Int. Bucks Police Office- Captain Skiles Office
Captain Skiles sits looming over his desk, a cigar jutting from his mouth. An overhead fan makes a slight whirring sound and dissipates the smoke from Skiles’ cigar. He is dressed in brown overalls and pants, with a brown tie, and is sweating profusely.
(Joe Alexander in a pink dress pops his head in the door.)
GRACIE: I really wish you’d stop calling me that. I don’t really see how this is helping me develop my basketball skills.
SKILES: Shut yer trap, woman! Get me Ridnour in here, ASAP! I need to hear about that case he’s working on.
GRACIE: Okay, then can I take this thing off? I’ve got leggings on and they really itch.
SKILES: No! Now beat it, toots!
(Gracie… er… Joe leaves, shutting the door. Skiles continues making menacing faces to no one in particular and scowling. The door opens, and in hobbles Luke Ridnour, a complex steampunk mechanical device wrapped around his midsection. It’s arms end in pincers around his biceps and extend pins all over his body. It looks painful. )
RIDNOUR: Hello, captain. How are you feeling on this fine day?
SKILES: I’m very well, Luke. How is the apparatus?
RIDNOUR: It is succinct. It prevents me from movement, which prevents me from thought, which prevents me from creativity. And so it is apt.
SKILES: Excellent. I am looking forward to watching you squash all this youth and fun tonight. Way too much fun out there.
(Skiles chews off a piece of cigar and spits it into a nearby trashcan.)
RIDNOUR: Tonight? Oh, certainly not, herr captain. I must rest the apparatus tonight. Wear and tear could lead to a breakdown in discipline. Discipline… must be maintained.
SKILES: Very well, Luke. You’re right. No fun. But who’s going to solve this problem for me?
SESSIONS: Hallo! How’s the rub, greasers and greasets? What’s popping in the waaaay-back, daddio?
SKILES: SESSIONS! GET OFF MY DESK, YOU HIPPIE!
SESSIONS: Aw, my crepes, mack. I was just swingin’ my trapeze, man. So what’s the flip?
SKILES: Are you speaking English?
SESSIONS: 100% cherry!
SKILES: Listen, you little punk. I don’t like you, and you know it. You’re a menace. But I’m stuck with you. Can you solve our problem?
SESSIONS: Skip to my lou, baby. Skip to my lou.
SKILES: God help us.