The Fugitive
Lagniappe

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Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

Later, Cpt. Pushover -- now elevated to Chief of Detectives Pushover -- is speaking with Mr. Ross, who is telling him that he begged his daughter not to marry Kimble. "The fights we had, well, I wish I had been wrong about Kimble and I wish I had been right about Gerard. I thought he was after the same thing I was but he's after some idea of justice. And that bounty hunter? He's after my money. Everybody wants something," Mr. Ross says self-pityingly. Well, if you go through life paying people off in order to get them to bend to your will, that's all they're going to expect from you. Get over it. Mr. Ross says he just wants the man who killed his daughter. "So do I," Chief Pushover says. "You want power," Mr. Ross barks. "I'm going to give it to you. Now show me what you can do, Chief." Sigh. Has he learned nothing from my little homily above? Chief Pushover leaves.

Back at the voodoo hospital in New Orleans, Kimble's taking out his own stitches from Vasick's bullet. Nettie gets a nice view of his bare chest and St. Christopher's medal. She walks in and asks what happened. "I fell on a crowbar," Kimble tells her. Nettie tells him that it looks more like a gunshot wound to her, and asks why a guy who tells people to go to hospitals is taking out his own stitches. Kimble "um, uhs" a bit until Nettie says seductively, "Here, I'll take the rest of them out." Yes, and then we'll have sex. "So," she comments, "you can do a three-sixty around-the-back reverse slam-dunk, huh? How is your game?" "It's pretty bad," Kimble admits. "Think I could take you?" Nettie asks. "It's hard to say," Kimble says softly. Anyone else get the feeling they aren't talking about basketball? Nettie fiddles some more with Kimble's chest before whispering, "There, you're all done." Their lips are inches apart, but we know nothing's going to happen. Kimble breaks eye contact and they both collect themselves. Nettie mentions something about a street festival. "That I would luuve to take you to," Hank drawls from the doorway. He's holding a paper cone full of flowers for Nettie.

"These are for you, Nettie. I'm sorry I got so nasty last time we talked," Hank drawls, sounding more and more like Harry Connick, Jr. with each passing sentence. Hank asks to be forgiven. Nettie bites out that she forgives him. Hank reaches into his breast pocket: "And I got some lagniappe. Two tickets to the Saints' game, tonight. Private sky box seats. Me and you, champagne." Lucky for the writers that the Saints actually made it to the playoffs this year; otherwise it would have made no sense for them to be playing in January. Guess Hank is planning on paying Nettie's airfare up north as well, since my Vikings had to go and beat them in Minnesota in that last game of theirs. Nettie tells Hank she has other plans, and Hank gets belligerent and threatening until Kimble steps in and tells him her plans are with him. They leave Hank gaping like a crawdad about to be thrown into a Mardi Gras pot of jambalaya.

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The Fugitive

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