Remington Steele (1982) s03e04 Episode Script

Second Base Steele

- They wanna close the camp for the rest of my session.
- Why? Baseball's a lot more than just a game.
It's a way of life.
It's America.
Ralph.
! The only real passion in his life was spent on a game that uses wooden sticks and a little white ball.
I doubt he could pick that ball up if it came with a handle.
That's what I love about you, Laura.
You keep narrowing this case down to include everybody.
- Looks like we'll have to play ball for a while.
- Laura, look out! Look alive! Okay, you bums.
Let's look alive! Okay, batter, batter, batter.
Gimme one here, gimme one here.
Yeah.
All right.
He's got a piece on him.
Let's knock him.
Come on! No batter, babe.
Comin' in there, big fish.
Throw 'im a rope, throw 'im a rope! No hitter.
Come on, come on! Get one, get one! - Easy throw there.
Right to you, man.
- Whoa.
! - Good arm, good arm.
- All right! Man, seems just like yesterday.
Well, now if somebody'll just sew his arm back on.
Do you think we can survive a week of this? Hey, Woodman, bring it home! Get it, Sam! Oh! - Good morning, Miss Holt.
- Mr.
Steele.
Up a little early, aren't we? Laura, didn't we pay off those two small, uniformed extortionists two weeks ago? - You mean the boys from the Little League? - Hmm.
- Sure, I always support the local team.
- Huh.
Perhaps our check bounced.
The Golden Dugout! No, Mr.
Kelsey.
- I'm afraid that I- - It's that baseball camp for adults, right? - Run by the L.
A.
Sluggers? - That's it.
- Oh-ho.
! - Some of my old high school teammates and I are there right now having a sort of reunion- us mere mortals rubbing elbows with the greats like Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford.
What exactly seems to be the problem, Mr.
Kelsey? Well, they want to close the camp for the rest of my session.
- Why? - Since my group arrived there a few days ago there've been two suspicious accidents.
Now, nobody's been hurt, you see, but the management feels that well, maybe somebody in my group is responsible- pulling pranks or something.
So, uh, one more strike and we're out of there.
Why would someone from your group want to sabotage the camp? That's what I say.
It just doesn't make sense.
I'm sure that these accidents are just coincidence.
But I'd feel a lot better, Mr.
Steele, if you could you know, just kind of hang around the camp incognito just to make sure that everything's square.
Naturally, I'll foot the bill.
Eh, f-forgive me for saying so, Mr.
Kelsey but aren't you going to an awful lot of trouble just to preserve a game? - I mean- - A game? Baseball's a lot more than just a game, Mr.
Steele.
It's a- It's a way of life.
It's- It's America.
- America.
- I don't think Mr.
Steele has ever played baseball.
- Oh.
- I may not have played, Miss Holt but I'm a keen observer of your national pastime.
So, uh, you'll take the case? I'm sure Mr.
Steele will play ball.
Won't you, sir? Certainly.
When do we kick off? - All right! All right! All right! - Ho! Listen up, you bums.
That means you too, Mantle.
Remember, I seen you strike out four times in a row.
All right.
This here is Brendan St.
James.
He's from England.
Make him feel welcome.
Yes, thank you very much.
Thank you.
Well, I'm absolutely bonkers about your American pastime.
I can't say I understand it entirely, but Mr.
Crowley here has graciously consented to my joining your training session, albeit rather late.
I just hope I won't be a bother to anyone.
Always room for one more nut.
Ralph Kelsey, Muncie, Indiana.
When I'm not playing first base, I'm into machine tooling.
- Oh, how do you do? - These are some of my old high school teammates here.
This is Sam Woodman, the world's greatest high school teacher.
- Welcome aboard.
- Thank you.
- Doc Gridley, formerly of Muncie, now from Miami Beach.
- Ah, a doctor.
- Proctologist.
- Ah, yes.
Very good with the glove, I presume.
Like your style, man.
Slats Kittridge, bus driver from friendly Cleveland, Ohio.
- Oh, nice to meet you.
- Chubby Bitterman.
Taught Mickey Mantle everything he knows.
- Everything I know about selling used cars in Oxnard.
- Hey! - Jake Crowley! - All right.
Don't get your leg warmers in an uproar, lady.
- I'm Jake Crowley.
Who are you? - I'm Mickey Boggs.
My plane was grounded in Chicago.
I believe you're expecting me.
- You're Boggs? But I- - Jake, I tried to explain to her- Explain what, buster? That women aren't allowed? Come on, lady.
Baseball's a man's sport here.
- No broads, and that's final.
- Absolutely! Throw the baggage out.
Yes.
- Yeah! - I'm sorry, gentlemen, but if you don't know the law of the land Miss Zugsmith of the Equal Rights Commission will be happy to elaborate.
- Now, wait a minute here.
- Hey, cool it, turkey.
Now, it's your choice, fellas.
You can either play hardball here or in the courtroom.
- Oh.
! - Come on! - I-I mean it.
I am talking civil suit.
I'm talking injunction.
I'm talking ugly P.
R.
All right.
Now, listen, fellas.
I got enough problems as it is.
- You want to play ball that bad, lady? You got it.
- Thank you very much.
- Man, what a drag.
- If this delicate creature wants to be one of the boys I fear we have no choice but to cooperate.
Okay, Boggs.
You get out there at shortstop with St.
James.
Let's see what you can do.
- Gridley, you move over to third base.
Let's go everybody! - Yeah, yeah! Whoa! - Something tells me there's a real tiger under that uniform.
Hee-yah! Hey, batter, batter.
Double play.
Come on.
Get two.
Get a pair.
- Laura, where do I stand? - Let's go over there.
- Oh, fine, fine.
- All right! - Get two, get two.
- Let's go.
! Let's have it.
! All right, Mickey.
The lady wants to play ball.
Let's play ball.
All right.
! Hey, batter, batter.
! Come on.
Double play.
Whoo.
! - Good shot, Laura.
- Come on.
! Play.
! Shoot it high.
Let's go.
! Hey, way to go, Mickey! Okay, St.
James.
Get two, get two! All right, St.
James.
It's yours.
Let's go.
Let's play.
- Ah! - Let's play.
! Let's go.
! - Throw the ball, ya bum! - Toss it to second base.
I know what to do, Laura.
I'm just savoring the moment.
After all, it's my first ground ball.
Huh! Rather like one's first kiss or the first time behind the wheel of a car.
Throw the lousy ball! It's only a game, Laura.
Hey, hey, hey, hey! - You understand we don't have ladies' lockers here.
- I understand.
Okay.
I want you to give Mickey her privacy when she's in the room.
Okay? - Uh, good luck, kid.
You're on your own.
- Thanks, Coach.
I really appreciate your doing this.
How could I refuse? If you married lads will excuse me I'm gonna see if Miss Boggs needs anything in the way of razor blades or- Hmm! Well, we've managed to make it to first base without an error, eh? Hmm! Glad to see you're picking up the lingo.
Just don't let the locker-room attitude go to your head.
I have to make it appear to be lusting after you, Laura, to justify, uh touching base, as it were.
I don't hear much chatter in here! - Keep your hands to yourself, pal.
- Ooh! - And- - Aww! I think that- Handle yourself pretty well, Miss Holt.
I've had a lot of experience working in a man's world, Coach.
Thanks for letting us go undercover.
Well, Kelsey took it all so personal, I figure I had to give him a chance to keep the session going, and since he's paying ya- What makes you think someone from the current group is behind all this? Call 'em like I see 'em, Miss Holt.
This camp's always had a spotless safety record.
This group comes in, and a couple of days later we got two suspicious accidents? Only people here at the camp could have arranged such a thing.
When your pitcher's in trouble, Miss Holt, you pull him before it costs you the game.
- What do you mean? - Well, there's a bum apple in this bunch and I'd rather throw out the whole bushel than risk the camp's reputation.
This is the one.
Huh.
There.
Ernie, the maintenance guy, said it could be metal fatigue.
Or hacksaw fatigue engineered the night before under cover of darkness- activated by a slight push at the right time.
Any eyewitnesses? Nothin'.
Nobody saw a thing- like they was all umpires.
Hoo! Hoo! That's what they call the "high hard one," old chap.
I thought you said these gloves were padded, Slats.
You just got to learn how to catch it right.
No, no! Could we have five minutes for my hand to return to normal size, please? No problem.
Did you hear about the accident yesterday? Oh, yeah.
Hey, Woodman almost bought it.
Yeah.
I hear you had a bit of bad luck yourself the day before.
At the sliding pit.
Yeah.
The metal stake they use to hold the bag down worked itself up somehow, and nobody noticed it, 'cause it was covered with sand.
I got a nasty scratch coming in though.
No big deal.
But if I'd slid a little bit more to the left, I'd be singing soprano today.
I happen to know a solicitor who specializes in personal injury, that kind of thing.
Hey, it was an accident, right? I told Crowley, "Forget about it.
" There's no way that I'm gonna mess up this reunion.
Hey, Woodman, Kelsey, Gridley, Chubby, me? We all played on the same team back in Muncie- - the Eastlake High School Wildcats.
- Oh! State champs in '64.
Greatest bunch of guys in the world.
Yeah.
I'm surprised you can afford this place.
Must cost a bloody fortune.
Don't I know it.
When my main man Ralphie called and told me about this little get-together I told him, "No way.
I can't hack it.
" He told me, get my fanny on a plane to California.
He'd pay the freight.
- Can you believe that? After 20 years.
- Yeah, extraordinary.
- Absolutely extraordinary.
- Hey, St.
James.
Come on.
Let's see how you handle my slider.
Uh, yeah.
Let's see how I handle a slider.
Oh, boy.
- Hi.
- Hi, hi, hi.
- What have you been up to? - I believe it's called "catching" although "chasing" would better describe my experience.
Stick to it, old sport.
Just takes a little practice.
Uh-huh, and iron hands- not to mention ankles - knees, arms, neck, shoulder, backs.
- Find out anything? Well, from Slats's description, the first accident could have been deliberate and deadly.
But, well, there's no way of knowing that.
- Well, that about summarizes my chat with Crowley.
Incidentally, Kelsey paid Slats's way here.
I don't believe in coincidental accidents.
Looks like we'll have to play ball for a while.
Think you can stand it, Mr.
Steele? Laura, look out! Moisture weakened the glue.
Mm-hmm.
Seepage from the air-conditioning pipes behind the wall, you think? Possibly, but it looks like the water came from the front of the wall- - almost as if it had been injected.
- Mm-hmm.
Syringe perhaps? Perhaps.
But if this wasn't an accident, though, who was the intended victim? Me? Or simply the next member of the team to use the equipment? That Championship Season.
Robert Mitchum, Bruce Dern.
Cannon Films, 1982.
A seemingly touching reunion of former athletes erupts into a litany of anger and hatred.
- And murder? - Well, no, but that's the general gist of the thing.
You may be on the right track.
Let's explore just how genuine these between the Eastlake Wildcats of 1964.
I'll cozy up to Doc Gridley.
Why don't you check in with Sam Woodman? Hi.
Hope you don't mind, Dr.
Gridley.
Huh? Oh, no.
Oh, no.
Not at all.
- Ahh! - And please, my friends call me "Doc.
" Well- Hah! Thanks again for the locker.
- Oh, my! Those bubbles do have a way of sneaking up on you.
- Yeah.
- Some bubbles have all the luck.
Here.
Those jets are adjustable.
- Oh! Ahh, thank you.
Mm-hmm.
Eh, I was watching you today.
You toss that old apple around pretty good.
Well, I can't compare with you and those old teammates of yours.
What a wonderful thing, having a reunion after all these years.
Yep.
Old Ralph said it was about time we all got together and forgive and forget.
- Forgive and forget what? - Well, you know, the usual things.
- Such as? - Oh, that's all yesterday's news, Mickey.
We gotta concentrate on today.
The five of you must have been very close.
Oh, my God! Something's there! Aah! Ohh! I am so sorry.
I just can't- I can't seem to relax.
It's just terrible! Mr.
St.
James.
! Yonder.
It's amazing how the desert air revitalizes one's marriage.
Eh, Laura? I'll say, especially considering they're not married to each other.
Mm-hmm.
There's more going on here than stolen bases, I suspect.
So they'rejust about to play the National Anthem and here comes the skywriter that Chubby hired.
- You know? It's spellin' out "Lincoln High"- - "Lincoln High stinks.
" - Vera! - You know how many times I've heard this story? Hey, hey, look at this, will ya? - What you got there? - It's us! Look at th- Not an ounce of flab either.
- And look at you now.
- Hey, hey! Hey, you leave Ralphie's love handles alone.
- Hey, you mean there is sex after 40, huh? What? - Sam! Stop.
Bet she didn't say that last night.
Right, Sam? Better watch out, Ralph, or I'm gonna tell 'em about our honeymoon.
The four of you must have known each other a long time.
- Yeah, too long.
- Shush.
Sam's my ex-husband.
Aha! And I was married to Ralph.
- Oh.
Oh! Oh, how nice for you.
- Huh! And what's amazing is the four of us are still the best of friends.
"Incredible" might be a better word.
What? I've heard of love triangles, but tetrahedron? It's very confusing.
Psst! It's all right, Mildred.
We're alone.
What's up? I've been running those background checks like you told me and I may have found something.
Five years ago, Chubby Bitterman borrowed a quarter of a million dollars from Ralph Kelsey to open an automobile dealership.
- And? - And two years later, it went belly-up.
Chubby was wiped out.
Well, Mr.
Steele, it may be a brand-new ball game.
Hey, where's the handle, St.
James? - What happened there, St.
James? - I lost it in the sun, Coach.
Now for the fun and games.
Come on, Ralph.
Hey, it's Babe Ruth.
It's the Ruth.
! Babe Ruth.
All right.
Come on, Ralph.
What's it gonna be? All right.
Okay, folks.
Here they are, the Klutz Brothers in person.
Hey, talk about déjà vu, huh, Ralph? - Hey, it was just one of those things.
All right? - Oh, yeah, sure.
- Hey, just get off of it! - Hey, man, it's cool.
Hey, I didn't mean it, Ralphie.
Let him go.
Let's watch that play again.
See how you chowderheads can avoid making the same mistake in the future.
- Happened before, has it? - Yeah, 20 years ago.
Ralph was being scouted by a couple of major league teams and whammo! - Huh.
Whammo? - Yeah, last game of the legion play-offs.
He and Slats collided under a pop fly.
Ralph tore up the cartilage in his knee.
- Bye-bye, big time.
- Oh, bad luck.
Ohh! The worst.
Ralph lived for the game.
Uh, deep down, I don't think he's ever forgiven Slats.
If I can have everybody's attention, please.
I wanna take a look at the batting practice tape if you got the stomach for it.
Chubby's loan.
Slats's collision.
Seems our dear friend Ralph Kelsey has a few axes to grind.
Hmm, three to be exact, assuming he's onto Sam Woodman's dalliance among the ice cubes with sweet little Margie.
The reunion was Kelsey's idea to begin with.
He seemed to make sure that everybody he wanted here could make it.
Do you think he only invited them here so he could take a crack at them one by one? That would explain his desperation to keep the camp session going.
I mean- when else would he have all his mates together again? Exactly.
But he seemed so sincere.
Oh, yeah? So was Jack the Ripper presumably.
No.
! Ralph! Oh, God, Ralph! Oh! Oh! - Come on, come on.
- Those bastards! - Come here.
- No! No! - Well, that does it.
I gotta close the place down.
- Now, hold on, Coach.
- If you fold up now, you stand to lose the whole ball game.
- What are you talking about? Well, the police are blaming Kelsey's death on the batting machine.
I mean, your program could be in for some deadly publicity.
If we can prove that there was a killer at work, the Golden Dugout will be in the clear.
And Ralph Kelsey will rest in peace.
Hm.
Eh, you got a point there.
Only one more day left of the session anyway.
Think of it this way.
Your team is in a jam and you just called in Goose Gossage to bail you out.
- Okay? - Okay, kid.
Your inning.
- Goose Gossage? - I'll explain later.
Right now, I think Mickey Boggs'll pay a call on the widow Kelsey.
All right, Coach.
Let's see how this contraption works.
- I want to know exactly what happened.
- All right.
Grab a bat.
Get up there.
Now, it's a little tricky.
Now, just relax.
Try and meet the ball.
- All right? - Yes.
- You ready? - Oh, yeah, sure.
- You ready? - Oh, yeah, sure.
Is that the idea? Beginner's luck.
That all part of the game, is it? Huh! Oh, boy.
Well, I'll be.
What is it? Aha.
Yeah.
Just off-centered enough to alter the normal flight of the ball.
Clever, very clever.
Sorry to barge in, Mrs.
Kelsey.
- I really need to be alone right now.
- I understand.
I was just wondering if you think what happened to your husband was an accident.
- What are you suggesting? - I'm not suggesting anything.
All I know is your husband was a really nice guy I liked him, and he isn't dead an hour when I see you playing around with your ex.
- You saw us? - It was hard to miss.
I see.
I'm no stool pigeon, Mrs.
Kelsey but where I come from, people stand up for their teammates.
So why shouldn't I just call up the police and tell 'em what I know? I may be guilty of adultery, Miss Boggs, but not murder.
Sam and I broke off our marriage because we were too much alike- strong willed, hot tempered.
Led to a lot of arguments.
- When I married Ralph, I knew I was marrying stability.
- And a lot of money.
Mm, yes.
But as I learned it takes more than furs to keep a woman warm on a cold Indiana night.
Ralph was good and decent, but- Well, you saw him.
The only real passion in his life was spent on a game that uses wooden sticks and a little white ball.
And reenter Sam Woodman.
Ah, for the time being.
Although, I- I hadn't expected to feel the way I do about him.
Weren't you worried that Ralph would find out? - His mind was on baseball.
- And what about Vera Woodman? Vera? No.
Well, I don't know if she was onto us, but she had nothing to worry about in either case.
I come from a poor family.
I like having money.
Vera knows that.
Vera knows that I could never have left the security of Ralph's checkbook for Sam's salary as a teacher.
Now if you'd excuse me.
Sure.
I was just wondering, Mrs.
Kelsey.
Now that Ralph's dead, you can have all his money and Sam too.
Can't you? Ah, Miss Boggs.
Care to join me? I have a tapioca pudding here that's going begging.
Uhh, yeah.
It's good, isn't it? The murder weapon was a baseball doctored with buckshot.
Crowley says anyone in the camp could have set it up.
The pitching machine is always accessible for practice.
Whoever is behind this knew Ralph Kelsey awfully well.
He or she knew the videotape of Ralph's botched play would drive him to the batting cage to work off his anger.
- Yes, well, that makes sense.
- Unless Kelsey was a random victim.
That's what I love about you, Laura.
You keep narrowing this case down to include everybody.
- Sure you don't want this tapioca pudding? - It looks- - Hello, Miss Boggs.
- Oh.
- Mind if I join you? - Not at all, Miss Zugsmith.
I hit another home run at the computer.
Turns out that 10 years ago Ralph Kelsey went to see Dr.
Howard Gridley for a routine operation and ended up on his back for two months.
Kelsey sued for malpractice and won.
After that, ol' Doc Gridley moved from Muncie to Miami.
Oh, great work, Mildred.
- How about a raise? - How about some tapioca pudding? Well, if that's the best I can do.
I think it's about time you paid the good doctor another visit.
Don't you? Wait a minute.
Not 20 minutes ago I saw tender, loving Sam Woodman pay an extremely convincing condolence call on Marge Kelsey.
Fascinating.
Do you think Vera knows that Sam and Margie have rekindled the old flame? I don't know.
But Margie doesn't seem to care.
Vera doesn't look like a woman scorned to me.
I don't get it.
Well, it's almost as confusing as our relationship.
Doesn't that man ever stop joking? Strange isn't it? A doctor finding out about muscles he never knew he had.
Uuh! Sit down.
Join the agony.
Heard the rumor going around? - No.
What? - Ralph Kelsey's been murdered.
What? How? Why? Oh, just a rumor, old bean.
Just a rumor.
There's another rumor that you and Kelsey had a big falling out a few years ago.
Hey, wait a minute, little lady.
I mean, that malpractice suit is ancient history.
Sure, I hated old Ralph's guts for the first few years after I had to move to Florida.
Trying to scrape together a new practice isn't exactly a cakewalk.
But we both agreed that this reunion would be the best way to bury the hatchet.
A figure of speech! Listen, if there was anybody that had a perfect motive it's that silly jerk over there.
Silly like a fox.
Ralph made out better than all of us, and Chubby took advantage of him.
Borrowed a quarter of a million dollars on a handshake and then lost every dime of it.
A handshake? Meaning there was no formal document.
Ergo, no Ralph, no quarter of a million dollars to repay.
Hey, you catch on quick, Sherlock! Excuse me, darlin'.
Hmm.
Mm-hmm.
Smooth performance.
Could be he's a first-rate liar, and he's just trying to divert suspicion to old Chubby.
Ah, great, Chubby, great.
BestJerry Lewis imitation I've seen so far.
Help! Help! It's no act! Come on! Ah-ah! Hold it.
That's it, that's it! Just steady, steady, steady.
Stand up! Okay.
Here you go.
Get your foot out.
That's it.
Come on, boy! - All right, Chubby.
We'll just get to the shower.
All right? Just breathe normally.
Chubby, stay with us, mate.
Stay with us, Chubby.
That's it.
Okay, here you go.
Here you go.
All right, son.
Come here.
Come on.
Breathe, Chubby, breathe.
- Another accident, do you think? - I'll be right back.
Please, Chubby, please.
Give me a sign, mate.
Give me a sign.
- I must have lost 10 pounds! - Hah! Hah! Come on.
- How you doin', Ol' Paint? - Okay.
Thanks for your help.
Couldn't get my foot out.
Huh! Yeah, thanks.
- Mm-hmm.
- Both of you.
- You all right? - Oh, okay.
I- I just need a nap.
- Uh-huh.
- A long nap.
Good.
- The stirrup was bent.
- Oh? Whoever put his foot in next wasn't gonna get it out.
It could be someone is trying to kill off all the reunion members.
Mm-hmm.
And Then There Were None.
- Barry Fitzgerald, Walter Huston.
- I remember.
- Oh! - The problem is Ralph Kelsey is the only one that would have had such a motive, and he's dead.
Unless Kelsey was the intended victim all along.
Then the killer has masked his crime with several accidents of which Chubby's is only the latest.
A variation on The Alphabet Murders.
Tony Randall, Robert Morley.
- I know, I know.
- Oh, oh.
- The problem is how best to proceed.
- Well, we can rule out Chubby.
Not necessarily.
He may be a consummate actor.
The Exercycle incident, while harrowing, could hardly have proved fatal.
Good heavens, Laura.
Can't we eliminate anyone as a suspect? - Huh? - There's always you, Mr.
St.
James.
Just a second- - What's wrong? - Someone's been in here.
Oh? How can you tell? I didn't need my wallet this evening, so I put it in the very back of the bureau drawer.
And? Well, are you sure you put it in the drawer? My compulsions are an endless source of amusement for you, Mr.
Steele so it should come as no surprise for you to learn that I always check and double-check my motel room before I leave it.
- The wallet was in the drawer.
- Oh.
Anything missing? - Doesn't seem to be.
- Um, are you thinking what I'm thinking? Someone grew suspicious of us, decided to sneak in the room to check up on my identity and, through a sudden fear or plain carelessness, left the wallet out.
My private investigator license is right here.
If the intruder is the killer, he's onto us.
Uh, not to be unsympathetic, Laura, but, uh what do you mean by "us," kemosabe? Oh.
Oh.
Oh, I see.
Huh! Not even my good side.
Hey, fellas, this is it.
Your last day at the Golden Dugout.
Here's your chance to play against the pros you all grew up with.
Now, you worked hard this week.
Here's where you show what you learned, if anything.
Go on.
! Hey, go on, Coach.
Now, just because your friends and wives may be out there I don't want no grandstanding, just good solid baseball.
Okay? Sam Woodman here wants to say a few words before we hit the field.
- All right! - Thanks, Coach.
Guys, we had a little ritual at Eastlake High I'd like you all tojoin in on.
Get your hands in here.
Now, Ralph you went out the way you always wanted to, with a bat in your hand.
And we know that wherever you are up there in that big bullpen in the sky you'd want us to play today like we did 20 years ago.
- This one's for you, Ralphie.
- We'll get 'em, baby.
You were the best of all of us, big guy.
Now, let's go, Wildcats! Not exactly what I'd call Murderers' Row.
Still, one of those men is a killer.
I sure hope you two have something up your sleeve.
The media's already giving me lots of heat about the safety here.
Piece of cake, Coach.
This case'll be history by the end of the game.
Yeah? Well, I'm glad to hear it.
- See you out there.
- Yep.
Laura, what are you saying? I work best under pressure.
Ho-oh-oh! - Laura- - Relax, will you? I have a plan.
- Yoo-hoo.
! - Morning, Mildred.
- Did the computer render any more pertinent information? - Bubkes.
Oh, really? Another baseball term, is it? Crowley gave me a master key to all the motel rooms.
I want you to go through them while we're playing.
- See if you can come up with anything useful.
- Okay.
All right.
Here we go.
All right.
Let's play ball! Let's go! No sticks, no sweat.
Throw hard, throw strikes! Okay, batter, batter, batter.
Gimme one here, gimme one here.
Yeah.
! - Get one, get one.
! - All right! - Out! - Whoo-hoo! Well played, Miss Boggs.
Well played.
Now, uh- What's this plan of yours? - We're assuming the killer is onto us.
Right? - Right.
- It's likely he feels we're closing in on him.
- Aah! Later.
All right.
! Get the second out.
! No sticks, no sticks, no sweat.
Throw hard, throw strikes.
- Way to go, St.
James.
! - All right.
! Great catch, St.
James.
! All right.
! It's simple.
The killer is bound to come after us.
All we have to do is catch him at it before he succeeds.
- That's the plan? - Batter.
All right! Let's go, let's go, let's go! Nice catch, Doc.
That's not a plan.
It's a bloody death warrant.
It's the only one I could come up with, so watch your back.
Ha-ha! Any one of the old Wildcats could be our boy.
- All right! Great, team.
All right! - Yeah, fellas! - Yeah! - Whoo-whoo! Batter up! Come on! Let's go! Come on, grandma! Let's see some heat! You're out! - All right, Woody! - Come on! Go get 'em, Woody! All right! Somethin' the matter, St.
James? - I find meditation a great comfort during a game.
- Nerves, huh? - Hm.
- Here, try a little chewing tobacco.
- Well- - Calm you right down.
- No, no, really- - Come on.
It's part of your education.
Stee-rike! Here you go, Mick.
- Oh, gee, Chubby, thanks.
I am thirsty.
- Good! Come on.
! Get down.
! Get down.
! Come on.
! Get down.
! Out! Come on, St.
James.
Spit out your cud and grab your glove.
That's three outs.
Look at that.
He couldn't hit the ball if it was on a tee.
I doubt he could pick that ball up if it came with a handle.
- Stri-i-ike! - Come on, Ump.
- I've seen potatoes with better eyes than that.
- Come on.
Get in there and hit.
My granddaughter Bret can swing better than you! - Stri-ike.
! - Ump, you're getting a little old for this kind of stuff.
- You shouldn't be umping anymore.
- You're short.
Come on.
You're short.
Come on.
- Come on.
Bear down.
- All right.
Come on.
Come on.
! Let's go.
! All right.
! Come on now.
! Let's go.
! Don't give up.
! St.
James, you're up.
Grab a bat.
Boggs, you're on deck.
Hit somethin' anyway.
Let's make this a dignified disaster.
Miss Boggs? You come up with anything? Nothing obvious, but I- I pulled these from some wastepaper baskets.
- I thought there might be something.
- Good work.
- Ball one! - Come on, blind man.
Bear down.
- Come on, Whitey.
Give me something I can hit, eh? - My niece has better stuff.
- Oh, my gosh.
- What is it? This receipt.
It's a list of ingredients for a type of putty explosive that becomes very volatile when it dries.
Whose room is this from? - There were so many.
- Mildred! - Oh, uh, I'm trying.
- Ohh! All right, chaps.
- The bat! No! - Strike! Thank God! - Don't swing at any more pitches.
- Let's play ball here.
! - What? - I'll explain later.
- Come on.
! Don't swing.
- Get a strike.
! - Let's play ball.
! - Come on now.
! Line drive.
! Get a hit.
! - Meet the ball.
- Get it started.
- Let's go.
Strike two! That looked good, St.
James.
Come on.
Laura, I don't know what you're up to, but I've worked very hard to improve my swing and I've no intention of going down to ignominious defeat with the bat on my shoulder.
Take a look at the top of your bat, DiMaggio, and don't make it look obvious.
It's loaded with explosives.
You meet the ball, and you'll make a hit - that no one will forget if they live.
- Huh! - Don't swing! - Don't swing.
Don't swing.
- Wait for yours.
! - Good cut, good cut.
! All right.
Make him pitch to ya.
- Ball two! - Are you sure? - It looked like a strike to me.
- Will you get in there and hit? Fine.
Give it a rip.
! Get on.
- Strike three.
You're out! - Oh! Oh! Oh, bless you.
- Thank you very much.
Thank you.
- Get out of here.
- Come on.
Next hitter.
Let's go.
- Thank you.
Okay.
Laura.
Now what, Laura? - I have a plan.
- Oh, good.
I can't wait.
Now, I'm gonna keep mine, and you keep yours.
Okay? - What's that chick up to? - I don't know.
- 'Cause this one's, uh- I think that this one might be- - Well, I just, uh- - Yeah, this is better.
- Okay.
Thanks.
Aah! That Boggs is a strange bird.
She wanted to try my bat.
Most peculiar.
Yeah.
Let's go, Mick.
Make him pitch to ya.
- Just wait for it.
- Time.
- Big hit now.
- Time! - You're right, St.
James.
This bat's too heavy! I need mine back! - Aah! Aah! - Hit the dirt, Woodman.
! It only looked like we exchanged bats, Woodman.
This is your murder weapon right here, mate.
What in the Sam Hill is goin' on here? That's the man who murdered Ralph Kelsey! Sam! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
Fore! I believe that's what's called a grand slam, hmm? Thank you.
Thank you.
Hah! So it was Vera and Sam all along.
Mm-hmm.
Yes, Mildred.
It was a classic tale of greed and envy to match James M.
Cain at his nastiest.
Sam was gonna divorce Vera, remarry Margie then get her out of the way so he and Vera could enjoy Ralph's fortune.
Oh! I think I'll stick with the Irish Sweepstakes for my millions.
Mmm.
How about a double feature tonight to take our minds off the case? - What's playing? - Fear Strikes Out and Pride of the Yankees.
- I think I have another baseball convert on my hands.
Oh, indeed.
As a matter of fact, I thought I might give you a few pointers in making contact.
Are we still talking baseball, Mr.
Steele? Oh, oh, I'm sure we'll get around to it eventually.
- Aha.
- Batter up, Miss Holt? Batter up, Mr.
Steele.