Original subtitles

-Now this is something quite spectacular.

It's from Brazil.

-Come on.

Come on.

-Isn't that an absolutely exquisite piece?

-Yeah.

But I was looking for something a bit more suspenseful.

-All right!

Nobody move!

Purse on the counter, lady.

Come on.

You wanna be dead?

Here's the chance of a lifetime.

-Please--

-On the floor, grandma!

-You.

On the rug.

-Ah, you cheap old bitch.

-Quit dicking around, Smitty.

-Come on.

-You idiot.

[screaming]

-What are you doing?

-Just lookin'.

-You asshole.

-Shut your mouth and fill the bag.

[music playing]

-Doug.

Doug.

Doug?

-What?

-I thought that we were going plainclothes today.

Why didn't you tell me we were going undercover?

-You didn't ask.

What's the matter, Rog?

-I look like an FBI agent on a Rose Bowl float.

-You look great, man.

Relax.

5 38.

-Doug.

DISPATCHER: 5 out of 38.

-Dispatcher.

DISPATCHER: 5 out of 38, please respond.

-5 out of 38.

What?

DISPATCHER: 211 in progress at Melrose Place.

Proceed immediately.

-You didn't say may I. Woo!

All right.

Kick ass, Dirty Harry!

-Ain't gonna lose him this time.

-Roger, Roger.

But you can't get him if you're dead, man.

-Morning, detective.

Got a bit of a situation.

-That being?

-211.

Perps in the jewelry store with automatic weapons.

We were gonna take 'em when they exit the premises.

-Couldn't have said it better myself, Lieutenant.

-Come on, come on.

-Think it's our Cash and Dash boys?

-I wouldn't know.

-Who else would pull a clowny stunt like this, Roger?

-How much do you figure's here?

-Too much.

Leave it.

-Freeze!

Drop your weapons!

-Hey, Rog, a little too early in the morning for this, isn't it?

-Why aren't these guys dead?

We've hit 'em about 50 times each.

-Maybe they're just flesh wounds.

-Will you cover me, please?

Can I borrow your car, lieutenant?

-Absolutely not!

-Shit!

Uh-oh.

-You're under arrest.

You have the right to remain disgusting.

-Are you sure that's necessary?

-You can't be too careful.

-Mortis!

That was the craziest, stupidest,

most dumb-fuck stunt I ever saw.

-Yo, please, don't thank me, lieutenant.

I get my thanks from helping others.

-You better believe the captain's

gonna hear about this.

-Gee, you think he'll want a word with us?

-Unauthorized use of a city vehicle.

Reckless endangerment of property and lives.

Use of a non-regulation firearm.

-That was me, not Bigelow, sir.

-Disrespectful conduct.

Flippant and tasteless verbal remarks.

-That was me.

-And 18 parking tickets so far this month.

Need I point out that you guys are already on probation?

Twice?

And that this morning's cowboy adventure puts both of you

on the endangered species list?

And that your badge is going to the shitter

if you screw up just one more time?

-Captain, this man deserves a medal.

And I think I deserve one for saving his life.

-Look, I couldn't help noticing that in spite

of Herzog's whining you guys did the job he didn't.

So I'm prepared to cut you a little slack.

-Thank you, sir.

-But!

It would be nice if you could earn it

by nailing the rest of these Cash and Dash fuckers

to the wall with a 12-inch railroad spike!

-We're working on that, sir.

-Work harder!

-Fine man, Captain Mayberry.

Make a really good gym teacher.

-Just be glad we're still employed.

-Call me Thursday.

I love this job, Roger.

I love the power.

I love the little badges.

I love being a human target for anyone

within sniping range of a donut shop.

-It does have its perks.

So what did we learn from this little adventure, Dorothy?

-Well, so far we've had six robberies.

Three banks, two jewelry stores, and a goldsmith's shop.

All in the past three weeks, and all in the same nine-block

radius.

-Beverly Hills jewelry store robbery

ended in bloodshed today, part of what police are calling

the most violent string of robberies in city history.

Six incidents in the last two weeks

have been linked to the so-called Cash and Dash

gang, which has thus far eluded capture,

although two of its alleged members

were killed in today's battle with police.

-Hey, Roger, how many do you think are in the gang?

-It's hard to say.

Descriptions are always different,

so there's gotta be a bunch of them.

Maybe they take turns.

-You sure it's the same folks?

-The MOs are the same.

Perpetrators are heavily armed and work in pairs,

often striking in broad daylight in reckless disregard

for their personal safety.

-Yeah.

And if you shoot 'em they don't die.

-Some drugs do that.

PCP users can shrug off all sorts of physical trauma.

-Yeah, but bullets, Rog?

-It's possible.

-It's bullshit, man.

-Mortis.

-It's Smythers.

I've got something for you.

Get down to the morgue as fast as you can.

-You ever wonder about your death day, Roger?

Let's say your death day was-- I dunno, April 23.

And somehow you knew that.

You could have a death day party.

-You have passed weird, Bigelow.

You are approaching degenerate.

-You could get totally ripped, man.

Pig out.

Invite all your friends.

Get yourself a beautiful lady, right?

Right in the heat of passion, just as you're--

-Sorry.

Did I interrupt last night's conquest?

-Hardly.

-Hi, Roger.

-Hello, Rebecca.

So how've you been?

-I have a home phone, Roger.

Using the mutilated remains of street scum

as an excuse to ask after my health is not

exactly what I would call thoughtful.

-And you call me degenerate.

-So what's the story on these John Does?

What's so unbelievable?

-I'll show you.

-Hey, nice shot, Rog.

-Thanks.

Is there enough here to identify?

-I wondered that myself.

The teeth and fingerprints are practically worthless.

But I noticed one thing.

-What?

-Stitches.

You can see where the cut was made, traversing the sternum

and incised with an electric saw.

-They had surgery?

-Nope.

They had autopsies.

They've been here before, fellas.

I certified them myself.

I even took pictures.

-Well, we all make mistakes, Dr. Smythers.

-Dr. McNab, I am not in the habit of signing a death

certificate for someone who just doesn't feel well.

-Well, I would hope not.

But the fact remains that either you screwed up

or these two boys got up after you

were done and strolled out of here.

-I never forget a body, doctor.

-Well, if five years she'll be damn good.

But right now she's too quick to jump to fanciful conclusions

without really digging for the truth.

And that, gentlemen, is what autopsies are all about.

-Asshole.

-I beg your pardon?

-It's fascinating.

-Yes, isn't it?

-You've got to admit, it is very strange.

-Strange, yeah-

-Excuse me.

-Hey, doctor, what is this for, anyway?

-You wouldn't want to know.

-Knock knock.

-Come to read me my rights?

-Is that one sugar, or two?

-Two.

But I gave it up.

-I thought we gave those up, too.

-Yeah, well.

I kicked one bad habit and picked up another.

-Whoa, hey.

I came in here to give you some moral support.

Don't you believe in fish that swim?

-No.

They're just as pretty and I don't have to feed them.

What about those corpses?

Do you believe me?

-There's definitely something very weird going on here.

-I'll say.

-Look, is there anything else that you

find strange about these guys?

-You mean besides the fact that they won't stay dead?

-Yeah.

-Yes.

I did turn up something unusual in their skin tissue.

-Like what?

-Trace quantities of sulfathiazole,

a drug once used in bacterial infections.

Pretty serious stuff.

-Dante Pharmaceuticals.

-Recent purchaser of 50 kilos of sulfathiazole.

-You do the talking, Roger.

I'm not sure how to phrase this.

-Well, let's just tell the truth.

We're looking for someone who hijacks dead bodies

and brings them back to life to rob jewelry stores.

Good afternoon.

Police detectives Mortis and Bigelow.

Good afternoon.

Police detectives Mortis and Bigelow.

-Sorry to interrupt your erection,

pal, but we'd like to speak with the management

of this facility.

-Ms. James to the front, please.

-Thank you.

-What can I do for yo?

-I'm Detective Mortis and this is Detective Bigelow, LAPD.

Do you manage this facility?

-I'm in charge of public relations.

Randi James.

-How do you do?

-What's this all about, officer?

-We're not at liberty to disclose the details, Ms.

James, but we are interested in a recent purchase you

made of a drug called sulfathiazole.

-And if you know any zombies.

-I beg your pardon?

-What's the drug typically used for?

-Quite a number of things.

Let me show you our basic product line.

Most of our products are over-the-counter items.

Not terribly interesting to the layman.

Cosmetics, personal hygiene, toiletries and so on.

Items everyone uses but nobody likes to talk about.

-Tampons, hemorrhoid cream, stuff for crabs.

-Among others.

-Hello.

-Hi.

-I'll do some research.

-Right this way, gentlemen.

All of our products are thoroughly

tested before release to the general public.

-Great.

The dog gets skin cancer so we don't have to.

-You were telling us about sulfathiazole.

-Uh-- yes.

Nothing really special about it.

It was widely used up until the '40s, when

it was replaced by other compounds.

We still use it as an antiseptic agent

and an herbal skin ointment.

-I hope I don't offend you, but, uh-- you

ever seen these guys before?

-Never.

No.

I can't say I regret it, either.

-Hey, what's that?

-Sad, but necessary.

When we have to kill an animal it goes in here.

The room is airtight.

And a piston evacuates the air in a period of a few seconds.

The animal perishes quickly and quietly.

-Didn't I see one of these at Disneyland?

-Well that's just about it, gentlemen.

I don't know if I've been any help to you.

-Hey, what's in here?

-Toxic waste products.

Properly disposed of, I assure you.

-I think that's all we need to see.

-You know, Ms. James, I gotta take a leak so bad

my teeth are floating.

Is there a little boys room around here?

I just gotta-- go peepee.

-Down the hall.

-No admittance my ass.

The hell is this?

-Well, thanks for all your help, Ms. James.

-Not at all.

-Listen, uh-- about my partner.

He's--

-A neanderthal?

-Yes.

But a nice neanderthal.

-It's all right.

The world's full of them.

[gunshots]

-No!

[alarm]

-What is this thing?

-Very ugly!

-Doug!

Doug!

Help!

Doug!

Doug!

Doug--

-Roger!

-What's going on here, Doug?

I heard on the radio there was a shooting.

Doug, where's Roger?

-He, uh-- got locked in the decompression room.

Died the way dogs are supposed to die.

If I'd just got that fucking door open--

-I have to see him, Doug.

God, Roger.

You thought you were indestructible.

What exactly happened here, Doug?

-Forget it, Becky.

You wouldn't believe me.

-Try me.

They must use the sulfathiazole as some sort of preservative

until they get them on here.

-Becky, can we just get the hell out of here, please?

-This is how they do it, Doug.

This is how they resurrect the dead.

-Get outta here

-Looks like he's in remarkably good condition.

-He's dead, Becky.

-It doesn't matter, Doug.

Someone has found a way to revitalize dead tissue,

the way a starfish grows new limbs.

After all, what really separates life from death?

-But the soul, Becky.

What about the soul?

-Looks like they may have found a way around that too, Doug.

-And what if he wakes up like some mindless idiot?

-Then I hope you'll shoot him in the head.

-Thanks a lot.

-Hi guys.

-You're alive.

-Course I'm alive.

I must have taken a hell of a shot, there.

-Hey, uh, Roger?

Roger, how you feeling?

-I feel-- hey, what is this place?

What are you doing here, Rebecca?

-Roger, we'll explain that to yo later.

But please, just tell us how you feel.

-Well-- come to think of it, I-- I feel terrific.

I feel incredible.

It's great to be alive!

-Mortis, I thought you were dead.

-Ah, sorry to disappoint you, doctor.

-What's the last thing you remember?

-Well, we were, uh-- we were at the research place.

And, uh-- we were looking around.

And Doug was fighting this thing--

I got locked in that room, and-- I

guess I must have blacked out.

It was like I was rushing toward this weird light, or something.

And then I looked down and I saw myself.

My body.

Just lying there.

And when I reached out to touch it,

it was-- like I got hit with 10,000 volts.

-Well, it's uncommon, but it's happened before.

Clinically dead people reviving at the last possible moment.

-Roger was dead for an hour.

-What?

-Don't you see?

We literally brought him back-- oh my god.

-What is it?

-I'm not getting a heart beat.

-Oh, don't be ridiculous.

Can I borrow those, please?

Obviously there's something wrong with this thing.

-Give me that damn thing.

Something wrong with it.

You're faking it.

He's faking it.

I don't know what's going on here.

But I want Mortis back in the lab for some tests.

-He doesn't need tests.

He's-- he's dead.

-Dead?

That's ridiculous.

-Becky, we've both seen this guy shitfaced.

He's looked a hell of a lot worse.

-Listen, this is crazy.

I've never felt better in my life.

-Without a heartbeat that's hard to believe.

-Dr. Smythers, I have two corpses in the next room

that I doubt are going to make a comeback.

Now, you'll know where I am after you've

finished with this nonsense.

-My god, you're cold.

Ow!

What the hell is this?

I cut the artery.

How come I'm not bleeding?

Now wait a minute.

I'm no deader than you are.

-Roger, it's the resurrection machine.

-I still don't believe it.

Sorry, Doug.

I just don't believe it.

-Minute by minute, Roger, that's the only way to take this.

It's the only way to live, anyhow.

-Easy for you to say.

-Roger, you haven't heard the worst of it.

-I'm dead, Rebecca.

How much worse can it get?

-I've been scanning the lab report.

The resurrection process has an unfortunate side effect.

-Which is what?

-Progressive decay of reanimated tissue.

Irreversible cell damage.

-You've got 10 to 12 hours, tops.

-And then what?

-All of the cells of your body will

dissolve into a kind of organic stew.

-Becky, can't you just pop him back in for a recharge?

-This thing isn't a toaster oven, Doug.

Come back to the lab.

Maybe we can do something.

-The most important thing for me to do right now

is to nail whoever did this to me.

You understand that, don't you?

-I'll personally rip his heart out with my bare hands, Roger.

Hold the heart in the palm of my hand.

We'll watch it stop beating together.

-That's good, Doug.

But let's find him first.

-Where do we start?

-Let's find Randi James.

-Roger--

-We'll meet you at the lab.

-10 to 12 hours.

Don't throw it away.

-You know, the weird thing is, I feel fine.

I feel like I could run in the Boston Marathon.

-No you couldn't, Roger.

It's not open to dead people.

-You think they check?

-Oh, they're very strict now.

-Oh, shit.

-What's the matter?

-Find me a drugstore.

I gotta fix my face.

-So what color did you get?

-Uh-- Mulberry Wine.

-It's a good choice.

Brings out your eyes.

-Go to hell.

-Missed a spot.

-Where?

-Right there.

-Don't touch it.

I almost got it straight here.

-I love it when you get angry.

-How do women do this?

-I don't know.

Tribal memory, I guess.

-Excuse me.

You left without saying goodbye.

-Let go of me.

-Going on a trip?

-Is it any of your business?

What happened to you?

-I cut myself shaving.

Mind if we ask you a whole lot of questions?

-Look, I don't know anything about what

happened in there today.

I got scared and I left, OK?

-Let's talk about it inside.

-Hey, nice pad.

-Now, would you mind telling us what this is all about?

-I told you.

I'm their public relations person.

At least, I was.

Until you two showed up.

-How about if I work her over a bit?

-Oh, I get it.

You're the tough cop.

And your partner here, he's the nice cop.

Because he's not too scary with lipstick on.

-Ms. James, I got locked in that room where they kill

the animals, and some nutcase decompressed me.

So I am not in a very good mood.

Now all I want is to find him.

-I'm truly sorry.

But I can't help you.

I don't know anything.

Hey, get out of there.

-Looks like the lady's going somewhere.

Extra panties.

Dead giveaway.

-Where were you headed, Ms. James?

-Away from here.

-Hey, what's this?

-That's personal.

-Must be a tape machine around here somewhere.

Here we go.

We have something on the monitor, captain.

-Princess, this may be the last time that I ever talk to you.

And I want you to know certain things

that I was unable to say until now.

[gunshots]

-Are you all right?

-Yeah.

-Remember the good old days when guns killed people?

-You're just jealous, that's all.

Go for the door!

-When?

-Now!

-Where's this go?

-Out back, to the patio!

-That's really disgusting.

-What the hell is going on?

-Kind of looks like somebody wants you dead.

Just about managed it, too.

-But why?

I didn't do anything.

-Maybe it's what you know.

-I don't know a god damn thing.

I-- I play tour guide and I write press releases.

-Roger, you were underwater in that jacuzzi

for five straight minutes.

-That's right.

I was.

-Can you teach my girlfriend how to do that?

-Damn.

They're dead.

They always die on me.

-I'd say there were extenuating circumstances.

-You don't understand.

The blue damsels are my favorite.

My favorites always die.

-Princess, I hope you understand what I am trying to tell you.

-Hey, I recognize that guy.

If you have any further questions,

just contact my lawyer.

And always remember how-- how very special you are.

-That's Arthur Loudermilk.

Didn't he just die?

-Two weeks ago.

He's my father.

Hey, why aren't you dead?

Or even hurt?

-Kind of a long story.

They can't kill me.

I'm dead already.

I'm a walking corpse.

Just like those killers.

-This is nonsense.

I can't deal with this.

-Well, you're gonna have to deal with it!

Look, Ms. James, we need your help.

And I think that you need ours, too.

Please.

-All right.

Dante Pharmaceuticals was my father's private think tank.

Anything that interested him, from mosquitoes to microchips,

they researched it for him.

-So he bankrolled the resurrection project--

-No!

He wouldn't.

-Use human leftovers to rob jewelry stores?

-Go ahead.

-Well, last week I did deliver some sulfathiazole.

To a guy named Thule in Chinatown.

-Where in Chinatown?

-Would you like me to write it down?

-You don't have to.

You're coming with us.

-Oh, forget it.

I know my rights.

-Are you sure?

Let me remind you, just in case.

You have the right to remain silent.

Anything you say can be used against you--

-What are you doing?

-Right now you are our primary suspect.

Now, would you rather come with us, or cool your heels in jail?

-All right.

Hey, Roger, maybe you oughta get yourself a change of clothes.

Being dead isn't something you should advertise.

-I might have something in my closet.

-Something for that unexpected overnight guest, Ms. James?

-From an ex-boyfriend, Mr. Bigelow.

A very ex.

-DOUG: You OK in there, Roger?

-Great.

Fabulous.

Not a word.

How many tickets is that this month so far?

-What the hell do you care?

-Good point.

-Roger, there's a place here's got great egg rolls.

-Doug--

-Egg foo young?

-Doug, let's talk to this guy first and eat later, OK?

-I'm dying for some chop suey.

This is great.

I am starving.

-Good afternoon.

Police detectives Mortis and Bigelow.

We'd like to speak to Mr. Thule, please.

Good afternoon.

Police detectives Mortis and Bigelow.

We'd like to speak with Mr. Thule, please.

-Listen, Mongo, we're cops.

And if Thule's not out here in 10 seconds,

we're gonna kick some honorable ass.

-Ah, Ms. James.

Always a pleasure.

-Mr. Thule, something terrible has happened.

-Yes, I know.

Are these your friends, the police detectives?

-You got it right the first time, pops.

-We're looking for the man who takes

deliveries from Dante Pharmaceuticals.

-You have found him.

How may I help you?

-What did Dante send you?

-Nothing of any importance.

-It may be more important than you think.

-Your friend takes one more step, he'll find himself dead.

-Life and death are both expressions

of the same eternal spirit.

-You oughta write fortune cookies, pal.

-Let me illustrate.

-I don't know what it is, but suddenly I've lost my appetite.

That's it.

From now on, I'm a vegetarian.

All right.

This little piggy's going to market.

That's gross.

-Get off!

-You're kidding.

Just one shit?

-They're not all zombies, Doug.

How do you fight this thing?

-Maybe we could drown it in A1 sauce.

-Oh, no.

-OK.

Now I'm gonna puke.

-Thule's gone.

-Guy makes one hell of a diversion, doesn't he?

-Hey, you're hurt.

-Lady, I'm fuckin' dead.

-Well, that doesn't give you the right to be rude.

-You know, you can never find anything good

until you really trash a place.

-Stumbling over any clues, detectives?

[quacking]

-Zombie duck heads.

What a concept.

-This could replace the whoopee cushion.

-Imagine what you could do with a search warrant.

-Hey, Doug.

Doug.

Look at this.

-Dates and initials.

What do you think it means?

-I dunno.

But that last one, APL-- Arthur P Loudermilk.

-My father?

Oh, god, you're right.

He died on June 12.

-This is a list of death dates.

These folks are all recently deceased.

-Who do you think they were?

-One way to find out.

-You're quite the seamstress.

-Just hope it doesn't get infected.

-Yeah, well, I'll take my chances.

After you.

-Thank you.

-So this is what a library looks like, huh?

You know I've never seen one of these things from the inside?

-OK.

These should cover the dates in question.

-I got dibs on March.

It's amazing, the people who died in the last three months.

People I never even heard of.

-Here's one.

George Nelson Canfield.

The denim king.

Inventor of sweat to fit blue jeans.

Died February 12.

-Crap.

-What is it?

-The Lakers won yesterday, but they

didn't make the point spread.

I had 10 bucks riding on that game.

-Here's another one.

Oliver Lang, microchip wizard, March 4.

-Here's another.

Howard Davison, commodities broker.

April 3.

You see any pattern?

-They all sound like a bunch of wussies to me.

-Yes.

And they all had a nice hunk of disposable cash

when they kicked off.

-So rich dead people.

What does it mean?

-I'm not sure.

But it looks like your father was one of the victims.

-That's crazy.

-Well, this is not what you'd call a routine case.

I guess they can have their obituaries back.

-Hey, Rog, what's up, man?

You look all freaked out all of a sudden.

-These obituaries.

They're writing new ones all the time.

They're writing mine.

-Hey, now.

Take it easy.

-Roger Mortis.

Beloved husband to nobody, father

of none, who always thought he'd go out in a blaze of glory.

-Roger.

-I gotta get out of here.

-Roger.

Roger!

Roger!

Hey, Rog.

That was quite a chase.

Not bad for a guy in your condition.

I guess being dead agrees with you.

Come on, Rog.

We don't got time for this.

-I can't do it.

I can't live a lifetime in six hours.

-Nobody's got all the time they need, Roger.

Nobody.

You remember when we were in training?

They always told us you can't be a good cop

if you're a dead cop.

Here's your chance to prove them wrong.

You're good.

And you're dead.

-I'm good and I'm dead.

-Come on, Rog.

Let's go find those suckers and trash their ass, man.

Come on, Rog.

-It's asses.

It's plural.

-It's plural?

-You know what I heard once?

-What's that?

-I heard that the population of the world

is so big now that half of all the people who ever lived

are still alive today.

-Come on.

-It's true.

If you took all the people who've

died since the beginning of history

and all the people who are alive right now,

it'd be about the same number.

So if anybody ever asks you when you're gonna die,

you can just say, well, I don't know.

So far it's only happened to half of us.

-Not only that, if you multiply the population of Rhode Island

by the square root of my ex-wife's weight--

-Well, you two sure know how to show a girl a good time.

-Don't mention it.

-Roger.

I think I may have some good news.

-Rebecca Smythers, Randi James.

-Hello.

Well.

You work here?

-Yes, actually, I do.

-Rebecca's an expert in all sorts of forensic pathology.

-My.

What a unique accomplishment.

-Chillier than usual in here today.

-Wherever did you find the time to make such a nice new friend?

-Randi was head of PR for Dante Pharmaceuticals.

-I see.

-So what's the big news, Becky?

-Sit up on the table.

Some shirt.

Unbutton it.

Roger, you've been shot.

-Oh, yeah.

I meant to tell you about that.

-It's amazing you lived as long as you did.

So how are you feeling?

-Great.

Picture of health.

-Subject Mortis comma Roger.

Postmortem follow-up, July 6, approximate time, 18:45.

-Do you have to talk into that thing?

This is not an autopsy.

-Hey, Rog, you are dead.

This is a morgue.

She is a coroner.

-Thanks.

-87.2 degrees Fahrenheit.

Since you've died you've been steadily cooling off.

-So what's the verdict?

How long have I got not to live?

-Well, decomposition is progressing

more rapidly than I'd hoped.

It's even starting to show in your face.

I'd say maybe three or four hours.

-What the hell am I doing here?

-Roger, I think I can buy you a chance.

I found something in Dante's files

about a-- a special process they've been testing to extend

the resurrection period beyond 12 hours.

-Can you guarantee that?

-No.

-Then I can't take that chance.

Rebecca, it's my job.

-Your job?

Christ.

Haven't you leaned anything?

You spent 10 years out on the street, risking your neck,

and now you're dead and it's still not enough.

-Well, I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.

-So, you two, what's next?

-I'm gonna take a look at Loudermilk's grave.

Why don't you pay a call on Loudermilk's lawyer?

We'll hit the cemetery and meet you back at Randi's.

-Uh, if you don't mind, I think I'll

skip the trip to my father's resting place.

-Oh, I mind very much.

I want you where I can see you.

-Ms. James.

That chick digs me.

-I could tell.

-I'm not giving up hope, Roger.

-You go ahead, man.

I'll catch up with you later at Randi's.

-OK.

Hey, nice wheels.

Must be a lot of money in carving up dead people.

-A little early for your postmortem,

aren't you, detective?

-Just stopped by to reserve a body bag.

-Oh!

That's very good.

That-- oh--

-I love that guy.

-I can tell.

-Just over there on the right, Roger.

-Maybe I should pick one out.

I wonder if they take MasterCard.

Nice place to spend the rest of your life.

Swaying palms, the smell of jasmine.

Quiet neighbors.

-Very funny, Roger.

Roger.

What is it?

-Shooting star.

-So now what?

I haven't got a key.

-Allow me.

-Isn't that illegal?

-Yeah.

Looks like he's resting comfortably.

What's your real relationship with Loudermilk, Randi?

-What do you mean?

-Outside it says Arthur P Loudermilk,

beloved husband to Loretta.

It doesn't mention any darling daughter.

-All right.

I met him in the hospital.

I was there for drug rehab, and he took me under his wing.

-The daughter he never had?

-Yeah.

Yeah.

And he got me that great house.

And-- set me up with a job at Dante.

And I bet he never even knew what kind of snake hole

he was dropping me in.

-So this whole zombie thing came as a complete surprise to you.

-I swear.

You believe me, don't you?

-Looks like he left something for us.

Doug oughta be back by now.

[tv playing]

-Home sweet home.

-Doug must have left the TV on.

-I'll see if he's in the kitchen.

MAN ON TV: You knew who I was when I came here today.

But you were surprised to see me alive, weren't you?

But I'm not alive, Mrs. Phillips.

Sure, I can stand here and talk to you.

I can breathe and I can move.

But I'm not alive.

Because I did take that poison.

And nothing can save me.

WOMAN ON TV: What are you going to do?

MAN ON TV: I tell you now, I have nothing to lose.

-No-- no, you've got to listen to me.

You've got to give me a chance.

MAN ON TV: But I didn't have a chance.

-Oh god.

Roger?

It's Doug.

-Let's get him down.

Randi?

Randi?

-Sorry, Roger.

I didn't want to tell you.

I didn't think you'd understand.

-What are you talking about?

-I, uh-- lied about the drugs.

I was in the hospital because I was dying, too.

I was-- dead.

-What do you mean?

-They brought me back, Roger.

Just like you.

Only they said I'd have a normal lifespan

as long as I helped them.

-Helped who?

-They lied to me.

-Who, Randi?

-I'm sorry, Roger.

I'm sorry-- Roger-- please-- forgive me--

-Hello, this is Rebecca.

-Rebecca, liste--

-I'm not here to take your call, but leave me a message

and I'll get back to you later on.

-Rebecca, Doug's dead.

Randi's dead.

I wish-- well, I wish--

[beep]

Wait a minute.

Numbers to letters, numbers to letters.

B-- O-- D-- Y-- body.

Damn, that's it!

[gun cocking]

-Roger.

What are you doing here?

-What do you think, McNab?

-You'll have to be more specific than that.

-OK.

You want specific, here it comes.

You killed me.

And you killed Doug.

And maybe you didn't kill Randy, but you should

have had the decency to let her stay dead.

-What on Earth are you talking about?

-Revenge, McNab.

And you're on the receiving end unless you

come up with some real fast answers.

-But-- but this doesn't make any sense.

I was helping you.

-I don't think so.

Loudermilk's think tank built a machine for resurrecting

people, and you've been trying it out, haven't you?

-That's absurd.

Oh, of course, Roger.

You're losing your mind.

Your brain is deteriorating.

-When you buried him alive Loudermilk

wanted to point the finger at you,

but he was afraid to write Ernest McNab

in case you came back and erased it.

So he tried something just a little bit subtler.

It's a coded message.

Using the numbers to letters scheme found on any telephone.

Here's what it spells.

Body doc.

Sounds a bit like you, doesn't it?

-Well, that's what happens when you die, Roger.

Your synapses misfire, leading to all sorts

of demented conclusions.

-My mind, McNab, has never been sharper.

Neither has my aim.

-Son of a bitch.

-How many others have you buried alive, McNab?

Canfield?

The Blue Jeans King?

Oliver Lang?

Howard Preston?

You take their money and you brick them up, is that it?

-That's a lie!

-Nice watch.

Nice ring, too.

I got a hell of a hunch if we wanted to we could trace them

both back to those jewelry store hold-ups.

-Give me that!

-When you resurrected those robbers

you wanted to test them.

So you sent them out to do what they do best-- rob something.

And when I stumbled onto all this you murdered me.

-Circumstantial evidence.

Wouldn't hold up in any court.

-I'm not waiting for any courts, McNab.

-Roger.

Roger.

I can help you.

-Like you helped Randi James?

-Good evening, doctor.

-Well, it's about time!

Where the hell have you been?

This bastard almost killed me.

Give me my diamond ring.

You see, Roger, every job has its little perks.

It just takes a while to discover them.

-No amount of money is gonna make up

for what happens to you, McNab.

-It seems our detective is in rather poor condition.

-Not as poor as you'll be, Thule.

-Silence him.

Thank you.

How do you wish this man killed?

-Roger, I've come to love you like a son.

You're honest, trustworthy, dependable.

Like a frigging boy scout.

Ironic, isn't it, Roger?

You're gonna spend your last moments on Earth inches

from freedom, right here in front of the county morgue.

-For this very reason, doctor, we should waste no time.

-Yeah, yeah.

Put him in the van.

Lock him to the side rail.

I hope you don't mind sharing the bed space.

Yes.

I know it's a nuisance.

But then Smythers was always a nuisance.

-I'll send you to hell, McNab.

You can't keep me here!

-This van is lined in stainless steel.

Soundproof, in case you're thinking of calling for help.

And it's custom made.

The perfect place to disintegrate.

Which I figure will happen in precisely 45 minutes.

-Let's go, doctor.

We're expected back at the lab.

-Yes, yes.

Get the door.

Get the door.

Happy trails, Roger.

-Well, Rebecca, I always thought we'd end up together.

But never like this.

Rebecca?

You and I-- are going-- for a ride.

This is gonna be great.

-Holy shit!

-Whoa-- yeah!

-Jesus H Christ.

-Take it easy, mister.

You're not well.

-Hold it.

That's far enough.

-Detective Mortis.

Homicide.

-You're-- you're a cop?

-Surprise.

I need your gun, officer.

Thank you.

-Ladies and gentlemen, last wee all of us

were shocked and saddened by the news

of the untimely death of Arthur P Loudermilk.

I would like to take this opportunity

to review his many accomplishments.

But wait-- why not let Arthur tell you himself?

Ladies and gentlemen, Arthur P Loudermilk.

-Friends and associates, how nice to see you again.

-I saw you buried, Arthur.

Damn it, I saw you buried!

-Oh, I'm afraid you have been misled, Walter.

The man in my grade is a, um-- volunteer,

personally selected by Dr. McNab.

As you will see, ladies and gentlemen, the demonstration

that you are about to witness makes

burial somewhat unnecessary.

Would you become the world's largest jet manufacturer

just so that you could leave your fortune

to a wolf pack, scavenging relatives?

Gertrude Bellman, are you prepared to become a memorial

plaque on the cornerstone of a library building?

-We all die, Arthur.

-Rest assured, Gertrude, that you can afford not to.

-How many of those rich bozos do you suppose he's got in there

tonight, eh?

-Isn't it frustrating?

All of that money, all of that raw power,

just within your grasp-- and then it's all gone.

Poof.

Suddenly you're six foot under, and a mob

of money-grubbing nobodies are devouring

all that is yours like rodents after a lump of cheese.

Isn't it sad?

Everybody dies.

Rich and poor.

Death doesn't discriminate.

At least, not until now.

-This is ridiculous.

-Well, let's face it.

Poor people are supposed to die.

But the same rule doesn't apply to us.

We're rich.

God wants us to live forever.

And even if he doesn't, we can always buy him off.

It'll cost all of you half of your fortune.

But you have forever to make it back.

Think of what I'm offering, sir.

Life without end.

Your personal savings compounded daily

for a million glorious years.

-What's your gimmick, Arthur?

-No gimmick.

Eternal life.

-Bullshit.

-Well, I know that it's absurd, impossible.

But aside from the proof of my being here,

I have planned for you a very graphic little demonstration.

This man has been dead for hours.

Come on.

Inspect him for yourself.

-Sit down.

-Well, now that you are satisfied with this poor man's

unfortunate condition, I would like to treat you

to a little product demonstration.

Dr. McNab, if you would.

-Of course.

-This model incorporates all of our most advanced refinements.

The first to afford eternal life without any limitations.

-That's OK.

Don't get up.

-Get him, get him, get him!

-I told you not to get up.

-What do you want?

-Not you, old man.

I want him.

You're dead, McNab.

You're even deader than I am.

-Oh, I don't think so.

-Doug.

Doug, you're alive.

-He can't understand a word you said, Roger.

He's been brain-dead too long.

Which means that he's mindless and totally obedient.

Kill this guy, would you?

-Kill this guy, would you?

-Now, Doug, stop.

Doug, it's me.

It's me, Roger.

-Kill this guy, would you?

-Doug.

Doug, don't.

-Kill this guy--

-Doug--

-Would you?

-Hey, Doug.

Do you realize we both have the same death day?

Doug, you know what we could do?

We could throw a death day party.

We could invite all our friends.

Get really ripped.

-Well, do something!

-Kill him!

Come on, you brain-dead son of a bitch.

-Doug-- remember the lipstick?

Mulberry Wine?

Brings out my eyes?

-Roger?

Roger!

The Hi, Doug.

Welcome to zombie land.

-Roger.

He said I should-- he said I should hurt you.

But I'm gonna hurt him.

-Kill that guy, would you?

-Oh, no.

-Kill him.

Why can't you kill him?

-Shut up, you old fart!

Oh, no, you bastards aren't gonna take me.

-You cheated me.

God damn you, McNab, you cheated me!

-It's over, Rog.

Forget it, man.

-Not just yet.

Hi, doc.

You want to see what happens when

you resurrect somebody twice?

-Not really.

-Oh, no!

No!

No!

-No, wait.

Save the machine!

It's short-circuiting!

We can fix it!

I can make you normal again!

Immortal!

I'll give you anything you want!

Money!

Power!

Eternal life!

Riches beyond your wildest dreams!

Just save the machine!

No!

No!

No!

Wait!

Wait, you don't understand!

You'll live forever!

Forever!

-Man, Roger, you are a mess.

I've seen meatloaf that looks better than you.

-You're not exactly a Forest Lawn

poster child yourself, Doug.

Hey, we really trashed their ass, didn't we?

-That's asses, Roger.

Hey, Rog, you think we'll be reincarnated?

-As what?

-I dunno.

Maybe you get a choice.

You can be whatever you want.

-Oh, you mean like a statesman or a president

or a prize-winning novelist?

-Personally, I'd like to come back

as the seat on a girl's bike.

-Now that is truly inspiring.

-Thank you.

-You know, Doug?

-What's that?

-This could be the end of a beautiful friendship.

[music playing]