Now, you listen to me: If she is not back here by 5:00 this afternoon, I am coming for you, and when I find you, I am going to kill you.
Oh, my God, Bryan: Don't tell me that someone's kidnapped your daughter! That phone call, I mean. Oh, no, no, no: That was just my car mechanic. He's been ditzing around with my Ford Escort for two days now and I want it back.
Wow! You may be retired from the Firm, but you still know how to talk to bad guys!
And car mechanics. Well, the old skills come in handy every now and then, I suppose, but don't forget that I moved back here just to be within frequent visiting distance of my beloved teenage daughter Kim. Which is odd, really, since she'll probably be leaving for college before you even get all the boxes around here unpacked. What? Oh, not to worry: In that case, I'll just sit tight here a few weeks, maybe take a crack at winning Lennie back from her latest Sugar Daddy, that rich and frustratingly sensible business magnate named Stuart. Failing that, I'll find a bachelor pad in my daughter's college town and continue worshiping her from afar, but at a quickly bridgeable distance in the event of an emergency. Whatever. Look, I'm gonna put these spare brewskis in the fridge and then follow my nose out back to the steaks that you've apparently got going on the barbie. Here, George, take these chips out back for me, would you? I need to talk to Bryan here about that upcoming job I mentioned. Look, there's a job coming up. Oh, no, no, no. Just hear me out. Now, Matthew, you know very well that I moved here for the sole purpose of idolizing my daughter. Oh, come on: It's a security job for a big rock star. Huge. Oh, very well: As long as they're BIG stars -- otherwise no one in their right mind would be out to get them and I'd be bored past imagining. That's understandable. I'm a (ahem!) "preventer," after all, not a baby-sitter. That's the spirit. It all goes down tomorrow night: The details are in this envelope. And who is this big rock star of yours -- No, wait, don't tell me: I want it to be a surprise. What, you've never heard of Big Al Yankovic? And who precisely is out to kill HIM? Well, I don't know: They say he's made some enemies in the Mennonite community with that "Amish Paradise" song of his. HE did "Amish Paradise"? I LOVE that song! You DO? Ahem! I mean, Kim LOVES that song! I wonder if I can get her a signed copy? Oh, look, there's the signal from Casey in the back. It looks like the eagle has landed. With nothing to worry about, either, I might add. That's the spirit. Nobody lays so much as a finger on the man, at least until I get that autograph. Stand back, people! You can look but don't touch! Al, hey, Al! (Stay back, folks, please!) Hey, Al! It's not SOP, Bryan. Maybe not, but I don't like the look of those bonnets that those groupies were wearing who just filed in there ahead of him. I think it may be a disgruntled band of Pennsylvania Dutch. Oh, very well. Casey, do you read me? The Condor is going in. Repeat: The Condor is going in. Casey! Ah, I can't believe this, Kimmy: I'm finally alone with you, without that (ahem!) silly mother of yours flitting about the rafters like a turkey vulture.
Um, Dad, I'm afraid that... Oh, Kimmy, I thought it was going to be just you and me on this outing. Sorry, Dad, but --
Well, if it isn't the suddenly diligent father. Good afternoon, Lennie. Lennie?! My name is Lenore now, if you please, as in the long-lost lady in the poem "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. Lenore? Oh, my, aren't we fancy. Please, you two, don't get started. You're right, Kim, it's best to get right to the point. And that point would be...? Here is a permission slip that Kimmy needs you to sign so that she can go to Paris. What? And here's a pen. (It writes perfectly -- I took it for a test write this morning before leaving home.) Please, Dad! You know I always planned to go to Paris in my senior year at high school! Paris?! Oh, no, no! I can't believe what I'm hearing! Why are you making such a big thing out of it?! ME? Pardon me, Lennie -- ur, Lenore -- but I think it was you who set up this complicated ambush for the cynical purpose of extorting my signature from me. Dad, it's all set. Me and Amanda already have a room in the Rue des Virgines Perdues. I don't like the sounds of it. Oh, come on, Dad! We'll be perfectly safe! This is PARIS, we're talking about, you know. You forget, my dear, that the French are still plenty sore at us on account of George W. and Iraq. Not anymore, Dad, not with the election of President Obama! Come on, Bryan: If you really love your daughter, here's your chance to really make her happy. I... I just don't know about this. Which are non-refundable, I might add. Oh, come on, Lennie, You know perfectly well that your new boyfriend could buy the very airline that Kimmy has made reservations with. Oh, just forget it! I swear to God, I have NEVER heard her say that she wanted to go to Paris, at age 17 or whenever! Yes, well, that might have something to do with the fact that you've been overseas for the last 10 years, Einstein. Well, yes... but I still visited you guys! Occasionally. Besides, I was tracking down (suddenly leaning over table and whispering) Bin-Laden. With very little success, apparently. For your information, we were making excellent progress, before I suddenly decided to come here and, as 'twere, worship my daughter 24/7. You were making progress, were you? Oh, yeah. If we don't get bin Laden in MY lifetime, I'm sure we'll get him in Kimmy's! I'm confident of it. Why don't you just call him up and threaten to kill him if he doesn't turn himself in to Interpol? Lennie, you are a genius! The name is Lenore now, Bryan, remember? Note to self: "Call you know whom and give him the customary bad-guy ultimatum." (Why didn't I think of that BEFORE?!) Oh, look, here comes my rich and incredibly reasonable new husband. Yoo-hoo! Stuart, I'm over here, trying to get James Bond to sign this permission slip for Kimmy.
Oh, hello, Bryan: Sincerely glad to see you, old boy. Sincerely glad. And may I say in all seriousness that I am sincerely disappointed that you still feel that way about me, Bryan? Sincerely disappointed. There you go again with more of your irritating sense of fairness! Right. I'll just leave the permission slip with you, Bryan -- and the pen -- in the off chance that you finally decide to do something right for a change when it comes to the life of your only daughter! Yes, Stuart, do go: And may I say in all seriousness that I am thrilled that you two are finally leaving?! Now, Bryan, don't say anything you'll regret later. Well, it's not a complete loss for you, Lenore: If nothing else, you succeeded in setting me back $25 today. Oh? How so? Do you see this plate full of food in front of me? That's the expensive so-called Admiral's Platter that is now too cold to eat! (Waiter, a doggy bag, if you please, sir. SIGH!) Kimmy? You can go to Paris! Yes! That's what I'm talkin' about now! Here's the permission slip, duly signed and dated. Oh, you are the best dad in the world! But you've got to promise me that you'll call me the second you get to Paris. What? Oh, of course, I will! Anything you say! (Whoo-hoo!) And call me every morning -- Yes, yes. And evening -- Yes, of course, yes! (Whoo-hoo!) Including weekends. Dad, don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I'll be counting on it. Yes, yes. In fact, if I don't hear from you according to schedule even once, I'm going to assume that you've been kidnapped and come looking for you. Mom, mom! Daddy signed my permission slip for Paris! Well done, you. Well, I just want her to be happy, that's all. Well, she is now, all right. Mind you, I don't want her to die in the process. Now, Bryan -- Or be kidnapped by a bunch of thugs. You worry too much. That's easy for you to say, living here in Cloud Cuckooland on the money of your new Mr. Reasonable, but you'd feel differently if you had spent the last five years with me and the boys working undercover in northwestern Pakistan. Oh, please. Look, all I'm saying is, it's a tough world out there, and I would seriously freak out if anything happened to our dearly beloved... sniff! ...daughter. Oh, look, here comes Stuart: I hope you don't mind if I tell him about your good deed. Oh, no, not Stuart again! If I hear him say even one reasonable thing, it will drive me crazy. I am REALLY glad to see you again, Bryan. Are you sure, Stuart? How do you mean? Are you sure you don't dislike me even a little bit -- on some level? No, sorry, Bryan, you've asked me this (ahem!) rather unusual question before, remember? so I've had time to search my soul, and upon reflection, I can honestly say that I bear you no ill-will whatsoever. That's it, I'm leaving, Lennie: This guy is going to drive me crazy with his impossible levelheadedness. Suit yourself, but the name's LENORE, remember? L-E-N-O-R-E. Yeah, well, ask me if I CARE, okay? C-A-R-E. Hello? Kim, is that you? Why didn't you call when you got to the airport? I was worried sick about you. I'm sorry, Dad, but it was so crowded and everything happened so quickly. Kimmy, you promised me that you were going to keep in touch! I know, Dad. And another thing: I just ran across a Mapquest map on your computer on which you appear to have charted out an itinerary that takes you on a whirlwind tour of Europe in 20 days! Oh, that. Yes, THAT. Kimmy, you lied to me. I'm sorry, Dad, but Amanda and I got this great deal on some U2 tickets and -- Oh, please: Bono?! Dad, his music is "rich in social and political themes." Where did you hear that? Ahem! Um, Dad, hello? It's in no less a reliable source than Wikipedia! Oh, well, then it must be true. Uh-oh, Dad. Uh-oh, what? Either Amanda is performing a very strange dance with some newly invited friends, or... Or what, Kim?! Or she's being kidnapped! Oh, good! Well, I don't mean good, exactly, but at least now I'm in my element and can finally be of use to you, Kimmy -- but you've gotten to listen to me and do everything that I say! Now, I want you to look very carefully: I know that the scene is probably confused over there, but do these potential "invitees" appear to be in any way punching Kimmy in the face or otherwise forcibly restraining her. Oh, I don't know! Calm down, Kimmy, and look for daddy. Yes. Oh, God. Yes, dad, they are, in fact, pummeling her, but good! Right. What room are you in? Oh, I don't know, Dad! I don't know! Well, what do you see around you? Look, sweetheart, and tell daddy. I see a toilet and a sink and a bathtub -- Right, that would be the bathroom. I want you to walk -- don't run -- to the nearest bedroom and hide under the bed. Okay, I'm going. That's a good girl. Okay, I'm getting under the bed. That's it, now get under there and remain perfectly quiet. So, do you think I'll be safe under here, daddy!? No, honey, I'm afraid you're dead meat now -- at least in the short-term -- but if you hold out the phone near the edge of the bed, I may be able to pick up audio clues about the kidnappers' identities before they forcibly wrest you from your hiding place. Daddy, I'm scared! Well, now, honey, I told you that Paris was dangerous, but you wouldn't listen to me, would you. I'm sorry, Dad. No, what do I know? Just because I've worked for the CIA for decades now and have access via friends to all the latest intelligence reports. Oh, Dad, they're coming! I always had a bad feeling about that place you were renting. Even the street address sounded odd to me: What was that, again: Rue des Virgines Perdues? I've been meaning to ask one of my CIA translator friends what that means in English. Okay, Kimmy, hold the phone out so that I can hear every possible noise! I don't know who you are or why you're doing this, but you need to know something about me: I am perhaps the most experienced person in America these days when it comes to apprehending overseas scumbags such as yourself. So if you know what's good for you, you'll apologize effusively to my daughter right now for scaring her, put her on a train for the Charles de Gaulle airport with all her luggage -- and with her friend Amanda by her side, too, of course, assuming you haven't already killed her -- and then, once you confirm that they are safely on a plane for America, you will devote the rest of your life to public service, in proof of which commitment you will send me yearly faxed reports including written testimonials from registered French social workers attesting to the authenticity and efficacy of your new life of Good Samaritanism. Otherwise, I will find you, and I will kill you: Just ask my mechanic, who narrowly escaped death here just last week after desperately pulling out all the stops back at the garage to meet a same-day deadline that I imposed on him by phone for an oil change on my Ford Escort. Good luck? What's that supposed to mean? Stuart, do you have any enemies? Besides the Democrats, do you mean? Very funny, Stuart -- I'll be sure to put the next one-liner that you utter on your tombstone, so be sure to choose it carefully. Ahem! No, no, Bryan, I have no enemies that I know of. Well... do you have any enemies that you DON'T know of? Hmm, let me see: Yes, I'm afraid that I may, indeed, have a few enemies that I DON'T know of, Bryan. That's what I was afraid of. Matthew, what are you doing here? Bad news, Bryan: We just got the translation back from Langley on the name of that street address where your daughter is staying in Paris? What, Rue des Virgines Perdues, do you mean? Right, break it to me slowly: What does it mean in English? It translates into English as... Yes, yes?! "Street of the Lost Virgins!" That settles it: Stuart, you're putting me on a private plane for Paris this very minute! Gladly. And may I say that I am sincerely pleased that I am in a position to do this for you? No, Stuart, you may not say that. In fact, if you express any such sentiments in my presence, I will pound you into the ground like a six-inch steel tent peg. Understood. And may I say that I appreciate your candor in enunciating these conditions for me. Casey? Now what are YOU doing here? It's more bad news from Langley, I'm afraid. Don't tell me that they've already translated that gobble-dee-gook that the bad guys were speaking just before they pulled my daughter out from her hiding place under the bed!? Yes, Bryan, they've translated the one sentence that could make out, which sounded something like What does it mean and what language were they speaking? Well, the English translation appears to be something like: "The Girl must be here somewhere." Aha! That would make sense. And what language were they speaking? It appears to be ancient Pig Latin of some kind. Oh, great: That means the bad guys could be from anywhere, since young people speak some sort of Pig Latin in almost every country in Europe! And especially in the United States. Why, I myself knew a little Pig Latin as a child. Hey, that's right. Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Casey? I think I am. The bad guys could actually be from the states! And that's interesting, because the translators back at Langley kept saying, if they didn't know better, the voice of the speaker appeared to have a Brooklyn accent. Very interesting. I seem to recall that your business empire started out in New York City, didn't it, Stuart? What are you trying to say, Bryan? Yes, Bryan, what are you trying to say? And where exactly have you been these past few days, Mr. Suspiciously Reasonable Man, while I've been busy fretting about the welfare of my Paris-bound daughter? Yeah, You don't suppose Stuart here has been going anywhere in private jets, do you? Oh, this is ridiculous! Matthew, Casey: Check the jets out back -- I bet you'll find some precious cargo in the overhead bin -- Don't be ridiculous, We could never fit your daughter in the overhead bin of one of my Cessna CJ3's! The only thing I don't get is, why? Well, if you must know, she's a trifle obese. No, I mean why did you mastermind the kidnapping of your own daughter? Well, Stuart, the secret's out, I guess. Yes, I suppose it is. Huh? What secret? Lennie, what do you know about this? Oh, Bryan, I didn't want to go behind your back, but... What?! You were being so oppressively protective of Kimmy (after an almost decade-long bout of callous indifference, by the way) that it was clear to Stuart and I that she would have no fun on vacation as long as you had anything to do with it. What are you saying? She's saying that, ahem: Aha! So you speak Pig Latin, Stuart! The plot thickens. Yo, what did he say? Well, I haven't spoken Pig Latin since grade school, of course... Well, do your best, man: do your best! But he seems to be saying, in so many words, that the entire kidnapping was a -- a hoax! What?! Forgive us, darling, but we wanted to get Kimmy started on her whirlwind U2 tour of Europe before you learned what was happening and tried to prevent it. So we figured that if you thought she had been kidnapped in Paris, the worst you could do is to fly over to France and spin your wheels for a couple of weeks in the City of Lights. Meanwhile, your daughter would be enjoying a much-deserved vacation from your constant micromanagement of her affairs. Easy there, old man. It's not so bad: Kimmy will be back in just a week now, and then you can start obsessing over her again as usual. What? So you mean I made that long, complicated threat over the phone for no reason at all? I've been meaning to ask you about that, That was the strangest ransom call I ever saw in my life. Well, there you are, piling on all these conditions for this perfect stranger to meet, meanwhile I'm thinking to myself: That's all well and good, Bryan, but remember who has the leverage here? I mean, hello? He had your daughter, you numpkin, and there you were making your own set of demands before he even could open his mouth! Now, you listen to me: If my baby is not back here in my carport by 5:00 p.m. this afternoon, I am coming down there and I will kill you. What? What's so funny? He got another call, okay? Sheesh!
