01x00 - Pilot

[bunniefuu]

He'll speak to me, Miss Case.

You come back here.

You've got no right to come barging in here.
It's all right, Casey.

What's on your mind, Mike?

m*rder.

Did you really have to ask?

Professor Wiley's m*rder.

Professor Wiley?

The guy who got himself
blown up last night.

Out at the University.

Oh yes, I remember.

What about him, Mike?

This is about it.

What's this story doing on page 2?

I don't know. After all,

Thompson's a managing editor,
why don't you ask him?

And you're the publisher,
so I'm asking you.

Careful, Mike.

Don't careful me, Miss Case.

I was with Henry Reid when he started this paper
and I feel it gives me the right to speak my mind.

And I'll tell you this.

Your father knew what sold newspapers.

Yes, he did, Mike, but times have changed.

We now have a television station as well as presses.

m*rder is still m*rder.

And it still rates page 1 in my book.

And your father would say
the same thing if he was here.

Now, he was a battler.

He was fighting crime in this city while other
people were sticking their heads in the sand.

Yes, he was, but where did it get him?

Framed by the /Sun/ get for m*rder?

Death from a broken heart in a jail cell.

Well, did you ever hear him complain?

No, I didn't.

But we all have our own way of fighting, Mike.

Dad fought in his way
and I fight in mine.

Fight.

But that's what you're not doing,
you're not fighting.

Oh come on, Mike.

Just because the Wylie story isn't on page one?

What if it turned out that the Green Hornet
were involved in this k*lling?

The Green Hornet?

What makes you say that?

Well, I've just got a hunch.

No more than that, Mike?

Well, no, but I...

Mike, I'm afraid the Green Hornet
has become an obsession with you.

Not denying, the man is a menace
and the sooner he's caught,

the better, but I don't think we can lay
every crime at his doorstep.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I am late
for a luncheon appointment. I must run.

I'll see you later, Mike.

Where will you be in case something comes up?

No need for panic, Mr. Smith.

After all, we're both on the same side of the law.

Just cut us in on your racket,
that's all we are after.

Racket?

Gentlemen, uh...

what racket?

Come on, Mr. Smith.

Let's stop wasting time.

That setup you invented
for professor Wylie.

Brainwashing.

That's one name for it.

Subliminal instructions is another.

But instead of teaching people
French in their sleep

you have the idea of mixing
other forms of instructions

in with music.

Like orders for very bad stock
market transactions.

Bad for them but good for you.

Very inventive.

When things started to go sour

you even hypnotized them
in the committing m*rder.

Take Peter Vane.

We just talked to him.

A man's a zombie.

He hasn't the slightest idea what
you hypnotized him into doing.

I don't know what you're talking about.

If we're gonna be partners, Mr. Smith,

we mustn't keep secrets from one another.

Everything on a table
where we can all see it.

Such as the k*lling of Wylie.

You m*rder*d him
because he found out

you were using his discovery and
threatened to blow the whistle.

Next, Jennings.

Oh, Jenninngs?
You think I k*lled Jennings too?

Not you, not directly.

You had one of your zombies cut him out,

throw off suspicion.

It's gettin late, boss.

Give him a contract.

Contract?

Now, what contract?

50% of your take to us.

Or else.

Or else what?

You go to the police? You?

Not me.

A man named Axford.

He's a reporter for the Daily Sentinel.

I written him a complete account
of your current activity.

What?

And a messenger is waiting
to deliver to Axford right now.

In exactly 4 minutes

he'll be on his way.

Unless he receives further instructions from me.

Oh, you're bluffing.

You'll find out, Smith.

Don't be a fool, Smith.

Stop trying to convince yourself
you're a brave man.

Sign the contract.