The Best Sgt. Al Powell Quotes

Sergeant: Hey Roy, how you feeling?
John: Pretty fuckin' unappreciated, Al.

Sergeant: [over radio] Hey, John? John McClane you still with us?
John: Yeah. But all things being equal, I'd rather be in Philadelphia. Chalk up two more bad guys.
[Begins removing glass from foot]
Sergeant: Well, the boys down here will be glad to hear that. You know we got a pool going on you.
John: What kind of odds am I getting?
Sergeant: You don't wanna know.
John: Put me down for twenty, I'm good for it.
[pulls shard of glass from foot]
John: . Hey pal, you got flat feet?
Sergeant: What the hell you talking about, man.
John: Something had to get you off the street.
Sergeant: What's the matter? You don't think jockeying papers around a desk is a noble effort for a cop?
John: No...
Sergeant: I had an accident.
John: The way you drive, I can see why. What'd you do? Run over your captains foot with the car?
Sergeant: I shot a kid. He was 13 years old. Oh, it was dark, I couldn't see him, he had a ray gun, looked real enough. You know when you're a rookie they can teach you everything about being a cop, except how to live with a mistake. Anyway, I just couldn't bring myself to draw my gun on anyone again.
John: ...Sorry man.

John: [upon seeing Marco arrive, suspense music plays] Freeze m*th*rf*cker! Drop it!
Marco: [panicking] Don't! Don't!
John: Put that fucking gun down! Put the gun down!
Marco: [starts to do so] Ok! But don't shoot! Don't shoot!
John: Drop the fucking gun!
Marco: [still doing so but very slowly] I know! But don't shoot! Don't shoot!
Heinrich: [music changes to a climatic theme as Heinrich comes in] Marco duck!
[John easily shoots Heinrich but Marco manages to take cover. John then hides under a long conference table]
Heinrich: [Meanwhile Al walks inside the building when he feels so sternly stoned]
Sergeant: Aw, the hell with this.
[he walks away]
Sergeant: [after a quick scene change Marco is on the table shooting it as he walks down it]
Marco: You are done! No more table. Where you going pal?
[empties his clip and jams a fresh one in]
Marco: Next time you have a chance to kill someone, don't hesitate.
[John shoots him through the table, emptying his entire magazine]
John: Thank for the advice!

Dwayne T. Robinson: Did you hear that? He just let the guy die, man. He just gave him up. Gimme that headset. That's like pullin' the trigger yourself.
Sergeant: Christ, man. Can't you see what's happening? Can't you read between the lines?
Dwayne T. Robinson: Cold. This on the right channel?
Cop: Yes, sir.
Sergeant: He did everything he could to save him. If he gave himself up, they'd both be dead right now.
Dwayne T. Robinson: Oh, no way, man, no way. They'd be talking to us. Listen, you tell this partner of yours, Powell, to stay the hell out of this from now on, do you hear me? Because, if he doesn't, I'm gonna nail him, boy. I'm really gonna nail his ass, now, believe me.
Sergeant: The man is hurting! He is alone, tired, and he hasn't seen diddly-squat from anybody down here. Now you're gonna stand there and tell me that he's gonna give a damn about what you do to him, *if* he makes it out of there alive? Why don't you wake up and smell what you shoveling?
Dwayne T. Robinson: You listen to me, Sergeant. Any time you wanna go home, you consider yourself dismissed.
Sergeant: No, sir. You couldn't drag me away.

Hans: Touching, Cowboy, touching. Or should I call you, Mr. McClane? Mr. Officer John McClane of the New York Police Department?
Richard: Get on the phone to Harry in New York. Come on, baby, move, move.
Thornburg's: Got it.
Sergeant: Better get a hold of somebody in dispatch.
John: Sister Teresa called me Mr. McClane in the third grade. My friends call me John, and you're neither, shit-head.
Hans: I have someone who wants to talk to you; a very special friend who was with you at the party tonight.
Harry: [Hans hands him the walkie talkie] Hey, John boy.
John: Ellis?
Harry: Yeah. Now listen, John, they're giving me a few minutes to try to talk some sense into you. I know you think you're doing your job, John, and I can appreciate that, but, you're just dragging this thing out. Now look, no one gets outta here until these guys can talk to the *LA* police, and that just ain't gonna happen until you stop messin' up the works, capisci?
John: Ellis, what have you told them?
Harry: I told 'em we were old friends and you were my guest at the party.
John: Ellis, you shouldn't be doin' this.
Harry: Tell me about it. Alright, John, listen. They want you to tell them where the detonators are. They know people are listening. They want the detonators or they're gonna kill me.
[pause]
Harry: John, didn't you hear me?
John: Yeah, I hear you.
Harry: Hey, John, I think you can get with the program a little, huh? The police are here now, it's their problem. Now tell these guys where the detonators are so no one else gets hurt, you know I'm putting my life on the line for you, pal.
John: Ellis, listen to me very carefully.
Harry: John?
John: Shut up Ellis, just shut your mouth! Put Hans back on the line.
[Ellis holds the walkie talkie up]
John: Hans, this shit-head does not know what kind of man you are, but I do. Listen to me!
Hans: Good. Then, you'll give us what we want and save your friend's life. You're not part of this equation this time, you realize that.
[presents his gun]
Harry: Hey, what am I, a method actor? Hans, babe, put away the gun, this is radio, not television.
John: [nervously yelling] Hans, this asshole is not my friend, I just met him tonight, I don't know him. Jesus Christ, Ellis these people are gonna kill you, tell them, you don't know me.
Harry: John, how can you say that after all these years, huh? John?
[gets no response]
Harry: John?
[still gets no response, then laughs slightly, then Hans shoots him in the head]
Hans: [he puts the walkie talkie up to the screaming crowd, then yells into the walkie talkie] You hear that? Talk to me, where are my detonators? Where are they, or shall I shoot another one? Sooner or later, I might get to someone you *do* care about!
John: Go fuck yourself, Hans.

Sergeant: I shot a kid. He was 13 years old. Ohhh, it was dark, I couldn't see him. He had a ray gun, looked real enough. You know, when you're a rookie, they can teach you everything about bein' a cop except how to live with a mistake. Anyway, I just couldn't bring myself to draw my gun on anybody again.

Sergeant: [about McClane] In fact, I think he's a cop. Maybe not LAPD, but he's definitely a badge.
Dwayne T. Robinson: How do you know that?
Sergeant: A hunch, things he said. Like being able to spot a phony ID.
Dwayne T. Robinson: Jesus Christ, Powell, he could be a fucking bartender for all we know.