Fargo

Shit.

(ON TV) The millipede does possess glands

that produce highly toxic chemicals.

The female millipede, sensing danger,

emits her secret weapon,

cyanide.

Her attacker gasps its last breath.

(NARRATOR CONTINUES INDISTINCTLY)

Housekeeping.

Mrs. Curtis.

No! No! No! No! No!

-No! No! No! No! -Here.

Ah! Speak of the devil.

Here's the headhunter himself, as promised.

Sorry. Sorry.

All right. Told her

-you were reviewing the court release. -Huh?

-The... -Oh. Yeah.

So...

Is it Mrs. Goldfarb, or...

-My friends call me Ruby. -Ruby.

That's swell. I could use a drink. Anybody else?

We're drinking rose.

Old-fashioned on the rocks.

Sy tells me you're in self-storage.

Me and my late husband. We started in mortuaries.

Ah, just another kind of storage, I suppose.

That's what my Tovaldt used to say.

Both good businesses. Steady.

Mmm. Heck, maybe we should be buying you out.

Oh... -Uh...

Well, now, Emmit...

I know, I know. That's not the plan.

But... Thanks. Heck,

you don't get where I am by sticking to the plan.

Hmm. -To new friends.

New friends.

-(BEEPING) -(LOCK CLICKS)

He's dead, in case you couldn't tell.

Lady cop who printed you said you're a little tender.

Around the middle, maybe?

Got some bruises.

See, I'm a simple guy.

When it snows, I put on boots. Sun comes out, I wear shades.

I see a girl like you and a guy like that,

I think, "Now, how's a working man

"with hillbilly hair and a beer belly

"land Miss State Penitentiary 2010?"

And then I get the record.

I see the girl has got 18 months' probation

and the guy with his head half cut off

was the shlub who signed the forms.

Now it starts to make sense.

I mean, stop me if I get it wrong,

if this wasn't some kind of tit-for-tat

handjob-gets-you-work-release program...

If it was, whatever. Love story of the century.

No? That's what I thought.

See? Simple things.

Cause and effect, crime and punishment.

Mash a potato, you know what you get?

Mashed potatoes.

I want a lawyer.

Yeah? Well, that's a mistake.

Think it through.

The evidence, shared domicile,

you, a known felon, spinning a web of lies.

History of domestic violence with a beer-drinking loser.

You don't have to be a mathematician to add two plus two.

No. Your best bet? Tearjerker.

What a monster he was.

How he beat you every night where it wouldn't show.

Okay. We're done.

I'll leave the picture,

in case you're the type of girl

who likes to take pride in her work.

-(BEEPING) -(DOOR OPENS)

This can't be good, right?

Should I start, or...

Is she mine?

No, you got the other one.

Okay, here's what's gonna happen.

St. Cloud Homicide's gonna handle this case,

and you're both gonna go back to...

What'd you do?

Traffic enforcement.

-Traffic enforcement. -Yes, sir.

Gloria Burgle, Chief of the Eden Valley police.

For about another week.

Eight days, yes, sir, including Christmas,

which, you might be surprised to hear,

is a pretty busy day for misdemeanor infractions in Eden Valley,

mostly surrounding too much eggnog and a Class C motor vehicle.

Is she kidding?

She likes to think she's a smart one.

Anyhoo, given the preciousness of time,

I'd like to talk to the suspect, Nikki Swango,

preferably right now.

I just talked to her.

Which, I'm sure, was enlightening for her,

but without all the proper nuance.

See, I got a paper grid that lays out all the inter-related parties

delineating their personal and professional relationship to the murders.

It's a substantial document.

"Murders," plural?

-No. -Yes, sir. Three so far.

The first victim being Ennis Stussy of Eden Valley, which, again, is my purview.

Ennis, a green grocer, was suffocated by Maurice LeFay,

a, last I checked, resident of St. Cloud

and repeat offender who was on probation

under the supervision of Ray Stussy, our current victim.

Maurice LeFay, in case you were wondering,

also died under mysterious circumstances,

making him victim number three.

Allegedly.

And at the heart of the case is what we believe to be a rivalry

between Ray Stussy and his brother, Emmit,

the parking lot king of Minnesota.

I know who Emmit Stussy is.

Then you can understand how a rich man like that, pillar of the community,

might be targeted by his younger, less successful brother.

A brother with possibly shaky morals

and access to wily criminal elements.

Unfortunately, Ray's plan, as far as I can tell, went off the rails,

resulting in the death of my random Stussy

and the reason I'm sitting here today.

Only an intellectual could believe something so stupid.

Well, sirs, as you'll see if you try working the angles,

the alternatives make even less sense.

-Especially given the new victim... -Uh...

Get back to traffic enforcement.

Yes, sir.

And you, I got no jurisdiction over you,

but this is St. Cloud Metro's case now.

So, if we need you or your grid,

we'll give you a holler.

-Sir... You're dismissed.

Wait for me outside.

Guess that's it then.

We need to find Emmit. Try his office or at home.

Tell him Ray died under suspicious circumstance, gauge his reaction.

Are you sure? That's...

I'm gonna brace the girlfriend, try to get some answers. Go.

Either you're on vacation till the handover,

take some time to grieve, be with your family,

merry Christmas, all that,

or start looking for another job.

Happy holidays, sir.

That's what I thought.

Whoo! I tell ya, they got me running

six different directions today.

-How you doing? -Form.

Yeah, I'm supposed to talk to Swango, looks like, Nikki.

Form.

I don't...

Nobody told me I needed a...

Is that an (CLEARS THROAT) interview request form, or...

It's the blue one.

See the shift sergeant. One floor up.

You know, is there any way?

I was supposed to be out of here an hour ago,

Christmas Eve and all that. My boy at home. He's 12.

I think I got a picture here somewhere.

One flight up, you said? All right.

-(CELL PHONE BEEPING) -Nope.

Nope.

Oh, maybe.

Yeah, right, Donny, like you got a chance there.

Yeah, Eden Valley Police. What can I...

Oh, yeah? Jeez.

Did they take anything, or you just think it's vandalism?

Okay, hang tight. There in a jiff.

Ah, God dang it!

Firing on all cylinders today, Mashman.

Hello?

Uh, sir? You're not supposed to be in here.

Shh.

Uh, you can't be in here, sir. Library is closed. (CHUCKLES)

You're here.

Well, sir, I work here, so that's...

I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.

Sir?

You're gonna have to leave.

I just did.

What?

You asked, then I left.

I'm not here.

Well, that's... I see you.

You think you see me.

But your eyes are lying.

That's...

Sir, in another three minutes, we're gonna have a real...

You should think of what you're doing.

Man, alone, in a room full of books,

talking to himself.

In my country we call such people bezumets.