So, what are we doing? Are we just jumping right into this, or--
Not literally, you ass! You scared me half to death! Ow! Ow! Will you-- Ow! Damn it!
You idiot! Ow! Stop it!
What is your-- Ow!
I would like a drink, please.
Ow. Join this great new club.
Brandy, if you have it. Fresh out, turns out.
Good Lord. You should have your underbutler fire the housekeeper.
Yeah, maybe after he's done getting the caviar stains out of my spats.
I was being facetious, Mr. Archer.
I-- I know you're poor.
Well, middle class. This cannot be the middle.
Look, Miss... Vandertunt.
Heiress to the vast Vandertunt publishing fortune.
Right. So, I've had a long day.
My partner was murdered. My office was burgled.
I pissed off two crime bosses and a dirty cop,
and crushed the ankles of a psychopath who,
just for kicks, melts people.
So, as much as I would genuinely like to,
I'm afraid I don't have time to kill you.
You misunderstand me, Mr. Archer.
I want you to help me fake my death.
For which I am prepared to offer you $10,000.
Oh. And my body.
The ten grand is plenty.
I'm afraid this is nonnegotiable.
Do your worst.
I will.
Sync & corrections by honeybunny www.addic7ed.com
Ugh, so when I said do your worst...
I-- I know. Sorry. Long day.
Uh, plus my ear hurts?
I have codeine!
Because heirs to fortunes
like your family's don't fake their own deaths.
They murder their parents and blame it on some poor Hispanic or Negro.
Yes, I thought about that, but I don't know any Hispanics or Negroes.
No, they make up the Hispanic or Negro.
I honestly wouldn't know where to begin.
Okay, but-- Boy, these are good.
Mmm! Aren't they? Zesty.
But putting aside, for now, why you'd want to fake your own death--
Because I have to get away from my family.
They're a seething cauldron of neurotic, alcoholic,
narcissistic, quasi-incestuous megalomaniacs!
How quasi?
I don't know. A four?
Out of what? Are you going to help me or not?
I-- Look, I really don't think you've thought this thing through.
Mm. For starters, even if you pull this off, what are you gonna do for money?
Well, I-- I shall work, of course.
As what?
Uh, one of those.
A... food-perambulator.
Well, my apologies. I thought you were heading into this half-cocked.
- Said the pot to the kettle. - My ear hurt!
You're not some runaway kid whose family couldn't care less she's gone.
They're gonna be looking for you.
So, to make this work, you'd need a body.
And not just any body. A body your same size,
same height and weight, your same general bone structure.
A body-- I mean, if you're gonna do what has to be done here,
a body with your exact same dental records.
Who is that?
I don't know!
I mean, obviously she's a maid. Really.
I just don't know her name, because-- She's a maid?
Obviously.
Did you kill her?
Wha-- No! Jesus!
My brother did.
Well, technically, I suppose the drunken abortionist did.
But my brother got her pregnant in the first place.
And my father would've killed her
if she had refused to get an abortion, so...
But, I mean, not really? Really.
Why do you think my father started the Spanish-American War?
Wasn't it sugar? He got my aunt pregnant.
And sugar? I guess. I don't know. Shut up!
The point is, this poor girl was dead
the minute her panties hit the straw. The--
In the stables. Ah.
But want to know the best part? That wasn't it?
Look! What are you-- Uh, no, don't--
Not one cavity, not one filling!
Since when and how do you know that? Don't you see?
Her teeth are perfect. My teeth are perfect.
Ergo, this plan is perfect!
I mean, dentally, maybe, but if she just disappears?
Think of her family. Do you think I haven't?
Yes. What?
I think you haven't.
If you help me do this,
I'll make an anonymous payment to her family
for an additional $10,000.
Um, how does that bring them closure?
It comes with a note saying she's dead.
Look, nothing we can do will bring this poor girl back to life.
I know, but-- Not even a voodoo priestess,
flown here from Haiti at great expense,
and then every year, on Grandma's birthday,
they throw it your face! Uh...
So the best thing we can do now
is to fill this car to the rafters with dynamite
and shove it over a cliff.
That is literally the worst thing we can do.
Oh, right.
Dynamite would blow her teeth all over the stupid beach.
Well, and-- And then what's the point?
Exactly.
So we'll fake the crash tonight, but first we're gonna plant a few seeds.
First of all, if I wanted your seed--
Seeds of deception.
Oh, sorry. I thought you meant--
I know what you meant.
What in God's name are you doing?
Scrooching down. Well, stop it!
Stop that this instant! You stop--
Shut up. I don't want anybody in Dreamland to see me.
Well, I don't want anyone to see me being chauffeured by a dwarf!
Yeah. Then we'd have to find a dead dwarf and a tiny chauffeur uniform.
Why? To-- Oh, never mind.
But she can't be dressed like a maid, so we need to put her in your clothes.
Right! Then we should go to my hotel.
Which is...
Nice? Where--
Oh! ...is your hotel?
The Chesley, on Sunset. That wasn't so hard, was it?
That's what I said.
Hey, hey, hey, hey. Come on.
Where's my tough guy?
Huh? Where's my tough old Dutch?
There he is.
Huh? Now listen.
Shut up and listen to me, okay?
Because I know--
I know this isn't, you know, ideal,
but you gotta pull yourself together!
No, no. I'm sorry.
That was a poor choice of words,
but for Christ's sake, man.
There's two dead men walking around there
who stole from me--
i.e., my whores, and from you, i.e., your feet!
And you are gonna find them,
and you are gonna bring them to me,
and then I'm gonna make them wish they were in hell with a case of the clap!
How can I?
They took my feet, Lenny.
They took my fee-ee-ee-ee-eet!
Ow.
Ow! Shut up.
Sorry.
I don't pay you to be sorry.
I pay you to make other people sorry.
Now here.
Do what he tells you.
What who tells me?
The guy that's gonna fix you.
Hello?
_
- What? - Absolutely not!
Why not? I'm not gonna stuff
that poor girl into my clothes, in the trunk of a car,
like so much... forcemeat!
So much what? Forcemeat. Such as one might find
in a quenelle, roulade, or galantine.
Well, now you're just being obtuse.
I'm being obtuse? Yes.
As opposed to you, who wants to parade a corpse through a hotel lobby
just so you can dress her in your room?
Well, I'd hardly call this a parade.
Oh, good morning, Miss Vandertunt.
Can I... help you?
No. We're fine. No, thank you.
My maid, whose name is, um...
Bernice? Somewhat obviously.
Bernice! Yes, Bernice.
And she was dead drunk in a nearby saloon.
Poor thing.
The curse of the Irish, and so forth.
Ah, jeez. Well, let's get her inside.
No! Oh, no. Thank you. Thank you.
No. We'll use this one. No, no, no.
That-- That one's good. Let's-- No, this one!
No! We are not going through
a revolving door with Bernice.
But it wastes so much less air conditioning than a regular door.
The regular door is wide-ass open!
Oh, right. Well, then, what's the point?
Exactly.
Honestly,
I don't know why you're so angry.
Which I think is why I'm so angry.
- And I can see why you would be. - Oh, yeah?
I mean, you don't think I'm being unreasonable?
No! I mean, no-- I mean--
Because not only did I pay a lot of money
for those magical disappearing whores,
I also paid you a lot of money.
Well, yes, but that was--
I mean, that was more to look the other way, so--
Figuratively!
Not literally,
while those assholes were taking my load!
Do you have a cat? I smell dander.
Now, you listen to me, Figgis, you schnorrer. You're gonna find my whores,
and you are gonna find the bastards who took my whores,
and crippled my right-hand man, or--
Or-- I'm just spit-balling here--
what if I just gave you back the money?
Because I do not want the money!
That is why I exchanged the money for goods and/or services,
which is the core concept of economics.
Isn't it sugar?
Or, like, scarcity... of sugar?
You got one week, Figgis. Or else.
Wow. Goosebumps.
A week? How in the risen Christ am I supposed to find them in a week?
I don't even know where to think about thinking to start looking!
Okay, okay! Okay!
Okay! Goddamn it!
Okay. I gotta go to work, but I'll be back tonight.
And when I get back, I wouldn't mind if the place smelled
like Lemon Pledge and orange chicken.
Mm, maybe Chinatown?
Oh, yeah. - Hey, and while we're at it, why not regular China?
Or maybe Sarcastic Island, off the coast of That Was Uncalled For.
Will you shut up? Gladly.
And then ask yourself... cui bono?
What? I said, "Why was your office ransacked?"
Because somebody killed my partner, and he left an envelope full of clues in the safe.
Why on earth would he do that? What? No, not the killer, my--
And what on earth are you doing?
Trying to offset some of the blue.
She looks like a-- a rodeo clown.
You've clearly never been to a rodeo.
Must you rob this poor girl of her very last shred of dignity?
You did that! You did that when you stuffed her
in the trunk of your Rolls-Royce, you spoiled little--
Wait. Really? Mm!
Ohh... Okay.
Oh! Cover her face.
What?
I don't want her watching us.
Oh. Okay.
So...
why did someone murder your partner?
That's what I'm trying to find out.
Really? I would think who is much more important than why.
I-- Because if you found out who killed him,
you could make them tell you why.
Wow, you're a regular Monsieur--
And last night,
whoever, or whoevers, broke into your office
presumably knew you'd be elsewhere.
I-- Huh? So, who knew you wouldn't be there?
Well, I mean, it was late at night. There was no reason
for anybody to think I would be at the office, so...
Ya lost me.
"Cui bono," you dummy.
It's Latin. It means "to whose profit." So?
So, who knew you wouldn't be there?
So, you big ox, when Trexler loses...
who gains?
Oh, come now. Don't be such a pout.
I think getting Bernice through the lobby
went about as well as could reasonably be expected.
Sorry.
Besides, if-- If you don't shut your fat mouth,
it's gonna be you going over that goddamn cliff instead of Bernice!
Please! Then you'd never get paid.
It would be worth it.
What's this? Why have we stopped?
To get some answers. I won't be long. Stay here.
I shall do nothing of the sort.
Of course you shalln't.
Why, the very idea, sitting in a car in the street like some sort of--
Dirty cop. Well, or any tradesman, really.
Oh! I need you to stop talking.
And when we get in there, I need you to continue
to stop talking to anybody.
You're hurting me!
And it's the highlight of my day.
Do what? What?
What do you want?
- Couple minutes with Mother. - Knock yourself out.
Well, I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you, Lieutenant, but--
"Can't" and "won't" are two very different things, Mother.
And yet the end result is still the same.
Why, Mr. Archer.
Mother. Archer.
Figgis. Archer.
Poovey. You look like shit.
Couldn't sleep.
Noisy house guests. What do you mean, "house guests"?
Wouldn't they be cave guests?
Stop it! What are you doing here, anyway?
I heard they did a nice wedge salad.
Ooh. We don't.
Aww. And now that we've settled that,
if you two will please excuse us?
Okay, Mother, but remember what I told you.
Remember what I told you.
It is just Dandertown Frolics.
Move, dick!
Slang for "detective," so not an insult!
What is insulting is that you've kept me waiting for ten hours.
I-- Sorry. I've had a busy day.
I'll bet. I've had quite a busy day myself
trying to shut down rumors I had anything to do with that bloodbath down in Long Beach.
I wouldn't say "bloodbath."
Although, now that I come to think of it,
the easiest thing would be to just tell Len Trexler it was you.
That would be pretty easy.
But I have another job for you.
- Great. - Come back at midnight. I'll give you the details.
And don't be late again. Um, okay.
Anything else? Well, uh,
it's just that while I was down in Long Beach,
somebody broke into my office and tossed the place.
And? And, well, I mean, it's just,
not many people knew I wouldn't be there.
In your office, late at night.
Yes. And?
And I will see you at midnight.
No, it's just, what's a society dame like you
doing in a place like this?
Leaving it. Let's go.
Wha-- Rude! Bernice is waiting.
Oh, right.
Miss Kane!
Archer.
Wow. Fancy meeting you here, huh?
At my job? Yeah. I mean, what are the odds?
One to one? Yeah. I don't know. Maybe.
So, um...
Yeah. So, uh, okay.
See-- See ya around, or--
Oh, my God! You have a crush on her!
What? No I don't. I--
Yes, you do! That was the cutest thing!
And I think she has a crush on you.
No, she-- Wait. Really? Absolutely!
Why-- Why-- Why do you think that? Did she--
Just admit that you like her.
Well, yeah. I mean, of course I-- Hey! Yeah.
Me and him? We just fucked!
What is wrong with you?
Well, for one thing, I may be literally starving to death.
Clams! What?
Oh, we should stop for fried clams
at one of those darling little shacks.
We're not stopping for fried clams.
There is a dead woman in the trunk!
Well, obviously, I meant after.
Also, I think we're being followed.
What? We're not being followed.
There aren't any headlights back there.
I think their headlights are off. No, they're not,
because it's pitch dark, and we're not being followed!
I think we're being followed. We're not being followed!
And also, how have you not been murdered?
I think we're being f--
We are not being followed!
I am a trained private investigator!
If we were being followed, I would know it!
Fine. Then drive. Actually, we're here.
Sorry, Bernice. Won't be long.
Okay. So, I'm gonna soak the upholstery with gas, set a 20-second cordite fuse,
then we'll put Bernice in the driver's seat, jam a rock on the accelerator,
light the fuse, and then slam it--
Archer!
Shh!
Wha--
Sorry! Our headlights don't work!
So, you're just straight-up crazy.
Ow.
Well? Are we doing this, or what?
Because if I don't get some clams soon, I won't be responsible for my actions.
What? I told you we were being followed.
That was just a car with broken headlights.
It was a coincidence.
Because we weren't being followed!
Goddamn it.
Hello!
Sync & corrections by honeybunny www.addic7ed.com