Anderson:
Nice to be back in a dry county. When I was Sheriff, about half my take-home pay was from collectin taxes on illegal juice like this, probably works the same here. I think you'd haul in a tidy penny here, winkin at the bootleggers.
Deputy Sheriff Clinton Pell:
I don't know nothin bout that.
Anderson: [takes a drink; holds up the beer]
Yeah. Tidy penny. You got anything stronger than this, Deputy?
Deputy Sheriff Pell:
No. No, we ain't.
Anderson:
No? You know in Thornton, Mississippi there's a joint-juice still in every yard. Well, all you need is some corn and sugar, and a pot to boil it in. I tried takin the prints on this old boy one time, and he'd had his hand in the mash barrel, all his life. Well, there's no skin at all on there, there's no prints.
Deputy Sheriff Clinton Pell:
We ain't too interested in your good ol Mississippi boy stories, Anderson; you ain't from here no more. Why'd you leave, anyway?
Anderson:
Just wanted a change of scenery. The grits started leavin a bad taste in my mouth.
Frank Bailey:
Well, if that's how you feel about it, Mr. FBI Man, why don't you drink up that beer and get the hell on outta here, get back to your nigger-commie-lovin bosses up North? Anderson:
You must not know my boss. Mr. Hoover? He's not too fond of commies. He'd be on your side there.
Frank Bailey:
I don't give two shits whose side your Mr. Hoover's on, boy. All I know is we got 5,000 niggers in this county and we ain't registered a vote yet. So you can tell your stiff-suits up there in DC that they ain't gonna change us one bit. Less it's over my dead body. Or a lot of dead niggers. Anderson:
You'd kill, Frank? Is that what you're sayin'?
Frank Bailey:
I wouldn't give it no more thought than wringin a cat's neck. And there ain't a court in Mississippi that'd convict me for it. Anderson:
How bout you, Deputy? How're you with wringin necks, huh?
Deputy Sheriff Pell:
Just keep pushin me, Hoover boy.
Frank Bailey:
Now you listen here, you cornholin fucker. You tell your queer-loving nigger bosses that they ain't never gonna find those civil rightsers! So you might as well pack up your bags and get your ass on back up North where you belong, boy- Anderson: [while grabbing Bailey by the crotch; after opening his coat and exposing his gun he turns to Deputy Pell; Releases his grip on Bailey, who collapses to the floor, then takes a swig of beer]
Now you listen here, shitkicker! Don't you go confusin me with some whole other body. You got your brains in your dick if you think we're just gonna fade away- we're gonna be here til this thing is finished. How bout you, Deputy? That gun of yours just for show, or do you get to shoot people once in a while? Thanks for the beer.
