man is a Nazi.
I have never been the
dumbest in any class before.
I haven't seen you for nine hours.
Taxi!
Taxi!
Mmm.
- You know what today is?
- No.
It's our third-week anniversary.
- Stop on the next corner.
- You got it.
- I think you need some roses.
- Oh, no, no, you can't afford any more flowers.
- Right here.
- No, don't stop.
- Half... Half a dozen.
- No, don't stop. I know what teachers make.
Don't stop.
Michael!
A crowd is gathered here. Traffic
is backed up for two blocks.
Killed in the explosion are Lee
Veran, the owner of the flower shop...
and Michael Santers, a teacher
at Holmes Elementary School.
Two terrorist groups have claimed
responsibility for the blast.
It's all right, Miss Ames. We've
got a positive ID from his wallet.
You don't have to see him.
I want to see him.
I warn you, there's
very little left to see.
Particularly in the,
uh, upper body region.
I wanna see him.
I'm very sorry you
feel a need to do this.
Just leave me alone with him, please.
What are you doing here?
- Me? What the fuck are you doing here?
- I beg your pardon.
- I am in mourning.
- Well, so am I!
- For my lover.
- Well, so am I!
- Who?
- Michael Santers.
- No, no, you little witch! No!
- You bitch, you didn't know him!
- Oh, he loved me.
- How could you lie, little bitch?
- Oh, get away from me! Oh!
- Get out of here right now!
- I'm gonna bitch-slap you! I'm gonna break
every bone in your body! - Oh, you are?
- Oh, you are?
- Yes, I am!
How dare you! How dare you!
- Oh. Ooh.
- He loved me.
He loved me!
Loved you? Loved you?
- Damn right he did!
- Ha, that's obscene.
No, that's reality, baby, 'cause no
way did that guy give a shit about you!
I refuse to believe for one
second that he would lower himself.
Oh, he lowered himself, all right.
This is all a lie. You are
psychotic. Yes, that's right.
I've known from the first time I
saw you sleaze into that office.
You lied to that phone man...
you lied your way into the
class and you're lying now.
- I'm gonna get you for this!
- Whoa!
Whoa, my... Oh!
Well, what the hell?
- Well, that's not his...
- No way. Look at that.
- It's too small.
- It's a fuckin' pencil.
- Where's the appendix scar?
- And that little mole?
It's somebody else! He's alive!
He's alive! He's a...
Well, thank you. Wait a minute,
wait a minute. This was my idea.
I don't care, I'm gonna handle this.
You don't have the dimmest,
dullest notion how to handle this.
You can't just walk in and bluntly
announce this kind of thing.
Thing, thing. What kind of
thing are you talking about?
You can't even say it. You
sure as hell can't tell 'em.
And just what do you think the
response is going to be when you do?
You suggest...
You suggest...
You suggest that on the basis of
this little nugget of testimony...
we spend tax dollars
on an investigation?
Have you been listening to us?
The man in the morgue could
not possibly be Michael Santers.
All you have to do is look at his...
If you were to look...
in the region...
If you were to look down.
Michael was not a guy other guys would
have made fun of in a locker room, okay?
- I think he's got the big picture now.
- Well, I don't think he does.
This guy in the morgue, whoever he is...
he's got, uh...
Does the phrase "needle dick..."
"the bug fucker," mean anything to you?
- I beg your pardon!
- You big lunkhead!
Now get outta here and don't come back.
The model of tact and decorum.
Oh, who gives a shit?
He wasn't gonna help us.
Well, of course not! You sounded insane.
Oh, it is insane.
If he's alive, where is he?
He's probably back at my house,
wonderin' where the hell I am.
- Taxi! - Your
house? - Taxi!
- Oh. - Taxi!
- Wait a minute.
- W-W-Wait just a minute
here. - Come here! Taxi!
I don't believe for one minute
that he's at your apartment.
Oh, boy, are you gonna shit cement!
Taxi! Taxi!
If Michael is anywhere, I
assure you he is at my place.