Opening scene -- International Airport, big jet coming in for a landing. Nice guitar theme song support, differing from the typical harmonica improvisation.
Jim flying back from somewhere, on a case for Mr. Prentice. Things went weird and he calls in on a pay phone, to his client immediately after getting on the ground. Mr. Rockford always tries to be completely professional with a new client. Right off, someone is tailing him. Someone driving what looks like a stealthy gray 73 Ventura.
Jim Rockford, veteran P. I., uses a slick trick to gain the upper hand of his pursuer. Bumping a triumph TR 6 past the automated ticket server, he hastily gains precious time and ticket-less access to a private parking lot. The guy following him, wastes time getting a parking slip from the machine, searches in vain for Rockford in the parking lot, only to be spooked as he exits the parking lot -- the sleuth effectively scares him into backing up, thereby popping his tires on the security teeth at the parking lot's exit. This way, Rockford sizes up his opponent while losing him and leaving him disabled. Trouble is, when he gets back to his trailer-by-the-sea, he finds it ransacked!
Using his, put on southern suavity, Jim is able to sweet talk the girl at the DMV, over the phone, into giving out the owner's name of the 67 Chevy coupe. A whole room full of 70s computers whir and click while tape drives seek and search and card readers shuffle, producing Martin Fishback, 237 Wilson Drive Los Angeles. This rings a bell in Rockford's real computer and he confirms it: the Fishback Detective agency clearly listed in the 3 inch thick Yellow Pages. "Full surveillance, Electronic Debugging, bonded and licensed!" Blindfolded with Ray Charles style glasses, these thugs take Rockford away in the back of a big Lincoln. Iron gates reluctantly allow Jim's abductors to enter the lavish wooded estate and into the Tudor style home of the bad guy that wants to know who Rockford's client is. He's a swarthy looking foreigner and easily issues a death sentence for Jim's intent to keep his client's name anonymous. Naturally, this seems a little bit to steep a penalty for this private Dick to pay, "is it really that important to you, Mr. Rockford, take a couple minutes to think about it, I would really like to know", rolls around through Jim's head, causing us to consider the value of client confidentiality as we segue to an upscale party at "Marks".
The next thing we know, Jim is "outed" to Susan Jameson -- he's not really a Corporate Profile Analyst after all -- she's definitely mixed up in all this, maybe even owns the place. A tastefully placed white wooden sign proclaims private property -- W. Jameson. Turns out, this is the guy Jim's working for. And old man Jameson just wants to get some dirt on this Mark Charlmers, an apparently "squeaky clean" good-looking war hero and all-around great guy that his daughter is engaged to. Only, something's not quite right. Charlmers high class, ivy-league accent translates to gutter Jersey as soon as he's a couple of points down in handball, claims old man Jameson.
Jim wants out of this babysitting business, but his client threatens to use his influence to foul up his business and possibly get his trailer evicted from the beach. Both of these men play their best game of dirty pool and then wind up seeing eye to eye as old man Jameson talks about his concern over Talmadge street in Newark.
A getting-to-be-familiar and ominously catchy tune repeats in the background as Rockford comes up against the police Lt. in Newark. "Larry Pearson" is oddly familiar to us, looking a lot like one of the goons which gave Jim a hard time in the beginning of the show. Now, if you don't know our hero Jim Rockford I'll just tell you that he's not about to be shaken off a case, simply by some vague threats from the police. Back in his Newark hotel, yet a couple more tie wearing riffraff claiming to be the Chamber of Commerce (Charlmers of Commerce?) are interested in who he is working for. More license plates are revealed and it turns out these goons are more polite -- leaving a note in the ashtray telling Rockford where his distributor rotor is! Can you remember the license plate number as they drive off? Well he can't, so we're back to LA, only, now we realize, this whole bit has all been a daydream in the Tudor style mansion on the wooded estate that Jim has had while waiting for his death sentence.
Not off the property for a long, the big Lincoln, caring Jim Rockford, apparently to his demise is met with the FBI -- the Organized Crime Strike Force -- it's a rare episode where the police seem to be on Rockford's side. The plot thickens. The boys in blue have been tailing him these federal criminals since Jim was taken, "apparently against his wishes", from his trailer this morning. Torrance Beck is the big little guy in the Tudor which the Feds are interested in. They won't tell Jim anything so he refuses to sign the complaint of kidnapping and leaves their offices in a huff. Understandably keyed up, he nearly clocks is dad who shows up at the trailer, suspiciously willing to spruce up Jimmy's trashed trailer. Another call from his benefactor, this time Jim is saying what's what and where they will meet, and this is where we hang on the cliff until the next episode.
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