Spade, it’s time to spill the beans. Talk now, or I’ll forever hold your piece.
Hey, that’s pretty funny, even for you Lieutenant.
I’ve had about enough of you. Private dicks like you turn my stomach. Think you can flaunt the law, make your own rules. It stops here and now. Either you fill in the blanks, or I’ll fill them in for you.
How come you’re getting all the good lines? Here’s the deal. The guy you want is this little hood named Wilmer. Always with the threats, this guy. I’m telling ya, the cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter. He offed Thursby and Captain Jacobi. All for this bird.
You mean all this killin’ is over a broad?
Where did you go to school, Lieutenant? I’d ask for my money back. Nah, not a dame. The falcon. Worth a cool million.
What about the Fat Man, Gutman? What’s his part in all this?
Big shot. Likes the sound of his own voice—always spouting off bout how he’s a man who likes talking to a man who likes to talk, or some other sorta gibberish.
And what about the dame?
Miss O'Shaughnessy? She’s good…REAL good. Now, I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble, but she’s three sticks of dynamite with a short fuse.
Whattya mean, Spade?
Just that she ain’t as innocent as she pretends to be. Just listen to the way she talks, all pinched up and hurt-like, as if you’re breaking her heart just by being there. It's chiefly her eyes, I think, and that throb she gets in her voice when she says things like, 'Be generous, Mr. Spade.'
You ain’t so bad yourself, Spade. You’ve got a smooth way of explaining everything.
Whattya want me to do, learn to stutter?
Get a load of the funny guy, boys. Keep crackin’ wise, Spade. We’ve got places for smart alecks – it’s called San Quentin.
You birds, always cracking foxy. You make me sick. If you had the skinny on me, you’d be showing me your back, not looking in my eye. Why don’t you ask your boyfriend over there the score? Tell him Tom: Spade 1, cops 0.
(Lieutenant grabs Spade, hits him)
Is that the best you’ve got, Lieutenant?
When you're slapped, you'll take it and like it!
Huston! He’s stepping all over my lines again. Somebody get me Hal Wallis.
All right keep your shirt on. Spade, is this the best YOU can do?
Don't worry about my story's goofiness. A sensible one would have me in the cooler. The really important thing is I get to have almost all the best lines. That, and Huston has hired this real beauty, Arthur Edison, who shoots me so the shadows cross my face at just the right angle to pick up on my sneer and make me look sinister and cool as a cucumber.
So then what’s the point of it all?
The point? It’s the stuff that dreams are made of.
