Agent Elvis (2023) s01e05 Episode Script

1
I'm listening.
Good.
Be at the Griffith Observatory
in 30 minutes.
Come alone.
Go to the gift shop.
Buy a snow globe,
a keychain, and a cherry Blow Pop.
- Blow Pop?
- Just do it.
Then go to the far left elevator
and take it to the basement.
I'd take the next one.
Welcome, Mr. Presley.
You're late, Mr. Presley.
Well, it's a hell of a commute.
And eight bucks for a snow globe?
Yeah. We make a killing off that stuff.
By the way, not really
what I was picturing for a headquarters.
Oh, this? No, this is just the room
where we murder people
who try to break into the headquarters.
You have a problem
with our methods, Agent King?
Well, believe it or not,
I don't really like being called "King."
Well, it's a little late
for that kind of input,
because I already made this.
It's out of my hands.
The sticker makes it official.
Yeah. Shocked silence. That's right.
Welcome to TCB Headquarters.
This is the beating heart of TCB.
From here, we operate in the shadows.
Mm-hmm.
That's pretty damn big shadows.
Yeah, she's a beaut.
Ten stories beneath the Hollywood sign,
impervious to nukes,
and completely fireproof
thanks to the asbestos,
which we recently learned
was a poor choice.
Problem?
Nah! Not for about 40 years,
which would put you in your seventies,
and who wants to live forever, am I right?
We call this the Eye.
From here, we watch the world.
Just yesterday, I watched H Chí Minh
order an off-menu fish entrée
at a bistro in Hanoi.
Well, that's, uh, pretty specific.
So was he, actually.
And here's our weapons testing range.
Speaking of,
watch out for these blast doors.
They'll cut a toe clean off.
Gregory Peck learned that the hard way.
Twice, actually.
Turns out he's kind of a moron.
- What the hell is that?
- Good eye, cowboy.
We call that the Pit.
No roughhousing near that thing.
Lost a few guys last month.
Well, you could put a cover on it.
Put a cov Put a cover?
Then why even have one?
What the hell was that?
Fucking Robert.
So, I assume I've got an office
around here somewhere, Commander?
- Uh, not yet.
- Good.
Then we can get it right the first time.
Gonna need something big.
Uh, your office will probably do.
I'm also gonna need a TV budget.
Mine tend to get shot a whole bunch.
- And speaking of guns
- Uh, know what?
That's something you should
probably take up with your supervisor.
Uh
My what?
Did you bring the Blow Pop?
Nice!
Creepy as shit, right?
Mr. Presley, say hello
to your Agent in Charge.
This is gonna be fun.
Yeah Not gonna happen.
Aw. Sad face.
Oh, she being in charge of me?
Ha!
Gonna pretend I didn't hear that.
Mm, that's a good one.
I do that all the time too.
You gonna sit? For the briefing?
Not really my style.
Easier to take notes.
Also not my style.
Seems like a weirdly stubborn style.
Now you're getting it.
I don't enjoy public speaking.
I've been told, however,
picturing your audience naked can help.
So
Problem?
Not anymore.
So, down to business.
We gonna talk about that shitshow
that went down at Altamont?
- Later.
- Because that device you sent us to find
turned that concert into a bloodbath.
Jesus. People bleed, okay?
No time for that right now.
We have a bit of an emergency.
A file that threatens
to expose the existence of TCB
has fallen into enemy hands.
You two are gonna get it back.
Piece of cake.
Ooh, that sounds good. Yes, please.
And we need to get
the file before this asshole reads it.
Huh. Okay. Slightly trickier cake.
Now I'm gonna assume that
you just got your slides swapped here,
and you just didn't insult the President
of the greatest country in the world.
What, Costa Rica?
I'm partial to Portugal.
In any case, at 1600 hours and 32 minutes,
that file will land on Nixon's desk
in his private residence.
You two need to get it before he does.
Heh. Uh-huh.
And by "get it," you mean
"break into the White House"?
Yeah, fuck, break in, blow up, freeze ray.
You know, work out the details.
It's not gonna happen, ace.
And you're not gonna
change my mind with a stare.
Oh no, sorry, I
I was just trying to remember
who you remind me of naked.
- What?
- Loving the weird energy right now.
Sir, we have a situation.
Words. Go.
Yeah, well, there's a tiny chance
there's part of a finger in it,
so you're gonna have to
How the fuck should I know why
a chocolate volcano overflows? It should
It should be fucking finger-proof!
I don't have a goddamn PhD
in fucking chocolate volcanos!
Oh yeah? Well, you know what?
I'm gonna come over there
and rip your fucking dick off,
shove it in the top of the volcano,
then we're gonna see
how this goddamn thing goes
Hang on a second.
Why are you guys still here?
Please go do what I asked you.
Uh, listen up, Commander.
I'm not stealing from the President.
It's not stealing if it's not his.
Same way it's not murder
if you do it with your eyes closed.
Now go.
Sinatra. Naked, Sinatra.
Neck down, you're Sinatra. That's it.
Ugh, what do you want?
Uh, bad time?
Uh, not if your lungs are impervious
to DNA-altering nanobots.
Let's pretend they aren't.
Then I'd pretend to make it very quick
and only breathe out.
Okay. Anyway, got a mission. Set us up?
Ooh!
So, what'll it be?
Shooters? Melters? Exploders?
Ooh, we got some new screamers in.
Or if you're feeling a little more
hands-on?
It's a non-lethal mission, Howard.
Well, why didn't you say so?
I would've completely tuned you out.
I can turn off my ears, you know.
Experiment gone wrong. Or right.
- Howard, just
- Ugh, fine.
Ooh! Wait! New idea.
Have you seen the new tranquilizer gun?
Metal detectors don't pick it up,
and it causes total memory loss.
Ow! Shit!
Goddamn!
Ugh! What do you two want?
Okay. Guess we're off to DC.
Yep. And your flight
leaves LAX in an hour.
Well, now, hang on a second.
Don't you have some kind
of badass spy plane that we can use?
Of course we do.
Don't be stupid. I'll be on that.
But the Commander wants us to keep up
appearances, so you'll be flying
Wait a minute.
So, you want me to help you break into
the second-greatest home in America,
and I don't even get
any kickass spy gadgets?
Come on, CeCe.
Look, I signed for the tranq gun,
and the paperwork trolls
are so anal it's weird.
Fine.
Here. Take this.
There we go, there we go,
there we go, there we go.
Now we're cookin', CeCe with an E.
What's it do?
How the fuck should I know?
I didn't make it.
Say cheese!
Yeah. Okay.
Maybe a few less photos
of our secret spy mission, buddy.
Uh-huh, which those two are not coming on.
Bobby Ray is my right hand.
And Scatter's a grenade in my other hand.
If I'm on the mission, they are too.
Yeah, okay, just keep Nixon busy
while I fake-join
a tour group and grab the file.
Hang on. A tour? Can I do that?
Nope. But how about the next best thing?
Howard shoved that disaster in my bag
when he heard we were coming here.
Hot damn, it's also an audiobook!
Yeah. He said it would blow your mind.
Which, knowing Howard, might mean
literally, so I'd be careful with that.
Well, your funeral.
Now are you sure you can get to Nixon?
An idea or two, mostly along the lines of
Elvis Presley, to see the President.
Okay, that was pretty cool.
Sorry, Elvis.
I-I'm a giant fan, I really am,
but you can't take this in.
But it's a gift. For the President.
The President? Really?
Well, as soon
as you get me a cool box for it, it is.
Oh, wait, then I know there's
a really cool box in the Lincoln Bedroom.
Works for me, friend.
Yes, sir!
You got to be fucking kidding me.
That actually worked?
You're in my world now.
Which apparently includes
one very stupid Secret Service agent.
Hi, and welcome to the White House,
a structure that was stolen
brick-by-brick from France,
and then reassembled in reverse
so no one would notice.
What?
By now you should be passing
the Roosevelt Room,
named after President Teddy Roosevelt,
who himself was named after the bear
that ate his mother and then raised him.
Hey, E! Room's named after a bear,
by the way.
I get that you want him on the mission,
but does he have to be on the comms?
Hey, you gave him the book.
Take away his earpiece.
I don't think I will.
Not your call. I'm the Agent in Charge.
Then charge on over and handle it.
I need you focused on the mission.
Who, yours or mine?
It's the same mission!
Wrong.
You see, you're here to steal.
I'm here to prove
that Nixon is tied with yours truly
for the World's Greatest American.
Spoiler alert,
the guy actually completely sucks balls.
Get ready to be wrong one more time.
Mr. Presley.
It's an absolute honor to meet you, sir.
Ugh, gross.
Mr. President, honor is all mine, sir.
You are truly a great American.
Oh, thank you.
Couldn't quite hear that last part,
but just curious.
What's the view like fully up his ass?
Completed in 1909,
the Oval Office was designed
by a guy named Brian,
who believed all right angles
were a sign of the apocalypse.
Which they are.
Total fucking idiot.
What a bunch of bullshit.
Which is why it's called the East Room.
Excuse me. Where's the bathroom?
Oh, bathrooms are at the end of this tour.
Mm.
Look, I kind of had a half-eaten burrito
I found behind my hotel for breakfast.
- Ew, that's disgusting.
- Yeah. Yeah.
Wait till you see it. You're about to if
you don't tell me where the bathroom is.
Down the hall to your right.
Cool. Back in a jiff.
Stop, look, and listen, baby ♪
That's my philosophy ♪
It's called rubberneckin', baby ♪
Oh God.
I really shouldn't have
eaten that burrito.
Stop, look, and listen, baby ♪
That's my philosophy ♪
It's called rubberneckin', baby ♪
But that's all right with me ♪
Yeah. And all those Secret Service morons
just let him in, gun and all.
Boss seems fine with him.
Thanks. Wait, how did you get in here?
Well, this has been great.
I must say
it's been my honor, Mr. President.
But, unfortunately, I've got to head
to the residence and read some
Whoa, whoa. Not yet.
I mean, I almost forgot.
You see, I, uh
I brought you something, sir.
Oh. It's magnificent.
I bet I could take down a drug-dealing
hippie from 50 yards with this baby.
Technically, you could take down seven.
That's the dream. Thank you.
For all you've done to restore
security to this country, Mr. President,
you, sir, have earned it.
Hey, check this out. Gun!
I'm just fucking with you boys.
That's a good one, Mr. President.
Yeah. What a charmer.
Damn it. This hallway should be empty.
But of course
Nixon has private security douchebags.
We gotta get past those guys.
Wait, what are you doing?
Are you stealing?
Don't worry. I steal too. All the time.
I just call it "souveniring."
It's all about the branding these days.
Shit. Need a Plan B, fast.
Well, one great gift deserves another.
I understand you like badges.
Federal Narcotics Officer.
Just flash that baby if any staties
give you trouble on the highway.
Wow.
I absolutely love it, sir.
What a generous, awesome,
great-guy thing to do, Mr. President.
It's an incredibly irresponsible
abuse of power, but sure, why not?
You know, a few really stupid people
don't realize
what a great American you are, sir.
Little busy here,
so if you can distract him
without actually blowing the guy,
that would be great.
Uh, is it just me, or does one of us
smell like unwashed ass and beef jerky?
Ah, see? I knew it. Awesome.
Now, the badge
is only honorary, of course.
Well, let's play it by ear.
But that doesn't mean you can't
beat the crap out of some criminals for me
from time to time, right?
Also maybe beat up a few Jews
while you're at it.
- Do what now?
- Ooh! That took a turn.
Sorry. Did I say "Jews"?
I, uh
I meant Negroes. They blend for me,
and sometimes literally.
Don't get me started on crossbreeding.
There it is.
Moron.
Status report.
Crawling through a metal tube
with a monkey.
Well, that sounds
distressingly off-mission.
Don't worry, we're close.
Just keep me posted. And get it done.
Same goes for you.
Because if you're not done
in five minutes,
these chocolate stains
become bloodstains.
Okay, that's the residence, dead ahead.
What, the tranq gun? Ugh, fine.
Hey, hey! Look at me.
For emergencies only.
And a few extras for fun.
Did you just shoot the First Lady?
Wait, wrong tone.
Did you just shoot the First fucking Lady?
Hilarious! Okay, now watch the door, okay?
Please. Already?
It's barely two o'clock.
Ah!
Helping a VIP guest like Elvis
does not make me a groupie
Ah!
So, when you think about it,
the Vietnam War
is really just the Lord's way
of ridding the world
of another mongoloid bloodline.
Yep. I can think
of a bloodline I'd love to get rid of,
sir.
Ha! I bet you can.
You know, Jesus loves napalm.
It's in Corinthians.
Of course, they call it
Can't take much more of this.
Yeah, even that weird-ass book
was better than this shit.
Jesus, is that the time?
Sorry, I need
to get back to the residence.
Great! Please do. Sounds good.
No! No! Sounds bad.
We're still in here.
Stall your shitty, racist hero.
Well, it was great meeting
a like-minded man of action.
No, you know what?
Can you wait a second, Mr. President?
Let's get a photo together.
I love it! Make it quick.
Let's do this, CeCe.
Excuse me!
Please don't take that tone
with the Agent in Charge.
Which you're still not.
Get the file.
What file? Oh, right, right, right.
Oh, hello. That was easy.
Hell of a grip, son.
Feel free to loosen up.
Take the picture, Bobby Ray.
Take your time.
Take your time.
Whoops! Left the lens cap on.
Whoopsie-daisy.
Hang on.
Oh man, no flash.
Whoops. Uh, hang on.
Now, what does this button here do?
Oh hell, I hadn't used
one of these in a while.
- Don't have all day here.
- Oh, it won't take a minute, Dick.
- Excuse me?
- Oh no, no, no. Not like "dick," Dick.
Not like some spineless, lowlife
piece of shit on the bottom of my boot
that gets scraped off
onto a bigger pile of shit, kind of dick.
No. Like your name, Mr. President. Dick.
- I prefer "Mr. President."
- I'll try to remember that.
Good news, I got the file.
And even gooder news, he had
two letter openers, so we each get one.
Ooh.
Okay. What'd I miss?
Okay, fun thought,
but no live souvenirs.
Damn it!
Okay, flash on, film in, cap off,
no scary birds at the window,
and are we ready?
Quite a grip there. Almost broke my hand.
Well, you can't blame a guy for trying.
Should've just shot that racist bastard.
On a secret TCB mission.
Heh! Would've made a splash.
What are you two talking about?
Please tell me
you morons aren't talking about TCB
during the mission that's about
hiding the existence of TCB.
Don't worry, the asshole's gone.
Nixon records everything
in the Oval Office, jackass.
We're screwed.
Like, in every fucking hole.
This is why you shouldn't be in charge.
Mistakes like this.
Psst!
Okay, this is bad.
Hey, at least we got the file.
The file means shit if you're on tape
talking about TCB. We're fucked.
Then how come the chimp's
doing his celebration bump?
Hey! Cocaine is for winners.
Can we just call the Commander?
Why? So I can tell our boss that
while I was busy hiding from gunmen,
crawling through vents
and choking on monkey ass,
my subordinate fucked up
his simple mission
to keep a shitty racist happy,
and in the process
exposed the existence of an organization
that managed to hide in the shadows
for fucking centuries?
No, I wouldn't pitch it quite like that.
We need to know where Nixon's
White House recording system is.
Oh come on, that's easy.
It's in a secret room
behind the bowling alley.
What? It's Howard's audiobook.
Well, it's the best lead we've got.
Come on.
Hold on a sec.
He doesn't deserve this.
But I do deserve this.
Hey, uh, think we got time for a game?
Uh, still on a covert mission, BR.
That must be it over there.
Oh hell no.
Mm-mm. No more vents for this girl.
Scatter.
Okay, that works too.
Jackpot.
"Kennedy blackmail," "Johnson blackmail,"
"Arnold Palmer blackmail,"
"Nixon's"
"Nixon's sex ideas"?
What the hell are Nixon's sex ideas?
Ugh. Guessing angry missionary
while watching police beat up teenagers?
Yep, I'd say that's about right.
Okay, I just went ahead and cut
a full 17 minutes out of the tape.
The TCB thing is completely erased.
Hey, fellas. Care for a game?
That's my philosophy ♪
Strike! Still got it!
Rubberneckin', baby ♪
But that's all right with me ♪
Getting the sense
these guys aren't Secret Service.
Nixon's guys, ran into them earlier.
Full-on douchebags.
What the
Next up, the residence,
where Bess Truman famously killed
several extraterrestrials
with her bare hands.
Congratulations.
Blow-Your-Mind mode engaged.
Stop, look, and listen, baby ♪
That's my philosophy ♪
How does this pen work?
Well, here's the thing. That actually
might just be a really nice pen.
- What?
- How am I supposed to know?
Howard doesn't label things.
Damn it. Next time I pick my own gadgets.
Yep. Just a pen.
Okay, yeah, probably time to go.
Shit. Where's the extraction point?
We got some agent-looking fellas
coming up behind us back there.
Not to mention that.
Marine One? Oh fuck. We're fucked.
Huh?
- Okay.
- Did you get Nixon's sex idea tape?
Asking for a friend.
From now on, you're on all my missions.
Also, family photo. What'd you get?
"Truth about Area 51"?
Oh. My thing sucks.
As requested.
So, uh, you gonna tell me what's in there?
Son, that's above your pay grade.
You obviously have no idea
how much I get paid.
Wait, are we flying the wrong way?
You're goddamned right.
I insist on every mission ending
by flying into the sunset.
Fuck yeah.
God, my nipples are hard.
Maximum density.
Okay, Woodward.
This is how this is gonna work.
It's simple.
I feed you information on Tricky Dick,
and you get to be the reporter
who brought down an American President.
You don't call me. I call you.
And no names. Ever.
From here on, just call me Deep Throat.
Little nickname between Pat Nixon and I.
The woman's insatiable.
Hey, hey, anyone ever tell you that
you look exactly like Robert Redford
naked?