[
Tyler and Hunt have forced a butcher to strip to his underwear in his cold store, to encourage him to answer their questions]
Gene Hunt:
My friend is going to ask you some questions. Personally I hope you don't answer them because I want you to die in here and end up inside a pork pie.
Gene Hunt:
You think you know everything, don't you?
Sam Tyler:
I know the stench of rotten apples.
Gene Hunt:
Yeah? And I know your slag is lying through her teeth and do you wanna know why?
Sam Tyler:
Yeah, why?
Gene Hunt:
Because Stephen Warren is a bum bandit. D'you understand? A poof. A fairy. A queer. A queen. Fudge packer. Uphill gardener. Fruit picking sodomite.
Sam Tyler:
He's gay?
Gene Hunt:
As a bloody Christmas tree! Mind you, he is a little touchy on the subject, being a twisted Catholic with an elderly mother and all, so I wouldn't go mentioning it to him... You challenged his authority so he stitched you up like a kipper. Pretty girl appealed to your vanity as the only decent sheriff in Dodge City. Slipped you a Mickey, tied you up and bounced on your ding-a-ling.
Sam Tyler:
Why?
Gene Hunt:
I suspect the answer will lie in the post. Photos, you idiot.
Gene Hunt:
I'm not a Catholic meself, Mr Warren, but isn't there something about thou shalt not suck off rent boys?
Stephen Warren:
How dare you come in here?
Gene Hunt:
You could've said that to the boy!
Gene Hunt:
[
the Sweet is playing loudly in a club] Do you like this music?
Sam Tyler:
Yeah, I do, don't you?
Gene Hunt:
It's just a lot a noise, really. Me and the wife like, eh, Roger Whitaker. Well, lot more her than me. D'ya know him?
Sam Tyler:
Not intimately.
Gene Hunt:
Keep it to yourself. We all have our dirty little secrets
Sam Tyler:
Indeed we do.
Gene:
It's a horrible concept, ain’t it? Huge psychotic hippies fencing stolen tellies.
Sam Tyler:
This has nothing to do with me.
Gene:
Oh, stop being such a girl. Think of it as a tax on bad people.
Nelson:
What is that, mon brave?
Gene:
It's a television.
Nelson:
In a pub?
Gene:
Yeah, ask the boy wonder here.
Sam Tyler:
It's nothing to do with me.
Gene:
Tell him what you told me.
Sam Tyler:
I can make some brackets, I can put it on the wall, and watch the sports.
Nelson:
In a pub?
Gene Hunt:
Don't talk to me! Trousers!
Gene Hunt:
A month later I took my first back hander.
Sam Tyler:
How did it make you feel?
Gene Hunt:
Like shit.
Sam Tyler:
How do you feel now?
Gene Hunt:
I try not to think about it. I do the best that I can, to take care of my men and the people in my city.
Sam Tyler:
But when you do think about it, how does it make you feel?
Gene Hunt:
Like there's an animal eating away at me insides.
Sam Tyler:
Fancy doing something about it?
Gene Hunt:
Thought you'd never ask.
Gene Hunt:
How did you know Red Rum was gonna win the national?
Sam Tyler:
Just a hunch.
Gene Hunt:
No inside information? No tip off from someone in the racing fraternity?
Sam Tyler:
I wouldn't do that would I?
Gene Hunt:
I didn't think you'd lock a murder suspect in a giant fridge.
Sam Tyler:
He wouldn't answer my question.
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