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Let me tell you a story.

In 1855,

at La Flétan Agé,

a small theatre in Paris,

I attended an evening of staged magic and conjuring.

The magician performed all the requisite illusions precisely as one would expect...

And for an encore,

he placed his lovely assistant into a long box,

mesmerized her,

and proceeded to saw her in half.

He took his bow, the curtain closed.

The magician left the country the next day

and the young woman, whom I later learned was his mistress,

was never heard from again.

I can say now that I, along with some 200 others,

may have bore witness to the murder of that woman.

The deed, of course, was shrouded

in a haze of misdirection and spectacle filtered lighting, smoke,

so it required no concerted effort

to persuade us all that it was indeed an illusion.

When one encounters a magician,

one expects, invites trickery

all the while knowing

that the simplest way to saw a woman in half

is to simply saw a woman in half.

That story has something to do with this situation, doesn't it?

It does.

It's pretty cryptic. I don't get the connection.

You will.

Well, it's a forest...

...but it's an animated forest, like in those puppet holiday shows:

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer or Nestor, the Long-Eared Donkey...

I'm not familiar with Nestor

So I'm walking along with two elves.

And we come to this clearing in the woods.

And there's this Christmas tree lying in the snow. It fell over.

So we start towards the tree and a bear starts chasing us and grabs the two elves.

And I see them get dragged into the forest.

I turn back around and there's a phonograph record in the snow.

So I pick it up.

What was the record?

No idea.

Then a wolf comes out of the woods

and he grabs the phonograph record and he's pulling on it.

I realize that I can't make it to the tree with this wolf here

so I fling the record into the woods and the wolf chases it.

Now he's gone,

and I turn back around towards the tree

and there's another elf there trying to lift it up, a really tall elf, way taller than me.

- He's trying to lift it up... - Wait, taller than you? How do you know he was an elf?

Well, he was dressed funny, like an elf.

You know, colorful?

Anyway, the tree's too heavy for him,

so I go over and help him and we finally manage to set it up straight.

And then we stare at each other really intense-like.

What happened after that?

I woke up.

So what do you think?

Hard to say. It's not normal, though.

You're probably a lunatic.

- A dozen mixed, please? - You got it.

It's too weird and specific not to mean something, Meg.

I mean, what's with the tree?

Well, I know what a psychiatrist would say:

Having trouble making a tree standing up, probably a penis thing.

Don't be gross. I don't have a penis thing.

No plain glazed, please.

- No problem. - "No plain glazed?" Seriously?

I don't care for it.

It's the saddest donut in the case.

The mixed dozen is built around the plain glazed.

It grounds it. But, hey! It's your funeral.

Hey, did anybody find a wallet?

I left it on that table a half an hour ago...

No. I don't think anyone turned anything in.

I'll go check in the back...

- This it? - That's it!

Somebody must have turned it in.

Thanks. I appreciate it.

Ruth, aren't you supposed to be there at two?

Shit.

Good luck with the penis thing!

Damn doctors.

Idiots.

If I'm not dying according to their schedule

then maybe it's their damn schedule that's out of whack, not me!

Making them look bad.

They ran some new tests.

Yeah?

Came back good.

Dr. Zeblisky, he danced around it.

But I got the impression they were thinking of maybe kicking me out of this dump.

What? Zeblisky actually said that?

That's great news, Dad...

Well, he danced around it...

But still, for him to say that, that's...

Look, I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to jinx it.

So... how's work?

Oh, work's good.

Still a grind.

I should hear about that promotion in a couple of weeks.

That executive account position?

Yup. Corner office, fifteenth floor.

Imagine that...

I never saw you making more than minimum wage.

How about that little Kyle there, huh?

It's only been a month and already he's bigger and stronger.

Hair's growing, too.

He's good Kiesling stock.

Yup, he's quite a handful.

And I hate to keep bringing it up,

but when you and Grant get married, he's agreed to...

Yes, Dad. Kyle will keep the Kiesling name. We've already been through this.

I know it's not important to you, but it's a hell of a thing he's doing.

And I'll be sure to tell him that when I finally get a chance to meet him.

How you managed to land a guy like that

is I'll never be able to figure that out.

- Did it go okay? How's your dad? - Alright.

He's actually doing better.

Doing better? Really?

Let's get you home to Mama, Jeffrey.

- How did the little guy do? - Just fine.

You got a good kid, Brock.

- Okay. - Wait.

Okay.

- Time. - Okay.

See you next Thursday.

- Oh, yeah about that... - What?

Lori's taking Jeffrey to her parents' house in Iowa for a couple of weeks,

so it kind of throws a monkey wrench in my visitation schedule.

You're telling me this now?

You can get Lois' kid again, can't you?

I think my dad's starting to be able to tell the difference.

Shit, Brock.

I'm not crazy about it either, Ruth, but this custody thing's all about her.

And you gotta admit this hospice thing has been going on way longer than you told me.

I know, I know.

Shit.

Hey, you want to get a coffee or a cheese crisp?

I know a guy.

Nah.

I got an interview downtown.

Job interview?

Something like that.

Everything go okay this week?

Any episodes?

Confrontations?

No. No. Pretty good week.

Small confrontation with a guy driving too slow in the left lane.

Threw half a breakfast burrito at him when we stopped at a light.

- Jeez, Ruth... - Oh, come on, Crosby. The guy was about fifty.

How do you drive for thirty years and not know the left lane is the fast lane?

That kind of jug head ignorance deserves a breakfast burrito.

I'll let it go.

How about your work? You missing any time from your work?

No, no, work's fine. Donuts aren't real challenging...

But it pays the bills.

I wouldn't go that far.

- Did your boss fill out that paperwork? - Oh.

Oh, shit I left it at home.

But I do have my community service hours.

You're gonna need to bring it by tomorrow.

Without fail, please.

The ventriloquist thing again?

I can't just keep letting this slide, Ruth.

- Why not? - Because it's not community service.

It's meant to amuse and entertain.

But it "amuses and entertains" the entire community, Crosby.

Every episode gets over two million hits.

The idea behind community service is to provide a fair level of restitution.

Well, it's not like I robbed a bank, or put someone in the hospital.

That wasn't a hospital!

Anyway, I put in a lot of time and effort into it.

You play the cello off to the side of a very strange ventriloquist.

Well, I choose the music, I practice it, I perform it.

I do my own goth makeup. I bought a dress!

I'm not judging your work ethic, Ruth.

I'm saying what if you played the cello at an elder care facility or a homeless shelter.

I was just thinking outside the box.

We're shooting another one tonight.

Well, I better not see those hours on your paperwork next week.

You're off probation soon, so let's go for some real community service, huh?

I did it again, didn't I?

Don't get me wrong, Ruth, I'm thrilled he's getting out of hospice.

I'm just saying:

What if he gets out and he doesn't have a home anymore?

I know, I know...

Can't you just tell him the truth? Maybe he could help.

He's as broke as we are. He doesn't have that kind of money anymore.

Okay, then just tell the bank that your dad's in hospice.

That oughta buy you some time. They wouldn't foreclose on a hospice guy.

I told them that already.

How the hell do you think I've kept them out for ten months?

You used that already?

Yeah, when that guy came by!

I thought you just flirted your way out of that.

Of ten months of back payments and penalties?

I don't have those kind of flirting skills.

Oh, Ruth I think you played that hospice card way too soon.

We'll think of something.

You girls ready?

It's not time yet...

You're sure it's okay if I watch?

Errol seems kind of temperamental.

Don't worry, he likes people watching him.

Trust me.

Get your stuff.

I'm not even dressed yet! What's the hurry?

I just thought we'd stop by the freight building before we hit Errol's.

Why? What's at the freight building?

You guys wanna see a dead president?

So I guess she lives in Scottsdale now.

So they shipped him all the way from Pennsylvania?

That's kinda gross.

Actually, he never married.

The only bachelor president.

We won't get in trouble for being here?

- I mean if a security guard sees us, you won't... - Security?

We custodians are the security around this place.

He's in a crate?

No, the casket's in the crate. He's in the casket.

They ship him out first thing in the morning straight to the airport.

They're flying him back.

By this time tomorrow, he'll be back underground, resting in peace.

I bet Gretchen has opened and closed this thing about fifty times today, showing it off.

Shouldn't he be in a refrigerator or on ice or something?

That's what I thought.

But I guess he stopped stinking about a hundred years ago.

He smells old, but he doesn't smell bad.

Okay...

Behold!

The grizzled remains

of the fifteenth President of the United States, James Buchanan.

Wow.

Oh, that's horrifying.

I know!

Oh, that'll make a lovely Christmas card.

I know.

This is what he used to look like.

Gretchen's brother is a philatelist.

That's disgusting. Poor Gretchen.

I hate to say it, but I don't think I've even heard of James Buchanan.

He was the guy right before Lincoln.

Supposed to be the worst president ever.

Seriously, I looked him up - the worst.

Well...

What made him worse than all the others?

There was the whole slavery issue. You know, he was on the wrong side of that.

And then the country started falling apart.

You know - States breaking off, and he didn't do shit to stop that.

He was a career politician, spineless, couldn't make tough decisions.

Oh! Historians refer to him as a useless sack of crap.

Oh, check out what he had buried with him...

You went through his pockets?

Not all of them.

Who's that?

This is William Rufus King, Vice President under some other president no one remembers.

Also, Buchanan's roommate for thirteen years.

Also a "bachelor."

He looks peaceful.

He looks like a fucking ghoul.

Well, this ghoul happens to be the most valuable thing that's ever come through this dock.

At one point in time, this nauseating bag of bones was running the country.

It's hard to imagine Abraham Lincoln taking orders from this guy.

Well, early on in his career, Jimi Hendrix opened for The Monkees.

If it comes up short, I'll just replay it again from here.

As long as it doesn't break the mood.

If the mood is broken then the music serves no purpose.

Oh Errol, this is Meg, my roommate.

- Hi. - Nice to finally meet you.

Sorry, it's wet from the bathroom.

I mean, it's water, I washed them. It's not urine or anything.

That's how you meet someone?

"Nice to meet you, my hands aren't covered in urine?"

Delightful.

You'll be observing tonight then, will you, Meg? From a safe distance, yes.

Dante!

I asked for cream soda not soda water!

Sorry, Errol. I was going for the healthier choice.

- Hi, Ruth. - Hey, Dante.

Apologies.

Anger is my traveling companion... and sometimes I let him drive.

This is Trina.

She's developing her gift.

Are you interested in ventriloquism?

Me? God, no.

Not really. No.

It really is the sort of analog art form that will remain long after the bombs are dropped.

Cockroaches and ventriloquism.

Well, I know I could never do a puppet show like you do.

But I like those little dummies. And their little suits, very smart.

It's pretty sad when the happiest part of that conversation

was about soaking your hands in urine.

Please. He was lucky I was as kind as I was.

This whole thing is fucking idiotic.

You don't appreciate it as an art form, Meg.

You don't understand the beauty of it.

Shit!

What's the goddamn line?

You're sure that's German for "piano wire"?

Okay, we're going again!

Take nine! Okay.

Ruth, you can start it up.

Ruth!

- Ruth! - What?

I'm leaving.

Last chance. It's gonna be fun.

Lots of guys.

Guys who play with dolls.

No thanks, Holly.

Your loss.

Don't wait up...

You've been in a weird mood tonight.

Not really.

Let's go get some coffee. My treat.

You're broke.

Buy me some coffee?

You know how people talk about motivation,

how you hang a carrot from a stick

to make the horse pull the wagon and all that?

Sure, the famous "Carrot-and-Stick Horse Wagon Theorem."

Yeah.

Well, for as long as I can remember,

every time I've ever gotten close to a carrot,

it turned out just to be an orange stick.

- And I was right back at the beginning again. - Yeah.

But I think I might have finally gotten hold of a carrot.

Yeah?

I know how we can get my dad's mortgage back up to date, pay off all our bills,

get your Mom's shit out of hock, the fines, everything.

It doesn't involve drugs or prostitution, does it?

I know the media tends to sugarcoat those things to make them sound more fun

- and they sound really fun, but... - No, no, no. It's very simple.

We're going to steal the corpse of President James Buchanan.

That's ridiculous... isn't it?

That's what they said about the Wright Brothers!

But you're talking about kidnapping!

What kidnapping? He's already dead.

It's grave-robbing at best.

- Will there be a ransom? Gonna write a ransom note? - Yeah...

As soon as a ransom note comes into the picture, it's kidnapping.

That's Crime 101. You can go to prison, Ruth.

No, we could go to prison. But we won't.

- Know why? - I don't know.

- Why? - Because we have three things on our side:

Brains, guts, and...

Uh... motive?

No...

A truck?

Okay, a truck.

I don't know, Ruth.

It's kind of a shitty way to treat this guy, isn't it?

Where's the harm?

He's gonna wind up back in his grave.

Think of it like a millhouse on a river.

It uses the flowing water to turn the big paddle-wheel,

to make cornmeal or something.

But the water goes back to the sea.

We're just using it for a second.

Besides, you said you were planning to become more unpredictable.

I'm in a corner here, Meg. My options ran out a few months ago.

This isn't some half-assed adventure here. I'm trying to survive.

I need your help.

Big time, I need your help.

Okay, I'm in.

Oh, that is so awesome, Meg. You just saved my life.

Okay, finish your mochiatta and we'll begin the hijinks.

Wait, we'll need Holly along, right?

- Why? - She has the keys.

You stole those from Holly?

No, I didn't "steal" them from Holly.

They don't belong to Holly.

She just uses them because she works there.

- But Holly will get in trouble. - No, she won't.

That's why we can't tell her.

If she's in on it, then she'll be a suspect because she has the keys.

This keeps her absolutely safe.

Don't worry about Holly.

- We'll cut her in after we get the ransom. - Okay.

You think that guy overheard us?

What if he overheard us talking about this shit?

Wait...

So, Jillian, do you think this bikini top is too small on me?

Nah, we're good.

We're not gonna take the whole casket, are we?

No, I saw some big boxes in there and some bubble wrap.

We'll just figure it out.

And who exactly are we going to ransom him off to?

I told you: I'm gonna email the ransom note to the government.

I mean specifically who?

You can't write an email to government@government.gov.

Don't worry, I'll find the appropriate...

Some lady in New Jersey owns Napoleon's penis, and she says that she...

Wait! Why the hell does some lady in New Jersey own Napoleon's penis?

She inherited it from her father.

Oh, okay.

She says she got offered a hundred-grand for it.

A hundred thousand dollars? Is it musical or something?

No, it's "one inch long and resembles a maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace."

Eww! No wonder he was so angry.

Some moron actually paid a hundred thousand dollars for it?

She didn't actually sell it.

It was handed down from her father.

Mmm... okay I call bullshit on that.

Nobody refuses that kind of money for a historical buckskin penis

no matter how touching that deathbed scene is!

If my father leaves me a shriveled dork in his will,

I'm making a fucking smoothie out of it and pouring it on his grave.

I was thinking about the grave-robbing charge.

I'll grant you that it might not be kidnapping but it's probably theft and burglary.

You can't steal a human being.

A person is not a piece of property.

That would be slavery!

And look where slavery got President Buchanan.

Buried under some Christmas ornaments in our garage?

That is a sorry-ass fate.

I still can't believe how light his body was.

Well, you take the moisture out of a guy and he's just a pile of sticks.

You better get ready for work.

Me? You mean you're not working at all today?

No way. I've got to manage this situation.

I gotta get to the library and send that email.

First, I gotta create a new email address. Untraceable.

I want them to get it right before they get the call from Pennsylvania

saying that the casket's empty.

Just tell Gunderson I'm sick.

Uhh... He's gonna need more than just "sick."

Well, tell him any ailment but put the word "vaginal" in front of it.

That way, if he questions it, he's gonna have a harassment suit on his hands.

"Vaginal pneumonia."

Might work.

Wait a minute...

What a dick!

What?

The whole "moral evil" statement. What a crock.

It was not a crock...

...it was the truth.

No, no.

You're trying to play both sides of this thing.

You say slavery is "a great moral evil"

and then you spend your entire political career trying to keep it going.

I'm afraid that's not entirely true, my dear.

You've drawn a naive conclusion.

It's right here!

You've barely started that book.

And I cannot vouch for the author's impartiality.

If you would prefer a more enlightened account of these events,

I would recommend my own book,

Mr. Buchanan's Administration on the Eve of Rebellion.

That's the title?

Mr. Buchanan's Administration on the Eve of Rebellion?

Oh my God, that is seriously the worst title I've ever heard.

Oh, lacks pungency?

Yeah, it blows.

You need an editor.

You've made an enormous mistake, Miss Kiesling.

What?

You know you cannot possibly get away with this.

You will spend a significant portion of your remaining years in a federal penitentiary.

For you, madam, are a shiftless reprobate.

I thought we were talking about you.

Ah, yes.

Well, to criticize me,

you must first understand the time into which I was born.

No man has a choice in that.

And to me, all endeavors,

even moral ones are answerable

not to the fickle tide of popular opinion but to the law.

For all endeavors there is but one master.

God?

The law!

I acknowledge no master but the law.

So you don't believe in God?

Well, yes, but you're missing the point.

It's very dramatic, what I'm saying.

No, the law, I got it.

But the government is supposed to change the stupid ones, right?

And what do you know of government?

I was in student government ever since fifth grade.

And in high school I was elected officer every year.

Secretary, treasurer, veep until my senior class, I was president...

For a while.

"For a while?"

That didn't work out.

So this is your area of expertise?

No.

But I know enough about it

to know that you can't lump slavery in with shoplifting and horseplay.

All endeavors...

Hey how'd it go?

Good. Did Gunderson buy that vaginal pneumonia story?

Pneumonia! Pneumonia!

I couldn't remember "pneumonia" for the life of me.

I kept thinking "whooping cough".

So in case Gunderson asks, you had a 24-hour case of whooping vagina.

So did you get it all done? The ransom note?

Yup. Short and sweet. Just like writing ourselves a check.

This is so cool!

So how do we handle the money drop?

Well, I didn't put it in the note, but I figured out an awesome plan.

Took me a couple of hours, but it is top-notch caper shit!

- Ready? - Yeah.

First, we tell them that the drop will be at the Quik-Run

at Washington and 40th Street at 11 am.

They are to put a 150,000...

I'll be watching the bagman from behind the wall...

...the westbound light rail train and I call the bagman from a cell phone...

...to get off at McDowell station...

Are you sure it's the "bagman?"

He's got the bag, so yeah. Come on, you're killing the flow.

- Sorry. - I direct him to the side of the building...

He'll toss the bag and press...

...and when the elevator opens...

...11:30, a small group from the third floor leaves for lunch...

...drop it down to me where I'll be and leave as if you're...

...go back to the alley and move east to my car on 3rd Street

where our carefree future awaits.

Oh my God. It's like criminal Beautiful Minds.

It's brilliant!

You're like an evil genius!

I know!

Might be too late.

When I checked earlier, it was already after six o'clock Washington time.

Yeah, but it can't hurt to check.

The library is closing!

We're closing, ladies.

Well, they got back to us at least,

but I think they think we're asking for a federal grant for some historical study.

I'll bet this link goes to a grant application.

And why do they need your social security number?

Are they planning to tax us on the ransom?

I know we're first-time kidnappers, but I don't think that's customary.

No. And I'm sure giving them a bank routing number

would be more efficient but it feels like we'd be tipping our hand.

Rookie mistake.

Why did you write "Yours in Christ" at the end?

To make them think we were religious fanatics to throw them off the scent.

Good thinking...

You don't think anyone could have been watching the library, do you?

Like the Feds or something?

I'm just saying what if the library has cameras.

And you checked out a book on Buchanan.

How many people actually do that on purpose?

Well, I didn't check it out officially.

Ruth...

Besides, we don't have to use that email anymore

because we have this lady's number: Parnella Monroe.

Cool, we can take a long lunch and give her a call tomorrow.

Oh! Mormons!

Hey, do you wanna grab some dinner?

I can't.

I have to re-shoot that "Drang und Sturm" video again.

Again? Why?

Errol thought of something more ironic.

Like you said, he's temperamental.

Lights!

You can't be serious about that "Dred Scott decision".

You actually agreed with that?

Indeed.

It was a Supreme Court decision.

Man, that's some evil nonsense.

Again, Miss Kiesling, you are missing the point.

Slavery was a legal issue not a moral one.

The law considered slaves property, and as such carried the rights of ownership.

Congress makes the laws; the president merely administers them.

That's a cop-out.

In chapter three, you talked about how much you hate slavery

and how you're glad you live in a state where it doesn't exist.

And then when you get in a position to do something about it...

See, this is why you were a shitty president.

Ruth, I'm going to stretch my non-verbal skills after the second line.

So if you can just vamp until I do the eye-roll.

Got it. "Vamp until the eye-roll."

Dante!

Why am I the villain?

I never owned slaves.

Washington? Jefferson?

They were slave owners.

And are they held up for ridicule? No.

They have their faces carved into a mountain

while I'm only found on a twenty-cent stamp!

Okay, that's not a bad point.

But calling them out by saying, "They're just as bad as I was" is a pretty creepy argument.

And those guys did shit!

You don't get your face put on money or mountains by spinning your wheels.

And it was a fifteen-cent stamp.

Permit me to point out that those are very high-minded platitudes for a grave robber.

And worse: one who kowtows to an arrogant puppeteer.

Don't get snappy.

I'm just trying to wrap my head around why the voters elected a boob for president.

A "boob?"

Would a "boob" serve as Minister to the United Kingdom and Russia?

Could he hold the office of Secretary of State?

A "boob" would never be elected to both the United States Senate

and the House of Representatives.

Nor would he be offered an appointment to the Supreme Court.

And a "boob," my good woman,

does not and cannot engender the goodwill

required to stand as President of the United States.

This is nothing less than the curriculum vitae of a statesman!

Maybe "boob" isn't the right word.

Apology accepted.

Give me the money or Buchanan gets it!

That's cool!

You can disguise your voice on the phone.

I had my sister bring it by. It's my nephew's.

That's great. Doesn't sound very intimidating, though.

It's got a bunch of other settings, not just the alien one.

Don't force me to set fire to the president.

Sounds like we're calling from a corrugated drainage pipe.

That'll throw 'em off the scent!

Did you figure out where we can steal a cell phone?

There's a couple of restaurants on Mill Avenue with outdoor patios.

- Tables right off the sidewalk. - Cool...

Then at lunch, we ride!

Okay, there's our guy.

You go in and flirt with him.

When you've got him looking the other direction, I'll swoop in and grab his phone.

I can't flirt.

You should be the one who flirts.

I'll grab the phone.

I have never had the skill set to flirt intentionally.

I'll look ridiculous.

No, Ruth. You're really pretty.

You just have to walk up to him and smile.

I can't smile on cue like that.

Try it... right now.

Give me a sexy smile.

Okay, I'll flirt with him.

But I can't guarantee results.

I got it: take off your bra.

- What? - You want results? Take your bra off.

Nobody wants to see that.

You know my nipples don't line up anymore.

It doesn't matter if he's looking because he's turned on or because he's horrified.

We just want him looking.

Fine.

Hi. Excuse me...

Can you please tell me the time?

Sure, no problem. You cannot spell time without "me".

Or "it".

Oh, I get it.

Or "met."

Okay, this isn't "Boggle."

What do you think?

Hello, Miss Monroe.

Nice.

Parnella Monroe.

Hello, Miss Monroe.

Can you repeat that?

Is this Miss Monroe?

Shit.

What happened?

Parnella Monroe.

This is Mr. X, Miss Monroe.

Yes, Mr. X.

We had a correspondence about a "Mr. Buchanan." How can I assist you?

Well, I'm just following up on that correspondence.

I got your response,

but it seems to be all about applying for a grant

and needing our social security number and banking information.

I hope you don't think we'd be stupid enough to give you that shit.

I didn't mean to insinuate a lack of intelligence on your part.

But I hope that you realize that as an arm of the US Government,

we have to provide a certain amount of transparency for any financial outlay.

Is it about the amount?

What if we lowered it to a hundred thousand dollars?

That's a very generous counteroffer, Mr. X,

but my office is not authorized to make that size of a payment

without going through a formal bid process.

This isn't a payment or a bid; this is a ransom for James Buchanan.

A ransom for a kidnapping?

Yes. Kind of.

And you say the gentleman is deceased.

He is.

As I understand the protocol of a kidnapping,

the basis for a ransom or the collateral is the life of the person being kidnapped.

A kidnapped victim with no life has no leverage. You understand my point, Mr. X?

You understand that this is a former president we're talking about, right?

I'm aware of Mr. Buchanan's former occupation.

But you have no collateral with which to bargain.

A quick call to Woodland Mill Cemetery this morning

confirmed that Mr. Buchanan was safely reinterred yesterday afternoon without incident.

Wait, that's not true! I've got him!

They just didn't open up the coffin to find out it was empty!

You've gotta dig him back up!

This is a hundred thousand dollar president we're talking about here!

You are overplaying your hand, Mr. X.

This is not Abraham Lincoln or Teddy Roosevelt or even Millard G.D. Fillmore.

James Buchanan was a terrible president.

Perhaps our shittiest one.

Well...

So, in the future, if you are going to claim to have dug up a president,

you might want to go for one of the more marquee gentlemen.

Um... can I talk to your manager or...

Might I make a suggestion, Mr. X? Kidnapping is a very serious federal offense.

It's not kidnapping, you said it yourself.

Grave-robbing is the worst that it could be.

I don't think you're going to be sweating the grave-robbing charge

when you're doing twelve years for extortion.

It would be wise to drop this now.

And if you get the urge to email me,

I would advise against using the computer at the library.

Are we clear?

Yes, ma'am.

Then you have a wonderful day, Mr. X, and you try to make some better decisions.

Well?

Her points were well-reasoned.

Fuck.

- I got it. The rich lady. - What?

Plan B. The rich lady who brought him here in the first place!

Perfect! I knew you'd come up with something.

Wait! We don't have to steal another cell phone, do we?

Nah, that was just because it was a government agency.

The phone booth at the gas station will be fine.

- We'll go right after work. - I thought you were gonna see your dad.

I can see him tomorrow.

Oh, I don't know if I'd skip that, Ruth.

Next week?

Two weeks at the most.

Then I'll be home in my own damn bed.

That's amazing. The tests all came out clean?

Clean as a Dutch oven.

Don't eat that shit, Ruthie! That stuff is so bad for you.

No it's not. It's fortified.

That's great news, Dad.

You know that Meg and Holly are living with me now.

- I don't know if I can just get them out. - That's alright.

The more the merrier as long as they're clean.

But we gotta keep all this hush-hush, though.

Zeblisky said if the hospice people got wind of this,

my insurance wouldn't pay for the stay.

I won't say a thing.

Do you want me to see if I can get Brownie back from the Nielsens?

They don't really seem to be dog people anyway.

No no more dogs. I've had the time to think about that here.

I don't think old people should have dogs.

See, a dog would eat you if he could figure out you were made of meat.

So thank God they're morons.

I need some time to process this.

Things don't turn out exactly the way you think they will.

Yeah... Different... Different... Not all bad.

You're starting to sound like a glass-half-full kind of guy.

Not really.

It only seems fuller

because the glass is a little smaller these days.

Warren residence.

Hello, I would like to speak with Mrs. Laura Warren.

Who's calling, please?

My name is... Deborah Gibson.

And I am calling about a gentleman friend of hers:

President James Buchanan.

One moment, please.

He's getting her!

Are you from the newspaper?

Do you wish to conduct an interview with Mrs. Warren?

Uh, that's right, guy.

An interview.

Mrs. Warren will be dining at LeBaron's this evening.

You can join her there promptly at 7:30.

Oh, I don't know if that's something that... Hello?

What happened?

She wants to have dinner with me. For an interview.

Maybe that's a good thing.

No way that's a good thing.

No, this way you can see whether she would even consider

paying a ransom without actually demanding it up front.

And if she's not interested, well, at least you got a free meal.

She'll see right through me.

No way! She's a rich widow.

Reality to her is spending thousands and thousands of dollars

to dig up a dead guy and mail him across the country to her doctor's house.

She's fucking delusional, just play along.

...but his grandfather didn't have the means to get it done.

So I guess it was my uncle who first got me interested in pursuing it.

He had this long car.

I tell you, it was the greatest thing since funny milk!

Anyway, so I... do you need to change the tape out in that thing?

It's fine. Like I said, it's digital, so the tape's really small.

Now, I touched on this earlier, but maybe I wasn't being clear.

It's about your investment in this...

Oh, the donations and the endowments I had to make just to open the right doors.

Plus the cost to ship a fully-insured casket.

That was a requirement of the county.

And the medical costs and the procedures and...

That's what I'm getting at. All the costs to get him out here and everything.

Well, I had to.

There's only one doctor in the country I trust.

He happens to be my doctor and he wasn't going to fly back East, which I can respect.

While the results were disappointing,

I feel that ultimately it was money well spent.

That's what I'm getting at: money well spent.

You see, there's this other person that I interviewed

that says that the body was never shipped back...

That empty coffin story is hogwash.

I didn't pay same-day freight just to ship back an empty box.

The county and the cemetery both confirmed...

I happen to know it's true, Mrs. Warren.

And the person I interviewed

said that they are willing to keep this embarrassment on the down-low

for a donation or endowment.

And just how much would that be?

They say fifty thousand dollars.

You don't believe me?

It doesn't matter whether I believe you, because it's none of my concern.

DNA says he's no kin of mine.

So you can just skedaddle along and find someone else to shake down.

I've washed my hands of that man.

But he was dug up because of you. Don't you feel any responsibility?

No, I do not.

That H-O-M-O-sexual has been hanging over my family

like a vulture for the past hundred years.

It's embarrassing.

Then why did you go through all the trouble and expense?

Well, he was president.

Even the ugliest Osmond brother is still an Osmond brother.

Out of bounds.

Whatever would lead her to that conclusion?

Well, for starters, after you died,

your niece and Mr. King's niece made it a point

of burning all of the letters you two wrote to each other.

Third down...

There's nothing odd in that.

- The letters were private. - Hey, I'm not judging.

It just makes it sound like they were forbidden love letters between two dudes.

Fourth down. I'm kicking a field goal.

Three points. Suck it, Buchanan!

William Rufus King was a wonderful companion.

We had many interests in common.

And you are judging, Miss Kiesling.

No, no you lived together for thirteen years.

You went to every party together.

You yourself called the relationship a "communion", and... um...

When he was sent to France on some extended job,

you wrote a letter to somebody where you said...

"I am alone and solitary in the house, having no companion.

I have gone a'wooing to several gentlemen but have not succeeded with any of them."

Yes?

"Gone a'wooing to several gentlemen?"

It is a figure of speech!

And Andrew Jackson used to call you "Miss Nancy"...

Andrew Jackson was a stool!

It's right here in the book.

This friend of yours, this Meg...

how long have the two of you been cohabitating?

In this house?

- Just under a year, after my father went... - No, no, no. Before that.

A while.

And is your relationship of a prurient nature?

- Okay, I get it. - So whether these rumors were true or untrue is irrelevant!

It was hell bent conjecture of the first order and absolutely none of their business!

Neither is it any of yours!

Look, I don't know how I can make it any clearer.

For forty thousand dollars you can get him back.

Ma'am, I hear what you're saying, but James Buchanan is in his grave.

"A'moulderin", as they say.

But he's not a'moulderin', as I've said, because you guys never reburied him!

He's still here in Arizona!

You guys buried an empty coffin!

We buried an empty coffin?

Not my problem in any way...

You could lose a national treasure!

Uh, no not a national treasure.

That's very historically inaccurate.

They did like a ten-part series on the presidents on PBS.

Washington got 19 minutes.

Buchanan was in a montage after Polk.

Well, I'm sorry he's been such a wart on the community's ass, but he's...

No, he's one of the state's biggest embarrassments

and we had Three Mile Island and game six of the '93 World Series.

I'm sympathetic to all this town history, so how about we slash that ransom?

Thirty thousand dollars. One president, priced to move!

Ma'am, ma'am, we're not in the business of buying dead bodies!

I don't even know what line it would go under the town budget!

And then we gotta dig up the coffin again

and then we gotta deal with the backhoe guy again

and the backhoe guy is a real prick!

It's your town history!

You can't just ignore one of your own, can you?

We don't ignore him.

We sell T-shirts of him at the City Hall Gift Shop.

We don't move a lot of them.

I think we've sold one since I've been here

and that was to some hipster guy who was buying it ironically.

No, he's not really a National Treasure, he's more of a Town Character.

You guys have Town Characters out there, right?

"Town Character" what the hell is a Town Character?

Look, is your supervisor there?

We're gonna need to speak to a higher authority.

No. Yes, she is here, and no, she will not speak to you.

After dealing with Mrs. Warren and her doctor and her accountant,

she specifically said I was not to take any calls from Arizona.

Then why the hell did you pick up my call?

I didn't want to be snooty.

I mean, after all, this is Lancaster County not York.

Good luck selling your corpse, ma'am.

Hey, how'd it go?

They seem to be as interested in Buchanan as everybody else.

Oh, shit.

I need a break. I'm gonna run home and get that paperwork for Crosby.

I promised I'd bring it by yesterday. Can you cover?

It'll just be a long lunch.

- It's not even ten o'clock... - An early, long lunch?

Sure. Just gotta prep the lunch counter by myself again...

Hey.

Hey, did you see a yellow paper that was here, folded in half?

Wouldn't know.

Is everything alright?

Yeah, everything's fine.

Are you sure? You seem upset about something.

Well, let's see. What should I be most upset about?

The beads all over the kitchen floor?

The missing yellow piece of paper?

Or the rotting, presidential corpse in our garage?

Oh... that's James Buchanan.

Yeah, I know who he is. I introduced you, remember?

Listen, Holly I'm really sorry...

I could lose my job over this!

Why the hell did you steal him?

And why did you do it behind my back?

- It was to keep you safe. - You should have told me!

You would have just tried to talk me out of it.

Yeah, yeah, I would have but if you were still dead-set on it,

I could have helped!

Ten months behind?

What have you been doing with the rent I paid?

I was paying back Mr. Lacey from that night I smashed his car.

Ninety-five hundred dollars.

Well, you said you had insurance to cover that.

I didn't have insurance at the time.

I thought I did, but I didn't.

No way you did ninety-five hundred in damage.

I know!

But it was either that or he would press charges, he said, so...

Besides, I'd already broken probation that one time.

It would have been bad.

He'll be paid off in three more months.

So you were just planning to let the house go?

No. My dad has some life insurance,

not a lot, but enough to take care of the back payments, even now.

Stupid me, I figured when someone goes into hospice with less than a month to live,

they're not going to last almost a year.

If that makes me a vulture, then I'm a vulture.

What a morning...

What are you gonna do?

I'm going to get that yellow paper for Crosby.

No I mean what are you going to do about President Buchanan?

Well, I'm working my way down the list. Eventually, someone will care.

Well, supposedly he was gay, right?

So... First of all, Holly, this "friend" of yours.

- Is it Ruth here? - No, it isn't.

It's another friend. One who's clearly troubled.

Okay. Holly, you know I love you.

You were my favorite babysitter.

And I do see the benefit of all the positive publicity we'd get by returning his body.

But it's still a money thing.

We're not GLAAD or some big LGBTQ organization.

We're college students.

And gay students are exactly like straight students. We're broke.

Okay, spitball with me here for a second, Wyatt.

Do you think GLAAD would see Buchanan as a homosexual icon?

Not like a Judy Garland-level icon,

but more of a second or a third-tier Charles Nelson Reilly-type?

Hmmm.

A guy who sympathized with slave-owners... and might not be gay?

I don't think that's in line with GLAAD's mission statement.

So gays feel that, as a president...

...that he was the shittiest one. Well...

Another example of our common ground.

Oh please, dig in.

Mmm.

Oh. Thanks.

How long have you been working at this donut shop?

- Two, three months? - Four months.

- Long stretch for me. - Really?

What's the longest you've ever worked at one place?

I worked at my dad's store on and off for years all through high school.

- Your dad owned a store? - Yeah. It's still there.

My dad's asshole partner screwed him over and took the store a while back, but...

It's out there in Mesa. Utopia TV and Appliance.

I know that place. I bought a dishwasher there.

Used to be called Ruth's TV and Appliance.

But I racked up a few disappointments

and my dad decided that my name wasn't worthy of an appliance store, so...

He renamed it "Utopia".

Kept the "U" and the "T" from Ruth, saved some money. So half of my name is still up there.

And you can see the outline of where the "R" used to be.

That must have hurt.

Nah, just an appliance store.

You know, I watched a couple of those ventriloquist videos of yours.

And while I still think I'm missing out on the joke,

I really enjoyed your cello-playing.

Really nice.

I'm pretty rusty, though.

How long have you been playing?

Since high school.

Actually, I played violin in middle school and the first chunk of high school.

My dad wanted us to be musical. Me and my brother, Brad.

I didn't know you had a brother.

Yeah, so when he stopped playing cello, I picked it up.

Switched over.

How come?

Oh, just got tired of playing the melody all the time.

Ruth?

Hey, Trina what are you doing here?

I know someone who works in the building. How about you?

I was just seeing my probation officer.

Oh, we're being honest.

I'm here to see my P.O., too. Have you got Crosby?

Yup, that's him.

Hey, Trina, just out of curiosity, what exactly did you get in trouble for?

Me and a couple of others tried to break into a house.

Cop lived across the street.

You?

A little theft, a little anger, borrowed a car, you know.

Hey, um...

I got something pretty valuable

that I'm having a hard time finding an interested party to... um...

So you're looking for a fence?

I guess so.

But it's kind of a specialty item.

I know a guy. What do you got?

An agent to do your dirty work?

It will go no easier on you, Miss Kiesling,

by adding delegation of personal responsibility

to your list of moral lapses.

I'm just trying to cover more territory, J.B. It's called networking.

And in so doing, you have crossed a troubling line.

What troubling line?

Your original proposal was to ask for money in exchange for my safe return,

the end result being the peaceful restoration of my eternal slumber.

And this required a nominal equality of purpose from both parties, yes?

Now you're simply trying to sell me to anyone who'll take this random object off your hands.

There no longer exists even a pretense of concern.

In so doing, you have stepped out of the protective shadow of your own rationalization.

I tried the other way first.

You're a really specific commodity, dude!

What can I do? I've already started down this path.

You knew it was a risky path when you chose it.

But you knew it was irreversibly perilous

the moment you spoke to that woman in Washington.

Why do you persist?

I'm persistent.

An author I'm acquainted with once wrote:

"Foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds."

- Have you ever heard this quotation? - Yeah, I've heard it.

Have you ever considered what it means?

Not really. I could never get past the word "hobgoblin."

Hello?

- Surprised? - Yeah.

- When Trina told me she knew a guy, I figured it would be... - Someone less refined?

I know, I'm a difficult read.

Ruth, do you know what I thought the very first time I saw you?

Yes.

I mean after that.

Before I ever heard you play a note, I thought, "Here is an artist".

And an artistic life demands certain sacrifices from the world at-large.

Certain social niceties might have to fall by the wayside...

Hey I'm not a bad person.

- No, no, I was putting an ironic twist. - I'm a fucking organ donor!

Ruth, I've heard stories about your partying past.

Nobody wants those kidneys.

Well, I'm taking those off the table.

I think I can move your president.

My end is seventy percent.

Firm.

Well, the truth is, I don't have him anymore.

Sold him this afternoon.

To whom?

Okay, keep it to yourself.

I just thought I might be able to help a fellow artist.

Ahh, a student of history.

Not really.

I only know a handful of these guys, the ones with the cool nicknames.

"Old Hickory," "Old Rough and Ready," "Old...

...Scratch and Sniff". It's been a while.

I don't think I know your nickname.

"Old Public Functionary."

"Old Public Functionary"? Jesus...

So the presidents themselves weren't very important?

No. What's important to me is what they stand on.

Ahh, their principles.

No, the wooden thing that they stand on.

My brother made it in woodshop.

He got a "C" because he didn't do the joints right and had to use a staple gun, but...

If the teacher had seen the original piece-of-shit Styrofoam display thingy this replaced,

he would have gotten an "A."

That's not a metaphor for Mr. Lincoln and myself, is it?

Nah, that's just woodshop.

Oh, look at this.

Sloppy craftsmanship.

I have no ears.

- I look like a... - Like a maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace?

Is that a metaphor?

No, just a dick joke.

I'm gonna return your corpse tomorrow.

No ransom.

Thank you.

What do you mean, they "found him"?

Who found him? And where?

We promised we wouldn't tell.

We could only get the body back if we swore we wouldn't say anything.

I wasn't for sure that he had been taken, but I suspected.

After the truck left, I found this on the floor...

About soiled my pants.

So who took him?

We're not at liberty to say whether this person...

is a thief, or just... found the body in the woods.

You have him here with you, don't you?

Yeah.

Look, I can't help you!

I like you, Holly, and you two seem like nice enough people.

But my job is on the line here!

Can't you just fly him back to Pennsylvania anonymously or something?

As far as anyone who cares is concerned Mr. Buchanan has already been shipped back...

You see this bill of lading here?

It clearly shows that Mr. Buchanan was shipped back on the twelfth.

Note that the weight listed here, which was accurate on the eleventh,

is identical to the freight receipt that I signed back on the sixth.

From a paperwork standpoint, Mr. Buchanan has been shipped back to eternity in triplicate!

I'm not normally as touchy as this so it pains me to say this: Ladies, please...

Take your douchebag president and remove yourselves from my logistics cubicle.

We'll get you back underground somehow.

I know.

You're persistent.

What will you do now to obtain the money?

Just tell Dad.

I'm gonna tell my dad everything after work, and let the chips fall.

Well, humility is a fine virtue, yes?

Hey, I don't mean to interrupt the flow.

I just thought I'd finally come by and check this place out.

Hey, it's a free country.

Besides, I have something I need to tell you.

You might even be proud of me.

Is this a joke?

Are you trying to prank me?

Please tell me this is just some form of pranksmanship.

Okay, I know the first part was bad,

but you understand I'm trying to return him to Pennsylvania

for zero profit, right?

Okay, I'll grant you that part is somewhat admirable.

But you stole a human being!

A dead one.

The rules are wildly different.

I've had this debate before.

But why would it even occur to you to take him?

That's something a child does.

This is just like the time when you stole that fancy car from that gas station...

I didn't steal that car!

That guy left it running. It's just as much his fault as it is mine!

You're so much smarter than this, Ruth.

But you just don't think things through!

You're not listening! I did think it through.

It might have started out as impulsive, but cooler heads prevailed!

Cooler heads!

Hello?

I thought you'd be proud of me.

Proud...?

Ruth...

Yeah, proud.

I did the right thing for a change.

Hello?

What's going on?

Oh. Just having a little off-day.

What about the tests? You said the doctors were amazed.

Well, there may have been a little embroidery on my part.

It's not fair.

It never is.

Classic example:

You remember Jerry Fleming?

Jerry and his cousin go to China.

Cousin gets eaten by a panda.

It took Jerry years to save for that trip!

A panda?

Well, they are bears, you know.

But I thought pandas only ate bamboo.

Well, something must have changed them.

Or maybe he was an iconoclast. You never can tell about bears.

Why didn't you tell me?

I was already preparing myself.

Wait, why am I the bad guy here?

I'm the one dying.

Why do I have to make everyone feel comfortable?

What the hell kind of a send-off is that?

So I say a few magic words

and everybody leaves the room a little happier than when they came in.

I mean, is that so bad?

It just makes it harder when you go.

Well, that's too bad. You'll live.

I don't actually have a kid.

I know.

You know?

I'm dying, but I'm not blind.

I mean... kids change but they don't change in other kids.

Why didn't you say something?

Well, you seemed so happy that I passed away knowing the good family name was...

It wasn't fair of me to put that on you.

It was fun watching you with that kid.

What was his name, the main kid, was it "Kyle?"

Jeffrey.

He was a nice kid.

There's no Grant either, I suppose.

No.

Just as well.

That little prick was too good to be true.

Made the rest of us sound like goddamn assholes.

There's more.

It's about the house...

If it's all the same to you, Ruthie,

I'd like to leave all the confessions right there.

Ah! Jesus, Kiesling! What the hell?

I thought you were a burglar.

Somebody broke into my bedroom window.

What?

You know, this oar would make an awesome weapon.

Have to trim off the flat part, though.

Then it would be a stick.

Still, make a great new murder weapon.

Stick murder has been around for years.

Well, if it was a burglar, I kind of feel sorry for him.

Not much here to burgle.

Yeah.

The only things that are burgle-worthy are your laptop and the Blu-Ray player.

Oh, shit...

Errol? That stupid ventriloquist?

He's also kind of a criminal.

So you told Trina, and Trina told Errol that Buchanan was for sale?

Yes, but I didn't sell him.

Wait, if Errol got Buchanan, how was he gonna to get back to his grave?

I don't think that was a part of Errol's plan.

I think he would just resell him.

What about the whole millhouse-on-the-river plan with the water going to the sea?

But I said, "No."

Yeah, but I'm a part of this, too! Don't I get a vote?

I wasn't thinking.

No duh!

It was a shitty thing to do, Ruth.

I should have never introduced you to him in the first place.

I don't know why I'm surprised it's Errol.

Typical Capricorn shit.

My ex was a Capricorn, too.

So was my cousin who watched my bird one summer. Never fed it.

You know, except for Jesus, all Capricorns are buttholes.

Hey, check this out. Looks like there were three of them.

Those are probably our prints.

No, seriously then what is that?

Looks like a tiny little hand.

It's a dummy print.

Fucking ventriloquists!

"Dummy print?" Is that even a term?

For a second there, I thought the burglar was a Hobbit!

Wait not a Hobbit... what am I thinking of, a midget. A midget!

Don't use the "M"-word.

- What? - The "M"-word is like the "N"-word to little people.

There's no such thing as "midgets."

"No such thing"? You're thinking of Hobbits.

No, my cousin is a little person.

Not quite a dwarf exactly, but he had that thing that Gary Coleman had.

Bad management?

Okay, can we focus here, people?

Ventriloquists have stolen our dead president.

What do we propose to do about it?

Okay when's the next time you're gonna see Errol?

Well, I was gonna see him tomorrow

- at the Willie Tyler birthday luncheon at Sunny's but... - Who?

You know, Willie Tyler and Lester.

It's a pretty big deal on the ventriloquial social calendar.

But Errol put me on probation. Can't go.

You're on probation? Why? Because of Buchanan?

I don't know. He never tells you.

I got a text.

Well, let's just find out.

No, no, no! He'll just get angry, Seriously...

- Okay, don't answer! - Hello?

One can never be certain of legacy.

You'd think that what one is remembered for would be simple to gauge.

You and I both share the unenviable position

of being the last branch on the family tree but, strangely,

that doesn't seem to lessen the importance of legacy.

My own would have been secured in a positive light had I not stood as President.

As Secretary of State under President Polk

I added over a million square miles to this country.

This very piece of ground we're on was secured under my watch...

Few have served their government with distinction

in more varied capacity than I.

My pursuit of the office of Chief Executive

was predicated solely on the enormous expectations I'd nurtured.

And had it not been for the secession of the South

which I was legally powerless to stop, I...

That's not true. You just... Sorry.

And so I was carried one station too high.

The greater responsibility left me a lesser man

because I gave in to a sense of destiny.

Maybe that's everybody.

In high school, I was a different person.

Good grades, bunch of friends, decent attitude for a teenager.

And then Brad died.

And then my mom freaked out.

Everything went to shit and I was powerless to stop it.

It felt like half my life was ripped away.

If I could choose my legacy, I'd want it to be for being that earlier girl.

It's like my dad putting my name on that appliance store.

He couldn't hand me my legacy any more than I could hand him his by getting knocked up.

Kinda feel like my destiny's gotten away from me, too.

You doing okay, Ruth?

Yeah, I guess.

Want to go out, get some coffee?

Nah thanks, though.

Just need a little alone time.

Okay, we're out here if you need anything.

Thanks.

It's going to break my heart to see you go to prison over me.

Thanks.

I'm a little tired.

Me, too.

Just take as much time as you need, Ruth.

Gunderson would have to be a grade-A thunder stump

to complain about taking time off now.

Just tell him it's for bereavement.

"Vaginal bereavement?"

Ruth, what brings you here?

A couple of dead people.

Listen, I want to apologize for yesterday

but I've got a credit card fraud due here in five minutes, so...

He's gonna have to wait. I need your help.

And don't get upset, there's gonna be plenty of time for that later.

The only surprising thing is what he wanted me to do with his ashes...

He wanted me to sprinkle some on Brad's grave, and some on my mom's.

But then he also said...

"By means of an epoxy to apply a portion of my ashes

to the entire surface of a large rock

and hurl it through the front window of Utopia TV and Appliance."

Didn't know you could put shit like that in a legal document.

Thanks. And can you tell Holly thanks again for calling those mortgage people?

That's a huge relief.

...okay, bye.

Errol wants to see you.

- Now? How come? - He said you'd know.

- Besides, it's Willie Tyler's birthday. - And Lester.

Yeah, I know. What if I refuse?

You gonna force me?

Well, that all depends.

Depends on what?

It depends on...

What I mean is, we can do this the hard way...

...or the easy way.

So which way is it going to be, cellist?

The easy way or the hard...

Okay. I remember the two choices, muttonchops.

Well, Ruth, so glad you could make it.

I understand that you have recently acquired a vintage figure.

I did indeed.

It's in pretty rough shape.

I happen to know the original owner of that figure.

If you were smart, you would return him right now.

It's very valuable.

I don't think I could let it go so easily.

In fact, I may have found an interested buyer,

something you were having trouble doing, I understand.

He's not for sale.

To anyone.

I know you can be trusted to keep quiet about Mr. Buchanan purely out of self-preservation.

But in order to heal this rift between us, I'm willing to offer an olive branch:

You can retain your position in the videos

and your roommate's probation is lifted and she can rejoin the consortium.

And what would you want from me in return?

Forget about Mr. Buchanan.

And play the damn cello.

And what if I don't go along with that?

Then the chairs are on the table.

What the hell's that supposed to mean?

It means the chairs are on the table.

Give me that fucking president!

Is everything okay?

Some water when you get a chance?

Fucking ventriloquists!

Listen, Ruth.

You don't want to mess with Errol.

Occasionally, he's a decent guy, but he's amoral.

You know what amoral means, right?

Of course I know what amoral means!

Sorry. Don't jump down my throat.

We don't talk much.

And you're a 40-year-old grave-robber that works in a donut shop.

How am I supposed to know you're not a simpleton?

I didn't mean to snap.

And I hate to judge, but he's not even a good ventriloquist.

Then why do you all follow him?

Probably the same reason you do:

He makes us feel talented or at least like we're not wasting our time.

But that does not mean he's not dangerous.

Here's how I see it:

Errol's the type of guy you go to lunch with and he's gonna ask for your pickle.

And whether or not you have a pickle, he's gonna get a pickle out of you.

But it won't always be like that.

Things have already started buckling.

If you keep your eye on it, you'll see it, too.

Not sure I got the pickle thing...

That's our guy.

Gunderson Donuts...

- Ruth? - Yeah who's this?

- Who's that? - No idea.

How'd I get him?

I can't say.

I'm really a rather forgetful fellow.

It's a quality I hope you can appreciate.

The fifteenth president of these United States.

The bubble wrap is not period.

Forgive the condition.

Southern secession took its toll on him.

Trina said you'd bring cash.

As you can see, the goods are exactly as promised, so...

Shit.

Do me a favor, folks.

Look into my dash-cam and say hello to my friends in Washington, DC.

Well, don't get discouraged. I'm willing to work with you three.

It's not you that I'm after.

Sorry, sir, but we won't say a word without an attorney present.

Ruth Kiesling.

You want to go ahead?

No, you were here first. You go ahead.

You look to be in a hurry.

Thank you, sir...

Are you Ruth Kiesling?

Well, yes. Yes, I am.

Where can we talk privately?

- You ratted me out? - And guess what?

You're not gonna get a dime from this.

He's not gonna get a dime from this.

And the best part?

Both of you could be going away for a very long time.

- I want to see a lawyer. - Lawyer, huh?

What are you, some kind of a tough guy?

No, I'm not.

Or maybe you just want a donut.

- Is that it? - What?

Here's your donut!

How do you like that, tough guy?

That was pretty good.

Now, we can bring the lawyers in here and play it like that.

Or there might be a way for the two of you to walk away from this.

You already said I could walk if I gave up Ruth!

Shut up, Errol.

I'm just saying, as a trust-builder, he sets a lousy precedent.

- Do you want to hear the deal? - Yeah, I wanna hear the deal...

- Or do you want another donut? - No, I'm fine.

He doesn't want another donut, sir. We want to hear the deal.

Oh, now you want to hear the deal?

I think we all want to hear the deal.

Someone here to see you, Ruth.

I'm Detective Hostetler, County Sheriff's Office assisting the FBI.

You local PD?

Yeah I've got everything under control, sir.

May I see your badge, please?

So you're from the County Sheriff's Office?

Isn't this kinda out of your jurisdiction?

You're a probation officer?

Wait! Probation officer?

What's a probation officer doing handcuffing people in a pastry shop?

It's complicated.

Excuse me, miss. I'll be eating two of these donuts here.

- What do I owe you? - No charge, those are irregulars.

You're not taking them to jail, are you?

Seems likely.

But Ruth has to stay and run the counter during the lunch rush.

Our boss will get very upset if she leaves during her shift.

If your boss gets upset, have him call my boss.

Okay, who knows the name of the guy who was the president just before Lincoln?

Yeah, she's here... yeah, we're heading out.

Yeah, there's two more of them... yeah, three...

No?

Nobody knows his name?

Well, my boss knows his name and she'd like to talk to you about him.

Let me tell you a story...

Let's start with extortion, and definitely theft.

Probably breaking and entering.

Perhaps vandalism or desecration of a national monument.

Definitely possession of stolen goods.

And with the various emails and phone calls, I don't like your chances.

Your best chance, now your only chance is going to...

"Happy birthday to..."

- Wrong room, people! - It's room three, guys!

Let's get some preliminary facts on the table: Where is the body now?

I don't get the story. I'm not a magician.

Then what are you?

A donut store employee? Female?

No, who are you? How do people see you? What do they expect of you?

Idiot... disappointment...

Untrustworthy.... a liar...

Ruth, where's the body?

Pennsylvania.

Excuse me?

Oh, I never had the body, Ms. Jarvis.

I heard he'd been shipped here, and I just made up all the rest.

And what about the emails, the phone calls?

I was just hoping to find somebody stupid enough to believe me,

but everybody checked into it and found out that he was reburied, so no sale.

And you don't have the body?

No, ma'am. I'm just a liar. Ask anyone.

So, wait, that's it? "I'm a liar"?

That's the lesson from the story?

Sure.

I thought it would be way bigger than that.

It's bigger than you think, Miss Kiesling. It's your reputation.

Well, it's not a very positive lesson.

Well, it wasn't a very positive story.

The magician cut that poor woman in half. Were you not listening?

Story or no story, I was definitely gonna lie anyway!

But at least you were honest in assessing your own reputation.

It's important to know.

But I lied when I said I was lying!

Well... you're a liar.

Errol. Tell me about the body.

I don't know anything about a body.

Hostetler says he overheard Mr. Crosby offering you a deal

and threatening to force-feed you donuts.

I don't recall any donuts.

I can request a stool sample kit...

He did feed me one donut.

And you don't know anything about President Buchanan's body?

No, nothing.

For the record, I'm completely unaware

of Ms. Kiesling's guilt or innocence here but I will agree she is a liar.

Mr. Crosby...

Your employee evaluation is first-rate.

And yet, we find you impersonating an officer;

forcibly feeding donuts to a puppeteer;

and handcuffing a body-snatcher to a bakery shelf

a full two weeks after she completed probation under your guidance.

I was trying to help Ms. Kiesling get her life back on track, ma'am.

And you're prepared to throw away your career

for a compulsive liar and an asshole puppeteer?

Please: "Ventriloquist."

So tell me: How much of this grave-robbing episode is true?

Captain, can I see you for a minute?

I'd advise you all not to speak while I'm gone.

No talking.

Two weeks?

No talking.

I finished two weeks ago?

I thought I had until the end of October!

Why the hell didn't you say anything?

I'm so happy for you both.

No talking.

Sit down, Ruth...

I'm afraid it's all for naught, Miss Kiesling.

Mr. Crosby is still duty-bound to tell what he knows.

And I'm afraid they'll have no choice but to prosecute.

Maybe I could say something at least get the others off the hook.

It's a thought.

- Hey, maybe I could say... - No talking.

I'm very confident that with the proper level of resource deployment

we can very quickly gather the evidence necessary for criminal prosecution.

But part of my job is to deploy resources wherever priorities dictate.

And I can't help but feel I'm wasting my time with this thing.

If this was another president, you might be looking at federal prison.

Lucky for you, you chose the shittiest one.

Well...

But if any of this resurfaces

and risks making the County look negligent in any way, we'll crash down on you.

Is that understood?

Yes, ma'am...

- Thank you, Ms. Jarvis. - Are there any questions?

Did you lose that ear? There's no bump there.

That's none of your goddamn business.

They never really wanted to prosecute, you know.

They just wanted this whole thing to just go away.

You've seen those police procedural shows on TV?

First thing they do is put everyone in separate rooms.

They wanted us to lie.

So, what do we do with Buchanan now?

Can't send him back to Pennsylvania.

Maybe we can bury him here somewhere.

He took most of Arizona when he was Secretary of State with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

Bury him where?

Your dad's back yard?

Yeah nothing creepy about that.

Well, my family has some land up north near Prescott.

It's kinda got pines around there, so I guess it's kinda like Pennsylvania.

Not even a couple of hours from here.

That'd be nice. Thanks.

Yeah.

Look, I've gotta get back to work.

I'll take you back to your truck

but you're gonna have to do this body-snatcher jamboree without me.

Thanks, Gretchen.

You sure you don't want me to get changed for the funeral?

I mean, you look great, all of you do...

No, you look fine.

This is just my "Drang und Sturm" dress.

It's probably not appropriate for a funeral.

Oh, hey, you never told me about Trina.

She didn't kick and scream about telling Errol she found a buyer, did she?

For setting him up?

Not at all.

You know, he pushed her into taking the rap for one of his burglaries last summer.

We found you a big sweater. Should fit you fine.

Got some other stuff here, too.

Shouldn't be that cold, but... I'll be fine.

Oh I almost forgot the grave-scotch!

I tried to get you back to Pennsylvania.

Really.

I know.

That magician story. Was it true?

Well,

I was in Paris in 1855.

I did attend the theater.

I have seen a magician perform this illusion.

And quite famously a stage performer did do away with his mistress.

There are four truths right there.

Ah, you finished that book, didn't you?

And I assume it concluded

I was one of our country's worst presidents.

The worst.

They've done these polls for decades.

Historians, scholars, politicians; they all seem to agree.

It doesn't mean you're a bad person, just that you were a shitty president.

Well, I admit those claims aren't entirely groundless.

But when my term ended,

and the fruits of my "leadership" blossomed full-flower

into the splintering of the Union,

I sadly did not submit my questionable actions

to the level of analytic scrutiny I would have applied

to even a minor case as a law clerk back in Lancaster.

No, instead I spent the remaining years of my life

defending those decisions.

My point is:

Nothing productive came of this posture

and it was those parts of my reputation

that calcified into legacy.

I mean, I'm not that scowling troglodyte you see in my photographs!

I, like you, was once considered a hail-fellow-well-met!

I charmed the Czar of Russia!

Can you imagine how difficult that was?

The czar was kind of a douche?

Staggeringly so!

And it is unconscionable to define a man strictly on his lowest moments.

But mine occurred so close to the end of my life

and that they affected every single American

made it infinitely more difficult to right the ship on my own behalf.

But not everyone is subject to such forces.

I guess not.

Look, they reevaluate presidents all the time.

When somebody does come along that rates worse than you,

which will probably happen sooner rather than later,

it doesn't mean you'll be any better, just that somebody else will be worse.

And that's not exactly the goal that we're reaching for.

And if the country needed a big shitshow like the Civil War to end slavery

instead of kicking it down the road

then maybe you were the best worst president at the exact right time.

Not exactly "forgiveness," but it's something.

Well, I can't say I rate forgiveness,

but I appreciate the sentiment.

Miss Kiesling.

Mr. President.

What the hell do you want?

We were in the middle of a business transaction.

I neglected to collect my money.

- Thirty-five hundred dollars. - You know what...

You stole him from us!

And I have had a really rough week.

Mr. Crosby knows the value of what I'm offering...

Aren't you gonna do something?

No. I think we're gonna leave.

The chairs are on the tables.

Butthole.

Should have prepared something. Shit.

Here lies President James Buchanan, no middle name.

Sometimes known as "Old Public Functionary," which is very sad.

He didn't choose the times he was born into

or the crazy circumstances that he found himself in.

He made a lot of stupid decisions

based on some flawed thinking but you don't have to be an idiot to do that.

And though people said some really unkind things about him as President,

I don't think he was quite the turd that history has painted him out to be.

Amen.

Amen.

You guys, my dad made me promise not to have any sort of ceremony or anything for him.

But after I get his ashes back next week,

I'd really like it if you came with me to distribute them.

Just on a couple of graves and on that rock

I gotta throw through the appliance store window.

I think he'd be okay with that.

You got more guts than Dick Tracy letting Meg drive that thing.

She'll be fine.

This is getting ridiculous.

I'm gonna be the laughing stock of the wilderness.

What's up with those arms, Mr. Tat?

A little inky rebellion?

I got that a long time ago.

Seemed like a good idea at the time.

You know, you really have talent, Ruth.

That music was incredible.

Oh, I didn't write that.

That's Durant's Sonata in D-major.

Well, you played it great.

Nah, my fingers were numb.

- I played like shit. - I disagree.

And that eulogy.

Don't think I ever heard a eulogy where the word "turd" was mentioned.

Well, I was just winging it.

Are you really gonna throw that rock through the window?

I don't even know if that same guy owns the place.

But if he does... then, yeah.

What was that?

Oh, Meg!

Sorry.

- I kept the bucket down, but I didn't watch the sides. - Are you okay?

Banged my knee, but I'm okay.

Knocked over your tree thingy, though.

Well that's no big deal. At least one of them falls every year.

- You sure you're okay? - I'm fine.

Just a little embarrassed...

Ruth, can you give me a hand here, will you?

I was really cooking 'til the tree just jumped in my path...

That should do it.

Hmm...

What?

I thought you'd be taller.

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