LA's Finest
Mondays 8:00 PM on FOXLA's Finest Season 1 Quotes
Syd: Oh, so we’re just going to pretend like you didn’t walk away from me yesterday, and you haven’t been returning my calls? We’re just gonna pretend it didn’t happen?
McKenna: I don’t know. Are we going to pretend you didn’t go a background check on me, which is like a major violation.
Syd: OK, here we go.
McKenna: Look, after what you’ve done, you don’t get to dig into my life.
Syd: Nobody cares what you did, McKenna. Everyone’s got a past, and for the record, I wasn’t digging into your life. I was looking into Ray Sherman, which led me to his brother Dante, which led me to you. And you shouldn’t be surprised because I saw Dante at your house.
McKenna: Because of you. You are dragging me into your mess. I know what Gabriel Knox did to you.
Syd: I don’t even know what Gabriel Knox did to me. I’ve got the scars, I’ve got the medical records, but when I close my eyes at night, I can’t even see the asshole’s face.
Patrick: I don’t know what I’m going to do without you there giving me…
Howser: Guidance, the wisdom of my years.
Patrick: Shit.
Howser: Ah.
Patrick: I worked harder to keep you from giving me shit.
Howser: That’s right.
Syd: So maybe Lowell was taking out a tour and fell out?
McKenna: Right, he owns one of those magical helicopters that keep flying even when the pilot accidentally falls out.
Syd: Or maybe, Lowell was pushed out of his chopper for being a smart ass.
McKenna: Not bad.
Syd: Like a B-.
McKenna: Yeah.
Todd: Excuse me?
McKenna: You didn’t stick the landing.
Syd: Neither did Lowell.
McKenna: Too soon.
Syd: Too soon?
McKenna: Yeah, a little too soon.
Calloway: I’ll be blunt. Syd’s going to get herself arrested if she’s lucky. Killed if she’s not. You want to help her? Help me.
McKenna: That’s really dramatic.
Carlene: You dodged a bullet.
Syd: Excuse me?
Carlene: Man dense enough to ignore that dress isn’t worth your time.
Syd: You window shopping?
Carlene: I was. I think I found what I’m looking for.
McKenna: What is wrong with you?
Dante: What’s wrong with me? Ray’s fucking dead. Knox’s killing him. When they find him behind this club, this club we were going to open to get out underneath Knox. They’re coming for me next. So, you know what’s interesting about it? They burned him alive because they think he stole some drugs, burnt down the club, but you and I, we both know what really happened, don’t we?
McKenna: Oh god. Dante, I’m… I’m so sorry.
Dante: I know that’s bullshit because you hid it, right, and the feeling was mutual, OK. But that guy always came first for me. You know that. You owe him.
McKenna: So what do you want from me?
Dante: I want you to do your job, and I want you to find who did this.
Priest: Is today the day? Do I finally get your confession?
Syd: I’d have to be a sinner first.
Priest: I guess I dressed up for nothing. You know you don’t have to suffer alone.
Syd: Maybe I don’t want to drag other people into my suffering.
Syd: Who’s on the mound?
Joseph: Kershaw, he’s a bull, stubborn, never gives in to a hitter.
Syd: That’s what makes him so great.
Joseph: Great as he is, he can’t get a win without a team behind him.
Syd: What are you doing on Tujunga? Nobody takes Tujunga. You’re wasting time. Just make a left right here.
McKenna: I know how to get there.
Syd: Dude, the app says there’s a shortcut…
McKenna: The app can suck it. I know LA.
Gil: Sista gal is right. The app is always faster.
McKenna: Wait a minute, is someone talking in the backseat? Someone I told to shut his face five minutes ago. I ain’t playing with you, Gil.
Gil: Why you giving the man grief?
Syd: Because you made us chase you, jackass.
Gil: My people were born to run. I have an obligation to flee.
Syd: OK, you’re fake ass Jamaican accent is getting on my damn nerves.
Izzie: You got a perp in the trunk.
Syd: No, Izzie, we wouldn’t do that. We have a snitch in the trunk.
Gil: I prefer confidential informant.
Fletcher: Can’t your boys down at the LAPD handle this?
Syd: No, actually, they’d be way too busy serving a warrant at a brothel in Koreatown fronting as a message parlor.
