A high school chemistry teacher diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer turns to manufacturing and selling methamphetamine in order to secure his family's future.
— You're out on the town. Yeah, you're partying hearty. You're knocking boots with the chicky babes. Oh, who's this? It's the tax man. And he's looking at you. Now, what does he see? He sees a young fellow with a big fancy house... unlimited cash supply and no job. Now, what is the conclusion the tax man makes?
— I'm a drug dealer.
— Wrong. Million times worse. You're a tax cheat.
People who say «Guess what?» and then actually expect you to guess — I hate those people.
— I used to be a beat cop, a long time ago. I'd get called on domestic disputes all the time. Hundreds, probably, over the years. But there was this one guy, this one of shit that I will never forget. Gordie. He looked like Bo Svenson. You remember him? Walking Tall? You don't remember?
— No.
— Anyway, big boy, 270, 280... but his wife... Or whatever she was... His lady... was real small. Like a bird. Wrists like little branches. Anyway, my partner and I'd get called out there... every weekend... and one of us would pull her aside and say: «Come on, tonight's the night we press charges». This wasn't one of those «deep down, he loves me» setups. We got a lot of those, but not this. This girl was scared. She wasn't gonna cross him. No way, no how. Nothing we could do but pass her to the EMT's, put him a car... drive him downtown, throw him in a drunk tank. He sleeps it off, next morning, out he goes. Back home. But one night... my partner's out sick, and it's just me. The call comes in and it's the usual crap. Broke her nose in the shower kind of thing. So I cuff him, put him in the car and away we go. Only that night... we're driving into town... and this sideways asshole is in my back seat humming «Danny Boy». And it just rubbed me wrong. So instead of left, I go right, out into nowhere. And I kneel him down and I put my revolver in his mouth... and I told him, «This is it. This is how it ends». And he's crying, going to the bathroom all over himself. Swearing to God he's gonna leave her alone. Screaming, much as you can with a gun in your mouth. And I told him to be quiet. That I needed to think about what I was gonna do here. And, of course, he got quiet... goes still and real quiet. Like a dog waiting for dinner scraps. Then we just stood there for a while. Me, acting like I'm thinking things over... and Prince Charming kneeling in the dirt with shit in his pants. And after a few minutes, I took the gun out of his mouth... and I say, «So help me, if you ever touch her again... I will such and such and such, and blah, blah, blah».
— It was just a warning?
— Of course. Just trying to do the right thing. But two weeks later he killed her. Of course. Caved her head in with the base of a Waring blender. We got there, there was so much blood, you could taste the metal. Moral of the story is... I chose a half measure... when I should have gone all the way. I'll never make that mistake again. No more half measures, Walter.
So you're chasing around a fly and in your world, I'm the idiot.
And one must learn to be rich. To be poor anyone can manage.
— How'd you get her to sleep so quick? Are you that boring?
— I'm comforting.
What happens now? I'll tell you what happens now. Your scumbag brother-in-law is finished, done. You understand? I will own him when this is over. Every cent he earns, every cent his wife earns, is mine. Anyplace he goes, anywhere he turns, I'm going to be there, grabbing my share. He'll be scrubbing toilets in Tijuana for pennies, and I'll be standing over him to get my cut. He'll see me when he wakes up in the morning and when he crawls to sleep in whatever rat hole's left for him after I shred his house down, I will haunt his crusty ass forever until the day he sticks a gun up his mouth and pulls the trigger just to get me out of his head. That's... what happens next.
Never make the same mistake twice.
— Why can't you just arrest him, make him tell you?
— It's not that simple, baby. There's a little thing called the Constitution.
When you have children, you always have family. They will always be your priority, your responsibility, and a man... a man provides. And he does it even when he's not appreciated or respected or even loved. He simply bears up, and he does it... because he's a man.
It always amazes me the way the senses work in connection to memory. I mean, this stew is simply an amalgam of ingredients. Taken separately, these ingredients alone don't remind me of anything. Hmm. Not very much at all. But, in this precise combination, the smell of this meal instantly — it brings me back to my childhood.
Believe me, there's no honor among thieves. Except for us, of course.
