"Sir, they're very unhappy."
"I'm very unhappy."
"It was supposed to look like a heart attack, he was supposed to die in his sleep."
"Well, he moved. His sleep research patterns suggested deep sleep at that hour, there's nothing to be done about it."
"Sir, this is a very valuable firm."
"Come in here."
"We've done a lot of business with them over the years, and they blame you for this snafu. They say you've got to make amends."
"A canary decided to sing. They scheduled his deposition for early Monday morning. You've got to do it this weekend."
"This weekend? No! Impossible. Tell them I need more lead time. ...Where?"
"I'm getting a black cat, Friday the 13th kind of feeling, about this one. It's in Detroit. You can take care of business and stop by....your reunion..."
"Look, Sgt. Pepper, I really need you to shut up about that."
"Sir, it's out of my hands. The gods want you to go back home, and they want you to delete someone while you're there."
"Would you describe their position on this matter as inflexible?"
"Intractable, sir! I booked you on an early flight tomorrow morning."
"So, I got invited to my ten year high school reunion. I'm conflicted. I mean, I don't know if I really want to go. It's in Detroit, you know, and I grew up there. But I just honestly don't know what I have in common with those people anymore. Or with anyone really. They all have husbands and wives and children and houses and dogs, and, you know, they've all made themselves a part of something and they can talk about what they do. What am I gonna say? I killed the President of Paraguay with a *fork*. How have you been? ..I'm just thinking it will be depressing. It will be *depressing*. Shouldn't you be taking notes or something?"
"I'm not taking notes Martin because I'm not your doctor."
"Please don't start with that stuff again."
"Martin, I'm emotionally involved with you."
"How are you emotionally involved with me?"
"I'm afraid of you."
"You're afraid of me."
"And that constitutes an emotional involvement, and it would be unethical for me to work with you under those circumstances."
"Don't you think maybe you're just upset because I told you what I do for a living, and you got upset, and you're letting it interfere with our dynamic?"
"Whoa! Martin. You didn't tell me what you did for a living..."
"Yes, I did!"
"You didn't tell me what you did for a living for *four* sessions. *Then* you told me. And I said I don't want to work with you! And yet, you come back every week at the same time. That's a difficulty for me. On top of that, if you've committed a crime or you're thinking about committing a crime, I have to tell the authorities."
"I know the law, okay? But I don't want to be withholding; I'm very serious about this process. ..And I know where you live."
"Oh, now see? That wasn't a nice thing to say; that wasn't designed to make me feel good. That's a... kind of a... not too subtle intimidation, and I, uh, get filled with anxiety when you talk about something like that."
"Come on, come on. I was just kidding, all right? The thought never crossed my mind."
"You did think of it, Martin! You thought it, and then you said it. And now, I'm left with the aftermath of that, thinking I gotta be creative in a really interesting way now or Martin's gonna blow my brains out! You're holding me hostage here. That's not right."
"You've grown up a bit. Did I have you figured wrong?"
"Well, I don't know - I mean, I hope so."
"I visualized you in a haze as one of those slackster, flannel-wearing, coffee-house misanthropes, I've been seeing in Newsweek."
"No no no, I went the other road. Six figures, doing business with leadpipe cruelty, mercenary sensibility. You know... sports, sex, no real relationships with anybody. How about you, how have the years been treating you?"
"Well, you know me, Martin. The same old sell-out, exploiting the oppressed..."
"Ah, what a piece of work is man, how noble... ah, fuck it. Let's have a drink and forget the whole damn thing."