Basic Instinct Page #5

I'm a writer.|I use people for what I write.

Let the world beware.

Do you want me to take|a lie detector test?

Wait here, please.

No blips, no blood pressure|variations, no pulse variance.

Either she's telling the truth,|or I've never seen anyone like her.

I guess that settles it.

- She's lying.|- Forget it. You can't fool the machine.

Trust me. It can be done.

And what makes you|such an expert?

Because I know people|that have done it.

Thank you.

Thanks for coming in, Miss Tramell.|Sorry to inconvenience you.

Could someone give me a ride home?

Sure.

Thank you.

Want to get a drink?

- Rough day?|- Not really.

Beating that machine can't be easy.

If I was guilty and wanted to beat|that machine, it wouldn't be hard.

It wouldn't be hard at all.

You took a lie detector test after|you shot those two people, didn't you?

I passed.

You see?|We're both innocent, Nick.

You seem to know|an awful lot about me.

You know an awful lot about me.

I don't know anything|that's not police business.

You know I don't wear|any underwear. Don't you, Nick?

Thanks for the ride.

Would you like|another glass of wine?

- Hi, Nick.|- Evening.

What's all this "Nick" stuff?

"Nick, do you want a cigarette?|Nick, can I have a ride?"

She didn't ask me to give her a ride.|She asked anybody.

- And you volunteered.|- Hey, Nick. Evian?

No, Chuckie. Get me a double blackjack|on the rocks, please.

What you doing, Hoss?

I haven't had a drink|in three months.

All right with you, cowboy?

- She doesn't know me, okay?|- Here you go.

I never seen her before|Gus and I talked with her.

- Thanks, Chuck.|- You're sure?

Yes, I'm sure.

Cheers.

Now what?

What "now what"?|Now nothing.

She passed the polygraph.|That's it.

She knew how to beat it,|that's why she took it.

How in the f*** do you know?|What is it with you and this broad?

Come on, Phil.|Don't let this one slide.

What about her parents?|What about what else she published?

Maybe all her books come true.

Her parents died in an accident.|I don't care what else she published.

What are you, a book critic?

How'd they die?|Was there an investigation?

You're saying she killed her parents?|Did she kill Manny Vasquez too?

Not unless she climbed into the ring|and turned into one mean son of a b*tch.

Maybe she did.|Maybe she grew herself an afro...

developed a hell of a left hook|and put shoe polish all over her face.

- Let's polygraph her again.|- F*** you.

F*** you too.

Don't worry, Phil.|Nick'll f*** himself.

You guys are very funny.|Hey, Chuckie, get me another double.

Hey, shooter!

Are you back|on the blackjack, shooter?

- We're discussing a case here.|- I know that. I have no doubts.

Here you go, Nick.

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