(panting)
Uh... (stammers)
- I can explain. - Oh, you hear that, Ray?
He's gonna explain.
Go ahead, once upon a time...
- I fucked you. - You sure did.
But here we are, Greg.
- Uh, it's Gregory. - Ow.
Greg's fine.
Man, where the fuck is our money?
If I tell you,
what-what's to stop you from killing me?
Face it, gentlemen, I still have
the upper hand-- (screams)
Hey, eat your fucking flan.
The only thing keeping you alive is that
we are not by nature violent men.
Well, I did play NFL football.
- Did you kill anyone, Ray? - RAY: No.
So I can continue?
The point is, we'll probably be clumsy about your demise.
- It could take days. - DANNY: The novices that we are.
Or you can give us our money and we can go our separate ways.
Oh, they're always accusing us of breaking kneecaps.
Maybe we should try it once.
You're right. You know when you're right, you're right.
That said... we don't
want him coming out better than he was.
You mean like those titanium knee replacements?
RAY: Oh, they're amazing.
I mean, they have you walking
right after surgery.
Fine, we'll just crush your nuts.
There you go!
So what do you say?
(gulps) I'm renting a villa down the street.
Can you just say "house," asshole?
I'm renting a house down the street.
- That's where your money is. - That's better.
Let's take a walk while you still can.
How'd you guys find me?
I thought I covered my tracks pretty well.
Genius, you rented a villa
in the offshore gambling capital of the universe.
You know, they have a monkey sanctuary here.
I-I gave them a little bit of your money.
So I did hear a monkey.
Hey, what up, boys?
- God. - Not a good time, fellas.
Oh, now you've piqued my interest.
So what's the, uh, what's the story on Bazooka Joe here?
He owes us a little money.
(laughs) The day of reckoning.
Hey, I got a gun. You guys need a gun?
No. No guns.
You know what, I'll just stay close
in case you change your mind.
♪ ♪
(monkey screeching)
You hear that?
Your money made that possible.
Just open the door, dipshit.
Ah, this is a lovely villa.
Oh, thank you. Villa.
All right, where is it?
Hang on, these two... gentlemen were not
- part of the agreement. - What's the agreement?
Could you please step outside so we can do this?
- Oh, come on, we're all friends here. - Yeah.
- (Danny sighs) - He gives us our money back?
"Back"? This ain't a guy who welched on a bet?
- Not exactly. - Well, then what exactly?
- He stole it from us. - BOTH: Oh!
Well, how much?
(smacks lips)
$3 million.
- (chuckles) - (whimpers)
- Jesus! - I mean, what the fuck?!
I'm sorry, but somebody had to do it.
No, they didn't.
Now we don't know where the money is.
Oh, yeah.
Well, I guess we got to toss the place.
What do you mean "we"?
This is our money he stole.
And yet I'm the one holding the murder weapon.
- You got anything? - Yeah.
You rush the sucker with the gun,
and I'll take the other guy.
(objects clattering)
- Anything in the bedroom? - LOU: Nah.
Just some kiddie porn.
I knew it.
Didn't I say he was a diddler?
You did! He called it years ago.
Well, I guess taking him out was a public service.
- Good for me. - Now what?
I'm a little hungry. Anybody want some eggs?
You can eat now? Are you fucking kidding me?!
Oh, I'm sorry, princess.
Is your tummy in turmoil?
Man, fuck you!
Hello.
Think we found our money.
"Our"?
Again?
(ringtone playing)
- Hey, Nick. - So I took the liberty
of seeing if our receptionist and her sister
were open to making $10,000 this evening.
And I'm sitting here with my fucking dick in my hand.
- Sorry, ladies. - DANNY: Yeah, well, uh...
we ran into a little trouble with two guys from Boston.
- Who you with? - Spread 'Em Sports.
Yeah, Spread 'Em Sports?
NICK: Oh, figures.
Put me on speaker, will you?
Fellas, we haven't met.
My name is Nick Quatrani.
The Q Tip?
Oh, good, my reputation precedes me.
Listen, the guys you're bracing over there,
- they're friends of mine. - MICKEY: Yeah, we're sorry,
Mr. Quatrani, we didn't know.
Well, now you do.
Proceed with caution.
Yes, sir.
NICK: Danny, Ray?
Do we have a deal?
- You bet. - Thank you.
Now that that's all clear,
I just want to say
I hate the fucking Red Sox.
(indistinct chatter)
(Danny grunting)
DANNY: Need more Vaseline.
- Thank you. - RAY: You about done?
DANNY: Not gonna lie, Rayfield, I'm struggling here.
RAY: You want to explain these diamonds to customs?
- Make it happen! - DANNY: Make it happen.
Like I can just make it happen.
RAY: Who knows?
Maybe a latex condom packed with diamonds
- will shrink your prostate. - (Danny grunts)
DANNY And... the gate's closed.
(exhales)
Don't fart, don't fart, don't fart.
("Hypnotize" by The Notorious B.I.G. playing)
♪ I put hoes in NY onto DKNY ♪
♪ Miami, D.C. prefer Versace ♪
♪ All Philly hoes know it's Moschino ♪
♪ Every cutie with a booty bought a Coogi ♪
♪ Now who's the real dookie? ♪
♪ Meanin' who's really the shit? ♪
(music fades)
Hello? Anybody?
I'm home.
("Runnin' With the Devil" by Van Halen playing)
♪ I live my life like ♪
- Oh, shit. - ♪ There's no tomorrow ♪
♪ All I've got, I had to steal... ♪
So, Sunny, where did you and Carl meet?
Long Beach Harbor.
What, like in a bar?
Shipping container.
That's romantic.
I brought you some fresh ones.
- Oh. - Oh, thank you.
- Mm-hmm. - Huh?
Ah-ah-eh! What do you say?
Daddy, please?
(laughing): Yeah, that's my girl.
Hey, so what's with junior?
He's not really a joiner, is he?
Yeah, he marches to his own drum.
He is very creative.
CARL: Mm-hmm.
I'm not a trained profiler,
but you should keep an eye on him.
- What is that supposed to mean? - Take it easy,
just if you see a crucified squirrel
in your backyard, you give me a holler.
Hey, I was looking for you guys.
Oh, hey, welcome home.
- (whispers): How'd it go? - (whispers): Not here, but good.
- Okay. - Oh, where'd you go, Danny?
- Ah, you know, here and there. - CARL: Uh-huh.
You felonious motherfucker, come here.
Let me introduce you to some of my colleagues.
Yep.
This is Lester Pinkus. He's SWAT.
- How you doing? - Hey.
Over here, we got Ron Bullock. Hey, Ronny.
- Hey. What's up? - Grand theft larceny.
Oh, my goodness, it's Hank Wilbury.
Used to be homicide, now he's K-9.
Woof! (laughs)
He shot his wife in the ass.
Claimed she was a prowler.
Legend.
Look.
Everybody you see here is my friend.
You're my friend, which means
they're your friends.
Terrific.
Listen, I need a favor.
Please tell me you ran out of hot dog buns.
You remember how I dispatched some evildoers
on your behalf, huh?
For which you were handsomely compensated.
Yeah, true, but we both agree
that I saved your worthless fucking life.
Sure.
You see that fat fuck over there
with the crew cut and the mustache?
That doesn't narrow the field.
Striped shirt, combover.
- Okay. - He's a rat, and he needs to go away.
Oh, you mean he...?
That's right.
DANNY: Well, I don't know what's your rush.
The way he's going down on that bratwurst,
I don't think he sees Christmas.
I need it done now.
Come on, Carl. You know me.
I'm a pussy.
I can't eat a piece of fish
with the head still on it because of the eyes.
But you know the people who can get it done.
Yeah, you.
Look, put on your fucking thinking cap
and figure a means by which that lump disappears!
Carl, please don't do this to me.
(laughing): Nah. Nah, I'm just fucking with you.
- What? What? - (laughing)
That's my brother Tommy.
Hey, Tommy!
Meet my neighbor Danny.
He's a criminal!
♪ Runnin' with the devil. ♪
Criminal! (laughs)
GRANDMA: Oh, look at that. (chuckles)
When Rayfield was a baby,
I had to wait for him to fall asleep,
then tiptoe out, praying the floorboards didn't squeak.
Where were his mom and dad?
Well, his mom, my daughter, was a U.S. Marine.
Died in a helicopter accident.
Oh, that's terrible.
And Ray's dad?
That's a good question.
We've narrowed it down to someone
in the 13th Marine Expeditionary Unit.
- Whoa. - Yeah. She was a modern woman.
So he never really knew either of them?
I've always been his mama and his daddy.
Well, I know he loves you very much.
He better. Big dumb motherfucker.
(both laughing)
(chuckles) What's funny?
You.
Guess who had no idea
who Billy Dee Williams is.
- Really? - Or Harry Belafonte.
Sammy Davis Jr., Flip Wilson.
- What do you two talk about? - (Ray chuckles)
We don't do a lot of talking.
GRANDMA: Mm-hmm.
Hence y'all's... predicament.
Uh, can you give us a second, baby?
- Mm-hmm. - (TV plays quietly)
Thank you.
You got to marry that girl.
What?! Why?
I can't have Frank's soul coming back into this world
in the body of a bastard.
Oh, Grandma, you got to stop with this Frank bullshit.
Watch your mouth. Now he visited me
in a dream and said he was coming.
Well, I have dreams, too.
And none of them include marrying Janelle.
Why not? She's smart,
she's beautiful, got a good heart.
Because she played me.
She said we were safe having sex,
and then she went and pulled the goalie.
- What the hell does that mean? - It-It's a hockey thing.
The point is, she's a conniving, cheating, gold digger.
Doesn't mean you can't build a life together.
(Ray sighs heavily)
Bottom line, instead of a guy making a bet with you,
you send him to our website,
where we have all his information,
his bookkeeping, and what's probably most valuable,
we can analyze his betting patterns.
- And the money's transferred how? - Cryptocurrency.
Or as I like to call it... tax evasion.
All right, I think we got it.
Oh, hey, uh, one of our computer kids clocked something funky
with a client of yours:
978.
That's Shelly.
Yeah, we had a rough ride with him.
Not surprised.
He's not who he says he is.
His real name is Arthur Fredricks.
Runs bets for a guy named Walt Dinty.
Say that again.
Dinty. D-I-N-T-Y. You know him?
Holy shit.
Sounds like a "yes."
That motherfucker played us.
Well, unfortunately, that's what motherfuckers do.
Would you like Uncle Nick to handle it?
- No, we got it. - We do?
Yes, Ray, we got it!
Don't bark at me in front of Uncle Nick.
Give me a good reason why we don't kill you right now.
Danny, we both know you're not the kind of guy who...
Okay, maybe you are.
How'd you fuck us on the WNBA?
WALT: Oh, that's a fun story.
So I took a bad beat
from this syndicate of MIT geniuses.
And to get healthy, I just copied their action.
- Against us. - Not just you!
I-I also fucked the Rodriguez brothers up in Camarillo.
So these MIT guys-- they took the under
on the WNBA All-Star Game?
They're super nerd freaks, Ray.
Yeah. You know what they killed me with? Golf.
They had the outright winner of the Waste Management Open.
- Fuck. - There's a new kind of predator out there, boys,
and we're just gazelles sipping at the crick.
- (Walt groans) - The only predator
you should worry about is me.
I don't have algorithms, I don't have a college degree.
Fuck, I didn't even finish high school.
The only thing I got is an overpowering need
to rip your throat out and fuck the hole.
- Ray? - I'd actually like to see that.
Oh, I'm so sorry.
Please don't fuck my throat?
Listen to me very carefully.
Whatever you do in Orange County is your business.
You step into the greater Los Angeles basin,
and I will end you.
(stammers) Okay.
(Walt sighs)
Oh, hey, what about Pomona?
I got a whale in Pomona.
- Don't push me, Walt! - Got it.
Got it.
Oh, hey, and how do you guys want
to handle my majority ownership of your book?
Throat-fucking time.
I'm kidding!
Come on, man. I'm kidding.
I really thought you were gonna kill him.
I left the bullets in the car.
- Have you shown these to anyone else? - No. Why?
'Cause diamonds this perfect come with a lot of sadness.
- What's that mean? - You ever heard of blood diamonds?
- Yeah. - Well, these are like the elevator in The Shining.
- Is that a problem? - Oh, if you're a man of ethics
and morals, yes.
- So you're good with 'em? - Of course.
- What's the number? - Two million.
- Three-five. - Two-seven-five.
- Three. - Done.
Wait. Man, that was too easy.
The Cowboy doesn't dance The Frug
when the merchandise is this good.
All right, so we got a deal.
Oh, you got to give me a day or two
- to get the cash together. - No problem.
Oh, look, while we're here,
you want me to put one of these on a ring
for the lady in your life as a symbol
of your love and affection?
- We're good. - Nah.
(quiet chatter)
(glasses clinking)
- Thank you. - Yeah, thanks.
That was terrifying.
My heart is beating like a rabbit.
To Greg. May you rot in hell, you fucking weasel.
(mockingly): It's Gregory.
- Oh. - (chuckles)
- (exhales) - Before I forget, you should
start parking down the street when you come over to my place.
- Why? - Well, our, uh, favorite cop
bought the murder-suicide house next door.
(laughs)
I've yet to find it funny.
Trust me, it's hilarious. (laughing)
Speaking of neighbors, how's things with the baby mama?
Grandma is pushing for us to get married
so that the guy she killed won't come back as a bastard.
Hmm. Makes sense.
RAY: Oh, incoming.
Oh, shit.
- Hiya. - You miss us?
- What are you doing here? - Well, aside from getting hammered
and falling asleep at the hotel pool...
...we came to visit our friends.
- That would be you, princess. - DANNY: Hang on.
Hang on. I thought Nick made it abundantly clear
that we were off-limits.
He did. But sadly, he had an untimely death.
The big C.
Cancer?
Cliff.
(laughs)
(vehicle doors close)
What are you doing here?
- My job. - Your job?
Yeah, nobody felt worse than me when I screwed the pooch.
So, as a matter of professional pride,
I used all my resources...
...and found your guy.
Oh, Chuck.
(muffled, indistinct speech)
- That's not the guy. - (muffled speech)
- You sure? - Yeah, we're sure!
- (muffled whimpering, chatter) - We're sure.
- Well, shit. - (muffled whimpering)
- Back to the drawing board. - No!
No more goddamn drawing board.
Needless to say, this one's on me.
- (muffled shouting) - (engine starts)
(muffled shouting continues)
Don't kill him!
♪ ♪
♪ J'aime ♪
♪ I love Jimmy Luxury ♪
♪ J'aime ♪
♪ Hey, hey, la-da-da-da ♪
♪ I'll see you tomorrow in Havana ♪
♪ I love Jimmy Luxury ♪
♪ Hey, hey, la-da-da-da ♪
♪ I'll see you tomorrow in Havana. ♪