(Quentin Glass watches impassively while three hoodlums beat and kick Micky Duka.)
Quentin Glass: You sell homegrown pot by the ounce, Micky, not by the barrel. You sell badly-forged fake passports to Haitians. So what inspired you to become the Mr. Universe of international arms dealers? Micky, you should apologize for the death of Mr. Saint's youngest son.
Micky Duka: Okay, I know how it looks, but Bobby, he buys pot from me. And, and when he found out what I was doing, he insisted on coming in. He put up half the cash. He came of his own free will! (One of the hoodlums kicks him.) If you're gonna kill me, will you leave my face alone - for my mother?
Quentin: We just made your bail. Now, if I'd wanted to kill you I would have left you in jail, where we have friends, and in a way I can only describe as deeply pornographic, you would have been killed. But you're a small piece of shit, and I don't want the Karma of your death on my conscience. But on the other hand, maybe I don't believe in karma. So, guys–
Micky: No, no, no! I'll tell you anything you wanna know!
Quentin: Then this'll be quick. I want to know one thing only: who brokered the deal?
Micky: His name's Otto Krieg. And if it's any comfort to Mr. Saint, he's dead too.
Howard Saint, (entering): Well, it's not. It's actually no comfort at all. But what might be comforting to me is watching the slow death of the man who was supposed to be taking care of my son and making sure he did not get into trouble.
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