number of Peter Patzak?
That's P-A-T-Z-A-K.
- Need a pencil?
- No.
On Mulberry Street.
Thank you.
5, 8, 1, 9...
6...
2.
That was funny.
Patzak, please. P-A-T-Z-A-K
on Mulberry Street in Manhattan.
Thank you.
- 5, 8, 6, 2...
- Don't.
9, 3, 8, 0.
Now I have forgotten the number.
What is wrong with you? Are you all right?
I have had a terrible, terrible night.
Do you understand?
I'm just trying to entertain you.
I don't want any entertainment!
And I'm sorry I did that.
I'm under... Oh, God.
I'm unable to get home tonight.
I can't get home.
And I'm trying desperately...
to find a place where I can stay tonight.
All I want to do sleep.
I could stay in a place on Spring Street,
but I don't want to.
- Why not?
- Why not what?
Why aren't you there? Go.
Because the bartender who lives there,
his girlfriend killed herself tonight.
And I think it's because of me.
- That's out, then.
- That's right, that's out.
That is not a possibility.
So if you just let me
make this phone call...
you'd be doing me such a favor,
you really would.
That can wait.
I hurt your arm, and now
I want to dress your arm, please.
All right.
- How'd that get there?
- What?
- I was dipping papier-machй earlier.
- What is this?
"A man was torn limb from limb...
"by an irate mob last night...
"in the fashionable SoHo area
of Manhattan...
"Police are having difficulty identifying
the man because no form of ID...
"was found on his shredded clothing."
Shredded?
"His entire face was pummeled
completely beyond recognition..."
Forget that.
I can't handle things like that right now.
What does a guy have to do
to get his face pummeled?
- Why does it hurt so much?
- Because it's infected.
- Stop touching it!
- I want to get it off...
- I know. I'll burn it off.
- No.
I just need matches. I'll go ask a neighbor.
- No, lady!
- My name is Gail!
No matches. That's enough now.
Where are you going?
I'm going home. I'm walking home now.
- How far is home?
- East 91st Street.
East 91st? Are you kidding?
Listen, I like you.
Why don't I give you a ride
in my Mister Softee truck?
How does that sound?
- Where's the truck?
- Right around the corner.
Come on.
Come on.
- What's the matter?
- Shut up.
What's wrong?
- You're dead, pal.
- I'm what?
Gail, what are you doing? What's wrong?
Gail, what is it?
Are you still giving me a lift home?
Why are you looking at me like that for?
That's him! Over there with the whistle.
That's him! Get him!
Shit!
Help! Call the police!
I went to school with your son.
Mom, it's me! I can't... God damn it!
You're so stupid! Come on! Cut it out!
I'll probably get blamed for that.
What do you want from me?
What have I done?
I'm just a word processor,
for Christ's sake!
Excuse me.
I wonder, would you...
It's okay.
Would you help me?
Would you please help me?
What do you want me to do?
Where do you live?
Can you take me home?
There's certain things that I will not do.
I'm telling you in advance.
I really have to tell you something
before we start.
I have never done this with a man before.
I'm a little bit nervous.
Listen, can I...
Can I use your telephone?
- Sure. It's...
- I see it. That's great.
- Operator.
- Get me the police, please. Right away.
Just a minute.
- 12th Precinct, Fitzgerald.
- Yes, Officer. Thank God.
My name is Paul Hackett. I'm in SoHo.
I don't know the exact location.
I'm being persecuted by a vigilante mob.
I'm sure you're aware of their actions.
Now, I have every reason in the world
to believe that my life is in serious danger.
Evidently, there's a series of robberies...
that are being conducted
in this neighborhood.
Just get some sleep, buddy.
Hello?
I don't believe you.
I'm sorry. I wonder...
Could I just crash out
on your couch here for a couple hours?
I am just beat.
Why don't you just go home?
I've been asking myself that one
all night long.
So? What happened? Why