One Last Ride

Racetrack Teller:
Good luck.

Michael:
Luck's got nothing to do with it.

Michael:
The guys in my family were like your local mailman: rain or snow, sleet or hail, they'd be at the racetrack; nothing stopped them. And the women in my family? Well, they'd be at church... not for Mass, but for bingo - seven days a week.

Charlie Figs:
Al couldn't pick a winner if the race was over. Who'd he get that tip from, the hot-dog lady?

Father:
Only waiters live off tips.

Sid:
Pepperoni killed my stomach last night. I don't know how you Italians survive on it.

Michael:
When your mother's chopping it up and sticking it in your baby food, you get used to it.

Father:
[Michael is about to steal from his mother-in-law] Don't cross that line. There's a big difference between hurting yourself and hurting the family. We're gamblers, not thieves.

Michael:
The last time I bet on that Chicano jockey, I lost everything but my underwear.

Michael:
Hey, Carmine... How about a little more positive thinking here, all right? I tell you all the time, you just think a little more positive, you'll get ahead in life.

Carmine:
Like the night with the gas tank? What did I say? "Michael, fill the gas tank up before we leave." And what did YOU say? "We're gonna make it, Carmine. You gotta think positive." Well, I *was* positive... positive that we were gonna miss the double, and positive that we were gonna run out of gas before we got there - which we did.

Carmine:
I got this idea; I don't know why I never told you about it... My cousin Pauly's been into this for a year or so; he's making money hand-over-fist. It's check-cashing. Listen to how this works, it's great: About a year ago, Pauly's out of work. So, one day, he's collecting a check over at unemployment... when this guy approaches him and tells Pauly about this check-cashing business he's running. He lets him know how simple it is, how much bread he can make; and then he checks Pauly out, to make sure he's not connected to the cops or feds. So then he sets Pauly up with the works - false fingerprints, phony ID... Pauly showed me how to use a spray-on surgical glove to cover the prints. Then he showed me how to use a graphite/cold-cream mixture, which creates a glow on any photo taken by any bank. This guy has major, intense banking knowledge. So he starts selling Pauly checks that he's making on his pay-order machine. Then Pauly starts passing these things out left and right, one end of the state to the other, and a few across the border. Nobody caught on in a year, and he's living like Bill Gates. The best part is this: Pauly buys his own United States Money Order machine, and he starts pumping these checks out twice as fast... The other guy's all right; he's not hurting none - he's doing 8 to 10 in Chino for passing off bad checks. The point is, PAULY'S still making a ton of money. We'd only need two checks.

Michael:
Richie, how does it feel to know that your father flushed you down the toilet?

Tweat:
The deal is, *I make the deals.*

Tweat:
[to Richie] This food is disgusting. What do I pay this cook for? Why did I ever take over this restaurant? [to Michael]... I don't know how your father raised you. But where I come from, when you borrow money, you pay it back on time. The only reason why I didn't let Richie rip your legs off the last couple of months is because Fig stood up for you. Otherwise, you'd be walking in here on stumps. [to Gina]... I could bounce your husband's check against the wall. Forty-one thousand dollars, plus three months interest... I want the whole thing by midnight, twelve sharp tonight - or else Doctor Richie here is gonna give you *and* your husband a c-section.

Carmine:
...I feel like I'm pushing Michael off a cliff here, placing *these* bets.

Charlie Figs:
He'd better take an enema, because his brain is getting clogged. Who's to pay is coming in. I got it from the inside; it's a mortal lock, you can bet your life on it. Now I gotta call my wife; she's going to the gynecologist.

Carmine:
Is she okay?

Charlie Figs:
I think she's having an affair with the doctor, because she's getting checkups *twice a month*. Yeast infection, she says. Yeah, right.

Michael:
What do you know about taking a polygraph-test?

Charlie Figs:
I know enough about it *not* to take one. My own mother failed a polygraph-test, and she was telling the *truth*.