(Quentin Glass watches impassively while three hoodlums beat and kick Micky Duka.)
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.
MD 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?
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–
M Micky
No, no, no! I'll tell you anything you wanna know!
Then this'll be quick. I want to know one thing only: who brokered the deal?
M 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.
MD Micky Duka
Stay away from me, Castle! I got friends, you know.
Let's talk about your friends.
M Micky
Make your own friends, buddy. I'm not saying nothin'. I talk to you, they'll kill me.
If you don't help me, I'll kill you now, Mick.
M Micky
The Saints tell me nothing!
Nothing? They pay your rent...your legal bills. You should know something.
M Micky
What's the torch for?
Two thousand degrees, Mick. Enough to turn steel into butter. It won't hurt at first. It's, uh, too hot, you see? The flame sears the nerve endings shut, killing them. Then you'll go into shock...and all you'll feel is...cold. Isn't science fun, Micky?
MD Micky Duka
Stay away from me, Castle! I got friends, you know.
Let's talk about your friends.
MD Micky Duka
Make your own friends, buddy. I'm not saying nothin'. I talk to you, they'll kill me.
If you don't help me, I'll kill you now, Mick.
MD Micky Duka
The Saints tell me nothing!
Nothing? They pay your rent... your legal bills. You should know something.
MD Micky Duka
(Frank lights up a blow torch in front of Micky)
What's the torch for?
Two thousand degrees, Mick. Enough to turn steel into butter. It won't hurt at first. It's, uh, too hot, you see? The flame sears the nerve endings shut, killing them. Then you'll go into shock... and all you'll feel is... cold. Isn't science fun, Micky?
MD Micky Duka
I-I don't know shit!
You'll smell burning meat, and then...then, it'll hurt.
MD Micky Duka
I SWEAR, I'M TELLING THE TRUTH!!!
[Frank goes behind the tied-up Mickey and uses the blow-torch on a steak and rubs Micky's back with a popsicle, and Micky flips out, thinking he's torching his back]
Smell that, Mick? I'm burning off some of your fat.
MD Micky Duka
I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING! Anything, anything you wanna know.
MD Micky Duka
Okay, any involvement in Howard Saint's business involves two Cubans: the Toro brothers. They control all the prostitution and gambling, up and down the gulf coast. Tons of cash. They give their dirty money to Howard Saint, who transports it in cigarette boats to his banks in Grand Haven; washes it, and wires it back clean as a whistle.
MD Micky Duka
[Frank jabs him in the back]
FU--! FOR THE LOVE OF GO-! [Castle sticks a popsicle in his mouth and lowers him]
MD Micky Duka
You are not a nice person. So, what's up, you gonna string up Howard Saint and blowtorch him?
I like that idea. But I have something better. And guess what? You're gonna help me. Unless you wanna stay Howard Saint's lackey for the rest of your life.
MD Micky Duka
I hate the Saints. All of them.
Tell me about them. What do they do; where, when.
MD Micky Duka
Howard Saint's a man of strict habits. He has first tee time five days a week at Tampa Springs. Never fails. He likes money, he likes power. But the thing this guy covets most, the wife, Livia. What happened to your family, Howard did that for her. She's just like him, and she's just as predictable. Every Thursday, she works out, gets her nails done and goes to the movies. Howard knows every move this broad makes. Any man who looks at her wrong, he ends up in Tampa Bay. Let's not forget Johnny boy, the son you didn't kill. What a putz. Last, but not least, Quentin Glass. Been with Howard 20 years-- the family consigliere, lawyer, CPA and a sadist. Who knows what's going on with this guy.
