Pulp Fiction Page #35

JULES:

Jules, you ask me nice like that, no

problem. He's your friend, you handle

him.

INT. JIMMIE'S KITCHEN – MORNING

Three men are standing in Jimmie's kitchen, each with a mug

of coffee. Jules, Vincent and JIMMIE DIMMICK, a young man in

his late 20s dressed in a bathrobe.

JULES:

Goddamn Jimmie, this is some serious

gourmet sh*t. Me an' Vincent woulda

been satisfied with freeze-dried

Tasters Choice. You spring this

gourmet f***in' sh*t on us. What

flavor is this?

JIMMIE:

Knock it off, Julie.

JULES:

What?

JIMMIE:

I'm not a cobb or corn, so you can

stop butterin' me up. I don't need

you to tell me how good my coffee

is. I'm the one who buys it, I know

how f***in' good it is. When Bonnie

goes shoppin', she buys sh*t. I buy

the gourmet expensive stuff 'cause

when I drink it, I wanna taste it.

But what's on my mind at this moment

isn't the coffee in my kitchen, it's

the dead n*gger in my garage.

JULES:

Jimmie –

JIMMIE:

– I'm talkin'. Now let me ask you a

question, Jules. When you drove in

here, did you notice a sign out front

that said, "Dead n*gger storage?"

Jules starts to "Jimmie" him –

JIMMIE:

– answer to question. Did you see a

sign out in front of my house that

said, "Dead n*gger storage?"

JULES:

(playing along)

Naw man, I didn't.

JIMMIE:

You know why you didn't see that

sign?

JULES:

Why?

JIMMIE:

'CAUSE IT AIN'T THERE 'CAUSE

STORIN' DEAD N*GGERS AIN'T MY

F***IN' BUSINESS!

Jules starts to "Jimmie" him.

JIMMIE:

– I ain't through! Now don't you

understand that if Bonnie comes home

and finds a dead body in her house,

I'm gonna get divorced. No marriage

counselor, no trial separation –

f***in' divorced. And I don't wanna

get f***in' divorced. The last time

me an' Bonnie talked about this sh*t

was gonna be the last time me an'

Bonnie talked about this sh*t. Now I

wanna help ya out Julie, I really

do. But I ain't gonna lose my wife

doin' it.

JULES:

Jimmie –

JIMMIE:

– don't f***in' Jimmie me, man, I

can't be Jimmied. There's nothin'

you can say that's gonna make me

forget I love my wife. Now she's

workin' the graveyard shift at the

hospital. She'll be comin' home in

less than an hour and a half. Make

your phone calls, talk to your people,

than get the f*** out of my house.

JULES:

That's all we want. We don't wanna

f*** up your sh*t. We just need to

call our people to bring us in.

JIMMIE:

Then I suggest you get to it. Phone's

in my bedroom.

INT. MARSELLUS WALLACE'S DINING ROOM – MORNING

Marsellus Wallace sits at his dining table in a big comfy

robe, eating his large breakfast, while talking on the phone.

MARSELLUS:

...well, say she comes home. Whaddya

think she'll do?

(pause)

No f***in' sh*t she'll freak. That

ain't no kinda answer. You know 'er,

I don't. How bad, a lot or a little?

INT. JIMMIE'S BEDROOM – MORNING

Jules paces around in Jimmie's bedroom on the phone.

JULES:

You got to appreciate what an

explosive element this Bonnie

situation is. If she comes home from

a hard day's work and finds a bunch

of gangsters doin' a bunch of gangsta'

sh*t in her kitchen, ain't no tellin'

what she's apt to do.

MARSELLUS:

I've grasped that, Jules. All I'm

doin' is contemplating the "ifs."

JULES:

I don't wanna hear about no

muthafuckin' "ifs." What I wanna

hear from yo ass is, "You ain't

got no problems, Jules. I'm on the

muthafucka. Go back in there, chill

them niggas out and wait for the

cavalry, which should be comin'

directly."

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