Blood In, Blood Out Page #4

- Um, I don't remember, sir.

Learn it.

Sweeney, B56-212.

Robinson, B28-398.

- Short hairs.

- Do what you wanna do.

- Look who's there.

- Hey, Cruz, look what Grandpa got you.

- Not bad.

- Hey, Juanito, doesn't he look good?

- Yeah, homes.

- How you doing?

- Hey, homes. That operation you got?

- Yeah. All right.

It makes you look

good as new, homes.

Wait till you see your surprise.

- Surprise?

- Just around the corner.

Can you believe this?

The Corps is making a man of him.

- Hey, carnal.

- Qu'iubo, champ. I'll walk from here.

Oh, no, no, no, Cruz, no.

Mi hijo, do you think you should?

Oh, yeah, I'm...

Let me and Paco walk

by ourselves to the car.

Can I go?

Can I go with you guys?

- We'll go.

- Can I go with you guys?

I'll... I'll see you in a minute.

Okay, mocoso?

- Go with Mama. Bye.

- We'll get the car. Dolores.

Bye, mi hijo.

- I'll be all right.

- Hey, Cruzito, see you at the car, huh?

- Later, homey.

- He doesn't look so good.

You all right, man?

I can do it.

Pinche pierna, homes.

Let me do it.

More, more.

- Those help you?

- They don't do sh*t.

Morphine's the ticket, though.

Sh*t. I can't run. I can't sleep.

I can't play the accordion.

- Hope I can still paint, carnal.

- You will, carnal, you will.

A f***in' marine, ese.

Yeah, it was either this

or jail, right?

But after boot camp, I ain't

so sure it was such a good deal.

A lot better than Miklo, homes.

Pobre milkweed.

- Boys, we just won on the Raiders game.

- Way to go!

I need my gym shoes, man!

Wanna buy some cigarettes?

What's happenin'? How are you?

- Hey, baby.

- Hola, pretty.

- Are you blond all over?

- Get your hands off me, f*ggot!

Ooh, how his blue eyes just light

right up when he get mad.

Leave me alone, man!

I'll kill you, b*tch!

Oh! You will?

Where the f*** you get that placa,

Little Bo Peep?

You're on the clock, b*tch,

and midnight is comin'.

You got the wrong man.

Oh, he's hot!

- Miklo Velka.

- Soy, Popeye.

There's some vatos you should meet.

Most of these cons don't clique.

It's the gangs

that run this place.

- What you got?

- See that black dude

with the comb over there?

the Black Guerilla Army.

Don't take nothin' from him,

or you'll end up...

with that Black Power comb

through your heart.

Those polar bears over

in the corner, that's Aryan Vanguard.

The AV-ers. Those white boys

control the dope trade...

do freelance killings,

anything for the right price.

Hey, why not

take it out in trade?

You bet cash, you lose cash,

you pay cash, pimpmobile.

Soon, or I'll have to hire

Red Ryder here and his AV boys...

to cut some fat off

that tongue of yours!

Or maybe you'd like to swap for

some of that tender white meat.

You can pay your bets with that.

Suave, Al.

I'll pay you what I owe,

but don't try scaring me...

with your AV insurance

policy 'cause remember...

I got a policy with Ryder too.

He knows better than

to mess with a good customer.

Since business is so good, I suppose

I'm gonna have to raise the rents...

on both you lame-ass fucks!

F*** him.

Ya estuvo, Beto. It's over.

Why the f*** you let these putos

disrespect you like that for, ese?

- Hey, you take it easy, carnal.

- You're wrecking it

for the rest of the homeboys.

Hey, I'm just showing

this homeboy around, okay?

It's Miklo, from el barrio.

You're the sucker

that dusted Spider?

Well, if a rep is what

you're lookin' for, killer...

then I'm the man you want.

Tres Puntos like Spider.

- Ooh, I'm the bogeyman!

- He pissed in his pants.

Come on, carnal.

Get the f*** outta here

before I make you my b*tch.

- He's Tres Puntos, ese.

- Hey!

That's street bullshit, ese.

It's different in the joint.

We clique together for power,

to protect ourselves.

So Tres Puntos or anybody strong enough

to stand with La Onda is okay.

- What's La Onda?

- Some questions you don't ask.

- Got some smokes for you.

- I don't even smoke cigarettes.

In the pinta, that's like cash.

Got a little something else.

Some juju weed.

Yeah, I smoke that now, vato.

Hey, you don't mind if I keep you under

my wing for a little while, you know.

- I mean, I gotta take care of you, huh?

- Okay, vato.

- Hey, we homeboys, right?

- F***in' A. East Los rules, vato.

Gracias, carnal, okay?

- All right, you white b*tch.

Gimme some chon-chon!

- Stay away from me.

You get nothing

for free in here, punk.

- Ah?

- Okay.

Ah? That's right,

give it up. Oh, sh*t!

You want me to take it, huh?

You want me to rape you,

eh, puto? Huh?

Let's see the colour

of your blood, gabacho.

I'm gonna cut that f***ing placa

off of you.

You ain't no Vato Loco!

Huh?

Est bien, Montana.

Keep your business off this tier.

Ese, Pepe don't belong in La Onda.

It's low class.

We're better than that.

Chale, my business

has nothing to do with La Onda.

- You're part of the clica.

- Mira, vato, I was Onda

before you were, huh?

Keep your whores in the rec room.

Get that f***in' thing out of here!

Popeye's getting on my nerves.

Come on, you debutantes!

Got a once-a-year special on pork chops!

Sweet thing!

This sh*t'll make a man impotent...

but you ain't goin'

to no prom soon.

So, eat up, folks. Eat up.

Sh*t, man. Ain't nothin' but fat

on that bone. Gimme another chop.

Hate like hell to disappoint

your gods, bro, but unless you got

a carton of smokes, no seconds.

Motherf***er!

- Allah is blushing!

- I ain't no Muslim, man.

All right. Hey, how about

a little wager on this weekend's game?

Your odds stink, and I ain't movin'

till I get another chop.

Move on, n*gger, before I carpet

my cell with your black skin.

- Hey, mother...

- All right, what's the hold-up?

Johnson, move it.

Punk-ass motherf***er!

All right, all the rest of you hungry

bunnies, get 'em while we got 'em.

There's your chop.

You happy now?

All right,

now for my brown brothers.

Sorry, no tortilla.

Wait a minute.

There's a ray of sunshine

in all that darkness down there.

Come up here, sweetness.

Come on, muvete.

You're keepin' all these

hungry beaners waitin', baby.

- Move on down!

- Get out of the way!

- Hey, what are you doin'?

What's the hold-up?

- Oh, it's okay, Sarge.

He was outta line.

He was in here before.

- Gimme your tray, homes.

- Come on!

You're catchin' a ride

on the wrong train.

You oughta be up here at the front of

the line, ahead of those jungle bunnies.

I don't take no free tickets

on no one's train.

Now you take a ticket,

or you get run over.

and eat with the white folks.

Know what I mean?

Flirt on your own time, Albert.

She's jealous!

- Hey, where's my chop?

- That was the last one.

Hey, I want my f***in' chop, puerco.

Please be courteous to the help.

We've run out.

We only get pork once a year.

I know you got more back there.

Only for the kitchen detail.

Perhaps one of them might sell you one.

- I ain't buyin' what's mine!

- You know the f***in' trip, homes.

No freebies.

Your mama was a freebie!

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