Martinez, Margaritas and Murder! (2025) Movie Script
1
Murder is as old
as Cain and Abel.
Remember your Shakespeare?
Who does the guilty party
usually turn out to be?
Someone close to home.
Explain
your title to me.
What The Cat Saw.
Animals carry around
terrible secrets.
That's why the killer will
never see a trial.
The one sensational witness
has no scientific voice.
And the unsensational one?
The unsensational what?
There are
two eyewitnesses to the murder.
Inside that apartment.
Uh, how do you figure?
Your killer
is in the throes of madness.
It takes a level head
to stage a crime scene.
There has to be
a second person.
What makes you think
it was staged?
The coffee table.
There are three fresh rings
left by three margarita glasses.
I don't mention
that in my script.
No blood spatter
on the cat.
If the cat is as close
to the slaughter
as you say it is...
It would be covered in blood.
And brain matter.
The cat licked it off.
That much blood?
And guts?
The cat would have gotten sick.
Someone would have had
to wash the cat.
And the bloody
paw prints on the floor.
And the vomit.
The police
found no forensic.
Anything.
No matching shoes.
No clothes.
That brings us back
to the second person.
Sounds like a case
I worked five years ago.
That ended in a question mark.
Wouldn't it be funny
if your screenplay
was directly tied
to my question mark?
This is beginning to feel
like The Orient Express.
You following the butcher case?
The bedroom butcher?
Of course.
Weren't you involved
with the first victim?
Jeffrey Hillsborough.
For a while, but his priorities
lay elsewhere.
Where?
Bath houses.
Bathroom bars.
The steam room at the gym.
Nice guy.
He just couldn't
keep his zipper up.
That explains
the butcher unzipping him.
How did you meet him?
Victim number two, ironically.
Anderson Emmett.
A kindly Doctor Jekyll
until the bottle ran dry.
When Mr. Hyde
reared his ugly head.
Using Anderson's head
as a wine cellar.
Those two other friends
of yours fared a little better.
The real estate guys?
Halton and Jose.
Nice guys.
Bitchy workaholics, but not
a mean bone in their bodies.
That real estate sign
impaling them both
post mortem was a nice touch.
Jeez, Valentino.
What do you consider
light reading?
Autopsy reports?
And the butcher's
only female victim?
Joanna Paganini?
How did you know her?
She was a stylist.
I met her on set.
We hit it off and became BFFs.
I always teased her
about wanting to run barefoot
through her hair.
It was the best.
Butcher didn't think so.
He removed it.
Scalped her.
All these intimate details.
Aren't you supposed
to keep them under your hat?
As an actor,
you've worn some murderous hats.
Which one of those hats
did you relate to the most?
Victim or executioner?
If you're not careful,
you'll wind up in the chamber
of horrors exhibited
at Madame Tussaud's.
Their true crime section.
Your tone is more...
Addison DeWitt
than Hercule Poirot.
Monsieur Hercule Poirot
would ask:
It's been five years.
The criminally insane
don't get weekend passes.
Or an audience with police.
We all have
our weaknesses.
The keen observer zeroes
in on those weaknesses
and moves in for the kill.
Checkmate.
To the blindsided
Mr. Martinez...
the whistle-blowing
Margaritas...
And...
murder.
And we are live.
And here she is,
the star of our show.
Madame Bella, who knows where
all the bodies are buried.
Prepare to surrender
to the gods of ecstasy.
Bella Erica.
Bello Freddy.
Sit and praise.
Euphoria.
The Bedroom Butcher will retire
in turn in his blade
if he had you at his feet.
Bella.
That tickles
my scary bones, sweetie.
To think that I actually
was at the feet
of every one of his victims.
Poor boys.
Seven funerals in three months.
I don't think I could take
another one of my boys
getting slaughtered
by the Butcher.
Promoted to the FBI's
top ten today.
Relax.
Relax, Bella.
He exercises restraint.
The Butcher only strikes
late at night.
And...
This isn't a bedroom.
My poor Freddy.
All of them such good friends
of yours, too.
Did they pin you?
Pin?
What, tie you down?
When you're a finalist for
a role in a movie or TV show,
you are pinned.
And...
No.
Oh.
Well, you have more than a damn
pin to worry about.
Your ass could be
the butcher's next, baby.
Or yours.
Hey.
You okay, handsome?
Yeah.
Mani? Pedi?
Massage.
I got some,
uh, encouraging news today.
Decided to treat myself.
What's the news?
Promotion.
Kinda prestigious.
Cool!
Awesome sauce for days!
Congratulations.
Thank you.
William B. Henry.
But you can call me Billy.
Freddy.
Freddy Martinez.
Nice to meet you.
Yeah.
Well.
Enjoy your pedi.
Bella kills it with feet.
You be careful out there,
sweetie.
Yummy.
Oh my God!
To die for!
Right?
If looks were a crime,
he would be ripe for execution.
And so sweet, too, Billy.
And he's really smart.
Did you know he designs
crossword puzzles
for the Steak and Kidney
Society in London?
Oh. A steak and kidney society?
Yeah, it's this group
of aristocrats who get together
to concoct the perfect murder.
You could speak French
with some of them.
Oh. Oui, oui.
Oui, oui!
Enchante.
Billy is fine!
You should put him in your new
murder mystery movie.
If I ever get financing.
Hey, how's my Trent
doing today, huh?
My titillating Trent?
You ungrateful, plastic,
tofu-eating little bitch.
You're lucky your apartment
is rent-controlled,
and I'm so fond of Freddy.
You're paying for this outfit.
Like hell I am.
You're not squeezing
one cent out of me.
Oh, that's right,
we can't dip
into your liposuction
stash now, can we?
-You little--
-You should write a D
for dry and estrogen
across your has-been,
old lady big tits
and your boutique moth-eating
science-fiction cooch!
And she was just rambling
on about her lost loves,
and I just casually mentioned
how they probably disappeared
under suspicious circumstances.
Did it ever occur to you
she might be lonely?
Or scared to death
like the rest of the city?
Her screams could wake
the dead like a banshee.
I don't know why she threw
such a hissy fit.
It's like no one's ever
compared her vagina
to the Bermuda Triangle?
Something scary's
hiding in her wheelhouse.
A geriatric masquerade.
Forget Roswell.
Men from Mars should
be terrified of crashing
into the barren,
juiceless landscape
of that fossilized vajaja.
Mr. Owen could only come
to this island in one way.
It's perfectly clear.
Mr. Owen is one of us.
That's odd.
A presiding judge
calling you directly?
When is Brennan set
for release?
Any day now.
Brennan probably
charmed his way out.
I wouldn't put it past him.
He charmed his way in.
To your pants.
I'm sorry, baby, but Trent
and I warned you about Brennan.
I know, I know.
I was a little dick-matized
at the time.
But you didn't wind up
in a loony bin.
You didn't jam
a fireplace poker down
the throats of two friends.
What ever happened
to that restraining order?
The judge said no.
Brennan was a model patient
and reacted well
to treatment, he claims.
This whole story
is a game of the mind.
You should hide your script.
- What The Cat Saw?
- Yeah.
Why?
Because
it reads like a dossier
if you're two years
together.
If Brennan gets
his hands on that,
he is one crazy pill away
from jamming
a fireplace poker
through your eye, too.
What happens
when he doesn't take his meds?
At trial, I was the only
person he was crazy about
to call him on his crazy.
Maybe the judge is right.
I mean, besides,
the M.O. of the Bedroom Butcher
is completely different
than those two murders
that Brennan committed.
That, uh, got him committed.
Not to mention
what your cat saw.
I did, doctor, that proves
less than nothing.
God, there was
a time I wanted to run
like a naked schoolboy
through his hair.
I thought Trent's fantasies
were off the charts.
Raspberry puree.
You know, Brennan did have
a nice head of hair.
I'll give him that.
- Yeah.
- So does Billy.
Yes.
You can invite him
to my orgasmic.
Die with a smile on your face.
Killer.
Serial killer.
Moonlight soire.
Yes.
Oh,
and the man who refuses
to reveal his secret
ingredient
in what he calls his killer
margaritas is invited too.
It's blood plasma.
From my victims.
Plasma changes colors.
And it disappears
into any margarita.
For that added boost.
His brain might snap.
Might want to be executioner.
-Cheers.
-Yummy.
Blood plasma.
Oh, crap. I gotta run.
A client is suing
her husband's estate.
He dropped dead
and left everything
to his mistress's pussy.
Her cat?
No.
Aw!
Oh, here, Raj.
Bye, sweetie.
I love you.
Love you, too.
- Bye, doll.
- See you, Raj.
See you at the party.
You will.
I'm heading out, too.
-Get out?
-Yep.
Be careful, handsome.
I will.
See you Saturday.
Bye.
Love you.
Love you, too.
You're not getting cold feet,
are you?
Come on in.
Welcome to my palace.
I'll show you the rest
of the house later.
Where are you from?
I'm gonna show you
where the magic happens.
Hm?
Come on.
Don't be afraid.
What do you think?
You're gonna make me wait, huh?
Miss Brandt.
Miss Brandt!
It's no use,
Miss Clayborne.
She'll not answer.
It's perfectly true.
He was an innocent man
on trial for his life.
I had nothing against him.
I wanted to ruin the reputation
of his defending counsel
who lost the case
while his client...
lost his life.
Hey.
Take your pic..
Cheers.
There's definitely
some heat there.
Mm.
Maybe Billy is mister--
Ugh.
-Mr. Who?
-Right.
Mr. Right.
I don't know.
Would you trust him if you met
him in a dark alley?
Those brooding features.
His piercing eyes
and perfect cheekbones.
Scary thick lips
and prominent chin.
His face is almost
as symmetrical as mine.
No, there's something off
about Billy.
You really should get a safe.
Having that much money
lying around could...
really come to bite you
in the ass someday.
Nothing wrong
with living life on the edge.
Yeah, I get
a few margaritas in you
and it's a serrated edge.
You really should
learn to sequester
your wagging tongue.
Senora Loose Lips.
You know, Freddy told me that
Brennan's getting out soon.
Yeah, he told me too.
Any day now.
Well, I told him that
he should hide his script.
If Brennan gets a hold
of it, he'll--
Slam a fireplace poker
through Freddy's eye?
You could
justify killing someone.
Especially if they deserved it.
That's what he said.
Who?
This detective I'm seeing.
What is it with you
and detectives?
Can't your junk meet
its quota with like a...
a plumber? Or a priest?
Ugh.
My junk loves the challenge.
My junk gets high
on the masquerade.
Hm. In court,
we call that junk science.
Oh.
First Detective
Valentino DeVore.
May he rest in peace.
Damn, he was a beautiful man.
Wasn't he Freddy's
go-to technical advisor
whenever he played cops?
'Twas beauty killed the beauty.
A pretty face really
was Valentino's weakness.
You're lucky your DNA isn't
in the police database.
Although maybe that's
why you boink detectives.
Find out what they know.
I don't look anything
like that police sketch.
Or any police sketch.
Digital composite.
And why are you going so
Sherlock Holmes-y all on Billy?
He seems like a really nice guy
who genuinely cares for Freddy.
Your trust issues are
almost as bad as Freddy's.
I mean, his are justified.
Yours are just born
out of suspicion.
Paranoia.
Suspicion and paranoia
are fabulous motivators.
As an attorney, you know that.
And no,
I can't put my finger on it,
but I am telling you.
There's a second person
lurking inside Billy.
So if I want to go all
Sherlock Holmes on his ass,
then I will.
Well just make sure he doesn't
go all Sherlock Holmes
on your ass.
Keep those bodies buried.
So, how does
an American get a job writing
crossword puzzles for a murder
mystery club in London?
And once you orchestrate
three perfect murders,
you become a knight.
But it only counts
if your victims
are detectives or judges.
Shit.
Federico Santiago
Mago Martinez.
Boris Strange,
Special Crimes Division.
Have we met?
Now listen closely.
As you are no doubt aware,
we have a serial killer
on the loose.
The Bedroom Butcher
the papers dubbed him.
I gave my statement
to the police.
I know, I read it.
We have a suspect pool.
It is someone
in your circle of friends.
We just don't know who.
What does that have
to do with me?
You mean aside from the fact
that all the victims
have been your friends.
Doesn't that telegraph
something rather alarming
to you Federico Santiago?
You are in an ideal position.
The suspect is someone
in your circle.
Since they already trust you.
You are the perfect
candidate to bring them
into your confidence
about the murders.
If you succeed, your reward
will be one thousand of these.
That's in addition
to the FBI's reward.
Imagine having
a place of your own.
Plenty of privacy for you
and your weird margarita
worshipping friends.
And you can finally finance
that murder mystery script
you wrote.
What is the title?
Who the Pussy Licked.
What the Cat Saw.
How do you know about that?
Here's a surveillance kit.
Start using it.
Everything will be recorded.
I'm not a monster hunter.
Give me one good reason
why I should risk my life.
I'll give you three.
To prevent further murders.
And to bring justice
to the victims.
Is that so complicated?
And the third reason?
What about DNA?
-The crime scenes.
-No DNA.
No prints.
It's a very cunning killer.
The butcher also knows the law.
Can't you do one of those
psychological profiles
the FBI does?
Do you know who he is?
A guy I started seeing.
A nice guy.
You think it's him?
That would put you
in bed with a murderer.
It's best if we keep
you in the dark.
Otherwise you might arouse
the killer's suspicion.
And blow your cover.
You want me to go all cloak
and dagger on someone I love?
Maybe even send them to prison
for the rest of their lives?
And I don't get
to know who it is?
Leave that
to the professionals.
So the butcher
can get their emolument.
Emolument?
It's a good word,
isn't it?
It means just desserts.
Agatha Christie used it.
So have we?
Met before?
Your voice is so familiar.
Hi, Freddy.
Brennan.
How did you get in?
Your back door.
It was unlocked.
You're surprised?
No.
I knew you were
being discharged.
You are hereby judge restored
to sanity and order released.
And here I am.
And why here?
To let you know that I'm okay.
That I'm better.
Much better.
Since when do you wear glasses?
Um, since hitting
my mid-thirties.
Not everything works
as well as it used to.
Oh.
But the important things do,
I'm sure.
What are you doing for work?
Hm. Hm.
Massage.
This is what killing
your friends gets you.
Multiple medications,
weekly visits with
a counselor,
and monthly drug tests.
All on the watchful
eye of the court.
Last time
I saw you was in court.
You didn't look at me.
It was just too painful.
Well...
It was nice seeing you.
You look gorgeous.
How about a massage?
For old time's sake.
A real massage.
-Really?
-Yeah.
I used to love massages.
"What The Cat Saw."
You wrote a script.
I'm still working on it.
Hmm.
Turn.
So?
What did the cat see?
He witnesses a murder.
You never visited me at
the cage of crazy ladies.
It was a rocky breakup.
-And you were acting really...
-Crazy?
I never said that word.
Not even on the witness stand.
I never stopped
thinking about you.
That was part of the problem.
The phone calls,
text messages,
breaking into my place and
waiting on my bed, naked.
It was too much.
You were smothering me.
The meds that I'm on are...
Pretty... powerful.
They keep things from...
Unfastening.
Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.
Hey--
Hey.
Come on,.
Hey. Hey.
Hey.
I was already
tried and sentenced.
And now you're
trying to execute me.
Huh?
Three years
together and you forgot.
My heart condition.
Hmm.
Agatha Christie
would have loved it.
What?
The perfect murder.
What is it?
What do you want to show me?
"Spend the night in
a room where the Bedroom
-Butcher filleted his victims?"
-Yeah.
We've applied for
the license and permit
to open the bed and breakfast.
It's the most notorious
of the butcher's crime scenes.
And it has a pool.
How did they approve
such a cockamamie business?
The license permit guys.
I slept with them.
Have you no moral
compass?
Ah, compass, schmompus.
Okay, Ellery Queen.
Who done it?
Who's the Bedroom Butcher?
Someone who understands
crime scenes.
And police protocol.
An actor who's
grilled detectives.
Or a model
who boinks detectives.
Or a bartender
who extracts information from
detectives
via his margaritas and
their secretly
seductive ingredient.
Or a sassy
esquire who dates convicts.
Or a former detective
with a bitter axe to grind.
Ooh.
Oh, that axe is bitter,
all right.
Stealing evidence
from crime scenes and
selling it to
the highest bidder?
Until his superiors found out?
So he turned his bitterness
into a fruitful bottom line.
pretty boy.
You wish.
That's right,
start driving.
All right, whatever.
You just call me pretty boy.
Oh my God, this street
is as long as my dick.
- Not as wide, though.
- Shut up.
cake? No.
And who is this?
A tenant who didn't
pay his rent on time?
Or your last
escort who took one look at
you and ran
into the night screaming?
May I help you?
What are those?
On your face?
Is that any of your business?
Maybe not.
It does,
however, give me pause.
Paws?
Like on a cat?
No dear, pause.
P-A-U-- Never mind.
Why?
What do you think these are?
Your latest
STD clawing its way out?
You didn't have those yesterday.
My friend has a cat.
And I just...
blew a raspberry
into his tummy and he...
freaked out.
And when you say cat...
Is that code for... trick?
And I did have my own
catering business, Freddy,
for 20 years back east.
Oh, did the terms of
your parole require you to
relocate to the west coast?
Why are you being such a bitch?
No.
It was a crazy
successful business.
I sold it for a small fortune.
That's how I bought this
building and the six others.
There was even a local musical
written about my company.
- Hmm!
- Oh, and what was that called?
"Constipation Cabaret?"
"Salmonella, the Musical?"
"The Flatulence Follies?"
"Disco Diarrhea?"
Or-- Or was
it "The Phantom of the...
...Opera?"
Seven high-end buildings
from a catering sale?
No.
You stuck your sister in
an asylum where she croaked.
And you inherited her millions.
How did you know?
A detective I dated.
Valentino.
I had him do some
digging into your past
before the butcher got him.
Maybe...
Maybe you're the one who
buried that claw trowel in him.
Hello?
It's my agent!
Yes. Yes!
I-- I think
she wants to sign me!
Yeah. Yes!
And? Do you follow up?
I used to. All the time.
But I stopped.
Why?
Because I shit
a lot of agents and
their assistants
shoot me new assholes.
Do you really think we're
going to take the time to look
through thousands of
unsolicited headshots just to
tell an Antonio Banderas
wannabe who's probably going to
give up after a year and go
back to whatever-town, USA?
"Yes, dear. We received
your photo. Bye-bye."
-Click.
-Well!
With that many
rear entrances available
into the let-me-screw-you
-for-a-break-in-this-industry,
I'm sure you're
well lubricated with offers.
I want to get pinned.
But not from behind.
-Not like that.
-Why not?
I can park your brown
ass on at least a dozen
casting
couches this month alone.
What's going on with
that murder script you told
me about on the phone?
Uh, what was its name?
"What My Pussy Sniffed?"
"What The Cat Saw."
I'm still working on it.
I might have the money soon.
Yeah, right.
Give me three
words that best describe you.
Something I can give
to producers.
Hardworking.
-Hypocritical.
-Professional.
-Pompous.
-Experienced.
Slut.
Just when do you expect
to bust your wad?
-What?
-Do you have a blue checkmark
-on your social media pages?
-No.
Dirty comments
on your reel views?
-No.
-A profile on Cameo?
-No.
-Raya?
-No.
-Wikifeet?
No.
All right.
Let's see what
stuff you're made of.
Unless, of course, the Bedroom
Butcher gets you first.
[upbeat intriguing music
Ready Freddy?
Two years.
Why'd you stay with them?
Was he blackmailing you?
"Leave me and, uh, I'll spill
the beans about the murderer."
What the cat saw.
What's this?
The Steak and Kidney Society.
Three tally marks.
Just an implant.
Or...
Does each tally mark
represent something?
Like what?
A murder.
Which means new cards will have
to be printed after each murder.
Like you said,
a record of a killer's skills.
Hiding in plain sight.
Now who's going on Miss Marple?
Oh, God. Stop.
-Stop. Stop.
-Ah!
Stop. Stop.
And we are live.
Erika's orgasmic, die-with
-a-smile-on-your-face killer.
Serial Killer Moonlight Soiree
in the Hills!
Huh?
Is that what you're saying?
Uh-huh! Woo!
I am so excited to be here.
I cannot wait
to murder this party.
It's going to be killer.
Oh, did you
remember your glasses?
I did.
Because now you look like
Dora if you don't wear them.
Say hello to Andrew Cunanan.
Yes.
Let's go.
Sucks for a Valentino,
but yes.
People's morbid sense
of curiosity is going to
make us a bundle, Rog.
Don't you think it's
in poor taste, Stevie boy?
You and your hubby
buying a murder house and
then selling
tickets to sick looky-loos?
And you've never spent
a night in a murder house?
With your love of
Agatha Christie, huh?
We used to.
Every Halloween.
My late boyfriend and I.
He was the Agatha Christie fan.
Where'd you get these?
It looks like you took
these with your phone.
The police photographer.
I slept with him.
Of course you did.
Again, who are you
supposed to be?
Ted Bundy.
Dark locks, killer charisma,
murderously handsome.
Give it.
-Shall we, Mr. Bundy?
-We shall
Why not?
The secession alone is either
titillating or torturous.
But could
that really kill someone?
You'd be getting off scot-free.
Not just getting off.
I guess there
are worse ways to go.
Like gagging
your cheating boyfriend
to death on
your fat love muscle?
"Gross negligence manslaughter?"
That's just a polite
way of saying murder.
Plus, look.
It's not even his real name.
He changed it.
And the judge
that sentenced him?
He died.
Under mysterious circumstances.
To be fair,
there wasn't a shred of
evidence tying him
to that death, but...
I'm really sorry, Freddy.
I-- I know this isn't
what you wanted to hear.
Got you.
Billy.
Don't I get a kiss?
Yeah.
That's great.
That's great.
The 'Night Stalker,' right?
Yeah.
What's that?
It-- It's size for an audition.
Awesome, let me see--
It's confidential.
I'm not allowed.
You still don't trust me, huh?
Let's get you a margarita.
W-T-F are you doing here?
Is that any way to
greet an old friend?
Mhm. I'm hurt.
Well, you're gonna be
really hurt
if you don't
hightail it out of here.
Well. Look at this.
Who sent you that?
I don't recognize the number.
Must be divine intervention.
Mad as a hatter.
As you always said.
So, tell me, Counsel.
What do you
stand in the position of?
Madness.
Bird.
Backyard bird.
You are always
a goldmine of information.
Especially when you drink.
- Blow me, pretty boy.
- Oh!
Ugh. Raspberry.
Is it serious?
If you don't
wanna fight it alone,
I'm gonna cut off your balls
and shove them down your throat.
Just like that.
How the hell did you
get in here?
This is not the forum
for a beggars purse mentality.
Sometime after 11 o'clock,
the guilty party is
going to show up here.
-How do you know?
-A note I left.
The guilty party
thinks it's from you.
What am I supposed to do?
Get the Butcher to confess.
How the hell
am I going to do that?
Well, you're an actor.
You've played detectives.
Act the part of
a seasoned homicide inspector.
A father confessor.
Why don't you do it?
Because, Mr. Martinez,
as was previously established,
the killer does
not have my confidence.
You are my secret weapon.
Don't you want the Butcher
to get the just desserts?
But why now?
Why tonight?
It has to be tonight.
It stands to reason, that you...
Or one of your friends...
Is next.
And you are telling me now?
What if I mess up?
What if I say the wrong
thing and he goes berserk?
How many more friends do
I have to lose to this madness
in such a disgusting manner?
It is your friends
you're doing this for.
To safeguard their well-being.
How are you going to protect me?
The surveillance equipment.
Where the wi-- the glass is.
How do you know he won't
pull a rusty chainsaw on me?
Or a big, scary,
razor-sharp machete?
Because, Mr. Martinez,
we are not in Texas.
And tonight isn't Friday.
Or the 13th.
Can you just please tell me?
Is it Billy?
I see the dilemma
of losing your
heart to a suspect
in a murder investigation
has gotten under your skin.
I've already told you who it is.
The guilty party.
What the hell are you doing?
Gotcha!
Necrophilia Nancy!
Bullseye!
Food porn!
Raspberry puree!
This is for
my audition tomorrow!
Hope it's a horror flick!
Oh!
Stop!
Lombard!
Blore! What are you
doing down there alone?
I think I know
where the doctor is.
- Where?
- Well, I'm not sure yet.
And I'll wait for you.
All right, we shan't be long.
Oh, we should sequester
you anytime.
Screw you.
Raspberry puree.
Mmm, so what?
If the star witness
of the prosecution
disappear under
sinister circumstances
the night before,
who's going to testify
against my client?
Mmm, so what?
If that star witness ended up
in my backyard?
Six feet under.
Girl's gotta do what a girl's
gotta do.
Oh. I don't think
black is your color.
Mmm.
You haven't earned it.
And you definitely haven't
earned fighting, girl.
Girl.
I get it.
Raspberry puree!
The F is he doing
at Valentino's house?
Mm-hmm? Okay.
Trent?
Hello?
Trent?
I got your text.
And no,
I don't think we should
provide raspberry-flavored
condoms to the guests.
How'd you get in?
Only the owner has the key,
and that's this sexy beast.
You're not going to
steal my thunder, girl.
Only one sausage factory's jizz
is going to buttfuck
this hood by storm,
and that's
this ten inches.
I counted on everyone's
confusion in the dark.
And I counted on Armstrong, who
played his part to the hit.
I knew no one would challenge
The doctor's authority
when he would say,
"He has been shot
through the head."
After that, I had to
play my part.
And what a part it was.
No one would suspect me,
least of all the dear doctor,
who thought that I was about to
discover the unknown murder,
and was waiting for me
on the beach,
and worrying about the success
of our plan.
A few minutes later, he had
nothing more to worry about.
Justice had triumphed
once again.
Too late, he had learned
That drinking, when it gets
out of hand,
can be fatal.
So you see? The whole thing--
Why did you kill
that guy in London?
He murdered my boyfriend.
I walked in the crime scene.
Robbery gone bad.
A-and the next thing
I-- I knew,
My hands were around his throat.
Or your boyfriend
and that other guy
were cheating on you.
You walked in on them,
flew into a rage,
and murdered them both.
Jasper Cockley.
Can't even blame me
for changing my name.
Why are you here?
I forgot my keys,
and my phone is missing.
I thought you were
out for the evening!
My detective flaked.
-Fine.
-Why?
I'm working with the police.
They know who
the Bedroom Butcher is.
Who do they think it is?
They won't say.
I have to get a confession.
You?
Valentino was going
to arrest you.
For the Butcher murders?
No, for the murder
you wrote about
In What the Cat Saw.
-Idiot.
-I didn't
kill him. It was--
-Oh my god!
-Hide, hide!
By the way, I got your note.
Brennan?
How did you get in?
The back door.
There was no answer
out the front.
But the back door was locked.
Where's Billy?
We split.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Really?
I thought you'd be pleased.
What happened?
He wasn't who
I thought he was.
Who was he?
He wasn't you.
I got your note.
And the script was very clever.
Your, um...leading character.
The struggling actor?
He doesn't want to move
in with his boyfriend,
because he's afraid of him.
Because he thinks he's...
What's the word he used?
Unbalanced.
Because deep down, he just knows
his life is in danger.
Because he knows too much.
Because...
Because... he witnessed
a murder.
The testimony was powerful.
It convinced the jury.
And the judge.
They didn't throw you
in prison, Brennan.
They recognized you needed help
If you would have visited me...
You would have seen
the sort of help
you paved the way for.
I'm sorry.
Mm-hmm.
Would you still be apologizing
If you weren't cuffed
to Billy and Freddy's love nest
by the bedroom butcher?
But the judge said that you
were released three days ago.
A few days ago. Hmm.
That crack pot should retire.
It's been over three months.
How did you choose
your victims?
I followed you.
To their mini mansions,
their condos.
Their townhouses.
Their beach homes.
How did you get in?
They let me in.
-Just like that.
Beauty is a very effective
blinding agent.
I knew some of those dudes
had crushes on me.
I just flirted my way
through their doors.
Some I'd lure
into their bedrooms
with the promise of sex.
Others fought back.
That I enjoy. The back
and forth. The struggle.
How did you learn about crime
scenes to cover your tracks?
Through you.
The times you
invited me to set.
When you play cops.
You always made a point
To talk to the technical advisor
That pretty flat foot,
Valentino DeVore.
I was never too far away
You know, violent deaths
are highly underrated.
Those armchair critics don't
give enough credit
For their pizzazz
and panache.
Is that why you murder him?
I didn't kill Valentino.
Oh, come on. The lead detective
on the Butcher case?
Your jealousy?
I didn't.
Or his replacement.
That Aaron Christian.
I told you,
my M.O. is different.
In the meantime, lover,
You and I can explore
that sinister side Of love,
As you were always so curious
as a cat--
Brennan Moreno.
Reprehensible murder,
kidnapping and conspiracy
to commit murder.
My lord, I was sure
my intestines
were going to be
window treatments.
You're the masochistic skunk?
Mm-hmm. Beauty is a very
effective blinding agent.
Beauty is a very effective
blinding agent.
Fred, I had no choice.
He was going to make me out to
be Jack the Ripper's mistress,
And I--
My business was failing.
My mortgage was screaming,
and welfare?
Oh. I-- I just couldn't.
Oh. So you hopped on the
sororicide bus down Easy Street.
A-list model?
A-list Henchman.
Did you screw that star witness
before you deposited his body
six feet under?
Gracias, Senora Loose Lips!
Maude.
Maude. He's a police officer.
I'm not with the police.
Who...
Who What the hell are you?
Founder of Just Desserts.
We independently assess
a murderer's chances
of second release
after being re-committed.
The Bedroom Butcher
scored off the charts.
Why the hell
didn't you tell me?
I couldn't take that risk.
I needed a Salieri.
You were too much of a Mozart
That's why I called you
and the institution,
Pretending to be the judge who
presided over Brennan's trial,
Why the institution?
To keep them quiet
about your release.
And I had to make you think
That Brennan had
not yet been discharged.
It was imperative you keep that
restraining order inactive.
And to get him back into your
good graces,
I texted the party invitation
to Brennan, too.
But why?
To find an in
for the perfect murder.
The perfect murder?
I needed an equally savvy
partner to assist me.
A perfect accomplice.
He also wanted
to safeguard your well-being.
Ta-da!
I was aching to tell you.
But that
would have ruined the show.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
What the hell
are you doing here?
His margaritas.
I had very little choice, after
your Technicolor-laced threats.
You've got the
bones for one hell
Of a crossword puzzle,
Jasper Cockley.
You Nancy Drews
don't have anything on me.
No footprints, no fingerprints,
No eyewitnesses.
No blood. No DNA.
That's perfectly true.
But alas, forensics
doesn't play a part
In our third and final act,
my friend.
Your Witching hour visits
were a welcome diversion.
And the raspberries
were a lovely touch.
Are we still on for Saturday?
Right after
my Golden Girls marathon,
My little henchman.
Eww!
It is your detective?
You bitches set me up.
If Michelin stars were awarded
for grotesque smorgasbords,
you'd have my vote.
I've never been a fan of
composed murders.
You can't do this.
I have my rights.
I-- I want my-- my lawyer
and my doctors here
before you take me in.
I'm not taking you in.
Why are you all here?
Brennan's not a member of
the exclusive club, sweetie.
What was the promotion
you mentioned at the spa?
The knighthood.
In the Steak
and Kidney Society. Hm?
Once you...
Once you orchestrate
three perfect murders,
You become a knight.
But it only counts
if your victims
are detectives or judges.
Just desserts
of a different confection.
You tricked me. I didn't know
catching a killer
meant executing him.
You were already looking at
up to three years
in a federal penitentiary.
Asshole. You promised me.
Prison time for what?
Accessory. To a murder.
How did you write In such
forensic detail
about what the cat saw,
If you hadn't
witnessed it yourself?
The cat is you is it not?
It sure is.
Shut up!
You can't do that
Oh, yes, I can.
And considering what I know
about your back story,
if I were you,
I'd worry about
keeping me happy.
All the guilty parties'
back stories.
How exactly does
murdering a murderer
Justify any of this?
Maybe they
can answer that.
I understand!
But I can't have
any damage to the body.
What's in the photos?
All right.
Immobilization topography.
Defiance insurance.
Muzzle.
Last rites.
Blow it out your ass.
- Amen.
- Amen.
Amen.
Weaponry?
Gentlemen, and lady.
Just desserts!
Blood plasma from my victims
disappears into any margarita
for that magical boost.
Valentino Was going to
arrest Freddy.
As Brennan's accomplice.
The true crime you wrote about
in your screenplay.
He shared his suspicions with
his detective partner,
Aaron Christian.
That's why he cozied up
to Trent,
To extract information
about our Freddy.
The killer didn't want
their money.
He wanted their silence.
To protect you.
That would fit.
He probably followed him
to a bar,
Seduced Valentino and,
like Brennan said,
Beauty is a very effective
blinding agent.
Valentino fell for it, and paid
for it. So did Aaron Christian.
If he hadn't, I would have done
the job myself.
What are you
going to do with the money?
Meow!
To What the Cat Saw.
And to the art
of the perfect murder.
Murder is as old
as Cain and Abel.
Remember your Shakespeare?
Who does the guilty party
usually turn out to be?
Someone close to home.
Explain
your title to me.
What The Cat Saw.
Animals carry around
terrible secrets.
That's why the killer will
never see a trial.
The one sensational witness
has no scientific voice.
And the unsensational one?
The unsensational what?
There are
two eyewitnesses to the murder.
Inside that apartment.
Uh, how do you figure?
Your killer
is in the throes of madness.
It takes a level head
to stage a crime scene.
There has to be
a second person.
What makes you think
it was staged?
The coffee table.
There are three fresh rings
left by three margarita glasses.
I don't mention
that in my script.
No blood spatter
on the cat.
If the cat is as close
to the slaughter
as you say it is...
It would be covered in blood.
And brain matter.
The cat licked it off.
That much blood?
And guts?
The cat would have gotten sick.
Someone would have had
to wash the cat.
And the bloody
paw prints on the floor.
And the vomit.
The police
found no forensic.
Anything.
No matching shoes.
No clothes.
That brings us back
to the second person.
Sounds like a case
I worked five years ago.
That ended in a question mark.
Wouldn't it be funny
if your screenplay
was directly tied
to my question mark?
This is beginning to feel
like The Orient Express.
You following the butcher case?
The bedroom butcher?
Of course.
Weren't you involved
with the first victim?
Jeffrey Hillsborough.
For a while, but his priorities
lay elsewhere.
Where?
Bath houses.
Bathroom bars.
The steam room at the gym.
Nice guy.
He just couldn't
keep his zipper up.
That explains
the butcher unzipping him.
How did you meet him?
Victim number two, ironically.
Anderson Emmett.
A kindly Doctor Jekyll
until the bottle ran dry.
When Mr. Hyde
reared his ugly head.
Using Anderson's head
as a wine cellar.
Those two other friends
of yours fared a little better.
The real estate guys?
Halton and Jose.
Nice guys.
Bitchy workaholics, but not
a mean bone in their bodies.
That real estate sign
impaling them both
post mortem was a nice touch.
Jeez, Valentino.
What do you consider
light reading?
Autopsy reports?
And the butcher's
only female victim?
Joanna Paganini?
How did you know her?
She was a stylist.
I met her on set.
We hit it off and became BFFs.
I always teased her
about wanting to run barefoot
through her hair.
It was the best.
Butcher didn't think so.
He removed it.
Scalped her.
All these intimate details.
Aren't you supposed
to keep them under your hat?
As an actor,
you've worn some murderous hats.
Which one of those hats
did you relate to the most?
Victim or executioner?
If you're not careful,
you'll wind up in the chamber
of horrors exhibited
at Madame Tussaud's.
Their true crime section.
Your tone is more...
Addison DeWitt
than Hercule Poirot.
Monsieur Hercule Poirot
would ask:
It's been five years.
The criminally insane
don't get weekend passes.
Or an audience with police.
We all have
our weaknesses.
The keen observer zeroes
in on those weaknesses
and moves in for the kill.
Checkmate.
To the blindsided
Mr. Martinez...
the whistle-blowing
Margaritas...
And...
murder.
And we are live.
And here she is,
the star of our show.
Madame Bella, who knows where
all the bodies are buried.
Prepare to surrender
to the gods of ecstasy.
Bella Erica.
Bello Freddy.
Sit and praise.
Euphoria.
The Bedroom Butcher will retire
in turn in his blade
if he had you at his feet.
Bella.
That tickles
my scary bones, sweetie.
To think that I actually
was at the feet
of every one of his victims.
Poor boys.
Seven funerals in three months.
I don't think I could take
another one of my boys
getting slaughtered
by the Butcher.
Promoted to the FBI's
top ten today.
Relax.
Relax, Bella.
He exercises restraint.
The Butcher only strikes
late at night.
And...
This isn't a bedroom.
My poor Freddy.
All of them such good friends
of yours, too.
Did they pin you?
Pin?
What, tie you down?
When you're a finalist for
a role in a movie or TV show,
you are pinned.
And...
No.
Oh.
Well, you have more than a damn
pin to worry about.
Your ass could be
the butcher's next, baby.
Or yours.
Hey.
You okay, handsome?
Yeah.
Mani? Pedi?
Massage.
I got some,
uh, encouraging news today.
Decided to treat myself.
What's the news?
Promotion.
Kinda prestigious.
Cool!
Awesome sauce for days!
Congratulations.
Thank you.
William B. Henry.
But you can call me Billy.
Freddy.
Freddy Martinez.
Nice to meet you.
Yeah.
Well.
Enjoy your pedi.
Bella kills it with feet.
You be careful out there,
sweetie.
Yummy.
Oh my God!
To die for!
Right?
If looks were a crime,
he would be ripe for execution.
And so sweet, too, Billy.
And he's really smart.
Did you know he designs
crossword puzzles
for the Steak and Kidney
Society in London?
Oh. A steak and kidney society?
Yeah, it's this group
of aristocrats who get together
to concoct the perfect murder.
You could speak French
with some of them.
Oh. Oui, oui.
Oui, oui!
Enchante.
Billy is fine!
You should put him in your new
murder mystery movie.
If I ever get financing.
Hey, how's my Trent
doing today, huh?
My titillating Trent?
You ungrateful, plastic,
tofu-eating little bitch.
You're lucky your apartment
is rent-controlled,
and I'm so fond of Freddy.
You're paying for this outfit.
Like hell I am.
You're not squeezing
one cent out of me.
Oh, that's right,
we can't dip
into your liposuction
stash now, can we?
-You little--
-You should write a D
for dry and estrogen
across your has-been,
old lady big tits
and your boutique moth-eating
science-fiction cooch!
And she was just rambling
on about her lost loves,
and I just casually mentioned
how they probably disappeared
under suspicious circumstances.
Did it ever occur to you
she might be lonely?
Or scared to death
like the rest of the city?
Her screams could wake
the dead like a banshee.
I don't know why she threw
such a hissy fit.
It's like no one's ever
compared her vagina
to the Bermuda Triangle?
Something scary's
hiding in her wheelhouse.
A geriatric masquerade.
Forget Roswell.
Men from Mars should
be terrified of crashing
into the barren,
juiceless landscape
of that fossilized vajaja.
Mr. Owen could only come
to this island in one way.
It's perfectly clear.
Mr. Owen is one of us.
That's odd.
A presiding judge
calling you directly?
When is Brennan set
for release?
Any day now.
Brennan probably
charmed his way out.
I wouldn't put it past him.
He charmed his way in.
To your pants.
I'm sorry, baby, but Trent
and I warned you about Brennan.
I know, I know.
I was a little dick-matized
at the time.
But you didn't wind up
in a loony bin.
You didn't jam
a fireplace poker down
the throats of two friends.
What ever happened
to that restraining order?
The judge said no.
Brennan was a model patient
and reacted well
to treatment, he claims.
This whole story
is a game of the mind.
You should hide your script.
- What The Cat Saw?
- Yeah.
Why?
Because
it reads like a dossier
if you're two years
together.
If Brennan gets
his hands on that,
he is one crazy pill away
from jamming
a fireplace poker
through your eye, too.
What happens
when he doesn't take his meds?
At trial, I was the only
person he was crazy about
to call him on his crazy.
Maybe the judge is right.
I mean, besides,
the M.O. of the Bedroom Butcher
is completely different
than those two murders
that Brennan committed.
That, uh, got him committed.
Not to mention
what your cat saw.
I did, doctor, that proves
less than nothing.
God, there was
a time I wanted to run
like a naked schoolboy
through his hair.
I thought Trent's fantasies
were off the charts.
Raspberry puree.
You know, Brennan did have
a nice head of hair.
I'll give him that.
- Yeah.
- So does Billy.
Yes.
You can invite him
to my orgasmic.
Die with a smile on your face.
Killer.
Serial killer.
Moonlight soire.
Yes.
Oh,
and the man who refuses
to reveal his secret
ingredient
in what he calls his killer
margaritas is invited too.
It's blood plasma.
From my victims.
Plasma changes colors.
And it disappears
into any margarita.
For that added boost.
His brain might snap.
Might want to be executioner.
-Cheers.
-Yummy.
Blood plasma.
Oh, crap. I gotta run.
A client is suing
her husband's estate.
He dropped dead
and left everything
to his mistress's pussy.
Her cat?
No.
Aw!
Oh, here, Raj.
Bye, sweetie.
I love you.
Love you, too.
- Bye, doll.
- See you, Raj.
See you at the party.
You will.
I'm heading out, too.
-Get out?
-Yep.
Be careful, handsome.
I will.
See you Saturday.
Bye.
Love you.
Love you, too.
You're not getting cold feet,
are you?
Come on in.
Welcome to my palace.
I'll show you the rest
of the house later.
Where are you from?
I'm gonna show you
where the magic happens.
Hm?
Come on.
Don't be afraid.
What do you think?
You're gonna make me wait, huh?
Miss Brandt.
Miss Brandt!
It's no use,
Miss Clayborne.
She'll not answer.
It's perfectly true.
He was an innocent man
on trial for his life.
I had nothing against him.
I wanted to ruin the reputation
of his defending counsel
who lost the case
while his client...
lost his life.
Hey.
Take your pic..
Cheers.
There's definitely
some heat there.
Mm.
Maybe Billy is mister--
Ugh.
-Mr. Who?
-Right.
Mr. Right.
I don't know.
Would you trust him if you met
him in a dark alley?
Those brooding features.
His piercing eyes
and perfect cheekbones.
Scary thick lips
and prominent chin.
His face is almost
as symmetrical as mine.
No, there's something off
about Billy.
You really should get a safe.
Having that much money
lying around could...
really come to bite you
in the ass someday.
Nothing wrong
with living life on the edge.
Yeah, I get
a few margaritas in you
and it's a serrated edge.
You really should
learn to sequester
your wagging tongue.
Senora Loose Lips.
You know, Freddy told me that
Brennan's getting out soon.
Yeah, he told me too.
Any day now.
Well, I told him that
he should hide his script.
If Brennan gets a hold
of it, he'll--
Slam a fireplace poker
through Freddy's eye?
You could
justify killing someone.
Especially if they deserved it.
That's what he said.
Who?
This detective I'm seeing.
What is it with you
and detectives?
Can't your junk meet
its quota with like a...
a plumber? Or a priest?
Ugh.
My junk loves the challenge.
My junk gets high
on the masquerade.
Hm. In court,
we call that junk science.
Oh.
First Detective
Valentino DeVore.
May he rest in peace.
Damn, he was a beautiful man.
Wasn't he Freddy's
go-to technical advisor
whenever he played cops?
'Twas beauty killed the beauty.
A pretty face really
was Valentino's weakness.
You're lucky your DNA isn't
in the police database.
Although maybe that's
why you boink detectives.
Find out what they know.
I don't look anything
like that police sketch.
Or any police sketch.
Digital composite.
And why are you going so
Sherlock Holmes-y all on Billy?
He seems like a really nice guy
who genuinely cares for Freddy.
Your trust issues are
almost as bad as Freddy's.
I mean, his are justified.
Yours are just born
out of suspicion.
Paranoia.
Suspicion and paranoia
are fabulous motivators.
As an attorney, you know that.
And no,
I can't put my finger on it,
but I am telling you.
There's a second person
lurking inside Billy.
So if I want to go all
Sherlock Holmes on his ass,
then I will.
Well just make sure he doesn't
go all Sherlock Holmes
on your ass.
Keep those bodies buried.
So, how does
an American get a job writing
crossword puzzles for a murder
mystery club in London?
And once you orchestrate
three perfect murders,
you become a knight.
But it only counts
if your victims
are detectives or judges.
Shit.
Federico Santiago
Mago Martinez.
Boris Strange,
Special Crimes Division.
Have we met?
Now listen closely.
As you are no doubt aware,
we have a serial killer
on the loose.
The Bedroom Butcher
the papers dubbed him.
I gave my statement
to the police.
I know, I read it.
We have a suspect pool.
It is someone
in your circle of friends.
We just don't know who.
What does that have
to do with me?
You mean aside from the fact
that all the victims
have been your friends.
Doesn't that telegraph
something rather alarming
to you Federico Santiago?
You are in an ideal position.
The suspect is someone
in your circle.
Since they already trust you.
You are the perfect
candidate to bring them
into your confidence
about the murders.
If you succeed, your reward
will be one thousand of these.
That's in addition
to the FBI's reward.
Imagine having
a place of your own.
Plenty of privacy for you
and your weird margarita
worshipping friends.
And you can finally finance
that murder mystery script
you wrote.
What is the title?
Who the Pussy Licked.
What the Cat Saw.
How do you know about that?
Here's a surveillance kit.
Start using it.
Everything will be recorded.
I'm not a monster hunter.
Give me one good reason
why I should risk my life.
I'll give you three.
To prevent further murders.
And to bring justice
to the victims.
Is that so complicated?
And the third reason?
What about DNA?
-The crime scenes.
-No DNA.
No prints.
It's a very cunning killer.
The butcher also knows the law.
Can't you do one of those
psychological profiles
the FBI does?
Do you know who he is?
A guy I started seeing.
A nice guy.
You think it's him?
That would put you
in bed with a murderer.
It's best if we keep
you in the dark.
Otherwise you might arouse
the killer's suspicion.
And blow your cover.
You want me to go all cloak
and dagger on someone I love?
Maybe even send them to prison
for the rest of their lives?
And I don't get
to know who it is?
Leave that
to the professionals.
So the butcher
can get their emolument.
Emolument?
It's a good word,
isn't it?
It means just desserts.
Agatha Christie used it.
So have we?
Met before?
Your voice is so familiar.
Hi, Freddy.
Brennan.
How did you get in?
Your back door.
It was unlocked.
You're surprised?
No.
I knew you were
being discharged.
You are hereby judge restored
to sanity and order released.
And here I am.
And why here?
To let you know that I'm okay.
That I'm better.
Much better.
Since when do you wear glasses?
Um, since hitting
my mid-thirties.
Not everything works
as well as it used to.
Oh.
But the important things do,
I'm sure.
What are you doing for work?
Hm. Hm.
Massage.
This is what killing
your friends gets you.
Multiple medications,
weekly visits with
a counselor,
and monthly drug tests.
All on the watchful
eye of the court.
Last time
I saw you was in court.
You didn't look at me.
It was just too painful.
Well...
It was nice seeing you.
You look gorgeous.
How about a massage?
For old time's sake.
A real massage.
-Really?
-Yeah.
I used to love massages.
"What The Cat Saw."
You wrote a script.
I'm still working on it.
Hmm.
Turn.
So?
What did the cat see?
He witnesses a murder.
You never visited me at
the cage of crazy ladies.
It was a rocky breakup.
-And you were acting really...
-Crazy?
I never said that word.
Not even on the witness stand.
I never stopped
thinking about you.
That was part of the problem.
The phone calls,
text messages,
breaking into my place and
waiting on my bed, naked.
It was too much.
You were smothering me.
The meds that I'm on are...
Pretty... powerful.
They keep things from...
Unfastening.
Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.
Hey--
Hey.
Come on,.
Hey. Hey.
Hey.
I was already
tried and sentenced.
And now you're
trying to execute me.
Huh?
Three years
together and you forgot.
My heart condition.
Hmm.
Agatha Christie
would have loved it.
What?
The perfect murder.
What is it?
What do you want to show me?
"Spend the night in
a room where the Bedroom
-Butcher filleted his victims?"
-Yeah.
We've applied for
the license and permit
to open the bed and breakfast.
It's the most notorious
of the butcher's crime scenes.
And it has a pool.
How did they approve
such a cockamamie business?
The license permit guys.
I slept with them.
Have you no moral
compass?
Ah, compass, schmompus.
Okay, Ellery Queen.
Who done it?
Who's the Bedroom Butcher?
Someone who understands
crime scenes.
And police protocol.
An actor who's
grilled detectives.
Or a model
who boinks detectives.
Or a bartender
who extracts information from
detectives
via his margaritas and
their secretly
seductive ingredient.
Or a sassy
esquire who dates convicts.
Or a former detective
with a bitter axe to grind.
Ooh.
Oh, that axe is bitter,
all right.
Stealing evidence
from crime scenes and
selling it to
the highest bidder?
Until his superiors found out?
So he turned his bitterness
into a fruitful bottom line.
pretty boy.
You wish.
That's right,
start driving.
All right, whatever.
You just call me pretty boy.
Oh my God, this street
is as long as my dick.
- Not as wide, though.
- Shut up.
cake? No.
And who is this?
A tenant who didn't
pay his rent on time?
Or your last
escort who took one look at
you and ran
into the night screaming?
May I help you?
What are those?
On your face?
Is that any of your business?
Maybe not.
It does,
however, give me pause.
Paws?
Like on a cat?
No dear, pause.
P-A-U-- Never mind.
Why?
What do you think these are?
Your latest
STD clawing its way out?
You didn't have those yesterday.
My friend has a cat.
And I just...
blew a raspberry
into his tummy and he...
freaked out.
And when you say cat...
Is that code for... trick?
And I did have my own
catering business, Freddy,
for 20 years back east.
Oh, did the terms of
your parole require you to
relocate to the west coast?
Why are you being such a bitch?
No.
It was a crazy
successful business.
I sold it for a small fortune.
That's how I bought this
building and the six others.
There was even a local musical
written about my company.
- Hmm!
- Oh, and what was that called?
"Constipation Cabaret?"
"Salmonella, the Musical?"
"The Flatulence Follies?"
"Disco Diarrhea?"
Or-- Or was
it "The Phantom of the...
...Opera?"
Seven high-end buildings
from a catering sale?
No.
You stuck your sister in
an asylum where she croaked.
And you inherited her millions.
How did you know?
A detective I dated.
Valentino.
I had him do some
digging into your past
before the butcher got him.
Maybe...
Maybe you're the one who
buried that claw trowel in him.
Hello?
It's my agent!
Yes. Yes!
I-- I think
she wants to sign me!
Yeah. Yes!
And? Do you follow up?
I used to. All the time.
But I stopped.
Why?
Because I shit
a lot of agents and
their assistants
shoot me new assholes.
Do you really think we're
going to take the time to look
through thousands of
unsolicited headshots just to
tell an Antonio Banderas
wannabe who's probably going to
give up after a year and go
back to whatever-town, USA?
"Yes, dear. We received
your photo. Bye-bye."
-Click.
-Well!
With that many
rear entrances available
into the let-me-screw-you
-for-a-break-in-this-industry,
I'm sure you're
well lubricated with offers.
I want to get pinned.
But not from behind.
-Not like that.
-Why not?
I can park your brown
ass on at least a dozen
casting
couches this month alone.
What's going on with
that murder script you told
me about on the phone?
Uh, what was its name?
"What My Pussy Sniffed?"
"What The Cat Saw."
I'm still working on it.
I might have the money soon.
Yeah, right.
Give me three
words that best describe you.
Something I can give
to producers.
Hardworking.
-Hypocritical.
-Professional.
-Pompous.
-Experienced.
Slut.
Just when do you expect
to bust your wad?
-What?
-Do you have a blue checkmark
-on your social media pages?
-No.
Dirty comments
on your reel views?
-No.
-A profile on Cameo?
-No.
-Raya?
-No.
-Wikifeet?
No.
All right.
Let's see what
stuff you're made of.
Unless, of course, the Bedroom
Butcher gets you first.
[upbeat intriguing music
Ready Freddy?
Two years.
Why'd you stay with them?
Was he blackmailing you?
"Leave me and, uh, I'll spill
the beans about the murderer."
What the cat saw.
What's this?
The Steak and Kidney Society.
Three tally marks.
Just an implant.
Or...
Does each tally mark
represent something?
Like what?
A murder.
Which means new cards will have
to be printed after each murder.
Like you said,
a record of a killer's skills.
Hiding in plain sight.
Now who's going on Miss Marple?
Oh, God. Stop.
-Stop. Stop.
-Ah!
Stop. Stop.
And we are live.
Erika's orgasmic, die-with
-a-smile-on-your-face killer.
Serial Killer Moonlight Soiree
in the Hills!
Huh?
Is that what you're saying?
Uh-huh! Woo!
I am so excited to be here.
I cannot wait
to murder this party.
It's going to be killer.
Oh, did you
remember your glasses?
I did.
Because now you look like
Dora if you don't wear them.
Say hello to Andrew Cunanan.
Yes.
Let's go.
Sucks for a Valentino,
but yes.
People's morbid sense
of curiosity is going to
make us a bundle, Rog.
Don't you think it's
in poor taste, Stevie boy?
You and your hubby
buying a murder house and
then selling
tickets to sick looky-loos?
And you've never spent
a night in a murder house?
With your love of
Agatha Christie, huh?
We used to.
Every Halloween.
My late boyfriend and I.
He was the Agatha Christie fan.
Where'd you get these?
It looks like you took
these with your phone.
The police photographer.
I slept with him.
Of course you did.
Again, who are you
supposed to be?
Ted Bundy.
Dark locks, killer charisma,
murderously handsome.
Give it.
-Shall we, Mr. Bundy?
-We shall
Why not?
The secession alone is either
titillating or torturous.
But could
that really kill someone?
You'd be getting off scot-free.
Not just getting off.
I guess there
are worse ways to go.
Like gagging
your cheating boyfriend
to death on
your fat love muscle?
"Gross negligence manslaughter?"
That's just a polite
way of saying murder.
Plus, look.
It's not even his real name.
He changed it.
And the judge
that sentenced him?
He died.
Under mysterious circumstances.
To be fair,
there wasn't a shred of
evidence tying him
to that death, but...
I'm really sorry, Freddy.
I-- I know this isn't
what you wanted to hear.
Got you.
Billy.
Don't I get a kiss?
Yeah.
That's great.
That's great.
The 'Night Stalker,' right?
Yeah.
What's that?
It-- It's size for an audition.
Awesome, let me see--
It's confidential.
I'm not allowed.
You still don't trust me, huh?
Let's get you a margarita.
W-T-F are you doing here?
Is that any way to
greet an old friend?
Mhm. I'm hurt.
Well, you're gonna be
really hurt
if you don't
hightail it out of here.
Well. Look at this.
Who sent you that?
I don't recognize the number.
Must be divine intervention.
Mad as a hatter.
As you always said.
So, tell me, Counsel.
What do you
stand in the position of?
Madness.
Bird.
Backyard bird.
You are always
a goldmine of information.
Especially when you drink.
- Blow me, pretty boy.
- Oh!
Ugh. Raspberry.
Is it serious?
If you don't
wanna fight it alone,
I'm gonna cut off your balls
and shove them down your throat.
Just like that.
How the hell did you
get in here?
This is not the forum
for a beggars purse mentality.
Sometime after 11 o'clock,
the guilty party is
going to show up here.
-How do you know?
-A note I left.
The guilty party
thinks it's from you.
What am I supposed to do?
Get the Butcher to confess.
How the hell
am I going to do that?
Well, you're an actor.
You've played detectives.
Act the part of
a seasoned homicide inspector.
A father confessor.
Why don't you do it?
Because, Mr. Martinez,
as was previously established,
the killer does
not have my confidence.
You are my secret weapon.
Don't you want the Butcher
to get the just desserts?
But why now?
Why tonight?
It has to be tonight.
It stands to reason, that you...
Or one of your friends...
Is next.
And you are telling me now?
What if I mess up?
What if I say the wrong
thing and he goes berserk?
How many more friends do
I have to lose to this madness
in such a disgusting manner?
It is your friends
you're doing this for.
To safeguard their well-being.
How are you going to protect me?
The surveillance equipment.
Where the wi-- the glass is.
How do you know he won't
pull a rusty chainsaw on me?
Or a big, scary,
razor-sharp machete?
Because, Mr. Martinez,
we are not in Texas.
And tonight isn't Friday.
Or the 13th.
Can you just please tell me?
Is it Billy?
I see the dilemma
of losing your
heart to a suspect
in a murder investigation
has gotten under your skin.
I've already told you who it is.
The guilty party.
What the hell are you doing?
Gotcha!
Necrophilia Nancy!
Bullseye!
Food porn!
Raspberry puree!
This is for
my audition tomorrow!
Hope it's a horror flick!
Oh!
Stop!
Lombard!
Blore! What are you
doing down there alone?
I think I know
where the doctor is.
- Where?
- Well, I'm not sure yet.
And I'll wait for you.
All right, we shan't be long.
Oh, we should sequester
you anytime.
Screw you.
Raspberry puree.
Mmm, so what?
If the star witness
of the prosecution
disappear under
sinister circumstances
the night before,
who's going to testify
against my client?
Mmm, so what?
If that star witness ended up
in my backyard?
Six feet under.
Girl's gotta do what a girl's
gotta do.
Oh. I don't think
black is your color.
Mmm.
You haven't earned it.
And you definitely haven't
earned fighting, girl.
Girl.
I get it.
Raspberry puree!
The F is he doing
at Valentino's house?
Mm-hmm? Okay.
Trent?
Hello?
Trent?
I got your text.
And no,
I don't think we should
provide raspberry-flavored
condoms to the guests.
How'd you get in?
Only the owner has the key,
and that's this sexy beast.
You're not going to
steal my thunder, girl.
Only one sausage factory's jizz
is going to buttfuck
this hood by storm,
and that's
this ten inches.
I counted on everyone's
confusion in the dark.
And I counted on Armstrong, who
played his part to the hit.
I knew no one would challenge
The doctor's authority
when he would say,
"He has been shot
through the head."
After that, I had to
play my part.
And what a part it was.
No one would suspect me,
least of all the dear doctor,
who thought that I was about to
discover the unknown murder,
and was waiting for me
on the beach,
and worrying about the success
of our plan.
A few minutes later, he had
nothing more to worry about.
Justice had triumphed
once again.
Too late, he had learned
That drinking, when it gets
out of hand,
can be fatal.
So you see? The whole thing--
Why did you kill
that guy in London?
He murdered my boyfriend.
I walked in the crime scene.
Robbery gone bad.
A-and the next thing
I-- I knew,
My hands were around his throat.
Or your boyfriend
and that other guy
were cheating on you.
You walked in on them,
flew into a rage,
and murdered them both.
Jasper Cockley.
Can't even blame me
for changing my name.
Why are you here?
I forgot my keys,
and my phone is missing.
I thought you were
out for the evening!
My detective flaked.
-Fine.
-Why?
I'm working with the police.
They know who
the Bedroom Butcher is.
Who do they think it is?
They won't say.
I have to get a confession.
You?
Valentino was going
to arrest you.
For the Butcher murders?
No, for the murder
you wrote about
In What the Cat Saw.
-Idiot.
-I didn't
kill him. It was--
-Oh my god!
-Hide, hide!
By the way, I got your note.
Brennan?
How did you get in?
The back door.
There was no answer
out the front.
But the back door was locked.
Where's Billy?
We split.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Really?
I thought you'd be pleased.
What happened?
He wasn't who
I thought he was.
Who was he?
He wasn't you.
I got your note.
And the script was very clever.
Your, um...leading character.
The struggling actor?
He doesn't want to move
in with his boyfriend,
because he's afraid of him.
Because he thinks he's...
What's the word he used?
Unbalanced.
Because deep down, he just knows
his life is in danger.
Because he knows too much.
Because...
Because... he witnessed
a murder.
The testimony was powerful.
It convinced the jury.
And the judge.
They didn't throw you
in prison, Brennan.
They recognized you needed help
If you would have visited me...
You would have seen
the sort of help
you paved the way for.
I'm sorry.
Mm-hmm.
Would you still be apologizing
If you weren't cuffed
to Billy and Freddy's love nest
by the bedroom butcher?
But the judge said that you
were released three days ago.
A few days ago. Hmm.
That crack pot should retire.
It's been over three months.
How did you choose
your victims?
I followed you.
To their mini mansions,
their condos.
Their townhouses.
Their beach homes.
How did you get in?
They let me in.
-Just like that.
Beauty is a very effective
blinding agent.
I knew some of those dudes
had crushes on me.
I just flirted my way
through their doors.
Some I'd lure
into their bedrooms
with the promise of sex.
Others fought back.
That I enjoy. The back
and forth. The struggle.
How did you learn about crime
scenes to cover your tracks?
Through you.
The times you
invited me to set.
When you play cops.
You always made a point
To talk to the technical advisor
That pretty flat foot,
Valentino DeVore.
I was never too far away
You know, violent deaths
are highly underrated.
Those armchair critics don't
give enough credit
For their pizzazz
and panache.
Is that why you murder him?
I didn't kill Valentino.
Oh, come on. The lead detective
on the Butcher case?
Your jealousy?
I didn't.
Or his replacement.
That Aaron Christian.
I told you,
my M.O. is different.
In the meantime, lover,
You and I can explore
that sinister side Of love,
As you were always so curious
as a cat--
Brennan Moreno.
Reprehensible murder,
kidnapping and conspiracy
to commit murder.
My lord, I was sure
my intestines
were going to be
window treatments.
You're the masochistic skunk?
Mm-hmm. Beauty is a very
effective blinding agent.
Beauty is a very effective
blinding agent.
Fred, I had no choice.
He was going to make me out to
be Jack the Ripper's mistress,
And I--
My business was failing.
My mortgage was screaming,
and welfare?
Oh. I-- I just couldn't.
Oh. So you hopped on the
sororicide bus down Easy Street.
A-list model?
A-list Henchman.
Did you screw that star witness
before you deposited his body
six feet under?
Gracias, Senora Loose Lips!
Maude.
Maude. He's a police officer.
I'm not with the police.
Who...
Who What the hell are you?
Founder of Just Desserts.
We independently assess
a murderer's chances
of second release
after being re-committed.
The Bedroom Butcher
scored off the charts.
Why the hell
didn't you tell me?
I couldn't take that risk.
I needed a Salieri.
You were too much of a Mozart
That's why I called you
and the institution,
Pretending to be the judge who
presided over Brennan's trial,
Why the institution?
To keep them quiet
about your release.
And I had to make you think
That Brennan had
not yet been discharged.
It was imperative you keep that
restraining order inactive.
And to get him back into your
good graces,
I texted the party invitation
to Brennan, too.
But why?
To find an in
for the perfect murder.
The perfect murder?
I needed an equally savvy
partner to assist me.
A perfect accomplice.
He also wanted
to safeguard your well-being.
Ta-da!
I was aching to tell you.
But that
would have ruined the show.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
What the hell
are you doing here?
His margaritas.
I had very little choice, after
your Technicolor-laced threats.
You've got the
bones for one hell
Of a crossword puzzle,
Jasper Cockley.
You Nancy Drews
don't have anything on me.
No footprints, no fingerprints,
No eyewitnesses.
No blood. No DNA.
That's perfectly true.
But alas, forensics
doesn't play a part
In our third and final act,
my friend.
Your Witching hour visits
were a welcome diversion.
And the raspberries
were a lovely touch.
Are we still on for Saturday?
Right after
my Golden Girls marathon,
My little henchman.
Eww!
It is your detective?
You bitches set me up.
If Michelin stars were awarded
for grotesque smorgasbords,
you'd have my vote.
I've never been a fan of
composed murders.
You can't do this.
I have my rights.
I-- I want my-- my lawyer
and my doctors here
before you take me in.
I'm not taking you in.
Why are you all here?
Brennan's not a member of
the exclusive club, sweetie.
What was the promotion
you mentioned at the spa?
The knighthood.
In the Steak
and Kidney Society. Hm?
Once you...
Once you orchestrate
three perfect murders,
You become a knight.
But it only counts
if your victims
are detectives or judges.
Just desserts
of a different confection.
You tricked me. I didn't know
catching a killer
meant executing him.
You were already looking at
up to three years
in a federal penitentiary.
Asshole. You promised me.
Prison time for what?
Accessory. To a murder.
How did you write In such
forensic detail
about what the cat saw,
If you hadn't
witnessed it yourself?
The cat is you is it not?
It sure is.
Shut up!
You can't do that
Oh, yes, I can.
And considering what I know
about your back story,
if I were you,
I'd worry about
keeping me happy.
All the guilty parties'
back stories.
How exactly does
murdering a murderer
Justify any of this?
Maybe they
can answer that.
I understand!
But I can't have
any damage to the body.
What's in the photos?
All right.
Immobilization topography.
Defiance insurance.
Muzzle.
Last rites.
Blow it out your ass.
- Amen.
- Amen.
Amen.
Weaponry?
Gentlemen, and lady.
Just desserts!
Blood plasma from my victims
disappears into any margarita
for that magical boost.
Valentino Was going to
arrest Freddy.
As Brennan's accomplice.
The true crime you wrote about
in your screenplay.
He shared his suspicions with
his detective partner,
Aaron Christian.
That's why he cozied up
to Trent,
To extract information
about our Freddy.
The killer didn't want
their money.
He wanted their silence.
To protect you.
That would fit.
He probably followed him
to a bar,
Seduced Valentino and,
like Brennan said,
Beauty is a very effective
blinding agent.
Valentino fell for it, and paid
for it. So did Aaron Christian.
If he hadn't, I would have done
the job myself.
What are you
going to do with the money?
Meow!
To What the Cat Saw.
And to the art
of the perfect murder.