Hollywood Homicide

Joe Gavilan:
If I take my gingko... I can still remember where I put the Viagra.

K.C.:
I know you're gonna say it's none of my business, but when's the last time you got laid?

Joe Gavilan:
None of your business.

Van Family Son:
We're gonna die. I know we're going to die.

K.C.:
Yes, actually. We, we will die.

Van Family Mom:
No, you're not gonna die.

K.C.:
I don't mean right now.

K.C.:
It's not about the sex.

K.C.:
OK, so I got into it for the sex, but it's not about that anymore.

Joe Gavilan:
You dog, you.

Joe Gavilan:
F*** you very much!

Ruby:
Bad cop! No donut.

Joe Gavilan:
Yes, Yes, I do understand the rights you just explained to me. But you know what? I don't like to remain silent, and I do not need an attorney because this is all BULLSHIT!

Joe Gavilan:
AND YOU CAN PUT THAT ON THE RECORD!

Shooting Practice Announcer:
Shooters step up to the 20 yard line.

K.C. Calden:
Thanks, Joe.

Leon:
Joe. K.C.

Joe and K.C.:
Hey, Leon.

Leon:
Hey. I'm making you two primaries on this disaster. Since you made no progress in the Klepto murder, I figure you're due.

K.C.:
Thanks for the confidence.

Leon:
Yeah, no problem.

K.C.:
Well, what do you think?

Joe:
Write this down.

Joe:
Cheeseburger, well done. Raw onion, pickle, ketchup. Nothing else.

K.C.:
Got it. [comes to a police officer] Officer, it's time to get rolling on some chow. This is what the big dog wants, and I want tomato and cucumber on whole wheat with only mustard and bean sprouts.

Hank the Bartender:
[hands them their drinks] The doctor's in. Help is on its way.

K.C.:
Thanks, Hank. [sighs] Something wrong, Joe?

Joe:
What do ya mean, "Something wrong?"

K.C.:
You seem down.

Joe:
Down? Me?

K.C.:
Lately. Yeah.

Joe:
We've been partners for what, four months, and now you wanna be my shrink?

K.C.:
Sometimes it helps to talk. That's all I'm saying. [drinks his beer]

Joe:
All right. Let me paint you a picture. Portrait of Joe Gavilan. Seven, eight years ago, I sold off the results of my entrepreneurial efforts up to that point: Three tanning salons and two original silk-tip nail parlors in the Antelope Valley, and I started attending weekend Real Estate seminars at the Airport Hyatt. You know, "How to Make $1 Million in Real Estate with Very Little Money Down."

K.C.:
Sounds good.

Joe:
Started out with a condo in Sherman Oaks. Slapped some paint on the walls. Refaced the kitchen cabinets. Traded up to a smoke-damaged ranch in Tarzana, then a Spanish on Outpost, and a fake Mediterranean in Los Feliz. Pretty soon, I had everything I've got tied up in this... this monstrosity... on Mt. Olympus, at the corner of Hercules and, I sh*t you not, Achilles.

K.C.:
So what's the problem?

Joe:
The problem is if I don't score a big commission or get rid of this... piece of sh*t on Mt. Olympus... well, the word *Titanic* comes to mind.

K.C.:
Joe, I know a girl who works for some rich producer. Says he might sell his place. Maybe you can get the listing.

Joe:
Got a name?

K.C.:
Well, her name's like Minnie or Moma. Or something like that, I don't remember.

Joe:
Not the girl, hot rocks, the producer.

K.C.:
Oh, I don't know the producer. Way before my time, I...

K.C.:
Hey, Joe, you ready for something?

Joe:
Shoot.

K.C.:
I don't think I want to be a cop anymore.

Joe:
Come on, you need some fresh air. [to Hank] Put this on my tab, Hank.

Hank:
What tab?

Joe:
I got more time in the third-floor crapper than you do on the job, pal. You can't open my locker without a search warrant. I know my rights.

Lt. Bennie Macko:
Well, I appreciate a man who knows his rights. [hands Joe the search warrant] There you go.

Joe:
Commingling funds, huh? That's my crime? Commingling? Guilty. My alimony number one comes from money commingled with my beer money. My refinanced car commingled with the short-term loan to keep the second mortgage paid off, commingled with my alimony number three, commingled with every Goddamn dime I've got tied up in my Mt. Olympus property. My whole life's commingled.

Bennie:
Well, I glad you brought up the property on Mt. Olympus. You're attempting to sell it without disclosing you also own it.

Joe:
This isn't about real estate, is it, Bennie?

Leon:
Bennie, what the hell's going on here? Look, as immediate supervisor of these men, you are bound to inform me of any investigation involving my section.

Bennie:
You're so informed.

Leon:
You couldn't have told me first?

Joe:
[to Leon] Welcome to the party, Leon. I'm trying to find out what I'm guilty of, besides going to one too many airport real estate seminars.

Bennie:
Well, for starters, Sergeant, you know a woman named Cleo Ricard?

Joe:
I talk to her. Talks cheap.

Bennie:
Because Administrative Vice, which has been watching her for two years, is on the verge of making a major prostitution bust, and you're in there making promises to her to intervene. In addition to that, you haven't registered her as an informant.

I.A. Detective Zino:
Here's what we got on Gavilan so far: First of all, he's still seeing Cleo Ricard. In fact, he saw her earlier today.

Bennie:
God, he does this right in my face. He's just completely defiant.

I.A. Detective Jackson:
Yeah, well he's clearly continuing to work her as an informant.

Bennie:
Yeah, I know. That's enough to relieve him of duty right there, but, you know, I don't want him relieved of duty. I want him to hang.

I.A. Detective Zino:
Well his financials don't add up. He's paying off three ex-wives. He's got two kids.

Bennie:
He's got two kids in a fancy college. He's got a great, big house. He's got that big stupid car, you know? What about his Real-Estate thing?

I.A. Detective Zino:
Well, he hasn't made a sale in ages.

Bennie:
Well, my source tells me he's getting money from somewhere to keep it afloat, so get me more surveillance.

I.A. Detective Zino:
Okay.

I.A. Detective Jackson:
All righty.

I.A. Detective Zino:
That's Gavilan with Marty Wheeler, attorney for the music business, gambling industry. Sleazeball. You know him.

I.A. Detective Jackson:
[hands another picture to Bennie] Here's Gavilan drinking on duty. We got photos, date, time stamped.

Bennie:
[turning bored] Yeah, okay, this is not criminal. I need criminal sh*t.

I.A. Detective Zino:
Well, boss, this may not be criminal sh*t, but, um...

Bennie:
What is this?

Bennie:
I've got arrest warrants for Gavilan and Calden right here. Hey, separate them! I don't want them talking to anybody! Nobody talks to them until they get downtown! Christ! Sh*t!

Leon:
Shut up and turn around, Bennie!

Bennie:
[turns around] What?

Leon:
Cuff his ass and take him downtown.

Bennie:
What are you talking about?

Bennie:
[argrly] Get your hands off me, you son of a b*tch! You're making a big mistake, pal. You can kiss your career goodbye!

Leon:
Good.

Bennie:
[to Detective Zino] Call my lawyer!