INT. SOUTH PHILLY POLICE STATION — HOLDING CELL — NIGHT
The holding cell is a small, concrete box that smells of industrial-grade floor wax, stale urine, and the lingering, fatty scent of McPoyle milk-curds. A single fluorescent light hums overhead with a migraine-inducing buzz, flickering occasionally as if it's also trying to give up on life.
DENNIS, DEE, and MAC are slumped on the narrow wooden bench. Dennis is gingerly touching his cheekbones, checking for structural damage after Inspector Zenigata's "mask-removal" attempt. CHARLIE is sitting on the floor in the corner, idly tracing the grout lines with a grimy finger.
Dee's cellphone is propped up against a discarded sandwich crust on the bench, the screen glowing with a video call from the bar. FRANK's face is mashed into the laptop camera at Paddy's, his nostrils dominating the frame.
FRANK (V.O. via phone)
I don't get it. I don't get the math. I thought the guy was French. The name is French. Frenchie! It even sounds like arson. Lupin. Arson. It's a criminal name!
DENNIS (exploding, his voice echoing off the concrete)
OF COURSE HE WASN'T FUCKING FRENCH, FRANK! His name is Lupin the Third! His grandfather was French! His mother was probably Japanese! He's a multi-national conglomerate of larceny, and you treated him like a guy who delivers baguettes!
FRANK (V.O.) (sighing, the sound of a beer can opening audible in the background)
Whatever. He's a thief. He stole our time. I don't want nothing to do with anymore of this Japanese shit. The books, the breathing, the pirates... it's all too much work. It's exhausting.
CHARLIE (sticking his head into the camera frame next to the phone)
I don't know, Frank. I think I kinda like anime. It's got a lot of... you know, colors. And the pictures are easy to read.
EVERYBODY (in unison, without looking at him)
SHUT UP, CHARLIE.
Suddenly, a rhythmic groaning sound comes from beneath the jail wall bench. RICKETY CRICKET rolls out from the shadows, covered in a fresh layer of floor-grime and looking like he's been through a rock tumbler filled with lemons. He reaches up and snatches Dee's phone.
CRICKET
Whoa... whoa. Did I hear something about a wizard? Did you guys finally get into the occult? Because I know a guy in the sewers who can turn a nickel into a different, slightly shittier nickel.
CHARLIE (pushing Frank's image off the screen on his end, his eyes wide)
Yeah, dude! There was a wizard! He had a long robe, and a giant knife—a sword with a name! It made a 'shink' sound and cut the dashboard right out of Dee's car!
CRICKET (squinting at the phone)
Whoa. If you guys had a high-level wizard with a named blade... why didn't he just... you know... teleport you out? Why are you sitting in a box with a guy who just puked on his own shoes?
Dead silence falls over the cell. Dennis looks at Mac. Mac looks at Dee.
MAC (muffled, through the rubber horse mask he is still wearing for 'protection')
...He had a point, Dennis. The sword-guy was very fast. He could have sliced the bars.
DENNIS (leaning into the phone, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage)
FUCK YOU! GET OUT OF HERE, CRICKET! GO BACK TO THE SHADOWS!
DEE
GET YOUR STAPH-INFECTED HANDS OFF MY PHONE, YOU FREAK!
The Gang erupts into a chaotic, overlapping screaming match, their voices drowning out the hum of the fluorescent light and the sound of Zenigata shouting about "disguises" in the hallway.
CUT TO BLACK.
CUT TO: INT. PADDY'S PUB - NIGHT
FRANK is sitting alone at the bar, staring at the empty safe-spot.
BAR RADIO (barely audible; crackling with static)
♪ Frid~y ~ight CHZZZZZZZ one's movinZZZZZZ♪
♪ I caZZHHZZ heat but it's CHZZZ heading down♪
♪ I seaCHZZZZ ZZZ Zeat in this dirty townCHZZZ♪
Frank takes a long swig of the warm Jäger from the radiator.
FRANK (to himself)
I think I need a vacation.
♪CHZZ THE KIDS IN AMERCHZZZ WHOA~!♪
♪EveryboCHZZve for the music-goCZZund!♪
CUT TO BLACK. ROLL CREDITS.