Maybe I read too many detective books when I was a kid.
Chandler, Hammett, Macdonald,
all the great California guys of the '40s and '50s.
I even tried writing a story once.
Couldn't get past pagene, too many decisions.
Where do you find the body?
au all these stories start with a body, right?
Do you find it by a pool under a sunset
the color of a blood orange?
Or is it night, with the twinkling lights of the city?
And what about the victim?
A movie producer in a sharkskin suit
who we think probably got what he deserved...
Some beautiful starlet who fell in with the wrong crowd
and never saw it coming...
But you know the real reason that I never wrote one of those stories?
I became a cop.
And I found out the images that I had in my head
weren't like real life.
Take the case that I got this morning.
The body wasn't found by a swimming pool high in the hills.
It turned up in a parking lot by the 101.
And the victim wasn't some movie weasel or starlet.
It was a poor young woman in cargo pants and sneakers
with a bullet hole in her back, laying facedown the pavement.
We did a close sweep, the trash cans, bushes.
No purse, no wallet.
I got the registration.
Sandy Boudreau, 121 Bendix Avenue, Apartment 12.
Let's go check it out.
Okay. We're going to Bendix.
This is it, the apartment's up there somewhere.
That tower's the elevator.
Apartment 12.
Start knocking on doors.
I don't know if you'd like that.
- Who are you? - You first.
Raines, LAPD.
Are you her sister or something?
Do you see one in the photographs?
I didn't have a sister, Detective.
You didn't have a sister.
You being?
Sandy.
Boudreau.
I think his name is Marco, but they broke up,
uh, a few weeks ago.
Detective!
Boudreau had a boyfriend.
Keep knocking.
Sandy Boudreau, that's the victim's name.
That's right.
So it's happening again.
Happening again.
I can't do this, Charlie, can't handle it.
You handled it before.
If you call that handling it.
I'm losing my mind.
Are you?
Oh, I don't know, I just had a conversation
with a girl who wasn't there. What'd you call it?
I wouldn't exactly call that a conversation.
The girl says her name and you run out the door.
Not only is that bad police work, that's rude.
Okay, I don't know why I bother talking to you.
Maybe because I carried your ass for 13 years.
You carried me?
First case on your own, you already need my help.
No. The only help I need from you on this case
is figuring out why this is happening to me.
Why she's haunting me.
Oh, she's a ghost now. Hallucination.
You know she's not a ghost. Hallucination.
It's all in your head, right, exactly, Michael. It's all you.
Look, you have two choices, right?
You could run away, and get yourself committed
to some institution, and get shot up with tranquilizers.
Tranquilizers.
- That sounds good, tranquilizers. - Or you can do your job.
Go back there, see what she wants.
Just talk to her.
Look, the victim has always been your thing, right?
"Know the victim, find the killer.
"Know the victim, find the killer."
You used to talk to the victim while we were driving around.
Well, but I didn't see-- I didn't see them!
You know, that was behind my eyes.
Now, now it's, uh, you know, out there.
Look, maybe this will make you a better detective.
Oh, shut up.
What do you want?
It's your imagination, Detective.
I'm just the figment.
What do you want?
I want you to find out who killed me.
Then you'll back whatever dark, twisted,
malfunctioning part of my brain that you come from?
Yeah.
What are you writing?
Uh, a note
instructing whoever finds my body
after I blow my brains out to scatter the ashes
over Disneyland 'cause it's the happiest place on Earth.
You always this sarcastic?
Who are you calling?
You're calling me.
Hi, y'all, this is Sandy.
I'm not here right now, leave a message. Bye.
Well, you got a Texas accent.
Well, now isn't that an interesting development?
Easy on the drawl there, Tex.
You're not riding the back 40 at Crawford.
Sounds like you came here when you were a kid.
Whatever you say, Detective.
You're the boss.
Fashion show.
Sweet, vintage-y.
Kind of a sweater girl.
And a wet suit. Fantastic Voyage.
Cheerleader. What's the story here?
Maybe they're for Halloween?
I can see the jumping, the twirling.
That's good.
Hey, that check out there.
Does that mean you were working for a catering company?
If you say so.
Wanna tell me what this is all about?
I really wish I could help you, Detective.
I only know what you know.
- Raines. - Hey, it's Caroline.
Caroline, what's up?
We got the perp on your 187.
- Are you serious? - That's what the Captain says.
I'll be right there.
You said if I caught whoever killed you, you'd go?
- Yeah. - Then go.
We got your killer.
They found the suspect in one of the homeless camps in Griffith Park
He had Sandyoudreau's purse with him,
containing, among other things, $950 in mixed 20s and 50s.
He also had blood on him.
Matches type with Boudreau.
His name is William Jones, known to the residents
of the camp where he lives as Skunk.
And they call him that because he's got a big white stripe down his back?
No.
Oh, my God.
Mr. Jones.
- I didn't do it. - I'm glad.
I smell bad, don't I?
Keeps the sickos away.
The sickos?
The ones that come up into the camps.
Take our stuff, beat on us.
You got skunk on you?
I find their dens, poke 'em with a stick,
and get 'em to spray me.
Doesn't it bother you?
I got kicked in the head back in '86,
Ain't smelled a thing since.
I didn't do it.
You sure about that?
Arresting officer says you couldn't remember anything about last night.
- I didn't do it. - You know that you didn't do it?
Or you know that that's not the kind of thing
that you could ever do?
We've all got a dark side, Mr. Jones.
I know I do, stuffed way down deep inside
that I don't even wanna think about.
'Cause I'm a good guy.
Like you're a good guy.
But I koow what'd happen if that dark stuff ever got out.
What I'd be capable of.
But I'm not gonna do it 'cause I'm a good guy.
Just like you.
When I'm in control.
And I'm always in control.
Almost always.
You a drinking man, Mr. Jones?
You know I am.
Were you drinking last night?
You know I was.
But I didn't do it.
Didn't do it or can't rember?
I can't remember.
Process him.
You call that a confession?
They found the victim's wallet on him, the victim's blood on him.
No gun, no powder residue on his hands.
Maybe he found her already dead and robbed her.
Or maybe he shot her, threw away the gun, and washed his hands.
Well, that would be the first thing he's washed in a long time.
What about that shoebox full of cash?
What about it, Nancy Drew?
That could be anything.
I suppose to a civilian employee like you, everything seems mysterious.
- Everything seems important. - Okay.
The truth is, is most things in most murder investigations
don't mean damn thing.
That's what we learn in detective school.
Process him.
Oh, she's gone.
Oh, she wasn't at the station, she wasn't in my car.
Gone, gone, gone, gone.
Yeah, one question. Shoot.
Is she gone?
Gone.
Yeah, thank goodness!
Good, well, who killed Sandy Boudreau?
Some poor old wino.
A wino with a.38?
Yeah.
Not gone?
Not gone.
She's right there right now?
Yes, roller skates and everything.
That is so cool.
No, Charlie, it's not cool. She was supposed to go away.
Sweetie, you were supposed to go away.
Well, maybe you haven't solved the case yet.
The guy had her blood on him, her wallet.
Nah, maybe you haven't solved it to your satisfaction.
- What's that mean? - Pretend we're still partners, right?
We're in the car, we're driving around, right?
You've gone all silent because something is naggi you.
She had a bank account.
So what was she doing with $20,000 in a shoebox?
Tips from her catering job?
20,000 in tips, that's some catering job.
And what about the cheerleading outfit,
the school uniform, the wet suit?
She liked to play dress up.
She cute?
Mm, she's cute.
LAPD, Caroline speaking.
Caroline, this is Raines.
Do not, I repeat, do not say I told you so,
but hold off on processing the wino.
I told you so.
Thank you, Caroline.
You're a dear.
Yeah, they cater all right.
It's called Romeo & Juliet.
Romeo & Juliet.
Jackson, over in Vice, says it's an escort service.
And what's the address?
It's on Sunset, 700 block, down by Gower.
Thanks, Caroline.
Tell me about the catering company
that you work for.
Seems to me you already know.
It was a front for the Romeo & Juliet escort service.
See? I was right.
You already knew.
Why didn't you tell me you were a prostitute?
Because it never occurred to you.
May I ask a question?
Did you find any cigarettes?
Why am I smoking?
Maybe for the same reason I'm drinking,
even though you didn't find any booze.
Same reason my makeup's headed for circus clown,
and my boobs have gained three cup sizes.
You found out I'm a whore.
And this is what a whore looks like, right?
Thank you.
Don't argue with me, Arlene.
It's in here somewhere.
We gotta check every inch of this place.
You understand?
That catering job must've paid well.
The view is nice.
Ah, it's stupid to pay for a view.
Your eyes are closed most of the time.
I wondered where that went to.
What?
That duck with four legs she made in the third grade.
Hey, would you take your little trip down memory lane some other time?
We gotta find it before the cops do, otherwise we'll never see it.
That's my ma.
They can't hear me, you know that.
Sorry, LAPD.
Uh, Detective Raines.
You're Sandy's parents?
Yeah. What are you doing here?
My job.
Uh, what are your names?
Vernon and Arlene.
Boudreau.
I think he figured that much out, Arlene.
What you hoping to find here, Chester?
Are you deaf?
I just said my name is Vernon.
There's money here.
Daughter was sending her little bits
so's I wouldn't know.
She said there was more for her.
Chester, anything we find in here is evidence.
Evidence, my ass.
Everything in here belongs to me.
And why the hell do you keep calling me Chester?
Honest mistake.
See, I didn't even know that your daughter had a father.
Your wife I recognized from the photos.
Nice to meet you, ma'am.
But see, in the photos, you're missing, Chester.
Not just missing, you're cut out.
All that's left of you is your arm.
Why would Sandy do that?
I wonder.
So I was calling you Chester 'cause it rhymes
with molester.
Should've noticed that your father's arm in that photo
was a heavily... heavily-muscled arm.
Why'd you say that to him?
Very few people get into your line of work
because having sex with strangers for money
was their favorite booth on career day.
Nine times out of ten, they were molested.
You have no idea.
He'd come into my room every night--
Sandy.
He didn't molest you.
Well, then why'd you say he did?
To check the reaction, not his, your mother's.
Mothers always know what's going on,
even though they say they don't.
Your mother looked like I was talking Martian.
Now, Arlene!
Don't stand there like a heifer!
You need to calm yourself! Now!
Get in there, come on!
Is this what you want?
Get my lawyer on the phone!
Now, Arlene! Calm down!
Let's go, go!
Call my lawyer!
Of course, just because you weren't molested
doesn't mean you weren't abused.
He knocked you around, didn't he?
Well, there's gotta be some reason I'm a hooker.
Is that it?
I know that he beats your mom.
How in the hell do you know that?
He's quick with his fists,
and she flinches when he talks.
You're just doing everything you can
to make me sympathetic, aren't you, Detective?
You wanted to solve the murder
of a sweet, young college student.
But a white trash hooker?
No, it wouldn't matter to me if you were the Queen of the Rose Parade.
I just want to solve your murder and saysayonara.
Nothing personal, Sandy.
Your ex-partner.
Charlie.
How'd he get the cane?
Took a bullet three months back.
Several bullets... we both did.
He got the worst of it.
What happened?
Wrong place, wrong time.
Uh, we were on Yucca, looking for a guy,
and this idiot crank dealer named Laszlo saw us,
thought we were rival drug dealers,
came out and just opened up. We fired back.
One of my bullets went in through Laszlo's eye
and out the back of his head.
- So he's dead. - Yeah.
That'll pretty much kill you.
I know, I was kidding.
Where we going, Detective?
To see your pimp, Sandy.
Detective Raines, LAPD.
You know this girl? Sandy Boudreau.
Sandy Boo-what?
How long you gonna run that play?
We both know how it ends.
She in some kind of trouble?
Not anymore, she's dead.
I need the names of her clients, start with her regulars.
She wasn't working much anymore.
She was going to school.
Trying to get out of the life.
Give me your customers this past month.
Well, she only had one.
Came in through the website on Monday.
I sent her to the Townhouse Motel
on Sunset.
Look, there's no way
I can tell you who was here on what day, and in what room.
Uh, she could've been dressed like a cheerleader.
A cheerleader.
Yeah, that, uh, that rings a bell, actually.
A cheerleader.
She'd just twisted her ankle,
uh, so she might've been using a cane.
A cane, yeah, actually, you're right.
Now it's all coming back to me.
Her face was made up like a mime?
It's funny you say that 'cause rember thinking,
"What's up with this mime makeup?"
You know, she had this-- oh, okay, aah, all right.
That hurts. I certainly hope so.
Is that security camera outside real?
And don't lie.
You lying to me doesn't work so good.
You picked me to do this because you don't like me.
No, I picked her to do this because one day
she's gonna be a lead detective.
You can go scratch your butt with a rake for all I care.
Press play. I'm gonna file a grievance.
Of course you are. Press play.
We got Sandy Boudreau's cell phone records.
Caroline pulled these DMV photos of everybody
that she talked to recently.
So while I'm out talking to them,
you see if any of these people went to the motel.
Yeah, okay.
Michael.
Walk with me.
How you doing? You okay?
Why, because I accused Boudreau of being a child molester?
Nah, it was nothing, everyone does that.
I do that five times a day.
Yeah, can I have a tall mocha, you child-molesting bastard?
You shouldn't say that. You don't say that, do you?
Michael, what are you thinking,
accusing a grieving father of being a child molester?
Grieving father-- the only thing on his mind
upon entering his dead daughter's apartment was "where's the money?"
Where is the money?
I spent it on lottery tickets.
Did you get me some?
Do I look like an idiot? Of course I did.
Dan, the money's in evidence.
Mrs. Boudreau's begging us to drop charges
against husband Vernon.
No surprise, classic abused spouse.
I don't think we're gonna get a conviction for him hitting you.
You know, grieving father, inflammatory words.
I know.
Good. And you're okay?
Yeah, Dan. Why?
Boyer says he's seen you talk to yourself.
I was talking to myself.
Well.
If you ever want someone more interesting to talk to,
my door is open.
It's good to have you back, Michael.
Is this where I say, "It's good to be back?"
Oh, no, no, no, this is where you say
something clever to remind me how smart you are.
I'm rusty, give me a couple days.
Sandy Boudreau...no.
I'm sorry, I...
Honey, do you recognize her?
No.
Uh, she made a call to a cell
belonging to your husband two nights ago.
Must've been a wrong number.
Call lasted four minutes.
Maybe the housekeeper borrowed one of the phones?
Oh, is she here now?
No, but she'll be back tomorrow.
- Have her call me, would you? - Sure.
Thanks so much.
Okay. Okey dokey.
You're welcome.
Was he lying?
Could be.
He wouldn't say anything with his wife standing there.
Where now?
Uh, the neighbor said that you had a boyfriend
named Marco up until a few weeks ago.
He called you 12 times the day you died.
Uh, your roommate said you'd be here.
I'm here about Sandy Boudreau. Where were you two nights ago?
I was here from 7:00 till midnight.
You want me to prove it?
Not yet. You and Sandy, uh, met here?
She used to do leg lifts on that machine over there.
I used to watch her.
She was just so beautiful.
Until one day she asked me to spot her on the bench.
What else do you wanna know, man?
Well, why'd you and Sandy break up?
Was it because of her job?
Marco, if you're trying to protect her, I already know what she did.
She dumped me.
I didn't care.
You didn't care that your girlfriend was a hooker?
All right, I did, but...
I thought she could stop.
And she said she couldn't because she need money
for her mother.
For her mother?
And I told her that I could give her whatever money she needed, and she said,
"How is that any different than what I'm doing now?"
And she didn't want to see me anymore.
So I was thinking, maybe if I was different...
You know, like it wamy fault.
But now I'm thinking maybe I had nothing to do with it.
Maybe something else was going on that I didn't know about.
Maybe she wasn't into guys.
You thought she was gay?
Yeah, sounds pathetic, doesn't it?
Some girl doesn't want to see you anymore,
and she must be gay, right?
Yeah.
You think he did it?
The boyfriend?
You know how I work, Charlie.
I think everybody did it, then I slowly whittle
away the ones who couldn't.
It feels like, um, I'm...passing?
I'm talking to these people. I'm asking my questions.
Yet, all the while, I'm thinking,
"They have no idea how utterly whacked out I am."
You're going through something extremely weird.
Well, you're still working the case.
Getting the job done.
There's nothing wrong with that.
Raines.
Caroline.
I'll be right there.
Give her my regards.
There we go.
"To the detective on the Sandy Boudreau case,
Vista Heights Investigations."
Laird McSweeney?
That private eye creep down on Hollywood Boulevard?
The same.
What you got for me, Laird?
My, my...
The victim and Harry Tucker, the guy with the cell phone.
Why'd you lie?
Because Wendy was right there.
Mm-hmm, you helped a nice young woman
clean up spilled coffee.
Why would you have to keep that from your wife?
She's been very suspicious of me.
She have reason to be?
I did something stupid on a business trip
two years ago, and Wendy says that she's forgiven me,
but sometimes I don't know.
I think Wendy is afraid that I'm going to leave her
for a younger model, and I'm not.
How did Sandy Boudreau get your cell phone number?
I don't know.
Maybe you left it on the table
at the motel after you made sweet monkey love to her?
No, we never... I spoke to her.
What's his motive?
Maybe she, uh, threatened to tell his wife.
Maybe she saw him naked and laughed.
It always comes down to penis size, doesn't it?
Pretty much.
We got a match from the motel security video.
Him?
No
Okay, go in tighter and freeze it.
Marco Rossi.
The ex-boyfriend.
Don't shoot!
Freeze!
Get down! Get down!
Down to the floor! Get down to the floor!
Marco.
Do not move!
He's going out the back!
All units, suspect heading west down the alley.
A garbage truck.
Yes, sir.
You know, given the amount of steroids
and amphetamines you found, your boy Marco's
probably peddled his way to Mexico by now.
I got through to McSweeney. He's line three.
McSweeney the private eye?
That guy's an asswipe.
Uh, Laird?
Who wants to know?
Oh, this is Detective Raines.
I'm trying to reach Laird McSweeney.
Mike, you're talking to Detective Smith, Central.
Bobby.
I'm afraid you talking to Laird McSweeney's
gonna be a bit of a problem.
Tell the M. E. he can send his people up.
How long has he been dead?
Couple hours, give or take.
You know him?
Uh...yeah, our paths crossed.
He was a private eye.
Mostly peeper work, divorce cases, custody battles,
suspicious spouse...
But he also liked to cross the line.
Take some pictures, then ask for money.
Blackmail.
That's what they call it.
Camera's gone.
Seem so. Computer too.
Maybe somebody didn't like the kind of pictures
that he was taking.
Huh, it seems that somebody didn't know that Laird
had a backup hard drive.
So I guess there's the coffee spilling thing
he mentioned.
Then I guess, uh, they're gonna sit down together.
Just them having coffee.
Nothing of them making the beast with two backs?
No, but there is this last group.
He's taken off.
She's just leaving.
She's just walking across the street.
Leaving by herself.
She knew the pictures were being taken.
Say, can I have some privacy, guys? I'm making a...
I'm on a classified call here, sorry.
Penthouse is nice.
What a nut, he's gonna do it.
You knew the pictures were being taken.
First time you tried blackmail?
You tell me.
No, I wanna hear it from you.
McSweeney and I decided to target
a wealthy, middle-aged, married fella.
One who had never dreamed that a fox in socks
like yours truly would want to jump his bones.
All I had to do was get him in bed.
Sweeney would snap some candids,
and we'd threaten to show 'em to the wife...
Forget it.
It's not right.
It's like all of a sudden you turned into Kathleen Turner fromBody Heat.
And what's with the cigarette?
You weren't blackmailing anybody, Sandy. You're not that kind of person.
What kind of person am I?
The kind who saves money to send to her mother
to escape her horrible husband.
Whore with a heart of gold?
Yeah, something like that.
Then why was I killed?
I don't know, I got a couple of suspects, no motive.
Why do people usually kill people?
Uh, greed, ambition, anger, fear.
What about love?
Detective!
Raines!
They located Marco.
We're waiting on you.
Primary move.
Last call
for the San Francisco Express.
Last boarding call for the San Francisco Express.
Everybody move, take him down.
All units respond, yeah, yeah.
We need an R. E. unit to the bus station.
I was hoping you'd put him in handcuffs,
not in traction.
I was responding, he comes out of nowhere!
Does he have a pulse?
Yeah.
What the hell's wrong with you?
He came out of nowhere.
All right, get those people back.
Keep 'em back.
Come on, people, listen up, move it back!
Move it back.
You're lucky he's still breathing.
Police emergency, out!
- What? - Now!
Come on-- no washing, no washing!
Go, go, go, go, go, scoot! Scoot!
You said that the motive might be love,
but Marco didn't kill you, did he?
If he didn't, then why was he running away?
We found steroids and speed in his apartment.
Did he kill you?
Why would he?
He already knew I was a hooker.
Maybe he wanted that shoebox money.
Then why didn't he take it?
Huh. Maybe he found out something else about you.
I like to bite the heads off chickens?
He followed you to the motel.
What did he say?
She says she couldn't
because she need money for her mother.
And I told her that I could give her whatever money she needed, and she said,
"How ithat any different than what I'm already doing?"
She didn't want to see me anymore.
So, I thought what can I do different?
Thought it was my fault.
Then again, maybe it didn't have anything to do with me.
Like, maybe she wasn't into guys.
Why would he think you didn't like guys?
You liked guys, didn't you?
As far as I know.
What would make him think I didn't?
Where you going?
To talk to Marco and look at the motel security video again.
Why?
I think I know who killed you.
I never found any evidence of Harry going
to the Townhouse Motel and hiring Sandy.
Because I didn't go there.
I know that you didn't, Harry.
Believe me, I kept hoping that you'd show up,
but you didn't.
But somebody else did,
somebody that we weren't looking for at first.
I don't... I don't understand.
That doesn't mean anything.
What motive could Wendy possibly have?
Love.
Or at least the kind of love that's been deformed
by a fear of abandonment.
Wendy was terrified of being your ex-wife.
I just want you to follow my husband around for a few days.
So she hired a private investigator
to have you followed.
And when he didn't find anything,
she couldn't let it go.
She set a honey trap.
She paid Sandy Boudreau to seduce you.
And Mrs. Tucker, before you say that you didn't,
I've got a witness, her ex-boyfriend,
who, when he gets out of the hospital,
will testify that he saw you at a motel,
handing Sandy money.
And we've got
your thumbprint from a $50 bill
that we found under Sandy's body.
So...
You all right? Hold on.
Harry meets Sandy.
You okay?
Peeper's taking pictures.
- I'm Harry, by the way. - Sandy. Delighted.
...I do. Did you grow up here?
I did not.
Look at that! Oh, look at that.
Take good care, all right?
Everything's going great.
One small problem, Harry doesn't take the bait.
And that's where the story could've, shouldhave ended.
But it didn't, did it?
When she called you, you met in that parking lot,
she said she wanted to give back the money.
- I'm not gonna take the money back. - He wants you, just accept that!
I want you to go back and try again!
You wouldn't take it.
You wanted her to keep trying.
You couldn't accept that your husband
could be faithful.
She said something to you, and then she headed
back for her car.
And whatever she said to you got you so angry
or so scared,
that you snapped.
What, honey? What did she say?
She said...
You know what? I'm gonna try it again.
I'm gonna give him the money back next time I see him.
I'm gonna tell him everytng!
I didn't mean to kill her, Detective.
I just wanted to stop her.
I know.
I bet your legal team will argue, successfully,
that it was a crime of passion, or that the gun
just went off.
And you might only get manslaughter
for killing Sandy Boudreau.
But McSweeney, the private eye...
That was premeditated.
You might just get the needle for that.
You're still here.
You know, I'm startin' to think you don't like me.
I like you fine, Sandy Boudreau.
I wish I'd known you.
But, uh, you said you'd go if I caught your killer.
Yet here you are.
Is there something else I can do for you, Sandy?
There is one thing.
Tell me.
I don't need this crap in the house.
All right, Vernon.
I'm not keepin'-- oh, God.
So sorry to startle you, Mrs. Boudreau.
Um, I need to talk to you alone.
What about?
I've got some bad news.
There was a screw up at the evidence locker,
and Sandy's money has gone missing.
What?
Vernon will not be pleased.
What's this?
I'm sorry that the money's missing, Mrs. Boudreau,
because I know that Sandy wantedyouto have it.
She wanted a better life for you.
She woulda done just about anything to help you.
Of course, even if somehow the money were
to magically reappear, you still might
just hand it over to Vernon, or, you might not.
Either way, it'd be up to you.
See that CD?
May I have that?
Uh, it's in the trash.
Detective!
Was Sandy mixed up in something?
No.
She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Thanks.
For not telling my mama I was a prostitute.
No point in that, dear.
No point in that.
Arlene.
Now, come on, Arlene,
would you kick it into gear?
I wanna get the hell out of L. A. and back to Texas.
Okay.
Looks like your mother finally...
All right, all right.
It's probably rap.
Is she gone?
So far.
I keep looking.
Hey, what if this happens with every case I get?
That would be cool.
No, Charlie, it would not be cool.
I don't like being crazy.
You're not crazy.
You just have an active imagination.
I mean, you're always going on about how you wanna be a writer.
That's what writers do, right?
They create characters.
Yeah, but do they actually see 'em?
No. And if they do, they're... cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
Well, maybe it's just because you need someone to talk to.
Without me in your car, you've got no one
to bounce your ideas off of.
Yeah.
Maybe I should get a new partner?
Please. Who is gonna partner with you?
Why? 'Cause I'm crazy?
Because you're a jerk.
I'm rubber, you're glue.
Whatever you say, bounces off me, sticks to you.
It's not so bad, is it?
You solved her murder, she went away.
Yeah.
But if more of them come along, you positive
that they'll disappear every time?
Yep.
It didn't happen the first time, now did it?
And I caught that killer. In fact, I put a bullet in his eye.
And you're still here.
Maybe because I'm here for a different reason, Michael.
Like what?
I don't know.
Guess you're gonna have to figure that out.
One thing that's been bugging me.
Why do you have me walking around with this cane?
'Cause you got shot, it seemed right.
Yeah, if I got shot in the leg.
I got capped in the noggin.
Yeah, well, I'm sorry, but I didn't feel
like looking at you with a, you know,
hole in your head.
Lose the cane. Wanna lose the cane?
Thank you.
Yeah, lose the cane.
Hey.
Who were you talking to?
The dead.
They hunger for human brains.
The feasting will begin at sundown.
Jerk.
I know.