"The partially, nearly Naked Gun 3 : 'They Saved Crumpf's Brain'..."
Summary: Frank Drebbin is out of retirement and on the case when he learns the fanatical former president and loser candidate Fred Crumpf may not be quite as dead as he left him and he and/or his crazies including his family threaten the newly elected President Woodrowmina Wilson.
Of course Nordberg is no longer on the squad because of, well, we never talk about that...
Part V...
A dark alley in a warehouse district of LA...
"My dear Mr. Ford..." smile from the figure in dark suit. "Good to see you again." Nodding to the tall figure in dark suit. Each keeping to the shadows...As Ford unlocks door to warehouse and they enter, Ford then relocking door.
"Well, well...Mr. Creed." Ford turns to Creed. "Now that our surroundings are once again securely private...Our old friend and occasional employer, Mr. Banner, has an assignment for us."
"An assignment, Mr. Ford?" thin smile. "One involving suffering and mayhem I trust? Our last was rather mundane."
"The Mafia is rather unimaginative, I'm afraid, Mr. Creed. Get in, kill, get out. Rarely any chance to use one's creativity in such assignments." Sigh. "That last was rather like shooting fish in a barrel...Or hotel room bed."
"Yes, when we were given the name, I'd hoped for a bit more, with the target a crusading young politician."
"Indeed..." Ford nodded. "And I was disappointed to learn the woman with him was a mistress, not his wife. And to find he'd simply demanded more than had been negotiated. I mean, I'd voted for him as a young man of principle..." shakes head.
"It's a sordid world, Mr. Ford." Creed sighed. "But as to the said assignment, suffering and mayhem?"
"Well, on a small scale...Another assassination I'm afraid, but with a bit of spicy danger owing to the location of the assignment and the target...This man..." Ford, a tall, mustachioed man, offers Creed, a balding tall, lanky, and dour fellow, a picture.
Hmmn, best to turn on a light, the warehouse is locked, after all. Ford clicks on overlight light which flickers a bit then steadies.
Hmmn... "Well...I recognize this fellow." Creed peered, then frowned at the newspaper picture of Frank Drebbin. "It's Frank Drebbin, currently hero of the hour, just rescued in the Pacific after foiling the nomination of our friend and past employer, Fred Crumpf, the former president and ever-psychotic egomaniac, as leader of a pathetically small and extremist division of the Republican Party. And the man who foiled me five years ago in the assassination of Greta Thunberg for Gross Oil and Fossil Fuels at the Hollywood Bowl. I had her lined up in my gunsight just as she started to tell the crowd about how GOFF was plotting to keep us knee deep in fossils while using payoffs to certain well-placed politicians to continue to violate environmental standards, whose names she was ready to give out. Don't ask me how she figured it out."
"It's the internet ruining everything, Mr. Creed." Ford sighed. "Even our Russian, Chinese, and Iranian friends can't put disinformation out fast enough to counter facts if one is willing to do a modicum of work to reach legitimate, verifiable sources."
"A disturbing trend, Mr. Ford. Especially for members of the disinformation, intelligence, and surveillance professions, like so many of our clients."
"Well, what can one do, Mr. Creed? So, our current target, Mr. Drebbin was able to stop your assassination of the heroic little eco-brat as she was about to squeal on some of our wealthiest?"
"Indeed. Somehow his investigation of one of the board members on a minor corruption charge led to his learning of my assignment. Fortunately, he never learned who I was, but he arrived just in time to knock her off the stage, saving her, while I accidently killed the GOFF Chairman in his seat behind her, ostensibly there to deny her charges, though in fact to provide him with an alibi."
Cut to shot of Frank several years before, charging across Hollywood Bowl stage and slamming Greta off, while shot rings out.
"Disappointing. And not likely to add to one's reputation. Though at least your client was no longer in need of any alibis and you escaped. But Mr. Drebbin never learned who you were?" Ford eyed his partner.
"No...A bit annoying actually. It's all well and good to keep in the shadows but hurts when the one who thwarts you doesn't even know who you are. Makes one feel as if one were merely a tool or instrument. Plus my shooting of the Chairman cleared Drebbin of attempting to kill Thunberg and allowed a liberal son of the Chairman to seize power and change course, slightly."
"Ah, yes. My stocks took a whack that year. Though I've since diversified." Ford noted.
"Ruined a fine plot of wealthy evildoers to despoil the world at huge profit." Creed shook head. "Though I do consider renewables to be the future."
"Yes...Though wouldn't they also have suffered...?" Ford asked, politely.
"They were planning to escape to Mars, terraforming it...Something Musk was behind. Ridiculous of course, given it would take decades at least, the new atmosphere wouldn't hold without a magnetic field, and even the wealthiest aren't immune to the effects of intense radiation and microgravity. Would have ended in a high tech Jones- Or Musk-town, which would have had its amusing aspects given my own apolitical stance."
"One of the benefits of our time-honored profession, Mr. Creed. That we need not align with any faction. We can kill for the most ruthless criminal, most vicious totalitarian, or a desperate democratic leader seeking to stop a ruthless criminal totalitarian from achieving power."
"Actually, I was once contacted to deal with Mr. Crumpf when it seemed he might succeed in holding power iilegal after his electoral defeat at the end of his term. Naturally I cannot name the client." Nod, smile.
"I would never dream, Mr. Creed. A sacred matter, our profession requiring the utmost discretion." Returned nod.
"Though that assignment on Thunberg had a certain boldness and sci-fi ring to it. Plus, I would have survived in a sheltered area on Earth to enjoy my own profits even if their mad plot succeeded. But, I digress. So, as to the assignment?"
Ford eyed him. "Are you aware the City of Angels is hosting some very important people tonight? In secret? In a very secure location with very high security? And that the City and this nation plan to honor this 'Frank Drebbin'?"
"Really? How nice that his labors should be rewarded. A fitting pinnacle to a fine career in law enforcement to die at such a high point. Sounds like it does have a certain spice of danger to it, Mr. Ford." Smile.
"So, where and when do we kill him?"
...
Frank, with Ed Hocken, in hospital parking garage, awaiting Hocken's car, and accompanying escort guard to the award venue...
"Ed...I have to give you something. I suspect my life may be in danger just now and this must get to the right people." Drebbin handed Hocken a zippered sachel.
"Hmmn...It's cute Frank but I'm not really comfortable carrying a purse. Maybe we could ask our assistant Elise?" Hocken noted.
"It's not a purse, it's a sachel. And it's not mine, it was Jones'. A waterproof container...One of two."
"Whatever. I don't want to be all macho about it, Frank but I hate it whenever Edna asks me to carry hers." Hocken noted.
"What it contains is vital, Ed. A photocopy of Professor Jones', the political advisor and Nazi collaborator, book exposing Crumpf's, Banner's, Putinsky's and assorted neo-Nazis'/neo-fascists'/old Nazis' and fascists'/Klansmen/Qanon guys'/the Koch brothers'/etc evil types' plot. 'The Plot'."
"Wow." Hocken nodded. "Heavy too." He lifted the sachel in hand. "All this is about 'the Plot'? Must be a pretty complex one."
"Well, the first two hundread and fifty pages seemed to be all about Jones' childhood, his school days, some stuff about his shrewish first wife, satiric comments about people he worked for...At least the one I read about Bill and Hilary was a doozy...And then his affairs with international stars/Playboy bunnies/movie starlets..."
"Really?" Hocken, intrigued, peering into the open sachel at the stack of pages.
"I mean I just skimmed through the original but after that there's about fifty pages about...The Plot."
"And now you know all about it? Wow, tell me." Hocken stared. "If you can summarize for me and the readers before my car and the escort guard come."
"Well, I didn't actually read it. It's kinda dull and the new 'Game of Thrones' series was on my stateroom's HBO on the Princess. However, being a professor, Jones prepared cliff notes... See the 'Jones' Cliff Notes on 'The Plot', for Dummies'? The twenty pages clipped together in a binder on the bottom?"
"Oh, yeah. Nice." Hocken pulled out the binder.
"Careful...If these people find out you've a copy of 'The Plot' or even the Cliff Notes on 'The Plot' it could mean your life." Frank noted. "Though I'd be interested in hearing what's in there."
"You haven't read this either?" Hocken stared.
"Like I said, 'Game of Thrones' was on, I binged."
Hmmn...Hocken opened the binder...Whoa... "I don't think this is about any ...'Plot', Frank." He eyed the picture of the playboy bunny before him, then other ladies...
"That's just the cliff notes section on Jones' sex life and travels with the glitterati, turn to page ten."
"Sure..." Hocken eyeing the various beauties with Jones...Including...
"Edna?! Oh, wait..." he sighed. "That's just Jones with Jeri Ryan at a GOP fundraiser." Smile. "You know back when Edna was acting full time, they used to say the two of them were...Wait. This one is Edna!" he stared, Frank looking over.
I guess I really should have tried to read this thing.
"Well, she's not with Jones or..." Frank eyed the picture of Edna, on hospital guerney.
"'Test subject five'?!" Hocken stared, reading aloud... "'To develop and test their brain transference technologies, the Nazis infiltrated the American medical system, using some of their next generation scientists embedded in America to experiment on hapless American patients...'?" Hocken, turning bright red. "These Nazi bastards experimented on my Edna?!"
"I really should have thumbed through these notes first, I guess." Frank noted.
"Frank, this date...It's eight years ago. When Edna first started acting kinda, you know."
"Vicious, promiscuous, batshit crazy from time to time?" Frank asked.
"Yeah. Those bastards..." raging... "I'll find each and every one of them, rip their lungs out...Crush their Nazi/Fascist skulls...Cut off their legs and arms...Roast them and feed them to dogs!" Hocken fumed. "Then make them cure her!"
"Might be wise to question and make them cure her, first, Ed. But is there any info on the doctors involved? Their locations?"
"No..." Ed eyed the notes, reading carefully, turning pages. "Just that it was part of their plotting. Wait..." he stopped. "Jones says after seven years, they'd learned enough to perfect the process and the American subjects were cut loose...To die horrible deaths, as a result of the experiments. Frank?" Hocken now turning purple...Gasping.
"Ed! I need you to focus! Edna needs you to focus! And not stroke out!" Frank noted.
"I have to kill them, Frank...Each and every one of them!" Hocken noted, trembling with rage.
"But we have to find out which of Edna's doctors was involved, Ed." Frank noted. "You wouldn't want to kill the wrong people."
"She's been to seven doctors...If I kill all seven and three were Nazis, that's as good as my arrest record, percentagewise." Hocken, grimly.
"But maybe they can reverse what's been done. We should ask before you kill them. And maybe spare the innocent so you don't go to prison for nothing." Frank suggested.
"Well...I suppose we should ask." Hocken. "But, Frank...My poor Edna. She thought these monsters were helping her...Oh, after I force the truth out of them, I'll kill them slow...I'll take days. I'll make Nazis look kind!" Hocken, almost black with rage now. "We have to start hunting these people down, now!"
"Ed. It's nighttime, and it's important we get a copy of...'The Plot' to the President and her advisors. Jones told me a few things that I won't have to read, and one was they plan to kidnap American officials, including President Wilson and...Transfer their brains, some of them, into them. They may be about to start."
"Transfer their brains? Wait. You think they transferred Edna's brain?"
"Seems more like they were trying to see what parts they need to transfer. That might explain why her behavior's so erratic...Edna one minute, her dark side the next." Frank shrugged.
"I guess. So, you think...Maybe..." Hocken, hopefully.
"Well, probably not, if they've been savagely cutting up her brain for eight years. Though, I'm no neurologist." Frank, offhandedly.
"That's not what I need to hear Frank." Grim tone.
"Well, if she can be saved, only they can probably save her." Frank noted. "So, I say lets question them, one by one, starting tomorrow. But first we need to get this info to the President at the awards ceremony. And I suspect Crumpf's neo-Nazis/Fascists/etc, will do everything to prevent me from getting there."
"Sounds likely. Ok, so long as we start hunting down each and every doc, including that shaman, Edna's seen for the last eight years, tomorrow, I'm in." Hocken nodded. "But it will get bloody, Frank. I'll do whatever it takes to get the truth out of them. After I read 'em their Miranda rights, naturally. I'm no Nazi or rogue cop taking the law into my own hands."
"Right." Nod.
"So, you think they'll be out to get you tonight? Before we can reach the ceremony?" Hocken eyed him.
"I'm pretty sure."
"All right. Well, one of us will make it, no matter what."
"Ed...You have to live, for Edna...And America. I'll be the clay pigeon."
"Well, I figured that, Frank." Hocken nodded, shrugging.
"Say, wait..." Hocken eyed him. "Whose brain would they be planning to put in the President...?"
Frank, careful nod.
"Oh, no...Eehew. Him? In her?" Hocken grimaced. "She's so pretty and sweet...And...He's so...Eghad..."
"They're Nazis, Ed. It's what they do." Drebbin, grim nod.