Spawn (1997) s01e01 Episode Script

Burning Visions & Evil Intent & No Rest, No Peace

Four hundred years have passed.
Once again, it is time for a new warrior to emerge from the darkness.
Throughout time, the battlefields have changed but the prize has always remained the same: the human soul.
Look, take out your press I.
D.
I want them to see we're legit.
This is some ugly shit we're talking about, Bennett.
We get verifiable information and we got the byline of the decade.
I know.
- This way.
- We're screwed if he doesn't show.
Relax.
He's a good source.
Now do me a favor.
Take a Valium.
You're making me crazy.
Mr.
Stevens? I'm Dave Bennett.
This is Kenny Hayes.
We spoke on the phone.
Looks like your meeting's been cut short.
God! God in heaven! God ain't here, boy.
I'll take the message.
Now, do I look like I'm in the mood to run a marathon? Do I? Okay, asshole.
Next question.
Who else knows? I'm waiting for your answer, smart boy.
Nobody.
I didn't tell anybody else.
Don't lie to me, smart boy.
Don't piss me off with that crap.
Each warrior is born as a clean slate, knowing nothing.
The only instincts which they can act upon are drawn from their past.
So? He see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
Good.
Let's do this thing and go.
Don't do this.
You don't have to.
I won't say anything.
I swear.
Please.
I got a family.
Kids.
And for their sakes, I hope decent life insurance.
Let him go.
Jesus! What the hell are you? - Stay back.
- You don't want to do that.
Help me! I love you, Al.
Oh, no! I came back for you! Where are you? Hell does not allow its warrior children to roam unchecked.
And so each is given their proper escort.
Oh, man, I love it.
Especially the jerk with his head on backwards.
That is sweet! Check his shorts.
Bet they're brimming over.
I so enjoy the shameful details.
Now, this is very tasty.
I mean, you look at him.
You look at you.
You're a matched set! What do you think, Spawn? Spawn? Yeah.
As in Hellspawn.
Hey, it's what you are, baby.
So get used to it.
How did I do this? Instinct, sweetheart.
You're a killer.
Born and bred.
You see violence, you act.
It's a gift.
That's why he picked you.
Who? I can't remember anything.
What's wrong with me? Too long under the tanning booth, by the look of it.
Where is me? What's happened? Who am I? Hey, Bobby.
I think he's coming around.
Wanda.
Jesus Christ on a crutch! What the hell is that? I don't know.
But he might need help.
Hey, mister, are you okay? You've been screaming and moaning for ten minutes.
Wanda.
She'll know who I am.
Maybe you should lie down or something, you know? Sleep it off.
I know how I get.
Too much Thunderbird and I'm dancing naked in Times Square.
She's my wife.
Wanda.
Are you crazy, Gareb? You saw what he did to those poor bastards! Probably speeding on PCP or something.
Maybe you need a little hair of the dog Get away from me.
I was just trying to help.
Okay? I don't want your help.
What you want and need aren't the same.
This place is a refuge from the maelstrom.
Get out of my way, old man.
You don't remember.
It doesn't matter.
It's what you learn now that's important.
I just want to go home.
Now move, or be moved.
Listen.
We all want to go home, my friend but it's war getting there.
Mason.
Mafia dirtbag piece of shit.
He never looked better.
Sir, I don't think the CSU is going to appreciate you sprinkling doughnut crumbs onto the deceased.
I hate early morning.
Nothing human up at this hour.
No, sir.
Just us civil servants.
And dead mob scumbags.
Nicely put, sir.
Tony Twist's gonna need serious drugs when he finds out.
These three bozos were his best hitters.
So, one of these things is not like the others.
What's his story? David Bennett, journalist with the Washington Post.
Same as the one at the alley's far end.
Except Bennett's won a Pulitzer for his investigative piece on the congressional scandal three years ago.
Hey, if it ain't on ESPN, I couldn't give a shit.
No, sir.
Okay.
So we got two dead reporters from Washington.
Three dead hitters for Tony Twist.
What about the other stiff? Homeless.
No I.
D.
yet.
His prints came up nil.
Probably just an alley mushroom.
Popped up at the wrong time.
Another verbal ace, sir.
- Twitch? - Sir? Find me a connection between all these toe tags.
But first, find me something with chocolate sprinkles.
Two dozen, sir? Half that.
You know I'm on a diet.
That's your best friend.
Here's to Al Simmons the best friend a poor, number-crunching jerk like me could have.
Dad! - Wait, honey! - Daddy! Someone wants to say good-bye.
- Bye-bye, Daddy.
- See you later, sweetness.
Perhaps you can do that with me later, mister.
- Bye-bye, sweetie.
- Bye-bye.
Bye-bye.
Okay, Cyan.
Let's get you off to day care.
As they tear away each new layer there's always an agonizing price to pay.
How long has it been? Where have I been? Goddamn it! What's happened to me? It's Hell's plan to keep the new recruits confused hoping to discourage the warriors of any personal mission.
Oh, please! Don't tell me you're getting all bent out of shape over a woman.
Okay, so she was the love of your life and the only thing that mattered in this whole disgusting, putrid little universe.
Okay? So now your former best friend, compadre, amigo is putting it to her on a regular basis.
Okay.
So she wanted kids and you were obviously firing blanks.
Want a lick? It's rocky road.
- Get away from me.
- You can't blame her.
After all, you've been dead almost five years.
- You're lying.
- If I'm lying, I'm dying which would be kind of redundant.
Anyway, Spawn, your former self meaning one hell-bent-for-leather, kick-ass, take-no-prisoners government assassin by the name of Al Simmons is dead.
It's not true.
Sure, it is, and you know it.
Hey, tough guy.
Where do you think you're going? The best is yet to come.
Don't you want to know where you've been? You did ask, so you must.
Look! Back off! Before I permanently introduce your face to your colon.
You know, you're kind of cute when you get all indignant like that.
You got nowhere to go, Spawn.
Don't you want to know where you been? I'll give you a hint.
Where do you think someone who slaughtered people for a living would end up after he's dead? Hmm? You came back for her, Spawn.
You came back for Wanda.
She's got a life now.
She's got a child you couldn't give her and a husband who's still wearing his face.
What do you got, char baby? Not me.
I'm me.
Goddamn it.
I'm not dead.
I'm not here.
The new spawns each try to deny what they've become hoping that a small spark of truth will awaken them from their nightmare.
With this ring, I thee wed.
Oh, God! My God.
Why? How did this happen to me? You made a deal, you stupid son of a bitch.
You made a deal with Malebolgia.
You cut a deal for your soul.
The deal was you'd see Wanda and then become Hellspawn a ranking officer in the devil's army.
Well, now you've seen her.
Time to pay the piper.
Get off me! Now, cast from Hell the warriors cross paths with their own demons in human form.
You scumbag, douche bag-eating, motherfucking cock-sucking, shit, motherfucking frig! I'll take your fucking head and chop it off! Calm down, Tony.
Just tell me what went wrong.
What went wrong is somebody took three of my best guys and threw them into what must have been a walking wood chipper.
This was supposed to be a simple gig, Wynn! What the hell are you trying to pull on me, huh? I mean, we're talking about my best hit men getting mercilessly whacked over here.
How do I deal with this? They were ambushed, snipered? What? They're now wearing their goddamn heads on backwards.
Their bones got pretzeled by somebody who knows how to do it right.
I see.
Yeah.
I see too.
I see you asking me to do you a favor and my cleaning crew gets taken out by some asshole who thinks he's the Terminator.
I'm sensing an accusation here, Tony.
All I'm saying is this smells like the work of a goddamn government-trained assassin.
And that just happens to be your stock in trade.
It wasn't any of mine.
And if I were you, I'd be very careful about the next time I made such strong implications without the facts.
So what about the journalists? - In tomorrow's obits.
- Good.
Yeah, for you.
This shit's cost me big-time.
You'll be amply compensated for your loss.
Let me know what you find out about this mystery assassin.
I'll send you his liver and maybe a couple of fingers.
- Hello? - The newsman has been dealt with.
- Who did you use? - Mafia elements.
Nothing traceable.
Good.
Thank you.
- And, as we discussed - The appropriations are in place.
As of now you've got unlimited credit with the Department of Defense.
I appreciate that, Senator.
Believe me, it was worth it.
I'll feel free to call if there are any further complications.
Of course, but tell me, how long do you intend to cover for him? As long as I have to.
He's a child killer.
Look, we've been through this before.
You don't have a son let alone one you can't give your name to.
So what he does is my problem, understand? These journalists won't be the last.
You can't keep this quiet forever.
Yes, I can.
You see, the dead keep their secrets.
Okay, man.
What'd I do, huh? Shut up and get your ass on the ground now.
What'd I do, man? Well, if it isn't Officer Hector from Internal Affairs! Word is you told the captain we're skimming off the top.
Listen, if you can't keep your mouth shut, we'll shut it for you.
What kind of shit is Why is it that people with authority abuse their power? A word of advice, Officer.
Retire.
That's it, Spawn.
Let yourself go.
Get pissed.
Do some damage.
Don't take shit from nobody.
And, oh, yeah, the big boy downstairs.
'Cause this is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang, but with a lot of blood and torn flesh and broken bones.
And I just love it.
And so the game has begun again.
After 400 years, a new warrior takes center stage preparing for the great battle.
And with him comes pain, death and the vile stench of brimstone.
And for my sister.
Quit shoving! I was here first.
Shut up! It's the ice cream guys! Let's go! Come on, you guys! - There he is! - We're coming! - Do you have Drumsticks? - What about Creamsicles? Hell has many demons in training.
This one is known as Billy Kincaid.
Images of love and hate torture them all at first.
It is the way of things for each new warrior.
There is no respite from the inner pain.
My God.
Not another one.
Another one? What do you mean? Kids get dumped here.
Never had a chance.
Horrible, isn't it? She has a little girl now.
- Who? - She wanted children.
She went to doctors, but it was me all along.
You know, not wanting to pry or nothing but some of us were kind of curious.
You know, wondering just what the hell are you? Somebody who doesn't want to be bothered.
That's what I told them.
When he wants to talk, he'll talk.
Right? - Don't hold your breath.
- Look, mister.
Figure you're hanging around these alleys for a reason.
Maybe you just want some company.
I've got nowhere else to go, that's all.
Could be you need a friend.
All I need is Wanda, but I can't have her.
- Not like this.
- Why not? You ask stupid questions.
I've seen lots worse.
I used to work for a mortician.
That makes me feel better.
Get outta here.
You know, folks around here don't look or smell so nice but we're good people.
We share what we've got.
You're welcome to it.
With each new Hellspawn there's always the question: How long, if at all, can they hang onto their humanity? Some last longer than others.
He kills a bunch of guys, leaves for a while comes back and camps down here in Rat City.
He looks like something out of goddamn Stephen King, for Christ's sake.
Nobody invited him.
This is our place.
Need to kick his ugly ass out of here.
What's he doing, Gareb? You talked to him, right? - This is our place.
- Damn right.
Bogey's a stinking freak.
- He's got problems.
- Yeah.
- Did you see his face? - Christ! No, I'm serious.
He's, I don't know, troubled.
Really screwed up.
Ain't we all? Thing is, he's dangerous.
I mean, we can't sleep with that thing down here.
We don't know what he is, what he wants.
Nothing! If you ask me, don't need to borrow any more problems.
Life's shitty enough.
It's the truth.
Get his ass outta here.
What are we, perfect? Just kick him out.
Is that it? He's sitting by himself in the heart of Rat City.
Where's he supposed to go from there? Potter's Field? The guy looks like a goddamn vampire! Yeah, Bobby.
What did you look like when you first crawled in here? You want him to stay, fine.
You go right ahead.
But when you wake up in a pool of blood with your head on backwards don't come crying to me.
Maybe we can scrape together some food for him.
He's not some goddamn pet you get to keep! Think about it, man.
Gareb, you dumb son of a bitch.
Yo! Look out! Get outta here! All right, you alley pukes.
Who's gonna stay alive by telling me what I want to know? You know who whacked Tony's boys, right? Please.
I don't.
Buzz.
Too late.
Okay.
Who's our next happy contestant? The double jeopardy answer is: the person who took out three very dapper Italian men whilst they were about the business of their esteemed employer.
You look like a couple of smart turds with big eyes.
Give me the question I'm looking for and win your lives.
Oh! And just so you know the loser gets parting gifts made out of Teflon and I ain't talking cookware.
I'll even help you out in case you don't watch game shows.
Okay.
It goes like this.
- Who is - About to take your head off.
All right, game boy.
This is what you're gonna do.
Stay alive long enough to give your boss - What's his name? - Tony.
Tell Tony to keep his goons out of these alleys.
As of now, they're out of bounds.
You're gonna give him my message.
'Cause as far as I know, I'm already dead.
Which means I'm waiting for your sorry ass in the afterlife.
What'd I tell you, huh? He's something, ain't he? Name is Bobby.
Al.
Everybody? Meet Al.
New warriors often find allies among those damned by society.
For a while it gives them a sense of security.
But they couldn't be more wrong.
Hello.
What? When? Is he still alive? Did he say who did it? I don't give a shit if he needs a doctor! Find out who whacked my men, or you're gonna need a priest! Yeah, it's Tony.
I'm calling in my marker.
Don't give me that shit.
You owe me.
Send him.
Today! Right now! By the time I hang up this phone, he better be over the Atlantic.
Damn it.
Let me guess.
The first day on the pro bono case.
- Is it that obvious? - It's the only time you get frazzled.
I'm just going over the case files today.
- The subject matter - What is it? Kyle Watson, a child killer.
Indicted on four counts.
Two of them, little girls.
Can't you pass on this one? And give the partners something to whine about? No.
I can handle it.
Gonna have your asses up on so many goddamn charges your great-grandchildren will be answering subpoenas! I'm a United States senator! Now, you don't break into my room and snatch me off a woman! You don't throw me in a helicopter to New York in the frigging night! Sorry for the inconvenience, Senator.
I trust we didn't interrupt anything deeply personal.
But I thought this needed a face-to-face.
Jesus.
Wynn.
What the hell is this all about? It's about us, Senator.
Our relationship.
I hear you're going to take a pass on the presidential race.
How do you know that? I've barely told my wife! I wanna put you in the White House, Senator.
Yeah.
Right.
Exactly how many skeletons do I have in my closet? Per our arrangement, I've been holding the key to that closet for some time gouging the eyes out of anyone who so much as looks in its direction.
- You're serious.
- Always.
All right.
Say I run.
What do you get out of it? A friend in a very high place.
To be honest, I never wanted the Oval Office.
I'm content fighting battles from the senate floor.
Maybe a Speaker of the House.
Sorry.
Not good enough.
In other words, you're not asking me.
And if I refuse? I see a closet opening.
Your own Pandora's box.
You could do that, but then I'd have to call the president about a certain international tea party you're throwing with DOD ordnance.
The scandal would make Watergate and Iran Contra seem like a mild fart on Capitol Hill.
Look, McMillan, you get something straight right now.
This isn't just about you and me.
Last time I checked, you had friends and family.
I can make them suffer too.
But more importantly who's going to protect your bastard son Billy from New York's finest? I hear the cons on Riker's despise child killers.
Raped one last year with a band saw.
We're in bed together, Senator.
We have been for quite a while.
So relax, bend over and enjoy it.
and enjoy it.
What the hell's it about this alley, Twitch? - The atmosphere.
- What do we know? More of Tony Twist's crew.
Right.
Troubleshooters.
Guys sent in to settle scores.
Precisely, sir.
Looks like they got settled instead.
No reporters this time.
Perhaps he was allowed to leave.
Sending a message to big Tony.
Twist doesn't like getting spanked this hard.
There's gonna be a war down here unless we can figure out what's going on.
What about those reporters? Nothing yet, sir.
Rumor has it they were tracking someone high up.
A major scandal.
But that's all so far.
- But there is one unusual element.
- What? The dead homeless man from the previous killings.
The mushroom.
His name's Jeff Stevens.
Former technical head of SpecCom Cellular.
So why's he driving Dumpsters on our beat? Seems he was listening in on some very high level conversations.
I gotta figure Stevens heard something huge hoped to trade off his indictment for what he was sitting on and use the news boys as middle men.
Astute, as always, sir.
Now, breakfast.
I have a map of the local color, sir.
Do you prefer grease or sugar? Both.
I'm feeling tense.
Burke, that fat bastard.
Yeah, he's gonna give a shit about this case.
Yeah.
When does he land? Good.
Pick him up the second he touches down and bring him to my office.
You want justice done right, you gotta buy it yourself.
Ah, I'll be honest.
I figured you for a rumor.
You know, ex-CIA killer turned ruthless mercenary.
Little more than a skeleton on a respirator for almost three years.
I mean, please! The pain was cleansing.
How'd you come back from there? The rumors you've heard about me are all true.
You got no conscience no soul, when it comes to killing.
What I've got is a hungry bank account.
Right now someone's paying me top dollar on your behalf.
So what seems to be the problem? You keep up with current events? Only where death is concerned.
Your men have had a bad week.
Yeah.
Well, I want the piece of shit responsible.
Bring me his bones in one bag and his organs in another, okay? Of course.
But I'll be keeping the heart myself.
- For what? - Dinner.
Such sweet folks, those homeless.
They will take anybody in including a freak like you, Spawn.
Hey.
Maybe you'll meet a nice homeless woman and raise a bunch of homeless kids.
Wouldn't that just be keen? What the hell do you want? Right to the point.
I really like that.
Because it's not what the hell do I want it's what does Hell want to do with you.
Care to know what that is? No? Okay.
Here it is.
It is time to get real.
Got it? Hey.
A deal's a deal, and Malebolgia, my boss and yours delivered on his end.
You got to see your wife.
Dear, sweet, tasty Wanda.
I gotta say, Spawnie, baby's got back.
You're about two seconds from wearing that smile around your ass.
Yeah, kiss me first.
All right? Anyway it's business now, big boy.
You got the uniform and the attitude, so let's get to it.
To what? You're a Hellspawn.
The Earth is ready to burn.
You're the guy with the match and I'm here to make sure you do the job right.
Look, I don't have time for this.
I got my own problems.
You don't just turn your back on your obligations.
You think you're too good to be a Hellspawn? You should be down on your knees thanking Malebolgia for the privilege of being a ranking officer in this Hell's Army.
You should be down on your knees thanking me for not killing you where you stand.
Yeah, right.
I don't think you know who you're dealing with.
But it's time you found out.
Listen, fat boy.
I've had just about enough! Yeah, baby! Right there! That's how Daddy likes it! You'll feel some pain.
- But I know you can hear me.
- Get out of my head! It's how us children of hell communicate through telepathy.
So begins your training.
What are you? A creature far superior to humans.
A true native of Hell.
Something no spawn will ever be.
Fool.
You can't rely on weapons.
That's not why he chose you.
There's something in you that Malebolgia senses something evil.
There are rules to follow.
It's my task to make sure you do.
Consider this a friendly reminder.
Get with the fucking program.
You spawn have never been worthy.
I'll be back for you.
And when I come, you better be ready to rock and roll.
This is the farewell bash for humanity.
And you, you're bringing the party favors.
Oh, and a word to the wise.
Laying there all twisted up like that is no good for your back.
That was pathetic but not altogether unexpected.
Your powers are finite.
Use them sparingly.
What am I into here? - What do you think? - I think it's insane! Am I dead or am I alive? What am I? You're going to have to trust yourself for the answers.
If you know what the hell's going on, old man I'd suggest you tell me straight.
There's a war on between Heaven and Hell and you are on the front lines.
- What war? - The only war.
Earth is the battlefield.
Human souls, the prize.
Just the way it's always been.
You're nuts, you know that? Look.
You have to pay attention to the world you're in.
You might think you're doing good, taking out the bad element.
But you just can't go around killing without a little forethought.
There are repercussions you can't even imagine.
Stop tap dancing around the issue and spit it out.
I wish it were that easy.
All I'm trying to say is you've still got a choice.
What kind of choice? If I told you, it wouldn't matter.
Just find out.
Then make the right choice.
But don't wait too long.
The sands are always running against you.
How am I supposed to find out? How, indeed? Please! I didn't see nothing! Shut up.
I'm looking for someone who very recently killed a handful of greasy wise guys.
Are you aware of such a person? Don't kill me, please.
I'm not worth it.
I'm less than nothing.
I keep to myself! Are you aware of such a person? Yeah! I've seen him.
Scary guy.
He's been hanging around down in Rat City.
Deep alley.
Nobody goes back there.
It's a pit.
You're sure this is the person who killed my employer's men? Yeah.
Ripped them apart.
He seemed to enjoy it a little, you know? - I do know.
- Can I go? In a moment.
First I need to borrow something.
They all pick a place to call home.
In most instances, those places have a hidden power.
For this warrior the alleys are no different.
He is drawn back again and again and doesn't know why.
It's Rollo.
"Hero.
Midnight.
Be waiting.
'' What the hell does that mean? Look at the shit you brought us, man.
- I hope you're happy.
- It was horrible! We couldn't stop him.
Just watch as he tore him apart.
Just one? Yeah.
He was a big son of a bitch.
Had weapons and other crap coming out of his arms! And this eye! Glowing red, like blood.
He was looking for the person who whacked some big shot's hit man.
- Even when he told him, he killed him! - What are we gonna do? It's exactly 12:00 midnight in Nairobi.
Tell me you're not the guy who took out Tony's men.
Tell me it's somebody with some balls and not some no-talent asshole with a faggy outfit.
When threatened, Spawn resorts to what he knows: his ingrained instinct to survive.
Though the uniform will often protect him a spawn is not invincible.
Each battle drains his strength propelling him toward the inevitable: his final descent into Hell.
Oh, what a mess.
Al! Don't waste your breath.
Trying to hide from emotional torment new warriors always seek their old ways first.
This latest spawn is no exception.
A killer in need of his tools.
"Ordnance" Welcome home, Al.
Nice to see you again.
This is the Central Intelligence Agency security shift commander.
You have entered a restricted ordnance storage facility.
Come out hands high, or we will open fire.
Go hot when you have target acquisition.
Fire.
The first teleportation is the worst coming as unexpectedly as having the host's uniform save them in the first place.
If he's dead, just leave him.
Probably better off.
Cops, fire trucks, dead bodies everywhere! Hey, Al.
You okay? Just need a second.
Come back to do some more damage? We ain't got enough dead and wounded? Hey, come on, Bobby! Can't you see he's laid up? He ain't the only one! Seen the north alley lately? Looks like frigging Beirut.
Look at him now.
Man's got more guns than the National Guard.
What are you, some kind of psycho? I'm just protecting myself.
Oh, yeah? Who's gonna protect us from you? - What the hell are you looking at? - You.
You're starting to sound like the outside.
Well, I can get your thermals back up and your full UV specs but you're going to experience red shift in your fast-scan.
This is patchwork at best.
Can I use the eye? Yes or no? Yes, but no extended night vision or close-up reading.
Knock, knock.
I want someone monitoring the phones all day.
If Overkill doesn't call, I want him found and brought to me.
What is this shit? I hire people, they get killed, they disappear.
Find out what my horoscope is for this month.
- Overkill.
- Son of a bitch.
That he was.
But then again, so are you.
What the fuck! Who are you? What do you want? Anything at all.
I want you to stay out of the alleys, Tony.
Your business there is done.
Understand? Whatever wild hair you had up your ass about that place is officially plucked.
You.
You slaughtered my men.
I'll let you in on a little secret.
They were doing bad things.
But relax.
I'm through killing your men.
Next time if I see one of your brain dead thugs so much as spit in those alleys I'm gonna come back and pay you a little visit, Tony.
And believe me, it won't be as pleasant as the visit I paid your hired cyborg.
So here's how it goes.
As of now, you work for me and your job is very simple.
Give me my space.
Understand? All I want is a little peace and quiet.
- Got it, fat boy? - Yes.
- Say it.
- I work for you and you want peace and quiet.
- And who am I? - I don't know.
That's right.
You don't know.
Let that little mystery keep you up at night.
Fuck! Faced with the stark reality that every battle can't be won the Hellspawns then crave an emotional refuge to soothe their physical pain.
- Good morning.
- Good morning.
Morning, Donna.
Messages? Coffee, please.
You're an angel.
Now give me the bad news.
Two depositions out at Riker's on your pro bono rotation.
One is Kyle Watson.
- Sorry.
I couldn't put it off.
- It's okay.
Even an accused child killer needs a good defense, right? Well, not too good.
This guy's supposed to be a monster.
They found the last three little girls without any fingers and Oh.
- Wanda.
- Forget it.
This whole thing just bothers me.
- Anyway, when's my next one? - 3:30.
- See if you can move it to County.
- Okay.
Hey, don't you just love pro bono work? Funny.
Get out.
All right, Mr.
Watson.
My name is Wanda Blake, and I'll be taking over your defense.
We're gonna need some general information during these proceedings and I'll be recording this.
You're gonna have to slow it down for him, ma'am.
You see, Kyle, he's a bit slow.
His daddy used to beat him something awful and the doctors say that it did something to his synapse and whatnot.
But he does understand why he's here.
I didn't do nothing.
I been a good boy.
I been very good.
Kyle, you're accused of murdering eight children.
You have a history of deviant and abusive behavior.
Well, that's all over and done with, ma'am.
Kyle's been on his medicine now for two-and-one-half years.
I been a good boy.
I don't hurt nobody no more.
I can't and I won't.
I got pills now, every day.
According to his records, the pills are castrators.
They keep him impotent.
I can't diddle myself no more or nothing.
I'm a good boy.
Kyle, you were given a toxicology test when you were arrested.
Correct? The police tested you for drugs? Uh-huh.
I'm no doctor, but based on what I've heard this castrator drug has a cumulative effect and takes up to two months to work its way out of the user's system.
What are you saying? Well, looking at the crime lab reports on the children they were all sexually assaulted.
Then again, the police found conclusive evidence in Kyle's room on his clothes, in his car blood and tissue matches, semen matches, DNA prelims are positive.
With this solid a case against Kyle, the best I can do is try to keep him off death row.
Don't let them kill my baby.
Please, ma'am.
I already done lost my husband and my little girl.
Poor Kylie here's all I got left.
Kyle.
Look at me.
Did you hurt any of those children? I don't hurt nobody.
I'm a good boy.
The media spokesperson for the New York City Police Department had no comment concerning the inexplicable upswing in violence in a specific low income area of lower Manhattan.
Asked to possibly reopen the Kyle Watson child killer case in light of what was termed a blatant oversight by the police defense attorney Wanda Blake is responsible for this revelation.
If I see that news footage one more time But you look so good.
Someone buried that toxicology report on purpose.
Planted evidence.
I just hope I'm doing the right thing.
Don't worry.
If you screw up, we can always move.
Stop it, you! When are you coming to bed? As soon as I solve this puzzle.
What is it? Monthly check of CIA ordnance catalogs.
Code numbers don't match.
Just doesn't make sense.
- Wanna know what makes sense? - What? I'll have to show you.
I love you, Wanda.
Baby! Shake it, don't break it! Having a good time, I trust? Yeah.
Whatever.
You really should learn how to relax, Chapel.
Blood helps me relax.
Got any for me? A weapons shipment going to North Korea.
You accompany them with our compliments.
And? Wait nine hours.
Then obliterate the shipment and give them a bloody nose.
- Who takes the fall? - Peruvian terrorists.
After that I'll have something for you closer to home.
When's the hop? Tomorrow morning.
Usual pickup and delivery.
- What? - I don't like downtime.
You know that.
So get a hobby.
- Come on, baby! - Shake it, don't break it! You're coming with me.
Hey, asshole.
You got a fucking problem? No, Al! Hey, Chapel.
We're partners, right? Al, I'm sorry! Sorry! Al! In local news, it looks like police are gonna cut child killer Kyle Watson loose after all.
Thanks to his attorney Wanda Blake, independent investigators have found that evidence may actually have been planted.
Wow.
Somebody check if those cops ever worked for the L.
A.
P.
D.
Okay.
And now back to our all big-band sounds.
Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers, come to dust.
Oh, yeah.
Who says I ain't cultured? Billy Shakespeare, meet Billy Kincaid.
Both great artists whose works will live on forever.