Tremors 3: Back to Perfection Page #6

My cousin, he already

went back to Mexico.

- I've already filed for my business license.

- The right to bear arms...

- shall not be infringed.

- Hey, Department of the Interior.

This gentleman is

Field Agent Rusk of the B.L.M.,

and Dr. Andrew Merliss, Director

of Paleontology at the Smithsonian.

Look, we don't have time to chat.

We've got work to do.

Not if it's hunting

graboids, you don't.

- I called them, Burt.

- I've been granted authority,

to insure adherence to section 1472

of the Endangered Species Act,

which specifically guards the welfare

of large-class desert reptilians.

I'm enforcing an immediate ban on all

hunting of graboids in Perfection Valley.

- Those are my cattle out there, pendejo.

- Uh-huh.

The B.L.M. man gave me permission to kill

anything that's dangerous to my cattle.

El lobo, el coyote

and el graboid.

Well, your B.L.M. man reports to this

B.L.M. man, who now reports to me,

and I'm here to tell you there will be

no more killing of graboids, period.

So, we let them live, and we become

the endangered species.

You-You have been

instrumental...

in the eradication of the oldest,

rarest species on earth.

Not just once, but on three separate

occasions, on two continents.

Saving lives and property as a guest

of two foreign governments.

- Are you even aware of the public outcry?

- Public? Not this public.

Our mandate is quite simple:

To investigate, trap and transport...

at least one of

these creatures for study.

Trap and transport? By the time

you find out that's impossible,

we'll be up to our necks

in shriekers.

If we discover that there is

a genuine threat to public safety,

we're prepared to evacuate Perfection

Valley, seal it off indefinitely.

Wait a minute!

You'd make us leave?

That's not why I called you.

I called you here to help us.

The government's gonna offer fair

compensation for your property. That's a given.

Eminent domain.

And people

call me paranoid.

I don't think

you're paranoid.

I do, but not no more.

Son of a b*tch!

Call me Ishmael.

Now if you would kindly

lean your endangered carcass...

over my property line,

I'll just call your

untimely demise self-defense.

Damn stupid graboids.

Can't afford to get

eminent domained out.

Every cent I have is tied

to this business.

Well, at least

you got a business.

Body language says it all.

Does it say I could use

a cold beer?

- What'll it be?

- Miller Lite.

Yeah, we still don't have cell towers.

You can use the pay phone.

Outside it's C.B. s

and walkie-talkies only.

Charming.

Listen, you guys weren't serious

about making us move out, were you?

Unless we can catch one of them,

we may have no choice.

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