— Uh, I'm married.
— That's allowed.
— An Irishman. He knew that railroad coming through Flagstone would continue on west. So he looked over all this country out here untiI he found this hunk of desert. Nobody wanted it. But he bought it. Then he tightened his belt, and for years, he waited.
— Waited for what?
— For the railroad to reach this point.
— But how could he be sure the railroad would pass through his property?
— Them steam engines can't roll without water. And the only water for 50 miles west of Flagstone is right here. Under this land.
— He was no fool, our dead friend. He was going to sell this piece of desert for its weight in gold.
— You don't sell the dream of a lifetime. Brett McBain wanted his station. He got the rights to build it.
— How do you know all this?
— I saw a document. It was all in order. Seals, signatures, everything. One thing, though. In very small print, there is a short clause, which says that McBain or his heirs lose all rights if, by the time the railroad reaches this point... the station ain't built yet.
— Did you bring a horse for me?
— Well, looks like we're... Looks like we're shy of one horse.
— You brought two too many.
One thing for sure... We ain't had a boring marriage.
— Jack, tell me a story.
— Fuck you!
— That's one of my favourites.
— So, I'm no expert, but you don't look like a Pickles.
— Well, you don't look like a cat.
— Okay, okay, okay. Full disclosure: I'm not a cat. I'm a dog.
Nice place. It's neat. <...> You have all those computers inside you, but they can't see me anymore. Now you know what it feels like. One day you're walking down the street, and you're thinking about something completely meaningless, and all of a sudden, you've got a gun pointed at you. And everything becomes very meaningful.
You know the invented something while you were inside. It's called a watch.
— Enjoying Italy?
— Yeah.
— Yes. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for Roma. I did my first bare-handed strangulation here. Communist politician.
— Why, George, you big softy.
— God, I miss Communism. The Red threat. People were scared... the agency had some respect, and I got laid every night.
— Hey, Meghan? I thought that I have been clear about the number of buttons that can be unbuttoned on a shirt.
— You were serious about that?
— It's winter. Can we put Dancer and Prancer back in their stable? Are you body-shaming her right now?
— Some people here might find your outfit offensive.
— Well, some people might find your outfit offensive. And really confusing.
— Oh, I thought it was clear. This is a multi-denominational holiday sweater. It has Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, the Buddhist day of enlightenment, and Boxing Day on it. Everyone's included!
— Is everyone included? What about, um, what about something for the Satanists?
— Drop it.
— What, the tooth?
— No, not the tooth.
— I'm not dropping it.
— Well, it drops or you drop.
— This is a custom handmade Walther PPK that cost me nearly half a million dollars at auction.
— You bought a handgun for half a million dollars?
— And had my personal pistolsmith fit it with a vintage SD-22 SpielWaffen suppressor, of which there are six in the world, for an additional $250,000.
— 750,000 bucks?
— Correct.
— Why in the fuck, Pam, would you ever do something like that?
— Pam?
— Well, I never got your name so I just call you Pam.
— We've met?
— Many, many times, in passing. Let me see it. Slow. Hold it by the trigger guard.
— Handle it as if it were porcelain, please.
— Soft as a whisper. A. H.?
— Adolf, Hitler.
— Qué?
— It was a personal gift from Carl Walther. Hitler kept it in his desk in Munich.
— You've been killing me with fuckin' Hitler's gun this whole time?
— It was stolen by an American serviceman in 1945.
— Jesus, what is wrong with you?
— Fast-forward to present day... — a very pretty penny.
— I didn't think this could get any worse. And it has. Who sent you?
— Wouldn't you like to know.
— Hint, hint?
— Never. Are you gonna kill me now?
— No, Pam, I'm gonna shoot you. That's for the Jews. Those too.