| What the hell are these things? |
| Damn right I do. |
| Alright. Relax, have a drink, let me make a few phone calls. |
| Alright, let's get moving. Them micks all hang out at the Hill O Tara - you know the place? It's that shithole over in Kingston. |
| And uh, take a look in my closet. Unless you want to go on a rampage in your skivvies. |
| Thanks. Thought you'd never ask. |
| Oh, great. A fucking clown suit. Can today get any worse? |
| Hey, you finally got some style. I'm gonna want that shirt back by the way, they don't make threads like those no more. |
| Yeah, there's a reason for that, you know. |
| Hey. It's Joe. |
| Yeah, I know, I know. But I need a favor. |
| A bunch of micks tried to kill a good friend of mine tonight. Burned his house down. I wanna know who they are and where they're operating out of. |
| Hey. You're gonna have a lot worse to worry about if you don't tell me. |
| Mickey Desmond... |
| Oh, oh, he is. Well, that explains it. Where is he now? |
| Yeah, yeah, I know the place. Alright, thanks. |
| Don't worry, they won't. Trust me. And hey - you never got this phone call, a capiche? |
| What does what mean? |
| A capiche... It means "do you understand". |
| So, do you understand? |
| Alright. Thanks again, I'll see you. |
| Wow, kitchen's pink too... |
| Now THIS place deserves to be burnt down. |
| Ah, the bed's not too bad. |
| Alright, Vito. C'mon, get up, we gotta move. |
| Where we going? |
| The Hill of Tara, the mick joint in Kingston. C'mon, I'll tell you the rest in the car. |
