The Middleman s01e04 Episode Script
The Manicoid Teleportation Conundrum
Do you have a head injury? I need a job.
It's not like the world is just shelling out cash money to see me do my confrontational spoken-word performance art.
There were two people at my last performance, and one of them rushed to the stage to give me a hug.
Mom thought you needed one.
And I can't ask my mother for any more money or you.
If I had it, I would give it to you.
I can't believe Sexy Boss Man hasn't paid you yet.
Don't you gotta get your crapmobile fixed? I do have to get my crapmobile fixed, but my boss Sexy Boss Man.
My boss says the checks don't start - until the training is done.
- You're not fully trained yet? They have an expert coming in from out of town to work with me.
He's supposed to, like, vet me or something.
- Out of town? - China.
For a temp agency? Hey, how about we talk about your new job? This restaurant is supposed to pay the best tips in town.
When we graduated art school, we swore two things: No more underwear-stealing boyfriends What was it with those guys? We were like magnets.
and no more waitressing.
That's before the student loan fairy left a little some-some under my pillow.
There are tons of other day jobs.
You know all those times I got arrested protesting? Turns out there's such a thing as a permanent record, and they really do look at it.
OK.
So where do I have to go for the free fries? Lacey.
The Booty Chest? [groans.]
The pirate-themed sports bar with scantily-clad waitresses? Arrr! Lacey, you're an independent, politically active woman of today working at a den for middle-aged gropers and frat boys? This independent woman of today is paying off her crushing student loan debt with tips from middle-aged gropers and frat boys.
It's like turning bad money into good.
Oh, my God, you hear that? It's Simone De Beauvoir turning in her grave! How much are you getting paid for your new job? [hissing, engine sputters.]
[sputtering.]
[vapor hissing.]
[man.]
Nice car.
[groans.]
Have you been helped? I'm not making fun of you.
That's a Hruck Bugbear, manufactured in Eastern Europe in the 80s and imported to the States.
People mock it as a poor man's Yugo.
I consider it the pinnacle of Cold War Balkan engineering.
Yeah, my car and Chernobyl.
Oh, don't be so hard on the little guy.
You love it so much, you try and see if you can make it go.
I got a guy coming in to train me at work today, and I'm gonna be late.
Are you a mechanic? Musician.
I just like lo-fi, low-tech stuff.
You should see my collection of Moogs.
I totally loved The Moog Cookbook when I was 15! Although the way my prospects have been going lately, Eastern European automotive repair would probably be better than what I've got in the hopper.
Could be worse.
My roommate just got a job at The Booty Chest.
The pirate-themed sports bar with the scantily dressed waitresses? Arrr.
Maybe I should get a job there.
You don't seem like the Daisy Dukes type.
Well, I'm a man of multiple shades and dimensions.
Plus, if it pays well and gives me some time to work on my music I so know what you mean.
I'm a visual artist.
Oh, yeah? Let me guess.
Semi-abstract expressionist? - How'd you know? - Hmm.
I know artists.
The bummer is I finally get a job interview, they called weeks ago, and my flaky roommate lost the message.
That is the Bummermaster General.
Yeah, it gets worse.
I found the message under my roommate's pile of 12-inch singles from the 80s, right between the Night version of Girls on Film and an import of Ant Music.
Ooh, New Romantic, very nice.
Yeah, you should see him in his puffy shirt.
Anyway, I rushed over to the place, but they had given the job away.
Sounded perfect, too.
Flexible hours, dynamic work environment, and a totally messed up name on the letterhead.
- What was it called? - The Jolly Fats Wehawkin Temp Agency.
- [engine starts.]
- Oh, and, uh, what's weird is my contact didn't even have a name, just "The Middleman.
" Middleman You were gonna give my job away to someone else, weren't you? We're always on the lookout for gifted recruits.
Just 'cause we had someone on the radar doesn't mean this job isn't yours.
Seemed like me getting this job was a once in a lifetime thing.
No way of knowing if he would've survived the tests or made good with Sensei Ping.
What if I don't make good with Sensei Ping? Does that mean I never get paid and some handsome, delightful musician gets my job? Cowboy the heck up and get the place and yourself ready.
- I am ready.
- You don't know the meaning of ready.
I was Sensei Ping's apprentice.
Let me tell you Sensei Ping is the most lethal man alive.
Since he has agreed to train me into a killing machine, to be a better sidekick, there are three things I must remember, before meeting him: A, never ask why he wears the Mexican wrestler mask, B, never ask his age, and C, never bring up the Clan of the Pointed Stick.
Never bring up the Clan of the Pointed Stick.
Remember, Sensei Ping is the only man alive who knows the Wu-Han Thumb of Death.
You think he'd be proud to be a member of the world's most secretive and elite martial arts organization.
- You just broke rule number three.
- Put a sock in it, 3-PO.
You've memorized the most hallowed verse of greeting, right? Never seen you antsy like this.
It's kinda cute.
Yes, I memorized the most hallowed verse of greeting.
O2STK just called.
It's a red ball.
What the monkey? We can't have a red ball today.
Sensei Ping expects the Middleman to pick him up.
- It's a question of honor.
- O2STK? - The people we work for.
- We work for someone? They got a bad one and they wired your money, so you gotta go take care of business.
- How bad? - Robbery at the Metro Museum.
Local authorities blundered through and have nothing.
O2STK wants you there post haste.
- What's O2STK stand for? - What did they steal? La Cage de Lumière.
I read about that in the art section.
The world's most complicated diamond.
Shine a light through it, it makes a cage of light.
It's worth more bread than the two of you meatsocks put together.
That's why I'm an artist, and you're a soulless android from outer space masquerading as a cranky librarian.
- This one's a pickle.
- No, it isn't.
You're going to the museum.
O2STK was very clear.
Buckle up, Dubbie.
It's gonna be a crowded day.
Yeah, 'cause I'm just made of time.
I understand the police and insurance company investigators were here, but I'm Special Agent Hillel Goldfarb of the Mossad.
- This is my associate - Lieutenant Esther Finklestein.
The stolen diamond was mined and cut in the homeland.
Our government has a vested interest in the theft.
So you are in the Mossad? I served in the Israeli army.
[speaking Hebrew.]
[clears throat.]
Wow.
I thought that when people stole jewels from a museum it was all cat burglar Tom Cruise Mission: Impossible stuff.
This looks like a herd of frat boys threw a kegger.
Frat boys had nothing to do with it.
This was a coordinated strike.
The power cables were all yanked out by hand, the lasers were torn down by a freakishly tall person.
The guards were all overpowered by brutish strength.
The thieves came in numbers large enough to beat any force and knew the response time well enough to escape before the police arrived.
- So who did it? - We'll find out soon enough.
- [beep.]
- Ida? Begin a forensic scan, please.
[whirring.]
I'm starting the scan.
Try looking around, will you? If you don't see it, I can't scan it.
Oh.
[whirring.]
Those cops left their fingerprints everywhere.
Bunch of gorillas.
It's gonna take me a while to eliminate their prints.
We don't have the time, Ida.
Sensei Ping's first class flight from Wu-Han will be here lickety-split.
Well, why didn't you just say so? I'll rewrite the source code to the HEYDAR, route the data conduits to a broader band pipeline, do an exhaustive search of higher efficiency satellite uplinking frequencies, and replace all the chipsets in the operation with stuff that works faster.
Holy jumping bananas, we're in dutch.
Uh, yo, boss man Am I or am I not wearing a dorky uniform? Sensei Ping expects a Middleman to pick him up.
Send me.
- You're not a Middleman yet.
- Not a paid one anyway.
You're not ready.
To pick up a surly Asian guy at the airport? You just described three of my last four relationships.
Just give me the car keys, Cletus.
I'll take care of it.
I need the data relays in the Middle Mobile to continue the investigation.
You do have a car, don't you? [woman on PA, indistinct.]
Did the Middleman send you? Uh, Sensei Ping.
Like an unborn lotus festering in the mud waiting to blossom, I come to you with humble greetings to beseech your guidance most awesome [laughs.]
Did the Middleman tell you to recite the most hallowed verse of greeting to Sensei Ping? - Uh, yes.
- He is such a comedian.
You know, most of us masters of the martial arts - are actually very laid back.
- Really? - No! - Ow! You will stand up straight when you recite the most hallowed verse of greeting like it means something to you, and then you fetch Sensei Ping's bags.
I see the Middlemen have upheld their tradition of driving large black American sedans.
In Sensei Ping's homeland, cars are but shoeboxes.
But here, floating palaces.
Finally, slow learner, you have scored a fraction of a point with Sensei Ping.
That's not my car.
That's my car.
It's a Hruck Bugbear.
It's the pinnacle of Balkan engineering.
- [grunts.]
- Ow! Do not speak unless you are spoken to! And never, ever let Sensei Ping's bags touch pavement.
[grunts.]
The print in the lower right hand quadrant at coordinates 045000 and 045673 belongs to Metro officer Leslie McClaine.
Have you found any relevant material, Ida? Why, are you bored? Because I'm having a rip-snorting time X'ing off cop digits back here.
Mutual of Omaha.
Ida, are you seeing what I'm seeing? [whirring.]
That unclassifiable piece of biomass on the floor? This could be the clue we've been looking for.
Whatever this stuff is it's fresh, hasn't been here longer than a few hours.
- Analysis? - Stand by.
Ancho chiles.
Mulatto guajillo chiles.
Ibarra chocolate, soft bark cinnamon.
Ida, those are the exact ingredients of mole sauce.
- [whirrs.]
- The savory Mexican chocolate condiment? On the day Sensei Ping is coming to town? This is bad.
Get on the Marconi to Wendy.
If we're right, she and Sensei Ping are in a pig trough of trouble.
Sensei Ping has never known such indignity.
This mode of conveyance is beneath anyone who walks upright.
Auto smells like something that was drained from a bowel OK, you know what? I can't imagine why you would possibly wear a Mexican wrestler mask.
I mean, you don't look all that old to me, but hey, I'd probably cover my face, too, if I were in an organization with a craptastic name like Clan of the Pointed Stick.
- [grunts.]
- Aah! Sensei Ping shall make you pay for this outrage.
Oh, really? What are you gonna do, kill me? What's the O2STK gonna say when they find out? Aw, yeah.
How do you like me now? Silence, my little pit viper.
Danger has come up on our tracks.
Uh, Sensei Ping It is my name.
Do not wear it out.
[men chuckling.]
Uh, why is my car being surrounded by a bunch of lucha libre wrestlers? That is a very long story for another day, - my impudent young weasel.
- Sensei Ping.
[speaking Spanish.]
La Cage de Lumière! - Wait a minute - We can, and you will live to tell the world that someone has finally forged a prison that will hold the legendary Sensei Ping.
- [soft slaps.]
- [Middleman.]
Wendy? Are you OK? [groans.]
My head.
- Where's Sensei Ping? - Uh Uh I kinda lost him.
Me and Sensei Ping were pulled over and ambushed by a group of masked wrestlers.
Sweet mother of Preston Tucker, - did you pick him up in that? - Yes.
- You said you had a car.
- Can I finish my story? So the wrestlers put him in this laser cage, and then a guy wearing a blue and gold mask said he had finally forged a prison that could hold the legendary Sensei Ping.
El Maestro de Ceremonias.
I knew it.
One of his associates is the world's most ruthless infiltration expert, - El Comelón.
- Doesn't that mean "The Glutton?" Wherever he goes, the stain of mole is sure to follow.
He weighs 329 pounds, but has been known to squeeze through spaces the diameter of a tennis racket.
That's how they got in the museum to steal the diamond.
These wrestlers have a decades-old blood feud with Sensei Ping.
They're using the rarest diamond in the world to trap him.
- It's diabolical.
- A blood feud? So how did they get you to pull over the car? What? Oh.
Uh, well we were kinda already pulled over.
Why would you do that? Uh - He Well, I mean - Out with it, Wendy.
I need all the intel I can get.
He kinda got mad because I asked about the mask.
- You what? - And about his age.
- You didn't.
- And I brought up the Clan of the Pointed Stick.
How could you? Of all the things, why? Well, he pushed me.
He had it coming.
- How did he have it coming? - He bopped me on the head.
And then he made fun of my car.
- Yes? - Hitting people is wrong.
- Did you ask him to stop? - No.
Did you try to talk to him? Did you make any effort to deal with him other than to bring up the three things I specifically told you not to? The single best way you thought to handle a cranky martial arts master from a foreign culture, a man who spent two of your lifetimes climbing to the top of his art and earning the respect of every fighter in the world, flew halfway around the world to train you, was to offend his honor and open him up to an ambush? How was I supposed to know there was a troop of luchadores gunning for the guy? This is so unfair.
[sighs.]
First order of business is to get Sensei Ping before the Clan of the Pointed Stick figures out he's gone.
Take your weapon and go home.
If I'm not back in four hours, leave the country, preferably for South America, and change your name.
You'll want to spend the first few years doing cash-only work - like waitressing.
- Did I miss a memo? In 17 hours, when Sensei Ping fails to show up for his traditional breakfast of chicken feet at the Golden Ocean Teahouse in Chinatown, the Clan of the Pointed Stick will send out three highly-trained Shayu fighters.
- Reinforcements.
Awesome.
- To kill us.
- What?! That sucks! - La-di-da, Dubbie.
You must be mistaking the Clan of the Pointed Stick for one of the rational societies of paranoid, celibate martial artists.
When they discover we let Sensei Ping get kidnapped, their retribution will be like a divine cleansing flame.
- So you're benching me? - Absolutely.
What about my job? I mean, I could help you here.
There's a reason why you hired me.
You've done enough for one day.
- Yo, Wendy Watson.
- Hey, Noser.
- You know what tortures me? - The ring of fire? When the man comes around? That your daddy named you Sue? The fact that God's gonna cut you down, that you're in the jailhouse now? The Folsom Prison Blues? That the road goes on forever? - What was the sixth one of those? - The Folsom Prison Blues.
Yeah, that is what tortures me.
You and me both, Noser.
Hey, what are you doing here? I live here.
You look like a hundred bucks.
How bad? - Dear Lord! That bad? - Yeah.
I might have to change my name and move to a South American country.
If you need a waitressing job for cash, I know a guy in Buenos Aires.
- Shouldn't you be at The Booty Chest? - No.
I quit.
This was your first day.
Turned out to be a den for frat boys and gropers.
- I told you.
- Yeah.
And who would've thunk every single guy in the place turned out to be a total masher chumsucker? I may not be above putting on a tight T-shirt for student loan money, but I'm not sitting on a man's lap without a deep, intimate connection of love, trust, understanding.
- Did someone ask you to - Every guy in the frickin' frackin' place.
Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse this group of lucha libre wrestlers showed up.
- [spoon clatters on floor.]
- Lucha libre wrestlers? It must be Cinco de Mayo or something.
One guy was so fat, I don't know how he fit through the door.
- El Comelón.
- Holy coinkidink, Batman! - Wendy.
Wendy? - [sighs.]
How long ago was this? I just got home, and I'm going to write a new confrontational monologue on how losers that go to pirate-themed sports bars with scantily-clad waitresses objectify minimum wage-earning women.
Lacey, you still have your Booty Chest T-shirt? Can you tell me what it is about your job that requires you to dress up like a Booty Chest girl and talk to a bunch of lucha libre wrestlers? Look, the temp agency had a big account with the, uh, PALLF.
The Pan-American Lucha Libre Federation? Yeah, and I sorta messed up today.
It was a human resources thing, and I wound up losing the account.
Are things bad with Sexy Boss Man? Must you call him that? Must you? Yes, I must.
[sighs.]
Yes, things are bad.
He wants the account back.
If I could just convince those lucha libre guys to reconsider maybe I won't lose my job.
I have to do it stealthy.
I have to show Sexy Boss to convince my boss I can fix this.
All right, then.
Listen close.
A Booty Chest girl has to be two things.
They made us repeat it like a mantra at basic training.
Basic training? You were there, what, two hours? Basic training at The Booty Chest consists of one concept.
Drop some wisdom on me.
Slutty but sweet.
- "Slutty but sweet?" - Slutty but sweet.
OK, Wendy.
I taught you all I can.
What you do with this knowledge is up to you.
Hot flaming pork buns, I knew it! "A high-powered energy beam emitter was stolen by masked wrestlers from the particle physics department of the University of Guadalajara 48 hours ago.
" Input these performance characteristics, scan the city electrical grid.
Tracking the laser's power consumption signature ought to bring up Sensei Ping's location.
Hey, my online mahjongg is getting hot.
Don't look at me in that tone of voice, young man.
I'm the one hooked up to this unholy machine by my tripes.
All right.
Commencing scan.
- [computer humming.]
- [bell dings.]
Problem.
Your high-powered Mexican laser has the same exact power-consumption characteristics as a Teledyne Water Pik with custom high-output heating element and an aftermarket turbo-powered wash accelerator.
- Who'd own that? - At least five people in this city.
[sighs.]
Just print out the addresses.
Gall-monging weirdoes.
- [men laughing.]
- Bingo.
[speaking Spanish.]
Hey! [both.]
It's you, from the street.
You work at The Booty Chest? [both chuckle.]
You told me they were hiring, and I wasn't kidding when I said I needed the work.
So what about you? Uh, I'm doing research for an art project.
- Really? - Yeah.
It's about how losers who go to pirate-themed sports bars with scantily-clad waitresses objectify minimum wage-earning women.
And I thought I'd start with those lucha libre guys over there.
Um, that's a very relevant theme for an art project, but I wouldn't go near those guys if I were you.
I can handle it.
If you'll excuse me Wait, wait.
Do you know anything about lucha libre? There's good wrestlers and bad wrestlers, like how El Santo and Blue Demon are the Superman and Batman of lucha libre, but these are definitely bad guys.
Stone Cold and Hollywood Hogan have nothing on them for devious cunning.
I'll tell you something else: Those guys ain't here for the waitresses.
They've been sitting there a while, they haven't looked at any of the women twice.
They're up to something, something bad.
Doing research for an art project is one thing, but, uh, this is triple next-gen villainy here.
How do you know so much about lucha libre? - I'm a man of multiple shades and dimensions.
- Right.
Plus I watched a lot of lucha libre when I was a kid.
I grew up in Panama.
My dad was a military man.
- Mine too.
- Really? Well, trust me, one military brat to another, don't mess with those guys.
Tell you what, one military brat to another, I'll go over there and talk to them, and if things get rough you get my back.
Hey, nice brush off.
You really think you know what you're doing? Well, good thing is, if this goes bad, you may have a job waiting for you.
- [laughing.]
- [chatting in Spanish.]
[speaking Spanish.]
His apprentice? You want to kill the Middleman too? That's why you're eating spicy chicken wings in a pirate-themed sports bar? [chuckling.]
[speaking Spanish.]
Oh, no.
[grunts.]
- You said to have your back.
- Let's go.
I found the source of the power signature.
They must have Sensei Ping inside this van.
Don't open that! [yells in Spanish.]
[chuckling.]
- [laughs.]
- [screams.]
[engine rumbling.]
[tires squeal.]
Please wake up.
Please.
- [watch buzzing.]
- Not now, Ida, I'm busy.
[Ida.]
What did you do? The Big Green Cheese has gone completely offline.
Yeah, we got ambushed by a group of luchadores, and this cute boy who tried to help got knocked out.
Wah-wah-wah.
What's that got to do with the price of eggs in China? - You need to get back here post haste.
- I can't leave him.
How about you wake up and smell the first responders, honey pie? You're about to be targeted for assassination by a paranoid society of celibate martial artists.
Now the cops are coming to get you for starting a brawl in a pirate-themed sports bar with scantily-clad waitresses.
Your boy toy's gonna wake up in the ER in minutes.
The question is, do you want the G-Men to toss your behind in the pokey? I'm sorry.
It'll be all right.
- [sirens in distance.]
- I promise.
El Comelón said they were taking Sensei Ping to the Yucatán to be judged.
No doubt they're taking the Middleman there too.
Oh, I know that.
Those wrestlers are taking him to their secret headquarters at the Dread Pyramid of Itzilichlitlichlitzl.
You knew that? Why are you hooked up? I'm using a well-known commercial website to buy myself tickets to Buenos Aires, where I intend to lay low for a while.
Wanna come along? I hear those tango jockeys are real bobcats in the sack.
Are you drunk? We have to save the Middleman and Sensei Ping.
You should wonder about what you're gonna do when the Clan of the Pointed Stick comes to kill you for letting Sensei Ping get kidnapped by masked wrestlers.
They're not gonna kill me.
I'll be bringing Sensei Ping back.
[scoffs.]
Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining.
Look, I know it's a big job, but I think it's time you let me into the Middleman circle of trust.
We can call O2STK, tell them what's going on, - and ask them for help.
- Oh, you poor thing.
- What? - O2STK is a joke.
Neither me nor the Middleman really knows who we work for, so we gave him that name as a, well, little inside joke.
It stands for "organization too secret to know.
" - Now you tell me? - Didn't expect you to run with it.
Oy.
Well, then, fine.
Just tell me how to find this Dread Pyramid of Itzilichlitlichlitzl.
You want to fly into the jungles of Mexico, be my guest.
The Middlejet's parked on the roof.
- We have a Middlejet? - What kind of an outfit do you think this is? It's right above the Middleboat.
Not that a bolshie spliff sniffer like you could fly it.
Before he vanished under as of yet unexplained circumstances, my father was the best pilot on the face of the Earth.
- So? - There's two things I know how to do better than anyone.
Painting abstract expressionist renderings of paranormal phenomena, flying any crate with wings and an engine.
Ida, this is Wendy reporting in.
Well, hello there, Miss Fancy Pants.
I need the coordinates and I need you to patch me into Lacey.
[phone ringing.]
I'm in the middle of something.
- Lacey, it's me.
- Dub-Dub? Are you in the cockpit of a Harrier vertical take off and landing fighter jet? No! No, no, it's nothing like that, really.
Ah, it's OK, it's just that I'm in my yellow teddy suit.
Oh, God.
Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt you.
No, it's OK.
I'm almost done anyway.
Besides, it's you.
So what's up? [sighs.]
I need you to do something for me.
There's this guy, a musician.
He was working as a busboy at The Booty Chest.
Oh, a new guy, started work today, kinda tall and really, really, really cute? - [Wendy.]
Yeah.
- His name's Tyler.
- Yeah, I noticed him.
- Tyler.
[sucks teeth.]
Well, OK, I kinda got into a fight with those luchadores I told you about, and he kinda got knocked out, and I don't know where they took him or anything.
- Was he OK? - I don't know.
Could you call your old bosses and find out what ER he's in, - make sure for me? - Why aren't you with him right now? What's going on? Could you please check up on him for me? - [sighs.]
Sure, Dub-Dub.
- And, Lacey, I want you to know it means the world to me that you made me over into a slutty but sweet waitress - at a pirate-theme sports bar.
- I know, Wendy.
I know.
But there's something I have to know.
What is your new job? [grunts.]
[groans.]
[grunts.]
[animals chittering and hooting.]
You have put on an appallingly poor display, my apprentice.
I can't disagree, Sensei Ping.
But I will find a way out of this.
Sensei Ping is still in this cage.
That is all Sensei Ping is saying.
[wrestlers clamoring.]
Sensei Ping, you have been brought to the ancient rocks of Itzilichlitlichlitzl to face the consequences for your cold-blooded murder of the greatest masked wrestler to ever slap the canvas, - the legendary El Sapo Dorado! - [cheering.]
Sensei Ping demands to be heard.
[booing and jeering.]
Our tradition allows you to speak your last words, Sensei Ping.
It is true.
Your master, El Sapo Dorado, did indeed die before me.
- But I did not kill him.
- [clamoring.]
Your master came to me after years of wandering the earth trying to find a warrior who could best him.
With the utmost respect, he challenged me to a series of duels.
We fought for 25 days without dishonor.
On the dawn of the 26th day, when El Sapo Dorado suffered a fatal heart attack [groaning.]
I buried him with honors and took his mask, not as a trophy, but as a tribute to the one man I could never best.
[clamoring.]
Silencio! Silencio! [clamoring ceases.]
You truly believe this lie of yours will stand? Doesn't matter, because you have resorted to thievery, deception and murder to settle this feud.
And in the name of El Sapo Dorado, Sensei Ping demands his right for a trial by combat! - [clamoring.]
- [cheering.]
- Very clever, Sensei Ping.
- Sensei Ping can be quite the wheeler-dealer when the opportunity arises.
If it's trial by combat you desire, then so be it.
[cheering.]
We will be out of here in a second.
Now, choose your champion.
- Did he just? - Yes.
And that means you aren't? - Uh-uh.
- So I'm gonna have to? Yep.
El Maestro can be quite the wheeler-dealer when he chooses to, huh? Hmm.
I have the Pyramid of Itzilichlitlichlitzl in my sights, but I don't see a landing strip anywhere.
No problem.
Bail in the upper atmosphere, parachute under the top of the pyramid - and find your own way in.
- Bail? Parachute? How will I get back? You'll either be dead or rescue the Middleman and Sensei Ping, kill all the wrestlers in your way, and jack whatever plane they used to get here.
What, you never watched a Bond flick? I'm just about to fly over.
Well, then, you better bail now, shouldn't you? I, uh, I Oh, yeah, I can see how this would all be very overwhelming.
How about I engage the remote and do it for you? Wait! [screaming.]
[animals hooting and chittering.]
- You look good.
- Why, thank you, sir.
Sensei Ping, you have selected your champion.
Now meet your opponent.
The one, the only, the dreaded Cien Máscaras! What's the matter? I can take him.
Cien Máscaras means "a hundred masks.
" It's just one guy with a hundred masks, right? He was, until he was cursed by an Aztec mummy.
Now he is 100 identical men who must all wear the same mask! Oh, phooey.
[whip cracks.]
- [wrestlers cheering.]
- Yes! [men grunting.]
He still has 25 to beat.
He will not survive.
Behind you! [grunting continues.]
- No! - [groans.]
[laughs.]
His end is near.
[groaning.]
Let him go! Nicely done, young one.
Sensei Ping may have to revise his opinion of you.
Sensei Ping will take it from here.
He's free.
[prays in Spanish.]
He's free! There's something you should know.
- [sighs.]
- Sensei Ping didn't face down 100 men until he was twice your age.
What you did will be the stuff of legends, my apprentice.
Why, thank you, sir.
- Are you OK? - I've been better.
[grunts.]
You may want to unhook your parachute.
- It cramps your style.
- Oh, shut up.
[yells.]
This blood feud ends today.
There's only one way to salvage this situation.
[speaking Spanish.]
[martial arts yell.]
[martial arts yells.]
[both.]
The Wu-Han Thumb of Death! [opera singing.]
[moaning.]
This blood feud is finished.
[woman on PA, indistinct.]
Excuse me.
Are you a member of the patient's family? Uh, yes.
I'm his sister.
OK, then.
Uh, well, Tyler's resting now.
We shouldn't wake him, but there's something I need you to know.
He has a concussion and, well, amnesia.
- Amnesia? - I'm afraid so.
I thought people only got that in movies and soap operas and comic books.
Well, it's extremely rare, but it's unlikely that young Tyler here'll ever remember any of the events of the past two days.
He doesn't remember anything from the past two days? Mm-mmm.
He has two-day amnesia? Shouldn't have any trouble remembering his sister.
Oh, what a lousy, stinkin' world.
He's waking up.
Do you want to say hello? [moans.]
[sighs.]
Would you mind holding these for me? I'm having a hard time seeing my brother like this, and I just need to pull myself together.
- Yo, Wendy's boss.
- Hello, Mr.
Noser.
- May I ask you a question? - Sure thing.
What does become of the broken-hearted? I think, eventually, they gotta find peace of mind.
Maybe.
Thanks.
You've been helpful.
- [knock on door.]
- It's open.
Hello, Lacey.
- [chuckles.]
- Nice yellow teddy head.
Please don't make fun of the yellow teddy head.
Oh, I couldn't if I wanted to.
When I was a boy, my parents bought me a set of 3,000 Lincoln Logs.
But the only way I could truly create to the best of my ability was to wear a large badger costume.
You understand.
It's what I do.
Is Wendy upstairs? That's a sad painting.
I'm a sad person.
- No, you're not.
- Really? Because, I don't know, that whole thing where I almost lost my job, and then turned a totally adorable guy I should be dating into a two-day amnesiac, and then had to watch 100 masked wrestlers get killed like coeds in a slasher film.
I could really see how that would bum a person out.
Had to be done.
They would have killed us all.
I know it had to be done.
You impressed the living croutons and fondue off Sensei Ping.
I just went to his suite at the Four Seasons.
He says you show a lot of promise.
He's looking forward to training you and he's promised to put a good word in with the Clan of the Pointed Stick.
[Wendy.]
I guess it all worked out.
We certainly ducked a bullet, thanks to you.
You know, Sensei Ping's not the only one who's impressed.
I'd be taking the big dirt nap if you hadn't come to the rescue.
I owe you, and I'm not just talking wooden nickels.
What you did wasn't a sad person's doing.
It was brave, resourceful, and cunning.
It was a Middleman at work.
It's, uh your first paycheck.
And a little something extra for going above and beyond the call.
That is awesome! Sexy Boss Man gave you a sweet Smart Car? I guess I kinda helped him get back that lucha libre account.
This is fantastic! Yeah, but I'll miss the Hruck Bugbear.
Kind of a babe magnet, that car.
Yeah.
Right.
So what's this license plate mean? Sort of an inside joke, Lace.
[engine starts.]
It's not like the world is just shelling out cash money to see me do my confrontational spoken-word performance art.
There were two people at my last performance, and one of them rushed to the stage to give me a hug.
Mom thought you needed one.
And I can't ask my mother for any more money or you.
If I had it, I would give it to you.
I can't believe Sexy Boss Man hasn't paid you yet.
Don't you gotta get your crapmobile fixed? I do have to get my crapmobile fixed, but my boss Sexy Boss Man.
My boss says the checks don't start - until the training is done.
- You're not fully trained yet? They have an expert coming in from out of town to work with me.
He's supposed to, like, vet me or something.
- Out of town? - China.
For a temp agency? Hey, how about we talk about your new job? This restaurant is supposed to pay the best tips in town.
When we graduated art school, we swore two things: No more underwear-stealing boyfriends What was it with those guys? We were like magnets.
and no more waitressing.
That's before the student loan fairy left a little some-some under my pillow.
There are tons of other day jobs.
You know all those times I got arrested protesting? Turns out there's such a thing as a permanent record, and they really do look at it.
OK.
So where do I have to go for the free fries? Lacey.
The Booty Chest? [groans.]
The pirate-themed sports bar with scantily-clad waitresses? Arrr! Lacey, you're an independent, politically active woman of today working at a den for middle-aged gropers and frat boys? This independent woman of today is paying off her crushing student loan debt with tips from middle-aged gropers and frat boys.
It's like turning bad money into good.
Oh, my God, you hear that? It's Simone De Beauvoir turning in her grave! How much are you getting paid for your new job? [hissing, engine sputters.]
[sputtering.]
[vapor hissing.]
[man.]
Nice car.
[groans.]
Have you been helped? I'm not making fun of you.
That's a Hruck Bugbear, manufactured in Eastern Europe in the 80s and imported to the States.
People mock it as a poor man's Yugo.
I consider it the pinnacle of Cold War Balkan engineering.
Yeah, my car and Chernobyl.
Oh, don't be so hard on the little guy.
You love it so much, you try and see if you can make it go.
I got a guy coming in to train me at work today, and I'm gonna be late.
Are you a mechanic? Musician.
I just like lo-fi, low-tech stuff.
You should see my collection of Moogs.
I totally loved The Moog Cookbook when I was 15! Although the way my prospects have been going lately, Eastern European automotive repair would probably be better than what I've got in the hopper.
Could be worse.
My roommate just got a job at The Booty Chest.
The pirate-themed sports bar with the scantily dressed waitresses? Arrr.
Maybe I should get a job there.
You don't seem like the Daisy Dukes type.
Well, I'm a man of multiple shades and dimensions.
Plus, if it pays well and gives me some time to work on my music I so know what you mean.
I'm a visual artist.
Oh, yeah? Let me guess.
Semi-abstract expressionist? - How'd you know? - Hmm.
I know artists.
The bummer is I finally get a job interview, they called weeks ago, and my flaky roommate lost the message.
That is the Bummermaster General.
Yeah, it gets worse.
I found the message under my roommate's pile of 12-inch singles from the 80s, right between the Night version of Girls on Film and an import of Ant Music.
Ooh, New Romantic, very nice.
Yeah, you should see him in his puffy shirt.
Anyway, I rushed over to the place, but they had given the job away.
Sounded perfect, too.
Flexible hours, dynamic work environment, and a totally messed up name on the letterhead.
- What was it called? - The Jolly Fats Wehawkin Temp Agency.
- [engine starts.]
- Oh, and, uh, what's weird is my contact didn't even have a name, just "The Middleman.
" Middleman You were gonna give my job away to someone else, weren't you? We're always on the lookout for gifted recruits.
Just 'cause we had someone on the radar doesn't mean this job isn't yours.
Seemed like me getting this job was a once in a lifetime thing.
No way of knowing if he would've survived the tests or made good with Sensei Ping.
What if I don't make good with Sensei Ping? Does that mean I never get paid and some handsome, delightful musician gets my job? Cowboy the heck up and get the place and yourself ready.
- I am ready.
- You don't know the meaning of ready.
I was Sensei Ping's apprentice.
Let me tell you Sensei Ping is the most lethal man alive.
Since he has agreed to train me into a killing machine, to be a better sidekick, there are three things I must remember, before meeting him: A, never ask why he wears the Mexican wrestler mask, B, never ask his age, and C, never bring up the Clan of the Pointed Stick.
Never bring up the Clan of the Pointed Stick.
Remember, Sensei Ping is the only man alive who knows the Wu-Han Thumb of Death.
You think he'd be proud to be a member of the world's most secretive and elite martial arts organization.
- You just broke rule number three.
- Put a sock in it, 3-PO.
You've memorized the most hallowed verse of greeting, right? Never seen you antsy like this.
It's kinda cute.
Yes, I memorized the most hallowed verse of greeting.
O2STK just called.
It's a red ball.
What the monkey? We can't have a red ball today.
Sensei Ping expects the Middleman to pick him up.
- It's a question of honor.
- O2STK? - The people we work for.
- We work for someone? They got a bad one and they wired your money, so you gotta go take care of business.
- How bad? - Robbery at the Metro Museum.
Local authorities blundered through and have nothing.
O2STK wants you there post haste.
- What's O2STK stand for? - What did they steal? La Cage de Lumière.
I read about that in the art section.
The world's most complicated diamond.
Shine a light through it, it makes a cage of light.
It's worth more bread than the two of you meatsocks put together.
That's why I'm an artist, and you're a soulless android from outer space masquerading as a cranky librarian.
- This one's a pickle.
- No, it isn't.
You're going to the museum.
O2STK was very clear.
Buckle up, Dubbie.
It's gonna be a crowded day.
Yeah, 'cause I'm just made of time.
I understand the police and insurance company investigators were here, but I'm Special Agent Hillel Goldfarb of the Mossad.
- This is my associate - Lieutenant Esther Finklestein.
The stolen diamond was mined and cut in the homeland.
Our government has a vested interest in the theft.
So you are in the Mossad? I served in the Israeli army.
[speaking Hebrew.]
[clears throat.]
Wow.
I thought that when people stole jewels from a museum it was all cat burglar Tom Cruise Mission: Impossible stuff.
This looks like a herd of frat boys threw a kegger.
Frat boys had nothing to do with it.
This was a coordinated strike.
The power cables were all yanked out by hand, the lasers were torn down by a freakishly tall person.
The guards were all overpowered by brutish strength.
The thieves came in numbers large enough to beat any force and knew the response time well enough to escape before the police arrived.
- So who did it? - We'll find out soon enough.
- [beep.]
- Ida? Begin a forensic scan, please.
[whirring.]
I'm starting the scan.
Try looking around, will you? If you don't see it, I can't scan it.
Oh.
[whirring.]
Those cops left their fingerprints everywhere.
Bunch of gorillas.
It's gonna take me a while to eliminate their prints.
We don't have the time, Ida.
Sensei Ping's first class flight from Wu-Han will be here lickety-split.
Well, why didn't you just say so? I'll rewrite the source code to the HEYDAR, route the data conduits to a broader band pipeline, do an exhaustive search of higher efficiency satellite uplinking frequencies, and replace all the chipsets in the operation with stuff that works faster.
Holy jumping bananas, we're in dutch.
Uh, yo, boss man Am I or am I not wearing a dorky uniform? Sensei Ping expects a Middleman to pick him up.
Send me.
- You're not a Middleman yet.
- Not a paid one anyway.
You're not ready.
To pick up a surly Asian guy at the airport? You just described three of my last four relationships.
Just give me the car keys, Cletus.
I'll take care of it.
I need the data relays in the Middle Mobile to continue the investigation.
You do have a car, don't you? [woman on PA, indistinct.]
Did the Middleman send you? Uh, Sensei Ping.
Like an unborn lotus festering in the mud waiting to blossom, I come to you with humble greetings to beseech your guidance most awesome [laughs.]
Did the Middleman tell you to recite the most hallowed verse of greeting to Sensei Ping? - Uh, yes.
- He is such a comedian.
You know, most of us masters of the martial arts - are actually very laid back.
- Really? - No! - Ow! You will stand up straight when you recite the most hallowed verse of greeting like it means something to you, and then you fetch Sensei Ping's bags.
I see the Middlemen have upheld their tradition of driving large black American sedans.
In Sensei Ping's homeland, cars are but shoeboxes.
But here, floating palaces.
Finally, slow learner, you have scored a fraction of a point with Sensei Ping.
That's not my car.
That's my car.
It's a Hruck Bugbear.
It's the pinnacle of Balkan engineering.
- [grunts.]
- Ow! Do not speak unless you are spoken to! And never, ever let Sensei Ping's bags touch pavement.
[grunts.]
The print in the lower right hand quadrant at coordinates 045000 and 045673 belongs to Metro officer Leslie McClaine.
Have you found any relevant material, Ida? Why, are you bored? Because I'm having a rip-snorting time X'ing off cop digits back here.
Mutual of Omaha.
Ida, are you seeing what I'm seeing? [whirring.]
That unclassifiable piece of biomass on the floor? This could be the clue we've been looking for.
Whatever this stuff is it's fresh, hasn't been here longer than a few hours.
- Analysis? - Stand by.
Ancho chiles.
Mulatto guajillo chiles.
Ibarra chocolate, soft bark cinnamon.
Ida, those are the exact ingredients of mole sauce.
- [whirrs.]
- The savory Mexican chocolate condiment? On the day Sensei Ping is coming to town? This is bad.
Get on the Marconi to Wendy.
If we're right, she and Sensei Ping are in a pig trough of trouble.
Sensei Ping has never known such indignity.
This mode of conveyance is beneath anyone who walks upright.
Auto smells like something that was drained from a bowel OK, you know what? I can't imagine why you would possibly wear a Mexican wrestler mask.
I mean, you don't look all that old to me, but hey, I'd probably cover my face, too, if I were in an organization with a craptastic name like Clan of the Pointed Stick.
- [grunts.]
- Aah! Sensei Ping shall make you pay for this outrage.
Oh, really? What are you gonna do, kill me? What's the O2STK gonna say when they find out? Aw, yeah.
How do you like me now? Silence, my little pit viper.
Danger has come up on our tracks.
Uh, Sensei Ping It is my name.
Do not wear it out.
[men chuckling.]
Uh, why is my car being surrounded by a bunch of lucha libre wrestlers? That is a very long story for another day, - my impudent young weasel.
- Sensei Ping.
[speaking Spanish.]
La Cage de Lumière! - Wait a minute - We can, and you will live to tell the world that someone has finally forged a prison that will hold the legendary Sensei Ping.
- [soft slaps.]
- [Middleman.]
Wendy? Are you OK? [groans.]
My head.
- Where's Sensei Ping? - Uh Uh I kinda lost him.
Me and Sensei Ping were pulled over and ambushed by a group of masked wrestlers.
Sweet mother of Preston Tucker, - did you pick him up in that? - Yes.
- You said you had a car.
- Can I finish my story? So the wrestlers put him in this laser cage, and then a guy wearing a blue and gold mask said he had finally forged a prison that could hold the legendary Sensei Ping.
El Maestro de Ceremonias.
I knew it.
One of his associates is the world's most ruthless infiltration expert, - El Comelón.
- Doesn't that mean "The Glutton?" Wherever he goes, the stain of mole is sure to follow.
He weighs 329 pounds, but has been known to squeeze through spaces the diameter of a tennis racket.
That's how they got in the museum to steal the diamond.
These wrestlers have a decades-old blood feud with Sensei Ping.
They're using the rarest diamond in the world to trap him.
- It's diabolical.
- A blood feud? So how did they get you to pull over the car? What? Oh.
Uh, well we were kinda already pulled over.
Why would you do that? Uh - He Well, I mean - Out with it, Wendy.
I need all the intel I can get.
He kinda got mad because I asked about the mask.
- You what? - And about his age.
- You didn't.
- And I brought up the Clan of the Pointed Stick.
How could you? Of all the things, why? Well, he pushed me.
He had it coming.
- How did he have it coming? - He bopped me on the head.
And then he made fun of my car.
- Yes? - Hitting people is wrong.
- Did you ask him to stop? - No.
Did you try to talk to him? Did you make any effort to deal with him other than to bring up the three things I specifically told you not to? The single best way you thought to handle a cranky martial arts master from a foreign culture, a man who spent two of your lifetimes climbing to the top of his art and earning the respect of every fighter in the world, flew halfway around the world to train you, was to offend his honor and open him up to an ambush? How was I supposed to know there was a troop of luchadores gunning for the guy? This is so unfair.
[sighs.]
First order of business is to get Sensei Ping before the Clan of the Pointed Stick figures out he's gone.
Take your weapon and go home.
If I'm not back in four hours, leave the country, preferably for South America, and change your name.
You'll want to spend the first few years doing cash-only work - like waitressing.
- Did I miss a memo? In 17 hours, when Sensei Ping fails to show up for his traditional breakfast of chicken feet at the Golden Ocean Teahouse in Chinatown, the Clan of the Pointed Stick will send out three highly-trained Shayu fighters.
- Reinforcements.
Awesome.
- To kill us.
- What?! That sucks! - La-di-da, Dubbie.
You must be mistaking the Clan of the Pointed Stick for one of the rational societies of paranoid, celibate martial artists.
When they discover we let Sensei Ping get kidnapped, their retribution will be like a divine cleansing flame.
- So you're benching me? - Absolutely.
What about my job? I mean, I could help you here.
There's a reason why you hired me.
You've done enough for one day.
- Yo, Wendy Watson.
- Hey, Noser.
- You know what tortures me? - The ring of fire? When the man comes around? That your daddy named you Sue? The fact that God's gonna cut you down, that you're in the jailhouse now? The Folsom Prison Blues? That the road goes on forever? - What was the sixth one of those? - The Folsom Prison Blues.
Yeah, that is what tortures me.
You and me both, Noser.
Hey, what are you doing here? I live here.
You look like a hundred bucks.
How bad? - Dear Lord! That bad? - Yeah.
I might have to change my name and move to a South American country.
If you need a waitressing job for cash, I know a guy in Buenos Aires.
- Shouldn't you be at The Booty Chest? - No.
I quit.
This was your first day.
Turned out to be a den for frat boys and gropers.
- I told you.
- Yeah.
And who would've thunk every single guy in the place turned out to be a total masher chumsucker? I may not be above putting on a tight T-shirt for student loan money, but I'm not sitting on a man's lap without a deep, intimate connection of love, trust, understanding.
- Did someone ask you to - Every guy in the frickin' frackin' place.
Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse this group of lucha libre wrestlers showed up.
- [spoon clatters on floor.]
- Lucha libre wrestlers? It must be Cinco de Mayo or something.
One guy was so fat, I don't know how he fit through the door.
- El Comelón.
- Holy coinkidink, Batman! - Wendy.
Wendy? - [sighs.]
How long ago was this? I just got home, and I'm going to write a new confrontational monologue on how losers that go to pirate-themed sports bars with scantily-clad waitresses objectify minimum wage-earning women.
Lacey, you still have your Booty Chest T-shirt? Can you tell me what it is about your job that requires you to dress up like a Booty Chest girl and talk to a bunch of lucha libre wrestlers? Look, the temp agency had a big account with the, uh, PALLF.
The Pan-American Lucha Libre Federation? Yeah, and I sorta messed up today.
It was a human resources thing, and I wound up losing the account.
Are things bad with Sexy Boss Man? Must you call him that? Must you? Yes, I must.
[sighs.]
Yes, things are bad.
He wants the account back.
If I could just convince those lucha libre guys to reconsider maybe I won't lose my job.
I have to do it stealthy.
I have to show Sexy Boss to convince my boss I can fix this.
All right, then.
Listen close.
A Booty Chest girl has to be two things.
They made us repeat it like a mantra at basic training.
Basic training? You were there, what, two hours? Basic training at The Booty Chest consists of one concept.
Drop some wisdom on me.
Slutty but sweet.
- "Slutty but sweet?" - Slutty but sweet.
OK, Wendy.
I taught you all I can.
What you do with this knowledge is up to you.
Hot flaming pork buns, I knew it! "A high-powered energy beam emitter was stolen by masked wrestlers from the particle physics department of the University of Guadalajara 48 hours ago.
" Input these performance characteristics, scan the city electrical grid.
Tracking the laser's power consumption signature ought to bring up Sensei Ping's location.
Hey, my online mahjongg is getting hot.
Don't look at me in that tone of voice, young man.
I'm the one hooked up to this unholy machine by my tripes.
All right.
Commencing scan.
- [computer humming.]
- [bell dings.]
Problem.
Your high-powered Mexican laser has the same exact power-consumption characteristics as a Teledyne Water Pik with custom high-output heating element and an aftermarket turbo-powered wash accelerator.
- Who'd own that? - At least five people in this city.
[sighs.]
Just print out the addresses.
Gall-monging weirdoes.
- [men laughing.]
- Bingo.
[speaking Spanish.]
Hey! [both.]
It's you, from the street.
You work at The Booty Chest? [both chuckle.]
You told me they were hiring, and I wasn't kidding when I said I needed the work.
So what about you? Uh, I'm doing research for an art project.
- Really? - Yeah.
It's about how losers who go to pirate-themed sports bars with scantily-clad waitresses objectify minimum wage-earning women.
And I thought I'd start with those lucha libre guys over there.
Um, that's a very relevant theme for an art project, but I wouldn't go near those guys if I were you.
I can handle it.
If you'll excuse me Wait, wait.
Do you know anything about lucha libre? There's good wrestlers and bad wrestlers, like how El Santo and Blue Demon are the Superman and Batman of lucha libre, but these are definitely bad guys.
Stone Cold and Hollywood Hogan have nothing on them for devious cunning.
I'll tell you something else: Those guys ain't here for the waitresses.
They've been sitting there a while, they haven't looked at any of the women twice.
They're up to something, something bad.
Doing research for an art project is one thing, but, uh, this is triple next-gen villainy here.
How do you know so much about lucha libre? - I'm a man of multiple shades and dimensions.
- Right.
Plus I watched a lot of lucha libre when I was a kid.
I grew up in Panama.
My dad was a military man.
- Mine too.
- Really? Well, trust me, one military brat to another, don't mess with those guys.
Tell you what, one military brat to another, I'll go over there and talk to them, and if things get rough you get my back.
Hey, nice brush off.
You really think you know what you're doing? Well, good thing is, if this goes bad, you may have a job waiting for you.
- [laughing.]
- [chatting in Spanish.]
[speaking Spanish.]
His apprentice? You want to kill the Middleman too? That's why you're eating spicy chicken wings in a pirate-themed sports bar? [chuckling.]
[speaking Spanish.]
Oh, no.
[grunts.]
- You said to have your back.
- Let's go.
I found the source of the power signature.
They must have Sensei Ping inside this van.
Don't open that! [yells in Spanish.]
[chuckling.]
- [laughs.]
- [screams.]
[engine rumbling.]
[tires squeal.]
Please wake up.
Please.
- [watch buzzing.]
- Not now, Ida, I'm busy.
[Ida.]
What did you do? The Big Green Cheese has gone completely offline.
Yeah, we got ambushed by a group of luchadores, and this cute boy who tried to help got knocked out.
Wah-wah-wah.
What's that got to do with the price of eggs in China? - You need to get back here post haste.
- I can't leave him.
How about you wake up and smell the first responders, honey pie? You're about to be targeted for assassination by a paranoid society of celibate martial artists.
Now the cops are coming to get you for starting a brawl in a pirate-themed sports bar with scantily-clad waitresses.
Your boy toy's gonna wake up in the ER in minutes.
The question is, do you want the G-Men to toss your behind in the pokey? I'm sorry.
It'll be all right.
- [sirens in distance.]
- I promise.
El Comelón said they were taking Sensei Ping to the Yucatán to be judged.
No doubt they're taking the Middleman there too.
Oh, I know that.
Those wrestlers are taking him to their secret headquarters at the Dread Pyramid of Itzilichlitlichlitzl.
You knew that? Why are you hooked up? I'm using a well-known commercial website to buy myself tickets to Buenos Aires, where I intend to lay low for a while.
Wanna come along? I hear those tango jockeys are real bobcats in the sack.
Are you drunk? We have to save the Middleman and Sensei Ping.
You should wonder about what you're gonna do when the Clan of the Pointed Stick comes to kill you for letting Sensei Ping get kidnapped by masked wrestlers.
They're not gonna kill me.
I'll be bringing Sensei Ping back.
[scoffs.]
Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining.
Look, I know it's a big job, but I think it's time you let me into the Middleman circle of trust.
We can call O2STK, tell them what's going on, - and ask them for help.
- Oh, you poor thing.
- What? - O2STK is a joke.
Neither me nor the Middleman really knows who we work for, so we gave him that name as a, well, little inside joke.
It stands for "organization too secret to know.
" - Now you tell me? - Didn't expect you to run with it.
Oy.
Well, then, fine.
Just tell me how to find this Dread Pyramid of Itzilichlitlichlitzl.
You want to fly into the jungles of Mexico, be my guest.
The Middlejet's parked on the roof.
- We have a Middlejet? - What kind of an outfit do you think this is? It's right above the Middleboat.
Not that a bolshie spliff sniffer like you could fly it.
Before he vanished under as of yet unexplained circumstances, my father was the best pilot on the face of the Earth.
- So? - There's two things I know how to do better than anyone.
Painting abstract expressionist renderings of paranormal phenomena, flying any crate with wings and an engine.
Ida, this is Wendy reporting in.
Well, hello there, Miss Fancy Pants.
I need the coordinates and I need you to patch me into Lacey.
[phone ringing.]
I'm in the middle of something.
- Lacey, it's me.
- Dub-Dub? Are you in the cockpit of a Harrier vertical take off and landing fighter jet? No! No, no, it's nothing like that, really.
Ah, it's OK, it's just that I'm in my yellow teddy suit.
Oh, God.
Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt you.
No, it's OK.
I'm almost done anyway.
Besides, it's you.
So what's up? [sighs.]
I need you to do something for me.
There's this guy, a musician.
He was working as a busboy at The Booty Chest.
Oh, a new guy, started work today, kinda tall and really, really, really cute? - [Wendy.]
Yeah.
- His name's Tyler.
- Yeah, I noticed him.
- Tyler.
[sucks teeth.]
Well, OK, I kinda got into a fight with those luchadores I told you about, and he kinda got knocked out, and I don't know where they took him or anything.
- Was he OK? - I don't know.
Could you call your old bosses and find out what ER he's in, - make sure for me? - Why aren't you with him right now? What's going on? Could you please check up on him for me? - [sighs.]
Sure, Dub-Dub.
- And, Lacey, I want you to know it means the world to me that you made me over into a slutty but sweet waitress - at a pirate-theme sports bar.
- I know, Wendy.
I know.
But there's something I have to know.
What is your new job? [grunts.]
[groans.]
[grunts.]
[animals chittering and hooting.]
You have put on an appallingly poor display, my apprentice.
I can't disagree, Sensei Ping.
But I will find a way out of this.
Sensei Ping is still in this cage.
That is all Sensei Ping is saying.
[wrestlers clamoring.]
Sensei Ping, you have been brought to the ancient rocks of Itzilichlitlichlitzl to face the consequences for your cold-blooded murder of the greatest masked wrestler to ever slap the canvas, - the legendary El Sapo Dorado! - [cheering.]
Sensei Ping demands to be heard.
[booing and jeering.]
Our tradition allows you to speak your last words, Sensei Ping.
It is true.
Your master, El Sapo Dorado, did indeed die before me.
- But I did not kill him.
- [clamoring.]
Your master came to me after years of wandering the earth trying to find a warrior who could best him.
With the utmost respect, he challenged me to a series of duels.
We fought for 25 days without dishonor.
On the dawn of the 26th day, when El Sapo Dorado suffered a fatal heart attack [groaning.]
I buried him with honors and took his mask, not as a trophy, but as a tribute to the one man I could never best.
[clamoring.]
Silencio! Silencio! [clamoring ceases.]
You truly believe this lie of yours will stand? Doesn't matter, because you have resorted to thievery, deception and murder to settle this feud.
And in the name of El Sapo Dorado, Sensei Ping demands his right for a trial by combat! - [clamoring.]
- [cheering.]
- Very clever, Sensei Ping.
- Sensei Ping can be quite the wheeler-dealer when the opportunity arises.
If it's trial by combat you desire, then so be it.
[cheering.]
We will be out of here in a second.
Now, choose your champion.
- Did he just? - Yes.
And that means you aren't? - Uh-uh.
- So I'm gonna have to? Yep.
El Maestro can be quite the wheeler-dealer when he chooses to, huh? Hmm.
I have the Pyramid of Itzilichlitlichlitzl in my sights, but I don't see a landing strip anywhere.
No problem.
Bail in the upper atmosphere, parachute under the top of the pyramid - and find your own way in.
- Bail? Parachute? How will I get back? You'll either be dead or rescue the Middleman and Sensei Ping, kill all the wrestlers in your way, and jack whatever plane they used to get here.
What, you never watched a Bond flick? I'm just about to fly over.
Well, then, you better bail now, shouldn't you? I, uh, I Oh, yeah, I can see how this would all be very overwhelming.
How about I engage the remote and do it for you? Wait! [screaming.]
[animals hooting and chittering.]
- You look good.
- Why, thank you, sir.
Sensei Ping, you have selected your champion.
Now meet your opponent.
The one, the only, the dreaded Cien Máscaras! What's the matter? I can take him.
Cien Máscaras means "a hundred masks.
" It's just one guy with a hundred masks, right? He was, until he was cursed by an Aztec mummy.
Now he is 100 identical men who must all wear the same mask! Oh, phooey.
[whip cracks.]
- [wrestlers cheering.]
- Yes! [men grunting.]
He still has 25 to beat.
He will not survive.
Behind you! [grunting continues.]
- No! - [groans.]
[laughs.]
His end is near.
[groaning.]
Let him go! Nicely done, young one.
Sensei Ping may have to revise his opinion of you.
Sensei Ping will take it from here.
He's free.
[prays in Spanish.]
He's free! There's something you should know.
- [sighs.]
- Sensei Ping didn't face down 100 men until he was twice your age.
What you did will be the stuff of legends, my apprentice.
Why, thank you, sir.
- Are you OK? - I've been better.
[grunts.]
You may want to unhook your parachute.
- It cramps your style.
- Oh, shut up.
[yells.]
This blood feud ends today.
There's only one way to salvage this situation.
[speaking Spanish.]
[martial arts yell.]
[martial arts yells.]
[both.]
The Wu-Han Thumb of Death! [opera singing.]
[moaning.]
This blood feud is finished.
[woman on PA, indistinct.]
Excuse me.
Are you a member of the patient's family? Uh, yes.
I'm his sister.
OK, then.
Uh, well, Tyler's resting now.
We shouldn't wake him, but there's something I need you to know.
He has a concussion and, well, amnesia.
- Amnesia? - I'm afraid so.
I thought people only got that in movies and soap operas and comic books.
Well, it's extremely rare, but it's unlikely that young Tyler here'll ever remember any of the events of the past two days.
He doesn't remember anything from the past two days? Mm-mmm.
He has two-day amnesia? Shouldn't have any trouble remembering his sister.
Oh, what a lousy, stinkin' world.
He's waking up.
Do you want to say hello? [moans.]
[sighs.]
Would you mind holding these for me? I'm having a hard time seeing my brother like this, and I just need to pull myself together.
- Yo, Wendy's boss.
- Hello, Mr.
Noser.
- May I ask you a question? - Sure thing.
What does become of the broken-hearted? I think, eventually, they gotta find peace of mind.
Maybe.
Thanks.
You've been helpful.
- [knock on door.]
- It's open.
Hello, Lacey.
- [chuckles.]
- Nice yellow teddy head.
Please don't make fun of the yellow teddy head.
Oh, I couldn't if I wanted to.
When I was a boy, my parents bought me a set of 3,000 Lincoln Logs.
But the only way I could truly create to the best of my ability was to wear a large badger costume.
You understand.
It's what I do.
Is Wendy upstairs? That's a sad painting.
I'm a sad person.
- No, you're not.
- Really? Because, I don't know, that whole thing where I almost lost my job, and then turned a totally adorable guy I should be dating into a two-day amnesiac, and then had to watch 100 masked wrestlers get killed like coeds in a slasher film.
I could really see how that would bum a person out.
Had to be done.
They would have killed us all.
I know it had to be done.
You impressed the living croutons and fondue off Sensei Ping.
I just went to his suite at the Four Seasons.
He says you show a lot of promise.
He's looking forward to training you and he's promised to put a good word in with the Clan of the Pointed Stick.
[Wendy.]
I guess it all worked out.
We certainly ducked a bullet, thanks to you.
You know, Sensei Ping's not the only one who's impressed.
I'd be taking the big dirt nap if you hadn't come to the rescue.
I owe you, and I'm not just talking wooden nickels.
What you did wasn't a sad person's doing.
It was brave, resourceful, and cunning.
It was a Middleman at work.
It's, uh your first paycheck.
And a little something extra for going above and beyond the call.
That is awesome! Sexy Boss Man gave you a sweet Smart Car? I guess I kinda helped him get back that lucha libre account.
This is fantastic! Yeah, but I'll miss the Hruck Bugbear.
Kind of a babe magnet, that car.
Yeah.
Right.
So what's this license plate mean? Sort of an inside joke, Lace.
[engine starts.]