Hey, princess. Want some company?
No, thanks. I'm saving myself for when I get raped.
Most scenes together: Samantha Caine/Charly Baltimore & Mitch Henessey (12)
Hey, princess. Want some company?
No, thanks. I'm saving myself for when I get raped.
Easy, sport. Got myself out of Beirut once, I think I can get out of New Jersey.
Yeah, well don't be so sure. Others have tried and failed. The entire population, in fact.
I'm leaving the country, Mitch. I need a fake passport and I need money, lots of it.
Well, why didn't you say so? Hold on a minute while I pull that outta my ass.
Were you always this stupid, or did you take lessons?
I took lessons!
1993. World Trade Center bombing, remember? During the trial, one of the bombers claimed the CIA had advanced knowledge. The diplomat who issued the terrorists' visas was CIA. It's not unthinkable that they paved the way for the bombing, purely to justify a budget increase.
You're telling me you guys are gonna fake some terrorist thing, just to scare some money out of Congress?
Well, unfortunately, Mr. Henessey, I have no idea how to fake killing 4,000 people. So we're just gonna have to do it for real. Blame it on the Muslims, naturally. Then I get my funding.
And what about your daughter, what's her name . . . Cathead?
Caitlin.
So, you cold?
Yeah. Freezing.
Turn on the heat. It doesn't work, but it makes a very annoying noise -- distracts from the cold.
Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
I hope not, 'cause I'm thinking how much my balls hurt.
Why don't you just go away and come back at midnight. Shoo!
Hey, honey, this is a real big **** gun.
This ain't no ham on rye, pal.
What the hell are you doing?
Saving your life. I would have been here sooner, but I was thinkin' up that "ham on rye" line.
Mommy, am I gonna die?
Oh, no, baby. No, you're not gonna die. They are.
Cover your ears. Hey! Should we get a dog?
Good morning, Raymond.
Good morning, Miss Caine.
What have we learned about the dangers of smoking? Give it here.
I'm– I'm hurt real bad. I think I'm dying.
Continue dying. Out.
What are you, a Mormon?
Yes, I'm a Mormon, that's why I just smoked a pack of Newports and drank three vodka tonics. I mean . . . When I first met you, you were all "Oh phooey, I burnt the darn muffins;" now, you go into a bar and ten minutes later sailors come running out.
Put the car keys in my left pocket. Gun in the right hand side.
It makes a bulge! People will see it.
You want me to put it into my pants and shoot my damn dick off?
What? So now you're a sharp shooter?
Stay quiet, and drop the rifle.
There may be many reasons not to kill you, but among them is not that you'll be missed by NASA. I found the address in your coat. Here. Between the address of a topless bar, and the picture of what looks like a man's penis.
That's a duck, not a dick.