- Khash, get in here.

-(EatKhash, finishing his conversation with the guys as he enters the office) ...Hey, count me in for poker, I'm always the big winner.   What's up, Captain?

- You get that blonde last night?

- Yes, sir.

- Good work, Detective.

- Thank you, Captain.

- Park your ass... Word is there's a shipment coming in tonight at the dock.  Macedonians.  Serbs, maybe.

- What's the source?

- C.I. 

- Is it reliable?

- It's Confidential.  Cribs,  toy chests, plastic playhouses.  Those things are hot items in the black market this time a year.  Every Slav in the city is going to be selling them out the trunk of his Moskvitch.

- Oh boy.  My kids would love those. 

- Need you the stake it out till you see some activity.

- Why me, sir?

- Because I don't like you.

- Sir?

- Just jerking you around.  You're the most qualified, Detective.  And frankly, you're the best I got, Khash.

- (bantering) Well, some things are for certain, Sir.  Don't worry, if I see some Bosniak carrying a crib, I'll shoot him dead.

- You do that.  And Khash?

- Sir, I haven't forgot about Christmas presents for your children from previous marriages.

- Sonuvabitch! Get the hell out of my office.