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Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips
You have a criminal history, do you not, Mr. Price?
In that case, a double, Rodney - Gus is buyin'.
How does it feel getting Greggs pulled off her triple?
They'll review, then meet with us.
They're finally paying for police work again.
That's true. But, again, you can't print anything
A lot of guys'll try to duck a correction,
- What? - Biting's not sex, it's biting.
Gus, this thing with the woman and the crab cake?
How dare you write that in your paper without knowing nothing about me?
No questions, your honor.
I can't help it, Lester. It's the kind of person I am.
I'm not interested in what can be quoted or counted on this one.
Because I already know the name of the missing smokehound.
and if he decides to park on the street and walk across the grass,
So?
- I mean, shit, take me. - What?
Can you make out who that is?
Guy likes to rant. Let him do his thing.
Sustained. Disregard that last comment.
So you got what to eat, then.
some of the shelter population. Put 'em down in War Memorial Plaza.
I wouldn't worry. He's just using you. He needs you.
Voice and digital photos.
I'm going to write out a check today, and send it out the door.
but we want to be able to intercept any future images.
explainin' to folks who never been in our neck of the woods
- and then withdrawn as cash. - Yes, sir.
What I mean is, sometimes, the weakest stuff in a story
People start to treat it like a fucking redball.
And, Clay, don't fuck me.
We're not rich people.
I'll be able to use the extra manpower you give me and run this shit down.
Manny open up to go on the food run,
Chris an' Snoop, they on that.
- You got a number? - What?
I feel like they're gonna find out how much we're spending and shut us down.
I don't even want to know whose picture you got running in the paper,
Riddle me that.
Media's going crazy.
Go down this road. Get their names over there.
You ain't never going to find them anymore.
Thanks.
you're exposed here.
You ain't never gonna see them no more.
until he feels my fucking pain, all right?
and you know what? I ain't a winner yet.
what you was gonna do if you was there, huh?
but now, his wife just got collared,
Lawrence Butler, 3/10/1951,
Good night, moon.
OK.
200,000 when I get you out from under this mess.
but when we get a full ID,
45 inches of Clay Davis playing not just the race card,