Cliff: What's the rush?
Mr. Clavin: Cliffie, I have got to get out of this country as fast as I can.
Cliff: What's going on, Dad?
Mr. Clavin: Okay, listen. I'll level with you. You're my son. I can trust you. My business has gotten me in a little trouble with the law.
Cliff: What kind of business is that?
Mr. Clavin: Real estate fraud.
Cliff: Dad, that's illegal.
Mr. Clavin: Oh, good, I'm not going too fast for you. Now, listen, come on, Cliffie, you gonna come with me?
Cliff: No, no, look, Dad, I can't let you do this. Look, how about you give the money back, throw yourself at the mercy of the court. They'll let you off with a slap on the wrist, 10 years max.
Mr. Clavin: Ten years? Come on, Cliff, grow up, will you. We're talking about heavy cake here. Now, I want you to come. Are you gonna come or no?
Cliff: Well, how do you know I'm not gonna turn you in, huh?
Mr. Clavin: Cliffie, you're not gonna turn in your own father. I know that and you know that.
Cliff: Yeah, you're right, Dad.
Mr. Clavin: All right, I had a couple beers. I'm gonna make one more stop and then I'm gone.