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-Not that I know of.
-Are you on medication?
-You can talk directly to me, asshole.
-Watch your mouth.
There is a dead man floating
around in the river.
I think it's time to go home now.
We sent a car down there, lady.
Look who I'm calling "lady."
-We found nothing. Nothing, nothing!
-Well, drag the river!
There are killers running
around the fucking city!
How would you like me to wash
your mouth with a wire brush?
How'd you like if I kick you
in the nuts so hard...
...that they get lodged in your
fucking nostrils?
My, that's a vivid image, isn't it?
Officer, look, here's my card.
I'll be responsible for her,
I promise.
-You better get her to a doctor.
-There's nothing wrong with me...
-...dumb motherfucker!
-That's the word I don't like.
-It's Tourette's syndrome!
-Book her for disturbing the peace.
It's an illness.
People can't stop swearing.
She has it bad.
Really, this is sweet talk for her.
-Son of a bitch!
MARTY: Tourette's.
-Look up Tourette's syndrome.
-You are a dumb fucker!
What, are you some kind of fucking
reject from Barney Miller?
I don't understand.
I don't get this.
This is rose hips with zinc.
Drink this.
How is it possible that a man
could be brutally murdered...
...and it not appear in the paper?
It wasn't in the paper on Saturday.
It wasn't in the paper on Sunday.
-Not even in today's paper.
-Maybe you ought to forget about it.
Bless you.
Forget about it? You weren't there.
You didn't see that man float past me.
-What's his name again?
-Van Meter.
Look, Alexander's is having
a sale on toaster ovens.
You weren't looking in the obituaries.
Marty, you're a prince.
MAN: It's the little things
that ease our life. And so are you.
Mark Van Meter was a great success
in the greeting-card business.
But he was a greater success
as a human being.
His tragic death from a heart attack...
...should remind us all
of how precious life is.
Miss Doolittle. Hello.
-Small world.
-You were a friend of Mr. Van Meter?
-Oh, yes, he saved my life.
In Jesus Christ, our Lord, amen.
-Look, we--
-Nice to see you.
MAN 1: A lovely service.
MAN 2: Should we go?
MAN 1: A wonderful man.
MAN 3: It's good you're here.
-Excuse me. Are you Terry Doolittle?
-Who wants to know?
I'm Liz Carlson.
You called my husband, Harry.
Oh, yeah. Harry Carlson,
on the frying pan, yeah.
You said you had a message from Jack,
but my husband's with Jack.
Uh, let's talk.
-Are you CIA?
-Who, me?
No! No, no, I work in a bank.
I work on a computer.
Suddenly I got involved in this,
and I'm not sure how to get out of it.
Well, maybe I could help you.
The last guy that tried to help me, you
know, Mr. Van Meter, he ended up dead.
Excuse me, ladies.
Liz, Miss Doolittle.
Am I wearing a nametag?
Who is this?
That's Archer Lincoln.
That's Archer Lincoln? He's on the back
of the frying pan too. See you later.
Hey! Hey!
You've gotta talk to me.
I've tried to call you for days.
We'll have lunch any day you want!
I got a message from a good friend!
You schmuck!
TERRY: Would you please tell me
what is going on?
Well, don't quote me, but obviously
somebody is trying to scare you...
-...into giving them Jack's code key.
They're doing an awfully good job of it.
Come on, Liz, who is it?
KGB probably.
GIRL: You little brat!
Look what you did to my sweater!
The KGB? The K-motherfucking-GB?
-It looks great on you.
Stop that right now!
Harry Jr. ! Look at your face!
For heaven's sake!
-Just put the icing on the cake...
-...not on your sister's new sweater!
-Liz! Liz! Liz! KGB!
-Not in front of the kids!
-Can I write KGB on the cake?
-No, you may not.
JACK: Peter Caen?
-Archer Lincoln?
-Him. Uncooperative.
-Harry Carlson?
-Harry Carlson.
I thought he was with you.
That's what his wife said.
Was. Lost contact.
Thought he was homesick.
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