Cole Phelps: What have you got?
Patrolman James Mitchell: Looks like a drug overdose.
Roy Earle: Get away from him, Phelps. This is my case.
Cole Phelps: Shut your fucking mouth. Since when does a bag man work a case?
Roy Earle: I knew this creep was in on the morphine heist. A victim of his own product.
[Phelps removes his gun and points it at Earle]
Patrolman James Mitchell: Hey, Detective? Can we back it off a notch? This is getting out of hand!
Herschel Biggs: There's a time to talk and a time to shut up. Now is the time to be quiet, son.
Cole Phelps: Courtney Sheldon was a corpsman, Roy. He served his country. He went out with a medical kit and an Army .45 and into places that made the Valley of Death look like a picnic. He was either naïve enough or dumb enough to get involved in the Suburban Development Fund along with the mayor, the DA, Monroe, and a certain crooked cop. He was involved in the morphine heist, but he has a puncture wound in his jugular, which makes this a murder case. He was a better man than you'll ever know. You say one more word about him and I will BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!
Roy Earle: You've finally lost it, partner.
Cole Phelps: I have a pretty good idea why Sheldon is dead, and I know about Monroe. Your vast corrupt future is draining away as we speak.
Roy Earle: I got better things to do than to argue the rub with you.
Cole Phelps: Stay with him until the coroner gets here. Make sure Technical Services bags the evidence. If you let this creep anywhere near it, I'll come looking for you.
Patrolman James Mitchell: Yes, sir.
Herschel Biggs: You know, Phelps - you're not the worst asshole going round.
Cole Phelps: Thanks, Herschel.
