All language subtitles for SCORPION - S01 E08 - Risky Business (720p - Web-DL)

My name is Walter O'Brien.

I have the fourth highest
IQ ever recorded: 197.

Einstein's was 160.

When I was 11,
the FBI arrested me for hacking NASA

to get their blueprints
for my bedroom wall.

Now I run a team of geniuses,

tackling worldwide
threats only we can solve.

Toby's our behaviorist.

Sylvester's a human calculator.

Happy, a mechanical prodigy.

Agent Cabe Gallo's our
government handler.

And Paige?
Well, Paige isn't like us.

She's normal and
translates the world for us

while we help her
understand her genius son.

Together, we are Scorpion.

We're clear on the prize?

Winner goes home with two cars.

That have the latest nav system?

For a guy who's never done
this, you're awful cocky.

Have you calculated your
tire traction coefficients?

Specific to barometric pressure?
'Cause I have.

And about 50 other variables.

Statistically,
you have no chance.

Green means go.

We never agreed on a course,
just the finish line.

Oh!

That truck was obviously
not in my research.

I'll take those keys.

I actually can't
give you this car.

It's a...

it's a rental.

Awful risky there, pal.

It's at nearly a
perfect 45-degree angle.

How 'bout you just drink it?

Your dad...

Drew's gonna... be here soon.

You excited for
the baseball game?

I'm very... excited.

Yeah, you seem like it.

Oh...

So now you owe a Lamborghini
to a man named Slavomir?

With a Serbian gang tattoo.

Great guy to owe a debt.

No, no, no. The question is

how to face the same obstacle
and still manage to win.

You accelerate toward
the driver's back fender,

he passes your plane,
and you won't lose speed.

But the better
question might be,

why the hell were
you doing this?

It's a hobby.

Or you're trying to distract yourself.
Question is, from what?

Hey.

Uh, they're in the kitchen.

Thanks.

- Gentlemen.
- Hey, just a sec...

Ralph's still
finishing breakfast.

Is it a coincidence

that this behavior syncs with
Drew showing up last week?

Pure coincidence. Pure.

I found this stuffed
in Ralph's backpack.

Algebra quiz, D-minus.

He said he just...

forgot to study.

- He could have nailed this dead asleep.
- Yeah.

Is everything all right
with Ralph and Drew?

I thought so.

Drew's trying. He's taking him

to a minor league
baseball game today.

But then I see this.

Maybe you can talk to Ralph?

Give him a little pep talk?

Yeah, sure. Yeah.

Okay.

Ralph.

Why don't you come
here for a second.

Walter wants to talk to you.

Hey.

So...

Are you frustrated?

Are you distracted?

You angry?

Because this...

this is not you.

Maybe that's a good thing.

I need to go.

Sylvester Dodd. Oh, hi, Cabe.

Okay, have fun.

What do you mean by that?
Let me get Walter.

I couldn't get anywhere.

Thanks for trying.

Okay, so Cabe gave me
a bit of a rundown.

Okay.

Hey, Cabe.

I just don't know if I can
handle seeing a murder victim.

This is not gonna be good.

None of us are excited about it.

If you're all mentally
prepared, inside.

Oh, no, no.

Oh... ah.

Ooh.

Oh.

- Oh, that man is very dead.
- Take it easy, Sylvester.

Look anywhere but the body.

Detective Jim Archer.

Robbery Homicide.

So you're the geniuses.

Word got to my lieutenant

about you.
I mean, he's why you're here.

But I'm running this.

Mm-hmm.
It's a pleasure to be here.

Does the dead man have a name?

Harold Reid, 25 years old.

Look,
the reason you're here is...

He obviously had a tremendous
appreciation for music.

Yeah, he was a music
industry blogger.

He had a site called
SweetSound Express.

How could someone cut
short a life in its prime?

Unless he was involved in some
nefarious activity and he deserved it.

Devil's advocate.

We're thinking window entry.

No. Door.

The lock's undamaged,
but there's a little something

glistening on the inside edge.

Like if the perp knocked,
the kid answered and, bam,

the bad guy hit him on the head
with the door and moved in.

You were gonna tell us
the reason why we're here?

Right behind you.

Looks like some math equation.

Oh. I think I can fill this in.

The place was picked clean.

Desktop and laptop gone.
But there was this whiteboard.

It appears to be
wiped down in a hurry.

Maybe what was erased is
similar to these scraps?

But we have no
idea what it means.

It's an algorithm, an optimizer.

Plug in a collection of variables...
say, uh...

player statistics
for a baseball team.

That was fast.

What would a music
blogger want with it?

It's specific to
a certain product.

I'm not sure what.

Okay, more importantly,
does it have anything to do

with who killed Reid?

There's redundant code.

It's a programmer's way
of ensuring authorship.

So, it's, um,
like a painter signing a canvas.

He's using ASCII.
It's American Standard Code. It's how, uh,

a computer stores the alphabet.

80 stands for P,
84 stands for T.

P, PT, PT.

PT repeated.

It's got to be initials.

Peyton Temple.

Peyton Temple was a name
found on Reid's phone records.

Well, if he wrote this,
I'd like to ask him

what he was using the
equation to optimize.

You... you'd like to ask him?

Mm-hmm.

This could be the killer.

This could be anyone.

How's your handle on
Frame Invocation Theory?

Because he used it
in this equation,

and it might be helpful
to understand it fully.

I'll look up an address
on Peyton Temple, and...

let's go for a ride.

I'm almost past the firewall

on SweetSound Express.
That's Reid's music blog.

There are numerous references

to an upcoming post on something
called “The Hit Wizard "".

Uh, there's no
explanation past that.

Toby, anything on Peyton Temple?

It's an old article about him
being a child music prodigy.

Synthesizer, electronic sound.
There's not much past that.

But I did find this, though.

No answer, so we'll circle back.

Okay, what if, uh,
Reid's cell phone GPS

indicated that he was
here at Temple's house

for about three
hours last night?

Would that validate
entering the premises?

How did you get
that information?

It's not like we
hacked his account.

Interesting,
but not enough for a warrant,

so we'll circle back.

See you at the garage.

Where's Walter going?

Um...

Walter,
is your mind on the homicide,

or is this the same
agitation from earlier?

Oh, I think you've overshot
your analysis of me for today.

You are hunting
big adrenaline game

because of your
high intelligence.

You will keep stalking
bigger thrills

unless you deal
with your issues.

High-risk activities aren't
an emotional distraction.

They are relaxing.

When risk is involved,
it occupies my entire brain,

freeing me from other thoughts.

It's meditative.

He's practicing
Freudian displacement.

It's when you pursue one thing,

but you're really
thinking about another.

So, him jumping the fence?

He's meditating.

Walter? Walter?

What are you doing?

Temple spent three hours

with Reid just before
he wound up dead.

Either he killed Reid,
or he knows something about it.

Worth some effort.

Oh!

Okay, okay... Back again, huh?

You know,
if you came here to harm me,

you're pretty stupid
to show up unarmed.

Actually, I have a 197
IQ, but I will grant you

I've been engaging in
some, uh, risky behavior.

Now, I like... I like dogs,

but, uh, if you call yours off

we could talk about a murder...

you're involved in.

Come on, Bubba.

For real,
you think I had something to do

with Reid getting killed?

He was my friend. You're insane.

Especially you.

Hard to argue at the
moment, Mr. Temple.

You still haven't given us

an explanation for
your whereabouts

during the time of the murder.

Because I don't know you.

My friend is dead,

you're the second person
to invade my house today,

I have no clue why

and no idea why I
should trust you people.

I am law enforcement,
on LAPD order.

And if this happened earlier,
why didn't you call police?

I was going to, but to be
honest, I was scared.

And last night,
I was working at a studio in Burbank.

There's ten people
who'll confirm.

We're gonna need those names.

But let's, maybe, start over.

Take a breath.

We're here to help.

Octave Cat?

The ultimate synthesizer.

It's dusty.

I have one just like it.

I built it from parts.

It's the perfect synthesis
of sound and engineering.

I'm sorry. It may not look it,

but there's an order here
I don't want disturbed.

Thank you.

Sound and engineering.

You're a music prodigy.

The algorithm you wrote
was a music program.

Reid was a music blogger.

But what is it being used for?

What does it calculate
the perfect version of?

If it was what Reid was
calling “the Hit Wizard,”

we may have the answer.

I invented a program
to aggregate data

from every hit pop song
from the last 50 years.

With minor variations
in input...

gender of artist,
time signature...

crank out a mathematically
“perfect” pop tune.

And this is being used today?

Macklemore!

That's the only explanation.

Or not, Toby.

Two weeks ago, some employees
were listening to the radio

and I heard some songs I'm
certain used the technology.

Someone copied you?

It was taken off a hard drive

that was stolen from this
house ten months ago.

Hence the dog.

Do you suspect anyone?

I only talked about it
with other like minds.

Mathematical types.

But... can't trust anyone.

But you heard the
song, you told Reid

and he wanted to write about it?

Yeah, I heard that
song and six others.

All hits, major
artists, playing now.

You should be,
like, a zillionaire.

I'd rather just have my friend
back and get on with my life.

Well, any credible
artist would be shredded

if their hits were
revealed to have been

written by a machine.
It is good motive.

It could be an artist,

record company, management...
I have no idea.

You let us help.

We'll help compile
a list of suspects.

Look.

I'm not trying to open this up

to potentially
threaten more people.

You understand?
This is my fault.

My friend is dead, all right?

All in secret, then.

You'll only reveal
the list to me.

And if someone's after you,
you're gonna need protection.

I'll run it all through LAPD.

Come on.

I'll show you my Octave.

That sounded dirty.

Maybe it was supposed to.

He's cute.

These songs, these artists.

Almost certain they
used the technology.

Okay, so the question is not
only who had the most to lose

from it being exposed,
but who would kill to keep it quiet?

Well,
it's not gonna be a short list.

The music business is
disgusting, so heads up.

Is that why you
left it all behind?

I believed in what I was
playing and no one else did.

Didn't get much of a
response from the media

or the labels. So...

I gave it up.

Decided to put it in a box.

So you invented a
smart algorithm,

which is also very cynical.

It's bubble-gum pop.

Yeah, I just thought I could
make a couple extra bucks.

Why didn't you rewrite the
program after it was stolen?

Reid wanted me to.

He was always saying,
“Fight back,” and...

I would have,
if he were still, um...

I mean, how many times
do I need to get screwed

before I learn my
lesson, you know?

Guess I'm just not meant to
be in the music business.

Artist who hates his own art.

How certain are we that
Ke$ha is on this list?

Not at all.

And who cares?

Why are you so fascinated
by who's making fake music?

I am an indefatigable
seeker of the truth.

I have a visceral reaction

when the world tries
to sell me caca,

and this list is gonna
confirm my instincts.

You're real fun.

What a hoot of a
boyfriend you'd make.

Did you hear that?

Yeah, she just laid you out.

She just referenced me in the
same sentence as “boyfriend.”

I have the world's
most perfect instincts.

I saw this coming.

Monster Trucks?

A legit first date.

With real keepsake ducats.

Just need to find the
right time to ask.

What about now?

Eh...

She was showing
this vague interest

in our new friend earlier.

I need her mind clear.

Is what you're doing also
Freudian displacement?

Because you're afraid
of being rejected?

Maybe for someone else?

Music is sexy.

Ah. Were you, like,
a groupie or something?

Absolutely not.

Interesting body language.

It's defensive, turning away,

yet eyes begging for follow-up.

I was thinking about Drew and
Ralph at the baseball game.

Just confess.

There may have been a time
I gave singing a shot.

- Well, let's hear it.
- No.

It's private now.
For me to listen to

when I'm feeling nostalgic.

Hey, guys?

Temple pointed us to a suspect.

I think we have someone.

Lucky the King.

Manages hard-core
hip hop artists.

Has two songs on the list,
his only Top 40 hits.

Goes to logic.

Guy whose roster is all about

street credibility...
he would lose a fortune

if it came out that
his artists were using

a machine to generate hits.

Oh, yeah.
His company would collapse.

And he's psycho,
so there's that.

He's been shot three
separate times.

Four bullets are
still in his body.

Cabe said that there
were several calls

to Lucky's management,
so they were in contact.

But that does not
get us a warrant.

Yeah. And there's no way
Lucky's talking to the cops

if they walk through the door.

You know what I'd do?

Get in this guy's face

and just accuse him
of being involved.

Brilliant.

It is. Because I'd have planted

a listening device
in his office.

Yeah, if he was involved,

his next conversation
would be to his accomplice

or... if he farmed it out...
the killer.

Yeah, that's a good idea,
gettin' in his face.

You heard me just say he was
psycho, right?

I got no problem with that.

I'm gonna go with you and
help you plant the bug.

Whoa, whoa... Go with me?

Why do I have to go?

Well, he used your technology.

He'll talk to you.

You can pretend
I'm your security.

Or I'm a friend looking
for an audition.

I do have a history
as a battle rapper.

Please do not subject
us to an example.

Hey. You could be his lawyer.

I've done that before.

My research said

the basement entrance
is around the side.

We'll go set up down there.

Lucky the King has a Lambo.

Reminds me of a
debt someone owes.

We doing this or what, man?

'Cause I'm kind of freaking out.

Yeah, uh, you're just gonna
have a little conversation.

Toby will pick out the bug.

Everything will be fine.

Really?
Because I'm freaking out, too,

so do you believe that,

or are you just saying that
because you feel no fear?

- You don't feel fear?
- No.

That's really great
to hear right now.

Don't worry.

With you in the room,

there's very little chance
he'll resort to violence.

Look... whoever you guys are,

whatever firm you're with...

Melvoy and Grant.

Yeah. Whatever.

I have no idea what theft
you're talking about, okay?

These songs were
written by professionals

and overseen by me.

We both know that's not true.

Those songs were written by
my client's stolen software.

I don't got no clue what
you're talking about.

Rest assured,
if we wanted to prove

theft and usage, we could.

Our client just wants a
few minutes of your time

in front of witnesses.

Or we could file a lawsuit.

In which case, you might want to

change the name of the
company to Temple Management,

because he will own this office

and your cars and every asset

- you've ever possessed.
- Okay.

Before we start
serving papers here,

can I just talk
to you privately?

I mean,
I hate the idea of a lawsuit.

Yeah.

I don't know who you are or
what the hell you want...

Okay, look,
I don't want your money.

I called this guy out
of a Yellow Pages,

'cause I knew I couldn't
get in without a lawyer.

Well, you and your lawyers are
about to get tossed out of here.

Just hear me out, okay?

Do you know Harold Reid?

I don't know who you're
talking about, man.

Come on, man, you know him.

He called you asking about
the same program I am.

All right, I hear you...

Mr... uh, Mr. Curtis...

Do you have the time?

Uh, I'm sorry, I don't.

Okay.

Sit down.

I couldn't do it.

He got killed.

Policeman called me asking about
it, using your name.

Now, I don't want to have
anything to do with it.

You can keep the money,
you can keep the program.

Plant it under your seat.

It's got to be
closer to the phone.

Give it to me.

I just don't want my
life threatened again.

I had nothing to do with
a threat on your life.

Because if I was
going to threaten you,

I'd have your little ass
curled up in a corner,

weeping like a child.

Okay.

Think we're good here, guys.

We should probably leave.

You all want to sue me?

Sue me.

Just get the hell
out of my office.

Walter, anything?

He's dialing the phone from
the line in his office.

Must be something he
wants kept private.

We may be on to something.

You're kidding.

This actually worked?

Hello, this is Ocean West I.T.
Services for business...

Doesn't sound like he's
calling an assassin.

Maybe it's code.

Or maybe he does have
Internet problems.

What kind of hip-hop mogul deals
with his own Web service issues?

A control freak?

So?

So, we'll keep monitoring him,

but maybe he is a control freak.

Either way,
the killer is still out there.

The hell was that?

Something not normal.

Let's discuss it
outside the van.

Maybe a short in the AC?

Whoa!

I'm completely shocked.
My-my hands are still shaking.

Van's blown to hell,
and he swore up and down

that he had no clue
about the car bomb.

I could swear to be
the Queen of England,

it doesn't make it true.

His alibi for Reid's murder...

he was at his daughter's
fourth-grade adaptation

of “Paul Revere's
Midnight Ride.”

Said we could confirm it
with his head of security

and every parent that
was in the audience.

That doesn't mean he
didn't hire it out.

Well, if he did,
he's not telling us about it.

He named a very powerful
attorney, he's done talking.

All right, we'll need
area surveillance footage,

anything that shows the van,
whoever planted that bomb.

Stay close to the garage.

Someone's trying to
wipe this kid out,

and doesn't care who
he wipes out with him.

This might be more
than you can chew.

Peanuts?

You feeling okay?

Okay, whoever bombed us,
they've probably been following us

since the first time we
went to Temple's house.

You say that like people go
around bombing other people.

Uh, empathy's not
his strong suit.

Aftermath photos show they wired
right into the ignition switch.

The bomber wasn't adept
enough to tighten everything,

or we wouldn't have gotten
that ten second warning.

You know,
the more I think about it,

the less I want to see that list

of the artists who
used the Hit Wizard.

Not what we're talking
about, Toby.

I mean, what if Jack
White is on that list.

I can't handle that.

He's not.

Drew?

Is everything all right?

No, maybe this was a bad idea.

It's Ralph, he-he's, uh...

not having a good time.

He hasn't said a word all day.

I told you he can be quiet.

I-I know, but maybe baseball
wasn't the right call.

Well, you're his dad, so...

find some common ground.

You ready for another
professional assessment?

You gonna deny Ralph your help?

Can I, um...
can I speak to him for a second?

Oh, uh...

Walter wants to get on.

Okay.

Hey.

You may consider
buying a program

and showing Ralph all
the player statistics.

Then asking him if he can try
to improve fielder placement

and the batting order,
he may enjoy that.

Thanks.

Thank you.

I got something.

Guy walks like
military, cop or both.

He's packing.

Under his shirt
and on his ankle.

Security.

He's gonna be a security guy.

Lucky had that security
thug in the office.

His alibi witness was
his head of protection.

So, whoever planted that
bomb, like I said,

they could have been hired out.

Show me getting out of his car.

Stop, he didn't account
for that camera angle.

That placard says
Night Ridge Security.

Heavy in the music business.

Everybody in law enforcement
knows these guys.

It's big money.

If a rich music biz
dude wanted to get rid

of Reid and our friend Temple,
they could hire the job out.

This guy's I.D. would

most certainly be in
Night Ridge's files.

Warrant'll take days.

But I may have a work around.

Skirt the law a little.

Cabe? Skirting the law?

Walter is rubbing off on him.

I take it personally when someone
goes after one of our own.

I'll explain in the car.

This may be a little...

I'm in!
I'm past Night Ridge's security.

You are?

Not surprising.

Security firms, not so tough.

Scanning the face from
the surveillance video

against Night Ridge
personnel files.

Got him.

The guy in the surveillance
video is Dustin McBride.

Ex-military, ex-cop.

Here's his home address.

I'll get this to Archer
in Robbery Homicide.

If this guy, McBride,
tried to kill you,

it's likely he killed Reid.

We'll let LAPD handle
grabbing him up.

Okay, so, what do we do now?

Go ahead and make the
arrest, or...?

It's in LAPD's hands now.

We need to stay here and
find out who hired McBride.

Why don't I show you my Octave.

Here's the one I rebuilt.

Honestly, I don't know much
about how it plays, but...

it's a beautiful machine.

Cars, tractors, elevators,
I love machines.

Analog amplifiers,
pristine socket chips.

Perfect transistors.

I'll bet the sound is as warm
as a cat in the sun, huh?

Fire it up.

Nah, I haven't played in so
long, I'm definitely rusty.

I put all this away
a long time ago.

But I should get going home.

Just want to call and check in
on Reid's folks, if that's okay.

You know, uh,
I'll give you a ride.

You shouldn't be alone before
this is all wrapped up.

You've already done enough, man,
helping me out with all this, so...

You know, there are
similarities between you and us.

Come on, man,
there are no similarities.

I'm not one of you.

I barely ever leave my house.

Well, we have support.

That's the difference.

Makes me miss my friend.

I wish I had advice for you,

but I'm bad with
emotional conversations.

My advice for you...

don't hide.

From anything.

Nothing good comes from it.

Whoa!

Hey, Walt, you there?

Hey, Walter.

Electrocuted twice in one day.

That has to be a record.

You got a look at his face?

Yeah, I'm certain it
was Dustin McBride.

Could've just killed Temple.

They must want
him for something.

We know that
McBride is security,

the question is... for who?

McBride's file at
Night Ridge has a list

of 20 regular clients.

Get what you can
on all 20 names.

Too diffuse.

But that list of the artists
who used the Hit Wizard program,

the one you went
over with Temple,

Maybe you needed a behaviorist
going over that list.

In the loft.

Oh, my God...

“Anywhere But Here” was
written by a computer?

That's impossible.

And “Hold On.” Walter,
I don't think I can handle this.

Hey, numbnuts, buckle down.

We got a man to save.

Legitimate acts,
singer-songwriters.

Careers built on a
foundation of credibility.

Stray Silence.

Sean Redclay...
fraud would torpedo them.

That would be like

if you heard Springsteen
was on this list.

He's not, thank God.

They're all managed
by an Owen Sugar.

He's on the Night Ridge list,
a client of Dustin McBride.

One guy managing three clients

that would have been ruined at
the reveal of the Hit Wizard.

That's a fortune
in lost revenue.

We need to find
out where he lives.

Oh, Pantheon Villas
in West Hollywood.

Huge parties, furious neighbors.

Owen Sugar's in the
tabloids all the time.

Happy, get your laptop.

And every surveillance
tool you have.

We'll do the research of the
building layout in the car.

And we're not calling
Cabe because...

why involve authorities
when confronting a killer?

We're not confronting
him, we'll be next door.

Then we may confront him.

Let's go, move!

I see McBride.

Here.

Yeah, that's Owen Sugar.

The one on the left.

Happy, any sign of Temple?

I see a body.

Is he alive?

Heat signature says yes.

But he's not moving.

Guys.

We didn't snatch him
to watch him sleep,

we need to know who him and his
friend, Harold Reid, talked to.

Until we find out
how wide this went,

we can't start cleaning it up.

I'll rouse him.

All right, get him talking,
then, hey, put him down.

Make him go away, okay?

Uh, we can't let that happen.

There's the back staircase.

It's like a fire escape.

It leads to Sugar's
service entrance.

Can you get past the lock?

Walter, please.

Okay, before we do anything,

we'll need to get
Temple out of there.

Now, Toby, I'll need help
hauling him if he can't walk.

Paige, Sylvester,
you watch from here.

Warn us if McBride goes
anywhere near that back room.

And call Cabe.

Sugar's on the phone.

What did I say?

I can't see McBride.

Yeah, nothing to it.

Uh-huh.

No, we're here.

Just do what I told you to do.

Thank you.

And call me immediately.
I want to hear.

It's him! It's Temple!

Temple, wake up.

Poor guy.

We need to move fast.

Uh, uh, guys?

Guys, McBride is on
his way to the kitchen

where's he grabbing
garbage bags and duct tape.

Are we clear to go?

Oh, he's coming towards you.

Wait, he-he's stopped.

He's talking to Sugar.
I'd say you got

- five seconds to get out of there.
- Plan B.

No, no, no, no!
We can go right now!

We go, McBride comes back
wondering where Temple is.

And the first place he's gonna
look is the back stairway.

- So Plan B. Happy, you're prepared just in case?
- I'm prepared.

You're paying attention
to this heroism, correct?

Oh, you crazy shrink!

Mr. Sugar, a million apologies

for barging in,
but I tried your office 20 times.

And I knew if you
just heard one song,

you'd know what kind of gold
mine you were talking to.

He's a dead man.

Your boy Toby Curtis.

Right?

Guys, we're all intelligent
adults, business people.

I am well aware of
the age old struggle,

between artist and management.

Walter!

It's Toby! He's in trouble!

Happy, keep going, keep going.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!

We have Peyton Temple.

You pull him up,
we'll take you to Temple.

He's who you want.

Not us.

What the hell? Get him up.

Happy,
they've got them at gunpoint.

Temple's at our
headquarters downtown.

No police, no protection.

Why are you bending
over for them?

What choice do we have?

They're gonna kill us, too.

No, they're businessmen, right?

Let's go.

Come on, move.

There's no Muzak.

Just saying.

It's really worth killing over?

Pop songs?

Stop talking.

The artistry, you know?

Touching people's souls?

Hey, what are you
doing with your hands?

What the hell was that?!

I love machines.

Come on out, fellas.

Geez, Walt.

You know, it's like everyone in L.A.
has a Lambo but you.

The LAPD extends their
thanks and asks a favor.

Found this in Sugar's condo.

Figure out what's on it.

It may belong to your friend.

So, if we could prove that
Owen Sugar used stolen.

Hit Wizard money
to buy this car,

would it be confiscated?
Auctioned for cheap?

By... tonight?

Try, like, three years.

That's it. That's my algorithm.

The Hit Wizard.

Oh. Here's a log of who
hired Sugar to use it.

Matches your artist
list exactly.

Millions in revenue.

Give us five minutes
to log everything

on the hard drive for Cabe

- and then we'll give it back to you again.
- Cool.

I was pleased to hear you
didn't drop off that roof.

You appreciated my heroism?

It was idiotic.

But ballsy.

Um...

Happy?

Just curious,
what are your plans for...?

What I've missed the most in
all the years since I gave it up

is the perfection of harmony.

See, a machine can only copy
it, can't make it

because the perfection
is in the tiny mistakes.

Which makes it human.

Oh, you know it?

♪ Can't take my
eyes off of you ♪

Come on in.

♪ You'd be like
heaven to touch ♪

♪ I want to hold you so much ♪

♪ At long last,
love has arrived ♪

♪ And I thank God I'm alive ♪

♪ You're just too
good to be true ♪

♪ Can't take my eyes off of you. ♪

Uh, oh.

Oh, Ralph.

How was your day? Good?

- Hi.
- Mm-hmm.

- Hey.
- Thank you for your Moneyball idea.

Ralph really engaged.

- He loved it.
- Mm-hmm.

Um...

you seem to have something
more on your mind.

Well, I know baseball.

And when I tried to
talk to Ralph about it

from my perspective,
he didn't get it.

And then I gave him the
idea, your idea.

And he's talking to me about
statistics and probabilities.

And then I didn't get it.

I just wish there was a way
for us speak the same baseball.

You wait here.

Okay, batter up.

Yowzah!

When it spins, air passes faster
over one side of the ball,

reducing air pressure.

That's Bernoulli's principle.

Now, when the ball
gets dragged down

that's the Magnus effect.

Okay, Drew?

That Ralph is high heat.

Comes at the top of the order.

Shows them you mean business.

Cool.

Now, Drew?

Try to release a
quarter second later.

Okay.

That was Major League style.

Okay, so, with that in mind,

go tell your dad he's
doing a good job.

- This is working.
- Mm.

You know, I-I think

Ralph failed his test to
better fit in with Drew.

He doesn't want him
to go away again.

Yeah,
but he can't deny his genius.

That's who he is.

That's who Drew
needs to get to know.

You know, I'll help.

Can I ask you something...
crazy?

You got plans tonight?

All right,
that was inappropriate.

Are you into drag races?

I actually built
a funny car once.

Great.

There's a rally in Pomona.

You know what? I am.

You want to go?

Yeah. Why not?

Nice.

Okay, well...

enjoy your billions.

I was angry when I
wrote this program.

And I didn't want
anything to do with music.

But now I think I just
don't want anything

to do with bad music.

I don't want to be a fake.

Reid didn't want
me living scared.

All these years,
I could've been doing something great.

It's better late than never.

You're right.

You are so... right,

Happy.

So right!

Hey.

How can I repay you, man?

Whoa, well, I got
you, um, drugged,

kidnapped, almost blown up.

So I-I think we're even. Yeah.

Unless you got a spare
Lambo lying around.

Well, you're gonna need Lucky
the King money for that.

- Thanks, man.
- Yeah, sure.

You, too.

Think I can borrow
Lucky the King's car?

No.

Not unless you've got
something he wants.

Router speed is ten
times what it was.

It will never break down,
and from now on, it's free.

OITNB coming in clear?

Damn, King,
looks like it's in HD.

All right.

Have it back first
thing in the morning.

Mm-hmm.

Any damage will be met
with extreme violence.

So...

double or nothing?