CHiPs

(ALARM BEEPING)

(GROANS)

Ah, sh*t.

(WHIRRING)

Hey, Ann. I gotta go to work.

KAREN:
Hi, it's Karen from SwimTech.

Leave me a message.

Hey, hon. I was hoping to catch you.

It's my big test day, so wish me luck.

Okay, love you.

(CAR ALARM BEEPS)

(INDISTINCT RADIO CHATTER)

Ah, f***! F***.

Oh, God. Ah, f***, mmm, yoga pants.

(ALARM BLARING)

- (GUNSHOTS)

- (PEOPLE SCREAMING)

HECTOR:
Let's go!

Chacho, let's go! Let's go!

- (SIRENS BLARING)

- (CAR ENGINE REVVING)

(TIRES SCREECHING)

FEMALE OFFICER:
(OVER RADIO)

Suspect's in black Chevy.

MALE OFFICER:
We got him.

- (SIRENS BLARING)

- (TIRES SCREECHING)

(PEOPLE SHRIEKING)

(GROANING)

Whoa!

(GUNSHOTS)

(GROANING)

- Holy sh*t! What the f*** was that?

- What are you stopping for?

CASTILLO:
Put your gun

on the f***ing floor.

It's not my fault. You're the one

driving like a f***ing dick.

CASTILLO:
Oh, so you steady yourself

on the trigger of an M4?

You see those?

Those are the "oh, sh*t" handles.

That's what they're there for.

Shut up and drive!

Two options. Gun on the floor,

or a muzzle in your mouth.

- Drive!

- There you go!

POLICEMAN:
Open fire!

MAN:
Son of a whore!

HECTOR:
Drive, Chacho! Drive, man!

(TIRES SCREECH)

HECTOR:
Let's go!

Let's go. What are you waiting for?

- It's kind of a dick move.

- What?

It's like Santa shot Rudolph

after all the deliveries, you know?

(CHUCKLES) You're a funny motherf***er,

Chacho.

That's cold, dude.

That's f***ing cold, dude.

Let's go, let's go.

You gotta get in the back.

- It's supposed to look like a fare.

- Just go!

Not like a cabbie

with his homie ridin' in the front.

You gotta get in the back.

- Just go.

- (WHISTLES) Get in the back.

It ain't happenin'.

- No?

- No.

F*** it.

Tel Aviv, Tel Aviv.

What?

CASTILLO:
(OVER RADIO)

Tel Aviv, Tel Aviv.

Go! Go! Go!

(SIRENS BLARING)

Tel Aviv? What the f*** is Tel Aviv?

Oh.

Chacho.

No, it's Castillo.

Agent Castillo.

I know, It's a bummer, right?

Look at those guys. Whoa!

I took you on vacation

to the Bahamas with my family.

It was great. I loved it.

You f***ing piece of sh*t!

To the Atlantis!

Yeah, but in '09, you shot my partner

in a credit union.

His name was Michael Glade.

- OFFICER:
Hey, keep still.

- (GRUNTS)

FBI AGENT:
Easy. Nobody shoot.

Don't move, Chacho!

(GROANS)

I'm shot!

CASTILLO:
Oh, that felt so good!

Oh, sh*t!

I was praying to God, I was, like,

"Please give me a reason to shoot you."

And you came through, bro!

What's wrong with you?

You shot your partner!

Oh, there's one last surprise.

I figured you still owe me,

even after the vacation and everything.

Look at this. Your wife.

Motherf***er!

(GROANING)

I'm gonna kill you, Chacho!

CASTILLO:
I just gave her the attention

you didn't, bro.

You should've cuddled.

You should've cuddled, bro.

HECTOR:
Chacho, I'll kill you!

(YELLS, GROANS)

(GROANS)

(WHISTLE BLOWS)

Here we go.

Get at it, girls! Let's go!

Are you cat fighting? Come on, girls!

There you go. There you go.

Shoot, Kyle! Come on!

Baker, what the hell?

It's a grappling exercise!

I'm so sorry. Dude, are you okay?

He hit my bad knee.

I've had some trauma, then I reacted,

and my training took over.

- I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.

- What training?

- What goddamn training?

- I don't have any training.

Get off the mat.

Good punch.

(ENGINE REVVING)

(TIRE SCREECHING)

(ALL CHEERING, APPLAUDING)

None of these aptitude scores

meet even the lowest standards

for graduation.

In fact, most of the disabled cadets

scored much, much higher.

- They did?

- Yeah, even in marksmanship.

Well, I don't doubt that.

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