Bon Cop, Bad Cop (2006) Movie Script
- Hey, Ron,
it's Patrick from Montreal.
- Patrick, you're on the air.
What can I do for you, buddy?
- I heard this rumour
that the Toronto team
might be sold to Houston!
- That... that rumour, not!
- Listen, I know
it's 100% accurate information.
It comes directly out of the mouth
of my brother-in-law.
- Don't give me the brother-in-law,
don't give me the cousin!
The taxi driver, the bartender,
Uncle Mike, my brother-in-law.
Your brother, your cousin...
Who cares about the bullshit?
The real rumour is,
a bloody team from Canada
will be sold to the U.S.
(buzzing)
But it's not Vancouver, Calgary,
Deadmonton, Taranna, Montreal.
- Yeah, well, you know, Ron,
since the lockout
things have been going...
- Lockout? What lockout?
What's the problem with the lockout?
(buzzing)
- You know, Mr. Buttman,
with all that cheap American crap
like cheerleaders and mascots and...
- Yeah, you're right about that.
Don't hate the cheerleaders,
but I can't stand the mascots.
Can't stand the mascots,
with the tail and the frou-frou.
Can't stand the mascots!
You want to know what else?
- What?
- In the end, who cares?
Because of the lockout,
we've got ourselves a final
between Montreal and Toronto.
Yahoo! So don't believe the rumours
a Canadian team is moving south.
(man coughing)
But it's the end!
The beginning of the end.
Finito, kaput, the end.
Thanks a lot. Next caller.
- What's going on here?
What is this?
Why am I tied up?
What am I doing here?
What did I do?
- That's the problem, Ben.
You didn't do anything.
- You know I tried to help.
You know that, right?
Right?
You know...
I didn't want to drop you...
Let me go, we'll work things out.
Untie me!
Let's help each other, eh?
You were like a brother to me!
- Shhh-shhh-shhh...
- Ah!
What are you doing?
Where are you?
- Shhh-shhh-shhh...
The game's on.
- Ah!
...a new highpoint
in Canadian hockey history.
The Holt Cup final between the Toronto
Loyalists and the Montreal Patriotes.
The referee is ready to drop the puck.
And the game is on!
(radio): Toronto's never
looked sharper,
the European refs have never
looked duller! Which leaves Montreal.
Remember when Montreal
had Frenchies that could score?
Well, those days are long gone.
- Well, thanks, Tom,
for your usual amazing insights
into our national psyche.
Frenchies that can score, eh?
Europeans?
What a country this is
on a fine day in May!
- Hey, bud! Morning!
- Ahem.
No food.
- Where you going?
- Back to my room.
- You're not hungry?
I got some great new cereal.
- I'm not in the mood for shredded
cardboard right now, thanks.
- So, Jonathan, how was last night?
The DJ thing.
- It was good.
- Yeah? You had fun?
- Uh-huh.
- Morning, boys!
- I've got this thing at work.
It may be overnight,
so Auntie Iris is here, okay?
- Hey, hey!
- Hey!
- But I'm hoping
that won't last too much longer.
I'm hoping to be a DJ man myself,
you know?
- What's that?
- DJ man!
(imitating a turntable sound)
- Oh, God...
- Desk job, get it?
Desk job? Heh!
- Yeah...
- Jay, come on, where you going?
Tell me something good,
please, after that.
- Okay, last night I was spinning.
- Yeah?
- Everyone was going crazy!
People were on the tables!
- Hell, yeah, they were.
- So the next guy went up after me,
but no one really liked him,
so they called me back,
'cause they wanted me.
- Nice. The girls
must've been all over you.
- Uh, yeah.
There was a redheaded girl...
- A redheaded girl?
- Yeah...
- Just asking.
- You know what?
Jay, let's go grab some breakfast.
Outta here, you know?
Me and you,
shoot the shit.
- Okay.
- Give me the juicy details...
Get your stuff.
- See ya!
How do you do that?
I can't get a full sentence
out of him.
- Come on, brother.
He's 15.
You're his dad.
- I suppose so.
- It's 22 degrees in Montreal...
Hey, did you see last night's game?
Toronto isn't giving up,
so, hey, Patriotes,
show us your stuff
and bring home the Cup.
- Oh... You're here. Wow.
Aren't you sweet.
- Good morning...
to all of you.
- Jerk.
- Daddy!
- Hi, sweetie.
- Did a bad guy do that to you?
- Daddy met someone even more
hard-headed than Mommy.
- You're funny.
Good morning, sweetie.
Did you sleep well?
- Oh, French toast!
Thank you, Daddy!
- My pleasure.
- Daddy, I have something
to ask you.
- Ah, okay.
What's up?
- Can I get my bellybutton pierced?
(Coughing)
- Excuse me?
I want to pierce my bellybutton.
- What did Mommy say?
- She didn't even try with me.
- Let me think about it
and we'll talk later.
- You're not cool.
- Would you please go upstairs
to my place and get some milk?
- I told my friends
you were the coolest father.
- Of course!
- Your cool thing
is not going to work.
Go get the milk, please.
Thank you.
- You can get your face sown up
once a week
but I can't get my bellybutton pierced!
- I didn't say no,
I said your mother
and I will talk about it
and then she'll tell me
what we've decided.
- You're not funny.
- Now go get the milk
or I personally
will pierce your navel.
(Gabrielle laughing)
Go on.
- Okay, okay.
- Bellybutton piercing...
What's wrong?
- Nothing. It's just that
if you could be like that
for more than 10 minutes at a time,
we might still be married.
- Come on...
Could be worse.
Some couples
don't even get 10 minutes.
- Yes, but in between
those 10 minutes
there's always the job,
women, the job,
your pals, hockey,
the job...
(Hockey anthem phone ring)
The phone.
- Bouchard.
Yeah?
No, come on, it's my day off.
- See what I mean?
- All right, all right.
I'm on my way.
I have to go.
But let's talk about this again
real soon.
- Say, when Gabrielle
goes to university?
- Is it that urgent?
- Don't forget
your daughter's ballet recital.
- Honestly!
Do you actually think
I'd forget something like that?
Suzie?
- Huh?
- When is it?
- At 4:00.
How do you expect me
to find another man?
It's hard enough having one child,
let alone two.
- Don't say that.
You'll find somebody.
Come on,
you've still got great tits.
- Run along now,
go play cops and robbers,
your little pals are waiting.
- Jesus Christ, who's the idiot
that had the road blocked?!
It took me two hours
to get to my own crime scene!
For you,
today I am DETECTIVE Dave!
- Martin Ward.
- David Bouchard.
- Enchante.
- Enchantay!
Hey, we got somebody
that can spick de French.
(laughter)
I guess he's the victim?
- We can't classify him
as a victim yet,
but we can say he's had
a bit of a rough night.
Not much blood, though.
- Well, it's been fun.
Good luck, guys.
- Hey, where you going?
- Back home.
This is obviously your case.
- What do you mean, our case?
It's very clearly your case!
- How do you figure that?
His feet are on your side.
- Exactly. His head is on your side.
What's your point?
- My point?
If you play football
or tennis or whatever,
you step over the line, you're out.
Okay, boys. We're out of here.
- May I remind you
that in the 100-yard-dash,
it's the head and chest
that break the tape.
In horse racing, it's by a nose.
As you can see,
the subject was a true Quebecer.
- Do I need a passport?
- His heart is in Quebec.
And he's got Ontario
up his ass.
- Excuse me?
- I just said
his ass belongs to you.
- Okay.
We'll take it from here.
Get me a ladder.
- A ladder!
- Whoa!
Don't move him.
- How can I?
He's indented in the sign.
- Never mind.
Let's just get this over with.
- What's this?
- Be careful not to move anything.
Ah!
- Ah!
- Careful!
- Ah, shit.
- Ah!
Idiot!
(creaking)
Ahhhh!
Argh...
(groaning)
Good morning.
- Hey, nice turtleneck.
It's really you.
What the fuck
is squarehead doing here?
- David, you know Martin,
of course,
and this is his boss,
Brian MacDuff from the OPP.
- Pleasure to meet you.
- Yeah, I'm sure. You wanna tell me
why the hell I'm here this early?
- You wanna talk, Brian?
- No, no. It's yourjurisdiction.
- No, no, no, I insist.
- Okay.
We know that the victim
is from Montreal.
- We know...
the victim...
is from Montreal.
- We don't know for sure yet
if it's a murder and if it is,
where the murder victim
comes from.
- But we don't know for sure yet
if it's a murder,
or, if it is,
where the murderer comes from.
- So Captain LeBoeuf and I thought
this would be a great opportunity...
- So we thought,
Captain Leboeuf and I,
this would be a great...
opportunity...
- It's okay, Chief.
I understand English.
- Oh, shit... Okay.
It's okay.
David... can English.
He can English.
He can...
- Oh!
- Yes!
- Okay, well, go ahead, then.
- Okay, I go, I go.
So we thought
it was a good hoppor...
- Opportunity.
- It was a good...
- Opportunity.
- Hopportunity to be...
- You may speak French, Captain.
- Ah, for fuck's sake...
- You speak French?
- No, not really.
I had a small gadget
installed in my brain
under people when they speak.
Yes, I speak French.
I was in enriched French
at Upper Canada College.
- Upper what?
- I also lived in Paris for a year.
- Ah, that's why
you're such a snobby pain in the ass.
- Hey...
- Right.
Thing is,
we want to show the RCMP
that they can't have the whole pie.
- No, no. Okay...
- And that if we can cooperate,
it would be very good
for our image
and next year's budgets.
- Yes!
So until further notice,
you're...
...partner.
- You've got to be kidding.
- This is a joke.
- Listen to me, you!
Based on what Sylvain
told me yesterday,
I'd worry more about getting suspended
than who's my new partner.
So if I were you
I'd just shut my hole
and solve this case
as fast as possible.
- I just went through a rough one.
I can't work with this clown!
- Just do it, Martin.
You want that desk job,
don't you?
(phone ringing)
- Grossbut.
- Benoit Brisset is dead.
- Excuse me?
- His body was found
at the Ontario border.
- When?
- We don't have much information yet.
- That's not possible.
Everyone liked Brisset.
- Did he have any problems
with his clients?
- No, I don't think so,
but I'm not familiar with all his cases.
If he had a problem with a client,
I'm sure he'd have told me.
- No doubt, you've known
each other a long time.
- Long enough. We started working
together on the Fleur de Lys.
- That's true.
- And we've been together
ever since.
Has the family been notified?
- I have no idea...
- If I can do anything...
- I'll get back to you
if I hear anything.
- Thank you.
- Hi, Michel.
I've been waiting for you.
- Ah!
- That had to hurt.
- Benoit Brisset, 46.
Recently made partner
at Grossbut, Canuelsberg,
Tiernyskovitch & Brisset.
Divorced, no kids.
Three condos.
One's in Boca, one in Nice.
Works 75 hours a week,
which I gather for Montreal is a lot.
No known mob links.
Member of Le Mirage Golf Club.
Drives a Cherokee.
Anything else you want to know?
- Is he circumcised?
- Yes.
- Jeff, meet my counterpart
from the OPP, Martin Ward.
- Nice to meet you.
- Salut.
- I know at first glance
he looks like a gay accountant.
But believe it or not,
he's not an accountant.
- Gotcha.
- Are you able to determine...
- The height he fell from?
Depends on the speed
of the helicopter.
- Who said anything
about a helicopter?
- Me, I could've sworn
I just said helicopter.
You see,
an airplane goes too fast.
He'd be cut in two,
without your help.
A failed parachute
would still be attached.
Hanglider straps
are too complicated.
You really have to want
to kill yourself.
The air-balloon festival
hasn't started yet.
If it was a stork,
he would've been caught
in a 46-year traffic jam.
So, helicopter.
But to reply to your question,
80 metres max.
Or 236 feet,
4 and 7/8s inches for you.
An inert body in free fall
goes at 30 metres a second.
Looking at this mess, I'd say
a minimum of 25 and a max of 80.
My feeling is that it's not 60.
At 30 meters a second,
the fall would take
exactly 2 seconds.
And that's too round a figure.
I just don't feel it.
Nothing in life
should be so precise.
Maximum 80 metres.
- What about this?
- What's tattoo in English?
- Tattoo.
- Tattoo? A tattoo? That's random.
2 T's and 2 O's,
yet it's the long A
that you pronounce.
- Why is there blood?
- How would you feel
after a 200 feet fall?
And a tattoo can take
up to 10 days to heal.
- I'd say this tattoo
was fresher than that.
A few hours at the most,
it had hardly started to heal.
"Pantutti" for you.
- Then why...
- Why didn't this part bleed?
He started it 2 months ago
and he just finished it yesterday?
Bad answer. Ontario's turn to reply.
Too long!
It's the opposite.
The part that bled was done
while he was still alive.
The other part was done
after he was killed,
you can tell
by the pigmentation.
He was dead before the fall,
because there's also this.
The coagulation of this wound
corresponds to that
of the tattoo.
The wounds from the fall
are more recent,
the patterns are different.
- So he was dead before he fell.
But why a tattoo?
A signature?
- Makes sense.
A tattoo doesn't fit his character.
You don't wear $5,000 Armani suits,
get made a law partner,
go get a tattoo.
- Why not?
- Not very classy.
- Angelina Jolie has tattoos.
- My point exactly. The real question is
why a fleur de lys with a scale?
- Mm-hmm.
- I could give you a thousand reasons.
- One would do.
- Hmm.
- Maybe we should go ask
his partners. Thanks, Jeff.
- If I come up with anything,
I'll call you.
- Sorry, but I didn't get half
of what he said.
- Me neither! As long as we each got
a different half, we'll be okay.
- Uh-huh. Okay. Great.
Thanks, Stefane! We're on our way!
Change of plan.
We can pay Grossbut a visit later.
As we thought,
there were no registered
helicopter flights in that area.
But a farmer saw a chopper
flying low over his field
and he identified it
as being from Helicoptere Libellule,
a small company
at the St. Hubert airport.
- Okay.
So do we go see the farmer
or go directly to the airport?
- I think we go directly
to St. Hubert.
(punk-rock music)
Jesus!
What are you doing?!
(honking)
You can't do that!
This isn't an official police car!
There's no siren to warn people!
- Roll down your window
and make the siren noise yourself.
(honking)
Come on!
(honking)
- Oh! Look, we're gonna have
to have some ground rules here.
- No problem.
Rule 1: In Quebec,
I'm in charge.
I take care of fights
and car chases.
- I see. That leaves jaywalking
and traffic violations for me?
- As long as no ladders are needed.
- And no smoking.
- That's your right.
- Then why are you lighting up?
- I have rights too.
I'm in the smoking section.
- This car is really you,
you know?
- Thanks.
- Rule 12:
You let me interrogate the witnesses.
I do the talking.
- Whatever, but in French.
- Depends on the maternal language
of the person we're talking to,
doesn't it?
- In Quebec, we work in French.
- Fine!
That leaves the rest of Canada
under my jurisdiction,
with the possible exception
of some of New Brunswick.
- Whoa! What did I just say?
In FRENCH!
- Sorry about this.
I have everything right here...
- Take your time, ma'am.
How many helicopters
do you have?
- Three, but one is being fixed.
Here's the page.
No, none of our helicopters flew
near the Ontario border yesterday.
The owner has been
with a group of Americans
up in Tremblant the past week
and Luc did a short return trip
to Montreal around 2:00.
But wait, that's strange.
- What's strange?
- Hey!
- Sorry, interrogation.
- What's strange?
- I don't want
to get anybody in trouble,
but Luc seems to have taken
a chopper out
at the end of the day yesterday.
Maybe it was to fix something.
In that case, it would be normal
for it not to be logged.
- Do you have a number
where we can reach Mr?
- Therrien,
Luc Therrien.
At this time of day,
he's usually at the bar
on the corner.
- Thank you.
- The pleasure is all mine, Officer.
Excuse me, but is there a number
where I can reach you
in case anything new
pops into my head?
- I don't have any cards with me.
- Ah.
(laughing)
- It's 9...
- Okay.
- 1... 1...
That's it.
(laughing)
They'll know how to find me.
Ask for Martin Ward.
- Ward...
- I'm going to park in the back.
- There we go. Luc Therrien.
Thirty-nine years old, divorced.
Nine years for smuggling cocaine.
After that, nothing.
Helicopter pilot for 10 years.
With this company
for the past 3 years.
- Luc Therrien...
I've heard that name before.
Maybe I arrested him.
- Wait, wait. I'm the one
who asks the questions.
- You're right and I'm gonna let
you go in there all by yourself.
I'll join you in a little while.
- Good.
You'll be able to study my methods
and maybe learn a thing or two.
- Yeah, right.
- Let me go and size the place up,
then join me.
- What are you doing?
Hey, no badge.
Especially not one from Ontario.
What the hell?
- Anything else?
Hello, handsome.
What can I get for you?
- A ginger ale, straight up,
s'il vous plait.
- Ginger ale!
A little ice?
- No, thank you.
(both chuckling)
I'm looking for a helicopter pilot.
- We're not short on those
around here.
It's on me.
- Why, thank you.
Therrien.
Does that name
mean anything to you?
- Therrien...
- Luc Therrien.
- Oh, Luc!
This is your lucky day,
that's him there.
- Merci.
- Tabarnac!
Shit, man, you're lucky.
Rita, two beers!
- Nice jacket.
- Thanks... Reverend.
Nice turtleneck.
It was a joke.
Rita, give the man
another drink.
- Ginger ale?
- Ooh, ginger ale.
You worried about driving home?
(all chuckling)
- Do you know that the Canadian
Heart Disease Association
says that two
alcoholic drinks per day
can be beneficial for our health,
but that three or more bring us
ever closer to the grave?
- Therrien, you've been dead
for seven years.
(laughing)
- I drink to stay calm when people
start to get on my nerves.
- Ever tried yoga?
- I know practically
every position.
- We all know your
favourite positions, Rita.
- Show the lady
a little respect.
- Winner buys the beer?
- What planet are you from?
- Toronto.
- Oh, yeah?
That's why I hate your face.
What the fuck you doing here?
- A poll.
I'd like to ask you a few questions
about Benoit Brisset.
We know there's a link...
- Argh!
Let me ask again,
do you know Benoit Brisset?
It's fine.
Argh!
Oh!
- Ah!
- Ah!
- Bouchard!
Do something!
Bouchard, help me!
- Does anybody here
understand English?
I think the guy
with the purple face
is trying to tell me something.
- David!
Help me... please!
- With pleasure.
- Mind your own business.
- Okay, you can let him go.
I'll take care of him.
- I'm not sure that's a good idea.
- Martin, we talked about this.
I'm in charge of fights.
Take it easy, it'll be okay.
- Argh!
- Thanks. Has Mr. Therrien
seemed at all nervous lately?
- No more than usual.
- Argh!
- Martin, help me!
- May I have a little lemon, please?
- Anything for you, handsome.
- Martin, stop screwing around.
- Here's my card
if you think of anything.
I'm sorry,
I don't understand you.
- Fuck you!
- Right language,
wrong words.
- Martin, help me, please!
- Excuse me.
Let go of my partner.
What are you doing?
I don't know
if you don't respect procedures
because you're ignorant,
you're a lunatic,
orjust because you're French.
You can't do this!
(laughing)
- And what is appropriate
procedure in such a case?
- Hey...
it's yourjurisdiction.
- Thanks.
- You motherfuckin' pieces of shit!
- Hey, watch your language.
- What did he say?
- He called us rotten.
- I got that,
but "hostie de calice"?
- It's swearing.
"Hosties de pourris"
is like fuckin' pieces of shit,
but "hosties de calice de pourris"
is like motherfuckin' pieces of shit.
But I've been called worse.
"Hostie de calice de tabarnac."
- Over-the-top pourri?
- Oui.
- Laugh it up, assholes.
When I get out of here...
- Shush! Shush!
Wait, I'm not finished.
You can conjugate it, too.
- Like a verb?
- Mm-hmm!
- I'll fuckin' give you one!
- Good one, Luc. For example,
I'll fuckin' give you one.
Or you could use
the masculine and say,
here's a hell of a whack.
- Got it.
- You utter fuck.
- Absolutely.
As in I'll give you a fuckin'...
We can also use it as a noun.
We have expressions too!
Like, I don't give a shit.
- Okay, enough.
You don't want him
to file a complaint.
- I don't give a shit.
Come on.
- Argh!
- What's going on?
Lulu, your boot is in the way.
- Sorry.
- I just hope you don't talk
like that around children.
- Holy fucking shit! Gabrielle!
- I have my answer.
This is a handicapped space!
You can't park here.
- Yes, I can, I'm with you.
- Give me your car keys.
- No.
- This is ridiculous.
We can't leave a suspect
in the trunk of your car
because you're late
for your daughter's ballet recital.
- Why not?
- Let me out of here,
you assholes.
- Bravo, girls.
Let's have a nice round of applause
for our well-deserving girls.
- You obviously have no kids.
- I have a 15-year-old I raise alone!
- Then don't tell me
the asshole in my trunk
is more important
than our children!
- That's not the point, Bouchard!
Rules were made for a reason!
- I don't want to hear another
word about it. That's an order!
- An order?
- Yes.
- Hey!
- Excuse me, sorry.
- Will you sit down!
- I didn't miss Gabrielle?
- No, you haven't.
- This is Martin.
He's from Toronto.
He is working for me on a case.
- My sympathies.
- Delighted to meet you.
- Ahem.
- This is Suzie, my ex-wife.
- My sympathies.
- What do you mean?
- Ahem!
Thank you.
Now that we have your attention,
we can present
our most advanced group,
And they're nervous, so please
encourage them all you can.
- It's them!
Gabrielle, let's go!
Go, girls, you can do it.
You too, Matthew.
- Music!
- Relax, Suzie.
It's going to be fine!
(classical music)
Good start.
- Yes!
- Shhh...
- Hey, that's not easy.
Does he have to put his hands there?
- Just relax.
- That's my daughter,
the one up front.
Yessss.
Beautiful.
Here comes the finale.
Yes!
Whoo!
(whistling)
Yeah! All right!
Way to go, pumpkin!
- Bravo!
- Matthew, you rock!
That's my girl, centre stage.
Today, you were fantastic.
Your "pas de basques" were...
wow!
You stole the show.
- We really have to go.
- Daddy, do you have to go?
- I'll be home for supper,
I promise,
we'll celebrate your triumph.
Gimme a kiss.
- Will your friend be coming too?
- What friend?
- Your employee. Would you like
to come for dinner?
- With great pleasure!
- Fantastic. See you later.
- Yes.
- "Fantastic"?
All of a sudden you're bilingual?
- Hey.
- I'll see you later, okay?
Don't feel obliged to come,
I'm sure you're tired.
- On the contrary,
I'd really like to come.
- I think you should
get some rest.
- I've always heard you Quebecois
were hospitable, but...
Hey...
Rita, the barmaid,
left me a message.
- So why don't you
go eat with her?
You know what they say
about girls from Quebec?
My car?
That's my car!
- I told you...
- Hey!
- Police! Freeze!
- Hey! My car!
- Police!
Freeeeeze!
See? Even in English,
works like a charm.
- Yeah, right!
- We could've been in very big trouble.
- You're so negative!
- The suspect!
- My car!
- How are we gonna explain this?
- For the time being,
we explain nothing.
(small explosion)
- What? Are you crazy?
A suspect has died in your car!
We have to report this!
- You're the nut case.
What do you think
your bosses will say
when they hear that this happened
as a result of your negligence?
- My negligence?
I told you, I could've brought him
myself to headquarters,
but you couldn't stand the thought
of not being able to sit there,
showing off in front of your pals!
- If your procedures
were so fucking important,
why didn't you stay with the car
instead of coming in
and sucking up to get a free meal
and flirting with my ex-wife
in front of our child?
- That's it. You're crazy.
I'm outta here.
I'm gonna write my report
detailing exactly what happened
and I don't care what you do,
but you're not dragging me
down in this shit with you!
- It's too late,
because you're already in shit.
So if you want to save ourjobs
so we can feed our kids,
we have to shut up
and find the sicko who did this.
That's the only way out.
- Shit de merde de shit
de fuck de tabarnac!
- 24 hours.
If we have nothing
in the next 24 hours,
I'll explain what happened.
- Not one hour more.
(distant sirens)
- Anyway...
the case is moving forward.
- At least now we know
it wasn't him.
What? It's true.
Hey, you okay?
- That was delicious.
I really liked the way
you did the salmon,
French bistro style.
I do it American style.
- You cook?
- Yes, I love to cook.
- Apart from his
famous french toast,
David was never very useful
in the kitchen.
- No, but you found me
more useful in another room.
- Still, it's rare to see
exes living together
in the same house
like a normal family.
- Normal?
- Are you divorced too?
- Gabrielle!
- No offence taken.
Yes, Gabrielle, I am.
- What happened?
What? I'm interested.
- My wife was working
as the Governor General's
press secretary
and while she was in London
on a Royal visit,
she called me one day at work
and told me
she had met some sort of prince
and she wasn't coming home.
I never saw her again.
- You're kidding, right?
- No.
- That must have been a shock.
- Jonathan was 8.
He spends Christmas and two weeks
in the summer with her.
- What's a semi-prince?
- A rich guy
with legs like a frog.
(laughter)
- Okay, bedtime.
- But, Daddy, it's only 7:30!
- Not you, honey.
I was talking to Martin.
Seriously, we have
a big day tomorrow.
- You're right. We have to go
to Therrien's place. I should go.
- Why don't you stay upstairs
at David's place tonight?
That way you can leave together
early in the morning?
- Suzie, my place is really a mess.
- I know,
Martin can sleep in my room
and I'll sleep upstairs
at your place.
- It's settled!
- We'll talk
about your piercing later.
- Barmaid's not answering her cell.
- Where the fuck
is the search warrant?
- Did you take Ritalin as a child?
- Huh?
- Try thinking about other things.
Your daughter is adorable.
- That's true, we're really lucky.
She's a great kid.
- You were right.
Quebec women are... special.
- Are you talking about Suzie?
- She is really superb.
She's really down-to-Earth.
- What are you trying to say?
- What?
- This isn't working.
- Bouchard,
we're waiting for a warrant.
- I don't give a shit.
- Bouchard! Come on!
- I don't give a shit.
- Great, now we can't use
any of the evidence.
(sighing)
Idiot!
- Shit...
Martin!
Come look at this.
- Not without a warrant!
- Ah, come on,
I already broke in anyway.
I thought
I saw someone in distress.
- Goddammit!
- Ha!
(laughing)
- Would you try not touching
any more of the evidence?
- It was worth it
just for the look on your face.
(buzzing)
What a sick fuck!
Now I get why Luc Therrien's name
rang a bell.
I remember.
He was drafted by the Fleur de Lys.
Played half a season for Quebec
before getting busted for dope.
- That explains the tattoo.
- Mm-hmm.
So this is all about hockey,
or drugs?
- Maybe both.
- That's Grossbut.
- Hmm...
- You know him?
The jerk who sold Quebec
to Colorado.
- The next year,
they won the Cup, right?
- Blah, blah, blah...
(camera flash)
(camera flash)
All right... you finish
your little arts-and-crafts project.
I'm gonna check
the basement out.
(soft music)
- David!
Grossbut is here!
- Martin!
Come see this.
Jackpot!
(dialling phone)
- This is Detective Martin Ward.
We have a dead body here.
- Hmm...
(rapid beeping)
- Shit!
David?!
What have you done now?
- This is good!
This is really good!
What the fuck's he doing?
Taking pictures of the fire?
(swearing in French)
Ah!
Why does this shit
always happen to me?
Ow! Shit!
If I get out here alive,
I swear I'm gonna ask
for a desk job.
- David!!!!
David!
(gunshot)
- Ah!
(ringing)
(coughing)
- What the hell's that smell?
(coughing)
(screaming)
- Martin!
- Here, get Grossbut out.
- Never mind him.
- No, no, get him out of here.
- Let's go.
(coughing)
- You all right?
- Yeah.
- Gimme some of that.
- It's my inhaler.
- What the hell?
I feel kind of weird.
- Me too.
(distant sirens)
(laughing)
(swearing in French)
- That's not good, right?
- Jesus Christ, David!
You went in without a warrant.
You put a suspect in your trunk.
All that's left of him
fits in a sandwich bag.
Do you think that's normal?!
- Don't go crazy.
He had a record
as long as your arm,
he's not exactly Brother Andre.
- Brother Andre!
- We have to pick him up
with a spatula!
Then you burn down a house
with a victim inside!
- Don't forget my car.
- Don't interrupt me
when I'm talking!
- In fact, Chief,
it was all my fault.
I thought I spotted someone
inside in distress.
There was someone in there,
but not who I thought.
He was in distress...
but not today.
It's close enough. Huh?
- Captain MacDuff, line 3.
- Captain MacDuff.
You got my message
about what you crazy cop do?
- Yes.
- He burned down the building!
He blew up...
the witness!
- Martin, is this true?
- Well, uh...
with regard to the situation, sir,
I think one could
characterize the case as, uh...
What was the question?
- Witness! Witness!
- Oh, no, I have a halibi.
I was at David's
daughter's ballet recital.
- What?
- Martin, you come home
right now!
We'll talk about this later.
It's not our business!
Now get back home!
- Good, I'll be better off
not having to drag a tourist around.
- Listen, sir, let me fix this.
Because I'm spending half my time
babysitting Rambo on steroids.
I can fix this.
- SHUT UP!!!
And you...
you crazy son of a mad cow,
from now on,
you're off the suitcase!
Off the suitcase!
You go to Ontario.
That's it, that's all!
Don't call us, we'll call you! Huh?!
It's over. Over.
OVER!
(chuckling)
And you. You.
All I want from you is to take
this squarehead to the airport.
That's your fucking job for today.
- Roger, come on...
- Out!
Out!
- This way.
- Get out of here!
Get out! Get out!
- I've got the munchies.
- Oh, what can I say?
It's been an education.
But two victims, Quebecois.
One witness, dead, Quebecois.
One killer - I'm guessing,
wild one now - Quebecois.
So, bye-bye.
Tell Suzie I'll email her.
- What's your deal with Suzie?
You've only seen her twice!
- You Quebecois are all the same.
You got some lunatic
who's gone nuts over a hockey team
that doesn't exist anymore.
And you with Suzie?
"Je me souviens."
You're living in the past.
You got to get over it.
- Yeah, well, at least we're alive,
not like you and your freakin' queen
and her fucked-up children -
one of whom stole your wife,
by the way.
- Did anyone call a taxi
for the airport?
- Your lift is here.
- I did.
- Can I take your suitcase?
- No, thanks, I'll be right there.
- But you're right about one thing,
The only piece in this story
that doesn't fit is you,
so bye-bye.
- Tune in to my pre-game show
later tonight.
We're gonna talk
about these rumours
that a major Canadian team
is moving south,
which really pisses me off!
All of you know I hate Montreal!
I hate the team!
But what's the point of hating Montreal
if they're in Houston?
Also we have a big surprise guest
for you: Mr. Pickleton.
You don't want to miss this,
because I won't miss you!
- You seen anything like this?
I can't believe it.
- You've got to be kidding.
- Recognize her?
- I think I recognize
the lunatic who did it.
- Martin!
- Where you think you're going?
- Get your hands off me, asshole.
- Oh, say it isn't so.
- I'm a cop.
- You can't pass.
- I know that guy over there.
That's my friend, Martin!
Hey, it's me!
Tell these guys
to let me through.
- Okay, you can go.
- It's okay, he works for me.
Hey, hi, how are you?
Hello...
- He's from Quebec.
- Ah.
- Did you miss me?
- Show him.
- Tabarnac.
Well, you could say
he's a hell of a skater.
It's a Quebec hockey expression.
You know who she is, right?
- Martina Flabcheeks.
Thanks.
- The first female hockey agent.
Her first client
was Quebec's 1st pick in '95,
but he never signed with them.
Everyone thought it was his decision,
but it was his parents and her.
She wanted him
to play in Toronto...
but he ended up in the States.
- Well that makes perfect sense.
Of course she deserves to die.
She wouldn't let her client
play in Quebec 10 years ago.
I suppose some people still aren't
over the Plains of Abraham.
Incidentally, aren't you supposed
to be speaking English?
- Where's the tattoo?
- Right here.
- Hmm. Who's next?
The client?
- He's safe. He's under guard
in a New York hospital.
When we phoned him
to give him the bad news,
he fell to the ground,
got a concussion.
- Again?
- Hold her skirt.
- What?
- Hold up her skirt.
You should be good at that.
Good.
(camera flash)
Okay. So Brisset screwed Therrien,
who played for the Fleur de Lys,
so he gets a fleur de lys
with two scales on either side.
Grossbut sells the team
to Colorado,
so he gets a mountain tattoo
with two eights replacing
the first two Os in Colorado.
- 88: Flabcheeks's
star player's number.
He's been playing us from the beginning.
The tattoo isn'tjust his signature.
It's a clue to his next victim.
- And 88 goes to Philadelphia.
- Philadelphia...
With two missing letters.
L. A.
- L.A. Los Angeles.
- The best player in the world.
- The Great One.
- Or the one who sold him.
(rousing theme music)
- Okay, this is the situation
that I find myself in.
It's not bad enough that Montreal
is leading our team 3-2 in this series,
but right now I have a guest,
Mr. Pickleton, who has not shown up.
And why? Because some lunatic
is out there killing members
of the hockey community.
- Pickleton's in the building.
His limo's here. He must be on his way.
- Did you talk to security?
- If they see anything,
they'll call me.
- Shh! Shh!
- What about the cowards that want
to abolish fighting in hockey
and make hockey look like golf.
I say we go after them!
While we're at it,
why don't we allow
Annika Soren-what's-her-not
and some of her chick golfer friends
to lace up the skates
and go play
for the Montreal Patriotes
in time for the playoffs.
What's the big deal?
They only make the playoffs
once every 5 years.
What?
Can you believe this?
My director is now asking me to talk
about last night's game and to stretch,
because our no-show guest
Mr. Pickleton,
a man who I have waited
over a decade
to ask straight up
why in God's name he would sell
the world's greatest hockey player
out from under us,
apparently, he's in danger!
Boo-hoo!
And I've got two cops in the corner
who won't tell me a thing
about this lunatic.
Can we see these cops?
Can we get a shot of them?
Hi, guys. How you doin'?
So maybe you have something
to say on the subject, so call in
and talk to me on the air
and tell me what you think about...
The Tattoo Killer.
- What?
- And cut!
90 seconds! Make-up!
- Mr. Berry,
I'm sure you know yourjob...
- Don't tell me how to do my job.
- You can't talk about the killer
on the air.
We don't want to provoke him.
And branding him "The Tattoo Killer,"
that's publicity,
just what these guys want.
- I can talk about whatever
the hell I want to talk about,
because I have a lot of time
I have to fill.
Can someone please
get this fruit away from me?
- Okay, thank you. Bye-bye.
Tom, you good? Coffee? Yes?
- No, I don't have a guest!
How am I good?
- Can someone
find him a guest, please?
Okay, people,
we're back in 5, 4, 3...
- Welcome back.
We have two very special guests
in the studio
to talk about... The Tattoo Killer!
With us from Ontario,
Detective Martin Ward,
and from Montreal,
David Bouch...
Boucha...
Boucherville, Bouchie...
One of these French names
I always screw up.
Men, are you any closer
to getting this jerk?
- Well, Tom, I don't think we can
say categorically that he is a jerk.
What we do know
is that he works very fast.
And though we don't want
to sound alarmist,
we think it would be a good idea
if those people in the hockey
community were careful.
- Careful?
What does that mean?
- Well, to respond
to your question,
Tom, uh...
the best way to be prudent
would be to change
your hapitudes.
- Your habitubes?
- Habits, Tom.
That's a good point, David.
The killer seems to know
the habits of all his victims
and is using that knowledge
to capture them.
So it might be a good idea
to change your routine.
- Yeah, what I'm wondering is,
why do we have a French cop
on our turf? I mean,
is this killer
not challenging enough for you?
- Keep it up and you'll regret
wearing those ugly ties.
- Come again?
- He just said:
"What a sharp dresser you are!"
- No, I said go on with
your stupid comments about me
and you'll regret those ties.
- You want a piece of me?
- Are you hitting on me?
- Tom, caller on line 1!
- Okay, apparently
we have a caller on the air
who has
some very important information.
Caller, you're on the air.
What's your name, please?
- Tattoo Killer.
- Ha-ha. Very funny,
but we just don't have the time.
- You have a problem
with my quest, Tom?
You think you can do better?
You think I'm just a jerk?
- I don't think you're a jerk,
I think you're a flake or a fake.
- Shut the fuck up.
Mr. Pickleton
is getting his tattoo now.
- Let me talk to him.
Unfortunately, Detective Ward,
Mr. Pickleton can't come
to the phone right now.
He was moving too much
and it was impossible
to make a nice tattoo.
And by the way...
sorry about your car, David.
- Sir, we're going to hang up now.
If you'd like to talk to us,
we're going to give you a number
that you can call us at.
- Don't you fucking hang up on me!
I know your names and faces.
So don't worry,
if I wanna talk to you...
(laughing)
...believe me,
I'll find you.
- Hang up the phone.
- I don't think so.
- You're either with me or against me.
- Watch it, frog!
- You are trying to stop me
in my heroic attempt
to save our national sport.
When I get finished with all
the moneygrubbers and scumbags
who sold our game to Americans,
who couldn't care less...
- Stand back!
...about the art of hockey,
I'll come after you
and those two cops and everyone
else who gets in my way!
If you think
I'm going to let my game
become less important
than bowling
because of a couple of rich...
(dial tone)
Fuck!
- Listen to me, you sick fuck.
You want to talk, call me.
514-555-5594.
- Ah!
- Pickleton can't be too far
from the limo.
- If he's still in the building.
(phone ringing)
Hello?
- David?
You want to talk to me?
- Keep him talking.
- Yeah.
What will you do with him?
- Let's just say...
...I'm going to leave him on ice.
- On ice?
- He's on Bouchard's cellphone.
Try and trace the call.
I don't care! Just trace it!
- Don't you speak French?
- When I feel like it.
And now I don't.
- I'm understand everything you've
done, except for Benoit Brisset.
Why him?
- He's the one who loved
Colorado so much.
- How come you have such
a strong accent in English and French?
Who was your teacher?
Jean Chretien?
Funny. Real funny.
Time's up.
- Fuck.
(banging)
(muffled yelling)
- It's the police!
We'll get you out.
- It's unlocked.
(muffled yelling)
Tattoo gear.
Easy, easy.
- You all right?
- I'm fine, thanks.
- Who are you?
- I drive the Zamboni.
- Where is it?
- Down there.
- Let's go.
- Take care of this, guys.
(crowd cheering in distance)
Police! Freeze!
- Shit!
(rock music)
- Shit. Go, I got Pickleton!
Hey, come here!
I need some help!
- Fuck!
- Police! Out of the way!
- Hey! Whoa!
- Police! Out of the way!
- You fucking Frenchies!
You run like you drive!
- Out of the way!
Ah!
Ah...
- Excuse me! Police!
Excuse me. Excuse me.
You okay?
- Yeah, I'm okay.
- Easy, easy.
We know Pickleton sold 99 to L.A.
And here we have the U.S. Dollar sign
and a big apple
which brings us to New York.
- You're sure it's New York?
- Well, New York money for sure.
- I don't know.
There's nothing Canadian about it.
- Call the New York FBI
to warn them
a maniac might be headed
their way.
- Maybe we should
go down there.
- Why? You gonna burn down
the Empire State Building?
Blow up Times Square?
- He's prejudiced,
isn't he?
- What did he say?
- Just ignore him.
What do you want us to do?
- Work with what you got.
As long as there's no body bags
in my territory,
I don't give a shit.
- Talk about a shitty week.
If he's going south,
there's nothing we can do about it.
I'll probably lose my job over this.
Lost my car...
The good news is,
it can't get any worse.
- You're right.
Let's get out of here.
You want to come home
for dinner?
- Why not.
- Don't do me any favours.
Can you hand me an endive,
please?
Aha! Rosemary.
Endive. Endive, s'il vous plait.
- This?
- Yes, that's it.
- The guest room is ready.
- Thanks.
Would you set the table, please?
- Do you have any beer?
- I don't,
but I might have some cognac.
- Aunt Iris bought some yesterday.
It's in the fridge.
- All right, so where's this hunk
who saved my big brother?
- Aunt Iris, this is David.
David, this is Aunt Iris.
- Okay...
Um... just Iris is good.
- Enchantay, Just Iris.
- Enchantay to you!
- Ah!
It's nothing.
- Are you adopted?
- 'Cause you can
see the difference?
- Want a beer?
- Thank you, baby.
- Maybe Toronto isn't so bad
after all!
- I don't know what that means.
(whispering): It means
he wants to have sex with you.
(chuckling)
- Come on, it must've hurt.
- No. Itjust felt,
like, this big electric shock.
I was waiting to die.
But nothing. No pain.
Huh, Martin? Isn't it true?
If the bullet goes right through,
it can take up to 10 minutes
before you start to feel any pain.
- I usually try to solve most
of my cases without getting shot.
- What happened
to the guy who shot you?
- I shot back. He was dead
before he hit the ground.
But because of the bleeding,
I started to feel, uh...
etourdi.
- Dizzy.
- Dizzy, that's it.
So I'm, like, "Okay, let's go outside,
get some fresh air
and wait for the back-up."
So I handcuff the dead guy,
head for the backyard.
- That seems almost cautious.
- What?
- Handcuffing the dead guy.
- Yeah, I know.
But the night before that,
I saw "Fatal Attraction."
- Oh, yeah.
- You know?
She's in the bathtub,
you think she's dead...
And then... argh! Yeah.
So I didn't want to take any chances.
So I'm in the backyard,
light up a smoke,
try to get some air,
and tout a coup...
- All of a sudden.
- All of a sudden,
the dead guy's dog jumps on me.
And, I mean,
he's mad en tabarnac.
- That's really, really bad.
- Is he bullshitting us?
- I don't know.
- It's true, swear to God.
Look, I have a scar.
(laughing)
So I'm bleeding like crazy,
I'm fighting the dog
with my, uh... mains nues.
- Bare hands.
- Yeah, that's it.
- Why didn't you just shoot it?
- The dog was only doing its job.
- Exactly.
So last thing I remember,
I had the dog in a headlock.
- Oui.
- And we both passed out.
A few minutes later,
the back-up arrives,
they find the dead guy with
handcuffs in the living room
and me and the dog
in the backyard,
endormi en cuillere.
- Spooning.
- Lucky dog.
(glass tinkling)
- Jonathan?
(gun cocking)
- If you're such a hotshot cop,
show me where your gun is.
- Search me.
- Jonathan?
(gasping)
(gunshots)
Argh!
Argh!
(grunting)
(groaning)
- Dad!
- Argh!
- Leave my dad alone!
- Argh!
Tabarnac!
Sorry, kid. Argh!
(grunting)
- Teach me something else.
- Leo et Lea go to school.
- Leo...
- Et Lea...
- Leo et Lea...
- You all right?
- Yeah. That was cool.
- Thanks!
That was great!
(panting)
- What else?
- Long live a free Quebec!
- What's that mean?
- Oh, Jesus!
Bouchard!
- Vive le Quebec libre!
Oh, long live a free Quebec!
Long live a free Quebec!
(moaning)
Oh, Quebec... uh, Quebec free...
(moaning)
- What the fuck
are you doing here?
- Iris, it's for you.
- Of course it's for me.
It's my... Hey. Oh, God...
What are you guys doing here?
- I saved Dad's life.
- From what?
Cardiac arrest
watching curling on TV?
- From Therrien.
He's alive, he was in my house.
- What the fuck
are you talking about?
- I kicked his ass.
- He got away.
- You're sure it was him?
- Yeah, I'm sure.
- Why would he try to kill you?
- He was trying to kill us!
He had no idea
you'd be with my sister.
- So who was in the trunk
of my car?
- I don't know,
but the body's in Montreal,
and Therrien is here.
(phone ringing)
- Last call! Last...
Allo?
- Jeff?
- Yes?
- It's Dave. Have you identified
the body that blew up in my car?
- I was just working on it,
Do you know how much overtime
I'm doing because of you?
It's like a 5,000-piece puzzle
that you lend to a cousin
and it came back half-empty,
'cause there's a piece in the sofa,
there's another one
stuck to a sock in the dryer...
- Jeff, I don't have time for this.
- If it was a guy in your car,
then the operation
was a complete success.
- What are you talking about?
- The guy was a girl.
I didn't have a DNA match,
but late yesterday
I got some dental records.
So I gave her a toothbrush
and she's really happy now.
- Jeff, who is it?
- Hold on a sec.
Her name is...
Rita Beaumont. Rita Beaumont.
Not a really interesting name,
is it?
- Rita, the barmaid?
Thanks, Jeff.
- Hey, by the way,
you know that...
Rita spelled backwards...
Uh, never mind.
- Thanks, Jeff.
- No problem.
- That would've been helpful
to know.
- Fuck. She was trying to call you,
that's why.
Therrien must've known
and gotten rid of her.
- No, no, no. Therrien was
in the trunk of the car.
He would've had to have broken out
of the trunk, stolen a car,
driven back to the bar,
grabbed the girl,
grabbed a bomb
that he prepared for that purpose,
driven back to your car,
put her in the trunk,
and then rigged the bomb?
The show wasn't that long.
- He's not alone.
(phone ringing)
(phone ringing)
(phone ringing)
- Allo?
- Suzie?
- Oui. David?
Nice time to call someone.
- How's everything at home?
- Fine.
You sound strange.
Have you been drinking?
- No. No.
It's just... I don't know.
I'm a little Ionely.
Can I talk to Gabrielle?
- David, she's sleeping.
Like normal people do
at this hour.
- I know... I...
I just need to hear her voice.
- What aren't you telling me?
- Please, Suzie.
- What is it?
- Suzie!
- I'm going, I'm going.
I'm upstairs.
She slept in your room.
She misses you too, you know.
Gabrielle...
Gabrielle?
Gabrielle!
David, the door is open!
She's gone!
She's not here!
I put her to bed earlier
and now she's gone!
(phone ringing)
David!
David, answer me!
- Hello?
- David?
- Who is this?
- Oh, it's Detective Ward.
I have a call for Mr. David Bouchard
from his daughter.
Is he available?
- If you touch my baby,
I'll kill you, motherfucker!
- Your daughter is fine.
Gabrielle, it's your father.
- Daddy, come get me, please!
I'm scared!
- Gabrielle!
- Daddy, help me!
- Shut up!
I have nothing
against your daughter.
But you are really starting
to piss me off!
- What do you want?
- I assume
that a smart fellow like you
would know who's next on my list.
Stay out of my way.
Let me do my grand finale.
And after that
you'll get your daughter back.
Safe and sound.
- My daughter has nothing
to do with this.
Take me instead.
- True.
And it wouldn't be right
for anything bad to happen to her.
Because of you.
(laughing)
(crying)
- Suzie...
(Suzie screaming)
- What is going to happen?
Tell me, tell me.
What have you done?
Don't touch me.
Get your hands off me!
I want my daughter!
Do you understand?!
If he touches her...
If he does anything to her,
I never want to see you again!
- I'm sorry.
(both crying)
I'm sorry.
- Bring back our daughter.
Bring back our daughter.
- Okay.
- Is she okay?
(car approaching)
- Salut.
- Salut.
- Everything you asked for
is in the car.
- Thanks.
- Can I do anything else?
- Stay with Suzie, okay?
- Hey, Mike.
- Hey, Stef.
- We have to go.
Let me drive.
- Give me some privacy.
- Okay, boss.
- Hey, is this press conference
going to happen or what?
Some of us have deadlines.
If you want us to write about this
before next season starts...
- Sorry for the delay, everyone.
Mr. Buttman will be here any minute.
- You sure you want to do this?
- Remember, it was my idea.
I just don't want to read about it
in tomorrow's papers.
- Mr. Arbusto!
- Hey, Buttman!
- So nice to talk to you again.
- Everything coming together?
- Sure is.
- I don't want you
to misunderestimate
how grateful I am.
I'm sending you
our agreement right now.
(fax beeping)
You're doing
a wonderful thing for hockey.
'Cause I'm gonna
make hockey as Texas
as a big, fat American steak.
None of that poison Canadian shit.
- You're going to enjoy having
a top hockey team in your state.
(knocking)
I'm busy here!
(knocking)
Just a sec.
(knocking)
You idiots!
Who the hell are you?
- Buttman?
- What's going on?
- What the hell's going on there?!
- Get in the bag.
- Buttman?
- In the bag?
- In the bag.
- How does this work?
(muffed yelling)
- Have a look at this.
- Are you talking to me?
Are you talking to me?
Are you talking to me?
Aha!
Are you talking to me?
Me? That's good.
Goddamn it!
FUCK!
Are you talking to me?
- Hip, hip, hip, hip! Go!
- Argh! Ah!
- Good.
What?
- Ah!
- Don't you know who I am?
I'm gonna sue your asses! You can't
put me in the trunk of a car!
- Yes, I can.
It's a Quebec tradition.
(muffled yelling)
- Okay, I'm in place.
- Shit!
Hey, hey, hey...
- A photo with the children...
- Get away from me!
Take your kids away.
- How rude!
- Take care of your own kids.
- Excusez.
Testing... 1, 2, 3...
- What do you think you're doing?
- Police business.
Your attention, please.
Mr. Buttman will not be here.
He's had an unfortunate contretemps,
and therefore,
the press conference is cancelled.
(cellphone ringing)
If there's any more information
before tonight's final game,
you'll get it.
We will keep you up to date.
- What's this delay about?
Is he trying to make fools
of French Canadians?
- Notjust the French. I don't think
he much likes Canadians, period.
No further comment.
They're all yours.
- Ladies and gentlemen...
...we apologize for the delay.
(phone dialling)
- How'd I do?
- Great. You're being followed.
Don't turn around.
- How many?
- One.
The Patriotes mascot.
Lead him towards the garage,
I'll follow you.
- Got it.
Okay.
- Ah, for fuck's sake!
FUCK!
Goddamn it!
(elevator bell dinging)
(muffled yelling)
(cellphone ringing)
- Bouchard.
- I told you to stay away.
Do you want one last word
with your daughter?
- Wait. I have Buttman.
If you want him, he's yours.
All I want is my daughter.
- You're pushing your luck, David.
- Yeah, yeah.
Do we have a deal?
- The Old Port.
The tower at the end of the pier.
You have 15 minutes.
- You could lose yourjob over this.
- I don't give a shit.
(ship's horn blaring)
(cellphone ringing)
- Yeah?
- Bring him inside the boat.
- You're not done with me yet, asshole.
- Hey, welcome home, Therrien.
You were born to be a mascot.
- Hey, stop stepping on my tail
for Christ's sake?
- Shut the fuck up!
- Where the fuck is my player?
Stop right there.
Where's Buttman?
- Change in plans: Give me my daughter,
you and your buddy can go free.
(muffled yelling): Daddy!
- Shhh...
You see, I'm a man of my word.
- Daddy, I don't like it here!
- Daddy's here, sweetie.
- Don't cry, baby.
It's almost over.
- Oh, you're so cute.
So you think this is a fair trade?
That's not what we agreed on.
You should've brought
something valuable to me.
- Fuck...
- Daddy, I don't like it,
come get me!
- Close your eyes, Gabrielle!
- Come get me!
I don't like this!
- Close your eyes, Gabrielle!
That's it, keep them closed
until I tell you to open them.
- Throw me your gun.
Now!
- You're fuckin' crazy!
- Oh, David...
he was a fucked-up loser
I found on the Internet.
He wanted revenge
on those who screwed up
his hockey career with the pros.
And me...
I just gave him
the tools to do it.
Easy enough.
After that it was easy
to get him to kill the other fuckers!
They destroyed our "Great Game."
- It's just a game, kid.
- Give me your car keys.
I guess Detective Ward
has my package?
I hope he's not too far.
- Martin!
Bring him!
- I'm coming!
(muffled yelling)
He won't kill you here.
He needs a crowd
and you need a tattoo. Get moving.
- Too long!
- Don't touch her.
- Dad!
- In four minutes...
it blows!
- Martin, move!
- We're here!
We're here!
- Give him over.
There's a bomb on Gabrielle.
- Walk over there.
Walk over there!
Move!
(muffled response)
- Okay, now you give me
my daughter.
- Not until Detective Ward
drops his gun.
Not yet, David.
Not yet.
Don't you push your luck!
Fuck!
- Daddy!
- Martin!
Okay, baby, open your eyes.
You can look at me.
- Take it off, Daddy!
I don't like this!
I'm scared.
- I know.
(muffled yelling)
- Move!
- Take it off. Do something!
- I need you to be still.
You can't be moving like that.
- Do it!
- I need you...
- Do something. I'm scared!
- We're going to do this together,
okay?
- Don't touch it.
It might be booby-trapped.
- Are you okay?
- Yeah.
Here and here.
It's a pretty simple device.
Bombmaking 101.
- You know
what you're talking about?
- I was Bomb Squad
before Jonathan was born.
We're gonna have to pull out
these two wires simultaneously.
You'll have to do it.
You need two hands.
- Daddy!
- It'll be okay.
- Orange and yellow.
- You sure?
- Three...
- Wait, wait...
Okay.
- Three,
two, one...
- I love you.
- Pull.
- Move!
Okay. Okay.
(muffled): No, not again!
- Go get him.
- I can't.
- I'll take care of this.
- Go, Daddy.
Go and kick the shit out of him.
Thank you.
(gunshot)
- Ah!
- Oh, shit!
- Oh...
- Ah!
(gunshot)
(muffled yelling)
- Ahhhhh!
(gunshot)
- Argh!!!
- Ahhh!
- Daddy?
(groaning)
- Wait!
- My father!
- Take this.
Call your mother,
I'll help your father.
Stay here, okay?
We'll be right back for you.
Stay here.
- Dave...
Iook at the state you're in.
You should've taken care
of your daughter.
And let me...
take care of Buttman.
- You talk too much.
- No!
Don't!
Don't do it.
It's not necessary.
- What? He tried to kill us
and our kids. He'll come back.
- All good things come
to those who wait.
- What are you talking about?
You didn't...
You can reset those things?
- I prefer to think of it as recycling.
- You sure it'll work?
- We'll soon see.
Man, can that guy run.
(beeping)
- You gotta be fucking kidding me.
- Wow.
- Yeah.
(muffled yelling): Come on!
Get me out of here!
- Oh, shit, the penguin.
Gabrielle?
- In conclusion, I would like
to put an end to the rumours
that any one Canadian team
or another will be moving to the U.S.
I know how important
hockey is to you people,
so I am spearheading
a rule change to ensure
that no Canadian team will ever
have to move from its home city!
(reporters clamouring)
No more questions! Thank you.
No more questions!
it's Patrick from Montreal.
- Patrick, you're on the air.
What can I do for you, buddy?
- I heard this rumour
that the Toronto team
might be sold to Houston!
- That... that rumour, not!
- Listen, I know
it's 100% accurate information.
It comes directly out of the mouth
of my brother-in-law.
- Don't give me the brother-in-law,
don't give me the cousin!
The taxi driver, the bartender,
Uncle Mike, my brother-in-law.
Your brother, your cousin...
Who cares about the bullshit?
The real rumour is,
a bloody team from Canada
will be sold to the U.S.
(buzzing)
But it's not Vancouver, Calgary,
Deadmonton, Taranna, Montreal.
- Yeah, well, you know, Ron,
since the lockout
things have been going...
- Lockout? What lockout?
What's the problem with the lockout?
(buzzing)
- You know, Mr. Buttman,
with all that cheap American crap
like cheerleaders and mascots and...
- Yeah, you're right about that.
Don't hate the cheerleaders,
but I can't stand the mascots.
Can't stand the mascots,
with the tail and the frou-frou.
Can't stand the mascots!
You want to know what else?
- What?
- In the end, who cares?
Because of the lockout,
we've got ourselves a final
between Montreal and Toronto.
Yahoo! So don't believe the rumours
a Canadian team is moving south.
(man coughing)
But it's the end!
The beginning of the end.
Finito, kaput, the end.
Thanks a lot. Next caller.
- What's going on here?
What is this?
Why am I tied up?
What am I doing here?
What did I do?
- That's the problem, Ben.
You didn't do anything.
- You know I tried to help.
You know that, right?
Right?
You know...
I didn't want to drop you...
Let me go, we'll work things out.
Untie me!
Let's help each other, eh?
You were like a brother to me!
- Shhh-shhh-shhh...
- Ah!
What are you doing?
Where are you?
- Shhh-shhh-shhh...
The game's on.
- Ah!
...a new highpoint
in Canadian hockey history.
The Holt Cup final between the Toronto
Loyalists and the Montreal Patriotes.
The referee is ready to drop the puck.
And the game is on!
(radio): Toronto's never
looked sharper,
the European refs have never
looked duller! Which leaves Montreal.
Remember when Montreal
had Frenchies that could score?
Well, those days are long gone.
- Well, thanks, Tom,
for your usual amazing insights
into our national psyche.
Frenchies that can score, eh?
Europeans?
What a country this is
on a fine day in May!
- Hey, bud! Morning!
- Ahem.
No food.
- Where you going?
- Back to my room.
- You're not hungry?
I got some great new cereal.
- I'm not in the mood for shredded
cardboard right now, thanks.
- So, Jonathan, how was last night?
The DJ thing.
- It was good.
- Yeah? You had fun?
- Uh-huh.
- Morning, boys!
- I've got this thing at work.
It may be overnight,
so Auntie Iris is here, okay?
- Hey, hey!
- Hey!
- But I'm hoping
that won't last too much longer.
I'm hoping to be a DJ man myself,
you know?
- What's that?
- DJ man!
(imitating a turntable sound)
- Oh, God...
- Desk job, get it?
Desk job? Heh!
- Yeah...
- Jay, come on, where you going?
Tell me something good,
please, after that.
- Okay, last night I was spinning.
- Yeah?
- Everyone was going crazy!
People were on the tables!
- Hell, yeah, they were.
- So the next guy went up after me,
but no one really liked him,
so they called me back,
'cause they wanted me.
- Nice. The girls
must've been all over you.
- Uh, yeah.
There was a redheaded girl...
- A redheaded girl?
- Yeah...
- Just asking.
- You know what?
Jay, let's go grab some breakfast.
Outta here, you know?
Me and you,
shoot the shit.
- Okay.
- Give me the juicy details...
Get your stuff.
- See ya!
How do you do that?
I can't get a full sentence
out of him.
- Come on, brother.
He's 15.
You're his dad.
- I suppose so.
- It's 22 degrees in Montreal...
Hey, did you see last night's game?
Toronto isn't giving up,
so, hey, Patriotes,
show us your stuff
and bring home the Cup.
- Oh... You're here. Wow.
Aren't you sweet.
- Good morning...
to all of you.
- Jerk.
- Daddy!
- Hi, sweetie.
- Did a bad guy do that to you?
- Daddy met someone even more
hard-headed than Mommy.
- You're funny.
Good morning, sweetie.
Did you sleep well?
- Oh, French toast!
Thank you, Daddy!
- My pleasure.
- Daddy, I have something
to ask you.
- Ah, okay.
What's up?
- Can I get my bellybutton pierced?
(Coughing)
- Excuse me?
I want to pierce my bellybutton.
- What did Mommy say?
- She didn't even try with me.
- Let me think about it
and we'll talk later.
- You're not cool.
- Would you please go upstairs
to my place and get some milk?
- I told my friends
you were the coolest father.
- Of course!
- Your cool thing
is not going to work.
Go get the milk, please.
Thank you.
- You can get your face sown up
once a week
but I can't get my bellybutton pierced!
- I didn't say no,
I said your mother
and I will talk about it
and then she'll tell me
what we've decided.
- You're not funny.
- Now go get the milk
or I personally
will pierce your navel.
(Gabrielle laughing)
Go on.
- Okay, okay.
- Bellybutton piercing...
What's wrong?
- Nothing. It's just that
if you could be like that
for more than 10 minutes at a time,
we might still be married.
- Come on...
Could be worse.
Some couples
don't even get 10 minutes.
- Yes, but in between
those 10 minutes
there's always the job,
women, the job,
your pals, hockey,
the job...
(Hockey anthem phone ring)
The phone.
- Bouchard.
Yeah?
No, come on, it's my day off.
- See what I mean?
- All right, all right.
I'm on my way.
I have to go.
But let's talk about this again
real soon.
- Say, when Gabrielle
goes to university?
- Is it that urgent?
- Don't forget
your daughter's ballet recital.
- Honestly!
Do you actually think
I'd forget something like that?
Suzie?
- Huh?
- When is it?
- At 4:00.
How do you expect me
to find another man?
It's hard enough having one child,
let alone two.
- Don't say that.
You'll find somebody.
Come on,
you've still got great tits.
- Run along now,
go play cops and robbers,
your little pals are waiting.
- Jesus Christ, who's the idiot
that had the road blocked?!
It took me two hours
to get to my own crime scene!
For you,
today I am DETECTIVE Dave!
- Martin Ward.
- David Bouchard.
- Enchante.
- Enchantay!
Hey, we got somebody
that can spick de French.
(laughter)
I guess he's the victim?
- We can't classify him
as a victim yet,
but we can say he's had
a bit of a rough night.
Not much blood, though.
- Well, it's been fun.
Good luck, guys.
- Hey, where you going?
- Back home.
This is obviously your case.
- What do you mean, our case?
It's very clearly your case!
- How do you figure that?
His feet are on your side.
- Exactly. His head is on your side.
What's your point?
- My point?
If you play football
or tennis or whatever,
you step over the line, you're out.
Okay, boys. We're out of here.
- May I remind you
that in the 100-yard-dash,
it's the head and chest
that break the tape.
In horse racing, it's by a nose.
As you can see,
the subject was a true Quebecer.
- Do I need a passport?
- His heart is in Quebec.
And he's got Ontario
up his ass.
- Excuse me?
- I just said
his ass belongs to you.
- Okay.
We'll take it from here.
Get me a ladder.
- A ladder!
- Whoa!
Don't move him.
- How can I?
He's indented in the sign.
- Never mind.
Let's just get this over with.
- What's this?
- Be careful not to move anything.
Ah!
- Ah!
- Careful!
- Ah, shit.
- Ah!
Idiot!
(creaking)
Ahhhh!
Argh...
(groaning)
Good morning.
- Hey, nice turtleneck.
It's really you.
What the fuck
is squarehead doing here?
- David, you know Martin,
of course,
and this is his boss,
Brian MacDuff from the OPP.
- Pleasure to meet you.
- Yeah, I'm sure. You wanna tell me
why the hell I'm here this early?
- You wanna talk, Brian?
- No, no. It's yourjurisdiction.
- No, no, no, I insist.
- Okay.
We know that the victim
is from Montreal.
- We know...
the victim...
is from Montreal.
- We don't know for sure yet
if it's a murder and if it is,
where the murder victim
comes from.
- But we don't know for sure yet
if it's a murder,
or, if it is,
where the murderer comes from.
- So Captain LeBoeuf and I thought
this would be a great opportunity...
- So we thought,
Captain Leboeuf and I,
this would be a great...
opportunity...
- It's okay, Chief.
I understand English.
- Oh, shit... Okay.
It's okay.
David... can English.
He can English.
He can...
- Oh!
- Yes!
- Okay, well, go ahead, then.
- Okay, I go, I go.
So we thought
it was a good hoppor...
- Opportunity.
- It was a good...
- Opportunity.
- Hopportunity to be...
- You may speak French, Captain.
- Ah, for fuck's sake...
- You speak French?
- No, not really.
I had a small gadget
installed in my brain
under people when they speak.
Yes, I speak French.
I was in enriched French
at Upper Canada College.
- Upper what?
- I also lived in Paris for a year.
- Ah, that's why
you're such a snobby pain in the ass.
- Hey...
- Right.
Thing is,
we want to show the RCMP
that they can't have the whole pie.
- No, no. Okay...
- And that if we can cooperate,
it would be very good
for our image
and next year's budgets.
- Yes!
So until further notice,
you're...
...partner.
- You've got to be kidding.
- This is a joke.
- Listen to me, you!
Based on what Sylvain
told me yesterday,
I'd worry more about getting suspended
than who's my new partner.
So if I were you
I'd just shut my hole
and solve this case
as fast as possible.
- I just went through a rough one.
I can't work with this clown!
- Just do it, Martin.
You want that desk job,
don't you?
(phone ringing)
- Grossbut.
- Benoit Brisset is dead.
- Excuse me?
- His body was found
at the Ontario border.
- When?
- We don't have much information yet.
- That's not possible.
Everyone liked Brisset.
- Did he have any problems
with his clients?
- No, I don't think so,
but I'm not familiar with all his cases.
If he had a problem with a client,
I'm sure he'd have told me.
- No doubt, you've known
each other a long time.
- Long enough. We started working
together on the Fleur de Lys.
- That's true.
- And we've been together
ever since.
Has the family been notified?
- I have no idea...
- If I can do anything...
- I'll get back to you
if I hear anything.
- Thank you.
- Hi, Michel.
I've been waiting for you.
- Ah!
- That had to hurt.
- Benoit Brisset, 46.
Recently made partner
at Grossbut, Canuelsberg,
Tiernyskovitch & Brisset.
Divorced, no kids.
Three condos.
One's in Boca, one in Nice.
Works 75 hours a week,
which I gather for Montreal is a lot.
No known mob links.
Member of Le Mirage Golf Club.
Drives a Cherokee.
Anything else you want to know?
- Is he circumcised?
- Yes.
- Jeff, meet my counterpart
from the OPP, Martin Ward.
- Nice to meet you.
- Salut.
- I know at first glance
he looks like a gay accountant.
But believe it or not,
he's not an accountant.
- Gotcha.
- Are you able to determine...
- The height he fell from?
Depends on the speed
of the helicopter.
- Who said anything
about a helicopter?
- Me, I could've sworn
I just said helicopter.
You see,
an airplane goes too fast.
He'd be cut in two,
without your help.
A failed parachute
would still be attached.
Hanglider straps
are too complicated.
You really have to want
to kill yourself.
The air-balloon festival
hasn't started yet.
If it was a stork,
he would've been caught
in a 46-year traffic jam.
So, helicopter.
But to reply to your question,
80 metres max.
Or 236 feet,
4 and 7/8s inches for you.
An inert body in free fall
goes at 30 metres a second.
Looking at this mess, I'd say
a minimum of 25 and a max of 80.
My feeling is that it's not 60.
At 30 meters a second,
the fall would take
exactly 2 seconds.
And that's too round a figure.
I just don't feel it.
Nothing in life
should be so precise.
Maximum 80 metres.
- What about this?
- What's tattoo in English?
- Tattoo.
- Tattoo? A tattoo? That's random.
2 T's and 2 O's,
yet it's the long A
that you pronounce.
- Why is there blood?
- How would you feel
after a 200 feet fall?
And a tattoo can take
up to 10 days to heal.
- I'd say this tattoo
was fresher than that.
A few hours at the most,
it had hardly started to heal.
"Pantutti" for you.
- Then why...
- Why didn't this part bleed?
He started it 2 months ago
and he just finished it yesterday?
Bad answer. Ontario's turn to reply.
Too long!
It's the opposite.
The part that bled was done
while he was still alive.
The other part was done
after he was killed,
you can tell
by the pigmentation.
He was dead before the fall,
because there's also this.
The coagulation of this wound
corresponds to that
of the tattoo.
The wounds from the fall
are more recent,
the patterns are different.
- So he was dead before he fell.
But why a tattoo?
A signature?
- Makes sense.
A tattoo doesn't fit his character.
You don't wear $5,000 Armani suits,
get made a law partner,
go get a tattoo.
- Why not?
- Not very classy.
- Angelina Jolie has tattoos.
- My point exactly. The real question is
why a fleur de lys with a scale?
- Mm-hmm.
- I could give you a thousand reasons.
- One would do.
- Hmm.
- Maybe we should go ask
his partners. Thanks, Jeff.
- If I come up with anything,
I'll call you.
- Sorry, but I didn't get half
of what he said.
- Me neither! As long as we each got
a different half, we'll be okay.
- Uh-huh. Okay. Great.
Thanks, Stefane! We're on our way!
Change of plan.
We can pay Grossbut a visit later.
As we thought,
there were no registered
helicopter flights in that area.
But a farmer saw a chopper
flying low over his field
and he identified it
as being from Helicoptere Libellule,
a small company
at the St. Hubert airport.
- Okay.
So do we go see the farmer
or go directly to the airport?
- I think we go directly
to St. Hubert.
(punk-rock music)
Jesus!
What are you doing?!
(honking)
You can't do that!
This isn't an official police car!
There's no siren to warn people!
- Roll down your window
and make the siren noise yourself.
(honking)
Come on!
(honking)
- Oh! Look, we're gonna have
to have some ground rules here.
- No problem.
Rule 1: In Quebec,
I'm in charge.
I take care of fights
and car chases.
- I see. That leaves jaywalking
and traffic violations for me?
- As long as no ladders are needed.
- And no smoking.
- That's your right.
- Then why are you lighting up?
- I have rights too.
I'm in the smoking section.
- This car is really you,
you know?
- Thanks.
- Rule 12:
You let me interrogate the witnesses.
I do the talking.
- Whatever, but in French.
- Depends on the maternal language
of the person we're talking to,
doesn't it?
- In Quebec, we work in French.
- Fine!
That leaves the rest of Canada
under my jurisdiction,
with the possible exception
of some of New Brunswick.
- Whoa! What did I just say?
In FRENCH!
- Sorry about this.
I have everything right here...
- Take your time, ma'am.
How many helicopters
do you have?
- Three, but one is being fixed.
Here's the page.
No, none of our helicopters flew
near the Ontario border yesterday.
The owner has been
with a group of Americans
up in Tremblant the past week
and Luc did a short return trip
to Montreal around 2:00.
But wait, that's strange.
- What's strange?
- Hey!
- Sorry, interrogation.
- What's strange?
- I don't want
to get anybody in trouble,
but Luc seems to have taken
a chopper out
at the end of the day yesterday.
Maybe it was to fix something.
In that case, it would be normal
for it not to be logged.
- Do you have a number
where we can reach Mr?
- Therrien,
Luc Therrien.
At this time of day,
he's usually at the bar
on the corner.
- Thank you.
- The pleasure is all mine, Officer.
Excuse me, but is there a number
where I can reach you
in case anything new
pops into my head?
- I don't have any cards with me.
- Ah.
(laughing)
- It's 9...
- Okay.
- 1... 1...
That's it.
(laughing)
They'll know how to find me.
Ask for Martin Ward.
- Ward...
- I'm going to park in the back.
- There we go. Luc Therrien.
Thirty-nine years old, divorced.
Nine years for smuggling cocaine.
After that, nothing.
Helicopter pilot for 10 years.
With this company
for the past 3 years.
- Luc Therrien...
I've heard that name before.
Maybe I arrested him.
- Wait, wait. I'm the one
who asks the questions.
- You're right and I'm gonna let
you go in there all by yourself.
I'll join you in a little while.
- Good.
You'll be able to study my methods
and maybe learn a thing or two.
- Yeah, right.
- Let me go and size the place up,
then join me.
- What are you doing?
Hey, no badge.
Especially not one from Ontario.
What the hell?
- Anything else?
Hello, handsome.
What can I get for you?
- A ginger ale, straight up,
s'il vous plait.
- Ginger ale!
A little ice?
- No, thank you.
(both chuckling)
I'm looking for a helicopter pilot.
- We're not short on those
around here.
It's on me.
- Why, thank you.
Therrien.
Does that name
mean anything to you?
- Therrien...
- Luc Therrien.
- Oh, Luc!
This is your lucky day,
that's him there.
- Merci.
- Tabarnac!
Shit, man, you're lucky.
Rita, two beers!
- Nice jacket.
- Thanks... Reverend.
Nice turtleneck.
It was a joke.
Rita, give the man
another drink.
- Ginger ale?
- Ooh, ginger ale.
You worried about driving home?
(all chuckling)
- Do you know that the Canadian
Heart Disease Association
says that two
alcoholic drinks per day
can be beneficial for our health,
but that three or more bring us
ever closer to the grave?
- Therrien, you've been dead
for seven years.
(laughing)
- I drink to stay calm when people
start to get on my nerves.
- Ever tried yoga?
- I know practically
every position.
- We all know your
favourite positions, Rita.
- Show the lady
a little respect.
- Winner buys the beer?
- What planet are you from?
- Toronto.
- Oh, yeah?
That's why I hate your face.
What the fuck you doing here?
- A poll.
I'd like to ask you a few questions
about Benoit Brisset.
We know there's a link...
- Argh!
Let me ask again,
do you know Benoit Brisset?
It's fine.
Argh!
Oh!
- Ah!
- Ah!
- Bouchard!
Do something!
Bouchard, help me!
- Does anybody here
understand English?
I think the guy
with the purple face
is trying to tell me something.
- David!
Help me... please!
- With pleasure.
- Mind your own business.
- Okay, you can let him go.
I'll take care of him.
- I'm not sure that's a good idea.
- Martin, we talked about this.
I'm in charge of fights.
Take it easy, it'll be okay.
- Argh!
- Thanks. Has Mr. Therrien
seemed at all nervous lately?
- No more than usual.
- Argh!
- Martin, help me!
- May I have a little lemon, please?
- Anything for you, handsome.
- Martin, stop screwing around.
- Here's my card
if you think of anything.
I'm sorry,
I don't understand you.
- Fuck you!
- Right language,
wrong words.
- Martin, help me, please!
- Excuse me.
Let go of my partner.
What are you doing?
I don't know
if you don't respect procedures
because you're ignorant,
you're a lunatic,
orjust because you're French.
You can't do this!
(laughing)
- And what is appropriate
procedure in such a case?
- Hey...
it's yourjurisdiction.
- Thanks.
- You motherfuckin' pieces of shit!
- Hey, watch your language.
- What did he say?
- He called us rotten.
- I got that,
but "hostie de calice"?
- It's swearing.
"Hosties de pourris"
is like fuckin' pieces of shit,
but "hosties de calice de pourris"
is like motherfuckin' pieces of shit.
But I've been called worse.
"Hostie de calice de tabarnac."
- Over-the-top pourri?
- Oui.
- Laugh it up, assholes.
When I get out of here...
- Shush! Shush!
Wait, I'm not finished.
You can conjugate it, too.
- Like a verb?
- Mm-hmm!
- I'll fuckin' give you one!
- Good one, Luc. For example,
I'll fuckin' give you one.
Or you could use
the masculine and say,
here's a hell of a whack.
- Got it.
- You utter fuck.
- Absolutely.
As in I'll give you a fuckin'...
We can also use it as a noun.
We have expressions too!
Like, I don't give a shit.
- Okay, enough.
You don't want him
to file a complaint.
- I don't give a shit.
Come on.
- Argh!
- What's going on?
Lulu, your boot is in the way.
- Sorry.
- I just hope you don't talk
like that around children.
- Holy fucking shit! Gabrielle!
- I have my answer.
This is a handicapped space!
You can't park here.
- Yes, I can, I'm with you.
- Give me your car keys.
- No.
- This is ridiculous.
We can't leave a suspect
in the trunk of your car
because you're late
for your daughter's ballet recital.
- Why not?
- Let me out of here,
you assholes.
- Bravo, girls.
Let's have a nice round of applause
for our well-deserving girls.
- You obviously have no kids.
- I have a 15-year-old I raise alone!
- Then don't tell me
the asshole in my trunk
is more important
than our children!
- That's not the point, Bouchard!
Rules were made for a reason!
- I don't want to hear another
word about it. That's an order!
- An order?
- Yes.
- Hey!
- Excuse me, sorry.
- Will you sit down!
- I didn't miss Gabrielle?
- No, you haven't.
- This is Martin.
He's from Toronto.
He is working for me on a case.
- My sympathies.
- Delighted to meet you.
- Ahem.
- This is Suzie, my ex-wife.
- My sympathies.
- What do you mean?
- Ahem!
Thank you.
Now that we have your attention,
we can present
our most advanced group,
And they're nervous, so please
encourage them all you can.
- It's them!
Gabrielle, let's go!
Go, girls, you can do it.
You too, Matthew.
- Music!
- Relax, Suzie.
It's going to be fine!
(classical music)
Good start.
- Yes!
- Shhh...
- Hey, that's not easy.
Does he have to put his hands there?
- Just relax.
- That's my daughter,
the one up front.
Yessss.
Beautiful.
Here comes the finale.
Yes!
Whoo!
(whistling)
Yeah! All right!
Way to go, pumpkin!
- Bravo!
- Matthew, you rock!
That's my girl, centre stage.
Today, you were fantastic.
Your "pas de basques" were...
wow!
You stole the show.
- We really have to go.
- Daddy, do you have to go?
- I'll be home for supper,
I promise,
we'll celebrate your triumph.
Gimme a kiss.
- Will your friend be coming too?
- What friend?
- Your employee. Would you like
to come for dinner?
- With great pleasure!
- Fantastic. See you later.
- Yes.
- "Fantastic"?
All of a sudden you're bilingual?
- Hey.
- I'll see you later, okay?
Don't feel obliged to come,
I'm sure you're tired.
- On the contrary,
I'd really like to come.
- I think you should
get some rest.
- I've always heard you Quebecois
were hospitable, but...
Hey...
Rita, the barmaid,
left me a message.
- So why don't you
go eat with her?
You know what they say
about girls from Quebec?
My car?
That's my car!
- I told you...
- Hey!
- Police! Freeze!
- Hey! My car!
- Police!
Freeeeeze!
See? Even in English,
works like a charm.
- Yeah, right!
- We could've been in very big trouble.
- You're so negative!
- The suspect!
- My car!
- How are we gonna explain this?
- For the time being,
we explain nothing.
(small explosion)
- What? Are you crazy?
A suspect has died in your car!
We have to report this!
- You're the nut case.
What do you think
your bosses will say
when they hear that this happened
as a result of your negligence?
- My negligence?
I told you, I could've brought him
myself to headquarters,
but you couldn't stand the thought
of not being able to sit there,
showing off in front of your pals!
- If your procedures
were so fucking important,
why didn't you stay with the car
instead of coming in
and sucking up to get a free meal
and flirting with my ex-wife
in front of our child?
- That's it. You're crazy.
I'm outta here.
I'm gonna write my report
detailing exactly what happened
and I don't care what you do,
but you're not dragging me
down in this shit with you!
- It's too late,
because you're already in shit.
So if you want to save ourjobs
so we can feed our kids,
we have to shut up
and find the sicko who did this.
That's the only way out.
- Shit de merde de shit
de fuck de tabarnac!
- 24 hours.
If we have nothing
in the next 24 hours,
I'll explain what happened.
- Not one hour more.
(distant sirens)
- Anyway...
the case is moving forward.
- At least now we know
it wasn't him.
What? It's true.
Hey, you okay?
- That was delicious.
I really liked the way
you did the salmon,
French bistro style.
I do it American style.
- You cook?
- Yes, I love to cook.
- Apart from his
famous french toast,
David was never very useful
in the kitchen.
- No, but you found me
more useful in another room.
- Still, it's rare to see
exes living together
in the same house
like a normal family.
- Normal?
- Are you divorced too?
- Gabrielle!
- No offence taken.
Yes, Gabrielle, I am.
- What happened?
What? I'm interested.
- My wife was working
as the Governor General's
press secretary
and while she was in London
on a Royal visit,
she called me one day at work
and told me
she had met some sort of prince
and she wasn't coming home.
I never saw her again.
- You're kidding, right?
- No.
- That must have been a shock.
- Jonathan was 8.
He spends Christmas and two weeks
in the summer with her.
- What's a semi-prince?
- A rich guy
with legs like a frog.
(laughter)
- Okay, bedtime.
- But, Daddy, it's only 7:30!
- Not you, honey.
I was talking to Martin.
Seriously, we have
a big day tomorrow.
- You're right. We have to go
to Therrien's place. I should go.
- Why don't you stay upstairs
at David's place tonight?
That way you can leave together
early in the morning?
- Suzie, my place is really a mess.
- I know,
Martin can sleep in my room
and I'll sleep upstairs
at your place.
- It's settled!
- We'll talk
about your piercing later.
- Barmaid's not answering her cell.
- Where the fuck
is the search warrant?
- Did you take Ritalin as a child?
- Huh?
- Try thinking about other things.
Your daughter is adorable.
- That's true, we're really lucky.
She's a great kid.
- You were right.
Quebec women are... special.
- Are you talking about Suzie?
- She is really superb.
She's really down-to-Earth.
- What are you trying to say?
- What?
- This isn't working.
- Bouchard,
we're waiting for a warrant.
- I don't give a shit.
- Bouchard! Come on!
- I don't give a shit.
- Great, now we can't use
any of the evidence.
(sighing)
Idiot!
- Shit...
Martin!
Come look at this.
- Not without a warrant!
- Ah, come on,
I already broke in anyway.
I thought
I saw someone in distress.
- Goddammit!
- Ha!
(laughing)
- Would you try not touching
any more of the evidence?
- It was worth it
just for the look on your face.
(buzzing)
What a sick fuck!
Now I get why Luc Therrien's name
rang a bell.
I remember.
He was drafted by the Fleur de Lys.
Played half a season for Quebec
before getting busted for dope.
- That explains the tattoo.
- Mm-hmm.
So this is all about hockey,
or drugs?
- Maybe both.
- That's Grossbut.
- Hmm...
- You know him?
The jerk who sold Quebec
to Colorado.
- The next year,
they won the Cup, right?
- Blah, blah, blah...
(camera flash)
(camera flash)
All right... you finish
your little arts-and-crafts project.
I'm gonna check
the basement out.
(soft music)
- David!
Grossbut is here!
- Martin!
Come see this.
Jackpot!
(dialling phone)
- This is Detective Martin Ward.
We have a dead body here.
- Hmm...
(rapid beeping)
- Shit!
David?!
What have you done now?
- This is good!
This is really good!
What the fuck's he doing?
Taking pictures of the fire?
(swearing in French)
Ah!
Why does this shit
always happen to me?
Ow! Shit!
If I get out here alive,
I swear I'm gonna ask
for a desk job.
- David!!!!
David!
(gunshot)
- Ah!
(ringing)
(coughing)
- What the hell's that smell?
(coughing)
(screaming)
- Martin!
- Here, get Grossbut out.
- Never mind him.
- No, no, get him out of here.
- Let's go.
(coughing)
- You all right?
- Yeah.
- Gimme some of that.
- It's my inhaler.
- What the hell?
I feel kind of weird.
- Me too.
(distant sirens)
(laughing)
(swearing in French)
- That's not good, right?
- Jesus Christ, David!
You went in without a warrant.
You put a suspect in your trunk.
All that's left of him
fits in a sandwich bag.
Do you think that's normal?!
- Don't go crazy.
He had a record
as long as your arm,
he's not exactly Brother Andre.
- Brother Andre!
- We have to pick him up
with a spatula!
Then you burn down a house
with a victim inside!
- Don't forget my car.
- Don't interrupt me
when I'm talking!
- In fact, Chief,
it was all my fault.
I thought I spotted someone
inside in distress.
There was someone in there,
but not who I thought.
He was in distress...
but not today.
It's close enough. Huh?
- Captain MacDuff, line 3.
- Captain MacDuff.
You got my message
about what you crazy cop do?
- Yes.
- He burned down the building!
He blew up...
the witness!
- Martin, is this true?
- Well, uh...
with regard to the situation, sir,
I think one could
characterize the case as, uh...
What was the question?
- Witness! Witness!
- Oh, no, I have a halibi.
I was at David's
daughter's ballet recital.
- What?
- Martin, you come home
right now!
We'll talk about this later.
It's not our business!
Now get back home!
- Good, I'll be better off
not having to drag a tourist around.
- Listen, sir, let me fix this.
Because I'm spending half my time
babysitting Rambo on steroids.
I can fix this.
- SHUT UP!!!
And you...
you crazy son of a mad cow,
from now on,
you're off the suitcase!
Off the suitcase!
You go to Ontario.
That's it, that's all!
Don't call us, we'll call you! Huh?!
It's over. Over.
OVER!
(chuckling)
And you. You.
All I want from you is to take
this squarehead to the airport.
That's your fucking job for today.
- Roger, come on...
- Out!
Out!
- This way.
- Get out of here!
Get out! Get out!
- I've got the munchies.
- Oh, what can I say?
It's been an education.
But two victims, Quebecois.
One witness, dead, Quebecois.
One killer - I'm guessing,
wild one now - Quebecois.
So, bye-bye.
Tell Suzie I'll email her.
- What's your deal with Suzie?
You've only seen her twice!
- You Quebecois are all the same.
You got some lunatic
who's gone nuts over a hockey team
that doesn't exist anymore.
And you with Suzie?
"Je me souviens."
You're living in the past.
You got to get over it.
- Yeah, well, at least we're alive,
not like you and your freakin' queen
and her fucked-up children -
one of whom stole your wife,
by the way.
- Did anyone call a taxi
for the airport?
- Your lift is here.
- I did.
- Can I take your suitcase?
- No, thanks, I'll be right there.
- But you're right about one thing,
The only piece in this story
that doesn't fit is you,
so bye-bye.
- Tune in to my pre-game show
later tonight.
We're gonna talk
about these rumours
that a major Canadian team
is moving south,
which really pisses me off!
All of you know I hate Montreal!
I hate the team!
But what's the point of hating Montreal
if they're in Houston?
Also we have a big surprise guest
for you: Mr. Pickleton.
You don't want to miss this,
because I won't miss you!
- You seen anything like this?
I can't believe it.
- You've got to be kidding.
- Recognize her?
- I think I recognize
the lunatic who did it.
- Martin!
- Where you think you're going?
- Get your hands off me, asshole.
- Oh, say it isn't so.
- I'm a cop.
- You can't pass.
- I know that guy over there.
That's my friend, Martin!
Hey, it's me!
Tell these guys
to let me through.
- Okay, you can go.
- It's okay, he works for me.
Hey, hi, how are you?
Hello...
- He's from Quebec.
- Ah.
- Did you miss me?
- Show him.
- Tabarnac.
Well, you could say
he's a hell of a skater.
It's a Quebec hockey expression.
You know who she is, right?
- Martina Flabcheeks.
Thanks.
- The first female hockey agent.
Her first client
was Quebec's 1st pick in '95,
but he never signed with them.
Everyone thought it was his decision,
but it was his parents and her.
She wanted him
to play in Toronto...
but he ended up in the States.
- Well that makes perfect sense.
Of course she deserves to die.
She wouldn't let her client
play in Quebec 10 years ago.
I suppose some people still aren't
over the Plains of Abraham.
Incidentally, aren't you supposed
to be speaking English?
- Where's the tattoo?
- Right here.
- Hmm. Who's next?
The client?
- He's safe. He's under guard
in a New York hospital.
When we phoned him
to give him the bad news,
he fell to the ground,
got a concussion.
- Again?
- Hold her skirt.
- What?
- Hold up her skirt.
You should be good at that.
Good.
(camera flash)
Okay. So Brisset screwed Therrien,
who played for the Fleur de Lys,
so he gets a fleur de lys
with two scales on either side.
Grossbut sells the team
to Colorado,
so he gets a mountain tattoo
with two eights replacing
the first two Os in Colorado.
- 88: Flabcheeks's
star player's number.
He's been playing us from the beginning.
The tattoo isn'tjust his signature.
It's a clue to his next victim.
- And 88 goes to Philadelphia.
- Philadelphia...
With two missing letters.
L. A.
- L.A. Los Angeles.
- The best player in the world.
- The Great One.
- Or the one who sold him.
(rousing theme music)
- Okay, this is the situation
that I find myself in.
It's not bad enough that Montreal
is leading our team 3-2 in this series,
but right now I have a guest,
Mr. Pickleton, who has not shown up.
And why? Because some lunatic
is out there killing members
of the hockey community.
- Pickleton's in the building.
His limo's here. He must be on his way.
- Did you talk to security?
- If they see anything,
they'll call me.
- Shh! Shh!
- What about the cowards that want
to abolish fighting in hockey
and make hockey look like golf.
I say we go after them!
While we're at it,
why don't we allow
Annika Soren-what's-her-not
and some of her chick golfer friends
to lace up the skates
and go play
for the Montreal Patriotes
in time for the playoffs.
What's the big deal?
They only make the playoffs
once every 5 years.
What?
Can you believe this?
My director is now asking me to talk
about last night's game and to stretch,
because our no-show guest
Mr. Pickleton,
a man who I have waited
over a decade
to ask straight up
why in God's name he would sell
the world's greatest hockey player
out from under us,
apparently, he's in danger!
Boo-hoo!
And I've got two cops in the corner
who won't tell me a thing
about this lunatic.
Can we see these cops?
Can we get a shot of them?
Hi, guys. How you doin'?
So maybe you have something
to say on the subject, so call in
and talk to me on the air
and tell me what you think about...
The Tattoo Killer.
- What?
- And cut!
90 seconds! Make-up!
- Mr. Berry,
I'm sure you know yourjob...
- Don't tell me how to do my job.
- You can't talk about the killer
on the air.
We don't want to provoke him.
And branding him "The Tattoo Killer,"
that's publicity,
just what these guys want.
- I can talk about whatever
the hell I want to talk about,
because I have a lot of time
I have to fill.
Can someone please
get this fruit away from me?
- Okay, thank you. Bye-bye.
Tom, you good? Coffee? Yes?
- No, I don't have a guest!
How am I good?
- Can someone
find him a guest, please?
Okay, people,
we're back in 5, 4, 3...
- Welcome back.
We have two very special guests
in the studio
to talk about... The Tattoo Killer!
With us from Ontario,
Detective Martin Ward,
and from Montreal,
David Bouch...
Boucha...
Boucherville, Bouchie...
One of these French names
I always screw up.
Men, are you any closer
to getting this jerk?
- Well, Tom, I don't think we can
say categorically that he is a jerk.
What we do know
is that he works very fast.
And though we don't want
to sound alarmist,
we think it would be a good idea
if those people in the hockey
community were careful.
- Careful?
What does that mean?
- Well, to respond
to your question,
Tom, uh...
the best way to be prudent
would be to change
your hapitudes.
- Your habitubes?
- Habits, Tom.
That's a good point, David.
The killer seems to know
the habits of all his victims
and is using that knowledge
to capture them.
So it might be a good idea
to change your routine.
- Yeah, what I'm wondering is,
why do we have a French cop
on our turf? I mean,
is this killer
not challenging enough for you?
- Keep it up and you'll regret
wearing those ugly ties.
- Come again?
- He just said:
"What a sharp dresser you are!"
- No, I said go on with
your stupid comments about me
and you'll regret those ties.
- You want a piece of me?
- Are you hitting on me?
- Tom, caller on line 1!
- Okay, apparently
we have a caller on the air
who has
some very important information.
Caller, you're on the air.
What's your name, please?
- Tattoo Killer.
- Ha-ha. Very funny,
but we just don't have the time.
- You have a problem
with my quest, Tom?
You think you can do better?
You think I'm just a jerk?
- I don't think you're a jerk,
I think you're a flake or a fake.
- Shut the fuck up.
Mr. Pickleton
is getting his tattoo now.
- Let me talk to him.
Unfortunately, Detective Ward,
Mr. Pickleton can't come
to the phone right now.
He was moving too much
and it was impossible
to make a nice tattoo.
And by the way...
sorry about your car, David.
- Sir, we're going to hang up now.
If you'd like to talk to us,
we're going to give you a number
that you can call us at.
- Don't you fucking hang up on me!
I know your names and faces.
So don't worry,
if I wanna talk to you...
(laughing)
...believe me,
I'll find you.
- Hang up the phone.
- I don't think so.
- You're either with me or against me.
- Watch it, frog!
- You are trying to stop me
in my heroic attempt
to save our national sport.
When I get finished with all
the moneygrubbers and scumbags
who sold our game to Americans,
who couldn't care less...
- Stand back!
...about the art of hockey,
I'll come after you
and those two cops and everyone
else who gets in my way!
If you think
I'm going to let my game
become less important
than bowling
because of a couple of rich...
(dial tone)
Fuck!
- Listen to me, you sick fuck.
You want to talk, call me.
514-555-5594.
- Ah!
- Pickleton can't be too far
from the limo.
- If he's still in the building.
(phone ringing)
Hello?
- David?
You want to talk to me?
- Keep him talking.
- Yeah.
What will you do with him?
- Let's just say...
...I'm going to leave him on ice.
- On ice?
- He's on Bouchard's cellphone.
Try and trace the call.
I don't care! Just trace it!
- Don't you speak French?
- When I feel like it.
And now I don't.
- I'm understand everything you've
done, except for Benoit Brisset.
Why him?
- He's the one who loved
Colorado so much.
- How come you have such
a strong accent in English and French?
Who was your teacher?
Jean Chretien?
Funny. Real funny.
Time's up.
- Fuck.
(banging)
(muffled yelling)
- It's the police!
We'll get you out.
- It's unlocked.
(muffled yelling)
Tattoo gear.
Easy, easy.
- You all right?
- I'm fine, thanks.
- Who are you?
- I drive the Zamboni.
- Where is it?
- Down there.
- Let's go.
- Take care of this, guys.
(crowd cheering in distance)
Police! Freeze!
- Shit!
(rock music)
- Shit. Go, I got Pickleton!
Hey, come here!
I need some help!
- Fuck!
- Police! Out of the way!
- Hey! Whoa!
- Police! Out of the way!
- You fucking Frenchies!
You run like you drive!
- Out of the way!
Ah!
Ah...
- Excuse me! Police!
Excuse me. Excuse me.
You okay?
- Yeah, I'm okay.
- Easy, easy.
We know Pickleton sold 99 to L.A.
And here we have the U.S. Dollar sign
and a big apple
which brings us to New York.
- You're sure it's New York?
- Well, New York money for sure.
- I don't know.
There's nothing Canadian about it.
- Call the New York FBI
to warn them
a maniac might be headed
their way.
- Maybe we should
go down there.
- Why? You gonna burn down
the Empire State Building?
Blow up Times Square?
- He's prejudiced,
isn't he?
- What did he say?
- Just ignore him.
What do you want us to do?
- Work with what you got.
As long as there's no body bags
in my territory,
I don't give a shit.
- Talk about a shitty week.
If he's going south,
there's nothing we can do about it.
I'll probably lose my job over this.
Lost my car...
The good news is,
it can't get any worse.
- You're right.
Let's get out of here.
You want to come home
for dinner?
- Why not.
- Don't do me any favours.
Can you hand me an endive,
please?
Aha! Rosemary.
Endive. Endive, s'il vous plait.
- This?
- Yes, that's it.
- The guest room is ready.
- Thanks.
Would you set the table, please?
- Do you have any beer?
- I don't,
but I might have some cognac.
- Aunt Iris bought some yesterday.
It's in the fridge.
- All right, so where's this hunk
who saved my big brother?
- Aunt Iris, this is David.
David, this is Aunt Iris.
- Okay...
Um... just Iris is good.
- Enchantay, Just Iris.
- Enchantay to you!
- Ah!
It's nothing.
- Are you adopted?
- 'Cause you can
see the difference?
- Want a beer?
- Thank you, baby.
- Maybe Toronto isn't so bad
after all!
- I don't know what that means.
(whispering): It means
he wants to have sex with you.
(chuckling)
- Come on, it must've hurt.
- No. Itjust felt,
like, this big electric shock.
I was waiting to die.
But nothing. No pain.
Huh, Martin? Isn't it true?
If the bullet goes right through,
it can take up to 10 minutes
before you start to feel any pain.
- I usually try to solve most
of my cases without getting shot.
- What happened
to the guy who shot you?
- I shot back. He was dead
before he hit the ground.
But because of the bleeding,
I started to feel, uh...
etourdi.
- Dizzy.
- Dizzy, that's it.
So I'm, like, "Okay, let's go outside,
get some fresh air
and wait for the back-up."
So I handcuff the dead guy,
head for the backyard.
- That seems almost cautious.
- What?
- Handcuffing the dead guy.
- Yeah, I know.
But the night before that,
I saw "Fatal Attraction."
- Oh, yeah.
- You know?
She's in the bathtub,
you think she's dead...
And then... argh! Yeah.
So I didn't want to take any chances.
So I'm in the backyard,
light up a smoke,
try to get some air,
and tout a coup...
- All of a sudden.
- All of a sudden,
the dead guy's dog jumps on me.
And, I mean,
he's mad en tabarnac.
- That's really, really bad.
- Is he bullshitting us?
- I don't know.
- It's true, swear to God.
Look, I have a scar.
(laughing)
So I'm bleeding like crazy,
I'm fighting the dog
with my, uh... mains nues.
- Bare hands.
- Yeah, that's it.
- Why didn't you just shoot it?
- The dog was only doing its job.
- Exactly.
So last thing I remember,
I had the dog in a headlock.
- Oui.
- And we both passed out.
A few minutes later,
the back-up arrives,
they find the dead guy with
handcuffs in the living room
and me and the dog
in the backyard,
endormi en cuillere.
- Spooning.
- Lucky dog.
(glass tinkling)
- Jonathan?
(gun cocking)
- If you're such a hotshot cop,
show me where your gun is.
- Search me.
- Jonathan?
(gasping)
(gunshots)
Argh!
Argh!
(grunting)
(groaning)
- Dad!
- Argh!
- Leave my dad alone!
- Argh!
Tabarnac!
Sorry, kid. Argh!
(grunting)
- Teach me something else.
- Leo et Lea go to school.
- Leo...
- Et Lea...
- Leo et Lea...
- You all right?
- Yeah. That was cool.
- Thanks!
That was great!
(panting)
- What else?
- Long live a free Quebec!
- What's that mean?
- Oh, Jesus!
Bouchard!
- Vive le Quebec libre!
Oh, long live a free Quebec!
Long live a free Quebec!
(moaning)
Oh, Quebec... uh, Quebec free...
(moaning)
- What the fuck
are you doing here?
- Iris, it's for you.
- Of course it's for me.
It's my... Hey. Oh, God...
What are you guys doing here?
- I saved Dad's life.
- From what?
Cardiac arrest
watching curling on TV?
- From Therrien.
He's alive, he was in my house.
- What the fuck
are you talking about?
- I kicked his ass.
- He got away.
- You're sure it was him?
- Yeah, I'm sure.
- Why would he try to kill you?
- He was trying to kill us!
He had no idea
you'd be with my sister.
- So who was in the trunk
of my car?
- I don't know,
but the body's in Montreal,
and Therrien is here.
(phone ringing)
- Last call! Last...
Allo?
- Jeff?
- Yes?
- It's Dave. Have you identified
the body that blew up in my car?
- I was just working on it,
Do you know how much overtime
I'm doing because of you?
It's like a 5,000-piece puzzle
that you lend to a cousin
and it came back half-empty,
'cause there's a piece in the sofa,
there's another one
stuck to a sock in the dryer...
- Jeff, I don't have time for this.
- If it was a guy in your car,
then the operation
was a complete success.
- What are you talking about?
- The guy was a girl.
I didn't have a DNA match,
but late yesterday
I got some dental records.
So I gave her a toothbrush
and she's really happy now.
- Jeff, who is it?
- Hold on a sec.
Her name is...
Rita Beaumont. Rita Beaumont.
Not a really interesting name,
is it?
- Rita, the barmaid?
Thanks, Jeff.
- Hey, by the way,
you know that...
Rita spelled backwards...
Uh, never mind.
- Thanks, Jeff.
- No problem.
- That would've been helpful
to know.
- Fuck. She was trying to call you,
that's why.
Therrien must've known
and gotten rid of her.
- No, no, no. Therrien was
in the trunk of the car.
He would've had to have broken out
of the trunk, stolen a car,
driven back to the bar,
grabbed the girl,
grabbed a bomb
that he prepared for that purpose,
driven back to your car,
put her in the trunk,
and then rigged the bomb?
The show wasn't that long.
- He's not alone.
(phone ringing)
(phone ringing)
(phone ringing)
- Allo?
- Suzie?
- Oui. David?
Nice time to call someone.
- How's everything at home?
- Fine.
You sound strange.
Have you been drinking?
- No. No.
It's just... I don't know.
I'm a little Ionely.
Can I talk to Gabrielle?
- David, she's sleeping.
Like normal people do
at this hour.
- I know... I...
I just need to hear her voice.
- What aren't you telling me?
- Please, Suzie.
- What is it?
- Suzie!
- I'm going, I'm going.
I'm upstairs.
She slept in your room.
She misses you too, you know.
Gabrielle...
Gabrielle?
Gabrielle!
David, the door is open!
She's gone!
She's not here!
I put her to bed earlier
and now she's gone!
(phone ringing)
David!
David, answer me!
- Hello?
- David?
- Who is this?
- Oh, it's Detective Ward.
I have a call for Mr. David Bouchard
from his daughter.
Is he available?
- If you touch my baby,
I'll kill you, motherfucker!
- Your daughter is fine.
Gabrielle, it's your father.
- Daddy, come get me, please!
I'm scared!
- Gabrielle!
- Daddy, help me!
- Shut up!
I have nothing
against your daughter.
But you are really starting
to piss me off!
- What do you want?
- I assume
that a smart fellow like you
would know who's next on my list.
Stay out of my way.
Let me do my grand finale.
And after that
you'll get your daughter back.
Safe and sound.
- My daughter has nothing
to do with this.
Take me instead.
- True.
And it wouldn't be right
for anything bad to happen to her.
Because of you.
(laughing)
(crying)
- Suzie...
(Suzie screaming)
- What is going to happen?
Tell me, tell me.
What have you done?
Don't touch me.
Get your hands off me!
I want my daughter!
Do you understand?!
If he touches her...
If he does anything to her,
I never want to see you again!
- I'm sorry.
(both crying)
I'm sorry.
- Bring back our daughter.
Bring back our daughter.
- Okay.
- Is she okay?
(car approaching)
- Salut.
- Salut.
- Everything you asked for
is in the car.
- Thanks.
- Can I do anything else?
- Stay with Suzie, okay?
- Hey, Mike.
- Hey, Stef.
- We have to go.
Let me drive.
- Give me some privacy.
- Okay, boss.
- Hey, is this press conference
going to happen or what?
Some of us have deadlines.
If you want us to write about this
before next season starts...
- Sorry for the delay, everyone.
Mr. Buttman will be here any minute.
- You sure you want to do this?
- Remember, it was my idea.
I just don't want to read about it
in tomorrow's papers.
- Mr. Arbusto!
- Hey, Buttman!
- So nice to talk to you again.
- Everything coming together?
- Sure is.
- I don't want you
to misunderestimate
how grateful I am.
I'm sending you
our agreement right now.
(fax beeping)
You're doing
a wonderful thing for hockey.
'Cause I'm gonna
make hockey as Texas
as a big, fat American steak.
None of that poison Canadian shit.
- You're going to enjoy having
a top hockey team in your state.
(knocking)
I'm busy here!
(knocking)
Just a sec.
(knocking)
You idiots!
Who the hell are you?
- Buttman?
- What's going on?
- What the hell's going on there?!
- Get in the bag.
- Buttman?
- In the bag?
- In the bag.
- How does this work?
(muffed yelling)
- Have a look at this.
- Are you talking to me?
Are you talking to me?
Are you talking to me?
Aha!
Are you talking to me?
Me? That's good.
Goddamn it!
FUCK!
Are you talking to me?
- Hip, hip, hip, hip! Go!
- Argh! Ah!
- Good.
What?
- Ah!
- Don't you know who I am?
I'm gonna sue your asses! You can't
put me in the trunk of a car!
- Yes, I can.
It's a Quebec tradition.
(muffled yelling)
- Okay, I'm in place.
- Shit!
Hey, hey, hey...
- A photo with the children...
- Get away from me!
Take your kids away.
- How rude!
- Take care of your own kids.
- Excusez.
Testing... 1, 2, 3...
- What do you think you're doing?
- Police business.
Your attention, please.
Mr. Buttman will not be here.
He's had an unfortunate contretemps,
and therefore,
the press conference is cancelled.
(cellphone ringing)
If there's any more information
before tonight's final game,
you'll get it.
We will keep you up to date.
- What's this delay about?
Is he trying to make fools
of French Canadians?
- Notjust the French. I don't think
he much likes Canadians, period.
No further comment.
They're all yours.
- Ladies and gentlemen...
...we apologize for the delay.
(phone dialling)
- How'd I do?
- Great. You're being followed.
Don't turn around.
- How many?
- One.
The Patriotes mascot.
Lead him towards the garage,
I'll follow you.
- Got it.
Okay.
- Ah, for fuck's sake!
FUCK!
Goddamn it!
(elevator bell dinging)
(muffled yelling)
(cellphone ringing)
- Bouchard.
- I told you to stay away.
Do you want one last word
with your daughter?
- Wait. I have Buttman.
If you want him, he's yours.
All I want is my daughter.
- You're pushing your luck, David.
- Yeah, yeah.
Do we have a deal?
- The Old Port.
The tower at the end of the pier.
You have 15 minutes.
- You could lose yourjob over this.
- I don't give a shit.
(ship's horn blaring)
(cellphone ringing)
- Yeah?
- Bring him inside the boat.
- You're not done with me yet, asshole.
- Hey, welcome home, Therrien.
You were born to be a mascot.
- Hey, stop stepping on my tail
for Christ's sake?
- Shut the fuck up!
- Where the fuck is my player?
Stop right there.
Where's Buttman?
- Change in plans: Give me my daughter,
you and your buddy can go free.
(muffled yelling): Daddy!
- Shhh...
You see, I'm a man of my word.
- Daddy, I don't like it here!
- Daddy's here, sweetie.
- Don't cry, baby.
It's almost over.
- Oh, you're so cute.
So you think this is a fair trade?
That's not what we agreed on.
You should've brought
something valuable to me.
- Fuck...
- Daddy, I don't like it,
come get me!
- Close your eyes, Gabrielle!
- Come get me!
I don't like this!
- Close your eyes, Gabrielle!
That's it, keep them closed
until I tell you to open them.
- Throw me your gun.
Now!
- You're fuckin' crazy!
- Oh, David...
he was a fucked-up loser
I found on the Internet.
He wanted revenge
on those who screwed up
his hockey career with the pros.
And me...
I just gave him
the tools to do it.
Easy enough.
After that it was easy
to get him to kill the other fuckers!
They destroyed our "Great Game."
- It's just a game, kid.
- Give me your car keys.
I guess Detective Ward
has my package?
I hope he's not too far.
- Martin!
Bring him!
- I'm coming!
(muffled yelling)
He won't kill you here.
He needs a crowd
and you need a tattoo. Get moving.
- Too long!
- Don't touch her.
- Dad!
- In four minutes...
it blows!
- Martin, move!
- We're here!
We're here!
- Give him over.
There's a bomb on Gabrielle.
- Walk over there.
Walk over there!
Move!
(muffled response)
- Okay, now you give me
my daughter.
- Not until Detective Ward
drops his gun.
Not yet, David.
Not yet.
Don't you push your luck!
Fuck!
- Daddy!
- Martin!
Okay, baby, open your eyes.
You can look at me.
- Take it off, Daddy!
I don't like this!
I'm scared.
- I know.
(muffled yelling)
- Move!
- Take it off. Do something!
- I need you to be still.
You can't be moving like that.
- Do it!
- I need you...
- Do something. I'm scared!
- We're going to do this together,
okay?
- Don't touch it.
It might be booby-trapped.
- Are you okay?
- Yeah.
Here and here.
It's a pretty simple device.
Bombmaking 101.
- You know
what you're talking about?
- I was Bomb Squad
before Jonathan was born.
We're gonna have to pull out
these two wires simultaneously.
You'll have to do it.
You need two hands.
- Daddy!
- It'll be okay.
- Orange and yellow.
- You sure?
- Three...
- Wait, wait...
Okay.
- Three,
two, one...
- I love you.
- Pull.
- Move!
Okay. Okay.
(muffled): No, not again!
- Go get him.
- I can't.
- I'll take care of this.
- Go, Daddy.
Go and kick the shit out of him.
Thank you.
(gunshot)
- Ah!
- Oh, shit!
- Oh...
- Ah!
(gunshot)
(muffled yelling)
- Ahhhhh!
(gunshot)
- Argh!!!
- Ahhh!
- Daddy?
(groaning)
- Wait!
- My father!
- Take this.
Call your mother,
I'll help your father.
Stay here, okay?
We'll be right back for you.
Stay here.
- Dave...
Iook at the state you're in.
You should've taken care
of your daughter.
And let me...
take care of Buttman.
- You talk too much.
- No!
Don't!
Don't do it.
It's not necessary.
- What? He tried to kill us
and our kids. He'll come back.
- All good things come
to those who wait.
- What are you talking about?
You didn't...
You can reset those things?
- I prefer to think of it as recycling.
- You sure it'll work?
- We'll soon see.
Man, can that guy run.
(beeping)
- You gotta be fucking kidding me.
- Wow.
- Yeah.
(muffled yelling): Come on!
Get me out of here!
- Oh, shit, the penguin.
Gabrielle?
- In conclusion, I would like
to put an end to the rumours
that any one Canadian team
or another will be moving to the U.S.
I know how important
hockey is to you people,
so I am spearheading
a rule change to ensure
that no Canadian team will ever
have to move from its home city!
(reporters clamouring)
No more questions! Thank you.
No more questions!