rent.
- Oh, isn't that charming?

She sounds like a real special girl.

What else you give her money for?
Clothes, car payments?

Yo, it wasn't like that.

Cory could've had plenty of rich guys.
Me, she loved.

Oh, love. Well, forget about it, then.

- You don't believe in love?
- Yeah, I believe in love. I believe in cancer.

- What, they're both diseases?
- Yeah, something like that.

I wanna meet the bitch
that fucked you up.

Your show, ace.

- Security system?
- Yeah, I circumvented it.

Don't touch anything.
We don't wanna leave a mess for the cops.

Oh, my God.

- You vacuum, I'll dust.
- Stay put.

Go, Tarzan.

Jimmy. Who's this guy with Cory?

Shelly Marcone. He owns the L.A. Stallions.

He used to date her for a while.
He treated her like shit and she left.

- Where you going?
- To the bathroom.

You wanna come? Doc said
I shouldn't lift anything heavy.

No, I'll pass.

Ten to one,
this is what they were looking for.

- That's Marcone.
- Yeah, I know who it is.

- I don't know who this is.
- That's Calvin Baynard, the senator.

And these two assholes with them?

His bodyguards.
He don't go anywhere without protection.

- Xeroxed copy of a phone bill.
- What's this number they keep calling?

- Calvin Baynard's home phone number.
- You know the senator's home number?

Yeah, so I called him a couple times.
Shut the fuck up.

- So, what's all this mean, Joe?
- I don't know, junior. If we're lucky...

enough blackmail evidence to put the two
most powerful men in California away.

Why would Cory wanna blackmail
Marcone or Baynard?

- You said she was fucking Marcone.
- I didn't say fucking, I said dating.

Whatever she was doing, she heard
or saw something. The point is...

- She tried to blackmail them.
- She hires Mike...

- To get evidence against them, right?
- That's right.

Now we have the evidence.

What we got, junior, is Marcone
and Baynard by the nuts.

And that is why I love America.

- Hello?
- Hey, Calvin. Shelly Marcone.

- That's Marcone.
- How you doing this evening?

- I'd prefer you didn't use my name.
- Man's a trifle skittish.

Calvin, if I didn't know you better, I'd think
you were contemplating something shady.

- No law against contemplation.
- Get to the good stuff.

- Not unless you...
- I'll fast-forward.

No, don't! It eats the tape!
Fast-forward eats the fucking tape!

I'm supposed to know that? Our only
evidence and your shitty car ate the tape?

- Fucking car sucks.
- Shut the fuck up!

- Shut your car up.
- If this is ruined, I'm gonna crush your nuts.

Look at this.
This is ruined, I swear to God.

Fast-forward eats the tape.

So this is my birthday present.

What?

Cory was blackmailing Marcone...

but she wasn't trying to get cash.
She was trying to get my old job back.

She's dead because of me.

- Where you going?
- Home. I don't feel too hot.

Come on, I'll take you home.

- Come on, I'll give you a ride.
- No.

I'm gonna take Cory's car. I got the key.

I thought that was Cory's car at the bar.

Jimmy?

Cory had two cars.

Get out of the car! Get out of the car!

What's your trip, man? Yo!
What's wrong with you?

- What is it?
C-4.

Plastic explosive.

They wired the ignition to Mike's car with
this. Figures they'd do the same with hers.

Good thing for you
they wired the wrong car.

Leave this for the cops.
Let them analyze it.

You're just gonna put that in the trunk?

No, we should just leave it
for the neighborhood kids to play with.

Good evening, gentlemen.

Let's have the gun, Hallenbeck.

- A bit late for a stroll, you think?
- You girls ought to get home.

- Yeah, street lights are on.
- Shut up, fuckface.

I'm fuckface, he's asshole.

Jake?

Apprise Rodney Dangerfield here
of his situation.

Perhaps we can dispense
with the fun and games now, yes?

- You want the envelope, right?
- The envelope. Very smart.

See, Jake. Here's a man who knows
when a situation is untenable.

- Good word.
- You like that word?

And you do have that envelope,
don't you?

We better give up, Jimmy.
We're dealing with a couple geniuses here.

All right, man,
just leave him the fuck alone.

"Leave him alone"?
Sure, whatever you say.

Jake attacks his job
with a certain exuberance.

Shit, we're being beat up
by the inventor of Scrabble.

- He's still in a good mood. Kick him again.
- No, no, no. All right.

You want the envelope the hooker had?

- She wasn't a hooker, Joe.
- Shut the fuck up.

Where is it?

- It's in the trunk.
- Give me the keys.

- Come on. Come on.
- Slow and easy.

- Give them to Jake.
- Come on.

Oops.

You dumb bastard,
you're gonna pay for that.

Jake, open the trunk.

Son of a bitch! Go, go, go!

- Are you alive?
- I don't know yet.

- Was that C-4?
- Uh-huh.

- Either that or a hell of a factory recall.
- Dead guys don't make bad jokes, do they?

- No.
- Shit, we're alive.

Yeah. Hooray.

Go on, get out of here.
Go, go, come on.

- You sure?
- I'll take the heat on this.

- You positive? Okay.
- Yeah.

- Aah. Fuck.
- This is a police matter...

you dumb son of a bitch.

And I'm sick and tired
of sweeping up your dead bodies!

The next time I see your ugly mug...

I'm gonna put a bullet in it. You got it?

I just wanted to shake your hand.

What?

Ben told me about what you did
for the president. I respect that.

Thanks.

Hey, ugly.

Looks like our evidence got blown up.

I think we might have to get some more.

You just won't let go, huh?

You're like a dog with a Frisbee.

My girl's dead. The guys that did it are
up at Spago's eating chicken marsala.

And reindeer goat-cheese pizza.

It ain't right.

No, it ain't right.

This ain't no game, Flash.

Real guns.

Real bullets.

It's dangerous.

Danger's my middle name.

Mine's Cornelius.

You tell anybody, I'll kill you.

- You ever watch Soul Train?
- Shut the fuck up.

We start tomorrow.

In the meantime, I'd like to
go home and see my family.

Your family, huh?

You got kids?

- A little girl.
- Does she like you?

No, not too much.

She likes Prince. Go figure.

I like Prince.

Wow. An actual house.

I was thinking a cave
with skulls and shit.

I feel like I've been rode hard
and put away wet.

What the hell does that mean?

It's horse talk, man.

They got the brothers riding horses now?

Yeah, cars are getting too hard to steal.

You ever wear, like, a little cowboy hat?

Ha-ha-ha. I'm really good, man.

Maybe I could take your daughter out.

She's 13, and if you look at her funny...

I'll stick an umbrella up your ass
and open it.

- Why aren't you in bed?
- Darian's watching TV.

- Yeah, I can see that.
- She's also pissed at you bigtime.

- What happened to your face?
- My God. It speaks.

Nothing happened to my face.
It always looks like this.

What's wrong with his face?

His nose is too pointy. His eyes are beady.
His ears are too big.

- He needs a shave.
- Oh, oh, oh.

I am peeing my pants,
you're so funny out here.

That's my daughter, Darian.

- My name is Jimmy.
- That number on the back of your head...

is that, like, a license plate
in case somebody tries to steal it?

No, it's a football thing.
It's my high-school number.

So when do you graduate?

You wanna be left alone, don't you?

I'll be in the kitchen.

Over here.

Hey, Joe,
she's got your winning personality.

You get used to it.

Darian, I got some ice cream.
You want some?

Leave me alone! I hate you!

She's pissed because I wouldn't let her
go out on a date with Tommy.

I only missed the best party of the year.

Why didn't you let her go?

Because she's 13 years old, jerk-off.

- You want some of this ice cream or not?
- I'm not talking to you.

Oh, that's a shame.

I'll miss all those pleasant things you
always say to me. "Hey, Dad, I hate you."

- It's chocolate chip, your favorite.
- I don't care.

You're an asshole.

You know how I hate to waste food.

You wanna abuse me some more?
Shock me.

- I hardly ever hear the word "asshole."
- Oh, bullshit!

- Enough. That's enough.
- Bet you get it all the time!

- What'll you do, ground me some more?
- You want it, you got it.

Yes, sir, asshole.

- You're grounded for a week. Hey.
- Just leave me alone!

He thinks he's fucking Ward Cleaver.

You wanna talk like a trash-mouth?
Wanna sound like your mother? Go ahead.

It's bad enough I gotta hear this shit
all day, I gotta get it from you too?

Joe, why don't you go easy
on the girl, man?

Don't tell me how to talk to my kid.

Come on, let me hear it. Let me hear
all the really juicy, dirty words.

God, you're such a fuckup.

Damn it, Darian.

You are my daughter, you're in my house.
You will respect me. You got that?

- Don't ever call me a fuckup.
- Why shouldn't I?

Mom calls you one all the time.

Your mother called me a fuckup? When?

- On the phone with Uncle Jay.
- Uncle Jay?

Oh, Christ. I'm a fuckup, but Uncle Jay,
now, there's a real stand-up guy.

Cheats on his taxes.
Surprised he's not doing time.

Go ask your mother why Mr. Wonderful
is not in jail for tax evasion.

- Because he doesn't fuck up.
- Darian.

Go to bed.

For 50 bucks, you could pay a guy
to pull her fingernails out one by one.

Anything that much fun,
I think I'd rather do it myself.

Hey, I don't know about you,
but I could use a drink.

Yes.

Oh, shit. That's you?

You were fucking Ward Cleaver.

Yeah, I was a regular Boy Scout.

You and the president.

Damn, hanging with the man.

That look like one of those cardboard
cutout things you see in Venice Beach.

I once had my picture taken
with Don Johnson like that.

- You still got the picture?
- Nah, I threw it away.

So are you gonna get a divorce, man?

Shit, I don't know.

You don't like women much,
do you, Joe?

At least I liked the guy she was fucking.

- He was my best friend.
- Nah.

He was
a scumbag private detective, man.

Man, all private detectives
are scumbags.

Yeah, but that scumbag
tried to get you killed.

Well, friends can't be perfect.

I wish the sky wasn't blue...

I wish water wasn't wet...

and I wish I didn't still love my wife.

Ah. Life sucks.

- To Alex, the accountant.
- Your accountant's name is Alex?

No...

but he could have been.

Alex was my son.

I used to be married.

One Sunday, I'm away in Miami.

She couldn't come because
she was eight months' pregnant.

Walking down La Brea Boulevard...

out of nowhere a pickup truck
jumped a curb. Pow.

Never knew what hit her.

She died.

But Alex lived for 17 minutes
in an incubator.

He fell asleep...

had time for one dream...

and then he died.

I think about him all the time, man.

You know, I threw for 300 yards that day.

While my wife and kid were dying...

I had the game of my life.

Life sucks.

- Hey, could I use your shower?
- Yeah.

Bathroom, down the hall,
first door on the right.

Hey, Flash, I brought you a towel.

Hey.

This is what you were looking for
in Cory's apartment?

Huh?

This what you were looking for?

- That's $1,000 worth of shit!
- Shut the fuck up!

Get the fuck out of my house
before I break your goddamn neck.

I use that shit to get by.

I don't use it. I get by.

- Get dressed and get out.
- Oh, right. I forgot.

I'm talking to Dudley-fucking-Do-Right.

Well, the shit happens real easy, man.

It starts out...

painkillers. Using Demerol
because your fucking knees are shot!

Before you know it, you're chewing
codeine with your pancakes.

And then a truck comes out of nowhere...

and you're talking to God, saying:

"Hey, help me out, Big Guy.

I pay taxes. I go to church.
What's with this dead-wife-and-kid shit?"

But he ain't answering.

He ain't taking no calls that day.

Instead, I get a call
from the fucking league.

And they're saying,
"Hey, kid, your career's over."

And I say, "Why?"

Because I gambled.

Why is there a fucking injury report
in pro football, huh?

Nobody else has one.
Pro football does.

You know why?

That's so the gamblers will have
a fucking accurate spread!

It's all business now. They push you
until you blow your fucking brains out!

Just like Billy Cole did!

Can't you see those fucking hypocrites
took away my fucking life?

When you're done feeling sorry
for yourself, the front door's that way.

You bastard.

And then some.

Jimmy Dix.

Will you sign my card?

- I'm sorry I was so bitchy before.
- Sure.

- I guess your dad's pretty pissed, huh?
- Yeah, but he'll get over it.

- You were only, like, his biggest hero.
- Oh, yeah. Since when?

Since I was little.

You should've heard him. "Jimmy this.
Jimmy that. Best quarterback in the game."

When you got busted,
he quit watching football.

Does he punch all his heroes?

- Good morning, Jimmy.
- Who are you? How do you know my name?

- Now, this is the guy? Sure this is the guy?
- This is him.

This is the kid with the million-dollar arm,
huh? He don't look like much.

I can't figure which of you
looks the most like my dick.

So if you got something to say, say it,
otherwise get the fuck out of my way.

Grab him. Grab him.

It's okay. It's okay, folks.

- What happened?
- Hey.

It's okay. It's okay.

Thank you. Thank you.

Danger is my middle name.

Don't try this at home, folks.
I'm a trained professional.

There's me...

and there's Super Dave.

- I got bad news and bad news.
- Give me the bad news first.

Bad news is someone just
bounced Jimmy Dix off a car.

Now give me the bad news.

I just took a statement
from Joe Hallenbeck's neighbor.

On the day he died, Mike Matthews
came to Hallenbeck's house...

early in the morning to discuss a case.
- That's what Hallenbeck says.

Okay. So how come
Hallenbeck's neighbor claims...

Matthews' car was parked there
all night in the same spot?

Why did he lie?

Matthews is fucking his wife.

That's why the car was there.
Matthews was fucking Hallenbeck's wife.

Hallenbeck just got back into town, right?

Christ. Joe wasted the bastard himself.

He waltzed right out of my office.

I let the son of a bitch go.

Give me a chance, Ben. I'll get him back.

Tommy.

Jesus.

You can go to a party when
you're 17 years old, not before.

Good morning, Joseph.

Looks like we got trouble, Milo.

Pick up Hallenbeck's gun by
the trigger guard. Give it to me.

Good morning. Is there a problem?

Yes, officer. As a matter of fact, there is.

Apparently, there are
too many bullets in this gun.

Fingerprints.

Naughty boy, Joseph.
You just shot a policeman.

Down!

It's you, Daddy.

It's you, Daddy.

- I think he's awake.
- Make sure.

Shit!

I'm awake.

You nearly broke my wrist, man.

- Milo warned us to watch out for this guy.
- Fuck that!

Fuck you. Fuck that. Look at him.
He's nothing. Guy's a piece of shit.

You got a cigarette?

A cigarette? Yeah, sure.

I got a cigarette.

- You got a light?
- Yeah. I got a light.

Hey, baby. I thought you were tough.

See, Pablo? He's not so bad.

I seem to have dropped my cigarette.

May I have another?

Sure.

Sure thing, buddy.

I'm gonna need a light.

If you touch me again, I'll kill you.

Boom-ba! Baby!

Oh, baby. Two for two.
We got a two for two.

Told you.

Jesus Christ.

You killed him. You fucking-A killed him!
He's dead!

Is there a problem?

He just killed Chet, Milo.
He just killed him.

He put his fucking nose
through his brain.

I needed a light.

Joseph, you don't disappoint me.

You took an awful risk.
Pablo here could've shot you dead.

If you wanted me dead,
you'd have killed me already.

That's true.

- Can we do a formal introduction?
- Who gives a fuck?

- You're the bad guy, right?
- I am the bad guy.

And I'm supposed to be
trembling with fear?

- Something like that, yeah.
- Fine.

I'll start trembling in a minute.
In the meantime, think I could have a drink?

I don't see why not. Pablo.

Take Chet's corpse out of here
and fix Mr. Hallenbeck a drink.

Make that two.

Well, if it isn't Shelly Marcone himself.

Careful, son.
Just my friends call me Shelly.

You got friends?
When did this happen?

Boy, I'll give you this. You sure
are feisty for a fella in your position.

Milo, teach him some manners, will you?

You touch me again, I'll kill you.

What fucking conspiracy
are you talking about?

What fucking conspiracy
are you talking about?

Hallenbeck is a fruit loop, okay?
He's been after Senator Baynard for years.

Now, you want me to believe
that the senator's mixed up in this?

Look, I'm gonna say it again
for the cheap seats, lieutenant.

I don't know where Joe Hallenbeck is!
That's my fucking statement.

Write it down and shove it up your ass.

I could nail you for obstruction.

You couldn't nail a $2 whore. Charge me with
something or let me get the fuck out of here!

My husband did not kill a cop.

And aside from that, I can't help you.
May we go now?

Can I have a minute with
your mom in private, please?

- Pleasure.
- Thank you.

Do you deny being involved
in a sexual relationship...

with Michael Matthews
prior to his death?

Why am I calling?

Because I had to hear your sweet voice.
And I need a favor.

No, it ain't like that.
No, it wasn't no liquor talking.

You're not fat.
You're just a whole lot of woman.

Now, do me a favor, big mama.

Senator Calvin Baynard.
He's a season ticket holder, right?

I need you to punch up his address
and tell me where you send the tickets.

Great.

Good girl.

- Yeah, bye.
- Bye.

Great.

- Don't worry. I'm gonna find your dad, okay?
- How?

When in doubt, try the nearest bad guy.

Football is a dying beast, Joe.

No heroes left. Not anymore.

Since old Sonny Werblin paid
$400,000 to Joe Namath in '66...

the son of a bitches
have just gotten greedier.

God Almighty, when's it enough?

Jesus, free agents.
"Give me, give me, give me."

Now you got guys on PCP wigging out
and shooting themselves on the field.

The American public is pisspot tired of it
and they're changing the channel.

The ratings are down.

So you're gonna bribe some senators
to legalize gambling.

Legalize sports gambling.

You see, with all the heroes gone...

legalized gambling is about
the only thing that'll save the beast.

You follow me, Joe?

We're talking about some big bucks here.
We're talking about billions.

That's nine zeroes, son.

I'm not your fucking son.

Well, Joe, have you ever heard
of the Senate's Commission...

to Investigate Gambling
in Professional Sports?

- Is that who you're paying off?
- The commission's gonna vote next March.

I got every one in my hip pocket,
except Senator Calvin Baynard.

I tried to bribe that son of a bitch, Joe.

He gave it back because it wasn't enough.

- What's he want?
- Six million.

Or he'll go straight to the police.

I think it's just gonna be cheaper
to kill that son of a bitch.

Taking off a U.S. senator is ballsy,
even for an asshole like you.

You said it, Joe boy.

That's why we're gonna frame you
for the senator's murder.

As chairman of the commission
on sports gambling, I'll simply say this:

I'm currently reviewing both sides of
the issue with utmost care and scrutiny...

and will adopt a position based on
my firm belief in what's best for the sport.

In the meantime...

I can't wait to get to the Coliseum
to watch my favorite L.A. team...

- ... kick hell out of Tampa Bay.
- Cut.

- Thank you, senator.
- My pleasure. Thank you. Always a pleasure.

Okay. Come on, Jimmy, think, think, think.
What would Joe do?

He'd shoot everybody and smoke some
cigarettes. I don't have a gun. I can't do that.

Whoa!

- How'd you get here?
- I hitched.

That's not what I meant.
I meant, how did you find me?

My dad's a detective. What can I say?

You didn't cover your tracks.
You're easy to trace.

- Just what I need. Nancy-fucking-Drew.
- I brought you this.

- I figured you might need it.
- Where did you get that?

Stole it from my dad's closet.
He'd kill me if he found out.

You'll kill yourself first, you jerk. Come on,
take this ugly monkey and get out of here.

- Go, get out.
- Wait.

- I wanna know what's going on.
- Watch CNN. Go.

Oh, shit. Those are the bodyguards
from the picture.

- So?
- They're leaving without the senator.

I have to follow them. Now go.

- I'm coming with you.
- You can't come with me, Darian. Go home.

- Kiss my ass.
- Darian.

- Kiss my ass. Is that clear enough?
- Fine.

You little brat.

We're just gonna follow them.
How dangerous can that be, right?

Right.

We're in position.

The senator's men are en route.
ETA, five minutes.

Damn, now where are they going?

Let's find out. Here.

I told you no guns, right? I hate guns.

Now, you stay here. I'm gonna go
look around. Stay!

Woof.

- Six mil.
- Excuse me.

Did any of you stupid shits
bother to frisk this fuck?

He could be a goddamn cop.
Will you frisk him, please?

Take it easy, huh?

- It's okay.
- Hand him the briefcase, Joseph.

Nice suit.

That briefcase was loaded with explosives,
wasn't it?

Ten pounds of C-4 is on the way
to the Coliseum right now.

It's ironic, don't you think?

That this bomb's gonna be delivered to
Baynard by his own personal bodyguards.

After his death...

the police will receive
a photograph of you, Joseph...

handing over the briefcase,
and blame you for the crime.

And they'll believe it too because
they know what a fan of Baynard's you are.

Go fuck yourself.

Okay, now, that's not polite.

It's very abusive sounding.

What would you do, Joseph...

if somebody told you
to go fuck yourself?

Would you cut one of their eyes out?

- No.
- No.

What would you do?

Oh.

You think you're so fucking cool,
don't you?

You think you're so fucking cool.

Well, just once...

I would like to hear you scream...

in pain.

Play some rap music.

Come on, move.

Hey, Flash. Rescue attempt?

- Blow me.
- You must be James.

- James?
- He does that with everybody.

- Calls me Joseph.
- I trust you're alone.

No, I got the fucking
Vienna Boys Choir with me.

What, is everybody stupid around here?

Oh! Oh!

- Just you, kid.
- Shoot them and bury them.

- Scared?
- Shitless. You?

- More or less.
- Hey, Milo.

Hey, mister. Do you like my puppet?

Get this kid out of here.

My name is Furry Tom.

- I said, get out of here, kid.
- No. The kid stays.

Can you make him talk? Huh?

Go on. Try.

Go ahead. Take it.

Okay. It's riddle time.

Why did Mr. Milo cross the road?

What the fuck?

I don't know. Why?

Because his dick
was stuck in a chicken.

Fur ball?

Yeah.

Furry Tom thinks this is probably the first
pussy a lot of you have seen in a long time.

Especially this fat fuck over here.

Where'd you get the suit, Grandpa?
Gangsters "R" Us?

- Go, get out of here!
- Come on!

- What the hell is she doing here?
- I followed him. It's not his fault.

- Goddamn it, I'm gonna kill you both.
- Well, you're gonna have to stand in line.

- Here, take this.
- What am I gonna do with this?

Point it at the bad guys and shoot!

Get your head down. Get down!

Dad!

- Got any more bright ideas?
- Yeah, we're gonna go really fast.

Good idea.

Push this vile fuck off the road, man!

Hang on.

Put your seat belts on!

Yo, yo, this is bad.

- Hang on.
- This is very, very bad!

Are you all right? Let's go. Come on.

Shit.

Shit.

Is there any chance these guys
are still alive in there?

Not now.

Hey, call the cops.

There's a bomb on the way to the Coliseum.
Senator Baynard's in danger! You got it?

Here. Happy birthday.
Buy yourself a new pair of pants.

We gotta get that bomb before
it gets to Baynard. Got a car here?

- Hey. You got a car?
- Yeah.

- Give me the keys.
- No way.

- Give me the keys or I shoot the kid.
- Daddy.

Shh.

Okay. All right.

Are you all right? Let's go. Come on.

- You must be the dumbest guy in the world.
- Why's that?

You're trying to save the guy
that ruined your career...

and avenge the death of the guy
that fucked your wife.

The little girl said her dad's name
is Joe Hollenbrooker.

- What is it? Hallenbeck.
- Hallenbeck.

He stole my car and said
he's going to the Coliseum.

He stole my car. He set my pool on fire.
The man is a lunatic. Ah!

Give me 10 black-and-whites.
Hallenbeck is on his way to the Coliseum.

Joe, if we go any faster,
we're gonna travel back in time.

There, middle lane.

- Okay. You pull up and I yell at them.
- What?

- Pull up next to them, I'll yell at them.
- That's the lamest plan I ever heard!

- Can we try it?
- Bulletproof glass. They won't hear you.

- What are you doing?
- Drawing them a picture.

- What is that?
- A bomb.

Looks like an apple with lines. They'll say,
"Don't open the briefcase, it's full of fruit."

You wanna draw the damn thing?

Happy?

Are you kidding me?

Always criticizing my shit.
I can't do nothing right.

Oh, shit.

I forgot to tell you.

- "Bom" means "Fuck you" in Polish.
- That's not funny, man. I almost bought it.

Tragic loss to the art world,
let me tell you.

- You're gonna lose them, man.
- Buckle your fucking seat belt.

It's not working!

Oh! Oh, shit.

I swear to Christ, if I survive
this fucking case, I'm gonna dance a jig.

What?

- I'm gonna dance a jig, I swear to Christ.
- There! There!

The off-ramp we just passed!

Oh...

Hey, where you going?
Hey, man, what the hell are you doing?

Jesus Christ.

Ain't I a bitch?

- So now do we go to the cops?
- I'll think about it.

You expecting a call?

- Yeah.
- Hey, motherfucker.

Hey, Milo. Where you calling from,
the bottom of the pool?

I'm on my way to the ball game.

Hey, Joe, listen.
Someone here wants to talk to you.

Hi, Daddy.

I'm okay. I'm not hurt. Dad?

You back off, Joseph...

or I'm gonna show your daughter
what a hot date I am.

- What happened? What's up?
- He's taken Darian.

What do we do?

We take Marcone.

It's the only way. If we do nothing,
they'll kill her anyway.

Careful with that case.
It's the one that goes "bang."

Look at all this.

Yeah.

Shredders.

The police and DEA use these
to blow locks. Explode on impact.

Kill everything within a 10-foot radius.

- Shredders, huh?
- Yeah.

Put this on. Get in. You in or you out?

- I guess I'm in. What have I got to lose?
- Son...

we're going to a ball game.

Hey, that's Marcone's car.

Come on.

- I always wanted to do that.
- You should've shit on it.

- Shit.
- What?

I forgot to tell you,
you're wanted for murder.

Hey, Mr. Dix, long time no see.

Yeah, too long.

- Listen, we're going to see Mr. Marcone.
- Yeah, sure, go ahead.

Jimmy Dix, you bastard.

You broke my nose!
What the fuck you doing here?

You were banned!
You were kicked off the fucking team!

How'd you like to get kicked off
the fucking planet?

Have a nice game.

Hi, Joe.

How you doing?

You are one dumb son of a bitch.

- Did you know that?
- I guess we ain't gonna be dancing that jig.

- You okay, Darian?
- Why, of course she's all right.

- She's been with her Uncle Shelly.
- Yeah, I'm okay, Dad.

Come on, fellas, lose the guns.
Take off your coats. Relax.

Give it up. What do you think Baynard will
do when he finds out you tried to kill him?

Son, he doesn't have a chance.

Very shortly, my old buddy Milo
will have him...

between the crosshairs
of a high-powered rifle.

Where's old Milo shooting from?

You just don't ever run out
of questions, do you?

Well, let's just say that
Milo's in a highly enlightened position.

Why'd you kill Cory?

She took to blackmail, Jim.
I have no truck with that.

Why, she's one of the sweetest
little whores I ever tasted.

There's 5 feet of marble
between me and you.

Maybe I make it, maybe I don't.

You call her "whore" again,
I'm gonna find out.

Jimmy, Jimmy. Do what you gotta do.

Take it easy, Jimmy.

He should know.

With a face like that,
he's gotta be paying for it.

If you're fond of this little girl...

you'll keep your goddamn mouth shut.

Eat shit, you fucking redneck!

Come here, Darian.

Goddamn, I'm really glad
to see you, Jimmy.

You know, I've still got that autographed
ball you gave me for my collection.

Yep. It's a shame about you.

You had the million-dollar arm, kiddo.

Yeah, you got hooked on...

Was it Demerol?

Because you couldn't stand the pain.
You hated the pain.

Couldn't take the pain, Joe.

- Life is pain, Jim.
- Hey, what the...? Aah!

- Hey!
- Oh, shit. Oh!

Walk it off, son.

- Discipline.
- Oh, God.

Kids nowadays
just don't have no discipline.

Now, don't you cry, honey.

No, no, don't cry.

Come on, honey.
Come sit in Uncle Shelly's chair.

- You're gonna be just fine.
- Let the girl go.

Get them out of my misery.

There is the matter of the $6 million. Ahem.

That is, unless you're not interested.

Let's humor this asshole.

Tell me about it.

Just me and Flash here know where it is.

It's in the back of a white BMW.

We can take you to it.

Milo told me the money was destroyed.

You're bluffing.

You think I'm bluffing?

I also have in my possession
a certain tape...

of you and Senator Baynard.

Very juicy stuff.

Well, now, just let me guess.

If something happens to you...

that damn thing's gonna be
mailed to the cops, isn't it?

Close. Actually, it goes to the Mob.

I'm sure they'd be very interested
in hearing what you're up to.

Legalized gambling.

Hell, they stand to lose, what, two...

two and a half billion dollars?

I'm sure they won't be upset about that.
It's just their entire bookmaking income.

So you go ahead and pull the trigger.
Be my guest.

Just don't be surprised if you wake up
with a stallion head next to you, babe.

If you had that goddamn tape,
you'd have already told me.

This ain't working, man.

Try something else. Take your best shot.

Fuck you, Joe, I ain't going out like that!
Mr. Marcone, he's lying.

- We have the money, but it's not in the car.
- Shut the fuck up!

- It's in a locker! And I got the key.
- Where is the key, Jim?

I got it stashed in my shorts.

Easy. Just easy.

- Give him that key, he'll kill you.
- He's gonna kill us anyway, asshole.

- You gotta promise to let me go.
- Bullshit.

Give him the key
or I'll have you kneecapped.

Whoops.

Look like nobody gets the money.
That's one of those new plastic keys.

- Get the goddamned key!
- The kind that shred.

Darian, get down!

Get her out! Get her out! Go, go!

Go!

Now, now!

- I can't walk.
- You all right? You gonna pass out?

I'm gonna make it, man.

Wrap this around your hand.
Plastic keys, the kind that shred?

It was short notice. Best I could do.

You did good, junior. Real good.

Yeah, I learned it from a pro.

Shit, Joe. You wasn't bluffing.

- Where's the senator's box, Jimmy?
- Section C. Come on, I'll show you.

- Where's the senator's box?
- There.

Where's Milo?

Shit.

A highly enlightened position.

He's gotta be up on those lights
up there. Listen.

- Go find a cop and you stay put, all right?
- No.

You hear me? Listen to me.
Listen to Daddy, all right?

I'm gonna be all right. Now, you do
what I say. All right, give me a kiss.

Go, go. Run now. Go find a cop.

- What about me?
- You find Baynard.

- Then what do I do?
- Get his attention.

Yeah.

Thirty-three! Hut! Hut!

Come on, push it, you fat bastard.

Freeze, Hallenbeck.

- There's a sniper on that light!
- You're under arrest.

- He's gonna shoot Baynard!
- Come on.

There he is. That's Jimmy Dix.

Come on, get this fuck.
He pulled a fucking gun on me. You scum!

He's got a shotgun!
You bastard! You fuck!

Sit down, you fuck!

permitted on the
playing field. Please remain in your seat.

Again, I repeat.
Please remain in your seat.

- Give me the ball.
- Jimmy?

Give me the fucking ball! Thank you.

I'll find you, you son of a bitch.

No one is permitted on the playing field.

I said, sit down!

- Fuck!
- Aah!

- You fucking asshole.
- No.

Put down your weapon.
You're under arrest.

Fuck!

Looking for this?

You fucking asshole.

Aah!

I told you...

if you ever touch me again, I'll kill you.

Not me! Not me!

Hey, what the hell is he doing?

I don't know. Is he dancing?

It looks like... It looks like he's dancing.

You know, for a dancer,
he's one hell of a detective.

So, what's this I hear about Satan Claus?

Oh.

- You know about him too?
- There, that's the man.

There's the bastard who's been making
the phone calls and harassing me!

I bet he stage-managed
the whole damn thing.

Arrest him!

Head or gut?

Excuse me?

Move, move.

Mom's here.

- Oh.
- Mom.

Oh, I missed you so much.

Yeah, you're a real bastard,
you know that, Joe?

And then some.

I'm so glad you're here.
I was so worried.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Please forgive me.

I'll buy a dog.

Fuck you, Sarah.

Fuck you, Sarah.

You're a lying bitch and if the cops
weren't here, I'd spit in your face.

Joe, where's the briefcase
they were telling me about?

White BMW, back seat.

Ain't a thing here.

Bingo.

Marcone's got the wrong one.

What?

So, what's next for us?

- Okay, go.
- Okay, ready?

- Tomorrow, I guess.
- Okay, okay. Hut.

- We'll just take it one step at a time.
- Why?

Dad, can I go show Jimmy
to my friends?

- He's not a puppy, honey.
- Come on, he's fucking famous.

Hey. You wanna watch your mouth?

Come on, Dad.

Darian. Your father said,
"Watch your mouth." Now, do it.

Yes, sir.

I like that.

So I'm thinking I could use a partner.

You up for that?

I don't know anything
about being a detective.

There's nothing to it.

This being the '90s, you can't just walk up
to a guy and smack him in the face.

- You gotta say something cool first.
- Yeah, like...

"I'll be back."

Yeah, only better than that. Like,
you hit him with a surfboard, you say...

"Surf's up, pal."

Yeah, something like that.

So, what else?

There's not much more to tell than that.

Water's wet, the sky is blue...

and old Satan Claus, Jimmy, he's
out there and he's just getting stronger.

- So, what do we do about that?
- Be prepared, son.

That's my motto. Be prepared.