Leon
Joe. K.C.
Hey, Leon.
Leon
Hey. I'm making you two primaries on this disaster. Since you made no progress in the Klepto murder, I figure you're due.
K.C.
Thanks for the confidence.
Leon
Yeah, no problem.
K.C.
Well, what do you think?
Joe
Write this down.
Joe
Cheeseburger, well done. Raw onion, pickle, ketchup. Nothing else.
K.C.
Got it. [comes to a police officer] Officer, it's time to get rolling on some chow. This is what the big dog wants, and I want tomato and cucumber on whole wheat with only mustard and bean sprouts.
The doctor's in. Help is on its way.
K.C.
Thanks, Hank. [sighs] Something wrong, Joe?
Joe
What do ya mean, "Something wrong?"
K.C.
You seem down.
Joe
Down? Me?
K.C.
Lately. Yeah.
Joe
We've been partners for what, four months, and now you wanna be my shrink?
K.C.
Sometimes it helps to talk. That's all I'm saying. [drinks his beer]
Joe
All right. Let me paint you a picture. Portrait of Joe Gavilan. Seven, eight years ago, I sold off the results of my entrepreneurial efforts up to that point: Three tanning salons and two original silk-tip nail parlors in the Antelope Valley, and I started attending weekend Real Estate seminars at the Airport Hyatt. You know, "How to Make $1 Million in Real Estate with Very Little Money Down."
K.C.
Sounds good.
Joe
Started out with a condo in Sherman Oaks. Slapped some paint on the walls. Refaced the kitchen cabinets. Traded up to a smoke-damaged ranch in Tarzana, then a Spanish on Outpost, and a fake Mediterranean in Los Feliz. Pretty soon, I had everything I've got tied up in this... this monstrosity... on Mt. Olympus, at the corner of Hercules and, I shit you not, Achilles.
K.C.
So what's the problem?
Joe
The problem is if I don't score a big commission or get rid of this... piece of shit on Mt. Olympus... well, the word *Titanic* comes to mind.
K.C.
Joe, I know a girl who works for some rich producer. Says he might sell his place. Maybe you can get the listing.
Joe
Got a name?
K.C.
Well, her name's like Minnie or Moma. Or something like that, I don't remember.
Joe
Not the girl, hot rocks, the producer.
K.C.
Oh, I don't know the producer. Way before my time, I...
K.C.
Hey, Joe, you ready for something?
Joe
Shoot.
K.C.
I don't think I want to be a cop anymore.
Joe
Come on, you need some fresh air. [to Hank] Put this on my tab, Hank.
What tab?
K.C.
I know you're gonna say it's none of my business, but when's the last time you got laid?
Joe
None of your business.
