All language subtitles for Dead.Men.Dont.Wear.Plaid.1982 ENGLISH

It was a quiet day at the Rigby
Reardon Detective Agency.

I had a hangover, and business was so
slow I was rereading old newspapers.

I was even thinking of closing
up the office for a few days...

when all of a sudden...

- Mr Reardon?
- That's right.

My...

My name... my...

In all my years in the business,
I'd never seen anything like her.

Was she real? There was
only one way to find out.

But I remembered Marlowe's words.

What the hell does Marlowe know?

She was real all right.

What are you doing?

Adjusting your breasts.

You fainted and they...
shifted all outta whack.

- There.
- Thank you.

You're welcome.

Thank you. I... I apologise
for my dramatic entrance.

It's just when I saw the...
newspaper headlines...

- You must be quite a Dodgers fan.
- No, I saw... the front page.

- What's your name, Dollface?
- Juliet Forrest.

Forrest...

Daughter of the big cheesemaker. You
could use a cup of my famous java.

Cheese was Daddy's hobby.
He was a scientist.

- Quite an accident he had.
- That's what I came to see you about.

You don't think it was an accident.
You think he was murdered.

How did you know?

It's my business to know,
Miss Forrest. Sit down.

What makes you think
it wasn't an accident?

Just before it... it happened...

he behaved very erratically, writing
out lists of names, dozens of them.

He wrote them on blotters and
scratch pads, whatever was handy.

Here's one of the lists...
or part of one.

It's from a dollar bill.

Somehow I got the feeling he was
the victim of a giant conspiracy.

You deducted murder and a
giant conspiracy from this?

You think I'm too impulsive,
don't you, Mr Reardon?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

If you want me to investigate your
father's death, I get $10 a day.

Plus expenses.

Will $200 be enough in
advance, Mr Reardon?

- For $200 I'd shoot my grandmother.
- That won't be necessary.

You never can tell. On my last case, I
had to throw my brother out of a plane.

Where'd your father keep
his correspondence?

He had a small private office
downtown. Here's the key.

Thank you, Mr Reardon.
I appreciate this.

- Miss Forrest?
- Yes?

Save me some shoe leather if you
told me what address this key fits.

It was 429 Firehouse Row.

Pretty seedy part of town
for a renowned scientist.

It was the only place he could
experiment with cheese...

without the smell
bothering the neighbours.

I'll see what I can turn up.

Good day, Mr Reardon.

On my way to Firehouse Row, I tried
not to think of Juliet Forrest.

I hadn't seen a body like that...

since I'd solved the case of the
murdered girl with the big tits.

I had no trouble finding
Dr Forrest's cheese lab.

It smelled like the
number on the door.

Inside, I turned up
something interesting.

"To John Forrest, a dear man who, like
his cheeses, gets stronger with age."

"Love, Kitty."

So the old renowned scientist
was getting a little on the side.

"Enemies of Carlotta."

"Friends of Carlotta."

"Kitty Collins"?

Sounds like company.

Exterminator.

Just a minute.

Come in.

Sit down.

There's some cookies on the table.

Have one.

Good, aren't they?

Guess to be a really good exterminator
you have to enjoy killing things.

Yeah.

- Yes?
- I'd like to see Miss Forrest.

- Who shall I say is calling?
- Mr Reardon. Tell her I've been shot.

Very good, sir.

- May I tell her by whom?
- No. I don't know myself.

Are you all right? You look as
though you're going to faint.

Faint? Ha!

Never.

- Catch me.
- Sorry.

I'm a butler... not a catcher.

Dollface...

What are you doing?!

It should feel better now.

- Where'd you learn that?
- At camp.

- You learned that at girls' camp?
- It's really for snakebite, but...

I find it works for everything.

You mumbled about Kitty Collins and
Swede Anderson being on a list.

- "Friends of Carlotta"?
- That's right. Do you know them?

Kitty was...

Kitty was someone Daddy trifled
with after Mother dried up.

And Swede was Kitty's boyfriend.

Where are they now?

The last I heard, they
were in Santa Barbara.

He used to be a boxer. Now
he works in a gas station...

And she sings in a private club.

You may be interested in this.
I found it in Daddy's study.

"Thanks for the check.
In case I'm indisposed..."

"...the dollar you gave me for safekeeping
is in the top of the sugar bowl."

- "Shh."
- Why?

No. This.

No, no, no. That's not "Shh."
It's S-H-H. Samuel H Hastings.

My brother-in-law.
Or at least he was.

He and my sister Leona are
separated. He's a hopeless drunk.

- Where is he now?
- I don't know.

Get your sister Leona for me.

All right.

I'm afraid she may not
be very much help.

- She's very disturbed.
- How disturbed?

She's been diagnosed as a
paranoid hypochondriac.

- Doctors think she may be faking.
- I'll know after one word if she is.

- Hello?
- She's faking.

Mrs Hastings? My name's Reardon.
Sorry to hear your father's passed on.

No, he hasn't. He won't
be back till Sunday.

Sunday? You don't
understand, Mrs Hastings.

I'm investigating
your father's death.

My father called me from Chicago
tonight. He never mentioned a word!

Maybe it slipped his mind.

Look, uh, your father
is dead, Mrs Hastings.

Your sister Juliet feels his
death wasn't an accident.

What are you talking about?

I had a long talk with him
just a little while ago.

- He told me terrible things about you.
- Listen, you phony fruitcake!

Sorry I called you a fruitcake.
I just don't have time to listen to...

All right, don't listen! Who cares?

Your sister has a lot to
learn about phone courtesy.

You got any idea how
I could locate Sam?

You might ask the bartenders
along 5th Street.

I'll call you if
I turn up anything.

Oh... If I'm not home, leave a message
with the butler or the cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!

Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!

Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!

Sorry.

Why did you do that?

When I was seven years old...

my father ran off
with the cleaning...

My mother died of a broken heart.

Now every time someone
says cleaning...

- ...I go berserk.
- Oh! You poor dear.

I don't blame you
for strangling me.

I'll never say it again.

Thanks.

So long, Dollface.

I legged it down 5th Street
looking for Samuel H Hastings.

It was a street of frustrated
hopes and broken dreams.

Everything was cheap, cut-rate. Even
the prostitutes were having a sale.

There was no problem finding Hastings.
He owed money to every bartender.

He was staying at the Hotel Ward on 5th
Street. It used to be on 8th Street...

But they took so many rubber checks,
it bounced all the way across town.

I went to his room and knocked.

- Hastings? Sam Hastings?
- Who is it?

My name is Reardon. I...
have a proposition for ya.

But not today. Does
it have to be today?

- Yeah.
- Come on Monday.

- I got that money for ya.
- What money?

There's a dollar bill
hidden in your sugar bowl.

I'll give you five bucks for it.

- You could buy a lotta booze with that.
- Just a minute.

Look in the top.

It fits perfectly. Most of
the names are illegible...

But I can work out Kitty
Collins and Swede Anderson.

But what does "FOC" mean?

It's a slang word. When a man and a
woman are in love, the man puts his...

No, no. Written here. F-O-C.

Oh. Unless I miss my guess, that
stands for "Friends of Carlotta".

- I'm impressed.
- You think that's impressive...

There I was, standing like a kid
doing corny tricks for her...

Driving miles out of my
way just to see her.

Why?

What are you thinking, Mr Reardon?

So long, Dollface. I'll be in
Santa Barbara if you need me.

I found out Kitty Collins was
working at the Brentwood Room.

The Brentwood Room.

Where rich women go to meet rich
men so they can have rich kids.

Miss Collins?

Kitty wouldn't give me any information
if she thought I was a private eye...

Excuse me.

So I decided to act like a
big-shot movie producer.

- My name's Reardon. I make movies.
- How wonderful of you.

- You like boxing pictures?
- I'm afraid I've never seen one.

I'm casting a big boxing picture at RKO.
I'm looking for a singer. You interested?

The idea of two men beating each
other to a pulp makes me ill.

Well, I'm also doing
a religious picture.

The Story of Saint... Betty.

You know, the... nun who
taught the lepers how to sing.

- How wonderful of you.
- Thanks.

John Hay Forrest said you
were a friend of Carlotta's.

Will you excuse me?

I must have hit a nerve.
She went white as a ghost.

The next day I tailed Kitty
Collins to a fancy restaurant.

Midway through the meal, she noticed
me and did a pretty strange thing.

She took off her
brooch and ditched it.

I had a pretty good idea where.

Hold it, pal. I'm from
the health department.

We have a report that your soup
has too much jewellery in it.

"EOC." Enemies of Carlotta.

The only name on the list that wasn't
crossed out was Swede Anderson.

I decided to drop in on him
before they crossed him out too.

Swede wasn't living in luxury.

As a matter of fact, for a moment,
I thought he wasn't living at all.

Swede?

Sorry, Swede. I thought
you'd been murdered.

Come on, wake up!

Come on, Swede.

You need a cup of my java.

You're up. Good. The java
will be ready in a minute.

This is never gonna heal.

Anyway, my guess is by now Kitty
Collins is a million miles from here.

Do you think Swede was killed by the
same man who murdered my father?

Hold it, Dollface. No one's proved
your father's been murdered...

yet.

But you may be right about
this being a conspiracy.

It's big. Maybe too big
for me to handle alone.

Get me a cup of java, will ya?

- Yeah?
- Hello, Marlowe?

- Oh, hello, Bernie.
- No, it's me, Rigby.

What's up?

I'm on an important case. I need
your help. How soon can you get here?

- I haven't had breakfast.
- Breakfast? You're late for lunch, pal.

- It's two o'clock.
- Two o'clock?

Hustle on over here. I'll make
you a cup of my famous java.

- I'd rather buy my own.
- Suit yourself. See ya in a half-hour.

And Marlowe. Wear a
tie, for God's sake.

What's that?

I found it in Daddy's desk.

It looks like a key to one of those
lockers at the train station.

Number's been filed off. What's
it say on that envelope?

"Most recent rat."

- Very clever.
- You understand what it means?

Just a hunch. You know the Chinese have
a different animal for every year?

- Yes.
- Unless I miss my guess...

The most recent Year
of the Rat was 1936.

This is the key to
locker number 1936.

- You're a very smart man.
- So was Abraham Lincoln.

Look what happened to him.
Smart can get you killed.

I hope not.

Sometimes I feel I would like to...

You'd like to what? Kiss me?

Yeah, that would be nice.

It would give me a chance to tell her I
was starting to feel something for her.

Something warm and squishy.

But a man in my business can't take
on a wife, have a bunch of kids.

- We wouldn't have to have kids.
- What?

Look, this is getting us nowhere.

But thanks anyway.

You'd better go now. Marlowe's
coming over here to talk.

If you need me, just call.

You know how to dial, don't you?

You just put your finger in the
hole, and make tiny little circles.

Come on in. It's open.

Hello, Marlowe.

Dammit. You didn't
do what I told ya.

I hate that dumb way of wearing
your shirt buttoned with no tie.

Let me get you a tie.

Here. This one's blue, but
you can wear it with brown.

- You annoy me.
- I annoy you?

You come in here with
no tie... Are you drunk?

- How many have you had?
- One martini.

- I knew I was gonna see you.
- Sit down.

Here's what I want you to do.

Here's a list of names I found in a
bowl of soup. Don't ask me to explain.

I think they're all dead.
I want you to check 'em out.

And Marlowe? Put this on
for me, huh? As a favour.

It's a clip-on.

I put Marlowe to work checking Kitty's
list against recent unsolved murders...

While I yellow-cabbed
it to the station...

To see how Dr Forrest's key
would fit into the puzzle.

I sashayed over to
locker number 1936.

The key fit like a glove.
As I opened the locker...

I noticed a handsome guy in a
grey pinstripe watching me.

It seemed I wasn't the only one who was
interested in the contents of that locker.

Inside were two long lists of
Carlotta's friends and enemies.

The first name that jumped
out was FX Huberman...

Number 46 Bay Court
Drive, Grunion Point.

I decided to take a little train
ride and visit Mr Huberman.

I knew "Handsome" would follow
me, so to throw him off...

I cleverly ducked into the
men's room and lost him.

There was no way he could follow me
unless I had toilet paper on my shoe.

Damn!

It wasn't really toilet
paper, it was a seat cover...

But it was enough for a smart
guy to make the connection.

As soon as we went into a tunnel...

Handsome popped in and started
looking for a match... in my pockets.

- Oh! Was that your leg?
- No, it was my face.

I had no idea we were
going into a tunnel.

I'm sure.

I thought the
compartment was empty.

Yeah, right. Uh-huh, sure.

- I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you.
- It's all right.

To what do I owe the
pleasure of your company?

The man in the next compartment's
smoking a vile cigar.

I had to come in here.
You don't smoke, do you?

- No, I have tuberculosis.
- Oh, thank heavens for that.

After last night, my
head couldn't stand it.

I didn't want him to know where I was
going so I decided to put him away fast.

I always carry my harmonica.

It's lighter than an accordion, and
more powerful than a sleeping pill.

I left him napping like a baby when
I ducked out at Grunion Point.

Here's three bucks if you can get this
cab to 46 Bay Court in ten minutes.

Follow that cab!

It was a pretty clever thing I did.

By taking the only two cabs, I made
sure Handsome couldn't follow me.

When I arrived at Mr
Huberman's, I was surprised.

Mr Huberman turned out to be a sexy
dame who was throwing a party.

She didn't even ask me what I wanted,
just made me feel real welcome.

How about you, handsome? Haven't
I seen you somewhere before?

Maybe. I've been somewhere before.

It's nice of you to invite me.
I feel a little like a party crasher.

I like party crashers.

I like classy dames
with bedroom eyes.

You know something? I like you.

I like me too.

When these people leave, maybe...
you and I can have a party of our own.

Oh, I... I have to think that over.

She was a fast thinker.

I'm very sorry. You all have to go.
It has been a perfectly hideous party.

- Good night.
- Good night.

Stuffy in here, isn't it?

Suddenly I realised she'd
slipped me a Mickey.

My lips felt like two manhole covers.
My tongue felt like it had hair on it.

My ears started to ring.
I felt like a dog.

Woof!

Woof, Huberman, woof!

Come on. Let's go out dancin'.

You put on your black dress,
and I'll go shave my tongue.

♪ Barbasol, Barbasol

♪ No brush, no lather, no rub-in

♪ Wet your razor then begin

♪ Barbasol, Barbasol

♪ Oompah, oompah, oompah, oompah

Come on, FX. I'm ready!

Let's go dancing.

Hold it!

Sorry, Dollface.

- How did you get here?
- Your door was open, so I walked in.

- I've been trying to call you all night.
- How did I get here?

- I guess you must have crawled.
- Oh, God!

- Oh, no, that's OK.
- It's just a little alcohol.

- They don't hurt.
- Don't be a baby.

Get back!

What's up?

Sam Hastings is dead.

Poor rummy. How did he get it?

Fell out of a window reaching
for a bottle of whisky.

He could have been pushed. I'll have
Marlowe check his back for fingerprints.

- Anything else?
- Yes.

I found another note
Daddy wrote to himself.

"NYTAG-216."

I think it's a New York
license plate number.

Not bad, Dollface.
Unless I'm... Ohh! Agh!

Careful. Let me get
you some alcohol.

No!

It's not N-Y TAG. It's N-Y-T.

New York Times.

So what's "A-G"?

- Standard library talk for August.
- And 216?

Stands for the August 2nd
issue, page one, column six.

Extension 20, please.

Hi. It's me, Rigby.

Sorry, Hot Legs, I've been busy.

You sashay over to your
New York Times file...

Read me what's on page one, column
six of the August 2nd issue...

Maybe I'll wine and dine
you some night soon.

I'll wait.

You'd wine and dine
her for information?

Her? Him.

Yeah... Then read me
the whole article.

"Immer Essen".

Walter Neff's the owner.

Thanks, Hot Legs.
I owe you a big one.

Immer essen.

Immer essen.
That means "always eating".

- What language?
- German.

It's also the name of a
South American cruise ship.

I know! When Sam Hastings and my
sister separated last July...

He took a South American
tour on that ship.

Very interesting.

Right after that tour, the
company canceled its cruises.

Now Sam Hastings is dead.

- I don't see the connection.
- I don't either. That's what bothers me.

Hello?

- Who is it?
- This is Marlowe.

Oh, hello, Mr Marlowe. Would
you hold a moment, please?

- It's Marlowe.
- Good.

Hello, Marlowe. Listen, don't check
out those unsolved murders right now.

Yeah? Why not?

I got something more important. You
ever had any dealings with Walter Neff?

Walter Neff. He runs a South
American cruise-ship company.

Good. Tell me about him.

Cruises supermarkets
looking for blondes?

Good. I'll supply the blonde.

One other thing.

If Walter Neff leaves the country,
I may have to take a little boat ride.

If I do, stay off the booze. These
people we're dealing with are killers.

Well, thanks for telling me.
Have a nice trip.

I may not leave right away,
but thanks anyway. And Marlowe?

- You wearin' a tie?
- Goodbye.

- What was that all about?
- Marlowe knows Neff.

Says he's a pushover
for beautiful blondes.

It means we need a female spy.

Why not use me?

Sorry.

You're not blonde enough.

- I can always dye my hair.
- No dice, Dollface. You're a client.

That's one thing I've learned about
clients. Dead ones don't pay their bills.

Is that all you think of me?

Someone who pays you $10 a day?

That's right, Dollface. To me
you're just a meal ticket.

How could I tell her
that I was lying?

I'd work for nothing just to watch
her hair bounce as she walked...

Smell her creamy skin, cradle
her head on my shoulder.

Feel the slope of her waist,
the curve of her back...

And then gently caress
her two beautiful...

I'm sorry.

I just don't like being
called a meal ticket.

As I started my search for a blonde spy, I
tried to get rid of the image of Juliet...

Storming out of my office
with toothpaste on her shoes.

First on my list was Monica Stillpond,
a bombshell who once told me...

She would do anything for
anybody anywhere at any time.

But muscle gave me
my start in politics.

It was when I was assistant to
old man Zimmerman, the plumber.

- Mr Madvig, you're joking.
- About the plumbing, or the muscle?

I just can't imagine
you as a plumber.

She was in the middle of
a fancy dinner party.

But I couldn't waste time being
polite. I caught her attention.

Coffee will be served in the
living room, Mr Madvig.

One thing about Monica: The words
"I can't" weren't in her vocabulary.

Monica, I want you to
do something for me.

I can't.

I guess she had added them since
the last time I'd seen her.

The next one on my list was Doris
Devermont, an old flame of mine.

With her I'd had the most honest
relationship I'd ever had with a woman.

The only thing I'd lied about was my
name. I'd told her I was Teddy Novak...

So she couldn't track me
down if I got her pregnant.

Doris remembered me, naturally.

How do you do, Mr Novak?

Mr Novak? No hugs, no kisses? We used
to flop into each other's arms, Doris.

Well, don't you think we really ought to
get to know each other all over again?

It's only been five years. You were about
to serve me dinner when I had to leave.

How stupid of me.
You must be famished.

I should have thought of it sooner.
I'll get some coffee and sandwiches.

Coffee and sandwiches.

Now I remembered Doris's
famous stale-bread sandwiches.

She'd buy day-old bread, then toast it
to cover up. I wonder if she's changed.

The bread's none too fresh.
Shall I toast it?

No, thanks. I gave up
stale toast for Lent.

- Lent?
- Nothing.

Same old Doris.

She used to get smoked turkey
so it would keep for months.

When it finally went bad,
she'd feed it to the maid.

I had some smoked turkey. I guess the
cleaning woman had it for her lunch.

Oh, here's some pâté.

Cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman!

Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!

Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!

Sorry.

I was too embarrassed to ask Doris for a
favour after I'd tried to strangle her...

So I went to the next name
in my little black book.

The blondest one on my list was a rich
society dame named Jimmi Sue Altfeld.

I almost hated to use her - she was so
in love with me, it nearly made me sick.

But business was more important.

I wined her and dined her
at the Plantation Club.

Then I made my move.

Last time we saw each other, I left you
alone sitting at a counter at Schwab's.

- You don't hate me for that, do you?
- Of course I don't.

Good...

I'd like to discuss
something with you.

- Where to?
- Take me home.

There was no way I was gonna
take her home. Her father hated me.

So I told her to meet me at a motel and
I'd show her something with my hands.

Come in.

Well, Jimmi Sue, you ready?

What are we going to do?

Kinsey from cover to cover.

Has anyone ever told you that your lips
are like two succulent Brussels sprouts...

- ...waiting to be buttered and bitten?
- Plenty of men have.

Really?

Have these men ever told you...

that your eyes are like Chinese coins
with dollops of caviar in the center?

Can't you see how happy
you and I would be here?

Yes, I do. But I want you to come
back to the city with me first.

I'm working on an important case. It's
dangerous, and you'll probably be killed.

- But if you love me, you'll do it.
- Yes, I do love you.

And I love you. And I mean that more
than anything I've ever said in my life.

I rented an apartment and started giving
Jimmi instructions on how to pump Neff.

She took direction like
a pig takes to garbage.

Here's a picture of our Mr Neff.

Do, uh, whatever you have to...

To find out what happened
on the Immer Essen.

Your father threatened to have me
beat up if I continue to see ya.

Thought I'd drop over there tomorrow
with a little peace offering.

What could I take
that'd soften him up?

He never had a dog
when he was a boy.

Never had a dog, huh?

Mr Altfeld?

Totally house-broken.

His name is... Ramon.

He's yours.

Get out, thief!

I'm not stealing your daughter. I'm just
borrowing her for an important case.

Don't go near my daughter. Don't try to
see her. Don't write and don't phone.

Can I use her underwear
to make soup?

- Get out!
- Mr Altfeld...

By helping me, your
daughter's life is in danger.

But she may save hundreds of lives.
You wouldn't stand in the way of that.

Why certainly I would!

I'd frame you or kill you... if
it would protect my daughter.

And I brought you a puppy,
something you never had as a boy.

Now get out!

Come on, Ramon.

You don't deserve a puppy.

Wait!

Pick that up.

- But it's all soft and steamy.
- Pick that up!

You're a sick man, Altfeld.

You can make me pick up dog dirt, but
you can't stop me seeing Jimmi Sue.

- You want a puppy?
- I'd love a dog.

Thank you.

- Here's something for you, too.
- Oh, thank you.

Eugh!

Well, Larry, Moe and Curly.

Thanks, Dan.

Not a nice way to treat a friend
of Mr Altfeld's daughter.

There's only one way to treat you.

You got some pretty
smart monkeys here.

I notice this one's wearing
a Phi Beta Kappa key here.

- Ow!
- Your move.

I'm gonna have some
sense beaten into you.

What's he payin' you boys? I'll double
it and we'll beat the shit outta him.

All right, Dan.

Rigby?

Rigby?

Rigby?

Juliet!

Those dirty bastards!
Beating up a woman.

They even knocked your
breasts out of whack.

Rigby?

Juliet... Are you all right?

Oh!

Yes, I'm fine.

- You look awful.
- It's all in a day's work.

No, Rigby. It's not worth it.

- I want you to quit.
- Why? Because I've been roughed up?

You've also been
shot and drugged...

And probably had to go to bed
with women you didn't know.

You're just upset about
me interviewing blondes.

You can forget about it.

I've decided to get the
information myself.

How?

By disguising myself
as a beautiful blonde.

- Do I look like a dame?
- Not as much as I do.

- I haven't turned on the charm yet.
- Rigby, I wish you'd let me go instead.

Have Neff try and feel you up?
No chance, Dollface.

Oh. You don't want
Mr Neff to feel me up?

That doesn't mean you're beginning
to... care for me, does it?

I don't want any of
my clients felt up.

I'm late. Neff cruises supermarkets
every Thursday looking for blondes.

If I'm half the woman
I think I am...

I'll have a date with
Neff by tonight.

Good luck.

Neff's favourite hunting ground
was Jerry's Market on Melrose.

I spotted him right away and sidled
down the aisle opposite him.

I was wearing a special
perfume called "Fondle Me".

Its aroma drew Neff to me
like fat to a mother-in-law.

He was a ladies' man, all right.
He made me feel beautiful, alive.

He asked me up to his place,
and I didn't play hard to get.

All right.

On his home ground, Neff was more
aggressive and I played along.

- I'm crazy about you, baby.
- I'm crazy about you too, Walter.

That perfume.
What's the name of it?

"Fondle Me".

Silly!

That's the name of the perfume.

- I feel like a drink.
- All I've got is bourbon.

I'll make the drinks.

Sit over there.

I wanted to knock him out fast. I slipped
him 15 milligrams of Aphrodisiamil...

And hoped it would take effect
before he tried to pick my lock.

Sorry, Walter. That's as far
as I go on a first date.

I didn't know what I was looking
for, but what I found was dynamite.

The passenger list of the
Immer Essen's final cruise.

It was the same as the
Carlotta "Enemies" list.

One name rang a bell. Cody Jarrett,
captain of the Immer Essen.

I went to the public library and looked
up everything I could on Captain Jarrett.

"Framed Because He Knew Too Much."

"But He Refuses to Divulge What He
Knew to Anyone but His Mother."

I hoped to find out why the passengers
on the Immer Essen's final cruise...

Were being knocked off one by one.

They all must have seen
something. But what?

What do you think?

I think you enjoy
dressing up as a woman.

Jarrett's mother's the only
visitor he'll talk to.

And I think I look enough like her
to get a gift on Mother's Day.

Rigby, wait!

Don't... don't call me Rigby.

I'm worried. Since you
were beaten up...

I've had nightmares about
something awful happening to you.

I care about you, Rigby.

What?

I care about you.

What's the matter?

You. You're the matter.

Did... did I... do something wrong?

Yeah. You crept into my gut.

You've got me thinking silly thoughts,
like... hanging up my gun for good.

Becoming a one-woman guy.

Settling down in an
ivy-covered cottage...

Raking leaves out
of the backyard...

Squeezing orange juice
for you in the morning.

You'd do that for me?

- Yeah, I would.
- Oh, Rigby.

Cody Jarrett's mother.

Hello, Ma.

My name is Reardon. I have
important news for you.

So just pretend I'm your ma, OK?

The paper said you were hit in the head
by a flying wrench in the machine shop.

Friends of Carlotta are after
you because you know too much.

- I see what you mean.
- So the flying wrench was no accident.

For a minute I thought it was.

Something like that may
happen again, so...

The guard looks suspicious.
Act like I'm your ma.

- Sure.
- Pretend I'm crying. You comfort me.

Relax, Ma.

Say something like, uh,
"No, no, Ma. Look, listen to me."

No, no, Ma. Look, listen to me.

That was good. Real good.

Look, as long as the other
prisoners can get to you...

You're not safe. But don't
worry, I have a plan.

I contacted Warden Dudley,
who owed me a favour.

I asked him to let me pose as a prisoner
so I could keep an eye on Jarrett...

Maybe learn something
about Carlotta.

I learned fast. Jarrett had a prison
break planned that very night.

I was invited along... at gunpoint.
When they stuffed me in the trunk...

I realised he was a friend of
Carlotta, and I was their enemy.

Ryley, you get in the front.
And you, you drive.

I bounced along in that
trunk a long time.

Five hours later, I had given up hope of
ever going to a regular bathroom again.

I decided to have a little
chat with Captain Jarrett.

Hey, Cody!

- How ya doin', partner?
- I can't breathe.

Oh. Stuffy, huh?

- I'll give you a little air.
- Thanks.

Her lips were warm, and my arm wasn't
the only thing that was throbbing.

Our hearts were, too.

My plan was to kiss her with
every lip on my face...

Then slowly move her to the next room,
maneuver her next to the bed...

Marry her, and start
the whoopee machine.

My plan was working fine until...

Agh! You stuck your
finger in my bullet hole.

- Sorry, Rigby.
- I'll be all right.

Why don't you lie down?

I'll go to the drugstore and get
you something for your arm.

It's raining too hard.
Call a cab. Hurry back.

I feel like kissing somebody.

Don't start without me.

Hello?

- It's me, Margaret.
- Who?

- Margaret.
- Margaret?

Margaret Croyden.

Margaret Croyden?
I don't believe it!

- I don't believe you'd call me.
- I'd have called sooner...

- You shouldn't call at all.
- It's so quiet here.

Oh, Victor's gone for
the weekend, huh?

Sorry. Not interested.

Because I'm in love.
Yeah, really in love.

A few days ago I said something to
a woman I thought I'd never say.

I actually said "I want to settle down
in an ivy-covered cottage with you..."

Rake leaves out of the backyard...

"... squeeze orange juice
for you in the morning."

I spoke to Victor. He'll
give me the divorce.

I'll tell you what. Come down
tomorrow. We'll drive back together.

Wonderful! I can't wait to come
bouncing back into your life again.

No dice, Margaret. Call
me in another 12 years.

All right, darling.

- Hello?
- Mr Reardon...

I have decided to close this
case as of this moment.

A check will be in the
mail for you tomorrow.

Please do not try to contact me as
I will be out of town for some time.

Juliet, has someone got
a gun to your head?

Juliet!

A half-bottle of bourbon later
I still couldn't believe it.

Was Juliet crazy like her sister?

Had she fallen in love with the cab
driver on the way to the drugstore?

Or was she a member of the Carlotta
conspiracy and had set me up?

Finally, I arrived at a
very important conclusion.

Shit on her!

All dames are alike.

They reach down your throat,
grab your heart... and pull it out.

They throw it on the floor... and they
step on it with their high heels.

They spit on it, shove it in the
oven, then cook the shit out of it.

They slice it into little pieces,
slam it on a hunk of toast...

And they serve it to ya.

They expect you to say "Thanks,
honey, it's delicious."

Well, it's not delicious,
Juliet Forrest.

It's rotten.

I don't give a damn if
I ever hear from you again.

- Juliet?
- This is Alan.

Alan?

- Come on, Marlowe, no games.
- I never could fool you, could I?

No.

Listen, Marlowe.

Juliet left me, and...

I feel like I've been hit
with a wet frying pan.

How the hell do you
pick up the pieces?

I'm beginning to realise it's better
to have something to look forward to.

"Look forward to." Like what? Work?

I can't get a break on this case.

I don't even know who the
hell this Carlotta dame is.

Can you get a map of South America?

- Yeah. You got something?
- Look up Peru.

Got it!

There's a little town on
the coast called Paita.

Tell me where it is.

It's right next to a tiny
little island called...

You son of a gun! Carlotta!

Damn! It's not a woman's name.

It's a place.

- Thanks, Marlowe. I owe ya.
- Good.

I'm leaving for Carlotta right now.

Even if Juliet's gone, I'm
gonna solve this case...

No matter how many killers are
involved, even if Juliet's one of 'em.

Any idea where in Carlotta
I should start looking?

There's a little café
right on the bay.

When I arrived, I thought of the words
Marlowe had said to me 15 years ago:

"Dead men don't wear plaid."

Huh!

Dead men don't wear plaid.

I still don't know what it means.

Carlotta was the kind of town where
they spell trouble T-R-U-B-I-L...

and if you try to correct
them, they kill you.

I knew Marlowe had
steered me right.

There was Kitty Collins, the girl
who ditched me in Santa Barbara.

Señor Reardon.

Manuel Alesandro.

Not quite.

Carlos Rodriguez.

- Carlos Rodriguez?
- Sí.

Before the war... we ran
guns to the rebels.

Oh, yeah.

You're a cop.

Sí, sí, sí.

I have joined the establishment.

That's good, Carlos. I'm here on an
investigation. Maybe you can help me.

There is much to
investigate in Carlotta.

The whole island is
like a powder keg.

There is much tension, the...
the smell of something rotten.

That's what I'm here for. To
find out what it is that smells.

Psst!

Be careful of the, uh,
fat one who sweats a lot.

What about Kitty Collins?

She doesn't sweat as much,
but she's just as dangerous.

♪ What you want

♪ Everybody wants

They say she is one of them.

Who is... "them"?

Nobody knows. Only they
know who is "them".

But there is a man. His
name is Arroz. Rice.

Kitty Collins is in love with him.

He is a killer.

- Rice, huh?
- Uh-huh.

- Thanks, Carlos.
- De nada, señor.

- Where are you staying?
- Hotel Guano.

Ha! I'll be in touch.

Cuidado, Señor Reardon.

Cuidado, Carlos... Cuidado.

I wanted Kitty Collins to
tell "them" I was in town...

So I tossed a five-pesetaria
coin into the bowl.

The clank was loud enough
to make her look my way.

That five-pesetaria coin was the
best investment I ever made.

The next day, I hooked a big fish:
A fat one who sweats a lot.

- Señor?
- Nothing alcoholic. Oh, a beer, maybe.

Sí, señor.

Hard liquor goes to my feet.

Just a minute, Mr Rigby.

We know who you are, Mr Rigby.

I'm interested. Who am I?

You could be a guy
who collects $10,000...

Just to leave this stinkin' town.

- I could, could I?
- You know who I could be?

Hunchback of Notre Dame?

I could be the guy who
hands ya... them $10,000.

$10,000. Me to you...
just like that.

Sorry. My price for leaving
stinking towns is 11,500...

And a kiss on the lips
from Carmen Miranda.

Pass it on to "them". Room 204.

Room 204, señora.

Come in.

Right on time, Kitty.
Been expecting ya.

Thought you'd come last night.

- I wasn't thinking too well last night.
- Keep talking.

You see, I just found
out something, Rigby.

Who you are, what you do,
and why you're in Carlotta.

I'm here to bust up your game.

I don't get it. A class girl like you
in love with a killer like Rice.

Who... what... why?

When you love someone...

I guess it doesn't make any
difference who, what or why.

You go right on loving them.

Yeah, you do, don't ya?

I feel as if...

Make me another drink,
will you, baby?

Hello?

- What's up, amigo?
- Plenty.

A plane arrived today, and all
the passengers spoke German.

- German?
- Mm-hm. Our friend Rice was there.

They gave him a packet.
It was marked today's date...

- ...and "Final Instructions".
- How do you know?

I was hired to protect Rice until he
gets on that plane with Kitty Collins...

Tonight after the
Carlotta Festival.

Why are you telling me this?

Because the lives of
millions of innocent p...

Carlos? Carlos!

Carlos!

Damn.

Where are you and
Rice headed tonight?

What do you know about a
plane with Germermans on it?

Germerm... Germans.

Germermans.

There's a plane with mermans on it.

The plane's in town.

Ethel Merman came in on it.

Wanna go see Ethel Merman with me?

I'll buy two tickets.

Let me get on my pajamas,
I'll be ready to go.

I'd done some brilliant
things in my time.

Asking Kitty Collins to mix me
a drink wasn't one of them.

When I came to, I could make out
only light and shadow at first.

Then I saw an unfamiliar face.
But even in my stupor...

I knew he was one of the big
fish in the conspiracy: Rice!

Well, I believe that
about winds things up.

- I'm gonna wind you up on a rope.
- But you're the one who's gonna die.

Better make it look good. If anything
fishy happens to me, the FBI...

It'll look very natural.

People who know Rigby Reardon know
I'd never die a natural death.

Do you think I'd leave
you around to talk?!

You've already talked too much!

Hold it, Rice!

You're not getting on that plane
tonight. I want those papers.

I'm gonna walk out of
this room. You won't shoot.

I won't?

That was a warning shot, Rice. And I
don't fire as many of 'em as I used to.

Rigby! Señor!

- I heard shots.
- I'm all right.

- Rice went that way.
- Come on, Carlos!

Are you wearing pajamas?
Señor, I'll help you take them off.

I don't need help with
my pajamas! Stop!

- Sí.
- Carlos!

Sí. Don't worry about your
pajamas, señor. I'll take care of them.

Out of the way! We are
chasing a killer!

Everybody stand back! He's with me.

Coming through!

Señor!

Cuidado, señor. Cuidado!

- Stand back!
- Cuidado!

Señor! Your pajamas!

Forget the pajamas!

- Are you all right?
- It's just a bullet.

My wife Carmelita will suck
it out. Go ahead, señor.

And don't worry about your
pajamas. I'll take care of them!

"Final Instructions".

So that's their game.

"Rasmussen Place".

The last thing I expected to see was
Juliet and her father, alive...

Talking with their butler, who
was dressed in a Nazi uniform.

Yeah. That explained a lot.

Why Juliet was able to translate
German, for one thing.

I'd been played for a sucker.

But it wasn't too late
to set things straight.

Yaaah!

OK, hands in the air.
Over on the steps. Let's go!

It's time for a class picture. Tall
ones in back, short ones in front.

Now sit! Hold hands.

Now smile.

- That's nice.
- Rigby...

Hold it! Stay where you are,
you dirty, lying Nazi scum.

Rigby!

I should have known. I fell for a
dame who played me for a sucker.

No, Mr Reardon. She did not
play you for a sucker.

I did. Pretending to be a butler, waiting
on inferior races was galling to me.

- But I fooled everyone.
- You see, Rigby? I didn't betray you.

- How did you know to come here?
- Marlowe told me.

That's how I found Daddy.
I smelled his cheese molds.

I am sorry to interrupt
such a tender scene...

But we have a plan
to carry out now.

- Who are you really, kraut?
- Field Marshal Wilfred von Kluck.

- At your service.
- Von Kluck?

Former chief of Hitler's
Special Secret Weapons Corps.

I'm flattered. How did you know?

I figured out your
whole stinking scheme.

How you duped Dr Forrest into helping
you. How you flew in your agents!

The finest officers
in the Führer's army.

- Former army.
- For the moment.

But we shall rise again.

- We'll see about that.
- How did they use Daddy?

Bullet-head here found out your father
had developed a cheese mold...

So powerful it could decompose
rocks, trees and mountains.

He devised a plan to dissolve
the entire United States.

At first your father gave this
swine information because...

Please, Mr Reardon. Allow
me to tell the story.

- Your father went along...
- Mr Reardon.

It is customary in these situations for
the developer of the plan to describe it.

I beg your pardon. It's customary for the
private eye to tell how he figured it out.

No, it is my right!

We were able to dupe Dr Forrest by
posing as a humanitarian organization...

who planned to wipe out hunger
by aging cheese faster.

- When he saw what they were doing...
- He assembled lists of our agents...

- And seemed about to go to the FBI...
- We had to drug him and bring him...

Here, faking his death so
there'd be no investigation...

But while testing the mold
on a small island nearby...

The Immer Essen passed by. Some of
the passengers saw the island dissolve...

They were therefore
labeled "enemies".

We had Neff cancel all
further tours, and our...

Friends systematically began to
eliminate everyone on that cruise ship!

- Schweinehund!
- Jerk!

Now...

We are ready. Our agents
have just returned...

After planting cheese
bombs throughout America.

With America destroyed,
we will win the next war.

And the one after that, too!

When these switches are thrown, your
meddling country will disintegrate...

Like a moldy hunk of Liederkranz!

Hold the mold, Kluck. Those
switches aren't going to be thrown.

Und I think they will be.

Halt ihn!

Good... good.

I'm sorry to prevent your
becoming a hero, Herr Reardon.

Actually, it is too bad you
and I are on opposite sides.

I admire your tenacity. Under
different circumstances...

I might have even allowed you to live,
perhaps as my, uh... valet, or butler.

And what would you have me
become, Herr Field Marshal?

- What?
- I said...

What position could I hold
in your "New Order"?

Juliet! What are you saying?
He's a Nazi! Don't beg a Nazi!

Would I be your... Reinemachefrau?

Ja, you could, uh...
you could be that.

- What is that? What is it?!
- Tell him.

- Reinemachefrau.
- Rrrreinemachefrau.

It means she could be
my... cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman!

All right, join your pals.
Let's go! Move it!

Great work, Juliet. Go find
Carlos Rodriguez for me.

All right.

Your having that gun won't
stop us, Herr Reardon.

We are a dedicated people,
willing to sacrifice ourselves!

There are only six bullets in
that gun. There are nine of us.

Thus at least three will survive
to throw those switches.

OK. But who's going
to win the lottery...

And who's going to lose?

Cowards! Fools!

I'll do it myself!

Sorry, pal. You're through.

Not... quite.

At least... we got...

Terre Haute, India... na.

Damn! They were just about
to get a public library.

Carlos, lock these creeps up.

With pleasure!

OK, creeps. ¡ Vámonos! Let's go!

Schweinehunds! Pig dogs!

I pity the Devil the day you
boys start arriving in bunches.

Señor Reardon, when will
you be leaving Carlotta?

- Next plane out, Carlos.
- Aha!

That gives me four hours to
wash and press your pajamas.

No, thanks, Carlos.

I don't think I'll be needing
my pajamas any more.

What a guy!

What are you... doing?

Adjusting your willie.

When you fell through the window,
it shifted out of whack.

- Thanks.
- You're welcome.

I hadn't had my willie adjusted
like that in a long time...

Especially without having to beg.

So there it was...
the Carlotta mystery...

All wrapped up in
a neat little bundle.

As I stood there kissing Juliet, I thought
of nothing but hanging up my gun...

and spending the rest of my days
in that ivy-covered cottage.

Little did I realise that
less than a year later...

She and I would have an even
more exciting adventure...

Which is coming soon to your
neighbourhood theater...

With a possible nude
scene by Juliet.