Bruno Roman: Robert Ironside.
Ironside: Did you write that?
Bruno Roman: Who else would send my son to bring it to you? Sure I wrote it.
Ironside: You wrote it, you read it.
Bruno Roman: "I'm back, if you still want me, come and take your best shot."
Ironside: You were always excessive, Bruno. The note was enough. Man with the gun got you nothing.
Bruno Roman: Been a long time, 1960. He ran me out of the country, this man right here. What were you then, Ironside, a lieutenant? I made him a hero. I left for Mexico, they promoted him to Captain. It's a long time to carry a grudge.
Ironside: What do you want?
Bruno Roman: Somebody murdered my niece.
Ironside: Murder's a strange word coming from you.
Bruno Roman: Not when I'm talking about my niece. Selma was murdered.
Ironside: I'd like some black coffee.
Bruno Roman: Fifteen years in my house. My ward since she was five years old. You find out who killed her.
Ironside: And if I do?
Bruno Roman: What do you want?
Ironside: Nothing unusual. Arrest and trial for the killer.
Bruno Roman: You want my hand on it?
Ironside: Your word's enough.
Bruno Roman: You got it.
Ironside: I want one more thing. I want you. That warrant's has gathered enough dust.
Bruno Roman: Well, like I said, if your best shot is good enough.
Eric Roman: (a mob killer) It's a walk-in cooler, I built it for... (Ironside gives him a look).
Jack Phelps: I could take you, Bruno.
Bruno Roman: We could take each other out.
Jack Phelps: So the cop has the right idea. He's good, but he's gonna have an angle.
Bruno Roman: He wants me.
Jack Phelps: You put yourself up for a dead girl?
Bruno Roman: She was in my family.
Jack Phelps: This thing goes down, Ironside is through here. What then?
Bruno Roman: I think he's in Reno, Nevada. Miles and miles of open desert around there.
Jack Phelps: Funny, eh? Because of a cop, it's down to you and me.
Bruno Roman: You got the guts?
Jack Phelps: You guarantee no back-up?
Bruno Roman: You see me alone here now?
Ironside: What's that?
Fran: It's a clue.
Ed: Columbidae clombiformes.
Fran: He's brilliant.
Mark: What did he say?
Ironside: The feather's from a pigeon. That might be a veiled insult.
Fran: Oh I didn't mean...
Ironside: You handed it to me with the quill pointing north, that means it is a homing not a passenger pigeon and it's flying to San Francisco. (yawning) I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm going to follow that pigeon home.