Samuel L. Jackson credited as playing...
Jimmy
- Jimmy: What I mean - what I believe... is that you killed his father... like the stories I heard go. Now, if somebody killed my father... I would feel the need to do something. The stories I heard - you know, stories get around - is that you used to be a hard-ass. You were a hard-ass and you took his dad out, Sydney. So you think - what? You can just walk through this life... without being punished for it? Shit, man. I know all those guys you know. Floyd Gondolli, Jimmy Gator, Mumbles O'Malley. They like to sit around in Clifton's and talk, talk, talk. They love to tell stories. You can sit there and look at me sideways all you want. You probably think I'm some kind of asshole or something... but I'm not a killer... like you. You walk around like you're Mr. Cool, Mr. Wisdom... but you're not. You're just some old hood. The other night in the bar, you asking me a question... like do I do parking lot security? Well, the answer is no! I'm trusted security inside the casino. I'm trusted with security, and I don't fuck it up.
- Sydney: Good that you have such a sturdy sense of responsibility.
- Jimmy: Don't! Don't! Don't fuckin' do that! You understand? I can see right through that shit! You look at me as some idiot, huh? I know you do. I know you. You old guys, you old hoods... you think you're so fuckin' above it... so high and mighty. What am I to you? Some loser? No. No! Not with a gun in my hand. Not with the facts I know. Bottom line, Sydney. No matter how hard you try - you're not his father.
- Jimmy: Say, partner, let me get one of them cigarettes. Oh, damn, you ain't got no menthol?
- John Finnegan: No, man, I don't do menthol.
- Jimmy: Shit.
- Jimmy: The other night over at the El Dorado, I saw a cat have a heart attack right at the craps table. I mean, he's in the middle of a hot shoot, starts gettin' all bothered and sweaty and shit, and next thing you know, bam! The old motherfucker just keels over. Now, the joke of it is, the game just keeps going on. I mean, people are yelling, "Place the 8." "Somebody call an ambulance!" "Place the 9." "Place the 6." "Somebody dial 911!" Meanwhile, this old bastard's layin' on the floor, tongue out, turning purple and shit! And people are still playing!
- Jimmy: Jesus! We are fuckin' *surrounded* by pussy here.
- Sydney: Hey, hey, hey, hey, Jimmy.
- Jimmy: What?
- Sydney: Not for my ears, but hers. She can hear that sort of thing across the lounge. It puts her in a very uncomfortable position.
- Jimmy: Hey, hey, I doubt if hearin' she's got a great pussy puts her into an uncomfortable position.
- Sydney: I just don't want it coming from my table.
- Jimmy: Mmm-mmm. Yeah, pull that shit off, baby. Let me see that pussy. Let me see it. Yeah, let me see that thing. Uh-huh. Yeah.
- Jimmy: Hey, I live up here. I know what flies and what don't. You know, you tell a babe she's got a nice ass is no crime, believe me.
- Jimmy: Sydney, it was a pleasure seeing you again. John here's got my digits. Anything you need in this town, you call me.
- Jimmy: I don't know if you knew this, but, you know, half the women that work here are take-home whores, anyway. They get off on that shit. I got a friend, works over at the Sand Dune, where I work. This man's in charge of corralling all the cocktail waitresses for that sort of thing. I mean, he's in charge. He *is* the pussy patrol.
- Jimmy: Look, this motel thing's got nothin' to do with nothin' anymore. I mean, shit, thankfully that's done. That's over.
- Jimmy: Call me a tough guy, huh? Huh? Well, I am a tough guy. This gun in your face is real tough, ain't it?