Serving Sara Page #2

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Who is this?

Let's just say a... a friend.

Look, some a**hole's on his way|up there to serve you papers.

He's going to say|he's delivering flowers.

Papers?

What? Is this about|my parking tickets?

No, no, no, no.|It's a lot bigger than that.

Look, I really don't have|any idea

what you're talking about, so...

Hey, lady?

When is getting served papers|ever good, huh?

Don't be stupid.|Hang up, and get out.

Oh...

Sara Moore?

Um... no, uh...

she's there in 7-E.

Thanks.

You know, once that little light|goes on, you're good.

Yeah.

Sara, welcome home!

Why are you calling me Sara?

Hey!

Sara!

Merry Christmas.

Sh*t!

Taxi!

Taxi!

Oh!

Excuse me. Uh...

Whoa, whoa!

Mrs. Moore.

Do you have an appointment?

I just need to get away|for a sec.

Okay, have a nice day.

Whoa! Creep!

I'd like to request...

Sir, can I help you?

Sir, this is|a woman's spa, sir.

Cool!

Oh!

Either of you two creatures seen|Sara Moore?

Get out!

Hey, you are wrapped|too tight, lady.

Excuse me, sir.|You cannot...

Hey, Sara, welcome back.

Why do people keep|calling me Sara? I'm not.

Can I help you?

Hello.

Man, slow down!

Whoa!

I can't believe|you messed this up.

I did not mess it up.

I told you he'd mess it up.

It's a goddamn cakewalk, Joe.

Look, I chased her all through

Midtown Manhattan for two hours.

I froze my dick off.

Boo-hyphen-hoo.

Huh!

Has anybody informed you,|this job is not easy.

I'm going to find her.

It's not going to be a problem.

Well, it already is|a problem.

I'm giving the file|to Tony.

What?

Come on. Give me the papers.

You know what?|I don't know

what the hell I was thinking,|giving you this job

in the first place.

Look, you are making|a mistake, Ray.

I know exactly|where she is.

Good. Tell it to Tony.

Thanks, Boss.

She's up Ray's ass.

You should know your way around.

Mm-hmm.

Mm-hmm.

Mm-hmm...

Mm-hmm...

Hey, Joe.

Hey, Lenny.

Santa, you're supposed to give|the gifts, not take them.

Yeah, I got a present for you.

Milty, I need a favor.

Yeah.

And I need a swollen prostate.

I need the file on 4-9-8-3.

That's a small Uzi

and two vials of crack.

- Milt... Milt.|- Got it.

Look, can you get me|the addresses

on these speed-dial|phone numbers, please?

Uh, I don't know|if you noticed here

but the "In" is winning|by a landslide.

Okay.

Maybe this will help.

Oh, no.

I think my eyes are going,|because I only see 20 bucks.

How about now?

Oh, there we go.

Come back at 7:
00.

That's the best you can do?

Oh, now my hearing's off.

I'll see you at 7:00.

Miami Marriott.

Uh, yes, I'd like to make|a reservation, please.

Under the name... Sara Moore

for a check-in|early tomorrow morning.

Okay.

Thank you.

Now, let's see how we did today.

Oh, yeah.

Nice nose...

Better than yesterday.

Yeah.

I'm the idiot.

Nice place.

It's good.

Miami Marriott.

Uh, Sara Moore, please.

One moment, please.

Uh, sir, I'm sorry

but Ms. Moore won't be checking|in until tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow morning?

Oh, thank you.

Thank you very much.

I gotcha.

May I help you?

You got gas.

Excuse me?

You got leakage.

Excuse me?

Not you, lady.

Your house.

But we have electric.

Yeah, I know. That's why|it's kind of a pickle.

Can I sniff around?

Actually, no.

Thanks.

Not sniffing any gas,|but I do detect

the smell of coffee.

You know, I think

you should just leave.

Yeah, why don't you run|in the kitchen and grab me

a cup of coffee|all right, cupcake?

Nice place you got here.|It's real rustic.

Amanda?

Hey, are you okay?|What's going on?

I heard all that shouting|down there.

Oh, no!

Sara Moore

you are hereby served|for divorce.

Divorce?! What?!

Smile.

No, hang on. Wait-wait a minute.

You must have|the wrong person.

Um, you must be looking

for a different|Sara Moore.

That's what|they all say.

But I'm happily married.

Not anymore.

Could I get that coffee|to go, uh...?

This is Ray.|Who the hell is this?

Hey, Ray, I'll tell you|who the hell this is.

It's Joe,|so why don't you put

that doughnut down for a second|and listen to me.

Guess who I just served.

Sara Moore. That's right.

So get your checkbook out.

And since you took me off|this gig

and I had to do it|on my own time

you better pay me double, okay?

Say good night, sweet prince.

Oh, no.

Look, if you want to use|the phone, just ask.

You served Fat Charlie

now Fat Charlie serves you.

And I'll say we served|him pretty good, too.

So, Brooklyn's in the house?

Hey!

Oh, my... Sara!

Sara, oh, my God.

You have got to see this.

What?

I don't fit in, huh?

Huh? How about this?

Now do I fit in?

How does that fit, huh?

I'm glad.

Yo, Aldo, you know, I've been|doing some thinking lately.

I'm getting kind of|tired of carpooling.

How about you?

Yeah, I could use|a little room myself.

You don't mind|there, Petey.

Oh, there's a car|right here.

I could just take this car, no?

Why not?

You're not taking my car.|That was nothing.

Come on!

Whoa!

Is that all you got...?

Get over here!

Hey, what are you,|some kind of machinist?

Are you trying to say|"masochist"?

What a meathead!

Whoa!

Hold on. Hold on a second.

Your diaper's loose.

That's it?!

That's all you girls got?!

That was nothing!

Nothing!

Baby's going to take nappy.

Oh!

Sorry.

Wretched bag.

Well, well, there is a God.

Actually, it was two Italians.

Do you have any feelings?

Do you have any shred|of humanity or compassion?

Well, little sick dogs pull|at my heartstrings

but certainly not trophy wives|from Australia.

Australia?

Look, first of all,|I'm English, you twit.

And second of all, we've had|our ups and downs

but I stuck it out

and trophy wives|don't do that.

Do you know what?

The guy on the phone was right.

You are an a**hole.

Hey, I was just doing my jo...

What guy on the phone?

The guy that called up|to my apartment

to say you were on your way up|with those lovely papers.

Somebody tipped you off?

Who?

Yeah, like I know everyone

in New York|with a Brooklyn accent.

Tony.

It's got to be Tony.

The son of a b*tch.

He's been tipping off my marks|for two months.

That's why|it's been so hard.

Well, my heart bleeds for you.

I'm going to kill|that son of a b*tch!

Mind your own business,|pork chop.

Goddamn monkeys.

Hey, Chico

make it cooler, cooler.

Culo. Tu quieres culo?

Yo te doy culo!

Not louder. Cooler!

Este gringo me molesta...

No gringo. Italiano.

Mambo Italiano.

No mambo Italiano.

Mambo King, Armand Assante.

- Mambo King soy yo.|- Hey, Chico

just drop me off|in America, okay?

Agase para... carajo, feo!

Hey.

Hey, I got another question.

How do people do it?

I know you're awake, so stop|pretending to be asleep.

Actually, I was|pretending to be dead

but I can't fool you.

How can someone end a marriage|like that, just...

pow?

What? Are you telling me|you didn't see this coming?

Let me guess.|A lot of trips out of town.

"Go ahead, honey."

"Go ahead. Don't worry your|pretty little head.

I'll take care|of the homestead..."

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