House of Lies

My name is Marty Kaan, and I'm a management consultant.

We need to get them on the tit. That's what we do.

Suck, motherfucker, suck. We share a little intel,

play both companies against the middle. JEANNIE: So illegal.

Not the way we're gonna do it.

Hey, Chantelle.

What in the...?

Grandpa's new friend.

I want to do something

really fucking stupid.

I love you.

Who the fuck let the Feds

in on this thing in the first place?

I told her about the books.

Why? Because I wanted the DOJ gig.

Jeannie, you're in the clear. They're letting you skate.

I guess I taught you well, huh, Jeannie?

You out-Martied Marty Kaan.

Marty, I never meant to...

All I want...

Is what?

You.

I'm done with this bullshit.

Fuck it.

So, the whole enlightenment thing wasn't for me.

At least not in the traditional sense.

Some people believe in the Dharma of non-attachment.

Some people believe in the Dharma of loving kindness.

Uh...

But I've come to realize

that I believe in the Dharma of search and destroy.

I believe in the Dharma of take no prisoners.

I believe in the Dharma of kicking ass.

And yet, at the end of the day, reality wins.

Okay, listen,

we're just gonna show up, pay our respects.

No big deal. Just...

Let's be there to keep the vultures away. Claim our guy.

And we know for a fact

he's coming?

That is the word on the street.

Look, I bought a card. From all of us.

"Sorry for your loss," et cetera.

Uh, problem is I think that the prose is a little florid.

Then maybe we don't do a card because it's fucking business.

Also, no card. Definitely no card. CLYDE: No card, Doug. Ever.

We need to deal with this Rat Man situation

because he-he left me, like, 15 messages yesterday. No, we have

set that meeting. He is just being incredibly needy.

Why does he only ever call Jeannie?

Oh, I don't know. Her boobs.

Mm. Or maybe it's because I'm brilliant and capable

and exude an air of quiet confidence.

No, I'm sorry. It's because you got big ol' boops.

You sure? That's why? Yeah. Yes, yes, yes. And, by the way,

you have a meeting on the books. But I think we should run

a couple more models. Because if we show the hours, I agree.

We can bill for the hours.

This guy's got a lot of money. Oh, of course.

And I plan to take a lot of his money. In order for him

to make more money to pay us more money Mmm.

So we can make more money.

I just love it when you talk about money. I do.

Okay. Let's go.

I think you're gonna regret the card.

Yo! Martin Luther Kaan!

What up, my nigga?!

Kelsey,

hey.

I forgot to tell you.

Your tattoo artist called this morning.

He was like, "I am so sorry."

He wants to give you all your money back. He was

actually crying on the phone.

Hey, dude. Um, next time,

just say, "I hate all women."

"But I'm especially threatened by strong women

who see how broken I am."

Looks like someone's been reading Clyde's diary.

That would be more honest. Um, and, my friend, a little tip,

I would be nicer to them. Really.

Because they're gonna be stupid rich

when their stupid app launches. The fact that we have to share

a space with those douchey pro to-fascist mavericks

makes me want to strap a bomb to my chest.

How 'bout you just focus on getting your numbers up, okay?

Then we can kick 'em out or... kill 'em.

Don't all fucking jump at once. Look at Dum-Dum.

Don't point to me, and don't call me Dum-Dum. Pick up the phone.

I get it all the time. You get it, Clyde. Fuck you!

Pick up the phone, Doug! Excuse me. No, you never say

what you're supposed to say anyway. There's no way I'm saying.

"Good morning. Kaan and Associates Management

"and Media Consultants. This is Clyde Oberholt speaking.

"How may I direct your call?" Why not?! That was perfect!

It works! It's so long! Then show me!

Fine. Fine. Oh, God. You're a dum-dum.

Here we go.

Good morning. Kaan and Associates Management

and Media Consultants. This is Doug Guggenheim speaking. YOUNG MAN: Yeah, nice air!

How may I direct your call?

Wait. H-Hello?

Damn it. Shit.

Don't you guys feel like we're...

a group of crime fighters right now?

Oh. Ooh, like the Seven Samurai. Not seven, obviously.

There's four of us. We're the Four Samurai.

Oh, I think we must look awesome.

Just dressed in black. I wish we could get a picture of us.

That would be disrespectful, but you know what I mean.

Maybe just a quick selfie. Hey,

we good, right, Marty? We good, we good, but we bad.

Jeannie Bean, right?

You fa-zeel me? Guggenheim, you have got to shut the fuck up.

Ooh, ooh, ooh. Like Reservoir Dogs.

Yes, that's better. Reservoir Dogs.

Oh, my God, it's him.

Step out.

Your hands.

Let's keep the AC running.

See if you can find me an espresso, okay?

Hey, brother.

Look at you.

Look at you.

Oh, look at him.

He looks better than he did when he was alive.

Aw.

You motherless cunt.

Who's in the coffin?

Who gives a fuck?

I'll tell you who it ain't,

our boy Ellis Gage Hightower,

CEO of Gage Motors, inventor,

bad boy, tax evader,

godhead of electric cars.

No, as you can see, he's very much alive.

And we are desperate to close his crazy ass.

This piece of business is not just millions in the bank.

No, it's-it's legitimacy.

Street cred, vindication.

Hell, it's salvation.

In other words, it's our ticket out of the shit shed.

And the loogie.

Eh, don't worry about that.

It's nothing personal. He'd unload that thing

on any member of his board of directors. You know why?

Because they don't understand his genius.

Wah. Don't you hate that?

When they don't understand your genius?

Bruce.

You guys know Bruce Karp, my number two.

Hey, buddy. You look good.

You lost weight.

No, I didn't.

No, I guess not.

So, the roll out structure on the new product,

it cost me a lot to get that FedEx'd from prison, and...

You know what I was just thinking...

Excuse me. I haven't heard from you.

Yeah, that's right. Because it was all about you.

The whole thing.

What?

When have I ever put myself ahead of the work?

Ever since you started reading your own press.

And campaigning for the Nobel Prize.

The whole thing

is about positioning the release of the Phoenix

with your prison release. What about the integrity of our product?

I am the product. I am the brand. Oh, you're the product.

You're the brand. How's your new house in Brentwood, you fat fuck?

Oh... boy.

You remember the one you earned by slithering to the mailbox

like Jabba the Hutt to collect the fucking unbelievable profits

that were the result of my groundbreaking design work

on lithium technologies, which, by the way, will garner

the Nobel Prize. So don't fucking...

You know what, middle-aged boy genius?

I am sick of your horse shit.

We're not finished. Unbelievable, this guy.

Bruce, you don't just walk away from me like that. DOUG: Uh, this is bad,

Marty. So bad. Yeah, it's bad.

Bad is good. Mm-hmm.

Good is bad. Mmm.

Come on, if it's a love fest

and it's all harmonious in the business, we're fucking fired.

But if the shit is coming down from the sky

in golf ball-size chunks, Which it is.

Oh, that's a good day for us.

'Cause we get to swoop in and put a Band-Aid on the booboo.

Make it all better.

Chaos, entropy, ka-ching.

Keep going.

Marty,

Rat Man has officially gone nuts.

I have 29 new messages.

I think he likes you.

Where is this asshole?

It's fucking hack work.

We're the hottest exterminator company

in Southern California, but what I'm getting