Jack Crow: Well, first of all, they're not romantic, all right? It's not like they're a bunch of fuckin' fags hoppin' around in rented formal wear and seducing everybody in sight with cheesy Eurotrash accents, all right? Forget whatever you've seen in the movies. They don't turn into bats. Crosses don't work. Garlic? You wanna try garlic? You stand there with garlic around your neck, one of these buggers will bend you fucking over and take a walk up your strada chocolata while he's suckin' the blood outta your neck, all right? And they don't sleep in coffins lined in taffeta. You wanna kill one? You drive a wooden stake right through his fuckin' heart. Sunlight turns 'em into crispy critters. You got it?
Jack Crow: Padre... I'm beginning to like you... so don't make me hurt you, OK? Just tell me what you know... I'll buy you a beer and get you laid. Come on. If you don't tell me, I'm gonna have to start cutting on ya.
Father Adam Guiteau: No, you won't. You're a righteous man, Mr. Crow. Besides I serve a higher master than you. Any secrets I keep are to protect the church and its followers.