03x24 - The Usual Suspects

[bunniefuu]

Gee, this is so nice of
you inviting us all to lunch.

Isn't it nice, guys?

Hey, just because I said anyone for
Phil's doesn't mean I'm picking up the tab.

Yes, it does.

Maybe I'll get two lunches.

I'll take one home to Will.

Okay, joke's over.
Joke's over.

Don't worry, Miles, I already had
lunch in the commissary, so you

can just give me the cash
equivalent of a double cheeseburger.

I'm not paying!

What's this?

Space aliens helped
allied forces win Gulf w*r?

What the... the National Tatler.

I should put this scurrilous rag, right
back under my butt where it belongs.

Oh, come on, Jimmy,
you're not still ticked off.

It's been six years since
they did that piece on you.

Eight, and I will never
forgive them for it.

Jim Dial, Network News Lothario
[womanizer], runs Harem in Hotel Room.

For God's sake, I was hosting the network's
hospitality suite at a TV convention.

They said a parade of primetime pretties
had entered my hotel room all night.

When they insinuated Tom Brokaw
was one of them, I nearly had a coronary.

I'll take this trash back
to the office and recycle it.

Oh, man, where do
these guys get this stuff?

Fisherman swallowed by
great white, finds his first wife.

I gotta look at this.

Oh, God, Frank, reading those things is
like slowing down to look at a car accident.

Just give it to me.

We'll put it here.

Nice and safe, where
no one will diminish

themselves by looking at
its cheap and debasing...

They discovered a new G-spot where?

You should be ashamed.

After all we do, a serious journalist
is strive for accuracy and truth.

Just look at these ridiculous stories.

Woman gives birth to her own twin brother.

That's not possible!

Wow, there's a picture.

I can't see.

I bet she lives in Bolivia.

These things always happen in Bolivia.

Hey, hey, hey, hey!

Are these the quality news people I
work with now dignifying this dreck? Phil?

Do you mind taking this out of our sight?

Oh, the Tatler.

I'm sorry.

I keep telling Koppel not to
bring that garbage in here.

I don't understand how
people can read this stuff.

Hitler found running convenience
store in Claremont, California.

When you're done not reading
it, Miles, I'll take it off your hands.

I'm just reading it to
prove how ridiculous it is.

Oh, jeez.

Oh, jeez.

You guys are not gonna believe this.

If it's the picture of that
St. Louis man who can

suck his entire face into
his mouth, I already saw it.

Nope.

Listen.

TV toughy Murphy Brown had
the FYI g*ng diving for cover,

when she flew into a violent
rage, moments before showtime.

According to insiders, Frank Fontana
was clowning around with "gal pal" Brown

when the crazed star suddenly began
beating him repeatedly about the head.

But that's not the way it was, Murphy.

You were just fooling around.

And how do they know this?

How do they know it?

These tabloids have spies
on every TV and movie set.

They take one tiny grain of truth and
twist it around into a story that'll sell.

Their insider could be anyone, a
disgruntled crew member, a messenger.

A ruthless chambermaid who
roots through your hotel room,

claiming to find one of Jane
Pauly's hairs in the bathtub.

Liars!

The once virile Fontana, had to be
rescued from the as*ault, by security

guards who pulled bantamweight
Brown off Fontana's battered body.

Murphy, it sounds like I
was beaten up by a woman.

Oh, don't worry about it, Frank.

Nobody believes those papers.

Would you like a nice Shirley Temple?

I have some of those
little paper umbrellas.

You knock it off, Phil.

Just knock it off.

Oh, let it go, Frank.

This paper's a joke and everybody knows it.

All you can do is laugh.

If you get mad, it just means they win.

That sounds like a very
healthy attitude, Murphy.

I just don't understand
why it's coming from you.

When you're on TV every
week, you're always going

to be an easy target for
these cheap shot artists.

Now, in the meantime,
there's something we can do.

Hold this.

Phil, marshmallows all around.

So that's my pitch for next week's show.

Now I know what you're all thinking.

How did Murphy Brown manage
to get so deep inside the KGB?

Well, just lucky, I guess.

Okay, Miles, I was wondering...

Lucky to have the skill and finesse
to take on the single most clandestine

organization in the history of the
world and crack it open like a walnut.

Yes!

How do I do it?

That's great work, Murphy.

I want your piece to
leade the show, and I'll

try to steal you some
extra airtime somewhere.

Why don't you steal it from me, Miles?

Her piece makes my story on
weekend survival seem real exciting.

Oh, first I'm beaten up by a
woman, and now I'm sitting around a

campfire with guys who bought their
camouflage outfits at Ralph Lauren.

Well, I'd love to stay and
chat, but I've got work to do.

Do svidaniya, comrades.

And what have we here?

The latest edition of the Tatler.

And they say people don't read anymore.

Well, I haven't had a good laugh today.

Ah, here we go.

Maniacal Murphy nearly
sets famous bar ablaze.

Unbelievable.

Oh, well, whooping it up
in a DC bar, TV wild woman

Murphy Brown suddenly
started a fire at her table.

An eyewitness said the volatile
outburst could only mean one thing.

Brown...

had been boozing.

An insider close to the
fiery blonde told the Tatler, it

hurts us all to know that
Murphy has fallen off the wagon.

I don't know what's worse, that
they print this garbage or that




Murphy, I don't understand.

I thought you said we
should laugh at these articles.

But this is hitting below the belt.

And look at this picture
they used of me screaming.

It was taken at a James
Brown concert in 1978.

I'm wearing gaucho pants.

Now let me get this straight.

That's not funny either, right?

Corky.

I've struggled for three
years to stay sober.

I'm an example to millions of people.

And now these vultures write
that I down drink after drink.

It was club soda.

I say we hit them where
it hurts, right in the wallet.

Oh, I would love to sue them, Frank, but
libel is a very difficult thing to prove.

Besides, these guys have very deep pockets.

They can afford to drag her
through the courts for years.

But that's how they get away with it.

People don't have the time or the
energy or the money to take them on.

Oh, I know, Murphy, but there's
more to lose than there is to win here.

For every hour you
spend in court, that's

one less hour you have
to spend on your work.

I think we have to let this one go.

I guess you're right.

It's not worth getting worked up over.

I'm smarter than this.

I'm bigger than this.

Besides, Murph, the
people who really matter

to you would never
believe this is true.

Excuse me, Miss Brown.

Reception asked me to
give you this phone message.

Oh, thanks, Ray.

And, Ray, if I haven't said it to you
before, I just want you to know, it means

a lot to me to work with people like you
who really know me and believe in me.

My name's Bob.

Oh, God, I don't believe this.

Get help and get it now.

Much love, Mom.

The people who matter
won't believe it, huh?

My own mother.

Take it easy Murph.

No, that's it.

This means w*r.

Somewhere out there, there's a spy
selling me off for 30 pieces of silver.

And when I find that person,
and I will find that person,

they're going to be sharing
bunk space with Jimmy Hoffa.

Huh.

Uh, huh.

Are you sure?

My own research turned up none of this.

Okay, great.

And don't worry, I
always protect my sources.

Bye.

Yes, this is what being a
reporter is all about, Miles.

The pieces are falling into place, and
I'm about to bust this thing wide open.

You don't know how happy I
am to hear you say that, Murphy.

With all the distractions in
the past few days, I was afraid

you weren't going to have your
story on the KGB ready in time.

Ooh, the KGB thing.

I'll try to squeeze in a few
minutes for it during lunch.

Right now, I'm about to nail the weasel
who's been leaking my life to the Tatler.

What?

All right, taking into account the
information Ernie the janitor just gave me,

I can eliminate Darlene in
research and Big Sue in transportation.

This is what you've
been doing for two days?

Making up Murphy's hit list?

It's a brilliant system, Miles.

I've evaluated everyone at
FYI according to three criteria.

Motive.

Are they doing it for money
or are they just plane mean?

Opportunity.

Were they present when each of
the incidents supposedly occurred?

And mental stability.

Do they harbor petty jealousies,
hold a grudge, own a lot of cats?

You know, that sort of thing.

I can't believe this.

I know.

It's beautiful, isn't it?

Now, I've narrowed it down to two suspects.

One is that cameraman
I sort of yelled at once.

You mean Steve?

No, Steve's the one I asked
to stop parking in my spot.

The other one.

Tom?

No, Tom's the one I
questioned about taking the

last shrimp off at the
office Christmas party.

You screamed at him.

Well, questioned, screamed, whatever.

I'm talking about the
cameraman I spoke to loudly once.

Brian?

Yes, Brian.

Henceforth to be referred
to as suspect number one.

Which brings me to suspect
number two, the mailboy Ray.

Did you know he goes by the name of Bob?

His name is Bob.

You think Bob's a spy?

How could it be Bob?

How little you know
about the criminal mind.

Fortunately, I have the perfect plan.

I'm going to plant a different false
story with each of my suspects.

And then when next week's Tatler
comes out, the culprit will hang himself.

And you, Miles, are going to
have the honor of being a part of it.

Here's the stamp you asked for, Miss Brown.

Oh, well, thank you, Bob.

It's for a letter I wrote to d*ck
Cheney. It's somewhere in my tray.

Would you see if you can find it?

It's very important.

Sure, Miss Brown.

So, what are you saying, Miles?

You wine and dine and make
crazy love to me for a week,

and now you walk in here
and tell me it's all over?

What?

Speechless, huh?

You should be.

Oh, I can understand why
you'd wanted to get involved.

It's not uncommon for a man
your age to look at a woman

my age and be intrigued
by the May-July relationship.

Oh, well, I'm sorry it
had to be this way,

but thank you for the good
times while they lasted.

Full of amorous moments.

And I'll especially miss
those intimate nights

where you call me
your little horsey boy.

I don't see the letter, Miss Brown.

You know what, I just remembered.

I didn't write it yet, so thanks
a lot for stopping by, Bob.

Okay, Miss Brown.

My little horsey boy!

I didn't have time to
prepair anything, okay?

You are out of your mind.

Do you know that?

Oh, God.

What if it is, Bob?

A picture will be plastered all
over the front page of the Tatler.

I was Murphy Brown's boy toy.

All right.

Now...

I've baited my first trap.

Now to lay some cheese for my other rat.

How does this sound, Miles?

Brian, I've lost all my money at the
racetrack, and my bookie's after me.

Could I stay at your
place, hide out just for a few days?

I could have been an actress.

I had offers, you know.

My colon.

Jim, is he here yet?

Did you see him?

No, Murphy.

By the way, how's your
piece... Corky, have you seen Frank?

Did he come in yet?

Is he here?

Murphy, you asked me three times already.

No, I haven't seen Frank.

Miles!

Don't even talk to me.

There he is.

Frank, Frank, did you get me
a copy of the Tatler, did you?

I tried, Murph.

Honest, I was in the checkout
line at the supermarket.

I was just about to pick it up
when that gorgeous producer from

Eat the Press got in line behind
me, and I just couldn't do it.

Here, have some AAA batteries.

Oh, well, thanks a lot, Frank.

I've been waiting all week for this.

I should have known not to send you.

I'm lucky you didn't come
back with magic beans.

Eldin, what are you doing here?

I was down at Ed's
Paints picking up a gallon

of Robin's Egg Blue,
And this is what I find.

A copy of the Tatler. Give me.

We don't, you know, read it.

We just mix paint on it.

It's a statement.

Aha!

Here we go.

Don't let it be Bob.

Please don't let it be Bob.

Murphy Brown and bohemian painter
cohabit in Anchor Woman's love nest.

What the hell is this?

Ed saw it first.

He laughed so hard his upper
plate flew into the paint can.

Then he showed it to Shorty,
who made kissing noises at me.

It was the most embarrassing
moment of my professional life.

She prefers to live in sin, calling
marriage the scud of any good relationship.

How could this be? My
three-color chart failed.

It's not either of my suspects.

You gotta do something about this.

I have a reputation to protect.

I'm up for Sherwin Williams,
painter of the year, you know.

Eldin, I don't have time to talk now.

I have a lot to do.

I have to buy magic markers
to devise a new system.

Let's talk tonight.

Oh, what, where?

At the love nest?

Bad enough, my peers look at me
funny since I became a millionaire.

Now they think I'm sleeping with a client.

Who are you?

What am I talking to you for?

Okay, everybody, let's not panic.

So, it's not Bob or Brian.

I knew it wasn't.

I should have just followed my instincts.

I think it's Fran.

What?

Or Dave.

Dave?

It could be Earl in the mail room.

Corky, stop it.

Don't encourage this.

He's right, Corky.

This sort of suspicion
could only undermine

the trust we have in
the people we work with.

Have you considered Becky the third-floor
reception... Okay, let's review.

We know it's someone with
access to my personal life.

Check.

Someone who on the surface
seems above suspicion.

Check again.

Someone to whom I once made a
comment about Scud missiles and marriage.

What?

What are you saying?

You think it's me?

You think I'm leaking
information to the Tatler?

Well, not intentionally,
Frank, but you know how

your lips flap when you're
trying to impress a woman.

My lips?

What about Corky?

She's the one with those
friendly southern lips.

She'll talk to anything with a pulse.

Well, excuse me for being polite.

It's not Corky.

Thank you.

I thought of her, but she
doesn't use words like bohemian.

What are you saying, Murphy,
that we're all on your list of suspects?

Well, let's face it, Jim.

An inadvertent comment to
the grocer, a cab driver, Doris.

Guys!

Can't you see that
paranoia is creeping in

and making us say things
we don't really mean?

Now, let's just put a stop to this before
one of us says something we'll regret.

I think it's Miles.

It is not me!

I think it's Frank!

Don't you ...!

Stop it!
Stop it!

This isn't getting us anywhere.

Now, I trust you guys, I do.

All I ask is that you
try to be very careful.

Watch what you say to people.

Well, of course.

It's not me.

Okay, buddy, where the
hell do you think you're going?

I'm gonna have lunch.

Yeah, right.

You expect me to believe that?

You're following me.

Admit it.

No, I just want to have lunch.

Get out of here!

Get out!
Get out!

What the hell are you staring at?

Murphy, we've been
friends for a long time, right?

That's right, Phil.

And I'm sure you won't be offended
when I ask you to get the hell out of here.

You've been scaring people away for a week.

Don't abandon me now, Phil.

I have to protect myself.

Any one of these people
could be a spy for the Tatler.

Oh, that's what you said yesterday when
you locked Judge Souter in the men's room.

He was looking for information, Phil!

You heard him.

You were here.

He asked if you were through with the salt.

That's how they do it.

They start with a simple little question
and then the next thing you know,

they're asking you if you've ever
seen Satan's face in a head of lettuce.

Murphy, you're talking about
a judge on the Supreme Court.

You want to know something?

You're beginning to scare me.

Look at you.

You cut yourself off from
everybody who cares about you.

You're screaming at people on the street.

And I don't know how
to say this, but when they

found Howard Hughes, he
was dressed just like that.

You know, my own mother
believed I started drinking.

Who knows how many
other people think it's true.

It's so frustrating.

I can crack the KGB like
a walnut, but I can't find the

rat who's making my life
miserable right in my own backyard.

Who is it?

Is it you?

Oh, gee, Murphy, we're in a recession.

I can't afford this.

I'm sorry, Phil.

It's just that I live in fear that anything
I do will be splashed across the headlines.

Well, I'm tired of being afraid.

Do you hear me?

You're under suspicion!

You're all under suspicion!

That's right.

Like you, lady.

Where are you, hiding your tape recorder?

In your purse?

Let's just have a look, shall we?

Very clever.

It's not in your purse.

But she's got one of your ashtrays, Phil.

I want this woman's name.

I want all your names
before you leave here.

Where do you think you're
going with that camera?

What exactly have you
been taking pictures of?

Let's have a look, shall we?

No, those are our honeymoon pictures.

Yeah, right, I've seen better
acting in community theater.

[unintelligible]
Let's go.

Run, Allison, run!

Block the door, Phil, they're getting away!

Sure, run out of here.

Wait a minute, wait a minute!

Go ahead, write your lousy stories,
but I'm warning you, I never forget a face.

Where's everybody going?

I've got your number.

I've got all your numbers.

Who had the chicken salad sandwich?

Somebody ordered a steak with fries.

Hey, who needs customers?

I didn't want to own a restaurant anyway.

All I really want is to go to the
Olympics and compete in the luge.

Oh, boy.

Now I can.

Everybody, I have an announcement to make.

To the person who's
selling information to the

Tattler, I would just
like to say, you win.

I give up.

I don't believe what I'm hearing.

You're going to let this
despicable act go unpunished?

That's not like you.

I'm never gonna find this spy, Jim.

Nobody ever finds them.

That's just the way it is.

Right.

Whoever it is is just too clever,
so we might as well stop looking.

Good, Murph, I think this is gonna work.

No, Frank, you don't understand.

I've now become what the Tattler said I was
in the first place, totally out of control.

I've let their lies become the truth.

So it's over.

I'm getting on with my life.

Miss Brown, here's the
latest edition of the Tattler.

Oh, no.

Get that thing away from me.

But you asked me to get you one.

And now she says she doesn't want it.

Let's show some flexibility here, Bob.

Want to be a mailboy the rest of your life?

Pretending it's not there isn't the answer.

If there's anything in that paper
about Murphy, I want you to read it.

Read it out loud so we can all laugh.

Come on, Murphy.

It's the only way to show the
insider that you can rise above this.

Go ahead, Miles.

Okay, if you think it'll help.

Let's see.

Alligator belt comes to life
and bites man in stomach?

No, no.

There's nothing here about... Oh.

Oh.

Uh-oh.

Go on, Miles.

Read it.

It's important.

Okay.

My dream marriage is a nightmare,
says FYI's Corky Sherwood.

What?

Our insider reports Sherwood is so
unhappy with husband Will Forrest

and his failed writing career, she's
kicked him out of the marriage bed.

He had a sinus infection!

He was snoring so loud I couldn't sleep.

It's not funny, Murphy.

All right, someone in this room sold me
out, and I want to know who it is right now.

It was you, wasn't it, Mark?

Or maybe you, Dave.

You're always asking me
how things are at home.

What?

Whoever you are, I'm going to find you.

And when I do, as God is my witness.

You're off my Christmas card list.

Corky, wait, I'll help you.

You need to make a chart.

Oh, and use a polygraph.

That was my mistake.

I didn't use the
technology available.