Bullet Head

---

are waves on some little black

sand beach, far away from here.

GRACE:

You don't have to pretend.

[echoing]:

Let's fly away.

[helicopter flying overhead]

I fucked up.

Taking down rinky-dink scores

with punks that can't keep their

hands out of the cookie jar

long enough to finish

the main course?

I dropped the ball, Walker.

I'm sorry.

WALKER:

I've seen this.

Guys gets shaken up, you know,

partner dies,

their kid gets sick.

Maybe their wife

balls someone else,

and they start making

their own chaos.

Walker...

There are only three kinds

of last score, Stacy.

The kind where you serve life,

the kind where

you're served a bullet,

and the kind--

The kind where you walk away.

Man's got to know

what he is.

Yeah?

What are you?

You know, I did this score

when my kid was little.

Christmas Eve,

I couldn't have been, what, 25?

Pet shop job.

I knew this guy,

he was the manager.

Says there's going

to be 5 grand in the safe.

I guess these places

do good on holidays.

You know, what with the kittens

and bunnies, and all that.

I'm counting on this score

to put something under the tree

for my little girl, so I go,

you know, I crack this safe.

It's a four-number,

mechanical combo.

Eyes and ears only.

I am so proud of myself.

I pull this thing open...

There's nothing.

Not a note.

Turns out this manager's

a fucking degenerate

like everybody else,

and he's already dropped

all the money it at the track.

[door closes]

Remember, my little girl

has been listening

for sleigh bells all week,

so I go looking for

a bunny or a cat to get her.

But all they got left

is puppies and fish.

So I find this fish.

Tropical one.

Beautiful.

Bright yellow.

Different than the others.

Perfect.

I grab the whole tank.

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