(low hissing)
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(snoring)
(elevator bell dings)
Miss Redmond?
(elevator bell dings)
Miss Redmond. (knocking)
Miss Redmond.
(British accent): She can't hear you.
The old darling's deaf as a post.
What's the problem?
She's got gas.
She's got what?
No, I mean, I can smell gas.
Oh.
Miss Redmond!
Good Lord, you're right.
Come on, Doris, darling, wake up.
GARY: Come on, Doris. Come on, dear.
You left the gas on. GARY: Wake up.
Last week, it was the water, poor old duck.
Miss Redmond, please open
the door, would you?
Hey, where you going?
Hey... Mi...
Miss...
All right, now, if you want
to go down to the street,
I may need your help in a minute.
(groans)
(hissing)
(snoring)
(murmuring)
(onlookers murmuring)
(sighs)
Once more into the breach, dear friends.
(crowd murmuring in concern)
(hissing)
(sighs)
Doris, dear, it's Clive.
Come on.
You and I are going for a little ride.
DORIS: What are you doing?
(Clive grunting)
Oh, sorry, we haven't... we haven't got a moment to lose.
One spark could set
this whole thing off. What are you doing?
CLIVE: Come on, let's go... hurry, hurry.
(crowd murmuring)
(explosion) (crowd screaming, gasping)
MAN: Did you get that? Did you get that?
MAN 2: Relax... I'm getting it, I'm getting it.
(Clive grunting)
That was amazing.
Pretty easy, really.
Well, you... you saved her life.
MAN: Yeah, it's going to be on all the news channels.
Yeah, let's hope it doesn't end mine.
Huh?
(theme music playing)
CHUCK: What if you knew, beyond a doubt,
what was going to happen tomorrow?
What would you do?
There's no easy answer
for a guy who gets tomorrow's news today.
♪
(radio chimes)
RADIOCASTER: Good morning, Chicago.
It's another cold one out there.
Forecast is freezing temperatures,
(cat meowing) and 90% chance of more snow tonight.
(newspaper thuds against door) Ooh, it's going to be a cold one...
(broadcast stops)
(purrs)
"Hero killed in hit and run."
(tires screeching)
Great... now I get to save yesterday's hero.
I'm out of here.
CHUCK: Wait a minute.
What about more pressing issues
in the world? Like what?
Like this painting and scraping,
which you were supposed to help me with.
Yeah, well, yesterday, I had to stop a woman from blowing up.
And-and now this guy that helps me,
he's here in the paper again.
Don't you think that's kind of strange?
Oh, yeah... humanity first.
Leave all the chores to Fishman. Look, I'll help you
with the painting later.
Right now, I got to deal with Clive,
uh... Harbison.
Sun-Times.
Thanks, buddy.
Gotcha, you little limey!
(chuckles)
Oh, hello, it's you.
Yeah, I'm sorry, old man.
I'm fresh out of heroics today.
What are you doing... you moving?
That's very perceptive of you.
Oh, that's... that's good.
That's good... you should move.
You should move on in life.
That's very healthy.
Matter of fact, you know what I think?
I think that you should start moving right now.
Are you daft?
I'm waiting for a removal van.
Yeah, but it's cold outside, and you...
you don't want to catch a cold. (chuckles)
Call this cold?
You should try a Scottish grass moor at dawn.
Ah!
(tires squealing)
Move it! Coming through!
Here we go, baby.
(chuckles)
Oh, bloody hell.
(tires squealing)
Come on, run, you idiot!
Whoa!
This way. Whoa! Go in there!
Whoa!
(tires squealing)
MAN: Open the damn door! Open it!
I think this is what they call
an extreme example of road rage.
I got you now, Clive!
You're not getting away from me now!
(gun firing)
I got you, you lousy little limey punk!
(grunting)
(gun firing)
Hold those doors!
(gun firing)
(screaming, gunfire ricochets)
Whoa, hold that bus!
Hey!
Hey, open those doors!
I'm going to get your number!
CLIVE: Funny little lad.
(sighs)
Spot of courage?
No.
You don't mind if I do, eh?
Well...
I'm indebted to you, Mr., uh...
Hobson... Gary Hobson.
Ah, well, tell me something, Mr. Hobson.
How is it you always seem to manage to turn up
at the moment du crise, as it were.
Uh... forget about that.
Who was that guy?
Never saw him before in my life.
Uh-huh.
Look, uh... can I trust you, old man?
Have you, uh...
have you ever heard of the acronym MI6?
Military intelligence, espionage.
Obviously, I can't divulge any details.
Suffice it to say that in my chosen line of work,
one tends to make enemies along the way.
You're a spy?
Shh.
Officially, I'm supposed to deny that.
Unbelievable.
(laughs) It is rather, isn't it?
No, no, what I mean
is I don't believe a word you just said.
Oh.
Perhaps that's just as well, for both our sake.
So, where are you going to go now?
Oh, I'm... I'm going to follow procedure.
You know, go to ground, disappear.
And what... what about all your belongings?
Oh, casualties of war.
We rehearse for that sort of eventuality, Hobson.
And on no account
should you blame yourself for what happened.
Blame myself?
Yes, for exposing me, blowing my cover,
destroying months of laborious effort.
You weren't to know.
Don't give it another thought... oh.
My stop.
(bell ringing)
Blast. Ha!
I seem to have mislaid my wallet.
Oh, well.
C'est la guerre.
Hey, wait.
CHUCK: You invited him here? GARY: Yep.
He's staying with you? (Clive singing in other room)
Yeah.
Gare, how many times have I told you,
don't get involved?
Look, you can catch them,
but you can't cook them. Look, the guy
doesn't have a job, he-he's out of money,
he doesn't have anywhere to go, he...
Look, people are trying
to kill him, and I'm responsible.
Oh, there you go again,
putting the whole world on your shoulders.
A tree gets cut down in the rain forest,
and it's your fault.
Do you even know who this guy is?
You don't really believe he's a spy, do you?
No, I don't believe he's a spy.
I-I-I see the guy twice in the last two days.
That's a little bit more
than a coincidence, don't you think?
Yeah, it's a coincidence,
but Gare, everything is a c... (door opening)
CLIVE: Oh, hello.
Wouldn't happen to have
a washing machine handy, would you?
Huh? Well...
Thank you.
Uh, Gary, you...
Huh?
Oh, uh, Clive Harbison,
this is Chuck, uh, Fishman.
Oh. The co-manager of the bar downstairs.
Oh, delighted.
Never met a bar manager I didn't like.
On Her Majesty's Secret Service, huh?
I beg your pardon?
Look, he... he can be trusted.
Keep it under your hat.
Oh, absolutely.
I think, if you don't mind,
I'll pop downstairs for a quick pick-me-up.
Can I get you chaps anything?
No, thank you. Oh, all right.
Um, Mr. Harbison, how long do we have
the honor of your presence? Oh, uh, two weeks at the outside.
Just a question of laying low till everything calms down. (laughs)
Oh, don't worry, I have no intention of imposing.
On hangers,
please, and, uh,
no starch.
(British accent): Righto.
You can rest easy, Mr. Phelps.
Your heart's going to do just fine.
What do you mean?
The museum isn't interested in your painting.
What? Why not?
Because it's a fake.
Not a bad job, either, but...
A fake?
It can't be.
One, the brushwork is too studied.
This is a laborious copy.
Laistre painted in broad, vibrant strokes.
Especially in contrast to the Eutra school,
which was so popular at the time.
Two, the canvas is of a manufacturer
that wasn't available until the 1800s.
Laistre died in 1660.
And three, I happen to have seen
the original of this painting.
It hangs in a private collection
outside Paris.
Oh.
I know it may be small comfort, Mr. Phelps,
but many educated collectors are taken in by forgeries.
That's why the Guggenheim hired me.
You're sure?
Positive.
(indistinct newscast plays nearby)
If the painting gave your father pleasure,
then it's done its job.
I'm sorry to disappoint you.
I'll see myself out.
ANCHOR: ...with a fascinating human interest story.
REPORTER: Local resident Clive Harbison
scaled down an eight-story building
to break into the apartment of Mrs. Doris Redmond,
then helped her down, saving her from a gas explosion.
The apartment burst into flames seconds after
Mr. Harbison carried her to safety.
Show a little imagination.
Imagination? You...
you want red ceilings, peach walls, and white molding?
It's a statement.
A statement?
Yeah, it makes a statement, all right.
"Get out of here fast."
And what would you know about that?
It even sounds disgusting, Chuck.
I must say, your beef,
absolutely first class.
Mmm. No mad cows here.
Hello. What's all this?
Yeah, well, see, I am trying to redecorate,
but I am getting no help from these two Philistines.
What'd you have in mind?
You know, something bold,
something splashy.
Tell you what.
Why don't you let me have a stab at it, hmm?
I mean, least I can do, under the circs.
You paint?
I dabble.
Oh! Besides...
I've never been one to trade on the kindness of strangers.
Hey, some people sing
for their suppers.
Why don't you let me paint for mine?
(elevator bell dings)
All right, let's see now.
1204... 1204...
Hmm.
Here we go.
(humming)
(lock clicks) Okay.
Open sesame.
Flown the coop, huh?
Smart guy.
Very smart.
(thump)
You can run, but you cannot hide.
GARY: Look, can't this wait?
CHUCK: You'll want to see this, believe me.
The guy was up all night painting it.
Now, listen, I've got things I gotta do here, Chuck.
Voilà.
Mm-hmm.
GARY: He did all that?
Some dabbler, huh?
Pretty darn talented.
So you're an artist?
Oh, no, no, I'm not an artist.
No, my talent lies more in the realm of imitation,
rather than creation.
You know, you have a real gift. You can make
a lot of money at this. (laughs)
The world of commerce had a different opinion,
so I turned my talents in a different direction.
So, what about the, uh...
the spy thing?
Look, you've all been very kind.
I-I was just trying to find some way of repaying you, that's all.
Let's-let's just leave it at that, shall we?
And, uh, who was that guy yesterday?
The one that tried to kill you?
Um, uh, a business associate.
Well, a former business associate.
We had a bit of a falling out.
Well, Gary and I have a falling out every day,
but I don't try and run him over with my car.
Yes, well, Marty's got rather a hot temper,
but I wouldn't worry about him.
I mean, his-his bark is a lot worse than his bite.
(bullet casings pinging)
(chuckles)
Dead meat.
CHUCK: One minute I got peach and white moldings,
and the next, I'm looking at the Sistine Chapel.
MARISSA: Gotta hand it to him... the man's got talent.
CHUCK: Yeah, a regular Renaissance man.
Hey, where the hell have you been?
A chicken truck.
What? Chicken truck?
At the... a school bus ran into a chicken truck,
and the chicken truck, it... it's a long story.
(hearty laughter nearby)
Where's Clive?
Oh, he's in the kitchen
teaching Mario how to make crepes Suzette.
Crepes Suzette?
MARISSA: Yeah, they're really good.
Turns out he's a gourmet cook, too.
You know, I think I might get used to this guy.
Really?
MARTY: Gary Hobson?
Read about you in the paper the other day.
Where is he?
Who?
You know who. CHUCK: Hey, shorty,
we're closed, so why don't you get on out of here, huh?
Really?
Uh, come to think of it, now we're open.
Do you like crepes Suzette?
MARTY: No.
Hey, what's going on, guys? Where is he?
GARY: I-I-I-I don't know.
I... (stammers)... I don't even really know
who he is even.
Hmm.
All right, I know you're here,
you limey piece of...
Clive.
Faye!
(grunts)
Oh!
Ow!
You don't want to get
between me and Clive, you got me?
'Cause I can't be responsible
for who gets caught in the crossfire.
Could be you. Could be him.
It could be her.
We understand each other?
GARY: Well, now wait a second... MARTY: Good.
I'll be back.
Let me guess.
That was Marty.
Marty.
Faye, if you'll just let me explain... Do I have to hit you again?
I will, I swear.
(muffled grunting)
(moans)
Let me go.
Could we talk about this inside?
(sighs)
I wish Crumb were here.
He'd know what to do.
Well, can we contact him?
Uh, no, you can't,
because Crumb is on a river
in Montana. Sleeping in tents.
CLIVE: How the devil did you find me?
I went looking for Gary Hobson.
The paper said he assisted you. Oh.
Hello, Clive.
Hi. Uh, Charles, Gary, Marissa,
um... I have a friend to introduce.
This lovely young thing...
(gasps)
...is Faye Davis.
CHUCK: I gotta hand it to you, Clive.
You got a devoted bunch of friends.
FAYE: I am not his friend.
Nor am I a young thing.
Listen to me, you patronizing, double-dealing four-flusher,
you will finish what you started,
or I'll see you behind bars, I swear it. Faye...
Don't "Faye" me. Faye...
You've got till Friday. Faye...
If that painting isn't back where it belongs,
I will find you and personally
nail your sorry hide to the wall.
Nice meeting you.
Lovely woman.
(door slams)
Absolutely no sense of humor.
You want to explain?
Oh, now listen, Hobbers... No, no.
Wait a second. Don't-don't call me Hobbers either.
Let me tell you something. The last two days,
I've had a gun stuck in my nose,
I've been shot at and almost ran over.
So now, why don't you try to explain right now?
I suppose you're right. Yeah.
And the-the truth, Clive.
The whole, and, uh, nothing but...
so help me God.
Oh, Lord, but that woman can hit.
We're waiting.
Oh, yes. Right.
Well, um, let me take you back to London.
The swinging '60s.
Home of penniless young art student Clive Harbison.
Night in, night out,
he would toil diligently in his Chelsea studio
to hone his craft...
to summon forth art from the chaos.
His paintings were received politely,
but something was missing.
All too quickly he recognized his own limitations.
No fresh ideas, no originality.
His real gift was for mimicry.
In copying the masters,
it was as if the spirit of the artist entered into him.
He could reproduce their works
with uncanny accuracy and understanding.
And once that gift was recognized,
our young hero's life took a...
a somewhat unusual turn.
Many a man's vices have been nothing worse
than good qualities run wild.
So it was with the brilliant new art thief,
who came to be known as the Chameleon.
CHUCK: Wait a minute. Wait a minute.
Let me get this straight.
You steal a famous painting,
you replace it with a copy,
and no one ever found out?
Well, in some cases, the curators know,
but they're too embarrassed to admit
they've got a forgery on their walls.
So, how'd you get mixed up with Marty?
Marty, yes.
Well, despite his boorish manners,
Marty Jarmisch was plugged in to a certain strata
of modern day robber barons,
who would gladly overpay for a piece of artwork
they could never publicly display or even acknowledge.
Well, what about your conscience?
Didn't that bother you?
My conscience?
Um, yes, well, it tugged a bit...
on occasions.
But I was young, Marissa.
Intoxicated with the good life.
Besides, I figured if my copies were fooling
the experts, then the public wasn't really losing out.
Anyway, what were my sins compared with those
who were underwriting my career? Yeah, yeah, yeah.
So then what happened, Clive?
Yeah, well, all good things come to an end.
And one hot summer night in Torremolinos,
Marty blundered.
In a rare fit of generosity,
he made a gift to a dark lady of his acquaintance...
a watercolor by Goya... What's this?
...recently liberated by yours truly from a nearby villa.
What's this? What...
Unfortunately, the police were onto the theft,
and caught him red-handed.
Poor Marty.
He took the fall, instead of me.
Ah, the vicissitudes of fortune.
Mmm.
How the wheel turns.
Somehow, the years passed, and I found myself in Chicago,
where a local businessman
who'd made an illegal fortune through insider trading,
expressed keen interest
in a Vincent Van Gogh he'd long admired.
In the course of researching the assignment,
I met a young woman by the name of Faye Davis,
recently employed as a curator of the museum.
Drawn together by a mutual interest in art,
we soon developed a warm friendship.
Faye knew nothing of my chosen profession.
I pulled off the Van Gogh job without a hitch.
Unfortunately, I hadn't counted
on Faye's expertise.
She detected the forgery,
put two and two together, and came up with me.
We talked things over...
No, don't throw that! ...and I solemnly undertook
to mend my ways.
To wit, to return the painting,
give up crime, and make an honest woman out of Faye.
Or perhaps I should say, allow her
to make an honest man out of me.
MARISSA: So, you were gonna
marry her? What else could I do?
I'd finally met my match. CHUCK: But you got
cold feet.
Uh, well, not exactly.
So, she got cold feet.
If you'd just let me finish.
Let him finish.
Finish.
CLIVE: I set out to retrieve the van Gogh from its new owner.
I told Faye to meet me at the museum at midnight,
when who should come crawling out of the upholstery, but...
Say good-bye, Clive!
...my old pal. (gun clicks)
Somewhat the worse for wear after three years
in a Spanish prison,
Marty was in an extremely truculent state of mind.
Yes. Anyway, my quick wit saved mefrom a grizzly fate.
I had to disappear double quick, and Faye...
poor Faye... was left in the lurch,
feeling betrayed and abandoned.
So you never contacted her?
What can I say that she'd ever believe?
Hell hath no fury, and all that.
Besides, I figured that fate was trying to tell me something.
That it was too late to change.
You know, once a thief...
And-And so... so how long ago was this, Clive?
Three years.
Yeah, I laid low in a variety of countries.
Finally made it back here
to the one place I figured they wouldn't look for me...
the scene of the crime.
I made a living painting portraits.
Children, mostly.
I was beginning to think I'd put my past behind me.
And then we ran into each other.
Yes, well, no regrets there.
Saving Doris
is one of the few acts I can look back on
with unabashed pride.
I should be grateful to you, old man.
Let me get this straight.
This museum has your Van Gogh.
So where is Van Gogh's Van Gogh?
Well, actually, not very far from here, in a private home.
So, now what?
Oh, I would have thought that was obvious.
I retrieve the picture, and I replace it in the museum.
It's either that or face the fury of Faye Davis,
which is a fate I'd rather avoid.
Hmm. So, you're gon...
You're gonna steal that painting?
In a nutshell, yes.
And not to worry, Hobbers.
I may be out of practice,
but this larceny business is like riding a bicycle.
Ah. Ooh, I'd better go.
A lot of work to do.
Hmm.
(British accent): Not to worry, Hobbers.
(meowing)
How many times I told you, this is my chair?
(trains rattling in distance)
"Thief mauled by guard dogs. Arrested."
(barking)
MARISSA: You don't want to help him? GARY: Help him?
The guy's a crook. But a nice crook. He has a good heart, Gary.
He just went down the wrong road for a while.
He went down the...
He's been down the same wrong road for 20 years now.
But it was for a good cause.
Yeah. Something like, uh,
stealing from the rich to enlighten the poor.
MARISSA: Look, you'd be giving him a chance to redeem
himself, to start over again, and do something with his life.
Redeem... What you two want me to do is, you want me,
with a known felon, to break into a private residence
and steal a painting!
A stolen painting that was illegally obtained
by a guy who made millions cheating in the stock market.
You want to take my car?
(barking)
Shh, shh.
This... This is what comes of hasty research.
(barking)
CHUCK: Are you hungry, pup?
Nice doggie. (grunting)
What was that?
Sleeping pills.
Good Lord.
(quiet growl)
CHUCK: Good boy. Huh?
Nice doggie. (dog whining)
(Chuck sighs)
Ha! That was quick.
Well, I'm-I'm much obliged to you chaps.
But how on earth did you find me?
Well, uh, I-I read an article.
Uh, the ten richest guys in Chicago,
and, uh, three of 'em happened to be art buffs, so the, uh...
We went to the, uh, first two houses
earlier, which is why we were late.
Yeah, but what about the dog?
Dog was in the article.
Oh, I see.
Oh, right. Well,
I'll be off then.
All right. Yeah.
Good hunting.
(mumbles)
Let's go. Hey.
Ah, come on.
Wait a minute.
You're not going anywhere.
Look at this.
(Chuck panting)
GARY: Oh, for Pete's sake.
Oh.
(clock chimes playing tune)
Clive, don't do that!
Huh?
(gasps)
Now what?
The-The painting...
there's-there's a, uh... uh...
Passive infrared motion detector.
What?
Good Lord, you're right.
God, a crafty beggar.
Yeah.
Yeah, but how on earth did you find that out?
Uh, the article.
That is one well-researched story.
All right, this is gonna take some careful maneuvering.
All right, steady on, old man.
Cool and calm.
(sighs)
CHUCK: Hey, check it out.
Gare, they got an autographed Michael Jordan sneaker.
All right, steady as you go. No sudden moves.
CHUCK: You know,
I think these are the very same shoes he wore against
the Jazz in the finals.
I can practically smell the sweat from here.
(gasps) Got it.
(loud beeping)
Oh, brilliant!
What do we do now?
Run away!
CLIVE: Uh, uh, uh!
Don't touch, old man.
So, uh, this is an original Van Gogh, huh?
How much is a thing like this worth?
On the open market, something upwards of $30 million.
$30 million?
For something like this?
Guy can't even stay inside the lines.
(chuckles)
Right. Now for that museum.
This could be tricky.
Um, I might need some help here.
CHUCK: Help?
Some help with what?
Oh, well, nothing elaborate, Hobbers.
And this time, there won't be any dogs.
Yeah, yeah. Let me tell you something.
First of all, my name's not Hobbers,
and second of all, they don't have dogs at museums.
They-They've got guards with guns.
MARISSA: Clive, why don't
you just turn the painting over
to the police anonymously or something?
No, I can't do it, dear.
There's Faye to consider.
Faye?
Yes.
Oh, didn't I tell you?
She was the curator of the museum
when I stole the Van Gogh.
And if it came out that the museum had accepted a piece
of forged art while she was on watch, so
to speak... well, it would just ruin her reputation.
(door opening)
No. The only way I can put these things right is
to break into that museum myself
and replace the painting.
How are plans shaping up?
Faye. Talk of the devil.
Faye.
My God... you did it.
Uh, the first part, yes.
Uh, Faye, could we talk out there?
Fantastic.
Yeah, isn't it just?
Would you excuse us?
Sure. Um, make yourselves at home.
CLIVE: Uh, just through here.
What are you doing here?
Isn't it obvious?
Keeping an eye on you.
No need for that.
I gave you my word. (laughs)
Yes, well,
we both know what that's worth, don't we?
(sighs)
Uh, Faye, about that night...
I, uh...
What?
Nothing.
Never would have worked, anyway.
Yeah, well, that's all blood under the bridge, isn't it?
So, how are you getting on in New York?
Guggenheim still treating you well?
How did you know I was working at the Guggenheim?
I like to keep my hand in.
You've had several offers.
I understand the Getty wanted you.
Palm trees and smog?
Forget it.
You always were a snob.
You're looking well, Faye.
Mm, don't.
I never stopped thinking about you.
Not ever.
Ow.
Didn't know you still cared.
Don't flatter yourself.
I stopped thinking about you a long time ago.
Faye, you are a terrible liar.
Not as big as you are.
You had a gift, Clive.
You turned your back on it.
I'm a copyist,
a mimic, that's all.
Maybe you are just a thief.
So, what time do we start?
(door opening)
(door closing)
(indistinct conversation)
(indistinct conversations)
(click)
(Chuck whistling)
(indistinct conversation)
That's quite all right...
(resuming conversation)
I can't believe I'm doing this.
Yeah. It's like the blind leading the blind, huh?
(laughing) Oh!
Ten minutes.
Everybody understand their roles?
Yes, sir.
We go to the museum,
we fall to pieces, and we get arrested.
Steady on, Charles.
Just do as we rehearsed.
Everything will work out like clockwork.
Everything is under control.
Well, not everything.
Ooh, what is this, a private party?
Or is anyone welcome?
CLIVE: Look, Marty, let her go.
Just take me in her place, all right?
Trade her life for yours? (laughs)
Yeah. Lady,
I think you've just been insulted.
What do you want,
Marty?
Well, now, what could it possibly be?
All right, let's see.
Um, her life for the keys to your car...
No, no.
Uh, her life for a certain piece of art?
Getting warmer.
Her life
for a certain $30 million piece of art?
Ah, now we're getting hot.
Hot.
Clive.
Here, Marty, take it, it's yours.
Just go.
MARTY: Uh-huh.
Uh-huh, I see.
Her life for a fake Van Gogh.
Now, that's what I call a real smart trade.
Yeah, but see, the thing is, Marty, it's not a fake.
It's the real thing.
Ooh, right, right,
and you guys have gone and you've formulated
this incredibly elaborate plan to steal the fake.
Yeah. That makes
perfect sense to me.
Marty...
One more word
out of you, she's toast.
Now, let's get this show on the road.
Shake it.
You know, I'm sure you've got a great plan, Clive.
Tell me all about it on the way.
Move it, let's go.
You're not going to need a paper where we're going.
Shake it.
It's showtime.
CLIVE: Marty, would you listen to me?
Now, these people are innocent.
The only reason they're involved is
because of a remarkable sense of friendship and decency.
Now, come on, Marty, let them go, I implore you.
Look, I'll get you the Van Gogh myself,
or I'll, I'll turn myself in...
whatever you want.
Your recent conversion to sainthood is truly touching,
Clive, but what's beginning to really bug me is
how stupid you think I am.
Now, let's get going.
(sighing): Well... let's go, Marissa.
All right. Phase one.
Nice try.
Excuse me, Miss, we close in five minutes.
Oh, thank you.
I couldn't help noticing, but...
You were wondering
what a blind person is doing in an art museum.
Frankly, yes.
You may find this hard to believe,
but, um, sometimes I can feel the painting.
Some of these works exude such a,
such an aura, I can sense
the color and the form right off the canvas.
Wow.
Kind of a metaphysical thing?
Exactly.
As a matter of fact, sometimes I get so inspired,
I do a little painting myself.
Amazing.
It is, isn't it?
Well, I, uh, have to call for my ride.
Could you point me to the...?
Oh, yes, phones are down the hall on the left.
Thank you. Mm-hmm.
Oh...
Oh.
"Feel the painting."
Oh, brother.
ANNOUNCER: The museum will be closing in five minutes.
(sighs)
Listen, Faye, this may not be
the most opportune time to say this,
but I meant everything I said back at the bar.
I never stopped thinking about you...
never...
and I, I just...
Me, too.
MARTY: I think I need a hanky here.
No more mush, or I plug her now.
ANNOUNCER: The museum is now closed.
(alarm ringing)
Damn.
Yeah, this is Andrews
over at the University of Chicago Art Museum.
I've got a break-in alarm on the second floor.
Okay, send some guys over?
Hey, pal,
do we have a security violation here?
Who are you? Who am I?
I'm Gilliland, Internal Systems Management.
I got a beep.
What's the situation?
It looks like a second-story emergency exit.
Ooh, did you call the police?
Yeah, just a minute ago.
I was going to go check it out myself.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, no heroics.
You let the pros do what they're paid to do.
Got that? Right.
Got it. Good.
What's the problem here?
We got a little, uh, situation
here, Officer. That was quick.
GARY: Yeah, we had a 36
over at 1825 Michigan.
I had to give 'em a quick 10-4.
Oh, well, we got a possible intruder
on the second floor emergency exit, a 14-24-16.
Well, we'll go check it out.
Yeah, you do that, Officers, check it out right away.
Thank you.
(alarm continues)
Hey, how's it going?
Well, as the man said when he jumped
off the 20-story building, "So far, so good."
By my watch, we've got five minutes
before the real police arrive.
All right, it's all yours.
See you in the gallery. Okay.
Oh, yeah, I've designed security systems all over the world.
The Louvre.
In Paris?
Rock and Roll
Hall of Fame, Cleveland.
The, uh... Uh, here's your problem.
Oh.
A blind lady?
Sorry, I got lost.
If you don't mind, I'll let you take it from here, huh?
Right, sorry to have bothered you.
(screaming)
What's happening? What's going on?
I don't know, it looks like he's having some sort of
an attack or something.
Hey, buddy, do you need a doctor or something?
(groans): My pills.
What? My pills!
You've got to do something.
Help him.
All right, take it easy, little fella.
(screaming) Take it easy.
All right...
in my pocket, my pocket.
(groans)
Ooh...
Quickly.
(grunting)
Thank you.
You okay?
It's a genetic condition.
"To prevent bloating"?
The brain blows up like a pumpkin,
but, uh, I'm feeling much better now.
Well, you're sure? Yeah, yeah.
Tell you what, uh, why don't I escort the lady out,
and you, uh, keep an eye on things over here, okay?
Okay.
Good luck.
Shall we?
Yes, we shall.
This way.
(grunts)
Come on, hurry up. Don't rush me,
old man.
These things cannot be rushed.
All right, there we are.
All right.
Bravo.
Marty?
I was getting lonely.
Ow.
All right, well, where's Faye?
Bound and gagged in the van, Clive,
but not to worry, I didn't hurt her.
If she's stupid enough to get involved with you, I figure,
well, that's punishment enough.
Okay, hand it over.
Come on, sonny, don't be a fool.
I said hand it over.
Wait a minute, how do I know if this is the real one or not?
How do you know it's the real one?
Well, look, you know where I live, you know where I work.
Why would I...? Ah, shut up.
Clive, boy, I'd plug you right now,
but I think you'll suffer a lot more knowing
how much I'm gonna be whooping it up on my percentage
of this.
I figure about five mil, n'est-ce pas?
(cackles)
Toodles, mate.
Five million?
(chuckles)
That's rather an optimistic figure,
don't you think, for a fake Van Gogh?
Yeah, except I gave him the real one.
Come on, let's go. You gave him the real one?
What'd you give him the real one for? Come on, let's...
Grab that. What'd you give him the real one for?
OFFICER: Hold it right there! (gun cocks)
Now! Freeze!
Just keep it up, hands up, let's go!
Clive! Don't move, Mister!
Right there!
MARTY: This could cost you your job. Do you know
who I am?
He doesn't look very happy, does he?
Get your hands off me.
Yeah, yeah, just shut up and get in.
(groaning and muttering)
So Marty gets caught with the real painting.
The police figured
he was inside the museum pulling off the switch.
And the illustrious career of the Chameleon comes to an end.
Finally brought to justice.
Well, wait a minute.
Marty wasn't the Chameleon; you are.
Yeah, well, uh, the police, they don't know that.
I won't tell if you don't.
MARISSA: Oh...
see no evil, speak no evil.
Tell me, Hobbers, you sly beggar,
how did you manage this one?
Yeah, Hobbers, I was wondering the same thing,
considering you didn't have any visual aid this time,
if you know what I mean.
Oh, well, I, I was, uh... well, we were running late,
and I figured the police couldn't be far away
when Marty showed up,
so it was a rare opportunity and I, uh, I took it.
Improvisational art.
Yeah, yeah, something like that.
Very good.
Now, out you go.
Huh?
And, uh, take this silly toy with you, will you?
Because Faye and I have got, ooh, three years to catch up on.
We do?
Oh, we do. (chuckles)
(moans)
Well, uh, we can take a hint.
Come on, Spike.
Okay, you only have to tell us once.
Oh, uh, well, uh...
(clears throat) MAN: See you guys at the station.
Well, that was an interesting evening.
Yeah, it's still pretty early.
Hey, you guys want to get some dinner?
No, I'm going home to bed.
What's the matter with you?
What do you mean, what's the matter wi...
what's the matter with me?
I'm tired, I want to go to bed.
Is that all right with you?
MARISSA: Stick in the mud. CHUCK: You need a...
you need a little excitement in your life, Gare.
MARISSA: Yeah. GARY: Excitement in my...
What did, what did we just do tonight?
CHUCK: All work and no play makes Gary a very dull boy.
MARISSA: Exactly.
GARY: Do you know how silly that sounds?
You know, I usually don't agree with him, Gary,
but for once, he's right.
I'm right. He's r... you're agreeing with him?
Yes, I am. You're agreeing with him?
You know what? I ought to arrest the both of you.
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