The Boss: What was on your agenda today? I can't remember.John: We had to kill "Frankie Rubber Butt".The Boss: Ah. [opens a locker] *This* Frankie Rubber Butt? The one who steals the betting money? Oh, shut up! [slams the locker] The arsehole who sold seven of our men to the FBI? [holds up a photo of Frank Contropelo] Or was it this one?Jack: That's him, boss.The Boss: Frankie Backcomber. The barber on the 15th Street. You had to kill a spy! You killed a barber instead. I don't know what to do with you, guys. Two weeks ago you collected the protection money from the wrong shops! And today you killed a barber!Jack: There's also the bourbon incident.The Boss: What bourbon?Jack: It was a bourbon we were supposed to deliver, but we downed it all at Billy Rotten Gum's party.The Boss: What am I supposed to do? Come on - tell me!Jack: Well...The Boss: Jack! It's a rhetorical question, you're not meant to answer it!
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