[A local cowboy with connections to the mob has been gambling in Sam's casino, ignoring the casino's rule against guests putting their feet up on the table.] Sam Rothstein: I don't give a shit who he's connected to. Tell him to take his fucking feet off the table. What does he think this is, a goddamn sawdust joint? Billy Sherbert: Sir, would you mind taking your feet off the table and put your shoes on, please? Cowboy: (sighs) Yeah, I would mind. I'm having a bad night. [Billy returns to Sam, who is watching from across the room.] Billy Sherbert: Fucking asshole won't budge. Sam Rothstein: Call security. [Billy leaves to call casino security; Sam approaches the cowboy himself.] How are you? Cowboy: Good. How are you? Sam Rothstein: Good. You want to do me a favor? You want to take your feet off the table and put your shoes back on? Cowboy: Fuck you. [Sam just looks stunned]. Sam Rothstein: [Pauses, then turns to the arriving security guards] I want you to exit this guy off the premises and I want you to exit him off his feet and use his head to open the fuckin door. Security Guard: Sir, you're going to have to leave. You mind accompanying us outside? Cowboy: Bullshit, I ain't going anywhere with you. Security Guard: Bullshit, you're outta here, cowboy! [The senior guard pulls the cowboy's sock-feet off the table] [Four security guards grab the cowboy and carry him outside, ramming his head into the door to open it as Sam instructed.] Cowboy: Fuck you! Fuck you! Security Guard: Yeah? Cowboy: Do you know who you're fucking with?! Huh?!! Do you?! Security Guard: Now, move along. Cowboy: [to Sam Rothstein] You fuckin' faggot! Do you know who you're fucking with?! [to security guards] Leave me alone! Security Guard: Here we go. Cowboy: You've gotta be kidding me! Sam Rothstein {as narrator}: Sure enough, an hour later, I get a call. Nicky Santoro: Ace, what happened over there? I mean, did you know that guy you threw out was with me? Sam Rothstein: No, I didn't know that. But you know what he did? Nicky Santoro: No. Sam Rothstein: He insulted Billy. And then I walked over to him politely, and he tells me to go fuck myself. Nicky Santoro: What?! Sam Rothstein: Then he called me a faggot. So what do you think I do? I threw that cocksucker out. Nicky Santoro: What? Ho-- [puts down phone and addresses cowboy] Hey, come here. You called my friend a faggot? You tell him to go fuck himself? Cowboy: Nicky, I did-- Nicky Santoro: Is that what you did? Cowboy: I did-- I didn't-- Nicky Santoro: Tell him to go fuck himself? [hits cowboy on the head with the phone] You fucking hick! Fuckin', you big fuckin' hick, you. Come here. Come here. Get him up. Come here. Frank Marino: Get up, Get up. Nicky Santoro: Come here. Come here. You go over there right now and you apologize. You better hope he lets you back in. If you ever get out of line over there again, I'll smash your fuckin' head so hard, you won't be able to get that cowboy hat on. You hear me? Fucking hick. [resumes phone conversation] Sammy, listen. This guy obviously doesn't know who he was talking to. You understand? He doesn't know that... we're dear friends. I mean, he's already very sorry. But... if you could do me a favor and let him back in, I swear to you he'll never get out of line again. I promise you that. Sam Rothstein: If he does it again, he's out for good. I don't care what it is, Nick, I'm gonna ha-- I'll never let him in the place again. Nicky Santoro: I'm sorry about this. Really. All right, Ace? Sam Rothstein: Okay. Nicky Santoro: Thanks, pal. [hangs up the phone and turns to cowboy] You took your boots off? You put your feet on the table... You shit-kicking, stinky, horse-manure-smelling motherfucker you! You fuck me up over there, I'll stick you in a hole in the fuckin' desert! You understand? [slaps cowboy in the face] Go over there and apologize. Go! Get the fuck out of--! Cowboy: Nicky, I'm sorry!

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