're waiting for somebody to meet you.
What the fuck you talking about?
Ain't nobody know me here.
-Give me the fucking money.
-Sit down.
Now, be looking.
Man over to your right
in the blue wool shirt. The other way.
Derecho.
That's a federal officer.
Most likely DEA.
He moves his leg,
you look for the bulge. Sawy bulge?
Good.
That's his backup piece.
Try it without looking
right at him. If you can.
-What's your name?
-Yayo Portillo.
All right. You know he's there.
Forget about him.
I'm gonna get up. Once I'm gone,
sit in the seat I'm in.
You feel something under your ass.
That's a key...
to a locker
where your half million is...
along with some product
we're returning.
Powder's been stepped on
so many times, it's baby food.
You're supposed to give me
the money yourself!
Try to be cool, Yahoo.
I told you where it is.
Do it how I told you,
and have a safe trip home.
What'd you have for breakfast?
How come you weigh so much?
Did you have a burrito?
Give it to the nice lady.
There you go.
Say thank you.
Thank you.
Like fucking clockwork, huh, Bear?
Hi, Bo!
Hey, Farrah.
You ready to go for a ride, sweetie?
Told you to watch your mouth
around my daughter.
These guys, my investors,
they run a limo service.
They put some money
in a few of my pictures.
Did okay.
They're happy.
This was a few months ago
when I was planning my next picture...
about this band of killer circus freaks
that travel around the country leaving bodies in their wake.
There's a 700-pound fat lady who has
a way of seducing guys in her trailer.
Harry, look at me.
You're trying to tell me you fucked up
without sounding stupid...
and that's hard to do.
Let's talk
about where you're at, okay?
You blew 200 grand
of these limo guys' money...
on a football game in Vegas,
and you didn't tell them. Why?
They don't seem like they'd take it
with any understanding.
They'd break my legs.
You got that on the brain.
If you were so scared, why go to Vegas?
I needed a half-million dollars
to buy a script.
A movie script?
Blockbuster but quality.
No mutants or maniacs.
This is going to be
my ''Driving Miss Daisy.''
Murray Saffrin, the guy who wrote it,
did all my ''Grotesque'' pictures.
Had it in his drawer
for 20 years.
He shows it to me. Says he's got
a major star interested.
-Would I produce it?
-Which star?
Two-time Academy Award nominee,
Martin Weir.
That's Martin Weir.
He played the mob guy
turned snitch in ''Cyclone.''
One of his best parts.
His best was when he played the crippled
gay guy that climbed Mount Whitney.
''Ride the Clouds.''
Good picture.
-That woman. She looks familiar.
-She's a rock star.
Every day, same time,
they have breakfast.
He faces west,
so he can see his billboard.
She faces east
as an excuse to wear her shades.
Unbelievable.
Anyway,
Murray has this shrink...
who happens to be
Martin's personal trainer's shrink.
Murray gives the shrink the script.
The shrink gives it to the trainer,
who reads it to Martin.
-Martin loves it. He flips.
-What's the problem?
The problem is Murray.
Heart attack.
Doris, Murray's widow...
finds out about the Martin Weir thing,
and as Murray and I had no contract...
she wants half a million
for the script.
So you want me to put you
with my dry cleaner...
so he can invest in your movie?
That, or what if
some tragic accident...
were to befall the Widow Saffrin?
No. I'm not going to pop her, okay?
It was just a thought.
I'll tell you what I can do.
I'll meet with these limo guys--
tell them to leave you alone for a while.
Make the point so they understand.
You don't know these guys.
Believe me, Harry.
I know them better than you do.
I once asked a literary agent
what kind of writing paid best.
He said, ''Ransom notes.''
Ransom notes.
Here it is,
''Mr. Lovejoy.''
''Lovejoy sits behind the wheel watching
a bar, getting his video camera--''
Is he following someone?
Read it.
It's a