(John Marston is in Thieves' Landing and finds Irish in the process of robbing two nuns)
Irish: Up sister. Put them up!
John: Irish, what are you doing?
(Irish whirls around, pointing his gun at John)
Irish: Who the hell are you?
John: Give me that!
(John takes Irish's pistol)
John: I'm your old friend, amnesia.
(John clubs Irish over the head with the handle of the revolver, knocking Irish to the ground)
Irish: Oh, good blimey!
John: And I've come to tell you, if you ever pretend to forget my name or your debt to me again, I'll make sure you reach heaven before these two ladies. Now get down there!
(John throws Irish to the ground)
Irish: Ah, Mr. Marston! How are you?
John: Ashamed. Ashamed to know you. What the hell's wrong with you, robbing these gentlewomen and ladies of the Lord?
Irish: I thought they was doxies!
John: Ladies, I'm sorry about this man. He's unfortunately lost his mind to the demon drink. At least I hope he has and he wasn't this stupid all along. So ah... Please excuse us.
(John allows the two nuns to pass by and leave)
John: Now, Irish, that gatling gun doesn't work. I find that rather upsetting, don't you?
Irish: Heart-breaking, which is why I was just comin' to see you, when the drink got the better of me.
(Irish stretches and gives his head a shake)
Irish: Come on. I know where we can find the parts for ya. Mother feckin' Mary!
(John and Irish now walk through Thieves' Landing on their way to the warehouse)
Irish: Whew, that fresh air's got me head spinnin' like a top. Can't be good for a fella.
John: Shut up, you lazy drunk, before I stop your head spinnin' with a bullet.
Irish: I resent that, Johnny. I been working like a beaver on your behalf.
John: You been working like a weasel on my behalf. Bushwackin' defenceless ladies of the cloth? You must have been raised on sour milk, Irish.
Irish: What are you talking about? I'm a good Catholic boy.
John: You're a booze-blind coward.
Irish: And you're a hypocrite, Marston. You've robbed just as many innocent folks as me.
John: I tried to only rob those who had more than they deserved.
Irish: Christ, the church has more money than anyboy!
John: Where are we goin', Irish?
Irish: Just to the warehouse here in Thieves' Landing. I'm tellin' you, Johnny boy, it's all set up. We're meetin' this pal of mine at the back door of the office. Hobble-tongued fella by the name of Shaky.
John: And he's got the ammunition we need?
Irish: Jesus, stop frettin', will you? I knows about guns front, back and sideways.
John: You're gonna be real familiar with mine if things keep on this way.
(John and Irish approach the warehouse gate)
Irish: This is it. Come on, smiler.
(Irish tries to open the gate but it won't open)
Irish: Well, I'll be buggered. This door was supposed to be unlocked. Come on, let's see if we can get in around the back.
John: I'm beginning to lose my patience.
Irish: I'm startin' to think you're soft on me, Johnny boy. Can't even sneeze these days without you bein' there to catch the drips.
John: This is your last chance, you good-for-nothing shyster. You've already wasted too much of my time.
Irish: Alright, we should be able to get in here. Stick with me and keep quiet.
(John and Irish approach the back door of the office)
Irish: Shaky's made the arrangements and he'll...
(The sounds of someone being beaten are heard)
Irish: Shhhhhhh!
Irish: Oh, shite. Sounds like Shaky's only gone and got himself found out.
(Inside the office, Shaky is tied up and is being interrogated by three men)
Gangster: (Laughs) Alright, now all we have to do is find out who you work with. Ya hear me, Shaky, you wretched fucking son of a whore?
Shaky: Suck my --
Gangster: Again!
(Another gangster, Grady Underwood, continues punching Shaky)
Irish: Labour relations don't sound like they're exactly... at an all-time high. You sneak in and get poor Shaky loose. I'll go get the wagon... Good luck, Marston. He's a good man, that Shaky.
(Irish and John head down the stairs and part ways)
Irish: I'll be waiting out by the front gate with the wagon. Good luck.
(John enters the warehouse and incapacitates the gangsters)
Shaky: P-p-p-p-pl-p-pl-please please, mister. Untie-un-un-un-unt-un-un-un untie me, I'll make it w-w-w-w-worth your while.
(John unties Shaky)
Shaky: I th-th-th-th-th-th-tha-tha-tha-thank you for your kindness, m-m-m-mister. I th-th-th-thought I wa- I was a dead man.
John: My kindness is only as good as the bullets you can fetch up for me and your friend Irish. Let me down and you'll be a dead man.
(Shots are fired at the office)
Shaky: This is gonna be one-one-one-one-one helluva fight.
(A shootout breaks loose inside the warehouse)
Shaky: C-c-c-come on, there's only two of us!
Shaky: Who's makin' f-f-fun of Sh-sh-sh-Shaky now?
Shaky: Th-th-that-that Winchester of yours oughta make s-s-short short short work of 'em!
Shaky: Come on, partner. Let's f-f-f-f-finish these sons-a-bitches!
(After the warehouse as been cleared)
Shaky: Let's head f-f-f-for the door! Follow me!
Shaky: O-o-o-open the door! I g-got you covered!
(John opens the gate and him and Shaky enter the storage yard)
Shaky: Shit! There's a bunch more of 'em out by the b-b-b-b-b-by the crates! Come on, partner! Let's f-f-f-finish these sons-a-bitches! Get out here, all of you!
Shaky: Looks like we got m-m-m got most of 'em. Now now n-n-n let's go let's go find the ammunition.
(John and Shaky clear the first area of criminals, and head closer to the ammunition)
Shaky: Look out! More of them bastards!
(John and Shaky kill off all the criminals and head for the ammunition. Irish arrives with the wagon and John loads it up)
Shaky: Now we're even.
Irish: Half-even, Shaky. You still owe me for them morphine pills to calm your nerves, Shh-shh-shh-Shaky!
Shaky: You'll get your half, more you d-d-d-dirty f-f-fuckin' snake!
Irish: B-b-b-b-b-better!
John: Alright, gentlemen. Let's go.
Shaky: Fu-fu-fu-fuckin' fuck!
Irish: Oh, me virgin ears.
Irish: Alright, hop on, I'll get us out of here.
(John and Irish climb aboard the wagon and head out of Thieves' Landing)
Irish: You have fun in there, you and Shaky?
John: I killed a lot of men for this damn machine gun of yours.
Irish: I'm sorry I missed all the dramas.
John: You always miss all the drama. There must be cobwebs growin' on that holster of yours.
Irish: Someone's gotta drive the wagon, don't they? Team work, Johnny boy. That's my game. Not just the glory, like you.
(More criminals chase after John and Irish)
Irish: Shite! They're comin' after us!
(John kills the first group that chased after them)
Irish: I don't like this, Marston. Me heart's beatin' like a bloody drum!
John: Just drive, Irish. You're acting like a school girl.
(The next group of attackers appear)
Irish: They're not givin' up, are they?
(John kills the criminals)
Irish: Here come more of them bastards!
John: Seems like half of New Austin wants me dead. I'm tellin' you, Irish. That machine gun had better work after all this.
Irish: Don't you worry. You won't find a finer piece of artillery west of Dublin.
Irish: Get that fella on the bridge!
(John shoots and kills the man on the bridge)
Irish: I don't know if I can take much more of this. They're shootin' right at me.
John: You're a real coldblooded killer, Irish.
(More attackers appear)
Irish: Sakes alive! How many are there?
John: Any time you want to shoot somebody, Irish, please feel free.
(John eliminates all the attackers and the pair nears MacFarlane's Ranch)
Irish: Helluva team, me and you! We should consider makin' this a more permanent partnership.
John: I think I've about had my fill of liars in this life, partner.
Irish: Well, I think you're ready for Fort Mercer. You got enough ammunition here to take down a small country, fella.
John: I'm gonna need it. Bill Williamson's got himself an army.
Irish: So, I guess this is where we part ways, Johnny Marston?
John: Or maybe not, friend. You're gonna be right alongside me when I take on that fort. After all you put me through, it's time you pulled the damn trigger for once. Show me what a big, bad killer you really are.
Irish: Er, yes. Of course. What am I thinkin'? Don't worry, you can count on me. I just hope I don't steal all your glory. Wouldn't be right or proper.
(John dismounts the wagon at MacFarlane's Ranch)
Irish: Impressive, Marston. We'll have West Dickens' wagon rigged and ready to go soon enough.
(Irish rides away)