— 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.
— This is the United States of America, kid. I set the price, and it's $200.
— I know where I live, man. I'm just saying, you ain't selling what you say you're selling.
— Listen, kid, I did two tours. I think I know a Russian AK when I see one. You want to buy something? Why don't you go buy yourself a soda pop?
— Hey, Dad! Check this out. The gas cylinder on the Russian AK — has four escape holes.
— Right.
— The Egyptian Maadi has two.
— True.
— This here, be an Egyptian AK. Ain't nothing Russian about it.
— Okay, playtime's over. You see the little fat man in the Ray-Bans back here? Now, I say the word, you and junior here are kissing asphalt in the parking lot.
— Let me ask you something. Little fat man in the Ray-Bans have any idea you're hustling off Egyptian AKs to a 14-year-old boy?
— $150.
— Done. For both.
— $150 for two AKs?
— Two fake AKs, friend.
— I'll lose my goddamn shirt.
— Ah, that's better than losing your goddamn license.
— Oh, you're a real fucking prick.
See what these kids do is hear about us totin' pistols
And they want to get one cause they think the shit's cool
Not knowin' we really just protectin' ourselves, we entertainers.
Step forward, beast, from the swirling mists of chaos that surround. Allow me to regard you wholly.
Hmm. You carry the weight of ageless centuries upon such diminutive shoulders.
Yet, what is this? It seems your stature is deceiving.
A weapon is naught without the hand that wields. To fell enemies, to defend honour… to break chains.
Let your Crown take the form of one of these works of iron, forged in everlasting fire.
May you wield them well, Promised Liberator.
Gun bans don't disarm criminals, gun bans attract them.
— Good afternoon, Walt.
— I told you I'm not going to confession.
— Why didn't you just call the police?
— What?
— I do work with some of the Hmong gang and I heard there was trouble in the neighborhood. Why didn't you call the police?
— Well… You know, I prayed that they would show up… but nobody answered.
— What were you thinking? Someone could have been killed. We're talking life and death here.
— When things go wrong, you gotta act quickly. When we were in Korea and a thousand screaming gooks came across our line we didn't call the police, we reacted.
— It's like an angry white man's basement in here. Shit, a fucking grenade.
— Pull it. Pull it!
— This ain't fucking Vietnam!
— Hang on to it, then.
Well, believe it or not, I got a flamethrower in my toolshed.