Danny Butterman

— I got beaten up a lot when I was young but it didn't stop me. I wanted to be like Uncle Derek.
— He sounds like a good bloke.
— Actually, he was arrested for selling drugs to students.
— What a cunt.

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— Okay. What about this guy? Ask yourself, why has he got his hat pulled down like that?
— He's fuck ugly.
— Or he doesn't want you to see his face.
— Because he's fuck ugly.

James Reaper: — What happened, Danny?
Danny Butterman: — Car accident.
James Reaper: — Nasty way to go.
Nicholas Angel: — Constable, official vocab guidelines state we no longer refer to these incidents as "accidents," they're now "collisions."
Danny Butterman: — Right.
<...>
Amanda Paver: — What happened, Danny?
Danny Butterman: — Traffic collision. Hey, why can't we say "accident" again?
Nicholas Angel: — Because "accident" implies there's nobody to blame.

— See what I did there?
— You hypnotised him.

— She certainly has a distinctive laugh.
— She was in my year at school. Always had a thing for her.
— She clearly has a thing for older men.
— What, with Martin Blower? No way!
— We just sat through three hours of so-called acting, Constable, their kiss was the only convincing moment in it.
— Hey, now you come to mention it, I too have reason to believe she favours the older gent.
— Really? How so?
— Marcus Carter's big brother said he'd fingered her up the duck pond.

— What's it like being stabbed?
— It was the single most painful experience of my life.
— What was the second most painful?

— It's Frank! He's appointed himself judge, jury and executioner!
— He's not Judge Judy and executioner.

Accusations, Prosecution

Hey, we did get a little drunk. Did you get it? 'Cause he's... He's little and he's drunk.

— Okay, what's his story?
— Oh, that's Lurch. He's a trolley boy at the local supermarket. Real name, Michael Armstrong. Dad says he's got a child's mind. And lives up Summer Street with his mum and his sister.
— And are they as big as he is?
— Who?
— The mum and the sister.
— Same person.

— Well, you know, I mean, maybe we should do something to celebrate. Unless you gotta water your Peace Lily.
— What exactly did you have in mind?
— I don't know. Pub?

Dr. Robin Hatcher: — Thank you, Danny.
Danny Butterman: — I can't believe I shot someone.
Nicholas Angel: — He's a doctor, he can deal with it.

Andy Wainwright: — Maybe they're not here.
Nicholas Angel: — Wait here.
Doris Thatcher: — Don't go in on your own.
Danny Butterman: — Don't worry, he knows what he's doing.
Nicholas Angel: — Okay. They're in. You deal with the store. I'll deal with the trolley boy.

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