Arachnophobia Page #3

Hand-to-hand combat techniques.

So Becky, have you thought about

what you'll major in at college?

Gym.

It's in the genes.

Bobby here,

he's the Broncos' star quarterback.

I taught him to throw a football

before he could walk.

I coach the team.

Nepotism, huh?

Actually, we're Baptists.

Nobody comes up to a mortician

at a party and says,

"Irv, you think I might be dead?"

Must drive you nuts

trying to dip your Dorito

while somebody's showing you his growth.

How do you handle it?

I just mention that until quite recently

my wife was a successful stockbroker.

Say, what do you think about that...

- Why shouldn't I have another?

- Because you've had too much already.

- Let's go.

- No, I'm thirsty.

That's the Manleys.

Their son recently passed away.

That's awful. How?

I'm not sure. He was a scientist.

Photographer.

He was on a scientific

expedition down in...

Venezuela.

Nobody'd tell me how.

- Or even let me see him to say goodbye.

- Let's go.

I had to recommend a closed coffin.

His body looked all chewed up.

Drained.

Like some vampire had had a go at him.

It was terrible.

Excuse us.

I'll be you made enough friends today

to break Sam Metcalf's death-grip.

It was wonderful.

We can't thank you enough.

Nor I you.

Freeing me from those damn pills.

I feel I could compete in a triathlon.

On the basis of your check-up,

I tend to agree.

- Bye-bye, Margaret.

- Bye, Molly.

Irv, Claire. Would you like a doggy bag?

We're fine, thank you.

Great party, Margaret!

Come on, honey. Party's over.

Happy hunting, Felix.

See you in the morning.

You'd have had too much punch

and been the life of the party.

I missed you.

Ross!

I could have killed one of you.

The nails came straight...

It's all rotten down there.

My wine cellar is...

It's probably crawling with termites.

I'm surprised

we haven't fallen through the floor.

I'll call the exterminator.

You're rather casual

about the death of my dream.

I've been trying to reach Margaret

to thank her

and her line's been busy all morning.

She's probably gabbing.

- You want me to...

- Would you?

I'll go over and check on her.

Margaret?

So what do you think, doc?

Heart attack.

Bound to happen, rather sooner than later.

She had a history of high blood pressure.

- Even with the pills I put her on...

- I took her off those.

What right did you have to do that?

She came to me. As a patient.

You didn't notice she was hypertensive?

Her diastolic reading was normal.

Her systolic elevation was below 160.

- If you'd stayed current...

- This is a very serious matter, young man.

- You may well have killed this woman.

- I don't think so. She was in fine shape.

- I want an autopsy.

- Never.

Look, she was my patient.

And mine for 40 years.

Margaret wouldn't want to be butchered.

And nobody here would want that for her.

Give it to me, Irv.

I'm satisfied if you're satisfied, doc.

You come from a big city

where people don't care about each other.

I don't expect you'd understand.

A little advice.

If you're ever going to fit in in Canaima,

learn to be sensitive to

the feelings of the people here.

I'm sorry I'm more interested

in medicine than public relations!

You know, cardiac victims

don't usually bite their tongues off.

It's as though she went

into titanic convulsions.

Until I know why, this case isn't closed.

You're damn right it's not. I believe

you may be guilty of medical malpractice.

And I intend to pursue the matter

to its conclusion.

Ross, I understand she was your patient.

Your only patient.

Why don't you come by the gym

tomorrow at 3.00?

It's a mile up the road from you.

I'll throw some business your way.

Thank you, Henry.

I appreciate that.

That was nice of him.

Think he could have said

it a little louder?

A little young, isn't it?

The wine?

No, Margaret. To die at 68.

That's ten years below the life expectancy

of a Caucasian female. Did you know that?

Ross, you're a fine doctor.

I'm sure you knew exactly what you were

doing when you took her off those pills.

Like I knew what I was doing

when I chose this town?

With the country doctor from hell.

Or this fine house,

which is rotting from the ground up.

I'm gonna take care of that in the morning.

Well, Margaret's still

gonna be dead in the morning.

I still want to know what killed her.

He was nailing something in the cellar

and the wood just disintegrated.

Termites, huh?

That's what my husband thought.

- And he's an expert in these matters?

- Well... no.

Didn't think so.

I'm glad you called me.

No room for amateurs in this game.

Thank you.

What is it?

It's hard to say.

Would anybody object

if I tore this floor out?

- I would.

- False alarm, then. Lead on.

How bad is it?

I didn't find a thing. Go figure.

Then why is all the wood rotting?

I'll tell you why.

Bad wood.

So... what do we do?

Tear out bad wood.

Put in good wood.

My husband thought

this would make a good wine cellar.

I collect beer cans myself.

I got a rare '74 of Miller Lite

with a misprint on the label.

Only a hundred or so cans in circulation.

The husband just might want to

take a gander.

No hard shoes on the court.

Sorry.

Look, I know what a blow

losing Margaret was for you.

People keep score.

You're only as good as your last game.

- Hell, I ought to know.

- I appreciate your concern, Henry.

I want you to enjoy Canaima.

Clean water, fresh air.

Got no police sirens wailing all night.

Just crickets.

We have crickets up the wazoo.

Actually, I haven't heard any crickets

lately, now that you mention it.

Actually, I haven't either.

Okay, Broncos, the doc's here!

Get ready to drop 'em.

The doc wants to hear you cough.

You call yourself Broncos?

You look like a bunch of babies.

Come on!

You're moving in slow motion here.

That's supposed to be a banana out.

Looks like a banana split!

- Shitty pass.

- I heard that!

What are you, a garbage mouth?

Hit the showers.

Wash that mouth out. Miller!

- You know the patterns?

- Like the back of my hand.

Get in here. Run the same thing again.

Hurry up.

Come on, Miller.

We're waiting on you, let's go!

Come on! Move it! You wanna play?

Come on, run. Let's go.

Thanks.

Run it.

Up. Let's go.

Miller, you all right?

- Coach!

- What's wrong with Miller?

Back up, let him breathe.

What's wrong? What is it?

Come on, give us some air.

Let's get his helmet off.

Real easy. Support his head, coach.

Real gentle.

From what I hear,

it wasn't a very hard tackle.

I only wish I knew, you see

Dr Jennings examined him last.

Why so gloomy?

Bunny Beechwood says that

everybody's calling you Dr Death.

That's just silly, Shelley.

And they say you want to

cut people up into little pieces.

Tom, look...

It's called an autopsy.

It's not a very pleasant thing,

but sometimes it's the only way to find out

what really happened to a person.

But some doctors who should know better

won't accept that.

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