Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead Page #5

How the f*** are we|supposed to know?

This whole thing's been|bullshit from the start.

Talk about what's compelling.

- About, um, how one...|- F*** it.

visit to the doctor's office|can change your whole life.

You can be thinking|about two million things...

about, uh, work or about|the man you're dating...

or your family or... the latest|Kevin Costner picture and...

then all of a sudden|you feel a lump.

And you go|to the doctor's and, uh,

in the course of a single office|visit, everything changes.

You tell me there's a worse word in|the English language than "malignant. "

I don't think so. I really...|I don't think so.

Hi, this is Dagney.

Leave me a message after the tone|and I'll call you right back.

You remember|Lieutenant Atwater, Jimmy?

Hello, Jimmy.

An action, not a piece of work.|I said that.

- Did I not say that?|- Sir, if I could just exp...

Don't "sir" me, Jim!

You gonna beg?

Well, get down on your knees|in your pretty suit.

Beg. Grovel!

You asked me back in.

I'm taking you out.

So that's it. You're gonna|send these two, and they're gonna...

stab me in a crowded Italian restaurant,|garrote me in my sleep?

Never.

Not these two, not that way.

We go back, me and you.

You lent the operation|a modicum of class in the days.

That's why...|the milk of human kindness...

I'm giving you... an out.

You got 48 hours.

Put it in the wind.

Leave Denver.

Go to Rome,|visit the Vatican.

Pray to the God you abandoned|back in Brooklyn.

Just put it|in the f***in' wind, Jim,

or else I gotta do you too.

- What about the others?|- Buckwheats.

It wasn't their fault. They were following|my orders. I take full responsibility.

Lovely.

You're not a human being,|you're a waltz.

Buckwheats, Jim,

to your miserable band|of misfits.

Buck-f***in'- wheats.

Jesus Chr...

I got it. Jesus.

Watch the curb.

Look at all them. That's a tribute.

Try as we may, death|is not something we ever prepare for.

Check it out.|Little Lord Homicide.

Especially not with someone we love.

Any word?

Here he comes.

I'm dyin' here, Jimmy.

Give it to us straight, Slick.

- Buckwheats.|- What?

Buckwheats.

- Oh, my God. Wow.|- He said that?

- That's what he said. Buckwheats.|- This is...

Well, bagpipe that sh*t, man.|Let's take his f***in' ass out.

Will you shut the f*** up? This sick-ass|got us in this sh*t in the first place.

It's impossible anyway. Ever since|the Man With The Plan got shot,

the security around him|has been insane.

- Be easier to whack the f***in' President.|- What do we do?

Leave town. Go under. I'm talkin' to some|people. If you go under, you'll be safe.

That's buckwheats for all of us, Jimmy?|Even you?

All of us, Franny.|Even me.

Buckwheats is a whole other animal.

A guy orders a buckwheats hit, it just|don't mean take the guy out,

it means take the guy out|in the most painful way possible.

It means|the vic should suffer.

Typical buckwheat hit|is to shoot a guy up the ass.

Yeah, uh, ba-bing.

A slug up the ass,|you don't die so much as...

contort for a good 15 minutes,|then you die.

I imagine it's like|crappin' white-hot razor blades.

- Whew!|- You know?

Oh. Hmm.

Ah.

Now, you wanna take care of business,|you gotta do it in close.

I mean, you can't sh*t where you eat,|hear what I'm saying?

I hear tell the Man With The Plan,|he put it on front street.

He got a bit of business... called in|a guy from El Paso, a Mr. Shush.

They call him Mr. Shush|'cause he don't say much, you know?

Can't even see his face.|Won't say five words unless you beg him.

He's a turtle. Yeah,|I would've called him that: a turtle.

Ow! Gee!|Pay attention, will you?

Yeah, he's a turtle.

The most lethal contract killer|west of the Mississippi.

Oh, they say he's clipped|over 200 believers.

Now, come on!

What's up, bro?|What do ya need?

What can I get for ya?

F*** this, man.

Oh, sh*t!

Yes, sir, when Mr. Shush|accepts your buckwheats paper,

it's time to kiss the day good-bye and|get real cozy with the notion of eternity.

You sure about this sh*t?

Yeah. I was|by the Lazy Bird today.

Baby Sinister is most|definitely with the program.

Baby Sinister hates|my f***ing guts.

He owes me, Earl.|I called in a marker.

Plus the idea of gettin' the Man|all crossed up appeals to him.

He's bug-f***ing crazy, man.|All the way live.

So is the Man With The Plan,|Earl.

They're all bug-f***ing crazy. How do|you think they got to be big noises?

# Kick back, relax|Watch us spin the wax #

# We'll never let 'em blow|'round no tracks #

- Baby inside?|- Yeah.

Okay, let me see him.|I'm clean.

What's happenin', man? You all set?

Okay. I owe you one.

# 'Cause there really|ain't much to say #

- # Except I got no... #|- Okay, we're cool. Let's go.

Come on.

Damn.

When your saviors look|like those motherfuckers,

you know you done stepped|in it one time too many.

Remember when you was a kid?|You'd spend the whole f***in' year...

waitin' for summer vacation, then it'd|finally come and just fly by just like that.

Mm-hmm.

It's funny, Jimmy.

Life has a way of passin' by faster|than any old summer vacation.

It really f***in' does.

Give me a squeeze, big man.

Give me some.

You're the man.

# I can drive lines in twos|and threes and fours #

# Just think how much is left|for encores #

# 'Cause when my mind locks in|on a dope idea #

# Motherfuckin' duck|She stand clear #

# 'Cause I'm the hip, the top|The point blank #

# Is true|You better keep your shank #

# 'Cause I got mine and I'm out|on the Soul Creek, uuh #

# Your face in the concrete #

# You wanna roll with|the n*ggers that don't play #

# I think you got false courage|Get up and dance #o#

# Autumn meadows|melt in sunsets #

# My hair blowin'|in the breeze #

# She can't|see me watchin' #

- What can I get you?|- Four beers, please.

# And thinkin' #

# Love #

# It's bittersweet #

- # And the sweet love... #|- Jimmy!

Where are you goin'?

Got to meet a friend.

Oh.

Who's that, uh, good-looking fella|you came in with? Is that Chip?

Alex.

There's a very endearing game-show-host|look to him. Does he have his own game show?

Wanna go somewhere?

1988.|It's a good year,

I think.

Is it the odd years,|or the even years?

I don't know.

- You don't know?|- No.

Well, I thought|you knew everything.

Uh-huh.

- Still ticking?|- Mm-hmm.

Sorry.

Are you okay?

Timing is everything.

What?

You can go years|without a Dagney.

You can be a man armed with|only a fork in a land of soup,

and then one day|you meet one.

And you see one.

And then...

And then what?

I gotta go.

Now?

Yeah, now.

Sorry.

Olden?

Hello, Jim.

Clever you.

Olden.

How are you?

- I'm all right.|- I see that.

You seen Critical Bill around?

- I can't find the man anywhere.|- Um, haven't seen him.

Listen, I have|something for ya.

What's goin' on?

Charter flight,|leaves in the morning.

- You got a layover in Rome.|- Ah, get outta here!

The Greek islands. You'll be having|moussaka on Mykonos by dinner tomorrow night.

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