All language subtitles for The Blacklist S08E18us

Engel, Rhys.

Weight... 12 stone.

Height... 177 centimeters.

He's about your age.

I think he's perfect.

Cause of death?

Heart failure. He's
American. Here on business.

And what's our window?

Just ordered toxicology report,

so I won't issue the death
certificate for another 48.

That's good. That's very good.

Is that a yes?

It's a yes.

Sold.

How do you plan to find them?

I have resources. Keen's in hiding.

They all are. I can't find them.

If the FBI can't find them,

how the hell do you plan to do the job?

As I said...

I have resources. Get it done.

I don't care who gets
in the way, just get it done.

And be careful with this one.
She's a mouse trap.

A mouse trap?

More dangerous than she looks.

Thank you.

Alright. Here's your room key...

- Thank you.
- ...and this case,

which was left with instructions
to give to you when you arrived.

Are you here for business or pleasure?

I have a few days to kill.

Hey. Came soon as I could.

Thank God you're okay.

- Were you followed?
- Mnh-mnh.

Were you followed?

No. Just me.

Rocco here?

Rocco's gone.

Did you bring the burner?

And soup.

- Thought you'd be hungry.
- You're an angel.

Get in here.

Liz, what the hell's going on?

Townsend.

He's looking for me.

Townsend-our-partner Townsend?

That's right. Is he looking or hunting?

- Hunting.
- All of us.

Liz, back up. What's happened?

Okay. Reddington's handler
from Moscow... Stepanov...

Townsend and I were questioning him,

and whatever he told Townsend,
whatever he knows...

And whatever he gave up,

it caused Townsend to try to kill you?

Woman, in what world
does that make any sense?

That's what I'm trying to figure out.

- What do the feds know?
- I'll make a few calls.

This is good.

Rocco's dead.

Okay, that's bad, but this is good.

Because the Russian can prove
that Reddington's N-13, right?

He's the key to all of this.
The feds now know about him.

This is good.

I think so. I think
whatever Townsend learned,

it's what Reddington's been
trying so desperately to hide.

I don't know
what any of this has to do with

why Townsend is trying to kill me,

but I get the sense that we are
very close to the truth.

I'll make a few calls,
see what Cooper knows.

In the meantime, you guys just stay put.

Anyone like soup?

Donald, tell me what you've found out.

We're working sources in the field,

breaking down satellite
feeds, traffic cameras.

Local police are canvassing
the perimeter now.

What if Elizabeth
is outside the perimeter?

We don't know that she is.

And you don't know that she's not,

which means the only thing
you know is nothing.

I hope you're here
because you have a lead

on Keen's whereabouts.

I don't. I have a lead on the hitman

who's been contracted to find her.

Townsend hired a hitman?

He hired a hitman to find her.

I suspect he'll wait on the hit
until I'm there to see it.

So, what do we know about the guy?

He's known as the Protean,
and like his mythic namesake

who possessed the gift of prophecy,

he escapes those
who want to question him

by changing his form.

A hitman who's a shapeshifter?

He's an independent contractor

hired by governments,
corporations, bad guys.

His allegiance follows the money.

Do you know how to contact him?

You have a photo? An alias?

I know he's based in Europe.

I've never seen a photo.

As for his name, it changes.

He travels the globe,
hunting his victims,

using the names of the recently deceased

to move from job to job.

If he's taking the identities
of the dead,

wouldn't it be reported by loved ones,

- family members?
- Well, it would,

unless the deaths
have yet to be certified.

Meaning that
if the Protean's in the U.S.,

he entered using the alias of
someone who just recently died.

Which is why I need the names of people

who have passed through U.S.
customs in the last 48 hours.

That's a tall order, considering
that you're protecting

Ivan Stepanov from the Bureau.

Then I'll narrow it down.

White male, between 35 and 45,

probably travelling alone
with a U.S. passport.

DOJ's gonna have questions.

Even if I can convince Homeland
to expedite the approvals...

We don't have time for approvals.

There's a system in place.

There's a hitman hunting Elizabeth.

I'm aware of that,
and I'd like to help you.

We all want to find her as badly as you,

but to do that, we have to
go through proper channels.

- Why?
- Because we're the FBI.

I told you this was a waste of time.

We'll handle it ourselves.

- Hello?
- Hi. Sorry.

I have a delivery to make,
and the unit's not answering.

Talk to the feds? What's the word?

Nothing yet. I can't get bars

on this stupid burner phone.

- Hey, Skip?
- Mm-hmm?

Thank you.

Well, it's no big deal.
It was just soup.

No, I mean...

thank you.

You know, I know some bankers
in Costa Rica.

Say the word, and we can be
in the rainforest in 24 hours.

Wait. Wait. No.

Skip. Skip, what's goin'...

Oh!

Where is she?

What do you mean, took him?
Took him where?

One of his secret medical teams

who then promptly
helped Stepanov vanish.

So, he's gone. We learned nothing.

Elizabeth, you're missing
the point. You're in danger.

Yes. From Townsend and Reddington.

He's trying to help.

The only one Reddington's
trying to help is himself,

which is why I can't come in
until I know what Townsend knows

and why he wants me dead.

Until then, I'm on my own.

You get the trace?

Mrs. French, hey, it's me.

Is Agnes with you?

School.

Something's happened.

Tell me where she is,
and I'll spare your life.

She's in the rainforest.

No, I'm sure I'm overreacting.

Just give me a call
when she gets home from school.

I'll give you more details then.

Bye.

Hey, guys, bad news about Stepanov.

Turns out Reddington already moved him.

- Yeah.
- I need another lead

on Keen.

A way to leverage her.

- What have you got?
- She has a family.

A half-sister and a daughter.

Where do you want to start?

Hello, Mr. Beaks!

Your daddy is home!

How are we?

Very chatty.

Let's hope it runs in the family.

Reddington? What are you... How did...

Are you feeding Mr. Beaks?

I found some rather overcooked
salmon in your refrigerator.

Apparently, he's not a picky eater.

I only feed him in the morning.

A creature of habit.

Sounds familiar.

My colleague finds

my increasing attachment
to certain habits

to be a distinct liability,

since in my line of work,
predictability and mortality

often go hand in hand.

But you might be interested to know

that one habit I'm particularly fond of

is only asking for something once.

After that, I start to become insistent.

I told you over the phone,

I can't give you access to the database.

You can.

You choose not to.

Yes, because after three years,

you're finally up for a promotion

at Customs and Border Patrol. Come on.

6% raise.

Plus dental.

Percy Spencer.

Ring any bells?

No?

He was an American physicist.

In the 1940s, he was working
on radar technology

when he stood too close to a magnetron

and noticed that the candy bar
in his pocket had melted.

Then and there, he realized that
radio waves could heat food.

And with that, Percy Spencer invented

the first microwave oven.

And how did the company
he worked for reward him?

They promoted him,
they patented his idea,

and they paid him $2 for it.

$2.

For one of the defining
inventions of American life.

I want to help.

I-I do.

But CBP has been good to me.

I need your database.

And I need it narrowcast
to a white male, 30s, 40s,

who entered the country alone
in the past 48 hours,

likely through an East Coast
port of entry

with a U.S. passport.

Max, this is important.

Otherwise, I nuke Mr. Beaks.

- You wouldn't.
- I wonder,

will he taste like squab or dove?

I think I saw some mango sauce
in the cabinet.

Fine. Take my laptop.

It contains the portal to ADIS.

DHS's Arrival and Departure
Information System.

I'll talk you through
how to narrow your search.

See? That wasn't so hard.

If anyone finds out, I'll be fired.

You completely missed
the moral of the story.

It wasn't that you'd kill Mr. Beaks?

In a microwave?

What do you take me for?

Now, if you had a nice white
burgundy we could braise him in?

No. Come on, Max!

The moral of poor Mr. Spencer's
tale of woe

is that you should never worry
about betraying your workplace,

because, given the chance, your
workplace will definitely betray you.

Loyalty to individuals. Relationships.

That's what makes the world go 'round.

We confirmed the I.D.s.

- It was her team.
- Everyone?

Esi Jackson, Skip Hadley,
and a Jane Doe.

Probably security.

- But no Keen?
- No.

Either she wasn't here or she got away.

Or Townsend got her. We have witnesses?

No. Neighbors didn't see a thing.

Ressler.

Hang on.

They recovered blood
from under her fingernails.

She put up a fight.

If the lab can find a match,
she'll have I.D.'d her killer.

And the man who Townsend
hired to hunt down Keen.

Hey, we're running forensics on
some DNA and some shell casings.

Look, all we know for certain
until it comes back is this...

Keen had protection.
Now she's on her own.

- Can you reach out to her?
- No.

Trust me, I would if I could.

Reddington predicted
Townsend would come after

everyone close to Keen.

In his mind, that includes us,
so be careful.

Keen's not the only one
with a target on her back.

Copy.

Hello?

_

"There were few birds
in this part of the forest,

for birds love the open country

where there is plenty of sunshine..."

Hi. I just need to grab Agnes.

Oh, yeah, sure. Agnes.

"Now and then, there came a deep..."

Hi. Your mom called.

You're getting picked up early.

What's the password?

Chocolate sauce.

That's two words.

Yes, but it's delicious.

So, it's you.

The one Mom put here to look out for me.

I don't know what you mean.

Does the school know
you're a secret agent?

I'm just the math teacher.

And you're too smart for your own good.

- Can I help you?
- Hi.

Uh, I'm new to the area.

I'd like to speak to someone
about enrollment, please.

Of course. If you'd just sign in.

That's it. Let's go.

May I?

Hmm?

- The pen.
- Right.

Of course.

Thank you. Come on, sweetheart.

We have to meet Mrs. French.

Would you excuse me
for one second, please?

There have got to be
more than 5,000 names here.

Yes. Down from the
60,000-some-odd American men

who enter the U.S.
through customs each day.

Between the probable entry points

and what little I know about him,

that's the list of people
who fit the description

of the man I'm looking for.

The dead one?

The man I'm looking for takes on
the identities of dead people.

Golly.

That's smart.

Who thinks of something like that?

Someone resourceful, and dangerous,

with a keen sense of irony.

But, Paula,
the phone company database...

I know it won't cover everyone,
but can you scan the names

through it to at least get some numbers?

Well, I bet he's an interesting
conversationalist.

Paula, there's some urgency here.

Then you're lucky it's bingo night.

- Bingo.
- Betty-Lu's calling the numbers.

She's a real hoot.

About the database.

What do you think
I'm talking about, silly?

I think you're talking about bingo.

Ah. The youth today.

Don't worry about the phone company.

Getting the numbers is the easy part.

The hard part is calling them all.

That's why you need Bingo.

You want a quick answer to which
one of these people is dead...

50 alta cockers is your ticket.

Mrs. French? Hey. Is she okay?

So you got her? There were no problems?

That is such a relief.

Can you put her on?

Hey, honey. How was your day?

No, everything's fine. I was
just being extra careful, okay?

So, tell me about your day.

I want to hear everything.

- Hello?
- What's going on?

I told you that I wanted updates
on Keen.

Work in progress.

So, you don't have her?

Hello? I'm talking to you.

There was a fly in the ointment.

But things seem to be back on track.

W-What does that mean?
I'm paying you a fortune.

I expect more than three-word
responses like...

Do not ever hang up on me.

I am your employer. When I ask
for specifics, I demand...

I don't like being lectured,
nor do I like conversing

when there's nothing
of substance to discuss,

so I suggest you hear me
when I assure you

this job isn't as simple as
the dispatching of a gun runner

or a CEO.

Now, our target is a very
clever fugitive in hiding,

which makes the task at hand
decidedly more burdensome.

That means it will take time,
which you can't change,

which means you will need
to demonstrate some patience,

which is as unfortunate as it is true.

Now, this is my explanation, as
well as our last communication

until I know I can deliver Miss Keen.

When that time comes, I will notify you.

Until then, try and compose yourself,

and know you are in capable hands.

- Anything from the crime lab?
- Nothing good.

No match in the database to the DNA

pulled from under
Esi Jackson's fingernails.

And there are no prints
on the shell casings

found at the scene. This guy's good.

All we know for certain is that
the shells came from a 9mm.

If that's what we got,
that's what we use.

Advise local law enforcement.
Push the ballistics.

Anytime, anywhere a 9mm gets discharged,

I wanna know about it.

I'll notify the D.C. field office.

What about Keen? Any updates?

No. Nothing. No further contact.

And we have no way of reaching her.

Well, somebody better find a way
to contact her soon,

because wherever she is, she isn't safe.

What do you mean found you?
Who found you?

They were in your house?

The lock to the back door was picked,

and the office is a mess, and...

Liz, I think they were on my laptop.

- Are you safe now?
- Yeah.

But can you tell me what's going on?

Am I crazy, or is this about Reddington?

It's more complicated than that.

How complicated does it have
to be for him to find me?

I'm in witness protection, right?

Okay, Jen, listen to me.

I think you need to leave the house.

I don't think you're safe there.

I'm gonna give you an address.
Do you have a pen?

Yeah.

Go.

2319 Central, in D.C.

It's a paint store.
There's an alley behind it.

Meet me there at 9:00.

Liz, will you tell me what's going on?

I'll explain everything tonight.
Just meet me there at 9:00,

and, Jen, be careful.

Oh.

No.

Oh, no, no, no.

Don't cry, honey lamb.

You did the right thing.

Hello?

Oh, sorry.

Uh sorry.

Uh, good evening, everyone.

I'm Steven.

Uh, and I'm a-a good friend
of your good friend Paula,

...uh, which I guess
makes us all good friends.

U-Unfortunately,

Betty-Lu has come down
with a little something,

so I'll be your, uh, caller tonight.

Oh, uh, but before we begin,

I've been asked to remind everyone

of a few housekeeping items.

Uh, okay. So, first,
the rescheduled pancake feed

is this Saturday
at f-fire hall number three.

Uh, tickets are $5 or $6 at the door.

That'll be good fun.

Ooh, uh, what's not so fun
is the Member-At-Large dues

are now due to National Headquarters.

So, please, please
don't be late with those.

And finally, Brandy says there
are still a few raffle tickets

left for the spring fundraiser.

They're $10 each,

and first place is a quarter beef.

Second place is five uncured hams.

All donated by Merlin Degner.

Thank you for that, Merlin.

Yes. Absolutely.

And of course, all proceeds
go to the Veterans Lodge.

Alrighty. Good.

Okay, uh, now with that out of the way,

I'm very excited, uh, because tonight,

we're gonna be doing things
a little differently.

Uh, tonight, instead of
the "Pot of Gold Progressive,"

we're going to play
a new variation of bingo.

Does everyone, uh, still have
the, uh, sheets of paper

that were on your chair
when you arrived?

Okay, great. Yes.

These are lists of names
and telephone numbers.

And the game tonight
is to get out your cellphones

and to call the people on your lists

and verify that they are
who they say they are.

And each completed list earns you $100.

What'd he say?

That's $100 for every completed list.

And here's the really fun part...

Uh, the grand prize winner
will also receive $1,000

if he or she is able
to reach someone who is...

who is dead.

How's that like bingo?

It's a game of chance.

Which lucky winner
will find the dead man?

It could be you, ma'am.
Or... Or it could be you, sir.

I'm sorry.
Excuse me... Excuse me, madam.

I want to play bingo.

- This isn't the routine!
- Right.

Uh, I mean, don't you sometimes wonder

if the routine feels like
just the same old thing,

whereas tonight...

You're losing them.

Yes.

Okay.

Hold on.

Everyone, listen up.

Before you get your markers in a mash,

what this man isn't telling you

is that his name isn't Steve Homan.

It's Father Steve Homan
from Prince of Peace,

and he's being too damn nice.

The truth is one of his deacons

stole 134 grand

from the church's
gymnasium renovation fund

- and skipped town.
- How much did she say?

Now, if you need to know,

Father Steve hired a private detective,

and the private dick thinks

the thievin' heathen
has fled the country

and is using the identity

of someone who is dearly departed

and on this list.

Now, I shoulda been straight-up.

But Father Steve is in a real bad place.

His faith's being tested, and I just...

Well, I-I thought maybe we could help.

Hell yeah. We can help.

Yeah, why didn't you just say so?

Well, okay, then.

Whoever finds the dead man wins $1,000,

the Good Lord's blessing,

and a year's worth
of my garlic-butter cockle dip!

My heavens, Paula.

My faith in faith has been restored.

God. Just tell me you're okay.

Drive.

- What?
- It's a trap.

The man... whoever he is...
He forced me to call.

He followed me here.

Get down!

Liz, he shot me.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I'm gonna die.

No one's gonna die.

Look at all this blood! I'm gonna die!

We'll be at the hospital in 10 minutes.

Here, take my hand.

You're not dying, okay?

You're hurt, and it's pretty bad,

but you're not gonna die,
so forget about that, okay?

Look at what he did to me.

What did I ever do to him?

You didn't do anything.

- I did something.
- This is not your fault.

I was your sister.

We got blood on the scene,
broken glass, and this...

A 9mm shell casing.

That's consistent with the caliber

of the gun on your BOLO.

Someone was shot,
but you don't know who.

Responding officers
didn't find any bodies,

not the victim nor the shooter.

But they did find this.

They took out her team.

I mean, Keen must know that.

So why get lured into an alley?

I mean, what was the bait?

Or who?

Good evening. Selden Hotel.

Last call he made
was to the Selden Hotel.

Could be nothing, or that's
where he was staying,

and he was complaining about the Wi-Fi.

Selden's got over 1,000 rooms.

I mean, we don't even know
if he's staying there,

and even if he is, we don't know
what he looks like,

and we have no idea
what name he's registered under.

Looks like we're going door to door.

My cat...

Sierra...

you have to feed her.

I'll take good care of Sierra.
Don't you worry.

She'll be fat and happy
by the time you come home.

- I'm scared.
- It's gonna be okay.

We're almost there.

- Hold me.
- I am.

- I'm not gonna let go.
- Hold me.

I will, as soon as we get
to the hospital.

And when you get out of the hospital,

this will all be over. All of it.

No more running,
no more witness protection.

We can buy a place, a nice
place, wherever you want.

I got money now, so... Okay?

And we can be together.

You, me, Agnes, and Sierra.

I promise.

It's gonna be a happy ending,

okay?

We're gonna live happily ever...

Arthur, you had the egg salad.

Yeah, I'm with LaGuardia Airport.

I have Mr. Smelling's suitcase.

- I had the liverwurst.
- L-Liverwurst.

Yes, I'm calling from GemSoul.

We produce diamonds
from your loved one's ashes.

Has anyone in your immediately
family died recently?

Bernice, I have your Reuben.

Thank you.

Your friends are wildly imaginative.

About a year ago, I started
a thrillers-only book club.

Robert Ludlum.

That Sue Grafton.

"A is for Alibi" blew the wind
right up my skirt.

Looks like B is for Bingo.

And it doesn't bother you?

Helping me find some criminal?

Not knowing what might
happen to him if I do?

John. Matzo ball soup.

Just broth and ball.

I think you're a good egg.

A bit poached for my taste,
but you want to do what's right,

and I am tickled to carry on
the family tradition

of helping you get it done.

Bingo!

- What did you find, good sir?
- The dirty deacon.

His name is Rhys Engel

from Carlsburg, Illinois.

Died in London two days ago.

Bingo, indeed.

As soon as I have confirmation,

the grand prize is yours.

The dirty deacon.

Tell me his name again.

Rhys Engel. That's The Protean's alias?

That's the needle.
Now all we need is the haystack.

We have it. The Selden Hotel.

Ressler and Park
are on their way there now.

Is that polka music?

Yes, it is, and I must say,

it makes for a very productive
work environment.

Keeps the energy up.

- Ressler.
- Reddington got The Protean's name.

The man you're looking for
is Rhys Engel.

Excuse me. Agents Ressler and Park, FBI.

We need to know if a Rhys Engel
is registered here,

and if he is, we need his room number.

Uh, Mr. Engel is in room...

1212.

I've got a good feeling about this.

Yeah? Why's that?

12's my lucky number.

- Excuse me.
- It's all good.

I used to believe in salvation.

That good was rewarded
and... and evil punished.

But I don't believe in that anymore.

Not in this life.

But if there is a next life,
and you do exist,

please take care of my sister.

And Esi.

And Skip.

They were good people.

Good people,
and I didn't do right by them.

I pray that you will.

That's Mr. Engel.

That's Engel?

Forensics says the room's clean.

- No.
- Yeah.

Okay, so, I just talked
to the hotel I.T. guy.

Huge Gordon Lightfoot fan, by the way.

How cool is this? We both want

"Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"
playing at our funerals.

And because of that pathetic
bonding experience...

I got access to Engel's hotel
Wi-Fi account,

and the first thing he did
was access the DMV database

to run a license plate.

You think it could be
the car Keen was driving?

Well, if it is, he would be
on his way to her right now.

It was a blue Subaru Outback
registered to a Lisa Grant,

237 Tacoma Drive.

Okay, well, it could be someone
who's either helping her

or someone whose car she stole.

Either way, it's our best lead.

Proving once again that Gordon Lightfoot

is anything but pathetic.

Ressler.

I need you to send someone
to Holland Point.

Thank God it's you, Keen.

There's a blue Subaru Outback.

Is that where you are... Holland Point?

Uh, the car.

I need you to send someone there now.

To pick up my sister.

Wait, y-your sister? Jennifer?

Yeah, he got to her.

To get to me.

Like he got to the others.

Okay, we'll someone right away
to pick her up.

Uh, I don't just want you
to pick her up.

I want you to bury her.

Uh, I'll pay for it.

Maybe somewhere with a view.

I'm so sorry.

The man Townsend hired to find me.

I hit him with my car.

Somewhere on Roscoe, uh, between...

Clark and Broadway.
We know. We've been there.

How did you know about that?

What matters is that we do.

- Did you arrest him?
- No. Listen to me, Keen.

He's got the plate
off your car, the Subaru.

He knows the address it's registered to.

Please tell me that you're
not there right now.

Keen.

Keen.

Hey. 237 Tacoma. We gotta get there.

I have her location.

Her location, but not her.

Well, one thing leads to another.

I love how you think I'm some
high school English teacher,

handing out extensions on essays.

I've opened up a new directive,

like the one for Rostova,
but double the bounty.

That won't be necessary.

I told you I would notify you
when I could deliver Keen.

- That time is now.
- Is that a fact?

Give me a location.

I'll bring her there
by this time tomorrow.

- Remember that job in Petworth?
- Yeah.

- We keep a safe house there.
- Yeah, I know it.

I'll be there.

With Keen.

Looking for me?

Miss Keen, please.

This is a terrible blunder.

Are you the one?

- If you would put the gun down...
- The man who killed my sister?

And all my friends?

Were they really friends?

They were people.

And now they're gone because of you.

My only job was to safely
deliver you to Mr. Townsend.

Well, that's not gonna happen.

What you are gonna do
is you're gonna tell me

everything I want to know
about Townsend,

starting with the meeting
that's been set.

Answer me.

Start the car.

- I don't think that's a good...
- Start the damn car! Drive!

Hands! Show me your hands!

Liz. Liz, put the gun down.

Aram, do not come any closer!

- I'm unarmed.
- Alright, I want you

to place your arms
through the steering wheel,

then lace your fingers.
I'm gonna step closer

and open your door.
After I open your door,

you're gonna release
the seatbelt and step out.

Ressler, so help me God,
if you open that door...

Liz, put the gun down.

Not until I get the answer
I'm looking for!

Ressler, listen to me,
he killed my sister,

and Esi and Skip...

Keen, out the gun down!

- Please, do not do this!
- I'm gonna open the door now.

You're gonna keep that right
hand on the steering wheel.

Your left hand's gonna
move across your body.

Release your seatbelt and step out.

I am not letting him out of this car.

- She'll shoot me.
- Keen, do not pull that trigger.

- Undo the belt.
- But the gun...

Nobody is gonna shoot anyone.

Right, Liz?

Liz, please.

Undo the belt.

I'm going to undo the belt now.

No! He knows where Townsend is!
Where is he?

- Get her off him!
- You cannot die

until you tell me where he is!

He knows where Townsend is!

Where are you meeting him?

No! Do not die
before you tell me where he is!

- No! No!
- It's okay. It's okay.

No!

We have her in custody.

I wanted you to know she's safe.

Harold, bring her here.

- Excuse me?
- You can't take her in.

That's exactly what I'm going to do.

It breaks my heart, but Elizabeth

is a fugitive and a criminal,

and she's gonna be treated as one.

You can't save her from that.

I'm the only one who can save her.

Not today.

Harold, I know you.

I know how you think.

What you hope in your heart.

That the system works.

That Elizabeth can be
prosecuted, incarcerated,

and rehabilitated.

It's a lie.

This is the last thing
I ever wanted or intended.

But you and I both know
Elizabeth Keen is a criminal.

She will never be an agent again.

She will never be a civilian.

Her only hope for survival

exists in my world.

I hope you're wrong.

I wish I were.

Well, we'll soon find out.

♪ Bees make honey, who needs money?