"FLETCH" Final draft screenplay by Andrew Bergman Based on the novel by Gregory McDonald FADE IN: EXT. CALIFORNIA BEACH - DAY Seagulls squawk, and the waves pound, but we’re not talking about Malibu Colony, here. This is a fairly rundown beach area, catering to lower-echelon surfers, vagrants, and strung out druggies of all ages, several of whom stand or sit on their haunches by a dilapidated old hamburger stand. Over the stand is a faded sign: "FAT SAM’S HAMBURGERS". A simple but haunting electronic melody plays in the b.g. INT. "FAT SAM’S" - DAY Seated just inside the stand on a folding aluminum chair is a chubby man in his late thirties. He’s wearing a stained valour sweat suit and a cap. This is Fat Sam. He’s a dealer. Seated on the sand next to him is Fletch, a rangy man, early thirties, in jeans and a Magic Johnson T-shirt, nodding idly on a battered Casio music machine which he treats lovingly. This is the source of the title music. FLETCH So what do you figure? FAT SAM No idea. FLETCH No idea at all? FAT SAM Okay. Some idea. FLETCH Like when? FAT SAM Like tonight. FLETCH For sure? FAT SAM No, not for sure. When it comes, it comes. You gonna want some shit? FLETCH I think I’d rather have drugs. FAT SAM (shakes head and smiles) Fletch... FLETCH Sorry. I find a little humor really brightens things up around here, don’t you? A young junkie with a black eye – Gummy – passes. GUMMY Hi Sam. Hi Fletch. FLETCH Hi Gummy. How’s the eye? GUMMY It’s okay. The cops did it. FLETCH I know. GUMMY They busted me last week. FLETCH They bust you every week. GUMMY I know. I got bad luck or something. Gummy exits. Fletch and Fat Sam watch him go. FLETCH That kid spends any more time in jail he’ll have to start paying rent. WIDER ANGLE THROUGH BINOCULARS Fat Sam and Fletch conclude their conversation. Fletch walks back among the drifters, the nervous, expectant junkies. He stops to talk to a young man propped up on his elbows on a towel. Creasy. CREASY AND FLETCH FLETCH Maybe tonight? CREASY Whaddyamean 'maybe'? FLETCH That's what he said. CREASY (getting desperate) He doesn't know? How come he doesn't know? FLETCH I don't know how he doesn't know. He doesn't know. CREASY Sonofabitch. FLETCH Wonder who his supplier is. CREASY I have no idea. FLETCH I wasn't asking. CREASY He never leaves the beach, Fat Sam. Never leaves. Sits in that chair, he's outta junk. Then he suddenly gets up, he's got junk. So where does it come from? Through the sand? FLETCH I think that's highly unlikely, Creasy. CREASY (rolls over) I ought to get some sleep. FLETCH Creasy, how old are you? CREASY Nineteen. FLETCH (a touch of sadness) You're not taking real good care of yourself. WIDER - BINOCULARS AGAIN Fletch takes his Casio and starts off the beach. The binocular angle follows him. A pelican crosses the water. The binoculars move off Fletch and follows the flight of the pelican as it swoops low over the ocean. BEACH PARKING LOT - DAY Fletch emerges into view, walking towards camera, when a Man steps into the immediate f.g., the binoculars at his side large in frame. Fletch stops. MAN Excuse me. I have something I'd like to discuss with you. FLETCH What? REVERSE A trim man of approximately Fletch's age, wearing a perfectly tailored grey suit, is standing across from Fletch. This is Alan Stanwyk. STANWYK We can't talk about it here. MASTER FLETCH Why not? STANWYK Because we can't. FLETCH Are you on a scavenger hunt of some kind? STANWYK I want you to come to my house. Then we'll talk. FLETCH I think you've got the wrong gal, fella. STANWYK I'll give you a thousand dollars cash just to come to my house and listen to the proposition. If you reject the proposition, you keep the thousand, and your mouth shut. FLETCH Will this proposition entail my dressing up as Tina Turner? STANWYK (unsmiling, all business) It is nothing of a sexual nature I assure you. (Takes a thousand in cash from his pocket) One thousand, just to listen. I don't see how you could turn that down Mr... FLETCH Nugent. Ted Nugent. STANWYK (shakes his hand) Alan Stanwyk. FLETCH Charmed. EXT. BERMAN STREET - BEVERLY HILLS - DAY A Jaguar XJ sedan goes up Berman Street, a dead end. Fletch's hand reaches out of the passenger window and empties sand out of a sneaker. INT. JAGUAR - DAY FLETCH I always liked this part of town. EXT. BERMAN STREET - DAY The Jaguar continues on up Berman Street, stopping before massive iron gates marked PRIVATE PROPERTY -- NO TRESPASSING -- STANWYK. The gates open electronically. EXT. STANWYK HOUSE - DAY The jaguar goes up the center of the drive toward a white- pillared mansion. The lawns and planting are spectacular. INT. JAGUAR - DAY Fletch stares out the window. FLETCH What a coincidence. The car stops before the house. STANWYK What? EXT. HOUSE - DAY as they get out of the car. FLETCH I came this close... (holds fingers slightly apart) ...to buying this place Stanwyk ignores Fletch and starts toward the house. Fletch follows. FLETCH Then I found out Hopalong Cassidy had shot himself in the game room. That just blew it for me. STANWYK Who? FLETCH Hopalong Cassidy. Killed himself here. Bow and arrow. Strange. Stanwyk stops before the front door, stares at Fletch STANWYK What are you, doped up or something? Fletch abruptly changes gears, stares at Stanwyk FLETCH I don't work for you yet, assface. Don't talk to me like that. STANWYK (after a beat) Come inside. INT. HOUSE - DAY Stanwyk and Fletch enter. A Mexican Maid crosses. STANWYK Buenas dias. MAID Buenas dias. She disappears. FLETCH I commend you on your Spanish. Stanwyk doesn't reply, keeps on walking. He opens a set of double doors to the left of the winding staircase, then stands to one side, indicating that Fletch should enter. INT. LIBRARY - DAY Massive fireplace. Everything built in teak. Fletch enters, and Stanwyk closes the door behind them. FLETCH Ahh, the library. Masculine but sensitive. Stanwyk wordlessly goes behind the desk FLETCH Really, I love what you've done with the place. Must have cost you... hundreds. Stanwyk turns, looks out a pair of French doors behind his desk, then turns back. STANWYK Here's my proposition, Mr. Nugent. FLETCH I'm all ears. STANWYK I want you to murder me. FLETCH Even garrulous Fletch is stopped in his tracks by this remark, uttered in the most business-like manner. STANWYK STANWYK Here. On Thursday. I'd like you to shoot me dead. FLETCH He just stares, barely breathing. STANWYK STANWYK The reason I ask you to do me this service is that I am facing a long, painful, and most certain death. You see, I have bone cancer. I don't know if you know anything about bone cancer. FLETCH He shakes his head. STANWYK STANWYK It doesn't get any worse than that. Just eats you up, bit by bit. FLETCH Finally regains the gift of speech. FLETCH You don't look sick, Mr. Stanwyk. MASTER STANWYK I don't feel sick. Not yet. They tell me it'll start getting bad in about a month. After that... well, I'd rather not be around for it. FLETCH Why don't you try suicide? STANWYK My company has taken out a very large insurance policy on me. And I have a wife. Suicide would nullify my insurance. Murder does not. FLETCH So why pick me? STANWYK You're a drifter, a -- pardon the expression -- beach bum. No one would notice if you disappeared. I've watched you for a couple weeks. FLETCH Maybe I'm just on vacation. STANWYK Not with the scum you hang out with. I've watched. I've thought. Its a perfect scheme. I even have a perfect escape plan for you. FLETCH Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to kill you? STANWYK I've got fifty thousand dollars says you will. FLETCH He chews his lip. STANWYK STANWYK Fifty thousand and a guarantee you won't get caught. Stanwyk searches Fletch's face carefully for a reaction. After several beats... FLETCH I'm still here. STANWYK (turns and goes to the French doors) I want it done Thursday evening, around eight PM. My wife will be off to the club for a committee meeting. It's the staff's night off. (pushes doors open) These will be open. FLETCH FLETCH Wouldn't they normally be locked? MASTER STANWYK Sometimes yes, sometimes no. The staff usually forgets. FLETCH I have the same problem with my help. STANWYK (goes on, unresponsive) I will be here in the room, waiting for you. The safe will be open and there will be fifty thousand dollars in it. You will be wearing rubber gloves. Do you own rubber gloves? FLETCH I rent them. Monthly lease, with an option to buy. STANWYK In this drawer.... He opens the top drawer of his desk INSIDE THE DRAWER an enormous .357 Magnum. MASTER Stanwyk holds up the gun. FLETCH FLETCH A .357. MASTER STANWYK Very good. My .357. Use it and no one can trace it to you. The room will be in some disarray. FLETCH So it looks like a burglary attempt. You catch me. I get the gun, and shoot you. STANWYK Precisely. Are you a good shot? FLETCH (looking at the huge gun) What's the difference? The noise'll kill you first. STANWYK Get me on the first shot, if you can. FLETCH I don't think you'll have to worry about that. A beat. Stanwyk stares at Fletch. STANWYK Do you have a passport? FLETCH Sure, all drifters do. STANWYK Fine. After you kill me, take the Jaguar. The keys will be in the glove compartment. FLETCH Take it where? Stanwyk starts to write down the information on a note pad. STANWYK LAX. Go to the Pan Am desk. There will be a ticket waiting for you. FLETCH Where am I going? STANWYK (hands Fletch the note) Rio. Flight 306. Departs at eleven PM. FLETCH They serve dinner on the flight? STANWYK It'll be a first class-ticket. I'm sure you'll enjoy the ride. I would recommend staying down there at least a year, Mr. Nugent. FLETCH You've certainly thought this out, haven't you? STANWYK I am not someone who leaves a great deal to chance, Mr. Nugent. FLETCH You sure those doors will be open? STANWYK Yes. All you provide are the gloves, the passport, and the aim. I'll take care of everything else. FLETCH The gun, the money, the tickets, and the dying. STANWYK That's right. FLETCH You sure got the hard part. STANWYK What do you say, Mr. Nugent? You'll be doing me and my family a great service. FLETCH thinking it over. STANWYK STANWYK Will you kill me? FLETCH FLETCH Sure. INT. NEWSPAPER BUILDING - DAY Fletch pushes through the double glass doors, still dresses in a beach mufti -- the jeans and Magic Johnson shirt, Puma sneakers. INT. L.A. NEWS OFFICE - DAY Fletch is greeted ad-lib by several people as he walks through the cavernous newspaper City Room. REPORTER Whoa, check out the beach boy! SECOND REPORTER Looking very good, Fletch. FLETCH Thank you so much (to someone else) Hey, Larry! Larry, the young "morgue" researcher, hurries over and walks with Fletch. She is fun and flirty, and her feelings for Fletch fall just short of idolatry. LARRY Yo! FLETCH Can I steal you for a minute? LARRY Only if you promise not to return me. FLETCH Deal. LARRY (pointing to Fletch's T-shirt) 'Magic' today, huh? FLETCH Kareem's in the wash. I need a favor. LARRY Shoot. FLETCH Don't say shoot, okay. They pass the office of the city editor Frank Walker, fiftyish. Hold on Walker's office. Upon noticing Fletch, he jumps from his seat, edges his way past the two reporters in his office and runs outside. WALKER Fletch. Fletch! FLETCH AND LARRY They continue their walk. FLETCH Did you hear something? LARRY Not me. FLETCH Me neither. See what we've got on a guy named Alan Stanwyk, okay? I need it right away. WALKER (running up to them) Fletch, I take it by your presence here that the story is done. Tell me I'm right. Fletch holds up a hand. FLETCH W-Y-K no 'c.' I'll be down in a minute. LARRY No problem, boss. Larry peels off and Fletch now talks to Walker without breaking stride for his office. WALKER Fletch. FLETCH Frank, you look a little peaked. Wanna vomit? WALKER No, I want an answer, Is the story done? FLETCH Uh, almost. WALKER 'Uh, almost' is not an answer. 'Yes Frank, it's all done': that's an answer. FLETCH (as he enters his cubicle) And a damn fine one, I might add. INT. FLETCH'S CUBICLE - DAY A pile of mail is on his desk. On the walls are a team portrait of the Lakers, plus a couple of blow-ups of his column. Fletch writes under the name of Jane Doe. An unused word processor is on his desk, but the keyboard has been moved aside to make room for an old, much-used Royal typewriter. He bounces some waste paper off the monitor into a strategically placed waste can. (A lot of crumpled papers lie on the floor all around the can.) FLETCH Two... WALKER Irwin... FLETCH Oh, I hate it when he calls me that. WALKER Irwin, professional journalism time, now. Go back to the goddamn beach and finish the goddamn story! FLETCH I will, Frank, I will. Something came up, okay? WALKER No it's not okay. You have to have this in by tomorrow. Did you see the ad we ran Sunday? FLETCH I never read the paper. WALKER ...never reads the paper... Walker goes through a pile of unread newspapers on Fletch's desk, finds the Sunday paper. FLETCH What's the spread on the game tonight? WALKER I don't know. (holds up paper) Look! FLETCH Looks great. INSERT - AD A full-page ad. "NEXT WEEK A "JANE DOE" SPECIAL REPORT: DRUGS ON OUR BEACHES - SHAME OF THE CITY" MASTER FLETCH 'Shame of Our City' is so good. WALKER Now, Irwin, try to follow me. You can't run the ad and then not run the story. FLETCH Why not? Oh shit... really? Walker just stares at him. FLETCH Just kidding, Frank. You'll have the story and you'll be damn proud of it. WALKER You broke it? You know the source? FLETCH Practically. WALKER ready to kill. WALKER What's 'practically'? Is it Fat Sam? You said you had pictures of him.... MASTER FLETCH I have pictures of him. Dealing... WALKER So let's go! We run the pictures. FLETCH He's not the story! There's a source behind him. WALKER Who? FLETCH Well, there we're in a gray area. WALKER How gray? FLETCH I'd say charcoal. WALKER (straining for control) I'm going to bite out your eyeballs, you know that? FLETCH Frank, you animal, I love it. I'll have the story by Thursday night, I swear to God. (to himself as he exits) I hope. INSERT - NEWSPAPER CLIPPING ALAN STANWYK NEW V/P BOYD AVIATION A photograph of Stanwyk; a head shot. Hands turn the clipping paper. Next clipping: a social page spread on the wedding of Alan Stanwyk. ("GAIL BOYD WED TO ALAN STANWYK.") LARRY (V.O.) Everything's recent. FLETCH AND LARRY Fletch and Larry examine the file. FLETCH 'Mr. Stanwyk, of Provo, Utah, is a former commercial pilot.' LARRY Married Boyd Aviation. He's no dummy, that's serious coin. INSERT - CLIPPING - TIGHTER ANGLE FLETCH (V.O.) 'Stanwyk's parents, Marvin and Velma Stanwyk, also of Provo, were unable to attend the wedding.' FLETCH AND LARRY LARRY (affected accent) Not our kind of people, you understand. FLETCH (points to his back) Spot right here. She scratches. FLETCH Thanks. LARRY You doing a story on this guy? FLETCH Maybe. He pours over some more clippings, then stops at one. INSERT CLIPPING headlined: "CANCER SOCIETY BENEFIT". A photograph of Alan and Gail Stanwyk, with a gray haired man and his wife. FLETCH (V.O.) '...Stanwyk, blahblahblah, with internist Doctor Joseph Dolen.' FLETCH AND LARRY FLETCH I wonder if that's his doctor. LARRY Only one way to find out. INT. DOCTOR'S EXAMINING ROOM - DAY Fletch, stripped to the waist. is being examined by Dr. Joseph Dolen, a rather imperious physician. DR. DOLEN So where do you know Alan from? FLETCH We play tennis at the club. DR. DOLEN Really. The California Racquet Club? FLETCH Yes. DR. DOLEN That's my club too. I haven't seen you there. FLETCH Well, I haven't played in a while because of these kidney pains. DR. DOLEN Right, and how long have you had these pains, Mr. Barber? FLETCH That's Babar. DR. DOLEN Two bs? FLETCH One. B-a-b-a-r. DR. DOLEN That's two. FLETCH But not right next to each other. I thought that's what you meant. DR. DOLEN Arnold Babar. Isn't there a children's book about an elephant named Babar? FLETCH I don't know. I don't have any. DR. DOLEN No children? FLETCH No books. No elephants either. No really good elephant books. DR. DOLEN (eyes Fletch curiously) Still, it'd an odd name. I don't remember seeing it on the club registry. Fletch's eyes drift to Dolen's side table with its unnerving assortment of medical paraphernalia. FLETCH Oh, I don't belong formally. I've gone with my aunt. DR. DOLEN Your aunt? FLETCH Mrs. Smith. DR. DOLEN Joan or Margaret Smith. FLETCH Right. DR. DOLEN Well, which one? FLETCH Margaret. DR. DOLEN Funny old bird. FLETCH Is she ever. I've got some stories.... DR. DOLEN I'll bet. Shame about Ed. FLETCH (vamping) It was. Really a shame. To go so suddenly. DR. DOLEN Oh, he was dying for years. FLETCH Sure, but the end was so sudden. DR. DOLEN He was in intensive care for eight weeks. FLETCH Yes, but the very end, when he actually died, that was extremely sudden. (quickly) You know, Alan and I were recently speaking of dying. Told me Boyd Aviation took out a lot of insurance on him. You must have to be in some kind of perfect health to get that kind of policy. DR. DOLEN Bend over and drop your pants, Mr. Babar. FLETCH Oh really, there's no need to -- we don't want to do that... DR. DOLEN Just relax.... FLETCH Honest, I feel fine. You better be married. Fletch looks alarmed as Dolan pushes him into position. Dolan puts on a plastic glove. CLOSE - FLETCH FLETCH Did I say 'kidneys'? I meant my ear. Maybe I should see an ear dahhh -- (as Dolan starts to probe from behind) Ever serve time? DR. DOLEN Breathe easy... FLETCH Anyway, I'm surprised Alan got the policy so easily. I know there's a history of cancer in the family. DR. DOLEN (noncommittally) There is? FLETCH Whoa, look out there. You really need the whole fist? DR. DOLEN Just relax. FLETCH (reacts to a poke) Gee, Alan's been looking kind of sick lately. Is he all right? DR. DOLEN I can't discuss another patient. You know that. (rising into frame and washing up) Well, I can't find anything wrong with you. FLETCH I'm sure it's not for a lack of looking. Maybe I should get a real complete physical. You give Alan an annual, don't you? DR. DOLEN Yeah, we check you into Mt. Hebron for a few days, run lots of tests, charge a bundle. You can pull your pants up now. FLETCH I hope they still fit. Do I get to keep the glove? DR. DOLEN Tell the nurse when you've got a few free days. She'll make all the arrangements. FLETCH Thanks, Doc. Maybe I'll come back with a date. Or an elephant. INT. HOSPITAL RECEPTION AREA - DAY Fletch is dressed in shorts, a clean shirt, and is carrying a doctor's bag. He is wearing a stethoscope around his neck, has a beeper on, a lot of pencils and other doctor gadgets. He's standing at the directory DIRECTORY Combing it with his eyes, he sees the directory: PATHOLOGY - THIRD FLOOR B. ROSENSTIEN, M.D. H. ROSENBLATT, M.D. P. ROSENWOHL, M.D. Fletch goes to a door marked "Stairs." INT. STAIRWELL - DAY Fletch abruptly empties his doctor's bag and puts on a long green gown, a cap and a face mask. He plugs the stethoscope in his ears, removes miscellaneous file folders filled with papers, closes the bag, and heads for Pathology. INT. PATHOLOGY DEPARTMENT - DAY It's at the end of a long hall, and adjacent to the Autopsy Room and the Pathology Records Room. Over his shoulder we can see into the autopsy room where a gowned doctor is happily performing an autopsy. RECORDS NURSE (to Fletch) Identification please. Fletch hastily fumbles through his wallet, deftly dropping and picking up the papers he has brought with him. FLETCH It's me doctor Rosenpenis. I just have to take another peek at Alan Stanwyk's file. What have they done with this place? RECORDS NURSE (confused at all his activity) Nothing. They're still there. FLETCH Right. Fine. Still dropping and picking up, shuffling and collating, Fletch starts toward the Files Room, when the doctor performing the autopsy yells at him. PATHOLOGIST Hey you! Fletch stiffens and turns around. PATHOLOGIST Give me a hand for a second would you doctor? Fletch hesitates. PATHOLOGIST Come on, come on. Reluctantly, he goes to the autopsy table, and the cadaver thereon, which is covered by a sheet, except for the mid- section. TWO SHOT - FLETCH AND PATHOLOGIST (Note: from here on we never see the body.) PATHOLOGIST (poking around) Have you ever see a spleen this large? FLETCH (trying not to look) Not recently. PATHOLOGIST Grab this, will you? FLETCH Uh, I'm not really prepared. My hands aren't sterilized. PATHOLOGIST You're not going to make this guy any sicker. We hear a squishing noise as he grabs something large and wet and plops it into Fletch's hand. Fletch stands there holding something icky out of frame, looking uncomfortably up at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at the cadaver or at the stuff in his hand. Meanwhile, we hear sounds of further incisions, and the deflating of an organ. PATHOLOGIST You never really get used to the smell, do you? Fletch's eyes roll up, and he falls to the floor in a dead faint. INT. RECORDS ROOM - DAY - MINUTES LATER Fletch is on a couch, beginning to regain consciousness. The Records Nurse hovers over him. RECORDS NURSE Are you all right, Doctor? FLETCH Where am I? RECORDS NURSE You're in the Records Room. FLETCH I'm fine. RECORDS NURSE Can I get you something? FLETCH Have you got a make-shift plywood pillory? Heh Heh, just kidding. RECORDS NURSE Doctor Holmes went to get you some smelling salts. He was quite surprised that you fainted. FLETCH Well, I didn't want to say anything, but I thought the dead man was my brother. RECORDS NURSE Oh my God! FLETCH It's all right. It wasn't him but that spleen was a splitting image. He sits up and sees that just outside the glass is none other that Dr. Joseph Dolen, talking with the pathologist. FLETCH Oh, God, I think I'm about to hyperventilate. Have you got a paper bag, or something. RECORDS NURSE Yes, right away. She goes to get the paper bag, and Fletch turns his back on Dr. Dolen to go through the file cabinet. By the time the Nurse returns, he's got Stanwyk's file. RECORDS NURSE Here you are, Doctor. FLETCH Thank you. He puts the bag over his mouth and breathes deeply as he continues the conversation with her. (From time to time, we see Dr. Dolen in the b.g. looking over, but does not come into the records room or question what's happening). RECORDS NURSE Is there anything particular you're looking for? FLETCH My associates did a biopsy on this man recently. (thumbs through file) He's supposed to have a melanoma, or a carcinoma, some kind of noma. Hmmm. I can't seem to find any record of it. RECORDS NURSE (taking the file) Well, if he had one, it would certainly be in here. (searches) Wait. Here it is. Yep. Surgical removal of two moles. Tissue was benign. FLETCH That's it? RECORDS NURSE (shows him the file) That's it. FLETCH (reading it) This was last month. So Alan Stanwyk does not have cancer. RECORDS NURSE I guess not. FLETCH (very puzzled) He'll be so relieved. EXT. SANTA MONICA STREET - LATE AFTERNOON Fletch pulls up in front of his building, a 1970's cinderblock apartment complex. Fletch parks his car halfway up the curb, gets out and spots a Mercedes coupe. He starts running toward the rear of his building. EXT. REAR OF THE BUILDING - DAY Fletch starts climbing up the fire escape of his building. FIRE ESCAPE - DAY Fletch reaches the second floor. He's huffing and puffing. FLETCH Christ. REVERSE Attorney Charles Gillett is waiting for him on the second floor fire escape. Gillett smiles. GILLETT Refusal to pay alimony is a jailable offense, Fletch. MASTER FLETCH What about breaking and entering? (points to Gillett's coat) Are you wearing anything under that? GILLETT I did not break nor enter. I simply chose an advisable location to await my client's delinquent husband. FLETCH I hate to conduct business on the lanai. Why don't we step inside. Fletch takes out a credit card and jimmies open the lock on the window. INT. FLETCH'S APARTMENT - DAY Fletch climbs in through the window, followed by Gillett. His small apartment is just barely furnished. A low basketball hoop is attached to the wall. Fletch takes a ball, offers it to Gillett. FLETCH One on one? Gillett shakes his head. Fletch does a reverse shot and misses, sending a plastic globe lamb crashing to the floor. FLETCH And the foul. Fletch takes a second, successful shot. GILLETT You owe Wendy nine hundred and eighteen dollars. FLETCH (still playing b-ball) She doesn't need the money, for crissakes. She's living with Monty. I know it. GILLETT I don't know what you're referring to. Wendy maintains her own residence. FLETCH It stinks. I thought woman were independent now. GILLETT Until she remarries, Fletch. FLETCH Hey, shut up, okay? I just hate this. GILLETT I empathize with your plight, Fletch. However, you threw her out. FLETCH She was sleeping with everybody. The cable TV guy. You can't get lower than that... GILLETT You should have proved that in a court of law. FLETCH My lawyer was a bum. GILLETT (smiles) I agree. Fletch puts down the basketball, picks up a stack of mail and rifles through it. FLETCH I think he was sleeping with Wendy, too. GILLETT You may be right. FLETCH Are you serious? GILLETT (shrugs) That's history, Fletch. You owe us nine hundred and eighteen dollars. FLETCH Wait a minute! Our problems might be solved. Fletch holds up an envelope with Ed McMahon's picture on it. FLETCH (continuing) I think I just won a million dollars! He opens it and looks inside, feigning disappointment. FLETCH (continuing) Damn... lost again. Sorry. GILLETT This is no joke. If some kind of payment isn't made, we're going to have to contact the paper and garnish your wages. Fletch sighs, takes out the envelope given to him by Stanwyk. He hands a thousand dollars to Gillett. GILLETT Cash. I'm impressed. FLETCH Found it in a cab. That's a grand. Apply the difference to next month. GILLETT Till then. Gillett smiles and exits. KITCHEN - DAY Fletch opens the fridge. Inside are tow six-packs of Coors, a jar of Miracle Whip, a half a cucumber, and a brown head of lettuce. Fletch takes a beer and slams the door shut with such force that we hear breakage inside. MASTER - APARTMENT - DAY In a foul mood, Fletch leaves the kitchen, and wanders into the living room. It has the personality of an Abbey Rents. He picks up the TV remote control. The television clicks on. Chick Hearn is with Jabbar, during a Laker pregame warmup. FLETCH Thank God. Fletch settles back. TELEVISION Hearn is gushing over Jabbar. FLETCH He watches contemplatively. He is bone tired. TELEVISION HEARN How about Fletch? JABBAR Well, Fletch has been great. He's super-strong, really clogs the middle for us, boxes out, gets the bounds.... FLETCH He smiles and nods, deep in fantasy. TELEVISION HEARN Now here's a key play in Tuesday night's game... Hearn and Jabbar look down at a television monitor. FLETCH He's half asleep. JABBAR (V.O.) Here I am dishing off to Fletch... Fletch raises an eyebrow. TELEVISION There's Fletch, his hair in an Afro, dressed in Laker gold. He's on the receiving end of a Jabbar pass, making an easy layup. HEARN (V.O.) Gosh, he makes it look so easy! FLETCH asleep, smiling. PRACTICE COURT - DAY Gail Stanwyk is on the other side of the net, loading tennis balls into the automatic serve machine. She is in her late twenties and quite attractive, but in a much more natural way than other women we see here. She is good natured and effervescent. Fletch steps up to the entrance of the court. FLETCH Gail Stanwyk! She looks up. He enters the court with great delight. FLETCH I haven't seen you since the wedding, Jeez, you look great. MRS. STANWYK (genuinely pleased) I do? Oh, isn't that sweet, thank you. I have to confess something to you. I must have been pretty plowed at your wedding. I really don't have the faintest idea who you are. FLETCH Huh? No, not my wedding. Yours. MRS. STANWYK Oh, mine! Thank God. (furrows her brow) Actually, that doesn't make it any better, does it? Are you a friend of Alan's? FLETCH We used to fly together. I'm... John. MRS. STANWYK (snaps her fingers in happy recognition) John! You used to fly together! Her smile segues right into an "I'm sorry, bit I give up" expression. MRS. STANWYK John who? FLETCH John Ultrarelamensky. MRS. STANWYK (bursts out in laughter) Oh, I'm sorry. It's a beautiful name, really. FLETCH It's Scotch-Rumanian. MRS. STANWYK (still loading tennis balls) That's a strange combination. FLETCH So were my parents. MRS. STANWYK Mind if I keep practicing? I need to work on my ground stroke a little. FLETCH Please. As Mrs. Stanwyk crosses to the other side of the net, a waiter approaches Fletch. WAITER Excuse me sir. Are you a guest of the club? FLETCH Yes, I'm with the Underhills. WAITER They just left, sir. FLETCH They'll be back. He had to go in for a urinalysis. WAITER Would you care for a drink while you're waiting? I can put it on the Underhill bill. FLETCH Great. I'll have a Bloody Mary and a steak sandwich. WAITER Very good sir. The Waiter leaves, and Fletch watches as Mrs. Stanwyk tries to return the serving machine's serves. She swings so goofily that she can't even get the racket on the ball. She has clearly never taken a lesson in her life, and it is doubtful if she will ever make contact with a tennis ball in this century. MRS. STANWYK Damn, I thought I had that one. FLETCH You should play with much larger tennis balls. So how's Alan? MRS. STANWYK What are you asking me for? He's so busy lately I hardly see him. And he's been so preoccupied. FLETCH Preoccupied with what? MRS. STANWYK Oh, personal stuff. Look! I hit one! Indeed, she has. Strait up. She and Fletch crane their necks upward to follow it's flight. FLETCH Good. Lobs are a very important part of the game. She completely misses the next one. FLETCH Why do you keep doing this? MRS. STANWYK I love the outfits. The next one she hits with the handle. FLETCH Try stepping into the ball with your left foot. He demonstrates a swing. She puts on a determined face, makes an awkward step and swings at the next ball, missing it completely, and letting the racket fly. FLETCH There, much better. Mrs. Stanwyk laughs happily and dodges the machine-served balls to walk over to Fletch. When she's almost up to him, she turns back to the serving machine and points a finger at it, as if addressing a pet dog. MRS. STANWYK Stay! (to Fletch) I must be having an off day. I'm really a fabulous player. FLETCH I have this effect on lots of women. MRS. STANWYK I bet you do. FLETCH Say, the reason I asked about Alan is that I bumped into him this morning and you know what I can't figure out? MRS. STANWYK (catching him in his lie) Alan's in Utah. FLETCH (after a beat) I can't figure out why I went to Utah for the morning. MRS. STANWYK Okay. I'm delighted to have someone to talk to, and you're very cute, so I'm very flattered, but I'm also very married so you may as well forget -- You are trying to hit on me, aren't you? FLETCH (thinks, then nods) I'm such a heel. How'd you guess? MRS. STANWYK If I had a nickel for every one of Alan's flyboy buddies who tried to pick me up, I'd be a rich woman. FLETCH You are a rich woman. MRS. STANWYK See what I mean? She trots back to her ball machine. Fletch calls after her. FLETCH What's he doing in Utah? MRS. STANWYK None of your business, now go away. You're throwing my game off. Fletch chuckles -- he likes this woman -- and exits. BOYD AVIATION - DAY - ESTABLISHING A sprawling, Hughes-like complex. FLETCH (O.S.) ...then who walks in but George Bush. He took one look around the room... INT. JOHN BOYD'S OFFICE - DAY A Secretary is serving coffee to Fletch (now dressed in a three piece suit) and John Boyd, Gail Stanwyk's father. At seventy, he is probably Chairman Emeritus now; no longer running the day-to-day operations of the company, and thus somewhat grateful from the company. FLETCH ...and said 'Sorry Mr. President, I thought it was Saturday.' Boyd Laughs. FLETCH I thought I was going to die. SECRETARY Sugar, Mr. Poon? FLETCH Thank you. Fletch notices a framed wedding photograph on the credenza behind Boyd. It is of Alan and Gail Stanwyk, Alan beaming a shit-eating grin and holding a happy thumbs-up. Fletch waits as the Secretary leaves the room, then begins speaking confidentially. FLETCH Okay. He opens his attaché case, allowing Boyd to see an airline ticket, a Washington Post, and a file stenciled "Confidential/S.E.C. Use only." FLETCH First of all, let me just reiterate that this is not a formal investigation. I'm not going through formal channels here, because if Alan Stanwyk is not involved in any improprieties, then nobody has to know I was even -- BOYD Alan Stanwyk is not involved in improprieties. Where the hell does the S.E.C. come off -- Fletch is nodding sympathetically and holds up a quieting hand. Boyd stops in mid-tirade, and watches as Fletch reaches into his briefcase and seemingly turns off a tape recorder. FLETCH Look. You know that and I know that, but somebody's bucking for a promotion. I think it's that bozo, Hanrahan, I can't be sure. Anyway, unless I go back there with something, you and your son-in-law are next week's scapegoats. BOYD Unbelievable. FLETCH I feel like dirt. They even want to know what he's doing in Utah? BOYD Utah? (laughs) Jesus Christ! First of all, Alan Stanwyk does not own one share of stock.The three million dollars for the ranch in Provo comes from my daughter who converted some of her personal holdings, not company holdings. Now if anybody in DC wants to make something of that, bring 'em on. Until then, get the hell out of my face. FLETCH (stands and closes briefcase) God I admire you. BOYD By the way: what kind of name is Poon? FLETCH Comanche Indian. ALAN STANWYK'S OFFICE - DAY Fletch breezes in, right up to the Secretary, whose nameplate reads MADELINE TURNER. FLETCH (rapidly) Oh, Margie, sorry, Frieda lost the number of Alan's realtor in Provo. Can you give it to me real quick? MARGIE Jim Swarthout? FLETCH Yeah. She writes it out for him. MARGIE And, I'm sorry, who are you again? FLETCH (grabbing the paper) Frieda's boss. MARGIE (calling after him) Who's Frieda? FLETCH (out the door) My secretary. EXT. BEACH - DAY Pan across the beach... FLETCH (O.S.) Larry, it's me... Fletch is in a phone booth on the sidewalk next to the beach, keeping an eye on "Fat Sam's." FLETCH See if you've got anything in Stanwyk's background from when he lived in Utah. Also check on a realtor in Provo named Swarthout. And tell Frank I'm crazy about him and I'd like to discuss his maybe moving in with me. We hear police sirens. Fletch looks O.S. FLETCH Later. He hangs up. FLETCH'S POINT OF VIEW - FOUR SQUAD CARS have pulled up to the beach, lights flashing. The druggies are dispersing. Creasy is running towards Fletch. CREASY Fletch! Take off! FLETCH He steps out onto the beach, and starts towards the cops. MASTER CREASY What are you doing? MASTER Everyone is scattering. The cops run past everyone, and approach Gummey. FLETCH AND CREASY FLETCH They're after Gummy again. It's weird. Fletch keeps moving toward the police. CREASY (out of breath) Fletch, slow down. GUMMY AND THE COPS Gummy trips and falls in the sand. A Cop kicks him in the head. COP #1 Let's go, Gummy. FLETCH AND CREASY still running toward the cops. FLETCH Hey, what are you doing? CREASY Fletch, this is dumb. FLETCH You don't have to run with me, Crease. MASTER The cops drag Gummy toward a squad car. ANGLE - "FAT SAM'S" Fat Sam peers out, watching the action. MASTER Fletch approaches the cops. FLETCH Why are you beating up on that kid? No response from the cops. FLETCH He's defenseless, and you kick the crap out of him. What do you want from -- One of the cops turns and, in one smooth motion, kicks Fletch in the balls. Fletch sinks to the ground. SQUAD CAR Gummy is packed into the squad car. FLETCH He rises slowly from the sand. He is in great pain. He starts after the cops again. CREASY CREASY Fletch! MASTER FLETCH What goddamn right do you have to take him? The cop car starts off. Fletch picks up a rock, hurls it at the cop car. It smashes the rear window. CREASY CREASY Fletch!!! MASTER The cop cars go off. Fletch bends over. He's hurting. Creasy comes over to him. CREASY Hey you're really nuts. FLETCH (breathless) They didn't do anything. CREASY What? What are you talking about? FLETCH I busted their window, they didn't do anything. CREASY You're lucky. FLETCH Not luck. They don't want me. POLICE CARS In a caravan, they head down the highway. FLETCH He turns and looks towards "Fat Sam's." FAT SAM'S Fat Sam watches the police cars go down the road, then turns and looks towards the ocean. He pulls his Angels cap down over his head. CLOSE - FLETCH He is focusing on something, but has not figured it out yet. FLETCH Gummy and two cops... INT. FRANK WALKER'S OFFICE - DAY FLETCH Cool your tool, Frank, I need a little more time. I think I'm really on to something here. WALKER You're onto something. That's good. What? FLETCH I really don't want to spoil your surprise, Frank. Why don't you read it tomorrow? Larry, knocks on the door. WALKER What do you want? Larry points to Fletch. WALKER Speak, don't point! LARRY I need Fletch for a second. FLETCH She needs me, Frank. Fletch turns to Larry. Push to two shot. LARRY Nothing on Gail Stanwyk, nothing on Jim Swarthout. But I did --- FLETCH That's okay, Lar. I gotta put this on the back burner for a while. Larry starts to exit. WALKER Just give me a hint, all right? FLETCH All right. Maybe there are some crooked cops involved in all this. LARRY (stopping in the doorway) Did you say cops? FLETCH Yeah. LARRY That's one thing I did find. It's from last month, so it was in the unsorted pile. She hands Fletch a clipping. INSERT - CLIPPING It is an article and photograph of the newly-appointed citizens on the Police Advisory Board. One of them is Alan Stanwyk. WALKER What's that? MASTER Fletch pockets the photo. FLETCH (puzzled) More cops. (then) I think I gotta go to Utah, Frank. WALKER Utah? FLETCH Yeah. It's wedged in between Wyoming and Nevada. I'm sure you've seen pictures. WALKER What about finding the source? FLETCH I have some ideas. WALKER Who? Donnie and Marie? FLETCH Very possibly. Come on, say yes. I'll buy you a shirt. WALKER Go to transportation, get a ticket. LARRY (to Fletch as he exits) My hero. FLETCH Nothing to it. EXT. PROVO, UTAH - AIRPORT -DAY A Western Airlines flight arrives. EXT. HIGHWAY - DUSK Fletch's rented Fairmont speeds down the highway. INT. FAIRMONT - FLETCH wearing a polyester brown suit -- fiddles with the radio. Snatches of programs are heard: "easy listening" music; country-and-western; a revival show; a call in show -- "Hi, you're on the air." "Hello, Bob, I'd like to discuss the death penalty. As you know, Jesus was in favor of it --" Fletch whistles and switches the radio off. He turns the car off the interstate. EXT. TRAVELODGE - LATE AFTERNOON - ESTABLISHING SHOT as Fletch drives up. INT. TRAVELODGE MOTEL ROOM Fletch dials the phone in the small, sparsely furnished room. FLETCH Hi, Jim Swarthout, please. Oh, hello, my name is Igor Stravinski and I'm looking for some ranch property. INT. SWARTHOUT REALTY Jim Swarthout is a rugged-looking man in his forties. He sits in the den/office of his house talking on the phone, surrounded by pine-paneling, property tract maps and wall- mounted animal heads. SWARTHOUT Good, Mr. Starinski, what'd you have in mind? (pause) Uh huh. Oh are you a friend of Alan's? INT. FLETCH'S MOTEL ROOM FLETCH No, I just heard some people at the club talking about the property you sold him, and the way it was described, three million sounded like a pretty good price. (pause) What? Fletch pauses again to listen, flummoxed over what he has just heard. FLETCH Are you sure? (pause) Of course. I guess I was misinformed. Listen, I'd love to come out and see you anyway. When are you available? INT. SWARTHOUT REALTY SWARTHOUT Well, I'm about to close up shop and go out for the evening. How about first thing in the AM? (pause) Great. See you tomorrow. INT. FLETCH'S MOTEL ROOM FLETCH Tomorrow. Fletch hangs up, very interested. EXT. SWARTHOUT REALTY - NIGHT Fletch stops his car in front of the ranch-style house. A lighted sign in the yard indicate that this is indeed Swarthout Realty, but the house is dark; no one appears to be home. Somewhere in the yard a dog barks viciously, frantically. DOG A killer Doberman is tied up behind a chain link fence. At the sight of the intruding Fletch, the dog's lip is practically over his nose, his fangs are poised and gleaming. FLETCH FLETCH (getting out of his car) What's your name fella? Fluff? Pom- pom? DOG completely bananas. FLETCH Fletch reaches the front door and looks around. He rings the bell. The dog yowls even louder. Fletch waits. And waits. He rings again. Satisfied that no one is home, he tries the front door. Of course, it is locked. He takes out a credit card, starts to jimmy the lock, and actually seems to be making progress when his credit card snaps in half. FLETCH Shit. He pockets the broken credit card, steps back and looks over the house for another possible point of entry. FLETCH'S POINT OF VIEW - AN UPSTAIRS WINDOW Double-hung. Slightly warped, so that the upper half does not exactly true with the lower half. FLETCH looks around to see how to climb up to it. MASTER There's only one way. Climb up the side of the chain link fence which separates him from the murderous dog. Fletch approaches it warily. The dog is practically foaming. Fletch reaches out a hand to get a hold of the fence, and the dog just about rips the fence apart. FLETCH (in his best Barbara Woodhouse) Sit-tuh! This has no effect, so Fletch backs up a few yards, take a deep breath for courage and makes a headlong running start for the fence, using his momentum to get to the top before the dog eats him. He grabs hold and scrambles wildly for the top. He makes it. FLETCH Roll over. Play dead. Good boy. Fletch now grabs hold of the eave on the side of the house, and very carefully pulls himself onto it. It's only about ten feet from there to the vulnerable window, but the angle of the eave is rather steep, and the going is treacherous. As he makes his way, he keeps a wary eye on the dog who keeps leaping up, seemingly getting closer and closer to taking a giant bite out of Fletch's backside. FLETCH You any relation to Doctor Dolan? Now he's at the window. He tries to open it, but despite it's warped appearance from the ground, it is locked. Fletch looks at the lock and can't believe it. He sighs. He shakes his head. He smashes the window with his elbow. FLETCH I hate this. He climbs into the darkened house, leaving the enraged dog to run furiously around the fenced in yard that surrounds the house. INT. SWARTHOUT'S HOUSE - UPSTAIRS - NIGHT Fletch tiptoes though the upstairs bedroom and down the stairs. From outside, he can still hear the dog snarling and barking. INT. SWARTHOUT'S HOUSE - DOWNSTAIRS - NIGHT As Fletch passes through the living room he sees the dog snarling at him through the living room window. INT. SWARTHOUT'S DEN - NIGHT Fletch enters and looks around. The dog is now outside the den window. FLETCH Make sure nobody comes in, okay? He goes to the file cabinet and opens it. He flips through the "S" section. "Stanwyk". He pulls it. He thumbs through various documents until he finds what he's looking for. A copy of a deed. He pulls it out. INSERT - DEED - CLOSE ON THE PURCHASE PRICE Three Thousand Dollars. FLETCH (O.S.) So much for your three million dollar ranch. FLETCH takes out a tiny document camera -- the kind spies use in the movies -- and loads it fumblingly. Then he props the deed up on top of the file cabinet, and moves a lamp into position to light it. Just as he snaps his first shot, we hear a terrible crashing sound. WINDOW The murderous Doberman has made a crashing leap right through the den window, sending glass flying everywhere, and he streaks across the room to rip Fletch into bite-sized shreds. MASTER Fletch bolts and the dog flies into the file cabinet, knocking it over, scattering all the files over the floor. Fletch dashes for the nearest door, and runs through it just as the dog slams into it. INT. KITCHEN Fletch is now holed up in the kitchen, panting to catch his breath, feeling the full course of adrenaline pumping through his terrified veins. He sees that he can get to his car by climbing through the window. But in order to get to the window he has to let go of the door, and that would allow the dog to get in. Looking around frantically, holding the door shut against the furious slamming of the dog, he reaches for and finally grabs a mop which he props under the door knob, thus keeping the door shut. Letting go of the door gingerly, he satisfies himself that the dog cannot get in, and he makes his break for the window. He vaults up onto the counter top and is just about to break the window when he sees that the dog's continued efforts are about to result in opening the door. Fletch knows he has only seconds. Standing on top of the counter, he opens the door of the restaurant-sized refrigerator next to him, and just as the snarling dog bursts into the room Fletch starts hurling food at it. A pot roast, sliced turkey with stuffing, a couple of filet mignons. The dog is momentarily distracted. Fletch pours a large bucket of cranberry sauce on the dog. FLETCH Suck on this Cujo! Then he dumps an equally large bucket of mashed potatoes. With the dog temporarily vision-impaired, Fletch bolts. EXT. SWARTHOUT HOUSE - NIGHT Fletch runs as fast as humanly possible towards his car, fishing for his keys as he goes. The dog -- having shaken off the people-food from his hateful face -- is seconds behind and closing. Fletch makes it to his car, hops inside, and slams the door just as the dog leaps furiously at the windshield. INT. FLETCH'S CAR Fletch makes it to his car, huffing and puffing. The dog jumps across the closed window, snarling and bug-eyed with hatred. Fletch smiles, waves at the dog, and starts taking its picture with his little camera. FLETCH Gimme a smile! There you go... oh, that's a nice one... (starting the car) Everything's fine, now... go take a little nap... Fletch is ready to pull out, but the dog is still leaping madly at the window. Fletch points back to the house. FLETCH Look! Defenseless babies! The dog turns to look and Fletch guns it. FLETCH That dog is such an asshole. EXT. FLETCH'S APARTMENT HOUSE - DAY Fletch parks his car halfway up on the curb, steps out carrying a small overnight bag. He is unshaven and looks beat. INT. APARTMENT HOUSE - CORRIDOR Fletch comes down the hall signing "Billie Jean" is an excruciating falsetto. FLETCH 'Bil-lie, Bil-lie...' He opens the door to his apartment and is immediately thrown to the ground. INT. APARTMENT Fletch is spread-eagled on the floor. Two huge Cops are over him, one holding a gun to his head, the other going through his clothes. COP #1 (feeling the inseam of Fletch's trousers) Oh, what's this? FLETCH If I took that out, you guys couldn't fit in here. COP #1 Funny boy. Look at this... He produces a heroin bag. COP #2 Looks like heroin, Gene. FLETCH You just planted that. Cop #1 kicks Fletch in the ribs. COP #2 What'd you say? FLETCH Read me my rights. COP #1 Okay. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to be kicked in the face by me. You have the rights to have your balls stomped. You have the -- FLETCH Hold it! I'll waive my rights. EXT. PRECINCT HOUSE Fletch is lead into the precinct house. INT. PRECINCT HOUSE The Sergeant at the desk checks Fletch out. SERGEANT Who we booking here, gentlemen? COP #1 No booking. Chief wants a talk with the boy. SERGEANT Oh Yeah? (smiles at Fletch) You'll like the Chief. Nice man. FLETCH I hear he's mellowed a lot since he came out of the closet. SERGEANT I find he gets real mellow after he hits somebody a lot. DOOR TO CHIEF'S OFFICE - CHIEF'S OFFICE The cops open the door, pull Fletch inside. Chief Cummings, looking like a modern executive, looks up from his paperwork. COP #1 Here he is Chief. They roughly throw Fletch into a chair. The Chief -- seemingly oblivious to this brutality -- smiles sincerely. CUMMINGS Easy fellas. (To Fletch friendly) Be with you in just a second. The two Cops leave. As Chief Cummings continues with his paperwork Fletch looks around the office, which is decorated tastefully -- no guns on the wall, no American flags. On one wall there is a Matisse, and on another, various photos of the Chief with local celebrities. FLETCH You decorate this yourself or did Mrs. Chief of Police help you? CUMMINGS (laughs) You should have seen what she wanted to do with the place. Mauve. (shakes his head and pushes his papers aside) So what's your name? FLETCH Fletch. CUMMINGS Full name. FLETCH Fletch F. Fletch CUMMINGS (skeptical but patient) I see. And what do you do for a living, Mr. Fletch? FLETCH I'm President of the International Fletch Corporation. Cummings just stares at Fletch. CUMMINGS Why are you doing this Mr. Fletch? FLETCH Frankly sir, you look a little like my father. Probably explains the curious feeling of love I have for you. CUMMINGS For a gentleman who was just found holding a bag full of heroin... FLETCH It was planted on me, sir. CUMMINGS We're looking at five years, maybe ten. Is that what you want... Jane Doe? He suddenly kicks Fletch's chair out from under him. Fletch falls to the floor. CUMMINGS Your editor called me yesterday to respond to allegations you're about to print about police involvement in narcotics dealing. Fletch starts to get up, but Cummings plants his foot on Fletch's chest, forces him back down. CUMMINGS I'm about to break that beach wide open, and I don't need some pennyante Woodward and Bernstein getting in the way of my men. FLETCH 'Your men' might just be involved in all this. CUMMINGS You idiot. Off the record, deep background: I've got that beach crawling with undercover cops. Cummings picks Fletch up, and holds him by the lapels. CUMMINGS If you keep nosing around, you make the bad guys just a little bit more cautious. That makes my job harder. And if you print your story this week, you might get some of my men killed. I can't let that happen, Mr. Fletch. He throws Fletch against the wall of celebrity photos, some of which fall to the floor. CUMMINGS You go back to that goddamn beach, I swear to God I'll make you regret it. FLETCH (picks up a picture) Hey, you and Tommy Lasorda. That's great. Fletch takes the picture and hurls it across the room. It smashes into the opposite wall and shatters. FLETCH I don't like Tommy Lasorda. JAIL CORRIDOR Fletch is tossed into an empty cell by the two Cops who brought him in. Cummings watches. The two Cops leave, and we see that all the cells in this corridor are empty. FLETCH You can't keep me here. CUMMINGS Maybe I'm not going to keep you here. (takes out a gun) Maybe I'm gonna blow your brains out. FLETCH I'm no lawyer, but I do believe that's a violation of my rights. The Chief takes a knife out of his pocket, holding it with a handkerchief. CUMMINGS After I shoot you, I stick the knife in my arm, then place it in your dead hand. Self-defense. We don't do this very much anymore... but we have. Got rid of a lot of minorities that way. FLETCH My God, you're serious. CUMMINGS Ask anybody. FLETCH Can I ask anybody now? Cummings looks down the corridor. Deserted. FLETCH Can I call my Mom? I'd like to tell here how much I've always loved her. CUMMINGS (cocks the gun) What'll it be Fletch? Fletch looks in Cummings' eyes. They are steely and cold. He is quite serious. FLETCH I hate the beach. Wouldn't go there if you paid me. Besides, I'm way overdue on my story about off-track betting in the Himalayas. You don't think it's the mafia, do you? CUMMINGS (opening the cell) Its been very nice meeting you. I enjoy your column. Fletch walks out of the cell. Cummings walks with him through the empty corridor to the exit. CUMMINGS (very chummy) Speaking of which, you're not going to print anything before my investigation is through, are you? FLETCH Not a prayer. CUMMINGS That a boy. The emerge into the main hallway of the police station, which is filled with officers and civilians. Cummings makes a show of cordially shaking Fletch's hand as if they were old friends. CUMMINGS Thanks for coming down to see us. FLETCH Not at all, Chief. But next time... no tongue, okay? Exit Fletch. INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE Fletch is railing at Frank Walker. FLETCH How could you call him? WALKER It's called journalism, Fletch. It's called getting both sides of the story. Something you apparently don't know anything about. FLETCH It's also called getting me this close to being murdered. WALKER Get out of here. FLETCH He threw me in a cell, took a gun and a knife and threatened to kill me right there if I didn't promise to give up the story. WALKER You know, I've had it up to here with your bullshit. I need a story from you by tomorrow. FLETCH You'll have it. WALKER But not unsubstantiated charges about dope-dealing cops, and not horse shit paranoid fantasies about homicidal police chiefs. FLETCH (exiting) Thanks for the vote of confidence, Frank. WALKER (calling after him) I want something I can print! FLETCH (giving him the finger) Print this Frank. Exit Fletch. EXT. RACQUET CLUB Fletch again appears in his tennis whites and walks familiarly toward the patio. Rich people are having lunch. Fletch stops the waiter. FLETCH Hi, where's Mrs. Stanwyk? WAITER In her cabana, sir. FLETCH Oh, that's right. She told me to meet her there. That's cabana six? WAITER Cabana one. FLETCH One. WAITER Would you be caring for something to eat or drink, sir? FLETCH I would, actually. WAITER Charged to the Underhills, sir? FLETCH Right. Tell you what -- have you caviar? WAITER Yes, sir. Beluga. But it is eighty dollars the portion. FLETCH (whistles) I'd better only get two. How about the lobster thermidor? WAITER I recommend it. FLETCH Fine. And a couple of bottles of Dom Perignon. To cabana one. WAITER Very good, sir. The waiter leaves. Fletch looks around, takes a deep breath. FLETCH This is just the nicest place. EXT. CABANA ONE A little Spanish bungalow-type affair. Old California money- style elegance. Fletch rings the bell. MRS. STANWYK (V.O.) Who is it? FLETCH It's John. John... (forgets name) Znhcneelsky. MRS. STANWYK John Ultramalensky? She opens the door, clad only in a towel. A towel is wrapped around her head. She seems surprised, but not displeased, to see Fletch. She also seems a little at a loss for words. FLETCH Hi. MRS. STANWYK (finally) Hi. FLETCH I was hoping you'd say that. They have just shaken hands, and Fletch notices his hand is now sopping wet. MRS. STANWYK Uh... I'm just out of the shower. FLETCH Can I borrow your towel for a minute? She laughs a nervous little laugh. There is a bit of sexual tension here. MRS. STANWYK I'm sorry, I'm just surprised to see you. I didn't think... What do you want? FLETCH I ordered lunch. MRS. STANWYK You ordered it here? FLETCH Well, I knew this is where my mouth would be. MRS. STANWYK Down boy. With a nervous glance in both directions, she lets him in and closes the door behind them. INT. CABANA They stand there for a few seconds looking at each other. MRS. STANWYK I really should change. FLETCH No, I think you should stay the same wonderful person you are today. MRS. STANWYK I mean put clothes on. FLETCH Here, take mine. He starts to take off his shirt. She is amused, and responds playfully, but firmly. MRS. STANWYK Stop that! He does. MRS. STANWYK Have you gotten cuter since I last saw you? FLETCH Yes. She stands there, looking around, trying to act as if her heartbeat weren't speeding up. SFX: Knock at door. FLETCH Lunch... MRS. STANWYK God... She goes sprinting into the bathroom. FLETCH Come on in. The door opens. A second Waiter, Mexican, solemnly wheels in a cart bearing the goodies ordered by Fletch. The twin bottles of Dom Perignon juts from a silver ice bucket. WAITER You want I set up? FLETCH No thanks, I'll do it. Give yourself twenty dollars. Underhill. WAITER Muchas gracias. FLETCH Sierra del fuego. The waiter bows, leaves, shuts the door. Mrs. Stanwyk scampers back in, gazes at the cart as Fletch takes a bottle of Dom Perignon and pops the cork. MRS. STANWYK All this goes on Underhill's bill? FLETCH (offering her a glass) I saved his life during the war. MRS. STANWYK You were in the war? FLETCH No. He was. I got him out. She laughs and sighs, knowing she's getting into something she probably shouldn't. MRS. STANWYK I can't believe I'm doing this. Well, lets eat. She tucks a napkin in her towel like a bib and sits at the table. EXT. RACQUET CLUB - DAY The Underhills have just been handed the bill run up by Fletch. MR. UNDERHILL Four hundred bucks for lunch??? WAITER Your guest, sir. MR. UNDERHILL We have no guest here today. (reading the bill) Two bottles of Dom Perignon, hundred bucks a pop. Jesus H. Christ! Where is he? WAITER I believe he's with Mrs. Stanwyk. MRS. UNDERHILL Gail Stanwyk. Tom, if he's with Gail Stanwyk -- MR. UNDERHILL I don't care who he's with! This is criminal. MRS. UNDERHILL Tom... MR. UNDERHILL She's where, cabana one? WAITER Yes sir. Mr. Underhill stalks off. INT. CABANA - DAY Fletch and Mrs. Stanwyk are having lunch. Fletch sings while he opens the champagne. She is looking at his back which is turned to her. FLETCH 'I've been so many places in my life and times. I've sung a lot of songs, I've made some bad rhymes...' MRS. STANWYK It's amazing. FLETCH 'I've acted out my life on stages, with ten thousand people watching...' MRS. STANWYK Your bone structure, shoulders, neck... FLETCH 'But we're alone now, and I'm singing this song for you.' MRS. STANWYK Just like Alan. It's freaky. FLETCH Can I ask you a question? MRS. STANWYK Depends on the question. FLETCH Are you still in love with Alan? MRS. STANWYK No. (quickly) I mean, 'no you can't ask me that.' I mean, ask me something else. FLETCH Why'd you let me in? MRS. STANWYK Because I'm bored. Oh, that sounds terrible, doesn't it. I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I also let you in because I'm hungry. FLETCH Thanks, I feel much better. Listen, if you're so bored, why didn't you go to Utah with Alan? MRS. STANWYK Utah is not exactly a cure for boredom. FLETCH Good point. MRS. STANWYK Oh, listen to me. I've never even been there and look what I say about it. Anyway, I know there'd be nothing for me to do. I don't even know anybody there. FLETCH What about his parents? MRS. STANWYK He never sees them and I never met them. FLETCH How come? SFX: Insistent knock at door. Fletch and Mrs. Stanwyk freeze. MRS. STANWYK Yes? MR. UNDERHILL (V.O.) Mrs. Stanwyk, I hate to disturb you. Tom Underhill here... I'm a new member. Fletch rises. FLETCH Thanks for the great time. MRS. STANWYK (sotto voice) What is this? FLETCH Long story. MR. UNDERHILL (V.O.) Apparently, someone of your acquaintance has charged the most extraordinary lunch to my bill. MRS. STANWYK (hissing) John! Fletch starts pushing the lunch table towards the bathroom. MRS. STANWYK You don't know the Underhills? MR. UNDERHILL (V.O.) I'd appreciate an opportunity to discuss this with you. MRS. STANWYK I just stepped out of the shower! Can you give me a minute? MR. UNDERHILL (V.O.) Of course. Mrs. Stanwyk follows Fletch into the bathroom. INT. BATHROOM Fletch jams the cart into the bathroom. FLETCH Take one end. Mrs. Stanwyk lifts one side of the cart. They lift it and put it up into the bathtub. There's a window in the bathroom. Fletch opens it. FLETCH I'll be leaving now, Mrs. Stanwyk. MRS. STANWYK I think you should call me Gail, now. FLETCH Gail. I hope this won't embarrass you in any way. I think Underhill's a yutz, you won't have any trouble with him. MRS. STANWYK Why did you do it? Fletch shrugs, smiles. MRS. STANWYK A four hundred dollar lunch tab! FLETCH Yeah. MRS. STANWYK I'll cover it. You have any other surprises? FLETCH (after a beat) Yeah. My name's not John Ultramalensky and I wasn't at your wedding. She stares at him. MRS. STANWYK Who. FLETCH Irwin Fletcher. I write a newspaper column under the name Jane Doe. A long beat. MRS. STANWYK So? FLETCH So, your husband hired me to kill him. That's the truth. MRS. STANWYK What are you talking about? FLETCH That's what I want to know. EXT. CABANA Mr. Underhill knocks again. MR. UNDERHILL Mrs. Stanwyk! INT. BATHROOM MRS. STANWYK In a minute! FLETCH He told me he was dying of cancer. Not True. That ranch you thought you were paying for in Utah? Not true. MRS. STANWYK How do you know about that? FLETCH He's a bad guy, Mrs. Stanwyk. Gail. I think he's involved in something very big and very bad. MRS. STANWYK What does all this mean? FLETCH Have you ever heard the name Jim Swarthout? MRS. STANWYK Swarthout. Yes. He's the man who sold us the ranch in -- FLETCH Wrong. He sold you $3,000 worth of scrub brush. MRS. STANWYK But I've seen the deed. FLETCH You saw a forgery. He takes out his photographs. FLETCH That's the real deed. INSERT - PHOTO OF DEED It's is so fuzzy, shaky, and poorly framed that there's no way we can read the price on it. FLETCH (O.S.) Now, if this were at all legible, you'd believe me. MASTER Fletch shows her more of the photos. FLETCH Here's this dog that tried to eat me. Here's my motel. Here's the car I rented... MRS. STANWYK Stop it. (angry and concerned) Are you saying my husband is defrauding me? FLETCH I don't know. All I know is that he told me a lot of things and so far not one of them has been true. Mrs. Stanwyk stares at Fletch. She gets a little teary. FLETCH I'm really sorry I have to tell you all this. MR. UNDERHILL (O.S.) Mrs. Stanwyk? MRS. STANWYK (really screams) Just wait, all right?!? (to Fletch) I'm going to call my father. He'll know what -- Fletch stops her. FLETCH No. You can't. Look, I know you don't know me from Adam, but you've got to trust me. MRS. STANWYK Trust you? I may seem a little goofy at times, but I'm not a complete Bozo, you know. FLETCH Just give me twenty-four hours. Please. Someone almost killed me today. People are not being nice lately, and I don't want you getting hurt. I think you're terrific. Are you a Laker fan? Gail is now teary, confused, and scared. MRS. STANWYK No... I've got to go to Mr. Underhill... FLETCH I'll take you to a game. MRS. STANWYK What are you talking about? FLETCH I'm talking about how much I'd like to take you to a Laker game. MRS. STANWYK Wait a second. What am I supposed to do for twenty-four hours? FLETCH (climbing out window) Act natural. MRS. STANWYK I was afraid you'd say that. FLETCH If you need me, call the paper. Hand me that extra bottle okay? EXT. CABANA Gail opens the door where Mr. Underhill has been waiting. MRS. STANWYK Sorry. Here. (grabs the bill from his hand) Thanks. Bye. She closes the door in his face. EXT. BOYD AVIATION - PARKING LOT Alan Stanwyk crosses the parking lot and gets into his Jaguar. He starts the engine, backs out of his reserved space, and pulls out of the lot. ANOTHER ANGLE - PARKING LOT Fletch is reading a copy of Sports Illustrated. He puts it down, starts his car, and pulls out of the lot. SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD Stanwyk's Jaguar tools down Santa Monica Boulevard. Fletch's car follows, several discreet car lengths behind. INT. JAGUAR Stanwyk checks his watch, and makes a turn. MASTER Stanwyk has pulled into a service station. He gets out of his car and opens the trunk. FLETCH He pulls into a fast-food joint on the west side of the street. He opens the Sports Illustrated and peers over it. STANWYK He takes a gas can from the trunk, goes to the pump, fills it, and pays the attendant i