Archer s08e03 Episode Script

1 So, uh, what are we doing? Are we just jumping right into this, or-- How are you assholes even here? [sighs.]
We followed you.
Duh.
Hmm! Looks like she's having a rough night.
Her? What about me? Will you shut up? Will you stop illustrating my point? So, is this the part where you tell me it's not what it looks like? I don't know.
What does it look like? You tell me.
It's not what it looks like? Which is Murder, Figgis, you insufferable little prick! It looks like murder! Yeah, I guess it does, kind of.
But it shows what you know, because it's only accessory after the fact.
[scoffs.]
We were merely using this poor pre-deceased young woman to fake my death.
What? Why? She's trying to get out of a quasi-incestuous home-life situation.
How quasi? [sighs.]
Like, a four? Eh.
Put a ham in it, Poovey.
What's your story, lady? Who are you? Charlotte Vandertunt? Heiress to the vast Vandertunt publishing fortune? Really? Schmancy.
Well, then, seeing as how that's the case, are the keys in the Rolls? Yeah.
They're-- Wait.
Why? Because I'm going to drive it, and Sergeant Poovey is going to drive you in my car.
To jail.
Because you're both under arrest for murder.
What? Goddamn it.
Poovey? Huh? Oh.
Now we'll see how you like getting your tits screwed off for a change.
[snickering.]
Wh-- What? Remember? 'Cause you screwed his wife's tits off.
Damn it, Poovey! What? Figuratively! Well, either way, I can tell you right now I-- Wait.
Did you say "a change" or just "change," as in spare change? Huh! What change? They'll be passing you around for half a pack of smokes.
Pff! I'm worth at least two packs.
Pff! You know.
And, Poovey, book her as a Jane Doe.
[gasps.]
A what? Oh, shit.
[theme.]
[Archer.]
Well, at least let me talk to her.
[Poovey.]
No.
I told you, you can't.
Little Miss Vanderpanties is in solitary, down in the sub-basement.
Yeah.
And why do you think that is? How the hell should I know? Wh-- Because you do! No, I don't.
Are you booking Charlotte as a Jane Doe? He's gonna keep her locked up here, call her parents posing as a kidnapper, and use the ransom money to square things with Len Trexler for losing his Chinese sex slaves! Oh.
Thought you meant besides that.
The Chinese sex slaves, by the way, that you let goooo! Keep your frickin' voice down.
[groans.]
Ow! And speaking of which, where the hell are they? [gong bangs.]
[chattering in Chinese.]
Your house? Are you shitting me? Aw, I wouldn't shit you.
You're my favorite turd.
But what are you gonna do with them, Poovey? What's your long-term plan? [chattering continues.]
[shouting in Chinese.]
[groans.]
Like living with a bunch of roosters.
That's your plan? Well, it's a plan.
I mean, obviously, we'll put it to a vote, but-- Not after I tell Figgis-- [grunts.]
Ow! Don't be stupid.
If you want me to talk him out of this murder rap, you'll keep your damn piehole shut! Poovey.
Poovey! I could actually go for some pie.
Come on! Come on! Move your asses! Yeah, yeah, keep on bitching, if ya want me to bust your heads open for ya.
Hey, uh, could I order some pie? Or have you singlehandedly depleted the global strategic pie reserves? Whoo! Are you crazy? You wanna get yourself killed? Oh, my God! Is diabetes contagious? Hang on.
Tsk.
I know you from Dreamland.
Dreamland? Do you know Lana Kane? We're her band, man.
I'm Floyd.
This is Verl.
That's Cliff, and that's-- Ray Gillette.
I'm kind of the bandleader.
We didn't vote on that.
No, you're not.
I'm Archer.
I'm a private eye, doing a little work for your boss, Mother.
So what are you in here for? Well, murder, but technically, it was just gross abuse of a corpse.
How about you guys? What are you in for? Yeah, Ray.
What are we in here for? [inhaling sharply.]
Okay.
My turn.
Okay.
Hey, come on.
Let me-- Hey, relax.
Hold on.
You're gonna get yours.
You'll get a turn, man.
Can I please-- Ray, take it easy, man.
Goddamn it! I insist you let me share your marijuana cigarette! [muffled grunt, snort.]
Well, serves y'all right for being so damn stingy.
Serves who right? "Whom.
" How is six years in jail right? Six years? For one lousy goof-butt? [sighs.]
It's our second offense.
I am lovin' this marijuana cigarette! [muffled grunt, snort.]
Or it will be, once they run our prints and figure out we gave 'em fake names.
Ha! Oh, man, was my fake name not the best? I swear, I am such a pistol.
You're lucky I don't have a pistol.
Or even a belt.
Or even shoelaces.
What if I told you I could get you guys outta here, no charges filed? I need your help to do it, though.
To do what, exactly? Escape, obviously.
What? What do we have to do? Well, for starters, I'm gonna need you to forgive me.
Forgive you? For wh-- [vomiting.]
Damn, Ray! Really? Ugh! Damn, man! Why the hell'd you do that? [vomiting continues.]
Hey, guard, we got a sick man in here! Aw, man, I'm gonna be sick too.
No, you are not.
Well, I am.
Guard! You assholes! Whoever puked in my cell, I'm gonna make ya mop it up and suck on the mop! [vomiting.]
[groans.]
[vomiting.]
Oh, man! [vomiting.]
Goddamn it! [chuckles.]
Seriously.
Oh, you think that's funny, you shit-heel? Oh, sorry.
I'm just a sucker for physical comedy.
Case in point [grunting.]
[chokes.]
Daaaamn! Remind me never to rent you a mule.
Why would I want to rent a mule? Maybe you're afraid of commitment.
So, listen.
What do you think about our chances of getting out of here? Hmm.
I don't know.
Four? Out of five? [grunts.]
Why not? [Mother.]
I'm sorry.
I must have misheard you.
Because it sounded like you said you're not doing your second set.
I don't have a band.
They never came back from their smoke break.
Bet they got arrested again.
Idiots.
What is it with you people and reefer? Do you mean musicians or Negroes? Pick one.
No, because I'm going home now, so-- You most certainly are not.
Get up there and entertain those people.
How? Do you want me to do a striptease? Hmm.
That was a joke.
Well, clearly.
[stammers.]
But I wonder.
What if we had a comedy night? Comedians, little routines And where the hell is the bartender? [woman.]
Excuse me.
Excuse me.
Excuse me! Doctor, where are you taking this patient? Yeah, what do we got going on here? Tests.
Just some routine tests.
Okay, let's get you dancin', handsome.
I am handsome.
Maybe I could do a comedy routine.
I mean, how hard could that be? [Cliff.]
Seriously? [Archer.]
What? You look like a rodeo clown.
[chuckles.]
You've clearly never been to a rodeo.
Aw, brother, I have.
That was the circus.
No.
There were lions.
Look, man, Verl's got to be the cop.
I mean, you know, no offense, but-- The fact that you feel like you have to say "no offense"-- Moot! Wait.
What? What? Moot.
It's my plan.
I'm the cop.
[scoffs.]
Come on.
You look like you should be policing a cornfield.
Arresting crows and shit.
Caw! Caw! Seriously.
No.
I'm the cop.
For one thing, I have military experience, so-- Me and Verl were in the army.
And I was in the navy.
Well, but, you know, I didn't segregate the service.
And no offense, but-- But here it comes.
Well, but what did you do, exactly? I was in the Transport Corps.
I was a steward.
Exactly.
So, you know-- Oh, I get it.
So, no matter how eager Negroes were to prove ourselves in combat, thanks to segregation, most of us had to serve in support units.
And driving trucks and serving coffee don't exactly make us war heroes.
No.
Come on.
Look, I realize that a segregated service is just crazy.
Especially when you think about what we were fighting for over there, but-- Oh, so now you got a "but.
" But if you think about it, the most racist thing would be if whenever there was a war, we only sent Negroes.
Wow! Words fail me.
I failed my induction screening.
Well, obviously.
You put the "F" in "4-F.
" You know-- Okay, Verl can be the cop.
But I'm still squad leader.
And I need you guys to respect that.
Come on.
Come on.
Move your lazy asses.
Oh, that's good.
That's good, Verl.
Very believable.
Will you quit jamming my ass with that thing? He said, coyly.
Silence, prisoner.
[men chuckling.]
Yeah.
Shut up.
And the next cop we see, I'm getting his uniform.
So [sighs.]
[door opens.]
Damn it.
Complete and total bullshit.
Dress that line, boy! [men chuckling.]
Talk about looking like a scarecrow.
Caw! Caw! Doesn't even work there, so So, hey, I'm not an architect, but I'm pretty sure you can't leave a building through the sub-basement.
So, unless they keep all the fingerprint cards down here-- In the dampest part of the building-- What the hell are we doing down here? Well, um, it's a surprise.
Oh, goody! Let me guess.
Is it, uh, a truck full of my Chinese whores? Uh, better.
Oh! A slightly larger truck full of my Chinese whores? Even better.
I feel like we're gonna run out of things to fill with Chinese whores.
No.
You'll forget all about them when you hear what I've got for you.
Intriguing.
[chuckles.]
All right.
Give me a hint.
Two words: Charlotte Vandertunt.
[gasps.]
The heiress to the vast Vandertunt publishing fortune? And, by inference, an ideal target for kidnapping.
I'm not kidnapping a Vandertunt.
You don't have to.
I already did.
Are you serious? Oh, Figgis, that is some good work.
Where is she? Downtown, booked in as a Jane Doe.
You got her in that shitty jail? No! You go get her, and you bring her here.
But-- "But" nothing, ya little weasel.
Bring her to me.
I want to meet her.
Oh, I bet she's charming.
[screaming.]
[screaming continues.]
What-- What is happening right now? That's what I'm trying to-- What the hell is wrong with you? Everything! I spent my life in jail, and now I'm a disgusting old woman! [overlapping chatter.]
What is she talking about? My God, the future is terrifying! How many years have I been in here? Wha-- [chuckles.]
It's been, like, a half an hour.
What? No, but [breathing heavily.]
But then-- How-- [whispering.]
How are there Negro policemen? Uh, definitely Negro policemen.
[overlapping chatter.]
I-- But-- I mean, since when? In L.
A.
? I wanna say Was it 1886? Yep.
Patrolman Robert W.
Stewart.
Big Beat-Walkin' Bob.
They called him that? How should I know? [sighs.]
Uh [chuckles.]
Well, then, I don't know what to say.
I am simply mortified.
Please accept my apology.
I [chuckles.]
You're my first Negroes.
So, was this a surprise? Because I already know a crazy lady.
His Aunt Marva.
Eats paper.
By the pound.
Mm-hmm.
God bless that mess.
So, no.
The surprise is, we're gonna seriously jeopardize our own chance of escaping by taking her with us.
[discontented overlapping chatter.]
[Poovey.]
I say we put it to a vote.
[sighs.]
I vote no.
Poovey, come on.
Don't do this.
Make me.
I mean, don't make me.
Look, I know you cops have to check your weapons up front, and there's five of us and only one of you, so-- So who wants their ass beat first? [bones crack.]
And before you decide, keep in mind I'm gradually gonna get more tired, but also gradually more berserker.
[shrieks in delight.]
This is the best day ever! [shrieks.]
Being a Negro must be so exciting.
[applause.]
[Lana.]
Thank you.
Oh, thank you.
Oh, you're too kind.
How's everybody doing tonight? Doing good? Having a swell time? [snorts.]
Yeah? Everybody having fun? Painting the town red? Wonderful! Terrific.
So, I'm gonna want a rematch.
[breathily.]
Me too.
What in the hell is she doing? I'll tell you who's not having fun.
Al Capone.
He just died.
You hear about this? Yep.
He died of syphilis.
Wouldn't wanna be that broad, would ya? [laughs.]
[in ditzy voice, Brooklyn accent.]
Hi, Alphonse? Yeah, it's me, Trixie.
Yeah, so, I was just callin' to say thanks for a such a lovely evenin'.
Yeah, me too.
Uh-huh.
Uh-huh.
Yeah, so listen, um Tsk.
[sighs.]
[audience member coughs.]
[in normal voice.]
You know, like she's calling notorious criminal Al Capone to tell him she gave him syphilis.
That's-- That's pretty awkward, right? Although she was probably a prostitute.
And why you'd give your phone number to a prostitute So-- So what else? [Poovey coughing.]
You know how pissed off Figgis is gonna be when he finds out you walked off with his million-dollar payday? Roughly the same as if he finds out about your new Chinese sister-wives? [gong bangs.]
[women exclaiming.]
Oh, goody.
[exclaiming continues.]
Another sweater.
[sighs.]
All right, Archer.
You win this round.
Yeah.
I mean, you're handcuffed to a pipe, so obviously.
Hey, let's go.
- We'll go when your squad leader says we'll go.
Which is now.
Let's go.
Hang on.
We still gotta get our fingerprint cards.
Oh, right.
Where do they keep them? Second floor, Room 202.
But good luck getting in there without a-- [alarm blaring.]
[braying laughter.]
A distraction.
Nice! [Poovey.]
I was gonna say-- Ooh! Sprinklers! Nice! The key, you dickheads! Ohh, right.
Duh.
Whew.
What else? Uh-- Oh, prostitutes and, uh, syphilis.
Okay.
So, I heard about a male prostitute who got syphilis.
Yeah.
Apparently, he was fine for a while, but then business kind of dropped off.
Reminds me-- Uh, reminds me of my cousin Eddie.
Uh, he goes to see the family doctor.
Doctor says, [in masculine voice.]
"Well, I've got some good news and bad news.
The bad news is, your wife has syphilis.
" "My God," Eddie says, "what's the good news?" Doctor says, [in masculine voice.]
"Good news is, she didn't get it from you [laughs.]
"based on this medical examination.
" [faint coughing.]
All right.
Let's-- Let's see what else I got here.
Uh, syphilis, syphilis, syphilis, syphilis, syphilis, syphilis, syphilis Oh, hey! How 'bout that Taft-Hartley Act? [man.]
Show us your tits! I mean Oh, jeez, I'm getting wet! [clamoring.]
[Archer.]
Will you hurry up? Hang on.
I got everybody's but mine.
Uh [cackling.]
Here it is! Oh, my God.
Oh, it's hilari-- [laughing.]
"Phil McCracken.
" [laughing continues.]
[siren wailing.]
Right? What the hell is going on here? Uh, do what now? I said, what the hell's going on here? [clears throat.]
It's a-- a prisoner-- prisoner transport.
Uh, taking these reefer addicts over to Newton Street-- Oh, well-- for treatment and counseling.
Nope.
For what? Damn it, Floyd.
Floyd? Wh-- Why did he-- Wait a minute.
What's your badge and unit number? F-Four? What? [grunts.]
[goofy laughter.]
Okay, you are just terrifying.
[squeals, brays.]
Shut it, McCracken.
And "treatment and counseling"? Seriously? [Floyd.]
What? I bet in the long run it's more economical.
Just get in the truck.
[engine starts.]
Yeah, I'm getting in the truck because I choose to get into the truck.
I-- Wait! Take me with you.
We are.
Oh.
Well, then, I shall thank you to mind your tone.
[alarm continues blaring.]
[shouting.]
What? [shouting.]
I said-- [alarm stops.]
[normal voice.]
Oh.
I said, "Archer got away.
" Oh, that son of a-- As did the Vandertunt broad.
What? How could you let that happen? There were five of 'em! And I had to check my gun, obviously, so I-- See you didn't check yours.
No.
No, there was so much confusion.
Yeah, right? Right.
For instance, I'm confused about why I don't just go ahead and shoot you in your stupid fat face.
Well, for one thing-- [gasps.]
Noooo! [ringing in ears.]
[muted.]
Okay, you dummy.
So tonight, right now, you're gonna find the Vandertunt broad, and you're gonna find Archer.
You're gonna bring her to Trexler's, and you're gonna leave him in some alley [gibberish.]
with a case of lead poisoning, just like his partner.
[normal volume.]
You got it? Mawp.
Mawp.
That better have been a long-ass apology.
[Mother.]
I'm sorry, what was that? No, just, if I had more time, I-- I could really tighten up my set.
Oh, I don't know how you'd improve on a solid half-hour about syphilis.
Wait.
What? Ew! What I do know is all the refunds I gave are coming out of your paycheck.
But-- You've got a "but"? I'll say.
Zip it, Missy.
And, come to think of it, the refunds will come out of all your paychecks! Damn it, Ray! That's some bullshit.
And I swear to God, if you people get caught smoking reefers again-- I'm sorry.
By "you people," do you mean-- Out! All of you, out! Not so fast, Shamus.
[sighs.]
Damn it.
Hey, not that it should matter, but I was a tanker.
761st Tank Battalion.
Wait.
Patton's Panthers? You guys saved our asses at the Bulge.
Mm-hmm.
Well, now I feel like an asshole.
Well, can't help you with that.
[Mother.]
Archer! And that little chippie of yours.
[laughs.]
I beg your pardon? Keep it up, and you will.
Wait.
What? I'm not accustomed to being stood up, Mr.
Archer, and yet once again-- I know, and I'm sorry.
It's just-- Well, she isn't just some chippie.
She's actually Charlotte Vandertunt.
I-- You mean, the heiress to the vast Vandertunt publishing fortune? Uh, duh.
Zerp.
Then do tell.
What's a nice heiress like you doing in a joint like this? I rescued her.
Len Trexler and that cop Figgis were gonna kidnap her, so-- How were they going to do that? Well, nobody knows where she is, so-- I'm trying to escape a quasi-incestuous family situation.
How? A four.
Eh.
Yeah, so-- So, presumably, the Vandertunt family still doesn't know where she is? I mean, don't know how they would.
Excellent.
[gasps.]
Oh, shit.
What? [Mother.]
Well, then, I suggest you wake him.
Unless you think Mr.
Vandertunt would rather see his daughter gradually via the mail.
[joyous squealing.]
[tapping floor.]
[high-pitched laugh.]
Best day ever! [growls.]
Right?