Mannix (1967–1975): Season 2, Episode 6 - A Copy of Murder - full transcript

(panting)

(gasping)

♪ ♪

Ballinger, come on out of there.

(gasps)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(theme music playing)

♪ ♪

Barney Ford, Chief of
Police, City of Costa Real.

I've admitted into
evidence in this this inquest



your official report of
Lucius Ballinger's death.

Is this indeed your statement?

(coughs)

Yeah.

Matter of fact, most
of my testimony's

based on Claude
Graham's say-so...

Claude being the
only eyewitness.

CORONER: Then, your testimony

concerning the
circumstances of death

would only support Mr. Graham's.

FORD: Yep.

You were acquainted
with the deceased?

From the day he got here.

Big book writer from New York.



Claimed he was down
here conducting research.

Boiled down... he was
looking to pick my brain.

For the record, Chief,

the research that Mr. Ballinger
was doing for his book

involved the slayings

of Eric Bell and Rita
Davenport last year?

Yep.

He told me the murder of
Mr. Bell and his secretary

was a "capricious
act of wanton butchery

fostered by a
climate of violence."

He was some talker.

I see.

You saw him fairly
often after that?

All the time.

He interviewed everybody in
town... particularly bartenders.

He interviewed a
lot of bartenders.

Some of the witnesses intimated

that Mr. Ballinger's
drinking habits

may have been contributory
to the explosion of his boat.

Makes sense, don't it?

A fellow gets a little sauced
up, forgets about such things

as gas fumes in the bilge,

doesn't turn on the
ventilation blowers...

Ker-boom.

CORONER: No further questions.

I see that there's a lot

of newspaper reporters
from out of town papers.

I got something I'd
like to say to them.

All right, Chief.

Thank you.

Last year, you guys

had a high old time
with Costa Real.

The Bell murders
set off a ruckus

that carried clear
across the whole country.

Barney, the purpose of this...

Now, Lucius Ballinger, just
like the rest of you reporters...

Rest his soul... He's
going to solve the case

and make hisself famous
by writing a book about it.

Well, now the Bell murders
ain't going to be solved in no book

or on television or
in the newspapers.

It's going to be
solved by police work.

That means me.

I already got a line on them
two transients that did it.

Now, I hope, when the hearing

comes to the decision
of accidental death,

you reporters go
back to your big cities

and let this
peaceful little town

get back to its old ways,

and let me get on with my work.

Thank you.

(gallery murmuring)

I have one last witness to call:

Mrs. Celia Bell.

I'll make this as easy
as I can for you, Mrs. Bell.

Would you state your
name and occupation

for the record, please?

Celia Bell.

Occupation?

Widow.

Let the record show

that Mrs. Bell is the
widow of the late Eric Bell.

Mrs. Bell, the
purpose of this inquest

is to establish the cause
of Lucius Ballinger's death.

Now you've heard the
testimony of the other witnesses...

Is there anything
you might care to add

that would help
us reach a verdict?

Well, no one mentioned

that he was a witty,
dedicated, thoughtful man,

who... who drank as they say,

but who was desperately worried

about the increase of
violence in our society.

Did you see him
the day of his death?

Yes. He came to my home.

Um, he'd finished his
book and he was on his way

to New York to see
his publisher, and, uh...

and he brought... he brought
a bottle of champagne...

(voice breaking): And, uh, then,
only, only about an hour after he left,

I heard... (sniffling, sobbing)

Mrs. Bell,

it's all right. You
may be excused.

Thank you.

Sorry.

(upbeat pop music
playing over radio)

Morning.

What do you do with
a 12-year-old rich kid

whose mama finds 37 transistor
radios in his dresser drawer

and no sales slip?

You're not a reporter.

The knees of your
pants don't bag.

What are you selling?

Lucius Ballinger's
publisher sent me

to bring back his
personal effects.

Inflammable or non-inflammable?

'Cause whatever could burn did.

What didn't burn, sunk.

He lived in the boat.
The boat blew up, boy.

Nothing recovered, huh?

Boatyard's got what
was still left floating.

Your publisher
interested in that?

No, not really.

Did he ever work
anywhere but on that yacht?

An office, maybe?

Not that I know of, why?

Well, I was wondering
what might've happened

to his carbon copy
of the manuscript.

(music stops)

Carbon copy...

Mm. Yeah, he always kept one.

Carbon copy. You sure?

Like you said at the inquest,
Chief, Ballinger was a lush,

but he was also
a first-class writer.

He was really two men.

The sober Lucius didn't
trust the drunk Lucius.

He always made a carbon copy

and he always kept it where
he wouldn't be likely to find it

when he got loaded and tear
it up, throw it away or burn it.

You're out of luck, boy. He
didn't work anywheres else.

Did he have a safe deposit box?

Nope.

Mail drop? Nope.

Chief, Claiburne Publications

advanced Ballinger $5,000.

He sent them everything
but the last chapter.

I'm being paid to
find that last chapter.

Mr. Claiburne's a bit sticky

about publishing
books without endings.

(pop music resumes)

How much you make a day, boy?

$100 a day, plus expenses.

Ooh, that's, uh, $5,050
went down the drain.

You tell 'em
Barney Ford told 'em

not to toss good
money after bad.

$5,050?

Yeah, that $50,
your half day pay.

If, uh... you left now,

you could get
back to the big city

in time for lunch.

(music grows louder)

Chief...

(radios blaring various
music and broadcasts)

Well, let's see, Mr. Mannix,

there was an extra that
came out the morning

after the Bell yacht murders.

I was only a reporter then,

but the story got me
a wire service byline.

(phone ringing) There it is.

Biggest thing to
ever hit Costa Real.

And I had an exclusive.

(phone ringing) A real
newspaperman's dream, wasn't it?

Right.

And I fixed it so the
witnesses would only talk to me.

I didn't realize there
were any witnesses.

Well, not, uh... not
eyewitnesses exactly.

Two-column ten
point head on that.

But Tommy Carr was
asleep below decks.

He woke up in time to see the
two killers when they rowed away.

Tommy Carr?

Yeah. Used to be a deckhand
on board the Bell yacht.

And now? Now?

Now, he owns his own
nightclub... "Tommy's."

He can afford his own boat.

You said witnesses.

Who else?

Well, Chief Ford, for another.

Only he wasn't a chief then.

He was just a cop.

He remembered seeing two
transients out by the bus station.

They made up some composite
pictures from his descriptions,

but, so far, no luck.

(phone ringing) Well,
if they ever find them,

you've got yourself
another big yarn.

Oh, that was a year ago.

That story's dead.

Suddenly, so is
Lucius Ballinger.

Thanks.

I wonder if you could direct me

To Mrs. Bell's home.

My name is Mannix.

She's not home.

Must still be at the inquest.

Oh, the inquest's over.

Yeah?

How did it come out?

Accidental death.

Was there ever any doubt?

Mind if I wait?

No, but it will have
to be out here.

I can't let you through
until Mrs. Bell gets home.

That's fair enough.

I'd like to talk to you anyway.

(tires screech)

You was down to the boatyard,

snooping around
the Ballinger wreck.

I thought I'd... Before that,

you were at the bank;
earlier, the newspaper.

Well, seeing that the
verdict was already in,

I didn't think you'd mind.

Well, fact is, uh, I do mind.

You was at the court.

You know how we feel about
foreigners snooping around.

Foreigners? Is Los
Angeles another country?

So I took a look at the
boat. What's the big deal?

Now, look, Ford, why
don't you just let me find

my little old last chapter

and go back to my
foreign country, huh?

You was talking to Claude here.

What about?

About seeing Celia Bell.

You leave her alone, hear?

She's had enough
trouble already.

She's the only lead I have.

Had.

Well, now, that seems
sort of, uh, unfriendly.

It wasn't meant
to be unfriendly.

It was meant as a threat.

(tires screeching)

I have a call for
you, Mrs. Bell.

Thank you.

(piano playing
light jazz melody)

Hello.

Mrs. Bell, this is Joe Mannix.

I was wondering if
you had any intention

of returning my handkerchief.

I'm sorry. Your,
your handkerchief?

You know, I think
I'd better warn you...

We have ways of dealing
with people like you.

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

Oh, Mr. Mannix,
you're a total kook.

(giggles)

How did you know I was here?

Turn around.

Well, are you going to
send the waiter over for it,

or, um... would
you care to join me?

Now, then, let's
start all over again.

I'm Joe Mannix and
you are Celia Bell,

the notorious
handkerchief thief.

I'm not sure I
can even say that,

"Han-hankertivethief”"

(laughing)

Ah. Here we are.

To, uh... first meetings. Mm...

Oh, I like what you said
about Ballinger this morning.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, that was pitiful.

There I was, trying to say
something nice about him

because nobody else would,

and I just botched
up the whole thing.

(clicks tongue)

Oh, well, that's
par for the course.

Why were you there, Joe?

Did you know Luke?

No. No...

But, in a way, I'm
sort of working for him.

I'm a... private detective.

Oh.

Oh, well, then, you're not
here for strictly social reasons.

Does that bother you?

No.

Um...

I suppose you want to
ask me some questions.

I suppose I should,
I guess, seeing that

Claiburne Publications
is picking up the tab.

Now, then, ma'am,

uh... would you have any idea

where Lucius Ballinger
might have kept

a copy of his manuscript?

No.

Why?

Because his publisher
never got the last chapter.

Sorry.

Next question?

What are you doing
the rest of the evening?

Well, that's, that's, that's
not a detective-type question.

It isn't?

(clicks tongue)

I just don't think

I'll ever get the
hang of this business.

On the contrary, Joe.

I'm sure you're very
good at what you do.

Mr. Bigelow?

This is Toby.

I'm at the Marina Lounge.

Mrs. Bell has
been here drinking.

She just left with some guy.

I feel positively racy.

Yeah, why?

Because I'm a pickup.

(chuckles)

Well, fortunately,
there's no law

against that... I hope.

Otherwise, I've had it.

Why?

I had a little talk with,
uh, Chief Ford today.

He puts me in that
"foreigner” category.

You know, the same one
he had Luke Ballinger in.

Luke... Poor, poor Luke.

(cries)

Costa Real just... just
wasn't ready for him.

Oh, hey, now, wait a minute.

(sobbing)

Oh, Joe... Joe,

could I have your
handkerchief, again, please?

Yes, sir, I know that.

Not again he won't.

I'm picking up Toby.

Me and him will
take care of him.

No, sir.

Toby described him.
It's Mannix, all right.

All right, then.

See you, Mr. Bigelow.

Better?

Thanks. Again.

Did you, uh... know Ballinger

before he came to Costa Real?

Oh, no.

Oh, no. Before I met him,
I was going to sue him.

One of the victims he was
writing about was my husband.

Oh, we all thought he was

going to write just
another shoddy expose,

but then I got to
know him and...

and I, I knew he wasn't
that kind of a writer.

He felt it wasn't

who that was murdered
that was important, but why.

And there wasn't any why.

So that's when he decided
to write A Study in Violence.

Well, I hope, someday,
I'll get a chance to read it,

uh, including the last chapter.

Well, perhaps you will.

Someday.

Well, now, what about our date?

Date. Yeah.

Well, uh... how about
Tommy Carr's place?

Tommy's? Yeah, sure.

I hear he waters down his drinks

less than any place in
the seven Western states.

Now, what do you say?

Well, Tommy's isn't
open until after 6:00.

Great. You can show me
beautiful Costa Real until 6:00.

(slow dance music playing)

Tommy! You all should
have called sooner.

I didn't know who he was.

I didn't know who
he was, Mr. Bigelow.

(song ends)

(upbeat Mexican-flavored
pop melody begins)

Thank you for
picking me up, Joe.

You know, it's been so long
since I've had a good time,

that I don't even
know how to behave.

Joe... how long are
you staying here?

Well, I don't know for sure.

Till I find a copy of the
last chapter, I guess.

Are you sure there is one?

Well, they tell me that, uh...

Ballinger got lushed once

and he made confetti
out of 376 pages

of a new manuscript.

No carbon copy.

It took ten months to put Humpty
Dumpy back together again...

I think the lesson stuck.

I hope you get
what you want, Joe.

Cheers.

Excuse me, sir, but I
creased your fender

when I was parking your
car against the seawall.

Could you come with
me for just a minute?

Well, that's all right.

Just forget about it.

I represent at least 16
insurance companies.

It could mean my
job, sir. Please?

I'll be right back.

Enjoying yourself, Celia?

Yes, I am.

Is there anything
wrong with that?

Nothing. Except the man
you're with is a private detective.

I know that.

And I haven't told him anything.

May I remind you, Celia,

the supreme penalty
in the state of California

is still the gas chamber?

It's right over here, sir.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(pounding on door)

Open up.

Well, if it isn't
the transistor king.

Say, Chief, did you ever
get that 12-year-old kid

run out of town successfully?

Kind of edgy this
morning, ain't you?

Did you have a bad night?

No worse than the days.

You mind getting on
your jacket and shoes?

My check-out
time isn't until 3:00.

Mr. Bigelow don't like to be
kept waiting, you hear me?

(phone ringing)

Hello.

Mr. Mannix, James Claiburne.

Oh, yes, sir. Good morning.

Young man, when I hired you,

we both thought this
was a more-or-less routine

investigation and
recovery assignment.

But we don't anymore, do we?

Mr. Mannix, I have with me

Robert Edward
Ferris, the author.

He was a close personal
friend of Luke Ballinger

and he tells me
that Luke called him

a few days before the accident.

He told him that he had
solved the Bell murder case.

Well, if Luke solved the murder,

it is more than
likely, young man,

that his death was no accident.

Now, get that
missing chapter back,

but for heaven's
sake, be careful.

Do you need anything... money,
manpower, anything at all?

Oh, no, no, sir, not a thing.

This is just a
carefree little town

with peaceful ways, shady
streets and, uh... plain folks.

Are you serious, Mr. Mannix?

Not a bit, Mr. Claiburne. Bye.

(clattering)

But ask Barney
Ford to wait, outside.

(knocking)

Come in, Mr. Mannix.

I'm George Bigelow.
How do you do?

Thank you for coming.

Please sit down.

Thank you.

For me?

That depends.

On what?

I'll come right to the
point, Mr. Mannix.

What's your game?

By that, I assume you mean
what am I doing in Costa Real?

I think you already know that.

Otherwise, I wouldn't
have been, uh... invited.

Of course.

You're looking for the last
chapter in the Ballinger fable

based on the Bell yacht murders.

That's close enough.

Will you be paid
whether or not you find it?

You said you'd get
right to the point.

Well, that is the
point, Mr. Mannix.

This check is drawn in your
favor in the amount of $10,000.

And all I have to do is not
find what I'm looking for, right?

Precisely.

Why?

Eric Bell and I founded
what today is Bigelow Oil.

Not long ago, two transients
boarded Eric's yacht

and killed him
and his secretary.

There was no money,
Mr. Mannix, no motive.

The town was
shocked and frightened,

and hurt by the sensationalism.

Just as we were
returning to normal,

Lucius Ballinger arrived
to remind everyone

that Costa Real was
a butcher's block,

under the guise there was some

important social
comment to be made.

Take the check, Mr. Mannix.

Forget about the manuscript.

Give us a chance to heal.

I'm sorry, Mr. Bigelow.

I can't accept this.

Why, Mr. Mannix?

Ethics?

Have you tried going to
the bank with ethics lately?

I have tunnel
vision, Mr. Bigelow.

I can only see to work one
side of the street at a time.

(check tearing)

I'd like to see Mrs. Bell.

Mrs. Bell left word she
don't want any visitors.

Maybe you'd better pick
up that phone and ask her.

She left a message at my motel.

That's no visitors, Mannix.

Just between us
hometown boys, Claude,

is that no visitors or no
visitors named Mannix?

That's no visitors at all.

I'm proud of you, Claude.

You work well.

(tires squealing,
engine revving)

♪ ♪

She's all right.
Been drinking again.

Look, I know what to
do. Stop worrying, Barney.

Okay. Okay.

(clanking)

♪ ♪

(door opens, shuts)

I got your message,

but I had a little trouble
getting past the palace guard.

Toby? Mm.

He's tied up outside,
filed under "azaleas."

Oh, Joe, uh... would
you like a drink?

Maybe later. Oh...

You all right?

Well, I'm kind of... indisposed.

Oh, Joe, I... I lied to you.

About Luke Ballinger?

I... I know more
than I told you, Joe,

much more.

For instance, I, uh...

I knew where he worked

when he wasn't on his yacht.

Where did he work?

In the... in the studio,
behind the garage.

Then you, uh, do know something

about the carbon
of the last chapter.

I know all about it.

The publisher's
already got this.

What I need is the last chapter.

"Gin is Sin," that was
Luke's sense of humor.

Luke Ballinger lost his
life over these pages.

I hate to spoil it for you, Joe,

but I can tell you
how it all comes out.

The wife did it.

I killed both of them.

(tires screech)

Hey, Claude, you seen him?

He tried to get in to see
her, but I wouldn't let him in.

If he comes back again,
you know what to do.

How did Ballinger
know you did it?

Oh, I sort of let
it slip one night.

When I had too much to drink.

It was so obvious the
way he picked up on it.

And I was relieved.

I make such a
rotten murderer, Joe.

(voice breaking):
Guilt, guilt, guilt.

You didn't read this.

Well, I didn't have to read it.

I lived it.

I know what it says.

What does it say?

Oh, oh, Joe, you just read it.

Yeah, I know,
but, uh, you tell me.

Once upon a time,
once upon an ugly time,

there... there was a princess

and, one day, she went
aboard her magic yacht

and there she found her husband

and his secretary together.

And, of course, she... I... should
have left right then and there,

but, uh... but he laughed at me.

He laughed and he laughed

and then that
tramp, that-that girl,

she... even she...
Started to giggle,

and of course, I
couldn't stand that.

And I went after her
and then he... he hit me.

He knocked me down.

And, uh, and there was
a knife on the bar... and...

And?

And, uh... that was all.

All?!

Well, that's all I can remember.

Oh, I guess I need...
I need some more.

Now you tell me the whole thing.

Oh Joe, Joe, I don't
remember the whole thing,

not after he hit me.

Nothing?

Joe, I wa... I was in a daze.

And, uh, I-I vaguely
recall screams

and crashes and things

and then I... I started
to come out of it

and, uh... I, I, I had
the knife in my hand,

and, oh, Joe, the boat,
it was just in shambles.

And-And Eric, he...

Both of them... were dead.

Oh, that's beautiful,
just beautiful.

Little old you killed
two people in a fight

that left the boat in shambles.

Joe, isn't it...
isn't it all in there?

No, not even a comma.

If Luke knew, Luke didn't talk.

You weren't even
mentioned in this.

Nobody was mentioned
except the two transients.

There's 25 pages
of pure oatmeal.

A complete whitewash.

You know, for a
dedicated first-class writer

who had the case wrapped
up, Luke Ballinger sure sold out.

Well, maybe... maybe he...

he was just trying
to protect me.

No... no, I think he
had the case solved.

That's why he was killed.

The wife didn't do it.

You were framed.

This chapter's a phony.

Somebody played it both ways.

If I went back
without any evidence,

they'd be in the clear.

If I stuck around a
and found this phony

and took it back to Claiburne,

they'd still be in the clear.

Now, somebody's still got
the genuine last chapter.

Since we both know that...

I'd better get you out of here.

But Joe, you don't understand.

They're my friends.
They wouldn't hurt me.

Celia, somebody
got you off that boat,

and then dreamed
up the two transients,

and it wasn't to save your life.

But Joe... Joe, you
don't understand.

They are my friends.

Why, if it hadn't been
for George Bigelow...

George Bigelow was helping?

Oh, with your friends, Celia,

a gal don't hardly
need no enemies.

For one, we got Barney Ford...

Friendly, apple-stealing
cop on the beat...

Who suddenly
becomes chief of police.

And then, of course,

we got the plain old common
Tommy boy deckhand

who now owns a
big, sexy nightclub.

And then, of course,

we have fast-thinking
George Bigelow,

who writes checks for $10,000

like I put pennies
in parking meters.

Oh, you owe them a lot.

Everybody's got what
they want... and Celia?

She's got her whiskey and guilt.

Oh, Joe, what do we do now?

We? Keep the door
locked, especially to friends.

I'll be back... when I get back.

Stop the presses!

Hold the... Hold the...

What is that line, Archer?

Mannix, I'm sorry.

I didn't hear you come in.

I'm too busy trying
to woo the muses.

What can I do for you?

Do you have a page
projector? Yeah.

Oh, great, We're in business.

I'd like to use it.

This is a page
from the first chapter

of Luke Ballinger's manuscript.

Oh, just concentrate
on the words I've circled.

Okay.

Now, all the letters
nice and clear?

Seem to be.

Blow it up, will you?

Still nice and clear?

Yeah.

How do the "A" s look to you?

About like the others.

That's because Ballinger
typed "hunt and peck."

You know, with the
two index fingers?

Now, when you
type hunt and peck,

you hit the keys
with equal force,

and all of the letters
are equally clear.

Adding up to what?

Let's take a look at this one.

Now, um... that's
from the last chapter

of Ballinger's manuscript.

You notice any difference?

None to speak of.

Okay, let's blow it up
and take a closer look.

You notice the words
"Real" and "anger"?

What about them?

How do the "A" s look to you?

They look kind of washed out.

That's because this page...
From the last chapter...

Was typed by a touch typist.

I still don't get it.

A touch typist
uses his little fingers

to reach the outside keys,

which means a
slightly longer reach

for slightly shorter fingers.

Result... A slightly
lighter stroke.

But then you know
that, don't you?

You're a touch typist yourself.

Pretty good one,
from what I saw.

What does that prove, Mannix?

Well, both the first
and last chapter

were written on
the same machine,

but by different people.

Then who wrote the last chapter?

You did.

Now, call the sheriff's office
and ask for Captain McGuffrey

and tell him the
whole messy story.

I didn't write it.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

Who in Costa Real
had the know-how

to fake Ballinger's
literary style? Fred Archer,

local writer, reporter, editor.

You wrote it because you were
covering up something in the Bell case,

either murder or complicity
in murder... which is it?

You were just a reporter

when you were covering
the Bell yacht murders.

A jury's going to
be awfully curious

to know how you managed to
buy the Chronicle right after that...

What you used for money.

Now, you want
to tell me about it?

All right, Archer,
you play it your way.

The typewriter will probably

tie you into it anyway.

What typewriter?

The one in Celia Bell's studio.

The typewriter you used to
write the phony last chapter.

Your fingerprints are probably
all over it. Now, if you decide

to talk about it,
you can call me

at Captain McGuffrey's office.

Hold it, Mannix!

Now, I didn't kill anybody.

You know that.

Now, you'd better
level with me, Archer.

When you found out there was a
carbon copy around I might dig up,

you raced over to Celia's

and whacked out a new
ending for me to find, right?

Well... Right! And you're it!

You're the chief new suspect

in the Bell yacht murders.

George Bigelow and Barney Ford

will be sitting in a
spectator's section, smiling.

You know, on a
second thought, Archer,

you better not call
me, call Dial-A-Prayer.

Mannix!

I didn't know
they'd kill Ballinger.

I didn't know that.

I saw Ballinger
waiting for a cab.

He was on his way to Celia's.

I picked him up,
and we got to talking.

Well, you know,
one writer to another.

And then, all of a sudden,
he blurted out the whole thing.

Which is what?

He cracked the case.

He had Chief Ford and
Bigelow nailed dead to rights.

He knew they'd
killed Eric Bell...

and his secretary.

That they'd framed Celia

and were blackmailing her.

That poor slob had everything...

all written down on paper.

Why did they kill Bell
and his secretary?

Bell had his hand in the till.

He and his secretary
were running off

with the company
money... A big chunk of it.

Bigelow and Ford
found out about it,

and they went out to grab him.

But Bell wouldn't be
grabbed, so they killed him.

Celia... she was
already half-unconscious,

so, when she came to, why,

they just let her
think she had done it.

How did you get hooked
into it? Tommy Carr.

He was asleep below decks.

Heard the fight,
saw what happened,

and jumped overboard.

Came straight to me,

one step ahead of
Bigelow and Ford.

And sweet, generous
George Bigelow offered

to set you both up
in business, huh?

When I pointed out to him

it was a lot simpler
than killing us both,

and more rewarding,

I dreamed up those
transients for him.

And the idea of faking the
last chapter, to throw me off.

You kept the original copy

for a little more
blackmail leverage.

Where is it, Archer?

In the safe.

"These pale ink on paper,

"one-dimensional
concoctions of wily minds.

"These fictions on
Barney Ford's office wall

"exist only as
fictions on office walls.

"These back-alley
transients depicted on poster

"and in the shallow
folklore of Costa Real

"exist only as folklore.

"Bell yacht murderers
are their authors...

The draftsmen of death."

He's quite a talker.

"Consider now the role as
played in this fantasy by the

"unholy trinity of George
Bigelow, Barney Ford

and Tommy Carr."

(door opens)

You give him the manuscript
and everything, did you, Fred?

I had to stall him, Barney.

I knew you were coming.

(gunshot)

(gunshot)

(gunshot)

All right, Archer. Now
make your phone call.

Are you coming
back to Costa Real?

Mm-hmm. For the trial.

Not for any other reason?

Like your former
chief of police said,

I'm a foreigner here.

Besides, you've got
responsibilities now, Celia.

A $1 million corporation
and $1 million decisions.

I need all the help I can get.

Well, I'm afraid that

life in a 90% tax bracket
just isn't my scene.

I mean, what do I know
from oil depletion allowances

and barrels per day?

What you mean is you're
just a wildcatter, Joe.

You're a free soul.

Well, that's not all bad.

It's kind of sad,
though, don't you think?

I mean, you being such
a free soul and all that,

and I can't be.

That's kind of sad.

Yeah.

Yeah, it is.

So long, handkerchief thief.

(theme music playing)