shitbag.
Just the facts, ma'am.
He leave anything else behind?
Yeah, a tape deck which I had to sell
to make up for the lost rent.
So there's nothing you can do about it,
you slimy little jizz bucket.
Yes, ma'am. Although you could be cited
for swearing at us.
Says who, flathead?
The California penal code 314.1
covering obscene conduct in public.
Good enough for you?
Them magazines and papers
were his down in the trash.
No cheques or money. I looked.
I should've thrown it in the river
the day he left...
but unlike some people,
I have a heart, goddam it!
That miserable bag of puke.
I think we're finished here,
don't you, Detective Streebek?
Didn't she say she threw
some of his stuff in the trash?
There it goes. Let's roll.
Am I glad I got transferred
into Robbery-Homicide!
You can almost reach out
and touch the tension.
What the hell was that?
It has its days.
Yeah. Like today.
Sitting in a park, getting eaten
by ducks, sifting through garbage.
Hello! Photographs of people.
Kinda faded.
- Maybe one of them's Muzz.
- We couldn't be that lucky.
Hey, phone number.
Think it means something?
There's only one way to find out,
isn't there?
It's for you. The president.
It's ringing.
- Good afternoon. Caesar residence.
- Bingo.
- Hello. May I help you?
- Emil Muzz, please.
- He's not here right now.
- This is Sergeant Friday, L.A.P.D.
Could you tell us where he is?
He's Mr Caesar's driver...
and Mr Caesar's sailing on his yacht.
That's it.
The limousine from the mansion.
Yeah, and Emil Muzz.
Let's check Enid Borden's description.
Well...
"Big, bad, stupid-Iooking."
An exact match.
Police officers. Emil Muzz?
We need to ask you
a few questions.
Blow it out your pants, cop.
Good, Muzz.
Give yourself a hard time.
I'll drive!
- What are you doing?
- Calling for backup.
- Why?
- There are regulations for pursuit.
- We're gonna follow every one of them.
- Forget it. This is our collar.
- Our collar, huh?
- I think so.
Let me tell you something,
Mr Lone Wolf.
The dedicated people of the Los Angeles
Police Department are one big family...
from my brother, the traffic cop,
to my sister, the metre maid.
And when one of us makes a collar,
we all make a collar.
Are you on any medication that as
your partner I should be made aware of?
2-King-14.
I am requesting a backup...
Oh, no! Ahh!
Look out!
Look out! Muppets.
Reckless endangerment of human life,
wilful disregard of private property...
- He's really racking up the violations.
- Not him, you!
Your ticket back to civilian life, Mr
l-Like-To-Throw-The-Book-Out-The-Window.
That's a good idea.
Ever been to Hawaii?
Look out!
Surf's up, but not for you.
You'll be hanging 10 downtown.
Read him his rights.
Emil Muzz, guess what!
You are under arrest!
Sit down, unless you're growing!
We've got you on
'87 motre vehicle violations.
It's only time before we tie you in
to one of those Pagan jobs.
And you stole
your landlady's wedding dress...
which is the only endearing thing
about you, so talk to us.
Listen, you public pawn.
My attorney's on his way.
We both know I'll be out
on bail.
So take off these cuffs
and open the door!
I wouldn't worry about the door. Scum
who'd represent you would ooze under it.
Joe, why don't you go get
a couple cups of coffee?
I could use one.
You want anything?
Chewing gum, Snickers bar,
and my attorney, badge kisser!
Well, Emil.
It's just you...
and me...
and your balls...
and this drawer.
- [Drawer Slamming]
- [Emil Screaming]
[Friday]
4:15 p.m.
By the time I had returned with coffee,
Muzz was singing like Beverly Sills.
He had been planning to attend a meeting
that night at the Pagan clubhouse...
but he refused to divulge the time
or location of that meeting.
Muzz, let's run through it again.
You say you're a Pagan, but you work for
Jerry Caesar. That makes you a plant.
Make it easy on yourself.
Lead us to the stolen magazines.
Jump on