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: [to Phoebe
] Boys have a penis, and girls have a vagina. Phoebe
: [to Kimble
] Well, I see you've covered the basics.
Detective John Kimble
: Just don't throw up on me. Phoebe O'Hara
: Nah, it's OK, I'm not gonna throw up on you. But I am gonna kiss you.
Detective John Kimble
: How do I look? Phoebe O'Hara
: Take off the gun.
[Kimble realizes he has strapped on his shoulder holster
] Detective John Kimble
: That's a good idea. Phoebe O'Hara
: Little bastards are gonna eat you alive. Detective John Kimble
: Get some rest and don't worry. I've been working undercover for a long time. They're six-year-olds. How much trouble can they be? Phoebe O'Hara
: On second thought, take the gun.
: Well, what are you going to do? Handcuff her to the bumper of your car and take her for a ride? Detective John Kimble
: Let's just say I'm not going to offer to cook her dinner.
[after his first day, John comes back and collapses on his bed
] Phoebe O'Hara
: How'd it go? Detective John Kimble
: Go away. Phoebe O'Hara
: That well, huh? Detective John Kimble
: You take over tomorrow. Phoebe O'Hara
: And blow our cover? Can't do it. Detective John Kimble
: They're horrible. They're like little terrorists. Phoebe O'Hara
: Tell me about it.
: [advising Kimble on how to be a teacher
] Look, you've got to treat this like any other police situation. You walk into it showing fear, you're dead. And those kids know you're scared. Detective John Kimble
: [looks at her a moment then nods
] No fear. Phoebe
: No fear.
: [Eleanor Crisp enters locker room, where she finds and unloads Kimble's gun, and also finds her dead son's bullet-ridden body and Kimble slumped and bleeding on floor against the shower wall
] Where's my grandson? Detective John Kimble
] I don't know! Eleanor Crisp
: [Eleanor fires gun into wall, just inches above Kimble's head, hissing
] Where's... my... grandson? Detective John Kimble
: [gasping continues
] Go to hell! Eleanor Crisp
: That's exactly where you're going, you son of a bitch!
[moves towards Kimble and taking aim with pistol, suddenly accosted by an injured and bat-wielding Phoebe, who strikes her in the shoulder and knocks her to the floor
: You're not so tough without your car, are you?
: Not so tough without your car, are ya?