Kill Bill: Vol. 1

Do you find me sadistic?

You know, I'll bet I could fry an egg

on your head right now.

If I wanted to.

You know, kiddo.

I'd like to believe

you're aware enough, even now,

to know that there's nothing sadistic

in my actions.

Well, maybe towards

those other jokers.

But not you.

No, kiddo.

At this moment, this is me

at my most masochistic.

Bill.

It's your baby.

Coming!

Sarah, I cannot believe

you are early.

What you gonna do now?

What you got?

I got your ass!

Remember that? Remember?

Okay.

Come on, b*tch.

Come on.

Bring it on.

Mommy, I'm home.

Hey, baby.

How was school?

Mommy, what happened to you

and the TV room?

That good-for-nothing dog

of yours got his little ass

in the living room

and acted a damn fool.

- That's what happened, baby.

- Barney did this?

Baby, now,

you can't come in here.

There's broken glass everywhere,

and you could cut yourself.

This is an old friend of Mommy's

I ain't seen in a long time.

Hi, honey.

I'm...

What's your name?

Her name is Nikki.

Nikki.

Such a pretty name

for such a pretty girl.

How old are you, Nikki?

Nikki... asked you

a question.

I'm 4.

You know,

I had a little girl once.

She'd be about 4 now.

Now, baby, me and Mommy's friend

got some grown-up talk

to talk about.

You go in your room.

I want you to leave us alone

till I tell you to come out.

Okay?

Nikkia!

In your room.

Now.

You want some coffee?

Yeah. Sure.

This Pasadena homemaker's name

is Jeanne Bell.

Her husband is

Dr. Lawrence Bell.

But back when we were acquainted,

four years ago,

her name was Vernita Green.

Her code name was Copperhead.

Mine, Black Mamba.

Do you have a towel?

Yeah.

Thanks.

You still take cream

and sugar, right?

Yeah.

So I suppose it's a little late

for an apology?

You suppose correctly.

Look, b*tch, I need to know

if you're gonna start any more sh*t

around my baby girl.

You can relax for now.

I'm not gonna murder you

in front of your child, okay?

That's being more rational

than Bill led me to believe

you were capable of.

It's mercy, compassion,

and forgiveness I lack.

Not rationality.

Look.

I know I f***ed you over.

I f***ed you over bad.

I wish to God I hadn't,

but I did.

You have every right

to want to get even.

No, no, no, no, no.

No.

To get even, even Stephen,

I would have to kill you,

go up to Nikki's room, kill her,

then wait for your husband,

the good Dr. Bell, to come home,

and kill him.

That would be even, Vernita.

That'd be about square.

Look, if I could go back

in a machine, I would.

But I can't.

All I can tell you is that

I'm a different person now.

Oh, great.

I don't care.

Be that as it may,

I know I don't deserve

your mercy or your forgiveness.

However, I beseech you for both

on behalf of my daughter.

B*tch, you can stop right there.

Just because I have no wish

to murder you

before the eyes of your daughter

does not mean that parading her

in front of me

is gonna inspire sympathy.

You and I have

unfinished business.

And not a goddamn thing

you've done

in the subsequent four years,

including getting knocked up,

is gonna change that.

So when do we do this?

It all depends.

When do you want to die?

Tomorrow?

The day after tomorrow?

How about tonight, b*tch?

Splendid.

Where?

There's a baseball diamond

where I coach Little League

about a mile from here.

We meet there around 2.30

in the morning,

dressed all in black,

your hair in a black stocking.

And we have us a knife fight.

We won't be bothered.

Now, I have to fix

Nikki's cereal.

Bill said you were one

of the best ladies he saw

with an edged weapon.

F*** you, b*tch.

I know he didn't qualify

that sh*t.

So you can just kiss my motherfucking ass,

Black Mamba.

Black Mamba.

I should have been

motherfucking Black Mamba.

Weapon of choice?

If you want to stick with

your butcher knife, that's fine.

Very funny, b*tch.

Very funny!

It was not my intention

to do this in front of you.

For that, I'm sorry.

But you can take my word for it.

Your mother had it coming.

When you grow up, if you

still feel raw about it...

I'll be waiting.

For those regarded as warriors...

When engaged in combat...

the vanquishing of thine enemy can be

the warrior's only concern.

Suppress all human emotion and compassion...

...kill whoever stands in thy way, even if that be

Lord God, or Buddha himself.

This truth lies at the heart of the art of combat.

Come on out to Dallas.

This is Rockabilly Rhythms

on KTRN, Wichita Falls.

And next, we got some record.

Very own wild man,

Charlie Feathers.

Well, give me the gory details,

Son Number One.

It's a goddamn massacre, Pop.

They wiped out the whole

wedding party, execution style.

Give me a figure.

Nine dead bodies.

And we're talking

the whole shebang.

Bride. Groom.

Reverend.

Reverend's wife.

They even shot that old coloured fella

that plays the organ.

It would appear to me

somebody objected to this union

and wasn't able to hold

their peace.

Good gravy, Marie.

What'd I tell you, Pop?

It's like a goddamn

Nicaraguan death squad.

You better sh*t-can

that blasphemy, boy.

- You're in a house of worship.

- Sorry, Pop.

Well, this is definitely

the work of professionals.

I'd guesstimate

Mexican Mafia hit squad.

Four, maybe five strong.

How can you tell?

Well, a sure and steady hand

did this.

This ain't no

squirrelly amateur.

This is the work of a salty dog.

You can tell by the cleanliness

of the carnage.

Now, a kill-crazy rampage,

though it may be,

all the colours are kept

inside the lines.

If you was a moron,

you could almost admire it.

Who's the bride?

Don't know.

The name

on the marriage certificate

is Arlene Machiavelli.

That's a fake.

We've been calling her "The Bride"

on account of the dress.

You can tell she was pregnant.

Man would have to be a mad dog

to shoot a goddamn good-Iooking gal

like that in the head.

Look at her.

Hay-coloured hair.

Big eyes.

She's a little

blood-spattered angel.

Son Number One?

Yeah?

This tall drink of cocksucker

ain't dead.

I might never have liked you.

Point in fact, I despise you.

But that shouldn't suggest

that I don't respect you.

Dying in our sleep is a luxury

that our kind

is rarely afforded.

My gift to you.

For f***'s sake.

Hello, Bill.

What's her condition?

Comatose.

Where is she?

I'm standing over her right now.

That's my girl.

Elle, you're going to abort

the mission.

What?

We owe her better than that.

Oh, you don't owe her sh*t!

Will you keep your voice down?

You don't owe her sh*t!

May I say one thing?

Speak.

Y'all beat the hell

out of that woman.

But you didn't kill her.

And I put a bullet in her head.

But her heart

just kept on beating.

Now, you saw that yourself

with your own beautiful

blue eye, did you not?

We've done a lot of things

to this lady.

And if she ever wakes up,

we'll do a whole lot more.

But one thing we won't do

is sneak into her room

in the night like a filthy rat

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