Dragnet Page #2

of a downtown warehouse.

We were advised to contact

the owner of the stolen merchandise...

soft-core porno lord, Jerry Caesar...

at his notorious pleasure compound

in the coveted Bel-Air section.

Oh, thank God! Vibrator repair?

No, ma'am.

Los Angeles Police Department.

Sorry.

It's enough to churn your guts,

isn't it?

This girl pruning this bush

with her...

That a slut peddler like Jerry Caesar

could build a modern day Gomorrah...

in the same city where they recorded

"We Are the World."

- Hi.

- Hi.

Don't get too friendly.

Hi. Can I help you?

Police officers, ma'am.

L.A.P.D. Robbery. I'm Friday. This is...

- April!

- That's right.

She was a Baitmate.

Bait magazine.

She was featured.

I get the hang of it.

In the April issue.

No, Mr Silly. February!

My name is April.

Don't tell me. Your favourite movies are

The Sound of Music and Yes, Giorgio.

You love to go bobbing for apples.

Your major turn-offs are...

anchovies, people

who don't use coasters and...

And men who smoke in public places.

Let's go meet Jerry.

There's Jerry over there.

I'm gonna have a place

like this someday.

Dream on, Streebek, dream on.

It's about time.

I called you cops three hours ago.

Yes, sir. My name's Friday.

This is Detective Streebek.

What's missing?

How about the entire run...

every single copy of our

- Bait.

- That's his skin magazine.

You say.

The intelligent subscriber regards it...

as a politically-oriented,

socially-impacted monthly.

I'm not gonna allow a gang

of cement heads to intimidate me...

just because I refused to publish

their stupid manifesto.

- Tell us about that.

- Here. Read it for yourself.

"Manifest of the International

Brotherhood of Pagan.

We believe bad sex and good drugs are

the cornerstone of a great democracy.

- The peak of pornography..."

- We get the general idea.

My publishing company is not a

private platform for a bunch of yahoos.

I don't care how many copies

they buy.

I don't have to publish their junk just

because they got 1st amendment rights.

I've got 1st amendment rights, too.

Look 'em up.

I don't have.

I can quote 'em to you.

Anyhow, how much do you figure

a monthly run of your...

"magazine" is worth?

It's more money than you'll ever see

in your life. And I do that every month.

My money's clean.

I'll tell you what you do before you go

home and start polishing your pennies.

Go out and get my magazines

back on the stand where they belong.

Listen, hotshot, I don't care for you or

the putrid sludge you're trowelling out.

But until the laws are changed,

my job's to get back your boxes of smut.

Since I'll be doing it holding my nose,

I'll be doing it with one hand.

Excuse me. Jerry, it's time

for your collagen treatment.

And don't forget, you're having

your pores sucked at 3:00.

Thank you, Sylvia.

Boys, as you can see,

I've got my work to do.

Why don't you get the hell out of here

and do yours?

You have very strong hands.

Hey, Sylvia Wiss!

Yes, that's me.

They oughta transfer you to

Missing Persons. You know everybody.

Don't you read the papers? Saturday is

Bait magazine's 25th anniversary party.

Caesar is reuniting all

of his former Baitmates.

Miss Sylvia Wiss, right here,

was the very first Baitmate ever.

Fascinating.

Sergeant, if I asked your honest opinion

about something, would I get it?

You can bet the house on it.

Would you say these look like

the breasts of a 43-year-old woman?

No. No, they don't, Miss Wiss.

They're quite impressive,

bordering on spectacular.

We have to be running along now.

What's your hurry?

Wouldn't you like to have

an early lunch?

Listen, Joe,

it's the darndest thing.

I seem to have

left my notebook in the car.

It's gonna take me 15, 20 min...

A half an hour to find it.

Why don't you pump Sylvia privately

for information?

And I'II, you know...

- Nice meeting you, Miss Wiss.

- I had a good time, too.

Come on. Let's go to the car

and find that notebook.

Are you crazy?

Sylvia Wiss wanted you.

Let me tell you something.

There are two things which differentiate

the human species from animals.

One, we use cutlery.

Two, we can control our sexual urges.

You might be an exception, but don't

drag me into your private hell.

You've got a lot

of repressed feelings, don't you?

Must be what keeps your hair up.

- What is bothering you besides me?

- I'm thinking about those Pagans.

If all they were after was revenge

against Caesar, it's slime versus slime.

But when they attack great institutions

like our city zoo, my hackles turn red.

You'll lose those red hackles

if you eat those chili dogs.

I can handle it.

They're the worst thing for you.

Filled with nitrates, toxins, poisons.

And you're doubling up on them.

Mister, outside of cigarettes

I only have one vice: Chili dogs.

So pipe down and let me

enjoy my lunch in peace.

Do you know the things that can fall

into an industrial sausage press...

not excluding rodent hairs

and bug excrement?

I hate you, Streebek.

Except for you and canned cling peaches,

I'd be hard-pressed to find anyone...

that doesn't know you should never leave

your car keys in the ignition.

It's called a mistake. But I don't

suppose you ever make any of those.

At ease, Streebek.

We got another one.

Chemical train hijack

at the freight yards.

Damn Pagans must be living on No-Doz.

Yes, sir. We'll roll

as soon as we requisition a new...

One more thing.

Police and fire departments...

have been reporting vehicles stolen,

so keep an eye on your car.

a replacement vehicle...

we were issued

a new Ford Escort subcompact...

and responded to the call at Southern

California's largest railhead...

with more than 1,000 miles of track

lying parallel over 2 million ties...

hewn from majestic redwood forests.

had been siphoned individually...

from their respective

hijacked tanker cars.

We questioned the battered

train engineer, Seor Tito Provencal...

and attempted to determine the precise

identification of the missing gases...

from the owner of the

chemicals company, a Mr Roy Grest.

Actually trichlornitromethan

and the pseudo-halogenic cyanogen.

Pseudo-halogenic cyanogen.

They're shipped in separate containers.

Mixed properly in the exact ratio...

they form a liquid fertilizer

that's clear as water.

- But you wouldn't want to smell it.

- Why is that?

It burns the eyes, lungs, and throat,

causes vomiting...

and if continuously inhaled, death.

Sort of like your aftershave.

It's time to "Advance"

with the Reverend Jonathan Whirley...

founder of MAMA,

the Moral Advance Movement of America.

Today, Dr Whirley's special guest is

police commissioner for Los Angeles...

Ms. Jane Kirkpatrick.

Dr Whirley.

Thank you, George,

and welcome once again to Advance.

Commissioner...

Please, will you call me Jane?

Only if you call me Jonathan.

Have you seen this guy?

What a mental fur ball.

Happens to be one of my favourite shows.

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