Original subtitles

It had been one of those 48-hour days.

I'd spent it chasing down blind alleys...

with a pro quarterback who was being blackmailed.

I knew when I took the case...

I'd find it was just some fan's prank.

But I'd never been down a blind alley with a Los Angeles ram before...

and a little touch football sounded like fun.

It was.

I came back to the office feeling like I'd spent the afternoon in a scrimmage.

All I wanted was a scotch on the rocks...

and a nice back rub from my secretary.

What I got was a note.

"Sorry, Brady. I'm quitting you to get married.

My girl doesn't like me working such crazy hours.

Love, Frank.

P.S. I called the agency to send you another guy.

P.P.S... You're out of scotch."

Did the secretarial agency send you?

No?

Well, let me guess. You, uh...

Need a bodyguard.

Nah, I didn't think so.

Hold it, pal.

I wouldn't do that if I were you!

My second note of the day.

It's a good thing this isn't radio.

Strong and Silent was a mute.

The note was about his employer, Harrison Wooly.

He'd sent his custom limo.

I'd heard Wooly was flamboyant, egotistical,

overbearing and self-centered,

but for $200 a day plus expenses...

I can put up with a lot of individuality.

It cannot be that difficult. They all match.

That is why they call it "matched luggage".

Amtrak's train number 576 from San Diego...

is now ready to board through train gates I and J.

Just lift. Don't dislocate.

Well...

You're more lovely than I dared imagine.

- Yes? - Wooly!

Wooly, you look fantastic. Did you get my telegram?

Warner Brothers has been on the phone all day.

They're up to 1.5 million for the new book.

Too little and too late.

And they've talked to Redford.

Abner, I just concluded a deal with a Japanese independent.

Two million.

That's fabulous!

Not for you, Abner. You're no longer my agent.

Our agreement expired last night at midnight.

What's a piece of paper between friends?

Wooly, you don't want to do this to me! Wooly!

Drive on.

Wooly, don't do this to me! Now come on, Wooly!

- Wooly! - Where was I?

Unrepresented.

May I call you Barbara?

Call me Brady. Everybody does.

I hope you'll be intrigued, Miss Brady.

I'd like for you to be the model for the protagonist of my new novel.

Me?

I thought that all your books were based on true crimes.

Well, the cases are true, but the hero is always Clement Moreau,

my alter ego.

Alas, poor Clement is a bit out of touch...

with the times such as they are.

I'm afraid, my dear Miss Brady,

I shall need a new source of inspiration if I am ever to write again.

Fortunately, with your help I shall create a totally new character...

- A beautiful lady detective... - Woman.

Woman Detective.

Woman detective who works a great deal by intuition.

By intuition, of course!

Only I wish you hadn't told me I'm sure I could have guessed.

Touche, my dear.

The panelists for this evening are all distinguished writers.

Creator of America's teenage detective Carrie Wade,

soon to leap from the printed page to your television screen...

Evan Picard.

The man who gave us, and many people say is,

the embodiment of tough guy detective, Danny Lance...

Mitch Dillon.

The eloquent author, who for 20 years...

has kept us abreast of the latest exploits...

of our favorite gentleman thief,

Professor John Scalese...

Manfred Hayes.

And of course,

the grand dame of English mystery,

chronicler of the aristocratic Lady Shelby,

the best-selling mystery writer in the world today...

Edwina Gaylord.

I beg your pardon!

I beg your pardon!

Your statistics, Jonathan,

are as execrable as your prose.

I am the best-selling mystery writer in the world today!

Our final panelist...

late as usual and opinionated as ever, Harrison Wooly.

Oh, Mr. Wooly.

Please, please. May I have your autograph?

Absolutely not!

I despise the intellectual bankruptcy of hero worship.

However, if you are determined to demonstrate your adulation,

I suggest you repair to your neighborhood bookshop...

and purchase my complete oeuvre.

14 volumes of magnificent prose...

which transcendsn a somewhat tawdry genre.

Pompous jerk.

Someday somebody's gonna shut his yap permanently.

My friends, my fellow mystery writers,

may I have your attention?

Because we are all peers,

although some of us are a bit more peerless than others,

it occurred to me that I would like to share a little mystery with you.

It seems someone is trying to outwit me...

by stealing my new manuscript.

I thought it would amuse you to figure out who,

if you will pardon the expression, done it.

I am also offering a substantial prize for the clever sleuth.

So, uh...

Now, good luck and good day.

Harrison!

Harrison, please!

- Harrison! - Yes, yes, yes. What is it?

I...

I wanted to share your room.

I, uh...

I wanted it to be like last year.

Last year, my love, was last year.

And I try never to repeat my mistakes.

Push.

Sweaters folded, not hung.

I know they like to be referred to as mute,

but unfortunately he's merely dumb.

I need my crossword puzzles!

See if they sell The London Observer...

somewhere in this godforsaken outpost of civilization!

He's really quite simple-minded. Must be treated like a child.

And the other writers?

You treat them like children too.

Explanation?

The stolen manuscript story...

That's a red herring.

Further explanation?

Well, I don't believe somebody's trying to steal it.

I mean... You must have copies.

So what good would it do a thief?

So...

A woman detective who works not only on intuition, but logic as well.

It's uh, just a little ploy that I've created to amuse me during this dreary affair.

However, now that we've set the plot in motion,

we mustn't make it too easy for the others who may not be as clever as you are.

There's the manuscript, the last case of Clement Moreau.

I want you to keep it until Monday morning...

and then help me deliver it to Narahara Industries.

Narahara?

I thought they manufactured toys and video games.

Logical and well-informed.

Actually, they've expanded into television and motion picture production.

And now, my dear, I'm quite fatigued.

If you would return early tomorrow morning.

See you at 10:00.

8:00.

Split the difference? 9:30.

Let me tell you something, Brady.

This evening has been pleasure beyond expectation.

I hope for you as well as me.

Now I know my reputation must have preceded me.

True, I'm not Saint Francis of Assisi,

but I'm not a complete ogre.

You're right,

you're not Francis of Assisi.

Delivering a package and serving as inspiration...

for a character like Harrison Wooly wasn't exactly my line.

But then finding myself being followed wasn't either.

I decided to pull a switch on my shadow.

And Wolfe Macready's Hollywood memorabilia shop seemed like a terrific idea.

Barbara! I was just closing.

Yes, um, I'd like to look around.

Do I have to check my parcel?

Huh?

The Dingus from The Maltese Falcon.

The Maltese Falcon?

Oh! No, that's all right miss.

You, uh, go right ahead and look around all you like.

Thank you.

I'll make you up another package, uh...

- You going straight home? - As soon as I get in my car.

Good.

You can, uh...

Bring the trades.

They'll add bulk.

You didn't play many good guys, did you, Wolfe?

No, they typecast me as a hood before I was 18.

I'd have liked to have been a good guy just once maybe.

This isn't dangerous, is it?

Your mother doesn't want you doing anything dangerous.

It's a manuscript.

I have to deliver it to a producer.

Oh. Well, I guess that's okay.

They only stab you in the back if you're in the business.

Sorry. I didn't see anything I liked.

Oh, well, that's okay, miss. Come on back anytime.

The, uh, Dingus from The Maltese Falcon, huh?

See you at home.

The guy on my tail was still there,

but he wouldn't make his move.

Finally, I decided to force the issue.

Why are you following me?

I want, I want the manuscript, please.

Oh.

I figured I'd better put on a show before I handed it over.

After all, you never know who's watching.

But the guy was so slow,

I practically had to pull a U- turn to let him catch me.

Don't try to stop me!

I've got... I've got a knife!

It's not worth dying over.

Jeez, I hate working with amateurs.

Come on, I know you're not asleep.

- You talking to me? What do you want? - My five bucks.

It's the only one I had...

Darling?

Oh, Barbara, I'm so glad you're home!

We've been waiting for you.

Come and give your sweet old blue-haired mother a kiss.

Hi, Zandra.

Hello, Maurice.

Wolfe told me he gave you the trade papers today.

- Is he home yet? - No.

He called. Told me he had a tiny errand.

Look at Veronica Lake.

Oh, I hate the way she draws that mouth.

Come, sit. We'll start the movie over again. It's This Gun For Hire.

I've only seen it 25 times, Maurice.

Well, aren't we cranky?

I'm sorry.

It's been a long day and I've got to get up early tomorrow.

I'm glad you're taking your sleep seriously.

Eight hours a night makes your eyes twice as bright.

Oh, wait, love. What about the trades?

Oh, I lost them.

Barbara!

Good night.

You didn't lose those trades.

Something happened. I can tell.

Oh, you've got to get out of this terrible business.

Lovely veggie burger and tofu puffs.

For crying out loud, Zandra, why can't we be like normal people...

and have steak and potatoes every once in a while?

Who is normal people around here?

I ask you.

Velma Sterling told me it was all my fault.

It was the prenatal influence of having carried you while I was working in...

Death Is My Destiny.

And you know what my part was in that picture?

Just the same as it was in all my movies.

I was killed off at the end of the first reel...

and then the detective went on being bumped in the head and shot at.

I of all people should know how dangerous your work really is.

And then your being away from your home and family for days on end,

telephone calls all hours of the night.

What telephone calls?

Oh, didn't I tell you? Your answering service called.

Finally.

It's time you got into a sensible business.

Let me get you an agent, someone at William Morris.

- I used to know them all. - Gladys. Yes, it's Brady. What have I got?

- Maurice could do your makeup. - Uh-huh, thanks.

Oh, you'd be spectacular.

We'd have head shots. In fact, we'd have a composite

showing all the facets of your talent.

Diplomatic suite, please.

I made a very pretty corpse, but you could be a star.

Please, Barbara.

Barbara!

You're not going out again?

I've got to, Mom. It's business.

Oh! It was all my fault!

I should never have introduced you to Humphrey Bogart.

Oh, uh, excuse me.

You're going upstairs to see him, aren't you?

- Hmm. - Would you tell him that I'm still waiting?

He sent me down here an hour ago and now he won't even answer his phone.

- He hasn't come down? - Well, I would have seen him.

A man who demanded sweaters folded not hung...

could not be that messy a housekeeper.

The first question was who had been there?

The second...

Where was Harrison Wooly?

There, several floors below,

was the answer to my second question.

Harrison Wooly was very dead.

Want to make that Irish tea, Edwina?

Oh, I don't think so. Thank you.

Now here's a young lady who looks as if she could do with a strong cuppa.

Thanks.

- Brady! B.T. Brady! - Here.

Here, book this into property.

- Who's this? - Brady, B.T.

The private investigator?

Uh, sorry, sorry. I was just expecting a man.

Well, consider this a disguise.

Hey, come on, come on. I said I was sorry, all right?

I'm Lieutenant Hansen, Homicide.

- So, uh, you phoned it in? - Hmm.

And what was your connection?

- I was working for Wooly. - Doing what?

The usual.

You got any idea what they were looking for?

The usual.

You don't, uh... You don't talk a lot, do you?

I guess that's why they call us "Private Investigators".

Take your hands off me, you drunken bum!

Come on, break it up here! Break it up!

- Hey, hold on a second. - I believe in law and order.

Wait, wait! What the hell is going on here?

I'm telling you, Jonathan Eastman killed Harrison Wooly!

- That's ludicrous! - Yeah?

Wooly had a million dollar plagiarism suit against our little boy here...

- Totally spurious case! - Ah!

And that little suit already cost Eastman a big book club sale,

not to mention 25 grand for a mouthpiece. He hated Wooly's guts!

Oh, as I recall, there was no love lost between you and the departed either.

What was it he called you on that talk show?

A sub-literate crypto-fascist pandering to the basest instincts of the yahoos.

- And you called him... - A stuck-up, snooty jackass, which he was.

But I wouldn't kill a gimp. Oh no.

Only a snooty limp wrist like you would ever kill a poor cripple in a wheelchair.

- I must take exception to that! - Get your hands off me!

Cease!

Hey, Edwina!

There are other people here with motives as well.

Such as Evan Picard.

Of course, the woman scorned.

Such a classic motive too.

Almost elegant in its simplicity.

Oh, no! My God! I loved the man!

Loving a man has never stopped a woman from murdering him.

Well, what about Abner Litto?

I mean, they were having a terrible argument earlier this evening.

And he was the last man to see Wooly alive.

He told me to wait downstairs.

He said he was expecting someone.

What about Manfred Hayes? Wooly was killed in an elevator, wasn't he?

Well, I can recall at least three elevator deaths in his books.

One almost identical to Wooly's.

That would make me pretty stupid.

Or very, very smart.

Wait! Wait a minute. I hate to interrupt,

but I'd like to take all this downtown.

Oh, how lovely. Will you use the polygraph?

I had constable Pennybody give lady Shelby a lie detector once.

It didn't turn out very satisfactory.

This is absolutely ridiculous! Utter nonsense!

I really am leaning towards poor Evan Picard.

The motive was so pure.

And then, of course, I never trust anyone who writes for children.

I think it warps the brain.

Oh, look, look!

You really should take him in for questioning too.

- What, who? - Oh, well...

It's Mr. Wooly's valet. That chap, the chauffeur.

- Oh, there. - Hey, you!

Come here!

- Hey, I want to talk to you! - Try and catch him.

- Hey! - Look, oh, he's running.

He's running! Oh!

Hey, man, don't you see no red light?

Damn.

Hey, hold it!

- Sorry, boys. Sorry, sorry... - Sorry.

- Hey hey, what are you... Get back in the car! - It's my case too.

Hey stop! I want to talk to you.

Hey!

Damn, he's fast for his size.

You're pretty fast for your size.

Yeah, you. Hey, you! Officer, stop that man!

Hold it right there, pal.

Ride, brother.

Hey!

- You hurt? - I'm all right.

What do you mean what's my name? Mitch Dillon!

M-I-T-C-H D-I-L-L-O-N.

What's the matter? Don't you read any good books?

...absolutely nothing to do with this.

As a matter of fact, absolutely fascinating.

See, I've written about these things.

So you don't know anything about this uh... Garth Jackson?

Nothing. He never talked about himself.

Oh, that's... That's cute.

Personally, I think it's too obvious, uh...

Having the butler do it.

Although, once I tried that myself in, uh...

Murder at The Manor.

But when it was on television,

they made him a submarine captain.

- Did they? - I don't know why.

Do you know, I've had a new theory.

Perhaps I did it.

Well, after all, Wooly outsold me...

for the first time last year,

and I was exceedingly hurt and very, very angry.

Do you think I could go home now?

Are you always this chatty?

Sometimes you can't shut me up.

When is that?

After.

After what?

Oh.

Is that, uh...

An invitation?

Sorry. I live with my mother.

Right.

And I don't believe in taking my work home with me.

Well, that's all the more reason...

why I should wrap this case up as soon as possible, right?

I kept trying to add it all up,

but the only thing I got was a bad case of math anxiety.

I had a dead client, a hot manuscript,

more suspects than I knew what to do with...

and a sinking feeling I was in way over my head.

I was also dead tired.

I probably tossed and turned for six or seven seconds before I fell asleep.

"Wooly...

"I know the secret of your books.

"I'll come by later and we can discuss what it'll cost you.

"One of your peerless peers".

Mother.

Oh, darling. I saved you some bacon and eggs.

It's soybean, isn't it?

Mostly.

This may amaze you, Zandra, but I just lost my appetite.

- Did you put this in my room? - What is it?

Well, I'm not sure. Maurice says he didn't leave it.

Maybe it was Wolfe. He just went out.

It just doesn't make any sense.

Young lady,

physical diffusion equals mental confusion.

You have got to start practicing proper nutrition.

Hmm. I got to go.

Young lady, come back and drink your sweet acidophilus.

So I had a mystery within a mystery.

Was the blackmail note genuine?

And if it was, how did it get in my bedroom?

I had just about figured my next move...

when I walked into my office.

Just like in a Dick Powell movie,

a gigantic black hole opened up at my feet and I dived right in.

- Brady. - Hi, babe. It's me.

- Ralph? - The coach let us go early today,

so I thought, uh, maybe we could get together tonight.

You can help me practice some backfield in motion.

Oh. I'd love to, honeybun,

but I'm a little knocked out right now.

You'll call me again though, huh? Real soon?

- Real soon. - Bye.

That's the trouble with men.

If it isn't two-timing, it's bad timing.

Still, I guess that's better than no timing at all.

It was kind of ironic talking to a football player...

just when my head felt like it had been kicked for extra points.

But for now contact sports would have to wait.

I had to get my mind back to Harrison Wooly.

Horrid man.

Good writer though.

Actually...

I wanted to ask you a kind of hypothetical question.

As a great fan of your books,

I was wondering what your detective, Lady Shelby,

would do in a certain situation.

Oh, I love an intellectual game.

Okay, uh...

What would Lady Shelby do...

if she happened to come into possession of a certain piece of evidence...

that would be highly incriminating to a murderer?

Is that your question? Nothing more?

Well, say she's broke, down on her luck.

Her client got blasted before she got paid.

In the first instance,

if you'd read even one of my books,

you'd know Lady Shelby never...

would take recompense for her sleuthing.

And in the second instance,

she would never countenance the sale...

of incriminating evidence concerning a murder.

Never, never, never!

Well, um...

I'm sorry. I guess I asked the wrong writer.

Uh, thanks for the tea.

I was counting on Edwina Gaylord to spread the word.

I had great faith in human nature...

And I wasn't disappointed.

Who are you? Who sent you?

My name's Peter Canton.

The agency sent me about a secretarial job.

I'm really very sorry.

I guess I'm just a little jumpy today.

I sort of noticed.

Now look, let me be honest with you.

From what you've told me, you're really way too qualified for this job.

The pay is lousy and the hours are worse.

Um, I really need a job.

Tell you what.

Let me give you a preview of the working conditions.

Now, uh...

What I'd like you to do is take this envelope downstairs...

And put it in the mailbox out front.

There's, uh, no address on this.

Right. You're the boss. No questions.

Uh... The mailbox out front. I'm on my way.

Oh, excuse me.

May I come in?

Why not? Everybody else has.

- Uh, who's the beefcake? - My secretary.

I guess you keep him around for his looks, huh?

He's not too much on filing.

Uh... What did happen here?

Spring cleaning.

Spring cleaning.

Yeah. So you said you'd go out with me...

as soon as we wrapped up this case, right?

No, but I'll think about it.

Good, because I think we've found our man.

Ran a print check on Garth Jackson, aka Lamar Parker.

Turns out he's an escaped convict from Mississippi.

He escaped about 20 years ago. Convicted of...

Are you listening?

Murder one.

So all we have to do now is pick him up.

And you've got to admit he's not too inconspicuous.

So, uh... What kind of food do you like?

Damn!

I was afraid of that! Excuse me!

- Excuse me. - Get out of my way!

Move it!

Excuse me.

- Excuse me, do you have a ticket? - Excuse me!

Hey, lady, watch it!

I had to smile thinking of that punk scampering across town...

with his second worthless envelope.

While he did that, I could recover the genuine article.

Ahem.

Uh, don't tell your mother, please.

She made me such a nice dinner.

Sunflower seeds and sprout salad with yogurt dressing.

She'd never forgive me if she knew I was cheating on her.

You don't tell her about the dingus,

I don't tell her about the hamburger.

Union station, baggage locker. There was no parcel room.

I've got to tell you, Wolfe, it's not the most original hiding place.

Well, you said The Maltese Falcon!

This is The Maltese Falcon!

You did fine, really. I appreciate it.

Barbara, this has something to do with Harrison Wooly, doesn't it?

I looked in the envelope.

The reason I asked is because that's murder.

And you promised your mother you'd only be doing stuff...

like child custody and divorce.

You promised that you'd never get involved with murder.

So try to think of him as a permanently missing person.

Drop the tough guy act, okay, for just a minute?

Now you don't know what you're getting into.

I know I'm not your real father,

but I feel responsible for you.

And your mother and I...

Well, we both love you.

And I don't know what we'd do if something happened to you.

Thanks.

I'll be okay.

The minute things get the least bit dicey, I'll back out. I promise.

- Okay? - Okay.

See you.

I felt guilty lying to Wolfe,

but sometimes a woman has to do what a woman has to do.

- Oh, Maurice, you're really the best. - Hmm.

It's nice to keep my hand in once in a while. Now go...

Hey, look!

We're gonna have steamed squash,

beets and carrots and wheatgrass for dinner.

Oh, Barbara, you sweetheart.

You wanted to surprise me.

I told you, Maurice, that you should be working with her.

You know, Barbara, if you would take more care of yourself...

you could be unbelievable. I mean, look,

I almost made it, and you have wonderful bone structure.

This is some more of that, that awful detective business.

I know that Wolfe has been helping you behind my back.

But I had more faith in you, Maurice.

I'm sorry, Zandra.

It's no big deal, Mother. I promise.

It's just a manuscript that needs to be delivered.

The writer's dead now and I feel like I have a responsibility.

Dead? It isn't Harrison Wooly, is it?

Well, now it's not as bad as it sounds.

Oh, I want to borrow your car too, okay? Please? Thanks.

I promise I'll have it back in time for your seminar.

But...

You'll have to tell her, Zandra.

You can't keep it a secret forever.

Oh...

It was nice for a change not to have some punk on my tail.

I was really gonna have to pull this disguise stuff more often.

I wanted to spend a little time with the manuscript before I turned it over.

There had to be something about it that I was missing.

A beef dip, some cold beer and a good book sounded pretty nifty.

All I needed was a warm bed to curl up in.

Oblatt's was the next best thing.

Cute. The title was spelled out in real microchips.

I guess Wooly figured two million clams...

entitled the producers to a little pizzazz.

It wasn't bad.

The detective stuff was corny but the plot was good.

I remembered reading about the case it was based on.

A computer genius who got rubbed out and robbed...

of the prototype for what was supposed to be...

the hottest new videogame since Pac-Man.

It had never been solved, but Wooly's fictionalization of it was pretty clever.

I don't know what I was expecting to find, but it wasn't there.

It made no sense, someone trying to steal the manuscript.

Anyone who tried to pass it off as his own

was just setting himself up for a murder rap.

Damn!

So much for disguises.

I hate when they chase you in an old wreck!

They don't care what kind of damage they do.

Ugh.

Ow, you slut! I've got to have it.

I've got to have the manuscript!

Oh, let me go. Let me go, damn it.

Okay, who are you working for?

Let me go! I'm not talking to you! Let me go. Do you hear me?

Okay, we're gonna go for a walk.

Hey, hey, hey!

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!

- You're hurting me. - I like to walk and talk, don't you?

- I'm not talking to you. - Oh, I don't know.

I heard you were a wonderful conversationalist.

Hey, don't go faster.

- Let me go. - Talk to me!

Come on, don't go faster. Hey! Come on, come on!

Talk to me!

These are my only shoes. I'm not talking, I'm not talking.

Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I'll talk, I'll talk.

I'll talk. I'll talk.

Who hired you?

Abner Litto.

You've got to understand. I was desperate.

I want to be a television writer.

But you can't get a job without an agent,

and you can't get an agent without a job.

You're breaking my heart.

Litto said he'd be my agent if I got him the manuscript.

You've got to understand me.

Please?

For what it's worth, I don't think Neil Simon started this way.

Hey, lady.

I just want you to know, I didn't do the rest of it.

Abner and me...

I think we're the least of your worries.

Brady, I killed once and I'll do it again.

I want the manuscript.

Litto.

Litto, I know that's you.

Remember. I can get you anytime.

Anytime I want, Brady.

Tell me something.

Why didn't...

Marlowe or Spade or...

Any of those guys...

Did they ever quit a case?

I don't know.

I do know that all the guns ever shot were blanks...

and all the blood that Bogart ever bled...

was max factor number 10.

Real blood and real bullets...

That's, uh, something different.

Yeah, but I feel like I have a...

I don't know, a duty to my client.

A code of honor or something.

Come on. That's dime-store hero stuff.

Detectives don't quit on their clients, Wolfe.

Especially dead ones.

That's in the movies.

All you took was money.

So you give it back.

Nobody expects you to die for a lousy 200 bucks!

You're right. I'll get off.

I don't have any business being mixed up in this anyway.

Yeah. Lieutenant Hansen, please.

Okay. Well, when he comes in, would you tell him that Brady called, please?

Yes, he knows where to reach me.

Yeah. Just, uh...

Tell him I've got something to give him.

Right.

It, uh... It's hard to miss the car.

- Get in. - Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Please, please.

I admit I went overboard, but you have to believe me.

I didn't kill Wooly.

And that hack writer can't even type...

a decent murder much less commit one.

I believe you.

Get in.

Anything you say.

Take off your shoes.

- Huh? - Take off your shoes!

You've got to understand.

My reputation is on the line.

Warner Brothers has got Redford and it's a go project.

I need to deliver that manuscript.

Now I might be persuaded to split the commission...

with anybody who could get it for me.

That's $75,000...

plus one half of 10% of 7.5% of the adjusted gross.

- Shut up! - Hey, hey, what are you doing?

Now look, I want to ask you something.

Why did Wooly really hire me?

Why did he need a detective?

Well, I don't think he really did need a detective,

but, uh, I think I know why he hired you.

There's a book you should read...

Wooly's first.

It's called A Small Killing in Hollywood.

And?

Just read it. I think you'll understand.

So what about my offer?

Sorry. I just quit the case.

Wooly's executor's gonna have to decide who gets the manuscript.

Get out.

But, uh... But Redford. Look...

We've only got a two week hold.

I'm heartbroken. Take your pants off.

You're kidding.

Look, because of you I've been held up at knifepoint,

hit over the head and chased all over Los Angeles,

and I'm getting real sick of having to tell you everything twice.

Now take your pants off!

Be happy I'm not charging you with assault and attempted burglary.

But... But my car?

It's back there on Hollywood Boulevard!

You'll fit right in.

- Hiya, Brady. - Hey, Eddie.

Hey, you're working late. What have you got, a divorce case?

Or tailing some guy with his honey?

Something like that.

Saved these up for you. They'll see you through your stake-out.

Thanks, Eddie, but, uh, I'm looking for a book.

No problem. Who are you looking for?

Chandler, Hammett, McDonald, Dillon? I got them all.

Harrison Wooly,

A Small Killing in Hollywood.

Oh, that's out of print. Not that good either. That was his first.

That's supposed to be semi-autobiographical,

before he started fictionalizing real cases.

- You know the plot? - Do I know the plot?

I know the plot of every mystery book ever written, yeah.

It's more of a sappy loven story than I like.

There's this mystery writer, part-time detective.

He falls for some dame.

That's it?

You want details? You got details.

Now the dame is a little starlet.

You know, the type that gets rubbed out...

in the first 10 minutes of the film?

Well, in real life, she's married to this fag actor.

She and the writer, they have a fling, there's a baby.

Oh, the fag, he knows it isn't his.

What's the matter? I'm putting you to sleep.

I told you, Brady, it's a boring book.

But if you want it, I'll get it for you.

Who's there?

Hold it right there!

Barbara dear, don't do that!

You could hurt him!

Come on now, let it go.

Well, at least point it at him.

Don't be silly. He's my friend.

Valerian for your nerves, Barbara, darling.

And for the rest of us, papaya mint.

After all, after 40 we must all expect digestion problems.

Fine, good. What is he doing here, Mother?

Well, the police are after him. What else could he go?

Would somebody please tell me what's going on?

Well, I don't think Wolfe or Maurice know the whole story.

And Garth can't talk. So, I guess it's up to me.

I've known Garth for ages. Ever since Wooly...

Well, he's dead now,

so the authorities can't harm him any longer.

I've known Garth...

ever since Wooly helped to break him out of prison.

What?

Oh, it was a grave injustice.

A small town in Mississippi,

a white child murdered, you understand.

Garth was just hitchhiking through.

They picked him up more or less at random.

But they sentenced him to life in prison.

And it was such a hellhole that he went mute out of horror.

He's never spoken a word since.

- Well, how did Wooly get involved in it? - Well, dear Wooly...

Wooly was never one to stand by...

and just cluck his tongue and write mean letters.

No, instead he bought a small arsenal, hired three mercenaries...

and they went down to Mississippi and broke him out of prison.

There was a shoot-out and a crash.

And that's how Wooly lost the use of his legs.

But they made it to freedom.

And Garth has been totally devoted to him ever since.

Haven't you, dear?

I'll see who it is.

So why did he take a powder at the scene of the murder?

He was terrified of the cops. Wouldn't you be?

So you're the one who put the blackmail note on my mirror?

Do you know who sent it?

- It's coppers. - What are we going to do?

- Take Garth upstairs. I'll be right with you. - All right.

Mother, uh, go answer the door slowly.

Do wild flowers until I get there.

Wild flowers, my favorite.

You're going back on the case?

I don't think I have any choice.

Willy! Oh, my dearest darling Willy!

Home from the wars at last!

Oh, you don't know how I prayed for this day!

But I never thought it would come.

Let me kiss your sweet hands.

Let me fall at your feet.

Uh, does Barbara Brady live here?

Oh, sweet Willy, have you suffered? Has the war changed you?

Brady! Brady, are you here?

Say that you still remember. It would be too too cruel...

to say that you no longer care.

It's all right, Mother. It's for me.

Oh. Nice to meet you.

Yeah, nice to meet you too.

I didn't believe it when you said you lived with your mother.

Oh, don't pay any attention to her. She's just a little eccentric.

Runs in the family.

It runs? I'd say it did the 100 in 9.5.

Well, I, um...

I got a message that you called. Did you have something for me?

What are you talking about? I didn't call you.

Oh, come on. Come on, Brady.

It's one o' clock in the morning.

The desk sergeant just woke me up...

from a pleasant dream and a nice warm brunette.

Now I assumed it was something about this mysterious manuscript.

I'd like to come in and take a look for it.

Or I could leave these officers out here to guard you...

while I went and got a search warrant.

But that would just mean that nobody would get any sleep tonight.

Finnegan, take the living room.

Isley, back in there.

You know, the manuscript isn't here.

- Where is it? - I don't have it.

Damn, Brady. I don't get it. I mean, why won't you let me help you?

- Garth Jackson is still out there, you know? - Garth didn't do it.

Oh, yeah?

Well, I wouldn't want to bet my life on it.

Okay, fine.

You can search until your eyes fall out.

If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen with my mother.

Steeped rose hips.

Your vitamin C can be sorely depleted by stress.

I don't want herbs. I want an answer.

Was Harrison Wooly my father?

This is very important to you, isn't it, dear?

Well, it is a bit of a shock considering...

I always thought that Adam Brady was my father.

Silly of me, I guess, just because you happened...

to be married to him when I was born.

Adam, dear Adam.

No, uh, he was a dashing leading man.

You've seen his films, but...

You see, he was never really interested in the opposite sex.

So when tongues started wagging and, uh, I got pregnant,

well, it was a way of killing two birds with one stone, to coin a phrase.

No, it was strictly a marriage made in the front office.

I never saw so much junk in my life.

Poor Adam. He died so young. Cirrhosis of the liver.

Luckily it killed him before he got that awful yellow look.

So that's why Wooly wanted to see me, because he was my father.

Well, maybe.

Maybe?

Oh, dear.

What will you think of your mother,

if I tell you I never really could be certain?

But they were such lovely young men, all of them.

You could be proud to have any one of them as your father.

I know this has been a bit much. And it is late.

But after the police go we could screen The Big Sleep.

I know it's your favorite.

Uh, we're going upstairs now.

If, uh...

If you'd like to be there when we go through your personal stuff...

You know, I... I could arrest you...

for withholding of evidence.

Only if you can prove I have any evidence.

Uh, look...

You know, I've been doing some checking on you.

So don't you think maybe you're just in a little over your head here?

Let's just say I have a personal stake.

Lieutenant...

Nothing.

I told you!

Okay. Tell Isley we're leaving.

You know, I'm only doing this out of base self-interest.

Bucking for promotion?

No, I'm hoping for a date.

And I don't think I'll ever get you to say yes if Jackson kills you first.

Cheerful.

It's just...

That I have a real sense of menace right now.

And I like you.

And I don't want anything to happen to you.

So I think I'll put a 24-hour guard on you.

Don't I have any constitutional rights?

Yeah, the right not to get yourself murdered. Not if I can help it.

No, it's okay. I... I can find my own way out.

I had no objections to playing cops and robbers with a cute lieutenant.

But there was something I felt I ought to take care of first.

Maybe it was dumb, but if Wooly was my father, even maybe my father,

I was determined to take care of the one small thing he'd ever asked of me.

I'd collect The Microchip Murder...

and deliver it to Narahara Industries on Monday.

Hi. What's your name?

- Ma'am. It's Miller, ma'am. - Well, uh...

Miller, do you think that you could tell Lieutenant Hansen for me...

that as a taxpaying citizen, I deeply resent this use of my hard-earned money?

Yes, ma'am, I'll tell him.

Thank you. Oh, and, uh...

If you have to follow me, do you think you could give me a little room?

You're cramping my style.

Ah, Miss Brady...

Now you know, I had begun to worry that you weren't coming in.

You know,

I am going to have to change the lock on that door.

I swear, I'm the only person who has any trouble with it.

Actually,

I didn't come in through the door.

No, I, um...

used the same technique as Professor John Scalese...

when he broke into Vito Gaglaro's billiard room in The Pitti Palace Puzzle.

Well, I'm sorry. I think I missed that one.

No matter.

And please...

Don't do anything as stupid as reaching for that gun.

Drat!

There's croissant all over my gun!

You're gonna spoil the cockroaches.

They're not used to French food.

You know, that's very good.

Yeah, humor under duress. You know, I appreciate that.

I would, however,

appreciate more the return of a slightly incriminating note...

that I sent to the recently and dearly departed.

You were blackmailing Wooly?

Well, of course not.

That note was a bit of mordant humor.

Yeah, to flush Wooly out.

Let him twist in the wind before I turned him over the police.

You found out about Garth's prison escape.

Oh, no.

What I had on our friend is much more damnin'.

Like, uh...

The small matter of his criminal involvement...

in the jewel heist from the Belmondo Museum.

The art theft from the Neufield galleries,

the Wall Street securities burglary.

The crimes he wrote about?

- And The Microchip Murder? - I'm afraid so.

That was the only time he killed anyone.

Yeah, and I do believe it was an accident, but...

It was a murder nevertheless.

Now, Miss Brady...

If I may impose upon you for that, uh...

Blackmail note?

It's in the stack of mail, in the phone bill.

Well, that... That is delightful!

Yeah, I'd... I'd thought I'd looked everywhere.

I always hide things out in the open. It's the last place a person thinks of.

Edgar Allen Poe, The Purloined Letter.

Yeah, the very first mystery story.

You.

You be very careful what you say.

- Brady. - Brady...

I have your mother.

I don't believe you! She never would have let anybody in!

Listen carefully.

Barbara, don't come. He's crazy!

Oh, my God!

The manuscript for your mother.

Eight o' clock, Western costume, Hollywood.

Come alone or you're an orphan.

I do thank you for not giving me away.

Well, I hate to eat and run, but I must be going.

I cannot abide a dull pencil.

I had the word of a killer...

that he would trade my mother for the manuscript.

Her life was depending on the reliability of the US Post Office.

Muldoon! Where the hell have you been?

- What's the matter with you? - Give me my mail.

Ooh, are you expecting a letter from your sweetie or somebody?

- Thank god! - Hey, wait a minute! Wait a minute!

What the devil are you doing?

Um...

I'm out of scotch. Do you like bourbon?

- Yeah, sure. - You're in luck.

Thanks.

That left me a bottle of gin. I hated gin.

So Wooly was maybe my father and definitely a killer.

And somebody had killed him for 285 typed pages.

But why?

Why?

And then it hit me.

It wasn't Wooly's words he wanted.

It was something else.

Something hidden right in the open,

the last place anybody looks.

That's it.

I found it!

Like The Purloined Letter. It was right out in the open all the time.

The dingus.

What everybody was looking for.

Oh no.

Not now.

I don't know how tricky this girl is,

but I know how trickyshe thinks she is.

So if she ever tries to give you the slip,

- just don't fight it too hard, all right? - Huh?

Well, see we got Manetti right over there across the street.

Oh, yeah.

- Hello. - Hi.

I like your mural.

A new decorator. He's very hard-edged.

- Do you want a drink? - No, I don't think so.

This is business.

I have a warrant to search your office.

Unless of course you'd like to make it easy for me.

Sorry. It's not my department.

Have it your way.

- Brady. - Hi, good-looking.

I'm all showered up and longing to throw you a forward pass.

Sorry, gorgeous. I can't make it. The cops are here.

I think they want to put me in the penalty box.

Hey, that's hockey, not football.

I'm not fussy as long as it's a contact sport.

How about I leave you a ticket for Sunday's game?

You can comfort my aching back afterwards.

- Or you can comfort mine. - You bet I will, darling.

Yes, see you Sunday.

Bye.

You been reading a lot of Dashiell Hammett?

Why do you say that?

Well, you should dust your bookcase more often.

I mean, you can tell which books have been taken out most recently.

Oh.

The Microchip Murder.

See, now that's funny. Somehow I don't remember Hammett writing this.

I think we're gonna have to do a little reading downtown.

I can't let you have it.

Oh, come on, come on. What, are you crazy? Put that thing down.

He's got my mother!

He says he'll kill her if I don't give him the manuscript.

- So I'll bring in my men. - Zandra will get hurt.

- Now give it to me. - Oh...

I mean, what are you gonna do, shoot me?

If it's between you and my mother...

I wouldn't even think twice.

- All right. - Okay, now give me your gun.

Sure.

I mean, you're sure you can handle all that?

So what now?

We go for a ride.

Okay, I got his under control. You can knock it off.

- Are you sure, Lieutenant? - Yeah, I got it. I'll see you later.

Okay.

Hey. Don't smoke in my car.

So, uh...

How did you ever get into the detective business in the first place?

The old, "What's a nice girl like you doing in a dirty job like this?"

Yeah, right, what's a nice girl like you doing in a dirty job like this?

- Just lucky, I guess. - Oh, yeah?

That's what all the working girls on the boulevard always say.

Forgive me if I'm not feeling too confessional right now.

I'm holding a gun on a police lieutenant,

my mother's life is in great danger...

and there's a car on our tail!

Yeah? Where?

I figured it was one of yours.

You give me too much credit.

Okay, turn right here.

Okay, turn left into this parking lot.

Power steering would have been very nice.

Okay, stop the car.

Wait a minute! Wait! Don't point that at him!

All right, you weren't lying. It couldn't have been one of yours.

I thought it was.

See, I don't get this. I mean, all this over some silly book?

It's not the book.

Take it out of the envelope.

It's these. They're blank microchips. Except one.

And I'm willing to bet there's a program on it...

for a new video game, the hottest ever, I hear.

Well, what's it doing pasted to Wooly's manuscript?

- He stole it. - You're kidding.

To sell to the highest bidder, Narahara Industries.

Get out of the car.

So who murdered him for it?

I guess I'm about to find out. Open the trunk.

Go on.

He told me to come alone. I'm sorry, you're gonna have to get in.

No, no, come on, come on. Now wait a minute.

I'm a damn police lieutenant!

That's okay. I promise I'll respect you in the morning. Get in.

Brady, where are we?

Shut up!

Let me out of here!

Brady, what's happening?

Zandra!

My little joke, Brady.

Come down the steps...

Straight to the passenger elevator.

Put the manuscript in the elevator.

Where's Zandra?

Put the manuscript in the elevator!

Not until I see my mother.

Then you get in the elevator.

Barbara?

- Zandra? - Barbara.

Zandra.

Zandra!

Up here.

Oh, my God! Zandra!

- Zandra. - Get out of here. He's crazy.

No, no, it's... It's okay, Mom.

Everything is gonna be okay.

I'll be able to take care of everything.

I want the manuscript.

It was you.

You can talk.

You look as stupid as he did.

I don't understand. Wooly saved your life.

He turned me into a criminal.

- You brought the book? - Cut Zandra loose first.

Let me have the book.

When my mother's safe.

Hold it! Hold it!

Right there.

You ever shot anybody in your life?

Do you know what it's like?

Can you imagine what it's like?

I don't think you can.

Brady!

You hurt me.

You can't get away. You've got nowhere to go.

No place to hide.

Don't you come any closer.

I've got the microchip.

You've got the manuscript but I've got the chip.

- Give it to me. - I'll swallow it!

Go ahead. I'll find it.

Please let my mother go.

Nobody...

No one must know.

Brady? Where are you?

Give it to me now.

Brady?

- Barbara? - Mom.

Edwina Gaylord was right.

The headlines screamed the butler had done it,

and the newspapers had a field day.

Lieutenant Hansen was generous about sharing the publicity.

So I got a couple of interesting phone calls,

but basically nothing really changed.

Wolfe took Zandra off on a trip to the Springs,

and I went back to the office.

Don't hit me! I, uh...

The door was open.

I thought... I thought if you hadn't hired anybody yet...

Um...

I answered your phone for you. Uh, Phil Hansen...

- "Are you free for dinner?" - Let me get this straight...

I punch you out,

send you off on some stupid errand...

and get you held up at knife point and you're back for more?

Some guy who wouldn't leave his name, uh,

said your tickets for Sunday are on the 50-yard line.

I like your style, kid.

Does that mean I have the job?

Show me your legs.