Con Air

- Hey, Larkin, who's that guy?
- That is Cameron Poe.

A parolee hitchin' a ride home.
He's a nobody.

- Okay, let's do it.
- Willie...

nobody on the plane knows your
classification, not even my guards.

- Guard Bishop.
- Hey, Larkin.

Tell me, Skip, is
the U.S. Marshal Service...

in the habit of employing annoying,
wise-ass bookworm creeps?

Larkin's one of the best
we got.

Yeah, well, I'd still like to
crush his larynx with my boot.

Scan him.
Face me.
- What's this shit?
- It's my daughter.

I don't care if it's
the weepin' mama of Christ.

There's no personal possessions
on this aeroplane.

Just as long as you know I'll be
gettin' that back at some point.

Are you tellin' me what I'm
gonna be doin' here, numb-nuts?

- You heard me.
- Hey, hey, hey.

Come on,
break it up.

Oh, now, look at this fashion statement.
The do-rag gotta go, homeboy.

- Right here.
- Attention, officers.

- Final check, all restraints.
- Sweet bird of freedom.

Take off
in three minutes.

What's up, man?
Oh, shit. What's up?

I thought you was someone else.
Pinball Parker.

Armed robber, arsonist, dope fiend. I'm
a hell of a nice guy. I just got caught.

Aw, shucks.
- All right, face me.
- I got him.

Come on.
You guys are late
for the party.

- Okay.
- Let's go, sweetheart.

What's up, Cochise?