[Lip and Brad are breaking into their motorcycle repair shop with Mickey]
Fuck! Darker than Satan's asshole in here.
All right, Imma hit parts. Mick, grab some bikes, and, uh, Brad, office.
Wait, why are you using real names?
Hey, relax, we're gonna take the security camera.
And what- what if they bugged the place?
Hey, Mission Impossible, less talking, more stealing. What the fuck is this shit?
Hey, hey, three grand in the safe.
Yo, hey, hey. Fuck that one. It's a piece of shit. Grab some chrome pipes and carburetors, parts room.
Shit feels expensive. It's heavy.
[Mickey drops objects smashing it] Hey, what the fuck you doing?!
Making it look like Mexicans broke in!
Fucking freezing in here. Why'd you get a refrigerated truck?
'Cause, Brad, there's not a lot of options last-minute.
Where we fencing this shit?
I don't know. Out of state, probably.
Wait, you haven't lined up a fence yet?
No.
Great fucking plan, Lip. Which one of you geniuses came up with it?
Well, it was a group effort: me, Brad, couple of six-packs.
Couple of s- You off the wagon again?
Yeah, just one night.
"Just one night", isn't that what every alcoholic says?
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