Tell the Mayor, I'm insulted.
I would never jeopardize the journalistic integrity of this newspaper,
for some rent-a-mayor's political agenda.
Very well Mr...
So, Britt.
Here we are again.
Sent home after another school yard fight.
I know you miss your mother.
So do I.
But I have to take care of 750 employees,
and you have to take care of yourself.
Still that seems to be asking... to much.
I was trying to stop some bullies...
Trying doesn't matter when you always fail.
No, Dad!
Do you think it makes me happy to do this?
- Yes! - No it doesn't.
There's not a week goes by when you find yourself in some kind of trouble.
But if you're doing this for attention,
you have all that I can afford to give you.
And you're wasting my time.
20 years later...
No, no, not you.
Have a seat.
Either one, they're both very comfortable.
So what can I do for you?
As you know, I have worked my entire life, very hard...
to achieve one goal.
And that goal, which I have in fact, achieved.
Was to be in charge of all the crime, in the city of Los Angeles.
Therefore, the fact that you assume that you can open this establishment,
without my permission,
without payment, and sell narcotics out of it.
Is completely unacceptable.
Really?
And to be honest. Quite insulting.
Therefore, you must sign over ownership of this establishment to me.
For which time you become my employees.
What, we're... we're your employees?
Yeah, or close down permanently.
The choice is yours.
Okay, uh, how do I pronounce your name?
Ch... Tchaikovsky.
Chudnofsky.
Char... chadost... chod dosky.
Chud... nof... sky.
Chudnofsky.
All right, Chudnofsky.
Kiss my ass.
Put your lips to my ass,
and kiss it.
French kiss it.
Tickle it with your grey whiskers.
I got bitter sweet news for you.
You're washed up.
You're old, you're boring, you're not scary.
You dress like shit.
It's over for you, okay. That's the bitter news.
Now the sweet news is,
you can retire.
You can go play golf.
Eat your dinners at 3 o'clock in the afternoon.
Play with your grandkids, drink Metamucil.
Old people shit.
Okay, look at me.
I got a name people can say.
My name's Danny Clear.
I deal crystal meth.
People call me, Crystal-Clear.
It's easy.
Check out my kick-ass hangout here.
I got pillars of glass everywhere.
I got a see-through piano.
Look at my boys.
They're pimped out.
We got Gucci, Armani, another Gucci.
Tailor made.
This is what you need to get to the top, today.
Not hard work.
Not dressing like disco-Santa-Claus.
You need charisma.
You look like my Uncle Gregg.
Very nice guy, but, he's a dentist.
Now consider this your retirement letter.
Boom!
It's over.
See your way out.
Well you truly don't think I'm scary?
Nah, no.
Okay, o... kay, you're scary!
Yeah, you're scary.
You just said I'm not.
No, no you are. You are.
What's a Disco-Santa?
Disco-Santa, I don't know. I'm sorr... I'm sorry.
It was just something stupid to say.
You said I'm boring too. My gun has two barrels.
That's not boring.
And it was was very difficult to make.
- Answer me! - What?
Well what can I do to be more scary?
A better name? A cooler name?
A little more color, or something.
Ah, um...
Maybe... maybe, maybe you could say something to people before you kill them.
But not now. It's hard to think with this double barrel in my face.
Sorry.
You've given me a lot to think about.
You're not going to kill me?
Okay I get it. You keep me alive so I can, I can spread your legend.
Okay, I'll do that, man.
I'll spread your legend.
And you forgot your briefcase.
Let's get this party crazy.
That's the good stuff.
Man.
Good morning.
- Oll-live-oil? - Ana Lee.
Ana Lee, that's what I meant.
Oh shit.
Son, this what you want from your life?
This, uh. This gives you a sense of fulfillment?
Dad, I told you tomorrow,
I'm enrolling in I.T.T. Technical Institute.
And I'm going to fix computers for a living, so I...
Hey!
I spend all night writing an editorial about the nausea this town has come to inspirer.
About the corruption, the violence, and the decadence
that we've come to expect as part of our daily life.
Then I have to turn the page...
and see my own son's contribution to this mayhem.
Sweet, I'm in the paper.
Now you may think you're humiliating me.
You're humiliating yourself.
Okay, I'm sorry. Look, if you don't like it, why don't you ask them not to print it.
It's your newspaper.
I can't because unfortunately it's news.
I've kept myself out the papers for years, now do me a favor and do the same.
And I told you, stop taking girls into my garage.
You do it again, I'll change the lock.
Okay, but can you sign this for me?
Never... stop... the party.
Bring it in, I think we may have our first photo of Britt Reid.
Go, go, go, go.
Hello. Get it, get the shot, get it.
How are you coping with your father's death?
If you're just joining us,
James Reid has been found dead from an allergic reaction to a bee sting.
Leaving his son, his media empire.
It was during my election campaign.
Running for district attorney when I first met James Reid.
It was immediately clear to me that he was a man of infallible integrity.
He dedicated himself to this city,
though his philanthropic endeavors and his newspaper, The Daily Sentinel.
A shinning beacon of truth.
He was our north star.
He showed us the way.
Thank you James.
Britt, your father was truly a great man.
- When I first started campaigning... - Yes, yeah, yeah, yeah.
He was the best business man I've ever known.
He always came out on top.
Britt?
Britt, hey.
I'm so sorry for your loss.
I just want to say that,
my father was a federal court judge. So I think I kinda know how it feels.
When he passed away, I uh,
had some pretty big shoes to fill.
Just like you.
So if you ever need somebody to talk to.
I mean, if you ever just want to grab a drink.
Want to get cheered up.
I'm around.
Okay, thanks man I really appreciate it.
- Yeah, lock it up... keep it tight. - Yeah, okay... Cool.
This is your newspaper.
Look, the burden doesn't have to fall on you alone.
I've been your father's trusted collegue for the past forty five years.
I'm going to make sure the Daily Sentinel stays on the path.
It would make him proud.
So what do you think of all this?
I don't think anything, man.
I don't know a thing about this newspaper.
I've never even read a full edition of it.
You can do whatever the hell you want with it.
I'm not the guy to run The Sentinel.
Trying doesn't matter when you always fail.
Oh.
Where's my leaf?
Stupid bush!
Hello!
Who makes my coffee?
WHO makes my coffee?
Will someone explain to me,
why the worst day of my life?
My coffee tastes like shit.
You... your coffee is normally made by, Kato.
Who the hell is that?
He works on your father's cars, and makes his coffee.
You fired him, and everyone else who works for your father yesterday.
I want Kato here, NOW!
You're, Kato.
Man I thought your name was Henry. I thought the pool guy was, Kato.
I'm Kato.
I'm sorry to hear about your father.
He was a...
complex man.
Yep.
I've two questions for