Conspiracy Page #3

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on an auction for me?

This is the nicest thing

anybody ever did for me.

I mean, this-- This is really

something, man, I mean it.

Okay.

You think we can

go steady now?

Lousy beaner.

Thanks, man.

Well, hey, darling.

What can I get ya?

What have you got?

Honey, we got everything.

But you want something special,

I'd try the chili,

it's world-famous.

Well, county-famous.

I'll have that

and, uh, a glass of water.

You got it.

Hey, Susie.

Can I grab, um,

two burgers and, uh,

some fairy chicken bites

for the fairy princess?

Sure, sugar.

You want Coca-Colas?

Oh, no, just to go,

tonight.

You got it.

Here you go, soldier.

How are you, sweetie?

Howdy, stranger.

Enjoying a bowl of our chili?

It's world-famous.

Well, county-famous.

Hey, Susie, uh,

put this man's chili on my tab,

all he can eat.

You got it.

John Rhodes.

A fellow buys you dinner,

you don't even shake his hand?

I'll shake your hand,

and I'll buy my own meal.

Well, I like that.

A man who stands

on his own two feet.

World is sorely lacking

in that kind of attitude.

But I wouldn't expect

any less from a Marine.

I own the hotel.

Well, heck,

I own most of the town.

You must be the one

with the John Ford obsession.

Oh, yeah.

Truly the...good old days.

I want our little town

to be like none other.

Excuse me.

That's good.

You're a funny fellow.

But even with that said

what kind of landlord

would I be

if I let just anyone

saunter on in

and cause trouble?

I'm no trouble.

Oh, I'm sure you're not.

A man like you, rich heritage.

Your mama was

a Cherokee, right?

Proud people,

Native Americans.

The first real Americans,

if you ask me.

And your father was

a Navy man, Irish.

But you were brought up

in the Marines, special forces.

And you were

an embedded contractor for SIA.

Commendations

long as your arm.

Are you--?

You looking for work, son?

I'm looking for a friend.

Well, I can be your friend.

I can also give you a job.

I mean, you haven't

filed tax returns

for the last two years,

so I'm sure money's

been pretty tight.

John Rhodes.

CEO of Halicorp.

Founder of United Borders.

Friend of presidents.

The very man who's rebuilding

most of the places

I was sent to blow up

with weapons...

...made by your company.

Are you writing

my biography, sir?

Or are you just one

well-read Marine, huh?

United Borders, uh,

just a group

of concerned citizens

who think that--

Vigilantes.

What the hell is

your problem, boy?

You'll have to forgive

my overly-sensitive friend.

We prefer

the term "patriots."

People who don't know any better

often make that mistake.

Unlike vigilantes,

United Borders

does not condone violence,

we are simply there

to assist enforcing

the laws of this country.

Protecting our borders from

those who would seek to...leech

off an already

over-leeched system.

I mean,

you're a Marine.

You want someone

to come in here

and destroy everything

that you fought for?

I was a Marine

a long time ago.

Well, once a Marine,

always a Marine.

No disrespect intended.

I'm...not a Marine.

As I said, son,

you never stop

being a Marine.

Well, if you're not

here for a job,

maybe I can offer you the kind

services of Sheriff Bock here.

He'll make sure you get to

the bus station in the morning.

It'd be my pleasure to help you

find your way, sir.

Community service.

That's why it's so peaceful

around here.

Peaceful.

Susie, you got Miss Hollis'

order ready yet?

Yes, sir,

coming right up.

Here, let me carry this

for you, darling.

You have yourself

a fine evening.

You know what I find funny?

No matter how much

people say

Marines are all

hard-core and such...

every one of them I meet

seems to be a big old p*ssy.

E.B., you cannot

just come back here.

I'm just getting some pie

and some milk.

Oh...

Now, that's a shame,

wasting a glass of milk

like that.

Goddamn it.

Martina, trouble, por favor.

Hey there, seorita,

I sure would like to stick

my burrito in your taco. Hm?

Didn't your parents

ever teach you manners?

What'd you say, boy?

I'm just saying

if your mother ever saw

the way you're

treating that girl...

she'd probably die of shame.

You half-breed

son of a b*tch!

Now, isn't that

perfect, huh?

Soldier boy's got

a headache.

There are ladies present.

What would your mama say to

such a disgusting display, huh?

I think it's time

for you to go.

Oh, God. God.

Ugh.

You sick piece of sh*t.

You gonna fight?

You're a goddamn cripple.

Crippled son of a b*tch.

Hold it right there,

mister.

We don't take too kindly

to people littering

here in God's country.

Check his gear.

It says here

you were in Desert Storm.

So how was that?

Winning the war and all?

We didn't win anything.

Hey, chief, take a look.

You don't think he's hiding

any drugs on him, do you?

I have heard stories

about people hiding things

in them hollow legs.

Well, guess we better

check it, then, huh?

You don't wanna do that.

You know,

I think this fella's

a flight risk.

I'm gonna go get him processed.

You boys clean him up.

Take the leg.

What's it like to kill

a sand n*gger?

I bet you took out

a lot of towelheads.

Must have been

where he lost it.

Hell, with that third leg

he's sporting,

I don't think he's too upset.

That's enough.

That's enough!

It's clean.

No drugs here.

What about weapons?

Well, not unless you consider

a plastic leg a weapon.

You like that, boy?

All good

and squeaky clean?

Long time since

you had a shower, huh?

You eyeballing me, boy?

All right,

leave him be.

He's in it deep enough

as it is.

I just don't like anybody

eyeballing me.

Did you hear the man?

He said he don't

like nobody eyeballing him.

Now it's a fair fight.

Look at that.

I guess it can be used

as a weapon.

Howdy.

Ooh, you don't look

so good.

You're not much

of a conversationalist, are you?

Answer the man.

Ah, that's all right, son.

Uh, you can leave us.

So you don't want me to--?

- No, no. Here.

I been reading a bit more

about you. Fascinating.

Seems I wasn't as respectful

as I should have been.

PTSD's no laughing matter.

But, uh,

even with your condition,

the way you handled

E.B. back there?

You're a man

of extraordinary talents,

talents that, uh,

despite the loss of the limb,

I could pay you

a sizable sum for.

Where is Miguel Silva?

Well, who knows?

He probably ran off

back to Mexico.

You're lying.

Son, I'm offering you a life.

This town is about to explode

with new jobs and industry.

Hell, the goddamn

Secretary of Defense

just bought 4000 acres

down the road.

I mean, can't you see

what I've built here?

An amusement park?

You seen Times Square lately?

Don't be a fool.

At least I'm trying

to restore God's country,

preserving it as the last

bastion that hasn't been overrun

by foreigners.

We're the foreigners.

Well, heck, somebody's got

to scrub the toilets, right?

Oh, son, you are in desperate

need of a sense of humor.

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