garcianacho/Scripts · Datasets at Hugging Face

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Specialty product.
You're learning.
Where does he sell it?
Out of the back of bondage magazines mostly, but you can find it on the street if you look. He'll also do commissions, for enough money...
Nothing illegal, it's always borderline. Like if some freak wants to see a transvestite in a full rubber immersion suit getting an enema from a...
Alright, I get the picture.
He cuts all kinds of other stuff into his movies; photographs, newsreel footage, subliminal images. Thinks he's making art.
Well, I'm in New York now. What do you say to flying out and giving me a hand?
I'm a working stiff, pops.
Take a vacation. I'll pay you four hundred a day, plus expenses.
You want me to come out there and play private eye?
Consider it. Meanwhile, dig up whatever Dino Velvet films you can. Get receipts. I'll call back.
See ya.
You didn't say it was gonna be this luxurious.
It's their Presidential Suite.
Great.
Oh, come on, man, what are we doing in this flea bag?
It's cheap, and people know to mind their own business. What have you got for me?
Wha... ?
Who is this, in the mask? Who is he?
Who is he?
I told you, he's one of Dino Velvet's stock players...
Who is he, his name?
Nobody knows his name. That's his thing. He always wears a mask. You never see his face. He calls himself "Machine," that's what they call him. Machine.
You don't need to be here.
What kind of Junior P.I. would I be if I didn't go with you?
I know if I had to pick, it'd be "Choke," or "Devil."
"Devil" frightened me as much as it excited me, but I'd be hard pressed to choose a favorite.
What's next?
I'm trying to figure that out myself. I have to see Machine without his mask.
Still don't want to tell me what you're doing?
Nope.
What's this?
It's money. People use it to purchase goods and services.
Look... that's awful generous and everything...
It's not my money. The woman I got it from is never going to give it a second thought. Let's not make a big deal out of this, okay? Go be a race car driver. Go run for President. Whatever.
Yes, I do have something to say. I insisted on being here as soon as I heard Mrs. Christian contacted you.
I'm listening.
As Mr. Christian's attorney and one of the executors of his estate, it concerns me that a meeting of this sort should take place without my being asked to attend.
Of what sort?
You are a private investigator?
That's right.
Well, whatever reasons Mrs. Christian has for engaging the services of a private investigator, I should certainly be a party to. But, since she feels differently, I can only go on the record as having expressed my adamant disapproval.
You were the middleman, am I right? Old man Christian wasn't about to go shopping for a snuff film himself.
Wouldn't exactly have been possible for a man of his stature.
So, he sent you, gave you the money, his errandboy. And if you refused, it wasn't like you could tell anyone your pervert boss just asked you to get him a snuff film. That's the beauty of lawyer/client privilege.
That's trust. Mr. Christian trusted me implicitly.
Must have paid you a lot, for you to risk everything. Would've had to have cut yourself a real nice piece of money.
I was well compensated.
That's why you got scared when Mrs. Christian hired me. You knew about the film, figured it had to be in that safe. How'd you find me?
Never mind how I found you.
Followed me... must have freaked out when you saw me closing in on your buddies...
They're no friends of mine.
Except, you're willing commit murder with them.
None of this would be happening if you would have left it alone. If you weren't digging up a girl who died six years ago. A girl no one even remembers.
Mary Anne Mathews, that was her name. Her mom remembers her.
You found these smut dealers and asked to buy a snuff film, right? Wanted them to find you one. Well, they didn't find you one, Longdale, they went out and made you one...
Shut up.
Mary Anne Mathews was alive till you paid money to have her murdered.
Shut your mouth and drive!
Did it get him off, huh, watching them cut her up? Tell me, because I really want to understand. Did he jerk off to it? You watch it with him, sit there giving him a handjob while you both watched... ?
You're making me very angry.
Just tell me. Tell me some more of the secrets you and Christian shared. What kind of degenerate pervert was he really? What the fuck did he want with a snuff film?
You're asking me why?
I'm asking.
A man like Mr. Christian, a great man... all his money, all his power... a man who attained everything there was to attain...
Why did he buy a film of some poor, lost girl getting butchered?
Isn't it incredibly obvious?
Enlighten me.
Because he could. He did it because he could. What other reason were you looking for?
You almost went over your limit.
Fuck you.
Give me the film.
You'll get it when we get there.
Give me the film.
Go ahead, shoot me. Then try driving to Brooklyn with my brains all over the windshield.
He's lying.
Look at him. You think he played it square? How much did he give you, how much did he keep for himself?
You know how my tapes sell. People eat this stuff up.
I had three jerkoffs trying to return your tapes last month. Do you know how bad a skin flick has to be for some jackass to come back into my place with a fucking receipt, and try to fucking return it?
Maybe there's something wrong with the scumbag customers coming into your place, ever think of that?
The only thing wrong is the cheap, softcore crap you're peddling, Eddie. Where do you get this stuff?
Look, you cocksucker...
Get together some upscale product where the girls still have teeth in their head. Till then, fuck you.
Fuck you!
Celebrity Films.
Eddie.
Yeah, who's this?
I know what you did.
What?
I know what you did.
Who is this.
You murdered that girl, Eddie. Six years ago...
What the fuck are you.. ?
You killed that girl and you put it on film. You and your pals, you're fucked. You fucked up real good.
What's he talking about?
One million dollars, Dino. How much did he tell you he had...
I'm gonna kill you.
Don't bore me with that bullshit.
How'd you find me here?

Specialty product.

You're learning.

Where does he sell it?

Out of the back of bondage magazines mostly, but you can find it on the street if you look. He'll also do commissions, for enough money...

Nothing illegal, it's always borderline. Like if some freak wants to see a transvestite in a full rubber immersion suit getting an enema from a...

Alright, I get the picture.

He cuts all kinds of other stuff into his movies; photographs, newsreel footage, subliminal images. Thinks he's making art.

Well, I'm in New York now. What do you say to flying out and giving me a hand?

I'm a working stiff, pops.

Take a vacation. I'll pay you four hundred a day, plus expenses.

You want me to come out there and play private eye?

Consider it. Meanwhile, dig up whatever Dino Velvet films you can. Get receipts. I'll call back.

See ya.

You didn't say it was gonna be this luxurious.

It's their Presidential Suite.

Great.

Oh, come on, man, what are we doing in this flea bag?

It's cheap, and people know to mind their own business. What have you got for me?

Wha... ?

Who is this, in the mask? Who is he?

Who is he?

I told you, he's one of Dino Velvet's stock players...

Who is he, his name?

Nobody knows his name. That's his thing. He always wears a mask. You never see his face. He calls himself "Machine," that's what they call him. Machine.

You don't need to be here.

What kind of Junior P.I. would I be if I didn't go with you?

I know if I had to pick, it'd be "Choke," or "Devil."

"Devil" frightened me as much as it excited me, but I'd be hard pressed to choose a favorite.

What's next?

I'm trying to figure that out myself. I have to see Machine without his mask.

Still don't want to tell me what you're doing?

Nope.

What's this?

It's money. People use it to purchase goods and services.

Look... that's awful generous and everything...

It's not my money. The woman I got it from is never going to give it a second thought. Let's not make a big deal out of this, okay? Go be a race car driver. Go run for President. Whatever.

Yes, I do have something to say. I insisted on being here as soon as I heard Mrs. Christian contacted you.

I'm listening.

As Mr. Christian's attorney and one of the executors of his estate, it concerns me that a meeting of this sort should take place without my being asked to attend.

Of what sort?

You are a private investigator?

That's right.

Well, whatever reasons Mrs. Christian has for engaging the services of a private investigator, I should certainly be a party to. But, since she feels differently, I can only go on the record as having expressed my adamant disapproval.

You were the middleman, am I right? Old man Christian wasn't about to go shopping for a snuff film himself.

Wouldn't exactly have been possible for a man of his stature.

So, he sent you, gave you the money, his errandboy. And if you refused, it wasn't like you could tell anyone your pervert boss just asked you to get him a snuff film. That's the beauty of lawyer/client privilege.

That's trust. Mr. Christian trusted me implicitly.

Must have paid you a lot, for you to risk everything. Would've had to have cut yourself a real nice piece of money.

I was well compensated.

That's why you got scared when Mrs. Christian hired me. You knew about the film, figured it had to be in that safe. How'd you find me?

Never mind how I found you.

Followed me... must have freaked out when you saw me closing in on your buddies...

They're no friends of mine.

Except, you're willing commit murder with them.

None of this would be happening if you would have left it alone. If you weren't digging up a girl who died six years ago. A girl no one even remembers.

Mary Anne Mathews, that was her name. Her mom remembers her.

You found these smut dealers and asked to buy a snuff film, right? Wanted them to find you one. Well, they didn't find you one, Longdale, they went out and made you one...

Shut up.

Mary Anne Mathews was alive till you paid money to have her murdered.

Shut your mouth and drive!

Did it get him off, huh, watching them cut her up? Tell me, because I really want to understand. Did he jerk off to it? You watch it with him, sit there giving him a handjob while you both watched... ?

You're making me very angry.

Just tell me. Tell me some more of the secrets you and Christian shared. What kind of degenerate pervert was he really? What the fuck did he want with a snuff film?

You're asking me why?

I'm asking.

A man like Mr. Christian, a great man... all his money, all his power... a man who attained everything there was to attain...

Why did he buy a film of some poor, lost girl getting butchered?

Isn't it incredibly obvious?

Enlighten me.

Because he could. He did it because he could. What other reason were you looking for?

You almost went over your limit.

Fuck you.

Give me the film.

You'll get it when we get there.

Give me the film.

Go ahead, shoot me. Then try driving to Brooklyn with my brains all over the windshield.

He's lying.

Look at him. You think he played it square? How much did he give you, how much did he keep for himself?

You know how my tapes sell. People eat this stuff up.

I had three jerkoffs trying to return your tapes last month. Do you know how bad a skin flick has to be for some jackass to come back into my place with a fucking receipt, and try to fucking return it?

Maybe there's something wrong with the scumbag customers coming into your place, ever think of that?

The only thing wrong is the cheap, softcore crap you're peddling, Eddie. Where do you get this stuff?

Look, you cocksucker...

Get together some upscale product where the girls still have teeth in their head. Till then, fuck you.

Fuck you!

Celebrity Films.

Eddie.

Yeah, who's this?

I know what you did.

What?

I know what you did.

Who is this.

You murdered that girl, Eddie. Six years ago...

What the fuck are you.. ?

You killed that girl and you put it on film. You and your pals, you're fucked. You fucked up real good.

What's he talking about?

One million dollars, Dino. How much did he tell you he had...

I'm gonna kill you.

Don't bore me with that bullshit.

How'd you find me here?