Grilled Page #8

You guys lied.

- You swore on Sinatra.

- Hey.

Go! Get him!

Go go go go go!

Watch out.

Move! Move! Go!

God damn it!

Tear this f***ing door down.

It's preference.

It's selling.

It's selling.

And knowing what to buy,

who to buy it from.

For all I know, you two guys

could be shysters

who are trying to scam

the wrong motherf***er.

But you seem okay.

Mr. Goldbluth.

There's people in that party

that want to kill you.

There's a reason

why Tony isn't here.

Talk fast.

Get outta here.

- We're movin' out.

- Come on, Mr. Goldbluth.

Come on,

move it, move it.

- Ralph.

- Yeah, boss.

- 21 grand.

- You got it.

All right, fellas.

For your gifts.

Mr. Goldbluth,

it was your friend Tony's.

I'll be expecting some freezers

in the next 10 days.

They're on their way.

Dad!

I want that joint cleaned up

like it never happened.

Never happened.

Dad!

Dad, you okay?

I'm always okay.

We were just celebrating.

Dick.

You look tired, Dick,

how you doing?

Jesus, by now I was expecting

a postcard from Ensenada.

- You get anything?

- We got anything?

I don't know,

let's check.

These count?

You know, why don't you

get Dick's opinion?

Three, what do you

think of that?

Whoa whoa whoa whoa.

Before you answer, how about four?

Of course, five is a number

that everybody is comfortable with.

Probably the hand,

somethin' to do with that.

You wrote five?

No.

Six.

Of course if I told you six,

I'd be lying.

- Because he'd be forgetting seven.

- Seven.

What the hell is this?

Seven. We wrote

some paper... seven.

You want me to spike

seven boxes?

No, no, on this one

be leisurely, 'cause this is gold.

We got cash.

21 grand.

Minus our commission.

What is this? There you go.

Come on, honey, jump on.

Mom, look what

Daddy got me.

- That's it, honey.

- Come on, come on. Ready?

- Yes, I am.

- We're gonna go up high.

Ain't she beautiful?

Maury, don't burn

my chicken.

You're burning

the chicken, you idiot.

Here's what we do...

some of this.

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