«The Boss»

— Well, I don't suppose I have to say anything as trite and clichéd as "Go to the police and you're a dead man."
— I think you just did.
— I guess I did.

— I'm not such a bad guy, you know. Some folks have grown pretty fat off me.
— Some have grown pretty dead.

— I'm sorry. Who are you?
— I'm The Boss.
— I thought he was The Boss.
— Why? Do we look alike? So, Mr. Fisher, you were gonna tell me something?
— I don't know. You brought me here.
— Yes, I did, but back when you thought I was him.
— I never thought you were him, I thought he was you.

Mr. Fisher. Are you familiar with The Shmoo, Mr. Fisher? Comic strip I liked as a boy. The Shmoo was a loveable creature, really. Laid eggs, gave milk... and died of sheer ecstasy when looked at with hunger. The Shmoo loved to be eaten. It could taste like any food you desire. Shmoo hide cut thin made fine leather. Even Shmoo whiskers made excellent toothpicks. In essence, The Shmoo supplied all of the world's wants.

— So, let me see if I've got this right. I'm paying you a lot of money to kill somebody, and you're getting somebody else to do it?
— Don't worry. I'm gonna kill somebody.