"FLETCH"
Final draft screenplay
by
Andrew Bergman
Based on the novel
by
Gregory McDonald
FADE IN:
EXT. CALIFORNIA BEACH - DAY
Seagulls squawk, and the waves pound, but we're not talking
about Malibu Colony, here. This is a fairly rundown beach
area, catering to lower-echelon surfers, vagrants, and strung
out druggies of all ages, several of whom stand or sit on
their haunches by a dilapidated old hamburger stand. Over
the stand is a faded sign: "FAT SAM'S HAMBURGERS".
A simple but haunting electronic melody plays in the b.g.
INT. "FAT SAM'S" - DAY
Seated just inside the stand on a folding aluminum chair is
a chubby man in his late thirties. He's wearing a stained
valour sweat suit and a cap. This is Fat Sam. He's a dealer.
Seated on the sand next to him is Fletch, a rangy man, early
thirties, in jeans and a Magic Johnson T-shirt, nodding idly
on a battered Casio music machine which he treats lovingly.
This is the source of the title music.
FLETCH
So what do you figure?
FAT SAM
No idea.
FLETCH
No idea at all?
FAT SAM
Okay. Some idea.
FLETCH
Like when?
FAT SAM
Like tonight.
FLETCH
For sure?
FAT SAM
No, not for sure. When it comes, it
comes. You gonna want some sh--?
FLETCH
I think I'd rather have drugs.
FAT SAM
(shakes head and smiles)
Fletch...
FLETCH
Sorry. I find a little humor really
brightens things up around here,
don't you?
A young junkie with a black eye - Gummy - passes.
GUMMY
Hi Sam. Hi Fletch.
FLETCH
Hi Gummy. How's the eye?
GUMMY
It's okay. The cops did it.
FLETCH
I know.
GUMMY
They busted me last week.
FLETCH
They bust you every week.
GUMMY
I know. I got bad luck or something.
Gummy exits. Fletch and Fat Sam watch him go.
FLETCH
That kid spends any more time in
jail he'll have to start paying rent.
WIDER ANGLE THROUGH BINOCULARS
Fat Sam and Fletch conclude their conversation. Fletch walks
back among the drifters, the nervous, expectant junkies. He
stops to talk to a young man propped up on his elbows on a
towel. Creasy.
CREASY AND FLETCH
FLETCH
Maybe tonight?
CREASY
Whaddyamean 'maybe'?
FLETCH
That's what he said.
CREASY
(getting desperate)
He doesn't know? How come he doesn't
know?
FLETCH
I don't know how he doesn't know. He
doesn't know.
CREASY
Sonofabitch.
FLETCH
Wonder who his supplier is.
CREASY
I have no idea.
FLETCH
I wasn't asking.
CREASY
He never leaves the beach, Fat Sam.
Never leaves. Sits in that chair,
he's outta junk. Then he suddenly
gets up, he's got junk. So where
does it come from? Through the sand?
FLETCH
I think that's highly unlikely,
Creasy.
CREASY
(rolls over)
I ought to get some sleep.
FLETCH
Creasy, how old are you?
CREASY
Nineteen.
FLETCH
(a touch of sadness)
You're not taking real good care of
yourself.
WIDER - BINOCULARS AGAIN
Fletch takes his Casio and starts off the beach. The binocular
angle follows him. A pelican crosses the water. The binoculars
move off Fletch and follows the flight of the pelican as it
swoops low over the ocean.
BEACH PARKING LOT - DAY
Fletch emerges into view, walking towards camera, when a Man
steps into the immediate f.g., the binoculars at his side
large in frame. Fletch stops.
MAN
Excuse me. I have something I'd like
to discuss with you.
FLETCH
What?
REVERSE
A trim man of approximately Fletch's age, wearing a perfectly
tailored grey suit, is standing across from Fletch. This is
Alan Stanwyk.
STANWYK
We can't talk about it here.
MASTER
FLETCH
Why not?
STANWYK
Because we can't.
FLETCH
Are you on a scavenger hunt of some
kind?
STANWYK
I want you to come to my house. Then
we'll talk.
FLETCH
I think you've got the wrong gal,
fella.
STANWYK
I'll give you a thousand dollars
cash just to come to my house and
listen to the proposition. If you
reject the proposition, you keep the
thousand, and your mouth shut.
FLETCH
Will this proposition entail my
dressing up as Tina Turner?
STANWYK
(unsmiling, all
business)
It is nothing of a sexual nature I
assure you.
(Takes a thousand in
cash from his pocket)
One thousand, just to listen. I don't
see how you could turn that down
Mr...
FLETCH
Nugent. Ted Nugent.
STANWYK
(shakes his hand)
Alan Stanwyk.
FLETCH
Charmed.
EXT. BERMAN STREET - BEVERLY HILLS - DAY
A Jaguar XJ sedan goes up Berman Street, a dead end. Fletch's
hand reaches out of the passenger window and empties sand
out of a sneaker.
INT. JAGUAR - DAY
FLETCH
I always liked this part of town.
EXT. BERMAN STREET - DAY
The Jaguar continues on up Berman Street, stopping before
massive iron gates marked PRIVATE PROPERTY -- NO TRESPASSING --
STANWYK. The gates open electronically.
EXT. STANWYK HOUSE - DAY
The jaguar goes up the center of the drive toward a white-
pillared mansion. The lawns and planting are spectacular.
INT. JAGUAR - DAY
Fletch stares out the window.
FLETCH
What a coincidence.
The car stops before the house.
STANWYK
What?
EXT. HOUSE - DAY
as they get out of the car.
FLETCH
I came this close...
(holds fingers slightly
apart)
...to buying this place
Stanwyk ignores Fletch and starts toward the house. Fletch
follows.
FLETCH
Then I found out Hopalong Cassidy
had shot himself in the game room.
That just blew it for me.
STANWYK
Who?
FLETCH
Hopalong Cassidy. Killed himself
here. Bow and arrow. Strange.
Stanwyk stops before the front door, stares at Fletch
STANWYK
What are you, doped up or something?
Fletch abruptly changes gears, stares at Stanwyk
FLETCH
I don't work for you yet, assface.
Don't talk to me like that.
STANWYK
(after a beat)
Come inside.
INT. HOUSE - DAY
Stanwyk and Fletch enter. A Mexican Maid crosses.
STANWYK
Buenas dias.
MAID
Buenas dias.
She disappears.
FLETCH
I commend you on your Spanish.
Stanwyk doesn't reply, keeps on walking. He opens a set of
double doors to the left of the winding staircase, then stands
to one side, indicating that Fletch should enter.
INT. LIBRARY - DAY
Massive fireplace. Everything built in teak. Fletch enters,
and Stanwyk closes the door behind them.
FLETCH
Ahh, the library. Masculine but
sensitive.
Stanwyk wordlessly goes behind the desk
FLETCH
Really, I love what you've done with
the place. Must have cost you...
hundreds.
Stanwyk turns, looks out a pair of French doors behind his
desk, then turns back.
STANWYK
Here's my proposition, Mr. Nugent.
FLETCH
I'm all ears.
STANWYK
I want you to murder me.
FLETCH
Even garrulous Fletch is stopped in his tracks by this remark,
uttered in the most business-like manner.
STANWYK
STANWYK
Here. On Thursday. I'd like you to
shoot me dead.
FLETCH
He just stares, barely breathing.
STANWYK
STANWYK
The reason I ask you to do me this
service is that I am facing a long,
painful, and most certain death. You
see, I have bone cancer. I don't
know if you know anything about bone
cancer.
FLETCH
He shakes his head.
STANWYK
STANWYK
It doesn't get any worse than that.
Just eats you up, bit by bit.
FLETCH
Finally regains the gift of speech.
FLETCH
You don't look sick, Mr. Stanwyk.
MASTER
STANWYK
I don't feel sick. Not yet. They
tell me it'll start getting bad in
about a month. After that... well,
I'd rather not be around for it.
FLETCH
Why don't you try suicide?
STANWYK
My company has taken out a very large
insurance policy on me. And I have a
wife. Suicide would nullify my
insurance. Murder does not.
FLETCH
So why pick me?
STANWYK
You're a drifter, a -- pardon the
expression -- beach bum. No one would
notice if you disappeared. I've
watched you for a couple weeks.
FLETCH
Maybe I'm just on vacation.
STANWYK
Not with the scum you hang out with.
I've watched. I've thought. Its a
perfect scheme. I even have a perfect
escape plan for you.
FLETCH
Did it ever occur to you that I might
not want to kill you?
STANWYK
I've got fifty thousand dollars says
you will.
FLETCH
He chews his lip.
STANWYK
STANWYK
Fifty thousand and a guarantee you
won't get caught.
Stanwyk searches Fletch's face carefully for a reaction.
After several beats...
FLETCH
I'm still here.
STANWYK
(turns and goes to
the French doors)
I want it done Thursday evening,
around eight PM. My wife will be off
to the club for a committee meeting.
It's the staff's night off.
(pushes doors open)
These will be open.
FLETCH
FLETCH
Wouldn't they normally be locked?
MASTER
STANWYK
Sometimes yes, sometimes no. The
staff usually forgets.
FLETCH
I have the same problem with my help.
STANWYK
(goes on, unresponsive)
I will be here in the room, waiting
for you. The safe will be open and
there will be fifty thousand dollars
in it. You will be wearing rubber
gloves. Do you own rubber gloves?
FLETCH
I rent them. Monthly lease, with an
option to buy.
STANWYK
In this drawer....
He opens the top drawer of his desk
INSIDE THE DRAWER
an enormous .357 Magnum.
MASTER
Stanwyk holds up the gun.
FLETCH
FLETCH
A .357.
MASTER
STANWYK
Very good. My .357. Use it and no
one can trace it to you. The room
will be in some disarray.
FLETCH
So it looks like a burglary attempt.
You catch me. I get the gun, and
shoot you.
STANWYK
Precisely. Are you a good shot?
FLETCH
(looking at the huge
gun)
What's the difference? The noise'll
kill you first.
STANWYK
Get me on the first shot, if you
can.
FLETCH
I don't think you'll have to worry
about that.
A beat. Stanwyk stares at Fletch.
STANWYK
Do you have a passport?
FLETCH
Sure, all drifters do.
STANWYK
Fine. After you kill me, take the
Jaguar. The keys will be in the glove
compartment.
FLETCH
Take it where?
Stanwyk starts to write down the information on a note pad.
STANWYK
LAX. Go to the Pan Am desk. There
will be a ticket waiting for you.
FLETCH
Where am I going?
STANWYK
(hands Fletch the
note)
Rio. Flight 306. Departs at eleven
PM.
FLETCH
They serve dinner on the flight?
STANWYK
It'll be a first class-ticket. I'm
sure you'll enjoy the ride. I would
recommend staying down there at least
a year, Mr. Nugent.
FLETCH
You've certainly thought this out,
haven't you?
STANWYK
I am not someone who leaves a great
deal to chance, Mr. Nugent.
FLETCH
You sure those doors will be open?
STANWYK
Yes. All you provide are the gloves,
the passport, and the aim. I'll take
care of everything else.
FLETCH
The gun, the money, the tickets, and
the dying.
STANWYK
That's right.
FLETCH
You sure got the hard part.
STANWYK
What do you say, Mr. Nugent? You'll
be doing me and my family a great
service.
FLETCH
thinking it over.
STANWYK
STANWYK
Will you kill me?
FLETCH
FLETCH
Sure.
INT. NEWSPAPER BUILDING - DAY
Fletch pushes through the double glass doors, still dresses
in a beach mufti -- the jeans and Magic Johnson shirt, Puma
sneakers.
INT. L.A. NEWS OFFICE - DAY
Fletch is greeted ad-lib by several people as he walks through
the cavernous newspaper City Room.
REPORTER
Whoa, check out the beach boy!
SECOND REPORTER
Looking very good, Fletch.
FLETCH
Thank you so much
(to someone else)
Hey, Larry!
Larry, the young "morgue" researcher, hurries over and walks
with Fletch. She is fun and flirty, and her feelings for
Fletch fall just short of idolatry.
LARRY
Yo!
FLETCH
Can I steal you for a minute?
LARRY
Only if you promise not to return
me.
FLETCH
Deal.
LARRY
(pointing to Fletch's
T-shirt)
'Magic' today, huh?
FLETCH
Kareem's in the wash. I need a favor.
LARRY
Shoot.
FLETCH
Don't say shoot, okay.
They pass the office of the city editor Frank Walker,
fiftyish. Hold on Walker's office. Upon noticing Fletch, he
jumps from his seat, edges his way past the two reporters in
his office and runs outside.
WALKER
Fletch. Fletch!
FLETCH AND LARRY
They continue their walk.
FLETCH
Did you hear something?
LARRY
Not me.
FLETCH
Me neither. See what we've got on a
guy named Alan Stanwyk, okay? I need
it right away.
WALKER
(running up to them)
Fletch, I take it by your presence
here that the story is done. Tell me
I'm right.
Fletch holds up a hand.
FLETCH
W-Y-K no 'c.' I'll be down in a
minute.
LARRY
No problem, boss.
Larry peels off and Fletch now talks to Walker without
breaking stride for his office.
WALKER
Fletch.
FLETCH
Frank, you look a little peaked.
Wanna vomit?
WALKER
No, I want an answer, Is the story
done?
FLETCH
Uh, almost.
WALKER
'Uh, almost' is not an answer. 'Yes
Frank, it's all done': that's an
answer.
FLETCH
(as he enters his
cubicle)
And a damn fine one, I might add.
INT. FLETCH'S CUBICLE - DAY
A pile of mail is on his desk. On the walls are a team
portrait of the Lakers, plus a couple of blow-ups of his
column. Fletch writes under the name of Jane Doe. An unused
word processor is on his desk, but the keyboard has been
moved aside to make room for an old, much-used Royal
typewriter.
He bounces some waste paper off the monitor into a
strategically placed waste can. (A lot of crumpled papers
lie on the floor all around the can.)
FLETCH
Two...
WALKER
Irwin...
FLETCH
Oh, I hate it when he calls me that.
WALKER
Irwin, professional journalism time,
now. Go back to the goddamn beach
and finish the goddamn story!
FLETCH
I will, Frank, I will. Something
came up, okay?
WALKER
No it's not okay. You have to have
this in by tomorrow. Did you see the
ad we ran Sunday?
FLETCH
I never read the paper.
WALKER
...never reads the paper...
Walker goes through a pile of unread newspapers on Fletch's
desk, finds the Sunday paper.
FLETCH
What's the spread on the game tonight?
WALKER
I don't know.
(holds up paper)
Look!
FLETCH
Looks great.
INSERT - AD
A full-page ad.
"NEXT WEEK A "JANE DOE" SPECIAL REPORT: DRUGS ON OUR BEACHES -
SHAME OF THE CITY"
MASTER
FLETCH
'Shame of Our City' is so good.
WALKER
Now, Irwin, try to follow me. You
can't run the ad and then not run
the story.
FLETCH
Why not? Oh sh--... really?
Walker just stares at him.
FLETCH
Just kidding, Frank. You'll have the
story and you'll be damn proud of
it.
WALKER
You broke it? You know the source?
FLETCH
Practically.
WALKER
ready to kill.
WALKER
What's 'practically'? Is it Fat Sam?
You said you had pictures of him....
MASTER
FLETCH
I have pictures of him. Dealing...
WALKER
So let's go! We run the pictures.
FLETCH
He's not the story! There's a source
behind him.
WALKER
Who?
FLETCH
Well, there we're in a gray area.
WALKER
How gray?
FLETCH
I'd say charcoal.
WALKER
(straining for control)
I'm going to bite out your eyeballs,
you know that?
FLETCH
Frank, you animal, I love it. I'll
have the story by Thursday night, I
swear to God.
(to himself as he
exits)
I hope.
INSERT - NEWSPAPER CLIPPING ALAN STANWYK NEW V/P BOYD AVIATION
A photograph of Stanwyk; a head shot. Hands turn the clipping
paper. Next clipping: a social page spread on the wedding of
Alan Stanwyk. ("GAIL BOYD WED TO ALAN STANWYK.")
LARRY (V.O.)
Everything's recent.
FLETCH AND LARRY
Fletch and Larry examine the file.
FLETCH
'Mr. Stanwyk, of Provo, Utah, is a
former commercial pilot.'
LARRY
Married Boyd Aviation. He's no dummy,
that's serious coin.
INSERT - CLIPPING - TIGHTER ANGLE
FLETCH (V.O.)
'Stanwyk's parents, Marvin and Velma
Stanwyk, also of Provo, were unable
to attend the wedding.'
FLETCH AND LARRY
LARRY
(affected accent)
Not our kind of people, you
understand.
FLETCH
(points to his back)
Spot right here.
She scratches.
FLETCH
Thanks.
LARRY
You doing a story on this guy?
FLETCH
Maybe.
He pours over some more clippings, then stops at one.
INSERT CLIPPING
headlined: "CANCER SOCIETY BENEFIT". A photograph of Alan
and Gail Stanwyk, with a gray haired man and his wife.
FLETCH (V.O.)
'...Stanwyk, blahblahblah, with
internist Doctor Joseph Dolen.'
FLETCH AND LARRY
FLETCH
I wonder if that's his doctor.
LARRY
Only one way to find out.
INT. DOCTOR'S EXAMINING ROOM - DAY
Fletch, stripped to the waist. is being examined by Dr. Joseph
Dolen, a rather imperious physician.
DR. DOLEN
So where do you know Alan from?
FLETCH
We play tennis at the club.
DR. DOLEN
Really. The California Racquet Club?
FLETCH
Yes.
DR. DOLEN
That's my club too. I haven't seen
you there.
FLETCH
Well, I haven't played in a while
because of these kidney pains.
DR. DOLEN
Right, and how long have you had
these pains, Mr. Barber?
FLETCH
That's Babar.
DR. DOLEN
Two bs?
FLETCH
One. B-a-b-a-r.
DR. DOLEN
That's two.
FLETCH
But not right next to each other. I
thought that's what you meant.
DR. DOLEN
Arnold Babar. Isn't there a children's
book about an elephant named Babar?
FLETCH
I don't know. I don't have any.
DR. DOLEN
No children?
FLETCH
No books. No elephants either. No
really good elephant books.
DR. DOLEN
(eyes Fletch curiously)
Still, it'd an odd name. I don't
remember seeing it on the club
registry.
Fletch's eyes drift to Dolen's side table with its unnerving
assortment of medical paraphernalia.
FLETCH
Oh, I don't belong formally. I've
gone with my aunt.
DR. DOLEN
Your aunt?
FLETCH
Mrs. Smith.
DR. DOLEN
Joan or Margaret Smith.
FLETCH
Right.
DR. DOLEN
Well, which one?
FLETCH
Margaret.
DR. DOLEN
Funny old bird.
FLETCH
Is she ever. I've got some stories....
DR. DOLEN
I'll bet. Shame about Ed.
FLETCH
(vamping)
It was. Really a shame. To go so
suddenly.
DR. DOLEN
Oh, he was dying for years.
FLETCH
Sure, but the end was so sudden.
DR. DOLEN
He was in intensive care for eight
weeks.
FLETCH
Yes, but the very end, when he
actually died, that was extremely
sudden.
(quickly)
You know, Alan and I were recently
speaking of dying. Told me Boyd
Aviation took out a lot of insurance
on him. You must have to be in some
kind of perfect health to get that
kind of policy.
DR. DOLEN
Bend over and drop your pants, Mr.
Babar.
FLETCH
Oh really, there's no need to -- we
don't want to do that...
DR. DOLEN
Just relax....
FLETCH
Honest, I feel fine. You better be
married.
Fletch looks alarmed as Dolan pushes him into position. Dolan
puts on a plastic glove.
CLOSE - FLETCH
FLETCH
Did I say 'kidneys'? I meant my ear.
Maybe I should see an ear dahhh --
(as Dolan starts to
probe from behind)
Ever serve time?
DR. DOLEN
Breathe easy...
FLETCH
Anyway, I'm surprised Alan got the
policy so easily. I know there's a
history of cancer in the family.
DR. DOLEN
(noncommittally)
There is?
FLETCH
Whoa, look out there. You really
need the whole fist?
DR. DOLEN
Just relax.
FLETCH
(reacts to a poke)
Gee, Alan's been looking kind of
sick lately. Is he all right?
DR. DOLEN
I can't discuss another patient. You
know that.
(rising into frame
and washing up)
Well, I can't find anything wrong
with you.
FLETCH
I'm sure it's not for a lack of
looking. Maybe I should get a real
complete physical. You give Alan an
annual, don't you?
DR. DOLEN
Yeah, we check you into Mt. Hebron
for a few days, run lots of tests,
charge a bundle. You can pull your
pants up now.
FLETCH
I hope they still fit. Do I get to
keep the glove?
DR. DOLEN
Tell the nurse when you've got a few
free days. She'll make all the
arrangements.
FLETCH
Thanks, Doc. Maybe I'll come back
with a date. Or an elephant.
INT. HOSPITAL RECEPTION AREA - DAY
Fletch is dressed in shorts, a clean shirt, and is carrying
a doctor's bag. He is wearing a stethoscope around his neck,
has a beeper on, a lot of pencils and other doctor gadgets.
He's standing at the directory
DIRECTORY
Combing it with his eyes, he sees the directory:
PATHOLOGY - THIRD FLOOR
B. ROSENSTIEN, M.D.
H. ROSENBLATT, M.D.
P. ROSENWOHL, M.D.
Fletch goes to a door marked "Stairs."
INT. STAIRWELL - DAY
Fletch abruptly empties his doctor's bag and puts on a long
green gown, a cap and a face mask. He plugs the stethoscope
in his ears, removes miscellaneous file folders filled with
papers, closes the bag, and heads for Pathology.
INT. PATHOLOGY DEPARTMENT - DAY
It's at the end of a long hall, and adjacent to the Autopsy
Room and the Pathology Records Room. Over his shoulder we
can see into the autopsy room where a gowned doctor is happily
performing an autopsy.
RECORDS NURSE
(to Fletch)
Identification please.
Fletch hastily fumbles through his wallet, deftly dropping
and picking up the papers he has brought with him.
FLETCH
It's me doctor Rosenpenis. I just
have to take another peek at Alan
Stanwyk's file. What have they done
with this place?
RECORDS NURSE
(confused at all his
activity)
Nothing. They're still there.
FLETCH
Right. Fine.
Still dropping and picking up, shuffling and collating, Fletch
starts toward the Files Room, when the doctor performing the
autopsy yells at him.
PATHOLOGIST
Hey you!
Fletch stiffens and turns around.
PATHOLOGIST
Give me a hand for a second would
you doctor?
Fletch hesitates.
PATHOLOGIST
Come on, come on.
Reluctantly, he goes to the autopsy table, and the cadaver
thereon, which is covered by a sheet, except for the mid-
section.
TWO SHOT - FLETCH AND PATHOLOGIST
(Note: from here on we never see the body.)
PATHOLOGIST
(poking around)
Have you ever see a spleen this large?
FLETCH
(trying not to look)
Not recently.
PATHOLOGIST
Grab this, will you?
FLETCH
Uh, I'm not really prepared. My hands
aren't sterilized.
PATHOLOGIST
You're not going to make this guy
any sicker.
We hear a squishing noise as he grabs something large and
wet and plops it into Fletch's hand. Fletch stands there
holding something icky out of frame, looking uncomfortably
up at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at the cadaver or
at the stuff in his hand. Meanwhile, we hear sounds of further
incisions, and the deflating of an organ.
PATHOLOGIST
You never really get used to the
smell, do you?
Fletch's eyes roll up, and he falls to the floor in a dead
faint.
INT. RECORDS ROOM - DAY - MINUTES LATER
Fletch is on a couch, beginning to regain consciousness. The
Records Nurse hovers over him.
RECORDS NURSE
Are you all right, Doctor?
FLETCH
Where am I?
RECORDS NURSE
You're in the Records Room.
FLETCH
I'm fine.
RECORDS NURSE
Can I get you something?
FLETCH
Have you got a make-shift plywood
pillory? Heh Heh, just kidding.
RECORDS NURSE
Doctor Holmes went to get you some
smelling salts. He was quite surprised
that you fainted.
FLETCH
Well, I didn't want to say anything,
but I thought the dead man was my
brother.
RECORDS NURSE
Oh my God!
FLETCH
It's all right. It wasn't him but
that spleen was a splitting image.
He sits up and sees that just outside the glass is none other
that Dr. Joseph Dolen, talking with the pathologist.
FLETCH
Oh, God, I think I'm about to
hyperventilate. Have you got a paper
bag, or something.
RECORDS NURSE
Yes, right away.
She goes to get the paper bag, and Fletch turns his back on
Dr. Dolen to go through the file cabinet. By the time the
Nurse returns, he's got Stanwyk's file.
RECORDS NURSE
Here you are, Doctor.
FLETCH
Thank you.
He puts the bag over his mouth and breathes deeply as he
continues the conversation with her. (From time to time, we
see Dr. Dolen in the b.g. looking over, but does not come
into the records room or question what's happening).
RECORDS NURSE
Is there anything particular you're
looking for?
FLETCH
My associates did a biopsy on this
man recently.
(thumbs through file)
He's supposed to have a melanoma, or
a carcinoma, some kind of noma. Hmmm.
I can't seem to find any record of
it.
RECORDS NURSE
(taking the file)
Well, if he had one, it would
certainly be in here.
(searches)
Wait. Here it is. Yep. Surgical
removal of two moles. Tissue was
benign.
FLETCH
That's it?
RECORDS NURSE
(shows him the file)
That's it.
FLETCH
(reading it)
This was last month. So Alan Stanwyk
does not have cancer.
RECORDS NURSE
I guess not.
FLETCH
(very puzzled)
He'll be so relieved.
EXT. SANTA MONICA STREET - LATE AFTERNOON
Fletch pulls up in front of his building, a 1970's cinderblock
apartment complex. Fletch parks his car halfway up the curb,
gets out and spots a Mercedes coupe. He starts running toward
the rear of his building.
EXT. REAR OF THE BUILDING - DAY
Fletch starts climbing up the fire escape of his building.
FIRE ESCAPE - DAY
Fletch reaches the second floor. He's huffing and puffing.
FLETCH
Christ.
REVERSE
Attorney Charles Gillett is waiting for him on the second
floor fire escape. Gillett smiles.
GILLETT
Refusal to pay alimony is a jailable
offense, Fletch.
MASTER
FLETCH
What about breaking and entering?
(points to Gillett's
coat)
Are you wearing anything under that?
GILLETT
I did not break nor enter. I simply
chose an advisable location to await
my client's delinquent husband.
FLETCH
I hate to conduct business on the
lanai. Why don't we step inside.
Fletch takes out a credit card and jimmies open the lock on
the window.
INT. FLETCH'S APARTMENT - DAY
Fletch climbs in through the window, followed by Gillett.
His small apartment is just barely furnished. A low basketball
hoop is attached to the wall. Fletch takes a ball, offers it
to Gillett.
FLETCH
One on one?
Gillett shakes his head. Fletch does a reverse shot and
misses, sending a plastic globe lamb crashing to the floor.
FLETCH
And the foul.
Fletch takes a second, successful shot.
GILLETT
You owe Wendy nine hundred and
eighteen dollars.
FLETCH
(still playing b-ball)
She doesn't need the money, for
crissakes. She's living with Monty.
I know it.
GILLETT
I don't know what you're referring
to. Wendy maintains her own residence.
FLETCH
It stinks. I thought woman were
independent now.
GILLETT
Until she remarries, Fletch.
FLETCH
Hey, shut up, okay? I just hate this.
GILLETT
I empathize with your plight, Fletch.
However, you threw her out.
FLETCH
She was sleeping with everybody. The
cable TV guy. You can't get lower
than that...
GILLETT
You should have proved that in a
court of law.
FLETCH
My lawyer was a bum.
GILLETT
(smiles)
I agree.
Fletch puts down the basketball, picks up a stack of mail
and rifles through it.
FLETCH
I think he was sleeping with Wendy,
too.
GILLETT
You may be right.
FLETCH
Are you serious?
GILLETT
(shrugs)
That's history, Fletch. You owe us
nine hundred and eighteen dollars.
FLETCH
Wait a minute! Our problems might be
solved.
Fletch holds up an envelope with Ed McMahon's picture on it.
FLETCH
(continuing)
I think I just won a million dollars!
He opens it and looks inside, feigning disappointment.
FLETCH
(continuing)
Damn... lost again. Sorry.
GILLETT
This is no joke. If some kind of
payment isn't made, we're going to
have to contact the paper and garnish
your wages.
Fletch sighs, takes out the envelope given to him by Stanwyk.
He hands a thousand dollars to Gillett.
GILLETT
Cash. I'm impressed.
FLETCH
Found it in a cab. That's a grand.
Apply the difference to next month.
GILLETT
Till then.
Gillett smiles and exits.
KITCHEN - DAY
Fletch opens the fridge. Inside are tow six-packs of Coors,
a jar of Miracle Whip, a half a cucumber, and a brown head
of lettuce. Fletch takes a beer and slams the door shut with
such force that we hear breakage inside.
MASTER - APARTMENT - DAY
In a foul mood, Fletch leaves the kitchen, and wanders into
the living room. It has the personality of an Abbey Rents.
He picks up the TV remote control. The television clicks on.
Chick Hearn is with Jabbar, during a Laker pregame warmup.
FLETCH
Thank God.
Fletch settles back.
TELEVISION
Hearn is gushing over Jabbar.
FLETCH
He watches contemplatively. He is bone tired.
TELEVISION
HEARN
How about Fletch?
JABBAR
Well, Fletch has been great. He's
super-strong, really clogs the middle
for us, boxes out, gets the bounds....
FLETCH
He smiles and nods, deep in fantasy.
TELEVISION
HEARN
Now here's a key play in Tuesday
night's game...
Hearn and Jabbar look down at a television monitor.
FLETCH
He's half asleep.
JABBAR (V.O.)
Here I am dishing off to Fletch...
Fletch raises an eyebrow.
TELEVISION
There's Fletch, his hair in an Afro, dressed in Laker gold.
He's on the receiving end of a Jabbar pass, making an easy
layup.
HEARN (V.O.)
Gosh, he makes it look so easy!
FLETCH
asleep, smiling.
PRACTICE COURT - DAY
Gail Stanwyk is on the other side of the net, loading tennis
balls into the automatic serve machine. She is in her late
twenties and quite attractive, but in a much more natural
way than other women we see here. She is good natured and
effervescent.
Fletch steps up to the entrance of the court.
FLETCH
Gail Stanwyk!
She looks up. He enters the court with great delight.
FLETCH
I haven't seen you since the wedding,
Jeez, you look great.
MRS. STANWYK
(genuinely pleased)
I do? Oh, isn't that sweet, thank
you. I have to confess something to
you. I must have been pretty plowed
at your wedding. I really don't have
the faintest idea who you are.
FLETCH
Huh? No, not my wedding. Yours.
MRS. STANWYK
Oh, mine! Thank God.
(furrows her brow)
Actually, that doesn't make it any
better, does it? Are you a friend of
Alan's?
FLETCH
We used to fly together. I'm... John.
MRS. STANWYK
(snaps her fingers in
happy recognition)
John! You used to fly together!
Her smile segues right into an "I'm sorry, bit I give up"
expression.
MRS. STANWYK
John who?
FLETCH
John Ultrarelamensky.
MRS. STANWYK
(bursts out in laughter)
Oh, I'm sorry. It's a beautiful name,
really.
FLETCH
It's Scotch-Rumanian.
MRS. STANWYK
(still loading tennis
balls)
That's a strange combination.
FLETCH
So were my parents.
MRS. STANWYK
Mind if I keep practicing? I need to
work on my ground stroke a little.
FLETCH
Please.
As Mrs. Stanwyk crosses to the other side of the net, a waiter
approaches Fletch.
WAITER
Excuse me sir. Are you a guest of
the club?
FLETCH
Yes, I'm with the Underhills.
WAITER
They just left, sir.
FLETCH
They'll be back. He had to go in for
a urinalysis.
WAITER
Would you care for a drink while
you're waiting? I can put it on the
Underhill bill.
FLETCH
Great. I'll have a Bloody Mary and a
steak sandwich.
WAITER
Very good sir.
The Waiter leaves, and Fletch watches as Mrs. Stanwyk tries
to return the serving machine's serves. She swings so goofily
that she can't even get the racket on the ball. She has
clearly never taken a lesson in her life, and it is doubtful
if she will ever make contact with a tennis ball in this
century.
MRS. STANWYK
Damn, I thought I had that one.
FLETCH
You should play with much larger
tennis balls. So how's Alan?
MRS. STANWYK
What are you asking me for? He's so
busy lately I hardly see him. And
he's been so preoccupied.
FLETCH
Preoccupied with what?
MRS. STANWYK
Oh, personal stuff. Look! I hit one!
Indeed, she has. Strait up. She and Fletch crane their necks
upward to follow it's flight.
FLETCH
Good. Lobs are a very important part
of the game.
She completely misses the next one.
FLETCH
Why do you keep doing this?
MRS. STANWYK
I love the outfits.
The next one she hits with the handle.
FLETCH
Try stepping into the ball with your
left foot.
He demonstrates a swing. She puts on a determined face, makes
an awkward step and swings at the next ball, missing it
completely, and letting the racket fly.
FLETCH
There, much better.
Mrs. Stanwyk laughs happily and dodges the machine-served
balls to walk over to Fletch. When she's almost up to him,
she turns back to the serving machine and points a finger at
it, as if addressing a pet dog.
MRS. STANWYK
Stay!
(to Fletch)
I must be having an off day. I'm
really a fabulous player.
FLETCH
I have this effect on lots of women.
MRS. STANWYK
I bet you do.
FLETCH
Say, the reason I asked about Alan
is that I bumped into him this morning
and you know what I can't figure
out?
MRS. STANWYK
(catching him in his
lie)
Alan's in Utah.
FLETCH
(after a beat)
I can't figure out why I went to
Utah for the morning.
MRS. STANWYK
Okay. I'm delighted to have someone
to talk to, and you're very cute, so
I'm very flattered, but I'm also
very married so you may as well forget --
You are trying to hit on me, aren't
you?
FLETCH
(thinks, then nods)
I'm such a heel. How'd you guess?
MRS. STANWYK
If I had a nickel for every one of
Alan's flyboy buddies who tried to
pick me up, I'd be a rich woman.
FLETCH
You are a rich woman.
MRS. STANWYK
See what I mean?
She trots back to her ball machine. Fletch calls after her.
FLETCH
What's he doing in Utah?
MRS. STANWYK
None of your business, now go away.
You're throwing my game off.
Fletch chuckles -- he likes this woman -- and exits.
BOYD AVIATION - DAY - ESTABLISHING
A sprawling, Hughes-like complex.
FLETCH (O.S.)
...then who walks in but George Bush.
He took one look around the room...
INT. JOHN BOYD'S OFFICE - DAY
A Secretary is serving coffee to Fletch (now dressed in a
three piece suit) and John Boyd, Gail Stanwyk's father. At
seventy, he is probably Chairman Emeritus now; no longer
running the day-to-day operations of the company, and thus
somewhat grateful from the company.
FLETCH
...and said 'Sorry Mr. President, I
thought it was Saturday.'
Boyd Laughs.
FLETCH
I thought I was going to die.
SECRETARY
Sugar, Mr. Poon?
FLETCH
Thank you.
Fletch notices a framed wedding photograph on the credenza
behind Boyd. It is of Alan and Gail Stanwyk, Alan beaming a
sh**-eating grin and holding a happy thumbs-up.
Fletch waits as the Secretary leaves the room, then begins
speaking confidentially.
FLETCH
Okay.
He opens his attache case, allowing Boyd to see an airline
ticket, a Washington Post, and a file stenciled
"Confidential/S.E.C. Use only."
FLETCH
First of all, let me just reiterate
that this is not a formal
investigation. I'm not going through
formal channels here, because if
Alan Stanwyk is not involved in any
improprieties, then nobody has to
know I was even --
BOYD
Alan Stanwyk is not involved in
improprieties. Where the hell does
the S.E.C. come off --
Fletch is nodding sympathetically and holds up a quieting
hand. Boyd stops in mid-tirade, and watches as Fletch reaches
into his briefcase and seemingly turns off a tape recorder.
FLETCH
Look. You know that and I know that,
but somebody's bucking for a
promotion. I think it's that bozo,
Hanrahan, I can't be sure. Anyway,
unless I go back there with something,
you and your son-in-law are next
week's scapegoats.
BOYD
Unbelievable.
FLETCH
I feel like dirt. They even want to
know what he's doing in Utah?
BOYD
Utah?
(laughs)
Jesus Christ! First of all, Alan
Stanwyk does not own one share of
stock.The three million dollars for
the ranch in Provo comes from my
daughter who converted some of her
personal holdings, not company
holdings. Now if anybody in DC wants
to make something of that, bring 'em
on. Until then, get the hell out of
my face.
FLETCH
(stands and closes
briefcase)
God I admire you.
BOYD
By the way: what kind of name is
Poon?
FLETCH
Comanche Indian.
ALAN STANWYK'S OFFICE - DAY
Fletch breezes in, right up to the Secretary, whose nameplate
reads MADELINE TURNER.
FLETCH
(rapidly)
Oh, Margie, sorry, Frieda lost the
number of Alan's realtor in Provo.
Can you give it to me real quick?
MARGIE
Jim Swarthout?
FLETCH
Yeah.
She writes it out for him.
MARGIE
And, I'm sorry, who are you again?
FLETCH
(grabbing the paper)
Frieda's boss.
MARGIE
(calling after him)
Who's Frieda?
FLETCH
(out the door)
My secretary.
EXT. BEACH - DAY
Pan across the beach...
FLETCH (O.S.)
Larry, it's me...
Fletch is in a phone booth on the sidewalk next to the beach,
keeping an eye on "Fat Sam's."
FLETCH
See if you've got anything in
Stanwyk's background from when he
lived in Utah. Also check on a realtor
in Provo named Swarthout. And tell
Frank I'm crazy about him and I'd
like to discuss his maybe moving in
with me.
We hear police sirens. Fletch looks O.S.
FLETCH
Later.
He hangs up.
FLETCH'S POINT OF VIEW - FOUR SQUAD CARS
have pulled up to the beach, lights flashing. The druggies
are dispersing.
Creasy is running towards Fletch.
CREASY
Fletch! Take off!
FLETCH
He steps out onto the beach, and starts towards the cops.
MASTER
CREASY
What are you doing?
MASTER
Everyone is scattering. The cops run past everyone, and
approach Gummey.
FLETCH AND CREASY
FLETCH
They're after Gummy again. It's weird.
Fletch keeps moving toward the police.
CREASY
(out of breath)
Fletch, slow down.
GUMMY AND THE COPS
Gummy trips and falls in the sand. A Cop kicks him in the
head.
COP #1
Let's go, Gummy.
FLETCH AND CREASY
still running toward the cops.
FLETCH
Hey, what are you doing?
CREASY
Fletch, this is dumb.
FLETCH
You don't have to run with me, Crease.
MASTER
The cops drag Gummy toward a squad car.
ANGLE - "FAT SAM'S"
Fat Sam peers out, watching the action.
MASTER
Fletch approaches the cops.
FLETCH
Why are you beating up on that kid?
No response from the cops.
FLETCH
He's defenseless, and you kick the
crap out of him. What do you want
from --
One of the cops turns and, in one smooth motion, kicks Fletch
in the balls. Fletch sinks to the ground.
SQUAD CAR
Gummy is packed into the squad car.
FLETCH
He rises slowly from the sand. He is in great pain. He starts
after the cops again.
CREASY
CREASY
Fletch!
MASTER
FLETCH
What goddamn right do you have to
take him?
The cop car starts off. Fletch picks up a rock, hurls it at
the cop car. It smashes the rear window.
CREASY
CREASY
Fletch!!!
MASTER
The cop cars go off. Fletch bends over. He's hurting. Creasy
comes over to him.
CREASY
Hey you're really nuts.
FLETCH
(breathless)
They didn't do anything.
CREASY
What? What are you talking about?
FLETCH
I busted their window, they didn't
do anything.
CREASY
You're lucky.
FLETCH
Not luck. They don't want me.
POLICE CARS
In a caravan, they head down the highway.
FLETCH
He turns and looks towards "Fat Sam's."
FAT SAM'S
Fat Sam watches the police cars go down the road, then turns
and looks towards the ocean. He pulls his Angels cap down
over his head.
CLOSE - FLETCH
He is focusing on something, but has not figured it out yet.
FLETCH
Gummy and two cops...
INT. FRANK WALKER'S OFFICE - DAY
FLETCH
Cool your tool, Frank, I need a little
more time. I think I'm really on to
something here.
WALKER
You're onto something. That's good.
What?
FLETCH
I really don't want to spoil your
surprise, Frank. Why don't you read
it tomorrow?
Larry, knocks on the door.
WALKER
What do you want?
Larry points to Fletch.
WALKER
Speak, don't point!
LARRY
I need Fletch for a second.
FLETCH
She needs me, Frank.
Fletch turns to Larry. Push to two shot.
LARRY
Nothing on Gail Stanwyk, nothing on
Jim Swarthout. But I did ---
FLETCH
That's okay, Lar. I gotta put this
on the back burner for a while.
Larry starts to exit.
WALKER
Just give me a hint, all right?
FLETCH
All right. Maybe there are some
crooked cops involved in all this.
LARRY
(stopping in the
doorway)
Did you say cops?
FLETCH
Yeah.
LARRY
That's one thing I did find. It's
from last month, so it was in the
unsorted pile.
She hands Fletch a clipping.
INSERT - CLIPPING
It is an article and photograph of the newly-appointed
citizens on the Police Advisory Board. One of them is Alan
Stanwyk.
WALKER
What's that?
MASTER
Fletch pockets the photo.
FLETCH
(puzzled)
More cops.
(then)
I think I gotta go to Utah, Frank.
WALKER
Utah?
FLETCH
Yeah. It's wedged in between Wyoming
and Nevada. I'm sure you've seen
pictures.
WALKER
What about finding the source?
FLETCH
I have some ideas.
WALKER
Who? Donnie and Marie?
FLETCH
Very possibly. Come on, say yes.
I'll buy you a shirt.
WALKER
Go to transportation, get a ticket.
LARRY
(to Fletch as he exits)
My hero.
FLETCH
Nothing to it.
EXT. PROVO, UTAH - AIRPORT -DAY
A Western Airlines flight arrives.
EXT. HIGHWAY - DUSK
Fletch's rented Fairmont speeds down the highway.
INT. FAIRMONT - FLETCH
wearing a polyester brown suit -- fiddles with the radio.
Snatches of programs are heard: "easy listening" music;
country-and-western; a revival show; a call in show -- "Hi,
you're on the air." "Hello, Bob, I'd like to discuss the
death penalty. As you know, Jesus was in favor of it --"
Fletch whistles and switches the radio off. He turns the car
off the interstate.
EXT. TRAVELODGE - LATE AFTERNOON - ESTABLISHING SHOT
as Fletch drives up.
INT. TRAVELODGE MOTEL ROOM
Fletch dials the phone in the small, sparsely furnished room.
FLETCH
Hi, Jim Swarthout, please. Oh, hello,
my name is Igor Stravinski and I'm
looking for some ranch property.
INT. SWARTHOUT REALTY
Jim Swarthout is a rugged-looking man in his forties. He
sits in the den/office of his house talking on the phone,
surrounded by pine-paneling, property tract maps and wall-
mounted animal heads.
SWARTHOUT
Good, Mr. Starinski, what'd you have
in mind?
(pause)
Uh huh. Oh are you a friend of Alan's?
INT. FLETCH'S MOTEL ROOM
FLETCH
No, I just heard some people at the
club talking about the property you
sold him, and the way it was
described, three million sounded
like a pretty good price.
(pause)
What?
Fletch pauses again to listen, flummoxed over what he has
just heard.
FLETCH
Are you sure?
(pause)
Of course. I guess I was misinformed.
Listen, I'd love to come out and see
you anyway. When are you available?
INT. SWARTHOUT REALTY
SWARTHOUT
Well, I'm about to close up shop and
go out for the evening. How about
first thing in the AM?
(pause)
Great. See you tomorrow.
INT. FLETCH'S MOTEL ROOM
FLETCH
Tomorrow.
Fletch hangs up, very interested.
EXT. SWARTHOUT REALTY - NIGHT
Fletch stops his car in front of the ranch-style house. A
lighted sign in the yard indicate that this is indeed
Swarthout Realty, but the house is dark; no one appears to
be home. Somewhere in the yard a dog barks viciously,
frantically.
DOG
A killer Doberman is tied up behind a chain link fence. At
the sight of the intruding Fletch, the dog's lip is
practically over his nose, his fangs are poised and gleaming.
FLETCH
FLETCH
(getting out of his
car)
What's your name fella? Fluff? Pom-
pom?
DOG
completely bananas.
FLETCH
Fletch reaches the front door and looks around. He rings the
bell. The dog yowls even louder. Fletch waits. And waits. He
rings again. Satisfied that no one is home, he tries the
front door. Of course, it is locked. He takes out a credit
card, starts to jimmy the lock, and actually seems to be
making progress when his credit card snaps in half.
FLETCH
Sh--.
He pockets the broken credit card, steps back and looks over
the house for another possible point of entry.
FLETCH'S POINT OF VIEW - AN UPSTAIRS WINDOW
Double-hung. Slightly warped, so that the upper half does
not exactly true with the lower half.
FLETCH
looks around to see how to climb up to it.
MASTER
There's only one way. Climb up the side of the chain link
fence which separates him from the murderous dog. Fletch
approaches it warily. The dog is practically foaming. Fletch
reaches out a hand to get a hold of the fence, and the dog
just about rips the fence apart.
FLETCH
(in his best Barbara
Woodhouse)
Sit-tuh!
This has no effect, so Fletch backs up a few yards, take a
deep breath for courage and makes a headlong running start
for the fence, using his momentum to get to the top before
the dog eats him. He grabs hold and scrambles wildly for the
top. He makes it.
FLETCH
Roll over. Play dead. Good boy.
Fletch now grabs hold of the eave on the side of the house,
and very carefully pulls himself onto it. It's only about
ten feet from there to the vulnerable window, but the angle
of the eave is rather steep, and the going is treacherous.
As he makes his way, he keeps a wary eye on the dog who keeps
leaping up, seemingly getting closer and closer to taking a
giant bite out of Fletch's backside.
FLETCH
You any relation to Doctor Dolan?
Now he's at the window. He tries to open it, but despite
it's warped appearance from the ground, it is locked. Fletch
looks at the lock and can't believe it. He sighs. He shakes
his head. He smashes the window with his elbow.
FLETCH
I hate this.
He climbs into the darkened house, leaving the enraged dog
to run furiously around the fenced in yard that surrounds
the house.
INT. SWARTHOUT'S HOUSE - UPSTAIRS - NIGHT
Fletch tiptoes though the upstairs bedroom and down the
stairs. From outside, he can still hear the dog snarling and
barking.
INT. SWARTHOUT'S HOUSE - DOWNSTAIRS - NIGHT
As Fletch passes through the living room he sees the dog
snarling at him through the living room window.
INT. SWARTHOUT'S DEN - NIGHT
Fletch enters and looks around.
The dog is now outside the den window.
FLETCH
Make sure nobody comes in, okay?
He goes to the file cabinet and opens it. He flips through
the "S" section. "Stanwyk". He pulls it. He thumbs through
various documents until he finds what he's looking for. A
copy of a deed. He pulls it out.
INSERT - DEED - CLOSE ON THE PURCHASE PRICE
Three Thousand Dollars.
FLETCH (O.S.)
So much for your three million dollar
ranch.
FLETCH
takes out a tiny document camera -- the kind spies use in
the movies -- and loads it fumblingly. Then he props the
deed up on top of the file cabinet, and moves a lamp into
position to light it. Just as he snaps his first shot, we
hear a terrible crashing sound.
WINDOW
The murderous Doberman has made a crashing leap right through
the den window, sending glass flying everywhere, and he
streaks across the room to rip Fletch into bite-sized shreds.
MASTER
Fletch bolts and the dog flies into the file cabinet, knocking
it over, scattering all the files over the floor. Fletch
dashes for the nearest door, and runs through it just as the
dog slams into it.
INT. KITCHEN
Fletch is now holed up in the kitchen, panting to catch his
breath, feeling the full course of adrenaline pumping through
his terrified veins. He sees that he can get to his car by
climbing through the window. But in order to get to the window
he has to let go of the door, and that would allow the dog
to get in.
Looking around frantically, holding the door shut against
the furious slamming of the dog, he reaches for and finally
grabs a mop which he props under the door knob, thus keeping
the door shut. Letting go of the door gingerly, he satisfies
himself that the dog cannot get in, and he makes his break
for the window.
He vaults up onto the counter top and is just about to break
the window when he sees that the dog's continued efforts are
about to result in opening the door.
Fletch knows he has only seconds. Standing on top of the
counter, he opens the door of the restaurant-sized
refrigerator next to him, and just as the snarling dog bursts
into the room Fletch starts hurling food at it. A pot roast,
sliced turkey with stuffing, a couple of filet mignons. The
dog is momentarily distracted. Fletch pours a large bucket
of cranberry sauce on the dog.
FLETCH
Suck on this Cujo!
Then he dumps an equally large bucket of mashed potatoes.
With the dog temporarily vision-impaired, Fletch bolts.
EXT. SWARTHOUT HOUSE - NIGHT
Fletch runs as fast as humanly possible towards his car,
fishing for his keys as he goes. The dog -- having shaken
off the people-food from his hateful face -- is seconds behind
and closing.
Fletch makes it to his car, hops inside, and slams the door
just as the dog leaps furiously at the windshield.
INT. FLETCH'S CAR
Fletch makes it to his car, huffing and puffing. The dog
jumps across the closed window, snarling and bug-eyed with
hatred.
Fletch smiles, waves at the dog, and starts taking its picture
with his little camera.
FLETCH
Gimme a smile! There you go... oh,
that's a nice one...
(starting the car)
Everything's fine, now... go take a
little nap...
Fletch is ready to pull out, but the dog is still leaping
madly at the window. Fletch points back to the house.
FLETCH
Look! Defenseless babies!
The dog turns to look and Fletch guns it.
FLETCH
That dog is such an asshole.
EXT. FLETCH'S APARTMENT HOUSE - DAY
Fletch parks his car halfway up on the curb, steps out
carrying a small overnight bag. He is unshaven and looks
beat.
INT. APARTMENT HOUSE - CORRIDOR
Fletch comes down the hall signing "Billie Jean" is an
excruciating falsetto.
FLETCH
'Bil-lie, Bil-lie...'
He opens the door to his apartment and is immediately thrown
to the ground.
INT. APARTMENT
Fletch is spread-eagled on the floor. Two huge Cops are over
him, one holding a gun to his head, the other going through
his clothes.
COP #1
(feeling the inseam
of Fletch's trousers)
Oh, what's this?
FLETCH
If I took that out, you guys couldn't
fit in here.
COP #1
Funny boy. Look at this...
He produces a heroin bag.
COP #2
Looks like heroin, Gene.
FLETCH
You just planted that.
Cop #1 kicks Fletch in the ribs.
COP #2
What'd you say?
FLETCH
Read me my rights.
COP #1
Okay. You have the right to remain
silent. You have the right to be
kicked in the face by me. You have
the rights to have your balls stomped.
You have the --
FLETCH
Hold it! I'll waive my rights.
EXT. PRECINCT HOUSE
Fletch is lead into the precinct house.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE
The Sergeant at the desk checks Fletch out.
SERGEANT
Who we booking here, gentlemen?
COP #1
No booking. Chief wants a talk with
the boy.
SERGEANT
Oh Yeah?
(smiles at Fletch)
You'll like the Chief. Nice man.
FLETCH
I hear he's mellowed a lot since he
came out of the closet.
SERGEANT
I find he gets real mellow after he
hits somebody a lot.
DOOR TO CHIEF'S OFFICE - CHIEF'S OFFICE
The cops open the door, pull Fletch inside. Chief Cummings,
looking like a modern executive, looks up from his paperwork.
COP #1
Here he is Chief.
They roughly throw Fletch into a chair. The Chief -- seemingly
oblivious to this brutality -- smiles sincerely.
CUMMINGS
Easy fellas.
(To Fletch friendly)
Be with you in just a second.
The two Cops leave. As Chief Cummings continues with his
paperwork Fletch looks around the office, which is decorated
tastefully -- no guns on the wall, no American flags. On one
wall there is a Matisse, and on another, various photos of
the Chief with local celebrities.
FLETCH
You decorate this yourself or did
Mrs. Chief of Police help you?
CUMMINGS
(laughs)
You should have seen what she wanted
to do with the place. Mauve.
(shakes his head and
pushes his papers
aside)
So what's your name?
FLETCH
Fletch.
CUMMINGS
Full name.
FLETCH
Fletch F. Fletch
CUMMINGS
(skeptical but patient)
I see. And what do you do for a
living, Mr. Fletch?
FLETCH
I'm President of the International
Fletch Corporation.
Cummings just stares at Fletch.
CUMMINGS
Why are you doing this Mr. Fletch?
FLETCH
Frankly sir, you look a little like
my father. Probably explains the
curious feeling of love I have for
you.
CUMMINGS
For a gentleman who was just found
holding a bag full of heroin...
FLETCH
It was planted on me, sir.
CUMMINGS
We're looking at five years, maybe
ten. Is that what you want... Jane
Doe?
He suddenly kicks Fletch's chair out from under him. Fletch
falls to the floor.
CUMMINGS
Your editor called me yesterday to
respond to allegations you're about
to print about police involvement in
narcotics dealing. Fletch starts to
get up, but Cummings plants his foot
on Fletch's chest, forces him back
down.
CUMMINGS
I'm about to break that beach wide
open, and I don't need some pennyante
Woodward and Bernstein getting in
the way of my men.
FLETCH
'Your men' might just be involved in
all this.
CUMMINGS
You idiot. Off the record, deep
background: I've got that beach
crawling with undercover cops.
Cummings picks Fletch up, and holds him by the lapels.
CUMMINGS
If you keep nosing around, you make
the bad guys just a little bit more
cautious. That makes my job harder.
And if you print your story this
week, you might get some of my men
killed. I can't let that happen, Mr.
Fletch.
He throws Fletch against the wall of celebrity photos, some
of which fall to the floor.
CUMMINGS
You go back to that goddamn beach, I
swear to God I'll make you regret
it.
FLETCH
(picks up a picture)
Hey, you and Tommy Lasorda. That's
great.
Fletch takes the picture and hurls it across the room. It
smashes into the opposite wall and shatters.
FLETCH
I don't like Tommy Lasorda.
JAIL CORRIDOR
Fletch is tossed into an empty cell by the two Cops who
brought him in. Cummings watches. The two Cops leave, and we
see that all the cells in this corridor are empty.
FLETCH
You can't keep me here.
CUMMINGS
Maybe I'm not going to keep you here.
(takes out a gun)
Maybe I'm gonna blow your brains
out.
FLETCH
I'm no lawyer, but I do believe that's
a violation of my rights.
The Chief takes a knife out of his pocket, holding it with a
handkerchief.
CUMMINGS
After I shoot you, I stick the knife
in my arm, then place it in your
dead hand. Self-defense. We don't do
this very much anymore... but we
have. Got rid of a lot of minorities
that way.
FLETCH
My God, you're serious.
CUMMINGS
Ask anybody.
FLETCH
Can I ask anybody now?
Cummings looks down the corridor. Deserted.
FLETCH
Can I call my Mom? I'd like to tell
here how much I've always loved her.
CUMMINGS
(cocks the gun)
What'll it be Fletch?
Fletch looks in Cummings' eyes. They are steely and cold. He
is quite serious.
FLETCH
I hate the beach. Wouldn't go there
if you paid me. Besides, I'm way
overdue on my story about off-track
betting in the Himalayas. You don't
think it's the mafia, do you?
CUMMINGS
(opening the cell)
Its been very nice meeting you. I
enjoy your column.
Fletch walks out of the cell. Cummings walks with him through
the empty corridor to the exit.
CUMMINGS
(very chummy)
Speaking of which, you're not going
to print anything before my
investigation is through, are you?
FLETCH
Not a prayer.
CUMMINGS
That a boy.
The emerge into the main hallway of the police station, which
is filled with officers and civilians. Cummings makes a show
of cordially shaking Fletch's hand as if they were old
friends.
CUMMINGS
Thanks for coming down to see us.
FLETCH
Not at all, Chief. But next time...
no tongue, okay?
Exit Fletch.
INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE
Fletch is railing at Frank Walker.
FLETCH
How could you call him?
WALKER
It's called journalism, Fletch. It's
called getting both sides of the
story. Something you apparently don't
know anything about.
FLETCH
It's also called getting me this
close to being murdered.
WALKER
Get out of here.
FLETCH
He threw me in a cell, took a gun
and a knife and threatened to kill
me right there if I didn't promise
to give up the story.
WALKER
You know, I've had it up to here
with your bullsh--. I need a story
from you by tomorrow.
FLETCH
You'll have it.
WALKER
But not unsubstantiated charges about
dope-dealing cops, and not horse
sh-- paranoid fantasies about
homicidal police chiefs.
FLETCH
(exiting)
Thanks for the vote of confidence,
Frank.
WALKER
(calling after him)
I want something I can print!
FLETCH
(giving him the finger)
Print this Frank.
Exit Fletch.
EXT. RACQUET CLUB
Fletch again appears in his tennis whites and walks familiarly
toward the patio. Rich people are having lunch. Fletch stops
the waiter.
FLETCH
Hi, where's Mrs. Stanwyk?
WAITER
In her cabana, sir.
FLETCH
Oh, that's right. She told me to
meet her there. That's cabana six?
WAITER
Cabana one.
FLETCH
One.
WAITER
Would you be caring for something to
eat or drink, sir?
FLETCH
I would, actually.
WAITER
Charged to the Underhills, sir?
FLETCH
Right. Tell you what -- have you
caviar?
WAITER
Yes, sir. Beluga. But it is eighty
dollars the portion.
FLETCH
(whistles)
I'd better only get two. How about
the lobster thermidor?
WAITER
I recommend it.
FLETCH
Fine. And a couple of bottles of Dom
Perignon. To cabana one.
WAITER
Very good, sir.
The waiter leaves. Fletch looks around, takes a deep breath.
FLETCH
This is just the nicest place.
EXT. CABANA ONE
A little Spanish bungalow-type affair. Old California money-
style elegance. Fletch rings the bell.
MRS. STANWYK (V.O.)
Who is it?
FLETCH
It's John. John...
(forgets name)
Znhcneelsky.
MRS. STANWYK
John Ultramalensky?
She opens the door, clad only in a towel. A towel is wrapped
around her head. She seems surprised, but not displeased, to
see Fletch. She also seems a little at a loss for words.
FLETCH
Hi.
MRS. STANWYK
(finally)
Hi.
FLETCH
I was hoping you'd say that.
They have just shaken hands, and Fletch notices his hand is
now sopping wet.
MRS. STANWYK
Uh... I'm just out of the shower.
FLETCH
Can I borrow your towel for a minute?
She laughs a nervous little laugh. There is a bit of sexual
tension here.
MRS. STANWYK
I'm sorry, I'm just surprised to see
you. I didn't think... What do you
want?
FLETCH
I ordered lunch.
MRS. STANWYK
You ordered it here?
FLETCH
Well, I knew this is where my mouth
would be.
MRS. STANWYK
Down boy.
With a nervous glance in both directions, she lets him in
and closes the door behind them.
INT. CABANA
They stand there for a few seconds looking at each other.
MRS. STANWYK
I really should change.
FLETCH
No, I think you should stay the same
wonderful person you are today.
MRS. STANWYK
I mean put clothes on.
FLETCH
Here, take mine.
He starts to take off his shirt. She is amused, and responds
playfully, but firmly.
MRS. STANWYK
Stop that!
He does.
MRS. STANWYK
Have you gotten cuter since I last
saw you?
FLETCH
Yes.
She stands there, looking around, trying to act as if her
heartbeat weren't speeding up.
SFX: Knock at door.
FLETCH
Lunch...
MRS. STANWYK
God...
She goes sprinting into the bathroom.
FLETCH
Come on in.
The door opens. A second Waiter, Mexican, solemnly wheels in
a cart bearing the goodies ordered by Fletch. The twin bottles
of Dom Perignon juts from a silver ice bucket.
WAITER
You want I set up?
FLETCH
No thanks, I'll do it. Give yourself
twenty dollars. Underhill.
WAITER
Muchas gracias.
FLETCH
Sierra del fuego.
The waiter bows, leaves, shuts the door. Mrs. Stanwyk scampers
back in, gazes at the cart as Fletch takes a bottle of Dom
Perignon and pops the cork.
MRS. STANWYK
All this goes on Underhill's bill?
FLETCH
(offering her a glass)
I saved his life during the war.
MRS. STANWYK
You were in the war?
FLETCH
No. He was. I got him out.
She laughs and sighs, knowing she's getting into something
she probably shouldn't.
MRS. STANWYK
I can't believe I'm doing this. Well,
lets eat.
She tucks a napkin in her towel like a bib and sits at the
table.
EXT. RACQUET CLUB - DAY
The Underhills have just been handed the bill run up by
Fletch.
MR. UNDERHILL
Four hundred bucks for lunch???
WAITER
Your guest, sir.
MR. UNDERHILL
We have no guest here today.
(reading the bill)
Two bottles of Dom Perignon, hundred
bucks a pop. Jesus H. Christ! Where
is he?
WAITER
I believe he's with Mrs. Stanwyk.
MRS. UNDERHILL
Gail Stanwyk. Tom, if he's with Gail
Stanwyk --
MR. UNDERHILL
I don't care who he's with! This is
criminal.
MRS. UNDERHILL
Tom...
MR. UNDERHILL
She's where, cabana one?
WAITER
Yes sir.
Mr. Underhill stalks off.
INT. CABANA - DAY
Fletch and Mrs. Stanwyk are having lunch. Fletch sings while
he opens the champagne. She is looking at his back which is
turned to her.
FLETCH
'I've been so many places in my life
and times. I've sung a lot of songs,
I've made some bad rhymes...'
MRS. STANWYK
It's amazing.
FLETCH
'I've acted out my life on stages,
with ten thousand people watching...'
MRS. STANWYK
Your bone structure, shoulders,
neck...
FLETCH
'But we're alone now, and I'm singing
this song for you.'
MRS. STANWYK
Just like Alan. It's freaky.
FLETCH
Can I ask you a question?
MRS. STANWYK
Depends on the question.
FLETCH
Are you still in love with Alan?
MRS. STANWYK
No.
(quickly)
I mean, 'no you can't ask me that.'
I mean, ask me something else.
FLETCH
Why'd you let me in?
MRS. STANWYK
Because I'm bored. Oh, that sounds
terrible, doesn't it. I'm sorry. If
it makes you feel any better, I also
let you in because I'm hungry.
FLETCH
Thanks, I feel much better. Listen,
if you're so bored, why didn't you
go to Utah with Alan?
MRS. STANWYK
Utah is not exactly a cure for
boredom.
FLETCH
Good point.
MRS. STANWYK
Oh, listen to me. I've never even
been there and look what I say about
it. Anyway, I know there'd be nothing
for me to do. I don't even know
anybody there.
FLETCH
What about his parents?
MRS. STANWYK
He never sees them and I never met
them.
FLETCH
How come?
SFX: Insistent knock at door.
Fletch and Mrs. Stanwyk freeze.
MRS. STANWYK
Yes?
MR. UNDERHILL (V.O.)
Mrs. Stanwyk, I hate to disturb you.
Tom Underhill here... I'm a new
member.
Fletch rises.
FLETCH
Thanks for the great time.
MRS. STANWYK
(sotto voice)
What is this?
FLETCH
Long story.
MR. UNDERHILL (V.O.)
Apparently, someone of your
acquaintance has charged the most
extraordinary lunch to my bill.
MRS. STANWYK
(hissing)
John!
Fletch starts pushing the lunch table towards the bathroom.
MRS. STANWYK
You don't know the Underhills?
MR. UNDERHILL (V.O.)
I'd appreciate an opportunity to
discuss this with you.
MRS. STANWYK
I just stepped out of the shower!
Can you give me a minute?
MR. UNDERHILL (V.O.)
Of course.
Mrs. Stanwyk follows Fletch into the bathroom.
INT. BATHROOM
Fletch jams the cart into the bathroom.
FLETCH
Take one end.
Mrs. Stanwyk lifts one side of the cart. They lift it and
put it up into the bathtub. There's a window in the bathroom.
Fletch opens it.
FLETCH
I'll be leaving now, Mrs. Stanwyk.
MRS. STANWYK
I think you should call me Gail,
now.
FLETCH
Gail. I hope this won't embarrass
you in any way. I think Underhill's
a yutz, you won't have any trouble
with him.
MRS. STANWYK
Why did you do it?
Fletch shrugs, smiles.
MRS. STANWYK
A four hundred dollar lunch tab!
FLETCH
Yeah.
MRS. STANWYK
I'll cover it. You have any other
surprises?
FLETCH
(after a beat)
Yeah. My name's not John Ultramalensky
and I wasn't at your wedding.
She stares at him.
MRS. STANWYK
Who.
FLETCH
Irwin Fletcher. I write a newspaper
column under the name Jane Doe.
A long beat.
MRS. STANWYK
So?
FLETCH
So, your husband hired me to kill
him. That's the truth.
MRS. STANWYK
What are you talking about?
FLETCH
That's what I want to know.
EXT. CABANA
Mr. Underhill knocks again.
MR. UNDERHILL
Mrs. Stanwyk!
INT. BATHROOM
MRS. STANWYK
In a minute!
FLETCH
He told me he was dying of cancer.
Not True. That ranch you thought you
were paying for in Utah? Not true.
MRS. STANWYK
How do you know about that?
FLETCH
He's a bad guy, Mrs. Stanwyk. Gail.
I think he's involved in something
very big and very bad.
MRS. STANWYK
What does all this mean?
FLETCH
Have you ever heard the name Jim
Swarthout?
MRS. STANWYK
Swarthout. Yes. He's the man who
sold us the ranch in --
FLETCH
Wrong. He sold you $3,000 worth of
scrub brush.
MRS. STANWYK
But I've seen the deed.
FLETCH
You saw a forgery.
He takes out his photographs.
FLETCH
That's the real deed.
INSERT - PHOTO OF DEED
It's is so fuzzy, shaky, and poorly framed that there's no
way we can read the price on it.
FLETCH (O.S.)
Now, if this were at all legible,
you'd believe me.
MASTER
Fletch shows her more of the photos.
FLETCH
Here's this dog that tried to eat
me. Here's my motel. Here's the car
I rented...
MRS. STANWYK
Stop it.
(angry and concerned)
Are you saying my husband is
defrauding me?
FLETCH
I don't know. All I know is that he
told me a lot of things and so far
not one of them has been true.
Mrs. Stanwyk stares at Fletch. She gets a little teary.
FLETCH
I'm really sorry I have to tell you
all this.
MR. UNDERHILL (O.S.)
Mrs. Stanwyk?
MRS. STANWYK
(really screams)
Just wait, all right?!?
(to Fletch)
I'm going to call my father. He'll
know what --
Fletch stops her.
FLETCH
No. You can't. Look, I know you don't
know me from Adam, but you've got to
trust me.
MRS. STANWYK
Trust you? I may seem a little goofy
at times, but I'm not a complete
Bozo, you know.
FLETCH
Just give me twenty-four hours.
Please. Someone almost killed me
today. People are not being nice
lately, and I don't want you getting
hurt. I think you're terrific. Are
you a Laker fan?
Gail is now teary, confused, and scared.
MRS. STANWYK
No... I've got to go to Mr.
Underhill...
FLETCH
I'll take you to a game.
MRS. STANWYK
What are you talking about?
FLETCH
I'm talking about how much I'd like
to take you to a Laker game.
MRS. STANWYK
Wait a second. What am I supposed to
do for twenty-four hours?
FLETCH
(climbing out window)
Act natural.
MRS. STANWYK
I was afraid you'd say that.
FLETCH
If you need me, call the paper. Hand
me that extra bottle okay?
EXT. CABANA
Gail opens the door where Mr. Underhill has been waiting.
MRS. STANWYK
Sorry. Here.
(grabs the bill from
his hand)
Thanks. Bye.
She closes the door in his face.
EXT. BOYD AVIATION - PARKING LOT
Alan Stanwyk crosses the parking lot and gets into his Jaguar.
He starts the engine, backs out of his reserved space, and
pulls out of the lot.
ANOTHER ANGLE - PARKING LOT
Fletch is reading a copy of Sports Illustrated. He puts it
down, starts his car, and pulls out of the lot.
SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD
Stanwyk's Jaguar tools down Santa Monica Boulevard. Fletch's
car follows, several discreet car lengths behind.
INT. JAGUAR
Stanwyk checks his watch, and makes a turn.
MASTER
Stanwyk has pulled into a service station. He gets out of
his car and opens the trunk.
FLETCH
He pulls into a fast-food joint on the west side of the
street. He opens the Sports Illustrated and peers over it.
STANWYK
He takes a gas can