WD-40, Mother.
- Oh. - Costs, like, a nickel.
Or maybe, Mother, you could swallow your pride and just apologize to your super.
Oh, and to me, for ruining my Friday night, which is now being spent here.
So, what, why the frantic phone call?
Hello? Malory? Why did you call us?
Because if it was... Oh.
I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume it had something to do with that.
- It's not what it looks like. - Well, that's a relief.
Because, uh, it looks like you're sitting here with a gun, right?
And over there, strapped to a chair and shot to death...
...is a guy in a full-body latex catsuit.
Or am I misreading the situation?
Well, technically, it's a zentai. What?
A zentai covers the face and head. I think a catsuit just stops here.
Give me that.
I didn't shoot him.
You're saying the fact that your gun has recently been fired is...
Is unrelated to the dead guy over there who's chock-full of bullets.
Well, obviously they're related.
Yeah, do that, take that tone. But I swear, I didn't shoot him.
Oh, okay. So I guess he walks in here already shot, obviously panicking...
...so you restrain him with these leather cuffs...
...then to keep pressure on the wounds, you greased him up, squeezed him into this...
Zentai. And of course not, you ass.
Someone broke in here and shot him.
Okay, Malory?
Well, unless it was the creepy-old-people-bondage-sex police...
...why would anyone break in here and shoot him?
No answer? Okay, let's ask him.
Holy shit.
Because he's Savio Mascalzone.
Um... Oh, for...
The prime minister of Italy. The what?
Wait, doesn't Italy use a king?
Wha...? No, they don't use a king.
What year do you think this is?
I, uh... Yeah, exactly. Good question.
And, uh, speaking of questions...
No, no, no, don't. Don't go back there, Sterling.
I have a question, Mother.
Why does this chair have no seat?
And what...
...is in his ass?
- Mother, what is in this man's ass? - Oh, please.
Don't act like you've never seen a marital aid before.
Not in a dead prime minister's ass.
And you don't have to keep repeating it. We've established where it is.
Yeah, so you wanna move on to why?
Wait, not why that. Why he's here.
Savio and I met after the war when I was in Italy with Gladio.
Who's that, his brother?
No, it... Ew!
Are you finished?
Hang on.
Ew. Now I'm done.
Operation Gladio. It was a NATO stay-behind mission...
...set up to counter a possible Soviet invasion of Western Europe.
But then it sort of turned into this whole weird cryptofascist CIA shit show...
...starring Allen Dulles and a bunch of former Nazis.
Thanks, Holly Hindsight.
Anyway, Savio was in Italian intelligence...
Rimshot. Shut up.
- And we were working all these late nights.
There was a mutual attraction, one thing led to another...
Mm, please skip ahead.
Then he got married and went into politics.
But ever since then, once a year, he'd slip away...
...and we'd spend a romantic weekend together.
Well, you definitely nailed it. I mean, if this doesn't just scream "romance."
Archer. What, Lana?
What's more romantic than a dildo-party-slash-murder?
A murder I'm trying to get a handle on, so could you shut up a second?
And he wasn't always into that.
You mean vice versa? Shut up.
As he grew older, Savio's tastes became more and more exotic.
And so he started introducing all these accoutrements very gradually.
He'd have to. Thing's huge.
Ow! Ow!
Okay. Okay. I... Okay.
God, your hands are like cricket bats. Shut up.
What happened? Can you walk us through the crime?
Just the crime of murder, not the crime of sodomy-by-rubber-eggplant. Oh!
Savio was in town to give a speech at the U.N.
We'd made plans to meet here...
...so he gave his handlers the slip and arrived here at about 7.
We caught up over a glass or two of champagne.
Then I freshened up while Savio got changed and situated.
- So he put the, uh? In his own...? - Yes. Hush.
I came out of the bedroom...
I crossed over to the chair and tightened his last restraint.
Aah!
Then I went to refill my champagne. Ah.
Savio loved to be kept waiting. Mm. Ah.
And then, bang, in burst three men.
Savio!
Wait, whoa, whoa, back up. Why did you have a gun?
Hm? Oh, well, Savio liked it to seem a little dangerous. You know?
No, Mother, I don't. Jesus, what else was on tonight's menu?
Sex under a hive of Africanized bees?
Archer.
So you fired three times...
And missed.
- Can you believe it? - No.
Oh, sorry, was that rhetorical?
Lawyer up, call the cops. What?
Hit the throttle on the bourbon...
...because I'm gonna have to, uh, heh, bust you in the face a couple times.
What are you talking about? Self-defense. It's your only shot.
We gotta uncuff him and de-dildo him, obviously.
We'll smash the furniture like he was chasing you around all rape-y.
Fortunately, he's Italian, so that shouldn't be hard to sell.
I didn't shoot him.
On purpose. Exactly. The gun just went off.
You probably wanna play that a lot softer with a jury.
A jury? When you don't believe me?
Mother, come on. I mean, I want to believe you, but...
But those bullet holes don't prove anyone else was here.
Well, maybe those don't.
Unh! What?
Malory, you got shot.
Yes, I know dear, I was there.
Let me see. Take off your coat. No. I'm fine, it's just a through-and-through.
Mother. What? I put Bactine on it.
Mother. Sterling.
The Italian prime minister was just assassinated in my apartment.
And so I think an apology is in order.
Thank you. I mean, I know it's hard for you.
You two owe me an apology.
For what? Not believing me.
How about for you dragging us into your S&M dildo-sex-murder freak show?
Look. You look.
I bet I'll never be able to have sex again without thinking about this.
I bet I won't even be able to eat spaghetti and meatballs.
- Oh, God. - What?
I could eat.
I mean, not necessarily spaghetti and meatballs...
...but, you know, not necessarily not spaghetti and meatballs.
I mean, I really like spaghetti and meatballs.
Man, if I don't get some spaghetti and meatballs, I may literally die.
- Oh, and thanks so much. - You're welcome.
Wait till you try it, because I'm just kind of winging it here.
I meant for dragging me into this.
Still, you're welcome.
So we've got a dead Italian prime minister in the living room, which...
Sucks. Bet he knew how to make sauce.
Which will be hard to explain.
Given the circumstances leading up to his death, which were...
Dildo-y. Unseemly.
Eh. Potato, po-dildo.
So plausible deniability isn't a super-realistic goal here.
We need to sneak the body out.
Sure, we'll just walk a dead body right out the front door. Idiot.
What then? Burn the apartment down?
We're not burning down my apartment.
You sure? Shut up. I hit broil instead of bake.
Well, blood loss can make you stupid. Can I please look at your wound?
No. Nor can you burn down my apartment, so think of something else.
I shall fetch a rug.
Something "else" else.
You're not rolling him up in one of my rugs.
Why not?
Because then what?
We get some coveralls and a carpet-cleaning van...
...and just walk him right out the front door.
You just called me an idiot for that. Your version didn't have coveralls.
Could we go out through the basement?
No. We'd have to go past the super's apartment, and his door is always open.
I assume to let the stink of cabbage waft through the halls, but...
So you think he'd be a problem? God, yes.
We're not on the best of terms.
Well, ma'am, it's just, at Christmas, the tenants usually give me a small consideration...
...for the work I do all year keeping up the building.
We surely count on it, ma'am.
Especially this year, as we had more than the usual medical bills.
Your point being? Well, it's just that, for the third year running...
...you give me a potato.
Oh, dear.
So once again you're faced with the classic Irishman's dilemma:
Do I eat the potato now or let it ferment so I can drink it later?
Will I get the operation now, Da? No, son.
You're gonna die.
What is your problem with the Irish?
You mean besides not being on our side in World War II?
Yeah, besides that.
Wait, seriously? They were Nazis? No.
They're not Japanese. Neutral.
Now, since I don't wanna be an accessory after the fact...
...how's about we figure out a way to get that body out of the apartment?
Where did we land on the coveralls thing?
I don't know where we'd get coveralls this time of night, so...
So if we can't get the body out of here in one piece...
Nope. What?
Lana, it's the only way. What is?
No. Malory, I've done some messed-up shit working for you...
...but I am not, repeat not, chopping up a dead body.
Oh. Ew, Mother.
What? My God, do you want me to get the electric chair?
For a murder you both know I didn't commit?
Malory, I just can't. Me neither.
Can't or won't?
I... Whatever. Call it her can't, me won't.
No, hey, Mother, come on. Stop that. Stop it.
Here, here, look. I'm gonna get help.
From who?
I need access to a 2-inch drain, hot water, three GFCI outlets...
...this bathroom should do nicely, and a pot of coffee like I like my women:
Black, bitter, preferably fair trade.
Oh, and your sauce needs less salt. How can you...?
Put two halves of a potato in with the sauce, it'll absorb the salt.
Oh, and I assume that's our patient?
Not ours, Krieger, yours.
Thank you.
Ugh, too salty. Yeah, I know. You got a potato?
What is this, Christmas?
And is Krieger hard at work?
He literally might be, yes. Ew.
Well, say what you will about him... I did.
He's discreet. So no one else will ever know about this whole...
Aah! What in the...?
- Hell is that?
- Oh, God! - Hopefully, my greatest work yet.
No. No, no, no. Whatever this is, I am not getting mixed up in it.
Too late. Malory.
Hey, whoa, whoa, everybody calm down.
- It's not what it looks like. - Then what is it, exactly?
Because it sure as shit ain't a surprise party, Krieger. You big fat liar.
Someone's framing Malory for murdering the prime minister of Italy.
Ooh, I bet it's that wicked king. So? Why'd Krieger drag us into it?
Yes, Krieger. Why?
I needed help disseminating him.
Ew!
Not what it means. Still pretty gross, though.
And brilliant. When I'm done, each of us will walk out carrying a small parcel.
How small?
Eh. On our way home, we simply drop the parcels...
...into seven different trash cans in three different boroughs.
That's actually pretty smart.
Hopefully, when you look at the drop points on a map...
- ...it'll look like a big smiley face. Ha-ha-ha!
- That's gross. - You're just a mess.
- That's kind of clever. Super-creepy.
Every time, every single time we come over here...
...we have to help you get rid of a dead body. You've only been here twice.
Speaking of, why was the prime minister of Italy here?
Don't ask. And follow up...
...did those dastardly dagos kill him and then dress him up like a big giant penis, or...?
- Oh, God, that reminds me. Krieger? - Yeah, I found it.
- Found what? - Don't ask.
Can I keep it? Keep what?
Don't ask. Just get it out of here, please.
Yeah, take that tone.
I'd like to know how this could possibly get any worse.
For one thing, there's not enough sauce for everybody.
N.Y.P.D. Open up, please.
Cheese it, it's the cops.
Oh, shit. Busted.
And/or the police could show up. Oh, for the... Now what do we do?
Cover your arm up, answer the door and stall them.
And then somebody get me a number 10 can of tomatoes.
What? There's already not enough sauce.
N.Y.P.D. Come on, lady, open the door.
Coming. Sorry, I was in the kitchen.
I'm making spaghetti and meatballs.
Hi, I'm... Italian, huh? Well, that's a coincidence.
Oh, are you Italian, officer?
No, and it's detective. Murphy.
Irish. That's right.
We got an anonymous tip that Savio Mascalzone was up here.
Ooh! Who's that, some mobster?
Prime minister? Of Italy?
Doesn't Italy use a king? I wouldn't know.
Somebody dead? What?
Oh, my bird. Little Tweetsie.
Uh-huh. Well, that's another coincidence...
...because this anonymous tip said Mascalzone was dead up here.
What? Oh, for heaven's sake. Yeah. Right here in the living room.
Well, as you can see, there hasn't been a murder in here. My gosh.
Although I guess someone must have spilled a drink.
I have a few dear friends over for a dinner party.
Uh-huh. Mind if I talk to them? Heavens, no, of course not, but...
What's in here? Bathroom?
Uh-huh.
My guests are in here, detective, but...
What are you doing?
From the left, dear. One serves from the left.
Whatever's gotten into you, Calpurnia?
My mistake, ma'am.
Well, I should say it is, Calpurnia.
Mother, your maid is...
Oh, hello. Evening. Sorry to disturb your, uh...
Elegant dinner party, for the most elegant people in all of New York.
Uh-huh. But we got a tip there'd been a murder up here.
Good heavens, a murder?
Well, apart from this sullen wench murdering good etiquette... Ow!
I find the very suggestion laughable. Heh-heh.
Ha-ha-ha. Which is what I'm doing. I'm laughing.
So you don't mind if I look around? Uh, no, of course not.
Calpurnia? May I speak with you in the kitchen?
Certainly. Ow. Heh-heh.
All right, I'll let you get back to your, uh...
Ooh-ooh, elegant dinner party.
Uh-huh.
I hate you all so much.
No one cares, Figgis.
You were only invited to round out the numbers.
What, how is this my fault?
Gee, where to start? Oh, the murder?
I thought you meant that silly French maid costume.
Which makes you look ridiculous. And which...
Why do you even...? Never mind, I don't even wanna know.
Good, it's none of your beeswax.
Here. I hope you won't need it, but... Why would I need?
Whoa! Uh-uh. Nope. Lana.
Malory, I am not killing a...
A perfectly nice dinner, Calpurnia.
By God, if you were my servant, I'd have you over my knee in a trice.
And, Mother, the constable wishes a word.
- He does? I mean, yes? - Yeah.
Sorry for the intrusion. That tip must have been a hoax.
I checked out the apartment. It's clean.
No thanks to this one. Mm...
Sullen wench.
I mean, indubitably, lieutenant.
So then, I'll, uh... I'll just be on my way.
It's just, who would call in with a fake tip like that though?
I wouldn't be surprised if it was our super, Mr. Herlihy. He drinks.
Ah. Thanks, I'll check...
Oh, hey, I never checked this bathroom. You mind?
I... No, of course not. Be my guest.
Whoo! Oh.
Sorry, didn't know anyone was waiting. I'd recommend the other bathroom.
I mean, I did what I could, but you can only ask so much of a vanilla candle. Dinner ready?
My God. Ugh! Yeah. Whoa.
He really did a number. Make sure he didn't leave an upper decker.
Sorry again for the intrusion, ma'am.
Uh, Herlihy, you said his name was? Hm?
Oh, yes. Yes, that's right.
Ow! Lana come on, I was... Ow! I'll show you a sullen wench.
Whistling bitch. Right then. That snoopy detective is gone...
...thanks to Dr. Krieger, so...
Krieger? What about the rest of us?
The rest of you can get out of my clothes and then out of my house.
But thank you all so much for coming.
- Oh, shut up, ma'am. - Loved it.
Never again. Thanks for dead guy in a box.
Not very elegant. No, thanks for having us. Amazing.
And remember, smiley face.
And thank you. Krieger, wait.
The bathroom, the body, how did you...?
You don't wanna know.
But you do probably want to go wash your lips now.
Ew! Ugh. Ugh.
Screw you, Archer. Sullen wench?
Lana, come on, I was just kidding. I had to make it look good.
You had to make it look good? Well, and also annoy you.
Walther PP, chambered for.32 ACP. What's the magazine capacity?
Uh, eight?
Eight rounds, plus one in the chamber, for a total of nine.
Hey, thanks, Rain Man. Your point being?
Malory's clip was empty. But she said she only fired three shots.
Oh, my God. So you're saying Mother lured Mascalzone up there...
...greased him into a 6-foot man rubber, strapped him to a chair...
I know, dear. But you have to wait.
Calls us...
What? Mother, calm... I'm on my way.
Don't move. I'll, uh... I'll probably be back.
Then she pulls a gun on him?
What is this? A crock of shit.
Because that would mean she called the cops on herself.
Knowing they'd never come back after they searched her apartment.
Which was full of people and spotless.
Oh, my God, do the math, Rain Man. The wall was shot three times.
Mascalzone was shot five times.
For a total, wait for it, of eight.
Yep. Plus the one in her arm. Heh-heh.
So, what, Mother shot herself? Oh, my God, Lana.
Why? I'll tell you exactly why. Before I kill you.
Operation Gladio. Gladio?
Which would mean Mother's been banging him once a year for like 35 years...
...and the whole time she's been holding a grudge, right?
Just waiting to...
Holy shit. She killed him.
And got us to dispose of the body. Ew.
But why? After all this time?
Well, to be honest, until recently, the sex has been pretty phenomenal.
And I figured, eh, what's the hurry?
But then you started getting weird.
But why you make la vendetta?
Because one night, all those years ago in Rome...
...you and your fascist thugs gunned down a young man in the street.
A beautiful man. Blue eyes, full lips, black, thick, wavy hair.
What was this man's crime? Well, I wouldn't call speaking out...
...against the rebirth of fascism a crime.
More of a mistake. By a beautiful, idealistic young man.
Who may have been my son's father.
May have been? You don't know?
Who knows? It's Malory. You really wanna know why she killed a guy?
I... do not. No.
Although, I am curious why she wouldn't take off that trench coat.
Mm. Honey, you still got it.
Uh-huh-huh.
So much of this I never wanna know the answer to.
Okay, how about a slice?
God, what is with me and Italian lately?