Cole: I hope that big wad of cash doesn't weigh you down.
Hersh: Get your priorities straight, Phelps. We're close to bringing in one of the biggest dope cases of the year and you're worrying about unsubstantial evidence?
Cole: Locked. We need another way in.
Hersh: Yep, that'll work.
Cole: Cover the backdoor.
Man 1: Hey. Who the fuck is that?
Cole: Kill a cop and it's the electric chair.
Hersh: You okay?
Cole: I'll tell you when I see what's waiting for us at the top. Find some cover! Stay down. Cover me. Stay in cover. Get in cover. Get in cover now!
Man 2: You clever asshole. I'm going to find you.
Cole: Kill a cop and it's the electric chair. LAPD. Hands up.
Hersh: Victor Sanders.
Cole: You know this guy?
Hersh: I should have known.
Victor Sanders: Of course I know Roy. Roy and I have had an arrangement for many years.
Cole: Get up! You're under arrest.
Victor Sanders: Am I?
Cole: We have a mountain of prima faci evidence as well as the testimony--
Victor Sanders: You'd be surprised how things have a habit of sorting themselves out. Evidence disappearing. Witnesses that can't be found. Policemen that forget. The impossible becomes probable when you have a client list like mine.
Cole: Shut your mouth. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.
Lieutenant: Working vice can be a thankless task, Phelps, but, on behalf of the Brass, and the moms and dads and the concerned citizens, I'd like to commend you and your partner for smashing this dope ring. Reefer is almost as big a threat to the children of this city as communism.
Cole: What about Sanders, Lieutenant?
Lieutenant: Leave Sanders to me, Phelps. The chief will be looking after that one, personally.
Cole: He will be brought to trial.
Lieutenant: Phelps, we are celebrating your success. Don't push your luck. Sanders is no longer your problem.