Con Air Page #3

See, this kind of thing

puts me in a foul mood.

These rules will be enforced.

If there's a hint of trouble...

if any of you so much as passes gas in my

direction, it offends my delicate nasal passages...

your testicles will become

my personal property.

That's pretty clear.

Good.

Call me Johnny 600

if they knew the truth.

Ah, doesn't have

quite the same ring to it.

Anyway,

I despise rapists.

For me, you're somewhere between

a cockroach and that white stuff...

that accumulates at the corner of

your mouth when you're really thirsty.

But in your case,

I'll make an exception.

- Guard Falzon.

- What?

Oh, stewardess, stewardess?

What's the in-flight movie today?

Well, I think you'll like it,

Cyrus. It's called...

I'll Never Make Love

To A Woman On The Beach Again.

And it's preceded by the award-winning

short, No More Steak For Me Ever.

Funny f***er,

aren't ya?

Hope this goes smoothly.

All those monsters on one plane.

Please, Ginny,

this is a well-oiled machine.

The only thing we gotta worry about is

stale peanuts and a little turbulence.

Close forward gate.

Close middle gate.

Come on,

I need my shot!

Coming. I'm coming.

Left arm.

Hey, Chief, if you come

through this all right...

hope you don't hold

a grudge.

What the f***

are you doin'?

Get the extinguisher.

Open the middle gate.

The Last Mohican

is burnin', man!

Sh*t. Did you see that motherf***er,

man? He spontaneously combusted.

He's a f***in' witch doctor, man.

I seen that sh*t on Discovery Channel.

- Code red! Code red! - Chantin'

and sh*t. - Fire in the rear cabin.

- I've got a fire. - Where is it? -

She's reporting it in the rear cabin.

At first I thought he was singin'

Y.M.C.A. Then the flames.

Sh-Sh*t!

Holy sh*t!

Hold on, Bobby!

Gimme a Taser!

Hey, man,

get off my insulin!

Bobby, open the door!

Open the goddamn door!

Hey, hey, hey, hey,

hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.

Pinball, go!

Pull the lever. Go! Go!

Pinball, behind you!

Get the gun out of the lockbox,

Mack. Go on back there, check it out.

Go! Go!

- Oh, my God.

- Say there was a disturbance but everything's under control.

Say it,

or I will kill you.

Without me, you got nobody

to fly the plane.

I never think

that far ahead.

All right, I'm doin' it.

Just take it easy.

And if you say a word about this over

the radio, the next wings you see...

will belong to the flies buzzing

over your rotting corpse.

Uh, Carson City.

Hey! Hey!

Ladies and gentlemen,

this is your captain speaking.

I have the only gun

on board.

Welcome to Con Air.

- What happened?

- Roger that, Carson City.

Calm down, Vince. Just a little ruckus,

and the pilot hit the alarm.

Just a little ruckus?

Pilot just checked in.

Everything's fine.

Transponder's confirmed,

and there's your baby.

Damn, this pig

is heavy!

Oops.

Sh*t.

If we let you out,

you gonna play nice, Billy?

Probably not.

I got a spot on my arm

just for you.

Hey, man, yo. Come on,

get off my medication.

I'm sorry, man.

The sh*t's in my way.

- I'm gonna use your whole body to make me feel good.

- All right here, man. Come on.

All right, man.

Stop rushin'.

Ah, yeah.

No, no. Oh, no!

Make me hurt you.

- What you doin'?

- I can't allow that.

- You know what I am?

- Ugly all day.

This ain't happenin',

not here, not now.

- Oh, it's happenin'.

- Hey!

Relax. He's right.

Not here and not now.

- Do you fly, Johnny?

- No.

You keep that in mind

when you look at her...

because if your dick

jumps out of your pants...

you jump out

of this plane.

What are the numbers in Carson City?

How many on, how many off?

- Six off and ten on.

- Find the six.

Well, I know three of these brothers.

Th-They right back there.

Uh, the other three are

Benson, Carls and Popovitch.

- Where are they?

- That's a damn good question, Cyrus. And I'm gonna find out.

The pilot wants to know

what's next.

He's to land at Carson City

Airport as scheduled.

Carson City? The law is down

there. You lost your mind?

According to my last

psych evaluation, yes.

Diamond Dog,

if you would.

You think you're free?

You're not. Now, listen up.

Forty to 50 U.S. prison guards armed with

shotguns are waitin' for us at the next stop.

Now, if you do exactly

what we tell ya...

the rest of our lives will be a vacation

in a non-extradition country.

I'm talkin' sandy beaches,

umbrella drinks...

and dirty, naked freaks.

It'll be a paid

motherfuckin' vacation.

Wait. Who's doin'

the payin'?

Our employer,

Francisco Cindino.

Everybody freeze. Oh, no. No,

no, no, no, no, Cyrus. No, no.

Get that ass out here

right now!

- With you in a second.

- Right now!

- Keep cool, boss.

- Shut up.

- Who the f*** are you?

- I'm DEA. That's who the f*** I am.

- Now you were saying?

- Oh, that's very clever, Cyrus.

So you think I give a sh*t about that

little b*tch guard you have there right now?

Well, maybe you didn't hear what I said.

I'm DEA. You know what the f*** that means?

- Y-You the most crooked

n*gger on this plane. - Shut up.

You're DEA? What are you doin' on this

flight? Won't they fly you boys commercially?

Don't push me, Cyrus, man. I swear to God,

I'll blow away your little boyfriend right now.

You know, the next time

you choose a human shield...

you're better off not pickin'

a two-bit Negro crackhead.

- Hey!

- Shut up.

- Shoot him.

- Quiet, sweetheart.

- I think you should just stop.

- Stay back, man.

- Stay back!

- Just stop, right? Before somebody gets killed.

- Back!

- All right, cowboy, I'm back.

- Stay back.

- You know you're in a situation you can't control, right?

I can't control it?

I can't control it?

- You're a dead man.

- Shut the f*** up!

What's your name,

convict?

- My name?

- Yeah.

- Poe.

- Nice work, Poe. Truly nice work.

Nice goin', son.

Not only did you not save

this dude's life...

you done made best friends

with Cyrus the damn Virus.

Hey, Cyrus, I, uh, I got some good news

and I got some bad news.

- Yeah, what's the good news?

- Well, the goods news is I found Benson, Carls and Popovitch.

- What's the bad news?

- The bad news is...

this dead fellow right here

happens to be Benson.

This Aryan fellow with the bullet hole

in his forehead is, is Carls...

and, and this honky

he's draggin' in is Popovitch.

I don't know how to tell you this,

Cyrus, but we are three white guys short.

Or as they say in ebonics,

"We be f***ed. "

Look man,

I just wanna know.

All right, you didn't- You didn't mean

that dirty-n*gger crackhead sh*t, did you?

Gimme that gun.

Hell, yes, I meant it.

Listen, Carson City is expecting

six men to get off this plane...

and we're gonna give 'em

exactly what they expect.

- So I need three volunteers.

- Come on, let's go, son.

- Don't look at me, pal.

- What about her?

I'm servin' eight consecutive life

sentences. I am not getting off this plane.

I got my insulin, all right, but

they broke all the damn needles.

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