Archer (2009–…): Season 5, Episode 3 - Archer Vice: A Debt of Honor - full transcript

Pam gets targeted for death by the Yakuza while the group continues to dig their way out of financial trouble.

Ruined.
Completely...

Mother, come on,
we're not...

Shut up.
And utterly...

- We're not...
- Shut up. And ruined!

We're not "ruined,"
Camille.

We've got 2,000 pounds
of cocaine.

Minus the 20 kilos
you sold for Monopoly money, oh,

minus however much Pam ate,
probably two kilos.

- Or three, or whatever.
- Quit eating all the

- goddamn cocaine!
- Make me!

My point, unless Pam



ate it, is that things could be
a lot worse.

How?
You sold a million dollars of

product for this worthless stack
of paper.

How could it be any worse?

I, uh, hate to agree
with Archer, but it could be

worse-- these are actually
really good fakes.

I mean, not good enough to
deposit in a bank, but...

Good enough to pass
in, say, a deli?

- Yeah, I guess, but...
- Shut up.

So you take a hundred,
go buy a pack of gum, and walk

- out with $99.50 in change.
- Hey, that's brilliant,

- Archer.
- Yeah, plus gum?

So you're gonna do
that 10,000 times?

Well, not me
personally.



Not anyone
personally; it's idiotic.

What we need is a big-ticket
item.

Like a big bag
of cocaine!

The last thing we need
is more cocaine.

- Disagree.
- Because you are

- addicted to cocaine.
- Your words.

Hey, wait a second,
I've got the perfect big-ticket

item-- Cadillacs!
- Nope.

- Let me finish.
- Oh, I'm sorry, please,

uh, skip ahead to the part where
I'm out 50 Caddies with your

counterfeit money in the one
hand and my schlong in

- the other.
- Well, not now.

- You ruined it.
- The mental image

- alone.
- And besides, what

were you planning to do with
50 Cadillacs?

Um, open a
dealership?

- What? Ron's done very well.
- Speaking of,

- why aren't you at work?
- Everything's on

autopilot.
There's nothing for me to do.

- I am so bored.
- Have you tried cocaine?

No, no, nah.
Smoked a reefer cigarette once.

Uh, let me guess, with
some Negroes?

- As luck would have it.
- What about guns?

No, no, they seemed
nice, jazz cats.

No, why don't we buy
guns?

I mean, I assume rival drug
dealers aren't gonna be too

- happy with us...
- And since the FBI

seized all the ISIS weapons when
they took the building.

Oh, my God.
All we have now is my Walther

- and what, Lana, your TEC-9's?
- Yeah, for which I have

- no ammo.
- What?

I used to get it from
work.

Okay, if we're doing
a list?

- Bullets.
- Oh for... Sterling,

Lana, go through the old ISIS
files and find an arms dealer.

Cyril, go lock up the product
before Cokie Monster here

gobbles it all up, and Ron, take
me to lunch.

It's 8:30 in
the morning.

A bar, then!
Whatever!

Ooh, or maybe a jazz club.
We can smoke reefers with these

Negroes you're suddenly so nuts
about.

- It was 1940!
- And where am I supposed

to lock up 2,000 pounds
of cocaine?

Cyril, look around.
Somewhere in this mansion, I

have to assume, is a gigantic,
Scrooge McDuckian vault.

Scrooge McDuck, eh?

Sweater.

Sync & corrections by honeybunny
www.addic7ed.com

All right.
Where are we?

Lana, did you find an
arms dealer?

Mmm, no, all we've got
so far is Spyridon Skorpio

- and Conway Stern.
- Geez, those are old

- files.
- One of whom we blew

up, the other of whom's hand we
gruesomely ripped off.

And both of whom
bring up extremely uncomfortable

sexual memories for...
uh, 40% to 60% of the people in

- this room.
- Hmph.

Oh, what about Ray's brother,
the pot farmer?

- He had lots of guns.
- Yeah, he's doing life

- in prison.
- Now, that's the song

- you should write.
- Ugh, or maybe

one about a crippled cyborg, who
all he did was pussy-ache about

being a crippled cyborg!

Well, keep looking.
And, Cyril, you've got the

- product under lock and key?
- Yup, in the kitchen

pantry.
There's no Scrooge McDucky

- vault.
- No what?

Uh, how about an
old-timey gymnasium full of

- Indian clubs and medicine balls?
- Hello?

- I've finished!
- There is one of those.

Oh, and it was a good
idea to lock up all the

- counterfeit money.
- Yeah, good job,

- whoever did that.
- Wait, did you not?

- Mmm, no, I...
- What?

- Well, where the hell is it?
- Welp!

I've got good news and good
news.

- Amphetamines?!
- Right?

And I know it sounds crazy, but
I like them as much as cocaine.

Where did you get
them?

Okay, okay, okay, so
remember how I used to

- drift-race with the Yakuza?
- The Yakuza?

- Hai.
- What, were the

- Hells Angels busy?
- Busy being pussies.

You know, relatively.
When compared to the deadly and

- terrible Yakuza.
- Yeah, and on a

related note, Pam, what do you
think's gonna happen when they

realize the money is
counterfeit?

Oh, my God, right?
Can you imagine?

- Yes, Pam, we can.
- Oh, my God, they chop

- off their own fingers.
- Do they know how to

- find you?
- Um...

Well, they know I work at ISIS,
but that won't do them any good.

- Well, thank...
- Although...

Whooooo!
Domo arigato, fellas.

Two of them have been
to my apartment.

You, too, Ojiisan.
Or three, or whatever.

Oh, Jesus Christ.
Can the mind vomit?

But now I live here,
so...

Well, thank God,
the...

- Although...
- Hmm?

Hmm.
Hmm-hmm.

Mmm, mm-hmm.

_

Ugh, yes, the mind
can, in fact, vomit.

I'm not here.

Oh, dear God.

Telephone clanging away, and me
trapped.

It's a good servant's worst
nightmare.

I don't know how this could
possibly be any wor...

Oh.

Hey, so, did
somebody order Chinese?

They're Japanese,
you idiot!

Oh, for... I don't

get all pissy every time
you mistake a Dutchman

for a Swede!
Either time that happened!

Answer the

- goddamn telephone!
- Now, there's

- your song!
- No!

- Answer it!
- Make me!

- Holy shitsnacks.
- I will break both of

your collarbones, and then pull
them out of your body,

and then use them to play,
in its entirety and on your

head, "Moby Dick."
Bonham's a pussy.

- Maybe you pussy!
- Pam?

Hello?

- Shiro kabocha.
- It's Mr. Moto!

Shiro kabocha,
I am very ashamed...

Your new home is so beautiful,
but I did not bring

- a housewarming gift.
- Hey, you know what?

Don't even sweat it,
because... Hmm?

Hai. Hai.
Hai. Mm-kay, bye.

Wait-- didn't you
shoot that guy?

Oh, who remembers?
Well, what did he say?

Well, he's not happy,
obviously, and he wants his

drugs back, and that guy
who sold 'em to me's not

gonna be playing the violin any
time soon.

- Because?
- Because a violin would

probably dissolve in the same
big drum of acid they dissolved

- that guy in.
- Ew!

But if all Moto wants
is his drugs...

Then he can give us
a refund.

Of worthless
counterfeit money?

It's not exactly
worthless.

The right buyer would probably
pay about 15 cents on the dollar

- for it.
- What?!

- Why didn't you say that?!
- Uh, I don't know.

- I assumed you knew.
- Everybody knows that.

- Ron?!
- I say screw the money.

Let's just give Moto his drugs
and be glad we dodged

- this giant metaphorical bullet.
- Hey, and where are we

- on that list?
- Malory?

Oh, all right!
We obviously can't go to war

- with the Yakuza.
- Uh, not without

normal-size, non-metaphorical
bullets.

But, Pam, if there
ever are any, this comes out

of your share of the profits.

- How is that not fair?
- Moto doesn't just want

the pills...!
He also wants my

heh-heh-heh-head!
Non-metaph-phuh-phuh-phuh-phuh-

...phorically
speaking, Pam, we got it.

Wait-- he's still
gonna kill you?

Even if you give back
the pills?

- Yes!
- Oh, hey, hey, shh.

Come on. We're not gonna let the
Yakuza kill you.

Although...

Christ on
drums, people! What?!

Pam screwed the
Yakuza out of a million bucks

of amphetamines, so now they're
gonna cut her head off.

Wait--
since breakfast?!

- You had breakfast here?!
- Ron!

And apparently, they've
got your house completely

- surrounded, so...
- So call

- the police.
- Ooh, good idea, and

when they get here, we can show
them the drugs we bought

with the counterfeit money we
got from selling cocaine.

Oh, and by the way, Officer,
there's another 2,000

- pounds of it in the pantry!
- So, then

- pay them!
- With what?!

$1 million!
Yes, real dollars.

Duh, look at my house.
I bet I got rugs worth a...

Ugh! Fine, $2 million.
Okay, $5 million.

Fine, $10 million!
$50 million!

A jillion million!
Jesus! Be more gross

and Chinese-y!

Been waiting
forever to use that.

Why did you insult him?

A, "Chinese-y"
is not an insult.

- Mm, no.
- No, it totally is.

- Not to a Chinaman.
- And B,

which is, like, so un-Chinesey,
he doesn't even care

about money.
He said it's a debt of honor,

and it can only be paid with
Pam's blood.

And since I can't write a
genre-defining country song

with you people screaming
about a horde of Chinese

daylight vampires, who are
probably scuttling up the drain

pipes even as we speak,
go out there and kill them!

Don't even get me
started on that.

How about get started
on that list?

I'm not
your secretary, Lana!

We don't really have weapons
or ammo.

You're
shitting me.

- Mm, no.
- Ugh!

Whoa, I stand
extremely corrected.

Yeah, and
they're all loaded.

This was the best house to be a
kid in.

Mmm, yeah, and so...
anything post-World War I?

I don't know.
I think Grandpapa lost interest

once he filled the Museum of
Natural History with

dead animals.
Then he got real big into model

trains, and then it was a sort
of very long, sad slide into

dementia, and ultimately,
into death.

And the whole time he was
screwing the asses off all the

colored maids.
No, that's a terrible

- country song.
- Here's your country

song right here!

Have you ever heard
a country song?

Um, "Danger Zone"?

Okay, listen up, there
are way too many windows and

doors to cover, so we need
to concentrate on chokepoints.

Not that kind of chokepoints.

Chokepoints as in junctions,
like the main foyer, the

kitchen, the top of the
grand staircase, the...

What are you doing?
Here.

- Noop...
- What do you mean,

"noop"?
Take it!

Woman, I am not getting
in a shootout with the

goddamn Yakuza because you
people decided to steal

- their drugs!
- Well, I support you

in your work!
Not that you ever do any, but...

If you were honest with
yourself, you would realize

I have been incredibly
supportive of you!

Get arrested for treason,
I stand by you; become

a drug dealer, I stand by you.
Oh-oh-oh! And you don't seem to

mind driving around
in a new Cadillac, do you?

- A floor model.
- Oh, for...

What the...?

Sterling?!
What in the...?!

Hell does he think
he is doing?

Going Josh Randall on
these dicks!

Cheryl, build a fire and get
some pokers hot!

Yeah, great, start

shooting.
I can't wait to meet every cop

- in Manhattan.
- Ugh, right, damn.

Hey, Carol, you got any
old-timey silencers?

Silence, yes, aspire to
that while I think of a plan.

Okay, Cheryl...
Goddamn it, Archer!

I didn't do it!
I was just...

Wha... Ron?!

- Ron!
- Talk about a

floor model.
Oh, come on, we were all

- thinking it.
- Get down!

Tadashi, what is wrong

with you?!
You shoot like an old

blind woman!
You bring shame on your family!

Oh, my God, the
darkness, babe, I'm slipping

- into the darkness!
- They're just

- pulling the drapes!
- Still, though...

And what is this?
An ocelot pelt?!

- Wait, what?!
- It was all

- I could find!
- Oh, my God,

- if that's Babou...!
- Ugh, I wish.

He's around here somewhere,
either puking or pissing on

- something I care about.
- Hey, so...

- Ron's gonna die?
- Wait, Ron's

- gonna die?!
- Aah, the darkness!

Especially if he goes
into shock, which is why I'm

- speaking quietly.
- Smart.

We have to get him to a
hospital, so are you sure

there's no other way out of here
besides the front door?

Like, maybe a helicopter pad,
or...?

The only thing
I can think of is all the

secret tunnels.

- I'm sorry?
- Yeah, they go

everywhere.
My... I want to say my

great-great-great-uncle?
He built them trying to tap into

- the Underground Railroad.
- Wait, did he think it

- was literally...?
- A subterranean

- railroad, yeah, so...
- So why'd he build a

- bunch of tunnels?
- To capture

runaway slaves and sell them
back to their rightful owners.

- Wow.
- Ugh, whatever, can

- we...?
- I want to say

his plan was to dress like a
ghost?

Can we get Ron
to a hospital?

Oh, totally.
And then this one here goes all

the way up to Lenox Hill
Hospital.

Jesus, that's like a
mile.

Yeah, you don't
want to walk that, so I'd come

up around here and get a cab.
That'll be way quicker.

- Plus I bet there's mole people.
- Okay, I think her

point was, with all this, your
great-whatever uncle must have

really wanted to catch some
slaves.

Oh, it
bankrupted him, and the crazy

- part, is this was, like, 1890.
- Will you hurry up?

We're losing him.

Ron, shut up!
Okay, Carol, you know the

tunnels, you lead the group.
Cyril and Pam, you carry Ron.

- Lana...
- Why do I have to carry

- him?
- Because remember

before when this whole goddamn
thing was your fault?!

- Just asking.
- Lana and Mother, you

should go with them, because my
plan may not work.

- What plan?
- Okay, this tunnel

here tees into a utility tunnel
right in front of the house.

- So...?
- So I need my slightly

darker-black black suit.
Woodhouse!

Goddamn it, where the hell
is he?

Slowly dying, for
all anyone cares.

But the saddest part is
no one does.

Oh, who cares?

Aw, quit your literal
bellyaching.

Yeah, I'm staying.
Because if your plan is what I

think it is, you are totally
gonna need rescuing.

No, I'm not, Lana, so
shut your dicktrap.

But if I do, I-I apologize for

that remark, and ask that you
definitely do rescue me.

- Or avenge me as appropriate.
- That's it, I'm

- staying, too.
- What?

- You're picking him over me?
- Oh, for... It's not a

competition, Ron!
He's my child.

But seriously?
A floor model?

Aw!
What are you people, hourly?

Let's go here.

Are you

laughing at "dicktrap"?

Uh-huh, but
seriously, though, if it comes

- down to it, please do rescue me.
- Okay!

Sorry!
I'm walking backwards here.

God, you're killing me
here is what you're doing.

- Just try to stay calm.
- Yeah, chill

out, Ray got shot in the stomach
and he's, like, totally fine.

Here we go, stepping

it up! Hey-oh!

Jesus, Ron, man up.
I've been shot...

holy shit, 26 times?
Can't be good for me.

I mean, in gangster movies,
they're always like...

"He got a bad case of
lead poisoning, see!"

But think about it, every
bullet's got to leave at least a

teeny bit of residual lead in
your body, right?

Shit.
By the time I'm 60, I bet I'll

be mad as a goddamn hatter.

I don't believe it.
He made it.

You never give him
enough credit.

And honestly, not your best
trait.

You may want to work on that,
since you'll be a mother soon.

Unless...
well, I suppose that all depends

on what kind of mother you want
to be.

Uh...
Konnichiwa?

Hmm?
The door-san?

Thanks, Kato!

Yoshi!

I'm sorry, uh, Yoshi

- is indisposed.
- You!

Me.
Scrooch!

- You must know...
- Hang on.

Oh, God.

Sorry, I don't want to get a
dry socket.

You must know that even
if you kill me, the Yakuza will

never forgive this debt of
honor.

They will kill...

Right?
That's so bad for your ears.

But I get it, the Bushido code,
the whole Japanese thing, I get

- it, but...
- What do you know about

- being Japanese?
- I guess only the

clich?s, really.
Karaoke, pachinko, subway

- frottage...
- Enough!

Hang on.
Uh, tentacle porn, uh...

- Enough!
- Hang on!

Those vending machines that sell
used schoolgirl panties.

Okay, done.
Now, here's what I propose.

- You dare to propose...
- I swear to God I can

do that all day.
I mean, to me, it sounds like

- bubble wrap.
- What is your proposal?

I know the Yakuza
will hunt us down forever, but I

bet you can forgive the debt of
honor, right?

Only if blood has been
shed.

Well, my stepfa...
my mother's husband is about a

quart low-- you shot him.
So I'm thinking you take back

all... well, almost all the
pills-- Pam ate a bunch, and I'm

not gonna lie to you, I had a
couple, or six-- plus you keep

- the counterfeit million.
- But...

Plus if you don't,
I'll kill you.

Probably should have led with
that.

I must accept.

But I cannot lose mentsu.
What you call "face."

My men must think this was my
decision.

That you somehow
"sweetened the deal."

Well, at this
point, the reds are wearing off

and the bourbon's kicking in,
so, uh, you can pretty much name

it.

That is so true.

That was Cyril.
Ron's in surgery, but the bullet

missed everything, and his
prognosis is excellent.

Oh, my God, that's
great, so...

- So win-win!
- Wha..? Win-win?

- Ow!
- Malory.

A gut-shot husband
and an idiot son who just

gave away $5 million
worth of cocaine?

I call that a lose-lose-lose!

What could possibly
be funny?

The phone!
It was Woodhouse's!

Sync & corrections by honeybunny
www.addic7ed.com