Human Target, Season Two

Christopher:
Winston, I'm sorry for getting you into this mess. I'm sorry for whatever torture you had to endure because of me. Most of all, I'm sorry about Aunt Suzy.

laverne:
Aunt Suzy? No man, not Aunt Suzy (then he shoots Winston).

Ilsa:
You know, I thought you'd be different.

Christopher:
Taller?

Ilsa:
No.

Christopher:
Younger?

Ilsa:
No, braver.

Ilsa:
There are a lot of smarter ways to earn a dollar.

Christopher:
I'm not very bright.

Ilsa:
You are brave. You must have a lot to be redeemed for.

Christopher:
I do.

Ames:
What are you going to do with that? Are you going to hit a defenseless girl again? Huh, tough guy!

Guerrero:
You're going through what I call the, "5 Phases of Fear": Denial, Anger, Frustration, Acceptance, and eventually, Fear.

Laverne:
Gentlemen clientele.

Christopher:
Pretty safe to say.

Laverne:
Noting safe about that place.

Christopher:
Are you worried about me?

Laverne:
Ok, so you want to tell me why we're taking this case?

Chance:
Seven years ago I killed her husband.

Guerrero:
Who's the dude?

Laverne:
You're drunk.

Christopher:
You're not wearing your glasses.

Guerrero:
Fell into a meat grinder, new pair won't be ready until tomorrow.

Mrs.Brooks:
You, you killed Daniel.

Christopher:
There's an assassin in this house, I can protect you.

Laverne:
He's a bad kid.

Guerrero:
No, he's not. I know bad people. This kid isn't bad. He's a punk. Show me some bodies, then we can talk.

Christopher:
What are you going to do with your cut?

Laverne:
I am a simple man. Couple pairs of nice shoes, 300-foot yacht. That's all I need.

Ames:
You know, if you had said to me a few years back that I'd be working straight, I'd have thought you were crazy.

Laverne:
If you told me ten years ago I'd be drinking with you and the rest of these crooks in here, I'd have you committed.

Ilsa:
Tell me about it. Will someone pour me a drink?

Guerrero:
There goes the good stuff.

Ilsa:
And when I asked you about rescue options, you said there weren't any.

'Christopher:
Well, I meant that I couldn't think of any.

Ilsa:
Well, what's the difference?

Christopher:
In the interim, I may have... thought of one.

Guerrero:
Dude, no way.

Laverne:
Why? It's a simple Norma Jean.

Guerrero:
First of all, there's no such thing as a simple Norma Jean. When a Norma Jean goes bad, it goes real bad. A Norma Jean went bad on my cousin Pat. She ended up pregnant with twins.

Guerrero:
Fine. Then I'll go.

'Laverne :
And do what,. Put a gun to Harmen's head?

Guerrero:
What's wrong with putting a gun to his head? A lot of productive things have happened by putting a gun to someone's head.

Baptiste:
And besides, it suddenly occurred to me that--and despite what this says about me and despite how truly distressing the thought... you might be the last friend I've got on this earth.

Christopher:
I spent most of the last six years wishing you were dead. We're not friends. Not by any definition I know of.

Baptiste:
Yeah, well, beggars can't be choosers, right?

Susan:
Do I need to ask why you have a full syringe of anesthetic in your pocket?

'Christopher:
Well, I brought someone with me to help find you. Someone who I was worried might try to screw me over.

Susan:
And where exactly is this someone now?

Ilsa:
My attorney has informed me that I've adopted an adult white male. When I'd laughed it off, he showed me some documentation--signed, by me.

Guerrero:
I only get paid in cash. I've never taken a check in my entire life. Look, men in my vocation can't afford being burnt by a paper trail. Do you know what this is? It's a license to steal. It's a map for thieves. Get your account number, they find your social. They find your social, they got you.

Ilsa:
Who are they, exactly?

Guerrero:
Well, uh.. me... and men of my ilk.

Ilsa:
Well as I've explained to your colleagues, I'm running a legitimate business here. So take your check, deposit it in a secure banking facility, report it to the Federal government, and... wait for it... pay taxes on it.

Guerrero:
Taxes?

Ilsa:
Taxes.

Laverne:
They won't know what hit 'em.

Christopher:
They won't know what hit 'em.

Ilsa:
You know La Traviata?

Guerrero:
All right, I'm not gonna lie. If I have to sit through this baroque stuff, I prefer Rossini.

Bob:
I'm telling you, there's no way my wife is trying to kill me. She loves me. We've never even had a fight.

Laverne:
That should've been your first clue.

Guerrero:
Interior doors are probably alarmed, so...

Winston:
Yeah, I'll get the climbing gear.

Guerrero:
Seriously?

Winston:
Yeah, man. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do what you gotta do

Guerrero:
Look, uh, don't know how to tell you this, but you rappelling off the side of a 40-story building is... not a good idea.

Winston:
Oh, so what's this now, another crack about my size?

Guerrero:
Well... yeah.

Winston:
So I guess you're the love expert now. What, are you waiting for me to give you an apology for doubting you?

Christopher:
Love is never having to say you're sorry.

Winston:
Oh why don't you shut up?

Christopher:
Even after you shoot somebody in the chest.

Angie:
Yeah, our relationship may have started out a lie, but, um, it became very real.

Winston:
Yeah. Normally, it's the other way around.

Guerrero:
I think what Winston meant was, it's not the lack of love, but the, uh, lack of friendship that makes for an unhappy marriage.

Christopher:
Did you make that up?

Guerrero:
Nietzsche.

Laverne :
The floor is completely covered with invisible laser sheeting. so anything touches that, and...

Ames':
What happens?

Laverne:
Nothing. What do you think happens? Alarms, guards, reign of terror--keep up.

Ames:
I was just asking a question.

Guerrero':
Look at me. Look at me! What's your name?

Claypool:
Henry Claypool.

Guerrero:
What day is today?

Claypool:
Tuesday.

Guerrero:
Are you a paranoid, bullying douche bag?

Claypool:
Oh, yeah.

Guerrero:
Good. What's the password to your private files in your office?

Ilsa:
Well, I'm sorry that I put everyone in this position. I'm sorry I didn't...

Christopher:
Do you smell that?

Ilsa:
What?

Christopher:
It smells like crap.

Ilsa:
Nice. Very nice. You know, I'm trying to make a heartfelt apology here.

Christopher:
No, I mean, it smells like actual crap.

Laverne:
So let me ask you... do you know anyone, anyone at all, less threatening... than this man?

Harry:
I'm right here.

Laverne:
Less threatening and yet secretly, inexplicably, guaran-damn-teed to fall ass-backwards into the lap of success.

Christopher:
Well played.

Laverne:
Thank you.

Laverne:
You do realize that just because we're men doesn't mean we can't talk about our feelings?

Christopher:
Yes, it does.

Laverne:
Oh, that's good then. Just keep it all balled up like a knot, just… well, it's too late now anyway. She's already gone... caveman.

Christopher:
Oprah

Guerrero:
Do you want to speak to the last person who pushed my buttons?

Ames:
No.

Guerrero:
Good. Because you can't.

Ames:
Where are we going?

Guerrero:
Back to the office to settle this.

Ames:
The CIA is there! Hello, they're gonna kill us!

Guerrero:
Better than a life with you.

Christopher:
Ilsa, I need you to tell me everything about your relationship with your husband.

Ilsa:
What you're asking me to do is going to be very difficult.

Christopher:
Come on, it's just me.

Ilsa:
That's why it's going to be difficult.

Christopher:
Screwing me over.