Honkytonk Man Page #3

But I'll be back tomorrow night.

Come on, Hoss.

Let's get the show on the road.

Keep it warm for me.

- You got the board?

- Yeah, I got it.

What's the matter with you? You're

shaking like a dog shitting peach pits.

- If Mama knew what we was doing...

- She won't...

unless you tell her.

She might have to come

and identify our bodies...

- once those chickens start squawking.

- There won't be any squawking.

- The sacks are getting full.

- How many we got?

Maybe 40 or 50. Enough.

Let's get outta here...

- while the getting's good.

- I'll get one more.

Let's get outta here!

What's going on out there?

Stop, thief, or I'll blow your ass off!

Damn, Hoss, we made it.

For a moment, I thought those dogs were

gonna make hamburger out of my ass.

Here, have a drink. You deserve it.

Strong, ain't it?

Eyes are bigger than my stomach.

I'll meet you back at the car.

Where are you going?

Get myself some new duds.

Here's $5. That seem about right

for your share?

For me? Five whole dollars?

Don't spend it all in one place.

Got a call last night about a car

like the one here.

Man over in Roscoe

said somebody in a late-model limousine...

stole some of his chickens.

Of course, I didn't believe him.

But then...

me and Jim Bob here

was driving down the street...

and I said to Jim Bob, I says,

"God durn, Jim Bob...

"look at that big old car there.

"I'll just bet that that's the feller...

"who stole them chickens

over in Roscoe last night."

Ain't that what I said, Jim Bob?

That's it, Snuffy.

That's what you said, all right.

Looky here.

That a chicken feather, or ain't it?

Looks like a chicken feather to me, Snuff.

And that stuff on the seat, Jim Bob...

what do you reckon that stuff is?

Looks like chicken sh*t to me, Snuffy.

- You think so?

- I'd swear to it.

I seen enough chicken sh*t in my life

to know...

when I see it.

When was the last time

you saw chicken sh*t, Jim Bob?

- When you were shaving this morning?

- Jim Bob!

Smart ass, ain't you?

Jim Bob, what do you reckon we'd find...

if you was to reach in under that seat

and feel around a little?

My, what have we got here?

Bootleg whiskey.

We're gonna have to take you down

to the courthouse...

to see if you can explain how all

this stuff come to be in your car.

It ain't my car.

You hear that, Jim Bob?

He says it ain't his car.

He was just sitting here,

waiting for the owner to come back.

That's right.

Frisk him and cuff him.

Put your hands up there.

Spread your legs.

No keys.

This give you a thrill, Jim Bob?

Groping a man's crotch like that?

Put it away.

Put the cuffs on him.

We'll come back for the car later.

Somebody might drive it away.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes