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Ракетчик

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landing.
Where we gonna get this kind of dough?
We've gotta sell the Gee Bee for scrap!
I'm sorry. I hate to
kick you when you're down.
But business is business.
I'm out of pocket here.
Of course, I could always
use the old clown act.
We don't do the clown act
no more.
Peevy, it's worth
fifteen bucks a shot.
10 bucks a shot;
5 bucks goes toward your bill.
Think it over. See it my way
or see me in court.
The clown suit is
in the storeroom.
First show's at nine.
Don't be late.
Lousy nickel-nurser.
Clown act!
Good thinkin', Clifford!
You just set us back four years.
Plus which "Miss Mabel" here
is a flying coffin.
She never let us down before.
I'll go real easy on her.
Number five piston is shot,
nothing left but spit and wire.
I could fly a shoe box
if it had wings, Peev.
- Ouch!
- What's the matter?
There's somethin'
under this seat.
[Grunting]
That's my
duffel bag.
- What've you got in there?
- I don't know, but it's heavy.
- Peev, clean that table off.
- All right.
Open her up.
[Gasp]
Oh, my!
What've we got here?
Take the bag.
[Grunting]
- That's a piece of work, isn't it?
- Yeah.
What do you suppose it is,
a bomb or somethin'?
Too complex
to be a bomb.
I don't see
any moving parts.
I wouldn't touch that
if I were you.
- The housing's still cool.
- Huh.
[Sniffing]
Runs on alcohol.
What's the damn thing for?
- Hold it, Peev.
- Huh?
Hold it!
[Sawing]
[Cliff]
Tip her over. Tip her over.
- Easy, easy!
- I got it.
Watch it.
[Grunting]
What's goin' on, Sinclair?
Lenny is dead.
Wilmer's wrapped up like
a mummy in County General.
You didn't
play straight with me.
I'm sorry about your boys,
Eddie... truly.
- What went wrong?
- It's the feds that went wrong.
This was supposed to be
a simple snatch-and-grab.
What the hell is going on?
I didn't say
it'd be simple.
Snatch-and-grab is what
you're supposed to be good at.
That's what I pay you for.
Now where's the package?
Nothing's gonna happen
until you tell me...
why this merchandise is
so important to the feds.
Send me a cheque.
- Let's get out of here, boys.
- It's a rocket.
A rocket?
Yeah...
Like in the comic books.
- What happened to it?
- I don't know.
Wilmer knows. He's in
the hospital surrounded by cops.
- In a couple of days...
- We don't have a couple of days.
- What room's Wilmer in?
- [Laughing]
Mr Movie Star!
He's gonna walk in with a smile
on his face and a handful of posies.
He's gonna charm
the feds to death.
[Laughing]
That's not exactly
what I had in mind.
Who cares what
you had in mind?
You don't need
my services any more.
You can take it from here.
I'll tell you what.
You pay me what you owe me
'cause you're half lunatic.
Yes, shoot!
I want that rocket, Eddie, not
next week, not tomorrow... now.
We have a deal?
You bring me that rocket
and I'll double your price.
You'll triple my price.
What's a movie star
need a rocket for anyway?
Bloody amateurs!
## [Opera]
[Phone Ringing]
Yes.
[Sinclair] Lothar,
I've got another job for you...
a condolence call.
[Grunting]
[Cliff]
Come on, Peev.
[Peevy]
Here goes.
[Peevy] Well, I'm lookin' at it
but I don't believe it.
- Peevy... the stake!
- Get down!
That thing'll
cut you in half.
We lost it.
I told you I should have
tested it myself.
Yeah, you'd be halfway
to Kansas by now, chowder head!
[Rumbling]
Turn her off!
Turn her off!
That must've woke up
the whole valley.
Pick her up.
Let's get out of here.
- Peevy, you'd pay to see
a man fly, wouldn't you?
- Ha!
- You've gotta be outta your mind.
- I'm talkin' about making real money.
Not just 10 bucks a show but
enough to get us back on our
feet and into the nationals.
Are your eyes painted on?
This thing is like strapping
nitroglycerine to your back.
- The feds are mixed up in this.
- I don't want to keep it.
I just want to borrow it
for a while.
When you borrow something and don't
tell nobody, they call that
Ракетчик Ракетчик

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