The End of Violence Page #3

this is going nowhere.

He sussed it.

This guy's amazing.

Think about it now.

You don't wanna

kill him.

I don't wanna

kill him.

Maybe there's some other way we can

enter the 20th century driving a Mercedes.

I am not going back

to stealing!

Maybe there's other stuff

we could do.

What other stuff? I

don't know. Something.

Some... business.

We could go into business,

maybe.

Maybe... maybe

the entertainment business.

The what?

Now I've f***ing heard

everything!

Shh! Shh!

Keep it down.

First you talk

to the hostage.

Then you renege

on your part.

And now,

now you wanna go...

into the entertainment

business!

What kind of bullshit

you been telling him?

It's not bullshit.

- He produced your favorite movie.

- It's true.

It happens

to be my favorite too.

In my pocket...

is my card.

You have your what?

Your...

your card? Huh?

You want me to take

your f***ing card?

- You dipshit, slimy, no-good

little weasel! - Frank... no.

Huh? Huh? Let me give

you my business card.

You know what you can both do with your stupid,

stinking, f***ing entertainment business?

Jesus, Frank, no!

I want to give you...

a million bucks...

in points.

Points!

What the hell's "points" mean?

It means a piece

of the profits.

It means...

a percentage.

It means percentage!

When was the last time

somebody gave you percentage?

Shut up, Lowell,

or I will torture you.

Never is when.

Never did, never will.

Come over here.

Come over here.

One more...

f***ing chirp,

and there's gonna be

a percentage of your carcass...

all over this hill!

Hi, Ray.

Didn't think

I'd find you there so late.

Anyway, I'm finally sending you

a cleaning lady... Mathilda.

She'll start tomorrow.

She's from Salvador.

She passed security.

Speaks five words of english,

badly.

Her family was wiped out

by the death squads,

except for

her little daughter.

They have you working late

at Nasa every night like this?

Yeah. Um,

why don't you, uh...

why don't you

send her over?

Okay.

Get some sleep.

What the f***?

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

So dark and empty, with spikes in the

aing and the room so small it sweats.

But I know it's no different

on the street,

except if you get shot, be one

of them lucky victims you can see.

"Drive by. Drive by."

Everybody love to say it.

But when you're in that room

you can lie there, play dead,

stand up on your head.

Make no difference.

Daddy don't go by.

He comes inside.

He comes right in.

After a hard day

at whittier,

he comes all the way inside

that room, that bed, my pajamas.

He comes all the way inside my

room, and he don't stop there.

He goes inside my crack,

and he don't stop there.

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