The Man with One Red Shoe Page #2

slaying me here with hysterical laughter.

I had you going.

Like you did with those fake peanuts.

I have to see my dentist today.

Not today. We're counting on you,

and so are the Senators.

- All right, I'll be there.

- Dammit!

I would never wanna disappoint the Senators.

Senate inquiry. I knew it!

- Want me to kill Morris?

- No.

We can't kill him. We don't even know

who he is yet. Just get a car and a team ready.

Stemple. Hulse.

Keep a tap on that telephone 24 hours a day.

Maddy, take the sweep team.

When he goes to that dentist, go to his

apartment and check out everything. Let's go.

Come on.

What?

- What?

- Sounds like another Morocco to me.

Oh, honey, will you give me a break?

Morocco was Morocco, was... Morocco.

I just don't want any cars

dropping out of the sky.

Maddy, I'm not gonna hurt this guy.

I have no reason to hurt him, right?

- I guess not.

- OK?

- OK.

- Good girl.

Sam, call the motor pool.

Don't let Carson go before I talk to him, OK?

Come on.

I don't buy that peanut crap for a second.

It's a little strange

the first person he calls is a dentist.

Maybe he has microfilm concealed in a tooth.

- That old trick?!

- Right.

So take one of our dentists

and get that tooth for me.

How do I know which tooth?

Yeah.

Well, better... better just yank 'em all.

Let's go!

Subject in transit.

Has changed his shoes.

Riding a bicycle. Ten-speed, I suspect.

No, that's a 12-speed.

Peugeot Grand Prix.

How does he do that?

I can't do that. Can you do that?

Now, where is he?

There he is. Stop the car.

What do you think you're doing?

His dentist is in 312.

Your target is the noon appointment.

I know what to do.

- Hi!

- May I help you?

Hi.

Uh-uh.

- Speak to Cooper?

- Yeah?

Bad news. He's changed his mind. He's left

the dentist. Looks like he's heading home.

Get ahold of Maddy.

This guy's nobody's fool. Keep following him,

but change surveillance vehicles.

What is it?

He's on his way back.

He's on his way back.

He's on his way back.

Got 'em all.

Get me some aspirin.

- He's here!

- It's too late. He's back.

Pro butte. Third strain.

Welcome home, Mr. Drew.

I hope you don't mind, your landlady

was kind enough to let me in.

I know you.

You're the woman from the airport.

You've got a good memory. Yes.

I'm with Landmark Tours. We're conducting

a survey of historic homes in Georgetown.

Congratulations. You happen to live in one.

- That's the reason that you're here?

- We hope to include this home in our tour.

I don't think so. I think you're here

because of a much bigger reason.

I think it's fate.

Destiny.

Kismet, say.

It's a confluence of energies... and powers

far beyond those... of mortal men.

Something wrong, Mr. Drew?

No.

No, Mom! I'm not watchin' TV.

I... I'm practicin'.

I'm practicin'!

Amazing!

Usually one is sufficient.

His name is Richard Harlan Drew.

Born March 28, 1954, Altuna, Pennsylvania.

An only child.

Mother, Marion Rice.

Father, Gerald Drew. 60.

Schoolteacher.

Typical childhood.

His mother gave him his first taste for music.

At 16, Drew developed severe bronchitis.

Spent a year in a sanatorium.

Lost his virginity to a student nurse.

Joined the Juilliard School of Music,

full scholarship.

Continues to teach underprivileged children.

- Might as well have made him an archbishop.

- They must think we're stupid.

- He do anything besides play the violin?

- No. He's an artist. An eccentric.

Doesn't even know how to drive a car.

He's played with the Washington Symphony

for the past five years,

and it takes him out of the country

on extended tours.

He's played in Russia,

Morocco, Berlin, China.

- The perfect cover. Professor, um...

- Chermenko.

Chermenko, what about that handwriting?

Ah.

Richard Drew is a very complex man,

filled to the breaking point

with personality conflicts.

His violin is a substitute

for severe anger and repression.

Sexual repression.

Yeah.

Yeah, you can see it in the eyes.

Hello?

Hello?!

Oh.

What the hell is that?

- The mike in the toilet is too loud.

- Turn it down.

If I do that, I'll have to lower all the others.

Why is he flushing the toilet? There's gotta be

a reason why he's flushing the toilet, Carson.

I'd say he's getting rid of evidence.

Clever.

OK, put a man in the sewer.

- Come on!

- Let's go!

- What am I looking for?

- Find out where the pipes lead.

He may be sending messages to someone.

- But why does it have to be me?

- Because that's a direct order, Stemple.

Go.

Ow!

All the alligator holes are marked.

All the what?!

Let's get outta here.

Who is it?

- What?! Who is it?!

- It's me!

"Me" who?

Richard, come on. It's me!

- Oh.

- Why did you avoid me at the airport?

Uh...

Hello, Paula. I, uh...

Paula, I'm glad... I'm glad you came by.

I think we need to have a little talk.

I wanna talk, too. After.

Here's the thing, Paula.

It's Morris. I can't do this to Morris.

All he cares about is his practical jokes.

I know, I know, I know, he's a percussionist.

But that doesn't mean he's not a nice guy.

He may be a nice guy,

but you are a terrific Tarzan.

Paula...

I don't wanna do Tarzan.

I'm doin' Jane.

- It's just Tarzan. What's the big deal?

- No.

Come on. I'll play all the other parts.

Sure. Are you gonna do Cheetah, too?

- If that's what it takes.

- Let me hear it.

I'm sorry, but I can't. I just can't.

- Why?

- Well...

I think it's because of Morris, Paula.

Remember Chicago?

Fate? Kismet?

No, I don't remember Chicago, Paula.

You got me drunk.

So that's your final answer, then?

Yeah... yeah.

Well, I can respect that.

I can't condone it, but...

No! Paula, will you...

Come on, listen to what...

Are you expecting someone?

Only your husband Morris,

to take me to a baseball game!

- Where's your purse?

- In the living room.

Yo, Richard! Come on, open up!

Morris, hold on... pal. I'll be done

in just a second - getting dressed.

- We gotta go!

- You gotta get outta here.

- I gotta get outta here.

- Yes. Go, go, go, go.

- Call me. Tuesday.

- Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Do you see what I see?

Wonder what goes on in there.

That's the trouble with surveillance -

you don't get to see nothin'.

- One. Two.

- What is... I should have known.

- Here, quick. Think fast.

- What is this?

It's a box of cigars. To make up for

all the stupid jokes I've been pulling.

- Thank you.

- It's all right. These are very good cigars.

I want you to smoke one after you get a little.

You do get a little, don't you?

Uh, yeah, a little.

- OK, come on. Let's go.

- All right.

- Give me five minutes.

- Six players are waiting for us!

Second time around in this sewer

and I haven't found sh*t!

Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of yourself.

What would Gordon Liddy do?

I can't do that, I'm not hungry.

- Yo.

- Carson. Hulse, what the hell's happening?

It's the bottom on the ninth.

Senators are leading 1-0.

No, you idiot.

Where's the fiddle player? Is he there?

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