"You Should Be A Detective Or Something" -- David & John (2007)

John: Hello, Vickers. We need to talk about what you did your brother.
David: What I did to my brother? You mean hate his guts? Order his likeness from "Voodoos-R-Us," or open a bottle of bubbly when he was incarcerated?


[This is the first time David has seen John since Spencer's murder and John's presumed death]
John: You don't seem real surprised to hear that your brother's dead -- or that I'm alive, now that I think about it.
David: You look fantastic, by the way. I always say a little chemical peel never hurts now and again.


John: You've done some traveling since you left Llanview.
David: You should be a detective or something.
John: Not in the mood, Vickers.
David: Shocking.


David: When I left Llanview, I only had enough money for a bus ticket to Miami, where I stowed away on what turned out to be a discount cruise ship to an island in the French Caribbean whose name I can't even pronounce.
John: Oh, boy.
David: But let me tell you -- when I was on that ship I started what I thought was the beginning of a beautiful relationship with a Cantonese runway model with a titanium hip who, after paying for most of my drinks and all of my food, had the temerity to call me a gold digger, which I found so insulting I stole what was left of her money and Bought myself a first-class ticket to my new home, here, in paradise, where, apparently, I fit right in because the locals have adopted me as one of their own -- they've even nicknamed me, affectionately, "Blanco Stupido."


John: Vickers, you need to focus here. You're in this up to your eyeballs.
David: Wow -- I thought you were a pill in Thailand.


David: John, why don't you take off your jacket, let me order us some Pina Coladas -- which, if you can run faster than the waiter, are free.


David: (to a waiter) Ah, amigo. Would you please bring me another Pina Colada -- (gesturing to John) -- and a beer for my overdressed friend here.


David: You are so intent on finding Spencer's killer, you're resorting to the usual suspect, which is exactly what you did when you were looking for your father's murderer.
[John glares]
David: I probably shouldn't have brought that up.
John: No.


[John shows David a picture of the crime scene]
David: Oh, a photo of the unflattering fluorescent lighting in the hospital corridor. That's fascinating.


David: (to John) Case closed. I killed Spencer. You know, the very least you could do is thank me for saving you the trouble of having to do it yourself.


John: On your feet, Vickers. You're coming back to Llanview with me.
David: John, John, John. We're not in Bangkok anymore and don't even think about kidnapping me. I have low friends in high places.


David: Why is Dorian in jail?
John: She's being held in connection with Truman's murder.
David: The thread count in the sheets alone would do her in!


John: We have to get going now.
David: May I at least finish my drink? From what I remember, Statesville doesn't make a good umbrella drink.


Dorian: I would like to have a few moments alone with David, please.
John: Suit yourself. If you need me, I'll be filing Vickers' signed confession.
Dorian: David, you know better than that.
David: Apparently not.


David: Another visitor, huh? You know, this is building a good case for my animal magnetism. It's so deep and wide, it can't be held by mere prison walls.
[David sees that the visitor is John]
David: Lieutenant McBain. This should be fun. How are things?
John: No complaints, you?
David: Well, the service is hell, and they water down the martinis.


John: Vickers, you ever hear the expression "do the crime, do the time"?
David: Variations on the theme.
John: Well, try this one. "Why do the time if you didn't do the crime?"
David: What moron would go to prison for a crime he didn't commit? Wait, that didn't come out right.


John: Not like the old days, is it? What did the locals call you? "El Gringo Stupido"?
David: It was "Blanco Stupido," actually.


John: How much you getting for taking the rap for Truman's murder?
David: Nobody paid me a dime.
John: Not yet, but it's waiting for you, isn't it? Offshore account. What is the yield on long-term tax-frees these days?
David: APRs?
John: Jumbos.
David: Yeah, last week, they shot up -- I mean, where do you keep getting these crazy ideas, John?


[John claims that a little bird told him that David didn't kill Spencer after all]
David: "A little bird"?
John: Hmm. Flew right in my office and told me that you took the rap for Truman's murder because you have a big payout waiting on the back end. But you didn't do it. Someone else did the hard work, but you still want your money.
David: Your bird seems to display the behavior of a yellow-bellied sapsucker. Any avid bird-watcher knows that a yellow-bellied sapsucker always lies.


David: John, why can't you just let it go? Spencer's dead, I confessed, the case is closed. Why can't you just be happy for once?
John: I'll probably be happy when I'm dead.


John: Why don't you just tell me the story from the beginning? Otherwise, you better start getting used to the sound of your own voice, because it's the only thing you're going to be hearing for the next couple weeks.
David: Huh, that's no threat. The only thing I like more than the sound of my own voice is the sound of my own voice counting money.


David: John, you can't throw me into the hole. Look what it did to me. That's what happened to me in Morocco.
John: Yeah, I heard something about you not being able to put two words together, that you started flipping out. Personally, I don't know how anybody could tell the difference.


David: Damn Dorian and her big mouth. She just cost me $10 million.
John: 10 million? Impressive.
David: I thought so.


John: Who gave you 10 million to off your brother?
David: I don't see the health benefits in naming names just now.


John: Tell me about your meeting with Marty.
David: I was surprised she came by. I mean, she's been attracted to me for years, but I hardly know her. And then she accuses me of this false confession. I mean, you and I both know that I'm not an idiot, so I just connected the dots.


John: Did Marty actually say that she killed Truman?
David: She didn't have to, John. Pros like you and me, we can see it on their faces.


John: I'm going to work on getting you out of here.
David: No, I don't want to get out of here.
John: I'm not letting an innocent man sit in prison for something he didn't do, even if it's you.
David: But I wanted to do it. I would've done it if Marty hadn't beat me to it. Doesn't that count for something?
John: Yeah -- the 10 million you're not going to get.


John: You didn't kill your brother, Vickers.
David: No, but if we tell everybody that, I'm not going to be able to collect, so if it's all the same to you, John, just let me rot away in my cell while my money multiplies in an undisclosed location.


David: (to John) So you go in there and announce that career con man Vickers is innocent and upstanding psychiatrist Saybrooke is guilty of killing Dr. Truman, and you think the warden's just going to say, "Oh, well, in that case, let's let David go free?"


Warden: (about David) He confessed. He was convicted and sentenced, he took a plea bargain.
John: He lied.
Warden: That's a first -- lying to get into prison?
John: Well, he's a weird dude.


[David is fitted with his electronic monitoring bracelet]
David: Ow! Son of a -- too tight! Ah. Definitely a fashion don't.
John: Definitely makes a statement.
David: Yeah -- "felon."


David: So that's it, huh? Uh-huh. I walk around with this stupid thing on my leg, free as a bird so that A-- my benefactor knows that I didn't do my job and he doesn't have to pay me the $10 million he promised. So I have lost months of my life in this stinkhole -- no offense, it's actually pretty nice -- for nothing.
John: Sometimes life sucks.


John: Thanks to that transmitter you're wearing, I have to know where you are every second of the day.
David: Hey, do you think maybe you could give me another one so one leg doesn't get overdeveloped?


John: (to the warden) Take him downstairs and get him some new clothing.
David: Yeah -- natural fibers only, please. It's a religious thing.


[David shows up at John's apartment]
David: (to John) I got nowhere to sleep and no money, thanks to you. And I got no friends, thanks to me. But the way I see it, since you're the one who got me into this situation, you owe me. Now, first things first -- can I borrow your toothbrush?


[John finds David doing naked tai chi]
John: Put some pants on, for cripe's sake.
David: Namastae, John. The body is a temple. Tai chi is a spiritual awakening. I learned that in the joint.
John: You must have been very popular.


John: Hey, look, I didn't sign up for this when I sprung you.
David: You sprung me, so you're responsible for me.
John: Who told you that, The Convict Fairy?
David: You know, you might want to be a lot nicer to me. Perhaps you've heard the Chinese proverb that goes "A man cast out into the street might tell the police commissioner that you think Marty Saybrooke killed Spencer Truman."
John: Your fly's open.


John: You push me, I'll call your sugar daddy in for questioning.
David: You don't have a clue who he is.
John: Not hard to figure out.
David: I'll give you 100 guesses.


David: How could Marty know, proof positive, that I didn't kill Spencer if it wasn't her who actually did it? The bigger question, however, is, why haven't you busted her?
John: There's no evidence against her.
David: Except her memory.


[John arrives at Llanfair]
David: Yikes. It's the cops.


David: You miss me?
John: Terribly.
David: Hmm.


John: I know you didn't witness the murder. But Truman's killer doesn't know that, does he?
David: No, no, no. No, no, no, no, no.
John: In fact, yes.


David: You think you can use me as live bait for the scissor stabber? Think again. You can count me out.
John: Oh. I'm sorry, are you under the impression that you have any choice in this?
David: I'm not your slave, or your indentured servant, or Robinson to your Crusoe.
John: You'll be Bo Peep if I want you to be until this case is closed.


David: You got nothing on me. There's nothing you can do to me.
[David gets out his cell phone and starts dialing]
John: Who do you think you're calling?
David: I'm calling 1-800-Dorian-Get-Me-Out-Of-Human-Shield-Duty.


John: You obstructed justice. You hindered an investigation. You made false statements to the police.
David: Those sound like crimes.


David: Anybody ever tell you that you're a real killjoy?
John: Almost every day.


David: Marty came to see me at the Statesville House of Mullets just to accuse me of lying about murdering Spencer.
John: That proves nothing.
David: It proves that she's highly motivated. It proves that she has inside information that not even you have access to. Did I mention that she looked guilty as sin?


David: Let me get this straight. You spring me from prison and put my neck on the line so you could acquire some sort of evidence against the real killer just to prove that Marty's innocent.
John: That's about the size of it.
David: John, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there are a lot easier ways to tell a girl that you like her.


[John warns David not to talk about his relationship with Marty]
David: Now, I understand you feel a little skittish about women right now, all right? Especially after your last foray. It's understandable. However, you can't let one bad experience with Natalie ruin you on the fairer sex.
John: That's very interesting. Are you done?
David: You got to get back up on the horse.
John: Oh.
David: I didn't mean to just compare Natalie to a horse. I'm trying to make a metaphor about thoroughbreds, Lipizzaners. You know, I once lost a small fortune on a little filly named "Slip it Inside" --
John: Again with the horses! Will you knock it off?


David: (to John) Some women -- like Natalie -- they like heroics. Other women -- like Viki, for instance -- they, uh -- they're way out of your league, John. They like a certain je ne sais quoi. Now, the psychiatrist known as Marty Saybrooke, she's different, and the way that she's different is she likes the simple life. She likes someone to rub her feet, set the table, sweep out the garage on a Saturday. Now, a girl like this -- if you're going to ask her out, all you do is you talk up to her and you say, "Gosh, you're pretty. Would you go out with me?" You don't rush up to her and say, "I'm going to save your life, but before I do, tell me where you were the night Spencer Truman was killed." Is this making sense?


[David wants to help John with his relationship woes]
David: For the smallest of fees, I can set you up with a study guide that's tailor-made to your unique needs. We'll even give it a name. We'll call it "My Fair McBain." In a few short weeks, you'll be able to walk, talk, and even date like a regular gentleman.
John: What are you talking about?
David: I know, it conflicts with your image. I won't tell anybody. But if you do what I say, I think we can get rid of your commitment phobia. In fact, we might even turn you into the marrying kind.


John: Vickers, if you think you can annoy me into dropping this plan, you're mistaken. All you're going to do is make me really, really mad.
David: My guess is I don't want to see you mad.
John: Good guess.


[Blair calls John to ask him for help finding "Todd"/Victor]
John: No, just -- all right -- never mind, you can tell me when I get there, all right? I'm on my way.
[John hangs up the phone]
David: Manning, huh? Like death and taxes.


[John goes to the hospital to visit David]
David: Well, well. Didn't know you cared. Hey, everybody, look who's here.
John: Just wanted to make sure you're still alive.
David: Well, that is great, because I am on some really good drugs, and I am not in the mood for a buzz kill of McBain proportions.


John: According to your doctors, not only will you be out of here real soon, but your liver is regenerating as we speak.
David: Like a dismembered Egyptian cobra, huh?


David: You know, John, traditionally when a man donates the right lobe of his liver to the twin sister of another man's near-miss fiancee, he is often complimented for his extraordinary bravery and magnanimous donation.
John: Vickers, your act was extraordinarily brave and magnanimous and, quite frankly, the whole world should be down on its knees in gratitude. How'd I do?
David: It was a little too short to reflect the complexity of my gesture.


David: Can't we talk about this later? I was just under the knife a few hours ago.
John: Ah, I was down and out. Look how quickly I recovered.
David: Oh, John. I do not have your dedication, determination, or drive to get well so that someone can try to kill me.


[John fits David with the electronic ankle monitor again]
David: Let's take bets on what happens first -- my foot falls off from lack of circulation, or I get rubbed out by the mystery killer.
John: Well, hopefully, I'll catch him or her before that happens.
David: "Hopefully"?
John: Now, listen, if I don't make it on time, see if you can't write the name in blood somewhere here on the floor, all right, before you pass on.
David: You know what, John? Usually with most people, a sense of humor's a good thing. With you, not so much. Except you weren't trying to be funny, were you?


[David, still in his hospital bed, tries to order takeout from The Palace hotel]
David: (on the phone) I'd like the filet mignon, charred rare. No, the one with the shiitake reduction. And a side of haricot vert, no mash, and bread pudding for dessert. My name -- David Vickers, and I'm at -- a "takeout blacklist"? What is the -- well, Renee is just kidding. Are you aware that I just donated my liver, which reminds me -- I'd like the foie gras appetizer. Hello? Hello?
[John enters the room]
David: Ah -- oh, good. I'm glad you're here. You're the law -- they'll listen to you. I'm going to call the Palace back. I want you to tell them that I'm with you.


David: John, my flat-footed friend, surely you can see I'm in no condition to move. I'm barely on solid food.
John: You'll be a cheap date.
David: Hmm -- flattering.


John: Get dressed.
David: No, I'm serious -- they cut me. I'm still healing.
John: So we'll prop you up. You'll be like a network anchor.


John: Let me tell you something. Marty Saybrooke's in jail for a crime she didn't commit, so you have a choice. You come with me now, or I'll bring the cameras to you.
David: Oh, no. I ain't getting my close-up under track lighting, sitting next to a bedpan.
John: I guess you should put some blush on.


[John sees that David has hired an expensive celebrity attorney]
John: Did you win the lottery or something?
David: Oh, I know better than to skimp on legal representation.
John: I didn't know the Statesville laundry paid enough to hire a big-time defense attorney.


David: (about John) That's too bad. He knows where to get great cannoli. Now he hates me.