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Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid
- PG
- Year:
- 1982
- 88 min
- 477 Views
1
It was a quiet day at the Rigby
Reardon Detective Agency.
I had a hangover, and business was so
slow I was rereading old newspapers.
I was even thinking of closing
up the office for a few days...
when all of a sudden...
- Mr Reardon?
- That's right.
My...
My name... my...
In all my years in the business,
I'd never seen anything like her.
Was she real? There was
only one way to find out.
But I remembered Marlowe's words.
What the hell does Marlowe know?
She was real all right.
What are you doing?
Adjusting your breasts.
You fainted and they...
shifted all outta whack.
- There.
- Thank you.
You're welcome.
Thank you. I... I apologise
for my dramatic entrance.
It's just when I saw the...
newspaper headlines...
- You must be quite a Dodgers fan.
- No, I saw... the front page.
- What's your name, Dollface?
- Juliet Forrest.
Forrest...
Daughter of the big cheesemaker. You
could use a cup of my famous java.
Cheese was Daddy's hobby.
He was a scientist.
- That's what I came to see you about.
You don't think it was an accident.
You think he was murdered.
How did you know?
It's my business to know,
Miss Forrest. Sit down.
What makes you think
it wasn't an accident?
Just before it... it happened...
he behaved very erratically, writing
out lists of names, dozens of them.
scratch pads, whatever was handy.
Here's one of the lists...
or part of one.
It's from a dollar bill.
Somehow I got the feeling he was
the victim of a giant conspiracy.
giant conspiracy from this?
You think I'm too impulsive,
don't you, Mr Reardon?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
If you want me to investigate your
father's death, I get $10 a day.
Plus expenses.
Will $200 be enough in
advance, Mr Reardon?
- For $200 I'd shoot my grandmother.
- That won't be necessary.
You never can tell. On my last case, I
had to throw my brother out of a plane.
Where'd your father keep
his correspondence?
downtown. Here's the key.
Thank you, Mr Reardon.
I appreciate this.
- Miss Forrest?
- Yes?
Save me some shoe leather if you
told me what address this key fits.
It was 429 Firehouse Row.
Pretty seedy part of town
for a renowned scientist.
It was the only place he could
experiment with cheese...
without the smell
bothering the neighbours.
I'll see what I can turn up.
Good day, Mr Reardon.
On my way to Firehouse Row, I tried
not to think of Juliet Forrest.
I hadn't seen a body like that...
since I'd solved the case of the
murdered girl with the big tits.
I had no trouble finding
Dr Forrest's cheese lab.
It smelled like the
number on the door.
Inside, I turned up
something interesting.
"To John Forrest, a dear man who, like
his cheeses, gets stronger with age."
"Love, Kitty."
So the old renowned scientist
was getting a little on the side.
"Enemies of Carlotta."
"Friends of Carlotta."
"Kitty Collins"?
Sounds like company.
Exterminator.
Just a minute.
Come in.
Sit down.
There's some cookies on the table.
Have one.
Good, aren't they?
Guess to be a really good exterminator
you have to enjoy killing things.
Yeah.
- Yes?
- I'd like to see Miss Forrest.
- Who shall I say is calling?
- Mr Reardon. Tell her I've been shot.
Very good, sir.
- May I tell her by whom?
- No. I don't know myself.
Are you all right? You look as
though you're going to faint.
Faint? Ha!
Never.
- Catch me.
- Sorry.
I'm a butler... not a catcher.
Dollface...
What are you doing?!
- Where'd you learn that?
- At camp.
- You learned that at girls' camp?
- It's really for snakebite, but...
I find it works for everything.
You mumbled about Kitty Collins and
Swede Anderson being on a list.
- "Friends of Carlotta"?
- That's right. Do you know them?
Kitty was...
Kitty was someone Daddy trifled
And Swede was Kitty's boyfriend.
Where are they now?
The last I heard, they
were in Santa Barbara.
He used to be a boxer. Now
he works in a gas station...
And she sings in a private club.
You may be interested in this.
I found it in Daddy's study.
"Thanks for the check.
In case I'm indisposed..."
"the dollar you gave me for safekeeping
is in the top of the sugar bowl."
- "Shh."
- Why?
No. This.
No, no, no. That's not "Shh."
It's S-H-H. Samuel H Hastings.
My brother-in-law.
Or at least he was.
separated. He's a hopeless drunk.
- Where is he now?
- I don't know.
All right.
I'm afraid she may not
be very much help.
- She's very disturbed.
- How disturbed?
She's been diagnosed as a
paranoid hypochondriac.
- Doctors think she may be faking.
- I'll know after one word if she is.
- Hello?
- She's faking.
Mrs Hastings? My name's Reardon.
Sorry to hear your father's passed on.
No, he hasn't. He won't
be back till Sunday.
Sunday? You don't
understand, Mrs Hastings.
I'm investigating
your father's death.
My father called me from Chicago
tonight. He never mentioned a word!
Maybe it slipped his mind.
Look, your father
is dead, Mrs Hastings.
death wasn't an accident.
What are you talking about?
I had a long talk with him
- He told me terrible things about you.
- Listen, you phony fruitcake!
Sorry I called you a fruitcake.
I just don't have time to listen to...
All right, don't listen! Who cares?
Your sister has a lot to
You got any idea how
You might ask the bartenders
along 5th Street.
I'll call you if
I turn up anything.
... If I'm not home, leave a message
with the butler or the cleaning woman.
Cleaning woman.
Cleaning woman.
Cleaning woman.
Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!
Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!
Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!
Sorry.
Why did you do that?
my father ran off
with the cleaning...
My mother died of a broken heart.
Now every time someone
says cleaning...
- I go berserk.
- You poor dear.
I don't blame you
for strangling me.
I'll never say it again.
Thanks.
So long, Dollface.
I legged it down 5th Street
looking for Samuel H Hastings.
It was a street of frustrated
hopes and broken dreams.
Everything was cheap, cut-rate. Even
the prostitutes were having a sale.
There was no problem finding Hastings.
He owed money to every bartender.
He was staying at the Hotel Ward on 5th
Street. It used to be on 8th Street...
But they took so many rubber checks,
it bounced all the way across town.
I went to his room and knocked.
- Hastings? Sam Hastings?
- Who is it?
My name is Reardon. I...
have a proposition for ya.
But not today. Does
it have to be today?
- Yeah.
- Come on Monday.
- I got that money for ya.
- What money?
There's a dollar bill
hidden in your sugar bowl.
I'll give you five bucks for it.
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"Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 6 Sep. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/dead_men_don't_wear_plaid_6501>.
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