Bullet Head

Come here.

Yeah.

Good boy.

Evening, sir.

[metal door sliding closed]

Watch me.

Watch him.

[crowd cheering and shouting]

Just do it! Kill him!

We're the competition.

Good evening, sir.

Sit.

Release your dogs!

[police sirens wail distantly]

Eddie... huh? Hey.

Eddie.

Yo.

Eddie.

I don't think he's listening.

Eddie?

Why don't I hold onto that for you.

Whole precinct's out there.

But they're looking for four guys in a Cadillac.

We can split up the money, just go solo on foot.

You got a 200-pound mag drill in your back pocket

you been holding and not telling us about?

The car is hidden from the street unless they get close,

but we're sitting ducks down here if they do.

Municipal storage facility.

Anyone with a car owe you a favor?

Short notice, short money?

Not in my Rolodex.

What the fuck's a Rolodex?

Don't talk for a while, okay?

Watch yourself. A lot further to fall.

Car troubles.

Yeah.

Wild card came up a deuce.

Take us a day to crack it.

I can make you whole then.

Right. Right.

What'd he say?

He said we're all over the news.

Told us we're on our own till nightfall at best,

and that he'd need at least 50% hazard pay

to think about sticking his neck out.

He said, "Call back an hour before sundown. "

He'll know if he can send a van,

if it's cooled off by then.

Fucking sundown?

What?

You stupid piece of shit.

No one told me there was alarms.

Yeah, that wouldn't have mattered

if you stuck with the fucking safe

instead of making a detour to the pharmacy section

on your own initiative.

I saw an in, I took it.

Look, I can - I can flip dope. That's good loot.

You fucked us!

No. We should have had pieces.

Pieces? This was a soft in, soft out.

This is no guns needed.

This is candy from a baby.

You going to shoot a cop?

I don't know who I'm going to shoot.

You watch that.

Look, we got the safe and we got out.

That's a fucking score.

Oh, yeah. Why don't you tell

that to our wheelman's wife?

I'm sure she'll be very proud of us.

Maybe you give her a couple hundred from your cut

for the casket.

Yeah, I - I didn't need to bring you in.

To your low-rent box store job? Huh?

We'll be lucky if we pull 30K from this shit-show.

If you even give us a chance to fucking crack this safe.

Thanks for the lead, ace.

Fuck you.

Fuck, you're stupider than your fucking cousin.

Morons.

What?

What the fuck?

He's sick.

Christ.

What the fuck would you know?

Son, I've spilled more dope

than you'll ever live to shoot.

Look, I...

I just didn't have my wake-up this morning, all right?

So you figured you'd nab one

while we were on the clock?

Just let me get well.

All right?

Come on, man. It's...

Your show.

I should let you fucking sweat it.

It's the small bottle. It's yellow powder.

Yeah.

They got a sink in here?

Have we been here longer than you have?

Yeah, whatever.

Stay away from the street-side windows.

And don't go the fuck outside.

Ah, f...

You said this was going to be easy.

Come on. Almost there.

[traffic ambience, cars passing distantly]

STACY, OFF: Sometimes I pretend the sounds of cars passing by

are waves on some little black sand beach, far away from here.

GRACE, OFF: You don't have to pretend.

: Let's fly away.

I fucked up.

Taking down rinky-dink scores

with punks that can't keep their hands out of the cookie jar

long enough to finish the main course?

I dropped the ball, Walker. I'm sorry.

I've seen this.

Guys get shaken up, you know, partner dies,

their kid gets sick.

Maybe their wife balls someone else,

and they start making their own chaos. Walker-

There are only three kinds of last score, Stacy.

The kind where you serve life,

the kind where you're served a bullet,

and the kind - The kind where you walk away.

Man's got to know what he is.

Yeah?

What are you?

You know, I did this score when my kid was little.

Christmas Eve, I couldn't have been, what, 25?

Pet shop job.

I knew this guy, he was the manager.

Says there's going to be 5 grand in the safe.

I guess these places do good on holidays.

You know, what with the kittens

and bunnies, and all that.

I'm counting on this score to put something under the tree

for my little girl, so I go, you know, I crack this safe.

WALKER, OFF: It's a four-number, mechanical combo.

Eyes and ears only.

I am so proud of myself.

I pull this thing open...

There's nothing.

Not a note.

Turns out this manager's a fucking degenerate

like everybody else,

and he's already dropped all the money at the track.

Remember, my little girl

has been listening for sleigh bells all week,

so I go looking for a bunny or a cat to get her.

But all they got left is puppies and fish.

Now, I know who'd be walking a puppy.

So I find this fish.

Tropical one.

Beautiful.

Bright yellow.

Different than the others.

Perfect.

I grab the whole tank.

Must've weighed 60 pounds, cord hanging off the back.

And I'm about to take off.

And I stop and think,

"Am I really about to walk out of a job

with one goddamned fish?"

So I go fishing.

Long shrimp-looking ones,

leopard-type guys,

big old black ones with those big bubble eyes.

Just dropping them in the tank with Yellow.

I'm pretty happy how this worked out, you know?

I never would've come up with this on my own.

It would've been a teddy bear,

or a doll if I was really flush.

But this, this is inspired.

So I slip in, I set up this tank right under the tree,

because I just got to see the look on my daughter's face

when she sees this.

But lugging that aquarium around is hard work.

I'm out as soon as I hit the chair.

Then I wake up, and there's this screaming.

Nothing like that sound.

Sound of your own kid, just screaming.

All these fish are dead.

All bloated up like some East River dump job.

All except that yellow tropical.

Turns out

that freshwater fish don't make it in the salt.

Me, I'm a freshwater fish.

I know I'm in the right tank.

Maybe we should go check on that kid before he, you know,

takes a selfie up on the roof.