Danny Butterman

— 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.

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

— 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.

— 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.

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.

— You're a doctor, deal with it.
— Yeah, motherfucker.