Alien Nation Page #3

No, I ain't buyin' that. I'm not buyin' that.

I'm not gonna introduce you

to people as "Sam Francisco".

I think I'll call you "George". George?

- OK.

- OK.

Oh, they hung one on you!

I heard a lot of good ones before,

like Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson...

I guess they got punchy after

giving names to a quarter million people.

Let me ask you somethin'.

Were you at the back of the line?

Oh, no. My true name is

Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa.

- Well, gesundheit. I'll call you "George".

- Fine.

- I didn't know which paper you like...

- I find it difficult to drive and read.

- Wait a minute.

- I got you your cigarettes.

Where did you get this? What is this stuff?

- Wait. What is this?

- That is a car deodoriser.

That's mine.

Anyway, what's it bother you if we think

your name's funny? It doesn't, right?

That is exactly so. It is like your name.

"Sykes"? I'm sure it doesn't bother you

that to us it sounds just like "ss'ai k'ss",

two words in my language

which mean "excrement" and "cranium".

Shithead.

Why don't you go ahead? I'll be right in.

Hey, Maff. So what do you got for me?

You said you wanted

the biggest thing I could find.

And this... is it.

- What in the hell's this?

- .454 Casull.

We're talking twice the impact energy

of a.44 Magnum hotload.

It only holds five.

The shells are too big for six in a cylinder.

Hell, Matt, you only need one.

No, two. Thanks.

How long you been shootin'?

That's pitiful. Goddamn pitiful!

What are you gonna do in a shoot-out?

Wave your scores in your exams at 'em?

- Why'd you do it?

- Why'd I do what?

Agree to work with me. You don't like me,

or any of us. You have only contempt for us,

and yet you make yourself an outcast

by making me your partner.

My partner is dead.

He's dead cos one of you bastards killed him,

then crawled down some rathole in Slagville.

You're gonna help me find that ugly Slag

son of a b*tch. You understand me?

That's awfully pretty, huh?

Bring my gun.

Let's talk Hubley here.

His body was discovered three days ago in

an alley off Central Avenue near downtown.

- With two sabot slugs in his chest.

- Through the chest.

- Through the chest.

- Rupturing primary and secondary hearts.

Hey, nice signal, d*ckhead!

He was employed at the Consolidated

Petrochemical Refinery in Torrance.

He was manager of a methane facility, and

a principal partner in a real-estate venture

to develop low-cost housing for Newcomers.

Newcomers. That's terrific.

Real pillar of the community.

- Was he ripped off?

- Pardon me?

Was he missing anything

when they found him?

Oh. Property.

He had no wallet, but he was

still wearing a watch and two rings.

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