All language subtitles for Dead.Heat.1988.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-GPRS

-Now this is something
quite spectacular.

It's from Brazil.

-Come on.

Come on.

-Isn't that an absolutely
exquisite piece?

-Yeah.

But I was looking for something
a bit more suspenseful.

-All right!

Nobody move!

Purse on the counter, lady.

Come on.

You wanna be dead?

Here's the chance of a lifetime.

-Please--

-On the floor, grandma!

-You.

On the rug.

-Ah, you cheap old bitch.

-Quit dicking around, Smitty.

-Come on.

-You idiot.

[screaming]

-What are you doing?

-Just lookin'.

-You asshole.

-Shut your mouth
and fill the bag.

[music playing]

-Doug.

Doug.

Doug?

-What?

-I thought that we were
going plainclothes today.

Why didn't you tell me
we were going undercover?

-You didn't ask.

What's the matter, Rog?

-I look like an FBI agent
on a Rose Bowl float.

-You look great, man.

Relax.

5 38.

-Doug.

DISPATCHER: 5 out of 38.

-Dispatcher.

DISPATCHER: 5 out of
38, please respond.

-5 out of 38.

What?

DISPATCHER: 211 in
progress at Melrose Place.

Proceed immediately.

-You didn't say may I. Woo!

All right.

Kick ass, Dirty Harry!

-Ain't gonna lose him this time.

-Roger, Roger.

But you can't get him
if you're dead, man.

-Morning, detective.

Got a bit of a situation.

-That being?

-211.

Perps in the jewelry store
with automatic weapons.

We were gonna take 'em when
they exit the premises.

-Couldn't have said it
better myself, Lieutenant.

-Come on, come on.

-Think it's our
Cash and Dash boys?

-I wouldn't know.

-Who else would pull a clowny
stunt like this, Roger?

-How much do you figure's here?

-Too much.

Leave it.

-Freeze!

Drop your weapons!

-Hey, Rog, a little too early in
the morning for this, isn't it?

-Why aren't these guys dead?

We've hit 'em about
50 times each.

-Maybe they're
just flesh wounds.

-Will you cover me, please?

Can I borrow your
car, lieutenant?

-Absolutely not!

-Shit!

Uh-oh.

-You're under arrest.

You have the right
to remain disgusting.

-Are you sure that's necessary?

-You can't be too careful.

-Mortis!

That was the
craziest, stupidest,

most dumb-fuck stunt I ever saw.

-Yo, please, don't
thank me, lieutenant.

I get my thanks
from helping others.

-You better believe
the captain's

gonna hear about this.

-Gee, you think he'll
want a word with us?

-Unauthorized use
of a city vehicle.

Reckless endangerment
of property and lives.

Use of a non-regulation firearm.

-That was me, not Bigelow, sir.

-Disrespectful conduct.

Flippant and tasteless
verbal remarks.

-That was me.

-And 18 parking tickets
so far this month.

Need I point out that you
guys are already on probation?

Twice?

And that this morning's cowboy
adventure puts both of you

on the endangered species list?

And that your badge is
going to the shitter

if you screw up
just one more time?

-Captain, this man
deserves a medal.

And I think I deserve
one for saving his life.

-Look, I couldn't help
noticing that in spite

of Herzog's whining you
guys did the job he didn't.

So I'm prepared to cut
you a little slack.

-Thank you, sir.

-But!

It would be nice if
you could earn it

by nailing the rest of
these Cash and Dash fuckers

to the wall with a
12-inch railroad spike!

-We're working on that, sir.

-Work harder!

-Fine man, Captain Mayberry.

Make a really good gym teacher.

-Just be glad we're
still employed.

-Call me Thursday.

I love this job, Roger.

I love the power.

I love the little badges.

I love being a human
target for anyone

within sniping range
of a donut shop.

-It does have its perks.

So what did we learn from this
little adventure, Dorothy?

-Well, so far we've
had six robberies.

Three banks, two jewelry
stores, and a goldsmith's shop.

All in the past three weeks,
and all in the same nine-block

radius.

-Beverly Hills
jewelry store robbery

ended in bloodshed today, part
of what police are calling

the most violent string of
robberies in city history.

Six incidents in
the last two weeks

have been linked to the
so-called Cash and Dash

gang, which has thus
far eluded capture,

although two of
its alleged members

were killed in today's
battle with police.

-Hey, Roger, how many do
you think are in the gang?

-It's hard to say.

Descriptions are
always different,

so there's gotta
be a bunch of them.

Maybe they take turns.

-You sure it's the same folks?

-The MOs are the same.

Perpetrators are heavily
armed and work in pairs,

often striking in broad
daylight in reckless disregard

for their personal safety.

-Yeah.

And if you shoot
'em they don't die.

-Some drugs do that.

PCP users can shrug off all
sorts of physical trauma.

-Yeah, but bullets, Rog?

-It's possible.

-It's bullshit, man.

-Mortis.

-It's Smythers.

I've got something for you.

Get down to the morgue
as fast as you can.

-You ever wonder about
your death day, Roger?

Let's say your death day
was-- I dunno, April 23.

And somehow you knew that.

You could have a
death day party.

-You have passed weird, Bigelow.

You are approaching degenerate.

-You could get
totally ripped, man.

Pig out.

Invite all your friends.

Get yourself a
beautiful lady, right?

Right in the heat of
passion, just as you're--

-Sorry.

Did I interrupt last
night's conquest?

-Hardly.

-Hi, Roger.

-Hello, Rebecca.

So how've you been?

-I have a home phone, Roger.

Using the mutilated
remains of street scum

as an excuse to ask
after my health is not

exactly what I would
call thoughtful.

-And you call me degenerate.

-So what's the story
on these John Does?

What's so unbelievable?

-I'll show you.

-Hey, nice shot, Rog.

-Thanks.

Is there enough
here to identify?

-I wondered that myself.

The teeth and fingerprints
are practically worthless.

But I noticed one thing.

-What?

-Stitches.

You can see where the cut was
made, traversing the sternum

and incised with
an electric saw.

-They had surgery?

-Nope.

They had autopsies.

They've been here
before, fellas.

I certified them myself.

I even took pictures.

-Well, we all make
mistakes, Dr. Smythers.

-Dr. McNab, I am not in the
habit of signing a death

certificate for someone
who just doesn't feel well.

-Well, I would hope not.

But the fact remains that
either you screwed up

or these two boys
got up after you

were done and
strolled out of here.

-I never forget a body, doctor.

-Well, if five years
she'll be damn good.

But right now she's too quick
to jump to fanciful conclusions

without really
digging for the truth.

And that, gentlemen, is what
autopsies are all about.

-Asshole.

-I beg your pardon?

-It's fascinating.

-Yes, isn't it?

-You've got to admit,
it is very strange.

-Strange, yeah-

-Excuse me.

-Hey, doctor, what
is this for, anyway?

-You wouldn't want to know.

-Knock knock.

-Come to read me my rights?

-Is that one sugar, or two?

-Two.

But I gave it up.

-I thought we gave
those up, too.

-Yeah, well.

I kicked one bad habit
and picked up another.

-Whoa, hey.

I came in here to give
you some moral support.

Don't you believe
in fish that swim?

-No.

They're just as pretty and
I don't have to feed them.

What about those corpses?

Do you believe me?

-There's definitely something
very weird going on here.

-I'll say.

-Look, is there
anything else that you

find strange about these guys?

-You mean besides the fact
that they won't stay dead?

-Yeah.

-Yes.

I did turn up something
unusual in their skin tissue.

-Like what?

-Trace quantities
of sulfathiazole,

a drug once used in
bacterial infections.

Pretty serious stuff.

-Dante Pharmaceuticals.

-Recent purchaser of 50
kilos of sulfathiazole.

-You do the talking, Roger.

I'm not sure how to phrase this.

-Well, let's just
tell the truth.

We're looking for someone
who hijacks dead bodies

and brings them back to
life to rob jewelry stores.

Good afternoon.

Police detectives
Mortis and Bigelow.

Good afternoon.

Police detectives
Mortis and Bigelow.

-Sorry to interrupt
your erection,

pal, but we'd like to
speak with the management

of this facility.

-Ms. James to the front, please.

-Thank you.

-What can I do for yo?

-I'm Detective Mortis and this
is Detective Bigelow, LAPD.

Do you manage this facility?

-I'm in charge of
public relations.

Randi James.

-How do you do?

-What's this all about, officer?

-We're not at liberty to
disclose the details, Ms.

James, but we are interested
in a recent purchase you

made of a drug
called sulfathiazole.

-And if you know any zombies.

-I beg your pardon?

-What's the drug
typically used for?

-Quite a number of things.

Let me show you our
basic product line.

Most of our products are
over-the-counter items.

Not terribly interesting
to the layman.

Cosmetics, personal hygiene,
toiletries and so on.

Items everyone uses but
nobody likes to talk about.

-Tampons, hemorrhoid
cream, stuff for crabs.

-Among others.

-Hello.

-Hi.

-I'll do some research.

-Right this way, gentlemen.

All of our products
are thoroughly

tested before release
to the general public.

-Great.

The dog gets skin cancer
so we don't have to.

-You were telling us
about sulfathiazole.

-Uh-- yes.

Nothing really special about it.

It was widely used up
until the '40s, when

it was replaced by
other compounds.

We still use it as
an antiseptic agent

and an herbal skin ointment.

-I hope I don't offend
you, but, uh-- you

ever seen these guys before?

-Never.

No.

I can't say I regret it, either.

-Hey, what's that?

-Sad, but necessary.

When we have to kill an
animal it goes in here.

The room is airtight.

And a piston evacuates the air
in a period of a few seconds.

The animal perishes
quickly and quietly.

-Didn't I see one of
these at Disneyland?

-Well that's just
about it, gentlemen.

I don't know if I've
been any help to you.

-Hey, what's in here?

-Toxic waste products.

Properly disposed
of, I assure you.

-I think that's
all we need to see.

-You know, Ms. James, I
gotta take a leak so bad

my teeth are floating.

Is there a little
boys room around here?

I just gotta-- go peepee.

-Down the hall.

-No admittance my ass.

The hell is this?

-Well, thanks for all
your help, Ms. James.

-Not at all.

-Listen, uh-- about my partner.

He's--

-A neanderthal?

-Yes.

But a nice neanderthal.

-It's all right.

The world's full of them.

[gunshots]

-No!

[alarm]

-What is this thing?

-Very ugly!

-Doug!

Doug!

Help!

Doug!

Doug!

Doug--

-Roger!

-What's going on here, Doug?

I heard on the radio
there was a shooting.

Doug, where's Roger?

-He, uh-- got locked in
the decompression room.

Died the way dogs
are supposed to die.

If I'd just got that
fucking door open--

-I have to see him, Doug.

God, Roger.

You thought you
were indestructible.

What exactly
happened here, Doug?

-Forget it, Becky.

You wouldn't believe me.

-Try me.

They must use the sulfathiazole
as some sort of preservative

until they get them on here.

-Becky, can we just get the
hell out of here, please?

-This is how they do it, Doug.

This is how they
resurrect the dead.

-Get outta here

-Looks like he's in
remarkably good condition.

-He's dead, Becky.

-It doesn't matter, Doug.

Someone has found a way
to revitalize dead tissue,

the way a starfish
grows new limbs.

After all, what really
separates life from death?

-But the soul, Becky.

What about the soul?

-Looks like they may have found
a way around that too, Doug.

-And what if he wakes up
like some mindless idiot?

-Then I hope you'll
shoot him in the head.

-Thanks a lot.

-Hi guys.

-You're alive.

-Course I'm alive.

I must have taken a
hell of a shot, there.

-Hey, uh, Roger?

Roger, how you feeling?

-I feel-- hey,
what is this place?

What are you doing
here, Rebecca?

-Roger, we'll explain
that to yo later.

But please, just
tell us how you feel.

-Well-- come to think of
it, I-- I feel terrific.

I feel incredible.

It's great to be alive!

-Mortis, I thought
you were dead.

-Ah, sorry to
disappoint you, doctor.

-What's the last
thing you remember?

-Well, we were, uh-- we
were at the research place.

And, uh-- we were
looking around.

And Doug was
fighting this thing--

I got locked in
that room, and-- I

guess I must have blacked out.

It was like I was rushing toward
this weird light, or something.

And then I looked
down and I saw myself.

My body.

Just lying there.

And when I reached
out to touch it,

it was-- like I got
hit with 10,000 volts.

-Well, it's uncommon,
but it's happened before.

Clinically dead people reviving
at the last possible moment.

-Roger was dead for an hour.

-What?

-Don't you see?

We literally brought
him back-- oh my god.

-What is it?

-I'm not getting a heart beat.

-Oh, don't be ridiculous.

Can I borrow those, please?

Obviously there's something
wrong with this thing.

-Give me that damn thing.

Something wrong with it.

You're faking it.

He's faking it.

I don't know what's
going on here.

But I want Mortis back in
the lab for some tests.

-He doesn't need tests.

He's-- he's dead.

-Dead?

That's ridiculous.

-Becky, we've both seen
this guy shitfaced.

He's looked a hell
of a lot worse.

-Listen, this is crazy.

I've never felt
better in my life.

-Without a heartbeat
that's hard to believe.

-Dr. Smythers, I have two
corpses in the next room

that I doubt are going
to make a comeback.

Now, you'll know where
I am after you've

finished with this nonsense.

-My god, you're cold.

Ow!

What the hell is this?

I cut the artery.

How come I'm not bleeding?

Now wait a minute.

I'm no deader than you are.

-Roger, it's the
resurrection machine.

-I still don't believe it.

Sorry, Doug.

I just don't believe it.

-Minute by minute, Roger, that's
the only way to take this.

It's the only way
to live, anyhow.

-Easy for you to say.

-Roger, you haven't
heard the worst of it.

-I'm dead, Rebecca.

How much worse can it get?

-I've been scanning
the lab report.

The resurrection process has
an unfortunate side effect.

-Which is what?

-Progressive decay
of reanimated tissue.

Irreversible cell damage.

-You've got 10 to
12 hours, tops.

-And then what?

-All of the cells
of your body will

dissolve into a kind
of organic stew.

-Becky, can't you just pop
him back in for a recharge?

-This thing isn't a
toaster oven, Doug.

Come back to the lab.

Maybe we can do something.

-The most important thing
for me to do right now

is to nail whoever
did this to me.

You understand that, don't you?

-I'll personally rip his heart
out with my bare hands, Roger.

Hold the heart in
the palm of my hand.

We'll watch it stop
beating together.

-That's good, Doug.

But let's find him first.

-Where do we start?

-Let's find Randi James.

-Roger--

-We'll meet you at the lab.

-10 to 12 hours.

Don't throw it away.

-You know, the weird
thing is, I feel fine.

I feel like I could run
in the Boston Marathon.

-No you couldn't, Roger.

It's not open to dead people.

-You think they check?

-Oh, they're very strict now.

-Oh, shit.

-What's the matter?

-Find me a drugstore.

I gotta fix my face.

-So what color did you get?

-Uh-- Mulberry Wine.

-It's a good choice.

Brings out your eyes.

-Go to hell.

-Missed a spot.

-Where?

-Right there.

-Don't touch it.

I almost got it straight here.

-I love it when you get angry.

-How do women do this?

-I don't know.

Tribal memory, I guess.

-Excuse me.

You left without saying goodbye.

-Let go of me.

-Going on a trip?

-Is it any of your business?

What happened to you?

-I cut myself shaving.

Mind if we ask you a
whole lot of questions?

-Look, I don't know
anything about what

happened in there today.

I got scared and I left, OK?

-Let's talk about it inside.

-Hey, nice pad.

-Now, would you mind telling
us what this is all about?

-I told you.

I'm their public
relations person.

At least, I was.

Until you two showed up.

-How about if I
work her over a bit?

-Oh, I get it.

You're the tough cop.

And your partner here,
he's the nice cop.

Because he's not too
scary with lipstick on.

-Ms. James, I got locked in
that room where they kill

the animals, and some
nutcase decompressed me.

So I am not in a very good mood.

Now all I want is to find him.

-I'm truly sorry.

But I can't help you.

I don't know anything.

Hey, get out of there.

-Looks like the lady's
going somewhere.

Extra panties.

Dead giveaway.

-Where were you
headed, Ms. James?

-Away from here.

-Hey, what's this?

-That's personal.

-Must be a tape machine
around here somewhere.

Here we go.

We have something on
the monitor, captain.

-Princess, this may be the last
time that I ever talk to you.

And I want you to
know certain things

that I was unable
to say until now.

[gunshots]

-Are you all right?

-Yeah.

-Remember the good old days
when guns killed people?

-You're just
jealous, that's all.

Go for the door!

-When?

-Now!

-Where's this go?

-Out back, to the patio!

-That's really disgusting.

-What the hell is going on?

-Kind of looks like
somebody wants you dead.

Just about managed it, too.

-But why?

I didn't do anything.

-Maybe it's what you know.

-I don't know a god damn thing.

I-- I play tour guide and
I write press releases.

-Roger, you were
underwater in that jacuzzi

for five straight minutes.

-That's right.

I was.

-Can you teach my
girlfriend how to do that?

-Damn.

They're dead.

They always die on me.

-I'd say there were
extenuating circumstances.

-You don't understand.

The blue damsels
are my favorite.

My favorites always die.

-Princess, I hope you understand
what I am trying to tell you.

-Hey, I recognize that guy.

If you have any
further questions,

just contact my lawyer.

And always remember how--
how very special you are.

-That's Arthur Loudermilk.

Didn't he just die?

-Two weeks ago.

He's my father.

Hey, why aren't you dead?

Or even hurt?

-Kind of a long story.

They can't kill me.

I'm dead already.

I'm a walking corpse.

Just like those killers.

-This is nonsense.

I can't deal with this.

-Well, you're gonna
have to deal with it!

Look, Ms. James,
we need your help.

And I think that
you need ours, too.

Please.

-All right.

Dante Pharmaceuticals was my
father's private think tank.

Anything that interested him,
from mosquitoes to microchips,

they researched it for him.

-So he bankrolled the
resurrection project--

-No!

He wouldn't.

-Use human leftovers
to rob jewelry stores?

-Go ahead.

-Well, last week I did
deliver some sulfathiazole.

To a guy named
Thule in Chinatown.

-Where in Chinatown?

-Would you like me
to write it down?

-You don't have to.

You're coming with us.

-Oh, forget it.

I know my rights.

-Are you sure?

Let me remind you, just in case.

You have the right
to remain silent.

Anything you say can
be used against you--

-What are you doing?

-Right now you are
our primary suspect.

Now, would you rather come with
us, or cool your heels in jail?

-All right.

Hey, Roger, maybe you oughta get
yourself a change of clothes.

Being dead isn't something
you should advertise.

-I might have
something in my closet.

-Something for that unexpected
overnight guest, Ms. James?

-From an ex-boyfriend,
Mr. Bigelow.

A very ex.

-DOUG: You OK in there, Roger?

-Great.

Fabulous.

Not a word.

How many tickets is
that this month so far?

-What the hell do you care?

-Good point.

-Roger, there's a place
here's got great egg rolls.

-Doug--

-Egg foo young?

-Doug, let's talk to this
guy first and eat later, OK?

-I'm dying for some chop suey.

This is great.

I am starving.

-Good afternoon.

Police detectives
Mortis and Bigelow.

We'd like to speak
to Mr. Thule, please.

Good afternoon.

Police detectives
Mortis and Bigelow.

We'd like to speak
with Mr. Thule, please.

-Listen, Mongo, we're cops.

And if Thule's not out
here in 10 seconds,

we're gonna kick
some honorable ass.

-Ah, Ms. James.

Always a pleasure.

-Mr. Thule, something
terrible has happened.

-Yes, I know.

Are these your friends,
the police detectives?

-You got it right
the first time, pops.

-We're looking for
the man who takes

deliveries from Dante
Pharmaceuticals.

-You have found him.

How may I help you?

-What did Dante send you?

-Nothing of any importance.

-It may be more
important than you think.

-Your friend takes one more
step, he'll find himself dead.

-Life and death are
both expressions

of the same eternal spirit.

-You oughta write
fortune cookies, pal.

-Let me illustrate.

-I don't know what it is, but
suddenly I've lost my appetite.

That's it.

From now on, I'm a vegetarian.

All right.

This little piggy's
going to market.

That's gross.

-Get off!

-You're kidding.

Just one shit?

-They're not all zombies, Doug.

How do you fight this thing?

-Maybe we could
drown it in A1 sauce.

-Oh, no.

-OK.

Now I'm gonna puke.

-Thule's gone.

-Guy makes one hell of
a diversion, doesn't he?

-Hey, you're hurt.

-Lady, I'm fuckin' dead.

-Well, that doesn't give
you the right to be rude.

-You know, you can
never find anything good

until you really trash a place.

-Stumbling over any
clues, detectives?

[quacking]

-Zombie duck heads.

What a concept.

-This could replace
the whoopee cushion.

-Imagine what you could
do with a search warrant.

-Hey, Doug.

Doug.

Look at this.

-Dates and initials.

What do you think it means?

-I dunno.

But that last one, APL--
Arthur P Loudermilk.

-My father?

Oh, god, you're right.

He died on June 12.

-This is a list of death dates.

These folks are all
recently deceased.

-Who do you think they were?

-One way to find out.

-You're quite the seamstress.

-Just hope it
doesn't get infected.

-Yeah, well, I'll
take my chances.

After you.

-Thank you.

-So this is what a
library looks like, huh?

You know I've never seen one of
these things from the inside?

-OK.

These should cover
the dates in question.

-I got dibs on March.

It's amazing, the people who
died in the last three months.

People I never even heard of.

-Here's one.

George Nelson Canfield.

The denim king.

Inventor of sweat
to fit blue jeans.

Died February 12.

-Crap.

-What is it?

-The Lakers won
yesterday, but they

didn't make the point spread.

I had 10 bucks
riding on that game.

-Here's another one.

Oliver Lang, microchip
wizard, March 4.

-Here's another.

Howard Davison,
commodities broker.

April 3.

You see any pattern?

-They all sound like a
bunch of wussies to me.

-Yes.

And they all had a nice
hunk of disposable cash

when they kicked off.

-So rich dead people.

What does it mean?

-I'm not sure.

But it looks like your father
was one of the victims.

-That's crazy.

-Well, this is not what
you'd call a routine case.

I guess they can have
their obituaries back.

-Hey, Rog, what's up, man?

You look all freaked
out all of a sudden.

-These obituaries.

They're writing new
ones all the time.

They're writing mine.

-Hey, now.

Take it easy.

-Roger Mortis.

Beloved husband
to nobody, father

of none, who always thought
he'd go out in a blaze of glory.

-Roger.

-I gotta get out of here.

-Roger.

Roger!

Roger!

Hey, Rog.

That was quite a chase.

Not bad for a guy
in your condition.

I guess being dead
agrees with you.

Come on, Rog.

We don't got time for this.

-I can't do it.

I can't live a
lifetime in six hours.

-Nobody's got all the
time they need, Roger.

Nobody.

You remember when
we were in training?

They always told us
you can't be a good cop

if you're a dead cop.

Here's your chance
to prove them wrong.

You're good.

And you're dead.

-I'm good and I'm dead.

-Come on, Rog.

Let's go find those suckers
and trash their ass, man.

Come on, Rog.

-It's asses.

It's plural.

-It's plural?

-You know what I heard once?

-What's that?

-I heard that the
population of the world

is so big now that half of
all the people who ever lived

are still alive today.

-Come on.

-It's true.

If you took all
the people who've

died since the
beginning of history

and all the people who
are alive right now,

it'd be about the same number.

So if anybody ever asks
you when you're gonna die,

you can just say,
well, I don't know.

So far it's only
happened to half of us.

-Not only that, if you multiply
the population of Rhode Island

by the square root of
my ex-wife's weight--

-Well, you two sure know how
to show a girl a good time.

-Don't mention it.

-Roger.

I think I may have
some good news.

-Rebecca Smythers, Randi James.

-Hello.

Well.

You work here?

-Yes, actually, I do.

-Rebecca's an expert in all
sorts of forensic pathology.

-My.

What a unique accomplishment.

-Chillier than
usual in here today.

-Wherever did you find the time
to make such a nice new friend?

-Randi was head of PR for
Dante Pharmaceuticals.

-I see.

-So what's the big news, Becky?

-Sit up on the table.

Some shirt.

Unbutton it.

Roger, you've been shot.

-Oh, yeah.

I meant to tell you about that.

-It's amazing you lived
as long as you did.

So how are you feeling?

-Great.

Picture of health.

-Subject Mortis comma Roger.

Postmortem follow-up, July
6, approximate time, 18:45.

-Do you have to talk
into that thing?

This is not an autopsy.

-Hey, Rog, you are dead.

This is a morgue.

She is a coroner.

-Thanks.

-87.2 degrees Fahrenheit.

Since you've died you've
been steadily cooling off.

-So what's the verdict?

How long have I got not to live?

-Well, decomposition
is progressing

more rapidly than I'd hoped.

It's even starting
to show in your face.

I'd say maybe three
or four hours.

-What the hell am I doing here?

-Roger, I think I
can buy you a chance.

I found something
in Dante's files

about a-- a special process
they've been testing to extend

the resurrection
period beyond 12 hours.

-Can you guarantee that?

-No.

-Then I can't take that chance.

Rebecca, it's my job.

-Your job?

Christ.

Haven't you leaned anything?

You spent 10 years out on the
street, risking your neck,

and now you're dead and
it's still not enough.

-Well, I guess I'm just
a glutton for punishment.

-So, you two, what's next?

-I'm gonna take a look
at Loudermilk's grave.

Why don't you pay a call
on Loudermilk's lawyer?

We'll hit the cemetery and
meet you back at Randi's.

-Uh, if you don't
mind, I think I'll

skip the trip to my
father's resting place.

-Oh, I mind very much.

I want you where I can see you.

-Ms. James.

That chick digs me.

-I could tell.

-I'm not giving up hope, Roger.

-You go ahead, man.

I'll catch up with
you later at Randi's.

-OK.

Hey, nice wheels.

Must be a lot of money in
carving up dead people.

-A little early for
your postmortem,

aren't you, detective?

-Just stopped by to
reserve a body bag.

-Oh!

That's very good.

That-- oh--

-I love that guy.

-I can tell.

-Just over there on
the right, Roger.

-Maybe I should pick one out.

I wonder if they
take MasterCard.

Nice place to spend
the rest of your life.

Swaying palms, the
smell of jasmine.

Quiet neighbors.

-Very funny, Roger.

Roger.

What is it?

-Shooting star.

-So now what?

I haven't got a key.

-Allow me.

-Isn't that illegal?

-Yeah.

Looks like he's
resting comfortably.

What's your real relationship
with Loudermilk, Randi?

-What do you mean?

-Outside it says
Arthur P Loudermilk,

beloved husband to Loretta.

It doesn't mention
any darling daughter.

-All right.

I met him in the hospital.

I was there for drug rehab,
and he took me under his wing.

-The daughter he never had?

-Yeah.

Yeah.

And he got me that great house.

And-- set me up
with a job at Dante.

And I bet he never even
knew what kind of snake hole

he was dropping me in.

-So this whole zombie thing came
as a complete surprise to you.

-I swear.

You believe me, don't you?

-Looks like he left
something for us.

Doug oughta be back by now.

[tv playing]

-Home sweet home.

-Doug must have left the TV on.

-I'll see if he's
in the kitchen.

MAN ON TV: You knew who I
was when I came here today.

But you were surprised to
see me alive, weren't you?

But I'm not alive,
Mrs. Phillips.

Sure, I can stand
here and talk to you.

I can breathe and I can move.

But I'm not alive.

Because I did take that poison.

And nothing can save me.

WOMAN ON TV: What
are you going to do?

MAN ON TV: I tell you now,
I have nothing to lose.

-No-- no, you've
got to listen to me.

You've got to give me a chance.

MAN ON TV: But I
didn't have a chance.

-Oh god.

Roger?

It's Doug.

-Let's get him down.

Randi?

Randi?

-Sorry, Roger.

I didn't want to tell you.

I didn't think you'd understand.

-What are you talking about?

-I, uh-- lied about the drugs.

I was in the hospital
because I was dying, too.

I was-- dead.

-What do you mean?

-They brought me back, Roger.

Just like you.

Only they said I'd
have a normal lifespan

as long as I helped them.

-Helped who?

-They lied to me.

-Who, Randi?

-I'm sorry, Roger.

I'm sorry-- Roger--
please-- forgive me--

-Hello, this is Rebecca.

-Rebecca, liste--

-I'm not here to take your
call, but leave me a message

and I'll get back
to you later on.

-Rebecca, Doug's dead.

Randi's dead.

I wish-- well, I wish--

[beep]

Wait a minute.

Numbers to letters,
numbers to letters.

B-- O-- D-- Y-- body.

Damn, that's it!

[gun cocking]

-Roger.

What are you doing here?

-What do you think, McNab?

-You'll have to be more
specific than that.

-OK.

You want specific,
here it comes.

You killed me.

And you killed Doug.

And maybe you didn't kill
Randy, but you should

have had the decency
to let her stay dead.

-What on Earth are
you talking about?

-Revenge, McNab.

And you're on the
receiving end unless you

come up with some
real fast answers.

-But-- but this
doesn't make any sense.

I was helping you.

-I don't think so.

Loudermilk's think tank built
a machine for resurrecting

people, and you've been
trying it out, haven't you?

-That's absurd.

Oh, of course, Roger.

You're losing your mind.

Your brain is deteriorating.

-When you buried
him alive Loudermilk

wanted to point
the finger at you,

but he was afraid to
write Ernest McNab

in case you came
back and erased it.

So he tried something
just a little bit subtler.

It's a coded message.

Using the numbers to letters
scheme found on any telephone.

Here's what it spells.

Body doc.

Sounds a bit like
you, doesn't it?

-Well, that's what happens
when you die, Roger.

Your synapses misfire,
leading to all sorts

of demented conclusions.

-My mind, McNab, has
never been sharper.

Neither has my aim.

-Son of a bitch.

-How many others have
you buried alive, McNab?

Canfield?

The Blue Jeans King?

Oliver Lang?

Howard Preston?

You take their money and you
brick them up, is that it?

-That's a lie!

-Nice watch.

Nice ring, too.

I got a hell of a hunch if we
wanted to we could trace them

both back to those
jewelry store hold-ups.

-Give me that!

-When you resurrected
those robbers

you wanted to test them.

So you sent them out to do what
they do best-- rob something.

And when I stumbled onto
all this you murdered me.

-Circumstantial evidence.

Wouldn't hold up in any court.

-I'm not waiting for
any courts, McNab.

-Roger.

Roger.

I can help you.

-Like you helped Randi James?

-Good evening, doctor.

-Well, it's about time!

Where the hell have you been?

This bastard almost killed me.

Give me my diamond ring.

You see, Roger, every
job has its little perks.

It just takes a while
to discover them.

-No amount of money
is gonna make up

for what happens to you, McNab.

-It seems our detective is
in rather poor condition.

-Not as poor as
you'll be, Thule.

-Silence him.

Thank you.

How do you wish this man killed?

-Roger, I've come to
love you like a son.

You're honest,
trustworthy, dependable.

Like a frigging boy scout.

Ironic, isn't it, Roger?

You're gonna spend your
last moments on Earth inches

from freedom, right here in
front of the county morgue.

-For this very reason, doctor,
we should waste no time.

-Yeah, yeah.

Put him in the van.

Lock him to the side rail.

I hope you don't mind
sharing the bed space.

Yes.

I know it's a nuisance.

But then Smythers was
always a nuisance.

-I'll send you to hell, McNab.

You can't keep me here!

-This van is lined
in stainless steel.

Soundproof, in case you're
thinking of calling for help.

And it's custom made.

The perfect place
to disintegrate.

Which I figure will happen
in precisely 45 minutes.

-Let's go, doctor.

We're expected back at the lab.

-Yes, yes.

Get the door.

Get the door.

Happy trails, Roger.

-Well, Rebecca, I always
thought we'd end up together.

But never like this.

Rebecca?

You and I-- are
going-- for a ride.

This is gonna be great.

-Holy shit!

-Whoa-- yeah!

-Jesus H Christ.

-Take it easy, mister.

You're not well.

-Hold it.

That's far enough.

-Detective Mortis.

Homicide.

-You're-- you're a cop?

-Surprise.

I need your gun, officer.

Thank you.

-Ladies and gentlemen,
last wee all of us

were shocked and
saddened by the news

of the untimely death
of Arthur P Loudermilk.

I would like to take
this opportunity

to review his many
accomplishments.

But wait-- why not let
Arthur tell you himself?

Ladies and gentlemen,
Arthur P Loudermilk.

-Friends and associates,
how nice to see you again.

-I saw you buried, Arthur.

Damn it, I saw you buried!

-Oh, I'm afraid you have
been misled, Walter.

The man in my grade
is a, um-- volunteer,

personally selected
by Dr. McNab.

As you will see, ladies and
gentlemen, the demonstration

that you are about
to witness makes

burial somewhat unnecessary.

Would you become the world's
largest jet manufacturer

just so that you could
leave your fortune

to a wolf pack,
scavenging relatives?

Gertrude Bellman, are you
prepared to become a memorial

plaque on the cornerstone
of a library building?

-We all die, Arthur.

-Rest assured, Gertrude,
that you can afford not to.

-How many of those rich bozos
do you suppose he's got in there

tonight, eh?

-Isn't it frustrating?

All of that money,
all of that raw power,

just within your grasp--
and then it's all gone.

Poof.

Suddenly you're six
foot under, and a mob

of money-grubbing
nobodies are devouring

all that is yours like rodents
after a lump of cheese.

Isn't it sad?

Everybody dies.

Rich and poor.

Death doesn't discriminate.

At least, not until now.

-This is ridiculous.

-Well, let's face it.

Poor people are supposed to die.

But the same rule
doesn't apply to us.

We're rich.

God wants us to live forever.

And even if he doesn't,
we can always buy him off.

It'll cost all of you
half of your fortune.

But you have forever
to make it back.

Think of what I'm offering, sir.

Life without end.

Your personal savings
compounded daily

for a million glorious years.

-What's your gimmick, Arthur?

-No gimmick.

Eternal life.

-Bullshit.

-Well, I know that it's
absurd, impossible.

But aside from the
proof of my being here,

I have planned for you a very
graphic little demonstration.

This man has been
dead for hours.

Come on.

Inspect him for yourself.

-Sit down.

-Well, now that you are
satisfied with this poor man's

unfortunate condition, I
would like to treat you

to a little product
demonstration.

Dr. McNab, if you would.

-Of course.

-This model incorporates all of
our most advanced refinements.

The first to afford eternal
life without any limitations.

-That's OK.

Don't get up.

-Get him, get him, get him!

-I told you not to get up.

-What do you want?

-Not you, old man.

I want him.

You're dead, McNab.

You're even deader than I am.

-Oh, I don't think so.

-Doug.

Doug, you're alive.

-He can't understand a
word you said, Roger.

He's been brain-dead too long.

Which means that he's
mindless and totally obedient.

Kill this guy, would you?

-Kill this guy, would you?

-Now, Doug, stop.

Doug, it's me.

It's me, Roger.

-Kill this guy, would you?

-Doug.

Doug, don't.

-Kill this guy--

-Doug--

-Would you?

-Hey, Doug.

Do you realize we both
have the same death day?

Doug, you know what we could do?

We could throw a
death day party.

We could invite all our friends.

Get really ripped.

-Well, do something!

-Kill him!

Come on, you brain-dead
son of a bitch.

-Doug-- remember the lipstick?

Mulberry Wine?

Brings out my eyes?

-Roger?

Roger!

The Hi, Doug.

Welcome to zombie land.

-Roger.

He said I should-- he
said I should hurt you.

But I'm gonna hurt him.

-Kill that guy, would you?

-Oh, no.

-Kill him.

Why can't you kill him?

-Shut up, you old fart!

Oh, no, you bastards
aren't gonna take me.

-You cheated me.

God damn you, McNab,
you cheated me!

-It's over, Rog.

Forget it, man.

-Not just yet.

Hi, doc.

You want to see
what happens when

you resurrect somebody twice?

-Not really.

-Oh, no!

No!

No!

-No, wait.

Save the machine!

It's short-circuiting!

We can fix it!

I can make you normal again!

Immortal!

I'll give you anything you want!

Money!

Power!

Eternal life!

Riches beyond your
wildest dreams!

Just save the machine!

No!

No!

No!

Wait!

Wait, you don't understand!

You'll live forever!

Forever!

-Man, Roger, you are a mess.

I've seen meatloaf that
looks better than you.

-You're not exactly
a Forest Lawn

poster child yourself, Doug.

Hey, we really trashed
their ass, didn't we?

-That's asses, Roger.

Hey, Rog, you think
we'll be reincarnated?

-As what?

-I dunno.

Maybe you get a choice.

You can be whatever you want.

-Oh, you mean like a
statesman or a president

or a prize-winning novelist?

-Personally, I'd
like to come back

as the seat on a girl's bike.

-Now that is truly inspiring.

-Thank you.

-You know, Doug?

-What's that?

-This could be the end of
a beautiful friendship.

[music playing]