A coffee for Tom.
Sign here, please.
Waiter.
Cinzano.
You okay?
No, I just got robbed.
Are you hurt?
No, I just can't get home.
He won't take me.
Come on.
Thanks.
Where's home?
Uh, Pozzuoli.
That's not enough.
How's it going?
Good.
Can I sit?
I'm Carlo.
You're American.
I like Americans.
This is my friend, Dickie.
Pleasure. How you doing?
Picasso, huh?
So, Tom explained to you what we spoke about?
Why don't you tell me.
Okay. It's not complicated.
Tomorrow, the next day, whenever,
you both meet me at the train station in Naples.
I'll have two tickets for you,
half the money, 50,000 lire each,
and a suitcase.
You take it to Paris, deliver it to the address I give you.
Where you'll get the rest of the money.
And that's that.
What's in the suitcase?
It makes no difference.
No one is going to stop a couple of American tourists that look like you.
Drugs?
Guns?
Stolen art, what?
It's not your concern.
It's very much my concern.
It isn't your friend's.
He didn't even ask.
Yeah, what?
Like a man afraid he's about to be eaten by an animal.
At some point in life his balls were cut off.
My address.
How are you?
Great.
There's something for you.
Here.
Nothing for you, my dear Tom.
Okay, Matteo. Thanks.
I'm going out, to the market.
All right.
What?
Nothing.