The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 36

Rusty Quill presents.

Good evening, gentlemen and gentle ladies of hell.

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I'm Hannah Bruner, and I'm also thinking about underwear, but I prefer full coverage.

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Where the hell have you been?

I've called you a dozen times.

Why?

Is everything all right?

Are you and the kids okay?

What the hell are you talking about?

Of course, the kids are okay.

But these damn bill collectors of yours keep calling me.

You need to do something about it.

I'm not your goddamn answering service.

So

everything's okay, then?

What's going on, Mason?

Look,

something's sort of happened.

Uh,

what thing

has just sort of happened?

I'm working a new case, and uh, I just need you and the kids to be careful, Swallow.

What sort of shit have you gotten yourself into now?

Don't tell me it's something like last time.

It's it's nothing like last time, Molly.

Why don't you and the rest rest of them accept those bug deals you were offered?

And shouldn't you be making enough from this movie they're supposedly making?

At least enough that you shouldn't have to be taken on any more of these

awful cases.

I

sunk everything into the house.

I

you know, just wanted a place for the kids to

Greg's in college already, and Emily and Grace are all about high school and their friends.

They're not gonna uproot and relocate to some house in the Hamptons.

Mason,

you need to realize that part of their lives is over.

If you want to be part of things, you need to be there for them and not out running around.

Maybe I wouldn't have missed out if you hadn't.

Look.

I didn't call to get into all that again.

I called to make sure everyone's okay.

Anyway, I got a hold of some buddies back at the Bureau.

I'm gonna give you their number just in case you notice anything.

anything off.

What are you talking about?

Why would I need to call the FBI?

This case.

The people we're looking at, they.

They know about you and the kids.

And...

What have you involved us in, Mace?

Jesus Christ.

First you abandoned us for the Bureau, and now you're involving us with...

what?

Fucking criminals?

No, it's not like that.

It's...

It's what?

Are we...

Are we in danger?

Honey, I...

I'm not your honey anymore.

Just tell me what the hell is going on.

Angus, put them down right now.

What's going on?

Nothing.

Angus just brought in another dead bird.

We've had a problem with birds lately.

What are you talking What's going on with the birds, Marlene?

Don't try to change the subject.

What about the goddamn birds?

What are they doing?

What the hell's wrong with you?

Why do you care so much about just tell me for fuck's sake?

Jesus, Mace.

We had a couple of them running in the windows.

Are you happy now?

What kind of birds?

I don't know.

Sparrows?

I think they were sparrows.

Why the hell does...

If anything else ought to happen, weird phone calls for strange people hanging around that sort of thing.

No

Mace, you're scaring me.

What's going on?

Look, I need you to listen real close.

Hal, no, don't.

Is this some weird play to get under her skin, or how?

You stay the fuck out of this.

You got it backwards, fella.

You stay the fuck out of our lives.

I got things under control, so you got nothing to worry about.

And don't call here again, or I'll have your ass arrested for fucking harassment.

Can you still see him?

No, he walked out behind the rest stop sign over there.

Do he and his ex-wife get on at home?

That's a big no.

She left him after our first case together.

His partner before me had gotten killed, shot down by this biker gang, and he pretty much threw himself into bringing him in.

Anyway, she wasn't having all the lonely nights and anxiety, so she cut him loose.

I mean, I can't say I blame her.

She was raising their three kids all by herself.

Anyway, she remarried, and the three kids pretty much considered the new guy their dad.

Ah, here he comes.

From the look on his face,

I'd say the call didn't go well.

All set

They're watching them

and it's not a damn thing I can do about it.

What happened?

Fucking sparrows have been running into the windows.

They're birds all over the lawn.

It's it's gotta be them and she won't listen to anything I say What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I swear to fuck if I ever get my hands on Hughes.

We're working the case, making moves.

We just gotta keep going.

All we've managed to do is better describe the water we're drowning in.

How much else?

The fucking group is spread out all over the place.

How the hell are we ever gonna beat him?

Maybe it's time we shifted gears.

Try to bring this out into the light.

I mean, between the five of us, we've got enough clout to make some noise, generate some attention.

You two, especially.

Your contacts with the FBI, all that experience dealing with the Soder cult?

I mean, naturally, we only talk about the human aspects, the cult.

Anything else, and we'll be branded kooks.

I'm just wondering if they already thought of that.

What do you mean?

They must know what kind of resources we'd be bringing to the party, the threat we might pose to them.

Christ, they've been watching us for over a year.

They've gotta have some kind of insurance in case something goes sideways.

Plus, we know they've got photos of us at Pris's house, and God only knows what might have happened to him.

Then there's the doctor.

I can't help but agree.

If this cult's been around for as long as it seems, the chances of us catching them off their guard is

well

small.

There's no if they took out insurance.

They've already got my family fucking surrounded.

They've fucked us at every turn.

Oh, God.

What's wrong, Phil?

Another turn.

I was just looking through my news feed and.

Well, listen for yourselves.

Authorities continue to search for internationally acclaimed author Henry Robert Hughes.

According to law enforcement insiders, police and FBI investigators have uncovered no substantial leads since Hughes' agent initially reported him missing several days ago.

Known for his reclusive tendencies, especially when immersed in research for his novels, Hughes frequently secluded himself at his expansive estate nestled deep within Maine's Goldring Woods.

Neighbors recently disclosed that they haven't noticed any lights or signs of activity at Hughes' residence for quite some time and assumed the author was merely traveling.

If accurate, these accounts suggest Hughes may have vanished far earlier than previously believed, intensifying concerns for his well-being.

Fucking bullshit!

Earlier than previously believed my ass.

I just talked to him when Phil was in the hospital.

Apparently his role in all of this has concluded.

And now we're left out in the fucking cold.

It's like we're trapped in some invisible prison.

Unless the plan was to somehow implicate us in his disappearance, I'm guessing all the shit about Cold Sparrow is kept below board.

Is there a chance anyone from Partafi will speak up?

He did clear our project with the city.

Fat chance of that.

The cult practically owns Porta for him.

Do you think the FBI will come looking for us?

We were working for him and had plenty of dealings with him.

Well, there's Loctrum, but I haven't haven't been able to get through to him.

Every email I send gets bounced.

Either he's dead, or they're just making it difficult for us to get in touch with him.

Then we drive straight to his house.

And if we can't find his address online, then I'll call in a favor and get it that way.

But right now, with Portafoy dead ahead, I say we pay a visit to that priest, Gaffney.

If he's the one supervising all this shit that's been going on, I want to pry loose whatever he knows.

Seeing as this cult's had eyes on us from the jump, as far as I'm concerned, we're a year behind the need to close the gap.

Only thing left is figuring out how we're gonna pull it off.

Running, Philip.

We had to leave them.

We have to help.

There's nothing we can do.

They're gone.

Sushme, the tipper doors are open.

Hurry.

Now help me push it shut.

It came right through the stone wall.

It's killed Pembry and Mills.

Be quiet,

listen.

It's hot, Sam.

Come on, we have to get out of here.

They're already dead, Dr.

Latro.

There's no fleeing the truth.

Take a good look at Gwen.

Try to remember.

Why are you looking at me like that, Babe?

I know you remember what happened to her.

Can you hear the sounds her body made

as it was pulled apart?

All little

wet creams.

Bones snapping, cartilage crackling,

flesh tearing like

wet paper.

Don't just stand there, Philip.

Let's go before it breaks through the door.

And let us not forget, dear Roger,

what it did to him.

Snip out of it, Philip.

I'm all ripped up.

Look, my insides.

My god.

I'm empty.

Fucking empty.

Philip, can you hear me?

We have to go.

Come on,

yes, yes, I'm right behind you.

It's breaking down the door.

You can't run, Philip.

You know how this all ends.

You were there

not so long ago.

Go, go!

We've got to get to the boat.

And then you all ran and ran and ran.

You even made it out of the temple.

Well,

at least you and Roger did.

No, please don't leave me, Roger.

You'll never make it to the boat in this.

They're blown off the mountain.

We don't have a choice.

We have to try.

I can't.

You go.

I can make it.

You're coming with me, like it's not.

Come on, I'll help you.

You owe your life to Roger.

Without him,

you would never have escaped.

You'd be rotting next to the rest of them.

Well, not anymore.

They're all just bones now.

Picked clean and white.

Jaws wide

open.

Still wrapped around their last screens.

But not you.

You made it back.

Not poor Roger, however.

All he did for you, and in the end,

you failed him too.

The boat's still there!

But the storm!

The waves!

I'd rather face those waves than whatever that thing is!

You get your radio while I start the engine and get us the hell out of here.

Okay.

Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.

This is Marilyn Dane.

Our position is

7 degrees, 30 minutes north, 151 degrees, 45 minutes east, approximately 5 nautical miles from the island of Nucoatlis near Micronesia.

We've encountered a large storm.

The vessel is listing it in danger of capsizing.

We require immediate assistance.

There are two crew on board.

No injuries reported at this time.

Over.

Alright, I've got it started.

I'm taking her out.

I'm not kidding anyone on the radio.

Just keep trying.

It's the creature.

It's up top.

Hurry.

Get the guns out of the storage locker.

I've got to stay here and manage the boat.

But I go now.

Right.

I'll be right back.

Oh god!

Roger!

Roger!

It's breaking in!

Quick, give me the gun!

Satan!

It's inside.

Roger, what do we do?

Just keep your gun pointed at the door and shoot whatever comes through it.

Oh,

Philip.

I do think you're giving yourself a little too much credit.

Only Roger took up a weapon.

You stood behind him.

Remember.

Perhaps if you had taken up arms,

your dear friend wouldn't have suffered as you did.

Is it

is it dead?

I.

I don't know.

I hope so.

What now?

Just keep her steering straight.

I'm going to.

I'm going to take a look.

Don't go out there.

I'm not stupid.

I'm staying right in here.

I'm just going to flash the light down the hall.

See if it's dead.

Just don't get too.

Oh.

Oh, wait a minute.

It didn't happen like this.

What's going on?

Don't be too confused, Philip.

I want you to remember this.

But you are correct.

This is not how it happened.

It simply serves as a useful reminder.

Reminder.

Of what?

That we take.

What we want.

What was that thing?

The thing that took Roger?

It didn't just take him, Philip.

Let's not disrespect your friend by minimizing what he suffered.

Oh, Roger's guts were scooped out just like the flesh of a melon.

And yet he lived.

Sometimes, the mere touch of what came up from below can...

Alter the workings of the world.

But never for the better.

As for what it was that empty Roger.

It was a child

from long,

long

ago.

When the soil curdled beneath our feet

and the sun feared to shine upon us,

when the air burned us like

I'm sorry, Dad.

I didn't want to wake you up, but you were calling out in your sleep.

Are you okay?

Yes, yes, I'm fine.

We're just coming up to the lake house.

Good.

Now,

let's just hope they haven't ransacked my library.

I think you should get some sleep once we're inside.

That goes for you too, Martin.

Bill, I plan to be up for most of the night working, so I can keep an eye on things.

Sure thing, Doctor.

I could definitely use some sleep, that's for sure.

Don't you think you should get some sleep, too?

And that was

more

than enough.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Maltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Anselm and voiced by Stephen Zivik, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, Jesse Van Hove, Kelly Bear, and Stephen Ansloom.

Sound editing was completed by Stephen Ansloom, and script editing was conducted by Walker Kornfeld.

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Popsicles, sprinklers, a cool breeze.

Talk about refreshing.

You know what else is refreshing this summer?

A brand new phone with Verizon.

Yep.

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Three-year price guarantee applies to then current base monthly rate only.

Additional terms and conditions apply for all offers.

Hey, I'm Paige DeSorbo, and I'm always thinking about underwear.

I'm Hannah Bruner, and I'm also thinking about underwear, but I prefer full coverage.

I like to call them my granny panties.

Actually, I never think about underwear.

That's the magic of Tommy John.

Same.

They're so light and so comfy, and if it's not comfortable, I'm not wearing it.

And the bras, soft, supportive, and actually breathable.

Yes, Lord knows the girls need to breathe.

Also, I need my PJs to breathe and be buttery soft and stretchy enough for my dramatic tossing and turning at night.

That's why I live in my Tommy John pajamas.

Plus, they're so cute because they fit perfectly.

Put yourself on to Tommy John.

Upgrade your drawer with Tommy John.

Save 25% for a limited time at tommyjohn.com/slash comfort.

See site for details.