-Butch, stop watching TV for a second. -Yeah?
You've got a special visitor.
Now, do you remember when I told you your daddy died in a P.O.W. camp?
Well, this here is Captain Loons. He was in the P.O.W. camp with Daddy.
Hello, little man. Boy, I sure heard a bunch about you.
See, I was a good friend of your dad's.
We were in that Hanoi pit of hell together... over five years.
Butch... I got something for ya.
This watch. This watch was on your daddy's wrist when he was shot down over Hanoi.
He was captured, put in a Vietnamese prison camp.
He knew that if the gooks ever saw the watch, it'd be confiscated, taken away.
The way your dad looked at it, this watch was your birthright.
He'd be damned if any slope's gonna put their greasy, yellow hands on his boy's birthright,
so he hid it in one place he knew he could hide something-- his ass.
Five long years he wore this watch up his ass.
Then he died of dysentery-- He give me the watch. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass two years.
Then... after seven years, I was sent home to my family and...
now... little man, I give the watch to you.
It's time, Butch.
In the heavyweight division, in the right corner wearing the blue trunks, weighing 210 pounds, Floyd Ray Wilson!
It's official. It's official. Wilson is dead!
Well, Dan, that had to be the bloodiest, hands down, the most brutal fight this city's ever seen.
Coolidge was out of there faster than I've ever seen a victorious boxer leave the ring. Do you think he knew Wilson was dead?
My guess would be yes. I could see the frenzy in his eyes...
give way to the realization of what he was doing. I think any man would've left the ring that fast.
Do you feel this tragedy... is gonna affect the world of boxing?
A tragedy like this can't help but shake the world of boxing to its very foundations.
It's of paramount importance, during the sad weeks ahead, the eyes of the W.B.A. remain--
-Marsellus. -No, it wasn't. I didn't do it.
-How you doing? -Great.
I never thanked you for dinner.
-What you got? -He booked.
-His trainer? -Says he don't know nothin'. I believe him.
I think Butch surprised his ass same as us.
No, we don't wanna "think." We wanna know.
Take him to the kennel, sic the dogs on his ass. We'll find out for goddamn sure what he knows and what he don't.
Butch's search-- How do you want it done?
I'm prepared to scour the Earth for that motherfucker.
If Butch goes to Indochina, I want a nigger hiding in a bowl of rice... ready to pop a cap in his ass.
I will take care of it.