Alien Nation Page #2

- Right. Procedure.

- You?

- Yes, sir.

There is a case I'd like to take on, though.

A homicide, a Newcomer named Hubley.

- Granger and Pitts are already on it.

- Yeah, right.

But Granger and Pitts,

they got a full case load.

I thought, what with Francisco here,

the first Newcomer plain clothes,

and what with the body being found

in the Newcomer community, you know...

- Don't tell me what to think.

- (Goldrup) He's got a point.

It's exactly what we need for this

early-advancement programme.

(exhales)

All right, all right.

We work my hours. I do the drivin',

and you do the paperwork.

- You gotta learn it, so you can do it all.

- I'd like to thank you for what you are doin'.

What's that? Oh, wait, wait.

- Let me get somethin' straight in your head...

- You want cream and sugar?

No, I wanna get somethin' straight

in your head. We are not pals.

We're not gettin' married,

takin' long walks together.

And don't call me "Sergeant".

Call me "Sykes" or "Matt" if you got to.

I am Samuel. Would you like a doughnut?

Change your mind?

Sam Francisco? Sam Francisco?

No, I ain't buyin' that. I'm not buyin' that.

I'm not gonna introduce you

to people as "Sam Francisco".

I think I'll call you "George". George?

- OK.

- OK.

Oh, they hung one on you!

I heard a lot of good ones before,

like Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson...

I guess they got punchy after

giving names to a quarter million people.

Let me ask you somethin'.

Were you at the back of the line?

Oh, no. My true name is

Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa.

- Well, gesundheit. I'll call you "George".

- Fine.

- I didn't know which paper you like...

- I find it difficult to drive and read.

- Wait a minute.

- I got you your cigarettes.

Where did you get this? What is this stuff?

- Wait. What is this?

- That is a car deodoriser.

That's mine.

Anyway, what's it bother you if we think

your name's funny? It doesn't, right?

That is exactly so. It is like your name.

"Sykes"? I'm sure it doesn't bother you

that to us it sounds just like "ss'ai k'ss",

two words in my language

which mean "excrement" and "cranium".

Shithead.

Why don't you go ahead? I'll be right in.

Hey, Maff. So what do you got for me?

You said you wanted

the biggest thing I could find.

And this... is it.

- What in the hell's this?

- .454 Casull.

We're talking twice the impact energy

of a.44 Magnum hotload.

It only holds five.

The shells are too big for six in a cylinder.

Hell, Matt, you only need one.

No, two. Thanks.

How long you been shootin'?

That's pitiful. Goddamn pitiful!

What are you gonna do in a shoot-out?

Wave your scores in your exams at 'em?

- Why'd you do it?

- Why'd I do what?

Agree to work with me. You don't like me,

or any of us. You have only contempt for us,

and yet you make yourself an outcast

by making me your partner.

My partner is dead.

He's dead cos one of you bastards killed him,

then crawled down some rathole in Slagville.

You're gonna help me find that ugly Slag

son of a b*tch. You understand me?

That's awfully pretty, huh?

Bring my gun.

Let's talk Hubley here.

His body was discovered three days ago in

an alley off Central Avenue near downtown.

- With two sabot slugs in his chest.

- Through the chest.

- Through the chest.

- Rupturing primary and secondary hearts.

Hey, nice signal, d*ckhead!

He was employed at the Consolidated

Petrochemical Refinery in Torrance.

He was manager of a methane facility, and

a principal partner in a real-estate venture

to develop low-cost housing for Newcomers.

Newcomers. That's terrific.

Real pillar of the community.

- Was he ripped off?

- Pardon me?

Was he missing anything

when they found him?

Oh. Property.

He had no wallet, but he was

still wearing a watch and two rings.

Those guys last night at the minimart made

a half-assed stab at the money in the till.

I don't think that's what they were there for.

We got a couple of executions on our hands.

- The murder at the minimart is not our case...

- Whoa, whoa!

It is my desire not to break with procedure.

(horns blaring)

- What's wrong?

- Wrong?

- Nothing. What should be wrong?

- Nothing.

- What's wrong with you? Parkin' in...

- Hey, up yours!

You do agree that there's a good chance

these two shootings are related, don't you?

Yes, quite possibly.

Would you also be willing to accept

the theory, George, that, quite possibly,

by examining the evidence of one case,

we might shed a little light on the other?

- Does that sound unreasonable to you?

- Yes.

No, it is not unreasonable,

although it is not a good...

Good, good. I'm so glad

we got that settled, aren't you?

I think we're really

startin' to click here, George.

Give me what you got.

I've been over all this

with Fedorchuk and Alterez.

Come on, you got nothin' better to do,

a soft county job like yours.

Yeah, right(!) Don't push your luck.

According to the sheet, the guy you nailed

outside by the car, this one here,

he was one Martin Helder,

white male, aged 27.

One armed-robbery conviction,

two for sale of controlled substance,

and the guy was wired on coke

when you stopped his clock.

- Have you identified this one?

- He's a John Doe. Or a Sam Slag, if you like.

There's no ID on him and no fingerprints,

so it could be tough.

Lucky for you, you got him in both of his...

what we loosely call "hearts".

- (Sykes) Lucky I emptied a whole clip in him.

- That's how these people are.

You don't hit both pumps,

you just piss 'em off.

(in alien language)

It looks like the miners' disease.

Hey... what's goin' on?

- Nothing.

- Nothin'?

(in alien language)

Run blood tests and keep it between us.

Got an extra head shot if you need one.

We're about ready to cut in.

You're welcome to stick around.

It's fascinating stuff.

- Yeah, I'll bet.

- Let's look at their personal effects.

What is this?

What's that? It's a rubber.

It's... you know, a condom.

Coney Island whitefish, you know?

Um... men, human men...

they put 'em on their penises to...

to protect 'em from havin' babies.

Understand?

Uh, excuse me.

Do you need this for anything?

Nope. I got my own.

She has her own.

Here.

See? You get the picture?

And that fits?

Yeah, only it's made of rubber. It stretches.

And still it fits?

What's this stuff here?

It is a resin. Newcomers working

near methane gases at oil refineries

must paint it on their boots

to protect against sparks.

- How the hell do you know that?

- Many of us were hired by refineries

because the methane fumes are not

harmful to us. My spouse's brother is one.

So... the Slag they're cuttin' into upstairs,

he worked at a refinery,

and Hubley, he worked at a refinery.

I guess that "possible" connection's gettin' a

hell of a lot more possible, wouldn't you say?

I guess the next thing is for me

to talk to the store owner's wife.

I believe I should speak to the widow alone.

All right, you talk to the widow alone.

I'll check out the refinery. Hey, thanks, huh?

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