Idris Elba: Roque

The Losers

Roque

Jensen: [Aisha has the Losers in a Mexican standoff] Ohhhh... shit. She's got a gun and... it's pointed at my dick. Clay, it's pointed at my dick!
Pooch: Would you rather it was pointed at your face?
Jensen: I know it makes no sense, but yes!
[Aisha points her gun at Jensen's face]
Pooch: Better?
Jensen: Not really...
Clay: Where's your gun, Jensen?
Jensen: It's in the van.
Clay: What's it doing there?
Jensen: Not... much.
[Aisha rolls her eyes]
Roque: Will you two shut up?
Jensen: Well, what if it was pointed at YOUR dick?
[Aisha shoots Jensen in the arm]

Roque: [Seeing Jenson's Pink Petunia shirt] Am I the only one who sees this shirt?
Jensen: Oh, yeah. It's my niece's little league soccer team, the Petunias, they're in the finals, so I...
[the whole team walks away in disgust]
Jensen: They're... they're in the finals!

Roque: Okay, you stay with us. But if anything smells like a trap, I get to put a bullet in your skull. Does that sound fair?
Aisha: That sounds fun.
Jensen: Sounds like my parents...

Roque: Think you're thinking clear on this? Huh? 'Cuz every time we mess up, it's because of a woman.
Clay: Name one time that I...
Roque: Amber.
Clay: Amber wasn't the problem, Amber's husband was the problem.
Pooch: Amber's husband wasn't the one who shot you.
Clay: It was only in the leg.
Jensen: What about Emma?
Clay: Emma doesn't count. I didn't sleep with Emma.
Roque: No, because she put a bomb in your car!
Clay: All right, I admit - that did take a little of the romance out of it.

Clay: I'm clear, Roque.
Roque: Well, you better be, because I ain't getting killed by no girl.
Aisha: [coming up behind them] Been a long time since anyone called me a girl.
[to Clay]
Aisha: She put a *bomb* in your car?
Clay: She was volatile.

Pooch: All right, look. We're not going anywhere until you two squash this bullshit.
Clay: Pooch, we're on a schedule here. Let's go.
Pooch: [imitating Clay] Oh, "we're on a schedule?"
[Yanks the keys out the ignition, looks pointedly at Clay and Roque]
Clay: [sighs] Roque... I'm sorry I hit you in the face.
Pooch: [laughing] Oh. That was good. That was good. Roque? ROQUE?
Roque: Clay... I'm sorry I threatened to cut your head off.
Pooch: VERY good! Wow. Don't you two feel so much better?
Clay, Roque: [in unison] NO.
Pooch: I don't give a shit. I say we go watch Jensen get himself killed, yeah?

Roque: Come, on, Clay! Look around you. I mean, do you think we're in a position to actually take on some CIA super-spook?
Clay: Roque...
Roque: It's a hell of a plan. You know what? Pooch could set up over there by the taco stand, and Jensen could set up communications right there by the hookers.