Early Edition (1996–2000): Season 2, Episode 19 - Show Me the Monet - full transcript

(low hissing)

(snoring)

(elevator bell dings)

Miss Redmond?

(elevator bell dings)

Miss Redmond.
(knocking)

Miss Redmond.

(British accent):
She can't hear you.

The old darling's deaf
as a post.

What's the problem?

She's got gas.



She's got what?

No, I mean, I can smell gas.

Oh.

Miss Redmond!

Good Lord, you're right.

Come on, Doris,
darling, wake up.

GARY: Come on, Doris.
Come on, dear.

You left the gas on.
GARY: Wake up.

Last week, it was the water,
poor old duck.

Miss Redmond,
please open

the door, would you?

Hey, where
you going?

Hey... Mi...

Miss...



All right, now,
if you want

to go down to
the street,

I may need your
help in a minute.

(groans)

(hissing)

(snoring)

(murmuring)

(onlookers murmuring)

(sighs)

Once more into the breach,
dear friends.

(crowd murmuring in concern)

(hissing)

(sighs)

Doris, dear, it's Clive.

Come on.

You and I are going
for a little ride.

DORIS:
What are you doing?

(Clive grunting)

Oh, sorry, we haven't...
we haven't got a moment to lose.

One spark could set

this whole thing off.
What are you doing?

CLIVE: Come on, let's go...
hurry, hurry.

(crowd murmuring)

(explosion)
(crowd screaming, gasping)

MAN: Did you get that?
Did you get that?

MAN 2: Relax... I'm getting
it, I'm getting it.

(Clive grunting)

That was amazing.

Pretty easy, really.

Well, you... you
saved her life.

MAN: Yeah, it's going to be
on all the news channels.

Yeah, let's hope
it doesn't end mine.

Huh?

(theme music playing)

CHUCK: What if you
knew, beyond a doubt,

what was going
to happen tomorrow?

What would you do?

There's no easy answer

for a guy
who gets tomorrow's news today.

♪

♪

(radio chimes)

RADIOCASTER:
Good morning, Chicago.

It's another cold one out there.

Forecast is freezing
temperatures,

(cat meowing)
and 90% chance
of more snow tonight.

(newspaper thuds against door)
Ooh, it's going to be a cold one...

(broadcast stops)

(purrs)

"Hero killed in hit and run."

(tires screeching)

Great... now I get
to save yesterday's hero.

I'm out of here.

CHUCK:
Wait a minute.

What about more pressing issues

in the world?
Like what?

Like this painting and scraping,

which you were supposed
to help me with.

Yeah, well, yesterday, I had
to stop a woman from blowing up.

And-and now this guy
that helps me,

he's here in the paper again.

Don't you think
that's kind of strange?

Oh, yeah... humanity first.

Leave all the chores to Fishman.
Look, I'll help you

with the painting later.

Right now, I got to deal
with Clive,

uh... Harbison.

Sun-Times.

Thanks, buddy.

Gotcha, you little limey!

(chuckles)

Oh, hello, it's you.

Yeah, I'm sorry, old man.

I'm fresh out of heroics today.

What are you doing...
you moving?

That's very
perceptive of you.

Oh, that's...
that's good.

That's good...
you should move.

You should move on
in life.

That's very healthy.

Matter of fact,
you know what I think?

I think that you should
start moving right now.

Are you daft?

I'm waiting for
a removal van.

Yeah, but it's cold
outside, and you...

you don't want to catch a cold.
(chuckles)

Call this cold?

You should try a Scottish
grass moor at dawn.

Ah!

(tires squealing)

Move it! Coming through!

Here we go, baby.

(chuckles)

Oh, bloody hell.

(tires squealing)

Come on, run,
you idiot!

Whoa!

This way. Whoa! Go in there!

Whoa!

(tires squealing)

MAN: Open the damn door!
Open it!

I think this is
what they call

an extreme example
of road rage.

I got you
now, Clive!

You're not getting
away from me now!

(gun firing)

I got you,
you lousy little limey punk!

(grunting)

(gun firing)

Hold those doors!

(gun firing)

(screaming, gunfire ricochets)

Whoa, hold that bus!

Hey!

Hey, open
those doors!

I'm going to get your number!

CLIVE:
Funny little lad.

(sighs)

Spot of courage?

No.

You don't mind
if I do, eh?

Well...

I'm indebted to
you, Mr., uh...

Hobson... Gary Hobson.

Ah, well, tell me
something, Mr. Hobson.

How is it you always seem
to manage to turn up

at the moment du
crise, as it were.

Uh... forget about that.

Who was that guy?

Never saw him
before in my life.

Uh-huh.

Look, uh... can I
trust you, old man?

Have you, uh...

have you ever heard
of the acronym MI6?

Military intelligence,
espionage.

Obviously, I can't
divulge any details.

Suffice it to say that in
my chosen line of work,

one tends to make
enemies along the way.

You're a spy?

Shh.

Officially, I'm supposed
to deny that.

Unbelievable.

(laughs) It is
rather, isn't it?

No, no, what I mean

is I don't believe
a word you just said.

Oh.

Perhaps that's just as
well, for both our sake.

So, where are you
going to go now?

Oh, I'm... I'm going
to follow procedure.

You know, go to
ground, disappear.

And what... what about
all your belongings?

Oh, casualties of war.

We rehearse for that sort
of eventuality, Hobson.

And on no account

should you blame yourself
for what happened.

Blame myself?

Yes, for exposing me,
blowing my cover,

destroying months of
laborious effort.

You weren't to know.

Don't give it another
thought... oh.

My stop.

(bell ringing)

Blast. Ha!

I seem to have
mislaid my wallet.

Oh, well.

C'est la guerre.

Hey, wait.

CHUCK: You invited him here?
GARY: Yep.

He's staying with you?
(Clive singing in other room)

Yeah.

Gare, how many times
have I told you,

don't get involved?

Look, you
can catch them,

but you can't cook them.
Look, the guy

doesn't have a job,
he-he's out of money,

he doesn't have
anywhere to go, he...

Look, people
are trying

to kill him, and
I'm responsible.

Oh, there you go again,

putting the whole world
on your shoulders.

A tree gets cut down
in the rain forest,

and it's your fault.

Do you even know
who this guy is?

You don't really believe
he's a spy, do you?

No, I don't believe
he's a spy.

I-I-I see the guy twice
in the last two days.

That's a little
bit more

than a coincidence,
don't you think?

Yeah, it's
a coincidence,

but Gare, everything is a c...
(door opening)

CLIVE:
Oh, hello.

Wouldn't happen
to have

a washing machine handy,
would you?

Huh? Well...

Thank you.

Uh, Gary, you...

Huh?

Oh, uh, Clive Harbison,

this is Chuck, uh, Fishman.

Oh. The co-manager of
the bar downstairs.

Oh, delighted.

Never met a bar manager
I didn't like.

On Her Majesty's
Secret Service, huh?

I beg your pardon?

Look, he... he can be trusted.

Keep it under your hat.

Oh, absolutely.

I think, if you
don't mind,

I'll pop downstairs
for a quick pick-me-up.

Can I get you chaps anything?

No, thank you.
Oh, all right.

Um, Mr. Harbison,
how long do we have

the honor of your presence? Oh,
uh, two weeks at the outside.

Just a question of laying low till
everything calms down.
(laughs)

Oh, don't worry,
I have no intention of imposing.

On hangers,

please, and, uh,

no starch.

(British accent):
Righto.

You can rest easy,
Mr. Phelps.

Your heart's going
to do just fine.

What do you mean?

The museum isn't interested
in your painting.

What? Why not?

Because it's a fake.

Not a bad job,
either, but...

A fake?

It can't be.

One, the brushwork
is too studied.

This is a laborious copy.

Laistre painted in
broad, vibrant strokes.

Especially in contrast
to the Eutra school,

which was so popular
at the time.

Two, the canvas
is of a manufacturer

that wasn't available
until the 1800s.

Laistre died
in 1660.

And three, I happen
to have seen

the original
of this painting.

It hangs in a
private collection

outside Paris.

Oh.

I know it may be
small comfort, Mr. Phelps,

but many educated collectors
are taken in by forgeries.

That's why
the Guggenheim hired me.

You're sure?

Positive.

(indistinct newscast
plays nearby)

If the painting
gave your father pleasure,

then it's done its job.

I'm sorry to disappoint you.

I'll see myself out.

ANCHOR: ...with a fascinating
human interest story.

REPORTER:
Local resident Clive Harbison

scaled down
an eight-story building

to break into the apartment
of Mrs. Doris Redmond,

then helped her down,
saving her from a gas explosion.

The apartment burst
into flames seconds after

Mr. Harbison carried her
to safety.

Show a little imagination.

Imagination? You...

you want red ceilings, peach
walls, and white molding?

It's a statement.

A statement?

Yeah, it makes a
statement, all right.

"Get out of
here fast."

And what would you know
about that?

It even sounds disgusting,
Chuck.

I must say, your beef,

absolutely first class.

Mmm. No mad cows here.

Hello. What's all this?

Yeah, well, see, I am trying
to redecorate,

but I am getting no help
from these two Philistines.

What'd you have in mind?

You know, something bold,

something splashy.

Tell you what.

Why don't you let me
have a stab at it, hmm?

I mean, least I can do,
under the circs.

You paint?

I dabble.

Oh!
Besides...

I've never been one to trade
on the kindness of strangers.

Hey, some people sing

for their suppers.

Why don't you let me
paint for mine?

(elevator bell dings)

All right, let's see now.

1204... 1204...

Hmm.

Here we go.

(humming)

(lock clicks)
Okay.

Open sesame.

Flown the coop, huh?

Smart guy.

Very smart.

(thump)

You can run,
but you cannot hide.

GARY:
Look, can't this wait?

CHUCK: You'll want to
see this, believe me.

The guy was up all
night painting it.

Now, listen, I've got things
I gotta do here, Chuck.

Voilà.

Mm-hmm.

GARY:
He did all that?

Some dabbler, huh?

Pretty darn talented.

So you're an artist?

Oh, no, no, I'm not an artist.

No, my talent lies more
in the realm of imitation,

rather than creation.

You know, you have a real gift.
You can make

a lot of money at this.
(laughs)

The world of commerce had
a different opinion,

so I turned my talents
in a different direction.

So, what about
the, uh...

the spy thing?

Look, you've all been very kind.

I-I was just trying to find some
way of repaying you, that's all.

Let's-let's just leave it
at that, shall we?

And, uh, who was that guy
yesterday?

The one that tried to kill you?

Um, uh, a business associate.

Well, a former business
associate.

We had a bit of a falling out.

Well, Gary and I have a
falling out every day,

but I don't try and run him over
with my car.

Yes, well, Marty's got
rather a hot temper,

but I wouldn't worry about him.

I mean, his-his bark is a lot
worse than his bite.

(bullet casings pinging)

(chuckles)

Dead meat.

CHUCK: One minute I got
peach and white moldings,

and the next, I'm looking
at the Sistine Chapel.

MARISSA: Gotta hand it to him...
the man's got talent.

CHUCK: Yeah, a regular
Renaissance man.

Hey, where the hell
have you been?

A chicken truck.

What?
Chicken truck?

At the... a school bus ran
into a chicken truck,

and the chicken truck, it...
it's a long story.

(hearty laughter nearby)

Where's Clive?

Oh, he's in the kitchen

teaching Mario how to
make crepes Suzette.

Crepes Suzette?

MARISSA: Yeah,
they're really good.

Turns out he's a gourmet
cook, too.

You know, I think I might
get used to this guy.

Really?

MARTY:
Gary Hobson?

Read about you
in the paper the other day.

Where is he?

Who?

You know who.
CHUCK: Hey, shorty,

we're closed, so why don't you
get on out of here, huh?

Really?

Uh, come to think of it,
now we're open.

Do you like crepes Suzette?

MARTY:
No.

Hey, what's going on, guys?
Where is he?

GARY:
I-I-I-I don't know.

I... (stammers)... I don't
even really know

who he is even.

Hmm.

All right, I know you're here,

you limey piece of...

Clive.

Faye!

(grunts)

Oh!

Ow!

You don't want to get

between me and Clive,
you got me?

'Cause I can't
be responsible

for who gets caught
in the crossfire.

Could be you. Could be him.

It could be her.

We understand
each other?

GARY: Well, now wait a second...
MARTY: Good.

I'll be back.

Let me guess.

That was Marty.

Marty.

Faye, if you'll just let me explain...
Do I have to hit you again?

I will, I swear.

(muffled grunting)

(muffled grunting)

(moans)

Let me go.

Could we talk about this inside?

(sighs)

I wish Crumb were here.

He'd know what to do.

Well, can we
contact him?

Uh, no, you can't,

because Crumb
is on a river

in Montana.
Sleeping in tents.

CLIVE: How the devil
did you find me?

I went looking
for Gary Hobson.

The paper said he assisted you.
Oh.

Hello, Clive.

Hi. Uh, Charles,
Gary, Marissa,

um... I have a friend
to introduce.

This lovely young
thing...

(gasps)

...is Faye Davis.

CHUCK: I gotta hand
it to you, Clive.

You got a devoted
bunch of friends.

FAYE:
I am not his friend.

Nor am I a young thing.

Listen to me, you patronizing,
double-dealing four-flusher,

you will finish
what you started,

or I'll see you behind
bars, I swear it. Faye...

Don't "Faye" me.
Faye...

You've got till Friday.
Faye...

If that painting isn't
back where it belongs,

I will find you and personally

nail your sorry hide
to the wall.

Nice meeting you.

Lovely woman.

(door slams)

Absolutely no sense of humor.

You want to explain?

Oh, now listen, Hobbers...
No, no.

Wait a second. Don't-don't
call me Hobbers either.

Let me tell you something.
The last two days,

I've had a gun stuck
in my nose,

I've been shot at
and almost ran over.

So now, why don't you try
to explain right now?

I suppose you're right.
Yeah.

And the-the truth, Clive.

The whole, and, uh,
nothing but...

so help me God.

Oh, Lord, but
that woman can hit.

We're waiting.

Oh, yes. Right.

Well, um, let me take you
back to London.

The swinging '60s.

Home of penniless young art
student Clive Harbison.

Night in, night out,

he would toil diligently
in his Chelsea studio

to hone his craft...

to summon forth art
from the chaos.

His paintings were received
politely,

but something was missing.

All too quickly he recognized
his own limitations.

No fresh ideas, no originality.

His real gift was for mimicry.

In copying the masters,

it was as if the spirit
of the artist entered into him.

He could reproduce their works

with uncanny accuracy
and understanding.

And once that gift was
recognized,

our young hero's life took a...

a somewhat unusual turn.

Many a man's vices have
been nothing worse

than good qualities run wild.

So it was with the brilliant
new art thief,

who came to be known
as the Chameleon.

CHUCK:
Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Let me get this
straight.

You steal a famous
painting,

you replace it
with a copy,

and no one ever
found out?

Well, in some cases,
the curators know,

but they're too embarrassed
to admit

they've got a forgery
on their walls.

So, how'd you get mixed up
with Marty?

Marty, yes.

Well, despite his
boorish manners,

Marty Jarmisch was plugged in
to a certain strata

of modern day robber barons,

who would gladly overpay
for a piece of artwork

they could never publicly
display or even acknowledge.

Well, what about
your conscience?

Didn't that bother you?

My conscience?

Um, yes, well, it tugged
a bit...

on occasions.

But I was young,
Marissa.

Intoxicated with the good life.

Besides, I figured if my
copies were fooling

the experts, then the public
wasn't really losing out.

Anyway, what were my sins
compared with those

who were underwriting my career?
Yeah, yeah, yeah.

So then what happened, Clive?

Yeah, well, all good things
come to an end.

And one hot summer night
in Torremolinos,

Marty blundered.

In a rare fit of generosity,

he made a gift to a dark lady
of his acquaintance...

a watercolor by Goya...
What's this?

...recently liberated by yours
truly from a nearby villa.

What's this? What...

Unfortunately,
the police were onto the theft,

and caught him red-handed.

Poor Marty.

He took the fall,
instead of me.

Ah, the vicissitudes
of fortune.

Mmm.

How the wheel turns.

Somehow, the years passed,
and I found myself in Chicago,

where a local businessman

who'd made an illegal fortune
through insider trading,

expressed keen interest

in a Vincent Van Gogh
he'd long admired.

In the course of researching
the assignment,

I met a young woman
by the name of Faye Davis,

recently employed as a curator
of the museum.

Drawn together by a mutual
interest in art,

we soon developed
a warm friendship.

Faye knew nothing
of my chosen profession.

I pulled off the Van Gogh job
without a hitch.

Unfortunately, I hadn't counted

on Faye's expertise.

She detected the forgery,

put two and two together,
and came up with me.

We talked things over...

No, don't throw that!
...and I solemnly undertook

to mend my ways.

To wit, to return the painting,

give up crime, and make an
honest woman out of Faye.

Or perhaps I should say,
allow her

to make an honest man
out of me.

MARISSA:
So, you were gonna

marry her?
What else could
I do?

I'd finally met my match.
CHUCK: But you got

cold feet.

Uh, well, not exactly.

So, she got
cold feet.

If you'd just let me finish.

Let him finish.

Finish.

CLIVE: I set out to retrieve the
van Gogh from its new owner.

I told Faye to meet me
at the museum at midnight,

when who should come crawling
out of the upholstery, but...

Say good-bye,
Clive!

...my old pal.
(gun clicks)

Somewhat the worse for wear
after three years

in a Spanish prison,

Marty was in an extremely
truculent state of mind.

Yes. Anyway, my quick wit
saved mefrom a grizzly fate.

I had to disappear double
quick, and Faye...

poor Faye... was left
in the lurch,

feeling betrayed and abandoned.

So you never contacted her?

What can I say that
she'd ever believe?

Hell hath no
fury, and all that.

Besides, I figured that fate
was trying to tell me something.

That it was too late to change.

You know, once a thief...

And-And so... so how
long ago was this, Clive?

Three years.

Yeah, I laid low
in a variety of countries.

Finally made it back here

to the one place I figured
they wouldn't look for me...

the scene of the crime.

I made a living
painting portraits.

Children, mostly.

I was beginning to think
I'd put my past behind me.

And then we ran into each other.

Yes, well, no regrets there.

Saving Doris

is one of the few acts
I can look back on

with unabashed pride.

I should be grateful
to you, old man.

Let me get this straight.

This museum has
your Van Gogh.

So where is Van Gogh's
Van Gogh?

Well, actually, not very far
from here, in a private home.

So, now what?

Oh, I would have thought
that was obvious.

I retrieve the picture,
and I replace it in the museum.

It's either that
or face the fury of Faye Davis,

which is a fate
I'd rather avoid.

Hmm.
So, you're gon...

You're gonna steal
that painting?

In a nutshell, yes.

And not to
worry, Hobbers.

I may be out of practice,

but this larceny business
is like riding a bicycle.

Ah. Ooh, I'd better go.

A lot of work to do.

Hmm.

(British accent):
Not to worry, Hobbers.

(meowing)

How many times I told you,
this is my chair?

(trains rattling in distance)

"Thief mauled by guard dogs.
Arrested."

(barking)

MARISSA: You don't want to help him?
GARY: Help him?

The guy's a crook.
But a nice crook.
He has a good heart, Gary.

He just went down the wrong road
for a while.

He went down the...

He's been down the same
wrong road for 20 years now.

But it was
for a good cause.

Yeah. Something like, uh,

stealing from the rich
to enlighten the poor.

MARISSA: Look, you'd be
giving him a chance to redeem

himself, to start over again,
and do something with his life.

Redeem... What you two want me
to do is, you want me,

with a known felon, to break
into a private residence

and steal a painting!

A stolen painting
that was illegally obtained

by a guy who made millions
cheating in the stock market.

You want to take my car?

(barking)

Shh, shh.

This... This is what comes of
hasty research.

(barking)

CHUCK:
Are you hungry, pup?

Nice doggie.
(grunting)

What was that?

Sleeping pills.

Good Lord.

(quiet growl)

CHUCK: Good boy.
Huh?

Nice doggie.
(dog whining)

(Chuck sighs)

Ha! That was quick.

Well, I'm-I'm much obliged
to you chaps.

But how on earth
did you find me?

Well, uh, I-I
read an article.

Uh, the ten richest
guys in Chicago,

and, uh, three of 'em happened
to be art buffs, so the, uh...

We went to the, uh,
first two houses

earlier, which is why
we were late.

Yeah, but what about the dog?

Dog was in the article.

Oh, I see.

Oh, right. Well,

I'll be off then.

All right. Yeah.

Good hunting.

(mumbles)

Let's go.
Hey.

Ah, come on.

Wait a minute.

You're not going anywhere.

Look at this.

(Chuck panting)

GARY:
Oh, for Pete's sake.

Oh.

(clock chimes playing tune)

Clive, don't do that!

Huh?

(gasps)

Now what?

The-The painting...

there's-there's
a, uh... uh...

Passive infrared
motion detector.

What?

Good Lord, you're right.

God, a crafty beggar.

Yeah.

Yeah, but how on earth
did you find that out?

Uh, the article.

That is one
well-researched story.

All right, this is gonna take
some careful maneuvering.

All right, steady
on, old man.

Cool and calm.

(sighs)

CHUCK:
Hey, check it out.

Gare, they got an autographed
Michael Jordan sneaker.

All right, steady as you go.
No sudden moves.

CHUCK:
You know,

I think these are the very
same shoes he wore against

the Jazz
in the finals.

I can practically smell
the sweat from here.

(gasps)
Got it.

(loud beeping)

Oh, brilliant!

What do we do now?

Run away!

Run away!

CLIVE:
Uh, uh, uh!

Don't touch,
old man.

So, uh, this is an original
Van Gogh, huh?

How much is a thing
like this worth?

On the open market, something
upwards of $30 million.

$30 million?

For something like this?

Guy can't even stay
inside the lines.

(chuckles)

Right. Now for that museum.

This could be tricky.

Um, I might need some help here.

CHUCK:
Help?

Some help with what?

Oh, well, nothing elaborate,
Hobbers.

And this time,
there won't be any dogs.

Yeah, yeah. Let me
tell you something.

First of all,
my name's not Hobbers,

and second of all,
they don't have dogs at museums.

They-They've got guards
with guns.

MARISSA:
Clive, why don't

you just turn
the painting over

to the police
anonymously or something?

No, I can't do it, dear.

There's Faye to consider.

Faye?

Yes.

Oh, didn't I tell you?

She was the curator
of the museum

when I stole the Van Gogh.

And if it came out that the
museum had accepted a piece

of forged art
while she was on watch, so

to speak... well, it would
just ruin her reputation.

(door opening)

No. The only way I can
put these things right is

to break
into that museum myself

and replace the painting.

How are plans shaping up?

Faye. Talk of the devil.

Faye.

My God...
you did it.

Uh, the first part, yes.

Uh, Faye, could we
talk out there?

Fantastic.

Yeah, isn't it just?

Would you excuse us?

Sure. Um, make
yourselves at home.

CLIVE:
Uh, just through here.

What are you
doing here?

Isn't it obvious?

Keeping an eye on you.

No need for that.

I gave you my word.
(laughs)

Yes, well,

we both know
what that's worth, don't we?

(sighs)

Uh, Faye, about that night...

I, uh...

What?

Nothing.

Never would have worked, anyway.

Yeah, well, that's all blood
under the bridge, isn't it?

So, how are you getting on
in New York?

Guggenheim still
treating you well?

How did you know I was working
at the Guggenheim?

I like to keep my hand in.

You've had several offers.

I understand the
Getty wanted you.

Palm trees and smog?

Forget it.

You always were a snob.

You're looking
well, Faye.

Mm, don't.

I never stopped
thinking about you.

Not ever.

Ow.

Didn't know you still cared.

Don't flatter yourself.

I stopped thinking about
you a long time ago.

Faye, you are a terrible liar.

Not as big
as you are.

You had a
gift, Clive.

You turned your
back on it.

I'm a copyist,

a mimic, that's all.

Maybe you are just a thief.

So, what time
do we start?

(door opening)

(door closing)

(indistinct conversation)

(indistinct conversations)

(click)

(Chuck whistling)

(indistinct conversation)

That's quite
all right...

(resuming conversation)

I can't believe
I'm doing this.

Yeah. It's like the blind
leading the blind, huh?

(laughing)
Oh!

Ten minutes.

Everybody understand
their roles?

Yes, sir.

We go to the museum,

we fall to pieces,
and we get arrested.

Steady on, Charles.

Just do as we rehearsed.

Everything will work out
like clockwork.

Everything is under control.

Well, not everything.

Ooh, what is this,
a private party?

Or is anyone welcome?

CLIVE:
Look, Marty, let her go.

Just take me in her place,
all right?

Trade her life for
yours? (laughs)

Yeah.
Lady,

I think you've
just been insulted.

What do
you want,

Marty?

Well, now,
what could it possibly be?

All right,
let's see.

Um, her life
for the keys to your car...

No, no.

Uh, her life
for a certain piece of art?

Getting
warmer.

Her life

for a certain
$30 million piece of art?

Ah, now we're getting hot.

Hot.

Clive.

Here, Marty,
take it, it's yours.

Just go.

MARTY:
Uh-huh.

Uh-huh,
I see.

Her life for a fake Van Gogh.

Now, that's what I call
a real smart trade.

Yeah, but see, the thing is,
Marty, it's not a fake.

It's the real thing.

Ooh, right, right,

and you guys have gone
and you've formulated

this incredibly elaborate plan
to steal the fake.

Yeah.
That makes

perfect sense to me.

Marty...

One more word

out of you, she's toast.

Now, let's get this show
on the road.

Shake it.

You know, I'm sure you've got
a great plan, Clive.

Tell me all about it
on the way.

Move it, let's go.

You're not going to need
a paper where we're going.

Shake it.

It's showtime.

CLIVE:
Marty, would you listen to me?

Now, these people are
innocent.

The only reason
they're involved is

because of a remarkable sense
of friendship and decency.

Now, come on, Marty,
let them go, I implore you.

Look, I'll get you
the Van Gogh myself,

or I'll,
I'll turn myself in...

whatever you want.

Your recent conversion to
sainthood is truly touching,

Clive, but what's beginning
to really bug me is

how stupid you
think I am.

Now, let's get going.

(sighing):
Well... let's go, Marissa.

All right.
Phase one.

Nice try.

Excuse me, Miss, we
close in five minutes.

Oh, thank you.

I couldn't help
noticing, but...

You were wondering

what a blind person is doing
in an art museum.

Frankly, yes.

You may find this
hard to believe,

but, um, sometimes
I can feel the painting.

Some of these works
exude such a,

such an aura,
I can sense

the color and the form
right off the canvas.

Wow.

Kind of a
metaphysical thing?

Exactly.

As a matter of fact,
sometimes I get so inspired,

I do a little painting
myself.

Amazing.

It is, isn't it?

Well, I, uh,
have to call for my ride.

Could you point me
to the...?

Oh, yes, phones are down
the hall on the left.

Thank you.
Mm-hmm.

Oh...

Oh.

"Feel the painting."

Oh, brother.

ANNOUNCER: The museum will
be closing in five minutes.

(sighs)

Listen, Faye,
this may not be

the most opportune time
to say this,

but I meant everything
I said back at the bar.

I never stopped
thinking about you...

never...

and I, I just...

Me, too.

MARTY: I think I
need a hanky here.

No more mush, or
I plug her now.

ANNOUNCER:
The museum is now closed.

(alarm ringing)

Damn.

Yeah, this is Andrews

over at the University
of Chicago Art Museum.

I've got a break-in alarm
on the second floor.

Okay, send
some guys over?

Hey, pal,

do we have
a security violation here?

Who are you?
Who am I?

I'm Gilliland,
Internal Systems Management.

I got a beep.

What's the situation?

It looks like
a second-story emergency exit.

Ooh, did you
call the police?

Yeah, just a minute ago.

I was going to go
check it out myself.

Whoa, whoa, whoa,
no heroics.

You let the pros do
what they're paid to do.

Got that?
Right.

Got it.
Good.

What's the
problem here?

We got a little, uh,
situation

here, Officer.
That was quick.

GARY:
Yeah, we had a 36

over at 1825 Michigan.

I had to give 'em
a quick 10-4.

Oh, well,
we got a possible intruder

on the second floor
emergency exit, a 14-24-16.

Well, we'll go
check it out.

Yeah, you do that, Officers,
check it out right away.

Thank you.

(alarm continues)

Hey, how's it going?

Well, as the man
said when he jumped

off the 20-story building,
"So far, so good."

By my watch, we've
got five minutes

before the real
police arrive.

All right, it's all yours.

See you in the gallery. Okay.

Oh, yeah, I've designed security
systems all over the world.

The Louvre.

In Paris?

Rock and Roll

Hall of Fame, Cleveland.

The, uh...
Uh, here's your problem.

Oh.

A blind lady?

Sorry, I got lost.

If you don't mind, I'll let
you take it from here, huh?

Right, sorry
to have bothered you.

(screaming)

What's happening?
What's going on?

I don't know, it looks like he's
having some sort of

an attack
or something.

Hey, buddy, do
you need a doctor or something?

(groans): My pills.

What?
My pills!

You've got to
do something.

Help him.

All right, take it easy,
little fella.

(screaming)
Take it easy.

All right...

in my pocket, my pocket.

(groans)

Ooh...

Quickly.

(grunting)

Thank you.

You okay?

It's a genetic
condition.

"To prevent bloating"?

The brain blows
up like a pumpkin,

but, uh, I'm feeling
much better now.

Well, you're sure?
Yeah, yeah.

Tell you what, uh, why
don't I escort the lady out,

and you, uh, keep an eye
on things over here, okay?

Okay.

Good luck.

Shall we?

Yes, we shall.

This way.

(grunts)

Come on, hurry up.
Don't rush me,

old man.

These things cannot be rushed.

All right, there we are.

All right.

Bravo.

Marty?

I was getting lonely.

Ow.

All right, well,
where's Faye?

Bound and gagged
in the van, Clive,

but not to worry,
I didn't hurt her.

If she's stupid enough to get
involved with you, I figure,

well, that's punishment enough.

Okay, hand it over.

Come on, sonny, don't be a fool.

I said hand it over.

Wait a minute, how do I know
if this is the real one or not?

How do you know
it's the real one?

Well, look, you know where I
live, you know where I work.

Why would I...?
Ah, shut up.

Clive, boy,
I'd plug you right now,

but I think you'll suffer
a lot more knowing

how much I'm gonna be whooping
it up on my percentage

of this.

I figure about five mil,
n'est-ce pas?

(cackles)

Toodles, mate.

Five million?

(chuckles)

That's rather
an optimistic figure,

don't you think,
for a fake Van Gogh?

Yeah, except I gave
him the real one.

Come on, let's go.
You gave him the real one?

What'd you give him the real one for?
Come on, let's...

Grab that. What'd you give
him the real one for?

OFFICER: Hold it right there!
(gun cocks)

Now!
Freeze!

Just keep it up,
hands up, let's go!

Clive!
Don't move, Mister!

Right there!

MARTY: This could cost you your job.
Do you know

who I am?

He doesn't look very happy,
does he?

Get your
hands off me.

Yeah, yeah, just
shut up and get in.

(groaning and muttering)

So Marty gets caught
with the real painting.

The police figured

he was inside the museum
pulling off the switch.

And the illustrious career of
the Chameleon comes to an end.

Finally brought to justice.

Well, wait a minute.

Marty wasn't the Chameleon;
you are.

Yeah, well, uh, the police,
they don't know that.

I won't tell if you don't.

MARISSA:
Oh...

see no evil,
speak no evil.

Tell me, Hobbers,
you sly beggar,

how did you manage
this one?

Yeah, Hobbers,
I was wondering the same thing,

considering you didn't have
any visual aid this time,

if you know what I mean.

Oh, well, I, I was, uh...
well, we were running late,

and I figured the police
couldn't be far away

when Marty showed up,

so it was a rare opportunity
and I, uh, I took it.

Improvisational art.

Yeah, yeah, something like that.

Very good.

Now, out you go.

Huh?

And, uh, take this silly toy
with you, will you?

Because Faye and I have got,
ooh, three years to catch up on.

We do?

Oh, we do.
(chuckles)

(moans)

Well, uh, we can take a hint.

Come on, Spike.

Come on, Spike.

Okay, you only have
to tell us once.

Oh, uh, well, uh...

(clears throat)
MAN: See you guys at the station.

Well, that was
an interesting evening.

Yeah, it's still
pretty early.

Hey, you guys want
to get some dinner?

No, I'm going home to bed.

What's the matter
with you?

What do you mean,
what's the matter wi...

what's the matter with me?

I'm tired, I want to go to bed.

Is that all right with you?

MARISSA: Stick in the mud.
CHUCK: You need a...

you need a little excitement in
your life, Gare.

MARISSA: Yeah.
GARY: Excitement in my...

What did, what did
we just do tonight?

CHUCK: All work and no play
makes Gary a very dull boy.

MARISSA:
Exactly.

GARY: Do you know
how silly that sounds?

You know, I usually don't
agree with him, Gary,

but for once, he's right.

I'm right. He's r...
you're agreeing with him?

Yes, I am. You're
agreeing with him?

You know what? I ought
to arrest the both of you.