Mildred Hayes: — Hey, fuckhead!
Jason Dixon: — What?
Cedric Connolly: — Don't say, "What," Dixon, when she comes in calling you a fuckhead!
— I'm sorry I got your hopes up.
— Well, that's all right. That's all right. At least I had a day of hoping, and that's more than I've had for a while.
— You old cunt.
— I'm not old, Robbie.
I guess you can't be too picky about who your friends are these days, huh?
— How much these billboards cost?
— About the same as a tractor-trailer.
And when a person is culpable to altar-boy-fucking, or any kinda boy-fucking, 'cause I know you guys didn't really narrow that down... then you kinda forfeit the right to come into my house and say anything about me or my life, or my daughter, or my billboards. So why don't you just finish up your tea there, Father, and get the fuck outta my kitchen.
— Oh, what's this shit?
— ... And as sad as the spectacle of these burned out billboards might be, in light of the death of Chief Willoughby, this reporter for one wonders if this finally puts an end to the strange saga
of the three billboards outside...
— This doesn't put an end to shit, you fucking retard! This is just the fucking start! Why don't you put that on your «Good Morning Missouri» fucking «Wake Up» broadcast, bitch!
— There was one thing I was thinking.
— What's that?
— I know he ain't your rapist. He is a rapist, though. I'm sure of that.
— What are you saying to me?
— Got his license plate. I know where he lives.
— Where's he live?
— He lives in Idaho.
— That's funny. I'm driving to Idaho in the morning.
— Want some company?
— Sure.
— I wanna know something, Mildred. Why'd you drill a hole through poor fat Geoffrey's thumbnail?
— That did not happen. His hand slipped. He drilled a hole through his own self. Did he say I did it? I guess it's his word against mine, then, huh? Kinda like in all those rape cases you hear about.
— I'd do anything to catch the guy who did it, Mrs. Hayes. But when the DNA don't match no one who's ever been arrested, and when the DNA don't match any other crime nationwide, and when there wasn't a single eyewitness from the time she'd left your house to the time we found her, well... right now there ain't too much more we can do.
— Could pull blood from every man and boy in this town over the age of eight.
— There's civil rights laws prevents that, Mrs. Hayes. And what if he was just passing through town?
— Pull blood from every man in the country, then.
— Then what if he was just passing through the country?
— If it was me, I'd start up a database. Every male baby what's born, stick them on it, and as soon as he done something wrong, cross-reference it, make 100% certain it was a correct match, then kill him.
— Yeah, well, there's... definitely civil rights laws prevents that.
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