Bullet Head Page #2

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[man screams]

[dog snarls]

F***!

[striking blows]

[striking blows continuous]

[man grunts]

[metallic object clatters]

[sighs]

[low growling]

WALKER:

Walk away.

Nice and slow.

[grunting and snorting]

[barks]

Sh*t. Run!

WALKER:
Go! Run!

Jesus! F***! Sh*t.

GAGE:

Holy f***.

STACY:
My f***ing luck.

WALKER:
Go!

GAGE:

It's coming!

WALKER:

Shut the f***ing door.

[panting]

What the f*** was that?

Beware of still water

or a silent dog.

You know, I bunked

with this gangbanger.

He used to fight pits

in Chicago.

So, this guy, he tells me,

the big organizations,

they hop from place to place,

and that someone

sticks around

to put the losers down

when the show is over.

There's a fire escape.

GAGE:
Well, let's get

the f*** out of here.

Go back for the money.

Ride knows

where we're at.

WALKER:
We got to be

here when he comes,

otherwise he takes

the safe,

he tells us it's

in an evidence room downtown,

we don't see a f***ing dime.

All right, we hole up here

till the van comes.

Bust out the window

and take the stairs.

Get the safe.

Oh, f***.

STACY:
Get the f*** out of here.

GAGE:
F***, f***, f***.

What the hell

do you think you're doing?

I'm f***ing sick.

And?

And my dope's in the other room.

Did you...?

Did we not almost get eaten

by a giant f***ing dog?

[coughs and retches]

Jesus, man.

F*** you.

WALKER:
Hey.

Calm down. What the f***'s

the matter with you?

[grunts]

You broke my f***ing nose.

I should've thrown you out

of the f***ing car,

is what I should have done.

Jesus Christ.

See, now I feel bad.

And he was going for you.

Jesus.

Just try and get in between

a junkie and his stuff.

F***ing hell.

Walker.

[tinkling]

[loud crash]

Jesus.

HANDLER:

Said you had him six months now?

BLUE:

Mm-hmm.

Been letting my little niece

play with him.

HANDLER:

You making a pet?

BLUE:

Could do it.

Big paws.

Mm-hmm.

Raise him right,

could be a wrecker.

If he's game.

You going

to roll him?

Only way to know.

I'll start the work.

[whimpers]

WALKER:

You think I'm helping you carry

that kid down that fire escape,

you're out of your f***ing mind.

STACY:

I can f***ing carry him.

WALKER:

Bet you wish we had pieces now.

STACY:

Listen, man, I've done

plenty of dirt,

but I ain't shooting

no f***ing dog.

[Walker laughs]

This sh*t's funny to you?

Well, it's just that I've always

known you to be a cat person.

F*** you.

Back at you.

I'm not.

Not, what?

I'm not a cat person.

You just switched?

I like cats.

I still like them.

I just-- I got a preference

for dogs now, that's all.

It's all right

to be a cat person.

I know it is.

I mean, they're smart,

they're independent,

you don't have to pick up

their sh*t.

I just-- You know, I had a thing

happen on a job that,

you know, made me re-think

the thing. That's all.

You had another dog thing

happen on a job?

Long story.

Yeah, well, it's not like

we have a paucity of time.

It's personal.

What kind of job?

I told you,

it's personal.

Listen, you know,

being a cat person

doesn't necessarily

make you less of a man.

Will you stop?

You had to be there.

I mean, it doesn't make you,

like, a giant p*ssy.

Truffles.

It was a truffles job.

Truffles...truffles,

like chocolates?

No, like mushrooms.

The f***-- You did

a mushroom job?

Not mushrooms.

Truffles.

[laughs]:

What the f***?

Are you f***ing

kidding me?

I'm serious.

I mean, figured dope boys get,

what, 18K for a key of blow?

A kilo of White Alba's will

get you a hundred f***ing K.

F***.

How did you get

plugged in with that?

I knew this crazy kid

from East Boston.

Used to work in the kitchen

with me in the joint.

Pretty good chef when he wasn't

robbing armored cars.

I finished my stint,

I get out,

this guy is in Gourmet

f***ing magazine.

Ah, and he needed truffles.

Yeah. Fifty cents

on the dollar.

But where the f***

is the product?

It's in the ground.

You got to dig it up.

Except he tells me

about this auction

that they hold

once a year, right?

The f***ing thing

is simulcast,

Florence, London, Macau.

Sold.

STACY:

Now, these things get brought

in the country chained

to some ex-Mossad's wrist.

High security.

But the guy that runs

the auction decides

he's going to cut costs.

Puts them in a regular old

storage unit

right here in town.

I case the place.

There's only one guard

on night shift.

Poor bastard humps mail

all day for the post office,

so he's out like a light

soon as the guy before him

takes off.

But I can't for the life of me

figure out

what unit these truffles

are in.

I get this methed-out

Bulgarian hacker,

dresses like Obi-Wan Kenobi,

to try and check

client records for me.

No dice, man.

Place is old-school.

Strictly paper files.

I pull a favor with Mr. Clean

and borrow a truck.

I start digging

through this place's trash

for billing statements,

invoices, credit card receipts,

anything I can find

to track these things down.

But this place shares an alley

with a Korean fish market,

and the only thing I'm going

to get out of these Dumpsters

is f***ing cholera.

I tell the chef

I'm throwing in the towel.

I mean, this place

is 12 floors, 50 units each.

But he begs me to stay on.

Tells me he's going to pay me

70 cents on the dollar.

So I do a little research,

find out about this guy

in New Jersey.

Crazy South African

living in a shack

way out in the Pine Barrens.

Got that disease where he's got

no hair on his body.

He trains truffle dogs.

WALKER:

Truffle dogs?

Yeah, well, they're better

than pigs

because pigs eat

the things.

Dogs will just dig them up,

as long as you've got food

they like better on standby.

Makes sense.

STACY:

Turns out there's

only a handful

of real deal ace truffle dogs

in the whole f***ing country,

and this guy owns two.

Now, as you know, at the time,

I haven't yet cultivated

an appreciation

for the canine species,

but I'm looking at this little

Jack Russell and I'm thinking,

maybe I can make this work.

Get one of those

carrying cases,

like what's-her-name

with the sex video?

Sneak him right into the place

and sniff the sh*t out.

[barks]

Whoa.

This little bastard must smell

my cat or something,

because he won't even

let me get near him.

That ain't going

to work.

So I have to take

the other one.

WALKER:
Wait,

there's another one?

STACY:
Yeah,

I already told you.

This guy's got

two of these things.

Keeps the second one

in a big-ass cage

he's got built out back,

because he says

it ain't housebroken yet.

WALKER:
He's got

a big-ass cage

for a Jack Russell?

STACY:

No, man.

WALKER:
What is it,

a hound or something?

STACY:

Mm-mm.

Goddamn standard poodle.

Haircut and everything.

We cover nine floors,

and old boy

is doing his thing,

but he's not getting

any hits.

At this point I'm getting

nervous, you know,

because the morning crew

is going to relieve

Sleeping Beauty

in half an hour,

and Pom-Poms

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