A Perfect Getaway Page #6

is a big screenplay writer?

You write for the movies?

Whoopty-tah.

Yeah, we say

screenwriter.

He's on the prowl for

a new story. Sorry.

You know, I could tell

you sh*t you ain't seen

in no Hollywood movie before.

You watch yourself now.

What?

What, what?

You know what.

Maybe Cliff here can change

the names to protect the guilty.

You guys do that

in movies, right?

Yeah.

You know Johnny Depp?

He knows Nic Cage.

You see him playing me in some movie?

Baby, you know Nic Cage?

Yeah. Yeah, I do now.

No. See, me, myself, I like

that Johnny Depp better.

I mean, he is just dreamy. I

mean, the way he looks at you.

Jesus Christ. Honey!

It all starts with story.

Am I right, Cliff?

Yeah.

You know, I once made a surprise

visit in a certain dictator's palace

on the Tigris River?

Newly evacuated. Still

smell the Havana tobacco

hanging in the air.

We were tasked with finding

perishable intel, computer dish,

sh*t like that.

But in the master bathroom,

about the size of f***ing

Ethiopia, by the way,

there's golden

dolphins for faucets.

There was this lock box

bolted to the floor,

had his initials

engraved on top.

We started beating on

that f***ing lock...

Wait, Iraq?

You were in Iraq?

Yeah, first in.

Me and my wolf pack.

F*** those pictures you saw of

the 4th Infantry. That was later.

What I'm giving you now

is God's real sh*t.

He is not supposed to be

talking about this stuff.

So, inside this box,

I figured maybe cash,

maybe a set of

pearl-handled pistolas.

Hell, maybe some damn fine

presidential-grade hashish.

We finally burned it open

with a 50-grain det cord.

It's a handy tool, det cord. Yeah.

Wrap it around a tree,

three-feet thick.

Drop it across a trail when

someone's hot on your ass.

Remember that trick.

Yeah. A det cord.

That's a nice detail.

Well, you gotta get

the details right, Cliff.

Otherwise, we're just making

another big craptastic movie.

So, we opened this thing.

What do we find?

What do we find?

What do we find?

Iron Man. Avengers. Dude was

a Silver Age Marvel freak.

And you know what he had most

of in his own personal stash?

I don't know, Nick.

I wasn't there.

Sub-Mariner.

All in French What?

For some reason.

Namor, prince of the deep?

Yeah.

Why Sub-Mariner? Isn't that,

like, one of the sh*t titles?

One theory,

tug-job material.

Mr. Presidente had a thing

for French-speaking fellows,

little Speedos and

big spears. One theory.

So, you were,

like, Special Ops.

What were you?

Seals? Rangers?

Officially,

I'm only allowed to say

that I've been

a sworn officer

participating in a tactical

phase of certain missions

that would make most

men want to crawl up

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