Desperado
written by Robert Rodriguez
Bartender (Cheech Marin): What do you want?
Buscemi: Beer.
Bartender: All I have is piss-warm Chongo.
Buscemi: That's my brand. [He takes a drink] Mmmmm...this is damn good. In fact, I'd say this is the best beer I ever had. Actually, I'm glad to be alive right now. I was up a few towns away, you know, Saragosa? I was visiting a bar there, not unlike this one. They serve beer, not quite as good as this, but close. I saw something there you wouldn't believe. Now this bar, it was full of real LOW-LIFES. Not like this place here; no, I mean bad, like "up to no good," do you know what I'm saying? Anyway I'm all by myself. I like it that way. Meanwhile things are going on, under the table kinds of things. Not obvious, but not too secret either. So, I'm sitting there...and in walks the BIGGEST Mexican I have ever seen. Big as shit, just walks in like he owns the place. Dark, too. I don't mean dark skinned; no, this was different. It was as if he was walking in a shadow. I mean every step he took towards the light--just when you thought his face was about to be revealed, it wasn't. It was as if the lights dimmed, just for him. So, this guy takes a seat at the bar, asks the bartender for a soda pop sits back and pays nothing.
Mexican [to bartender]: Ala chingata!
Buscemi: I wasn't interested in his drink. Nope, I was interested in what he was carrying. Some sort of suitcase or something. He sat that thing on the stool beside him, as if it was his girl. Then all of a sudden he grabs the bartender and starts whispering something to him. You could tell he was talking business.
Bartender: What did he say?
Buscemi: A name...something like bitch..or - Bucho.
[There is nothing but silence in the bar]
That was it: BUCHO. Well whatever he said pissed of the bartender plenty. And those unsavory characters I was telling you about? They got pissed too. Started pulling guns and knives and what have you--starting some shit. So the stranger jumps off the stool like you wouldn't believe. He grabs his case and dives in the middle of the floor. He's up in two shakes, pulling God knows what out of the case, but it was the biggest hand cannon I've ever fucking seen. And that was just the beginning.
Bartender: You didn't do anything, you just sat there.
Buscemi: I was frozen stiff, all I could do was watch as this THING tore the place apart. Cutthroats and scumbags were coming out the woodwork and dying much deserved deaths. Now don't get me wrong, these were no class acts like your boys in here. No, these guys were world class turds, and I'm sorry but they got what they deserved. It was judgement night in that place. So he grabs one of the guys, the only guy still breathing, and he starts talking to him. You could just tell this guy was giving up all the goods. Spilling his guts, confessing to the world...he told that stranger everything.
Bartender: Everything.
Buscemi: Can I get a cleaner mug? This one's dirty.
Bartender: Fuck you man, it's the cleanest one I got.
Buscemi: So anyway without warning, without any hint or preview, the stranger whips around and he sees...me.
Bartender: You saw his face?
Buscemi: His face? No. His eyes.
Bartender: He didn't do anything to you?
Buscemi: Not really, cause he turned his attention to the guy on the floor. Then he walked over to the bar, paid, and left.
Bartender: So the bartender lived. Ha! The bartender never gets killed!
Buscemi: Naw, man, the bartender got it worse than anybody.
Bartender: This one is on the house, IF you can remember his face.
Buscemi: Thanks, but no thanks. I'm clearing out of here boys. 'Cause I think he's headed this way. Well, thank you boys. You all take care now.