Archer

Fx presents Archer.

Well, what do you think?

I think that in my next life,

I'm gonna come back as a movie star.

Yeah, look out, gay porn.

Rim shot. Yeah, that could be your name.

So what, some movie star lives here?

Veronica Deane. Can you believe it?

No shit. You like her?

What, as an actress or for this homicide?

Both. Well, it's been a while

since I've seen her in anything, but, man,

she was incredible in Shanghai moon.

Oh, my god, that dress. Oh, bejeezles, right?

But as for Tennessee tuxedo here, I want to talk to her.

See if she knows who tried to weight him down--

with an ounce of lead.

Found it on the ground over there by the table.

Is it hers? Hard to tell with no serial number.

Probably why they put 'em on there. Rim shot.

Hey, you should ask Veronica Deane

if her agent reps gay porn stars.

And maybe if she murdered this guy.

You got a real knack for this. Thanks.

But the household staff says she hasn't been home since yesterday.

And him? They say that as of midnight,

the pool did not contain a dead waiter.

Okay, so, let's get some unis on the gates,

front, backside, whatever. Nobody in or out.

And while we wait for the M.E.,

we'll go talk to the staff, maybe jog somebody's memory.

Rim Schott. How was that funny?

No, as my gay porn name.

You know--

rim Schott.

Right?

It's not that bad.

No, on the contrary, it's wonderful.

If you enjoy starving to death.

Oh, please, mother.

The only thing you eat is cocktail onions.

I simply cannot believe

I let you talk me into this boondoggle!

Not just me. Lana?

Okay, me too. A little.

But only because the CIA blacklisted us.

Plus now with A.J.,

I thought it would be safer than being a spy.

It's safer than being a librarian!

Three months and not a single client.

Oh, for-- mother, when the word gets out that Sterling Archer,

the world's greatest former secret agent,

has his own frickin' detective agency--

which technically, you do not.

Because California is assholes.

What have I been saying? Something about bears.

Because what other explanation could there possibly be

for California deciding that a stupid law degree--

and a B.A. In criminal justice.

Shut up. Somehow qualifies an otherwise total idiot

for a private investigator's license, but an entire career

as a secret agent does not. Well, you're lucky they did,

or you, or ray, or you, Lana,

couldn't work as an investigator under my license.

And I'm sure that's the last time

we'll hear anything about that.

And you can be sure that the minute--

wait, the second I qualify for my P.I. License,

this is the Archer agency.

Fair enough. So let's circle back

when you have 2,000 hours of investigative work

certified by your licensed employer, who is me.

Cyril-- and... go!

2,000 hours?

At this rate-- mother, we will get clients.

All we need is one high-profile case.

And some kick-ass advertising.

Give me that.

Pam, if a single one of these has left this building,

I will personally sew you into a canvas bag

full of rats and throw that bag into the river.

I gotta go get my car smogged!

What river? It's a concrete slab.

The headline there was a bag of rats.

Here's a headline. "Malory Archer bankrupt.

Feckless son to blame." Look--

and even if we get a case,

what, some cheating husband, fake whiplash?

The whole thing is just so...Grubby!

- Grubby? Grubby?! - Excuse me.

When we were spies, you murdered the prime minister of Italy.

Prove it. I can't!

Uh, excuse me? Because Krieger chopped him up,

and then we stuffed him in trash cans

all over four different boroughs.

Well, then. Wait. Four?

I'm not schlepping to Staten island

in the middle of the goddamn night.

Hey!

Jesus, lady, earballs!

Is this the Figgis agency?

Well, we're not married to that, but--

yes, we are.

And yes, it is.

Hello, Cyril Figgis. Owner, CEO,

and fully licensed private investigator.

Veronica Deane.

The movie star?!

Ugh. May we talk somewhere...Else?

Blackmail. I'm afraid so.

You see, my home was burgled recently,

and in addition to cash and some jewelry,

they stole a computer disk with, I suppose

you might call it, sensitive information?

It's nine o'clock in the morning.

I'm still on eastern time.

Archer. It's lunchtime there.

Yesterday, a lawyer named Alan Shapiro contacted me.

He said he was in possession of the disk

and wished to arrange its return.

For a fee.

And the fee was?

I would think none of your concern.

But-- yeah, Lana.

And this Alan Shapiro, you've never met him?

As a matter of fact, I have.

He was my ex-husband's divorce attorney.

Oh, Ellis crane, the movie director.

So do you have any reason to suspect

your ex-husband is behind this?

I have every reason.

Yeah. Lana.

What?! But Mr. Shapiro wanted to meet me

at his house, so I assume the disk is there,

presumably in a safe.

I want you to go there and recover it.

You mean steal it. I mean--

Lana, she can't steal what's already hers.

That's-- wait, is it double jeopardy?

No.

The disk is rightfully mine,

and I will pay more than fairly for its return.

Well, um, for a case of this nature,

our standard rate would be--

Cyril! What?

Sterling! For god's sake, man.

Mrs. Deane-- Ms.

Ms. Deane isn't a standard client, Cyril.

She is a film legend.

And as such, she deserves our legendary service package,

which includes, um-- get me the disk,

and I will pay your agency $100,000.

Yeah, yeah--

yeah, that's our rate for that.

This is Mr. Shapiro's address,

and I want the job done as soon as possible.

And of course, it goes without saying

that this matter is strictly confidential.

Apparently not. And conversely,

anything you think you may or may not have overheard,

regarding the Italian prime minister's murder and dismemberment--

alleged murder and dismemberment.

I couldn't care less, Mr. Archer.

All that matters to me is that you return the disk.

Now, good day.

Holy shit, $100,000?

I was gonna say $10,000.

Oh, my god!

Yeah, what were you gonna say, smart guy?

Nine!

Okay, people, listen up.

This is our first case, and we're gonna crush it,

so listen up! These are your assignments.

Pam. Hey, in case you've forgotten,

the writing is literally on the wall,

and I give the orders around here.

Oh, I'm so sorry. Please, by all means.

Uh-huh. Um--

well, our-- okay.

Archer has your assignments, so listen up!

Truly inspiring, Cyril.

It's like Patton and Churchill had a baby.

Oh, and put me down for 15 minutes of investigative work.

That wasn't even 15 seconds!

15 minutes is the smallest manageable increment.

You dick! Hey, shut up!

You... also dick! With just a hint of Oscar Wilde.

Mother, if you're not gonna help,

maybe you'd be more comfortable in your office.

No, I'm fine here.

I want to see how you're gonna crack the big case.

Nancy drew.

Okay, Pam, this is our target location.

That's a nice house.

4220 arroyo canyon road.

Find out everything you can about this house

from the public records. Plat map, utilities,

building permits-- oh, and especially look

for any blueprints. Oh, man!

Can't Cheryl do that?