All language subtitles for Pushing.Daisies.S01E07.Smell.of.Success.HDTV-Caph.eng

Previously on
"Pushing Daisies"...

Young Ned had a
special gift.

He could touch dead things
and bring them back to life.

But he could only bring the dead
back to life for one minute.

Any longer and someone
else had to die.

And there was one more
thing he had to learn --

First touch, life.

Second touch,
dead again forever.

But as young Ned grew
into the pie maker,

this gift proved
to be most useful

in the untimely death of
his childhood sweetheart,

- Charlotte Charles.
- Are you in love with her?

- You only got a minute.
- I know.

- 60 seconds.
- I know.

What if you didn't
have to be dead?

You can't touch me.

So a kiss is out
of the question?

You touch murder victims,
you ask who killed them.

You touch them again,
they go back to being dead,

and then you
collect the reward?

That's it in a nutshell.

You saved me!

It was a friendly expression
of innocent gratitude.

- What's gotten into you?
- What's gotten into you?

Season 1, Episode 7 - Smell of Success
For www.forom.com

At this very moment,
at the Longborough School for boys,

young Ned was 9 years,
41 weeks,

14 hours,
and 3 minutes old and exhausted...

For despite the
endless waking hours

spent assuring himself that
his heart was on the mend,

Ned discovered the
truth in his sleep.

Sadly, not a single
night had passed

since the death
of his mother

that he didn't dream of
her coming back to him.

Realizing he couldn't rush
his heart into healing,

he concocted a plan...

To reconnect
with his mother

in a way that
only he could.

For young Ned wasn't
like the other children

or the other adults,
for that matter,

which, in this case,
delighted him...

briefly.

Although young Ned knew he
couldn't taste the pie,

lest the fruit
rot again,

he didn't care.

The mere smell of
it made him feel,

if only for an hour,
exactly like he wanted to feel --

safe and warm
and loved --

Which is why
he became...

the pie maker...

who, at this
very moment,

was planting flowers
to make Chuck feel

as safe and warm and
loved as he once did.

- Sue bee.
- Who bee?

I'm referring to the honey --

The store-bought kind,

the kind I will purchase
by the gallon for you.

Honey you don't work
for is never as sweet.

Oh, look.
There's a fantastic rooftop

for the
honey-harvesting expansion.

Let's not plant
flowers way over there.

- You don't even know which building.
- I know it's not this one.

And in the interest of
operation urban honey pioneer,

I think we should keep
the operation contained.

- Comfortably contained.
- Comfortable in a good way,

like it's usually used.
I'm concerned for the bees.

We should keep the flowers
close so they will feel safe.

Actually, bees have an
incredible sense of smell.

So if we keep doing our job
and planting the flowers,

the bees will do
theirs and find them.

Why do we need so
much honey, anyway?

It's a surprise.

"Surprise" has never been
a very good word for me.

Well, you'll like this one.

And just so you know,

the honeybee has to visit
hundreds of blossoms

before it has enough nectar
to take back to the hive,

so the more flowers,
the merrier the bees.

A brokenhearted
Olive Snook

found herself navigating a
minefield of her own making.

This is what it is, isn't it?

Unless that's not a rolling
pin under your apron.

Sorry.

Isn't it great we can joke?

Now that we know
there's nothing going on

between us and never was,
it can be funny.

I bet this sort of thing
happens all the time

between adults.
Mixed romantic messages.

In no time,
we'll be looking back

and laughing till
we wet the rug...

Which we'll then
want to shampoo.

A couple times, possibly three,

depending on what
we've been drinking.

Maybe I should wear a bell.

- Actually --
- I'm not wearing a bell.

Chuck continued to keep
the secret ingredient

of her pies secret.

Not even Olive Snook knew the
baked goods she delivered

contained homeopathic
mood enhancers

meant to pry Chuck's
aunts out of their funk.

So, have they been in a good mood?
My aunts?

No, that's plural,
and not all of them good.

Okay. Maybe it's time
to go to phase two.

Have we been in phase
one this whole time?

How many phases are there?

Four that I know of,
but maybe five.

Right now, we're at phase two,

which means we need to get
them back in the water.

It's like oxygen for them.

Because they're
former mermaids.

Only professionally,
not mythologically speaking.

Oh, I know all about
their mermaidness.

What are these? Cupcake pans?

Surprise.

It's the pie hole,
not the cupcake hole.

But it's not a cupcake.
It's a cup-pie.

A single-serve
pie with honey --

my honey --
baked into the crust.

And since it's still a pie,

it could be served in the pie hole,
by definition.

I'm a purist.
I like that we only serve

traditional pies in the pie hole,
not these hybrids.

You know,
you could do with loosening up a bit.

I don't do loose.
I prefer tightly wound.

Not shapeless with extra
room for surprises.

I was a surprise.

- You made room for me. Some.
- Yeah, I made room.

A whole rooftop full of
room for you and your bees.

I know, and I love it.

I'm not Quasimodo
in the bell tower.

Quasimodo would have
been a lot better off

if he stayed in his bell
tower where it was safe

and comfortable,
and he had his bell.

I'm not sure Quasimodo
would agree with that.

Quasi wanted adventure.

Quasi wanted to see the world.

Quasi wanted cup-pies.

Private investigator
Emerson Cod

was enjoying the latest
issue of Knit Wit magazine,

his literary outlet
for knitting humor,

when he received a phone
call from the mother

of one Anita Gray.

The facts were these --

Anita Gray --
22 years, 11 weeks, 2 days,

9 hours,
and 33 minutes old --

was taking a private tutorial
in olfactory science

when she experienced
an epiphany.

And the epiphany was
that her instructor,

Napoleon Lenez,
was a genius.

It was an epiphany
Napoleon Lenez

had himself experienced many,
many years earlier.

He showed her how olfactory
cues could trigger memories,

release floods of
endorphins and pheromones,

and cause biological and
psychological reactions

that deeply impacted the
way people behave and feel.

Using the smell of
unfiltered cigarettes

to evoke fond memories
of her grandmother,

he opened her eyes and
heart through her nose.

So she devoted her
life to his work.

With his new apprentice,
Anita, by his side,

Lenez created a self-help
guide for those

who wished to not only
harness their past

but to inspire and
mold their future

via the power of smell.

Anita didn't live to
see the book published.

While working alone,

she was killed by a mysterious
explosion in Lenez's lab.

Exactly what caused
that explosion

seemed to be a question only
Anita Gray could answer.

That is pungent.

Pungent like fried chicken
grilled on a bed of hair.

What you waiting on?

- Who's smoking?
- You.

Oh, how rude of me.

I'm dreadfully sorry.

This can't be good
for your lungs.

Anita, you have less than a
minute to impart any last words.

On the subject of what
caused that explosion.

"Explosion"? That's
what that flash was.

Do you remember anything
before the flash?

The smell of my grandma's
unfiltered cigarettes.

Unfortunately,

Anita's desire to experience
another olfactory-induced memory

of her beloved grandmother,
long dead from cancer,

led her to sneak a look

at the one and only advanced
copy of Lenez's book,

a book that was meant
for his nose only.

- This was clearly a case of...
- Death by scratch-and-sniff?

So Lenez didn't want you
looking at that book?

Didn't want anyone
looking at it yet.

Oh, no. Was I being punished
for peeking? Is god mad at me?

No. No, god is not mad at you.

- Somebody's mad at somebody.
- Somebody's mad at Napoleon Lenez.

That damn book
was booby-trapped.

- Oh, 5 seconds.
- Am I gonna see my grandma now?

- You know.
- That's a yes.

Death by scratch-and-sniff --

What the hell happened to people
shooting each other with guns?

Anxious to sniff out
more information,

our heroes sought
out Napoleon Lenez,

scratch-and-sniff
author,

in his suite
above the city

and immediately found themselves
in an alarming situation.

Do not be alarmed
by this situation.

You better open up this door!

Please excuse my
decontamination procedure.

My nasal glands are
extremely delicate.

- Napoleon Lenez?
- Felicitations.

Felici-what?

Um, we're here about
your assistant --

Don't speak.

A smell tells so much more.

Cigars, aftershave,
antacids, cash...

and yarn.

You're a knitting detective.

And you.

Flour, fruit,

and a subtle waft of musky
pheromones triggered by --

You...

The girl smelling
of honey and...

death.

Which doesn't surprise me,

as the animalic-charged
molecules used in your perfume

are also found in
decomposing bodies and feces.

Oh, I'm not wearing
any perfume.

I'm not wearing
just any perfume.

Precisely my point.
Why settle for less?

In all aspects of life,
we strive for perfection.

Why not apply those
principles to what we smell?

Lenez, look,
we're here about that scratch-and-sniff.

Your book was a bomb.

Who are you to criticize
my life's work?

Your book was a bomb.
It exploded.

The killer had used
a unique explosive

on Lenez's advanced
copy of the book,

a chemical mixed with
an oxidizing agent

to create a fiery
chain reaction.

Are they still gonna
publish your book?

Anita would have
wanted it that way,

although I'm sure
she would have

preferred a version
where she lived.

Still, she was thrilled
when my publisher

bumped up the release date
of "Smell of success."

- When did they bump up your "smell"?
- Two weeks ago.

Follow your nose, Mr. Cod,

and it will lead you to
this deviant's doorstep.

When we harness
the power of smell,

we become bloodhounds
of our own desires.

Smell it, crave it, own it.

I can wear them?
You mean it? On my feet?

Unless you're cursed
with a sixth toe.

You're not, are you?

No, no.
Five fingers, five toes.

Us snooks are boring that way.

I had a cousin with
a third nipple.

He'd let you see
it for a dollar.

- How fascinating.
- And a bargain, too.

This is a dream come true.

I hope this doesn't
freak you out,

but I used to be a big Darling
Mermaid Darlings enthusiast.

I had the tail and
the clamshell bra.

Just like this one.

Did you show that
off for a dollar?

Oh, I bet you miss your fans.

I know I would --

All the adoration,
all the love.

Doesn't all this paraphernalia

make you want to get
back in the pool?

Have no reason to.

- Um, we cancelled our comeback tour.
- But look at all this stuff.

Imagine the money you'll make
from merchandising alone.

What's this?

- That belonged to Charlotte.
- It was her mother's.

Whatever happened to
Charlotte's mother?

She died.

And with that,
Lily went to her dark place.

You want it? Take it.

I don't care if I ever
get in the water again.

For the love of Kukla,
Fran, and Ollie,

rent the girl a hand truck
and get this crap out of here.

I need a piece of pie.

Do you really think people
can change their lives

by smelling the right smell?

If so,
I'm gonna get me some cash potpourri.

I talked to that publisher.

Lenez's book was bumped up

the release schedule prior
to Anita Gray's murder.

So...

So if Lenez's book got
moved up the schedule,

somebody else's
book got moved off.

Find the book that was
formerly on this schedule

that is no longer
on this schedule,

and you'll find an angry
author with a motive to kill.

Look. A slice of pie is too
much for some customers.

A cup-pie would be perfect.

See that?
See what you just did just now?

You interrupted our conversation
with your cup-pie chatter

when I don't even know
what a cup-pie is,

which means I don't give
a damn what a cup-pie is.

Oh, I'm sorry. A cup-pie

is a single-serve pie
with a honey-baked crust.

Doesn't that sound good?

Sounds delicious,
but we don't serve them here.

Am I seriously the
first person to question

your aversion to change?

What about your ex-girlfriends?

Emerson doesn't want to
hear about any of this.

I must admit, I am curious.

Hell, before dead
girl came along,

I didn't know what you liked,

or if you liked,
or if you had anything to like with.

For all I know,
you could have been one of those people

who was born with both
but didn't use either.

I've had girlfriends,

but there were always
extraneous factors.

What kind of
extraneous factors?

You know,

we, um... grew apart and...
lost interest,

had intimate relations
on a bearskin rug.

- Oh, no, did it...
- It did enough to be upsetting.

- Come on.
- W-what's all this?

Girl business. Bonding.

Phase two has
experienced a hiccup.

The kind of hiccup
that goes away

if you have a glass of
water or hold your breath?

No, the kind of hiccup
that keeps you up for days

on end till you go crazy

and you give away all your
cherished mermaid mementos

and refuse to get back
in the pool again.

Oh, no.
Have they been eating their pie?

Chuck, a slice of pie can't
solve all their problems.

We just need to give
them stronger pie

and give them a little push...
into the water.

- But I have been pushing.
- You need to push harder.

The pie maker feared
Chuck and Olive bonding

was like a chemical accelerant
bonding with an oxidizing agent.

An explosion was
bound to pop up.

Ooh, pop-ups!

- What?
- Pop-up books!

I love pop-up books.

And if the sacred cash
cow that I worship

is mooing down on us...

Our killer likes pop-ups, too.

Emerson and Ned pursued pinning
down the pop-up author.

Are you, uh, Chas Spielman,
author of "Pop-up pin-up"?

That's me.
Are you here for a sneak peek,

or should I say peep,
of my latest book?

I heard this book was canceled.

Only temporarily.
I'm still working on that.

This don't look like no
pop-up book I had as a child.

Pop-ups aren't
just for children.

My pop-ups are designed for
their original audience.

Perverts?

Mature connoisseurs of art.

Or homicidal maniacs with
rudimentary reading skills.

"The new patriot's
pop-up book --

a three-dimensional
instructional

telling you everything
you wanted to know

about building bombs of
all shapes and sizes."

Pop-up palace appeals to
an unusual demographic.

Any instructions in here on how

to build a
scratch-and-sniff bomb?

Is this about the attempt
on Napoleon Lenez?

Word travels fast in
literary circles.

Well, his book did bump "Pop-up
pin-up" off the schedule.

Seems like a good-enough
motive to blow somebody up.

And clearly,
you have the means.

Who would publish a book
on how to kill somebody,

then kill somebody they knew

using a method they
published in the book?

I'm keeping this
book as evidence.

And these, too.

So, you didn't want Lenez dead?

I may be petty,
but I'm not that petty.

Besides, the publisher
moved Lenez's book

from a prime holiday
spot to no-man's-land.

If you ask me,
his book wasn't bumped, it was dumped.

It smells like family
hour at the public pool.

Oh, no. That's not the pie.

It's chlorine tablets.

Aunt Lily used to say it
smells like bottled sunshine.

Well, if it came in a bottle,
aunt Lily would like it.

See, I've been reading this
really good self-help book.

It's about the power of smell.

I thought we'd try it --

see what happens when
you combine pie happiness

with the happiness of chlorine.

You know,
I read a self-help book once --

"Samsonized --

how to grow your hair to
become a more powerful you."

Two weeks later,
and I was bald as a baby's behind.

Looks like I'm not the
only one who read it.

What's the haps, paps?

Any luck on the case?

First of all,
I ain't your paps.

"Paps" has a lady connotation.

And second of all,
this ain't none of your business.

Oh, yuck.

There's something --

something stuck in there.

Oh, no, they didn't.

The intent of the
warning was obvious.

"U can't save Lenez"?

Someone wanted to
make a stink.

Decay...

a tinge of rusted iron --

harsh but spiky,
with a sulfuric edge.

This loathsome omen
came up from the sewer,

which means it could have
only come from one man --

Oscar Vibenius.

Oscar Vibenius and
Napoleon Lenez

were lab partners and
the best of friends,

until their divergent olfaction
theories tore them apart.

Oscar favored the
wild, unfettered

smells of the
natural world,

believing that people
couldn't appreciate

the good smells in life
without smelling the bad.

Lenez believed that
because smell

has a powerful effect
on human behavior,

humans should surround
themselves with only good,

carefully
controlled odors.

Over time,
their rivalry grew

until neither man
could stand the other.

Each retreated to the worlds
they found most comfortable --

one aboveground...

And one below.

There was really
nothing I could do.

It's sad,
but Oscar would do anything

to prevent my theories
from being published.

Do you have any idea
where he could be?

There were rumors.

Some claim that he
committed suicide.

Others were convinced that he
ended up in a mental institution,

only to be put back on the street
by the Reagan administration.

I heard tales of Oscar
roaming the sewers,

haunting them,

a soured husk of
who he once was.

But then someone recently told
me he worked for the DWP,

so that might explain where
some of those rumors came from.

Look carefully, ladies.

This... is your future.

Is it vodka?

Water.

As in Russian for vodka?

As in English for H2O.

Lily doesn't believe
in water anymore.

She thinks it's a waste of
a perfectly good tumbler.

- How about now?
- Chlorine.

Lily used to say it reminded
her of bottled sunshine.

Now it reminds me of children
without bladder control.

Why, Lily...

Is that a smile?

Just gas.

So, she swallowed
her happiness

and retreated to the safety
of her usual despondency.

As Lily's gas passed,

our determined
heroes followed

the tube sock to its
own foul origin.

Oscar Vibenius!

We're really walking
around down here.

This is where he roams...
and haunts.

See, y'all gonna make
me get my shoes wet.

There's his toolbox.

Looks like he's working on this thick,
yellow hose.

Well, let's follow the yellow,
thick hose.

Follow the yellow, thick hose.

I sure hope there's
methane down here,

'cause the skinny
ones are first to go.

Hello?

He ain't down here.
Ain't nobody down here.

We been looking around here
for hours following dead girl,

- and now we're lost.
- We're not lost.

We're following the yellow,
thick hose.

What about all those rumors --

The ones about Oscar ending
up in a mental institution

worse yet,
becoming a modern-day monster?

There are no such
thing as monsters.

- What about CHUD?
- "CHUD"?

Cannibalistic humanoid
underground dwellers.

They feed on the homeless
and hapless passersby.

I hear they're pack hunters.

In that case,
I sure hope he likes *** meat.

Oh, thanks.

Where are we, exactly?

We should be in
Lenez's neighborhood.

In fact...

we're right underneath
his apartment building.

What is that?

What the hell is that?

Osc--

Oscar Vibenius?

You better run!

Department of water and
power employee Oscar Vibenius

is wanted for questioning
in the attempted murder

of Napoleon Lenez,
author of upcoming self-help opus

"Smell of success."

Presales of the book
have skyrocketed

since the first explosion
which caused the death

of Anita Gray,
a former associate of Mr. Lenez.

I may be clean,
but my mind is in the gutter.

What? Dirty thoughts?
Lascivious pinings?

In the sewer gutter
with Oscar Vibenius.

Oh, that gutter.

He's not a very good killer.

He keeps blowing things up,
but never who he wants to blow up.

Yeah, he's certainly
no sharpshooter.

Maybe he just likes
the attention.

I bet he's real pissy
that Napoleon Lenez

is getting all the attention.

Oscar's about to get all
the attention he wants.

Sorry. I didn't know
that you were here.

How'd you get
cleaned up so quick?

I got cleaned up in
exactly the amount of time

it takes to get cleaned up.
You're just slow.

So, why's Oscar getting
all the attention?

Lenez's about to
make a statement,

and as witnesses to the most
recent attempt on his life,

we also have to
make a statement,

and that "we"
don't include you.

Why not?
I witnessed the latest attempt.

That don't change the fact
that there's a grave out there

that you supposed to be in.

What you gonna tell people
when they ask who you are?

I'll say that I'm
somebody I'm not.

"Hey, somebody,
can I see some I.D.?"

Well, I'll smile,
and I'll be polite,

and I'll say, "Oh, I'm sorry.

I forgot my purse,
and I've got no pockets."

"Well, hey, somebody,

see, now I'm gonna
need to see some I.D.

On account of you look
just like that dead girl

that got herself killed
on that tropical cruise."

Okay, if that happens,
I'll saying something like,

"What is this, a police state?"

If I ever say that,
it means I'm having a panic attack.

No need to panic 'cause
she ain't going.

You ain't going.

Just wanted to...
try it on before I gave it back.

While I have you here,
would you take my photo?

Yeah, sure.

You should know that
operation fin follies

is up and flapping.

- The mermaids are singing.
- But are they swimming?

Well, they're thinking
about swimming,

but their hearts are singing.

At least one of their hearts.
The other one's stalling.

Psychologically,
not cardiologically.

- Lily.
- That's the one.

Man, her nut don't crack.

Let's do one for 4th of July.

Her nut does crack.
I know it does.

I cracked it before.

I've seen that crack.

Thought maybe you'd want this.

My aunts gave it to you?

Practically forced it on me.

I think it's a big first
step for them, emotionally.

What are the stages of death?

Something, something, something,
something, acceptance.

- Those are the stages.
- No, no.

We're not at that stage
of our friendship yet.

Please don't cry
in front of me.

Don't do it. Don't you do it!

- I'm not going to.
- You better not.

I won't.

You did it.

Would you like a piece of pie?

What can smell do for you?

If you're Napoleon Lenez,
author of "Smell of success,"

the controversial new guide

to satisfaction
through olfaction,

smell can get you killed.

Napoleon, how many attempts
have there been on your life?

Right now,
there's only been two, Carol.

And you're anticipating more?

I don't know.

Seems like somebody out there

doesn't want my book
touching the world.

Simply purging your
life of the bad smells

and focusing on the good.

It's all there in my book,
"Smell of success."

But it's not just somebody.

You know the man who made
two attempts on your life.

Yes, I do.

His name is Oscar Vibenius.

Here with us now
is an eyewitness

to Oscar Vibenius' attempt
on your life earlier today.

- Sir, tell us what you saw.
- Good evening, Carol.

Let me preface my
statement by saying that

my name is Emerson Cod.
I'm a private investigator.

If you need to reach me,

my telephone number is klondike 5-0155.
That's klondike 5-0155.

I've been investigating
the Anita Gray murder.

- She was taken much too soon.
- Get a load of Muggy McHambone.

Hawking his wares.

He just gave out his phone
number on national television.

Look. There's the killer.

What makes somebody like
Oscar Vibenius do it?

Look. There's the killer.

Oh, Lord.

Don't make me cut a bitch.

Hey, I'm just here for
pie and conversation,

neither of which are cause
to call a man a bitch.

You're trying to
kill Napoleon Lenez.

If I am,
I'm not a very good killer.

I keep blowing things up,

but never who I
want to blow up?

I said that.
Have you been spying on me?

You'd be surprised
what you can hear

when you press your
ear to the right pipe.

If it wasn't you,
then who was trying to kill Lenez?

I have theories.

You've been conducting
your investigation.

I've been conducting mine.

We should talk, compare notes,
come to conclusions.

Now, how's about you
put that knife to use

and cut me off a piece
of persimmon pie?

All right, let's compare notes.

Why were you in the sewer with
your hands on a booby trap?

Why Oscar Vibenius had his
hands on a booby trap was this.

After learning of the
attempt on Lenez's life,

Mr. Vibenius trailed his former
colleague to a sewer main,

where he lost
track of him.

But what he found
in his stead

was a mysterious yellow,
thick hose,

which he quickly realized
was part of a plot

to blow up Napoleon
Lenez's car.

He worked quickly to
disable the threat,

but couldn't
dismantle the bomb

before he was startled
in the dark.

Fearing said bomb
was about to blow,

he chose to
run for cover

rather than explain
his actions.

How do we know you're
telling the truth?

Lenez practically said
that you were a CHUD --

- A cannibalistic --
- I know what a CHUD is,

and I know Napoleon Lenez.

Did he tell you what you
smelled like when you met him?

He thinks people like that.

He said I smelled like honey.

Like you've been dipped in it.

There's something
else you smell like.

I know. Death. It's my perfume.

You're not wearing perfume.

No, this isn't death.

This is something
else altogether.

I've never smelled
anything like it.

Do me. Do me.
What do I smell like?

Dog.

Never mind dog. We need proof.

We're not gonna believe you
just because you say so.

Would you believe your noses?

Smells like rotten eggs.

Well, it was incinerated
in an exploding ball

of methane gas.
What else would it smell like?

Nothing.

- Methane gas is odorless.
- I cook with gas.

It smells like rotten eggs.

The utility companies add a
synthetic chemical smell to it

before it's pumped
into our houses.

But a methane explosion in the
sewer wouldn't have a smell,

unless someone thought an
ignorant public expected it to.

Someone elitist,
someone like Lenez.

And with a book about
to be published,

he has the most to gain by
an attempt on his life.

Nothing sells books like a
little murder and mayhem.

I already preordered my copy.

As Napoleon Lenez's
star appeared to rise,

Lily and Vivian's star
continued to fall

as they made their way
through a box of slides

documenting
happier times.

Oh, look, Lily!

It's when we went to
the Hebrew Feta Sect.

- I miss my eye.
- Peculiar.

What?

You said you miss your eye before
you said you miss Charlotte.

When I looked at that picture,

the first thing I thought of was,
"I miss Charlotte."

Good god, Vivian.

It was the first thing
I thought of, too.

It just so happens,

I don't always say
everything I think.

Fancy that.

It wasn't your eye --
why we stopped swimming.

We told people it was,
but it wasn't.

We've been stopped
swimming long enough

for it not to matter
why we stopped swimming.

It used to make you so happy,
the water.

I think it's brave
to try to be happy.

You've gotten so
comfortable being unhappy.

Wouldn't it be wonderful

to wake up in the morning
and choose to be happy,

to let the water wash
everything away?

You forgot your
chlorine tablets.

Her olfactory
glands stimulated

with the smells of
synchronized swimming,

Lily experienced a
flood of endorphins

from the scent of
bottled sunshine

as Napoleon Lenez experienced
a flood of endorphins

from his media blitz,

which left the pie
maker to carry out

a blind-side
blitz of his own.

- Emerson!
- Where did you go?

I was bored and snooping.

Okay, maybe ipso
facto snooping,

but it wasn't my goal to snoop,
just entertain myself.

You know how when
you're a guest

and you're bored and
you go into the bathroom

and read through the magazines and
rummage through the medicine cabinet,

look in the closets
and under the bed,

and you find something you
were never meant to see?

Get to the point. Damn.

Well...

that couldn't have gone
better if I'd planned it.

Smell it, crave it, own it.
That's the spirit.

So, once you smell it,
then you crave it.

How far are you willing
to go before you own it?

You can't just scratch
and sniff and make a wish.

You got to have a plan,
and according to you,

this thing couldn't have gone better
if you'd planned it yourself,

- which leads me to believe --
- You planned it yourself.

You set Oscar up

after you figured out
the correct spacing.

This is ridic--

How dare --

You planted that sock.

I am not going to stand
here and be accused.

I think it's best
if you both leave.

I concur.

When I suggested you leave,
I didn't mean the penthouse.

I meant this mortal coil.

Congratulations, gentlemen.

You're about to fall victim

to attempt number
three on my life.

But don't worry.

I'll mention you in
the acknowledgements

of the second
printing of my book.

Oh, hell, no!

You got exactly 3 seconds
to open this damn door!

Wait. What's that smell?

It's the chamber filling up

with an amalgamation
of explosive gases,

which will erupt on my mark.
So, please,

if you're in a hurry to die,

fire your gun and set
the chamber ablaze.

But killing us isn't
gonna change anything!

Says you.

Imagine the public outcry when
the press releases photos

of my charred
decontamination chamber,

the crispy corpses of
two private detectives

unfortunate enough to trigger

my nemesis's third
attempt on my life.

How tragic,
but how perfectly titillating.

Boy, Anita sure made a big mistake
hitching her horse to your wagon.

Don't say that.
I never meant to hurt her.

- You killed her!
- But I didn't mean to.

Her death was an accident.

When it became clear

his publisher was going
to bury his life's work,

Lenez concocted an explosive
marketing strategy

of his very own.

He would boost
interest in his book

by pretending to be the target
of a murderous rival's attack.

His discovery of the
booby-trapped tome

would create a
publicity whirlwind

his publisher
could not ignore.

But there were variables
he couldn't control,

including the utter devotion of
his most dedicated student,

Anita Gray,

who couldn't resist
a quick sniff.

Still, Anita's death
only fueled the fire,

increasing his book's
presales exponentially.

So, without further ado,

Lenez set the rest of
his plot in motion.

He pinned the crime on Oscar,
as planned,

and further capitalized
on the growing publicity

by staging a second, more
spectacular attempt on his life,

an attempt that Oscar himself
mistakenly helped legitimize

by appearing on the
scene to stop it.

Goodbye, gentlemen.

Please give Anita
my felicitations.

And, again, tell her I'm sorry.

- Ned!
- Chuck!

- Oscar!
- Napoleon!

- Hi, Emerson.
- Hey, Olive.

- Wait, no, no!
- It's okay!

Oscar reversed the pumps!

He what?

Using his
expert knowledge

of the city's underground
electrical grid,

Oscar had
reprogrammed Lenez's

entire decontamination
system

just prior to entering
the building.

Repurposed and
rejiggered,

it no longer protected him
from the outside world.

Instead, it did
just the opposite.

No, no, no, no,
no, no, no, no, no.

No. No!

No!!

As the system
purged itself,

the man who
demanded purity

was branded a
filthy murderer.

And the man who
embraced filth

rejoiced that his solid
reputation had been cleansed.

I'm canceling my preorder.

Satisfied that another
case had been closed,

our heroes
returned home.

Elsewhere,

a tentative breeze of hope
signaled a new beginning.

*Morning has broken*

*Like the first morning*

*Blackbird has spoken*

*Like the first bird...*

What are you doing?

*Praise for the singing*

*Praise for the morning*

*Praise for them springing*

*Fresh from the word*

*Sweet the rain's new fall*

*Sunlit from heaven*

*Like the first dewfall*

*On the first grass*

*Praise for the sweetness*

*Of the wet garden*

*Sprung in completeness*

*Where his feet passed*

*Mine is the sunlight*

*Mine is the morning*

*Born of the one light*

*Eden saw play*

*Praise with elation*

*Praise every morning*

*God's re-creation*

*Of the new day...*

Another case closed,

Emerson temporarily set
aside his knitting needles

to pursue a new hobby...

One that magnified his
happiness tenfold.

I love pop-up books.

You haven't seen my old sweater,
have you?

No. Have you seen my new menus?

No.

For me?

For you.

Cup-pies.

The mere sight
of each other

left the pie maker and
the girl named Chuck

feeling exactly like
they wanted to feel --

safe and warm and loved.

Thanks to Raceman
for the transcript

Meanwhile,

Oscar Vibenius embraced
an obsession of his own.

Chuck and her secret
were in danger.

And this time,

it wasn't so much
about the telling

as it was the smelling.

Subtitles made by the Bloc Team
For www.forom.com