Bon Cop, Bad Cop Page #5

David?!

What have you done now?

- This is good!

This is really good!

What the f***'s he doing?

Taking pictures of the fire?

(swearing in French)

Ah!

Why does this sh*t

always happen to me?

Ow! Sh*t!

If I get out here alive,

I swear I'm gonna ask

for a desk job.

- David!!!!

David!

(gunshot)

- Ah!

(ringing)

(coughing)

- What the hell's that smell?

(coughing)

(screaming)

- Martin!

- Here, get Grossbut out.

- Never mind him.

- No, no, get him out of here.

- Let's go.

(coughing)

- You all right?

- Yeah.

- Gimme some of that.

- It's my inhaler.

- What the hell?

I feel kind of weird.

- Me too.

(distant sirens)

(laughing)

(swearing in French)

- That's not good, right?

- Jesus Christ, David!

You went in without a warrant.

You put a suspect in your trunk.

All that's left of him

fits in a sandwich bag.

Do you think that's normal?!

- Don't go crazy.

He had a record

as long as your arm,

he's not exactly Brother Andre.

- Brother Andre!

- We have to pick him up

with a spatula!

Then you burn down a house

with a victim inside!

- Don't forget my car.

- Don't interrupt me

when I'm talking!

- In fact, Chief,

it was all my fault.

I thought I spotted someone

inside in distress.

There was someone in there,

but not who I thought.

He was in distress...

but not today.

It's close enough. Huh?

- Captain MacDuff, line 3.

- Captain MacDuff.

You got my message

about what you crazy cop do?

- Yes.

- He burned down the building!

He blew up...

the witness!

- Martin, is this true?

- Well, uh...

with regard to the situation, sir,

I think one could

characterize the case as, uh...

What was the question?

- Witness! Witness!

- Oh, no, I have a halibi.

I was at David's

daughter's ballet recital.

- What?

- Martin, you come home

right now!

We'll talk about this later.

It's not our business!

Now get back home!

- Good, I'll be better off

not having to drag a tourist around.

- Listen, sir, let me fix this.

Because I'm spending half my time

babysitting Rambo on steroids.

I can fix this.

- SHUT UP!!!

And you...

you crazy son of a mad cow,

from now on,

you're off the suitcase!

Off the suitcase!

You go to Ontario.

That's it, that's all!

Don't call us, we'll call you! Huh?!

It's over. Over.

OVER!

(chuckling)

And you. You.

All I want from you is to take

this squarehead to the airport.

That's your f***ing job for today.

- Roger, come on...

- Out!

Out!

- This way.

- Get out of here!

Get out! Get out!

- I've got the munchies.

- Oh, what can I say?

It's been an education.

But two victims, Quebecois.

One witness, dead, Quebecois.

One killer - I'm guessing,

wild one now - Quebecois.

So, bye-bye.

Tell Suzie I'll email her.

- What's your deal with Suzie?

You've only seen her twice!

- You Quebecois are all the same.

You got some lunatic

who's gone nuts over a hockey team

that doesn't exist anymore.

And you with Suzie?

"Je me souviens."

You're living in the past.

You got to get over it.

- Yeah, well, at least we're alive,

not like you and your freakin' queen

and her f***ed-up children -

one of whom stole your wife,

by the way.

- Did anyone call a taxi

for the airport?

- Your lift is here.

- I did.

- Can I take your suitcase?

- No, thanks, I'll be right there.

- But you're right about one thing,

The only piece in this story

that doesn't fit is you,

so bye-bye.

- Tune in to my pre-game show

later tonight.

We're gonna talk

about these rumours

that a major Canadian team

is moving south,

which really pisses me off!

All of you know I hate Montreal!

I hate the team!

But what's the point of hating Montreal

if they're in Houston?

Also we have a big surprise guest

for you:
Mr. Pickleton.

You don't want to miss this,

because I won't miss you!

- You seen anything like this?

I can't believe it.

- You've got to be kidding.

- Recognize her?

- I think I recognize

the lunatic who did it.

- Martin!

- Where you think you're going?

- Get your hands off me, a**hole.

- Oh, say it isn't so.

- I'm a cop.

- You can't pass.

- I know that guy over there.

That's my friend, Martin!

Hey, it's me!

Tell these guys

to let me through.

- Okay, you can go.

- It's okay, he works for me.

Hey, hi, how are you?

Hello...

- He's from Quebec.

- Ah.

- Did you miss me?

- Show him.

- Tabarnac.

Well, you could say

he's a hell of a skater.

It's a Quebec hockey expression.

You know who she is, right?

- Martina Flabcheeks.

Thanks.

- The first female hockey agent.

Her first client

was Quebec's 1st pick in '95,

but he never signed with them.

Everyone thought it was his decision,

but it was his parents and her.

She wanted him

to play in Toronto...

but he ended up in the States.

- Well that makes perfect sense.

Of course she deserves to die.

She wouldn't let her client

play in Quebec 10 years ago.

I suppose some people still aren't

over the Plains of Abraham.

Incidentally, aren't you supposed

to be speaking English?

- Where's the tattoo?

- Right here.

- Hmm. Who's next?

The client?

- He's safe. He's under guard

in a New York hospital.

When we phoned him

to give him the bad news,

he fell to the ground,

got a concussion.

- Again?

- Hold her skirt.

- What?

- Hold up her skirt.

You should be good at that.

Good.

(camera flash)

Okay. So Brisset screwed Therrien,

who played for the Fleur de Lys,

so he gets a fleur de lys

with two scales on either side.

Grossbut sells the team

to Colorado,

so he gets a mountain tattoo

with two eights replacing

the first two Os in Colorado.

- 88:
Flabcheeks's

star player's number.

He's been playing us from the beginning.

The tattoo isn'tjust his signature.

It's a clue to his next victim.

- And 88 goes to Philadelphia.

- Philadelphia...

With two missing letters.

L. A.

- L.A. Los Angeles.

- The best player in the world.

- The Great One.

- Or the one who sold him.

(rousing theme music)

- Okay, this is the situation

that I find myself in.

It's not bad enough that Montreal

is leading our team 3-2 in this series,

but right now I have a guest,

Mr. Pickleton, who has not shown up.

And why? Because some lunatic

is out there killing members

of the hockey community.

- Pickleton's in the building.

His limo's here. He must be on his way.

- Did you talk to security?

- If they see anything,

they'll call me.

- Shh! Shh!

- What about the cowards that want

to abolish fighting in hockey

and make hockey look like golf.

I say we go after them!

While we're at it,

why don't we allow

Annika Soren-what's-her-not

and some of her chick golfer friends

to lace up the skates

and go play

for the Montreal Patriotes

in time for the playoffs.

What's the big deal?

They only make the playoffs

once every 5 years.

What?

Can you believe this?

My director is now asking me to talk

about last night's game and to stretch,

because our no-show guest

Mr. Pickleton,

a man who I have waited

over a decade

to ask straight up

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