Det. Washington: Wake up and walk the dog, Smith. We've got you dead to rights. There's nothing left to jingle in this case but the small change. Smith: You may have someone dead to rights, copper. Ain't no sayin' it's me. Det. Washington: You sayin' that ain't your ugly mug captured on all this bank videotape? Smith: Well, I'll admit, sir, that gent do look a heap like me. He sure do. But at last count there were at least a hundred other fellows roaming around out there wearing the same handsome visage that smiles out from my mirror. I respectfully suggest you release me and start hassling one of those guys. Det. Jojazowski: Cut the crap you goddamned mother fuckin' son of a fuckin' -- Det. Washington: Calm down, Fred. Just calm down. Det. Jojazowski: Let me cut him, Jim; just a little slice along his fucking cheekbone and down into his fucking neck, just like he did to that poor old lady, that fucking -- Det. Washington: Enough, Fred! That's enough! Go on out and get yourself a cup of coffee or something. Decaf. (Detective Jojazowski leaves). Det. Washington: That old lady you snuffed looked a lot like Fred's grandma, the one who raised him. Fred took it real hard when she died of leukemia last year. He must have watched that film of the old lady bleeding to death on the bank floor a couple dozen times already. Smith: Tell him to go clone himself a new granny. You got no cause to keep holding me. Det. Washington: You know, if by some chance Fred and his knife were to get a moment alone with you - and he'd only need a few seconds - we'd be able at least to pick you out of a lineup the next time you pulled a job. Smith: I'd hardly be the only Smith in town wearing a beard, copper. You know that. Det. Washington: Yeah, well, I also know that the blood that the assailant so obligingly spilled on the security officer when they tussled held exactly the same fat and nutrient levels that your blood had when we picked you up down the road a few minutes later. How's the wound from your unfortunate ice skating accident healing, by the way? Smith: Just fine, thanks for your concern. You know that Smiths heal very quickly. And you also know that blood level information is inadmissable. Det. Washington: It's admissible in combination with other factors, such as the fact that the scar on your right index finger matches the Smith fingerprint on the rattle you ripped away from that little baby. Foolish of you to leave it lying around as evidence. Smith: Foolish of someone, perhaps. Your weak circumstantial evidence is not enough to indict. There is no money, so there is no case. And I want my attorney. Det. Washington: We are permitted to refuse you contact with anyone who's a Smith, including your attorney. There's too much opportunity for subterfuge and switcheroos. Get someone else. A Johnny Cochran, maybe. (Enter Detective Jojazowski,
Det. Jojazowski: Jim, there's been a break-in. Smiths, dozens of them, everywhere. It's a madhouse out there! (Smith, off-stage): Here he is, fellas! (The room fills with Smiths.
We hear a fight.
The room empties, leaving
only Detectives Washington
and Jojazowski behind.)
Det. Jojazowski: So, did you place it? Det. Washington: You bet. I grabbed his hands when the Smiths stormed the room, and shoved the microtransmitter under his fingernail while he was pulling away to "escape". I've finally got that Smith gang right where I want them, right in the palm of my hands; I can taste it. Retiring to my little fishing cabin next month's gonna be hella easier knowing I bagged the big one first. Det. Jojazowski: You put the transmitter under his fingernail? What if he washes his hands? Det. Washington: Oh, please. A Smith with hygiene? Give me a break. (The two men laugh.
Scene 1 ends.)
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