Stretch Page #3

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Liotta's $200 tip, while generous,

isn't going to save me

from a pair of shattered kneecaps.

I know what you're thinking.

It's stupid of me to be lavishing

attention on my love life

the same day that a very agitated

member of the Mexican mafia

has promised to break things

I don't want broken.

And there's always the chance that this

"Pinkminx" isn't actually a woman,

there was just something about the...

Pink.

Well, if that's stupid,

then this is just plain old reckless.

The one addiction

I haven't been able to shake.

Her.

Let's not call it stalking.

I know I'm not getting her back,

there was just never any closure.

On some cellular level

that still torments me.

Could you be a bigger chump right now?

Not really, no.

"She left me, the loser limo driver,

"for a millionaire athlete.

"And I never saw it coming."

Seriously, pal, did that shocker

really sneak up on you?

Yeah, it did.

Yes, indeed.

I got you a booking.

- The great white whale has surfaced...

- Oh.

...and his name is Roger Karos.

Heard of him?

- If he's cash rich, I don't care.

- Huge.

Billionaire.

He used to be Karl's regular

and he sorta still thinks Karl's alive.

Come on. I can be Karl.

From what I heard,

this dude's pretty nuts,

but I've also heard of him tipping thousands

just for an airport run, so...

- All right, where?

- I've got coordinates.

You... You got what?

Coordinates. GPS.

He doesn't want to disclose the location,

I don't know what that means.

Oh, and he wants to be met

with a weird list of goodies.

You have to get that before you go

and pick him up.

I'll text it to you.

Oh, God damn it!

I forgot, I gotta take

this stuff over to Sony for Liotta.

You do that and this booking goes poof.

- Come on.

- All right, all right, all right.

I'll figure something out.

Charlie comes through in the clutch,

a crazy billionaire

who can paint my pockets.

The only thing missing now

is the crazy billionaire.

These are the coordinates,

X marks the spot.

I'm here. Where is this guy?

Sh*t!

What the f***?

Oh, sh*t!

Mr. Karos?

Oh, you're not Karl.

- I'm Kevin.

- Who the f*** is Kevin?

That's me, Stretch, if you'd prefer.

What I prefer is Karl.

Okay. Karl...

Passed away

a little while ago.

So I'm here.

- Those are the things I asked for?

- Yeah.

Scotch?

Caulking gun?

Butt plugs, plural?

What'd he die of? Karl?

He took his own life, unfortunately.

F*** him.

I need a driver and a confidant,

a bagman and a protector.

- I'm in.

- Walk with me.

You got any religious hang-ups?

You a godhead?

Nope.

Tomorrow I will be a brand

new face in a brand new place,

so I've got a marathon in mind.

First stop,

my tailor Enzo.

That suit looks like

death taking a sh*t.

How far is Beverly Hills?

45 minutes, depending on which...

Okay, so this Karos

is a total freak show.

So what? It's Hollywood.

A town that specializes

in the sick and deranged.

As long as he's got the cash,

I can take all the weird... Holy sh*t!

Boris. The Jovi's brother

and head henchman.

I once saw him body slam

a 300-pound bouncer

onto the hood of a VW Cabriolet.

He had plates in his head.

Hello, buddy.

He had murdered men with his hands.

He knows about Liotta.

He knows what I did.

F*** it.

Yes, indeed.

What's wrong?

You sound weird, is it him?

He skydived in, naked.

No way, completely naked?

Bare-assed, except for a pair of sneakers

and about 60 pounds of Rick Rubin's beard.

If you're feelin' funky about it,

we'll just lay him off on The Jovi.

It's not worth it.

No, I can't explain it.

I mean, as oddball as he is,

I get the sense that, like,

my meeting him is a...

If you say fated...

Let me finish. Not fated, lucky.

- Luck, fate, I mean, it's semantics.

- Do me a favor.

Go online, get me a bio, all right?

I got a feeling this guy's about

to skip town for good

and bleed a boatload

of cash on his way out.

- It's a big gamble.

- From a former gambler.

I know odds. He's sitting on my $6,000.

- Long shot.

- Sure thing.

- I'm going on the Internet now.

- All right. Call me back.

No, I've got a vehicle, I'll ring you

with the time and a place later.

Later.

What kind of man are you, Stretch?

Are you one of those

Habitat-for-Humanity,

eco-friendly, all-veggie douchebags

devoted to crippled kids

and the elderly?

Or are you a money, power, p*ssy,

Holy Trinity type?

I don't know. Haven't really...

You see, me, I am about simple,

succinct pleasures.

Cocaine is my first

and longest-standing love,

but I would be equally lost

without good Scotch whiskey...

and sadomasochism.

I want you to try something

when you have a free moment.

You just make a fist,

and hit yourself in the face

as hard as you can.

I swear to God,

you will find it so f***ing freeing.

It is like...

It is like stepping off a cliff.

Holy sh*t!

- There it is.

- You okay back there?

That metallic taste, it's tremendous!

It's living!

Hey, can I ask you, what do you...

What do you get out

of punching yourself in the face?

Clarity.

The comfort in knowing

I can take that punch.

What do you make weekly,

this line of work?

Don't know, depends. 25-30 an hour.

- Plus tips.

- Take home, total?

Not enough.

- To get by.

- No.

Or to pay down $6,000

in gambling debt...

that you just found out was due in full.

You're a gambler?

I have a... I had...

A gambling addiction.

That just means you lost

a lot more than you won.

And if you don't pay, what happens then?

Broken bones? Bullet in the head?

That... that could be a coin toss.

Are you a fire starter, Stretch?

Am I what?

Oh, it takes almost no imagination,

sounds exactly like what it is.

Are you a fire starter?

Yeah, sure. Yeah, I guess.

No, say it in stride.

"I am a fire starter."

I am a fire starter.

Good.

So am I.

Now, we're on fire!

Holy sh*t!

Jesus Christ.

Goddamn! What is wrong with you?

God damn it.

Fine.

Did you say firefighter?

Do my bidding tonight,

Stretch, and maybe...

Maybe I'd dig down deep and make

that $6,000 worth of headache...

disappear.

You game?

Yes, indeed.

Thank you.

So, where we headed tonight?

Have you heard of the Midnight Shadow?

- Social club.

- I have heard.

What have you heard?

Gentlemen, I have everything I need.

Give me 10 minutes.

- Eight minutes, Enzo.

- You want my coat?

No, no, no. Ciao, ciao.

- No, no. No, no. No, no.

- Ciao, ciao. Ciao, ciao. Choo-choo train.

In a nutshell...

You can pay to see a coked-out snow leopard

sexually assaulted in one room

and... participate in

an all-amputee-orgy in the next?

Oh, drugs, sexual depravity,

animal cruelty.

I mean to me that's just

a slow night, but...

That's very good!

That's very quick, Stretch. I like that.

I like so very few people.

I'm wondering how you endeared

yourself to me so fast.

I think fate brought us together.

I don't believe in fate, destiny...

To me life's nothing but timing.

I like that!

Life is nothing but timing.

Yeah.

I'm going to steal that one.

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