Previously on...
I'm doing this, um, this pretty big pilot.
Writing, directing, producing, starring in.
I'd love to do the show.
You do realize I'm currently not allowed in the States?
Can you believe Duncan got eaten by a great white shark
and that all of our old Neptune High School classmates
are here at this island B&B for his memorial service?
Unh. Unh.
Ow! Ow! Ha, ha. Come on.
Whoa. Weevil's dead.
Was I nervous about killing off Weevil? No.
That's TV 101, son. All the best shows do it.
Lost, Game of Thrones, South Park.
There are two keys to success nowadays. Kill your darlings...
They wanted me for Jon Snow, by the way.
Yeah, I guess they had questions about my English accent.
I'm like, "What?" Check it.
Night falls and my watch begins.
I shall take no wife.
I shall not spread my seed until my watch is over.
You know nothing.
Spot on, right?
By the way, uh, find me England on a map of Westeros.
Thank you.
What were we talking about?
Two keys to success in TV.
Kill your main characters, and...
Oh.
Madison.
Quelle surprise.
- You want me to leave? - Dangerous time to be out alone.
I'm a big girl. I know how to handle myself.
- That's what they tell me. - You believe everything you hear?
Depends on who's doing the talking.
- Some people don't know when to shut up. - Tell me about it.
Sure, I make being a P.I. look good.
But being a P.I. is not all fun and games
and boundary-redefining sex.
I've seen some dark stuff.
The kind of things that would wear a man down.
The kind of stuff that would make Gary Busey gag.
I might be carved from granite,
but I'm not made of stone.
"The case of an old dog up to his old tricks."
She's learned a few new ones since last time.
I hope she's getting her money's worth
for this private investigating.
I haven't forgotten about your case, little bro.
As God is my witness, I will find your killer.
Dick, I told you. I told you. I jumped.
I jumped off the roof of the Neptune Grand.
That's what they want me to believe. Okay.
Ok? Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, and it is go time.
Gotta put that on hold for now though.
- There's a new mystery afoot. - That's right. Weevil.
I ran into him in the seventh circle.
- Guy looks good. - Weevil.
Say, next time you see him,
ask him if he knows who took my sunglasses.
Why don't I just ask if he knows who killed him?
Right. That too. Thanks.
Stay tight, Beav.
- Keep that head up, Dick. - You know I will.
Who are you talking to?
Myself. Going over the case.
Standard P.I. procedure. Who'd want Weevil dead?
A rival gang?
A rival biker gang?
A rival Mexican biker gang?
A rival anti-Mexican biker gang?
Isn't this the sort of thing Veronica Mars
sticks her nose into?
Where is she, anyway?
She's got a big open house. It's a buyer's market.
I see.
But enough about her...
I guess her dad is all over this, then.
This is my case.
The only thing Keith needs to stick his nose into
is letting me do my thing while he eats dinner at 5 p.m.
And he watches his CBS procedural.
I'm saying he's old.
Yeah, I got that.
How about I give you something to stick your nose into?
I'm saying you should pleasure me.
Oh, right.
All right...
A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
But what some men gotta do
is more than what other men gotta do.
Such is the burden I carry.
Thank you, miss, for stepping forward.
Can I ask your name?
Thank you very much.
- What's this? - It's Keith Mars.
He's chasing down a bounty in Arizona,
but he's been hired to solve the case remotely
- by a mystery woman. - What mystery woman?
Name withheld.
But I hear that she's extremely wealthy.
Her husband's a Howard Hughes-type.
She has two kids, a boy and a girl. Both deceased.
Recently acquitted of manslaughter charges.
Curious.
Find out what you can about her.
Um, do you recall anything out of the ordinary
when Mr. Weevil went into the, uh...
- Can I help you, Mr. Mars? - Dick Casablancas.
Just the man I wanted to talk to.
What were you doing between 3:10 and 3:15?
It's a little hard to explain, if you catch my drift.
Nothing you haven't seen before. You know.
With a zoom lens. Through a motel room window.
Maybe you've tried it once or twice, back in the swinging 60s.
I was born in 1962, Dick.
I wasn't performing oral sex in that decade.
Sex is a two-way street, Keith.
Modern ladies want their cookies too.
What I meant was, what were you doing at 3:15 this afternoon?
Multiple witnesses reported seeing you
pursuing Weevil into his room after his eulogy.
Allow me answer your question with a question.
Why would a mystery woman hire you
from a thousand miles away to find my sunglasses?
I'm investigating Weevil's murder, Dick.
They're intertwined, Keith.
I don't know why anyone thought they needed you
to solve either case. I'm all over it.
- Like a middle-aged woman on a Luna bar. - Wait a minute.
What do you mean "you're all over it?"
Oh, you haven't heard? I'm a P.I. now. Yeah.
Puttin' the Dick back in private Dick.
Really?
So what did you score on your P.I. licensing test?
- One thousand. - Mm-hm. Yeah.
Well, I think this case is better left to someone
with a few more miles on the odometer.
Mm-hm. Maybe. But old cars break down.
Engines sputter.
Frames get rusty. Tires go bald.
- See what I'm getting at? - Yeah, pretty sure you're saying
I can't solve cases because I'm bald.
Room service.
- Hold that thought. - Oh,
I will hold that thought.
Classic P.I. standoff.
Just a couple of peacocks, erecting their trains
to display their shimmering plumage.
But that's the secret to my success. I'm always erect.
I didn't order this.
Nice try, dude. You're not going to distract me with the
"confused about the origins of my sandwich" bit.
Oldest trick in the book. Let's talk business, hombre.
This is my case.
Just steer clear until I find the kill...
Steer clear until I find...
Mr. Mars?
Mr. Mars. Mr. Mars!
Tell Veronica...
There's a cute three-two...
for sale by owner...
Mr. Mars!
Spondoolie.
TV 101, son.
- synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -