Originally Posted by teh quote
-Do you know who I am, Mr. Worley?
-I give up. Who are you?
-I am the anti-christ. Ya got me in a vendetta kind of mood. You tell the angels in heaven that you have never seen evil so singularly personified as you did in the face of the man who killed you. My name is Vincent Coccotti, I work as council for Mr. Blue Lou Boyle, the man your son stole from. I hear you were once a cop, so I can assume you've heard of us before... am I correct?
-I've heard of Blue Lou Boyle.
-I'm glad. Hopefully, that will clear up the "how full of shit am I" question you've been asking yourself. We're going to have a little Q-and-A, and at the risk of sounding redundant, please: make your answers genuine. Want a Chesterfield?
-No.
-I have a son, of my own, about your boy's age. I can imagine how painful this must be for you, but, Clarence, and that bitch-whore girlfriend of his brought this all on themselves, I implore you-- not to go down that road with them. You can always take comfort in the fact that... you never had a choice.
-Look, I'd like to help if I could, but... I haven't seen Clarence.
-*pause*
You see that? *BAM! Punches man in the face*
That smarts, doesn't it? To get slammed in the nose. Fucks you all up. You get the pain shootin' through your brain, your eyes fill up with water... that aint any kind of fun, but what I have to offer, that's as good as it's going to get. And it won't ever get that good again.
We talked to your neighbors. They said they saw a Cadillac. Purple Cadillac. Clarence's Purple Cadillac... parked in front of your trailer yesterday. Mr. Worley... you seen your son?
-I seen him.
-I can't be sure of how much he told you, so.. in the chance you're in the dark about some of this... let me shed some light: that whore your boy hangs around with; her pimp is an associate of mine, and along with his pimping, and other affairs, he works for me in a courier capacity. Well, dirty little whore found out we were gonna do some business, 'cuz your son the cowboy, and his flame... came into the room blazing! And didn't stop, until they were pretty sure everybody was dead--
-What are you talking about?
-I'm talking about a massacre. They snatched my narcotics, and then high-tailed it outta there. Woulda got away with it, but your son: fuckhead, that he is, left his driver's license in a dead guy's hand! *starts laughing*
-You know, I don't believe you.
-That is of minor importance. What is of major fucking importance is that I believe you. Where did they go?
-On their honeymoon.
-I'm getting tired asking the same question a second time: where did they go?
-They didn't tell me, now you just listen: I haven't seen Clarence, in three years. He shows up yesterday, with a young girl... sayin', that he got married. He asked if he could borrow some... quick, uh, cash, so he could go on a honeymoon. He asked if he could borrow five-hundred dollars. I felt like helping him, so I wrote out a check. We went to breakfast in the morning, and that's the last I saw of him... so help me God. They never thought to tell me where they were going, and I never thought to ask...
-*looks past him, to another man standing in the background, and nods*
*man in the background cuts the other man's hand with a small knife*
-AAAHHHH!!!
*and then he pours liquor over the gash*
-NAAAGGHHH!!!!
*and then hands him a handtowel to wipe his wound*
*another man walks in the door*
-Don Vincenzo, cenini (or something like that, hard to tell)
-Cuesta non est buona... *walks back to the wounded man*
Ya know... Sicilians are great liars, best in the world. I'm Sicilian. My father, was the world heavyweight champion of Sicilian liars. From growing up with him, I learned the pantomime: there are seventeen different things a guy can do when he lies, to give himself away, a guy's got seventeen pantomimes. Woman's got twenty, guy's got seventeen, but... when you know them, like you know your own face, they beat lie detectors all to hell.
Now, what we got here is a little game of show-and-tell, and you don't wanna show me nothing, but you're telling me everything. Mr. Worley, I know you know where they are, so... tell me. Before I do some damage you won't walk away from.
-Could I have one of those Chesterfields now?
-Sure.
-You got a match? Oh no wait, I got one, don't bother I got one.
You're Sicilian, huh?
-I'm Sicilian.
-*chuckles* Well... I read alot, especially about things about history. I find that shit fascinating. Here's a fact, I don't know whether you know or not, but uh... Sicilians... were spawned by niggers.
-*caught off hand, and slightly amused, considers what he has just heard, and replies...* Come again?
*everyone laughs*
-No, no, no, it's a fact. You see, Sicilians have uh, black blood, pumping through their hearts. *other man turns and looks at his men*
No, if uh, if you don't believe me, you can look it up: hundreds and hundreds of years ago, you see... the Moors conquered Sicily, and the Moors are niggers. You see, you see, way back then, Sicilians were like the WOPs from northern Italy, they all had blond hair and blue eyes. And uh, well... then the Moors moved in there and, well... they changed the whole country. They did so much fuckin' with Sicilian women, huh? that they changed the whole bloodline forever. That's why, blond hair and blue eyes, became black hair and dark skin.
Ya know it's absolutely amazing to me, to think, that to this day: hundreds and hundreds of years later that uh, that Sicilians... still carry that Nigger gene. *laughing starts up again* Now this... no I'm, no I'm quotin'... history: it's written... it's a fact, it's written--
-I love this guy! Eh heh, go ahead! Ee... *laughing grows louder*
-Your ancestors are niggers.*laughing* Yeah, egg! Yeah, and your great, great, great grandmother, fucked a nigger. Hu-ho, yeah, and she had a half-nigger kid, now... if that's a fact, tell me: am I lying? Cuz you... you're part eggplant! *laughing continues* Yeah! Egg, egg, egg!
-Hu-ho! You're a cantaloupe! *laugh, laugh, laugh*
Hu-ho, you got... *kisses him on the cheek* That was beautiful. *turns around and walks to his men. He turns again, laughs, and turns back. One of his men gives him a gun, and he turns again and shoots the man in the head three times*
I haven't killed anybody... *shoots again* ... since 1984. *shoots twice more*
Go to this comedian's son's apartment, and come back with something that tells me where that asshole went. 'Soon as I can wipe this egg off my face. *dips his hands into a fishtank to wipe off the blood*
-*one of his men finds an address, and speaks up:* Hey, Boss! Get ready to be happy.