The Naked Gun

-Go, go, go, go! -Move it, move it!

-Let's go, let's go! -Come on!

It's a powder keg in there.

No one moves till we get word from the mayor.

Shoot! Hey.

Hey.

Hey. Little girl.

Stop.

Stop!

Stay down!

What do you want, little one?

Your ass.

Boo!

Well done.

Who...

who are you?

Frank Drebin, Police Squad.

The new version.

Shoot. Um...

My name is Sergeant Frank Drebin,

Detective Lieutenant, Police Squad,

a special division of the LAPD.

The day after the bank robbery started like any other.

I woke up in my empty cop apartment,

stared at a picture of my deceased cop wife

and choked back cop tears.

A perfect morning? Sure.

But I had no idea what this city had in store for me.

What the hell?

-Hey! -There he is.

Way to go, Frank!

Thank you. Thanks, everyone.

What is this?

Don't cheer for him!

You two, my office now!

Thanks to you, I just spent two hours

getting chewed out by the mayor.

Apparently, some of the bank robbers you put in the ICU,

they're lawyering up to sue the city.

That's ridiculous. They're criminals.

It's the law.

Since when do cops have to follow the law?

-Since forever. -Oh, yeah?

And who's going to arrest me? Other cops?

-Yes. -Is she serious?

Is he serious?

He's... no.

Look, let me be crystal clear.

They are threatening to shut down Police Squad because of you.

Honestly, you're lucky you still work here

after last year's McDonald's incident.

They wouldn't sell me Freedom Fries.

You arrested the entire staff!

I wasn't thinking clearly.

I was furious about the Janet Jackson Super Bowl.

That was 20 years ago!

Not to me.

We understand, Chief. You're right.

Good.

'Cause I'm taking you off the bank job.

-What? -I'm putting you on collisions.

There's a crash up in Malibu.

Yes, ma'am. Thank you.

And make sure your bodycams are actually turned on!

Got it. Camera will be on.

Drebin!

It's a new day at Police Squad!

Things are changing so fast around here.

I guess you really can't fight City Hall, huh?

No. It's a building.

Now, there's a real man.

They just don't make 'em like your pops anymore.

I'm glad he's not around to see what Police Squad has come to.

Mind if I take a minute, Ed?

Of... of course.

Hi, Daddy. It's me, Frank Jr.

I want to be just like you, but...

at the same time, be completely different and original.

So, if you're proud of me,

give me a sign, like...

maybe make me see an owl or something.

Hey, Dad.

It's me, Ed.

Boy, do I miss you.

Hey, Pops.

Mm-mm.

Ed and I pulled up to the Malibu car crash around 2:00 p.m.

Nothing unusual.

But in this city, usual is unusual... usually.

What the hell?

So how was your date last night, Frank?

Ah, I couldn't go through with it.

-You canceled? -Nope.

I didn't want to upset her,

so I had Officer Barnes tell her I was stabbed to death.

You're a real romantic, Frank.

But everyone needs someone, even a widower like you.

I'm just not ready to open myself to love again.

I had them wait to clear the wreck so you could get eyes on it.

Crash happened around 4:00 a.m.

Well, there are no skid marks on the road.

He didn't hit the brakes before going over.

Drunk?

A little. Just enough to wake me up.

Fancy car.

Yeah, it's one of those new EdenTech electric ones.

Electric, huh?

I remember when the only things that were electric were eels, chairs,

and Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago.

Empty pill bottles.

Huh.

Who was he?

Simon Davenport, 53 years old.

No wife, no kids.

He's got a sister out in Hancock Park,

but we don't really know anything about her other than her name.

Beth Davenport.

Divorced, 5'6", 130 pounds.

Spitfire of a personality. Self-proclaimed chocoholic.

Likes outdoorsy things but is just as happy curling up with a good book.

All right. I've seen enough.

Mark it as suicide.

Go ahead!

Bring in the crane!

-Oh, my God, it's up! -Wait, I got to see what I got!

-Yes, I got it! -Come on, man!

She can't even sing!

-Lieutenant? -What's up, Barnes?

Look, I know you're off the bank job, sir, but I could really use your advice.

-Go for it. -Look, it's the strangest thing.

All the thieves had never met each other

and none of them knew who they were working for.

Brilliant!

If they don't know anything, they can't squeal.

Whoever orchestrated this is very smart.

And get this.

The robbers were told that they could keep the cash.

Who organizes a bank robbery and doesn't keep the cash?

They must have been after something else.

Why don't you bring in one of the perps?

See if we can get them talking.

Got it. Thank you.

Heads up, Frank. You got a visitor.

I told her to wait outside, but she just walked in.

You want me to get rid of her?

No.

That's okay, I'll deal with it.

Oh.

Over here, Lieutenant.

I'd sworn off love after my wife died,

but this woman was put together in all the right ways.

Face, head, shoulders, knees and toes.

Knees and toes...

and a bottom that would make any toilet beg for the brown.

Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am.

How may I help you?

You're wrong about Simon Davenport.

He wouldn't commit suicide.

Simon Davenport.

The stiff from the Malibu crash.

That stiff was my brother.

Oh, I mean... he wasn't that stiff, really.

Not yet.

More floppy and bloated.

No, I mean, I'm so sorry for your loss.

Please, take a chair.

No, thank you.

I have plenty of chairs at home.

Now, Mrs...

Davenport.

Miss Beth Davenport.

-Mr.? -Drebin.

Miss...

Detective Frank Drebin.

Detective, I think someone murdered Simon.

Really? What makes you think that?

Well, he called me last night.

He said he was in some kind of trouble.

So we made plans to meet this morning.

Does that sound like someone who's planning to kill themselves?

No, it certainly does not.

Why would someone do that to him?

Trust me,

there's always a reason to kill someone.

Did he have an obnoxious laugh?

No.

Forgive me, I'm just not myself.

That's okay. I'm not you, either.

Tell me,

what did your brother do for work?

Computers.

He was a programmer for Richard Cane.

The genius who's gonna save the world with his electric cars.

Well, he's the first person you should talk to.

Then you could check Simon's driving records and see if they match.

Whoa, whoa. Slow down there.

Excuse me?

Let's just leave the police work to me, okay?

Oh. I see.

Same old story with guys like you.