The Infiltrator Page #3

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- Let's go. Come on.

- Are you even looking?

- Yeah, yeah, I'm looking.

Here we go.

Bob Musella.

Dates are perfect.

Hey, what about this one?

Dominguez.

Emilio Dominguez.

Close enough to Emir, I suppose.

- Yeah, it's kind of sexy.

- The dates work.

- Sexy?

- Yeah.

- Who the hell cares if it's sexy?

- I care.

It's my name.

I wanted to have a sexy name.

I have developed

what I like to call my masterpiece.

There's a built-in noise reduction system

to eliminate all undesirable sound.

Eagle wings up, record. Horizontal, off.

He is a real entrepreneur.

Aeronautics, finance.

Even has his own line of wholesale jewelry.

- There he is. Eric Wellman.

- Got his hand in everything.

How are you?

Good to see you. Emir Abreu.

- Hey, man.

- What's up, my man?

I've set up phone lines on the switchboard.

- So, how did you two meet again?

- The IRS.

IRS. You two

must have got all the

p*ssy. "This is an audit,

drop the panties."

Don't encourage him.

You've got access to my secretaries,

free use of the conference room.

- Anything else, you only have to ask.

- Yes. Yes, sir.

Chacho, this is so much more like it. Nice.

You should have seen the apartment

Customs gave us.

Oh, my God. It was so filthy

even the rats ran from it, you know.

Thank you, Eric.

Mmm!

Okay.

Welcome, everyone.

It's parents' night. This is second grade.

My lesson plan is a cooperative process

that I build with the parents.

And to have you here...

Oh, God, I'm sorry.

I have to get this.

Um...

- I apologize. I... Should I...

- No, it's okay. Um...

- No, it's... It's okay.

- Okay, sorry.

Very sorry to interrupt.

- Oh, hi.

- I'm Andrea's father.

I hope she's doing well in school.

She loves it.

- Oh, great.

- But I do have to go.

- Um, do you need money for a cab?

- No, it's okay.

You're okay. Okay. Sorry.

- Thanks. Bye.

- No problem.

- Ah!

- Eh.

Hey!

Shut the f*** up!

Eh...

Hey.

- What the hell happened back there?

- What were you so pissed off about, man?

- What am I pissed off about?

- Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, man.

I called your wife and told her

you were gonna be late for dinner

'cause you were locked in a closet,

you know.

Bob, we're all waiting

for you to come out the closet.

You know that, right?

So, this is all just a joke to you?

Oh, come on, man. You need a beer.

You need to relax.

I don't want a beer, I want answers.

Bro, what do I have to do

to make you happy, man?

Just don't get me killed.

Oh, that's just... Hold it, hold it.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

I gotta write that sh*t down.

That's f***ing brilliant.

"Don't get Bob killed."

Cut the sh*t, will you?

It's the little things that get you

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