We Are The
Eggman
<Doo
Mah>
[snowy woods;
dark]
Fraser: All
right, that’s it. Just crouch. Just watch him. All right
now. [Dief takes off
running]
All right great. Close the gap. Pick up your pace.
Charge!
[Dief gets to the road, and noses a candy wrapper]
Fraser : Aw, Diefenbaker. Do I have to remind you that you are a carnivore, that you are genetically predisposed to hunt? Or have you forgotten that? [Dief snorts] It’s hopeless. I should never have taken you out of your element and brought you to the city. You’ve gone soft. No, there’s only one thing to do, and that’s to mail you back to the Yukon where you belong.
[Dief groans]
Fraser : Ahh, now. A few elementary drills doesn’t sound so bad, does it? All right, let’s go. [Dief grumbles] Ah-ah, watch your language. Now pick up the scent again. [starts to walk backwards] Start to stalk. That’s it. Pick up your pace, not too fast. All right, that’s it. All right, now. Measure your charge--
[Fraser falls into an uncovered hole in the road; he pops up & puts on his Stetson]
Fraser : If you even so much as contemplate laughing, my friend, I swear I will crate you up so quickly that...
[sees headlights coming straight for him; he leaps out of the hole and waves his arms about...the driver sees him, swerves and crashes his truck into the embankment... Fraser tries to open driver’s door]
Fraser : Sir! Sir, are you all right?
[the door won’t open; Fraser goes to the back, opens that door...and hundreds of eggs fall out, covering his boots]
Fraser
: Excuse me, sir? It’s Constable Benton Fraser, Royal
Canadian Mounted Police. Are you all right?
Buxley: Yeah,
I’m okay. Thank you. Oh my god, what did you do to my
eggs?!
Fraser: I’m
very sorry about your eggs, sir, but you were headed for
an open trench.
Buxley: You son
of a--
Fraser: You
see, you were headed for an open trench.
Buxley: What am
I gonna do now?
Fraser: I think
we can probably salvage some of them.
Buxley: Hey,
you did enough already. Get out of here.
Fraser: Well,
perhaps I should go call somebody for--
Buxley: Get out
of here!!!
[Buxley backs up,
running over the spilled produce... which Dief is happily
sampling; Buxley drives off, spilling more eggs as he
goes]
[consulate]
[Fraser arrives at his office to find a note on his door;
he goes to Thatcher’s office & knocks]
Thatcher
: Come in. Constable Fraser, this is Linus Prince.
Fraser: Pleased
to meet you.
Prince: Same
here.
Thatcher: He’s
a lawyer.
Prince: For Mr.
Lyndon Buxley, the man who’s life you ruined.
Fraser: Excuse
me?
Thatcher:
Something about eggs.
Prince: Your
actions caused my client to lose a contract that was vital
to his business. And since the accident he has suffered
severe trauma and emotional distress.
Fraser: Oh.
Well, I’m-I’m-I’m very sorry to hear that. If there’s
anything I can do to help--
Prince: There
most definitely is, Constable. You can provide
restitution.
Thatcher: He’s
suing us. The complaint cites you, the Royal Canadian
Mounted Police, and the government of Canada for loss of
income, bodily harm, and mental anguish as a result of
your wanton behavior.
Fraser: Well
I-I’m not sure that the word ‘wanton’ is what you’re
looking for--
Thatcher:
Fraser.
Fraser: Sir, I
was trying to prevent a serious accident. Your client was
heading for an open trench.
Prince : How much did you have to drink that night?
Fraser
: I beg your pardon?
Prince: There
was no open trench. You forced him off the road.
Fraser: Yes,
there was an open trench, Mr. Prince. I fell into it.
While I was hunting with my wolf.
Thatcher: How
much exactly are you looking for, Mr. Prince?
Prince: Ten
million dollars. You have my number. And you’ll want to
call soon. The longer you wait, the higher the price.
[exits]
Thatcher: Don’t
say it. You were only trying to help.
Fraser: Yes,
actually.
Thatcher:
Dismissed. [on
phone] Get
me legal affairs in Ottawa. Fraser? One more thing. If you
ever get the urge to help me, do me a favor. Resist
it.
Fraser : Understood.
Thatcher
: Yes, this is Inspector Thatcher in
Chicago.
[27th
precinct]
Ray: Welcome to
America, Benny. The land of litigation. You know you can
sue your barber for giving you a bad haircut?
Fraser: The man
was in trouble, Ray.
Ray: Well,
that’s what you get for being a good Samaritan. You say
you were helping a guy, and he says you were
interfering.
Fraser: I
didn’t do anything wrong.
Ray: Well, it
doesn’t matter. In this country the guy who brings the
suit doesn’t have to pay the costs. Nine times out of ten,
they hire a slippery lawyer, and it’s cheaper to settle
than fight back.
Fraser: But of
course, that won’t happen in this case, because as soon as
we can clear up the misunderstanding about the open
trench--
Ray: Look, I
just want you to be prepared. If it comes down to your
word against his, in a Chicago courtroom, the money’s
going to be on the hometown boy.
Fraser: Now the
cover was off that trench, Ray.
Ray: Now we
prove it, you’re off the hook, but if we can’t, don’t take
it personally. Come on. We got 45 minutes.
Francesca: Hey,
you guys want a sandwich?
Ray: My
sister’s new business. She’s taken over the whole kitchen
at home.
Francesca:
Well, you know, it keeps me busy, gets me out. I’m kind of
a people person, you know? You hungry, Benton?
Fraser: As a
matter of fact, I am. How much do I owe you?
Francesca: Ah,
nada. You get the good-looking eligible bachelor
discount.
Fraser: Thank
you kindly.
Ray: You got
prosciutto?
Francesca:
Yeah, six bucks.
Ray: Six
bucks?
Francesca:
What, you’re my brother. Besides, even if you weren’t,
you’re not my type.
Ray: All right,
well then you’re out of luck. I only got five. And
besides, I ran out of toothpaste this morning.
Francesca:
[sighs]
You and your system. He thinks if he
runs out of a personal care product it means he’ll win the
lottery.
Ray: All right,
make fun of me now.
Francesca: All
right. Buy me five while you’re at it, okay?
[gives him a
bill]
Ray: Yeah, but
it’s gonna cost you.
[she reluctantly hands him a
sandwich]
Ray: Thanks.
Come on.
Francesca
:
[aside]
He’s my brother – I
have to put up
with him. What are
you
thinking?
[farm]
[a rooster crows; Buxley drives up, to find two men
waiting on his
porch]
Buxley: Sneed.
What are you doing here, man?
Sneed: It’s
time to pay the piper, Lyndon. If you’re lucky, Mr.
Marshack here might make an offer on this dump. If you’re
very lucky, he might just cover your marker.
Buxley: Hey,
come on, hey. You cannot take this farm, man.
Sneed:
Oh?
Buxley: No. I
just need a little more time, okay?
Sneed: You
clowns are always thinking it’s about time. It’s not about
time.
Buxley: Look,
man, I’m about to make a really really big score.
Sneed: A big
score?
Buxley: I swear
to God.
Sneed: Hundred
grand?
Buxley: Hundred
grand is peanuts. I’m suing the Canadian government.
Sneed: That’s
original. That’s original.
Buxley: Lawyer
says it’s a slam dunk. Going to settle for five, uh,
million. So I’m going to pay you back, maybe 10-15-20
times what I owe you.
Sneed: Lyndon,
Lyndon, party’s over. You better hope and pray I find a
buyer for this place, or your future ain’t going to be
worth the chickens you leave behind.
[Marshack comes out of the house carrying a dozen
eggs]
Buxley:
Hey-hey, you can’t take that. Excuse me, sir, you can’t
take that.
Marshack: So
you breed these yourself? Interesting.
Buxley: You
can’t take those. Those are my eggs, man.
Sneed: Mr.
Marshack can take anything he wants. Now you pay your
dime, you take your rock. You hear me, Lyndon?
Buxley: Those
are my
eggs.
[roadside; Vecchio leans on the Riv’s hood, scratching lotto tickets]
Ray : Come on, come on... Nothing.
[Fraser takes pictures of the road and hole
cover]
Fraser: Well,
this plate has obviously been replaced.
Ray: Yeah, no
kidding, it’s under construction. They move it every day.
You know, I don’t know why I buy these things – I never
win.
Fraser: Look at
these scrape marks, Ray. They appear to be fresh.
Ray: You’re
gonna have a hard time convincing the judge, between the
time you ran the guy off the road and the time the cops
showed up, that an emergency road crew came out here and
did road repairs.
[goes back to
scratching
tickets]
Come on, come on. I’m squeezing like a... Grr, you know,
this is nothing but a tax on the poor!
Fraser: These
plates were lifted in by a machine. Whereas this plate was
levered in with some difficulty. Probably with a
crowbar.
Ray: So what
are you saying, there’s some guy running around at four
o’clock in the morning replacing wayward trench covers? I
don’t think so, Benny. If you ask me, I’d say settle.
There’s no shame in settling, it happens all the
time.
Fraser: I think
I’m going to go and talk to him. It’s only a couple of
miles. I can walk from here, and you have to get back
anyway.
Ray: Talk to
who?
Fraser: The
eggman.
Ray: The
eggman? He’s the enemy. The only explanation he’s looking
for is gonna come in large denominations. He’s probably
gonna have to chase you--
[scratches the last
ticket] I
won 25 thousand
dollars!!
[farmhouse; caged chickens are
everywhere]
Buxley:
[to
chicken]
Hey, I know. It is not your problem. Nobody’s blaming you.
I’m blaming myself, I’m assuming full responsibility.
[turns a crank and
the chicken walks on a
treadmill]
Yeah, hey, you don’t have to tell me I’m a compulsive
gambler, I know I’m a compulsive gambler. I’m assuming
total responsibility. But what I’m trying to explain to
you is, that we have got something going now, sweetheart,
that cannot miss, okay? It is not a long shot.
No-no-no-no. It’s gonna put us on the map, kids. No more
worries, nothing, okay? Yes, I’m promising. All
right?
[looks out his window and notices Fraser approaching, taking photos]
Buxley : Son of a... What the hell is he doing here?
[grabs his rifle, goes to the porch, and
aims]
Fraser:
[waving] Ah,
Mr. Buxley.
[Buxley fires; Fraser dives for cover behind the
house]
Buxley:
Yes?
Fraser: Mr.
Buxley, might I suggest that you hold your fire. If not
for my sake, at least for the sake of your French
Houdans.
Buxley: How do
you know I got French Houdans?
Fraser: Oh, I’d
recognize those voices anywhere. You see as it turns out,
I’m not entirely unfamiliar with poultry. My grandfather
bred fowl. When we lived in Yafkyat [?] Flats, in his
spare time, of course. And in Yafkyat Flats, there was a
surfeit of spare time. As a matter of fact, I remember one
occasion when he actually tried to introduce a pair of
Andalusians to a flock of Brahmas and you--
[laughing]
Well, you can imagine the results.
[Buxley shakes his
head]
Buxley: What do
you want?
Fraser: Well,
I’d like to have a word with you. May I?
[Buxley lowers his
gun and goes
inside]
[inside]
Fraser: This is
your research station?
Buxley:
Yeah.
[Fraser picks up a bowl &
sniffs]
Fraser: High
nitrogen content?
Buxley: That’s
for the shells.
Fraser: These
spices are uh, coriander, ginseng root, myrrh... And I
can’t place the other two.
Buxley: That’s
‘cause it’s a secret.
Fraser: Ah. And
this would be, uh...
Buxley: That’s
your treadmill.
[turns the
crank] You
see, the way I look at it, you put a chicken in a little
tiny cage and never give ‘em no exercise, that’s no good.
This way, they get in shape, they’re gonna perform maybe
two-three-four-five years past the average.
Fraser: These
two are remarkable.
Buxley: That’s
Adam and Eve. Twenty-five years to produce these
two.
Fraser: And
these are their eggs?
Buxley: That’s
the eggs.
Fraser: May
I?
Buxley: Go
ahead.
[Fraser uses a
tuning fork & listens to the egg]
Fraser: That
was a fine egg.
Buxley: Those
eggs are going to put me on a map, my boy.
Fraser : But in the meantime, business is slow.
Buxley
: Yeah, little slower now, thanks to the incident we
had.
Fraser: You
think this lawsuit is your way out?
Buxley: Yeah,
well, it’s nothing personal. Just exercising my litiginous
rights, so to speak.
Fraser: But Mr.
Buxley, if they discover it was you that covered that open
trench, then you will be liable to the criminal charge of
fraud.
Buxley: Yeah,
but since I didn’t do that I don’t have anything to worry
about, do I? You know, I think this is all very nice, but
I think maybe this conversation is concluded now. I think
the next time I see you, we ought to be in court.
Fraser: Very
well.
Buxley: Take
your eggs.
Fraser: Ah,
thank you.
Buxley: God
bless you.
[27th precinct; Francesca is cuffed to a
bench]
Ray: Well,
well, well, if it isn’t Jane Paul Getty. Miss Captain of
Industry. The Duchess of--
Francesca: All
right, Ray,
enough. Just pay
my fine, will ya?
Ray: Not so
fast. As a responsible and concerned police officer I just
want to make sure you learned your lesson.
Francesca: How
was I supposed to know that I needed a vendor’s permit to
sell at the Merc?
Ray: Just a
wild idea, Frannie? Maybe you should have asked
someone?
Fraser: Uh Ray,
did you get that information?
Ray: Look,
there were no road crews, and that open trench must have
been a figment of your imagination.
Fraser: I fell
into it, Ray.
Ray: Well, then
you fell into a figment.
Francesca: This
is just a simple misunderstanding over a permit. Could you
please tell my brother to pay my fine and let me get outta
here please?
Fraser: Well,
that should be simple enough, Ray, after your good fortune
today.
[Vecchio hits Fraser
lightly]
Francesca: Good
fortune?
Ray:
Fraser?
Francesca:
Hello? What good fortune?
Ray: No good
fortune. Just sit there.
[aside]
Fraser, this is not a good time to be
telling Frannie about the lottery ticket.
Fraser: Well,
why isn’t it, Ray? She won half the money.
Ray: No,
Frannie did not win any of the money. I won all of the
money.
Fraser: Ray, I
don’t think that’s true, strictly speaking. I mean while
it is true that you scratched off all of the tickets,
Francesca bought half of the tickets, therefore
technically she should be entitled to half of the money,
isn’t that right?
Ray. No, her
tickets did not win and mine did. End of story.
Fraser:
Ah.
Ray: What do
you mean Ah? Frannie did not win. Are we clear on
this?
Fraser: If you
say so, yes.
Ray: What, have
you been taking guilt lessons from my mother?
Fraser: Not
that I recall.
Ray: All right,
then. Case closed, okay? And not another word of this to
Frannie, all right? I’ll tell her when the time is
right.
Fraser:
Ah.
Ray: Will you
stop with the Ah?
Fraser: All
right, all right. Ray, Shouldn’t we, uh...
[indicates
Frannie]
Ray: Nah, let
her sit there and consider her crime.
Fraser: I’m
terribly sorry,
Francesca.
[consulate; Thatcher’s office]
Cloutier: So
much detail after such a long flight. This Fraser has
opened a big mess for us.
Thatcher: Can
we mitigate the damage?
Cloutier:
Nothing is beyond repair in the right hands. You know, the
office hasn’t been the same without you, Meg? Ottawa
misses you.
Thatcher:
Coffee?
Cloutier:
Splendid. I’ve cleared my schedule to handle this case
myself, you know. And a chance to see my protégé? How
could I pass that up?
[Dief
woofs]
Thatcher:
Fraser! [Fraser
enters]
Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP Council Henri
Cloutier.
Cloutier: I’ve
heard much about you, Fraser.
[they
shake]
Your heroics are going to cost us a lot of money.
[hands Fraser a
paper]
Fraser: What is
this, if I may?
Cloutier: Oh, a
simple form accepting responsibility for having caused the
accident.
Fraser: But
I--
Cloutier: I
have already done the groundwork with Mr. Buxley’s lawyer.
He and I feel certain that a settlement can be
reached.
Fraser: Well,
with all due respect sir, it would be wrong for me to sign
this.
Cloutier:
Inspector Thatcher and I have dinner plans. Why don’t you
take the evening to consider the repercussions of your
position.
Thatcher: Ben.
I’m sorry about dinner. I won’t be too late.
Fraser: Too
late for what?
Thatcher: Too
late for dinner.
Dismissed.
[Fraser is very confused as he exits]
Thatcher
: Shall
we?
[Fraser’s apartment building; Thatcher enters cautiously... she sees the graffiti, hears the noise, smells the...odors, then goes upstairs]
[Fraser’s apartment; he is ironing his underwear (has used LOTS of starch)]
[knock knock
knock]
Fraser:
Inspector!
[she rushes in,
slams door behind her]
Thatcher
: Nice neighborhood, Fraser.
Fraser: Thank
you.
Thatcher:
[looking
around]
You live like this?
Fraser
: Yes.
Thatcher:
Anyway, um... [walks
through the apartment, Fraser
follows]
About what I said earlier in my office today. Uh, you see,
I called Ottawa, which given the particular
circumstances...
[notices bed in the
middle of the room] ...uh, circumstances which I hold
you entirely responsible for. Anyway, um, I just didn’t
expect that he would be the one to be assigned. You see,
I, um, spent eight months working for him. And in the
course of that eight months...
[they sit down at
the table]
I’m sorry, um, if I made it seem today like we... I’m
sorry for the ruse. It’s just that, there have been
occasions in my career where I have found it necessary to,
um...
Fraser:
Deflect?
Thatcher: Yes,
there have been occasions in my career where I have found
it necessary to deflect the attention of male superiors.
And if I made it awkward or uncomfortable for you today, I
want to apologize.
Fraser: There’s
no need to apologize. I understand.
Thatcher: Thank
you. Now. Why are you being so stubborn about this?
Fraser: About
what?
Thatcher: The
settlement. Why won’t you sign it?
Fraser: Well if
I could explain--
Thatcher:
Fraser. There will be no skin off your nose. The Canadian
government won’t bat an eyelash, all you have to do is
sign it. Then you’ll have the eggman out of your hair,
I’ll have Cloutier out of mine.
Fraser: I
can’t.
Thatcher: Why
not? Just give me one good reason why not.
[Fraser fixes an omelet (Dief eyes it intently); she tastes]
Thatcher
: Mmm. It’s delicious.
Fraser: It’s
naturally low in cholesterol too. This is no ordinary
farmer. I mean, the quality of this egg suggests he’s
something of an artist.
Thatcher: Oh.
Now I get it. In spite of the fact that he filed a lawsuit
against you, you believe you can show him the error of his
ways, appeal to his conscience, and save his soul for the
pure pursuit of his God-given talent. One day. One day to
prove whatever it is your trying to prove.
Fraser: One day
as in...
Thatcher:
Twenty-four hours. That’s it. Then you sign.
Fraser: As in
one day.
[Marshack’s place; Marshack eats scrambled
eggs]
Marshack: Man
makes a good egg. No doubt about it.
Sneed: A gold
mine to someone who can get this to the mass market. Could
be you, boss.
Marshack: I’m
sold. Get him to sign over everything.
Sneed: No
problem.
[exits]
Marshack
: [nodding]
Nice
color.
[farmhouse; Buxley is looking at a feather under a
microscope. Music: ‘All Praise Be To Thee’ by
Mozart]
Buxley: Uh-oh.
I think we go a little hormonal imbalance here, baby. I
think we’re gonna stop with the Mozart, and go back to the
Shostakovich, ‘cause it’s gonna lower your estrogen, okay?
We’ll think of something, okay? Maybe stopping
your--
[thug stops the record]
Buxley
: Hey, how-how you doing, Sneed?
Sneed: Mr.
Marshack has assumed your debt and he wants his
restitution. Have no choice.
Buxley: Yeah,
well I-I-I-I’m sorry, you can’t do this to me.
[Sneed shoves Buxley against the
wall]
Sneed: All you
have to do is sign, and you’re free and clear. I even
brung you a pen.
Buxley: Wait,
you don’t understand, Sneed, this is all I got, okay? I
really appreciate this, uh-- This is a very nice pen. What
is it, a Mont Blanc?
Sneed:
[to
thug] Come
here, you hold him.
[chickens cluck]
Buxley
: You wouldn’t.
Sneed: You want
to try me? [points
gun at hen’s head]
Buxley: Aw,
come on you
couldn’t!
Sneed
: You’re a weird one, Buxley. I’ve seen guys go down for
their family, or for their girlfriends. Even their dogs.
But chickens?
[laughs]
This is a first!
Buxley: Just
give me the thing, I’ll sign it, okay? Come on, come on,
I’ll sign the-- gimme the thing.
[Sneed hands him the
papers]
Just leave the chickens
alone.
[roadside; crew is lifting the trench cover, as Fraser
& Vecchio look
on]
Ray: Well, I
did what any gentleman would do, all right? I scratched
the tickets her five dollars bought first. Besides,
possession is nine-tenths of the law anyway.
Fraser: Well,
possession affords one a
prima facie
argument for the retaining of the asset, but declaration
of ownership, Ray, still would require a higher
court.
Ray: Yeah,
well, not in the Vecchio household.
[the cover is lifted, and Fraser jumps into the hole]
Ray
: Do you think I’d be getting a cut if she was holding the
winning ticket? Not a chance.
Fraser:
Huh.
Ray: A feather?
It certainly screams conspiracy to me, Benny.
Fraser: You
notice the healthy sheen, Ray, and the yellow coloration
at the tip? This feather could only come from one
chicken.
Ray: So let’s
go get him.
[Buxley’s farm]
Ray
: You sure you want that wolf running around with all
these chickens?
Fraser: Well,
as long as they aren’t in possession of any Milk Duds,
they should be fine, Ray.
Ray: He hasn’t
kicked that junk food habit yet?
Fraser: Well
you know, they say that it’s harder than heroin.
[Fraser
knocks]
Sneed: Good
afternoon. Something I can help you with?
Ray: Yeah,
where’s the chicken man?
Sneed: Mr.
Buxley no longer lives here. Is there anything that I can
help you with?
Fraser: Are you
in any way connected with Mr. Buxley?
Sneed
: I’m the new proprietor of this establishment.
[shows the
deed]
Ray: Well, that
makes sense. Why hang around this dump when you figure
you’re gonna be cashing in 10 million bucks.
Fraser: Well,
he seemed pretty dedicated, Ray.
Sneed: What’s
this about?
Ray:
Fraud.
[hands Sneed a paper & goes inside]
Ray
: These are exhibits A and B.
Sneed: Hey,
hey wait a second. These are my chickens. What’s the deal
here?
[Fraser & Vecchio box up Adam &
Eve]
Ray: These
chickens here are involved in a high profile crime,
perpetrated by Lyndon Buxley. All the paperwork’s in
order. If you got a complaint, take it up with Judge
DeLuca.
Fraser: Excuse
me. [takes the box
outside] I
promise you sir, I will personally care for your fowl. You
have nothing to be concerned about.
Sneed: When do
I get ‘em back?
Ray: When the
case is closed.
[Buxley has seen the exchange from his hiding
place]
[street; Vecchio parks Riv, gets out, and heads down the
block]
Ray: I’ll be
right back. I’m just gonna go cash my lottery ticket.
[Fraser catches
up] Why
are you following me?
Fraser: Well,
I’m not following you exactly, Ray. I’m walking along side
you.
Ray: You’re not
going to leave me alone on this are you?
Fraser: On
what?
Ray: Look
Fraser, this isn’t about she said this and I said that,
okay? This is bigger than just who anted up.
Fraser: Ah, you
mean on the issue of who’s entitled to the money?
Ray: This is
payback time, Fraser. This is for the time she ratted me
out for smoking a cigar in the basement with Dave LeConte,
for the time she told Paula Scriffaniano that I was a
junior, and for the time she didn’t show up at the Academy
for my graduation because she had to go see Donny Osmond
at the Beacon, okay? This isn’t my victory, Fraser. This
is cosmic justice.
Fraser: Ah. I
see.
Ray: No you
don’t. I don’t even know why I try.
[glass breaks; they turn to see Buxley running off]
Ray : Hey!
Fraser : Buxley.
Ray
: He smashed my window.
Fraser: The
chickens are gone.
Ray: Who cares
about the chickens, he smashed my window!
Fraser: Well,
the chickens are gone, Ray.
Ray: Well, good
riddance to the chickens! I didn’t like ‘em anyway.
[to his car] Ah,
it’s okay, baby. It’s not personal. The guy just had a
deep desire to get to his chickens.
Fraser: Well,
the chickens were his life, Ray. It’s understandable he’d
go to great lengths to retrieve them.
[picks up the paper
with the chicken droppings on it]
Ray: There’s no
excuse for one man damaging another man’s fine vintage
automobile over a couple of oven roasters. Ah, that’s
disgusting.
[they get into the front seat]
Ray
: What are you doing?
Fraser: Well,
he’s written something on this. Look. Raptors plus three.
Timber Wolves minus two. Kings, Clippers plus eight.
Ray: Yeah,
those are basketball teams and this is a betting sheet.
You see, those are the teams he thinks are going to win
and that’s the point spread. But this guy’s a chump. Who
would take the Clippers even with points?
Fraser: Well,
perhaps a man who’s more efficient at farming than he is
at gambling.
[Vecchio starts up the
car] Where
are we going?
Ray: We’re
gonna visit a family
friend.
[Cicero Dairy
Corporation]
Marshack: What
do you mean the cops took the chickens? Those are the
birds that lay the golden eggs. Without them all I got is
a couple of broken-down buildings and a worthless piece of
land.
Sneed: I didn’t
know, I’m sorry.
Marshack: Sorry
don’t cut it. I made a deal for Buxley’s farm and
everything on it. Without the chickens, all bets are off.
Now get out of here. Fix
it.
[motel room, right by the
el]
Buxley: I know,
I know. I hate the city, too. Come on, let’s forget about
it, okay? You just gotta eat your food. I know, I know, I
know, you’re used to the best of food. I gave it to you
all your life. Baby, I’m sorry, okay? Come on, you force
yourself to eat it because it’s nutritious, okay? You
don’t have to like it. All right, all right, sweetheart.
Evie, daddy’s gonna get you your real food, okay? You take
care of Evie, okay, Adam? I don’t know how I’m gonna do
it, but I’m gonna get you real
food.
[street; Riv
parks]
Ray: My old man
used to come here all the time. He’d tell my mother we
were going to the park, but we’d always end up here. I
never once saw him cut his hair.
Fraser: You
didn’t like to see his hair being cut?
Ray: No, this
is Bert Block’s place. He’s a bookie. He’s been around
forever. He knows this town inside and
out.
[inside the barber
shop]
Bert: So he
says don’t be ridiculous! That canary can’t sing. The
mouse is a ventriloquist!
[laughs much louder
than his customer]
Ray : Hey, Bert, how you doing?
Bert : Ray? Ray Vecchio, is that you??
Ray : No, it’s my ghost. Of course it’s me, Bert. How you doing? I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Bert, Benny. Benny, Bert.
Fraser : Pleased to meet you.
Bert
: Hey, Ray, you grew up
nice!
Use to be the softest kid I ever known.
His old man’d be listening to the radio, screaming for
those Knicks to run faster, and little Ray’d be there in
the corner, stuffing his face with crullers, all chubby
and--
Ray:
Bert.
Bert : --bloated, and--
Ray : Bert. I think that’s a little more information than my friend needs to know.
Bert : What can I do you for, boys?
Fraser : Well, we have misplaced some extremely important chickens. And we believe that information about whoever it is that laid these bets, might help us locate them.
Bert : Chickens.
Fraser : Chickens.
Ray : Yeah, the guy’s name is Lyndon Buxley. We got a hunch that maybe he’s a squisher on somebody’s book, maybe you’d make a few calls for us?
Bert : I don’t have to, Ray. A loser like Buxley, his story gets out. He got his line up over a hundred large with a fella. But everything worked out okay.
Ray : Where’s a guy like him get a hundred grand?
Bert : He didn’t. His bookie wound up selling his marker to some guy. The bookie got his money. Life goes on.
Fraser : Thank you kindly for your help.
Bert : Mucho gusto.
Ray : Thanks a lot, Bert.
Bert
: Nice coat.
Ray: Uh,
listen, uh, one more thing. Did my old man ever win, even
once?
Bert: Ray! That
would have spoiled his fun!
[laughs
heartily]
Ray: Thanks
again, Bert.
[restaurant; candlelit table, wine, soft
music]
Thatcher: I
don’t know if this is the ideal place to talk business.
It’s a little dark.
Cloutier: I can
see everything I need to.
Thatcher: I
spoke to Constable Fraser. I think he might be ready to
come around.
Cloutier:
Constable Fraser. I must admit, I’m a little surprised by
your relationship with him.
Thatcher: Yes,
well, we both know I like to keep my personal life
personal.
Cloutier: Don’t
underestimate your potential, Meg. Remember your ambition.
You’ve done well so far. You could do even better with the
right connections. With a friend to help pave the
way.
Thatcher:
Fraser!
Fraser: Ah.
Inspector. I thought it important to inform you that
there’s been an emergency.
Thatcher:
Emergency?
Fraser: Yes.
With your car.
Thatcher: What
about it?
[he tries to think of an excuse, spies a burning
candle]
Fraser: It’s on
fire.
Cloutier: Oh,
please.
Fraser: No, it
is. It’s burning away. All the other cars feel
threatened.
Cloutier:
You’re making this up.
Fraser: Yes, I
am.
[Thatcher gets up]
Cloutier : Where do you think you’re going?
Thatcher
: With him.
Cloutier: Well,
perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.
Thatcher: No,
Henri, you made yourself perfectly clear. Now let me make
myself clear. I’m sick of your innuendoes. I didn’t join
the RCMP to get chased around a desk. I’m going with
Constable Fraser. You do what you want about that.
[exits]
Fraser:
[to
Cloutier]
Sorry to have interrupted your dinner.
[Fraser walks after Thatcher]
Fraser
: Inspector, I’m sorry about the ruse, but I believe I’ve
determined the cause of the accident other night, and I
think that Lyndon Buxley will reconsider his legal
action.
[to maitre d’]
Thank you
kindly.
[farmhouse; Buxley sneaks in, gets a bag of feed, and
heads out...the lights come
on]
Buxley: What
are you doing here?
Fraser: I
assumed you wouldn’t want to feed Adam and Eve anything
but the best.
Buxley: Do me a
favor, okay? Just leave me alone, all right? Until I sue
you.
Fraser: I’d
rather help you, if I may.
Buxley: What
are you, crazy?! I’m suing you for 10 million dollars and
you want to help me?! Why?
Thatcher:
That’s what I wanted to know.
Buxley: Who is
this woman?
Fraser: This is
my superior officer, Inspector Margaret Thatcher. Lyndon,
I know the kind of trouble you’re in. I know that you
needed money to pay off your bookie. That’s why you sold
your farm in the first place. That’s why you set up that
hole in the road, and that’s why you tried to sue
me.
Thatcher: He
set up the hole?
Fraser: Yes. He
planned to drive into it and then blame it on Cook County.
But when I interfered with his plan, it provided him an
opportunity to sue an entire government. And that’s why he
went back and covered up the trench.
Thatcher: You
should be ashamed of yourself.
Buxley: I know.
If you’ll excuse me, I gotta go feed my chickens, okay?
[exits]
Thatcher:
That’s it? After all that, we’re gonna let him go?
Fraser: I don’t
see what else we can do.
Thatcher:
Interfere! You always interfere.
Buxley:
[voice]
No!
Sneed:
[voice]
Yes! I’m taking you to see Mr.
Marshack.
Thatcher: What
are you doing?
Fraser:
Interfering.
[they run after the exiting truck & climb in the
back]
Thatcher:
Where’s he taking us?
Fraser: I
wouldn’t want to hazard a guess, ma’am. Do you happen to
have your cellular phone with you?
[she finds it in her
purse] May
I have your permission to--
Thatcher:
Permission granted.
Fraser: Thank
you.
[dials, then
pauses]
Thatcher: What
are you waiting for?
Fraser: Well, I
don’t want my hesitation to appear unduly procedural,
ma’am, it’s just that I’m not sure which cellular provider
you use, and since we’re likely on a transponder boundary
line, there will undoubtedly be a nominal expense
incurred. Nominal I say--
Thatcher: Just
do it!
Fraser: Uh,
yes. [hits
send]
[27th
precinct]
Ray
: [answering
phone]
Vecchio.
Thatcher: Hurry
up, the battery’s running low!
Fraser: Ray,
it’s Fraser. Buxley has been kidnapped
[phone
beeps]
Inspector Thatcher and I are stowed away aboard the
kidnapper’s vehicle.
Ray: Where are
you?
Fraser: We’re
in a truck.
Ray: Well,
where’s the truck?
Fraser
: It’s on a road, Ray.
Thatcher: Hurry
up!
Ray
: What?
Fraser:
Apparently the battery is running low.
[beep
beep]
Ray: All right
look, give me a license plate number.
Fraser: Yes, I
only saw it for a split second
[beep
beep] but
it is Illinois plate 5-0-6-9--
[beep beep
beep] Oh
dear.
Ray: Hello?
Hello? [hangs
up]
Elaine!! [she clears
her throat from behind
him] Oh,
could you get me a license plate number on a truck?
5-0-6-9.
Elaine: That’s
it? There could be hundreds of matches.
Ray: Yeah well,
that’s all we
got.
[Cicero Dairy Corporation; the truck arrives, and Sneed
prods Buxley inside; Fraser & Thatcher climb out of
the
back]
Buxley: What do
you want from me?
Marshack: I
just want what you owe me, chicken man.
Buxley: You
already got my farm. I don’t have anything else.
Marshack: I
want your research, Lyndon. And your livestock.
Buxley: I don’t
know what you’re talking about.
Marshack: Well,
you kidnapped your two most valuable birds. I want ‘em
back. Think you could do that for me, huh?
Buxley: I don’t
think so. Never.
Marshack: Never
say never, Lyndon.
[thug approaches... a video monitor
beeps]
Sneed: Mr.
Marshack, we got trouble.
Marshack: Deal
with it, boys.
Sneed : Pleasure.
[Fraser and Thatcher sneak along the catwalk, soon
followed by the
thugs]
Sneed: This
way!
[Fraser & Thatcher pass between carts and carts of eggs]
Sneed : They’re down here!
[Fraser & Thatcher sneak through a door and wait in the shadows... Sneed shuts the door, and locks it; he turns dials and heat lamps come on...]
Fraser : Oh, dear.
[incubator]
Thatcher: We’re
gonna burn up in here.
Fraser: I think
that’s unlikely, ma’am. This would appear to be a late
model Acheson Type incubator with a maximum output of 50
degree Celsius or 120 degrees Fahrenheit.
Thatcher: So
were safe, then.
Fraser: Oh yes,
yes. Well, that is until the carbon dioxide we exhale
combines with the sulfuric acids, the ammonium, and the
nitrous oxide which, without proper ventilation, is a
common hazard in incubators of this type.
Thatcher: And
then?
Fraser: And
then we die.
Thatcher: Any
chance of getting that door open?
[Fraser presses his ear to the door and thumps
it]
Fraser: I don’t
think so. It would appear to be double-reinforced steel
with an e-tech electronic lock.
Thatcher: Which
means?
Fraser: Which
means they bought an extraordinary good door.
Thatcher:
Why?
Fraser: Perhaps
they foresaw this exact situation.
Thatcher:
Perhaps they were just trying to prevent the chicks from
escaping.
Fraser:
Perhaps.
[27th
precinct]
Francesca: How
come you told everyone else in the world that ticket won,
except me?!
Ray: Uh, it
slipped my mind.
Francesca:
Twenty-five thousand dollars slipped your mind?!
Ray: Look, if I
would have thought about it I would have told you, but I
didn’t think about it, okay?
Francesca: That
money is half mine, you know.
Ray: Look, no,
it is not. Now will you leave me alone? I got 700 license
plate numbers I have to go through here.
Francesca:
Don’t wriggle out of this one, Ray.
Ray: Look, you
ask anybody, all right? They’ll tell you that it’s my
money. You ask anybody.
Francesca:
Okay, let’s do that, then. Huey. What do you think?
Huey: Even
Steven. It was your money.
Francesca:
Mm-hmm. Elaine? How ‘bout it?
Elaine: Ray,
pay the woman her money.
Francesca:
Yeah. The rest of you. How many of you think I deserve
half the winnings. Come on. Let’s see some hands.
[cops & criminals all raise
hands]
Ray: Aw. Thank
you for your support. It’s still mine.
Francesca:
You’re such a rat.
Ray: All right,
this has got to be the one. Elaine, get me an address on
the Cicero Dairy, and radio me in my car.
Francesca: Will
you stop walking away from me?!
Ray: I’m
walking. Don’t you see me walking? And pretty soon, I’m
gonna be driving.
Francesca: Well
then, I’m coming with you.
Ray: Oh no,
you’re not.
Francesca: So
try and stop
me.
[incubator, 110°; Fraser is tinkering with an electrical
box]
Fraser: I think
I found the contact points for the release
mechanism.
Thatcher: If we
ever do get out of here, I’m gonna need to find a new
career.
Fraser: Well, I
hope I haven’t been in any way responsible for that,
ma’am.
Thatcher: No,
it’s not your fault. That was something I should have done
a long time ago. We’re Mounties. We’re supposed to have
ideals. Of course, if we’re dead Mounties, our ideals
won’t mean much, will they?
Fraser:
Huh.
Thatcher:
Something?
Fraser: Well, I
think it’s possible to bypass the release mechanism, but I
will need a piece of wire about seven centimeters in
length.
Thatcher: Seven
centimeters?
Fraser: Yes,
seven centimeters.
Thatcher: Take
off your tunic.
Fraser: I beg
your pardon?
Thatcher: Take
off your tunic, Constable, that’s an order.
[he removes his belts, his lanyard, takes off his tunic, and hands it to her; she removes a piece of wire from the collar]
Thatcher
: Seven centimeters.
Fraser: Good
thinking, ma’am.
[he puts the wire into the box, and starts convulsing, as
if being
electrocuted]
Thatcher:
Fraser?!
Fraser: Just
joking.
[warehouse; Buxley is suspended over a large
vat]
Sneed: You
could have done it the easy way, Lyndon.
Buxley: I love
my chickens!
Sneed: It’s not
too late.
Buxley:
No!
[thug hits a button, and Buxley slowly descends into the
vat...filled with
egg]
Sneed: I’m
asking you one more time, Buxley. Where are the chickens.
You starting to remember where you left those
chickens?!
Buxley: Suck an
egg!
[he goes under, sputtering]
[incubator; very sweaty Thatcher stands directly behind a
very sweaty
Fraser]
Thatcher:
Fraser, if this doesn’t work and, uh, we don’t make it out
of here... As your commanding officer, I just wanted to
say that... As someone you work for, I just wanted to say
that... As someone you work with... I just wanted to tell
you...
Fraser: I got
it. [the lock clicks
open] You
were saying?
Thatcher:
Another
time.
[warehouse; Buxley is lifted out, sputtering]
Buxley
: All right, all right, all right!! I’ll tell you,
okay?
Sneed: That’s
better. I don’t got all day, Lyndon. Well? Well?
Buxley: Let me
catch my breath. No, I can’t do it! I can’t do it!
Sneed: Put him
down.
Buxley:
No!
[Fraser & Thatcher make their way out of the incubator, past the chicken coop, toward the voices]
Buxley
:
[voice]
You heartless pig!
Sneed:
[voice]
Too bad. You had your chance.
Buxley : [voice] You gotta leave my babies alone!
[Fraser & Thatcher hide behind boxes of
eggs]
Buxley: Let me
out!
Sneed
: Put him down and leave him down!
Buxley: I love
my chickens.
Fraser: We need
some kind of diversion. Can you throw?
Thatcher: 1.3
ERA over 30 games.
Fraser: That’s
good. [hands her an
egg] Hit
the red button.
[Thatcher throws the egg and hits the button, stopping Buxley’s descent]
Sneed : What’s going on?
[she throws another egg, hitting the thug squarely between
the eyes; Fraser scuffles with him, then throws him over
the side & into the vat of
egg]
Buxley: Way to
go,
Mountie!
[walking by the chicken coop]
Francesca
: Tell me what kind of a man cheats his own sister,
Ray?
Ray: I didn’t
cheat you.
Francesca: What
did you think you were gonna do, start lighting cigars
with hundred dollar bills and I wouldn’t notice?
Ray: I don’t
smoke.
Francesca:
That’s not the issue. You’re avoiding. Avoiding and
stealing. What do you think Ma’s gonna say?
[sound of gunshot;
Vecchio pulls his gun out, and the lottery ticket falls to
the floor of the chicken coop]
[Sneed sneaks around, hears a noise & shoots at the
catwalk; Thatcher beans him in the back of the head with
an egg, then dives for cover as he shoots at her; Fraser
throws and beans Sneed, too; Sneed shoots in Fraser’s
direction, then backs into a maze of boxes, shooting
randomly... suddenly a gun appears against Sneed’s
neck]
Ray: Not so
fast, pal. Unless you want to play chicken.
Fraser:
Ray!
Ray: Evening,
Benny. Inspector.
Fraser: Ah,
it’s very good of you to come. May I?
[takes Sneed’s
gun]
Ray: Ah, no
problem. You know, I been thinking, Benny.
[cuffs
Sneed] I
can’t take the guilt anymore. I’m gonna give half that
money to Francesca.
Francesca : [voice] NOOOO!!!!
Ray
: Watch him.
[dashes
out]
Fraser: Which
came first, Mr. Sneed – the chicken or the egg?
Ray:
[voice]
NOOOO!!!
Thatcher: I’ll
watch him, you go.
Fraser: Thank
you, ma’am. [to
Sneed]
I’ll tell you later.
[runs into the chicken coop room]
Fraser
: Ray!
[he finds Vecchio
& Francesca standing and staring down at the winning
ticket... it has been pecked to death; Fraser exits, not
saying a
word]
[street]
Ray:
[reading]
“For saving
the life of egg farmer Lyndon Buxley and his prize hens,
for protecting Canada against an opportunistic legal act.”
Well, that’s pretty good, Benny. Hey, who’s this guy Henry
Clowteer?
Fraser: That’s
Henri Cloutier. He’s with legal affairs office in
Ottawa.
Ray: The guy
gives you a commendation and you don’t tell me about it? I
gotta read about it here on page four?
Fraser: Well,
Inspector Thatcher deserves all the credit, as my
commanding officer.
Ray: Which
brings me to another subject I’d like to talk about.
Fraser: Fire
away.
Ray:
Women.
Fraser:
Enough.
Ray: Hehehehe.
No, I’m serious. You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed
that Inspector Thatcher is a good-looking woman?
Fraser: Well,
that wouldn’t be appropriate for me to comment on,
Ray.
Ray: So you do
notice.
Fraser: I
didn’t say that.
Ray: Ah.
Fraser: Ah?
What do you mean, Ah?
Ray: Oh
nothing, just Ah.
Fraser: No, you
must mean something by Ah.
Ray: Well, I
think this Ah thing is a pretty-pretty neat trick.
Fraser: Well,
it’s not a trick, Ray.
Ray: Oh, like
you didn’t use it to get me to feel guilty about the
lottery ticket?
Fraser: No, I
didn’t.
Ray: Ah.
Fraser:
Honestly.
Ray:
[chuckles]
Fraser: What,
you don’t believe me?
Ray: I didn’t
say that.
Fraser:
Ah.
End