Originally the brainchild of our beloved Ronzo and myself (they call me "Baron Sardonicus"), this is the Baronzo Creative Writing Group, essentially a heady stew of fun fiction and primo parodies. We originally were playing our game on Amazon's discussion boards, and in 2018 we have moved to Blogger.
So, here we go .....
For the throngs of people clamoring for silly spoof entertainment, The Baronzo Gang is proud to present their version of the classic Alfred Hitchcock thriller "Psycho". Our pal Franklin will get things rolling and set the scene:
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ReplyDeleteThe Mountain and the encircling logo: A Paramountie Release
ReplyDeleteCreepy 1960 music (lots of strings, some in tune) and moving black and gray bars now horizontal, now vertical, now horizontal, now vertical, now horizontal…Can’t They Make Up Their Minds?!? And the violins are violent. Amplified nails on a blackboard! Ah!! I’m going Mental!!! Captions:
Alfred Pitchfork’s
Psychobaranzo
Staring:
Anthony Perkup
Vera Inches
John Gaffer
Co-Staring:
Martin Ballast and John McEntirely
And a bunch of others
And Janet Leighmedown as Maron Heron
And the rest of the yoyos who worked on this film
Music by Bernard Hermione
Directed by Alfred Pitchfork
Scene: The camera pans over a desert city, the music now sweet as a dry martini
Caption:
Phoney, Arizony
The camera notes the heat rising, rising from the desert
And pans across hot buildings with flat roofs.
What you can see from a camera panning over the hot flat roof: girl people sunning. Woo woo!
Angry fists shake at the panning camera. Naughty cameraman!
Camera man:
“Phblllttt!” ( :-p !!!) (It’s Pitchfork in a cameo)
Caption:
Frieday, Dec. 33
Then…as the music goes
all sensuous
2: 43 3/8 P.M.mmmmmmm.
Camera pans down to a wall plastered with “Post No Bill” signs to a cracked window on an upper floor and we see inside the room: Peek-a-boo!
Janet Leighmedown, lying down on a cheap bed wearing only a bra and slip. (You know what she’d be wearing if it was 2000 and not 1960, right???) (Right!) There’s John Gaffer (the Hunk – no covering that hairy{?} chest!)
Leighmedown, that is, Maron is lying on her back, her bra making two mounds, the underside with the words: “This End Up,” arrows pointing to the tips. Gaffer, that is, Sam-I-Am’s back is to us. Etched into the hair on his back is: “Property of Paramountie.” He puts on his shirt, the back of which has a paper taped to it that reads: “Kick me hard.”
Pan to: small table with an uneaten lunch: a wrapped blood sausage and tomato sandwich; some of the blood still fresh, what appears to be a Bloody Mary, mostly gone, and a half eaten Big Cherry bar, the blood red cherry center shaped almost like a heart.
Sam-i-Am’s voice: “You never did eat your lunch.”
Pan to Maron who is getting up and being sloppily kissed. Then:
Maron: “These extended lunch hours give my boss fits. You should see him writhing on the floor. It’s tasty.”
Sam (or Sam–i, from now on): “You ought to take the rest of the day off. What the hey?”
Maron (dressing in a prim business suit with a belt in the back with cop bracelets dangling from her wrists: “I’m tired of this, Sam-i; this furtiveness; clandestine meetings in old hotels. It affects my allergies. Marry me, Sam!”
Sam-i: “You know I have debts from my jailbird father’s bunco scheme. Who’d a-thought some one would fall for the old Brooklyn Bridge in the desert ploy. And there’s the alimony to my 13 ex-wives.
And how would we live? In the basement of my uncle’s machine shop in beautiful downtown Burbank? In 50 years my debts will be paid off and maybe those exes will remarry, but….”
“I’ll wait, Sam-i,”
Sam-I at the door: “We’d need money. Head to Mexico or anyplace cheap. Think about it. In Burbank we could barely live in my uncle’s lousy basement among all the car and rocket parts, broken veebelfetzers and congealed WD 40 and the roaches, live and already smoked down. (Thoughtfully, to himself): Although of the roaches, I would say that that archy is a caution. (Aloud): ‘Bye.”
He leaves.
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ReplyDelete“Money, money, money!!” thought Marian out-loud. “He always talks about needing money; meanwhile, I am stuck paying for these lousy hotel rooms whenever Sam decides to sashay into town. On top of that, I’m getting a bad reputation for coming in late on Mondays and sporadically taking these long lunches. If I lose my job, we can not only kiss each other but our hopes and schemes goodbye.” She sighed.
ReplyDelete“Lick stamps on his spousal payments…phooey! If I come into money…let’s say in the next 30 minutes… Sam would expect me to bail his dead father out of debtor prison, and support his 13 ex’s in a style to which they never had been accustomed to from Sam’s meager paycheck. Bottom-line, I’m afraid Sam counts too much on my good nature. People have always mistaken me for a nice person much to their disappointment! Take my boss, for example…”
As she readied herself to return to work, she realized how rumpled her hair looked. Sam was rough-housing a little more than usual today. As she exited the room, she looked back at it and said, “What a dump!” (A line from an old Japanese film she watched recently.)
Back at work, the director’s daughter, Caroline, was sitting at her desk in that tight hair-do she made famous in “Strangers on a Train.” This girl wasn’t required by her husband (if she really was married) to work, but she had an insatiable desire to needle the public with her high-pitched, truly irritating voice. Plus, she was a snoop and Marian had long suspected that Caroline was put in place to get the dirt on her. In brief, Caroline gave Marian a headache.
“Oh, you’re finally back! Did you go to Tucson for lunch?!” (Caroline guffawed like she always did at her own punch lines.)
“I went to Wichita, Kansas. What business is that of yours?”
“For starters, the phones were busy and I had to take messages for us both. Teddy called to make sure I was still at work; then Mom called to make sure Teddy had called; then your sister called from the Music store (the scene of much mayhem in “Strangers”) to tell you that she will be out of town for the weekend. Then the weekend called to see if…oh, I’m going nuts! Sorry. Guess I better take another tranquilizer.”
Marian straightened her dress as she sat down at her desk and said, “Don’t worry, Caroline. You’re not any more nuts than usual.”
About that time, the boss, Mr. Lowry came into the office with that slobbering oil man who mainlined Vodka. About $40,000 cash was sticking out of his coat pocket. It suddenly appeared to Marian that she wouldn’t have to wait till next Friday to get paid!
Oily Cassidy said "Man, it's as hot as fresh milk out there, straight from the cow's udders." Caroline tried joking: "Oh, you're udderly charming, Mr. Cassidy." The room fell silent. Someone passing outside on the street booed. Cassidy, dressed like someone touring a dude ranch, said, "Well, my little girl's finally tying the knot." He showed Marion a snapshot in his wallet, and she shuddered at the image of a teenage girl who seemed to have fallen out of the Ugly Tree and then onto some jagged rocks. He said, "Never had an unhappy moment in her life. Are you unhappy, young lady?" Marion pondered for a second and then said, "Hell yeah."
DeleteCassidy was planning to buy a house for his daughter's wedding gift, with 40 grand in cash. He fondled the money in front of her and he yammered on about it, and Marion looked right at him but her mind raced with excited narration: "Forty thousand could pay off Sam's debts, start a new life for us in Mexico or even Canada, mean an end to struggling, an end to licking stamps and other peoples' boots. It would be easy-- just take the dough and vanish."
Mr. Cassidy headed for Lowry's office and demanded some of his best cheap booze (something called Death Wish Malt Liquor). Lowry looked at Marion soberly and said in a near-panic, "I don't even want that money in the office over the weekend. I don't want it near me, touching me. I don't want to smell its filth. It's full of germs and other ugly things, and it's dangerous. It's the root of all evil and it can't buy you love. Get it to the bank today, in a safe deposit box or a piggy bank. Go, and do not fail me." He went to the office. Caroline approached Marion who was stuffing the money into her cleavage. "He was flirting with you, that chubby old cowboy. I guess he must have noticed my wedding ring." "Right, your wedding ring. Not your goat face or your foghorn voice."
Marion told her boss she wanted to head home after the bank due to a headache. He agreed. Oh, but what headaches awaited Marion Crane within the next several hours?
So she gets home and proceeds to pack a suitcase. As she's changing her clothes, Marion plays a scenario through her pretty blonde head. She's driving as she thinks of Sam I Am being surprised to see her so soon after their assignation. At the stop light, she see's her boss at the cross walk and plants the best "happy to see you as I rob you" smile on her face. She drives away, stepping hard on the gas and praying that her smile was not too cracked. Dusk approaches on the horizon and lights from cars driving on the opposite direction from her blind her.
ReplyDeleteThe next morning, Marion is awakened by a cop! He raps on her window as she starts the car. The cop yells for her to roll down her window. "Is there anything the matter copper?" asks Marion. She's trying to sound nonchalant...it's not working. "Is there something wrong Ma'am? Why are you here? Is this your car?" "Whoa!" exclaims Marion, "slow down there. I was just resting, my eyes grew tired. I almost got into an accident when my handbag fell on my foot and all my cash spilled out. I meant to just grab 20 winks and hit the road." She starts the car again. This time the policeman means business. "Driver's License please." Uh Oh! Marion carefully pulls her DL's from her wallet and hands it to the cop. The policeman takes her Driver's License and looks at her car plates. "Darn!" thinks Marion, "I should have changed my plates. Anal 4U was not the best plates to own." Nope.
Part 1:
ReplyDelete"Too bad I can't give you a ticket for lewd plates," sniffed the deputy. "All right, be on your way. Don't be sleeping on any of my roadsides anymore. I've got my eye on you, little lady."
"Darn," Marion thought. "Now I have to go to the bathroom. I wish I would have carried along a milk jug."
Marion eased her vehicle back onto the highway, nervously clutching the steering wheel. Glancing back into her rear-view... there he was! The pesky cop trailing uncomfortably close behind her.
Mercifully, after about a mile, deputy Fife took the Gormanghast exit and drifted out of sight. Marion, who hadn't taken a single breath in over a mile, felt a sense of relief wash over her. Her heart had been going pacata, pacata, pacata the whole time, the sound of which strangely imitated the pacata, pacata, pacata of her tires on the road.
Finally, Bakersdozenfield! Just cruising into the city limits she notices the overwhelming number of businesses in this somewhat seedy part of town. There was Larry's Drive-in (try our Larry's Burger... the best Burger in our Burg), a Mobil gas station with a large 'We Give S & H Green Stamps' sign prominently on display. And then... California Charlie's Miracle Used Cars -- if it's a good car, it's a Miracle. There, that's what she was looking for.
She pulls into the lot and a tall, thin man wearing a polka-dot bow tie peeks his head out and says, "welcome to California Charlie's. WE give you cash, YOU give us car. Be with you in a second, little lady."
Part 2:
ReplyDelete"Hmmm... what to get? The '58 Edsel with Utah plates? Nope. The '56 Pontiac with Arizona plates? Nope. Not Arizona plates for sure."
Had she not been distracted by a newspaper dispenser, she'd have noticed Dudley Dooright drifting by in his patrol car.
The LA Tribune headlines were not terribly exiting. At least no blurb in 72 point type about 40,000 dollars in stolen money stolen by insane buxomly blonde. Headlines read: "Water Shortage Making People Mighty Thirsty" and "Woman Bitten by Dog, Bites Dog Back... Dog's Owner Threatens to Sue".
As she peeked at page two she was startled by a voice from behind. "I'm in no mood for trouble"
"What?" asked a confused Marion
It was California Charlie. "There's an old saying... 'the first female customer is always the most trouble.. But like I say, I'm in no mood for it so I'm gonna treat you so fair and square that you wont have one human reason to... why, I'm not even going to inquire as to your bra size. (Remember, this is 1959)
"I'll take that one over there. The one with Montana plates. Oh, and by the way, 44 DD, if you must know. And so now you can stop staring."
"'57 Ford Custom 300. Good choice! That yours over there?"
"Yes, but there's nothing wrong with it!"
"Sick of it, huh? Well, pretty lady, why don't you get a cup of coffee and we'll give yours the once-over. I'll have my mechanic, Gomer, check it out."
Thanks but no coffee. You see I'm in a hurry but I do need to freshen up. Do you have a ladies' room? My eyeballs are floating!"
"Right around the corner, ma'am. Our bathrooms are the cleanest johns in the city and have been sanitized for your protection."
There he is! Across the street propped up against his patrol car, suspiciously staring at her through his mirror shades. Marion turned around to avoid Deputy Dawg's awful accusatory gaze.
"How much would it be with my car?"
"Ya mean you don't want to take the usual day and a half to think it over? You in a hurry? Is there a hell-hound on your trail? What are you doin' this evening? Somebody chasing you lady?"
"How did you... er, ah, I mean no! I just want to get back on the open highway. And whatever I'm doing this evening, I won't be doing it with you. I make it a point never to date anyone wearing a bow tie. No offense."
"No offense taken. Well," said Charlie stroking his chin, "I figure your car plus 700 dollars ought to do it."
"All right," declares Marion.
Part 3:
ReplyDeleteBow tie looks suspiciously at Marion. "I take it you can prove that car is yours, out-of-state license and all. You got the pink slip?"
"Yeah, I got the pink slip daddy."
Marion excuses herself and goes into one of the cleanest johns in the city and it had indeed been sanitized for her protection. Out of her purse she pulls out an oversized envelope stuffed with hundred dollar bills. From this wad she counts out seven crisp Benjamins, then replaces the remainder back into her purse.
Marion all but shoves the cash into California Charlie's hands. Taken aback he says, "Say, why don't you take it for a spin. Wouldn't want any bad mouthing about ol' CC."
Worst car salesman, EVER! "No, I'd really rather not. Can't we just settle this...?"
Stammering, Charlie says, "I, ah, might as well be honest with you. It's not that I don't trust you, ma'am... but ah..."
"But what?"
"Well, ma'am, I don't trust you."
"What's so wrong about deciding quickly? I need a car, I have the cash, so what's the problem? Do you think I've stolen my car?"
"Well, yes, frankly, I..."
Marion waves the crisp, newly minted bills. You know the ones with that newly-minted aroma.
Sniff, sniff. "I love the smell of money. All right, let's go inside and finish up the paper work."
Meanwhile Broderick Crawford gets into his vehicle and pulls into CC's lot. Marion, just stepping out of the office with Charlie, nervously glances at Marshal Dillon. She jumps into her new car and practically knocks good-time Charlie over. Just as she taps the accelerator, she hears a shout.
"Hey!" shouted Gomer. "You don't wanna leave without your suitcase, do ya?"
"Just put it in the back please."
"First time I ever saw the customer high-pressure the salesman. Somebody must be chasing her. And just when I was going to make another inappropriate comment to her."
"I'd better look at those papers," said Dan Matthews.
"She look like a wrong one to you, Mannix?"
"Acted like one."
"I'll bet she's a goer. Know what I mean? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge."
Canto 1)
ReplyDeleteNight. Deeeep, daaaaaark Night!!! And Rain!!!! There’s always rain, isn’t there?!? Deeeeep, Daaaaark, Driiiiiiiiiving Rain!!! The windshield wipers: Chuffa chuffa chuffa. The tires: Pacata pacata pacata. The motor: Ka Poppapoppapoppapoppa, ka Poppapoppapoppapoppa Wheeeezzzzz…………Bang! OH! And the Lights from oncoming traffic!!!!!!! Blinnnnnding, blazzzzzzzing Liiiiiiiightsss!!!! Niiiiiight!!!! WiperS!!!!! Raaaaaaiiiinnnnn!!!!!! Carrrrrrrrrrr!!!!! Chuffa chuffa pacata. pacata wheeeeze….BANG!!!!!!! The ever persistent RAAAAAINNNNN!!!!!
In Arizony?!?!?!??? For HOURS?!?!?!?!???
Because, Maron’s thoughts have long twisted her mouth in a smirk, like opening a can of sardines, as she thinks about what had to have been going on back at the bank: Cassidy shrieking about his missing money because Maron has gone missing; Caroline caroling loudly off key with a refrain of : “I told you so, you rascal, you!”; Lowry writhing on the floor like a beached crappie.
Up ahead: Neon sign!!! “Fate’s Motel: Very Vacant!”
Maron Heron pulls in. Light in office, also very vacant.
Maron skunches down in the seat to look up the hill just past the motel. Looks up to the creepy house as lightning flashes. Looks up to see that lights are on. Looks up to see figure of…a woman…walking past a lit window….Maron beeps her horn: “Bip, bip bi-bip bip, Ah…oooooo….gah!!! Ah…ooooooo…gah!!!” The lights in the house go out.
The RAAAIIIIINNNN!!!!!!!...continues……
Canto 2)
ReplyDeleteA knock on the passenger side window. Maron jumps a little, hitting her head on the roof of the car. A light goes on in the office. The figure of a man taps at the car window and beckons. Maron, gets out and follows the figure inside. The figure closes the door and Maron sees that it’s just a very bland looking young man, perhaps still in his teens. He has a kind of kind, shy smile. Maron looks around. On each wall of the room is a picture of an older woman in old fashioned clothes rocking in a rocking chair. A plaque under each: “Mother.” There is an odor of lavender and old lace. The furniture appears out of an estate sale and looks like it could collapse at any moment. Embroidered mottos are everywhere: “There’s No Place Like Here,” “Hussies, Don’t Let The Sun Set On You Here,” “A Son Owes His Mother And She Owns Him,” “Oh, Dad, Poor Dad,…etc.”
Boy says, “I’ll put you in #1. It’s right next to the office. That way, if you need anything, I’ll be right here.” He blushes a little – either that or it’s hormones.
Maron goes to the desk to sign the register. She signs “Maron Hornbill.”
Boy says, “I’ll help you with your luggage – Miss? ----“ Maron nods. The Boy smiles shyly and says, “Hornbill. I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Hornbill.”
As they enter her room she asks, “And what is your name?”
“Normal. Normal Fates. I-I-I…live….with…my….mother.” He points in the direction of the house.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Fates.”
Normal blushes a little more deeply. “Y-y-you can call me…Normal…….if you like.”
“And you can call me ‘Maron’, if You like.”
“M-m-moron?” His blush points are quite scarlet now. Too bad this is a black and white picture.
“Mah-ron.”
“Oh,…sorry….”
“It’s all right.” Maron is rather taken by this shy, yet businesslike, young man. “Is there a restaurant near by?
Normal replies: “Well, there’s the Road Kill Inn in East Obscure on the New Texaco border. But that’s about a half hour away. It’s still raining some, so I don’t think you’d want to go that far.” His voice has a hint of eagerness in it.
“No.”
“But, listen,” says Normal rather hurriedly, “I’d be happy to bring some sandwiches and cold Ripple and we could eat supper here in the office.” And he’s out the door.
Maron looks around the room. The wallpaper is a dingy and faded yellow and it seems to exude a faintly musty yellow odor. The nondescript pattern seems to undulate, and Maron, weary from driving in the dark and stormy night can almost see women in the wallpaper creeping along the baseboard. There are pictures of “Mother” in this room, too, and an especially large one over the bed. By the bed is a night stand with a comb with strategically missing teeth and what there are are more like straight pins. There are barbed wire bobby pins, and a toothbrush with wire bristles.
Then Maron hears the argument coming from the house on the hill. The rain has stopped and the wind carries the words. Normal is having it out with his mother.
Marion didn’t want to eavesdrop but the ruckus coming from the house was irresistible. And, as it turns out, the heated conversation seemed to have something to do with her arrival at this flea-bag motel.
ReplyDeleteMother: “You think I’m going to allow some hussy to eat dinner in my house, dirty my dishes and sip on my cups….and after dinner then what, boy? Drink fizzes and dance in the parlor?’
Norman: She is voluptuous, I grant you. But mother, you know I only go for stuffed birds. I don’t know anything about females.
Mother: You don’t know anything about anything; you manufacture illusions…go on, you selfish dreamer!!
Norman: So I take all this to mean that I have to take dinner down to her on a tray. Can I make roast beef sandwiches from that roast I killed the other day?
Mother: NO!! Make Miss Floosy a pimento cheese sandwich with dill.
(Marion: (In her room) “I hate pimento cheese especially with dill! What about an egg and onion?”)
Mother; Make her suffer for being a female on this highway late at night. God knows I have suffered on this lonely stretch. And you and all your shenanigans…
Norman: Shut the heck up! No kidding. I know a mother is a man’s best friend but don’t push it.
With that Norman closed his mother’s door and went to the kitchen to make pimento sandwiches.
When the argument seemed to subside, Marion went back to trying to figure out a place for her money. Her bra was already stuffed and the drawers looked too lonely. She finally decided to put the money in plain view. Yes, she had done some reading when she was young and remembered the story of the “Purloined Letter” and how what was hidden in plain sight was undiscovered. Consequently, she put the money on the night stand inside a pair of translucent hose.
About that time, Norman knocked at her door with the food. Marion screamed when she heard the knock and Norman ran to the office. It’s hard to get nervous people together!!
Finally, Norman rang her phone and said that dinner was in the office. Well, not in that officious setting but in the back room where dead bodies of animals and so forth lay waiting for the sawdust, needle and thread treatment.
Marion hesitated but finally said, “I’ll be there once I get my damp clothes off. Actually, I’d like to take a shower.
Norman: (screeching) NOT NOW!! Uh, uh, the pimento cheese will get warm.
“That’s a new one,” thought Marion. With that, she went to the office for dinner not exactly sure what Norman had in mind.
"Actually, Moron, I mean Marion, eating in an office is just too off-putting. The parlor's back here." He motioned for her to follow, and nervously jiggled the tray which was heavy from sandwiches, milk, German potato salad, coleslaw with bits of pineapple, turkey with heavy gravy, Apple Brown Betty, a baked ham, pickled eggs, homemade biscuits oozing with melted butter, Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, chili dogs, Spam, Tequila worms, and marzipan pigs leftover from Christmas.
DeleteHe set the tray down and put a light on, and Marion couldn't help but notice an assortment of stuffed dead birds mounted and displayed around the room .... an owl with a condescending glance, a raven that seemed weak and weary, a rooster that almost appeared slightly cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Marion sat down in front of the tray he had given to her, and said, "You're very kind, I seldom eat meals." "Huh?" "I nibble all day long. Grazing, really." Norman smiled and said, "It's all for you. I'm not hungry. Go ahead, dig in." She had already inhaled two pimento sandwiches, a glass of milk, and a chili dog before he even finished the remark. Marion Cranium was a noisy eater, making all sorts of nom-nom-nom yummayummayumma homph-homph glubbity gub sounds. He almost giggled, and said, "Y-y-you eat l-like a pterodactyl." "Up yours," she snapped, but then regained composure and munched on the pink little piggy confections. "Anyway," Norman said, "I hear the old expression 'eats like a bird' is really a fal-f-fal-fff-f-f-falll-" "Oh, good grief, man, spit it out! Falsity. Holy moly, what did that mother of yours DO to you?" She apologized and buttered her next chili dog. Suddenly the parlor door flew open and there was Norman's next door neighbor, a tall fellow with a bird face and hair like Eraserhead. Norman whined, "Kramer, what do you want?" "I need to borrow some Tupperware. I'm building a fort." "Kramer, this is Marion. Marion, meet my neighbor, Kramer." Kramer said, "Nice to meet you. My friend Bob Sacamano once dated a girl named Marion. She ended up doing eight years for bank robbery." Marion spit out her milk in an amazing spray of mist. Norman fidgeted anxiously and said, "Look, I'll give you the Tupperware later, okay? We're busy here." "All right, buddy. See you later. Nice meeting you, miss." And Kramer turned to leave and knocked over a lamp and bumped into the door as he exited the room.
Marion said, "He seems interesting. But back to the birds. You sure do a lot of stuffing, Norman," motioning at the taxidermy projects. "Yes. I like stuffing things. That way, you have them forever. And it gives me a sense of fulfillment, and helps my nerves. I subscribe to a taxidermy magazine called Sew Fine. They spell it s-e-w. Get it? But I don't stuff large creatures, like dogs or hippos." "Strange hobby. Curious. Creepy." "I suppose it is. You wanna see my sewing kit? It's huge." "Not right now. Hobbies are nice, but a person needs to socialize. You ever go out with friends?" He became awkwardly uncomfortable and hesitated before saying plainly, "A boy's best friend is his mother." The lifeless birds in the room practically stared at Marion.
She wondered why this poor young man was so peculiar. Bullied by this awful woman, trapped in the lonely motel with just sawdust and a sewing machine for companionship. Pity.
Then he said, "What are you running away from?" and Marion felt vulnerable.
"What are we all running from?" countered Marion. "Life, bills....pimento sandwiches. Mother's with voices that sound very much like their son's."
ReplyDelete"Oh I don't know," replied Normal. "Mother just wants to keep sonny boy with her. Believe me, if given the chance I'd high tail it outta here with Kramer. But then, who would be her brow beating whipping boy? You know, it's what keeps me doing so well with my bird stuffing business. All that chalk board yelling really helps me keep my motivation going. I'm not just stuffing those birds, oh no...I'm really stuffing mother....in my mind of coarse, ha ha.
It's been really hard on her raising me and keeping a boyfriend happy. A boyfriend needs plenty off attention and a Mother's money. It was his idea this Motel and then he died. Now stuffing him...that was one tough job let me tell ya. Oh look at me, talking this stuffing business while your busy stuffing yourself."
"Your Mother at least has you." Said Moron.
"A son is no substitute for a Lover, that's too much for even Freud to contemplate." Normal continued, "It would be so easy to put her in a home, but then a boy needs his mother to keep his sanity going. We all need something to keep our sanity going don't you think? That one person who we all just know the world would stop revolving if they weren't not there to keep us going. That one person who reminds us just how little we are in the scheme of things, that one person...." As Normal continued on with his narrative, his eyes glazed over and his voice became monotone. Moron found herself hypnotized by Normal's voice and wondered if perhaps she just was "going a little mad?"
Part 1:
ReplyDelete"We all go a little mad sometimes," Normal said suddenly. Marion was visibly shaken by this statement. It was as if he could read her mind. "Haven't you?"
"Yes, and just yesterday I... I did something that seemed quite logical and sane at the time but now I realize that I've stepped into a big pile of cow poo and I've gotten my high-heels messy. But... if you don't mind my asking, what about your mother? Have you ever considered... ah, er... you know." Wouldn't it be better for you if you were to... to put her where she..."
"What? You mean stick her in one of THOSE places? A looney bin, a funny farm, Crazy Town? Who'd tend to her? Who'd hold the yarn whilst she knits? Why she'd fret herself to death. Who'd watch "Seach For Tomorrow" with her? And of course there's the livermush sandwiches that she's become addicted to. Who'd make them for her in that awful place. Why they've probably never even heard of livermush sandwiches in "Shady Rest" or what have you."
"Ugh, what's livermush? Oh, never mind. Anyway I didn't mean to sound uncaring."
"Th' hell would you know about caring? You ever seen the inside of one of those places? Straw batting for a beds and chains and... and people weaving ugly baskets. My mother there? But she's harmless. Why she's as harmless as one of my stuffed birds.
"I am sorry. I meant well."
"Hah! People always mean well. They cluck their thick tongues and shake their heads and do funny pirouttes while juggling plates, oh so very delicately. Don't understand how they can do that and not break them all to pieces. She needs me. I'm her little Normy Wormy. Calls me that all the time.
"Well, it's late and I'm tired Thank you for your hospitality, Norman.
"Oh, you're not... you're not going back to your room already? Can't you stay a little longer? We could discuss sawdust and the like."
"As intriguing as that sounds, I've a long drive ahead of me. Going back to Phoney. I need to extricate myself from the cow poo that is my life right now before it hardens and I can't get free."
"All right. See you in the morning then."
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ReplyDeleteThe second Maron glides out the door, Norman steps to the wall of the parlor where he can plainly hear even the slightest noise issuing from Cabin 1. He carefully removes a cheap print of 'The Rape of Persephone' and sets it to one side. There is a crude peephole knocked out of the wall and this gives Master Fates a very good view of Maron's room. The stuffed pheasant stares at him with a mute accusatory gaze.
ReplyDeleteAnd this what he sees through the peephole:
Maron stripping down to her 'Fredrick's of Hollywood' sheer black lingerie. Norman stares intently at this disgustingly lewd display. What would mother think of such behavior? She'd know how to handle this. He'd go back to the main house and ask her. Mother knows best. She would never give her wittle biddy Normy bad advice. No, never!
Normal wends his way to the house on the hill. Inside, he approaches the main staircase leading to the... the... the b-b-bedroom, but instead he goes into a small kitchen and sits in a chair once used in a Van Gogh painting. He's obviously conflited. Mother, what to do???
A voice emanates from nowhere and everywhere, "Aint you got no gumption, boy? I thought I taught you better! You know what you have to do so git up from that chair, dust off yer britches and take out the trash. You know I'm right, boy. I know you've had filthy thoughts about that Jezebel that has descended 'pon us! Don't you know that I'm right? Of course you do! Now tend to it you little pismire! Iffen you don't I will!
Meanwhile back in Cabin 1, Maron is doing some ciphering in a small notepad. Let's see, $40,000 minus $700 for the car and take away a few odds and ends. $36.879.27. She rips the sheet from the pad and tears it into small pieces. Trashcan. No. Don't leave a trace. Not one little thing left behind for anyone to find. Nothing to let anyone know I've been here. Yes, I'll flush it. Sam would be proud of my thoroughness.
Been a long day and a shower, yes, a good long shower will be just the thing.
ReplyDeleteMaron strips out of her Frederick’s of Hollywood lingerie, which of course is all the Audience will see, dropping to the floor with a clank.
What a treat, though, to have seen Maron in this lovely creation: a lovely peignoir of spider-web silk with spiders (dead) and chainmail lace at the throat, her black bullet bra emblazoned with bullets (spent) and panties with the strategically placed holes. Her we don’t see, except for legs (with feet) stepping into the tub. (Alas, it IS 1960, after all.) Then the cascading water from the shower head that is one of Normal’s creations: a large metal fly whose wings buzz when you turn the shower on, the water coming from each cell of its compound eyes.
We see Maron enjoying the shower – at least the top quarter of her (maybe a third) because we see nothing below her shoulders and top of her chest. (Alas, it IS 1960 after all.) She soaps up with the Lava-Lifebouy soap. Scrubadubadub. We switch angles and see Through The Shower Curtain Darkly the door to the bathroom opening, disregarding the “Keep Out,” “No Admittance,” and “Disturbed, Do Not Disturb” signs on the bathroom door (outside, if you’re in; inside if you’re out, or both and neither if you’re in multi-dimension universes, and……) (The knight with the rubber chicken trods through the page this is being written on and, after a pause for effect, bops the writer on the noggin, turns and stomps out of the scene.) (continuing: “and…….)
Where was I?
We dimly see the door opening, verrrrryyyy carefully; we see a figure approaching the shower verrrrryyy quietly; we see the shower curtain pulled aside verrrrryyyyy stealthily and….
Then, there’s those damn screaming scraping scratching violins from the opening credits again!!!
We see (and sort of hear) Maron Screeeeeeeeeaaaaammmmm!!!!!! Her pitch is a third and a third lower than those damn violins. The silhouetted figure has a switch blade stiletto epee Swiss army knife and he brings it down and.....Oh……Go and see the damn movie if you think I’m gonna follow every Cut of knife descending and Maron’s bod as she gets it (apparently) and screams and knife descends and some part of Maron’s body is shown and knife descends and descends and descends and we get shot after shot of some part of Maron’s bod and knife descending and is it really Janet Leighmedown or a body double or is Janet really(shhhhhh!!!)nude or is she sporting some kind of strategically and well blended in makup patches so that we don’t Really see any naughty bits? (Alas, it IS 1960, after all.) And all through this are those violins, to which have been added, in a 12 tone format: soprano trumpet, Sousaphone, harpsichord, slide whistle and koto, thumb piano, bagpipes (all eight Celtic varieties,) triangle and Jews harp.
Maron’s face has a WTF expression on it! The silhouetted female dressed figure turns, twirls the sticker that has (apparently) stuck Maron (apparently! --- because it IS 1960, after all.) The womanly figure twirls the knife shut and holsters (?) it, turns and leaves. And (Thank God!!!!) the violins have stopped, except for a final sound of a 4/4 drum beat (L.A.V.A! L.A.V.A!) ending with a fog horn: Beeeee’ohhhhhh!(a plug for our carbolic odor germ eliminating and sandpaper-like scrubbing pumice soap that whisks away grime and grease.
Maron’s arm reaches for the shower curtain and pop-pop-pop-pop etc., the shower curtain is pulled down along with Maron. Maron’s blood (a cheap chocolate syrup) trails with the water down the drain: Sloooooooooooooooop!
Maron’s body lies draped over the tub of the bath/shower. We close in on the one eye visible and not the pupil with: “Closed for repairs” Xed out.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The deed was done and the band went home. All except the Jewish harp which had been displaced and told never to return…forced to wander in search of another disaster tune. “Just like my forefathers,” the harp had been heard saying.
ReplyDeleteBut the problems facing the mother and son duo were just beginning. For one thing, there was the clean-up. This, of course, fell to Norman to perform since his mother always played sick whenever there was work to be done. “These old bones of mine, boy, hurt. I told you to stop putting strychnine into my food. It aggravates my arthritis.”
So Norm grabbed a mop and bucket and went back to Cabin 1. He meticulously cleaned up the enormous amount of blood the so-called floosy lost, along with the floosy herself –who was hoisted into the trunk of her car. The bathroom (all except for a tiny piece of paper Marion had written on) was pristine when Norm finished.
He then set out to get rid of Marion’s car, which might cause comment in the neighborhood since they never had customers. Luckily, there was an old pond out back of the motel that had a couple of other sunken cars in it already, but Norm hoped there was room for one more. He stood on the bank biting his nails as the car finally faded from sight. There were city ordinances against such things but no city official dare to disturb the going-ons at Fate’s Motel.
Meanwhile, Sam sits in his make-shift office in the Five and Dime writing a letter on his break. He writes:
“Marion, I have decided that money shouldn’t come between us. Despite my woeful financial woes, I am willing to leave my wife and start a life with you as two paupers against the world. We don’t need to rob a bank to be happy, like we used to say. In fact, if I saw a stash of money right now…I’d say phooey, get rid of it! I’m serious this time; I’m making a clean break away from this dime store business and my crummy wife-“
Jake, the other guy who worked at the 10 Cent store, was listening to a lady read all 40 ingredients on an insecticide bottle. She then said, “Insects should die as peacefully as humans. No pain should be involved” She went on about how she actually buries her dead insects somewhere near her bird burial grounds. “Do you notify the loved ones?” Jake said sarcastically.
“If you’d studied entomology you would know what I’m saying is true…”
Fortunately for Jake, about that time Lila, Marion’s sister, stepped into the shop. Jake straightened his bow tie and pushed the insect lady aside. “Can I be of any assistance today, gorgeous??”
“Is Sam Spade here? I’ve got a case I need help with.”
Jakes shouts, “Sam, there is a lady here to see you.” To himself, he said, "Sam always get the good-looking ladies while I get stuck with women who have an insect fetish!"
Sam hides the letter he’s been writing under some rubber chicken invoices and goes to the front. “Jake, haven’t I told you to quit yelling in that Wagnerian fashion?”
Sam walks over to Lila and is very impressed with her high-priced clothing even though he has given up the love of money in the last half-hour. “What can I help you with, little lady?” he asks.
” I’m looking for my sister. She may be with a man named Floyd Thursby, then again, she might not be. She’s so unpredictable.”
Sam proceeded to roll a cigarette then remembered that he didn’t smoke.
A stern looking man in a tired but dapper suit and a dark hat stood outside the store watching the scene unfold as Lila spilled her guts to Sam. "She left home on Friday. I was on a bender for the weekend. Tequila shooters and burritos, my downfall. Haven't heard a thing since, not even a phone call. If you and she are planning something naughty and illegal I won't make a fuss, I just want to talk to Marion!" She reached the precipice of crying when Sam realized they needed privacy, and said, "Jake, go out and get yourself some lunch, huh?" "Oh, that's all right, Sam, I brought lunch with me. Pimento loaf sandwich and my Mom's famous cake. She bakes really well. Plus, folding in the eggs has to be done just right, and mind you, you never start a cake by breaking an egg. Some folks don't know that." "Jake, I have no clue what you're going on about, but just take your dopey lunch and get out already before I summon up all my sexy masculinity and give you such a pinch." Jake backed off and made himself scarce.
DeleteThe well dressed man entered stealthily, poised to surprise the two young people. "Sorry about the tears," Lila sniffed, and blew her nose again in some Kleenex. The noise was almost as if a goose had been goosed. Sam was genuinely worried now, and said, "Is Marion in some kind of trouble?" The man in the hat said, "Let's all talk about Marion, shall we?" as the camera zoomed in on his face in a tight, creepy manner. "Who are you?" said Sam. "Name's Arbogast. Private eye. I solved the case of The Maltese Dolphin. Very prestigious. So, where is she, Miss Crane?" Lila said, "Look, Mr. Garboblast ..." "Arbogast." "I have no clue where my sister is." "Fairly convincing." Sam said, "What's your interest in this matter, Gormenghast?" "It's Arbogast. Ar. Bo. Gast. My interest here is $40,000, Dreamboat. And that's a lot of dough." Sam was reeling and blurted, "One of you better tell me exactly what's going on, I mean, I can only take so much of all this nonsense! I'm running a store where the only sale we'll make today is a package of 'Gnaw No More, My Vermin', plus I gained four pounds at Thanksgiving, and one of my hairs is out of place."
The PI replied, "Calm down, Pinup. Your girlfriend stole a load of cash." "Oh, pish. What's he going on about, Lila?" "She was going to bank it on Friday for her boss. Then she took a powder. Nobody saw her since." "Someone has seen her. Someone always sees a girl with $40,000," Arbogast said. Lila said, "Please, Argyletrash, stop needling me. Sam, they won't prosecute, they just want the money back." The detective said, "I think she's here, Miss Crane. Not back there with the nuts and bolts, and the paint mixer and the flat-head screws and the Betty and Veronica Double Digest comics. She's nearby. I'll find her. See you later."
Mr. Garglehash, I mean Arbogast scoured town for Marion. He asked everywhere. He dropped in at Mrs. Conclusion's rooming house, then at the No-Tell Hotel off Route 605, at Leatherface's Bed 'N Breakfast, and a few other locations. Then he stopped at a remote and unassuming little motel that looked positively lonesome. A wimpy-looking young fellow was seated outside the office browsing Simplicity Patterns and munching on candy corn.
"I almost missed ya." greeted Gorba-goulash to the nerdy, needy young man. "Back at cha." greeted Moron in turn. "I keep forgetting to turn the Vacancy sign on...we definitely have plenty of rooms. In fact someone just checked out last night.... really, really checked out ho ho."
ReplyDeleteGorba-lash: "I've seen so many places today, I've got Motel/Hotel coming outta my eyes. This is the first place that looks like it has something to hide."
Moron: "Well, to tell the truth, I really didn't forget to turn on the Vacancy sign. That new highway just about taken all my customers away...except for one or two lucky enough to make their way here (wink). Candy?"
Gorba-lust: "You got something in your eye young man? And no thanks on the candy. I don't take candy from strangers, something I was taught as a youngster. Just wanted to ask you some questions."
Moron: "Well join me as I do what I call clean up the blood day. Something creepy about not getting that pesky, dried blood out of the tile grout. You looking to buy Mr.? I ask because you mentioned you've seen so many motels today."
"Nah," says Gorbamonster. "I'm trying to track down a little lady that's been missing for about a week. I'm a PI, she's not in any kind of trouble. The family just wants to find her and ..." (in this, Gorbachev says under his breath...almost a whisper), "the money. Forgive and forget, that's their motto."
To which Moron nervously replies, "Funny, you seem more like a cop. You sure your not a cop? Cause you questions seem very cop like and you dress like an undercover cop. And nobodies been here for years and years and years. And are you sure youre not a cop, cause you sure sound like one. No point on showing me a photo cause I have an eye stigmatism and cant see very well. Nobody but nobodies been here...I swear on my sweetheart of a mother. Nope, nobody."
Part 1:
ReplyDelete"Allright, but could you take a good look at the picture before committing yourself?"
"Commit myself? Whaddya mean by that?! You mean to one of 'those' places? The places with straw batting for a bed, grimy walls and ceilings, flies and the people that eat those flies. And the groaning and moaning of unspeakably wretched creatures..."
"Look at the picture, please."
"Mm-mmm. Yeah. Mm-mmm. Yeah. Nope. Never seen her before."
"Sure? Well, she may have used an alias. Maron Heron's her real name... but she could've registered under a different one. Well pardner, first you tell me nobody's been here then ya say someone checked out only last night. Which is it? Hmmm... mind if I look at your register?"
"Go ahead, you'll see it's not this Maron or Heron or whatever her name is. That's right I did have a guest but as I said she checked out last night. And she looked nothing like that picture. So..."
'Ah... Here we are. Marie, Marie Whooping Crane. The handwriting sample I have matches. Hmm. Interesting alias. Heron, Crane. I'm definitely onto something here."
"She in disguise, by any chance? Wanna check the picture again?"
"Now looky here mister, I wasn't lying to you."
"Sure, sure, pal. I know that. I know you wouldn't lie."
"Oh, well it was raining and she had that rained-on wet-hen look. A real mess I tell ya. Anyway, it's not really a very good picture of her."
"Anything else you can tell me about her."
"Well, um... as I said it was pouring down buckets and she arrived, um, rather late one night, tracked in mud and water all over my office, signed in and went straight to sleep... and, uh, left early the next morning."
"How early?"
"Oh, very early."
"You're kinda skittish, aren't you? Hiding something?"
"N-n-n-n-no, no, not hiding anything."
"And you said she left when?"
"Uh, the, um... Th-Th-Th-The next morning. Sunday."
"Did anyone meet her here? Did she arrive with anyone? Did she make any phone calls?"
"No, no , no and no."
"Wait. I only asked you three questions. What was the fourth 'no' for?"
"That was the one for when you were going to ask me if I had spent the night with her."
"Well, did you spend the night with her?"
"No! Do I look like a guy that would spend the night with a woman named Heron or Crane or whatever her name is?"
"Then how would you know she didn't make any calls?"
"Wait, now, I'm starting to remember. I... I... I'm m-m-m-m-making a mental picture of it in my mind. You know a sort of mental snapshot. I've always been good with mental stuff."
Uh, w-w... Well, she was very tired a-and, uh... See, l... n-now I'm starting to, um...
I made her a sandwich. She sure was hungry. Must have eaten it in two or three bites. 'Hungry as a bitch wolf' as my dear mother used to say. She was sitting back there... no, check that, standing back there..."
Arboplasty leaves in his car. Normal looks after him as he goes. He thinks: “I wonder what TTFN means? ‘Til Tomorrow ‘Fore Noon? Tater Tots For Normal? That would be nice. Probably not. Tee Totalers’ Fancy Nostrums? Test Tube Fatal Notions? Boggles the mind. Toggle Toggle Fanogle Noggle. Tagogle Tanogle Foregoggle Nosferatogoggle.” With these and other be-musings, Normal gets a – well – shit eating grin where his mouth is.
ReplyDeleteArgonblast pulls his car up to a phone booth. Why he didn’t drive, only Mr. Pitchfork knows. He goes inside, puts his hand in his pocket, pulls out a rabbit, kicks it out into the night, reaches in again and gets his hand caught in a mousetrap, pulls it free with assorted mumbled imprecations, sticks his hand in again and pulls out a sprig of rosemary and the Jack of Hearts, trumps the Jack, puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out some lint. A portly man (our Director, in a cameo,) knocks on the booth door. Apoplexy looks at him, opens the door, and the man gives Approximately a nickel and leaves, shaking his head.
Argonaut puts the nickel in and dials and says: “Lila?”
And this is the conversation from his end.
“Yeah. She was at the old Fates’ Motel on the old highway. Kid who runs the place says she stayed the night and left the next morning. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye. Apparently met the kid’s mother. Nah, she’s laid up I guess. Wouldn’t let me see her. Etc, Etc. K’blah, k’blah. (n.b. this is the important part) I’m gonna check a couple of things. Let you know within the hour one way or another. You’ll be happy to know that I don’t think here Sam-i-Am was.”
Next we see Normal walking out of the office and behind the motel just as Absolutely pulls in. (Not another “pull” joke; one’s enough.) Abs enters the office and goes to the backroom, a room that casts eerie shadows as he encounters Normal’s taxidermy: an MGM lion (on loan), a stuffed goosed mongoose, a Giant Vole labeled “Spiny Norman,” the head of John the Baptist (by special permission.) Beginning to need a good deodorant, he begins the trek up to the House on the Hill, past the snakes and toads and squishy things that crawl among the stoned steps up to the House, past the spiders weaving webs of deceit, past the flesh devouring plants that are Mother and Son’s especial pride, past the “Welcome Floozies” mat on the porch. He opens the door and steps into the dimly lit vestibule. One wants to pause and savor the word: “Vestibule. Vestibeeoolll. Let it roll around the tongue. Vest…ih…byoooooollll.”
Anyway, with amazing silence from his gumshoes, the gumshoe climbs the stairs. We see him climb from the vantage of the top of the stairs where there is a door. Here he comes. Step. By. Step. By. Step. Up. Up to the top where the door slowwwly opens and out comes an old woman. Invalid? Shurrrre she is! And….Slash! Right across his face (apparently.) Accompanied by those damn violins!!!! Screeeeechh! Screeeeech!! Screeeeeeeech!!! And there he goes.
Oop! Oop…oop! Back (apparently) down the stairs! (Screeeech! Screeeeeech!!!! Screeeech!!!!) Oop! Woooop! Woo-oo-oop! Wooooooooooooop….
Thud!!!
And there she is over his bod (apparently): Raising that cleaver!!! Down!!! Ward!!!
Whack! Whack! Whack! (Screeeeeeechhhhh!!!!!!!!)
Whew!
This new murder followed soon enough on the heels of Marion’s death that the band was able to quickly get back together before they had gotten too far. The string section- providing the soundtrack to this tale - put the mutes back on their stringed instruments as they reassembled. This created a cold, bone-chilling, horrifying, relentless and percussive affect that caused Bernard Hermann to die of high blood pressure at an early age.
ReplyDeleteAfter the crying violins ended their hideous plea, all that could be heard was a male voice yelling, “MOTHER!! I don’t think I can get another car in the pond.”
The camera then takes us to the Five and Dime where Lila and Sam are waiting for Arboghast to return from Fate’s Motel.
“How long has it been?” Lila asked as she picked off the last piece of lint from her suit and dropped it onto the pile. A nervous habit she had when in the company of a pin-up boy who seemed to be moving in on her.
“Three hours, but it sure doesn’t seem like it. I’ve gotten to know you pretty well by now and thought if we don’t find Marion alive...
“Yes, Sam??””
“I mean, there’s something about being in a Five and Dime Store late on a Saturday night. But with you here…and the traffic not having anything to do with either of us…Well, heck I’ll just say it, soft shoulders would brighten me up in my sadness about Marion tonight.”
“It’s getting rather noir in here and you’re really not the type, Sam.”
“Evidently not,” Sam acknowledged.
“Sam, let’s get back to hoping that we can find Marion. The suggestions of her not being alive are growing more gruesome hourly.”
“Well, what can we do?” Sam queried.
“Arboghast said he’d be back here in an hour after he confronted the young motel man’s mother. You say it’s been three hours; even if Arboghast waited for aspic to gel, he would have been back by now.”
“That’s true,” Sam said in his injured way.
“Well,” Lila stood as she reached a more feverish pitch, “Don’t you think he would have called us if he couldn’t make it back in THREE HOURS???”
“You are just like your sister,” Sam unwittingly said but caught it in time. “That’s why I like you so much.”
“Listen, let’s quit this non-productive chatter and get over to the Fate’s Motel!”
“I’d rather just call,” Sam whined as he picked up the phone.
“I’ll go myself. What a wimp you are for all your talk!”
With that, Sam stood up and grabbed his coat and said, “No, I’ll go! You’d get lost in your hysteria.”
“So what shall I do while you’re gone, Sam?”
“Clean up your lint. There’s plenty of rakes behind you there,” Sam shouted over his shoulder as he left the store.
Under his breath Sam said, “Another pain in the Crane!”
It was after supper when Normal Norman stood at the swampy pond's edge behind his home and wondered how many vehicles it might hold. The toughest challenge he remembered was that truck driver three years ago, from Rancho Cucamonga ... such a bulky machine to hide. Suddenly out of the serene twilight he heard a hunky voice shouting. "Garblegasp!?" and the word echoed. Normy thought, "Aaaw, man, not another person and car I have to make disappear. What a drudge." The Herrmann strings were now almost solemn and listless.
ReplyDeleteCut to:
Interior. Honest Sam's Drug 'n Hardware Emporium. Evening.
The place is dramatically dark.
Lila runs to him as he enters. "He hasn't come back, has he?" asked Sam. She replied, "Where would he go, and without calling me?" "Lila, we better visit Hal Chambers, the deputy sheriff and softspoken busybody." "Fine, Adonis. I'll get my coat."
Dissolve to: Interior. Chambers' Home. A few minutes later.
It's a typical, almost frumpy middle-twentieth-century abode complete with a hint of mothball scent, a variety of doilies, suppressed regrets, and a record collection that included The Ray Conniff Singers. Sam has told the man and his prim wife their story so far.
Lila became cranky and said, "I'm sorry if I seem over anxious but I have to know what's going on out there with that old woman." Mrs. Sheriff (sort of a living Shrinky Dink) said, "Let's call Norman and get the straight poop." "At this hour?" her husband moaned, "It's 8:30." "Please, call him," pleaded Lila. So Chambers phoned the motel. "Normal? Sheriff Chambers here. .... Yes, the busybody. Yes, the one who sounds like the narrator from the Pepperidge Farm commercials ..... Been fine, thanks. A little stiffness in the knees .... Listen, you had a fella stop by there tonight? ....... No, not a customer, a private dick ..... Land sakes, stop giggling, son. He's a man by the name of Awfulbash ..... Oh, he did? And then? ......... No, that's fine, Norman. Thanks. Nighty night. And don't let the bed-bugs bite. If they do, hit 'em with a shoe. 'Til they're black and blue." Chambers put the receiver down. "This detective was there, asked about your sister, and left. Simple as that." Lila said, "But he was going to see the mother." "Normal Reprobates' mother has been dead and buried in Geegaw Cemetery for the past ten years." A heavy hush filled the living room. Mrs. Chambers said, "I helped Normy pick out the dress she was buried in. She didn't have anything suitable in her closet so Normy and I went shopping, ended up buying a nice periwinkle blue dress over at Get the Frock Outta Here."
Chambers said, "Some bad business, back then. Mrs. Bates poisoned the man she was seeing when she discovered that he was a Republican, and married. Then took some of the same stuff herself. It was called Gnaw No More, My Vermin. Ugly cartoon bug on the box." Mrs. Chambers added, "Norman found them dead together," and then whispered, "in bed."
Sam said, "But that old lady in the window, this makes no sense." Chambers said, "You sure you saw an old woman, Studmuffin?" "Holy moly," snapped Sam, "enough with the names-- Dreamboat, Hunk-a-doodle-doo, Sugar Bear, Macho Man, Beefcake. I know I'm easy on the eyes. Sheesh. Anyway, I did see that old lady. I know I did. Wait, unless it was like that situation in 'Home Alone' when Kevin made it seem like people were moving around inside the windows, to fool the two inept burglars. Fun movie." Lila rolled her eyes. Mrs. Chambers chirped, "Anyone for Ovaltine?"but there were no takers.
Sheriff Chambers then asked, "If Norma Bates isn't buried out there? Then who is?!"
ReplyDeleteNormy Fates can be seen pacing in his office. He then skips to the house, swinging his hips happily as he climbs the stairs to his Mother's room. "Now Mother, we're going to take you to the fruit cellar."
His Mother answers with, "What do you think I am boy?!! A fruity pebble you can carry around and drop wherever you want?!! Answer me boy!!!"
Normy replies with, "Mother they'll come looking for him as he came looking for her. I'll carry you down if I have to!!"
Normy's Mother wasn't having it! "Put me down boy!! Who do you think you are? ME?!!! And don't you dare use that tone with me....it's MY voice after all!!"
Normy takes the stairs down with his Mother in his arms. The sinners can be seen leaving Sunday church service. Liliac and Loomy can be seen approaching Chambers and wife.
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ReplyDeletePart I
ReplyDeleteSam asked, "Well sheriff, how about if we go out to the motel with you? You know, just to look around."
"He's already been," replied Mrs. Chamberpot. The sheriff had barely mouthed a complete sentence in well over ten years, and gladly so. He didn't like talking if he could avoid it. Too much energy required to come up with believable lies."
"Find anything?"
"Nope."
"Anything about my sister?"
The sheriff, seeing he'd have to talk after all , said, "Nope. "'Cept that she signed in using a phony name. Looked around the whole place, no sister, no detective, no nothing. That boy is alone up there."
"No mother?" asked a nervous Lila.
"Nope. No mother neither, not even her ghost. Now go on home young 'uns and let us law dogs handle this. Fill out a report, little lady. Ats how ya git things done around yere."
Smiling, Mrs. Chamberpot said, "It's Sunday. You nice folks come' round about dinner time. You can fill your report out there. We're having collard greens, chitterlings and hog jowls in a creamy sauce and the best ligonberry crumb pie you've ever had. You'll love it!"
Ats right! Why just this morning, the little missus fixed me pork brains and scrambled eggs. She's always cookin' up vittles like that. Y'all come."
Sam and Lila looking sheepishly at each other and agreed to come to supper with a less than enthusiastic, "Why, we wouldn't even think of missing such a scrumptious-sounding feast."
They part company at which point Lila said, "I won't feel satisfied unless I go out there, Sam."
"Me either. Let's go."
On the way to the motel Sam suddenly exclaimed, "Gosh darn it, Lila, I hope Maron is OK. Our relationship had been getting stronger than ever. Why, she was even willing to lick stamps for me."
"Huh??"
"Never mind. Say, would you lick stamps for me someday?"
"Keep your eyes on the road. Oh, look there, the Fates Motel dead ahead."
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ReplyDeletePart II (revised)
Delete"Lila, please don't say 'dead'. OK? We'd better decide what we're going to say and do when we walk in."
"I'll tell you what were going to do buster: we're going to register as man and wife. Get shown to a cabin... and then turn that motel inside out."
They ambled up the entrance to the main office. BEEP BEEP!
Lila tugged at Sam's shirt sleeve and said, "There was someone at the upstairs window."
Suddenly, here came Norman swishing down the path toward them.
"I was just coming up to ring for you before you came swishing down." said Sam.
"I do enjoy swishing so much. Takes my mind off of what a miserable failure I am. I suppose you'll want a cabin," Norman sneered. "I'll get your bags."
"Haven't any."
Norman, after giving them a long stare, said, "Well, then I'll show you to your cabin. Carefully considering the row of keys on the pegboard, he snatched up the one for Cabin 10. Here we are. As far as I know, no one's ever died in that cabin. Nice and cozy, clean towels and the bathroom has been sanctified for you protection."
"Don't you mean sanitized?" asked Lila.
Not waiting for a reply, Sam chimes in with, "Say, pardner, what gives? You show up at most any other joint in this country without luggage and you'll get the old raised eyebrow treatment."
"Oh that. Well you see my moral compass is broken and I haven't had a chance to get it fixed just yet."
"Go ahead, darling. I'll catch up to you. I'll finish checking us in." She travels out along the walkway and, making sure Normal's not looking, tries the door to Cabin 1. Finding it unlocked she continues along to Cabin 10.
Momentarily, we find the two standing in front of their cabin. "Oh Sam, we should have asked for Cabin 1, the one Maron was in according to Arbogast. We have to go in there and search it, no matter what we find or how much it'll hurt."
"I know. Do you think if something happened, it happened there? How are we gonna prove anything? What makes you so sure anything happened here at the Fates Motel at all?"
"Look, Sam. Arbogast found out something. Somthing big. And now he's gone missing. He liked me Sam. I just know he did. He wanted to do his best to find my sister in hopes of eventually splashing me smack dab into a compromising love puddle."
Part III
ReplyDelete"OK, we'll start with Cabin 1."
Sam pokes his head in on the office. "Normal?" Nothing. The pair thus unobserved enter the darkened room, switch on the light and search... chest of drawers, nothing; bedside table, nothing; just a big fat nothing.... WAIT! Look how clean the bathroom is. As a whistle. Hmmm... no shower curtain. What kind of a dump is this?
"Sam, look at this. Scribbling on this piece of paper. It didn't get flushed down. You can still see some numbers that have been subtracted from $40,000. Proof! My sister was here!"
"Fates never denied Maron was here."
"But maybe this proves that Fates found out about the money. Who'd want to stay in this dump if he suddenly found a way out. And I'm saying that $40,000 would start him along the way. Listen, Sam. If you ever want to have even a dream of a chance with me, you'll have to start agreeing with me more. Saavy?"
"Yeah, gotcha. But tell me, Lila, tell me you didn't just stick your bare hand in that commode a few minutes ago. Eeeeuuuu!"
"Believe me, I've had my hand stuck in worse places. Never mind. Now listen Sam, that old woman must have told Arbogast something! I'm going up there!"
"Whoa, Nelly. You can't go up there."
"Why not? Oh yeah, Fates. Tell you what, let's find him. One of us can keep him occupied while the other traipses up the hill."
"All right. I'll find Fates and keep him occupied. But be careful, I'm getting a little tired of loosing..." Sam's voice trails off.
Through a peephole darkly. Yep. Normal doing that creepy thing he does. In the back room with the stuffed birds spying on Sam and Lila just as he had with Maron. No sexy ligerie this time but informative nonetheless.
"If you get anything out of Mama Fates... don't stick around. It's too dangerous. Don't worry about me. I can handle the pantywaist just fine. I'll meet you back at the hardware store."
"Oh, Sam, you say the most provacative things. If he doesn't kill you, I'm thinking we might... anyhoo, be careful!"
Peeping out the door, Sam waves the all-clear to Lila. She proceeds toward Cabin 10 but then veers to the left to gain access to the scruffy hill on the side leading up to the main house.
Sam slides out of the cabin and turns to the office. Oh, fecal matter! Norman! Standing just inside the open door...
"Looking for me?"
Doohickey:
ReplyDeleteSooooooooooo, they tippy toe along the board sidewalk that connects the cabins to Door #1. They go in. Hmmmmm. “Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in a dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall.” Even the cobwebs were in a decaying state. The bathroom is spotless, though. Shower curtain looks brand new. A gay floral pattern with scattered kitties and bunnies and little tweety birds. Rather odd that the kitties and bunnies and birdies are all kind of mutilated and gross and that there appear to be a couple of buzzards hovering in a blue panel over the scene of carnage.
Sam-I stutters: “W-w-w-well I-I-I guessss there’s no accounting for taste.”
Lil muses: “I bet I know what happened, I betcha. I betcha the kid killed Maron, I betcha. And he’s gonna burn this place down for the insurance money and with that and the 40K that Maron lifted he’ll shove the old lady into an unsanitary sanitarium and build a new motel in Cancun or Mazatlan or Timbuktu. Or even Cucamonga! That’s what I betcha! What ya think, Bwah?”
Lumpy: “Well, I…”
Lili puts it: “Tell ya what we’re gonna do. You go to the office, chat the kid up. I’ll sneak over t’ the house and put the screws ta th’ ol’ dame until she comes clean. .K?”
Loopy: “Well….”
Lielielieli: “Deep subject; No bottom. Let’s crack this can o’ maggots wide open, kiddo! I’ll hide here ‘til I see you go inside the office.”
So off he goes and Normal meets him there.
Norm: “I-i-is you’re cabin sanctified?”
Ham-i-Sam-i: “Say, what? Oh, yes, it’s……fine. Think it’s gonna snow?”
Norm: “Unlikely here in Arizoney in August.”
Samwi…(Oh, the Hell with it!) Sam: “How about them Brooklyn Dodgers?!?”
Norm: “They’re in L.A. now. Hadn’t you heard?”
Cut to Lila tippy toeing toward the path to the steps to the house. Tip! Tip! Tip! Up the crumbling steps covered in deadly nightshade and little dead things that Normal offed just for the helluvit. Too small to stuff. (Good bait, though.) Tip! Tip! Tip! Past the big potted plant that cries out “Feed Me!” (Quickly past that!) Scrape the dead vermin from her shoes on the floozie mat. Open the door. (The orchestra is playing appropriate tip-toeing music.) Shut the door – Shhhhhh. Quietly. Tiptoe! Tiptoe! Up the staircase to Mama’s room, we go, tra-la. Shhhhhh! Open….Slooooowwwwly….the door.
Empty.
Thingamabob:
ReplyDeleteBut it’s all decked out. Several old lady outfits in the closet, high button shoes; dresser with old lady knick-knacks: A set of false false teeth (Amuse your friends,) A Lavender Civit sachet, hairpins turning widershins, a curling iron (curled;) a four poster tagged: “Won at Coney Island,” and on the canopy: “Kick me in the slats: Test your strength, wimp! Win Big Prizes!”
The bed looks slept in. REALLY slept in. There’s an indentation yea deep that is the outline of a body. There are little toy excavating things busy playing at mining or something (chuffa chuffa chuffa toot! toot!) in the indentation. There are toy oil rigs along the perimeter
No one’s home, so Lila leaves and as she does
Cut back to office:
Sap: “I know what you want, kiddo, you wanna set yerself up in style with the 40K that Maron pilfered and what you get when you torch the place for the insurance. And to think ripped off that it was so we could buy some Groucho glasses and thus disguised, blow this dump, and never set up housekeeping in my uncle’s machine shop. Kinda gets ya right here, don’t it.” Hits himself in the heart and belches.
Norm: “I-I-I dinna ken wha’ you tawkin’ mon. Where’s your wife! (Panicky) Where? Where she at, Bro’? And with that Norm grabs a conveniently placed xylophone mallet and gives ol’ Sam-I such a hit! Sam crumples like hundred year old newsprint and kisses the floor. It’s really disgusting that it’s a French Kiss.
Norm scoots.
Cut to:
Lila is in Norm’s room: a little kid’s room; with pictures of his heroes: Ed Gein; Son of Sam; Jack the Rippedup; Dr. Heckle’n’jeckle, the Split Personality Kid; Eileen Wuornos; Charles Manson’s baby picture. “This kid could be a tad disturbed,” Lila thinks as she takes in the toy giraffe hanging from the ceiling fan, the mutilated Chucky doll and the menagerie of stuffed animals amalgamated from various body parts.
Cut to: Lila sees Norm chuggin’ up the hill like Thomas the Tank Engine with orchestral accompaniment.
Lila looks around and then down and down the stairs she twinkle toes and into the stairwell that leads to the basement. She looks. And opens the basement door, ignoring the “No Admittance: This Means You, Lila!” sign. Then another door and she’s in the furnace room and there, in front of her: Whistler’s Mother! No! Wait! It must be Norm’s mother! Lila taps the old lady on the shoulder and sloooowwwly she turns, which is a cute trick in a rocker…especially when you’re dead. Which she certainly is: a mummified body, teeth gleaming in her eyeless skull.
Lila throws up her hand and gives a delayed scream as the door opens and in rushes another old lady with a chain saw….running… accompanying those damn screeching violins!!!
In the nic of time Sam-I to the accompaniment of “The Light Calvary Overture” wrestles the old dame with a choke hold and she drops the saw….right on Sam’s foot. But Sam is game. (It’s his game leg.) He holds on in spite of the fact he’s lost a toe or two, and the old lady’s wig falls off revealing……..
Normal?!?!?!?!???
with his mouth all twisted in a silent scream: silent mainly because how’re ya gonna be heard over those furshlugginer vilelins, the chainsaw as it opens up Sam-i’s game leg releasing the playing cards and chess set and – oh God Yes! – Lila!!!!
==========================
(A writer’s plea!) Please don’t let the epilogue be as inane and psychobabblish as the movie’s was!!! Pleeeeeeease??? (No pressure, you understand. Heh heh.)
Epilogue
ReplyDeleteThe final solution is played out in the Chief of Police’s office with a couple of subordinates, the county’s lead psychiatrist, Dr. Fred Richmond, and Sam and Lila all in attendance. (Dr. Richmond – a violinist of limited note- started off by playing in the Hermann orchestra but, frankly, couldn’t keep up with the string-madness. Consequently, he was given the job of the psychiatrist who opens up our last segment.
“I’ve just tried to speak with Normal but I couldn’t get through. You see, Mrs. Fates has taken over her son’s body. It’s been a slow but inevitable process beginning when Normal killed off his mother and her new husband (if they were married) in bed, as the saying goes. Matricide, you see, has been added to the 7 deadly sins (making 8) and the consequences of the murdering offspring is extreme agitation, transvestism, love of pimento cheese sandwiches and the stuffing of living vertebrates.”
One of the subordinates whose name wasn’t revealed asked, “Are you trying to lay a basis for an insanity defense?”
“Sweetheart, my job isn’t to lay out psychobabble for the reason of excusing Normal of his crimes. Frankly, I’ve been asked specifically not to do anything of the nature. However, there are some psychological problems we must necessarily expose when establishing the big picture, if you will.”
“For one, I saw Marion’s smile (in the film’s daily rushes) when she was in her car once the accusatory voices in her head ceased and she had, in fact, begun to enjoy being on the lamb. That is exactly the same smile Normal is wearing right now in the next room. Marion and Normal were both hungry (literally) for respectability but thought the possibility impossible because of their theft and murder(s) respectively, along a lot of other bad traits.
“You see, we are, in point of fact, dealing with the Freudian notion of the ‘uncanny double’ which had widespread acceptance in the last century. Moderns call it dopplegangering.”
“Excuse me,” Sam said. “In point of fact, I just work at the Five and Dime and this heady stuff doesn’t make sense to me. Please break it down to an 8th grade level, if you will.”
“I’m sorry, Sam, but I’m just repeating my lines. Did I interfere when you needed some scolding very early in the picture?”
Lila injected, “Dr. Richmond (if you really are a doctor), I can’t say that I appreciate your making any comparisons between my sister and that murderous fiend. There are limits to what we are willing to listen to.”
Dr. Richmond jumped with his full weight, which was quite a sight, on Lila’s remark. “Limits. Interesting word. In the ‘uncanny double’ definition we find that one has a likeness to something but is not that thing after all.”
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeletePart II
ReplyDeleteFinally, Dr. Richmond realizes that the subordinates were asleep and the Chief’s eyes were getting heavy.
“In summation, I need to improve on the violin so that I don’t find myself in roles in which I find I can’t explain my own arguments.”
About that time, an office clerk came into the Chief’s office and asked the doctor if he could take some blankets to Normal. With the doctor’s nod, the camera follows the clerk into the room where Normal and Mrs. Bates are sitting together on one stool. In a female voice, Normal says to the clerk, “I would like to put my blanket on in private, if you don’t mind. You officials are just as lusty as all other men. Including my son Normal and look where it got him! Out of here, NOW!” With that the clerk made haste back to his desk.
Mrs. Bates put on her blanket in a style which was very flattering to her figure. She felt her hair and said, “I need a beauty treatment... My son, my only child, has turned out to be a very bad host for my spirit. For instance, has he applied creams to soften my skin? Has he ever concerned himself with putting my hair straight after his swishing up and down the stairs to the motel? Has he ever dressed me in accordance with the fashion? Heck no. Instead he’s always murdering people and filling up the pond with cars where once we kept goldfish and Norway lobsters!"
“Well, the good news is that they are going to finally put him away. Thankfully, they realized that Normal did all the murders. Not me.”
Something suddenly occurs to Mrs. Fates, “I bet they have a camera on me watching my every move.” Mrs. Fates then straightens her hair and pinches her cheeks and says, “This is my new life. Lights, camera, infamy and all those sympathetic people in the dark..." Mrs Fates takes a deep breath and says, "Mr. Hitchcock, I’m ready for my close-up.”
Everything goes dark and sympathetic.
THE END
Moldfinger
ReplyDeleteA Baronzo Production
Opening: The well known James Bonded theme begins with the well known two vertical lines crossing two horizontal lines with “X”s and “O”s in Tic Tac Toe sequence winding up blocked with the final “O” in the middle. A figure in a snappy snap brim 60s hat walks into the “O,” whirls and fires a gun!
A jet fast needle jet of water shoots out and sheets down over the screen as the “O” appears as a camera lens which shutters and opens. Gotcha!
The “O” slowly sinks becoming a moon on a moonlit night. But it’s Black, man! The scene, Imean. Licorice Black is where it’s all at. Then just a little light for us to see that it’s maybe a big boat. The The camera pans along a lit window and a just perceivable notice: “We’ll keep a light on for ya!” Then the camera pulls back so we see a flat-bottomed boat with “Marse Kennedy His Boat” painted scrawlily(?) on the side. We hear water being disturbed, but not enough to call “Mommy!” A shape slowly rises from the water and throws something into the water: a bathosphere helmet! He (we can see now it’s a “he” unless “she” has hirsutism) grasps the bottom rung of a ship’s ladder.
Cut to, the guy in a very wet suit take a Batarang from his utility belt and shoots a anchor and rope to the top rail of the ship.
Cut to: a guard, on guard. (Whaszat?) Suddenly the figure is on the On Guard guard with the ever effective Vulcan Nerve Pinch. The guard is no longer guarding.
Cut to: the figure running to what appears to be a big tank with a big neon sign: “Nothing here!” Then “It’s a dummy, dummy!” Then “Really empty, Dumkopf!” But the figure pays no heed, nor does he pass go. He’s at what looks to be a circular cover, covering what? He feels around and finds the Captain Midnight decoder ring that will open the sucker. A door opens in the “empty” tank and he slips inside.
Cut to inside: It’s Bonded! James Bonded! Our hero! He flips the light-switch. Wooooo! What is this? Some big room with stuff. Desks. Plush chairs. Even plants and flowers. Pansies and Rosemary! Oooh! A Bridal bouquet! Also barrels. Red Barrels. Barrels labeled “Nitro! Not for fertilizer” Uh-oh! We have noticed now that one of his cheeks is bulging and he has been chewing mightily. He pulls the chewing gum out of his mouth in one long strand across those barrels. He then sticks a 20 minute egg timer firmly into a wad of the “gum,” calibrates his Gabby Hayes pocket watch and leaves.
Cut to outside: Off comes the scuba scrubs to reveal him nattily dressed in Top Hat, White Tie, and Tails – which, come to think of it, kind of distracts from the effect. Well, there’s no accounting for taste.
Cut to interior where there is a regular Whingding and Fry happening. There is a looker doing the Dance of the Seven Veils and probably five of them are gone. Cries of “Yahoo!” and other such encouragement can be heard. Bonded nonchalantly checks his Mickey Mouse watch with the poisoned needle movement. He nonchalantly flicks his Bic to light his cigarette. There is a huge not so nonchalant explosion. Pandemonium! There go the other two veils!Mr. Bonded nonchalantly mosies over to the Piano Man who is nonchalantly playing “As Time Goes By.”
Piano Man: “Congratulations.”
Bonded: “Thank you.”
Piano Man: “Mr. Calimari and his friends will be out of business.”
Bonded: “At least he won’t be using heroin flavoured bananas to foster revolution.”
Piano Man: “Don’t go back to your hotel. It will be watched. There’s a plane for Key Largo that leaves in an hour.”
Bonded: “I’ll be there, but I’ve some unfinished business to attend to first. Hi ho!”
Cut to: Bonded’s hotel room. Babe is in the bathtub. Holding a towel to titillate? Cut to: Bonded as he enters and tosses keys onto table we don’t see, only hear. Camera cuts to: babe in the bathtub. Camera cuts to: Bonded tossing her a big fluffy towel. Takes off his dinner jacket and hangs it….somewhere. He turns and she’s in his arms and against the PPK Peashooter in his shoulder holster.
ReplyDeleteGirl: “Why you always carry that with you?”
Bonded, as he hangs it on the bed post: “Force of habit. Besides I have a huge inferiority complex. Where was I? Oh, yes…” And he’s in her arms again.
Behind him, the door opens and a hand with a double barreled frog sticker appears. Her eye moves just enough for Bonded to see the reflection of the dude in her eye. He swings her aside as the guy brings the weapon down, hitting the girl instead.
Big movie fight!
Bonded grabs the guy against the wall by his foot. Pulls his shoe and sock off and tickles. Kitchy-coo!
Guy: “Ohhh, hahahahaheeheeheeheeooooohhhheeeeehooo! I can’t stand it! Oooohoohooo! Stop! Eeeeheeheehee!”
Bonded, still holding the guy’s ankle swings him around into the tub. Uh, oh! He’s a-reachin’ fer Bonded’s gun. Bonded grabs the Jiffy-Pop popcorn maker which conveniently has a long extension cord off’n the table and Sandy Koufax’s it into the tub. The guy not only is electrocuted, but makes popcorn.
Bonded gets his gun, his keys, but leaves the girl and the popcorn popper and the dead guy.
Bonded: “Shocking!” Looks at the girl and repeats: “Shocking!!” as he leaves shaking his head
And Now: The Credits and the Big Song by Surely Gassey
Against a black background a kind of mildly cubist shifting pic of a babe are the credits as the song is sung:
ReplyDeleteMoldfinger
He’s the Man
The Man with the grimy touch
A slimy touch
Such an old finger
Beckons you to enter his slimy snare
But don’t go there
Moldy words he will pour in you nose
But his lies can’t disguise what you chose
For a moldy girl know when he’s pissed her
It’s the piss of death from Mister Moldfinger
Petty girl, beware of his liver of mold
This liver is sold.
He loves only mold
Only mold
He loves only mold
Only mold
He loves mold.
The Credits:
Albert B. Sauerkraut and Harry Peppersman Present
Present
Pawn Constantly
In Ima Fleshpot’s
Moldfinger
Staring
Honest Blackjack as
Pus Galore
Also staring
Pert Probe as
Moldfinger
The other players and crew
Song sung by Shurley Gassey
Music composed and conducted by Jugg Dairy
Title song lyrics by Les Brickhouse and An Oldie
Directed by Guy Hambone
Setting: Miami by way of the Key Largo. The swankiest hotel in the city.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful people doing what beautiful people do. Swimming, drinking, flirting. Guys watching gals and vice versa.
A decidedly overdressed man appears on the scene and walks past two decidedly underdressed woman. They smile their tacit approval at this decidely avuncular-looking man, whispering suggestive comments as he walks by.
The man blushes at the lewd comments but he secretly stores them away in his mental treasure chest to be taken out and played with later.
The man approaches a beach chair. A beautiful woman is giving a lucky fellow a massage.
"How's this?"
"Mmmm... it's nice... very nice."
"Just here?"
"No, a little lower."
"How about now?"
"Lower still... little bit lower... lower... there!"
The overdressed man says, "I thought I'd find you in good hands."
The lucky man removes the masseuse's hand from his nether region flips over and says, "Who the hell are you?"
"C'mon, buddy. Is that anyway to greet an old friend? It's me, Felix Lightintheloafers. Don't you recognise me, James?"
"Felix! How are you? No I didn't recognize you. Didn't you use to be a dead ringer for Jack Lord?"
"Oh yeah, I guess you don't know that we FBI guys have plastic surgery annually. Standard procedure for agents in the field. Ya never know when some nefarious super villian might remember something unpleasant that you've done to them and be looking for payback."
James Bonded, turning to the girl, introduces Dank. Dank meet Felix Lightintheloafers."
"Felix, say hello to Dank."
"Hi, Dank."
"Hello," Dank responds with a giggle. For some unexplained reason, she, too, finds him attractive.
"Dank, say goodbye to Felix."
"Ah, huh?"
"Man talk, darling. You wouldn't understand."
With a lawsuit worthy pat on Dank's behind she is thusly dismissed. It would be years later when she realized how angry she should have gotten at such a patronizing gesture. Ah, the good ol' days.
"You must be slipping, 007, letting the opposition get that close to you."
"What's on your mind, Felix? I'm on holiday."
"Not any more ol' buddy. Signal from London." Leitmotif hands Bonded a crumpled note.
"I might have known that M wouldn't book me into the best hotel in Miami out of gratitude."
"Stach Moldfinger. Sounds like some sort of horrible disease!"
"He's British. But he doesn't sound like it. Big operator, worldwide interests. All seem reputable. Owns one of the finest American stud farms. So far we don't have anything on him. Except..."
"C'mon, Felix, except what?"
"Stach Moldfinger cheats at cards."
"And where do I find him?"
Lightintheloafers points to a portly gent shambling down toward the beach tables.
Directing his attention to the tables along the retaining wall, Felix says, "That's his sucker waiting for him now. Moldfinger's been taking him to the cleaners every day for a week.
Moldfinger, ambling along in his roly-poly way, comes to where his mark is sitting.
"Morning, Mr. Simmons, ready for our little game?"
"Sure. When you're ten grand in the hole, you're ready for anything. Could I have my usual seat? "
"You and your suntan!"
"Same stakes?"
"Let's double it. Five dollars a point."
"Did you say five? Sometimes my hearing aid cuts out on me."
"My luck's gotta change some time."
"OK Mr. Simmons. Five it is."
Back at the MI6/FBI roundtable, Felix says, "I'll get back and cable M you're on the job."
"Fine. I'll call you later."
Part II:
ReplyDeleteThe chatter at the gaming table: "Four."
"So soon?"
"How many?"
Bonded, looking splendid in his terrycloth robe, stands before Moldfinger's private suite. Room number 905 for those of you paying attention.
Spying a room attendant, he corrals her.
"Miss?" as he weedles the master key from her and into the lock.
"Hey, what are you... ? That's Mr Moldfinger's suite!"
"Yes, I know. You're very sweet."
Stealthily entering the room he notices a knock 'em dead blonde in a skimpy bikini on the balcony veranda. She is looking through binoculars and speaking furtively into a microphone.
Sequentially she says, "He just drew the king of clubs. That makes his count 59. He's got a diamond run: eight, nine, ten. He's holding on to the six of spades, so I guess he thinks you want it. That last draw was the eight of hearts. He needs kings and queens."
Bond approaches the woman who has yet to notice him. Suddenly...
"Who are you?"
"The name's Bonded... James Bonded."
Moldfinger, cut from communications makes his play without benefit of his blonde confederate's instrution. He fumbles with the volume on his hearing device. No soap.
"Ha! Now that's more like it! First wrong play you've made all game, Moldfinger. About time!"
Part III:
ReplyDeleteMeanwhile back at balcony central Bonded asks, "What's your name?"
"Shill, Shill Masterson. My friends call me Shilly but you can call me anytime you want!"
"Tell me, Shilly. Why does he do it?"
"He likes to win."
"Why do you do it?"
"He pays me."
"Is that all he pays you for?"
"And for being seen with him. I'm his arm candy."
"Just seen?"
"Well, occasionally I have to shave his armpits."
"You're much too nice to help him cheat at cards or... anything."
Bond leans in close to Shilly and picks up the transmitter. Now hear this, Moldfinger. Your luck has just changed. I doubt if the Miami Beach police would take kindly to what you're doing. Agree? Start losing! Nod if you agree! NOD!"
Moldfinger nods his assent.
"Good! Now start losing, shall we say $10,000? No, let's be generous. Let's make it $15,000."
"Over and out. There, that should keep him occupied for quite some time."
"I'm beginning to like you, Mr. Bonded, more than anyone I've met in a long time."
"Call me James. How about dinner? I know the best place in town."
The best place in town happened to be in Bonded's room. Passionate love ensued interrupted by the jarring ring of the telephone.
"Lightintheloafers here. Got time for dinner?"
"No, look Felix, I'm sorry. Something big has come up.
Who is she, James? Never mind. Well, how about breakfast?"
"I'll call you around nine."
Bonded lazily fished out the bottle of wine he'd been saving for just such an occasion.
"Oh, what a pity. It's lost its chill!"
"Oh, James, leave it."
"No worries, darling. There's another in the fridge."
Shilly, pouting says, "Who needs it? Come to bed, James and make love to me!"
"My dear Shilly, some things just aren't done. Such as drinking Boone's Farm Apple Wine above a temperature of 38° Fahrenheit. That's as bad as listening to Petula Clark without earmuffs."
"Geez James, Boone's Farm? Really?"
"Sorry, darling. They were all out of Dom Perignon '53 at the local Piggly Wiggly. Now... where is that passion juice?
A swift chop to the back of Bonded's neck and lights out. An ominous dark shadow creeps across the wall. It is massive and appears to be wearing a bowler hat.
Bonded wakes with terrible neck pain and a splitting headache. He picks up the phone.
"Yes, Mr Bond?"
"Beach 79432, Room 119."
"Hello?"
"Hello, Felix. Get over here right away."
"What's happened?" -
"The girl's dead."
"Dank?
"No, Masterson. Shill Masterson. And she's covered in mold..."
London ... Big Ben and Westminster Palace look like a postcard or some stock footage from an MGM vault where a guy named Stubs works.
ReplyDeleteM's office was exactly as you might imagine-- staid, tidy, and with a load of Mad Magazines cleverly hidden with faux binders that made them resemble old hardcover classics.
"Mold? Covered in it?" "She died of skin suffocation. It's been known to happen to sweaty cabaret dancers and members of Ice Capades with those clingy spandex costumes. M, I know who did this awful thing." Bonded's jaw clenched and his buttocks tightened. "Now, now, this isn't a personal vendetta, double-o-seven. It's an assignment like any other. And if you can't treat it as such, coldly and objectively, then double-o-eight can replace you. Or do I have to contact double-o-six ... Oh, wait, that's right, I'd have to go to the cemetery to do that, wouldn't I?" M's tone was needling. He and James both knew full well that 006 died because he took things personally and sought revenge, and it all ended badly one summer afternoon at the circus in a horrific scene involving a trained monkey in a sailor suit and an evil pair of Finnish trapeze artist brothers. Sadly, everyone survived.
James said, "No worries, I can keep things cool. I just wish I knew what this whole case was about, Mickey." "Call me M, you dolt. You want the whole building to hear my real name?" M sat at his desk and mentally admired his miniature golf trophies which sat in front of him. He even won the coveted Tiny Pencil Award. He said, "What do you know about mold?" James gave M a condescending look and said "I know it when I smell it." "Meet me here at seven. Black tie, black undies." M didn't even look up; he was reading his mail (Fredericks of Hollywood catalog).
Miss Pennycandy was pondering a file cabinet as Bonded emerged into her office. She was symmetrical, just past her prime, and wore a Woolworths dress that could pass for JC Penney. Bonded said, "What do you know about mold, Pennycandy?" "James, you have an uncanny knack for making anything sound sexy. Come on, say something else that's gross." "All right, um ... Grandma's feet. Lima beans. Songs by Air Supply. The bathroom right after M's used it." They both chuckled. She tossed her head back playfully and said, "Come on-a my house, tonight for dinner. I'll buy an Entenmann's crumb cake, and you can lick my fingers after." M's voice suddenly came from the intercom: "Girl, get real, he is having dinner with me tonight. So kindly stop flirting and leave Mr. Bonded alone." James grabbed his hat and headed for the door. "Pennycandy, our day will come. I get drunk often, and you're easy." He winked and left.
Part A:
ReplyDeleteCut to the plush London digs of M. One might wonder how a public servant in Her Majesty’s Service could have a Domicile so Large and Lavishly Furnished. Wall sconces with electric candles, the sconces in the form of faces with forefingers at the mouths: “Shhhh.” There’s a chandelier with little rotating blips of light that emit a faint beeping sound. On a table in the foreground is a bowl of fruit that says “Candid Microphone.” A globe of goldfish, normal until a close up reveals that their eyes are camera shutters that go off as the cavort around a castle with a tiny dish antenna waving to and fro merrily. Instead of pictures on the walls; slogans: “Loose lips sink ships,” “HellOh, Sailor!” “What’s said and done here stays here,” “Better Buried than Blab: This means you!,” “Post no bills,” “For a good time call Piccadilly 007-666; in New Jersey, Bigelow 007-6969.” One real picture of the Queen, her eyes always on you, but bizarrely wearing a dress with a definite cleavage and a side slit exposing a most succulent leg.
The floor is heavily carpeted; eight inches thick. One could virtually disappear in it. Some possibly may have. Three men are seated around a heavy oak table with ornate legs, one that we see actually has a speaker from which ambient music is playing softly the Moldfinger theme. Bonded is standing leaning nonchalantly against a pedestal on which is a bust of Pallas on which sits a raven with his beak nailed shut.
One of the men is speaking as a butler hands round cigars. M takes one, clips it with a monogrammed clipper, lights it and takes a puff and….it explodes, to a general burst of hilarity from all.
Banker #1: “Have some more of this rather disappointing Boone’s Farm rot gut, Mr. Bonded.
M. (Waving away smoke and speaking through scorched lips): “What’s wrong with it? Cost me all of Thrupence Tuppence and a ‘A’Penny!”
Bonded: “I’d say it was bottled yesterday, approximately 4:59 p.m., closing time being 5:00, indifferently blended, with a slight after taste of (sniffs snifter) hensbane.”
Banker #1: “ I was saying, we at the Bank of Haywire-on-Twine, because of our excellent, and otherwise pretty good, security are entrusted with some of England’s most sensitive, shall we say, materials, items, and things; in short: Stuff.”
M. (Wiping cigar flakes and gunpowder residue from his forehead) “Much as does the U. S. at Fort Pox”
Banker #2: “What we’re concerned about is a particular strain of Stachybotris.”
Bonded: “I think I’ve come upon it. Rather deadly, apparently.”
M. (picking bits of cigar and ash from his teeth): “Yes, but the form we’re concerned about is a mutation, created jointly with the Americans, for weaponry purposes and stored both at the bank these gentlemen represent and at Fort Pox. This particular mold could be as devastating as an H bomb if it got in the wrong hands.”
Bonded: “I can imagine.”
M. (Shaking his toupee) “No, you can’t double O.” (He calls him Double O for short.) “This is the most insidious, most diabolical, most heinous thing ever developed by Man!” (M. shudders emitting a cloud of ash.)
Bonded: (Nonchalantly pouring his snifter of rot gut over the raven, and its feathers fall off): “What could be worse than An H bomb?”
M. (Brushing residue from what had been his white tie and tails, still shuddering): “This variety of mold doesn’t kill.”
Bonded: “Then it can’t be the most insidious, etc. weapon.” (The raven nonchalantly falls off its perch and foam comes out of its beak and its eyes pop out of their sockets.)
M. “You don’t understand, Double O.” (Still shuddering and getting more ash on the carpet.)
It’s what it does to anyone it happens to come in contact with.”
Part M.)
ReplyDeleteBonded (nonchalantly cleaning his nails with a boy scout knife with a belt in the back):
“And that is……”
M. (shakily wiping his tux with a napkin dipped in the rot gut ): “Why this weapon is so insidious, diabolical, and heinous is….is….is…..
Bonded (beginning to draw blood from his manicure, but still nonchalant): “Yes….yes….yessss?”
M. Because, well, one eency-teency infinitesimal bit that falls on anyone….
Bonded: (Nonchalantly bandaging the hand he’d been manicuring): “Yes…?”
M. “Well, it makes the person it touches….”
Bonded: “Yes?”
M. “Well….it makes him (or her) ….ah….in a word….Silly!”
Bonded nonchalantly faints.
Parte Une:
ReplyDeleteA generous splash of Boone's Farm aroused Bonded from his nonchalant stupor. In a few minutes he had fully recovered.
"I apologize, gentlemen. Talk of insidiousness and diabolical mischief makes me quite faint. Throw in a bit of intellectual mumbo-jumbo and whatnot and I'm a goner. Pray continue but have the butler stand close by with smelling salts."
M, with a sniffling of his uppercrust nose, said, "As I was saying... we at MI6 7/8 are well aware of the amounts of 'stuff' held in trust by present company here as well as the holdings deposited in other banks and institutions. What we are most concerned with is... (pregnant pause for effect) ...unauthorised leakages."
Banker #1: Right. The majority of our holdings here in England and abroad represent almost 97% of the world's stockpiles. Domestically, the stockpile consists of mostly the generic form of Peniccilum mold used for the stinky cheeses: Gorgonzola, Roguefort, Stilton, Limberger and the like.
Banker #2: Indeed, however... (yet another meaninful pause) ... a very small amount of the so-called death mold, Stachybotris Chartarum, is held in what we hope is an impenetrably secure location. I'm of course referring to Fort Pox in Kentucky. Our American friends have a lock on it and they have assured us that they've swallowed the key.
Banker #1: So far the amount of this stuff is of no concern. But if some bad actor, such as our friend, Moldfinger, gets his hands on it and not only increases stockpiled quantities but also weaponizes it in the manner previously described, well, that would be a very sticky wicket indeed!
M: We have reason to believe that Moldfinger and his gaggle of evil scientists have developed the strain Stachybotris Hilarium Emensus, or SHE, an extremely dangerous and hilarity inducing mold. Can you imagine the chaos if this stuff is released here and abroad? The mirth that would ensue would render us, our military and security services, not to mention the general citizenly absolutely helpless. We'd be laughing so hard we'd be defenseless! We have reason to believe that Moldfinger's crew have found a way to synthesize the SHE mold and are currently working on ways to increase their holdings to amounts that would prove disatrous.
Bonded: I take it you mean extreme giggling.
M: No 007, I mean out and out guffawing! Meanwhile the bad guys, no doubt wearing gas masks, could swoop in and take or do whatever damn well pleases them. Now do you understand the gravity of this situation? The prospect of laying hands on the SHE mold will attract the biggest and most ingenious of criminals. If one such a criminal, such as our illustrious Moldfinger, could corner that market, why, he could set his own price and he'd get it. Sky's the limit!
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteParte Deux:
ReplyDeleteBanker #1: Apart from being a legitimate card sharp, Mr. Moldfinger poses as a... no, that's not quite fair... IS, among his many other interests, a legitimate distributor of the stinkiest cheeses in the world.
Banker #2: He's legally entitled to operate modest stinky cheese installations. His British one is down in Stilton. We've failed to discover how he managed to get his hands on enough of the Stachybotris to attempt the transformation to SHE.
Banker #1: And Lord knows we've tried.
Bonded: I think it's time Mr Moldfinger and I met. Socially, of course.
Banker #1: I was hoping you'd say that. It might lead to a business talk... Mr Moldfinger's kind of business.
Bonded: I'll need some sort of bait.
Banker #1: I quite agree. Here, maybe this will whet Mr. Moldfinger's appetite. A little bit of something for the mousetrap.
Limburger! Bond swooned and almost fainted again and would have done had it not been for the ministrations of the trusty smelling salts-welding butler thereby saving the day.
Banker #1: Ahem... as I was saying, this Limburger block is the only one we have from the Nazi supply we confiscated from Lake Tiddycacca. That fat-assed Goering used to eat this stuff like it was going out of style. The putrid odour is caused by the bacterium Brevibacterium Magnus PU. Mr Bonded can make whatever use of it he thinks fit.
Banker #2: Providing he returns it, of course. It's worth £5,000.
Bonded: Damned expensive for a moldy bit of cracker spread. Well, let's have it...
M: You'll draw it from Q branch with your equipment in the morning.
Bonded: Of course, sir.
The next morning, Bonded was standing amid the wondrous inventions, tinkerings and doodads of Q Branch.
Bonded: Morning, Q.
Q: Morning, double-o-seven. This way, please.
ReplyDeleteThe place was a beehive of hubbub-- skinny and pasty scientists and nerds working on every imaginable doo-dad and gadget: a parking meter that sprays a cloud of gas that smells like an exhumed skunk, a cigarette lighter that changes instantly into an umbrella that acts like a bullet proof shield (and can also heat up instant soup for lunch on the go), a bow tie that is secretly a camera and can also spray water in your friends' faces, etc.
James: Where's my Bentley? I've missed her.
Q: Forget her. She died.
James: No.
Q: Okay, we accidentally dropped her out the window and she fell twelve stories onto a bus load of nuns.
James: (shudders) Holy moly. My poor baby.
Q: Meet your new wheels. This sweet little gem is an Ass-Finned Martian DB5 with modifications and eight-track player. Bullet proof windshield, windows, doors. And naturally, revolving license plates.
He pressed a button and the existing plate which said SPY GUY1 flipped vertically to a replacement plate which read ABBA FAN.
Q: And here's a nifty little transmitting device. We use technology from those walkie talkies you get down at the toy shop. It looks like an ordinary metallic object that most people have never seen before. It fits in your underpants but we always advise warming it up a bit first.
Bonded marvelled at the equipment. Q continued.
Q: Dashboard has video console for tracking villains, getting directions via computer at home base, and it also picks up broadcasts of "Three's Company". I'm especially fond of that Mr. Furley. He cracks me up good, he does.
James: Bit of a snazzy dresser, too. Well, you boys have outdone yourselves. I can't wait to get my hands on these fun things.
Q: You are to return all of them, every item, in the condition they are in now. None of this nonsense where you come back from a mission with half of the gadgets we lent you, or a paper grocery bag full of broken bits of various items. Honestly, double-o-seven, you puzzle me. None of the other agents I work with act like someone who just escaped a teen home for the careless and horny.
James: Anything else, Q?
Q: Yes. I'll only keep you for another three hours or so. I must have your undivided attention. We've installed some rather fragilistic modifications. The trunk doubles as a cozy work/study area, should you require it, complete with a little desk and a green lamp. Also, with the flip of this switch on the steering wheel, one can widen the car to twice its size, or make it ten feet tall and really skinny. Just don't try doing both at the same time. We still get hospital bills from an incident five years ago.
Bonded tried to wrap his brain around that.
Q: Ah, and your defense mechanism controls here on the console ... smoke screen in your choice of colors, and the classic chocolate pudding slick, plus machine guns from the headlights. And the gear shift, over here, this opens up on top to reveal a Revlon Lipstick that, if touched, engages the passenger eject control. The roof of the car opens and the person is launched upwards about twenty feet in the air. This is desirable on a date when you've lost interest and just want to head home and read a comic book in bed.
James: Ejector seat, you're joking.
Q: I never joke about my work. But there's this one about a priest, a rabbi and a lumberjack who walk into the fitting rooms at Macy's.
James knew he was in for a long and dull time.
Rhan Un:
ReplyDeleteDolly in to a shop sign:
Ye Olde Mouldy Cheese and Sports Emporium, LTD.
Cut into shop where a sketch is winding down
Moldfinger: “So what would you say is the most popular cheese in these hyar parts?
Proprietor: “Ah, double veined stinky Stilton, sir”
Moldfinger: “Is it?”
Proprietor: “Yes, indeedy…sir.”
Moldfinger: “Well, have you got any? He said, fully expecting the answer: ‘No!’”
Proprietor: “I’ll have a look see. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnnnnnno.
Moldfinger: “Not much of a cheese shop, is it?”
Proprietor: “Finest in the County Down.”
Moldfinger: “And how is it you reach that conclusion.?”
Proprietor: “Well, it’s so clean.”
Moldfinger: “Well, it’s certainly uncontaminated by cheese.”
Both engage in a chuckle.
Proprietor: “Well, sir, you were looking for a handicapper that’s real sincere.”
Moldfinger: “Yes?”
Propretor: “Same line of work you’re in. Same handicap.” (Chuckles a little as if at a pun.) Mr. Bonded.”
Cuid a Dó
ReplyDeleteCamera pans to figure that has been nonchalantly barely in frame. Camera full on Bonded, for it is he.)
Bonded: “Yes?”
Proprietor: “May I introduce you to Mr. Moldfinger.”
Camera pans to Moldfinger looking at Bonded with an expression rather like that of one having encountered rather bad Limburger.
Moldfinger: “How do you do?”
Bonded: “Quite well, actually. Shall we say a pound a point?”
Proprietor: “I’ll have Llewellyn as your second, Mr. Bonded, if that’s alright.”
Camera point of view shifts as Bonded and Moldfinger leave the shoppe.
Bonded stops short, figuratively speaking, of course.
Camera pans to Odd Joke, a chunky oriental, straight out of a bad Charlie Chan movie. There is a very tinny and sinister brief upper register squeak from poorly tuned violins.
Odd Joke smiles as best he can. The effect is somewhere between that of a woman whose face is loaded with Botox and a bilious dog.
Moldfinger: “You’ll have to excuse Odd Joke. Excellent man-slave, but as a second, well, not much Western sport in Outer Inner Mongolia.”
Voice over: Ah! The Great Out of Doors! Your play-by-play announcer is Cyril Westly-Eastly
“They’re teeing up at the first hole and Bonded, after some repartee with Moldfinger – Old Moldy, as he is known in some circles – sends the ball down the fairway. Moldfinger tees off and – oh, bad luck! The ball slices into a peat bog. They’re looking for the ball now. Can’t find it. Oh-oh, the camera catches Odd Joke with his hand in his pants pocket doing something that is either naughty or – No! a ball falls out of his cuff! He indicates he’s found it! Old Stach picks it up. Bonded and MacCruimhin exchange looks! Oh, the looks those Celts give each other! The camera is honing in on Bonded’s foot that rises just enough to show….He’s standing on Moldfinger’s ball.
And now a word from our sponsor: Godley and Crème’s edible soap: “Please buy it! Please!
Bonded’s man, Kerouac, is out on the Pitch, but it’s a sticky wicket for certain, and here’s the pitch up and Bonded bats a Fiver! This is thrilling!
But now a word for Blatchy’s Biscuits: guaranteed to make your teeth fall out.
Oh, the hell with it!
ReplyDeletePart Three
Back to the match. Odd Joke is doing the Cibi to distract. Very terrifying! But Bonded has emerged from the scrum and scored a Try and now kicks a Conversion for two more points. Looks very bad for Moldfinger’s side. Bonded’s main man, Treweelbarrow, made an important pass to set up the points.
Remember this match is presented to you live by Treweelbarrow’s favorite: Darling Devon’s Clotted Cream: the only clotted cream made with real clots.
And Bonded takes a neat assist from his man, Ó Súilleabháin, and with a header sends the ball past Odd Joke into the net. What an exciting game this has been! And all because of our sponsor: Bobbie Burns’ Shortbread Haggis.
The game is nearly over and it’s a dead heat! It’s anybody’s game. Does anybody want it?
Odd Joke sends his bowler into the path of the ball after Bonded’s mate, Connaghyn Shimmin, is about to intercept and knocks the pigskin into the hands of Moldfinger in the end zone. The refs didn’t catch it and it’s a touchdown! Wait! Bonded is asking for the ball. Let’s see if we can catch what is being said.
Bonded: “I don’t think this is your ball, sir. Yours had the target with the bullet hole in it and this one has the Union Jack and Jill. I’m afraid the game is forfeit and you have lost and the limburger loaf is still mine and you owe me 5,000 pounds.”
Moldfinger slams his Louisville Slugger into the ground so hard the logo is covered up. He stomps off, yelling: “You’ll get it in cheese!”
Bonded, waiting his chance, slips a magnetic homing device inside the trunk lid of Moldfinger's luxurious sedan.
ReplyDeleteLater, a disgruntled Moldfinger sits inside his beautiful Rolls. The body of which is painted to resemble Stilton with several putrid blue veins of mold in a pleasing pattern throughout.
Bonded: She's a beauty. A Phantom of the Opera III isn't she?
Moldfinger: You are a clever and resourceful man, Mr Bonded. Perhaps too clever. Twice our paths have crossed. Let's leave it at that. Didn't our first meeting convince you?
This brought up the haunting image of Shilly, covered in mold.
Bonded: Oh, I see. You're worried about me not giving you a return match.
Moldfinger: Both of us know perfectly well what we're talking about, Mr Bonded. But I see that it is necessary to remind you. Oddjoke!
Oddjoke removes his very special bowler hat and slings it Frisbee style toward a cement lawn garden statue of a naked lady. The hat whooshes through the air, narrowly missing the club secretary. He and Rodney Dangerfield had been signing, making furtive gestures and silently laughing. The bowler strikes and the statue is neatly decapitated. The head and hat lay together in close juxtaposition, the contrasts of colors (white of the statue, black of the bowler) stand in sharp relief against the Bermuda grass. Dangerfield mumbles something about the statue not gettin' no respect' as he adjusts his skinny polka-dot tie.
Moldfinger: Many people have tried to involve themselves in my affairs... unsuccessfully.
Bonded: Remarkable. But what does the club secretary have to say?
Part II:
ReplyDeleteNothing much, Mr. Bonded. He, like Oddjoke, is mute. He once disagreed with me on a minor point about Cricket and I had his tongue removed. In fact, all my employees are mute. I find opinions contrapunctal to my own distressing and, anyway, even if the club secretary could talk, it wouldn't matter. You see, Mr. Bonded, I own the club.
Here's your £5,000 worth of cheese. A Stilton and Gargonzola mix. Goodbye, Mr Bonded.
We now find our intrepid on the tarmac of a small airfield. A loudspeaker blares out "British United Air Ferries announce the departure of their DS-400 flight to Geneva. Calling all secret agents with a double-O prefix all-aboard please.
Flight DS-400, with its special cargo of secret agent and the Ass-Finned Martian DB5 (with special modifications) land safely in Geneva. We see our hero driving amidst the beautiful Swiss picture post card perfection of mountain countryside. The DB5 engine purring along when suddenly a 1965 Mustang Sally with a 289 high-performance engine roars its way past. Bonded notices its driver is a beautiful sandy blonde (with special modifications). His instinct is to pop a gear and give chase but...
"Discipline, 007... discipline.
Discipline indeed! The homing device tracks the movements of his quarry. He pulls to the roadside and there just below he spies Oddjoke and Moldfinger. They had stopped to purchase fruit, no doubt to go along with the Gorgonzola. Of a sudden a report from above! A high-powered rifle strikes the pavement not inches away from Bonded's feet. Moldfinger, thus alerted, repair to safety.
Bonded sho is mad now! After a terrifically exciting chase, he disables Mustang lady by engaging nasty-looking retractable spinners that play hell with her tires, not to mention making a terrible gash along the side. In the ditch!
Bonded: Are you all right?
Mysterious Mustang Lady: I... I think so.
Bonded: No, I was talking to the car. What a shame.
MML: Look at my tyres!
Bonded: A double blowout. Fancy that. I've never seen one of these before.
MML: Never mind that. Please take me to a garage.
Bonded: Certainly. By the way, my name is Bonded, Ja...
MML: As quickly as possible.
Bonded: What's your name, by the way?
MML: Sexobject. Shally Sexobject.
Bonded, noticing the gun case and the initials SM in stark relief to the teak wood. Shally... Masterson! Masterson, of course. Shilly's sister. Shilly Shally. How quaint.
"Here for the hunting season? I had a case just like that one."
Shally: It's for my roller skates.
Bonded: Lovely sport.
Shally: There's a garage. Pull in there please.
Shally goes inside and finds a young woman with deep red hair rolled up into a severe bun.
"Oh, fräulein gas attendant! I've had an accident. How long will it take?"
"Ach, der lieber! Hold your saeurbraten. Several hours liebchen."
Shally: Eva Braun says it'll take two hours to get new tyres. There's a hotel nearby."
Bonded: Jump in. I'll run you down.
Shally: That won't be necessary. At any rate, you've already run me down. Once is enough.
Bonded: I hate to leave you here alone. Oh well, don't forget to write. Ciao.
There was a darling little factory complex labeled STACHY ENTERPRISES that James was eyeing through his Nancy Drew Official Binoculars. He saw that Moldfinger's cheesemobile was parked in front of one of the buildings, and there were several Winkie Guards hanging about. James waited until dark-- that's when he did stealth best. By then he had cunningly changed into his trusty black burglar ensemble (he fancied it made him resemble Catwoman ... Julie Newmar, of course). He carefully made his way to the complex; employee voices could be heard faintly in the background, including snatches of talk about last night's ball game on television, as well as the rumor that their boss had been seen eating bits of his car recently with some sort of crackers that seemed rather expensive.
ReplyDeleteBonded moved on, passing some metal drums and a sign on a wall that said, in German, "EINTRITT STRENGSTENS VERBOTEN" ("entry strictly forbidden"). This astonished him because it was the same phrase that he had tattooed on his backside during college.
Two guards, outfitted in spiffy blue jumpsuits with snazzy golden belts, suddenly appeared, forcing Bonded to bolt out of their view. He scaled the building with the prowess of a mountain lion who just gulped down a six pack of Pepsi cans and a pack of Pop Rocks. 007 could hear the two men's exchange below as they strolled by: "Oh, the stars are out tonight, look, they're beautiful. There's Orion's Tool Belt." "Yeah, and over there's Ursa L'Undress. Ooh, and Medusa Buying Snake Food. So cool."
James suddenly noticed Moldfinger giving a private tour of the facility to notorious underworld cellist Yo-Yo Ma. "Smuggling is an art, Mr. Ma, and art requires funding. Did I mention you get a free tote bag when you invest in my latest venture? But look who I'm talking to, you probably have done a dozen public television pledge drives over the years." Yo-yo stifled a yawn as Moldfinger went on, "We reduce the cheese mold in this special furnace, here. Lookit." They waited a moment and then kept walking, out of the factory area and then outside into the cool air of evening. Ma said, "You'd be wise to curtail your other operations, Stachybotris. Your ski chalet, your magic shop. One needs pure focus to succeed." Moldfinger scoffed and replied, "Rubbish, Mr. Ma ... I assure you that Operation Wham Bam will have my undivided--" and then he noticed something shiny on the ground and had to examine it. Just an old Hello Kitty keychain. He quietly pocketed it, for his collection at home.
Bonded was satisfied with what he had witnessed. It was more than enough. He vanished into the night, over the factory rooftops where he said a cheery Hello to Mary Poppins and Bert, then into the forest above where he nestled on a hillside under a tree and removed his black backpack where he kept his most crucial tools and weapons (or if it was Sunday afternoon, a lovely picnic lunch). Just then, a noise! Someone behind the hillside was moving about, carrying a rifle or something. James pounced and landed on a female, tripping a wire that started an alarm at the factory below. The siren blared as startled wimpy employees ran around in circles and muttered ancient oriental curse words. James realized that the person under him was Shilly Shally, who blurted, "I want him dead! He killed my sister. And he wears the ugliest tuxedo I've ever seen." Gunshots sounded nearby and Bonded knew he had to get her out of there. They hopped into his car, as angry factory workers Kenny, Fong, and Nigel followed in another car.
Part the one
ReplyDeleteVoice over:
“And now we’re into the turn~! AND THEY’RE OFF!!!! Bonded is in front by a length. K., F., and N. are in a black Mercedes. P., D., and Q. are in a second Mercedes. L., S.,/ M., F., T have overloaded a third Mercedes. S., O., S. in a fourth, are signaling for help. So we have enough for a rubber of Bridge.
But it’s out!
Bonded deftly makes a hairpin turn and all follow suit and B., O. in a fifth Mercedes are stinking up the rear.
Bonded takes his tricked out Ass-Finned Martian DB5 out of the woods and onto the road to Mandalay, headed for Indonesia where Lotte Lenya will be singing “Surabaja Johnny” to a packed house in Bilbao. Bonded opens his console of tricks and flicks a switch and the rear bonnet pops open and scads of banana peels pour out and #3, which has moved to second, hits the peels and goes out of control and topples over the White Cliffs of Dover and into the Channel.
Mercedes #4 passes #2. #5 passes #4 which passes #7. (Where’d he come from?) # 2 passes #6. #10 passes everybody and we’re in the Sahara desert on the way to Cairo where there’ll be a stop for dessert.”
At this point, the film breaks, since digital is still a few decades away, and most everyone in the theater takes a potty break and/or heads to the concession stand.
An announcement is made by the Usher that the house is ready to resume the movie. (Remember the multiplex is still several years away so this is the only film being shown.)
The chase is now in the Himalayas and Bonded and Silly have scaled Mt. Everest and we pick up the play-by-play announcer who has returned from having a smoke.
Voice Over: “Bonded flips a switch and the mating cry of the Yeti blares out over the mountains and echoes and echoes and echoes and echoes and etc.”
On the screen a mass of Yetis, courtesy of Roy Harryhausen’ s stop motion factory, scramble from all sides and hides the little Ass-finned Martian from view and we fade to: the Autobahn and the play by play announcer is taking a tea break.
Car #6 and Car #1’s occupants are on either side of the little AH peppering it with machine gun fire while Car #5 is doing the same from its rear. Car #8 passes everybody and makes a U-turn so it is now coming towards Bonded from the front. Fortunately the tyres can’t be deflated by bullets because if that happens the rubber just flies away revealing sterling steel wheels like old time tractors. Bonded flips a switch and the back bonnet flies open again and this time a heavy iron beam with a huge boxing glove at the end shoots out, hits car 5 and it crumples like a beer can. Bonded flips another switch and from the wind screen washer
Part the Two
ReplyDeleteports a mist of ink envelopes the windscreen of #8, another switch and, gunning the car, it rises on extensions from the axels and passes over 5. Number five hits the wreck of #5. At the same time two missiles shoot from a unit underneath the car hitting #6 and #1. Explosions all around. That leaves what. Never mind. The Play-by-play announcer has finished his tea.
Voice over: “Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it? Looks like we’ve come full circle and are headed for the finish line. “
Voice over: “Bonded, with one of the Mercedes on his tail shooting bullets, looks at his console. A fork in the road. He llmost turns right, but turns left. Oh, bad luck! Another Mercedes (How does Moldfinger afford all these expensive cars?) is heading at him. Oh, My! They’re on a cliff! Bonded screeches to a halt”
Bonded, to Silly: “Run for that bracken when I tell you.”
Voice over: “Bonded’s bullet proof screen is rising. He’s out with his Werther PEZ, a nifty little weapon that shoots exploding candies. And he’s firing away!”
Bonded, to Silly: “Now!”
Voice over: “And there she goes, off into the bracken. Oh-oh, Odd Joke sees her and there goes his hat! Catches her right between the fifth and sixth vertebrae, I should say. She drops like a sack of overdone Haggis. Well, this is the end of Reel 5 and I’m off. You’re on your own from now on, I think.”
Bonded runs into the woods. Then Odd Joke comes into view. He strides forward, following, then a Inner Outer Mongolia guard follows him.
Bonded looks at Silly, and turns her over. Yes, she looks silly and her expression is silly. And, of course, she’s dead. Bonded leans nonchalantly against a tree. Odd Joke clumps to Bonded.
Odd Joke: “Arrrhhh! Arrrrrhhh!”
Bonded is surrounded. Without a look at Silly, Bonded gets in the driver’s side of the Ass-Finned Martian, and Odd Joke with gun drawn beside him. The others somehow pile in.
Bonded, nonchanlantely : “All right, boys, where to?”
One Banana
ReplyDeleteHere was Odd Joke in the passenger side, smirking. A seemingly inexhaustible supply of Koreans were stuffed in where ever they'd fit.
Odd Joke: Ahhh ahhh!
Bonded: Say which??
Korean #1 (spiffy blue jumpsuit, snazzy golden belt): Staunchy Factory. You go back, now!
Bonded knew the jig was up unless he did some fancy tap dancing. Just as Staunchy Enterprises came into view he quickly downshifted. What had Q told him? Ah yes, flip the top of the gear shift lever and... yes, there it was: the Revlon Lipstick ejection button. Crimson Pirate Number 7, if memory served (he had used it on a previous assignment). Bonded pressed the button and Odd Job was rudely ejected; not twenty feet as advertised by Q but, owing to his portliness, cleared the roof by no more than ten feet. Quite enough though.
Simultaneously, a gas mask descending from the roof of the tricked out Ass-Finned DB5 and affixed itself over Bonded's chiseled visage. A foul green fog enveloped the compartment with a horrible smelling stench. If one were standing outside, one could see spiffy blue jumpsuits with snazzy golden belts quickly frantically exiting out of both sides, the ghastly fumes spilling out after them.
Bonded, using Evasion Technique Number 2 straight from manual: Section EV21.7-5, peeled out and was immediately followed by a seemingly inexhaustible fleet of Mercedes Sedans. No need to go into a long-drawn out description of what followed. Suffice it to say owing to a nasty bit of mirror trickery, he wound up crashing the DB5 into a brick wall. Lights out for our hero until...
Bonded, restrained on what appeared to be a large oaken cutting board, awoke to...
"Good evening, 007."
"The name's Bonded, James Bonded."
"I know who you are and members of your curious profession are few in number. You have been recognized. Ho ho, ha ha! That interesting car of yours! Where do you get those wonderful toys? I, too, have a new toy but considerably more practical. I will show you."
Bonded looked up to see a contraption hovering over him. It appeared to be right out of a copy of 'Teen-age Science Fiction Magazine' that had so fascinated him as a lad. It whirred and hummed ominously.
"You are looking at an industrial mold shooter. It's a modified design based loosely on a child's Super Soaker splash toy. It emits a steady, concentrated stream of self-replicating flesh-eating mold. Stachybotrys chartarum is the scientific name but, thanks to special formulations by my team of scientists, has been rendered infinitely more deadly than the domestic kind, which, in itself, is bad enough."
Of a sudden a concentrated beam with a terrifying greenish yellow glow appeared between the splayed feet of our hero. It made slow, steady progress along the cutting board heading toward 007's junk.
"This is mold, Mr. Bonded. All my life I've been in love with its color, its putridity, its divine yuckiness. I welcome any enterprise that will increase my stock, which is considerable. Unfortunately for you it will not merely be a bad case of crotch rot. No, you're a special agent and therefore your case requires 'special treatment'. So, Mr. Bonded, owing to its increased destructive properties, the SCUM (Stachybotrys Chartarum Ultra Mold), shall encase your body inch by inch in a particularly vicious and, I might add excruciatingly painful... well, you shall see!"
"I think you've made your point, Moldfinger. Thank you for the demonstration."
ReplyDelete"Choose your next witticism carefully, Mr. Bonded. It may be your last. Good night."
"Do you expect me to talk?"
"No, Mr. Bonded, I expect you to turn into a moldy excremental mass of loathsome, detestable putridity. At any rate, there is nothing you can talk to me about that I don't already know."
"You're forgetting one thing... if I fail to report, 008 replaces me."
"I trust that she will be more successful."
"Well, she knows what I know."
"You know nothing, Mr. Bonded."
"Operation Wham Bam, for example."
"Two words you may have overheard which cannot possibly have any significance to you or anyone in your organization."
"Can you afford to take that chance?"
At this disturbing question, Moldfinger was distracted from a highly interesting discussion with his head scientist about the new 'Tiddly Winks Special Edition,' released just last week by Hasbro.
"You are quite right, Mr Bonded. You are worth more to me alive."
A minion approached, tranquilizer gun in hand. With a soft 'whump' the dart did its work quickly and it was lights out once again for our intrepid agent.
He came to and there was a woman, out of focus so she might have been Angie Dickenson or Wilma Flintstone. What a gorgeous blonde this was! "Who are you?"said James. "My name is Woozy Gabor. " He liked what he saw. "Love your voice, girly. Shades of Kate Hepburn, that whole 'uppity Yankee' attitude. Where are we, anyhoo, Barbie's Dream Lounge which gor taken over by Catwoman?" Woozy didn't crack a smile. ... she was trained this way years ago at Saint Molly's Academy for Precocious Teen Girls Who Seem Like They'll End Up in an Educational Film About Social Disease. "You are in Mr. Moldfinger's jet headed for Baltimore. And you're his guest." She was about to sing "Be Our Guest" but 007 interrupted: "I knew he enjoyed my company. Straight guys seldom say to another man 'Bet I can fit your whole foot in my mouth' without being completely drunk."
ReplyDeleteWoozy called the oriental stewardess. "Mei Mei Hey Hey!" And an adorable reject from It's a Small World appeared and asked what she could get Bonded. "Dry martini, shaken and shimmied like your folks are out for the night."She went to prepare it. James asked Woozy Gabor to join him in the martini. "Ya think we'll both fit?" she said, stifling a chuckle. "Here's to Operation Wham Bam." He oozed all the sex appeal he could. But she said "You can turn off the charm, Irish Spring. I dig chicks." This, of course, was toned down for the movies, and her line was looped in Post to say "I'm immune to men so hot they make me want to howl like Lon Chaney in The Wolf Man."
Parte 1
ReplyDeleteWoozy tells Bonded to freshen up to be presentable, so he heads to the Loo noticing the scattered copies of Nudist Review for Women, Playgirl (for the play in girls), Bush to Bush, etc. Woo Way attempts to see what he is doing through numerous peepholes but all is in a rears, Bonded places an All Star Comics member decoder in his shoe that sends out a homing message and a la carte menu to let the boys know where he is and what’s on the table. He comes out freshly shaved, cologne, dapper and tips Woo Way a phony ten also with a homing device in the thread weave of the bill.
The plane lands at a hanger emblazoned: “Woozy Gabor’s Flying Circus. “ A couple of the ladies are enjoying the Fish Slapping Dance to a recording of Hildeyard Knife and her all girl orchestra. A couple more are involved in a argument for sale sketch and still more (English) are playing at being chamber pots.
A very butch woman calls the troop to attention, which all do except for the chamberpots who continue to babble away in their strange lower class English voices, but a hail of fresh fruit (with raspberries) from the butch sergeant brings them to heel.
Butch sergeant: “Alright, then! All present and accounted for, except for Mable who choked on a Crunchy Frog sweetie and died in the night!”
Woozy: “Bad luck, Pus. The new recruit ready to fill in?”
Sargeant Pus Galor: “Have to be, won’t she? Fly at the tail should keep her and us safe enough. Who’s the (with disgust drooling from her voice) MAN?!?”
Woozy: “Moldy doesn’t know what to do with or make of him, yet, so he’s off for down below.”
Sargeant Pus, with an exaggerated grimace on her puss says ominously: “Down below?!?!??”
Woozy: “Yes, and you’re to take him there.”
Sargeant Pus, with resignation: “Right-o!”
Parte Tew
ReplyDeleteShe grabs Bonded by the arm , pulling out a Wembly 1 calibre from the holster on her hip that says “God Bless our Queen.” With the Wembly in Bonded’s back they march off as the scene fades to:
The Way To Down Below which is underneath the main building which has a side entrance. Sargeant Pus prods Bonded down a long step way, littered with assorted small animal bones , arriving at the cell with a Welcome mat at its front.
Sargeant Pus: “Sorry about that, chief. I haveta put ya in.”
Bonded: “Max, how did you wind up here?”
Max, (for it is he): “Would you believe by accident? I’m assigned to trace KAOS in a mold smuggling caper. Who would want to steal molds? Why not go for the real thing?”
Bonded: “This is a different kind of mold, Max. the kind that grows on things.”
Max: “You mean like athlete’s foot, toe jam, and forgotten bread?”
Bonded: “Something like that.”
Max: “Doesn’t make any sense. Sorry, I gotta put you in. I haveta change out of these duds and join in with a couple KAOS agents who think I’m one of them. After I tell Wooay that I have a migraine and feeling woozy myself.”
Bonded: “Don’t lock the door.”
Max: “Gotcha.” He shuts the cell door and the lock clicks. “Oops! Sorry about that, but I’m sure you have some gizmo to get yourself out. Gotta go. Watch out for the top steps; they tend to throw slops down here.”
Bonded was delighted to find a comfy cot with a horsehair blankie for cover. Taking a seat at the edge of the cot, he engaged the homing device in his shoe. Downtown Louisville. Felix Lightintheloafers and his driver are having a scruptious feast of KFC (with cole slaw and iced tea) and are suddenly interrupted when the tracking screen pings into life. A blip marks Bonded's locale. He made a mental note to deal with Maxwell Smart if ever he escaped from his current predicament.
ReplyDelete"Lookie here, Felix. Maybe we should drop in on him."
"Naw, he'll shout if he needs us."
Let's visit Mr. Moldfinger on his luxurious cheese farm. He's doing what most nefarious super villains do. You know, nefarious stuff.
Mr. Kitsch, henchman to the stars, walks into Moldfinger's side office.
"They're all here."
"Oh yes, good. Thank you Kitsch."
Now we visit a large, well-appointed romper room repleat with ruffians, rascals, rapscallions. Napolean Solo was pacing about, nervously wearing out his shoe leather.
From, amongst the hooligans, misfits and downright poltroons one voice could be heard saying: "That guy Solo makes me nervous."
A fellow poltroon says: "Yeah, well the guy riding backwards on the 25 cent hobby horse tops that. He's enjoying himself way too much."
The portly, intimidating form of Moldfinger appeared suddenly.
"Gentlemen!"
Several of the assembled company replied, "Who walked in?"
Then the grumbling began.
"Moldfinger, why didn't you tell us that all these mutts from the west coast would be here? I thought we had a private deal!"
The man in the gray flannel suit chimed in with, "I don't do business with anybody west of Chicago! I find out that I'm attending a thug's convention!"
The hooligan in a black fedora said, "I made a delivery, Moldfinger! Where's my money??"
And then several said simultaneously, "Yes, so did I. What gives? You owe me a million bucks!"
"I owe each of you a million."
ReplyDelete"So pay up, pally otherwise I might have to, you know, muss you up a little bit!"
"Gentlemen, and I use that term very loosely, you can have a million today... or ten millions tomorrow."
"Huh? Did you say 10 million?"
Without warning shutters shuttered, lights dimmed and the whole room was bathed in darkness. Various gizmos were deployed and contraptions activated.
"Say, what the...? I don't like bein' cooped up in the dark. Reminds me of my cell in Alcatraz."
A map clicks into view. We see a diagram of a large complex of factory-like buildings surrounded by deep woods.
Moldfinger approaches and with a dramatic flourish, points to the impressive layout..
"Gentlemen, I give you Fort Pox, the largest repository of Stachybotris, the nastiest and deadliest form of mold known to man. Can you imagine? He who controls this substance, weaponized and ready to deploy, can make the whole wold come to heel. Nations and governments will pay any price, grant any demand, go to any length rather than face the potential horror of exposure to this beautiful stuff."
"Knock off Fort Pox? Haw haw. You've been eatin' too much Wemslydale, pal. Whatcha gonna do? March right up to the front door and say 'open Sesame?'
"Yeah, it's gotta have top level security. Electrified fences, armed guards, dogs, your mother. How ya gonna get through all that, Jackson?"
Another turn of a knob and arising from the floor is a 3-D representation of the target.
Each and every structure was represented exactly to scale in miniature.
Angrily Moldfinger said, "Man has climbed Mount Everest, plumbed the depth of the oceans, invented Play Dough and the Hula Hoop! Achieved miraculous feats in every sort of human endeavor... EXCEPT SLIME!" And the Moldfinger did what all sixties arch criminals do: he explained the whole nefarious plan in detail, not realizing that a secret agent was listening closely, making notes on a piece of toilet paper with a No.2 pencil.
How did our Mr. Bonded get to such an advantageous position? (under the floor peeking through the window of one of the 3-D structures).
We must back up a few minutes and cut to Bonded's cramped, yet charming cell. He'd been cutting out paper dress stencils to pass the time. Then he devised his escape...
From inside his cell James got the attention of the guard and begin a charming little game of peekaboo, which resulted in James overpowering this dopey little man; a nifty little brawl ensued, and James managed to get the guard's gun! 007 knocked the thug out and walked down the hall, gun at the ready, and he followed the voices coming from above--- Moldfinger's guests griping and kvetching at his ridiculous scheme. Moldfinger barked that he had more fun as the villain in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He insisted that his grand plan was foolproof, pointing at his adorable Christmas Village table-top diorama ..... and little did the old gas bag know that Bonded was watching them right then and there, through one of the windows of the miniature Fort Pox building. "Operation Wham Bam is something of which I have devoted fifteen years and one confusing summer to. Now I want you each to take one of these pretty copper canisters of Delta Burke 9, the invisible nerve gas, and get it across the Canadian border." One gentleman said, "Um, invisible nerve gas, sir? Please to clarify if you mean the gas is invisible when released, or the gas makes the victim's nerves invisible." Moldfinger slapped him and went on with his plan of having Woozy Gabor's Flying Circus and Kosher Deli spray the sleep-inducing gas from above.
ReplyDelete007 jotted down a note on a discarded sheet of Charmin with an eyebrow pencil: "Dear CIA, aerial nerve gas precedes dawn raid, maybe Tony Orlando too, Fort Pox tomorrow" ....
A man known as Soso balked at Moldfinger's idea and demanded his money right then and there. Moldfinger took the fellow aside. At that moment James was knocked down from his window view and landed on the floor, looking up at his attacker. It was beautiful blonde Woozy. He said to her, in a cheesy Cuban accent, "Woozy, you got some splainin' to do."
Woozy whispers to James: “Walk this way.”
ReplyDeleteJames: “If I walked that way….”
But Woozy cuts him off with a warning finger.
Cut to: Upstairs
Moldfinger: “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I shall help escort Mr. Soso to get his money. Help yourselves to the canapés and drinks.”
Cut to: Out doors: Woozy and Bonded cross in from left as Moldfinger and Oddjoke and Soso come the other direction. Moldfinger pantomimes to Oddjoke by mimicking spraying from a canister.
Moldfinger, to Soso: “You’ll please excuse me. Pressing engagement.” Continues towards Woozy and Bonded. Oddjoke opens the passenger door. Soso enters and Oddjoke takes an aerosole container from his jacket and jets a mist on Soso’s neck. Soso collapses into the car, a decrepit 1952 Henry J. Oddjoke drives off
Cut to: “Cubie’s Laundry and Junked Cars Emporium: Pants and Cars Pressed while you Wait”
Oddjoke and Albert (Cubie) Sauerkraut (a cameo) watch as the Henry J and passenger are put through a compactor. Cubie approaches the now really compact car and asks the ever burning question:
Cubie: “Does it hurt, Bwah?”
Body compacted Soso: “Only when I laugh.”
Odd joke and Cubie shake on it.
Cut to: Moldfinger’s lair where the mobsters are enjoying the eats and acting like the heavies they are:
Mobster 1: “I do not know why Stach da Finger should want to associate wit’ youse pansies frum La La Land.”
Mobster 2): “Connections, baby, an’ don’t you fergit it.”
Mobster 3): “Mmmm! Crunchy Frog!”
Mobster 4): “We all got connections; us in Chi Town, you guys in Noo York, dem in L.A. Hey, I got a Cockroach Cluster!”
Mobster 5): Yeah, well, Louie, ovah deah, got da Spring Su’prise!”
Mobster 6) does indeed show an expression of surprise as needles, pins, springs etc. pop out of his cheeks and he collapses, to the general merriment of all assembled, but there is even a greater surprise in store as….
All of the mobsters begin to turn various shades of greens, blues, purples and other hues and little growths begin to show all over them
Yes! They’ve all been molded! And they proceed in amazing orderliness to collapse and melt and spread.
A sprinkler system in the ceiling begins to slosh the gunk into a drain into a holding tank for processing.
Cut to:
Moldfinger, Bonded and Woozy
Moldfinger: “Woozy, my pus, why don’t you get into something more enticing and make our guest as comfortable as possible before our little set to in the morning. And make sure the canisters of Stachybotris are secure: Oh, yes, Mr. Bonded, there is mold inside those canisters. I’m afraid those soldiers at Fort Pox will sleep a verrrrrry long sleep. A sleep of DEATH! Ta ta.”
Woozy: “Ever see the inside of a horse barn, Jamesie?”
"How about it, handsome? Don't you think it's time we roll around in the hay for a bit?"
ReplyDelete"Well, Miss Gabor. I must say I like the new you. Mind if I check you for weapons? I didn't become James Bonded, 007 license to kill, without first frisking beautiful..."
"Relax big boy. I never carry weapons after business hours. I'm completely defenseless."
Hiding in the bushes, Lightintheloafers and his fellow agent, binoculars in hand, witness the unfolding scene.
Lightintheloafers: "Looks like 007 has the situation well in hand! That's my James! C'mon, let's get back to KFC. I noticed they have a special on the 12-piece bucket complete with slaw, tots and iced tea. Yum!"
Bonded and Woozy proceed toward their rendezvous with hay, horse dung and allergies.
"Beautiful place Moldfinger has here."
"Yes, I'm glad you're enjoying it."
"Too bad it all has to end tomorrow morning. He's quite mad, you know."
"Aw, he's just eccentric. Quite nice actually... when you get to know him. And his money spends as good as anybody else's.
"Right, how about that roll in the hay now? Winner take all."
They roll in the hay. It begins as a playful interlude, each of them trying to out-trip the other, then turns into a judo contest and finally, a kissing contest. No one can say who the winner might be but they both have smiles on their faces as they arise from the hay and brush themselves off.
"You're quite a girl, Woozy. I'd like to think you're not in all of this... caper."
"Whaddyamean 'all of this' caper? I just fly his planes and that's all. No monkey business. Oh, he occasionally gets a case of octopussy hands but you know my judo skills so he doesn't get far. Now c'mon. What's so bad about this 'caper' as you call it?"
"Well, for instance, how about Delta Burke 9."
"What about it? Just puts ya to sleep for an hour or two. My Flying Circus will be doing that gig tomorrow morning. Quite harmless I'm sure. Folks should appreciate a good nap now and then."
"My dear Miss Gabor, Delta Burke 9 is a deadly nerve gas. Much too nefarious for lovely ladies such as yourself to be dispersing into the atmosphere. It's the kind of nap most people want desperately to avoid. At any rate, now that you've had the total James Bonded, 007 license to kill, experience, I know that you'll want to help me thwart Mr. Moldfinger's evil plot. Now here's what we'll do..."
Dawn Raid on Fort Pox
ReplyDelete"Woozy Gabor to Boone's Farm leader. Commence Poxabye Baby. Good luck!"
First Improbable Blonde Bombshell (alias Boone's Farm Leader) : Speed 220 knots: Wind check: westerly. Boone's Farm leader to Blonde Floozy section. Commence dive... now.
Blonde Bombshell #2: Ready for Poxabye Baby.
Boone's Farm Leader: Commence spray on countdown.
Blonde Bombshell #1: Five, four, three, two, one, zero. OK, girls, it's bed-e-bye time. Release the hounds!
The five Piper Cubs make several passes around the base spraying the vile Delta Burke 9. The fine vapor makes short work of the troops on the ground and they fall over instantly; prey to the deadly aerosol. All over the military compound, soldiers and officers and a particular CIA agent dropping like flies.
"Boone's Farm leader to Wham Bam task force leader. The baby is asleep. I repeat, the baby is asleep. We're going home now. Out."
Bonded finds himself in a jeep with Oddjoke. A familiar figure approaches... with menace aforethought.
"Good morning, Mr Bonded. For once, you are exactly where I want you. You'll find Oddjoke quiet pleasant company, heh heh. Miss Gabor and I will join you presently."
Oddjoke: Ah, ah. Which means 'put this mask on'.
Moldfinger: Commence Operation Wham Bam!
Military vehicles of all sorts proceed to the intersection of Stilton and Wimsleydale. They take a left on Limburger Avenue then a right on Roquefort Lane leading to the main gate of Fort Pox.
A check on the ol' spectrometer says all clear.
"Ah, ah, which means 'mask off' ." Bonded happily complies.
Explosive charges are set and the main gate is blown to smithereens. The formidable entourage gain entrance and veer left on Stinky Lane. As before the dock doors are blown and access is given to the vault.
Woozy and Moldfinger arrive by helicopter along with Mr. Kitsch.
Outside the perimeter there are suddenly signs of life. Felix, hat firmly attached, comes to life as do all the military personnel who played the role of gas victims very well.
Lightintheloafers: The bomb's here. Let's get moving, Brigadier.
Brigadier: Right, move in. Move in, commando tactics. Minimum offensive fire until I signal bomb has been neutralized. Bomb disposal unit to accompany tactical commandos.
Once Mr. Kitsch loaded up the bomb on a shop cart, he inserted the detonating timing unit, a beautiful gadget all in brushed steel. Moldfinger's portly shape approaches.
Moldfinger: Goodbye, Mr Bonded. Goodbye for the second and last time. You've shown a real talent for disrupting my plans but no more!
Bonded: One last question, Moldfinger. How do you intend moving all the Stachybotris Chathrum out without having the Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Boy and Girl Scouts on you tail?
Moldfinger: My dear Mr. Bonded, who said anything about my moving it anywhere. Mr. Kitsch has devised a particularly nasty nuclear device to which you will soon be intimately acquainted. It has a half-life of ninety-eight years. Quite sufficient for my purposes. It will render all the nasty stuff within useless. That's been the plan all along. You see, the amount of my stockpile has been vastly underestimated. I'm going to neutralize Fort Pox and therefore make my own holdings immeasurably more valuable. Quite simple, wot? The amount that I have on hand can easily be mutated to the infinitely more powerful SHE (Stachybotris Hilarium Emensus). You may now expound on the brilliance of my plan.
Bonded: Clever, Moldfinger. My hat's off to you.
Moldfinger: Have a caution that I don't direct Oddjoke to remove his hat to you. You remember what happened to Shally, don't you? At any rate, I have a different fate in mind for you. But relax, it'll be quite painless I assure you. So, cheery bye, Mr Bonded. And for the second and last time. You've shown a real talent for disrupting my plans up until now, but no more! Oddjoke!
Bonded, uncuffed from Oddjoke, now finds himself handcuffed to the nuclear device and on the vault elevator to the lower deck. Various cells containing noxious materials emit an eerie green glow.
ReplyDeleteMr. Moldfingers helicopter escape plan is interrupted by the aforesaid commando tactics that are presently being employed.
BANG BANG, STAB, BUDDA BUDDA BUDDA, AIEEEEE, ARRRGGGHHH.
Moldfinger, donning the disguise of an Army general, makes his escape but not before shooting unsuspecting soldiers in the back. Miss Gabor, waiting in the helicopter helps him effect his escape.
Inside one of Moldfinger's henchmen realizes his situation. "We're trapped! The bomb... I'll take the fuse out."
Oddjoke has other ideas and the henchman finds himself doing a double gainer over the balcony to the unforgiving floor grate some seventy-five feet below. SPLAT!
Bond spies his method of release in the form of a key on the somewhat flattened guard's pocket. He's manages to wheel the cart over, and fish out the key. Free of this cumbersome device but now he has a much tougher problem. A charging Oddjoke, with bowler hat with steel rim in hand.
Time remaining before oblivion: 3 minutes 45 seconds and counting!
Frank puts it to bed
ReplyDeleteOddjoke throws his hat a Bonded but Bonded deftly ducks and the hat sails into the bars of the gate. Oddjoke lumbers to retrieve his hat. Bond sees an aluminum vial that fell out of Kitchykoo’s pocket before he landed. Bonded rolls and gets the vial that has the emblem of a glowing glob of moldering mold. Bonded deftly loosens the cap and deftly flings it at Oddjoke and it deftly hits him in his eye and the contents inside deftly flow over Oddjoke’s face. The effect is instantaneous, for the joke’s on him. The stuff spreads up his arm and fuses his hand to his hat and down the rest of him, a hideously hilarious psychedelic pattern of mold – except this is 1964 and even the British Invasion has not quite happened, much less the Summer of Love. Oddjoke’s face is contorted, his mouth agape and twisted in silent laughter and then his body goes limp, still holding the hat, a grotesque grin on his face as if visited by Batman’s villain, the Joker.
Bonded: "Shocking!"
Bonded now just has seconds to render the bomb harmless, but it is a maze of dials and wires and switches and it ticks down as he sweats and vainly tries to find the combination when suddenly a door opens and a smock covered figure enters and pushes a button that is emblazoned: “This one, Dummy.”
All this time the “Sleeping” guards have been mowing down Moldfinger’s minions with a nifty array of bows and arrows, baseball bats, Swiss army knives, toilet-bowl plungers, sub-machine guns, fireworks, howitzers, and tooth-pics.
Cut to: Bonded being driven to the airport with Lightintheloafers, Agent 69 and Maxwell Smart, who had alerted Agent 69 in his guise of Woozy’s aide, the adorably butch, Pus.
Lightintheloafers: “Another job neatly done with a lot of bad guys sent where they belong and not a lot of collateral damage.”
Smart: “Now you will be off to see the Wizard – oops, I mean the President. Would you believe that 69 and I are dickering for a spy series on TV?”
Bonded: “Frankly, no.”
Lightintheloafers: “Here we are.”
Cut to interior of plane in flight. Bonded is seated nonchalantly, enjoying the flight next to a window with sign over it: “In Case of Fire, Break Glass”
Cut to: curtain cutting off the cabin from the passenger section. Out steps Old Moldy in U.S. uniform holding a moldy gun.
Cut to: Bonded turns. Nonchalant off.
Bonded: “Where’s Woozy?”
Moldfinger: “Piloting for the last time.” Glancing to the cabin. “I’ll deal with her later.”
Bonded charges Moldfinger and there’s a struggle: Biff! POW! Sock! Wham! and Bonded deftly forces Moldy’s hand to pull the trigger as the gun is pointed at a window. Gun goes off shattering the window. Bonded holds on for dear life, but Moldy is sucked partway through the window and then with an extended Raspberry is sucked through.
Cut to Woozy trying to deal with the drop in air pressure. In any modern movie she would be saying “Oh, Shit!” but this is only the threshold of modern movies.
Bonded enters the cabin:
Woozy: “Where’s Moldfinger?”
Bonded: “Becoming fresh mold or soon will be.”
Bonded: tries to help at the co-pilot’s chair, where there are conveniently parachutes. Bonded nonchalantly reaches for them.
Cut to the control tower of the airport. Lightintheloafers, Smart, 69, and the controllers have rushed through the hanger where the original crew are molding away and are now watching the radar of the plane as it spirals out of control and blip-blip-blips down-down-down. Then a little white parachute looking blip separates from the plane. It waves at the onlookers.
Cut to helicopter searching, Lightintheloafers with the pilot over woods.
Cut to Woozy woozily waving….something.
Bonded, pulling Woozy down: “Not now! This is no time to be rescued.”
Bonded pulls the parachute over them, a label clearly seen: “Made in Japan.”
End music.
End of movie.
Baron, I just received your message about the "Restaurant" blog and it is, indeed, out of commission. Don't know what the problem is. I wonder if it would just be easier to create a new Restaurant blog since our old one seems to be kaput. Could it be that the blogs evaporate due to lack of activity??
Delete🤔
ReplyDeleteDusty: The restaurant was not left alone long so it can't be due to inactivity. I am stumped. I will take your suggestion and make a new restaurant. Thanks.
ReplyDeletehttps://framisfriends.blogspot.com/
ReplyDeleteThis link above is the new Restaurant blog. 😄 Yippee!!!!! See ya there, pardners.
Just finished writing Dusty lamenting the demise and making wrong assumptions. Hideho! Gotta get to rehearsal.
ReplyDeleteTesting, 1, 2, 3... testing 1, 2, 3
ReplyDeleteYep, all systems go!
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteParte Un
Charades Any Body?
Night, deep dark night. The little night sounds that make it spooky. Crickets, peepers, rustling leaves, fog horn “B. O.” How’d that get in here? Small letters: “ Uniworsel presents
Sound of an approaching train: “Bromo-Seltzer! Bromo-Seltzer! Bromo-Seltzer!”
How do you think this parody is being produced? You need sponsors. Even ones that no longer exist.
Train crosses the screen. Something is being tossed out. It rolls down the embankment and lands in fetid muddy water.
Close up: It’s a body. Face hacked up and very dead. Little crawlies creep out of the ooze and slither over the body. We catch some writing on the wrap the body is in: “Have a pleasant journey.” Echhhhh!
While this is going on the screen shows:
Awdry Heartburn
Carry Grunt
In
(bright letters)
Charades, Any Body?
Then there’s a bunch of colorful bars (not the drinking kind) that make kind of mazes where the credits wriggle through including supporting players plus the “Charades, Any Body?” theme by Henri Maccaroni:
Dominiquenique Minuet
Walter Matted
James Sloburn
Ned Gass
George Kennedydoodah
Peter Sailors
And
Thermos Clumski
As “The Brat”
And the lesser others
and finally
Written by
Peter Stoned and Matt Bomb
Directed by
Stanley Donut
Finally,
The Movie!!!
Scene: The Alps! Skiers swooshing down the slopes with various degrees of success
Pull back to a deck and then Awdry Heartburn (Reggie Lampoon)
Cut to a hand with a luger pointed point blank at Reggie with ominous music, back to Reggie, back to gun, back to Reggie, back to gun, back to Rg, to Gn, to R to G to R to R to G and
Gun shoots water all over Reggie’s face. (This is kind of a motif in the movie: getting soaked,)
Reggie: (sort of shouting) Silliiiiiiiiii!
Silli Godot appears in the frame
Reggie: He squirted me and now there’s water all over my njira.
Silli: I think you should bother someone else, Jon-Moutard. Vite! Mach Schnell! Scram, or I’ll give you such a hit!
Jon grabs a string of knackwurst from one of the tables Reggie is eating from and skips away.
Silli: Sometimes I hate you. You can pack away the food and not gain an ounce. What’s bothering you? When you eat like this you’re frolixed about something.
Reggie (dipping into the curry with a piece of sourdough pancake) I’m getting a divorce.
Silli: Anyone I know?
Reggie: Charles, of course. I’ve only got the one. I don’t love him. He don’t love me. And he’s all secrets and business trips and all kinds evil. Besides, he’s lieing. I know he is. I like the truth: straight, no chaser. Well don’t I? (and she dips a wonton into her cappuccino frappe)
Silli: Indeed. I have the emotional scars to prove it.
Parte Deux
ReplyDeleteA figure now looms over them. The ladies look up and give a little squeak. The Figure is wearing a Sahara desert ski mask. The figure removes the mask revealing Peter L. Joshyou. (Say it fast to get the joke, but you may as well not. It’s not very good.)
Peter: Does this belong to either of you? (He has Jon-moutard in a hammerlock and Jon’s face is getting as blue as the Alpine sky.)
Silli: He’s mine, I’m afraid.
Peter: He was chucking Ice balls at Baron Rothschild
Silli: Come along Jon. I’ve never seen a Rothschild and maybe we’ll watch the skiers to see if any break a leg.
Reggie: I’m Reggie Loonie and I’m getting a divorce. And you are…?
Peter: I’m Peter L. Joshyou. (Reggie titters) It’s not that funny. Don’t get a divorce on my account.
Reggie: I’m not. And you? Are you married?
Peter: Divorced, and I’m not going to propose just yet. We’ve a lot of film to use up..
Cut to:
Paris. A taxi pulls up. Reggie gets out. The cabbie gets Reggie’s stuff: two huge trunks: Stickers: “Beautiful Downtown Burbank,” “Oshkosh, B’Gosh,” “Ulan Bator Welcomes You,” “Visit Lovely Addis Ababa,” “Why Not Minot?,” “Ho Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh City,” “C’mon Down Under.”
Skis, a toiletry bag, a wardrobe bag with a robe, a pair of Doc Martins, Doc Martin, and a bunch of etc.
Jon sticks his head out: You will remember to write me lots when you get to Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
Reggie: Yes. Lots. And I’ll use all kinds of stamps.
Cut to:
The sumtuous Looney apartment. The Taxi driver, who was about 250 lbs is now about 98, but all her stuff is there, escept Doc Martin who got a telegram in the lobby about an emergency finger nail operation back in Cornwall.
She tips the taxi driver 5 francs and enters the apartment as he goes down in the elevator using very profane French.
Oops! The place is empty! Nada! Non! Nichts! Nuttin’! Nothing in the foyer. Nothing in the living room. Nothing behind any of the huge doors in the walls except a robe, a twin to hers, hanging in a suspicious attitude. Oh, and the walls have been stripped of wall paper and there are no door knobs. There are, however, a few flies and spiderwebs and a dessicated mouse.
She flings open another door and flies into…..a notatall tall man with a moustache and a trench coat and a sixties style fedora sucking a pen.
Reggie: Who are you?
Inspector Clooless ( Peter Sailors, who has sucked ink) Yis. Who am I indeed? Yis. Mmmm. Inspector Clooless of the Paris Seertay. (That’s kind of how it sounds.) You are Madam….ah…Looneee, no? Yis. If you will come wiz me to the stayshone there is something of interest. Yis.
Cut to the morgue.
The coroner pulls out a container with a body. Attached to the toe is a tag: “Guess Who?” The coroner pulls back the sheet. Reggie looks. Solemnly nods. The coroner and Clooless push the container back and Clooless gets his fingers caught as the container slams shut.
Blackout:
Charades
ReplyDeleteAfter the body viewing, Inspector Clooless took Reggie to his office at the Paris Police Prefecture located on the Place Louis Lepine near the Red Light district, and not too far from where Marie Antoinette was guillotined. Not Reggie’s favorite neighborhood.
Clooless reached in his drawer for a cigar (which Regina quickly snatched from him), and delivered to her what he thought would be bad news.
“We discovered your husband’s body, dumped out the high-speed train from Paris to Zurich. Charles was Swiss, was he not?” (Reggie nods in the affirmative.) “Ah, the Swiss! One never knows with them.”
As Awdry pulled out a sack of stale chips, the Inspector continued with his tale, pulling his short tie down occasionally. “The train had made one stop in Frankfurter, where Charles was stripped searched and put back on the train in a compartment with a traveling salesman. Unfortunately, his clothes weren’t returned to him after the search, but his luck had not totally run out because the salesman in his compartment sold unisex lingerie. So, though it’s embarrassing, I must tell you this: Charles was wearing androgynous pajamas when we found him.”
Reggie thought now was a good time to swoon and possibly faint, but decided, instead, to take a seat and finish her chips. She ate a lot when she was put on the spot.
“Madame, I am forced to ask you some very pointed questions, which you must make your best effort to answer.” (Reggie nodded.)
“What was your husband’s profession?”
“He was a trust-fund baby, so no profession.”
“Is your husband wealthy?”
“I have no way of knowing. He would give me a few bob short of a pound each week to pay the housekeeper. She lent me money.”
“Where did he keep his wealth…if he had any?”
Regina sullenly asked, “How could I know?”
“Does Charles have any relatives?”
“I have no knowledge of them, but then I never asked.”
“You’re not a very curious person are you, Mrs. Loonie?”
“I translate not interpret.”
“Finally, was anything important taken from your house recently?”
“Yes, my entire Givenchy wardrobe!”
Swatting his hair from his eyes, Clooless stood up to his full height and opened a Cowboys’ travel bag. “A few days ago, Mrs. Loonie, your husband sold your Givenchys, your Kate Spade handbags, your Clive Christian #1 perfumes which sell for $12,721.89 per ounce each, etcetera etcetera. . Your housekeeper must have lent you a lot of money.”
Reggie asked the Inspector for a light and started smoking the cigar she had taken from him.
“The Gallery paid your husband $250,000 dollars for the entire contents of your apartment. But they said you could come pick up your cat, if you wanted to.”
“And now, Mrs. Loonie, all that’s left of Charles' possessions are what is contained in this travel bag which he had with him on the train. Was Charles a Cowboy fan?”
“I asked but he would never tell me.”
“Charles’ compartment on the train was searched, but the$250,000 was not found. The waiters in the dining car said he was a bad tipper. So, Mrs. Loonie, where is the money?? (She eats another chip.) Do you think we’ll find the $250,000 inside this bag which, incidentally, has been search several times by professionals?”
Nervously, she asked, “Is there a vending machine on this floor?”
Clooless began taking the items in the travel bag, placing them on his already cluttered desk. As he did so he began identifying each item.
ReplyDelete"What have we here, hmmm... one toothbrush, used; one paper clip, twisted; a ticket to the last Saturday's performance at Folies Begere. A patron of the arts was he? One tin of Ipana Tooth Powder, one key to your apartment, one fountain pen, one wallet containing four thousand francs, and lastly the piece de resistance: a notebook, last notation made yesterday -- Thursday, Five p.m. -- Jardin des Chapped Lips. Now what business do you suppose he might have had there?"
"I don't know. Maybe he was meeting someone," Reggie replied sheepishly.
With a sniffle, Clooless replied, "Obviously. One ticket of passage to South America -- one letter, stamped but unsealed, addressed to you --"
"A letter? May I see it?
"Mais oui, Madame." Handing her the letter and the monsieur inspector watched her closely as she read it.
"My dear Regina: I hope you are enjoying your holiday. I miss you terribly, at least once a week I've notice your not being there. At first I thought it was indigestion but, no, I truly wish you were here with me. Megalon can be so lovely this time of year. The days pass very slowly. Each one of them seems to contain twenty-four hours and somehow that just doesn't seem right. Hope to see you soon. Your very own snookumbs, Charles. P.S. Your dentist called yesterday. Your appointment has been changed."
With a puzzled expression, Reggie remarked, "Not very much, is it?"
"We took the liberty of calling your dentist -- we thought, perhaps, we would learn something."
"Did you?"
"Yes. Your appointment HAS been changed. Also, your teeth need straightening. If you will be so kind as to sign this document you may take these things with you.
"Is that all? Can I go now?"
"Ah, not so fast. I have one more question. Is this your husband's passport?
He reaches into the desk drawer and pulls out a passport which he hands to her.
A Swiss pasport with the name CHARLES LAMPOON in special Swiss lettering.
"Of course it is."
"And this?"
He hands her another passport.
An American passport, bald eagle imprinted lightly in the background. Reggie sees that it's an identical photo to the Swiss passport. The name CHARLES FLOSS clearly printed just below the eagle's beak.
Reggie, truly mystified said, " I don't understand."
"Zoot alors!. Then I suppose you won't understand this! With a dramatic motion, Clooless plops down two more passports, each with Chalie's photo. One is Italian stamped with the name Giancarlo Fabuloso, just under Mussolini's beak. The other, Argentinian with the name Juancarlo Muyfabuloso stamped rather closely under Evita Peron's lovely beak.
"Have you nothing to say, Madame?"
REGGIE, looks down at the four passports sheepishly replies, "Golly! Go ahead and smoke your smelly old cigar and if you have another, light one up for me."
Later Reggie, has returned to her rather oppressive, empty chambre. It's dusk and the late afternoon light is streaming through the high windows casting a rather noirish pattern on the floor. Resting there is a canvas airline bag. Suddenly she hears and noise. Then silence. Then approaching footsteps! With a creak, the door slowly opens...
It's the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man!! I kid...it was Peter L. Joshyou. Standing in the dark made him very, very yummy. So much so that Reggie let out a sigh of admiration.
ReplyDeletePeter: I knock, I rang the bell...nothing.
Reggie: That happens when bills are not paid. Alas.
Peter: I came by to give my Condolences.
Reggie: How could you have possibly known. Handsome doesn't make you psychic, just incredibly good looking gene wise.
Pete: I read it in the afternoon paper. I scan the obits as often as I can. Very calming when you realize you are still alive.
Peter: Where are your things?
Reggie: Charles sold everything on Ebay. All I have left are my designer bag and luggage. I love my luggage....Charles only saw it as accessories. I saw au couture and the happiness it would buy me!
Peter: What are you going to do now?
Reggie: Get my old translating job back. Translating French into English...or was that English into French?! Ah moi, les defis de la vie. The police believe I murdered Charles.
Peter: Instant divorce?
Reggie: I guess. It's bad how it ended. Thrown off the train like last year ripped jeans.
Peter: Well, you can stay here. We'll find you a motel (nudge nudge, wink wink).
Reggie: Nothing too expensive please. I've found myself in dire straights. Something near the old job. Comprenez vous?
Peter: Swell.
#1
ReplyDeleteFuneral Chapel
Close shot on the coffin. It’s Charles, apparently, though with the road map of Paris in stitches that hold his face together, one might have doubts, except for the name “Charles Loonie” stamped on his forehead. On the coffin part that is closed are stickers: “Bon Voyage” and “Good Luck” and a very used and battered clump of fake flowers.
Close shot: Insp. Clooless is sitting, apparently asleep. A couple of flies are on his trench coat having a conversation, also apparently.
Camera pulls back revealing Reggie and Silli as the only ones beside Clooless in the room. Oh, and Charles, of course.
Silli: Not much of a crowd.
Reggie: Good thing the schmuck didn’t die in bed or we’d be the only ones here. Come to think of it, even when Chuck was in our bed I was alone.
Silli: Didn’t he have any friends?
Reggie: How should I know? I’m just the widow.
Close shot of Clooless to the point where we see that he’s trying to trim his gloved hands with a nail clipper.
Two shot of the ladies:
Silli: Any idea who did it?
Reggie: All I knew was his name and now it turns out I didn’t know that.
Cut to door which opens and a shaft of light comes in. It has a greenish tinge.
And in comes Leeward S. Giddy (Oh, God! Another one of those name gags!) Leeward comes in and minces up to the coffin, looks inside, and breaks out in a torrent of giggles and stumbles, tears flowing, back up the aisle. He’s about to sit by Insp. Clooless, but when he sees who it is, he scoots to another pew, suddenly cured of the titters.
Cut back to the ladies.
Silli: Who was that?
Reggie: Haven’t the foggiest
Silli: He must have known him well.
Reggie: Why do you say that?
Silli: He had tears in his eyes.
Reggie: He was also giggling.
Silli: Maybe he’s allergic.
#2
ReplyDeleteCut back to door that opens and Tex Hollowpants comes in wearing a 10 ½ gallon hat, a Slicker and boots that jingle, jangle, jingle. He’s also drenched. A sudden rainstorm? (water motif)
Camera pulls back as Tex saunters up the aisle, looks in the casket, takes out a tobacco pouch and a book of papers and rolls a cigarette, puts it in his mouth, gets matches, but can’t get any to light, tosses his smoke into the coffin in disgust, reaches into his Slicker and pulls out a cattle prod and gives the corpse a jolt, also lighting his cigarette. He picks it up, puts it in his mouth, gives the corpse another jolt, just to be sure he’s dead, turns, walks up the aisle and stops by the ladies.
Tex: (to Silli, touching his hat) Miz Loonie… (Silli indicates Reggie.)
Tes: (to Reggie, again with the hat) Miz Loonie. Wa’n’t no way fer Charlie to handle it this-a-way. No sir.
Reggie: I don’t under…(but Tex has moved on and spots Giddy who giggles nervously and Tex finds a spot away from him with some disgust, but within sight. Clooless is now picking his teeth with the nail file of his clipper.)
The door bangs open and a huge, stocky figure is framed in the doorway. Is it the Incredible Hulk? The Swamp Thing? No, it’s Herman Scrabble, in heavy Sou’wester, who now clomps and drips down the aisle to the casket, dropping leaves and bits of bird nest and feathers and maybe some moss and lichens and maybe a fish. He wears an eye patch with a skull on it, and Wellingtons. He looks in, squints his good eye, (do we hear him say “Arrrrr?”) his mouth open, a bit of something in his rather rotten and disgusting teeth. He takes his hand out of his pocket revealing not a hand, but a hook. He uses it to dislodge whatever is in his teeth. (Naughty actor, upstaging Mr. Sailors, who will have an indignant word with the director.) He flicks it away. Looks at the hook, then the corpse, then drives the hook into Charles left nostril, lifts up the head, to get a better look, then flips the hook out letting the head drop. This action has done nothing to improve Charles’ appearance. He clomps up the aisle and out the door, slamming it so hard, the inspector’s nail file gets stuck between two teeth and as we pan back to the ladies, he is struggling to dislodge it.
Close shot: Reggie. A hand lays itself on her shoulder.
Another angle: The hand is the one of a funeral attendant (unnamed: but, then there are no small parts, only small actors – and this is one, hardly more than 5’2’’, cadaverous – aren’t they all? – and unctuous) Pour vous, Madame. Pardon. Pardon. Pardon.
Reggie: Don’t pad your part.
The attendent (oils his way back out of shot with one more): Pardon.
Silli: Who is it from? Who? Who? Who?
Reggie: Don’t go padding your part, either. Hmmmmm. The American Embassy.
Silli: Whasit say? Wassit say?
Reggie: (Opening it.) It doesn’t say anything, Silli. You read it.
Insert: The Letter ( Shows the Great Seal of the U.S. as a letterhead of a typed message that reads):
How’s about you dropping by at Noon-Thirty for a little chat. I wanna discuss with you your late husbands demise, o.k.? Be there! Aloha!
signed:
Hamilton Sanwich Bartholomeow.
Two shot: Reggie and Silli.
Silli: What’s it about?
Reggie: I don’t know, but if this is an example of American Diplomacy, I’m not sure fall-out shelters are going to be much help.
At or around noon-thirty of the following day, Reggie made her way to the American Embassy in hopes of finding a solution to all these peculiar goings on of late. The golden plaque attached to the building said, “American Embassy: You’re here when we need you.” Having been summoned, she felt she was safe to go inside.
ReplyDeleteAs she got out of the elevator on the 3rd floor, two nerdy men stepped in. They both looked bored to death. One spoke out of his ennui in the detestable Ivy League privileged tone, “I won at cards at the Embassy Bizarre last night with almost no spades.”
“What’s remarkable about that?”
“The Chicoms wouldn’t play for money.”
As she started down the hall to Mr. Bartholomeow’s office, Regina realized that she had just entered a world which didn’t exist for her the day before. As she opened the door to his office, a putrid smell of days-old deviled eggs and dirty undergarments wafted through the air. “What could this vile air portend?” She wondered.
After she yelled, “Pardon, Monsieur” and “Répondre, s’il vous plait” a few times, a guy with a grease spot on his tie came into the reception area from his office.
“Did the laundry send you to collect this tie?”
“No, I….”
“Never-mind; this spot has evidently a found a home”, said a resigned Bartholomeow as he put his brillo pad away and pulled out a tray of sandwiches from under his desk.
“You see, I know a laundry jockey up on the Rue Pièce de Résistance who can take out all kinds of stains and keep one from being…how –you-say…embarrassed at home. But now we have to use these steel wool pads because a Treasury man decided it was time to audit our personal expenditures. HQ doesn’t understand that while a spy may only need a cyanide pill, an inside man like myself needs a good deli, a masseuse and a discreet launderer to keep up America’s image abroad. Where do you get your laundry done, Mrs. Loonie?”
“So you know who I am. I was beginning to think you had mistaken me for a dry cleaner. But I do understand your complaint. Spots definitely ruin the thin veneer of sophistication, I find.”
“It is so good to finally find an attractive French woman who is recently a widow, who like myself, is interested in expediency in all things. I find most French folk go for heady discussions about philosophy, art, political machinations and all the other high hat subjects. Civilizations crumble and fall when its citizenry start poking around too much about things. ”
Reggie was getting irritated. “Well, I’ll have to take your learned opinion on it. But speaking of expediency, can I be told why you requested me to visit your office today?”
“First off,” he began, “may I offer you a sandwich? We’ve got peanut butter ones, spam and ham, cheese only, bread only, egg’n onion, and wurst.”
ReplyDeleteReggie had forgotten her stale chips, so she asked for an egg’n onion.
Mr. Bartholomeow startled said, “Mrs. Loonie, I must tell you that you are in grave danger with the egg’n onion.” (She put the sandwich on his desk, leaving him another spot!) “But, truthfully, you’re in danger no matter which sandwich you pick.”
“I have to eat something, I’m nervous.” Bartholomeow then offered her a glass of wine which he pulled out of a small refrigerator. “Mr. Bartholomeow, you must learn the French saying, life is too short to drink bad wine.”
“Excusez-me and pardon my French.”
“Unfortunately, that’s the only thing I can’t pardon. Stick with English and we will have need of fewer apologies.”
“Having gotten past the formalities, may I get to the point? (She nodded enthusiastically.)
"Mrs. Loonie, your husband and his accomplices stole $250,000 from the American government during the war. I watched the video of Charles’ funeral yesterday, and I saw his co-conspirators at the ceremony. Do you happen to have any relationship or foreknowledge of Leeward Giddy, Tex Hollowpants or Herman Scrabble?”
“No, fortunately not. It’s bad enough that I’ve seen them!”
“Well, rest assured, those conspirators weren’t there to honor your dead husband. They just wanted to get a good look at you and you at them for some upcoming mayhem they have in mind.
"You see, Charles got away with all the money and then faked his own death. So you can understand that now that Charles is dead and has sold all your designer outfits for this same $250,000, these men are coming for you. Knowing that you must have the money. Point of fact, your life is in peril until we get that money back to the US of A. That’s all very clear now isn’t it, Reggie?”
“My husband had a very impressive array of last names and I would prefer you call me one of those to calling me Reggie. And, to your point, I don’t have the money or the clothes. As a matter of fact, I’m going to have to take a job!’
“May I call you Mrs. Floss?” Bartholomeow sheepishly asked.
Reggie stood up and said, “That’s fine, but don’t get fresh with me again! And now, I will leave you to your spying on funerals and so forth.”
“OK, Mrs. Floss, but take one of my cards and call me if these men start hassling you. You will find these boys to be some tough customers. You can also call me if you just want to go have some beer together at some Parisian dive, my treat.”
Regina grabs a card and hurried towards the door as Bartholomeow shouted, “Never forget what happened to your husband. Find that money, Mrs. Floss. I insist.” Then he burped!
“Who better typifies the ‘ugly’ American than this one here”, she thought as she hastened toward the elevator.
The next day we find Reggie strolling listlessly through a small park adjacent to the Esplanade des Chapped-Lips. She stops to view (with only passing interest) a production of a Punch and Judy show performed under the banner of 'Théâtre des Vrai Guignol, Traumatizing Children and Adults since 1818'.
ReplyDeleteThe children sit transfixed as Judy beats her hubby, Punch, with a Louisville Slugger bat (Hank Williams Model 1962). The brats, caught up in the violence, can be heard responding to the spectacle with a mixture of laughter and screams. A few, no doubt are reminded of their vrai home life, and these few are sniffling and crying, but to no avail. Judy continues unabated, merrily beating the unfortunate Punch into unconsciousness. But wait! Punch has rebounded with a Hillerich and Bradsby bat (Ted Williams Model 1959) and now the couple are trading licks. Not only with physical blows but with verbal assaults. The French are second only to the Italians when it comes to vocal sparring.
Reggie, perched uncomfortably on a bench next to some of the kids, is not laughing. Indeed she is just watching, her face a blank, void of emotion. She is perhaps too caught up in her own Grand-Guignol to notice the curious play or the even more curious reactions of the young spectators.
Of a sudden PETER comes up behind her and, stepping over the benches and a few of the kids, sits beside her.
"Hallo, Peter."
"You telephoned me to meet you. I've been standing on the corner back there -- waiting for you."
"I'm sorry -- I heard the children laughing at the sound of Punch's bones cracking. I thought that by observing someone else being killed, it might somehow take my mind off of my situation."
Reggie and Peter are momentarily distracted by a roar from the children. They turn toward the stage.
"What the devil is going on?", asks Reggie.
"Don't you understand French?"
"I'm barely able to manage English."
"The man and the woman are married..."
"Ah, that explains a lot."
(The puppet couple continue batting each other on the head. Finally Judy delivers a home run blow to Punch's head. Punch collapses and then a puppet gendarme resplendent in a three-cornered hat appears).
Peter asks, "Who's that guy with the funny hat?"
Reggie answers, "Oh, that's the policeman... he wants to arrest Judy for domestic abuse.'
Unbeknownst to the couple, the vrai policeman, monsieur inspecteur Clooless, is lurking in the background, watching... and waiting.
ANDDDDDDD the drum roll begins!
ReplyDeleteReggie and Peter find themselves in a night club where Peter proceeds for the next umpteenth hours to get an orange off a strange, blonde, buxomly matrons neck! He then turns to Reggie and tried to unload the darn thing off on her. Reggie in turn, turns to a spectacled gentleman and tries to pass the orange to him. As they wiggle and squirm against each other, the four eyed gent whispers to her, "Mrs. Lambert, it doesn't belong to you."
Reggie thinks he's talking about the orange. "My good man, why do you think I'm trying to pass it to you. You don't simply believe I'm rubbing against you for good luck? Do you?!"
"The money," four eyes says. "Give us the money or you'll be thrown away like last years ripped jeans. And with the zipper missing if you get my meaning."
Reggie is frightened by the thought of it and swiftly gives the man a swift kick in the pants!! "Are you all right?" asks Peter. "He stepped on me," answered Reggie. Four eyes gasped in reply, "It was my fault...should have taken Orange From The Neck lessons!"
Reggie runs for the nearest pay phone. You know, how people used to call each other before cell phones? They were in boxes with folded doors that allowed you shelter as you balanced phone books and juggled change as a nasally phone operator would tell you to please deposit 30 cents for your phone call to continue and you would drop the change and the actual phone line would only let you bend over part way to the metal floor. Not to mention the trillions of germs....oh never mind!!
Cut one - just to be safe....
ReplyDeleteSo Reggie is digging in her purse for a coin (which, of course is in the bottom) and brings out mascara (Maybelline, why can’t you be true? Maybelline…but I digress,) a box of Kleenex, birth control pills (just now on the market,) girth control pills (she needs them?) a jar of Sal-Hapatica, the remains of the egg and onion sandwich for which she needed the Sal-Hapatica, (Urp!) a needle in a haystack, the messages from beyond the grave including The Envelope, pictures from her honeymoon (alone,) assorted lipsticks, nail clippers, crayons, a Berlitz French traveler’s book, an extra hat and……one token for the phone.
So she puts all this furshluginer stuff away with a scoop shovel and drops in the coin and dials the number on her sleeve. Ding!
Reggie: Mr. Bartholomeow, they after me! They after me, Bwah! I seen one! S.O.S. Dot dot dot dit dit dit do…
She senses a presence behind her. She slams down the receiver and the phone falls to the floor.
Cut two then...
ReplyDeleteCut to: Tex, a roll-yer-own in his mouth: Howdy, M’am. I came fer it.
Reggie: What?
Tex: It.
Reggie: It what?
Tex lights his smoke, holds the lit match between thumb and middle finger: It don’t belong to you. Belongs to me.
Reggie: See heah, I have no idyea….
Tex: Don’t play dumb with me. You ain’t even blond. It’s (pause) mine!
Reggie: What is?
Tex: It is! (Tex flicks the match into her lap, lights another. Flicks it! Reggie begins to panic. Tex flicks another. Reggie reaches into her purse and brings out an extinguisher. Poof!)
Reggie looks up from her ruined dress and Tex is gone.
Cut to Reggie outside the booth: Hello! Hello..o..o..!
Voice behind her: Hello.
Reggie gives a little scream. Turns. It’s Peter. (She was maybe expecting the Stay-Puft marshmallow man?)
Peter: What are you doing down here?
Reggie: Having a nervous breakdown. How about you?
Cut to street at night.
Reggie: Here we are on the street where you live.
Peter: Yes. I have often walked down this street before.
But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before
All at once am I….
Reggie: Oh, shut up!
Peter: Bad Memories?
Reggie: Shut up!
These two, at last, entered the rather seedy motel where Reggie, in her reduced circumstances, was now living. The elderly security guard was wiped out on the floor. An empty bottle of wine was by his side. Reggie gave Peter a look of disappointment.
Delete“The security here is airtight, like I told you. That one’s probably off duty. But be glad he’s off tonight because you going up un-escorted in an elevator with a dashing man of my years could be problematic. Even in this neighborhood.” She tickled his chin.
“Reggie, be serious, what went on in that phone booth at the club tonight?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you. But if you must know, this cowboy tried to set my dress on fire. My last Givenchy, the nerve! He argued that this dress must have been auctioned with the rest, and that I either needed to give him the dress or the money. While I was looking for my mints on the floor, he pulled out his cigarettes. But he realized he’d had wasted all his matches on me and said he had to go get a light.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad you didn’t give him your dress,” Peter said.
“Well, that was him; why don’t we go upstairs to my room and see what you can get from me!!” Reggie giggled. She–like the writer- needed some comic relief.
After a few minutes ride on the elevator, Peter started blushing. Hastening back to the point, he asked, “What was your husband involved in? Didn’t you say he was in some trouble?”
Reggie said, “If you don’t realize I’m a woman and you are a man, we’re both in big trouble!”
As the elevator stopped, Peter stepped out and asked, “What does that mean?”
Reggie, who had regained her composure answered, “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you. I was told in no uncertain terms that if I told anybody, both the other person and I would be in jeopardy.”
Frustrated, Peter asked, “Are we talking about the same thing? I seem to have lost the thread of the conversation.”
“Never mind all that. Come into my boudoir for a night cap…I have several sizes.” (She giggles again.)
“You need a spanking, Reggie.”
“How about if I pull you over and give you a ticket for going under the speed limit, Peter?”
“How about if I whack you over the knuckles, Reggie.”
“How about if I bust out crying and lay my head on your shoulders, Peter.”
“How about laying your head on your pillow, Reggie.”
As Peter walked away, she asked him what was wrong with him. He said, “Nothing.” And she agreed!
As Peter leaves, Reggie smiles slightly, then turns and puts the key into the door and opens it. As she enters she immediately senses danger! Her room has been ransacked and standing in the middle of the ransack is a large ramshackle man in a shabby London Fog that should have been replaced years ago. Yep, it's none other than Herman Scrabble. Arch Villain Par Excellence, sporting a hook that would have made the Captain in "Peter Pan" jealous. His leering, despicable face seemingly forever fixed in a vicious scowl.
ReplyDeleteHis Royal Meanness starts slowly advancing toward Reggie.
"Where is it, lady -- I know ya got it!"
A terrified Reggie replies nervously, " I don't know... I don't...I don't... depends on what you mean by 'got'. I got rhythm, I've been told. I don't have the orange. A rather buxomly lady..."
"C'mon sister, I know you have it so gimme!"
Just then Reggie notices that instead of a hand, Scrabble sports a metal claw thingy.
"Whadda ya starin' at?"
"Why nothing, incredibly repugnant guy. I don't notice your metal hand at all. I..."
Scrabble lunges at her raising his 'hand' to strike.
"I want that medal -- give it to me -- it's mine! Oh wait, that's 'The Bad Seed', wrong script. Well whatever it is I'm after, cough it up, lady!"
The 'hand' is starting to come down. Reggie, screaming with fear, swiftly turns and flees the scene. As she runs out, slamming the door behind her the metal hand crashes through the wooden panel sending splinters flying. Paralyzed with fear, Reggie stares with horror at the protruding claw.
Hearing her screams Peter comes to the rescue. He notices the metal hand jutting comically from the door panel.
"Oh Peter, a man tried to kill me!"
Pulling Reggie aside, he turns the key (still in the outside lock) quietly and then, with all the force he can muster, shoves open the door and smashes the stunned Scrabble on the jaw.
In his best Joe DeRita voice Scrabble whines, "Owwww, that hurt!"
Stunned as his head bangs against the wall, Scrabble manages to raise a foot and push Peter violently away, sending him sprawling across the bed and disappearing behind it.
Frantically, the resident villain puts his foot against the door and manages to rip his metal hand free. He rushes to the open window and scrambles Scrabble-like out into the night.
Reggie quietly opens the door and whispers, "Peter? Peter? Quit playing hide and go seek."
ReplyDeletePeter pops out from behind the bed upset that his hiding spot was so easily found. "If I wasn't so old and everything hurting, you wouldn't have found me!"
Obviously being paid a lot for his role, Peter goes out the window after Scrabble. He jumps from one ledge to another and says a quick hiddy ho to Ali and Pam, old school chums who just happen to have the room next door. Small world.
Being told that he would get free lunch for jumping to another ledge, Peter goes for it. Peter spies all three bullies who tried to shake down Reggie having a meeting. Well, in actuality, it was a "lets all call Herman dumb" meeting. Peter jumps into the room and announces himself. "Guys, guys! How am I suppose to get the money if you're all breathing down my neck! I thought we all had an agreement." Peter was in with the three!!
"Reggie trusts me! You have to let me do this alone," says Peter. "The money belongs to us," whines Herman Scrabble. Peter replies with "A third of nothing is nothing. Think on that...and she's waiting for me."
"I don't see how 24 hours would hurt anything" says four eyes. "That's right," says Tex. "Not after all these years ya big galoop."
But Scrabble wasn't having it. "He's getting it out of your share, not mine." And he goes out the door, sulking.
Peter then asks either man if they have the room next to Reggie. "I do." says Tex. "Gimme the key," says Peter. Before he goes out the door, Tex reminds him how dangerous four eyes can be. Beware the man with ocular problems...they see everything.
Chapter 1
ReplyDeleteReggies room.
Camera pans the room: On one wall a sample: “God Bless Our Home/Excuse The Mess.” On the window wall is a framed picture of “Napoleon In Rags” (So that’s where Dylan got the…sorry) whose eyes follow the camera to the other wall with an overlay of the subway system and the theater where it all comes to a climax, with little flag pins showing the ambient points, also a list of characters and their various aliases. Well, how else are ya gonna keep track?
Holly is studying this, smoking a cigarette in a very long holder. (Oops! Sorry! Wrong movie.)
Reggie is smoking a cigarette, anyway. (Hey! It’s 1963, folks. People smoked like chimneys.)
Knock on the door. “Shave-and-a-haircut etc.”
Reggie coughs: Who Dere?
Peter’s voice: Peter.
Reggie: Peter who?
Peter: Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater. Now lemme in!
Reggie turns the latch, does the combination lock, then the bolt, then the hook-and-eye, and finally opens the door.
Peter lying: Yep. No trace of him. Not a whiff. And you’d know if there was a whiff. Ewwww! (Now all Phillip Marlow or Sam Spade) Awright, sister! What’s this caper all about? Spill it!
Reggie: The ink? (pause) Oh, you mean the fact that there are three men after my bod.
Peter (all debonair) Howcome?
Reggie: They think I have something.
Peter: What?
Reggie: A quarter of a million dollars.
Peter: Wherezit?
Reggie: I haven’t a clue. (channeling the other Hepburn) Reahlly I dohn’t. Those men must have killed him on the train, but he didn’t have it and now because I don’t they gonna kill me boo hoo hoo hoo.
Peter: I won’t let ‘em, missy.
Reggie blubbering into his suit: I’m not Missie, I’m Reggie.
Peter: Oh, be quiet!
Reggie: Now, look! My eyes got your suit all wet. (Note: water motif in this picture)
Peter: That’s all right. It’s drip dry.
Voice over: That’s right, friends. Always look for the Sanforized label when you buy everything from suits to dainty underthings. Sanforized means that your purchases are all pre shrunk. And not a wrinkle in a carload.
Reggie responding to Peter’s speech pre-empted by commercial: …do trust you, Peter. Please tell me that you’ll never, ever, ever, not once, lie to me, like Charles, or whoever he was, did Whyyyyy do people lie, Peter.
ReplyDeletePeter: Ever try to get something by telling the truth?
Phone rings. Reggie picks it up…the receiver, that is: Hello?
Exterior shot, phone kiosk on street filled with Scrabble and “Post No Bill” and “No Graffiti” signs covered with graffiti pasted on the kiosk.
Scrabble: “Is Vile with ya?”
Interior: the room
Reggie: Who? Who are you?
Exterior Scrabble
Scrabble: The guy you played Patty Cake with.
Int. Reggie: I DON’T play Patty Cake!
Ext: Scrabble: O.k., the guy you tussled with. I left a hole in yer door. Is Vile with ya?
Int. Reggie: WHO?!?
Ext. Scrabble: The guy who hit me. He there with you?
Int. Reggie: Yes, that’s right.
Ext. Scrabble: Don’t trust him. His name’s Vile. He’s after the money. (Scrabble hangs up.)
As a startled, wide-eyed Reggie put the phone down, Peter asked, “Who was it?”
DeleteThough a novice, she figured she’d try her hand at deception since everybody was doing it! “It was Room Service. I asked them to send me a pastry in the morning and every hour on the hour and they called to say they only serve patty cake. Those are dreadful cakes without yeast.”
Peter, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get all the confections you want.”
Reggie wasn’t at all certain Peter could be counted on at this point. “Please don’t bother about me; I know of several bakeries in the neighborhood.”
With that, Peter came over to give her a hug, and the provocative woman on the elevator earlier had vanished. Perhaps Peter had resisted her advances too emphatically.
“Well, Peter—if that is your name--this evening has been awfully eventful and I really should get to bed,” Reggie said as she walked Peter toward the door.
One more time, Peter- in vain- tried to console her. “I’ll be in the room next to yours. Scrabble is bunking with Hollowpants two rooms down.”
“And I suppose the third man is staying here too. What a coincidence that you booked me into this hotel.”
Peter demurred at what he thought was a compliment by blushing and shaking his head as he left Reggie’s room. But Peter didn’t go straight to his room though it was but a few steps away. No, Peter decided he better keep up with Reggie’s movements by unwinding his cheap socks, and connecting his room to Reggie’s room by help of a push-pen stuck in her door. He seen this maneuver on an episode of “Columbo.”
Meanwhile, a distraught Reggie, dug through her purse to find some candy. Because, in spite of her desire to sit and reflect on what a liar Peter turned out to be, she was starving half to death!
Before she broke off some chocolate from her chocolate bar, she noticed the card Bartholomeow had given her:
“Hamilton Bartholomeow, A Desk Jockey for the American Embassy, Please call me at the following number, but don’t leave a message since I share this office space.”
Reggie's call woke Bartholomeow at his residence –if it was his residence- which caused the surly side of his duplicitous nature to emerge. “Grrr….” he muttered instead of ‘Hallo’.
Breathlessly, Reggie whispered into the phone, “Mr. Bartholomeow, I’ve just been entertaining a 4th person who seems to be after the money. His name is Vile.
“Peter Vile?” Don’t know him. Call back later in the day…”
“Mr. Bartholomeow, if you don’t meet me now in front of the Rue Pontu, I am going back to America tomorrow. My dental appointment is in Jersey in a few days anyway.”
“All right; I’ll get up and try to get a comb through my mop. Don’t talk to Peter until I talk to you. And don’t fail to realize, Mrs. Floss, that it may have been Peter who killed your husband. And he may want to kill you too. See you soon”
Reggie quietly put the receiver down and stuck the chocolate in her mouth. On her way to the door, she looked through the peep-hole to see into Peter’s room. And what was he doing but cleaning a gun!
*“De trop!” she whispered as she ran out of her room.
*Roughly, the expression means too much.
Yeah, 'de trop'. Too much indeed! It was all too much. She knew she was irresistibly, perhaps fatally drawn to Reggie. She'd had several dreams about attempting to shave between that peculiar cleft in his chin. It was a source of both fascination and fantasy. And now, as if she weren't already facing a sea of troubles, she finds out about Reggie's participation in this caper.
ReplyDeleteBut what she doesn't know as she flees out of her room into the streets of Paris is that Reggie, James Bond-like, has rigged a string device tied to his room key has caused it to dislodge and fall noisily to the floor. How very cloak and dagger of him!
He quickly pulls on a coat and runs for the door. He just catches a glimpse of Reggie sneaking past his door. He starts after her frantically calling her name.
"Reggie...!"
She turns back at the sound of his voice but, if anything, this hastens her flight down the stairs toward the lobby. The lobby is deserted save for the ever-sleeping night porter.
"Reggie!"
Faster still she runs and out the door. In the street she 'spies' (see what I did there?) a taxi and hails it.
"Hail, taxi!"
The taxi, sufficiently hailed, pulls to the curb. Trying her best to be inconspicuous and not looking over her shoulder more than five or six times, she approaches the astonished cabbie. She opens and then loudly closes the door without getting in. She slaps a bill in to the driver's hand.
"Vite! vite! Allez-y!
Which is French for 'get goin' Charlie! and make it snappy!'
Emma Peel-like, she jumps into the shadows of a nearby doorway as the taxi pulls away. Just then Vile runs out of the hotel and frantically hails a cab.
"Follow that taxi!"
The taxi driver looks at him quizzically and asks, "Comment?"
Which in French roughly translates to 'huh?'.
"Taxi, taxi, you followum taxi pronto. Saavy?"
The bewildered driver responds, "Je ne comprends rien."
Which in French roughly translates to 'what th' hey, I don't understand crazy Americans with cleft chins.'
Desperate to be understood, Vile pulls out a worn Dictionnaire Larousse which he'd kept since high school French I. He flips through the pages in a pathetic attempt to find a meaningful phrase that the cabbie might understand.
From the shadows, Reggie looks on with annoyance.
"Ah, here we are, 'suivre... suivre el taxi!"
"Ah! Oui, Monsieur."
The cabbie, somewhat contemptuous of the mixture of French and Spanish thinks to himself 'sanglant touriste!'
Which in French roughly translates to 'bloody tourist!'
Reggie, having seen the cab speed off on a wild goose chase, hails the next cab and hastens to her meeting with Bartholomeow. Like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter...
Barty asks, "Were you followed?" To which Reggie replied, "Of course...but I lost him. Poor sot doesn't speak French! I'm beginning to think I'm the only Frenchie in town."
ReplyDeleteBarty: "Agents! Cant live with them, cant loose them. Carson Daily, man sticks to you like gum under your shoe."
Reggie: "Why didn't you tell me about Daily?"
Barty: "Didn't see the point, mans dead."
Reggie: "Mr. Barty...what is this all about?!"
We next catch our favorite pair in a dining setting with Bartholomeow telling us a nice bedtime story (yawn)…..
Barty (I don't want to spell Bartholomeow every single time, forgive): "In 1944, five members of the OSS, the Military Order of Strange Strangers, were ordered to go behind German war lines and loan a huge amount of money to the French Underground. The five men were your husband, the three men that showed up at his funeral and Carson Daily."
"Ohhhhh…" replied Reggie with a dawning look on her face.
"Instead of delivering the loan, they stole it..GOLD!" Barty went on.
"How" askes Reggie breathlessly.
"By burying it," says Barty. "They said the Germans captured it and then drew a treasure map to return, look for it and split it. Five ways! A quarter of a million dollars with no interest."
Barty is smoking a cigarette and getting tobacco bits on his shirt.
ReplyDeleteReggie: May I have a cigarette?
Barty: Sure. I have everything: Cigars, cigarettes, plug, and (points fingers at her a la pistole, and with a smirk,) snuff. The way you ditched him was damn clever. Women make the best agents.
Reggie: You called him “Doily” or something like that. That awful man called him “Vile.”
Barty (Lighting up): That’s one of his aliases, one he picked up right after the war. You could buy ‘em like M and M’s then. (Lights up another one.) Made it his legit name. I was just testing you.
Reggie (as Barty lights up again, two this time): How’d I do?
Barty: Rlllly gdddd.
Reggie: What?
Barty: Nvvvr mnddd (neatly folds the smoke into his capacious mouth and eats them. Reggie looks non-plussed in spite of what Barty mumbled about her doing “Rlllly gddddd,”) (Barty belches and blows a series of smoke rings.) I do ‘em that way for my health. What’s this guy look like?
Reggie: Weeeellll….he’s tall, dark and handsome and he has a dimple in his chin you could drive Mack truck to Toledo in.
Barty: Ain’t Vile. Unless he had a brother. Or sister. Or third cousin on his mother’s father’s uncle’s side. Whatever.
Reggie: I Gotta Get Outta This Place
If it’s the last thing I ever do.
I Gotta Get Outta This Place
Barty: There ain’t no better place for me and you.
Reggie: What?
Barty (lighting up again): If you ain’t got the Doremi, you better figure out where it is, or your life won’t be worth a Confederate treasury bond. (lights up another.)
Reggie: Don’t Do That! It’s bad enough you use those awful smelly cigars. I can’t understand you when you have your mouth full and we must move this thing along or the customers will stomp out wanting their money back. Come on, now what’s the full story?
Flashback cut to Springtime for Hitler and Germany, but that’s way to early, so cut to a shadow sneaking into a cattle car for the Swiss border. Bromo-Seltzer, Bromo-Seltzer, etc.
Cut to shadows shadowing the shadow: over hill, over dale, over dusty desert trail and through the permafrost. Nothing will stop these men from their rounds.
Cut to first scene before the credits: There goes Charles.
End of Flashback.
Cut to present and Reggie is enjoying her Frog and Onion soup as best she can because Barty is dribbling tobacco juice down his from from the massive chaw he’s masticating.
Reggie: If that man isn’t Vile, why’d Scrabble call him that? (Ah, a flaw in the plot?)
Barty: How should I know? I just know Vile’s dead and was 5’ 5” soaking wet and about as ugly as they come. Maybe this guy is the fifth wheel. Maybe he’s the spare gas tank. You’re job is to string him along. Maybe the string’ll turn into the end of the rope.
Reggie: There’s a fly in my soup.
Barty: Don’t broadcast it or everyone here will want one. Maybe the guy does have the money. Find out.
Reggie: The fly’s doing the back stroke.
Barty: Let’s get outta here. You got enough for the bill? I’m a little short. (a foreshadowing statement?)
The next morning, Reggie awoke thinking about her new job as spy (or agent) for the American Embassy. She had some ambivalence about the project, but she wanted to know Peter’s real name and why he lied to her like all the others. But, point of fact, she didn’t know how much she had been lied to thus far.
DeleteKnowing how to look the part, Reggie put on her London Fog trench coat with matching high-performance dew-rag. She thought to herself, “Who could ever tell it was me.” As she passed the hotel desk, Security had sobered up and said, “Good morning, Ms. Floss,” and he was barely sober! ugh.
When Reggie exited the building, Peter (if that was his name) was in front of the apartment of a blind woman down the street who was shaking her throw rugs and the dust landed on Peter’s coat. “Excuse me,” Peter shouted, “you have dirtied my best jacket. Do you have a sponge I might use?"
“Pardonnez ma dust, s’il vous plaits,” she shouted back. Peter didn’t wait for the sponge knowing that he would shower with the suit on a little later in the story.
As Peter proceeded, Reggie followed him down the street, her back hugging the wall. (It was really pretty comical.) As she approached an outdoor café, she saw Peter turn back in her direction to buy a bloom from a flower girl. So as not to be noticed, Reggie sat down at a table with her back to Peter. There was a gentleman seated at the table and she felt she should start some light conversation as if they were together.
“Monsieur, during the war, were you pro-Vichy or Free France?”
“Madame, I am a German so my loyalties were….Well, you can imagine the pressure I was under,” said her surprised companion. With that, Reggie looked back and saw that Peter had crossed the street.
As she got up from the table, the gentleman also rose and plaintively said, “Don’t to think that I knew all what Hitler was up to…We didn’t know no-thing.”
“That’s what they all say.” Reggie hurried along the street to catch up to Peter with the German fellow following close behind yelling (everybody yells in France), “Some of my best friends were in the French resistance…”
“If you keep following me, I’ll call de Gaulle. He’s back on the job you know.” Reggie stayed close on the heels of Peter who suddenly stopped and walked back to the curb so as not to cross on a red light.
To avoid his notice again, Reggie turned back to her German, locking her arm in his as they headed back to the table. So friendly now, she said, “You know, we must forgive one another. Vive la difference, don’t you know.”
“Oh,’ stammered the incredulous German at her civility –if that was what he was stammering over, “I’m certainly willing to make a tryst right here...”
Reggie got up from the table and said, “You mean truce, don’t you?” He rose too and looked as though he were going to follow her again, but Reggie warned, “Quit following me. Some people may mistake us for a caravan. Stay here in case I need you when I return to my hotel.”
“Help you return to your hotel?! Certainly I’ll be here for absolute 100 percent sure, Fraulein,” the excitable German replied.
As Reggie headed down the street, she noticed Peter jumping on public transportation. So she hailed a cab, “Tax-eeee!” Peter got off the bus in front of American Express and Reggie got out of her tax-eee there too.
When Reggie noticed a lady at the Information Desk, she asked the woman if she would Dyle M for My Husband’s Murderer.
The lady obliged
"Mais oiu, Madame. I will be happy to connect you."
ReplyDeleteRING! RING!
"I'm sorry madame, your husband's murderer is not answering."
Suddenly, Reggie notices Peter approaching. Before he spots her, she quickly rushes down a flight of stairs leading to the mail room and telephone booths. She ducks into Booth 5. From her vantage point she sees Vile approaching one of several windows. He proceeds to the section labeled "V - Z"
To the attractive mail clerk he asks,"Vile, please... V - I - L - E. Anything for me today?'
"Why yes, monsieur. You can have anything you want."
Vile, red-faced, replies, "Another time perhaps, ducks. Just now I'd like to see if I have any mail."
The disappointed clerk sorts through a bundle from the "V" slot.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Vile -- nothing today. I'm coming off duty at seven. I'd love to get at that sexy crevice in your chin. Prrrrrrr."
"Well, I, er, that is. Oh gosh! Look at the time! Gotta go. Cheery-bye!
He turns heads back up the stairs. Just about mid flight the intercom blurts out:
"Mr. Vile, -- you're wanted on the telephone, Booth 3 -- Mr. Vile. Booth 3 please.
He stops and comes down the stairs, goes into Booth 3.
"Yes?"
"Good morning, Mr. Vile."
"Reggie?"
"That's my name. My only name. Howsabout you??"
"Alright, alright, you got me. What do you want to know?"
"Well, let's see. I already know the secret of life the universe and everything. Mainly what I'd like to know is why did you lie to me?"
"Had to my darling -- for all I knew you could have been in on the whole thing. Plus I'm a pathological prevaricator. However, I'm all about answering your questions so... shoot. Oh wait, poor choice of words. I meant ask away."
"Well mister kiss, kiss bang, bang, you can start by telling me who the heck you really are."
"You know my name it's Vile, Carson Vile."
"Hah!! Another lie! I happen to know that Carson Vile is dead."
"Well, yes, he is. He was my brother."
"Your what? LIAR!"
"Oh very well. He was my first cousin, yeah, that's the ticket. My first cousin once removed. Removed permanently as it turns out. Ha, ha. The army thinks he was killed in action by the Germans, but I think they did it -- Tex, Giddy and Scrabble -- and your husband -- because he wouldn't go along with their scheme to steal the gold. I think he threatened to turn them in and they killed him. I'm trying to prove it. They think I'm working with them. But I'm not, and that's the truth. I'm on your side, Reggie -- please believe that."
"How can I believe a word you say? You lied to me -- the way Charles did! Oh, I want to believe you, Peter. But I can't call you that anymore, can I? It will take me a while to get used to your new name which I don't even know yet. What is it?
Well, aren't you going to tell me?
Hello, Peter or whatever your name happens to be ?
Hello?"
Dead silence...
Reggie walks to the phone booth...empty. We next see Vile being prodded on into an elevator by Scrabble. "Do anything funny and I'll cap you Vile," sneers Scrabble....
ReplyDeleteVile: "Is that a gun? Or are you trying to ruin your look?"
Scrabble pushes Vile into the elevator and tells the next person entering to take the next car please. They get off on the 6th floor, Scrabble makes Vile get into the staircase area. Holds his gun ala General Grievous and proceeds to one handle Vile's gun and unload the bullets.
Scrabble: "Now sit down." He chucks Vile's gun. "We wait and keep your trap shut!"
Vile thinks, "Oh good, nappy time (yawn)."
A guard looks the place up. Scrabble makes Vile climb the staircase after a time. "Do I knock?" asks Vail.
"Nahhh, open it." says Scrabble. "And keep right on going."
Vail says, "You know, I always felt you were trying to get me alone...it's the cleft, huh?!"
They climb another set of stairs and find themselves on the roof top. Have a Coke and a Smile lash in big neon letters across from them. "Ohhhh...pretty," coos Vail. "Look at the pretty lights. Now what...."
Scrabble prompts Vail ahead to the edge of the building. "Look closer at that pretty sign Vail," says Scrabble. He then asks Vail, "Where's the money?"
Incredulously Vail says, "Is that why we got me up here?!! It wasn't because of my boyish charm and cleft chin?! She's got it!"
Scrabble: "I say ya both got it! One more time Vile, where is it?!"
Vail: "Supposing I did have it and no! It's not hidden in my chin...I'd never hand it to you!"
Scrabble: "You and that gorgeous chin step back."
"Step back where?" asks Vail. "You know," says Scrabble. "I thought so," answers Vail back...and then it's high Karate time!!
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ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteVile (with a flurry of kicks, jabs, and bobs of the head and whatever works): Hiiiii-Yah! Hoh! Arrrrr! (None of them land)
ReplyDeleteScrabble looks bored. Vile looks perplexed.
Vile: Hmmm. That’s the last time I send for a course for 25 cents and a Hai Karate cologne lable. Apparently not worth it. (to the band called Hai Karate who has played under the preceding flurry of kicks, etc.) You guys can go home.
Band (as they leave): #%&!**@^^^.com!
Vile: Where were we?
Scrabble: You were about to step off the roof.
Vile: Oh, right. Silly me. However…(tackles Scrabble low and also knocking the gun our of his hand. Scrabble slashes at him with the hook and rips his suit and arm.)
Vile: Hey, that hurt.
Prone on the roof they….
Both reach for the gun/The gun/The gun.
They both reach for the gun.
(This may seem strange since “Chicago” will not open for about 12 years. But this is a parody, so….wotthehell? Ynot?)
Scrabble scrabbles to his feet, pulling Vile up with his hook and holds him close….and they begin to waltz. La diddly dum. La diddly dum. La diddy dum. (Accompanied by the Vienna Chamber Orchestra.) Then a steamy tango, a cha cha, a mambo, a reel….Wheeeee!)
Finally, just as Scrabble is about to drop Vile in a pile several stories down, Vile deftly whirls, gives Scrabble a head butt, (the head being the softest part of him. ) Scrabble lets go as Vile falls back on the roof.
Scrabble (his arms flailing): Whoop-oop-oop-oop! (over he goes) Oops!
Vile shakes his head, looks up, doesn’t see Scrabble. He crawls to the edge of the roof. Looks over. Sees Scrabble trying to get a purchase on the sloping part of the roof.
Vile: How’s it hangin’, Howard?
Scrabble: How do you think?
Vile: Ta, Howard. It was fun. Hope we don’t get to do it again.
Vile walks to the roof door and closes it behind him.
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ReplyDeleteAfter engaging with Scrabble at fist-to-cuffs precariously atop the American Express building, Vile decided to return to his hotel to see if Reggie would dress his wounds, praise his manliness and perhaps offer him a snack from her stash.
ReplyDeleteWhen Vile got off the elevator on his floor, maintenance was fixing the hole in Reggie’s door –compliments of Scrabble- by taping a sticky note reading, “Repairs like phone calls are extra,” over the hole.
“Monsieur, de management said dat next time you entre, knock on de door but not hard e‘nuff to put holes in de thing.”
Peter–if that was his name- in his usual supercilious tone, ignored the man and unlocked his door, making plenty of noise so that Reggie would rush to the connecting door, which of course she did.
“Peter, open the door….come on now, I won’t molest you… much. I won’t even ask what your new first name is, if you don’t want me to. But only PLEASE open the door! It’s enough being left holding the phone at the Embassy…oh, the games you play!”
Peter was quite a sight when he opened up the lock on his side of the door. For starters, his coat was cut and bleeding; his shirt was torn and moaning, and as Reggie gasped (knowing what his suit must have cost), Peter turned around and it was evident that his collar had also been torn asunder and was made to suffer.
“It was Scrabble, Reggie.”
Reggie pulled Peter into her room and took the rest of his clothes off –the upper garments in particular. She then ran to the medicine cabinet for a salve that she knew would hurt him more than it would the clothing. But a liberal application had to be applied.
Peter looked away as Reggie applied the first coat of an oily substance with a sharp and tangy kick, causing him to scream like an infant.
“I suppose your brother Carson wasn’t much of a hero either, was he? He was your brother wasn’t he?”
Peter, taking umbrage at the question asked if she wanted to see his tattoo that read, “Aren’t I glad I’m a Dyle. Don’t I wish everybody was?”
She answered, “Decidedly not. But I would like to know your REAL first name.”
“How does the name Alex suit you? What’s in a name any way?”
Speechless for the moment, Reggie gave Alex a few milk duds as she formulated in her head some pretty pointed questions whose relevancies were in regards to arriving at the truth. If that were a possible destination with this shifty guy!!
“I’ve always wondered how you could tell if an Indian was lying?” She thought she’d start with a warm-up question.
As Alex went back into his room to straighten his hair and grab a clean shirt, he said, “There’s an old proverb that talks about 2 doors on a game show set. Behind one of the doors is a Truthful Indian bearing gifts, behind the other door is a Lying Indian with a slow and painful death in his quiver. In front of each door is a small midget. One of the midgets is a liar, and the other one always tells the truth. You can ask 1 midget 1 question about what is behind their door. What would you ask?”
“Is Mrs. Alex Dyle a divorcee too?” With that, Reggie grabbed Alex and pulled him back into her room, threw him into one of the chairs, sat on him and covered him with kisses. (Anthropologists have always had difficulty explaining those kinds of actions by women towards men who are proven liars.)
After many kisses, the phone rang and Alex told her not to answer. “I saw the sticky note on your door; phone calls are extra.”
What's in a name? A Vile by any other name would smell as fishy. The nom de jour, was Alex.
ReplyDeleteAlex, speaking as plainly as possible considering Reggie's smooching all over him, mumbled, "The moan is pinging," mumbled Alex.
"Eh, what did you say?"
"I said the phone is ringing."
"I don't care, Alex or Peter or whatever your name is. It can ring all it wants."
The phone keeps ringing incessantly.
Reggie: Whoever it is won't give up -- neither will I!
The phone continues to ring and Reggie continues to smooch. She finally reaches out and takes it off the hook. Bringing up the receiver to their mouths she mumbles into it:
"Sorry --wrong number. Leave us alone!"
"Ah, no ma'am. I reckon I got the right number alright." Tex's voice!
Tex: Now Miz Lampoon, me an' my buddies, we'd be mighty obliged iffen you could mosey on over across the hall an' chew the cud with us for a spell. Yessum. We shore would.
Reggie: Can you give me one good reason why I should?
Tex: Ah shore can, ma'am. Matter of fact I kin give ye 'bout seven or eight reasons why.
Reggie: Seven or eight?
Yessum. Each reason would jest about cover each year that this little 'un has been suckin' in air. Little feller keeps callin' you his Aunt Reggie. That's cute now, ain't it?
Reggie covers the phone and turns to Vile in alarm.
"They've got Jon-Moutard!"
"That sounds like their problem."
"What... what ever do you mean?"
"My darling, Reggie, haven't you ever read O'Henry's 'The Ransom of Red Chief?' Those guys would have gladly paid a ransom themselves to get rid of the little monster they'd kidnapped."
Reggie speaking to Tex: "I'll be right there."
Tex: We'll be waitin' in room forty-seven, Miz Lampoon -- so you kin jest wiggle that purty hind end on over here.
As Reggie hangs up she asks Vile, "what day is it?"
"Huh? Is that a trick question? Oh, never mind, it's Tuesday."
"Lord, I forgot all about it! Silli has a French New Wave Cinema class Tuesday nights. It's Jean-Luc Goddard this time. But I digress... Silli always leaves him with me. They wouldn't do anything to a little boy, would they?"
"I don't know. I wouldn't worry too much about the little brat. They can kill him but they can't eat him."
We find "the kid" sitting on Scrabble's leg. "Hey Tex, please do something with this kid...my legs had it!"
ReplyDeleteJon-Moutard is lifted off Scrabble's leg by Tex and as he's being lifted he asks Tex, "Monsieur, do you have a real gun?"
"Why sure I do kid," answers Tex and proceeds to pull one out. He tries to impress Jon with his gun twirling skills but just makes Four eyes more irritated than usual.
"Will you put that thing away before you shoot my eyes out!" Four eyes loudly exclaims.
Reggie and Alex enter the room. "Jon-Mustard!" says Reggie. "How do you do Ms. Reggie" says Tex. "Who invited HIM?!" shouts Scrabble.
"Well Hermie, I see you landed right back on your feet," says Alex. "I have to call Silli, she'll be silly with worry," says Reggie next.
Foureyes: Youre not going anywhere Ms. Reggie!
Reggie: But his Mother will be worried sick
Foureyes: Silly Silli worried by the Seashore Ms. Reggie? I think not!
...and Foureyes slams the door shut.
Scrabble: Where's the money Ms. Reggie?
Alex: She doesn't have the money Scrabble
Scrabble: Maybe you do!
Alex: Maybe you do Scrabble. Maybe Tex, maybe Foureyes! Suppose one of you ran into Charles, noticed and admired the cut of his coat...followed him on the train. Threw him off the train, of coarse keeping the raincoat and the money for yourselves without telling the others of your deed.
Scrabble: If that were true, that person would have run off with the money. We're still all here.
Alex: But that's the point. Why run and let the others know what happened. Better to hang around with the money, new coat and wait it out!
Scrabble: He's just trying to throw us off...they got the money I tell ya. We should search their rooms.
Alex: That's okay with us......
Parte Une
ReplyDeleteTex: Wal…Time’s a-wastin’! Let’s git to’t!
Scrabble: Not mine.
Alex: Why not? You have something to hide, Herman?
Scrabble: It’s personal.
Alex: We’ll be discreet. So no further objections. The other three blush hugely but shake their heads.
Alex: We’d better exchange keys.
Alex switches with Scrabble, Reggie switches with Gideon who switches with Dyle who switches with Tex who switches with Jean-Moutard who switches with the concierge who switches with the night security who switches with the maid who switches with Reggie, Gideon, Tex and Dyle who switch with Reggie and……
They finally get everything settled and….Tex and Gideon go off to search Reggie’s room.
Alex: Who do you like?
Reggie grinds herself front to front with Alex: Only you, darling. C’mon! Let’s neck!
Alex corkscrewing himself from her clasp: I mean which of them you think has the money, Bwah?
Reggie, pouting: Oh, Pooh! Scrabble, I suppose.
Alex: All right, I’ll take Tex and Giddy. Take the brat with you and lock the door.
Reggie to the brat: Arrr, Matey, we’re goin’ treasure huntin’!
The Brat: If I find it, will I win a prize? (Alex mimes a kick in the behind.)
Reggie: Have to find it first, Arrrrrrr! (They leave)
Alex turns to the room. Opens a night table. Finds only some illustrated comic booklets (The kind Cowboys like.) He goes to the chest of drawers. The first one contains only some dried cactus buttons, the second only a small can of paint from the painted desert, the third is full of wide open spaces. Disgusted, he goes to the Armoire. Opening it all he sees is a pair of fancy Nudie boots with spiked spurs. Also hanging up are a short black quirt, a small harness with a bit wrapped in barbed wire and a black corset, wrist and ankle restraints. So, Tex is into BDSM.)
Cut to: Reggie’s room and Tex and Four Eyes. Close-up airlines’ bag. Travel stickers: “Spend a Summer in Saucy Sing Sing,” “From Here to Timbuktu,” “Ankor What?” Camera pulls back to Four Eyes looking at the bag
Giddy: Tex?
Tex has been going through the bureau, but there’s nothing official in it. Tex ambles over to Giddy.
Tex: What’s that?
Giddy, emptying the contents onto the table: Some illustrated comic booklets (the kind absconders like,) copies of La Vie Parisienne, Le Sourire and Eros, wads of Kleenex, a busted Captain Midnight decoder ring, a dead moth, an envelope addressed to “TWIMBC,” and a wallet with initials inside in 24 carat brass: “F. U.” Tex opens the wallet and dumps out some dust and a heavy fifty pound note.
Giddy: Charlie’s stuff?
Tex: Looks ta be.
Giddy, reading the letter: Maybe we ought to tell Herman.
Tex: Why? ‘S not here. Why Bother ‘im?
Parte Deux
ReplyDeleteGiddy: But if it is…
Tex: Why bother ‘im?
They exchange grins, which make their faces look really weird.
Cut to: Scrabble’s room.
Reggie is on the phone, which also looks weird: Silli, don’t Dilli-Dali. Just come over and get the kid.
She hangs up the phone that is starting to melt next to a clock covered with ants that is also starting to melt.
The Brat: C’mon! C’mon! Let’s find the treasure!
He begins to look around.
Reggie: In the garden? Nooooo. No garden here. In the bidet? Noooo….
The brat, pointing to the top of the huge armoire: There! Up there, I betcha!
Reggie: The clock? Noooo…..it’s melted.
The Brat: Up There, Reggie!!! Look! Look: Look!
Reggie: Under the bed? (She looks. Only a family of dust bunnies.)
The Brat, jumping up and down: Look!!! Look!!! Look!!!
Reggie, looking: Oh, don’t be silly.
The Brat: I can’t be her. She’s my mom, but up there!!! Up There!!!
Reggie moves a chair to the armoire and stands on it.
Reggie: Don’t be silly. (reaching.) I hope there aren’t any creepy-crawlies up here. Wait! Hold on! (The kid is so excited he’s retching. The chair starts to melt.)
Reggie, as she loses her balance: Wooop, Wooop, Wooop! (She lands on her rear right where the wretched kid has retched.)
The Brat opens the door, which has started to melt, and runs into the hallway: We won! We won!
Dyle rushes in followed by Tex and Giddy.
Dyle: Reggie, you found it?
Reggie: No..
Giddy: No! Whadayamean, “No!” What?
Tex: The li’l pohdner said…..
The Brat: Up there!!! Up There!!!
Reggie: Non, Jean-Moutard.
Tex grabs another chair and places it in front of the armoire, climbs up and
Tex, teetering: Woooop! Wooooop! Wooooop!
Whomp-p-p-p!!!!! Tex lands in what is left of the Brat’s barf with a case about the size of Harpo’s harp on top of him, the action also pulls the armoire over and it lands on the case.
Tex: Ow.
Giddy: Does it hurt?
Tex: Only when I laugh.
The crew manages to get the armoire up and the case off of Tex who is no more damaged than Wile E. Coyote.
Reggie: It’s nothing, I tell you.
Tex sets about opening the thing. He uses his boot. He uses the bedpost he rips from the bed. He uses the armoire. Nothing. Finally he remembers he brought the secret Captain Midnight decoder and opener ring, and manages to unlatch the case. He pulls open the lid, and inside is….is…..Is….IS….
Herman’s spare steel hand with parts and business end for a Swiss Army hook.
Giddy: Where’s Herman?
Dyle: In my room.
Off they all scoot to Dyle’s room. Dyle first and Reggie and the Brat in the rear.
The Brat: Yo! Whussup?
Parte Trois
ReplyDeleteThe place looks like a tornado hit it. In fact the last wisp of tornado is descending in the elevator as the men rush in. It’s been a very rainy tornado, for there is water coming from under the bathroom door. Dyle flings the door open and there…there….There is Scrabble, still in his raincoat, under the water in the giant size tub, a funnel strapped in his mouth. Dyle shuts off the water.
Tex: Naow, who’d do a nasty thing lahk thet?
Dyle: The police won’t like this one bit, I’m afraid.
Giddy: Ecccchhhh!
The Brat: Can I play battleship on him?
Reggie: We could dry him off and get him to his own room, anyway.
Tex: We c’d put ‘im in his own bed and let wun o’ them Fem di Chaymbers find ‘im.
The Brat: You all are no fun! I wanted to play battleship on him!
Reggie: It’s going to take an awfully lot of towels to dry him.
Cut to: Scrabble’s room, day: In flits le femme de chambre.
La Fem: La-la-la-la-la
Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal
Tout ça m'est bien égal
Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien
C'est payé, balayé, oublié, je me fous du passé
Avec mes souvenirs j'ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux
Balayé les amours avec leurs trémolos
Balayé pour toujours
Je reparts à zéro
Non, rien de EEEEEEEEEEEK!
--------------------------
Inspector Clooless was desperate to get a day off due to the fact that he’d been sitting at his desk since the first scene. He had been trying to use his gray-matter to decide who killed Charles Loonie, but to no avail.
ReplyDeleteAt last, a friend invited Clooless up to the Moulin Ridge where a couple of famous detectives were vacationing. One of those notorieties was the infamous, indefatigable, irrepressible Inspector Clouseau. Clooless had long considered Clouseau’s brilliant bumbling to have contributed much to the art of French detection. Clooless, however, only had his wits –and not many of them - to solve mysteries. Once he had tried twirling a globe so that he could fall down, but his globe was stationery and only the globe fell down! Clooless couldn’t even get a pencil to fall off his desk by accident unless he pushed it!!
Yes, Clooless was looking forward to working on his mental and physical agility as egged on by Clouseau when his phone rang as he was packing his brief-case to leave.
A French maid was screaming into the phone about her lack of regrets regarding the dead man. She said, “Even if I had gotten to work on time -though I was only a few minutes late- I probably couldn’t have saved the life of this man in the bed. The traffic on the Rue de Gaulle was impossible for me to speed, and made me 45 minutes late for work. But I regret nothing, Monsieur Prefect, except that I have a lazy husband who I have to push to get started every morning…makes me late…”
“Madame, please calm-o-talle-vous down!! Let me speak to your security guard there.”
Once all the details had been relayed to Clooless by the security guard (who was only slightly sober), Clooless knew enough to call to his office the principals involved. Once the participants in this crazy affair were gathered in his office, the detective took an intense look at the motley crew. Reggie was beautiful but she had certainly gotten messed up with some characters.
“Let me begin my critique today by saying that this is the second personage with whom you were all familiar who died in his pajamas. Does that seem strange to anyone?” (They all nodded NO.)
“If I may take it one step further, does it seem in any way out of the ordinary for this man Scrabble to not only have died in his pajamas but to have drowned in his bed? (They all shook their heads NO.)
Clooless stood up to his full 4.5 foot height and spoke in an inflamed tone. “If these things don’t strike you as peculiar, I think you all should be considered suspects!!! Nobody in this room leave town and from now on everybody must use their real name, including the debonair Mr. Dyle, or is it Joshua.”
“I’m Ernest in town and Jack in the country and the cigarette case was given to me in the country,” Alex laughingly said. Nobody else saw the wit in the remark not being familiar with Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Ernest.”
“Well, Mr. Whomever you are and all the rest of you too for that matter, know this: my nose will come after you. As far you are concerned, my nose has wings.”
Wanting to provoke, Tex said, “I don’t see anything so marvelous about that there nose of yours.”
Very provoked, Clooless brings the house down with his oratory stolen largely from Cyrano de Bergerac, “’Let me tell you about this nose. ‘When it blows, the typhoons howl and the clouds darken, when it bleeds it’s the Red Sea…..Beware this secret weapon’. I hope you don’t find out what happens when my nose is irritated. ”
With that, Giddy sneezed his head off and so concluded the scene.
It's late afternoon. Reggie and Alex, in an attempt to rid themselves of the spectacle of Clooless' nose and the lingering odor of his rancid, cheap cigars, are strolling down the Quai des Innuendo.
ReplyDeleteReggie asks, "Who do you think did it... Giddy?"
"Maybe."
"Or Tex?"
"Could be."
"Alex, you talk too much!"
"Oh, sorry darling. "Mother used to get on to me all the time. She use to say to me: 'Alex, so many words in this wide world. Why not try using some of them?"
They pass by an ice cream wagon on the corner.
"Can I have one of those?"
"For you, my dear, anything."
Reggie (to the vendor) "Vanille-chocolat s'il vous plait. Double scoops and extra calories please.
As they resume their walk Reggie (between slurps of ice-cream) says, "I think Tex did it."
"Why?"
"Because I actually think it's Giddy.
"Explain."
"It's always the person you don't suspect."
"Not understanding your thinking, sweetheart. Is it considered feminine to be so illogical?"
"What's so illogical about that? It IS always the person you don't suspect. Tout simple, cherie."
"OK. So let me get this straight. It's always the person you don't suspect and that means you think it's Tex because you really suspect Giddy therefore if you think it's Tex, it has to be someone else, namely Giddy."
"Yep. You understand perfectly! You know, I just can't help feeling sorry for Scrabble. Just imagine! Drowned in a bathtub. Yeeech! Wouldn't it be nice if we were like that?"
"What? You mean drowned in a bathtub? I'll pass on that if you don't..."
"No silly. I mean what if we were like Gene Kelly in 'An American in Paris'. The way he danced along the Seine just about where we're at now. Not a care in the world! This ice cream is yummy! Want some?
Turning to face Alex a bit too quickly, Reggie thrusts forward landing a big scoops of vanilla and chocolate all over his lapel.
"Um, er, ah, I'd love some, thanks."
Reggie, giggling, says, "I'm sorry."
Holding the empty cone, Reggie is not quite sure what to do with it.
"Here, give it to me (Alex sticks it in his pocket). No need to mess up the sidewalk and my coat won't mind given it's present condition."
"Alex..."
"Hmmm?
"I'm scared."
"Don't worry darling, I'm not going to hit you. A bit of dry cleaning and I'll be right as dodgers."
"No, about Scrabble, I mean. I can't think of any reason why he was killed.
"Not a very nice sort of chap. I'll bet he had beaucoup enemies. Maybe somebody didn't like his hook. Or maybe somebody felt that four shares were too many."
"Well, if that's the case, what makes you think he'll be willing to settle for a three-way split? No, he wants the whole ice cream cone, Alex. That means we are an inconvenience to him. He'll have to get rid of us."
"Probably so."
"First your brother, then Charles, now Scrabble. Why any minute now we could be assassinated!
"
Would you do anything like that?"
"What? You mean assassinate somebody?
"No. Would you swing down from there?"
"Huh?"
"From there. Turn around."
And there it was, the magnificent Cathedral of Our Lady.
"Would you swing down on a rope from the parapet and scoop up the woman you love? Just like Charles Laughton did for Maureen O'Hara in 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'. "
"I would you know except that I have back trouble."
"Back trouble?"
"Yes, my love. There's a rather large yellow stripe running down the center of it."
We find our two lovers? back at the Hotel, arguing who has the better easy-to-wear for dining pleasure. First Reggie enters her room, then Alex goes into his. Reggie tries to open the extra door that combines the two rooms. She informs Alex that it would be better if he cleaned up in her room, as his has just been a place of REDRUM.
ReplyDeleteAlex: Don't be such a babe in the woods. If someone tries to "It's me, Johnny!" then yell and I'll come a running....
And that's just what she does...she screams! Alex unlocks his side of the door and comes crashing into hers....room, that is.
Alex: Reggie!
Reggie: (as she slams and locks the door) Gottcha!
Alex: Didn't you ever watch PSYCO?!!
Reggie: The showers right in there (shes nods towards her bathroom)
Alex: Come on Reggie, let me into my room.
Reggie: I can think of a million men who would love to be in my room, in my shower. I'm a national treasure....just ask Mel Ferrer.
Alex: You're Fruity Loops (as he unlaces his shoes).
Reggie: Just what do you think you are doing?!!
Alex: Taking my shoes off. Have you ever heard of someone taking a shower with their shoes on? (and he begins to hum). I usually like to shower and hum along to "For your dining pleasure, MUZAC." Any requests?
Reggie: Yes, please shut the door. Alex! Why are you entering my shower in your ready-to-wear? Is it wash-n-wear too?!
….and Alex proceeds to show her how water and soap resistant his suit really is, all the while humming to "Soap Gets In Your Eyes."
Reggie's phone buzzes. It's Barty and guess what! Parson's Daily had NO BROTHER! (cue dramatic "ton ton da!")
Alex steps out from Reggie's bathroom in a robe and offers her dinner. Preferably somewhere crowed so Reggie will have help if things go awry. She's suddenly feeling on very shaky ground indeed!
First off:
ReplyDeleteExterior:
Night: A flatboat on the Seine, brightly lit by a squadron of fireflies. On the side is the name of the vessel: “Gateau Moucher: Come on and mouch.” Alex and Reggie are at a table with various comestibles and a jug of Ripple and two malt glasses (with straws) half full (more or less).
Alex: You haven’t said anything in at least five seconds.
Reggie, biting into a forkful of blood sausage au chocolat, chewing, swallowing and sucking up a straw-full of Ripple: I keep thinking of Charles and Scrabble and wondering who will be offed and how and who: maybe li’l ol’ moi.
Alex: Not on my watch, kiddo.
Reggie: Whoever heard of someone murdered on a watch? That’s ridiculous. (She scarfs a piece of soft boiled fetal duck and sucks in more Ripple and belches.)
Alex: this is the 9th meal you’ve had today and you’re still – what – 105?
Reggie talking through a Pain au Nez D’orignal en Gelée: Eat wn U’m stressed ‘m’ it’s one-oh-thfree,
Alex: You think I’m the killer?
Reggie slurps Ripple and says nothing, but reaches for the jug to refill her malt glass.
Alex: What can I say to convince you? Huh? Huh? Huh? What? (Reggie is silent as she tackles the spaghetti with fruit bat paste.) Get killed dead, myself?
Reggie slurps up her spaghetti: It’d be a start.
Alex sucks on his straw petulantly, pauses, then says: You weird, girl. One minute you’re practically sticking your hand down my pants and the next you think I’m an assassin.
Reggie raises her chopsticks full of candied moo go gai pan: Carsong Vile didn’t have a brother. (She bites into the moo go gai pan and through the chopsticks. Rises to throw what’s left of the chopsticks overboard and to take out the splinters from her mouth, which gives Alex time to think up his cover.)
Alex: Are you going to listen?
Reggie picking her teeth with a splinter: I might as well, seeing there aren’t any water wings on board.
Secondly:
ReplyDeleteAlex: Then, here’s the story of my life. After I got kicked out of college for a small prank of stink bombing the homecoming game after I had backed up the sewer, I thought I had no recourse but to go into my father’s business manufacturing veeblefetzers for the Pentagram. If I’d been half sensible, that’s where I ‘d be today, but I was maybe a fifth sensible, I guess, and so there I was, on the street with no skills, no smarts.
Reggie: Is this leading somewhere?
Alex: It’s leading away from vebblefetzers. Now pay attention. I had to figure out how to stay off the dole and out of the cold. What I had was charm and a sexy cleft in my chin and an English accent and a rather pleasant face. I was tall, dark , and handsome and there were plenty of people who wouldn’t miss a few bob that I could use.
Reggie: So you became a thief.
Alex: Well….in so many words, I suppose.
Reggie: They’re here with the pastry tray. (to server): Just leave it. (They return to the table,)
Alex: How can you pack away all that provender and your body not puff up?
Reggie: Empty calories. (She starts in on a Napoleon.) Ga-awn.
Alex: What? (Reggie twirls the hand not holding the Napoleon indicating for him to go ahead.) There’s not much after that.
Reggie: Mmmmm. I don’t believe you. (takes a gulp from the malt glass and gives a ladylike belch) Or rather I do believe you because I don’t believe you. Believe me? Oooooh, fermented galab jamoon! (She pops a jamoon in her mouth and suger syrup runs out of the corners of her mouth. ) So, it’s goodbye Alex, hello Peter, Peter, Pastry eater.
Alex: Actually my name is Adam Candham.
Reggie: Wonderful! Three names in two days! I need some of this Gedunk Sundae! Yowzah! You married?
Reggie and Adam together: Divorced.
Adam: Different name, same guy.
Reggie: Nope. Not. One is int’rested in clearing urp his brother’s death, and maybe the firs’ one was innarested in keep’n’ me safe. Adam’s a crook. But he’s tall, handsome, devo – demo – debonaire, with a grand canyon chin and sexy wet or drip dry. C’mawn….li’l smoosh…smooch.
Adam turns away
Lastly:
ReplyDeleteReggie, pouting: All this tomb – ah – time you’ve been putting me up – on. All that redac – reduc – rejection. You knew I couldn’ resissst. An’ all th’ time all you innarested in wuz th’ Monday – money. (she hiccups)
Adam: You got it, Sweetie.
Reggie: Oh, poo!
Adam: What do you want me to tell you? That a lovely slip of a girl who can eat a horse and not gain an ounce and who has atrocious manners means more to me than a quarter million sheckels?
Reggie: It would be Nice – (urp) – nice.
Adam: It’s a flip flop, kiddo.
Reggie: What?
Adam: Don’t you know I can’t keep my eyes off of you?
Reggie: Is that what they’re doing on the Dior original I’m wearing? You can have ‘em back, Boyo! I don’ wannum!
Adam: You should see your face.
Reggie: Wha’ ‘bout it?
Adam: It’s covered with Sundae.
Reggie: Wan’ my cherry?
Adam: Huh?
Reggie: Know what? I’m not Hungary – hung…ry!
The fireflies go out.
Reggie: Eeeek!
Adam: It’s alright. Come look. (They go to the rail) See? Look! Look!
Searchlights on the Seine searching the sidewalks, surprising sweethearts or simply the sordid seeking shadows in various versions of in flagrante delicto. They flee like Paris pigeons scattering assorted articles of clothing, gestures of various meanings, visions of degrees of dishabille.
Adam: Taught ‘em everything I know.
Reggie bear hugs Adam and tries to kiss him. He recoils.
Adam: Echhh! Your breath!!! Let’s go. I’ll call you in the morning.
At three-thirty the next morning, hotel security was rudely awaken by the visitation of an American who claimed to have found a convicted felon’s cell phone with Giddy’s number as the only contact. This American would not identify himself, but it was no matter since Security understood that names mean little to Americans in a French hotel. The visitor went on to say that he would sell Giddy the phone. Not being full sober yet, Security played along and phoned Mr. Giddy.
ReplyDeleteAs they waited on Giddy to come to the lobby, both men were giving each other the suspicious eye, though they did indulge in the obligatory parlor idiocy. “You new around here? “ How long have you worked here?” and “It certainly is dark for this time of day….” Finally, the elevator was heard grinding down the shaft. Soon after the American excused himself, the elevator hit the lobby floor so hard it provoked a huge sneeze from Giddy.
Still groggy, Security made his way to the elevator and discovered Monsieur Giddy laying on the bottom of the conveyance, in footie pajamas with his throat cut. Reluctantly, Security phoned the commissariat de police and asked to be patched through to Inspector Clooless since he had handled the drown man in bed recently.
As Security waited to get a call back from the Inspector, he decided to casually survey the elevator, without appearing too inquisitive. His conclusion was that M. Giddy had pushed the B button for Basement not knowing that the basement had been removed. So the elevator car crashed full force on the lobby floor. “Humph…I told him to come to the lobby!”
After a while the phone rang. “Eh? Inspector Clooless? Security here on the phone at the most dangerous hotel in Paris on the Rue Morgue calling to say to you that another murder needs to be a report to you…(detective starts yelling into the phone)…I know, Monsieur……(detective keeps yelling and more yelling)…well, you see…hey, wait a minute there, I hope you wouldn’t say that to my face, Monsieur! All right, all right, on your orders I’ll arouse the Americans.”
After examining Giddy’s body, Clooless went to Tex’s room where Security had assembled the remaining charade ensemble, Reggie and (now) Adam.
Clooless took a different approach this time. “Did anyone see ‘Dead Men Don’t Wear Footie Pajamas’”? Both suspects shook their heads No.’ “Of course not!”
“Alright, let’s review this entire case. Right here, in this hotel, one man drowned in his bed and another man crashed in the elevator which caused his throat to be cut and both were in their pajamas! Do these sound like natural causes? Reggie and Adam said nothing.
“What were you two doing at 3:30 this morning?” the Inspector probed.
“We were sleeping in our separate rooms.” Reggie said a little dispirited.
“This case grows more grotesque hourly! And where is the man Tex who was occupying this room?”
Adam explained, “He obviously disappeared after killing Giddy. Why don’t you leave us alone and let us continue our little romance.”
To the Security guard, the Inspected asked, “Do you sleep on your job? Why do you keep having to say that you were wakened in these crucial incidents? And, lastly, s’il vous plait, could you describe the man who asked you to call Giddy?
A little nervous Security said, “He was a medium height and weight, his wig was centered rather ridicule and his cravat was tied a little non comforme. But that’s all I saw. Monsieur, I simply work here it’s not where I figure things out about people.”
“Funny thing that a Security guard makes it his business not to figure out things about people who come and go from this hotel,” said the disgusted Inspector. “You should be sacked!”
“And now, while I go try and decide on my next move, I think you all should get out of your pajamas. That includes you, Security. Good night”
Clooless turns and leaves. Reggie and Adam start down the hall toward their own rooms.
ReplyDeleteAdam (with a note of irritation), "Well, that's a wrap. Tex has the money. Go back to bed. I'll let you know when I've found him."
"You're going to look for him... now?
"If the police find him first do you actually think they're going to turn over a quarter of a million dollars to us?"
Reggie (dreamily) "Adam...?"
"Not now, darling. I'll call you in the morning."
With that he disappears into his own room. Upon entering the phone rings.
"Yes?"
Tex! And he's not amused!
"Now listen h'yar Vile, my mama didn't raise no stupid children. Well, brother Bubba Cat waren't th' brightest bulb in the socket. But anyhoo, I know who's got th' money 'n I ain't disappearin' till I git my share ! An' my share's growin' a whole lot bigger ev'ry day."
"Where are you, ol' buddy? Let's meet somewhere and discuss this like gentle..."
Listen pardner, iffen you're wonderin' whar I am, jus' turn around. You an' me are gonna be saddle pals from now on. I'll be right behind you doggin' yore every step. (hangs up)
Adam hangs up and knocks on Reggie's door. .
"Yes? What is it?
"C'mon, Reggie. Open up."
She opens the door.
"I think we were wrong about Tex having the money."
"Why?"
"Because if he had it we'd have missed an excellent plot point. And anyway, I just heard from him. Says he knows who's got the money. If killing Giddy didn't get if for him then that leaves little ol' you and me. And since I don't have it."
Interject a close-up of an accusing stare followed by:
"You've got it!"
"Now look here, Adam. I've looked and I've looked. You know I don't..."
"Where's that airlines bag?"
"Lord, you're stubborn."
"I sure am. Get it!"
She goes to the closet and gets the bag.
"Ol' Chuck must have had the money with him on the train, and Tex missed it."
He takes the bag to the bed where he dumps out the contents.
"But everyone and his Aunt Bea has been through that bag. Somebody would have seen it."
"Let's look anyway."
"Lord, you're stubborn."
"Yeah, you said. Confound it Reggie, it's there! It must be... if only we could see it. I'll betcha we're looking at it right now. Something on that bed is worth a quarter of a million dollars."
"Yes, but what?"
"I dunno, just dunno."
Adam carefully begins to examine the items one by one.
"Hmmm, let's see, electric razor... tortoise shell comb... steamship ticket... fountain pen... four passports... toothbrush... Ipana tooth powder... wallet... (he goes through the wallet, finds nothing) -- key -- what about that?"
"No, not the key either. It's to the apartment... it matches mine perfectly."
"How about the letter!"
He takes it out of the envelope and takes out his glasses before reading it.
"I'll bet you don't really need those."
He hands her the glasses and she looks through them.
"You need them. (She hands them back.)
"It still doesn't make sense, but it isn't worth any quarter of a million either. Have we forgotten anything?"
"The tooth powder. Wait a minute... could you recognize heroin just by tasting it?
He shakes some powder into his hand and tastes it.
"Mmmm, yes! It's heroin alright. Peppermint-flavored heroin. Just like dear ol' mum used to sniff."
"Well, I guess that's it. Another dead end.
"Go to bed. You've got to be at work in the morning. There's nothing more we can do tonight."
"I love you, Adam."
"I love me too."
We find ourselves back at E.U.R.E.S.C.O. Reggie is back at work! Suddenly Adam sails through the door with trash. He found a paper in Tex's wastecan….a receipt of all of Charles things. The agenda book is missing.
ReplyDeleteAdam: What was so important in that agenda book?!
Reggie: It did show Charles last appointment
Adam: With who?!! WHERE?
Reggie: I don't think...I don't remember
Adam: THINK!! This might be what we're looking for!
Reggie: Adam! That money doesn't belong to us...if we keep it we'd be breaking the law!
Adam: Poppycock!! We didn't steal it. There's no law that says you cant steal stolen money. Finders keepers, losers weepers.
Reggie: Balderdash! "The robb'd that smiles…………"
Adam: WHAT?!!
Reggie: Uhhh...Shakespeare. Duh!!
Adam: Come on Reggie! What did it say in that agenda book!
Reggie: Oh! I'm on next to interpret. Excuse me...……….
While the French Minister is making his speech, Reggie prepares to interpret. But alas, Adam has other ideas. Lunch! That is, Reggie's neck as lunch.
Reggie: That's it! Last Thursday at the garden!
Adam: It is last Thursday! Today!!
Adam: C’mawn!
ReplyDeleteReggie: Where? I’ve got to….
Adam gives Reggie a big smooch. The Delegates have turned to look. They applaud. Adam pulls the reluctant Reggie out the door.
Ext. the Grande Guignol late afternoon.
Two shot: Reggie and Adam by the locked gate. Sign: Closed for repairs. Go Away! Trespassers will be drawn and quartered and then killed dead.
Reggie: So, nu?
Adam: 5:00 Thursday! The garden! Gotta be something around here!
Reggie: But Charles, the appointment was a week ago!
Adam: This is all we have left.
Reggie: Indeed. Ten minutes ago I had a job.
Adam: Quit kvetching already! We get the money I’ll buy the U.N. for you. Now, let’s do it! You look there; I’ll look the other there.
A quick succession of shots to show what they see:
1. The Alps
2. The Gobi Desert
3. The Vatican
4. The Hunchback of Notre Dame
5. The Larch
Ext. The Fountain: Late Afternoon. Adam stands looking off, wearing a quizzical look. It doesn’t fit.
Reggie joins him: It’s totally, utterly, and completely hopeless. We don’t even know what we’re looking for at all at all.
Adam: I doubt Tex does either.
Reggie: Tex? Hyar? Whar?
Adam points: Thar!
Tex is by the fountain, throws three coins in, closes his eyes, holds his hands in an attitude of praying. Finally he looks at something in his hand: Charles’ agenda. He moves off, disappearing behind the Larch.
Two shot: Adam and Reggie
Adam: I’m going to see whassup. You stay here.
Reggie: Be careful. He’s already killed three men!
Ext: Rue Blow Gabriel Blow: Late afternoon.
Several wooden booths have been set up on the lawn close to the curb. There is quite a crowd. Into the crowd comes Tex. Adam, he lay low. Suddenly, Tex stops. Adam, he lay low.
Close shot: Tex. He’s staring wide eyed.
Close shot: A booth with sign: “Stamps.”
Close shot: Tex, as he wheels to another booth
Close shot: Booth with sign: “We Gots Stamps!”
Close shot: Tex wheels again
Close shot: Booth with sign: “Stamps We Got!”
Tex gets the lightbulb lighting over his head. Rushes headlong into Adam, who’s lying not so low.
Tex: Sorry, Pa’dnuh! (Tex rushes off.)
Adam: What the hey?
Adam turns to a stamp booth. Same lightbulb goes off over his head and he takes off after Tex.
Ext. Tex getting in a cab, the cab taking off.
Adam, at the taxi stand: Taxi! Taxi!
----------------------------------
Unfortunately for Adam, he was mispronouncing “Taxeee”. (You see, the French don’t care what they do as long as they pronounce it properly.) Finally, a driver stopped to pick up a man who had yelled, “Taxee”, but Adam pushed him aside and jumped into the cab himself. The man was left sputtering around trying to recapture his equilibrium as Adam headed to the hotel.
ReplyDeleteOnce at the hotel, Security –who was surprisingly sober- told Adam that Mr. Man-from-Texas had asked for the key to Miss Regina Loonie’s room. “Should I call the prefect of police again, Monsieur? I do hope there are no more drownings.”
“I’ll let you know,” said Adam as he stood in front of the elevator reading a sign which read: “Since there recently has been a violent death of a hotel guest here in this elevator which resulted in a slit in said guest’s throat, we are recommending the use of the stairs for your safety. If anyone gets killed on those, we will let you know at that time.” Signed, Chief (of) Clooless.
Quickly Adam sprung up the stairs to find Reggie’s door wide open and the scent of some horrid cigar wafting through the air. Adam decided to pull out his gun in case Tex was uncooperative and wouldn’t share his cigar or even the stamps.”
“All right, Tex, you got here before I did, but I have a gun that may even be loaded. I want that letter!”
For all of Adam’s swagger, however, he really didn’t cut much of a menacing presence with his three piece suit and new khaki jacket. His gun even looked like he’d just taken it out of its box.
Unthreatened, Tex went on rolling his cigar in his hand as he laid in a near semi-recumbent posture across Reggie’s bed. The contents of Charles’ Luftwaffe bag poured out on the bed beside him.
“I guess it would be the envelope you’d be wanting. Have I got that right, you green horned, bull-headed, tree-hugging, feather headed, rusticated green horn?”
“Well, you’re wrong about me being rusticated. Now where’s that letter?”
“They were both too smart for us! Hard as that is to believe. Yes, your fair-maiden and her husband made laughing stocks of us all. But the biggest joke was on you. You half-witted, jack of spades, brother by another mother, bar dog. Standing there in your best bib and tucker, you look like a whomper-jawed, half-wit if ever I’d seen one. Here’s the envelope.” Tex hands Adam the envelope and the stamps had been ripped off .
“Well, I’ll be darn,” was all Adam could say.
“And all that she had to do was to bat her bug eyes which secrete Chanel #5 and you ran after the scent like a cheetah hot on the trail of a wildebeest calf! So you killed all three of those other thieves for nothing except Herman’s spare hand. Ha! What a toad stool you are.”
With that, Tex starts to laugh in a demonic tone which results in Adam’s urgent need to excuse himself - to heck with his last line. Cameras have to immediately remove to follow Reggie back in the Gardens.
The cameras find Reggie looking around for Adam. Across the street, she notices Sylvie sitting alone on a bench near the stamp market reading the latest issue of Mad magazine (she loved 'Spy vs. Spy'),
ReplyDelete"Silli? What are you doing here?"
"Hello, Reggie. I'm waiting for Godot. Jon-Moutard Godot to be exact."
"What's he up to?"
"He was so excited when he got the stamps you gave him this morning. He said he had never seen any like them."
"I'm glad. But what's all this?" (Reggie notices a sprawling sea of vendor booths, people milling about noisily).
"The marché aux timbres, of course."
"What? The march ax timber??"
"It's the stamp market. My dear Reggie, you really should brush up on your French. The vendors set up here every Thursday afternoon. This is where Jean-Moutard trades his..."
And suddenly...
"Good Lord! The stamps! Where is he? Silli, we've got to find him!"
"Qu’est-ce qu’il y a ?, chérie?"
"Those stamps! They're worth a fortune!
"Say what?"
"A fortune! Hurry... we've got to find him!"
They rush off into the market. Stopping among the booths, they frantically look for Jon-Moutard.
No Jon
"I don't see him."
"We'll separate.. you look over there."
As Reggie hurries along a row of stalls, she encounters small groups of hommes standing together, showing each other stamps. Apparently Frenchmen can be quite passionate about their stamps.
Meanwhile Silli, in another section, is calling out for Jon-Moutard. Spotting a boy, she runs to him and spins him around.
"Say, you're not my Jon-Moutard! How dare you not be Jon-Moutard?"
Suddenly Silli sees something. A small boy's elbow and part of his arm, the rest of him obscured by the madcap stamp enthusiasts.
The elbow is enough! She'd recognize that elbow anywhere. There he is! Standing looking at some stamps.
"JON-MOUTARD!"
Silli rushes to him, grabbing him up.
"Jon-Moutard, whatcha got there?"
The smiling, boy holds up an enormous sack of assorted stamps... hundreds of them.
Looking around Silli calls out, "Oh, Reggie... Reggie!
Reggie runs up and joins them.
"Jon-Moutard, thank heavens! Do you have... ! (spotting the sack of stamps) What's that?"
"A nice man traded with me all these for only three stamps."
Reggie, in a panic: "Oh no! What man, Jon, where?"
Jon-Moutard, looking in all directions, tries his best to remember.
His mother urges him to answer, "Vite, mon ange... vite!"
"Et la... Monsieur Felix."
They frantically scour the line of booths. At last, Jon-Moutard spots it.
"That's it, that's it!
Closed, deserted, empty.
Jon-Moutard: "But he is gone."
Reggie: "I don't blame him. Jon, do you know where Monsieur Felix lives?"
ReplyDelete"No, but I will ask.
He goes to a booth and shakes the coat sleeve of the proprietor.
"Oui, jeune homme?"
"Monsieur Felix, où vit-il?"
"301 Rue Morgue. Go to the Place de la Muertre and turn left. Ya can't miss it."
Off they go to find M. Felix.
Morgue street is a depressing, run-down section of the city. As they knock on the door and are admitted in, they see that Monsieur Felix's room is similarly appointed. His is a bare, unkempt little room. It smells of stale fish and even staler pipe tobacco. M. Felix sits at a table, smoking a pipe. Stamps are strewn about all over the shabby apartment. He holds a magnifying glass and is busy studying something on the table.
"Ah, I was expecting you. I knew you would come."
"Come closer. Look at them, Madame. Are they not beautiful? Have you ever, in your entire life, seen anything so beautiful."
And, indeed, they were. Three of them still attached to a portion of the torn envelope.
"I'm sorry, Monsieur Felix. I don't know anything about stamps."
"Regarde! This yellow one, a three shilling piece called 'De Gala Hellzapoppin" issued in 1854.
"How much is it worth?", asked Reggie.
M. Felix indignantly answered, " The money is unimportant."
"Maybe not to you, Charlie. but it is to me. So, how much?"
"In American dollars I'd say around $65,000. Give or take a penny or two."
Astonished, Reggie asks, "Do you mind if I sit down? What about the blue one?"
"It's called 'The Shocking Blue' and there are only seven left. In 1894 the owner of one was murdered by a rival who coveted it. They found the poor fellow with a dirty Argyle sock stuffed down his throat."
"What's its value today?"
"In human life? In greed? In suffering?"
"Nah, I mean what's it worth in money?"
With a sniffle, M. Felix answered, "About forty-five thousand."
"And what about this last one?"
"Oh, the best for last, le chef-d'oeuvre de la collection. It's the most valuable of the three. You have the pleasure of looking at a rare Honus Wagner rookie trading card, printed in colour by hand on card stock and marked with the printer's initials. Today it has a value of $100,000."
"Eh, bien, madame... I am not a thief. I knew there had to be some mistake. Take them."
"I'm sorry, monsieur."
"C'est la vie, madame. At least for a few minutes they were mine. Au revoir."
Reggie gambles up the stairs of the Hostel and hesitates at a door. She whispers Adams name twice. She proceeds to the second door of room number 1408...or is that 217 (changed to 237)?! O_o
ReplyDeleteThe door is opened and she walks in....and there's Tex, hog tied and not looking very happy about it. Someone has put a plastic bag over his head! She heads straight for his dead body, (who knows why? I would have skipped outta there right quick!!). Tex has scratched right into the carpet the word DYLE....or was that DIAL? Anyhoo Reggie looks up with dawning horror and straightening up. She heads for the phone and calls Bart.
Bart is shaving when his phone rings. He picks up his phone..
Bart: BUENO
Reggie: Barty?
Bart: Tex is no Bueno. He's been smothered and I believe the love of my life did it!
Bart: The Hostel Chef?!!
Reggie: No! Adam! He's killed them all!
Bart: Are you sure about that?
Reggie: About as sure as I am about pie. Tex wrote DYLE before he died. He's a murderer I tell you, a killer!!
Bart: Now wait just a doggone minute. You need to slow down and explain to me again Mrs. Lamp.
Reggie: The stamps were on the letter Charlie had with him on the train. They were there the whole time, no one bothered to look at the envelope.
Bart: Mrs. Lamb, you're not safe as long as you have those stamps! Lemme see....do you know the synagogue at the Palais Royale?
Reggie: Yes, the Colonnade?
Bart: Yes..by the Colonnade. As fast as you can get there Mrs. Lamp, HURRY!!
Reggie: Yes, I'm leaving right now!!
Reggie hangs up and leaves through the door...….
#1
ReplyDeleteExt. The hotel. Reggie has just exited and hails a cab.
Reggie to the driver: Palais Royale! Vite!
Cabbie points to little sign on his windshield: Timbuktu
Reggie: Mais c’est tres vite! Viet Viet Viet!!! Ou veut me… (She makes a slashing motion across her throat.
Cabbie: Listen, Lady! I go to Timbuktu. Take it or leave it!
Reggie looks around and sees Adam coming out of the hotel and at her.
Wide out: She turns and runs for Mont-Saint-Michel. She runs into the interior into the throngs going up steps, down steps, through the abbey and its cloisters, to the trains, from the trains, Adam following, everybody singing as a perpetual round:
“Forward, backward, inward, outward
Come and join the chase!
Nothing could be drier
Than a jolly caucus-race.
Backward, forward, outward, inward
Bottom to the top,
Never a beginning
There can never be a stop!”
Etc. and (apparently) ad finitum,
Round and round!
Camera pans wall signs for the underground train directions in various angles:
Inward! Outward! Upward! Downward! Around! Through! If! When! Maybe! Here! There! And Everywhere! Anywhere! You Sure? Take A Chance!
#2
ReplyDeleteYes, trains going and coming everywhere through the cloisters; Nuns in the shadows in their Bad Habits; Two frantic people searching for answers to assumed questions, afraid of what they will be.
Close on: Reggie, digging in her purse for her packet of tickets, strewing its contents as she runs: her combination lipstick and comb; her copy of Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn by Henri Milarrrrr; her collection of feminine products (if you’re an adult you know what they are;) Anais Nin’s Diary (well worn, has a leather thong for wearing;) a box of tissues; a stiletto with a broken off business end; a pepper shaker (no pepper;) a St. Christopher medal; purloined copies of a Gideon combination Bible and Bhagavad Gita and My Life and Loves; Don’t You Wish! by Frankie Hairless (she is well read;) a compact compact, a not so compact compact, a really big compact; gum, chocolates, mints (mixed;) sleeping pills, waking pills, gas pills, head pills (Owsley.) Finally, just as she gets to the platform she has found her ticket packet and the Guard punches her and lets her through. (It’s not a heavy punch, for he is a gentleman.)
So, she’s on the platform, waitin’ for a train. Here comes one but it zips through. Besides, it’s a cattle car.
Meanwhile, Adam in the massy mess of tourists, religious, etc, has spotted her, but a guard stops him.
Guard: Billet doux, s’il vous plait.
Adam: I don’t have that, but I do have a brand new, hot off the presses, 54 Franc note, so if you’ll just…Look, it’s a matter of life of death;;;;
Guard: And I get to choose, M’sieur, eh?
Adam: Really! Please!.... Pretty please?......... Pretty please with sprinkles on it?
But the guard stands firm. Non! Non! Non! Shaking his finger at Adam. Naughty Adam trying to bribe an Agent de Metro.
Camera Follow: Adam runming up the stairs to the Cloister Belfry to get a ticket using the 54 Franc note and the camera follows as he runs down the stairs and stares as the cattle car speeds by flashing it’s destination: “Abattoir: Joie de Boeuf”
Yes, he’s looking at her….on the other platform. He’s run down the wrong stairs! So he runs up the stairs, (camera following) but then runs down (camera following) the stairs because his hat flew off. Then he runs up the stairs (C. F,) but then runs down the right stairs (which are left) just as she has entered the train. He vaults the turnstile. He makes it just as the doors are closing, thereby winning the grand prize: an overnight in that Lovely Sunny Tropical Paradise, namely Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch!
But she’s two cars ahead in first class and his ticket is for 8th class and the guard won’t let him move up, and he’s spent his last 54 Franc note, so he’s stuck in this smelly car with a boisterous family who hasn’t bathed in a couple of years, telling dirty jokes at the top of their lungs, and laughing hysterically until the wife wets ‘em, a dust man with a sick goat, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on a slumming tour.
The train stops and Reggie leaves running.
Cut to: Adam, tangled up with the goat that has been sick on his shoes, which strikes the Awful family (John, Betty, Billy, and Rosebud Awful) as hilarious and they all laugh until they fart simultaneously and odiferously. Meanwhile the Choir has left for their gig at “Le Geronimo Apache Danse Emporium et Salon de Thé “ (Pas de frais de couverture) in the Rue Je N'irais Pas Là .
Camera, panting, swings to catch:
Reggie, disembarked and running toward the Palais Royale. She stops at a phone booth, slips inside, gets the directory and begins looking through it frantically.
Cut to: Adam dragging the goat and dustman through the train door, the door catching the dustman’s cuff, ripping off his pants, which strikes the Awful family as doubly hilarious and leaving them with renewed howls of laughter and farts.
Reggie quickly dials Barty. She pleads with an operator, in her most masculine voice, that she's trapped in a phonebooth, a murdered is pursuing her and she might be a bit late. Please inform Mr. Barty of that thank you very much.
ReplyDeleteMeanwhile Adam comes to a dead end. A large sign on a wooden gate informs him, "wrong way bud," in French. He of course figures out he's not going anywhere and heads back. Reggie hightails it out of the phonebooth and also finds herself at a dead end, sheesh!
A telephone rings (pant! pant!...oh the excitement). "Ello," answers Barty….and....it's not Barty! (GASP). The operator informs him of a Mrs. Lampert trapped in the metro station about to be MURDERED! Barty number 2 tells the operator, "Murdered?!! Who does she thing I am? Barty? Well call the French police and hope she's not Pot-Au-Feu."
Barty Number 1 is walking around waiting for Reggie. Adam is still walking around the station looking for Reggie and Nancy is freaking out! Reggie quickly climbs down some stairs, all the while keeping and eye on Adam. Suddenly their eyes meet...Reggie runs! Adam is quickly behind her. Reggie climbs some stairs out of the metro station and Adam is right behind her, not bad for a sixty year old eh?! They both cross the street...…….cross under some arches, Adam still looking good in suit and tie and not a hair out of place. Reggie spots Mr. Bartholomew and yells his name. Adam pulls out a gun and yells, "Stop Reggie, that's Carson Dyle!!" UH OH!! O_O
Bravo, Nancy, I like your interjecting yourself into the piece. Uh oh, indeed. Her desperation was palpable.
ReplyDeleteI've already gotten a start. Dunno how long it will be, but I'm taking the computer in for a tune up Monday, so I may well miss some to the game, if I watch it at all.
Finale:
ReplyDeleteReggie whirling around to confront Adam: You’re Carson Dyle, you murdering ratfink! Oh, poor, whatzisname: My HUSBAND! (pause) Well, he wasn’t much of a husband, when you come right down to it. I spent my honeymoon in luxurious Llanvirepoolh…whatever it is,…while he traipsed after business; at least that’s what he said he was doing and he never was much good in the bed department. It was like it was a fire sale: sample the merchandise, and he’s off again. (Ruminating) The checks he sent were nice, though. I had summers in the Bermothies to watch onions and the eels.
Adam: Reggie, Halte die Klappe! Dùin do chab! Isildu! !שתוק Câm miệng! Turpa kiinni! Tais-toi! In short: Shaddap!!!
Adam is a bit perturbed because he has been executing Bourees, Chasses, and Arabesques to avoid the dum dum bullets spitting forth from Barty’s roscoe.
Barty, while reloading and wiping the spit from his gat: Who you gonna believe: a guy who wouldn’t be able to tell the truth if he got shot fulla truth serum or loveable little ol’ me?
Adam who has dashed behind a convenient pillar: He’s Vile, I tell ya.
Reggie: But how…
Adam: Those men that got dead…they recognized him. Please, believe me…he’s gonna do you in just like the others.
Reggie: Do me in…what? Givenchy? Dior? Edith Head?
Barty: Aw, Bollocks! This has gone on long enough. Yeah, I’m Vile. Really Vile! They had it comin’! There I was, lyin’ there with five assorted size slugs where I sit and they left me. Left me, right? I spent two whole hours in that POW camp, before it was liberated…no food, and all I passed were bullets. They deserved what they got, and I made sure it was slooooowww. So, gimme them stamps and maybe I’ll let you live after I’ve whacked your boy right in the kisser and made rubble of that Grand Canyon chin of his.
Adam has flitted from pillar to post to get an angle on Vile. But his shot goes wide.
Adam: Oh, Knickers!
Vile gets off a vile shot, but Adam has ducked behind a pillar and the pillar gets it. It’s a combination pillar and water tower, and it’s Soak City for Adam’s suit again. Meanwhile Reggie has ducked into the Comedy Fricasee. Vile doesn’t see her, but the Theater and Pissoir (Bidet for the ladies) is the only venue where she could go comfortably, one way or the other, so-o-o-o…not seeing the side door, Reggie had used, Vile heads to the front. After shaking some of the water off, Adam squishes after Reggie. (He has noted the side entrance. Sharp eyes, this boy, along with his chin.)
Finale cont.
ReplyDeleteCut to (Finally!) (Just imagine the plethora of camera shots and positions that has covered this part of the movie so far): Interior: Vile enters, and starts scoping the theater auditorium, singing rather tunelessly: “Come out, come out/Wherever you are.”
Cut to: Adam entering looks and sees in the dimness stairs going below the stage: 20-20, this guy. He disappears down the stairs.
Cut to: Vile, in a menacing vile voice: I’m gonna find you eventually, Mrs. Lampoon. Make it easy on yourself. (By now he’s at the stage. He climbs the stairs and walks looking out, looks behind the curtains, looks up into the flies, crosses the stage, sees the light board (plywood with a bank of switches. The board extends above the switches, the top emblazoned with the theater’s logo: a clown with his hands; fingers spread, palms out, thumbs at the temples, giving a “raspberry.” He yanks the main switch (willow,) flooding the stage with light.
Camera pans to the prompter’s box. So, That’s where she is. She be layin’ Low!
Cut to: Adam in the trap room, making his way through the set pieces, cobwebs with the little dead things, a “mouse” throws a brick at a “kat” and a “pupp” collars the “mouse” and takes him off to “jail” leaving the “kat” with a happy smile on his/her face. Adam comes to the levers for the various stage trap doors. He listens as Vile walks the stage.
Vile’s voice: So there you are. (Sing-songie) Come out, Sweetie. I have something for you.
Adam is sweating through the wet clothes. Which lever to pull? Eenie, Mienie, Minie,…Moe! A lever is pulled.
Cut to stage: Vile vaults down as Reggie watches. Gunshot. Thud! Or is it: Thud! Gunshot! Whatever. Reggie climbs out of the prompter’s box, peers through the open trap and sees Vile splayed out and Adam grinning up at her.
Inspector Clooless has entered followed by his assistant: Doodoo.
Clooless: I have solved ze case, as I said I would, Doodoo!
Clooless is on his knees quite close to the edge of the open trap
Clooless (leaning forward): Carson Vile, you vile fellow, I am arresting you for the murders of Sharels Lampoon, Liewud Giddy, Zhosef Hellopants, Ermine Scabbie…
Doodoo: Scrabble, inspector.
Clooless, turning clumsily toward Doodoo: I know what I sai…..ahhhhh….(Thud! Squish!)
Clooless has fallen through the trap door and landed on the real Vile guy.
Don’t just stand there, you dolt! Reach down and pull me up!
Adam: Inspector….
Clooless: Now, Doodoo!
Doodoo reaches down and practically has to hang by his feet to reach the inspector. He starts to pull him up, but loses his footing.
Doodoo a longer and Clooless a shorter: Ahhhh! (Thud! Thud! Squish!)
Clooless: Doodoo, you fool!
Adam: Inspector!
Clooless: What!!! What? What?
Adam: Why not take the stairs?
Clooless: Ah! Ze Stairs.
Adam: To the stage!
The little troop appears from below with Adam in the lead.
Adam, to Reggie.: I think it best you talk with the inspector.
Cont. Concl.
ReplyDeleteFade to day, Reggie and Adam in a cab on the way to…
Reggie to Cabbie: L'ambassade, s'il vous plait!
Adam: Look Reggie, a quarter of a million is chicken feed. It’ll cost more than that to process it.
Reggie: It’s the principle of the thing.
Adam: Why bring him into it?
Fade to Embassy, Day.
Reggie to soldier on duty: Whom would I see about returning stolen government money?
Soldier: You might try the Treasury, ma’am. Room 313 3/7.
Fade to: interior, day:
Adam: do you mind if I wait out here. Just the thought of giving up all that money makes me bilious.
Reggie: Is that another of your names?
Fade to waiting room of the Treasury.
Secretary: May I help you?
Reggie: I need to see someone about returning stolen government funds.
Secretary: That’s what they all say. Your name?
Reggie: Reginalda Lampoon. Mrs.
Secretary: One moment puhleease. (Speaking into interoffice thingie.) A Mrs. Lampoon to see you sir. Yes sir. (Looks at Reggie): You may go in. Mr. Creekyshanks will see you.
Fade to interior office: Day: Adam is sitting behind the desk.
Reggie bug eyed: Who? What? Whaw…! Eep! (Sounds of alarm clocks, bells, sirens, etc. going off) How….?!?!? (Adam indicates connecting office door.)
Adam: Hello, Reggie, darling.
Reggie: You’re the…? That is…. You?!?
Adam: Yep.
Reggie: Why didn’t you say….?
Adam: Wouldn’t be Cricket.
Reggie: But you could lie and lie and lie!
Adam: Comes with the territory when you’re in government.
Reggie: You have a first name?
Adam: Brains.
Reggie: Brains….
Adam: Just like the Welsh beer.
Reggie: Is there a Mrs. Creekyshanks?
Brains: Yes.
Reggie: Divorced?
Brains: No.
Reggie: Oh, @%##&^!!!
Brains: My mother….. She lives in llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
------------------------
Epilogue
DeleteReggie was stunned that Brains seemed apparently on the up and up and even carried a picture of his mother – evidently a member of a Celtic community in Detroit- in his wallet. After all the characters she had dealt with in this chapter of her life, Reggie wasn’t sure what right-side-up looked like anymore.
“Can you prove that you are really Brains Creekyshanks? Let me say that I really hope you aren’t because I can’t bear that name!”
Brains -having lied the entire picture- now found himself only able to tell the truth. “Yes, I am one of the Creekyshanks from Appalachia. I’m the one who got all the brains in that area,” he said with a certain arrogance.
Reggie still seemed uncertain. “Are you supposed to be behind that desk? Do you really have a job here?”
Brains turned on the intercom to the cutie in the adjoining office, “Put everyone in the company named Bartholomew under surveillance.”
The name Bartholomew was having the same effect on Reggie as Creekyshanks and caused her to stagger to the chair behind her where she unceremoniously plopped down.
“All I want is the truth…” she kept mumbling.
Brains took hold of the situation by reminding Reggie that she could go back to the hotel and rest after she gave him the stamps.
But she argued that resting in that hotel looked more like eternal rest so she wouldn’t go back. Not even for her remaining Givenchy dress would she go back, the dress being pretty shot anyway - not being exactly action-wear. Little did she know that as the future Mrs. Brains Creekyshanks in Detroit with three pesky boys named with Brains’ cast-off identities, her Givenchy, Chanel and La Prairie days would be over!
But for now, Brains came around the desk and told her that he would marry her if she would give him the stamps. (Brains waved a croissant in front of her as he spoke.) Reggie swooned for a few moments, got over it and took the deal – grabbing the pastry as she gave him a hug.
So, in summation, the two lucky ones who survived this tale of intrigue went happily into the future together.
As for Clooless, his nose acquired him a promotion to Commissaire de Police even though he had not actually solved this crime on his own. But he was credited for offering the Security guard at the infamous hotel the choice between the guillotine and a gun for the lax performance of his duties. Oddly, Security chose a fast train to the Riviera where this story began, but where we –bless God -must end!
Finis
And AwayWe Go....!
ReplyDeleteDial M for Baronzo
The Warmer Bros. Logo fills the screen: The Big “WB” logo “presents:”
Alfred Pitchfork’s name appears in Gold over a black dial phone, then:
Dial M (with the M over what on an English phone dial is MN 6) For Baronzo. (O.k. so that doesn’t make sense but I’m writing this lampoon opening my way, so fagedaboudit an’ shut up!,) then
In Warmer Color
Starring
Ray McBland
Grace Killy
Robert Cumengoes
with
John Wmmmms
Anthony (“Mad Tony”) Tosspot
and
Some Others
A WARMER BROS-LAST NATIONAL PICTURE
Scree Play by
Frederick Not
As hatcheted from his potboiler
the rest of the credits except for (of course)
Music Decomposed and Misdirected by
Dimwit Chompkin
Done in by
Alfred Pitchfork
The music, (as usual with Chompkin) is as lush as a wino on a three week bender and, with lots of strings, we swing into initial scenic vignettes to set the stage as the music moves from sweet lush to cloying:
A London street with a small post WWII black car careening merrily along, knocking over postboxes, keep left signs, and the occasional pedestrian; a bobby bobbing along only to stand in front of a flat then bobbles along followed by a cheerful couple and the camera notes the number of the flat and suddenly we’re inside where Toni Windless (Ray McBland) is touching lips with Grace Killy (Maggot – pronounced “Maggoh” - Windless.) It hardly counts as a kiss, but then this is 1954 and the Legion of Decency and the Hays office still rule. But there is something about the way Toni slips away that might, later on, seem cold and distant and downright – well – uncaring. Anyway, Maggot is reading the paper and maybe Toni interrupted her. Anyway he sits down to open the mail, knocks over the salt and pepper, uprights them and throws a pinch of salt over his shoulder out the window and hits a passer by right in the eye.
Maggot looks up from her paper and glances at Toni, then back to the newspaper and we read:
“The Queen Murray arrives in South Humpton today. Among the passengers is the American Mystery Writer, Murky Holiday. Other notables include the society matron and singer, Flouncy Frosted Jinkins who will be giving a concert at the Royal Delbert Hall. Coming with her as her accompaniment are the Morbid Tabernacle Choir, the New York Phillyharmonic, The Grant Ol’ Opry, and Spiked Jones and the City Suckers.
Quick cut to the wharf where the ship is coming in to dock. The captain, who has heard Jinkins sing on board, has gotten drunk and the ship plows into the harbor scattering two seamen who have been watching, a bouy, 4 tug boats, assorted sea birds, barnacles, fish and bits of the dock. The captain may have some explaining to do, but that’s maybe another picture. Or maybe not.
Quick cut to the passengers staggering out of the ship onto what is left of the dock in various degrees of dishabille, covered in startled bird droppings and this morning’s breakfast. Among them is our hero, Murky Holiday (Robert Comengoes.) Holiday looks around, flicks a barnacle off his suit coat and
We cut to:
The Windless flat and Maggot and Murky in a kiss that makes the staged kiss of Toni and Maggot (often called Maggie) at breakfast look like the fumbling of shy second graders doing a Dare. (Lush romantic music under.)
Second Section:
ReplyDeleteWhen the kiss is over (just long and chaste enough for the censors)
Maggie: I need another drink. (As she walks from him, we see that the flat is typically English upper middle class, i.e. a typically upper middle class English fireplace with typically English knickknacks and big vase. Following her we see a little typically English table and on it a typically English lamp, (lit: It’s long after typically English Tea,) letter holder and telephone. There are typically English curtains, open so we can see a typically English full moon, when were wolves come out and….(Sorry, wrong movie.) Anyways she is now at the typically English side bar, freshening her drink of typically Scottish Scotch and she turns to him, and we find he is sitting in a typically English comfy chair. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition! (Oops!. This is a movie. – Right! --)
Maggie: I haven’t told him about us.
Murky: Understandable. He is typically English, after all.
Maggie: When you called this morning, I just told him you wrote crime stories and I’d met you last year when I was abroad and you were there for a – what do you call it? – a Con.
Murky: That has a guilty ring around it. I’d never use a line like that in one of my stories.
Maggie: Well, you needn’t be snippy about it. When you get to know Toni, you’ll understand what I said that.
Murky: I do understand, but that doesn’t keep me from wanting you right now. Rrrrrrrowf!
Maggie: It’s not that simple. (crossing to him) Toni’s changed. He’s totally different from the person I told you about. (She sits in the typically English straight-laced chair next to him. There is a table sort of between them with a very heavy lamp, very typically….{oh, never mind.} The main thing is that it’s heavy and great for smashing heads. There is also a heavy box of some kind, also good for smashing heads, or maybe typically English walnuts. {I sort of promise that’s the end of that.} Behind is a library of books: Poisoners I Have Known, Jack the Ripper; His Life and Times, Fooling the Police for Fun and Profit, How to Get Away with Murder in your Spare Time, etc., etc. On the wall is a picture: Toni in his Mahjong outfit, autographed. At the bottom of the frame: “Made in England, typically”….I’m Sorry! I’m Sorry!)
Murky: (disgruntled): When did this all happen?
Maggie: The night you we’d come back and we’d had that wonderful weekend while Toni was on a tournament. When I came back from where you were staying, the three up five down penthouse in Sohoho, I sat down on the couch and cried and cried. You see I’d gotten a cinder in my eye from the factories there and….
Murky: Yes, and….
Maggie: Toni came home and threw his tournament Mahjong set and Chinese robe in the fireplace and put on an Chartered Accountant’s suit. He’d changed.
Murky: I see….
Maggie: He gave up Professional Mahjong and settled down…and paid marginally more attention to me.
Murky: (a hardness in his voice) Just like that.
Third Section:
ReplyDeleteMaggie: Oh, I didn’t believe it at first. Mahjong had been his life and to give up that kind of excitement and travel to far away places like Hong Kong and Fargo for chartered accountancy?….But he did….He did!
Murky: I suppose that’s when you stopped writing me. (dramatic pause, then lame quote #1) Maggie…is it?
Maggie: Yes. You remember those letters you wrote me?
Murky: (lamely delivered lame quote #2) Yes…I remember….
Maggie: After I read them I incinerated them…all except one. I suspect you know the one I mean…
Murky: The one where I write that I want to diddle your….
Maggie: Yes. It was so sweet….
Murky: You kept that….,
Maggie: And it was stolen.
(Lame exchange)
Murky: No!
Maggie: Yes.
(End of lame exchange)
Maggie: We’d been visiting friends in the fens and after we had a pub dinner of bangers and mash I realized I must have left it in the restaurant, but when I went back it wasn’t there. A couple of weeks later it turned up in the lost and found at Charring Cross station. I went and got it, but the letter wasn’t there. Then a week later I got a note that said that if I wanted to get the letter back I was to go to the bank and get a five pound note, then change that somewhere for used one pound notes, then change those to shillings and pence with a belt in the back and mail them to a charnel house in Dingley Dell. If I went to the police or didn’t do as was asked he, she, or it would show the letter to my husband. Well, I did as directed, in my typically English way (Stop it! Stop it!!!)
Murky: Did you get it back?
Maggie: No. But I did get a receipt.
Murky: Do you still have them?
Maggot goes to the bedroom. Next to the doorway, on the wall, we see pictures of Toni at a tournament, holding little trophies in the shape of fortune cookies that he’d won. She goes to an end table, opens a drawer, and rummages around for the letter and the receipt, pulling out hose, girdles, lipstick, tissues, feminine products, a chastity belt and a golf club (nine iron.) Finally she finds them, puts the stuff back and comes back and hands Murky the ransom note.
Maggie: The place is one of those typical…(Watch it!!!)…one of those places where the homeless get mail.
Murky: Written in crayon. No. 4 size, I think. Anyone could have written this. The signer is…Melvin Smerd?
Maggie: I went to the place, but they’d never heard of him. But the parcel that I’d mailed was still there, unopened.
Murky: Last year in Marienbad, I should have forced the issue. I think your answer would have been different then. And you’d have been spared this.
They go into as passionate and embrace as is allowed. Through this whole opening from logo on there has been Chomkin’s most nauseatingly romantic music. The camera pans to the door. The knob turns….
As the key unlocked the door and the knob began to turn, the two lovers sat up, straighten and rearrange any clothing that may have been crumpled in the preceding love scene. Stiff as the scene was (Oh, I shouldn’t say that!), certain fabrics don’t hold up well under much pressure, including that which the Hays’ office allows. Then, standing up, they each go to the opposite sides of the room.
ReplyDeleteThese precautions were taken because of who might walk through the door and -sure enough- Maggie’s husband entered. [Scenes like the following, show how women have survived over the centuries. Their grace when using even the most obvious of artifices has proven invaluable to them in outwitting the opposite sex -even the brightest among that grouping]
Maggie goes toward the door as Toni (looking a little disheveled) enters the room.
“Dahling, I didn’t think you’d ever get here” she says as she throws her arm around him.
She continued, “I’m not kidding, we’ve been so bored with each other’s company that we very nearly turned on the telly. Isn’t that right, Murk?” (Murk smiles disingenuously.)
She forgot, “Oh, I forgot. Toni, meet Murk. He’s a mystery writer that I met in New York when I was shopping for a bright red dress –this one in fact.”
“How does it follow that you would meet Murk while you were out shopping?” Yikes! Maggie briefly wondered if she was slipping.
“Dahling, Murk was working with art director Ed Carrerre on a film who is also a dress designer. We met briefly, I say for a very short lunch in New York’s Upper East Crust End. Near the Cathedral Parkway exit.”
“The exit is immaterial, isn’t it Toni?” Murk decided he better step in to help himself.
Toni pours himself and drink, “Murk, how long will you be here; have you ever been here before; are you in love with my wife; do you mind taking her to the symphony without me tonight. And, yes, the exit is immaterial.”
Murk chuckles, “That’s quite an interesting approach you have to interrogation! Do you mind if I use it in one of my stories?”
“Oh, no, you may use any of my material, what’s more you can even have my wife to yourself tonight while I stay home and work on a monthly report. Do you see what a generous host I am?”
Maggie seems to be the only one acting in this scene. “Toni, I can’t let you stay home while we go out and enjoy ourselves shamefully more than we would if you were with us. Isn’t there any way you could work on your monthly budget for the sporting-goods store tomorrow?”
“No, my boss is catching the 4-5 out of Victoria at 5 in the morning and this report must be in his portmanteau.”
Trying to defray the situation, Murk chimes in. “Well, it’s pretty obvious Toni won’t be able to go to the concert with us, Maggie, so cheer up. Toni, do you mind if we stop off after the shindig to have a few strong drinks?”
“Oh, no, I want to encourage you to live it up and don’t worry coming back early. I will be up to my elbows in receipts, ledgers, invoices and whatever it takes to do a budget.”
Maggie said, “Please let us call you at half-time and find out if you can join us for the late night drinks.”
Toni digging in his pocket pulls out a couple of coins and puts them in Maggie’s palm. “Call somebody who gives a…no, I mean, call me when you can. But I think you’ll be surprised at how long this job tonight will take me.”
The 3 of them then said a copious number of enthusiastic good-byes to each other. The only conclusion you could come to was that they were overjoyed at splitting up.
Part one:
ReplyDeleteThe adulterous couple had barely walked out the door before Toni, the happy cuckold, was on the blower. Two rings and then:
Hello.
Hello. I say, is this Murderstone 77 double-9?.
Yes.
Could I speak to Captain Lessismore?.
Speaking.
Guud evening. You don't know me. My name is Fishmonger. I understand you have a car for sale.
Yes, an American car. A Studebaker, nice little motorcar if I do say so myself.
Yes, I saw it at your garage. They gave me your number. How much are you asking?.
£ 1,100.
Eleven hundred?. I see. It certainly looks just the job for me. I don't like that price much.
I didn't like it when I bought it.
I say, old chap, I was rather hoping... that is, well, I don't suppose that you could come to my flat tonight?. I'd call on you, only I've had a spot of bother with my knee, Twisted it rather badly.
I'm sorry but I, er... uh, that is... I suppose I could only 'East Enders' is on the telly tonight. Oh well alright! I'll be there in an hour. What's your address?
61 A Herringbone Gardens. Turn left at the underground. It' s a two minutes' walk.
That's extremely good of you. By the way, will you bring the car?.
I'm afraid I can 't. Damn thing won't start.
Doesn't matter. You might bring the registration book and any necessary papers.
Yes, of course. You did hear me say it wouldn't start, didn't you?
A trifle, my dear fellow, a mere trifle. However since it won't start I assume that means you'll drop the price sufficiently.
I'm afraid that's out of the question.
Well, I'll ply you with a couple of drinks and we'll see if three stiff Cognacs won't make you see reason. By the by, how do you feel about murder?
I suppose it's alright as long as I'm not the one being murdered. Well I'll see you in an hour.
An hour passed and there came the expected knock on the door. Whereupon Windless magically developed a limp and picked up a cane. A theater prop just for this occasion. He opened the door and:
Captain Lessismore?.
Polite English-type banter ensued, you know, the 'have any trouble finding your way, let me have your coat, do sit down, how about a drink, I want you to kill my wife' kind. In other words a normal Saturday evening.
Part two:
ReplyDeleteToni: I can't help thinking I've seen you before somewhere.
Lessismore: It's funny you should mention that. The moment I opened the door, I--
Toni: Wait a minute, by the Lord Harry, you're Swamp. C.J. Swamp. Or was it C.A.?.
C.A. Well, you've got a better memory than I have.
Fishermonger. When did we meet?. Weren't you at Cambridge?.
Yes.
Must be 20 years ago.
You wouldn't remember me. I only came your last year.
Well, what a coincidence.
Yes, this calls for a special drink. I was planning to palm you off with an indifferent port. But let's see what we have here. Ah yes, how about this?. (Holds up a very nice bottle of vintage Jean Fillioux Cognac).
Perfect. How did you know I wanted to sell my Studebaker?
I got a fill-up at your garage, told them I was in the market for an American motorcar. They gave me your phone number. I say, it is for sale, isn't it?.
Of course. But cut the malarky, Toni. Toni Windless. Right? I thought I recognized you.
Right you are! I think I have a picture of you here somewhere. Ah yes, here it is. Taken at a reunion dinner. What's with the big cigar? I say, you're not a Nancy boy, are you? A right murderous thug you looked back then and no error. Didn't you steal £ 100 from the college ball till? Naughty, naughty. And then blamed it on the porter. Poor old Alfred. Hanged himself didn't he? Tsk, tsk. We are devious, aren't we, Swamp?
They found the cash box in his back garden.
But not the money. What are you doing nowadays?.
I deal in property.
Stolen property, no doubt. Wot!
How about you, Windless. Didn't you used to be some big-time tennis player? Do you still play?.
No, had to give it up. I had a pretty good run for my money. Went round the world three times.
What are you doing now?.
Mainly I'm sponging off of my very rich, very attractive wife otherwise, I should hardly feel like blowing £ 1,000 on your car. A car, might I remind you, that won't even start.
Yes, well the price is still eleven hundred. So why don't we dispense with the chit-chat and you get around to telling me why I'm really here. You're obviously NOT in the market for a car, are you?
Obviously. Right! I'm going to tell a little story, Swamp. It's a nice little melodrama I must say.
Goes like this:
After my wife and I were married, I played in championships.....and took Maggie with me. She found all that traveling a drudge. She tried to make me give up tennis and play husband instead. As a compromise, I went alone to America for a season and returned after the national championships. A lot had happened while I was away.
Such as what?
Part three:
ReplyDeleteWell, for one thing, she wasn't in love with me anymore. Pretty transparent actually. She was terrible at being unfaithful. Mysterious phone calls at all hours which would end abruptly if I happened to walk in. There was an old school chum who used to visit from time to time.
One day, we had a row. I wanted to play in a tournament and, as usual, she didn't want me to go. I was in the bedroom. The phone rang. I listened through the door. I only caught every other word, but I heard enough. Furtive mumbling but with a singular purpose in mind. After that phone call, she seemed rather keen that I play in the tournament. Into the car I went and drove off. Yes, of course I didn't play in a tournament. I parked the car two streets away, and I doubled back. Ten minutes later, she came out of this house and took a taxi. I took another. Her old school friend lived in a studio in Cheapsee.
Right, Swamp, same old pathetic story. It's amazing to me how two relatively decent people can act in so tawdry a fashion. I peered through the window and there they were. Two lovebirds. I could tell they were very much in love. The impression I got was that they were trying to devour each other. Well, after getting an eyeful, I went for a walk. I began to wonder what would happen if she left me. I'd have to find some way of earning a living in that event. I suddenly realized how much I'd grown to depend on her. Over the years I'd acquired some very expensive tastes. After all, I was a washed up sports professional with no prospects for making any serious money. In my impoverished state, I could ill afford expensive bottles of thirty-year old Cognac. Tennis was done with me and so, apparently, was my wife. I dropped into a pub and had a couple of drinks. I thought of all sorts of things. Kill her lover, no. To messy and certain to make me the prime suspect. How about if I killed her? That seemed a much more sensible plan. However...
Well, however... what?
As I later learned, their tryst was a sort of farewell. Her boyfriend had been called back to New York. He's an American you know.
An American? That's dreadful! You'd think she'd have been decent enough to shag a proper Englishman instead of a bleedin' Yank.
Yes, well, there it is. She would regularly receive long letters from across the pond. Like clockwork, every Thursday in fact. She burned them all... except one. That one must have been a doozy 'cause she kept hiding it from one handbag to another. I became obsessed with the idea of finding that letter! I HAD to find out what was in it!
Finally... I did. That letter made for some very interesting reading; full of 'my dearest, darling, I can't possibly live without your luscious lips against mine,' that and much, much more explicit blather such as you might find in some lurid romance novel. Bordered on the pornographic. Disgusting actually.
So you stole it?
Yes.
I even sent her two letters offering to sell it back to her.
ReplyDeleteHow come?
I was hoping it would tell me all about the sleaze ball. But it didn't, so I kept the letter. (He intentionally drops the letter to the floor, thereby making the second gentleman pick it up and hand it back to him.)
Why are you telling me all this?
Because you're the only person I can trust. Come on man, you just picked up that letter and gotten your hands prints all over it and didn't bat an eyelash. Anyway that did it, it must have gotten all too much for them, weaklings, and the letters stopped. We have lived Happily Ever After, and to think, I wanted her dead as a door nail just a year before. And I might have done the did if something hadn't changed my mind.
What did you see?
YOU!
What was weird about that?
The chances. I had just been to a reunion dinner and the guys were talking about you. How you had been court martialed during the war, yikes! A year in prison, that was news. We figured you'd spent time for the stolen money in school, we knew it was you, poor Alfred.
AHEM! Thanks for the drink. It was interesting listening to you martial woes, and I guess you wont be wanting the car after all?
Don't you want to really know why you're here?!
Swamp: Why, I suppose, to buy the wrec…motorcar.
ReplyDeleteWindless: Silly boy. I’m going to proposition you.
Swamp: Blackmail more likely.
Windless: Nononononono Nonono. When I saw you in the pub, suddenly the fog outside lifted and it was all very clear. You see…(Windless begins wiping things, the picture of the reunion with them all, including a portly older fellow. One would almost think that………….Nah….) You see, we’d just made out our wills. Not at all long. Basically leaving the other the money in case of death, some 90,000 pounds and each other’s wedding rings. 39 carat gold they are. Anything happen to her, the coppers would naturally suspect me. I would need an alibi. A jolly good one. That’s why you were such a serendipitous discovery. I began following you.
But I lost the fascination at my cleverness; once I found you employed at the Cheapside Tiddlywinks and Cheese Factory Ltd. No, at first I found your routine deadly dull and respectable. Except for the Caucus Race every Tuesday and Thursday. (wiping the bottle of 1954 English Sangria with bitters and a hint of battery acid they’d just enjoyed) I began to notice in myself an odor of despair, so I changed socks….to dis pair. ( Waggles his foot at Swamp and chuckles.) You’d changed your name to MacAdamias.
Swamp: No law against that.
Windless: Unfortunately not. Then you disappeared. (Wiping the water glasses, they’d had their drinks in, the cute little ones with Wallace and Grommet and the logo for the Cheapside factory, the one with the motto: Cheapside because it’s on the cheap side.) I was ready to upchuck the whole thing until……I went to see your landlady. I told her you owed me 5 pounds. She told me you’d left owing her 50 Squid 10 muppence and a ha’penney back rent. Such a nice young man, the…well, the names she attached to you can’t be used in this picture – Hays office and all, you know. (Wiping the ash tray – and the ashes.) Then I found you again at the Caucus Racing and I traced you to Bedchambers Park. You’d changed your name to Pillbox and left owing 16 weeks rent and a bit richer for having met a Miss Walleye. You, as George Pillbox, used to take her to the posh Bobble and Squeke Pub and Tea Room on Wednesdays and to the park on Sundays. Ah, “Sunday in the Park with George.” I suppose she believed you’d grown that moustache just for her, since such things tickled her upper lip when kissing which always brought her close to orgasm. Poor Miss Walleye. I’m sure she was quite in love with you. (pause to wipe the silver) Or at least your moustache.
Swamp: Do go on. This is most uninteresting.
Windless (Sitting): July, August, September; when it rains: Apartment 1506 Nixnix Court, Foo Gardens, Notary Sojac, and a Mrs. Van Doornob. Her late husband had left her two swank hotels and an apartment house as large as her, furnished. Problem is that she very much likes to be courted, especially by the dashing Captain Lessismore and that can get expensive, which is why you’ve been trying to palm off her car.
Swamp: Mrs. Van Doornob asked me to sell her car.
Windless: I know. I called. Because of the starter and a few other, shall we say, problems, she’s asking 35 1/3 pence and a further tuppence thruppence for tax.
Swamp: Where is the local police station?
Windless: Skewed Gardens, a two minute walk from here.
Swamp: Suppose I go to there now?
Windless: And tell them what, exactly? Hmmmm?
“For starters,” Swampy –whose face was growing moist with agitation – said, “I’ll let them know that you tried seducing me with cheap liquor, marked bills and Year of ‘38 high school hallucinations into murdering your wife.”
ReplyDeleteToni responded, “I hope you go tell the police that tidbit. They would laugh their heads off as would I, my-self and Maggie herself. Please go to the police, I insist. We haven’t had many laughs this month what with my bum leg, and our spending more time together. So I welcome the gaiety your police report would afford us.”
Swamp knew he had to point out the obtuseness of Toni’s response, and the danger of his game. “Think about it, you’ve told me quite a lot. All that gruesome rubbish about the American boyfriend devouring your wife over spaghetti. And how you were all washed up in sports, and in your wife’s eye as well. And, at some point, you –like me-would have to resort to wining and dining rich old hags, and I can tell you, there aren’t enough Mrs. Doorknobs for both of us in this town!”
Toni got a kick out of that rant as well. “I’m quite well-known, and if there is any doubt about either of our characters, I’m afraid you would draw the fuzzy end of the lollipop. You see, I know you have spread IOU’s around with nearly as little intention to redeem them as you were likely to keep your promises to your merry widows. Surely you don’t want me to spill the beans and, subsequently, find yourself in debtor prison or worse. No, you better go along with this deal here. In this version of the story, you followed Maggie to Chelsea. You were the one spying on her.”
Time to fight back. “Who would believe I would have followed a perfect little peach wearing an expensive off-the-shoulder dress and Saint Laurent feather-trimmed-suede over-the knee boots into Chelsea?! Who would believe such utter rubbish??”
“From your description, it sounds like you did follow her! But, no matter. Who would believe? The same folk who believe that you stole her handbag, used her cash for hair wax and a movie and have been blackmailing her ever since. The very same people, in point of fact, who wish you would produce an explanation as good as the one I will most assuredly will produce,” Toni answered.
“Well, produce your explanation of these events, and pray make it improbable,” Swampy said with resignation.
“With pleasure, Swampy. I will say that you came to our flat this evening wanting to borrow a 5-pounder note on the strength of the amount of alcohol you had consumed. But I told you that I had no intention of enabling your bad habits. (They will think me very good for this.) Then you told me that inside your wallet was a very lurid and compromising letter between my wife and Murky. (They will feel sorry for me here.) I didn’t want to read the letter because it wasn’t right to read private communiques. (They will think me the most honorable person ever.)
“You then told me you wanted to sell the letter to me in order to spare my wife any public humiliation and further blackmail payments. Of course, I got you the money from a brief-case in the bedroom. These are monies I keep on hand to make Maggie happy. (A standing ovation for me here.) You get the idea.”
“I most certainly get the idea. From everything you’ve said, it’s clear that you plan on my getting caught on the strength of you bearing witness against me. How do you think I would ever agree to such a pile of homemade rubbish?”
“Ever heard the story, “Pin the tail on the donkey?” Toni teased.
dustman:
ReplyDeleteOf course I have. What's the prize for pinning the tail?
£1,000 in cash. For a few minutes' work. No harm, no foul, no risk... I guarantee. Don't you find that proposition to your liking? Let's face it, Swamp, you've been skating on pretty thin ice now haven't you?
I don't know what you're talking about. First it's pinning tails on donkeys and now we've drifted into ice skating.
Oh come now C.A. I get the Daily Mail just like everyone else. What were the headlines? Something about a middle-aged woman found dead due to an overdose of something or other, now what was it? Ah, now I remember, Ultra Ex-Lax. Well, what about it, Swamp?
Look, she'd been taking the stuff for quite some time. Horrible way to go I guess but she couldn't help herself. Nobody knows where she got it. Died in the bathroom, poor girl.
But we know where she got it, don't we?. Poor Miss Walleye! My, my. And the old dear loved you so, mustache and all. Tsk, tsk, what a dreadful trail of broken hearts and bodies you must have left.
Nobody's perfect.
Now hear this, Swamp, if you don't do what I want, I'll make your life a living hell and no error. So you see you have but one option. A nice strangulation will do the trick. Make it quick. Don't want my old darlin' to suffer too much.
Hold on! What about this coin of the realm... this thousand pounds? Where is it?.
It's in a small attache case in a checkroom.
Where?
Somewhere in London. Of course, we don't meet again. As soon as you've done the deed I shall mail you the checkroom ticket and the key to the case. Here take this £100 on account.
'alf a mo, Windless. All the police would have to do is trace one of these notes back to you and we both wind up in chokey with a nice view of our next destination, the gallows scaffold. Thanks but no thanks.
You worry too much, Swamp. They won't trace them. For a whole year, I've been cashing an extra 20 a week. Always in fivers. I then change them for clean notes at my leisure. And besides...
Besides what?
Well you see ol' boy, you really have no choice. Don't forget the unfortunate Miss Walleye not to mention several other little incriminating tidbits that might be strewn about Scotland Yard. I've been told that they love crime tips. Care to risk it? Even if you don't get pinched, your life won't be worth a ha'penny after I spread my little tale... anonymously of course.
Might I see your bank statement?.
By all means. But don't touch.
Turn back a page. Your balance has dropped by over £1000 during the year. Suppose the police ask you about that.
I go dog-racing twice a week.
They'll check your bookmaker.
Bookmaker. Smookmaker. Hah! Never mess with 'em. I always bet on the tout. Satisfied?.
So when is this caper supposed to take place?
Tomorrow night if it's quite convenient... or even if it isn't, ha ha.
Tomorrow! Not a chance! I'll miss the "Ask Pickles" game show. I've got to think this over.
Part two:
ReplyDeleteIt has to be tomorrow so you'll have to 'ask Pickles' some other night. Anyway I've already arranged things that way.
Well bleedin' hell, mate! Arrange things another way! I haven't missed "Ask Pickles" in years.
Sorry old chap. It's got to be done according to my plan.
Where is this mayhem supposed to happen?
Approximately one pace from where you're standing now.
How?
Tomorrow evening, dear old Murky Holliday... you know, the American boyfriend... and I will go out to a stag party.
Maggie will stay here. She'll go to bed early and listen to "The Outrageous Adventures of Guy Fawkes" on the radio. She always does when I'm out. At exactly three minutes to 11, you'll enter the house through the street door. You'll find the key to this door... under the stair carpet here on the fifth step. Upon entering, go straight to the window and hide behind the curtains.
I say, isn't this all a bit too melodramatic?
Oh you mean as melodramatic as slowly killing poor Miss Walleye? Right! Now pay attention, Swamp. At exactly 11:00, I'll go to the telephone in the hotel to call my boss. I shall dial the wrong number, this number. That's all I shall do. When the phone rings, you'll see the light go on under her bedroom door. When she opens it, the light will stream across the room. So don't move until she answers the phone. There must be as little noise as possible. After you've finished pick up the phone and give me a soft whistle and hang up. Don't speak, whatever you do.
Mum's the word.
When I hear your whistle, I shall hang up and redial the correct number this time. I shall then talk to my boss as if nothing had happened and return to the party.
Go on, what happens next?
You'll see the suitcase here. It contains clothes of mine for the cleaners. Open it and tip the clothes out onto the floor. Then fill it with a cigarette box and some of these cups. Close the lid, but don't snap the locks. Then leave the suitcase there, just as it is now.
As if I'd left in a hurry.
That's the idea.
Crikey, but you're a sneaky blighter, aren't you? What's next?
This next bit is critical, so pay close attention! Go to the window and...
(to be continued)
….if it's locked, unlock it and leave it open. Then go out exactly the same way you came in, confused? So am I!
ReplyDeleteBy this door?
Yes and here's the jigger, as you go out...return the key to the place you first found it.
(Incredulously) Under the stair carpet?!!
Yes....You shall be tested on this later.
Yes, but WHAT exactly was suppose to have happened? I'm soooo confused!
Well, durrrrr, they'll assume you came in by the window. You thought the apartment was empty, so you took the suitcase and went to work. She "heard" something, she switches on her light, you see the light under the door and hid behind the curtains. When she came in here, you attacked her before she could scream (you're good). When you realize, "uh oh! I've killed her," you freak, bolt through the garden never minding the pansies and tulips, and forget the loot behind you gosh darn it.
Wait a minute.....I'm suppose to have come through those windows, suppose they'd been locked?
It wouldn't matter. She often takes a walk through said garden and always forgets to lock up when she gets back. That's what I'm going to say to the police.
Yes but she may say that...………
But ahhhhh….she's not going to say anything. Is she old boy?
Alright, I leave the apartment, I leave the key under the stair carpet and go out through the street door. Suppose the stree door is locked Mr. Fancypants? How do I get in?
The street door is never locked.
What time will you get back, I'm sure I've missed something?
About 12. I'll bring Holliday back for a nightcap and we'll find her here, and we'll have been together since we left here....I think. And there's my perfect (ahem) alibi.
Give me a sec while I check to see if the staircase has moved. AHA!! You'e forgotten something.
What?!
When you get back with wazzits name, Halliday, how will you get back in?
I shall let myself in...…
(sigh)
But your key shall be under the moving staircase. He'll see you removing it and it will give the whole darn thing away!!
ReplyDeleteNoooooo…..it wont be my key under the carpet, it will be hers. I shall take it from her handbag, (and I'll know it will be a beautiful handbag, judging by her beautiful dress) and I'll hide it out there just before I leave the flat. She's not going out, so she wont miss it....the key, not the bag. Hee! Hee! When I come back with Halliday, I'll use my own key to let her, errrrrr….us in. Then! While she's, errrrr….he's out searching the garden or something, I'll take the key out from under the carpet and return it to her handbag before the police arrive. Confused much?!
How many keys are there to this door?
Just hers and mine. What?! Ho! Could that be the landline? Excuse me old boy while I answer it...……………………………...
Windless has picked up the phone, speaks into it: Cotenmaze 0 double 9 7/8. Oh, hello, Dearest Heart of my Hearts and Points South, whassup?
ReplyDeleteWhat we hear at her end: The play was ghastly. The dog threw up on the stage and the ingénue slipped on it and fell into the orchestra pit and she wasn’t wearing underwear. By far the highlight of the evening.
Windless: Well, that’s nice. Why don’t you go to the Frog in the Pit Pub and Bar-B-Que and booze it up? The band is awful but the food is worse.
Her voice over the phone: Can you come and join us, I hope?...not.
Windless, while Swampy is oozing around, turning off lights (with gloved hands, of course. The welder’s mitts that Windless laid out do make things a bit difficult,) and turning them on again while nearly tipping over a priceless Brains beer bottle encrusted with 24 carat rhinestones. (Every one, of course knows, in spite of the name, McBland was of Welsh extraction and America extracted it all out.) (Sorry. I got distracted. I hope I don’t get extracted….Simpering chuckle, then…) (Anyway…..)
Windless says: Sooooo sorry, Honey Bum, but I’ve really just got started on my boss’s quarterly doctored dividend retort and it has to be in his sticky little hands before he leaves for the Caymans. But you kids have a goooood time. Bye the bye, Murraine called and asked us over for dindin next Sunday. I went to your calendar to check whether there would be a conflict but I can’t read your scrawl. You really should have been a doctor, Sugar Boobs. Best I can tell is somebody named Boil Dullfart Balls. Is he one of your afternoon quickies?
Voice on phone indistinct
Windless: Ohhhh, the Royal Delbert Hall! Well we can go there for that damn Welsh hymn sing, then. Frosted-Jinkins is to be the soloist, right? That should be good for a few derisive guffaws. She certainly proves that not all Welsh can carry a tune. At least we won’t have to eat Murraine’s typically awful English food that she lays out, though I don’t know which is worse: two two hour sessions of hymns and singing Cwm Rhondda twice at fortissimo or Murraine’s typically English boring dullness.
Oh, I think someone is at the door. I’d better go. Behave yourself….as best you can….not!
Swamp: Couldn’t you have gotten me some gloves a bit more genteel?
Windless: Suck it up, Swamp. I had to lift those at the local butcher and blacksmith shop on Clipclop Lane, and it wasn’t easy. The dumb Gumby dumped ‘em awfully close to the forge.
The pause that ensues could be called “pregnant” if these two were women.
The camera makes quick cuts between Windless and Swamp, as suspenseful music comes in.
Swamp finally looks at the very typically English chair where Windless has dropped a wad of big typically English pound notes that ought to weigh at least that. Suspenseful music increases as Swamp picks up the wad of crumpled paper, flips through it to make sure some of the interior isn’t blank, and stuffs it into his coat’s inner pocket.
Final cut to Windless as a faint smirk happens at his lips.
And a quick cut to…The continuation of movie with a new scene…same place….next evening,,,,,
The following scene occurs in the same location as before, the Windless flat. But, fortunately, the atmosphere has brightened up a good bit with the absence of Swamp and all the auxiliary rubbish attached to his person.
ReplyDeleteMurky and Toni are dressed up as stags and Maggie’s sporting a leisure dress. The Lover, Murky, is sitting too close to Maggie on the couch as Windless shakes the martinis and ice with some ferocity.
While Windless is bruising the alcohol, Maggie looks through piles of newspaper clippings for a picture of Tony with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi at a tennis tournament in the Punjab.
“Toni, don’t wear the liquor out; just poor the darn drinks,” Maggie insisted. “Oh, here is the picture!”
Murky, trying not to sound facetious, “Toni does look attractive there.” He turns to Toni who is still messing with the drinks, “Why didn’t you stay out there? You could have learned to levitate and clamor for world peace.” Murky guffaws.
“Well, the maharaja business was too sedentary for me, old boy. Here’s your drink, Murk.”
Murk looked at the contents of the glass highly suspiciously and handed his glass over to Maggie, not realizing the ill-will Toni had towards Maggie too.
“Listen, Maggie-pie, when are you going to paste in my pin-ups, I mean the clippings surrounding my successful run as a tennis star into the scrap book.”
“When climate change makes its way to hell!!” Both she and Murk chuckled, but Maggie soon regretted her honesty. “Oh, don’t pout, you! OK. I agree to paste them in when I’ve got absolutely nothing else in the world to do. Does that satisfy you snookums?”
Murky decided to change the subject, “Toni, with all your experiences both on and off the court, you really ought to write a book.”
Suddenly a nice thought occurred to Maggie, “Hey you two, why don’t you collaborate on a mystery story about tennis.” She was thinking that if they agreed she could have Murk around constantly without the necessity of her traipsing off to Chelsea in heels.”
Murky played along, “I’ve been wanting to write such a story. Toni, how does the title “Strangers on a Train” grab you?”
“That’s the idea,” Toni said with his usual insincerity. “How do you start out writing a detective story?”
Murky said, “Well, I start off by figuring out who I would like to be rid of if I was a criminal. Then I work out the opportunity by insinuating myself into the home of my lover and her husband and convince her dull-witted husband that I’m in the country for business reasons. It’s really not difficult after that.”
“Do you think you could commit a murder without being caught?” queried Toni.
“I imagine I could commit murder without being caught better than anybody else.”
Toni responded, “I don’t guess you think an old tennis pro could do as well.”
“Well, I would hate to see someone with a beautiful wife and a job at the sport-goods store risk it all by murdering someone whom I’m personally determined to protect, old boy.”
“Drink up, Murk,” Toni said with traditional British inertia.
Part One
ReplyDelete"Yes," replied Murk with traditional American get-right-to-the-pointedness.
"I say, Murky, darling, what are you doing tomorrow?" asked Maggie.
"Naught that I know of," was Murk's reply. (Thought balloon: Whatcha got in mind toots?)
"Splendid! Why don't we drive to Windsor Knot for lunch? We can have lunch at the Cabbage Head Bar & Grille."
Toni chimed in with, "That's a good idea. Come along early, but not too early. We may be nursing a hangover. How about 11?."
"Fine."
"Darling, did I lend you my latchkey?. I can't seem to find it anywhere."
"I don't know. I may have them both in my handbag. I'll just look. No. I've only got one here. Are you sure yours isn't in your overcoat?"
"No, I've looked. May I borrow yours?"
"Well, that's a bit awkward."
"Why?" asked a perplexed Toni.
"I may want to go out."
"Tonight??" (Just like a woman thought Toni. Just when you've got the perfect murder planned out, she up and wants to go out.)
"Yes, I thought I might go to a movie."
"A movie?" (the bloody cheek of the woman throwing a wrench smack dab into the gears of my practically perfect plan.) "Isn't it your night for BBC radio?
"Yes, but tonight it's a thriller: 'Mrs. Macgillicuddy's Deadly Knickers' is being featured on Murder Most Foul Theatre hosted by Malcolm Seabuscuit. I don't like thrillers when I'm alone."
Toni's thought bubble: (Drat the woman! And bugger the movie. Can't she patiently stay at home so that my deliciously evil plan might be played out? Has she no decency?)
Part Two
ReplyDeleteMaggie burst his bubble by saying, "In any case, I'll be back before you, so I can let you in."
"But old thing, we won't be back until after midnight. You may be asleep by then."
Mark chimed in with, "You can always put your key under the proverbial mat."
In the midst of all this chatter, Toni was pretending to look for his missing key. He paced the room, nervously closing a curtain. He turns to face his soon to be ex-wife and her lover and what do you know! Tucked in the fold of his kid gloves was the 'missing' key.
"Ah, here it is. It was in my glove all the time."
"Well, that settles that," said Maggie.
Toni asked, "What movie are you going to?"
"Oh darling, it's a classic. 'Brief Encounter'. I read a very good review of it in 'Baronzo Goes to the Movies' column in the Times."
"Will you get in? Only it's Saturday night?"
"I can always try."
"But, darling--"
"Now, don't make me stay home. You know I hate doing nothing."
"Doing nothing?. Why here are with hundreds of things to do. You could write a note to Peggy Sue, I heard she's getting married. And what about clipping your toenails?. You haven't done that in a while and it's long overdue. They're beginning to look sharp and dangerous. It's an ideal opportunity."
"Well, I like that. You two go gallivanting while I stay home and snip at my toenails."
"Very well. We won't go," said Toni in a peevish tone.
"What do you mean?"
Stamping his foot, Toni replied, "It's obvious you don't want us to go, so we won't. We'll stay here with you. What shall we do, play at tiddlywinks?"
"Tony, darling...."
"Nah, nope, that's it then. I'll call the Grab Bag and tell them we're not coming. so there!"
"Tony, please, let's not be childish about this. All right, I'll trim my old toenails if that's what you want. "
"You don't have to if you don't want to, you know."
"But I do want to," Maggie said but her facial expression told a different story.
Murk, embarrassed at this bit of awkwardness, said, " Ahem. I'll phone for a taxi."
Part Three
ReplyDelete"Toni, be a dear and fetch my scissors. They're in my mending basket. I'm going to need them for my monstrous toenails. Just a regular pair of clippers won't have much effect on these babies."
Toni spies Maggie's handbag on the table. He goes over and starts rummaging through it. "Lend me some change. I need some money for the taxi."
"Hey, you leave my bag alone. How much do you need?"
"Let's see how much you've got. Hmmm..."
"You put that down. Toni, I mean it... put that down!"
"Don't get so hot my dear. Anyway, you owe me 10 bob."
"Why?"
"I paid for that package you sent Peggy. You know, the suspicious one with the ugly brown stains seeping through. That comes out of housekeeping."
"Let me get it, then. Stop reaching in. Toni! Keep your hands off! There, now. How much do you want?. I've got 3, 5, 7 and a sixpence."
"That'll do. It ought to get us there and back."
"But you'd better take something. How much are dinner tickets?"
"Paid for, tip included. If I run short, Murk will help out. Taxi's here."
"Toni, what are you waiting for?"
"Ur, ah, nothing, dear. Nothing," said Toni as he closed the curtain just by the table on which sat an antique phone."
"Good night, Maggie."
"Good night, Murk."
"Toni, what time will you get home?"
"About 12. I'll bring Murky back for a nightcap. Will you be up?"
"I shall be fast asleep. Trimming toenails always exhausts me."
"We shall be quiet. Good night."
"Night."
"Maggie."
"Yes."
"
You know it's possible old man Bludgeon might call. Tell him we're at the Grab Bag. It may be important."
"What's the number?"
"867-5309."
"All right. Goodbye, dear," Toni said as he gave Maggie a tender kiss on the cheek.
"Right, Murk. Let's away!
Toni managed to slip the key under the carpet of the stair as arranged without being noticed by Murk. Whew! All over but the strangling...
Some time later a shadowy figure is slinking along the rain-soaked streets, trying to avoid the direct glare of the street lamps. A thick fog had descended upon the town and this has helped him avoid detection. The shadow checks his watch. Seven minutes till eleven.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Grab Bag is what you might expect in an English restaurant. Barely edible food but with a good, almost respectable ambience. Especially if that ambience included the odour of fried foods. Toni and Murk were sitting at a round table with three men. The noise of clinking glasses and silverware made it necessary to raise one's voice to be heard above the din.
And that's exactly what the man sitting next to Toni was doing. Boring conversation is bad enough, but boring loud conversation is insufferable.
"I'm staying at the Torniquet Hotel. You know the hotel in Dampmore?. Well, it's not exactly in Dampmore, but sort of in the district. Anyway, the whole point of this story is that there's this prison there and..."
"I say," interrupted Toni, "would any of you fellows have the right time? Damn watch has stopped. Must have over wound it."
Several answers. One said seven minutes past eleven, another said only just past eleven. Either way Toni knew he was past his time.
"....as I was saying, I was staying at the Torniquet Hotel and...
With a suppressed yawn, Toni said, "Excuse me, old boy. Have to call my boss..."
Meanwhile, the shadow opens the hallway door. He retrieves the key under the stair carpet and quietly lets himself into the flat. Now, according to plan, he hides behind a curtain and waits, nervously, for the phone to ring...
Part Three
ReplyDelete"Toni, be a dear and fetch my scissors. They're in my mending basket. I'm going to need them for my monstrous toenails. Just a regular pair of clippers won't have much effect on these babies."
Toni spies Maggie's handbag on the table. He goes over and starts rummaging through it. "Lend me some change. I need some money for the taxi."
"Hey, you leave my bag alone. How much do you need?"
"Let's see how much you've got. Hmmm..."
"You put that down. Toni, I mean it... put that down!"
"Don't get so hot my dear. Anyway, you owe me 10 bob."
"Why?"
"I paid for that package you sent Peggy. You know, the suspicious one with the ugly brown stains seeping through. That comes out of housekeeping."
"Let me get it, then. Stop reaching in. Toni! Keep your hands off! There, now. How much do you want?. I've got 3, 5, 7 and a sixpence."
"That'll do. It ought to get us there and back."
"But you'd better take something. How much are dinner tickets?"
"Paid for, tip included. If I run short, Murk will help out. Taxi's here."
"Toni, what are you waiting for?"
"Ur, ah, nothing, dear. Nothing," said Toni as he closed the curtain just by the table on which sat an antique phone."
"Good night, Maggie."
"Good night, Murk."
"Toni, what time will you get home?"
"About 12. I'll bring Murky back for a nightcap. Will you be up?"
"I shall be fast asleep. Trimming toenails always exhausts me."
"We shall be quiet. Good night."
"Night."
"Maggie."
"Yes."
"You know it's possible old man Bludgeon might call. Tell him we're at the Grab Bag. It may be important."
"What's the number?"
"867-5309."
"All right. Goodbye, dear," Toni said as he gave Maggie a tender kiss on the cheek.
"Right, Murk. Let's away!
Toni managed to slip the key under the carpet of the stair as arranged without being noticed by Murk. Whew! All over but the strangling...
Some time later a shadowy figure is slinking along the rain-soaked streets, trying to avoid the direct glare of the street lamps. A thick fog had descended upon the town and this has helped him avoid detection. The shadow checks his watch. Seven minutes till eleven.
The Grab Bag is what you might expect in an English restaurant. Barely edible food but with a good, almost respectable ambience. Especially if that ambience included the odour of fried foods. Toni and Murk were sitting at a round table with three men. The noise of clinking glasses and silverware made it necessary to raise one's voice to be heard above the din.
And that's exactly what the man sitting next to Toni was doing. Boring conversation is bad enough, but boring loud conversation is insufferable.
"I'm staying at the Torniquet Hotel. You know the hotel in Dampmore?. Well, it's not exactly in Dampmore, but sort of in the district. Anyway, the whole point of this story is that there's this prison there and..."
"I say," interrupted Toni, "would any of you fellows have the right time? Damn watch has stopped. Must have overwound it."
Several answers. One said seven minutes past eleven, another said only just past eleven. Either way Toni knew he was past his time.
"....as I was saying, I was staying at the Torniquet Hotel and...
With a suppressed yawn, Toni said, "Excuse me, old boy. Have to call my boss..."
Meanwhile, the shadow opens the hallway door. He retrieves the key under the stair carpet and quietly lets himself into the flat. Now, according to plan, he hides behind a curtain and waits, nervously, for the phone to ring...
Swamp nervously comes out of the curtains. He walks towards the phone. "Ring! Gosh Darn it! Ring!!" He stashes the scarf in his raincoat jacket pocket and....
ReplyDeleteToni walks hurriedly down a corridor, grabs some change from his trouser pockets and...some old dratty man is already using the phone in the booth! He walks back and forth before it and enters when the man is finished. He puts the correct change in the slot and Dials M for MURDER!! O_O
Then like a scene from The Maxtrix, the phone rings just as Swamp is leaving.
Swamp hesitates at the door and sees the bedroom light flick on under Mag's door. Maggie, in a Bride of Dracula sleeping gown, goes to answer the phone in the dark. "Hello," she answers, no reply. "Hello," she tries again, no answer. She aims for third base and yet again calls out hello into the open phone line. She thinks, "It's me. I'm not answering the phone correctly and if I jiggle the heck out of it, someone will answer my greeting." The camera pans to her back as she once again calls out "Hello" into the phone. Swamp is behind her thinking, "Just one more Hello...just one more Hello!" He raises the scarf, Mags looks at the phone as if this will give her all the answers she's been dying to find out. One more Hello as Toni stands in the phone booth listening on his end of the line thinking, "Just one more Hello Maggie, just one more Hello!" O_o
Maggie again stares at the phone and says....HELLO and Swamp just cant take one more Hello. He wraps the scarf around her beautiful neck and pulls!! Toni is listening on the opposite line, his eyes wide with horror?! Anticipation?! Or maybe, just maybe.....overkill (LOL) from too many Hellos!
Maggie and Swamp do their dance of death. Swamp throws Maggie over a desk as he strangles her and Toni listens on the phone in horror. Maggie reaches for the camera behind her and finds on the desk a pair of scissors. She picks them up and stabs Swamp! He yells out in pain. Swamp jerks back and tries to reach the scissors behind his back.....Darn! There goes a good pair of sewing scissors. Swamp cant reach the scissors and Maggie looks away in fear. Swamp falls to the carpet....Darn! There goes the carpet. He falls on the shears and pushes them further into his back....he's toast.
Meanwhile, Toni is trying to hear what has happened. Maggie grabs the phones and pleads for the police to be called.
Toni cashes in his coins...……...
5!
ReplyDeleteCut to Toni: Maggot?
Maggie’s voice: Whooozat?
Toni: Babycookies, it’s me!
Maggie burbles: Toni, oh thank…you know who….Come baaaak, Little Sheep…ah! Pronto!
Toni: Whatever’s up?
Maggie tunelessly: Got a feelin’ inside…Can’t Explain! Wanna run an’ hide…Can’t explain. (and you people thought bands just come up with songs out of the blue….and into the black….Sillies!)
Toni: Maggot, you know you can’t sing. Now, What Is It! What’s up, Bwah?
Maggie: A Maaaaannn tried to straannngle meeeeee! Boo-hoo-hoo! Blubber, blubber~
Toni: Di…di…di…did he…….get………away?!?!??
Maggie: Nooooooo! He’s Dead! He’s Dead, Toni! What am I gonna do? (more boo-hooing and some gagging noises after the “Carousel” reference.)
Toni: Now, listen carefully. Don’t touch anything. Don’t tell no-one, no way, no how! Got that? Huh? Huh? Got it?!?!??
Maggie: Yes. Yes. Hurry! Hurry home to me!/Set me free!/Free from doubt/And free from…
Toni: Maggie, you…know…you…can’t……..SING! I’ll be right there, jiggity jig! ‘K?
Cut to Maggie: She manages to hang up the phone. She’s still wearing the scarf Swamp was strangling her with. She needs air. She goes through the Typically French doors into the patio, the scarf falls from her neck to the patio in a way that makes it look like some kind of prehistoric animal or sea creature. She stumbles back inside and sees Swamp. Yep. He’s still dead. She stumbles into the bathroom….to throw up? No. just to try to get her head together.
Cut to: Toni trotting back to the boring table as the man who was at the Tourniquet Hotel is saying:
Man: So, after I arose I heard a thumping and opened the door and saw a rhino in my pajamas. How it got in my pajamas I’ll never know. Ho Ho Ho! Jolly good, that. Ho Ho H
He’s cut off by another man: Joke’s been done.
Murk and another man get up as Toni is now at the table:
Toni summarily shoves the man (not Murk) onto his seat, which collapses. (Flimsy stage chairs! Sheesh!)
Toni to Murk: Gotta flit. It’s Maggot. Not feeling well. Hiccups or rickets or something. No. No. You stay here. Sit!.... Stay!!!....... Good boy! Enjoy yourself. Get drunk. Get laid. Whatever. She’ll be perky in no time. Ciao! Toodle-ooh! Byeeee!
Cut to Toni in cab, what to do! We can almost hear the cogs and wheels grinding in his head. Grind! Grinnnd! Grinnnnnnndddd….were it not for Chompkin’s surprisingly suspenseful music.
Cut to Toni coming in the door. He opens the door to their living room. Maggie flies at him, pinning him to the wall, her face buried in his chest, her voice muffled: Oh, Tnni! Muffleburbleflllbinerfflupp!
Toni, pushing her away a little: There, there. Please pull yourself together. What’s wrong? What happened?
Maggie plants her face in his chest again. He’ll have to have that jacket dry-cleaned: Toni, He wrppd scrfff arrrrnnnd thrrrtttntrddtstrngglmihhhihihihih!
Toni pushes her off him. He approaches Swamp. Kneels. Yep. Still dead. He (Toni, that is) begins to go through his (Swamp’s) pockets. Where’s the damn key?
Toni rising a little, wonderingly: There’s next to no blood…(Well, why so surprised? The dude was stabbed in the back with scissors and fell backward. It’s all underneath, dummy!)
Toni, turning a little: I wonder wha….t are you doing?!? (Seeing Maggie rummaging around in her purse. If she finds her key missing….bad news, for maybe soon Windless will have a lot less wind.)
She pulls out a little bottle: I just needed to find my valium (Mother’s Little Helper.) I have such a head…(and she’s in the bathroom.) Toni back to the pockets….Ah….inside the coat lining….the KEY. Hop and a skip to Maggie’s open purse. Gets what looks like a little coin purse, he pops in the key and hears her coming, pops purse back into purse and he’s nonchalant as she pops back.
Maggie: What is it?
Toni goes into the bedroom: I’d better get a blanket. He looks cold. (Comes back with the blanket and throws it over the Swamp.)
4!
ReplyDeleteMaggie: Shut the Typically French doors, please. I’m cold.
Toni going to do it: We can’t touch anything until the Bobbies bop over. He must be a burglar. What could he have been after…..Maybe my MahJong trophies! Yes, that must be it.
Maggie: When will the Bobbies bop over, as you say?
Toni: You didn’t call them?
Maggie: You said: “Don’t tell no one, no way, no how.” And I didn’t. Now, wasn’t I a good girl?
Toni: Yes, indeedy, Snugglepants.
Maggie: Shouldn’t we call them now?
Toni: Yessss. (Picks up receiver. Dials.)
Maggie: Where’s Murk?
Toni: I told him to go home and straight to bed, but he probably got drunk and went to some floozy’s flat; a Flat for a Floozy with a Floy Floy. Two can play this little game, my little luscious Duck Soup. Oh, hello, Merdstone Police? Yes. Toni Windless here. We have a bit of a sticky plum blossom at the moment. Seems we have a body that also seems quite dead. Bit of a nuisance, really. Would you be so kind as to bop some Bobbies by and have a look?
Voice on phone: How did he die?
Toni: I don’t know.
Voice: Was the person killed?
Toni: I suppose so.
Voice: Might you know who done it?
Toni looks up in the direction of Maggie. His face registers those cogs and wheels grinding and bumping along in his mind; griiinnnd, kapoccata wheeg, poccata, poccata, tooooot, grinnnnd, poccata Bang!)
Toni: I’ll explain all about it when you get here. How long will you take?
Voice: Ohhhh, about enough time for you to get your story together.
Toni: Fine. See you then. Ta.
Maggie turns to the bedroom: I’ll get dressed.
Toni: Why?!??
Maggie: They’ll want to ask me questions. Wearing my nightgown might give them ideas and the Hays office wouldn’t approve.
Toni: No! You go to bed. I’ll let them know anything they need to know.
Maggie: Toni, why did you phone me?
3!
ReplyDeleteToni: What? Sorry, I’ll tell you tomorrow. Take some more Valium. Off to bed, little thunder thighs. Wait! Hold the phone! (She looks at him puzzled) Metaphorically speaking. You said he used a stocking….?
Maggie: Or a scarf. Certainly not a rope or chain or barbed wire. Isn’t it there?
Toni looks around: No. Look…no, I’ll look. You go on to bed. Take some sleeping pills. (The instant she crosses the threshold, Toni shuts the door.
Tony looks around. Certainly not on the corpse. That would be silly. Not hanging up on the Typically English Mantle or his trophies, or any other Typically English element in the room, even the Typically English floor or ceiling. Where, oh where is that furshluginer scarf or whatever? He steps outside; looks up, looks right, looks left, looks down….ho ho! The prehistoric creature masquerading as a scarf. No, it looks like two stockings tied together. He picks it up. Looks at it,. Turns to go back inside.
Camera shifts to inside. Toni looks around. Spies a sewing basket labled “Sewing Basket. Ltd.” Crosses toward it quickly. Pauses. Picks up something from the Typically English tea table (a heavy T.E. Cigarette lighter?) Considers it. Puts it down. Looks at the T.E. fireplace. Ah! Looks up. Picks up a T.E. mini-flask that says when the camera zooms in “T.E. Lighter Fluid Co. Ltd. Light up or get lit by us.” Camera zooms back. Toni douses the T.E. stockings with T.E. lighter fluid, returns it to the T.E. mantle and tosses the T.E. stockings into the T.E. fire place where a T.E. fire flares up consuming the T. E. stockings. T.E. Whoooosh! Toni watches the destruction of evidence with a T.E. gaze, then turns to the T.E. sewing basket, opens it, and gets out two similar T.E. stockings which he ties in a knot getting his T.E. fingerprints all over them. Guess the T.E. film-maker didn’t think about That little di-doo.
What to do with them? Where to plant them? Goes out where he found the first pair? Drops them where he found them. Camera focuses on the stockings as Toni starts back in.
Camera shifts to interior. Toni comes back Holding the Stockings he just “Dropped”; as if Toni went out to drop them, thought better of it, and came right back in. With all the work the Camera has put in with this scene, the only excuse has to be exhaustion.
Toni looks at the – you guessed it – the T.E. desk in front of the T.F. doors. He picks up the T.E. blot pad on the T.E. desk a tucks the fake T.E. evidence under it; lowers it, and give it a T.E. pat.
Now Toni comes back to Swampy, kneels, reaches into his (Toni’s) inner jacket pocket, takes out his billfold (To Hell with T.E. from this point….probably…..possibly…..) and With a Handkerchief takes out Murk’s steamy love letter and plants it inside Swamp’s inside coat pocket. Now Toni leaves no prints. Whoopee! Smart move. Now!
Toni gets up, goes over to the You Know What Fireplace, takes the You Know What poker and pokes out what’s left of the You Know What fire, replaces the poker and sits down in the Y.K.W. chair and reaches into his coat for a Y.K.W. cigarette and sits to wait. Fade out.
2!
ReplyDeleteFade in. The police have arrived. Our exhausted camera is high above shooting down below. Several cops are present with cop stuff and Toni comes in with tea and crumpets. The camera lowers slowly as
Toni says: Tea, Gentlemen?
The camera continues its slow descent so we will get a key closeup. A hand reaches in and takes a cup of tea. The edge of the tray is on the desk, its foot resting touching the blotter pad. Ho HO! The tea tray gently, slowly pushes the pad back just enough for the stockings to show. Camera catches Toni’s face in concentration. One final push. Toni turns away and walks away to serve others.
Voice off screen: Sergeant, look! We have a stocking!
1!
ReplyDeleteINTROMISSION!
Part 1
ReplyDeleteAfter refreshments, it was the next morning in our story, and quite a group had formed in front of the street door of Windless’ flat. Bad news travel fast. The Officer stationed outdoors dispersed the crowd by saying, “Look here you gawkers, let’s break up this here crowd.” One man looked as if he was amused at the Officer’s officious manner, prompting the Officer to pull out his bully club, but only after the camera went indoors.
Inside their flat, Toni nonchalantly picked up the blotter making sure Maggie’s stocking had been taken in by the coppers for evidence hoping it would prove that Maggie had staged the scene, while the real culprit- a faded peach scarf with Swamp’s deceased widow’s initials sewn in- had been burned up in the lapping flames in the Windless fireplace.
As innocents often do, Maggie came into the room while misdeeds were continuing. Though she wasn’t normally a curious person, Maggie was rather surprised at the furious activity of Toni with the lighter fluid and the fireplace poker.
“Don’t use all the lighter fluid,” Maggie said, “I want to burn some of your clippings later in the day.”
Toni, indignant, asked, “Why do you have such a problem with working on my clippings?”
“It was a feeble attempt to make joke, Toni. As jumpy as you are, anyone would think that your life had been nearly taken from you last night instead of mine.”
Toni - all appeasement at this point - begged her to forgive his insensitivity concluded by saying, “But I would like to see how much you got done last night.”
“But now to minor matters,” Toni continued. “If the police ask you why you didn’t phone the police last night after all the ruckus, you must say that you thought I would call them as a responsible husband.”
“Yeah, why didn’t you call the police?”
“Don’t question me, dear? You know how mental that makes me! Just say what I told you to say. We do want peace and happiness and no long prison sentences as long as we both live, don’t we, buttercup? Then just do what I’m telling you.”
Maggie nodded though slightly bewildered at Toni’s reaction to the recent “ruckus”.
Part II
ReplyDeleteRight about then, the sound of the door knocker rang through the flat. Toni said that he was sure it would be Murky, and he wished Maggie to answer Murky’s entreaties to be admitted into this very fluid scene.
As Maggie opened the door, she was pleasantly surprised to see that dashing older actor who was known to be a good detective too standing there. He removed his top hat.
“Hello there, I’m Chief Inspector Hubbard.” Maggie stood there frozen. (She was sure she’d seen him in Monte Carlo.) “I have been assigned to this case. Do you have a problem with my entering this establishment and going through all your personal belongings with a view to solving this crime?”
As he entered their flat, Maggie took note of his overly-gallant bearing and impeccable taste in clothing. It had to be Monte Carlo…
Eager to get her husband, Maggie said, “I have to go in the bedroom and get my husband. He’s the one that’s come up with our story.”
“Very good; I’ll just poke about in the meantime.” While waiting on Maggie and her husband, Chief Inspector walked around putting his fingerprints on the phone, the desk, the blotter, scissors, and would have continued if Toni hadn’t walked up on Hubbard and his detection practices.
“Oh, I’m Chief Inspector Hubbard, in charge of all crimes committed west of the Thames.”
“And, I’m Toni Windless, a professional Mahjong player as you can see by all the cups on the mantel. So now that we have had done with our boasting, what brings you to our flat today?”
Incredulous, Chief Inspector said, “I’m here about the murder of a Mr. Swampy last night. Surely your wife told you.”
Defensive, Toni answered, “It’s not what she told me but what you can prove. Am I right?”
“Well, in the strictest sense you’re right, but let’s approach my little fact gathering mission today on a friendly basis, shall we.”
Part III
ReplyDeleteToni finally came to his senses and told the Inspector that he would show him around their little pad. When the Inspector had seen how untidy the bedroom was and how cramped the bathroom, he wondered how much money, if any, there was in Mahjong.
Then Toni showed him the bars on the kitchen windows which would have been difficult to get in. “We assume that the robber came in by these windows behind the drapes over here.”
Inspector decided to bear down a bit, “You weren’t here last evening were you, Mr. Windless?”
“Thank goodness no! It wouldn’t have been any good if Maggie and I were both put out of commission.” Maggie cringed and the Inspector nearly mussed his hair at the agitation he was experiencing.
“What time do you think all this happened, Mrs. Windless?”
“I don’t know; it was when Toni called me on the phone and woke me from my slumbers. What time did you call here, Toni?”
“I’m not sure. My watch had stopped.”
As these three came back to the living room, the Inspector asked Maggie what she had done with the nightgown she was wearing while she was being strangled. Toni told the Inspector that he had sent the nightie to the dry-cleaners.
Completely worn out with Toni, the Inspector spoke straight to Maggie. “Mrs. Windless, do you mind if I speak directly to you with some questions?”
“Mrs. Windless is in a severe state of shock. She didn’t know her name this morning. You’d much better direct your questions to me, old boy.”
The Inspector was learning to ignore Toni and put Maggie in a chair and sat beside her.
“Mrs. Windless, there is a question only you can answer. Will you try a little?”
Maggie stammered, “Well, I guess I could try a little, don’t you think so Toni?”
“I’m sure your husband knows how critical it is that we get the truth from you." (The Inspector hands Maggie a photo of Swampy at the yacht club washing boats.) "Have you ever seen this man before? This strangler.”
Not to be outdone, Toni took an old class photograph off the wall.
Toni, with more than a touch of theatricality, pointed to one of the figures in the college class reunion photo. Having caught a brief glimpse of the photo the inspector had shown to Maggie he said, "Of course," he said. "I thought he looked familiar. Now what the devil was his name?"
ReplyDelete"Now Mrs. Windless, had you ever seen this man before last night?"
"Why no, of course not!? Whatever do you mean by that??"
"Madam, I assure you, I in no way meant to imply that you were a tart, strumpet or slag. Never mind. Now... was the man who assaulted you the same one in the photo?"
"Yes."
"And you don't recognize him?"
"No, I never saw him."
"And are you quite about never having seen him before last night?"
"Quite sure, herr commisar. You see, he attacked me from behind and it was dark. I hardly saw him at all."
Toni chimed in with, "I say inspector, have you discovered anything about this chap?"
"Yes. At least, we've discovered where he lived. There still seems to be some confusion as to his real name. He appeared to have had several."
"Now, how about you, sir? Had you ever seen him before?"
Pointing to the college reunion photo Toni said, "See here inspector, he's very like someone I was at college with, but he didn't have a mustache back then, assuming, of course, that it's the same bloke.
"Do you remember his name?.
"Long time gone, inspector, Twenty years and more."
"Was it Heavensgate? (no) Killgallons? (no) Swamp?"
"N... Swamp. Of course, that's it! Swamp! There he is. Why, it's unbelievable. Some of the crowd used to call him Swamp Adder. Rather cruel of them if you ask me."
"Did you know him well?"
"No. He was senior to me."
"Have you met him since then?"
"No. No, at least.... come to think of it, I did see him quite recently. But not to speak to. Yes, I remember now, it was six months ago at RCA Victoria station. I remember noticing how little he'd changed."
"Had he a mustache then, sir?"
"No."
"Now then Mrs. Windless, would you show me exactly what happened last night?.
Looking at her husband beseechingly, she pleaded, "OhToni, do I have to?"
" 'fraid so, darling." (Otherwise you'll queer the whole deal for me)
"I was in bed counting sheep. Just as one of the pudgier sheep barely cleared the fence, the phone rang. I got up, and came in here."
"Did you switch this light on?"
"No. It was already on. I stood just here behind the desk and picked up the phone. He must have come from behind those curtains and attacked me. He put something around my neck. I think it was a stocking. It felt like Hanes but I'm not at all sure. Could have been Wolford I suppose. Then again it might have been..."
"Never mind. What happened then?"
Part Two
ReplyDelete"Well, then he pushed me across the desk like so. I felt as if I'd black out at any moment but just them I remembered the scissors. I'd usually have kept them in yon mending basket but, luckily, I'd forgotten to put them away."
"Well, how very convenient for you that they were handy!"
"I say, Inspector, did anyone ever tell you that you're a bit beastly?"
"My wife, daily. Now, my dear Mrs. Windless, what makes you think he came from behind those curtains?"
"Where else?"
"The curtains were drawn?"
"Yep."
"Did you draw them?"
Toni interjected with, "No, inspector, I drew them just before I went out."
"Did you lock the window at the same time?"
"Yes."
"Are you quite sure of that, sir?"
"Perfectly sure. I always lock up when I draw the curtains."
"How do you suppose he got in?"
"We assume that he broke in."
"There's no sign of a break-in. Our report shows the lock's quite undamaged."
"Mrs. Windless, why didn't you call the police immediately this happened?"
I would have done but then I discovered my husband was on the line. I naturally thought that he would call the police from the hotel before he came here."
"Ah yes. Quite. Quite. But didn't it occur to you to call a doctor?"
"No."
"Why ever not?"
"Pardon me for saying so, Inspector, but you're rather a nosy sort of chap, aren't you?"
"Only when it comes to dead bodies, madam. That makes me quite curious. Now then, please answer my question: why didn't you call a doctor??"
"For the simple reason that the man was dead."
"Now really, Mrs. Windless, how could you possibly know that?"
"The waxen doll's face, the staring sightless eyes, and the fact that he wasn't breathing were a 'dead' giveaway. Forgive the pun."
"Did you feel his pulse?"
"No need. The chap was morally, ethically, physically, spiritually, positively, absolutely, undeniably and reliably dead! Dead as Marley's ghost. Dead as a doornail. Dead as movies made in 3D. Dead as... "
"Groan! Never mind Mrs. Windless, I get the point."
"Inspector, my wife obviously had never seen this man before. And if he didn't come in by those windows, how did he get in?"
"As a matter of fact, we're quite certain that he came in by this door."
"But it was locked."
"Maggie, did you open that door at all after we'd gone?"
"No."
Part Three
ReplyDeleteBlah, blah, blah. And so the interrogation continued. It was established that there were two keys to the door. Maggie's in her handbag and Toni's of which he presumably had with him. Neither the caretaker or the charwoman had one. The inspector deduced that he must have entered through the door because if he'd come in by the garden, he'd have left mud all over the carpet.
Evidence showed that he'd wiped his shoes on the front doormat. Fibers from the doormat were found on his shoes.
Then Toni recalled that Maggie had had her handbag stolen at the aforementioned RCA Victoria Station. The handbag was returned to lost and found and retrieved two weeks later. All contents intact including the latchkey. Nothing missing save for the cash. He mentioned the possibility that whoever stole the bag could have made a copy of the key and returned the original to the bag. Toni again stated that the fellow from college had been spotted at the station. It was then established that the street door was never locked.
All this having been brought to the fore, Inspector Hubbard said, "Well, it's true that the intruder could have had your key copied. And he could have used it to open the door. But, of course, he didn't!"
"Why not?"
"Because if he had the key it would still have been on him when he died. But no key was found when we went through his pockets. We seem to be back just where we started. You two had better come down to the station and make an official statement before I arrest... er, ah, that is, I mean before the inquest is held."
"I say inspector, are there any other facts in this case to which you'd like to draw out attention?," asked Toni.
"To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time."
Incredulously Toni replied, "What the blazes are you on about? A dog? What does a dog have to do with any of this??"
"Oh, nothing. It's just that I never miss an opportunity to quote Conan Doyle and I just couldn't resist."
"Well, Sherlock, we'll make your bloody 'official statement' and then be done with this whole..."
Buzzzz, buzzzz rang out the irritating doorbell announcing the arrival of Murky Holiday.
Parted 1
ReplyDeleteThe inspector opens the door, which makes a suspicious squeaking sound. Murky enters
Toni: Oh, Murk, this is Inspector Muthah Hubbard of the local constabulary and Pin-the-Murder-on- The-Most-Convenient-and-Obvious-Person-Society, Ltd.
Murk: Hello.
Inspector: You were with Mr. Windless last night.
Murk: Why, yes, you see….
Inspector: And did he get up to telephone.
Murk: Why,….yes,….I guess so.
Inspector: Hmmmm. Hmmmmm. Hmmmmmtyhmmmm. At what time did this alleged occurrence occur?
Murk: Three and 2/15ths of a second past…ohhhhh…Elevenish.
Inspector: How can you be so certain,….Yank?!?!??
Murk: Why, his watch had stopped and he said, anyway, that he had to make a call. To his boss…I think.
Inspector: And did you make that call?
Toni: No, I couldn’t remember the number, so I called wifey-poo here to look up the thing up.
Inspector: Surely the venue had telephone books.
Toni: But not for the country.
Maggie: You woke me up to find a furshluginer phone number. (She throws a Mahjong trophy at him which the inspector catches without looking.)
Inspector: I….seee. Hmmmm. Hmmmm. (Chews his pen and gets a mouth full of ink, and being a Typically Stoic Englishman swallows it. So….then you called your boss. Yes?
Murk: Did you know that your tongue is black as the ace of spades? (In the background you can hear “The Ace of Spades” by Motorhead.)
Toni: No. I heard what I took to be her screaming, and then kind of a gargling sound, and then something like a body hitting the floor. Drove calling my boss right out of my… (Motorhead out. Incongruous, I know, but you can do anything in a parody.)
Parted 2
ReplyDeleteInspector: Yeeesssss, Hmmmm. Hmmmm. That’s what you say you heard. (To Maggie who has been crocheting a sweater with three left feet during all of this.) And you say you never saw this man before? Hmmmm?
Maggie: No! Nicht! Non! Nyet! No way, Jose!
Inspector: The name is Muthah Hubbard of the…
Maggie: I heard.
Inspector: So how’d he get in? Hmmmmm? Hmmmmm? The Typically French Doors?
Maggie: It was locked.
Inspector: The Typically English Flat Door?
Maggie: It was locked.
Inspector: So…. He just materialized out of the ether.
Maggie: Your words, not mine.
Inspector: Yassss. Hmmmmm. Hmmmmm. Just what did he try to strangle you with?
Maggie: Felt rather a knotted pair of stockings.
Inspector: Like these? (Produces a knotted pair of stockings with a tag saying: Evidence of a Foul Crime, or at least Bad Taste.)
Maggie: Why, yes.
Inspector: They were found outside on the little patio, hmmmmmtymmmm, and these (produces another pair with a tag saying; (Evidence of possible Throttling and a Bum Mend Job.)
Toni: But Inspector Muthuh….
Inspector: I don’t think we are quite that chummy of terms, Windpipe.
Toni: Windless
Inspector: This second pair were found under the T.E. blotter on that T.E. desk.
Toni: But Inspector Muth…Hubbub, those could be anybody’s.
Inspector ignores the dig: But this pair was mended and we found the same kind of binder twine that was used to mend a hole in the little toe in your sewing basket, Mrs. Windup (Sticking his tongue out at Toni.) I think it’s time all three of us went over to the station for a little chat. Hmmmmmmm
Murk: Please no more “mmtymms;” they make me nauseous.
Inspector: With that gaggle of reporters and so forth outside on the side walk, we need a discreet exit and I think there is a gate in the garden on a side street, MMMMMMTY…..(Murk uses the T.E. wastebasket just inside the door.)
Inspector ignoring Murk as he barfs: Would you be so kind Windless as to open the garden gate? (Toni leaves through the T.F. doors.)
Inspector: Now, if you are quite through, Mr. HoIlandaise, I would like to know how long your and the Mrs.’ hanky panky has been hanky pankering.
Maggie: Wha…? How…? Er….Ah….Oops!
Parted 3
ReplyDeleteInspector: This rather pornographic letter was found on the deceased. Very badly written and with American Spelling that indicates that “Studmuffin” was certainly not English. The man was blackmailing your arse wasn’t he? Hmmm…..(Murk reaches for the wastebasket again.) Mever mind.
Maggie: No! Nien! Nonny Neeny Nonunu!
Inspector: I suspect that you let the man in through the vestibule door and staged the whole bleedin’ thing, you naughty person!
Murk: But inspector, here are her letters in reply that were never picked up and the letter never returned. So there!
Toni reenters: Garden gate unlocked, you Muthuh….
Inspector: Watch it!
Murk: Watch what?
Inspector: Come to the station all three of you and see how we deal with naughty persons. And I warn you, Mrs. Windless, anything you say at the station will be witnessed by everybody there. Juicy Menage a Traws really liven up the day and what you say there may be used against you in a court of law or church social.
Tony: Maggot, don’t say a thing. I’m phoning my solicitor!
Inspector: We do not take solicitations!
Murk guffaws!
Toni at phone: Hello, Reggie, Toni Windless here. We have a something of a sticky wicket at our domicile. Bit of an accident and a fellow being is…how shall I put it?…no longer with us. He’s pushing up daisies. He’s gone off to the great beyond. He’s passed on. He’s crossed over Jordon. He’s joined the angels in the heavenly choir….well…perhaps, not. In short, he’s…sort of…dead. (pause) Yes, well, I was wondering if you could possibly pop over here. The Constabulary are here and have turned a little…shall we say…beastly. He’s accusing Maggot of murder most foul. (Pause) No the deceased is a man, not a chicken. (Pause) Oh, splendid.
Our solicitor will meet us at the dungeon. Don’t worry, Snuggleworm. We’ll have this straightened out in no time.
They leave by the squeaking door and….
IT’S TIME FOR THE TRIAL!!!
The Trial
ReplyDeleteThe trial was one of those rush jobs, to put it mildly. Maggie was forced to listen to a piercing section of the Dimitri Toimkin soundtrack which crescendoed and descrescendoed in keeping with the tenor of the judge’s remarks. It was very amateurish, to my mind, and cheated the audience of a good courtroom drama.
But, no matter. Here’s how it ended:
In this booming voice, Judge Wiggon-Head asked:
“Mrs. Windless, what was your stocking doing under the blotter pad? Why wouldn’t you have just put it back in your sewing basket?? You realize, Mrs. Windless, your husband was able to make the stocking visible to the officers while he was serving them tea. Did it ever occur to you what a bad hand you were at criminal activity and that you shouldn’t have carried out this fiasco, causing inconvenience to the Crown and the Home Office?”
Maggie stood motionless and mute.
The Judge continued. “Was this a willful murder, or did you accidentally plant your scissors in the back of said victim? Your attorney, Sir Reggie, has insinuated that it was the clippings that drove you over the edge that night.”
Maggie shook her head NO. She tried to say that she loved doing the clippings, but her voice trailed off to nothing.
“Did you meet this man CA Swain before? Did he come to your home to make blackmail threats, or did you two get together to discuss the snail mail service in Brixton, since you two had evidently been correspondents?”
Maggie tried to shake her head NO again, but the bruises around her neck made it painful.
“Let me ask you this much, and, pray, try to make a stab – pun intended- at giving me an answer. How did this dead man – whom you claim to have never seen in the whole of your life - happen to have an obscene letter from Murk to you in his pocket? Had you sent photocopies around of it, or did he get it from your handbag at Victoria Station, the Brighton Line?”
Maggie gave a so-called stab at an answer, “I’ve never been to Brighton.”
“But you admit that your purse was found on the train heading in that direction. Mrs. Windless, I’m losing patience with you and will now administer the ruling of the Jury.” With that, the court reporter went to the Judge and put a black rag over his Honor’s face.
“Mrs. Windless, me, myself and I, the Honorable Judge Wiggon-Head, Esquire, at the instruction of the Jury am hereby charging you with the murder of CA (or was it CJ?) Swain. Although he was a man of dubious character and hardly worth the effort, he found himself dead at the thrust of your scissors into his alleged back. Fortunately, with the help of your husband, we were able to find evidence and arrest and convict you.
“Therefore, you are to be led to a place you will hate but will end up in a worse place the day of the execution. You will be given one meal on that dreadful day, but no need to worry about the calories.” This joke bombed as most of his did. Feeling a little embarrassed, he declared: “I declare the Court adjourned.”
Maggie swooned and tried to fall gracefully in the witness box, but, alas, like so many things in Maggie’s life at the moment, it didn’t go as planned. Consequently, she had to be scooped up by the bailiff and taken back to her cell like a criminal.
dustman:
ReplyDeleteBUUUUUUUUUZZZZZZZ!
"Hello, Murk."
"Toni."
"Have you gotten any news from the home secretary?"
"Only this rather depressing note." Toni hands Murk the warrant verifying Maggie's death sentence.
"Then it' s tomorrow?"
"Yep!"
"Toni, I take it you'd do anything to save her life."
"We've done everything."
"Not quite everything. I've a plan that you're going to hate but desperate times... etc."
"Look, I'm sorry old boy but let's face it, she'll swing and not at a drunken debauchery but at the end of a rope tied fancifully, I imagine, with a rather typical English knot."
"Gasp! I've been trying to figure out something just in case it came to this. I really believe it's her only chance."
"Let's have it."
"Well, Maggie was convicted because nobody believed her story. The prosecution made out she was telling lies and the jury believed him. What did his case really amount to? Just three things: My letter, her stocking... and the fact that because no key was found on Swamp she must've let him in. Maggie says she never let Swamp in through this door. Okay. He must have opened it somehow. Suppose you tell the police that you left your key out here somewhere? Then Swamp could have let himself in."
ReplyDelete"How did he know it was there?"
"You told him. Come along, Windless!"
"But I haven't met Swamp in 20 years."
"Toni, Swamp is dead and Maggie's soon gonna be if we don't make the most out of that. You can tell any story you like. You can even say you two met somewhere and planned this whole thing together. "
"Old man, you're grasping at... planned what? Are you suggesting I arranged for Swamp to come here to blackmail her?"
"No my dimwitted fellow, the plan was TO KILL HER! Tell the police that you were jealous about our having an affair. You were hurt and wanted to get payback."
"Firstly, HELL NO! And secondly, the police aren't likely to believe anything I tell them. This will never work."
"Toni, I've been crankin' out this murder mystery stuff for years. And anyhow, it's her only chance to escape the gallows."
"Okay."
"Suppose you tell the police that you left your key out here somewhere? You orchestrated the whole thing. You told Swamp to kill Maggie."
"Kill Maggie?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
"Remember her testimony: "He came from behind the curtain and he tried to strangle me."
"Okay, that's what he did."
"Just support everything she said. Don't you see?. That's my whole idea."
"Well, your idea stinks! Anyway, what about your wretched letter?"
"A man doesn't kill the person he blackmails."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know. It worried me too. But I've got that licked. You tell them that you stole her handbag yourself."
"Why should I do that?"
"Because you wanted to read my letter. When you read it, you got mad and decided to teach her a lesson. You wrote those blackmail notes. Nobody can prove you didn't. And you can also say you never saw Swamp at RCA Victoria Station. You just invented that to try to connect him with my letter. You see how it all hangs together?"
"Please don't say the word 'hang'. Anyway, your letter was found in his pocket."
"You put it there."
"When?"
"Sometime before the police arrived. And you could have also planted the stockings at the same time."
"Murk, why should I want anyone to kill Maggie?"
"I know, Toni. It's tough for us to see because we... well, we both love her."
An uncomfortable twinge came upon Toni's face... possibly the closest he'd ever come to feeling guilty... about anything.
Murk continued...
Murk: See? See? See? It all….works together. They can’t execute you for a murder that didn’t happen.
ReplyDeleteToni: Huh? Wha….
Murk: The most you’ll get is a few years in the Tower.
Toni: It’s not used for that anymore….I think…..What
Murk: And you put the stockings under the blotter….Wait! Did Margo have a will?
Toni: Of course. Every one does. She will do this; she will do that….
Murk: No. No. A will on Paper.
Toni: You can’t put your “Will” on paper any more than you can put your “won’t” on it.
Murk: Will! Will! Will, man!
Toni: Will? Who’s Will? I’m a bit confused. Was there someone other than you?
Murk: (spelling it out) W.h.o. D.o.e.s. S.h.e. L.e.a.v.e H.e.r. M.o.n.e.y. T.o. ?
Toni: Me, I suppose.
Murk: There you have it!
Toni: Have what?
Murk: Motive.
Toni: Wouldn’t have to have Motive if you and Maggot hadn’t been playing Patty Cake! Ewwww! Just the thought….Echhh….
Murk: If you want to use the waste basket…..
Toni: What?
Murk: Never mind. The money you get is the motive And the vessel with the pestle is the brew that is….No….that’s another movie. Darn! Now I’m getting mixed up.
Toni: It’s reedickledockle! Husbands and wives leave money to each other and few kill each other. I don’t know offhand the figgers, but….No, old man, the police would never buy it.
Murk: They might if you treated the whole force with “Ghastley and Crème’s Minced tartlets.” (Stepping out of character to make the pitch.)
Murk: Yes, friends “Ghastley and Crème’s” minced tartlets with the mince you have no idea with what it’s made. Could be shavings from the lathe, ground glass, or maybe finely diced road kill. A surprise in every bite! (Why an American character should be pitching an Typically English Product is….well, what can I say? It’s a parody!)
Cut to little cartoon figures dancing the ring round the rosy singing “Ghastley and Crème’s” over and over again
And, then the door bell knocks. Murk picks up a hat.
Murk: Oh….fudge! It’s old Muthah Hubbard’s cupboard.
Toni: You mean “hat.”
Murk: That’s what I said! Oooohhhh, I’m getting so Farshemelt!
Toni: What?
Rrrrrrinnnnnnng goes the buzzer.
Some hesitation ensued after the two men heard the doorbell buzzing. But, at last, both Toni and Murk moved off of their mark on the carpet. Toni answered the door and Murk headed to the Windless’ bedroom slamming the door after him. As it turns out, they both were perfectly right to be concerned. It was the Inspector.
DeleteToni let out a small puff of frustrated sigh as he cheerlessly said, “Oh, it’s you Inspector. My wife hasn’t gotten a reprieve or anything ghastly like that, has she?”
“No. But, hello, what’s this bed doing in the living room?”
“Do you really think that’s any of your business, Inspector?”
“No, Mr. Windless, I try not to interfere with one’s right to hearth and home unless they relate to a something being investigated.”
“And what, per se, is being investigated that I should find you back in my home amongst my personal affects when Margo is safely in jail?”
“I know what bad shape you must be in because of the sentencing of your wife, and I hate to…”
Toni barked at the Inspector, “Alright, already, get down to cases. What are you doing here?”
“To tell the truth, I am here about a robbery in Chelsea last week at a sporting-goods store – a competitor of your company – I believe. Two hundred pounds and 32 ounces were stolen and I wondered if the reason you have been able to satisfy your debts recently have to do with this stolen booty.”
Rising from his seat, Toni –with red face said, - “I don’t appreciate the depreciation of my character with these subtle suggestions.”
“Oh, was being subtle. Let me restate it: I think you stole those pounds and ounces and have subsequently paid off your garage, your barber and hair stylist.”
“Don’t you think I could have gotten cash out of my bank? Ah, you’ve checked there already, of course.”
That gave the Inspector a little chuckle, which was so uncharacteristic.
Toni knew he better come out with something good, “This money is my dog racing money. There are no records because I always bet on the tote. I didn’t mention it because it doesn’t make a sympathetic character out of a soon to be widower.”
About that time, the Inspector dropped to his knees, and then stood up with a key in his hand, “Hello! Is this your latch key? Mine? Could it be Murk’s? Margo’s? Or the murdered man? What somebody needs to invent is a key chain to keep them from falling out of one’s pocket.”
The Inspector went to the door of the Windless’ flat and the key didn’t fit the lock. “I forgot, this might be the key to an attache case that you’ve been seen around town with. Should we check the case?”
“Matter of fact, Inspector, I lost my blue attache case. I haven’t seen it lately…”
Meanwhile, Murk was growing uncomfortable sitting on a hard object (with 4 corners) that had been placed under the covers on the bed in the bedroom.
Part 1:
ReplyDeleteJust as Murk was encountering the hard object (with 4 corners), Toni was continuing his line of horse patootey with Inspector Hubbard. "I think may have I left my attache case in a taxi."
"Ah yes, I see. well then we must try and get it back, mustn't we? By the by, Where did you pick the taxi up, sir? I rather think it must have been heavy. Taxis usually are y'know. Chuckle, chuckle."
"Ah, oh yes. Ha, ha. How very droll, Inspector. I believe it must have been Jeckyl & Hyde Park Corner, oh, perhaps half an hour ago."
"Anything valuable?"
"Just a few books from my special dealer at the corner shop around the corner. Wrapped in butcher's paper and..."
"Any money?"
"Not much, really. Two or three pounds in an envelope."
"Hmm, are you sure it might not have been £200 or £300?"
"No, I'm afraid not. And it's just as well. I probably would have lost it all on the horses. Tell me, inspector, how'd you find out about the attach case?"
"The wine shop said you had it when you paid your bill so my sergeant checked on your garage and tailor. They remembered you had it when you paid them."
"Yes, well, I use it instead of a briefcase, you see. I'm sure it'll turn up. These taxi men are pretty good at turning things in."
"I'm sure you'll find it all right, sir. Do you happen to remember the name of your cabbie?"
"Why, yes, rather an odd name. Now what was it? Oh yes, it was Travis... Travis Bickle. Had the look of a ruffian and was sporting a rather strange haircut. Kept on and on with 'are you talkin' to me?' Most peculiar that as I hadn't as much as said a word to him."
Holiday's voice from the bedroom: "Inspector, before you go, there's something I'd like to show you."
In his hands was, indeed, the missing blue attache case. "Well Toni, no wonder you couldn't bear to sleep in her bedroom."
"There must be over £500 here. Where did you get it?" queried the inspector.
Murk chimed in with "I can at least tell you why he got it. This money was to have been paid to Swamp after he murdered Mrs. Windlass. But as you know, there was an 'accident' so it wasn't necessary to pay him after all. He couldn't produce this without questions being asked so he lived on it. He's been living on it since the 27th of March."
"Well, Mr. Windlass?"
"Before you came, he was trying to persuade me to go to the police with the most fantastic story you ever heard. Apparently, I bribed Swamp to murder my wife so that... correct me if I go wrong, Mark... so that I could inherit all her money. And that isn't all. You remember Mr. Holiday's letter? Well, apparently, Swamp creature didn't steal it, I did. And I wrote those two blackmail notes and I kept Mr. Holiday's letter and planted it on the body."
"And the stocking?"
"Uh huh. Allow me to incriminate myself with what will, no doubt, sound like a confession. I substituted... Is that the right word? Let me check my Roget's. Yes, I 'substituted' my wife's other stocking for the one that... Ya get me? What else, Murk? Since you seem to have pieced out everything tidily so far."
"OK. OK. Check this out... he told Swamp he'd hide his key somewhere out here probably up on this ledge above the door. Swamp let himself in. He hid behind the curtains, then Windlass telephoned. That brought her..."
"Now hold on... let me get this straight. If Swamp had used Mr. Windlass's key, it would have been on him when he died. Besides, how did Toni get in when he returned from the hotel?"
Part 2:
ReplyDelete"Come along, inspector, she could have let him in. He could've taken his key from Swamp's pocket before you got here. He let himself in with his own key. That came out in the trial. Don't you remember?"
"Brilliant, Murk," replied Toni. "Keep going. This is all so frightfully entertaining."
"OK. How about this smart guy. Swamp could have taken the key down from here, (Murk opens the door and rifles his hand above the ledge) unlocked the door then replaced the key before he came in."
With a stifled yawn, Inspector Hubbard said, "As interesting as this convoluted story is, it doesn't bring me a bit further to what I came to find out."
"But this is life-and-death! Maggie is soon going to swing for this. What else matters?"
"What matters to me is where Mr. Windlass got this money. That's all I want to know."
"That's what you're interested in?? Not the innocent lily-white neck that's about to me stretched in a most unnatural fashion?"
"Please, sir..."
"Inspector, just a minute! Look at this. The last check he wrote was on the 26th of March. That's the day before this all happened. He's been living off it since. That's his bank's..."
"Mr. Holiday. Do brace up. And besides, he hasn't drawn any large sums from his bank. Nothing over £53."
"But look, inspector practically every week, 35, 40, 45, 50. He could have saved it up."
"Ha! That's right Murk. I could have been planning all this for years."
"Then where did you get it?"
"Do you really want to know? I warn you, you won't like it, Murk."
"Come on, Toni, spill!""Okey, dokey, you asked for it. When she called me back from the party that night I found her kneeling beside Swamp's body. I remember saying, 'Maggie, get your hands outta the man's pocket.' She kept saying he had something of hers, but she couldn't find it. She was almost hysterical. That's why I wouldn't let police question her. In the state she was in, she would have told every lie under the sun. The next morning, she showed me the money just as it is now, all in £1 notes. And she said, 'If anything happens to me, don't let them find this.' Well, after she was arrested, I took the money in that case to Charing Doublecross Station and left it in the checkroom. Whenever I needed money, I took it out and left it in some other checkroom. I knew if you had found it, she wouldn't stand a chance. You see, she was just about to give it to him when she killed him instead."
Part 3:
ReplyDelete"What a load of horse manure! You don't expect anyone to believe this, do you?"
"Don't know. How am I doin', inspector?
"I must say, I suspected something like that."
"Egad, zounds and heavens above! You're not going to check up on this? May I remind you that Maggie is being hanged tomorrow!
"Well," replied the inspector lazily. "All this has been out of my hands for months. There's been a trial and an appeal... nothing it for it actually. Perhaps it's for the best. She'll be going to a far, far better place than..."
"OK, Charles Dickens, of course it wouldn't mean much to you. You'd have to admit you arrested the wrong person! What kind of a two-bit operation ya got going there at Scotland Yard??"
Toni interceded with, " I think you'd better go."
"Damn straight I'll go. You, you... reprobate, you... poltroon!"
"Brrrr... good one Murky. Ha, ha!"
"Yes, well, go ahead and laught, but you've made one small mistake. What will happen when Maggie hears this?"
"She'll deny it, of course."
"And perhaps she'll change her will. You'll have done it all for nothing, Toni."
Exit Murk, nosily slamming the door behind him.
"I say, inspector If I'd told that story of his, would anyone believe me?"
"Nope. Not a chance. Before nearly every execution, someone comes forward like this. This must have been distressing for you coming as it did."
"You suppose they let him see her?" (Heaven help me, I hope not!) I don't want her upset just now."
"Have a word with your lawyer. He might be able to prevent it. By the by, you really should get that money in the bank before somebody pinches it."
"Thank you. I think I will."
"I hope Mr. Holiday's not waiting outside to see me. Would you mind just taking a look, sir, to make sure he's gone?"
While Toni is checking this, Hubbard takes advantage of the distraction and quickly switches his raincoat with Toni's; which contains the apartment latchkey.
"All clear."
"Good. By the way, sir, I was asked to tell you there are a few belongings of Mrs. Windlass at the station."
"What sort of things?"
"Oh, just some cheap Harlequin romance novels and a handbag with a few bob inside. They'd like you to come and collect them."
"You mean, after tomorrow?"
"Yes, or today if you like. Just ask the desk sergeant. He knows all about it. Well, goodbye, Mr. Windlass. I don't suppose we shall meet again."
(Thank heavenfor that, thought Toni.) Well goodbye, inspector, and thank you very much. (Please don't let the door hit you on your backside on the way out.)
After a stiff drink, Toni gets stiff, then looks at his Mickey Mouse watch with the hands at 9 and 3 seconds after 3, goes to the bedroom and the 4X4 case, packs pound notes in pockets, picks up his coat and leaves, looking many pounds heavier with all those pounds on him.
ReplyDeleteCut to Toni leaving the building.
Cut to Muthah Hubbahd looking down the stair. He skips merrily down the stairs,
Cut to exterior:
Murk, lurking, and a corpulent man crosses in background (a Pitchfork cameo) and a 16 tonne weight causes him to vanish, Murk moves behind building corner. Toni comes down front steps, slips on a banana peel, falls, gets up, steps unwittily on a skate, goes down again, gets up, and continues eyes straight ahead, encountering more falls and rises and never a hair out of place or rumple in the suit: Oh, these English!
Cut to:
Murk coming from behind where he’s hid.
Cut to: Muthah Hubbard checking the hall, under the stairs, satisfied, reaches into the coat he’s switched with Toni, and there’s a snap. He pulls out his hand, the fingers in a mouse trap, releases the trap, totally stoic, (Oh, these English!) reaches in and pulls out several passports, gum wrappers, a couple of Whizzo chocky sweeties, and finally a key. After stuffing all back he tries the key. Success! Opens the door.
Cut to: interior
Inspector Hubbard, at the T.E. desk using a torch to see, (careful not to see the place on fire) holds it in his teeth waiting for the smoke to rise, dials the T.E. phone, picks up receiver,
Inspector: Muthah Hubbard here, Sergeant Jones, and be quick. (voice: Hallo?) Bore Da Jonesy! Good Morning, indeed. Hubbard here. Set the scrum.
A knocking clangs through the room. Hubbard, having extinguished the torch, goes to the door.
Murk: Inspector, it’s Murky Holliday. (Hubbard opens the door. Murk slips in. Inspector closes door.) ‘S up?
Inspector: Sup? It’s not even lunch time!
Murk: What’s happening?
Inspector: Nothing at the moment and what are you doing here?
Murk: I was just in the neighborhood, and….
Inspector: Shut up! (A horn honks: “AaaaaaOooooGaaaaa!” Camera follows inspector into bedroom: He looks out.) You’re in for a surprise!
Murk: Oh, goodie! I love surprises!
Inspector: Shut up!
≈
Cut to exterior: street leading to the house. Two men get out and one opens the passenger door and Maggot gets out. Just as they start to the house, a 16 tonne weight drops on the car: “Ooooofffffffssssshhhhhhh!)
Cut to interior: Inspector comes back into the living room.
Inspector, to Murk: She’s coming! If you want to save her, let me lead. Don’t muck this up, Murk!
Murk: Who’s…(Inspector opens door and Maggot steps in.) Maggot!
Maggie: Murk!
Inspector to men: You, to your stations! (They trip up the stairs, getting entangled in each other’s feet.)
Murk: Why are you here?
Maggie: I don’t know, Murk. Someone came to my cell, said to go with her, warden said I was being released for now, and they brought me here. Even bought me some Whizzo Sweeties, but I’ve been too stunned to eat them.
Inspector: It’s just as well. They’re a nasty business. The people who think them up ought to be horse whipped and the horse put out to pasture.
Maggie: I’m so farshimelt.
Murk: What?
Maggie: Where’s Toni?
Inspector: Now, listen, my children
And you shall hear
Toni will be coming
Be of good cheer.
Maggie&Murk: What?
Inspector: Sorry, sometimes I channel your Longfellow.
Murk: Well, you certainly are a long fellow.
Inspector: Yes. Well, hmmmm…..
Murk: Don’t start.
Latchkeys are all alike? The Conclusion
ReplyDeleteAs Tolstoy once said, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” By that, Tolstoy meant that for a marriage to be happy, it has to succeed in several key aspects. KEY being the operative word. This is why I say to keep your eye on the Latch-Key(s). Case in point, the final scene of our parlor room game:
Maggie (who was curious as to why she wasn’t being prepped for the electric chair) said in a whispered voice, “I hate to appear inquisitive, but why did Toni come by the prison to see what I would be eating for dinner tonight? He told the chef I was allergic to shellfish.”
The Inspector cleared his throat and said, “Your spouse, Mrs. Windless- I’m unhappy to say -actually sent Swamp to strangle you that night. If you hadn’t been working on clippings, your scissors could not have saved you. I imagine Mr. Windless’ interest in your last supper was his way to make certain it was to be your last meal.”
“What should I do? Faint? Scream? Put on a festive dress? I don’t seem to feel like doing anything today,” moaned Maggie.
“Don’t worry, Maggie, I’m here. And, take comfort, your nervous breakdown is in the near future. By the way, what had you asked to eat for your last supper?” Murk queried.
“Can you doubt it, Murk, I asked for spaghetti.” Both Murk and Maggie embrace for what they think is the last time (again).
Getting back on topic, the Inspector said, “Mrs. Windless, why didn’t you open the door with the key in your handbag.”
“Uh…I tried…but (looks like she’s going to faint), the key didn’t open the door…oh, where’s Toni? He has been playing games with my handbag since Murk came to town.”
The Inspector dramatically pronounced, “It’s not the handbag, Mrs. Windless, it’s the KEY. You see, I took the key from your handbag at the prison earlier to see if I could come here and snoop around Mr. Windless’ bank statements, dog racing coupons and so forth. But I didn’t get to do these bits of detection because the key in your handbag didn’t fit the lock to this door. Get it, Mr. Holiday?”
“No, I don’t get it. Largely, I think it’s because of your accent.”
Some vague officer in the garden was summoned by the Inspector. “Detective number 2, please take Mrs. Windless’ handbag back to the police station, and don’t carry it on your arm in this neighborhood. You’re likely to get picked up and I don’t mean by the cops!” Detective #2 shoves the bag under his arm and leaves for the station.
Soon after, the signal was given by the bumbling policemen above-stairs that Windless was coming home.
Part 2
ReplyDeleteThe Inspector hushed everybody in the apartment and told them to hold their breath as Toni tried to get into the apartment without a key, or the wrong key…it didn’t much matter. But, failing to get the door open, Toni returned to the police station to get Maggie’s handbag and her Latch-key.
Murk was getting extremely agitated at what was transpiring. “Tell us, what’s going on Inspector. No more dramatic build ups; put it to us straight…where is Maggie’s key?”
The Inspector was eager to explain. “The key which found its way into Mrs. Windless’ handbag is the key to Swamp’s ancient paramour’s house. It opens the door of the home of a Mrs. Van Doren, whom I surprised in a most embarrassing way.”
“You see, Mrs. Windless, your husband took your key out of your handbag the night of the stag party. He placed it on the 39th step on the stairwell outside your door for Swamp to find, enter the apartment and kill you. When Swamp was searched after his death, there was no latch key on him. Mr. Windless had taken Swamp’s key from his pocket and put it in your handbag, assuming it was your key. The next day I picked up Mr. Windless’ trench coat pretending to mistake it for my own, and I found your husband’s latchkey in his pocket. My own latchkey, I put in my vest and left my trench-coat for your husband with no key in it whatsoever.
Murk (still struggling for clarity), “Inspector, so where is Maggie’s key? I’m running out of guesses.”
“Let Mr. Windless will find the key for us when he returns and can’t get into this apartment with the key in Mrs. Windless’ handbag. Then, if all goes according to script, he will finally remember where he put his wife’s key for Swamp the night of the murder.”
Suddenly, the cops upstairs start banging on the pipes, dancing on the floor indicating that Mr. Windless was back with the handbag. All inside held their breath again.
When Toni couldn’t open the door with Maggie’s key, he finally realized that her key was still under the carpet on the 39th step where he had left it for Swamp.
As Toni entered his apartment, he found himself in the middle of a huge celebration with drinks and banners which read, “Hurrah, He Did It!
Maggie cried a little, Murk smirked a lot, and Toni grimaced as he poured himself a drink. The Inspector, after getting all the latchkeys from Toni, proudly called the Home Secretary while he straightened his mustache with his comb.
The ending was all very civilized, as one would expect when dealing with pompous persons.
The End.
Parte Wun of the next 'un!
ReplyDeleteOn Screen, the MGMOMYG Lion
With the motto
Ars Gratia Whatever
Lion roars:
Me-ew
Scene: The opening of a session of the Eastsouth Westnorth Distinctive Crt., Lumdm. A file of justices file in filing nails, bumping into each other, losing wigs, picking up wigs, and will wind up in a dog pile.
Voice over: Hear ye, Here Ye! Yee hee hee hee Hoo Hah! All persons and those not who are to appear before ye kangaroo court (camera out to show a badminton game; a kangaroos doubles natch., back to main Crt. Rm The Right Honourable Judges are separating form the Right Dishonourable ones and all scurry for their seats) attend ad asstra per asspergers, and appear before ye justices and injustices. God Save You Know Who.
This as the credits appear with stately studly music:
Edward Tiny presents:
Hytone Powerless
Mainline DeTrick
Charles Laudenum
In
Agony Crossties’
International staged blunder
Witless for the Persecution
Copiedright 2019 by Baronzo Pictures Ink. Alrights preserved
An Artless Hornblown Production in association with Baronzo Pictures
With
Ilsa Langluster ,……………….Ooola O’ Conair
John Wllmmmmms, ………...Horny Damutwell
Torid Thatchroof,…............... Phil Tongs
Nero Wolfnot,………............... Francis N. Compitent
Screamplay by
Billy Wildman and Henery VIII Cornice
Acapitation by Larry Markup
Traduced by Artless Hornblown, Jr.
Disected by
Billy Wildman
Assisted by all the rest notably:
Musical Score……..Mattid Smalnek……whose properly pompous score has been playing all through this pageant.
Parte Tew!
ReplyDeleteCut to the streets of Lumdum and the music turns lively seemingly trying to underscore the following scene along the Lumdum streets and the banter in a particular car with a corpulent old man and a perky nurse. (He hates “perky”.)
Camera: pans along Lumdum streets; the noble statuary, the pigeons decorating same, the bobbies bobbing along, the flower girls in their dirty faces and cloths selling flowers, the gentleman in tweed jacket and a portly companion talking to one who is prettier than most, the dustmen dancing home from work, until
Camera: interior of car:
Perky nurse whom we will find out is Miss Parasol and the old man is the famous barrister Sir Pilfurd Robburts.
Miss Parasol: Isn’t Lumdum beautiful this time of year; all the flower girls and gentlemen in their lively battle of wits, the statuary and the pigeons – Oh there’s a big one – and…..Well done, little birdie!, and the accountants with their bowler hats bowling ninepins, and….isn’t all just Too Too Too Toot!
Sir Pilfurd: Oh, pull up your anchor and shove it in your mouth!
Miss Parasol: Oh, you are So So So So So
Sir Pilfurd: And while you’re at it Sew your lips shut! (Throws off the blanket he’s covered in covering Miss Parasol.
Miss Parasol, muffled: Oh, we’re playing a game! What Fun! But we can’t because you have to have your blankie!
Cut to the home and offices of Sir Pilfurd Robburts as the car pulls up with a sticker on the boot of the car as it pulls up: “Barbados or Bust” and a small attachment of metallic Wellingtons that, when you kick one up opens the boot. Heh heh. The driver hauls out two suitcases, a steamer trunk, a satchel that when you open it plays “Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans?” and a dainty overnight bag.
Sir Pilfurd: Where’s my cane?
The driver opens the overnight bag and pulls out Herman Wouk’s The Caine Mutiny and a cane with corks at both ends and enquires:
Driver: Which one, sir?
Sir Pilfurd: Toss me the stick and stick the book up your….
Miss Parasol: There’s a lady present, Sir Pilfurd!
Sir Pilfurd stomps up the steps which play “Rule Britania!” as he goes: Where?!??
Cut to interior and a flurry of activity:
Woman at a window: Oh, he’s coming!
The Flurry includes Sir Pilfurd’s Manservant, his secretary (with a lovely nosegay of deadly nightshade) and his cook and housekeeper (the harpy at the window.)
Sir Pilfurd stomps in.
All three: Surprise!!!
Sir Pilfurd: That I’m alive?
The cook/housekeeper (hereafter referred to as C/H): Oh, no, sir! Welcome Home!
Sir Pilfurd: Bah! Humbug! Back to work!
The C/H: But I’ve a lovely poem of welcome in Welsh, which of course, thank goodness, you wouldn’t understand and Miss Steak has flowers straight from a Covent Garden flower gel
Miss Steak (the secretary): Garn!
Sir Pilfurd: Put them in a vase of petrol and all of you, back to work! I’ve a feeling in my palpitating heart that a major case is coming my way which will revive me and make you all deliriously happy for me. Let’s get to it, eh?
As a typical nurse, Miss Parasol seized the opportunity to dampen the gaiety of Sir Pilfurd's prospect of an exciting new case by telling the Queen's Counsel and his staff that the next few years were to be uneventful if Pilfurd wanted to make a full recovery.
ReplyDeleteSeeing how angrily Sir Pilfurd reacted to this most depressing news, the staff was absolutely giddy to see him back in his usual form. As Sir Pilfurd proceeded to his office door, he turned and growled at the pint-sized older man who was following his procession.
"Cartier, you are wanted in my chamber as quickly as your rickety old frame can carry you!"
Cartier had many duties in Sir Pilfurd's retinue besides taking verbal abuse. He was the great man's valet/case assistant/spiritual intercessor/ and spirits and cigars procurer. Add to that, occasionally Cartier had found a female 'companion' for Sir Pilford in the classifieds.
"Ah, this musty old room. I'm glad you haven't dusted in 4 months. I'm coming home to the same dust I left. There's nothing like continuity, old man."
At that point, the litigator decided he better tell his procurer to get him a stash of indulgences before Parasol walked in and was back on his case.
"Now look, you old fuss budget, you giant of infinitesimal proportions, here's what I need you to acquire for me ...all without detection by Parasol's meddlesome eye."
Cartier pulled himself up to his full 5-feet height and bravely announced, "Sir Pilfurd, you are not to carry on the way you used to. No more carousing 'round town after dark in disguise, no more spending time with women from the classifieds, decidedly no more heavy drinking and chain smoking and ABSOLUTELY no more murder cases. Point of fact, your murder-case wig is now in moth balls. But we have a bland civil case hairpiece ready to go."
"What briefs do we have lined up, you old biddy?"
"There is a divorce case between two people; a lady's maid's suit against her Lady for talking down to her in public; and a class action suit regarding marine species affected by climate change which is being brought by Plankton, Inc."
"Ugh...I wish I was still in my coma!! I suppose the doctors are behind all this." (Cartier nodded) "Those paragons of wisdom in finding out what's good for everybody else, while they are to be found drinking and smoking all around town. By the way, what is the harm with me seeing a want-ad's lady on an occasion?"
"I'd rather not embarrass both of us by answering that question, Sir Pilfurd."
"You're discretion is appreciated, you old hot'n tot."
Without even knocking, Miss Parasol entered the litigator's chambers. "OK, it's time for us to go to bed, Sir Pilfurd."
"I'm sorry, Miss Parasol, but the doctors have forbidden me from having any more of that kind of activity. Not that I'm not flattered..."
"Sir Pilfurd, you fox, the doctor gave me permission to be by your side at all times.
"My doctor is a sadist."
Pilfurd then took his murder-case wig out of the moth-balls and put it on his head and said, "Did you know, Parasol, that I rehearsed stabbing you with a rubber tube each night in my dreams. Of course, I would have defended myself by telling the jury that you were guilty of every form of human degradation that could be exercised upon an coma patient against his will. Not only would I have been acquitted, but the jury would have cut short the length of my convalescence. Take that as a warning, Miss Parasol!"
"Nevermind all that high talk, it's nap time."
Miss Parasol began pushing Pilfurd through the door from behind, and Pilfurd yelled back at Cartier, "Look, you old goat, call my lawyer..."
"Unhand me, you old bat or I'll strike you with my cane!"
ReplyDelete"Now, now, that wouldn't be prudent, would it deary?"
"Oh, and why not, may I ask?"
"Because you'd break the cigars you've so cleverly hidden. Ah, you didn't think I knew about that rather ingenious hollow tube. Tsk, tsk."
Miss Parasol wrestles the cane away from our curmudgeonly Q.C. and, unscrewing the cap, pours out the incriminating evidence: namely three Havana cigars.
"Miss Parasol, you'll be hanged for this! Where's your search warrant??"
"Pilfurd, the Fox. That's what we used to call him in hospital. Hid all sorts of contraband in some very clever places. I'm confiscating these."
"Can't I have just one? Please....!"
"Negative, nope! Not on your tintype!"
"A few puffs after meals? I'm begging you, you... you sadist in starched whites!"
"Ix-nay the igars -cey."
"Some dark night when she's least expecting it, I'll do harm her. I'll chain her to the steam radiator, put ipicac in her milk, something. So help me, I will."
"Now, upstairs with you, Sir Pilfurd, and no more dawdling!"
Sir Pilfurd realized that this round had been won by his chief tormentor in white. Yes, the old 'curmudgeon' had been demoted down to a simple 'mudgeon'. As he made for the stairs, Cartier interceded, "Oh, no, sir. You mustn't walk up. We've installed something for you here. It's a lift. We've got to keep you off those pesky stairs. Wouldn't want you to wind up in hospital again now would we? I'm much to old to seek new employment after thirty-seven blissful years in your employ."
Part 2:
ReplyDelete"Cartier, do I detect a note of sarcasm? A lift? Never!"
"I think it's a splendid idea," said Miss Parasol.
And with that she jumped into the device and said, "Let's try it, shall we? Here, jump into my lap. We'll ride up together, Valhalla-bound, like two characters in a Wagner opera, wot?"
"Hop out of there, Brunhilda. My lift, my heart attack. I'll try it but I'm not getting anywhere near your lap, thank you very much.
"Here you are, sir'" said Cartier. " Just simply press this button for up and this one for down. You have three speeds: decripit, molasses, and..."
"Cartier, I warn you, if this contraption should collapse, if the barrister should fall off the banister... you'll find yourself with a one-way ticket to..."
"Just try it, sir. You may come to enjoy the Ultra-Glide ride. Smooth as silk."
Mark this day on your calendar. For this was the day that Sir Pilfurd Robburts, Q.C., fell in love with a mechanical device.
"Why, Cartier, this is amazing! Smoothest flight I've had in years."
Up, down, up, down, up-down. Each trip more delightful than the last. Miss Parasol fretting more with each turn. "Sir Pilfurd, please... it's time for beddy-bye..."
Suddenly, and unceremoniously, Mr. Mayhem burst in accompanied by a dapper- looking gent in tweed.
"Is it possible to see Sir Pilfurd? I didn't make an appointment, but this is a most urgent criminal matter."
Cartier, in full protective mode replied, "I'm sorry sir, but Sir Pilfurd has all that he can handle."
"I'm sure he'll want this brief. It's worth a man's life."
"Absolutely not, Mr. Mayhem. Sir Pilfurd is still convalescent. He mustn't be overstimulated. He's now on a steady diet of extremely irrelevant (not to mention boring) civil suits so as not to aggravate his delicate condition."
"Hello, Mayhem."
'Hello Robburts. Frightfully distressing news about your health ol' boy."
"Distressing! It's downright tragic. You'd better get a younger man with younger arteries. Look at me... I'm a bloke what is past it."
"I know all that, but If you could just give us a few minutes. This dapper gent you see before you is Mr. Leotard Volt. There's been a spot of bother. He's has rather a sticky wicket, I'm afraid."
"How do you do, Mr. Volt."
"Well, according to Mr. Mayhem, not too bloody well I'm afraid. He thinks I may be arrested any moment now."
Suddenly the dulcet tones of Miss Parasol's voice rang out, "Sir Pilfurd! Sir Pilfurd! You're dawdling again!"
Sir Pilfurd: "Oh do shut up you wretched woman! Try me again Mayhem when a postman lands in a pile of weiner dogs and cant pull them off! Snappy little fellows what what!!"
ReplyDeleteMayhem: "Well I wish you could help us old man, but I quite understand. Come along Leotard, we'll just have these ceegars for ourselves."
Sir Pilfurd: "MAYHEM! MAYHEM!!
Cartier: "OH NO! Sir Pilfurd!
Sir Pilfurd: "It's quite alright Cartier. Mayhem is an old, old friend. Surly we can spare him five minutes....I know, I know, don't call you Shirley! Not you Bolt, just Mayhem and myself and some lovely ceegars."
Miss Parasol: "On no! Oh no!! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT CARTIER!
Cartier: "This is hardly my fault Miss Parasol. I distinctly said no criminal cases."
Volt: "Well if it's anyone's fault, I should say it's mine. Seems goofy to me, but Mr. Mayhem believes I shall be arrested at any second!"
Parasol: "Arrested for what?!"
Volt: "REDRUM!"
Continuance:
ReplyDeleteThe chambers – office really, but the English like “chambers” and…..Oh….Anyway…the office of Sir Pilfurd Robburts, Q.C., PhD, LS/MFT. It’s well furnished with law books, many older than Sit Pilfurd, including a full set of English Common, Not As Common, and Highly Un-Common Law; A book by Offvid about Roman practices dealing with naughty people called “Roamin’ in the Gloamin’.” Behind the desk is a mantle topped with trophies of Redrum cases that Sir Pilfurd had won, Viz. Giblets with open nooses and little plaques on each one naming the case such as : Jack the Zipper, Merry, Queen of Scotch, The Sheriff of Nobuddy Home. But the centre piece besides the Old Boy’s desk is the door they must have come through, an imposing little piece about 10 7/8 metres tall that looks like it’s made out of Osage Orange beautifully padded since Sir Pilfurd tends to bang it with his head in order to jar loose the solution to some befuddling problem…..But we must hear the banter of the two old friends…..
Sir Pilfurd: So, old fruit, what is with this fellow?
Mayhem: I suspect even in Hospital you heard a about the murder of Mrs. Trembly Junebug Frenchkissss.
Sir Pilfurd: No! No! Confound it! I was in a coma, remember, and when I came out of the blasted thing I couldn’t have so much as a Christmas Card for fear that the excitement might short circuit the old ticker.
Mayhem: You have an electric watch?
Sir Pilfurd: No, no, you silly person! My heart! My Heart!
Mayhem, singing: “My Heart Belongs to Daddy!/ Dah’ dah dah’ dah dah dah Dan’Daddy-ad”
Sir Pilfurd: Mayhem, you’re getting senile! The case! Tell me about the case so I can ask you for a ceegar and we can move this potboiler along!
Mayhem: Briefly, the wealthy and elderly Mrs. Frenchkissss had met Mr. Volt and taken a liking to him. Apparently he’s an expert on women’s hatpins, hairpins, safety pins, hair pin turns, clasps, rasps, and (especially) Gasps, among other things. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, Say no more!…… In any case he was the last person who saw her as alive as possible. Her maid found her in the morning. Her head had been bashed in rather badly by the fireplace antique marble mantelpiece, stabbed numerous times with her own knitting needles, her mouth sewed shut and corks stuffed up her nose, and her arms crossed across her (pardon me) breasts holding a lily from a nosegay that had been on the mantle.
Sir Pilfurd: Well, at least, whoever it was, was thorough.
Mayhem: Quite.
Sir Pilfurd: Let me think while I puff on one of your Carona Caronas if you please. (Mayhem gives him the ceegar, and the great man rolls it erotically with his fingers, smells it heady aroma, practically having an orgasm on the spot.) Match, please. (Mayhem searches in his pockets finding a clock 39 (loaded,) some string, some gum – chewed – winterpepperspearmint, and a few jacks but no balls)
Sir Pilfurd: Oh, Great Gobs O’ Mud!!! (He goes to the padded door and bangs his head against it. Refreshed he sighs and hiding his ceegar behind his back he opens the door a smidgen and don’t ask me what a smidgen is, for I don’t know. Anyway….
The continuance continues:
ReplyDeleteSir Pilfurd in a cloying, unctuous voice: Mr. Volt, could you pretty please come in. I need to ask you an extremely important question.
Volt: Of course.
Miss Parasol tries to get her foot in the door. Sir Pilford whacks it with his cane then kicks it away and as soon as Volt is inside slams the door with a clang.
Sir Pilfurd: Now the highly important question I have to ask you is…
Volt: Yes….
Sir Pilfurd: Is…..
Volt: Yes……
Sir Pilfurd: Is…..is…..is….
Volt: Yes….yes…..yes…..
Sir Pilfurd: Hey, Joe, you got gum?
Volt, after a beat: Wha….?
Sir Pilfurd: Dash it all! Cartier’s senility must be catching! The question is: Hey!..... Gotta match?
Volt: No.
Sir Pilfurd: Then, go away! I don’t want you.!
Volt: I do have a cigarette torch.
Sir Pilfurd: Dear Boy!!!!
Volt produces an industrial strength blow torch produced by Wee Burnem and Sons LTD. “Our products are rather good for cook outs, lighting candles, bonfires, fireworks, wicker men, arson, burnings at stake, and even tobacco products in various forms. Just a flick and Whoosh! Try our large economy size: comes with it’s own waggon.”
Soon Sir Pilfurd is contentedly puffing away, though a bit sooty, but Mayhem and Volt wipe his face and whatever else. Whatever has been burnt or scorched has been cleverly disquised.
Sir Pilfurd: Yes, Mr. Mayhem has outlined your case.
Volt: Then you’ll take it.
Sir Pilfurd: ‘Fraid not, old boy. My doctors who resemble and sound more like ducks are convinced that any juicy murder cases will cause my clogged arteries to explode like so many over stuffed sausages……lovely simile, that. I am consigned to a cruel gruel of trying unpaid parking fines and silly hardly civil suits by dyspeptic deplorable denizens of the middle to upper crass.
However, I do have in mind a former student of mine who wasn’t a total idiot. His name is Moor-Broghans. He tends to muck about and tracks irrelevancies about the courtroom, leaving a beautifully boggy and muddy mess, but I taught him everything he knows and for all that he does reasonably well. If he shows up with Inspector Herring of the Yard, you are up a treat. I will ring him up. Until he gets here you had best tell us everything. Ev-er-y-Thing!
"Hold it for a minute, Volt," Pilford said as he lifted his phone.
ReplyDelete"Miss Steak, tell Cartier to call Moor Broghan and tell him to hook a ride with Scotland Yard to my chambers. Moor might as well tell the Yard to bring the arrest warrant with them. Why shouldn't that department be efficient for once," Pilford thundered into the phone.
After this eruption, Pilford settled back into his great chair and puffed on his ceegar with enthusiasm, purring like a little kitty.
"Go ahead, on one of you, while I smoke and think about something else."
Mayhem took the bait. "Sir Pilford, I must tell you before you make a judgment or a request for an arrest warrant from the Yard, you must believe -as improbable as Mr. Volt's tale will appear to you- that he has an excellent war record, working at first on one side and then on the other. Both sides were amenable and only too ready to allow this mercenary to work on the opposing team."
"Very commendable...I'm sure," said Pilford as he tapped his ceegar in a drawer labeled "Future briefs."
"I suppose I shouldn't gloat," Volt said, "but the war was good to me both in helping me find a bride and from a monetary standpoint. It also afforded me the opportunity to make the acquaintance of useful people. For, as you British say, 'One never knows which side of a milque-toast wants buttering', isn't that so, Sir Pilford?!" Volt said, with a re-volting smile and a wink.
"Let's move along, shall we. Mayhem, what do you find in the way of motive for this crime?"
Mayhem stood and said without expression, "There's no motive, none whatsoever. Why should the goose kill the golden egg before it gets laid. Volt, you see, was trying to get some of Miss Frenchkisses' money to promote one or two of his amateurish inventions, without success to this point.
Part II
DeletePilford cleared his throat, "All right all ready. Let's get on with it. Mr. Volt, what has happened since you killed Mrs. Frenchkiss...I mean, since the death of the lady?"
Mayhem, who felt for the poor dunce, interjected again, "Mr. Volt was the last person to see the lady so he was taken to the station where he was cautioned, but he answered without help of a lawyer."
Mr. Volt, who seemed absolutely out-to-lunch, replied, "Yes, Sir Pilford, I figured if I was honest why should I feel restrained in my answer to the authorities. I even pointed out the cut on my wrist which I got from an egg beater that got away from me."
Sir Pilford - in complete disbelief- said, "Oh well, it can't be helped. What does an egg-beater have to do with anything? Much as I hate to say it, I think we best have the whole thing out, Mr. Volt."
Mr. Volt turned on the charm once again, or so he thought. "One day, after spending the morning working on a retractable hatpin, I walked down Fleet Street looking for a millinery shop. As I stood in front of Pig In a Poke Hatters, I saw this older woman inside wrestling with a hat she was trying on. The hat seemed to move around her head willfully. Of course, I decided to go in and try my hatpin on this spirited hat."
Pilford looking at his watch hoped Miss Parasol would interrupt these proceedings for lunch, even a nap might be preferable to listening to this rubbish.
Volt continued, "I went into the shop, put my hands around this hat and holding it in place, stuck my new hatpin into the thing with full force, only nicking the scalp of the lady once in the process. Unfortunately, because the lady screamed a little, the P In P Hatters threw me out without hearing my spiel about the hatpin. The lady in the hat turned out to be Mrs. Frenchkisses."
Part III
Delete"Days later, tired of walking around pushing my three-way egg-beater at a series of bakeries, concluding with the Dusty Knuckle in East London, I decided to unwind in a movie theater. One of those horror flicks with Bela Lugosi and Elsa Lanchester was playing. Up in the cheap seats, in the row in front of me sat a lady whose hat kept falling off her head. Never being able to resist a business opportunity, I pulled out one of my hatpins, and..you guessed it...I recognized the scream. Yes, it was Mrs. Frenchkissess."
"Far from being unhappy with me, Mrs. Frenchkisses seemed thrilled to have run into me again. You see, she had felt guilty that she had screamed at the P In P Hatters when I was trying to help her hat. Also, she realized that she may have ruined a business opportunity for me of selling my hatpin to the PIP Hatters. Bottom-line, she felt responsible for me, I think, and moved next to me and shared her gum drops."
"Did you encourage her to feel sorry for you, Mr. Volt? And did she know you were married?" Asked Sir Pilford astutely.
"Well, I let her know that I was struggling to provide for my wife, and, consequently, my wife was not that keen on me. I I didn't exactly tell her my wife didn't understand me, but I laid out the circumstantial evidence in such a way that it would be very difficult for her to think anything else. But that's not a crime," Volt declared.
"It's not criminal, Mr. Volt," answered Mayhem after shaking himself from his 30- minute reverie. "But juries are never sympathetic to the misleading of a widow well past her years of discernment."
"Did you know that this luckless Mrs. Frenchkisses was well-off, Mr. Volt?" inquired the Barrister.
"No, I told you we were in the cheap seats. But after the show, Mrs. Frenchkissme, I mean Mrs. Frenchkisses, took me home with her and I realized that she had quite nice digs, and had help staff, living in with her."
Once again, we find Mayhem showing signs of being awake, "Mr and Mrs Frenchkisses lived abroad in the Nigerean bottom-land. Her husband was a diplomat and wild game hunter. He died in 1945, about the time Mr. Volt was coming home from war."
"So what did you do at Mrs. Frenchkisses after the movie, Mr. Volt?" Sir Pilford was still trying to seem interested.
"We went into Mrs. Frenchkisses' kitchen and I was introduced to this crusty old maid named Janet MacKidme. What an throw-back she was! I happened to have one of my three-way egg beaters, which cracks the egg, separates the shell from the egg, and whips into froth or cream in my back pocket. Janet didn't seem too impress. 'I know how to beat an egg, a rug, a door-to-door salesman, and anybody trying to take my lady from me,' she said very disrespectfully. Mrs. Frenchkisses and me left the kitchen for the den where I pouted until I got a brandy."
Leotard Volt, accompanied by a somewhat giddy Mrs. Frenchkisss, entered the den.
ReplyDeleteMrs. Frenchkisss: "It's a bit chilly in here, isn't it? Shall we have a fire?"
Volt: "Sure, why not? This is a charming room. (It was a perfectly oppressive room. Chock full of decapitated, stuffed animal heads and enough African bric-a-brac to stock a curio shop. He half expected to see a shrunken head. Just because none such was in view, still, Volt was convinced there must have been one about somewhere."
"Hummingbird, my dear departed husband, collected all sorts of things when we lived in Africa. I collected some absolutely adorable wooden masks, some fetish items such as the Bateke voodoo figure you see there on the wall."
She points to a rather chubby, grotesque critter emblazoned with feathers. Of course Volt didn't mention the more than slight resemblance between the fetish doll and his hostess, you know, Mrs. What's Her Name.
"I loved dear old 'Hummy', that was his nickname. Hummy. Tee-hee, don't you think that clever? When Hummy wasn't doing diplomatic stuff he was out slaughtering beasts to be stuffed. Rather disgusting hobby but it kept him occupied I suppose. Much better than having a mistress."
"Well, now, there's a lovable chap," observed Volt, pointing at a gruesome-looking carving
"Oh that. That's the mask of a Vodon witch doctor. Hummy wore it when he pulled our servants' teeth. They'd refuse to sit for a tooth-pulling unless he wore it. They called him a witch dentist. I thought that was rather witty of Hummy, wot? He was, at times, a wicked fellow. Tee hee."
"Yes, I imagine. Well, this is delicious brandy. May I have another glass?"
"Certainly, Mr. Volt"
"Let's not stand on formalities. Call me Leotard or Leo if you like."
"Oh jolly! And you may call me Trembly or Junebug if you please. I think I'll take a glass of brandy myself. I feel like Christmas, somehow. I'm all atremble with excitement."
"Ha, ha. Trembly is all atremble. Ha, ha. I get it."
"Uh, hum? Get what?"
"Oh, never mind. Here's to you, Junebug."
"After that I saw her once or twice a week. She always kept a bottle of brandy for me. We'd talk, play tiddly winks, listen to scratchy old 78's, Gallstone and Salamander mostly. I'd never heard of them but they kicked up some lively cakewalk ditties that had us cutting the rug, if you know what I mean. It's so weird to think of her now, lying in that living room, head bashed in, stabbed, mouth sewn shut and all that. I keep imagining her poor body splayed out in all its gruesomeness. Makes me positively tearful. "
Part 2:
ReplyDeleteSir Pilfurd: "I assure you she's been moved by now. To leave her would be unfeeling, unlawful, and unsanitary. She would have been quite ripe after all this time. Like a piece of rotting fruit cast out in the sun, juice all gone."
Volt: "My, my, Sir Pilfurd, you do have a positive talent for describing unpleasant things."
Pilfurd: "It's a gift. Someday I must recount to you the terrible details of the Chateau Fleet Street/Pomeroy Murders."
Mayhem: "Tell Sir Pilfurd about the evening of the murder."
Volt: "Of course. Well, I went around to see her about eight o'clock. She fixed a livermush sandwich with a slice of Wimsleydale. As we dined on this sumptuous feast, we talked, drank cheap brandy, and listened to Gallstone and Salamander's 'Cake-Walkin' Cuties Capture Picadilly'. I left about nine. I walked home. I got there about half past. I can prove that. I can swear to it, in or out of court, in the witness box, anywhere! ANYWHERE!"
Pilfurd: "How much money did you get from Mrs French?"
"Why, nothing. Not a sou. Really!"
"The truth. How much?"
"Why should she give me any money?"
"Maybe because the old dame was in love with you."
"What nonsense! Oh she liked me, pampered me, gave me the occasional foot massage. Nothing that a doting aunt wouldn't do. A kiss or two once in awhile. But that's all, I swear. Perfectly innocent and harmless fun."
Well, Mr. Volt, if it was all so innocent as you claim, why didn't you include your wife in the festivities? Why is that?
"Um, er, that is, because..."
"Because what?"
"Because I had given Mrs. Frenchkisss the impression we didn't get along too well."
"Is that true?"
"No! We love each other."
"Then how did Mrs. Frenchkisss get that impression?"
"Well, we were having such a time what with the brandy and foot massages that I didn't want to disabuse her of that notion. She just wanted to believe that and so I never corrected her."
"Oh, and why not, pray tell? Could it have been because she was rich, and you were after her money."
"Well, yes, I suppose so. But I didn't want much. Just a few hundred quid for my new invention, a revolutionary brassiere, designed with a cantilever system providing uplift for a more comfortable fit. It'd have been a blockbuster. Is an honest business proposition so terribly wicked?"
It was here that Sir Pilfurd employed an old interrogation tactic he'd used quite effectively in the past. He wore his monocle at an angle where the light would shine directly in Volt's eyes. He'd used this method when years ago he had been a teacher at a first-form boys' school. When this or that mischief had occurred he would give the mischief-makers the old monocle light in the eyes torture test to coerce a confession out of the sobbing brats. So with glaring light in Volt's eyes the questioning continued thusly:
"Did you know that it was the housekeeper's day off?"
Well... yes. What of it?"
"You knew she'd be alone. You and the rich lonely widow all alone in that house with a gramophone blaring Guildenstern and Sally Ann. Did you turned up the volume so as to drown out her screams of agony?"
"That's ridiculous? When I left her she was alive! And by the way, it was Gallstone and Salamander."
"Well, Mr. Volt, may I remind you that when the housekeeper came back Mrs. Frenchkiss was quite dead. As dead as the proverbial door nail."
"I didn't do it I tell you! No matter how bad things look, I didn't do it! You must believe me. You do believe me, don't you?"
"I do now, but I wasn't sure. My patented monocle test convinced me."
Folio 1
ReplyDeleteThat’s why I subjected you to this quaint form of torture. As far as things looking bad; they’re so bad, they’re bupkes! You got no alibi, mon!
Volt: But I do! I do! I Doooo!
Sir Pilfurd: Don’t be melodramatic!
Volt: I left her crib at 9:00, went straight home. I immediately set about working on my next gadget: a gas powered veeblefetzer with a belt in the back. Precisely at 9:36 1/6. My wife can attest to it.
Mayhem: Fascinating! What does it, or will it, do?
Volt: So far it goes "Zip" when it moves, and "Bop" when it stops,
And "Whirrr" when it stands still. So far it’s useless, but I’m hopeful.
Sir Pilfurd: How can you be so precise on the time?
Volt: I’m a precise kinda guy. (He pulls back his coat sleeves and rolls up his shirtsleeves revealing an assortment of watches with an assortment of times, miniature coocoo clocks, time clocks, railroad and nautical devices and a tiny aged grandfather clock.)
Sir Pilfurd: I see. Well, my assessment is that you in a heap o’ trouble.
Volt: Crusteen will tell you about time etc.
Sir Pilfurd: Your wife loves you, eh, bwah?
Volt: We’re deadbolted to each other. That’s how tight we are.
Sir Pilfurd: Well the testimony of a wife, no matter how well bolted, generally counts for didley squat in these affairs.
Volt: you mean you think Crusteen would fib?
Sir Pilfurd: They generally do.
Camera pans to door which opens and in comes More-Broghans.
Sir Pilfurd: Ah, More-Broghans, welcome. Welcome.
More-Broghans – Cheerio and all that. Glad to see you have no more Hospital hospitality.
Sir Pilfurd: I’m on probation and am supposed to behave and I have a harpy to see to it. This is your pigeon, Mr. Volt. Rotsa ruck. The Frenchkissss murder.
Folio 2
ReplyDeleteMore-Broghans: Ah.
Sir Pilfurd: I think we can rule out a crime of passion considering the corpse’s age and that leaves the capitalist ploy: murder for money. If he’s soaking the old babe for sheckels, killing her seems counterproductive. Contrarywise, if he’s schmoozing the old dingbat so he might get some of her gelt down the line, why decapitate the goose before he gets said gelt? So there you are: No motive. You find this plan of attack satisfactory?
More -Broghans, seemingly taken aback: Why….yes, it seems so.
Sir Pilfurd: Excellent! He’s all yours. You’ll find Mr. Volt very transparent: so much so, he informs me we’ll have to sue to get so much as a farthing out of his empty pockets.
More-Broghans – Oh, all we’ll have to do is put the lien on his 80,000 quid.
Volt: Money?
More-Broghans: Well, it’s not poundcake.
More-Broghans: While going through her effects: Lavender hankies, several old coins, shrunken heads, voodoo dolls, handcuffs, masks, small whips, marked cards (tarot and playing.) sea shells and some sea shore with sale signs, a pair of glass slippers (size 4,) (Sir Pilfurd’s face either registers impatience or disgust) ,,,,,,and….ah….well….she changed her will. She left our boy here, some 80,000 pounds…taxes paid.
Volt: I must call Crusteen! (goes to phone on Pilfurd’s desk, Stops when it hits.) This changes the ball game, doesn’t it?
Sir Pilfurd: If your case was near hopeless before, this sinks the knife in it and twists slowly and painfully.
Volt: I had no idea!!!!
Sir Pilfurd: Apparently. I would expect Scotland yard to arrest you post haste.
Tires screech!
Sir Pilfurd: At window: Camera shot outside. A plethora of Bobbies surround the block and get in each other’s way.
Sir Pilfurd: And here they come.
Door to the room opens and enters Inspector Hernia of the Yard and sidekick.
Insp. Hernia: Sorry to barge in on you and all that.
Sir Pilfurd: Not at all.
"Chief Inspector A. Hernia, give a warm hello to Barrister More-Broghans and Solicitor Mayhem (Hernia nods in their directions), and then may I introduce you to the dangerous Mr. Leo Volt. Be careful, for Mr. Volt has an egg beater squirreled away in his back pocket. That's a devise that whips and separates as need be."
ReplyDeleteInspector Hernia had more of an officious nature than a playful one, which allowed him to rise through the ranks of the Yard, but put him at a loss around personalities such as Sir Pilford's. Consequently, Hernia stuck with his usual banal inquiries,"Are you, in point of fact, Mr. Leo Volt as Sir Pilford alleges? If so, come along now. We have a warrant for your arrest in the willful and wanton murder of the demmed luckless Mrs. Frenchkisses."
Mr. Volt answered the Inspector impudently, "I'll go with you; I'm not a chicken. I am a man with an excellent war record and have a pretty thick hide. But my criminal past has yet to catch up with me. I've never been ticketed for walking a dog without a leash, driving through a red traffic light, hurriedly turning left on a yellow traffic light, or sitting through a green traffic light. I always yield on a Do Not Enter sign, and Railroad mugs at the crossing...."
Mr. Hernia -trying to regain a semblance of control -said excitedly, "EXCUSE Me, if you had done any of those things, I would have referred your case to our Streets and Signs department. But since you have allegedly committed a murder, Homicide has the dubious honor of putting your so-called 'hide' in jail."
Sir Pilford tried to smooth things a bit for Volt, "Inspector Hernia, do me a favor and don't let your flunkies rough-house Mr. Volt too much. Remember, he has an excellent war record and can whip those lily-livered patrol-men of yours!"
After cautioning Volt about his right to remain silent, Volt spoke back up.
"Somebody better call Crusteen and tell her to find my stash of winnings and bail me out. This is so embarrassing."
Sir Pilford then gave a litany of the Kings and Queens of England who had spent years in the Tower, many of whom were beheaded but were ultimately proven innocent. This was cold comfort for our man Volt, but the only optimism anybody had to offer him at the moment.
As the Chief Inspector led Volt out, Mayhem in his disinterested way said that he would follow Volt to the Yard and make sure they didn't charge him for anything but murder.
When alone, Pilford and More-Broghan happily mused over how good Volt would look in the Dock. Style not sincerity is the vital thing. Remember, this was Oscar Wilde country!
Oscar Wilde country indeed! Our Mr. Volt may have been well-dressed, handsome even. However, he had only a portion of Wilde's style and with hardly a fraction of his wit. One may suppose that a comparison could be drawn between the two inasmuch as they both had run afoul of British law. However, Leotard Volt, if convicted, might face two very difficult, not to mention unpleasant, outcomes: namely, the hangman's noose or a lifetime in the old choky. To a man like Volt, vain and self-indulgent, prison would be even worse than having his neck stretched.
ReplyDeleteWe pick up, now, with the conversation between Sir Pilford and More-Broghan.
Sir Pilfurd: Makes a frightfully good impression, wot?
More-Broghan: I suppose so. Did you give him the monocle test?
Passed with flying colours. But how will he hold up in the dock? Rather a sticky wicket, this is, you know. The prosecution will come out blazing big guns while all you'll have is a measly cap buster with soggy caps. One single arrow in you quiver: a questionable alibi furnished by his wife? You know yourself, More-Broghan, that'll never fly down at the Old Bailey.
See here, Sir Pilfurd, I'm going to think of it as an intriguing challenge.
Ha! Think of it more as an assault on Everest. You have about the same chance at success! Both endeavours are equally as dangerous Good luck, ol' boy...
Suddenly Cartier burst into the room.
Cartier: Oh dear me, sir. Miss Parasol is on a rampage. A right smart of a RAMPAGE! She has issued an ultimatum. To bed with you in one minute or she'll resign!
Sir Pilfurd: Splendid! Best news I've had all day. Give the ol' gal a month's pay, kick her in her backside and send her packing. There's a good chap!
See here, either you take care of yourself or I, too, shall resign.
Blackmail! Blackmail pure and simple. I'm surrounded by insurrection on all sides! But you're quite right, Cartier. Rather a hectic day and I'm a bloke what is past it. I should be in bed.
More-Broghan: I'd better get in touch with Mrs Volt and have her come over. Will you sit in?
What, sit it listening to an hysterical wife with tear-drenced eye? Not on your tintype!
We see Miss Parasol at the top of the stairs glowering down at her patient.
Sir Pilfurd: Ah, there you are Miss Parasol, A vision in drab matron's garb. Attending to me like a hangman on the scaffold. Take me. Ravish me. Do with me what you will. I'm yours.
Miss Parosol: Oh, you nasty man!
Turning back to More-Broghan, Sir Pilfurd said:
ReplyDeleteNow about this Mrs. Volt creature. Kid gloves old boy, especially when you tell her of her husband's arrest. She's a foreigner, you know, so be prepared. She's libel to pitch a hissy fit, might even faint, who knows? Better break out the smelling salts, a box of tissues and a touch of whiskey wouldn't hurt. No better make that peppermint schnapps. I hear she's German so prepare to fall into lock step.
In walks a very attractive prepossessing woman wearing a mannish suit. With only a hint of German accent she said:
I won't faint, no hissy will be pitched (that last sounded so sexy with her accent). I never use smelling salts as they make me want to run amok. I will take a large glass of peppermint schnapps, though. I'm Crusteen Volt.
Introductions, pleasantries and the like were exchanged.
Sir Pilfurd: My dear Mrs Volt, I'm afraid we have some rather bad news for you.
Spill it mein herr, I'm quite disciplined. I have the blood of Teutonic knights running through my veins.
Well, you see, that is, er, ah...
Let me guess liebchen, dear hubby has been arrested and charged with murder. Is that it?
Ya, I mean, yes, he has.
Knew it! Told him so. Dummkopf! Told him that too!
Your husband will have to stand trial, I'm afraid. Mr More-Broghan will lead the defense.
Oh? So you will not defend Leotard?
I am sorry to say dear lady that I'm not able to. My health, you know.
Ach der lieber! Most unfortunate. Herr Mayhem described you as a veritable champion of the hopeless cause. So is my husband's cause hopeless? What's the matter, little pudgy man? Has the lead broken in your pencil? Has your chewing gum lost it flavor on the bedpost overnight? A real man would take up the challenge. Well, speak up, unmensch!
Sir Pilfurd: I’m afraid my Dear Mrs. Volt – it is Mrs., is it not? Or are you in drag? Your voice is quite masculine.
ReplyDeleteMrs. Volt: Oh, I assure you, I am kvite female. It iss dee Two-tonic in mine foice und mine r-r-r-r-rigid upbrinking, vhich iss not r-r-r-relevant to der case at handt, ja?
Sir Pilfurd: I regret to inform you that my health prevents my taking any case more strenuous or stressful than the odd parking ticket or jaywalking. I, alas, am a prisoner in this house, which is marginally better than the hospital the quacks from the National Health had me incarcerated in. I’ve a harpy of a nurse who, unlike a Victrola, one can’t shut up and a manservant who will quit if I don’t toe her line.
Sir Pilfurd is carried upstairs via his stair chair and More-Broghans and Mrs. Volt go into the study.
Miss Parasol at the top of the stairs: Really, consorting with foreigners. I shall call up the doctors and have you in an asylum Never mind, Let’s get you into something more comfortable and a nice cup of cocoa
They are in Sir Pilfurd’s bedroom: What a cheery place: There is a folding screen high enough to conceal someone changing clothes, decorated with merry designs, such as: hangman’s nooses and gibbets, electric chairs, firing squads, guillotines, bottles with skulls and crossbones on them. On the walls are his many framed successes, such as: “Case of Jack the Zipper: Closed,” “Evanly Song Case: Closed,” “The Packing Case: Closed, “The Case of Beer: 99 and Ongoing.” One notices the comfy chqir with soft pillows contrasted with the bed of spikes with comforter turned down.
Sir Pilfurd has entered the room and Miss Parasol continues her monologue as the hands him his jammies with the dead rabbits, partridges, and odd fox and deer on them and of course the kitty slippers:
Miss Paraasol: Let’s not think any more about those nasty foreigners who can’t speak proper English and smell a bit. Just you put these on and I’ll get you a nice cup of cocoa with a spoonful of Laudanum and a nice Cannabis marshmallow. Here you are. Spit Spot!
Sir Pilfurd begins to unbutton his coar as she jabbers, then tosses the jammies on the screen and buttons up and exits.
Miss Parason turns around: No Sir Pilfurd.
Camera cuts to stairwell where Sir Pilfurd is taking the express chair down.
Miss Parasol: Sir Pilfurd! Your Cocoa!
Part 2
ReplyDeleteSir Pilfurd: Storms into the study and slams the door behind him knocking a raven off his perch
Raven: Never Again! (The Raven limps away to sulk in a corner.)
Sir Pilfurd: Go on. Go on.
Mrs Volt: I vas chust sayink zhat I knew he’d been seeink her kvite frequently vhen he came home vearink puce herring bone socks she must haff crocheted for him.
Moor-Broghans – I’m sure a jury will find that very endearing.
Mrs. Volt: Ja, I’m shurrre. He hates zat color und der herring bones dig into his ankles und feet. He’s verrrry sensitiff. Besides die socks vere zwei sizes too small, but he vore zem anyvey, chust to pleass her. He hass a vay mit vimmen. If zehr iss an all voman shury, zey vill carry him oudt throwink confetti and blowink horns and maybe eeffen rippink off his clothes.
Moor-Broghans: Just a simple acquittal will do. Now you may know that Mrs. Frenchkissss left your husband some money in her will.
Mrs. Volt: Ja, a – how might you say it – a pile.
Moor-Broghans: And he had no knowledge of that, eh?
Mrs. Volt, after a pause you could drive a bus through: Iss zat vat he toldt you?
Moor-Broghans: Surely, you’re not suggesting otherwise!
Mrs. Volt: Ach, nein! Und mine name iss not “Schirrrlie,” it’s Brunchilde.
Moor-Broghans: Ummmm, Yes. Obviously Mrs. Frenchkisss had come to look upon you husband as a sonny-boy or favourite grand-nephew.
Mrs. Volt: Vhat naif hypocritics you are in zis country. It iss to laugh! Ho ho ho ho!
Sit Pilfurd, who has evidently been eves dropping gets up from his seat and sets his monocle in his eye. Turns to give Mrs. Volt the Eye: Pardon, More-Broghans. Mrs. Volt, may I make a querie?
Mrs. Volt: You can make any vun you like, Mein Herr.
Sir Pilfurd, ignoring both the implied pun and the double entendre: You do realize that your husband’s entire defense is based on your corroborating words and a jury may have their doubts about the truth in that kind of tickitypoo.
Mrs. VoltL You Hinglish do haff some interestink slang, ja!
Sir Pilfurd: Let’s make sure then that the stories do not result in a scrum.
Mrs. Volt is blinking under the blaze of sunshine (in England?!?!??) reflected from Sir Pilfurd’s monocle in her Germanic blues.
Sir Pilfurd: I assume you wish to help your husband.
Mrs. Volt: Uf course I vant to help Leotard. Ve’re in ziz togezer, are ve nodt, ja? Und I vant to help Herr More-Shoes and you Sir Pilfardt.
She has crossed to a window and draws the blind, which only takes a couple of seconds, thanks to the miracle of modern cinema. When she has finished drawing including a picture of the Bavarian Alps, she turns to them.
Mrs. Volt: Now isn’t that better, ja?