Harlem Nights

---

- I got Mr Raymond's cigarettes.

- Go on in the back.

Kid, give me my cigarettes.

Wait, wait, wait! Hold it.

What's this kid doing here?

Get out before I kick your little ass.

You ain't kicking sh*t.

Don't worry about him.

He runs errands for me.

I don't care who he is or what he does.

Kids bring me bad luck.

The bet is fading. Stop talking and shoot

the dice. You're f***ing up the game.

I ain't shooting sh*t. I told you kids

bring me bad luck. I can't stand them.

Now, get the f*** out of here

before I kick your ass.

You ain't whupping sh*t. Shoot the dice,

you snaggle-toothed motherf***er.

All right, I'm going to shoot.

But I'd better not crap.

That's all I know, I'd better not crap.

Come on, 6. I've been waiting all night.

Baby needs shoes, new clothes.

- And you need some teeth.

- Shoot the goddamn dice, man!

I'm going to shoot the damn dice.

I'll send every one of you home broke.

Come on, 6, with your bad ass.

Come on!

Craps!

What are you doing with this kid in here?

Didn't I say they're bad luck?

What's that sign say? 'Ray's Place'.

That's me. This is my place.

I have in here whoever I want.

You lost. So pass the dice,

or buy them from this motherf***er.

- And I ain't selling.

- I ain't buying.

I'm going to shoot this again and

you're going to get this kid out of here.

What the f*** is wrong with you?

Man, look, you shot, you lost.

We'd have paid you

if you won, but you lost.

Now, go home and brush that tooth.

You think that's funny?

I told you

I couldn't stand kids in the room.

- They're bad luck. You wouldn't listen.

- I'm listening.

Listen to this.

I want back all the money

I lost tonight plus what you took in.

Do you understand me,

you smooth-talking son of a b*tch?

Tell that old frog-faced dude to go

out there and bring back the money.

Tell him, or I'll stick your ass,

and I'm going to stick him,

and I'll stick this little Yankee ass,

bad-luck motherf***er standing here.

Then you'll have to stick us

because I ain't giving you sh*t.

Wait! Before you do,

I just want to tell you one thing.

Tell me what, punk?

What the f*** do you want to tell me?

What do you want to tell me?

- It slips my mind.

- Slips your mind?

Holy sh*t!

Goddamn. I guess

he does have bad luck with kids.

He was going to stab us, so I shot him.

Bennie, Slim, Moses, would you help

get this dead motherf***er out, please?

The game's over for tonight.

I'm taking this boy home to his mother.

My mama's dead.

- Well, your daddy.

- My father's dead, too.

- Did you kill them?

- No, they're just dead.

Give me that pistol.

Where do you stay?

- I don't live nowhere.

- You can stay with me for a while.

I wouldn't trust him in the house.

- He's all right. Give me five!

- I ain't giving you sh*t.

He's one hell of a motherf***er.

Come on.

- I'll clean up.

- Please.

So you shot him.

How about some ice cream?

CLUB SUGAR RA Y:

- Ray, look. Tommy is coming.

- Where?

- Over there.

- Oh, sh*t!

- Mr Smalls, good evening.

- My man. How are you doing, brother?

- Thank you.

- Do you want me to kick his ass?

No, don't kick his ass.

Thank you, Roberto.

It looks like the competition

has stopped by to check us out.

That's Tommy Smalls.

He runs the Pitty Pat Club.

I know that's Smalls, but who's

that girl with him? She is beautiful.

Wait a minute.

Don't mess around with her.

That's the mistress of a famous

gangster named Bugsy Calhoune.

That's Calhoune's girl?

I heard about her.

What would a woman that fine

want with a fat, nasty, greasy,

fat, stank, bloated,

cheesy-backed, twelve-sandwich-eating

bastard like him?

Maybe she likes fat guys.

Want to check them out?

I think I will.

Just check her out. I mean, don't f***

with her. You'll get in trouble.

- May I be of some assistance?

- No, no. Not at all, Mr Quick.

We're just enjoying the night out.

- You boys ain't open tonight?

- We wanted a change of atmosphere.

I'm sure you understand that,

Mr Quick.

My name is Quick.

My name is Dominique La Rue,

Mr Quick.

- Charmed to make your acquaintance.

- La Rue, that's a French name, right?

Creole. Born and raised in Louisiana.

Is that right?

- Tommy Smalls.

- Sugar Ray.

How's the laugh?

I don't believe we've met.

- Dominique La Rue.

- Tommy, would you like a table?

Please. Thank you very much.

Curtis! Get Mr Smalls and his party

one of our best tables.

You got it, sir. Right this way.

- Didn't I ask you not to mess with her?

- I just said hi.

I know, but you got a way of saying hi.

Just check them out.

All right. I'm cool.

Ray, I think you'd better

go over to Bennie's crap table.

- People are complaining about him.

- Why?

- His glasses.

- I got them yesterday.

I know, but he won't wear them.

He says he don't need to.

No more bets.

The dice are coming out. Let them roll.

- The point is four.

- It was seven, man!

I'm sorry, forgive me. That's a seven.

Pay everybody. All right.

Dice coming out. Get your bets down.

All right, shake them up.

- Five is the point.

- Five? That is a nine, man!

I've got something in my eye.

- Get it out, you blind motherf***er!

- No more 'motherfuckers', you hear?

We're going to shoot the dice now.

Get your bets down.

- Eleven.

- What's the matter with you?

That's six, man!

- Don't scream.

- What are you doing?

- How's it going, Bennie?

- Real good.

Wally, take over for Bennie.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes