That's why you're Martin Weir

Chili Palmer:

Martin, Look at me. Martin:
I'm looking at you. Chili Palmer:
No, I want you to look at me the way I'm looking at you. Put it in your eyes, 'You're mine, asshole,' without saying it. Martin:
Like this? [heavy lidded eyes] Chili Palmer:
What you're telling me, you're tired? You wanna go to bed? Martin:
Wait. How about this? [squints] Chili Palmer:
Now you're squinting like you need glasses. Martin:
Well, what are you getting... Chili Palmer:
Look at me. What I'm thinking is, 'You're mine. I fuckin' own you.' But what I'm not doing is feeling anything about it one way or the other. You understand? You're not a person to me, you're a name in my collection book, a guy owes me money, that's all. [Martin does the look once again] Chili Palmer:
Whoah. Karen Flores:
He's... he's good. Chili Palmer:
You nailed it. Martin:
[guttural]
That's what I think of you, asshole. Nothing. Chili Palmer:
That's why you're Martin Weir