Stay away from me, Castle! I got friends, you know.
Let's talk about your friends.
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.
The Saints tell me nothing!
Nothing? They pay your rent... your legal bills. You should know something.
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?
I-I don't know shit!
You'll smell burning meat, and then...then, it'll hurt.
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.
I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING! Anything, anything you wanna know.
That's a good boy.
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.
[Frank jabs him in the back]
FU--! FOR THE LOVE OF GO-! [Castle sticks a popsicle in his mouth and lowers him]
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.
I hate the Saints. All of them.
Tell me about them. What do they do; where, when.
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.
