Sandra Hess (Regan Cole)
Miami Beach, Florida
In a nightclub, a comic is attempting, not very successfully, to entertain a number of customers. As the scene opens, he finishes off his cheesy intro music with a whoop of his own, then immediately begins to apologize.
Comic: "Oh, pardon me. I just got a little carried away." He laughs heartily, then scarcely pauses for breath before going into his routine. "So, the wife walks in the door and I say, 'Honey, now that is a beautiful dress. Who shot the couch!?'" He doubles over, laughing inanely at his own joke. "Oh, my god." A few of the patrons titter dutifully, and the comic goes on. In the audience, Raphael Vega turns to the lovely blonde lady sitting next to him.
Vega: "Give me my drink." He leans back, grinning, as the comic goes on.
Comic: "Can we get a little laughter over there? And then there's my mother-in-law . . ." [see Notes]
Cut to the dressing room, where Regan Cole sits in front of the mirror, applying lipstick. The comic's voice can still be heard faintly from the main room.
Comic: " . . . more commonly known as 'The Witch.' Now, my mother-in-law's in the hospital, and she got Get Well cards from the nurses."
Regan purses her lips, checking the lipstick.
Out in the main room, the comic is plunging on manfully while the men in the audience watch, seeming more entertained by his ineptness than by the jokes themselves.
Comic, putting a hand to his breast: "My wife, or, as I lovingly call her, 'Shut Up' . . ."
The audience titters again and we see more of Vega's men, sitting surrounded by ladies, all of them drinking and smoking.
Comic: "She doesn't need a plastic surgeon . . . she needs a wrecking ball!" He jerks a thumb. "Bah! Outta here . . ." He chuckles lamely again, as the audience continues to regard him, the men more interested in the ladies sitting with them than the comic.
Comic: "But really, I mean, we're in love."
In the dressing room, Regan continues to dress, slipping on a vinyl halter top.
Comic, from the outer room: "And we are, what would I say . . . We're fastidious. I'm fast, and she's hideous."
Back in the main room, the comic, grinning smarmily, snaps his fingers at the audience.
Comic: "Got you that time. No, but really, you know, we're in love . . ."
Vega has stopped even looking amused, and is now staring blankly at the comic, mouth open as if he can't even believe what he's hearing.
In the dressing room, Regan slips a gun into the holster strapped prominently to her waist.
Comic, still from the stage: "Now, am I interrupting the Zuber funeral, or what?" Regan turns and walks out as he goes on. "At this point in the show, ladies and gentleman, and I use the term quite loosely . . ."
In the main room, the comic falters, looking behind him on the stage as he goes on.
Comic: "Uh, ladies and gentleman, pardon me . . . Excuse me . . ." He looks back again, and appears to be addressing someone behind the stage. Vega looks on, mildly interested now. "Let's see, yes, okay, sure." The comic straightens up and looks back at the audience. "Uh, gentleman, I've got to announce that, in fact, there's been a slight change in the program, because, um . . ." He shrugs, looking bewildered. "Uh, I don't know, now, IT'S A RAID!" The stage lights disappear, and Vega and the other men sit up, putting their hands on their guns, as they hear the sound of sirens. They start looking around, nervous and uncertain, not sure anymore what's going on. Then the spotlight returns to the stage and we see Regan standing there, wearing black vinyl shorts, a black jacket, and fishnet stockings and high heels. A policeman's cap is perched raffishly on her head, and she turns and gives the room a long look as dance music begins to play over the loudspeakers.
Regan, smiling: "Okay. Who wants to be frisked first?" She turns her back to the room and starts unzipping the jacket slowly, moving to the music. [see Notes]
Vega watches, beginning to relax as he realizes what's going on. Regan turns back, slipping off the jacket to reveal her halter top, and the gun and cuffs dangling from her belt. She folds her arms over her chest and begins to walk down to the floor, looking at Vega. When she reaches the floor she lowers her arms and starts to walk toward Vega. He's starting to enjoy it now, leering at Regan as she approaches. Halfway across the floor, she twirls around and points a finger at Vega.
Regan, teasing: "Have you been a bad boy?"
Vega, rough: "Oh, yeah. I've been real bad."
Regan flips off her cap: "Then get ready to take your punishment like a man." She sashays towards him, swinging her hips.
Vega, to his men: "Now this is my kind of cop." He watches as Regan closes the distance between then, then kneels down in front of his chair. "Oh, si. Very nice." Regan sways back, arching her back and then leaning close. "You've got the look Vega likes." He grins as she lifts her cuffs, and snaps them around his wrists. He lifts his wrists. "I'm all yours, now."
Regan: "Yes, you certainly are." She reaches up and bunches his jacket in her fist.
Vega, playing along: "And now what?"
Regan whips out her gun and points it at his head: "Now this!" Regan yanks Vega out of his chair, slinging him to the floor and keeping the gun pressed to his head.
Man 1: "Hey. What's going on here!" The other men start up.
Man 2: "Shoot her, you idiots!"
Regan, glaring around at them, still holding the gun on Vega: "Back off! Anybody breaths, and he bites it."
Vega, glaring up at Regan furiously: "She's a damn cop!"
Regan shakes her head: "Wrong."
Vega, contemptuous: "Bounty hunter."
The sound of gunfire from the door pre-empts her answer, and Regan looks up as armed and jacketed men burst in.
Cop: "DEA! Lay down your weapons!"
Regan jerks Vega to his feet: "Come on!" She shoves him to the pool table and pushes him down behind it. "Stay down."
As the DEA officers come in, Vega's men open fire. Regan's position puts her with her back to the DEA and facing Vega's men, and she starts returning fire. Vega's men take cover, and they start the shootout in earnest. As Regan continues firing, one of the DEA agents moved up to her, and touches her shoulder. She whirls on him, bringing her gun to bear on him, then turns back.
DEA Agent: "Regan, what are you doing here?" One of Vega's men comes up behind him, and Regan shoots him.
Regan, turning back to keep firing at Vega's men: "Doing just fine without you."
DEA Agent, faintly: "Thanks." He draws his own gun joins her in shooting at Vega's men, and they're still at a standoff when Kendal looms up from the potted plants behind them. Vega, still cuffed, looks up and sees him.
Vega, terrified: "No." Kendal raises a gun. "No, Kendal, no!"
Regan, hearing Vega, turns and sees Kendal. Before she can do anything else, Kendal fires, killing Vega.
Regan, to herself: "Damn it." Kendal runs out, and she rises and follows him, ignoring the rest of the shootout. Before long, one of the ladies suddenly jumps up from behind a table, hands raised.
Lady: "Don't shoot!"
Officer: "Okay. Drop it." The other men start to come out, surrendering. "Okay, now down on the ground. Everybody on their knees."
As the fight winds down, the DEA agent who spoke to Regan reaches out and feels for Vega's pulse as Regan trots back in.
DEA Agent: "Looks like Vega won't be dancing anymore."
DEA Agent, slightly contemptuous: "What do you care? He's worth the same to you, dead or alive."
Regan, exasperated: "He can't testify against his friends if he's dead."
DEA Agent, changing the subject: "So. Who's next on your list?"
Regan, brightly: "I'm taking a vacation."
DEA Agent, skeptical: "When's the last time you took a vacation?"
Regan looks away, thinking: "Would you believe 250 years ago?"
Regan is sitting in a cafe in Paris, talking to Duncan MacLeod on her cellphone.
Regan: "Well, of course I'm having a great time. Yeah, I've been in town only for four hours and already gained twenty pounds." Out on the plaza in front of her, Brian Murphy is doing a photo shoot, his photographer, Celine, calling encouragement while music plays. [The music, by the way, is the same song that was playing in the opening shot of "Forgive Us Our Trespasses." Just a piddly observation. --Jinjifore]
Regan, looking at Murph as poses in his shorts: "And you were right, MacLeod. There's always something new to see in Paris." She pauses, still staring. "What? No no no. I'm fine."
Celine, to Murph: "Say it to me, baby. Don't make me beg for it. Come on." Murph continues to pose, and as he does we see the pictures freeze in black and white, then going on until she takes the next one and freezes the picture again. "Clench it, clench it. Perect. That's perfect. Stronger. Sweet. I love it. Beautiful."
Regan, still watching, gives Duncan an abstracted: "Uh-huh."
Celine: "Okay." She and Murph turn as a pair of young women walk by, giving an appreciative whistle. Murph stares for a moment, then Celine calls his attention back.
Celine, sharply: "Back to work."
Murph, offended: "What?"
Celine, waving the women off: "He's seen you, you've seen them. Show's over." She raises her camera again, and Murph reluctantly returns to her. She steps forward. "Let's concentrate. Let's do it again."
Murph, sulky: "Okay." But he settles back to work again.
Celine: "Big smile, Murph." He obliges by pasting a smile over his face, and she starts taking pictures again. "That's my boy."
As she snaps the last picture, the camera zooms in on the still, showing Kendal looking up as the shutter snapped.
Kendal, voice over the still shot: "Get that camera. She took my picture."
Regan, to Duncan, still abstracted: "Uh, six o' clock it is." She smiles. "Still living in that garbage scow of yours?"
On the plaza, Celine is getting exasperated.
Celine: "This isn't working."
Murph, confused and a little miffed: "Just tell me what to do."
Celine, placatingly: "It has nothing to do with you, sweetheart." She steps towards him, gesturing. "So, I know you trust me, sweetheart, so we'll do it again."
As she speaks to Murph, a car pulls around the corner of the street, starting to drive past the plaza.
Celine, sending Murph off: "And you start with the blue thing, okay?"
Celine: "All right."
Murph nods and trots off, loping in front of the approaching car as he crosses over to his trailer. Behind him, Celine starts fiddling with her camera. As the car draws nearer, she takes out the roll of film she was using and tosses it once in her hand before pitching it into the nearest trash can. The car stops, and two men get out and start walking towards her.
Regan, still sipping her wine at the cafe, watches. She's still on the phone.
Regan: "Um, six o' clock it is." On the plaza, the two men walk up to Celine and grab her.
Celine, hitting at them: "Get the heck out of here!" She starts to struggle with the men, and Regan stands up.
Regan, to Duncan: "Gotta go." She dashes out to help as one of the men manages to grab Celine's camera away from her. He runs off, but she kicks free of the other man and runs after him, catching up with him at his car and pulling the camera away.
As Regan runs up, watching, the man pulls out a gun and fires. The photographer slumps down, clutching her stomach, a look of pain and surprise on her face. She falls over, slowly, as the two men dash for their car and drive away. Regan runs up to her and falls to her knees beside her, feeling for her pulse.
At Kendal's home, Kendal is confronting the two men.
Kendal, calm and cold: "Where's the picture?" The two men look at one another, saying nothing. Kendal goes on. "Answer the question. You know what happened to Vega. He didn't deliver. He won't be making any more deliveries." The two men say nothing. "Now, do you remember the question?" He looks at one of them. "Chuck."
Chuck: "Where . . . Where is the picture." He smiles feebly.
Kendal: "And the answer?"
Chuck falters for a moment, then says nervously, trying to sound confident: "We'll find it. Whatever it takes."
Kendal: "Don't disappoint me."
Chuck nods to his companion, and they leave.
Back at the plaza, Regan is giving a statement to a policeman while Murph sits nearby, staring, his mouth drooping. When Regan is finished, she walks up to him.
Regan: "Are you okay?"
Murph, not looking at her: "She was helping me put together a portfolio for this huge campaign."
Regan: "Sounds like it was important to you."
Murph: "I've never had a shot like this. At first I thought she was just putting me on, just to . . ." He glances at Regan. "But we never . . ." He trails off again. "You know."
Regan nods: "Yeah."
Murph, louder and faster: "If only I'd been with her instead of in that stupid van changing my clothes then all this--"
Regan, interrupting firmly: "Yeah, and maybe you'd be dead, too." She pauses, and pats him on the shoulder, saying more gently, "Come on, get dressed. I'll give you a ride home."
Later, Murph, dressed in a bathrobe, is letting himself and Regan into his building via a big iron door.
Murph: "When I first met Celine, I was twenty foot up on a scaffold." He pushes open the barred gate to his hall, smiling wryly. "She said I had something."
Regan strolls past him, giving him a smile: "Well, she was right." She walks by and waits for him.
Murph shuts the gate: "I'm sorry. Do you want something to drink?" He walks toward the door to his apartment
Regan, following after him: "Uh, how about a beer?"
Murph, just unlocking the door, turns: "Ah." He raises an admonishing finger. "My mum says, 'Alchohol rots the soul.'"
Regan: "How about coffee, then?"
Murph, sheepish: "Sorry. I do have some lovely jasmine tea, though."
Regan, laughing: "Well, hold me back." She walks on in, and Murph shuts the door behind her.
Murph, gesturing around: "Well. Home sweet home, and all that."
Regan walks around, taking in the place. The apartment is a large studio, with wood floors and brick walls, and a row of white pillars marching down the middle. There's not a lot of furniture, and where there is is an eclectic mix of glass tables, barber's chairs, and other odds and ends.
Regan, looking around: "Nice place."
Murph: "Yeah, right. I'm not much of a decorator."
Regan gives a little laugh, and Murph goes through another door. Regan barely has time to turn around, though, before he's shoved back in, hands raised. Chuck and his pal follow, guns at the ready.
Chuck: "Hands in the air."
Regan, as Murph is shoved next to her: "You've got lousy taste in roommates."
Chuck: "Shut up."
Murph: "They want the film."
Regan: "What film?"
Murph: "Well, that's what I said. I said we didn't have any bloody film."
Chuck, blase: "Broken record." He looks at Regan. "Maybe your girlfriend will be more . . . cooperative."
Regan, smiling: "Never hurts to ask."
Murph leaps for Chuck: "Don't touch her!" Chuck backhands him with his gun hand, and he goes down. Regan takes advantage of the distraction to attack, and manages to disarm Chuck. The other man aims at her, and she turns and shoots him. Chuck runs off, and Regan turns to Murph.
Regan: "You okay?" She kneels down and starts taking the other man's pulse.
Murph, still sprawled on the floor, points up at her: "Who are you?"
Later, the body bag with the dead man is being zipped up. The orderlies start carrying it out as Regan speaks from where she's leaning casually against the wall. Murph is sitting nearby, and Inspector Rowan Mitchell is perched across from him, eating a sandwich. [Frivolous comment: Waaahhh! I miss Inspector Breslaw already, sniffle sniffle . . . --Jinjifore]
Regan, irritated: "What do you want from me? The name is Regan Cole, for the second time today."
Mitchell, belching genteely, then apologizing: "Oh. It always happens when I skip breakfast." Rowan paces off, glaring at him.
Murph, cheerful: "Mum always used to say, 'Cherry bark is a natural digestive.'"
Now it's Mitchell's turn to be disgusted, and he returns to his sandwich. Murph sobers, and Regan speaks up again.
Regan: "So, um, what's Interpol doing here? What's the connection between the murder and the break-in?"
Mitchell, puzzled: "Connection?"
Regan: "The film, the camera. Hello!"
Mitchell, matter of fact: "There isn't any."
Murph looks at him, confused, as Regan goes on.
Regan, sarcastic: "And I suppose you just happend to be in the neighborhood, right?"
Mitchell smiles: "Always nice to liason with the locals when you can." [CC: "Well, it's always nice . . .] He smiles smugly and takes another bite of his sandwich. Regan smiles with equal sincerity and nods. She glances over as Murph's pager goes off.
Regan: "Must be Mum."
Mitchell: "Well, that's that." He stands up with a groan, and nods to Regan as Murph heads for the phone. "Well, there you go. Thanks for everything."
Regan follows him, incredulous: "That's it?"
Mitchell: "That's all for now." He waves a hand as he departs. "Grateful for the cooperation, et cetera, et cetera . . ." He goes, leaving Regan staring after him.
Murph, catching Regan's glare, puts down the phone: "What's the matter?"
Regan: "'Just happened to be in the neighborhood.'" She paces off, turning in thought. "Come on, I mean, what is it with that film?" She turns again, thinking. "Why is Interpol sticking their nose in?" Murph watches her, clearly not following. Regan turns with a sigh. "And why do I get the feeling like my vacation just got trashed?" She slumps down in a chair on the last word, flopping her arms and legs petulantly. Then, as her own words hit her, she turns and stares at Murph.
Back at the plaza, Regan and Murph hurry to the trashcan where Celine tossed the film and start going through it. Murph dumps the whole can on the ground, and Regan spots the film almost at once. She picks it up, and they go off together, neither of them spotting the men watching them from the car across the street.
At a photo shop, Regan picks up the prints from the film and pays the cashier.
Regan: "Thank you very much." She takes the prints and joins Murph outside, waving the stack knowingly. Across the street, two men get out of a nearby car. Regan looks up, and starts walking away, obliging Murph to follow. Behind them, the two men start to run, following.
Murph, as they walk off: "What?"
Regan, as they turn a corner: "Don't turn around."
Murph obeys, and follows her down the short passage. The two men pursue, but Regan and Murph are already out of sight. One man dashes down the passage, and darts quickly around the corner, only to find Regan waiting for him.
Regan: "Looking for me?" She slugs him, and he staggers back. She kicks him twice more and he goes down. Murph, watching from a safe niche, gasps as he goes down, then watches as the second man arrives in time to stick a gun in Regan's back. She raises her hands, as if to surrender, then turns and knocks the gun down before he can fire. Murph winces in sympathy as she grapples with the gunman, still holding him while the first man gets up and receives another backward kick for his pains. A single punch takes care of the gunman, and Regan bends to pick up her sweater.
Regan, slinging the sweater back over her shoulders: "It's all right."
Murph comes out of hiding, looking around nervously.
Murph: "I'm not used to having a woman do my fighting for me."
Regan, busily searching the fallen men: "Tell you what. Next time, it's your turn." She finally finds a card in one man's pocket, and holds it up so that Murph can see "Police" stamped on it.
Murph: "They're cops! Oopsie."
Regan stands up, tossing the card aside as she hears the approaching wail of sirens.
Regan, starting to run: "They're playing our song. Come on!" [CC: "Come on! Let's go!"] She runs away, with Murph right behind her.
Nighttime, at the barge. Duncan is speaking to Regan and Murph.
Duncan, pleasant: "Nice of you to drop by, but dinner was four hours ago."
Regan puts on a contrite face, leaning up to kiss his cheek: "I'm sorry." She draws back, turning to Murph. "Uh, Murph, this is Duncan MacLeod. The wonderful, handsome, generous man that I've told you about."
Duncan, aside to Regan: "It's a little early for snow."
Murph sticks out a hand: "Hi."
Duncan shakes his hand, smiling stiffly: "Hi." He takes Regan's arm, and draws her off. "What's going on?"
Regan, reluctant but hopeful: "We need a place to crash tonight."
Duncan: "So you chose my place. I'm flattered."
Murph, helpfully: "Well, Regan can't go back to her hotel because she just conked a couple of cops. And she already shot one guy at my flat and the other guy--he's still alive--well, he might come back."
Duncan turns away without saying a word.
Regan smiles weakly: "See, it's simple, really."
Duncan gives a loud, vocal sigh, and leans against the bed platform: "So, what's going on, really?"
Regan sighs in her turn, and walks over to hand him the photographs: "These."
Duncan looks at the top picture, turning to look at Murph. He starts sorting through the photographs.
Duncan, dryly: "Well, you always did have a knack of getting in trouble with men in shorts." He pulls the top picture away, the next one is a picture of . . .
Duncan is standing next to his horse, waiting while a blacksmith finishes putting on a shoe. He checks his saddlebags one last time, then walks around as the smith is putting the last touches on filing the shoe. Duncan hands him a coin.
Duncan: "Good job. Thank you." He turns back and cinches the horse's girth, then turns again as he senses another immortal. Regan steps out from behind a pillar, dressed in an elaborate gown.
Duncan, bowing to her almost immediately: "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
Regan, with an affected accent: "Countess Ludmilla Albertina Katushka von Tcheka of Hungary."
Duncan reaches for her hand: "That is an exotic-sounding name."
Regan, letting him kiss her hand: "Did you say exotic . . . or erotic?" She steps past him, slipping her fingers from his, leaving him nonplussed.
Duncan, recovering, turns around: "Whatever the lady desires."
Regan steps up to his horse, running her hand over its back: "Ah, such a noble beast." She turns a little, glancing at Duncan under her eyelashes. "How I do appreciate the feeling of a powerful stallion beneath my loins."
Duncan, reaching out to pat the horse, too, beginning to play along: "Aye. And one that likes to be ridden long and hard?"
Regan puts her hand over his, turning to look up at him, almost closing the distance for a kiss. Duncan looks down at her, and smiles.
Inside the house, Duncan and Regan rush into the bedroom, locked in a passionate embrace as they start shedding clothes. Given the fashions of the time, this takes some doing. After Duncan's coat and Regan's dress have been disposed of, she still has to tug off Duncan's boots, and once they tumble to the bed Duncan has to contend with her undergarments.
Duncan, wrestling with the ties: "Oh, these petticoats. You women . . ." He finally yanks them off very much as she had to yank off his boots, and soon petticoats are being tossed around with abandon. Finally, Duncan's shirt is gone, and Regan rolls him over, pinning him to the bed.
Regan, panting: "I wonder if you're a man who appreciates variety."
Duncan, breathless himself: "I like to think so." They kiss again, and Regan giggles. "What did you have in mind?"
Regan sits up, pulling a scarf from inside her petticoats: "A little . . . game." They both laugh, and Duncan lets her tie him to the bedposts. When she's done tying his hands and feet, Regan leans forward, smiling.
Regan: "There. My little stallion is all tied up."
Duncan, testing the bonds: "Do they have to be this tight?"
Regan, stroking his face: "Oh, yes. Can't have you running away, can I?"
Duncan raises his head to kiss her: "No chance of that." They kiss again, and Duncan asks, "Now what?"
Regan, sitting up, her voice suddenly hard: "And now, the game is over."
Duncan, looking around, confused: "What?" Regan pulls out a whistle, and blows it, watching him in satisfaction. "What are you doing?" A number of soldiers appear behind her. "Oh, no."
Soldier: "There's your man. Seize him." He hands Regan a sheaf of money as the other men go to Duncan and start cutting him free.
Duncan: "What's this about?"
Regan, riffling through the money: "Treason. And a thousand-pound reward."
Duncan: "Treason? But I'm no traitor."
Soldier, sharply: "Only to the Duke's marriage." Regan turns her head quickly, frowning as he goes on. "And he will not have his wife dallied with."
Duncan, understanding: "Oh. That's what this is about."
Regan, turning angrily to confront the soldier, echoing Duncan: "That's what this is all about?" She points back at Duncan. "Just because he diddled a Duke's wife?"
Soldier, not caring: "Silence. You've been well paid."
Regan, following as the soldiers pull Duncan to his feet: "But the punishment then. Surely not death."
The soldier turns to her: "My orders are the same. A private beheading at the Duke's country palace." He gestures to the other men, and they pull Duncan to his feet.
Duncan, as he passes Regan: "And I'll wager you're no Countess, either."
Soldier 2: "Don't even think about it. This way, MacLeod. Come on." They take him away, leaving Regan standing alone in the middle of the big room, riffling the money in her hands.
Later, the Duke's men are riding with Duncan down a lane, two soldiers riding alongside while two others sit in the carriage with Duncan. But even as they ride, the driver suddenly sees a cart in the middle of the road, and what looks to be a nun sprawled over the bed, unmoving.
Driver: "Whoa!" He pulls the horses up. "Easy on. Easy!" He brings the carriage to a stop, and the nun lifts her head feebly. Inside the carriage, Duncan looks around as he senses another immortal. One of the soldiers inside the carriage gets out, and walks towards the cart. When he reaches the "nun," though, she rears up and clobbers him with a piece of wood. The other two soldiers dismount, and Regan draws her sword and rushes up to engage the first one. While she fights with him, the other soldier rises and Duncan takes the opportunity to send him flying with a well-placed kick. He jumps out, and takes care of that man while Regan continues to fight with her man. When Duncan's man has been knocked down, he grabs his sword and manages to parry the last man long enough to give himself some space. He sticks the sword in the ground so that he can slide his hands down the blade, cutting the ropes around his wrists. With his hands free, he can engage the last man on equal footing, and before long he and Regan have both dealt with their opponents. As soon as the battle is over, Regan laughs.
Regan: "So, these are the Duke's finest?" She walks toward Duncan, grinning, but Duncan whips up his sword, holding the point at her throat.
Regan stops: "I thought . . ." She pulls off her headgear. ". . . you'd be happy to see me." She starts pulling off the rest of the robes.
Duncan: "You're a mad woman!" Regan just looks at him, not answering. "First you seduce me, then you betray me. And now you rescue me."
Regan, cheerful: "Ah, all part of a day's work."
Duncan steps forward, bringing his sword up again to lay the edge along her neck: "I almost lost my head because of you."
Regan steps forward, ignoring the blade: "And because of me, you didn't. So I'd say we're even." Duncan doesn't answer, just turns away with a dark look on his face. Regan is happy. "There. I knew you had a forgiving soul." She steps up behind him, running her hands along his arms. "Now, if I could only recall when last we were engaged."
Duncan looks back at her, smiling, fiddling with something at his waist: "Perhaps I could refresh your memory?"
Regan: "Yeah." She lets Duncan turn her, pressing her against the wheel of the carriage while he kisses her. His hands work busily for a moment, and she makes a noise of surprise, then anger, until he lets her go.
Duncan, cheery: "Now, I believe we're even." He steps back, smiling.
Regan, jerking at the ropes he's tied around her wrists: "Duncan. Untie me." He answers by bowing deeply to her. "MacLeod! You can't leave me here!"
Back at the barge, Duncan, Regan and Murph are sorting through the stack of pictures.
Duncan, flipping through a stack of photos: "It might help if I knew what we were looking for."
Regan, tiredly: "I don't know. Something worth killing for."[CC: "It's something . . ."]
Duncan: "Or someone."
Murph, apologetically: "They're not my best."
Regan, suddenly seeing something: "Wait." She reaches for a magnifying glass.
Duncan: "What is it?"
Regan studies the photograph for a moment, then looks up: "I've seen this guy before." She hands the picture to Duncan and stands up, leaning over Duncan's shoulder as he looks in his turn.
Duncan, looking at Kendal's face: "Where?"
Meanwhile, Kendal, at his house, is studying some plans with his own magnifying glass, tapping a pen on the sheets as he looks at them. He sits up as Chuck walks in, waving a folder.
Chuck: "You might be interested in this." He crosses the room and hands him the folder. Kendal looks inside, at the picture within, and lets it fall to the desk.
Kendal: "Regan Cole."
Chuck, surprised: "You know her?"
Kendal: "She's a bounty hunter. She almost got in my way when I hit Vega." He nods. "Who's the guy?"
Chuck shrugs: "A nobody. A male model from London."
Kendal: "I bet she has the film, and they've both seen it."
Chuck: "What about the police?"
Kendal: "All she's after is the money. If the police take me, she gets nothing."
Chuck: "You want us to stake out in front of her hotel and the guy's apartment?"
Kendal: "No, she'll never go back there. She's too smart." He smiles. "We'll just have to be smarter." He smiles smugly, and his face suddenly transforms into a black and white photo, one of a younger Kendal with a mustache.
Cut to Duncan and Regan on the barge, looking at Kendal's face on Duncan's computer.
Duncan, looking at the screen: "Went underground fifteen years ago. Hasn't been seen since."
Murph, staring: "Did he really kill three hundred people in that plane he blew up?"
Regan: "He was in Miami last week." She flashes back to Kendal's face as he shoots Vega. She points at the screen, remembering. "He killed the guy I was bringing in." She sighs. "Oh, man. I should have recognized him. I thought he was dead."
Duncan, scrolling through the files: "So did the rest of the world."
Murph, reading from the screen: "Forty-two suspected assassinations. And never arrested." Duncan gets up, turning and pacing as Regan moves over and starts moving through the file herself.
Regan: "Oh, this is interesting."
Duncan, turning back: "What?"
Regan: "The price on his head?" Her mouth curves up and she says with satisfaction, "One million."
Duncan, not impressed: "Yeah, but who's he here to kill?"
Morning on the barge. Duncan hands a cup of coffee to Murph, who's getting up from his bed on the floor.
Duncan: "Here we go. Decaf." [CC: "Decaf for you."] He walks up to the bed with the second cup. "And for you, my lady, decaf with sugar."
Regan, sitting up in the bed, groaning: "Decaf? You're kidding."
Duncan, miffed: "You're welcome."
Regan, taking the coffee: "After a night on the futon from hell I need all the caffeine I can get."
Murph has come up and taken a seat nearby, crossing his legs as he sips from his cup.
Murph: "Ah, now caffeine--"
Regan holds up a hand: "I know, I know . . ."
Duncan, meanwhile, strolls over to the porthole and glances out, then does a double-take.
Duncan: "Here we go."
Duncan: "Looks like a cop." He turns back, making a face as Inspecter Mitchell appears in the window, doughnut in hand, strolling along the bank. "Walks like a cop."
Regan darts to the window to see for herself.
Regan, recognizing Mitchell: "Yep, it's a cop. Interpol."
Mitchell, meanwhile, is making his way to the barge, still eating his pastry. Duncan comes up on deck as he approaches, and Mitchell steps onto the barge.
Mitchell: "Duncan MacLeod?"
Duncan: "Mm-hm. Your turn."
Mitchell: "Rowan Mitchell, Interpol."
Duncan: "Well, you got any ID? You can't be too careful these days."
Mitchell nods, cramming the last of the doughnut into his mouth and tossing the wrapping over his shoulder.
Mitchell, mouth still full: "Of course." He produces a card from his inner pocket and displays it to Duncan. "I'm afraid the dry-cleaners did a number on it, but if you squint you can just make out my name."
Duncan, staring dubiously at the card in his hand: "You got to be kidding."
Mitchell: "I don't joke." He waves a hand. "Oh, when I was a young man I used to make up limericks. You care to hear one?" He rolls his eyes up, thinking. "There once was a young man with a film roll / Who befriended a lass named Cole . . ." He pauses a beat. "Regan Cole. You wouldn't happen to know anybody named Regan Cole, would you, Mr. MacLeod?" [CC: "anyone"]
Duncan shakes his head, his expression one of puzzled innocence: "Who?"
Mitchell: "I have a log of the calls she placed on her cell phone yesterday. One of them was to this address."
Duncan shakes his head again: "Doesn't ring a bell. No pun intended." He chuckles.
Mitchell smiles briefly, then glances down at the barge: "I always wondered what one of these looked like inside." He starts for the door, but Duncan puts out a hand, stopping him.
Duncan, smiling: "Keep wondering."
Mitchell: "Have it your own way, Mr. MacLeod. We can do it here, or we can do it down at my office."
Duncan nods cheerily: "Good idea. I'll buy you lunch." He takes Mitchell's arm and leads him off the deck.
As Mitchell heaves himself back to shore, Duncan reaches down and retrieves the doughnut wrapper, handing it over to Mitchell.
Duncan: "I think this is yours."
Mitchell: "Oh, thank you very much." He stuffs the wrapper in his pocket as they walk off, gesturing to the barge. "You should get some steps, there, you know."
Murph and Regan are sitting at a cafe, Murph talking.
Murph: "Mind if I ask you a personal question?"
Regan: "How personal?"
Murph takes a deep breath, clearly a little uncomfortable: "Well, I was just wondering . . . I mean, I know I'm not the smartest guy around . . ." Regan shakes her head gently, turning as Murph stumbles on to glance at the guy reading the paper next to her. Unaware, Murph continues.". . . and well, you probably know loads of guys from university and stuff." Regan is giving the paper another look now, her attention drifting away from Murph as the man gets up and tosses the paper on the table. "But it's just that, well, I was thinking--well, I just thought that, maybe you and I we could . . ." Regan's attention is completely focused on the paper now, and on the headline: "Europe Unites Against Terrorism." Murph, oblivious, natters on. " . . .you know, we could--"
Regan, snatching the paper: "Yes!"
Murph, startled: "Yes?!"
Regan: "Hang on." She starts reading from the paper. "'The eyes of the world will be on France tonight, as the foreign ministers gather in Paris for a forum on European unity." She puts the paper down, her expression thoughtful.
Regan turns to him, thinking out loud: "For Kendal to be in Paris after popping someone last week, it would have to be something important. Something that would bring him millions." She stands up.
Murph, following suit: "Look, tell me what to do."
Regan turns to him: "Been to the Louvre lately? Perfect place to lose yourself for an afternoon."
Murph, sulking a little: "I just want to help."
Regan, gently: "I know. And I appreciate it." She slaps his shoulder. "Meet me back here at two o'clock." She starts off.
Murph: "What about Kendal?"
Regan turns back: "He's mine." She leaves.
After she's gone, Murph returns to his seat, but even as he sits his beeper goes off. He checks the message, which reads: "Call Agency re: headshots." [Just an FYI, the date is August 14, 1997] Murph looks at the message, then glances after Regan before getting up and walking off.
Meanwhile, Regan strolls up outside the hotel where the conference is being held. Two security men are working out of the back of a truck, taking boxes away. After they've gone, Regan slips up and grabs a clipboard from the back. Looking around to make sure she wasn't noticed, she walks casually to the front entrance and stands there. After a moment, Dr. Martin Bellows comes out, and she holds up a hand to halt him.
Dr. Bellows: "Yes?"
Regan, checking the clipboard: "Dr. Bellows?"
Dr. Bellows: "Mm-hm."
Regan waves him on, and waits again. She's in luck, because the next person to come through, a reporter, is a tall blonde. Regan stops her, and checks the clipboard again.
Regan: "I'm sorry, but your security tag has expired."
Reporter, checking her tag: "But I'm already cleared."
Regan: "Well, you'll have to re-apply."
Reporter, folding her arms and smiling tightly: "And I'm supposed to do that in time for the conference?"
Regan reaches out and yanks off her badge, saying sweetly: "Hey, I don't make the rules."
Reporter, flouncing off angrily: "What a load of crap!"
When she's gone, Regan clips the badge to her own jacket, and makes her way into the hotel.
Inside the reception room, Regan takes a stance on the edge of the room, staring at the back wall and studiously keeping her back to Inspector Mitchell, who's helping himself to the buffet. Soon, though, he comes up and addresses her.
Mitchell: "And you told me you were on vacation." Regan whirls to face him. "Misplaced your hotel?"
Regan: "Just happened to be in the neighborhood again?"
Mitchell: "Yes. And now, that's me, but then again, I don't always do what I say." He chuckles. "Don't always mean what I think. A walking conundrum," he concludes, pleased with himself.
Regan, not amused: "Do you ever have a straight answer?"
Mitchell: "Good heavens, no. Everybody's got an agenda."
Regan: "Like Kendal?"
Mitchell, hard now: "Like you."
Regan: "You don't know anything about me."
Mitchell: "Bounty hunters and mercenaries. Fringe dwellers, usually damaged goods." He takes a bit from his roll.
Regan, tired of it: "Yeah, whatever. Kendal is mine. The million is mine, period."
Mitchell, correcting: "Semicolon. Kendal will be in custody or dead within hours."
Regan, smiling smugly: "He's been running you guys in circles for the past fifteen years." Mitchell takes a folder from his breast pocket and holds it out. "What's that?"
Mitchell: "It could be two things. It could be your airline ticket back to the States. Or it could be a warrant for your arrest."
Regan glares at him.
At the cafe, Regan is on the phone with Duncan.
Regan: "Duncan, he's half an hour late already. I thought he might have screwed up and gone to the barge." She listens a second. "His--his apartment? No, he wouldn't be that . . ." She trails off. " . . . stupid." She listens again. "Okay, maybe you're right. Later." She hangs up, muttering, "Oh, no. Please no." She takes a paper from her pocket, and dials another number. This time, she gets a busy signal. "Oh, no." She leaves.
Regan goes back to Murph's apartment, and looks through the first window she finds. She sees Murphy inside, talking on the phone.
Regan, yelling through the glass: "Murphy! Get out of the apartment! Get out!"
Murph looks back at her in confusion, mouthing: "What? I can't hear you?"
Regan points down the street: "Get out!"
A shot rings out, and Murph falls. Regan stares for a shocked second, then runs around to the main door. She bursts into the apartment, and finds Murph on the floor. She falls down beside him, feeling for a pulse, then reaches up and slowly closes his eyes. She looks up, looking through the hole in the window where the bullet came through.
At Murph's apartment, police are standing guard outside. Regan is sitting in the living room, head in her hands. Mitchell is standing nearby.
Regan: "I told him not to come here. What was he thinking? Why did he do it?"
Mitchell: "Well, if it's any consolation, we got the shooter."
Regan stands up, walking over and snatching Murph's beeper from the table.
Mitchell: "What's that?"
Regan: "That's Murph's beeper." She looks at the screen, still displaying the message from the agency. "That is that last person to talk to Murph alive."
Mitchell, dismissive: "Ah, the number of an agent Celine set him up with."
Regan raises her head, slowly: "How do you know that? I just . . . found it." Mitchell looks at her blandly, shrugging minutely. Regan makes a sound of exasperation. "What did she say he needed, huh? A picture? A resume?" Abruptly, she hauls off and slugs Mitchell. "You set him up, you son of a bitch!" Two of the officers grab her, but Mitchell waves them off.
Mitchell: "No. She's through now." They let her go, and Mitchell goes on, holding his jaw. "I think Freud would have something to say about misdirected aggression, but we'll set that aside for now, shall we?"
Regan, bitter: "You used him as bait."
Mitchell: "If I was that much of a bastard I'd've been a Commissioner a long time ago." He goes on, explaining impatiently, "We had a tap on his phone."
Regan: "You go to hell."
Mitchell: "Most likely. But in the meantime, you've got an airline ticket with your name on it." He nods at the two officers, and they come up to Regan. "And an armed escort."
Regan, struggling a little as they take her arms, but not really fighting: "Look, fine. You be stupid. But I'm the last one who's seen Kendal alive for the last fifteen years. The way he looks now, you put me on a plane, and you're blind." Mitchell looks at her, considering, then waves for the officers to let her go. Regan stalks out, Mitchell on her heels.
Meanwhile, Dr. Bellows is walking toward his car. As he opens the door, Kendal comes up and addresses him.
Kendal: "Dr. Bellows?"
Dr. Bellows: "Yes."
Kendal: "I hope I didn't startle you."
Dr. Bellows looks down as he hears a gun cock: "No!" Kendal raises the gun and fires.
After putting the body in the trunk, Kendal, now wearing Dr. Bellows' glasses and badge, piles some medical gear into his briefcase, finishing with a tank of oxygen. He shuts the case, closes the trunk on Dr. Bellows, and leaves.
At the conference, guests are arriving, guards standing everywhere checking their passes, and keeping watch with guns and dogs. Inside, more men are checking the building, running metal detectors over the walls. Mitchell and Regan come down a staircase, Mitchell gesturing to all the bustle.
Mitchell: "My men have been over this place a dozen times."
Regan, unimpressed: "Mm-hm."
Mitchell: "Well, I don't know what it is you expect to find."
Regan turns to him as she walks on: "It's what I don't expect to find."
Outside, Kendal approaches the main door, and walks through the metal detector set up at the entrance. It beeps as he goes through, and the guard calls him back.
Guard 2: "S'il vous plait, Monsieur."
Kendal walks back calmly, and stands while they run wands over him. The wand picks up something in his case, and the guard looks at him.
Guard 2, in French: ["Would you open your case, please?"]
Kendal opens the case, and pulls out the oxygen tank.
Kendal, mild and apologetic: "I'm sorry. It must have been the oxygen tank that set it off."
Guard 2, in English: "Yes, thank you."
Kendal replaces the tank in the briefcase, and goes on through. After he leaves, the ministers begin to arrive.
Mitchell and Regan are still walking through the hotel, looking around.
Mitchell: "Nobody gets in without a security tag."
Regan: "That really stopped me." She goes to the buffet, and picks up a glass of wine, then rejoins Mitchell in the middle of the room. She looks around the room, then nudges Mitchell. "Who's that?"
Mitchell looks, and sees Kendal standing across the room: "Dr. Martin Bellows."
Regan nods slowly, flashing back to earlier, when she stopped the real Dr. Bellows at the door. She then remembers Kendal, standing in the nightclub after shooting Vega, and then in his photograph from fifteen years ago. She looks at "Dr. Bellows" again, and takes off after him. Kendal, having spotted her already, darts away as soon as she makes her move.
Mitchell: "What is she doing?" He makes no move to follow, only shakes his head as Regan runs out.
Regan follows Kendal through the halls, but quickly loses him. He slips through another door, and is gone.
Outside, more dignitaries are arriving with their own guards and assisstants.
Inside, Regan, now with Mitchell in tow, is going to the main auditorium, where the podium and seats for the conference have been set up.
Regan: "Look, Inspector, this guy's a terrorist. He blows things up." She walks into the auditorium, and looks around.
Mitchell, wearily: "Cole, you're not going to find anything. We've been through this place a dozen times. Bomb squads, metal detectors, you name it. There's no need for paranoia. It's clean."
Regan: "Clean, huh? You willing to bet your life on it?"
She and Mitchell head for the stage.
Outside, the ministers go inside, passing through the security checkpoint at the door.
On stage, Regan looks at the row of seats for the ministers, nodding at the table and microphones set up in front of the chairs.
Regan: "All of those have been checked?"
Mitchell: "Yeah. You're wasting your time. The dogs have already been through the room."
Regan looks at him: "Mm-hm." She wanders over to another table, and looks at the amp sitting on it, even going so far as to take the lid off the coffeemaker and look inside.
Regan points at the first aid kit by the table: "This?"
Mitchell shrugs: "I don't know. Go to be ready for every eventuality."
Regan kneels and flips the lid open.
Outside, more ministers are still arriving.
Regan picks up the oxygen tank, and opens the valve. Nothing happens. Mitchell reaches over and tries with similar success.
Mitchell: "There's no oxygen."
Regan: "Even though it's heavy enough to be full." She gives the cylinder another look, then reaches down and unscrews the bottom. She looks inside, and her mouth opens in surprise. "Oh. I knew it." She slowly pulls a bomb from inside the tank. There's a vial of amber liquid fixed to it, and the counter is ticking down from one hour and fifty-nine minutes.
Mitchell: "How the hell could they have missed a bomb?"
Regan: "Probably a nerve toxin. Set to go off in two hours."
Mitchell, nodding sagely: "Right in the middle of the meeting."
Regan: "Yep." She slides the bomb back in the tank, and hands it to Mitchell. "Walk that very carefully out of the Chateau."
Mitchell: "And you?"
Regan dashes into the reception hall, and finds Kendal there, speaking to one of the guests.
Kendal: " . . . and if I may be of assisstance at any time . . ."
Regan trots up behind, and starts speaking loudly: "His name was Murphy." Kendal turns, and Regan continues walking toward him, slowly. "Brian Murphy."
Mitchell pushes his way through the crowd as Kendal confronts Regan.
Kendal, mildly inquiring: "Who?"
Regan: "The young man you had killed." She makes her way to Mitchell's side, glaring up at him.
Kendal nods calmly: "Ah."
Regan glances at Mitchell again: "Uh, we found your cannister."
Kendal's expression freezes: "I'm walking out of here. In two minutes a helicopter will land. You will allow me safe passage."
Regan abruptly yanks Mitchell's gun from his holster and jumps away, aiming at Kendal.
Regan: "I'd allow you to kiss my butt." She paces toward Kendal, holding the gun on him while the other guests dive for cover. "What's to stop me from blowing you away right now?"
Kendal backs up a pace, then stops: "I might ask you the same question." He opens his jacket, revealing the bomb strapped to his waist.
Regan: "I suppose a bullet in that sick, twisted brain of yours would stop you."
Kendal: "Afraid not. If my heart stops beating, the bomb explodes."
Regan: "Looks like you thought of everything." Kendal dips his head modestly. But Regan goes on. "Everything except the fact that if I put one through your brain, your heart's going to stop in exactly four seconds."
Mitchell: "No!" But it's too late. Regan has already fired. As the next four seconds go by, the picture freezes briefly during the action, marking each of the four seconds as they pass.
Kendal falls back, hands to his head, crying out. Regan dives for him, and tackles him over the balcony, using her own momentum to bring them both over. They fall toward the water, and in, and the bomb explodes an instant later.
Upstairs the guests have rushed to the balcony, looking over and talking. Mitchell, leaning over to look at the water, turns away and pushes his way through the crowd, sighing.
Mitchell: "Pity." He walks away.
Regan and Duncan are sitting inside the barge, drinking wine by candlelight.
Regan, raising her glass: "Here's to a million dollars."
Duncan: "Too bad you're not here to collect it."
Regan, archly: "Win some, lose some."
Regan, more seriously: "Murphy, on the other hand, lost a lot more."
Duncan waits a second: "So what's next?"
Regan: "For me?" Duncan smiles at her, and she shakes her head. "I don't know. Probably the usual. Lay low for a while, and then come back with a new identity."
Duncan: "New identity, but the same game."
Regan, smiling: "I'm a big girl. I can take it." Duncan laughs. "Besides, it's not like I have much choice."
Duncan, playful: "Oh, sure you do."
Regan, smiling: "Uh-uh. Can a doctor turn his back on a dying patient?"
Duncan, getting up, amused: "I don't think it's the same thing."
Regan follows him, laughing: "Yes, it is, Duncan. Look around." She grabs Duncan's shirt, pulling him around to face her, pressing herself close. "The Kendals out there are like a cancer. And if it wasn't for me, the world would be a hell of a lot sicker than it already is." She kisses him, and they kiss for a long time, until Regan finally pulls away. "Besides, I'm good at it." Duncan kisses her more, until she sighs with pleasure. "Ah, a lovely night, and a starry sky." She smiles at Duncan. "And a handsome stallion."
Duncan, laughing as she pushes him back toward the bed: "I wonder what the Countess Ludmilla Albertina Katushka von Tcheka would do?"
Regan reaches down and whips his belt off, winding it around his neck: "Well here. Let me show you." They fall back on the bed, kissing, and the picture fades to black.
Next time (goodness knows when!), "Two of Hearts."
I am deeply indebted to the closed captioning for nearly all of the comic's jokes. I couldn't hear a thing when the camera wasn't on him. After reading the cc, mind, I wasn't sure that was an altogether *bad* thing . . .
For the exacting among you, here are the lyrics to the song Regan was dancing to in the teaser, courtesy of the closed captioning:
Pickin' it up where we left off
Doin' what we like to do
I must confess, I am into you
Let's spend some time
And check out each other's moves
You are the one that I'm so into
I've been waiting for such a long time
For you to say that you're mine . . .
This week, on "The Name Game," we have a slight moral dilemma. According the ever-*cough*-vigilant Rysher Site, our leading lady's name is spelled "Regan." On the closed captioning, it's spelled "Reagan." Now, this *is* a toughie. After carefully weighing my options, I've decided that despite past whoopsies, I should in this case give Rysher the benefit of the doubt. Anyone with a script or other info, however, is *more* than welcome to set me straight. By the same token, I never did figure out who the mysterious "Sears" was, so any aid there would also not go amiss.
These pages are written by Jinjifore and are translated into HTML and maintained by Ian.
Disclaimer: All the dialogue, characters, situations, and darn near everything else belong to a bunch of fine and talented folks at Rysher Entertainment and Panzer/Davis, and in particular the dialogue belongs to the credited writer of this episode. Me, I just wrote the rest down in my own words, which belong to me, but the episode itself was made by the aforementioned people and is owned by them. This humble synopsis isn't meant to infringe on their rights, and I'm sure as heck not making any money from doing these.
Everything not belonging to Rysher, et al, ©Copyright 1997 by Jinjifore
Feel free to copy and distribute as long as this copyright notice and disclaimer are included, except where local bandwidth laws apply.
Also, check out Ian's home page.
Celtic clip art courtesy of the Celtic Art Web Page.
|Last Rev: 72I [7 Feb 98 ]|