You don't parley when you're on the back foot.
— Who is it?
— It's me. Snakes. I got the stuff.
— Leave it on the doorstep and get the hell out of here.
— All right, Johnny, but what about my money?
— What money?
— A. C. Said you had some dough for me.
— Is that a fact? How much do I owe you?
— A. C. Said ten percent.
— Too bad A. C. Ain't in charge no more.
— What do you mean?
<...>
— I'll tell you what I'm gonna give you. I'm gonna give you to the count of ten to get your ugly, yellow no-good keister off my property, before I pump your gu
full of lead.
— All right, I'm sorry. I'm going.
— One, two... ten. Keep the change, you filthy animal.
It's just too much politics. It's too much compromise.
— So I guess you have a choice. You want a war? Or do you wanna just give me a gun?
— Somebody, please! Get this man a gun!
— There's a storm coming. Not just for me. For all of us. For everyone under the Table.
— Yes, killing someone who has a seat at the High Table does create a problem. But it's your problem, baby. After all, none of my people sent Gianna D'Antonio... to the hereafter.
— That being said, Santino has her seat now. And he wants the city. When he's done uptown, you think he's gonna stop at 14th Street?
— We'll just have to take care of ourselves.
— Oh, yeah? For how long? And how much blood? You kill Santino, the Camorra, and the High Table come for you. I kill Santino, they come for me.
— He's offered $7 million for your life. Seven million dollars is a lot of money, Mr. Wick.
— So I guess you have a choice. You want a war? Or do you wanna just give me a gun?
— Somebody, please! Get this man a gun!
— Kimber 1911, .45 ACP. Seven-round capacity.
— Seven rounds?
— Seven million dollars gets you seven rounds. That's a million dollars a round, baby.
— Let's go.
— Hopefully, this will short-circuit me the inevitable "it can't be done" discussion. I need this door open.
<...>
— This may take a bit longer.
— That really is unfortunate. We're gonna need a new engineer. This one's sprung a leak.