I've got a message from Frank White. He wants to sit down, he wants to talk.
You tell him I don't talk to nigger lovers.
Well, he says he's got things on his mind that he wants to discuss with you, and he wants to know where and he wants to know when.
You tell him in fucking Hell, that's where. He's gonna wish his lawyer left him fucking those Sambos in the joint when I get through with him.
When the D.A's office investigated the sudden death of Arty Clay, they found that he left a $13 million estate. How do you explain that? There there's Larry Wong, who owned half of Chinatown when he passed away. Larry used to rent his tenements to Asian refuges, his own people, for $800 a month to share a single toilet on the same floor. How 'bout King Tito? He had thirteen-year-old girls hooking for him on the street. Those guys are dead because I don't want to make money that way. Emil Zappa, the Mata brothers, they're dead because they were running this city into the ground.
You expected to get away with killing all these people?
I spent half my life in prison. I never got away with anything, and I never killed anybody that didn't deserve it.
Who made you judge and jury?
Well, it's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.