Dave Robicheaux: I want those other two men that killed my wife.
Bubba Rocque: I had nothin' to do with that, Dave. When I wanna straighten out a problem, a person's gonna see this face.
Dave Robicheaux: They were your people.
Bubba Rocque: I'm gonna tell you somethin', and I'm gonna tell you only once. Now you can accept it, or you can stick it up your ass. I am one guy. I am not a crime wave. And when you mess with the action outta New Orleans, you fuck with hundreds of people. Do you understand, Dave Robicheaux?
Dave Robicheaux: My wife had to be buried in a closed casket. I want you to think about that for a minute. Now, I'm gonna find those two men, and when I do, I'm gonna squeeze them extra hard, and if your name comes outta either one of their mouths, I'll be back here to feed your sorry fuckin' ass to the shrimp.
Claudette Rocque: [to the other woman] Hello.
Dave Robicheaux: Claudette Rocque, this is my friend Robin. She's gonna be, uh, stayin' with us for awhile.
Claudette Rocque: Oh.
Claudette Rocque: Have we met?
Robin Gaddis: Not formally.
Claudette Rocque: You're a performer of some kind. Oh that's right; you work at that little place on Bourbon: Smilin' Jacks.
Robin Gaddis: That's right. Now I remember you, too. You came in one time, with a couple of... real pretty girls, asked me to work a private slumber party. But I don't really go in for that sort of thing.
Claudette Rocque: I think you got me mixed up with someone else.
Robin Gaddis: Well maybe you're right. The girl I'm talkin' about was real trash. She had a butterfly tattoo on her belly.
Jerry Falgout: Don't you remember me?
Dave Robicheaux: It's Jerry somethin'-or-other, right? You went up the road 'bout five years ago for bashin' in some tired, wizened, broken-down old man with a lead pipe, ain't that right, Jerry? How was Angola, brother?
Jerry Falgout: Can I buy you a drink, Lieutenant? As I recall, you used to get kinda thirsty 'bout this time of day.
Dave Robicheaux: Hey, you're gettin' in my face, podna.
Jerry Falgout: So?
Dave Robicheaux: So right about now I'm thinkin' your head'd make a real nice toilet brush.
Dave Robicheaux: He was one of those guys who were eating lightbulbs and pushing thumbtacks into their kneecaps.
Dave Robicheaux: Good luck, Bubba.
Dave Robicheaux: Drop it, Toot, or I'm gonna park one in the back of your fuckin' head.
[Toot holds a straight razor to Dave's neck]
Eddie Keats: Now, you can get outta this easy, or Toot can sculpt your ears off and make your head look like a fuckin' mannequin. He'd love to do it for you. He was a voodoo priest or some fuckin' thing down in Haiti. Tell him what you did to Robin, Toot.
Toot: You talk too much. Get finished. I want to eat.
Eddie Keats: Guess what he did to her.
Dave Robicheaux: Fuck you!
Eddie Keats: What?
Dave Robicheaux: You heard me, I said fuck you. Whatever you do to me here, I'm gonna square, and if I don't, I got friends who will.
Eddie Keats: Yeah? I got news for you: You're still breathing 'cause I'm in a good fuckin' mood. When you start talkin' to somebody else's whores, when you start pokin' your nose into other people's shit, you got to pay the man. That's the rules. Old-time homicide roach oughta know that.
Dave Robicheaux: [to Annie] I went to Ti-Negs last night. Then I went out to Sycamore Point, sat on the dock all night, thinking about what an asshole I've been lately.
Dave Robicheaux: If I were you, I'd find another ZIP code.
[first lines - in the confessional]
Dave Robicheaux: I want a drink. I want a drink all the time. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, my eyes pop open and I think I gotta have a drink. A beer, a Bloody Mary, whatever. Even now, and I don't know why. I haven't had a drink in three years.
Priest: Three years, huh?
Dave Robicheaux: Yeah. Sometimes I'll be talking with my wife and the whole time we're talking I'm thinking about this bar I used to go to. The whole conversation I'm thinking, I'd rather be in that bar than anywhere. The glasses all lined up. My seat right on the corner. All those colored bottles. The ice in my glass, that burn... Man, it felt real good going down. That'll never happen again. I can't drink, I know that. Drinking fucked up my whole life. Excuse me father, I'm sorry.
Priest: That's alright, Dave. How is your wife?
Dave Robicheaux: How's Annie?
Priest: You love your wife, don't you? You have a good life now since you left the police department.
Dave Robicheaux: Yes I do.
Priest: And if you begin drinking again, what will happen?
Dave Robicheaux: I would lose everything.
Priest: But knowing this, knowing that you *would* lose everything, you would lose your wife, your business, and your self-respect, still, you want to drink.
Dave Robicheaux: Yes I do.
Priest: You're absolved of your sins. Go in peace.
[on the phone]
Victor Romero: I'm hearin' a lotta stuff I don't like to hear. Most of it's got your name on it. You still there?
Dave Robicheaux: Yeah, I'm still here.
Victor Romero: I hear you wanna cut a slice outta my ass, like I'm responsible for every crime in Louisiana. You're sayin' I'm killin' people on airplanes, in bathtubs; goin' around the Quarter tellin' people I should be lookin' over my shoulder 'fore somethin' heavy falls on me. You there?
Dave Robicheaux: I'm listenin'.
Victor Romero: So I'll tell you my deal. People I do business with are sayin' I'm too hot, like maybe I won't be 'round next year. That this cat Robicheaux is a hardtail and don't play. So you're fucking me, man.
Dave Robicheaux: Hey, Victor... I really don't give a shit about your problems. So why don't you write all this down on a postcard and maybe I'll read it if I get some free time.
[starts to hang up]
Victor Romero: There's a cello in the front room. You had a fan in your bedroom, and a telephone in your hall, 'cept I tore it out the wall for you. And while I did your old lady, you were outside hidin' in the dark.
Dave Robicheaux: [whispers] I'm gonna find you.
Victor Romero: Kiss my ass. You don't get off my back, Robicheaux, I'ma kill the kid, the whore, and that old fuck you got workin' for you. You want all that on a postcard too?
Dave Robicheaux: Killin' a hundred of you wouldn't make up for one Annie.