Spontoon Island
home
- contact - credits
- new - links -
history
- maps - art - story
Radio-play Transcript
"The Headline Chaser" show:
#1: 'Curiousity Exiled the
Cat'
Transcribed & Edited by
E.O.Costello
| National
Broadcasting Company Transcription: "The Headline Chaser": "Curiousity Exiled the Cat" Thursday, September 8, 1938 10.00 p.m. Gnu York Time WEAF feed [Whistled version of "Trouble in Paradise"] Michael Mooney: In my profession, I was always taught to grab the reader's attention with a good, snappy lede. How's this for size: who knew that a sweet young minkess could get me almost killed, fired, exiled and hired, all in the space of about a week? [Whistled version of "Trouble in Paradise," faded to underscore announcer] Graham McNamee: The Saybrook Brewing Company of Hartford, Connecticut, makers of Blue Diamonds Pilsner since 1843, present "The Headline Chaser," starring Gerald Mohr as newspaper reporter Michael Mooney. [Whistled version of "Trouble in Paradise" brought up, then ends.] Graham: We all know that one time of the day. That time of the day when we want to sit back, relax, and take a minute to enjoy life's simple pleasures. And one of these pleasures is a glass of chilled, refreshing Blue Diamonds Pilsner beer. The beer that since 1843 has been slow-brewed, chill-brewed, and pure-brewed. That's what the three blue diamonds stand for. And you can taste it in every bottle. Only the finest barley, the choicest hops, and the most sparkling water go into Blue Diamonds Pilsner. So you know that you can rely on its taste, bottle after bottle. It's reliable, it's refreshing, it's rewarding. So look for it, in your favorite tavern or store. Blue Diamonds Pilsner, the beer that sparkles. [Musical bridge] Mooney: Now, you're probably wondering: Mooney, you met up with a nice young minkess, and you're complaining? Well, I have to say, I wasn't complaining at the start. Far from it. And the start was where I worked. Note the past tense... [GRAMS: Sounds of ringing telephones, teletype machines, typewriters and voices] [GRAMS: Sound of ringing telephone, loud] [GRAMS: Sound of telephone being picked up.] Mooney: City Room, this is Mooney. Stella Watermaster (masked mike): Is this the Evening Observer? Mooney: If it isn't, it's a pretty good facsimile. Watermaster (masked mike): I need to speak to a reporter. I'm in trouble. You see, there's this company... Mooney: Well, hey, waitaminit, back up. You're going awfully fast here, and I don't even have my notebook out yet. [Musical sting] Mooney: Not said, of course, was the fact that I kinda liked the voice coming over the telephone. Sort of a low purr. Not my kind, a feline one. The kind you get from a mink. Yeah, that's right, the species that's about four or five steps up from a mixed-breed cat. I wanted to stretch this out a bit. The closest I usually got to a minkess was the eight o'clock show at the Rialto. Of course, that'd run me seventy-five cents, snack bar included, instead of what a real date with a minkess would set me back, but you get the idea. Watermaster (masked mike): But I can't talk long on the phone, Mr... Mooney: Mooney. As in over the. Watermaster (masked mike): Look, is there any way we can meet up? Mooney: Let's see. Minkess offers to meet up with a mel who hasn't had a date since the Bank Holiday. Boy, I get the tough questions. Mooney: Look, Miss... Watermaster (masked mike): No names here. Listen, I think you should catch a train. Mooney: I should? Watermaster (masked mike): Take the El Capitan. It'll be worth your while. [GRAMS: Sound of telephone being hung up] [Musical sting] Mooney: Now, I didn't have any particular reason to go to Chicago. On the other paw, I also didn't have any particular reason not to go to Union Station. My alternative was to write up a speech given by some windbag who wanted to be a U.S. Senator. Political hack or minkess. No, not much of a choice there. So, I called up the information desk, and figured out the next departure of the El Capitan. As it turned out, that was tomorrow morning. So I still had to finish writing up the speech. The glamorous life of a newspaper reporter. I took out my frustrations on the congressfur's syntax... [Musical bridge.] [GRAMS: Station announcements, crowd noise in background] Mooney: So, the next morning found me at Union Station, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Or at least as much as you can be when your breakfast consists of two cigarettes and a cup of stale coffee. It was only when I got there that I realized what a chump I was. The dame hadn't told me how to recognize her, I hadn't told her how to recognize me, and we didn't have a meet up spot. I'm not exactly the cloak-and-dagger type, you see. My usual fare is making some city clerk miserable by asking for all sorts of papers. So, anyway, I figure the only clue I got was the reference to the El Capitan, so I sauntered over to where they were lining up the passengers. Quite a lot of well-dressed furs there, but no minkess. I was starting to feel like a cigarette, too: used and burnt. And right about then, one sounded like a good idea, so I took out a packet. I'd hardly got one out when a silky voice floated at me from behind my shoulder. Watermaster: Could I trouble you for a light? Mooney: I turned around. Yeah, it was a minkess, all right. She had a cigarette up to her lips. I know a cue when I see one, and gave her a match. Watermaster: Are you the Observer? Mooney: Ohhhh, yes... yeah, I'm the observer, all right. How'd you figure out my job? Watermaster: You're wearing a cheap suit with an ink stain on it, you're smoking, you need a shower, and right now, you aren't looking me in the face. Mooney: It was a lovely face, to be sure, but there were a whole lot of other distractions. Nicely packaged in a skirt, jacket and silk blouse that probably cost more than I earn in two or three months. And what she spent on tailfur and headfur care would probably keep me in cigarettes and sardine sandwiches for weeks. She blew some smoke at me, which brought my attention to her eyes. And nice ones they were, too. Watermaster: We can't talk here. There's a coffee shop over there. Grab a booth, a dark one, in the back and I'll join you there in fifteen minutes. Mooney: My pleasure. Watermaster: This is business, not pleasure, buddy. So get that out of your head. [Brief musical interlude] Mooney: Well, there went my evening plans. Memo to self: call my social secretary and tell her I can dine with J.L. this evening, after all. Speaking of dining, I did get a booth in the back of the coffee shop. The waitress left two glasses of water, which was pretty good, since the taxi over had more or less blown my budget for luxuries. Like, say, food. At precisely fourteen minutes and fifty seconds, my date showed up, spotted me in the back booth, and joined me. About as inconspicuously as you could imagine someone like her could move. Mooney: Listen, we still haven't been formally introduced. Emily Post would disapprove. Watermaster: That's funny. I would peg you as more the "Film Fun" type than Emily Post. Mooney: I read "Film Fun" only for the articles, Miss... Watermaster: Watermaster. Stella Watermaster. Mooney: So what's your problem? Watermaster: Jeez, you're in a rush. Going to interview Starling this afternoon? Mooney: Only if he buys lunch. Watermaster: I get the hint, buddy. Two cups of coffee and a pie a la mode, please. Waitress: Yes, ma'am. Mooney: "Ma'am." Kind of interesting being called that, given your age. Watermaster: I'm nineteen. Mooney: You dress older. You *act* older. Watermaster: Yeah, that's what my boss likes. Mooney: And who's your boss? Watermaster: Congressfur Littoralis. [Musical sting] Mooney: Oh, now this was interesting. Here I am, I was typing up a speech by this guy just last night, and now I'm talking to someone who works for him. Curiouser and curiouser. Mooney: So, Miss Watermaster, what do you do for Littoralis? Watermaster: Officially, I type. Mooney: And unofficially? Mooney: She blew a smoke ring, which said nothing and absolutely everything at the same time. Mooney: A minkess as young as you shouldn't be smoking. Watermaster: There's a lot of things I shouldn't be doing at my age right now, Mr. Mooney, but I do them anyway. Mooney: Why? Watermaster: The odds of getting off a casting couch, and into the movies, are slim to none in this town. And right now, it's sort of hard for a girl to get work. Mooney: Or a guy. Watermaster: Things are tough all over. So, anyway, I figured out the only other way to get ahead was to get hooked up in politics. I interviewed with Littoralis' office. Mooney: And he hired you. Watermaster: Hey, I was good in civics in high school. Mooney: Were you good at other things? Watermaster: Extra-curriculars. Mooney: I might have guessed. All right, so you keep the congressfur happy. Hey, I'm a taxpayer. Any time you can keep him busy is good enough for me. Saves the country a lot of dough. Watermaster: Yeah, well, that's what you think. Mooney: Oh? Watermaster: Yeah. It's why I want to talk to you. [Musical bridge] Mooney: Well, it certainly was interesting. Among other things, I found out how it was that Miss Stella Watermaster was so well-dressed. It turns out that I was, in a very small way of course, paying for her blouse, skirt, and other things I'd probably never get to see. There was also Congressfur Littoralis' taste in cigars, whiskey, cars and fine food. He couldn't trust the taxpayer to understand such refined tastes. So, in this case, the tab was picked up by businessfurs who did understand them. After all, they bought the same brands of cigars, whiskey, cars and fine food. Maybe not minkesses, I don't know. But, anyway, the fine representative from Los Antelopes had a price tag on his little brush that was within the budget of those who wanted a little political insurance on Capitol Hill. Mooney: Well, that's all pretty good. Ever hear of libel laws, though? Watermaster: I know this much, buddy. The truth is a complete defense to it. Mooney: Where'd you hear that, on the radio? Watermaster: Look, I don't blame you. So I brought you a little present. Mooney: Oooh, and it isn't even my birthday. Watermaster: Well, at your age, you should be happy for any birthday you get. Mooney: You know how to hurt a mel, don't you? Watermaster: And a lot of other things. [GRAMS: Clicking open of pocketbook, sound of rummaging, sound of small item being placed on the tabletop] Mooney: Miss Watermaster put a small roll of film on the table. This looked promising. Watermaster: Don't get your hopes up. I took pictures of a bunch of documents. You like 'em, put an ad in help wanted section of your paper, and I'll send you the rest of what I've got. Mooney: What's in it for you? Watermaster: Like I said. I was good in civics in high school. I figure this creep needs a few civics lessons, too. Mooney: That's it? Watermaster: Money can't buy everything all the time, Mr. Mooney. Only some of the time. You'll figure out sooner or later how he's roped me into this mess. If you're good. [Musical sting] Mooney: And with that, she slid out of the booth, dropped a fin on the table, and slinked out of the coffee shop. She forgot her change. I didn't. [Musical bridge] Mooney: One of the things about being in my racket is that you pick up all sorts of interesting knowledge. Like how to develop photographs without any help. This was one roll of film that I didn't feel like sending out to be processed. When I got a look at what came out of the dark room, I could see my hunch was right. Some cancelled checks. A lot different than mine. For one thing, the zeroes were on the right side of the decimal point. Some invoices, too, for an aircraft parts company out in Burbank. It was obvious to even a dope like me that the name on top of the invoice was supposed to be a hint. I was hooked. I was intrigued. I was also hoping for another meeting with Miss Watermaster. I even skipped a few meals, hoping to save enough money so I could share an ice cream soda with her. No such luck on my part, but an ad for an expert in civics got five letters from unhappy teachers, one letter from someone offering me money for my car, paid for or not, and in a plain brown envelope, three more rolls of film. Nothing else, but when I developed those pictures, I had my friendly minkess had a discerning eye both for photo composition, and what to put in front of the camera. Some more checks, a bank statement or two, and some more invoices... [Brief musical bridge] Mooney: I was prepared. I told my editor that I was working on something big. Really big. Harry Snowe: Yeah, yeah, yeah, Mooney. That's what they all say. Mooney: Ah, c'mon. This is the real deal. I've been burning up the lines to Sacramento. Snowe: Oh, jeez. On our tab? Mooney: No, on mine. Snowe: Good. Mooney: Not so good if I die from hunger. Snowe: I'll give you a good funeral. Leave your story to rewrite in your will. Mooney: You're all heart, Snowe. I wish there was more head. Snowe: You're too kind, Mooney. I'll give you a week to give me something I can use. Mooney: A week?!? Snowe: Read my cute lil' vulpine lips. One. Week. Seven days. Now get outta here. [Musical bridge] Mooney: You know, I'll bet the fur who writes those "Believe It Or Don't!" cartoons never realized you could live for days on end on nothing but cigarettes and stale coffee. Problem is, anyfur who's worked for a newspaper will believe it too easily. Anyhow, after burning through what little was left in my bank account, stiffing my landlady, not doing laundry for a few days... in other words, acting normally... I'd put together a story, a really pretty little story. [GRAMS: Sound of manual typewriter] Mooney: Once you traced back the corporations far enough, and you had to go through at least seven to do so, you started to find some interesting things. Like, for example, the fact that Miss Stella Watermaster was listed as an officer for some of them. Nice work for a teenage minkess. I'll bet that's one way she earned her nice clothes. Of course, that might also be why she's in trouble. Somefur tumbles onto this, guess who takes the fall. Congressfur Littoralis' law firm was listed as the address for some of the really far-back corporations. Very nice. Nothing like keeping the partners happy. And last but not least, the land under which the airplane parts factory... uh, that's the one that was producing what turned out to be vastly overpriced bits of scrap metal... the land was owned by Littoralis' sister. I was impressed. Last year, I gave *my* sister flowers for her birthday. [GRAMS: Sound of sheet being pulled out of the typewriter] Mooney: So, there I was. Sitting at my desk. Or, rather, sitting on top of the world, with a sure-fire page one byline in my paw. [GRAMS: Sound of paper being struck against desk to square it] Mooney: There's two more things I've learned in the newspaper game. One of them I should have remembered, which is to always second-guess yourself when you think you're on top of the game. The other? Well, that's to keep your readers hanging, and make them come back for the second part of the story. [Musical bridge] Quartet: Going back for years and years Since 1843 The Saybrook Brewing Company Has made for you and me Tenor: The finest golden pilsner! Basso: The cleanest, crispest ale! Quartet: How do those brewers do it? Therein lies a tale... Take the finest hearty barley The freshest snappy hops Find some cool, clear water Purity makes it tops! Brew it nice and slowly Brew it with great care Keep that deep rich flavor Brew it in chilled air Keep those standards high now Only the best will pass So Three Diamonds Pilsner Lager Will sparkle in your glass! Graham: Since 1843, the Saybrook Brewing Company has brewed with pride their Blue Diamonds Ale, and their Blue Diamonds Pilsner Lager. When you see the three Blue Diamonds on the label, you know that they stand for the three ingredients that go into every bottle: only the purest water, the richest barley, and the finest hops. And the three Blue Diamonds also stand for the three steps in making these sparkling beers. Blue Diamonds are never rushed, but slow-brewed. And not just slow-brewed, but slow-brewed in chilled conditions, to lock in all the flavor that quality ingredients can bring. And each batch is rigorously tested, to ensure that every batch is pure and wholesome. All this is done to ensure that every time you open a bottle of Blue Diamonds Ale, or Blue Diamonds Pilsner Lager, you get the most precious result of nearly a century of brewing expertise: that wonderful sparkle in the glass that cheers and refreshes. So when you're in your favorite tavern or store, ask for sparkle. Ask for Blue Diamonds! Quartet: It flows, and glows! Whether it swelters or snows Give yourself a glass of cheer With Blue Diamonds Beer! Graham: The Saybrook Brewing Company, Hartford, Connecticut. [Musical bridge] [GRAMS: Typing and teletype noises in the City Room] Mooney: So, there I was, sitting pretty. Well, all right, sitting at my desk. And, if you must know, writing 150 words about a chicken truck overturning on a local highway. Still, I had cleaned space on my desk for the Pulitzer that I was sure was coming my way. Or at least the small envelope with the pay raise. I was hoping to do something important with the extra money. Like, say, eat. [GRAMS: City Room noises continue] Mooney: But there was something I couldn't put a claw on. I'd turned the story in two days before. And I'd heard nothing back. Nothing. Zip. Nada. I couldn't figure it. I mean, I gave them copies of all the documents. Now the negatives...well, let's just say that was my insurance policy, and they always say to keep insurance policies in a nice, safe place. The mop closet at my favorite diner. No one ever goes in there. Copyfur: Hey! Mooney! Mooney: Yeah? What's up? Copyfur: Snowe wants t'see ya in his office. Right now. Mooney: Heh, heh. All right. Be right there. (humms to self) Let's see: shoes shined? Nope. Collar on straight? What's left of it. Jacket clean? Hmmm, it's been a long time since I had eggs. Oh, well. [Brief musical bridge] [GRAMS: Knock on glass portion of door] Snowe (off-mike): Come in! [GRAMS: Opening of door] Mooney: You wanted to see me, sir? Snowe: Yeah. Close the door. Mooney: Okeh. [GRAMS: Closing of door] Snowe: Siddown. [GRAMS: Sound of chair scraping across floor] Mooney: So, you read my story yet? Snowe: Shaddap, Mooney, I'll ask the question around here. [Musical sting] Mooney: This didn't sound promising. In fact, it sounded downright scary. Even if I had about six inches on my boss...both up and around...the old canine-feline relationship asserted itself. Snowe: You've gone nuts. What is this you gave me? Mooney: What?!? Hey, c'mon, that story is as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar. Snowe: No. This story is as solid as your skull. Mooney: Whaddya want? Lookit, all the stuff checks out. Look at the stuff that came down from Sacramento. Snowe: Forget Sacramento. Mooney: I'd rather forget Paris. Snowe: Shaddap, will you? I'm trying to save your neck, here. Don't you read your own paper? Mooney: Not on a full stomach, when I have one. Snowe: Yeah, well, let me ask you a nice, simple question: who is this paper backing in the Senate race this fall? Mooney: Is this a trick question? Snowe: No. It ain't. Mooney: Oh, no. Let me guess... Littoralis. Snowe: Give that man five silver dollars. Mooney: Aw, but c'mon, this story checks out... Snowe: I know, I know! Mooney: Everything checks out. The money, the perks, the invoices, everything... Snowe: Yeah, yeah. Mooney: I mean, okeh, sure, I didn't trace back all the way the furs who were buying him all these goodies, but... Snowe: I did. Mooney: *You* did? Snowe: Yeah. Mooney: You still do reporting? Snowe: Didn't have to go far, either. Mooney: Hunh? Snowe: I just had to go upstairs. *All* the way upstairs. Mooney: But that's... oh, NO. Snowe: Heeeeeeey, light's beginning to dawn in there. I was afraid there'd been a short. [Musical sting] Mooney: Yeah, the little light bulb went on. The fur who published the Observer, and who seemingly owned a nice little chunk of the city, had decided to buy something else connected with the city. Like, say, a congressfur and would-be United States Senator. Snowe: Now, listen. If you shut up and play ball, I can save your tail. Heck, I can even swing some kinda transfer over to a nice, cushy job. Y'know, one where ya cover all them Hollywood parties. Mooney: Yeah. Snowe: You'll think you've died and gone to heaven. Mooney: I gotta problem. I don't know what fork to use. Snowe: Neither does half of Hollywood. So? Mooney: But... but... hey, it was a SOLID story! Snowe: Don't be a dope, Mooney. The big boss doesn't play nice with furs who get underhoof. And he's got real big hooves. Mooney: Among other parts of his anatomy. Snowe: Knock it off, Mooney. Listen, I'll give you a last chance. Just turn over what you've got on this matter, bundle it up nice and pretty in a box, leave it in here, and we'll forget about the whole thing. And that Hollywood job is yours. [Brief musical bridge] Mooney: You know, I thought about it. I thought about it real hard. That new gig. The hours were better. The food was better. The scenery was better, especially when they brought in the starlets to show off. There was only one thing to say to this. Mooney: Forget it. Snowe: Mooney, for Pete's sake, don't rush into this. Mooney: I don't need to rush into this. This whole thing stinks. Compared to this, my suit smells like roses. Snowe: Cut it out, I'm serious. No fooling. You could get hurt. Mooney: Yeah...well...if I get hurt, my lawyer knows what to do with the stuff I gave him. Snowe: Lawyer? What lawyer? You can't afford any lawyer. Mooney: How do you know that? Snowe: You owe me twenty, for starters. Mooney: I'll mail you a check from my new job. Snowe: What new job? Mooney: Oh, no... don't start that... Snowe: Your name'll be poison around this town, Mooney, and the big boss only has to whisper around to his buddies, and then you'll be lucky if you're working on some weekly in Wyoming. Mooney: I'll take my chances on that. Anything is better than hanging around this joint. I'll be seeing you. I gotta desk to clean out. [Musical bridge] [GRAMS: Some items being tossed into a box] Mooney: Lessee... tie... box of paper clips... some pencils... for the love of, I'd wondered where I'd put her number. Not that it matters, now... Whickers: Hey. Hey, Mooney. Mooney: Yeah? Whickers: Word around the City Room is yer leavin'. Mooney: Yeah... [GRAMS: Some items being tossed into a box] Whickers: Geez, I'm sorry t'hear that. Mooney: Thanks. Whickers: Say, I gotta question fer ya. Mooney: Yeah? Whickers: Can I have your chair? Mine's all busted. Mooney: Yer just dripping with sentimentality, aren't you? Whickers: Aw, come on, Mooney, it ain't every day a chair becomes available around... [GRAMS: Ringing telephone] Whickers: Hey, Mooney. Mooney: No, you can't have the telephone. [GRAMS: Ringing telephone] Whickers: Ain'tcha gonna answer it? Mooney: No, why should I...aw, what the... [GRAMS: Sound of telephone being picked up.] Mooney: City Room. Mooney here, but not for long. Watermaster (masked mike): Mooney? Mooney! This is... Mooney: Yeah, I know who this is. Thanks for nothing, sugar. I've been tossed out into the... Watermaster (masked mike): Don't go home. Mooney: Hunh? Watermaster (masked mike): Please. Don't go home. They're waiting for you. Mooney: Waiting? Who's waiting... [GRAMS: Sound of phone being slammed down at the other end.] Whickers: Hey. Hey, Mooney. Something wrong? Mooney: Hunh? Oh. Here. Have some paper clips. A parting gift from me to you. Whickers: Uh... gee, thanks... [Musical bridge] Mooney: Personally, I thought Stella was a lying little hussy with an over-developed sense of drama. So most of me decided to go home and enjoy my newly-found freedom from work and forget all about foxes, minks and horses. The other part of me, the part that was still reporter... and I guess my primitive feline instincts... well, I was curious. That's the thing about proverbs, you know. They've got some truth to them after all. [GRAMS: Walking on a hard surface] Mooney: I lived in a part of Los Antelopes that had been fashionable once. Say, about fifty years ago. The neighborhood had changed. I wish the plumbing in the building had, too. [GRAMS: More walking on a hard surface] Mooney: I lived on the third floor. It was lucky for me that I lived right on a fire escape. For one thing, on a hot summer's night, it was twenty degrees cooler outside. For another thing, it was sort of convenient in another way... [GRAMS: Sound of metal creaking, then sounds of climbing metal ladder] Mooney: ...it avoided inconvenient conversations with the landlady, when mundane things like the rent were overdue. I had a feeling that if, mind you, *if* that little hank of tailfur was telling the truth, it was probable that I had visitors awaiting me in the lobby. Probably not for selling me newspaper subscriptions, either. Newspaper subscriptions, blech. [GRAMS: Climbing sounds continue] Mooney: I was about two stories up, when I wished I'd been born a rabbit. You know, with two lucky feet? Because right about then... Landlady (off-mike, yelling): MOONEY!!! Mooney: Oh, NO. Landlady (off-mike, yelling): YOU CHEAP, CHISELING NO-GOOD... Mooney: It wasn't that I minded the truth. It was just that this seemed like a fairly inconvenient time to express it. Mooney (somewhat loudly): Look, if it's about the rent... Landlady (off-mike, yelling): WHO TOLD YOU THAT YOU COULD HAVE YOUR HOODLUM FRIENDS OVER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY? I DON'T RUN A HOTEL HERE... [Musical sting] Mooney: I was about to answer this, when I realized, just a half-beat before it was too late, that she was telling me something important. Namely, that I had company. And I hadn't even cleaned the house. I also realized, perhaps a quarter-beat before it was too late, that my landlady was speaking in a tone of voice that could probably be heard in San Francisco. Where they'd probably mistake it for a foghorn. There was another thing, too: I was in the middle of a fire escape, about two stories up. This ordinarily wouldn't have been bad, except that if you put hoodlums in the lobby, together with a landlady with a voice like a police siren, that spelled trouble. [GRAMS: Sound of window opening, off-mike] Mooney: I looked up, and a face that only a mother could love... if that mother were blind and had no taste... looked out the window and around and about. Now, as I said, I may not be a rabbit, but I do have pretty good eyesight. It's all the carrots I eat. I could see this "friend" of mine had a heater in his paw, and was looking to use it. Landlady (off-mike, yelling): MOONEY! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? GET OFF THAT FIRE ESCAPE! THAT AIN'T A JUNGLE GYM! Mooney: Timing is everything, whether it's telling jokes, or telling the bad guys where to find their victim. Looking around, I could be relieved at one thing: my beloved landlady had a hobby. Namely, dumping old mattresses in the alley behind the building. They were soggy, and if the wind was blowing the wrong way, which it usually did, it made for a unique aroma in the area. However, those were the negatives. The positive, right now, was that the mattresses were softer than either the pavement... [GRAMS: Sound of gunshot] Mooney: ...or the bullet that had just been sent my way. [GRAMS: Loud sound of creaking metal, followed by wet thudding sound] Mooney (slightly out of breath): Lucky for me, my aim was pretty good. [GRAMS: Sound of two gunshots] Mooney (slightly out of breath): Even luckier for me, his aim was a little off. Landlady (off-mike, yelling): MOONEY! MOONEY! THIS IS COMING OUT OF YOUR DEPOSIT, DO YOU HEAR ME?!? MOONEY!!! [Musical bridge] Mooney: The nice part about this neighborhood is that there are a lot of little alleys and side-streets, that if you don't have the great fortune to live here, you won't know how to get around them. I paid a farewell visit to my favorite diner. You remember, the one with the mop closet? And the little present that I'd stashed there for my old age? If I ever reached it, which was starting to look a little doubtful. Anyway, about a half-hour after I was used for target practice, I'd spent my last four bits on streetcar fare and a tuna-fish sandwich. [GRAMS: Sound of eating] Mooney: I took stock of the situation. I had no money. I had no job. I did have a home to go to, but that's only if I had no sense. I did have a fur with poor aim, but likely a large suppy of ammunition, who was looking for me. I did have three batches of film negatives in my jacket pocket, which right now would provide me with about one minute's heat if I burned them. [GRAMS: Sound of eating, stops] Mooney: Of course, there was one thing that could give me a nice, warm feeling. Say, if I sold them back to the little piece of fluff that got me into the mess in the first place. Yes, it was a stupid plan, but right about now, I was fresh out of intelligent plans. And tuna fish. Not necessarily in that order. [Brief musical bridge] Mooney: Now, I didn't know where this Watermaster lived. But I had a pretty good idea of where she worked. And I was going to take a gamble that the furs there hadn't been briefed as to what I looked like. I mean, you've seen one disheveled constitutent without a job, you've seen 'em all... [GRAMS: Telephone ringing] Receptionist: Good afternoon, Congressfur Littoralis' office. Thank you, I'll connect you now. [GRAMS: Buzzing sound] Receptionist: Can I help you, sir? Mooney: Yes, thank you. I'm here to see one of the Congressfur's staffers, a Miss Watermaster. Receptionist: Ummm, I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think she's in at the... Watermaster: (High-pitched scream, off-mike, suddenly cut-off) Mooney: Ah, never mind. She's obviously in a meeting. Back in a moment! [GRAMS: Sound of feet running] Mooney: Something told me that this wasn't the ordinary sort of management-labor dispute that you see in an office. I'd once been on a paper in Chicago where they settled this sort of thing with pinch bars in the loading dock, but I doubted that was the style here in Los Antelopes. [GRAMS: Sound of struggle, off-mike; sound of doorknob being rapidly turned in futility] Mooney: Such manners. Doing your assault and battery behind closed doors. Well, there was only one thing for it. [GRAMS: Sound of door being slammed against, once, twice and then giving away with a splintering crash on the third time.] Mooney: I had a sore shoulder, which frankly beat the sore spot that Miss Watermaster was going to have the next morning. If she had one. Right now, Congressfur Littoralis was using all the power in his five-foot frame to choke the life out of the minkess, who wasn't having much luck fighting him off, at least until he got distracted by the sight of a cat crashing through an office door. She managed to get a hold of a heavy glass ashtray, and... [GRAMS: Thudding sound] Littoralis: OOOOOooooooffff! [GRAMS: Sound of body hitting the floor, hard] Watermaster: Oh, my God. He's dead! Mooney: No such luck. Only the good die young, which eliminates most politicians. He's going to have a nasty headache when he wakes up. *We're* going to have much worse if we don't get out of here, fast. Got your handbag? Watermaster: Yes, but I... Mooney: Grab it and let's amscray. Now. [Brief musical bridge] Mooney: We managed to break through a small crowd of frightened staffers, and went at a dead run to the lobby. Watermaster (out of breath): Elevator? Mooney (out of breath): Too slow. Fire escape. Trust me, I'm an expert on those. [GRAMS: Sound of metal door being pushed open rapidly, sound of feet on concrete stairs.] Mooney (talking while running): How'd you and Sleeping Beauty get here? Watermaster (talking while running): His... his car... his official car. It's parked out back. He caught me packing a few things. I was about to run away... he guessed everything. Mooney (talking while running): My boss is kinda chatty when he wants to be. And he had a good reason. Wait. You say you packed a few things? Watermaster (talking while running): Yes. A few changes of clothes, some momentoes, some money. [GRAMS: Sound of metal door being pushed open] Mooney: Money?! How much? Watermaster: About... about five thousand dollars. It's all I have. Mooney: Cash? Watermaster: Y-y-yes. Mooney: Swell. That'll get the two of us out of here, fast. Watermaster: Both of us? Mooney: Sugar, we're hotter than a forest fire right now, and both of us have just missed dates with the mortuary slab. I suggest we get out of Los Antelopes, and the sooner the better. That the car? Watermaster: Yes. Yes it is. Mooney: Littoralis had good taste. A nice, big Packherd, with a nice big wolf up front. He had his nose in the early edition of the Observer, which proved he had no intelligence. Also no luck, as he didn't see me coming. Mooney: Hey, hey buddy. Driver: Yeah? Mooney: Got a match? Driver: Hunh? Oh, yeah, sure, I... [GRAMS: Brief sound of struggle, loud thudding sound, sound of car horn going off for a few seconds before being cut off abruptly.] Mooney: They oughtn't have given that guy such a big tie for his uniform. Makes a convenient carrying handle. Like, right to the steering wheel in front. [GRAMS: Sound of car doors opening, a loud thudding sound of body hitting pavement, two car doors being slammed, and a powerful engine roaring to life. Sound of car being reversed, and put into gear and moving out at speed.] Watermaster: Where are we going? Mooney: Union Station. I'm sentimental that way. Watermaster: But that's crazy, they'll catch us easily on the train, once they find the car at the station. Mooney: Yeah, that's what I want 'em to think. Look, give me a few C-notes from your stash. Watermaster: Why? Mooney: Gotta leave a false trail for the dogs. [Brief musical bridge] Mooney: When we got to the station, I put the minkess in another cab, and whispered to her a few different spots I wanted her to take cabs. I prayed that she'd remember all of them. When she left, I parked the hot Packherd, and went in to buy two tickets to St. Louis. First-class. A real shame I'd never use them. I bought an empty overnight bag in one of the shops, and checked it in with a redcap for the train, and registered for the train. As far as the Southern Pacific was concerned, Mr. and Mrs. Calico were going to have a lovely trip. And that, I hope, went for everyone else. Of course, when I got outside... [GRAMS: Sound of traffic, car horns, &c.] Mooney: I'd realized that I'd outsmarted myself, since I didn't have that much dough on me, certainly not enough to get me where I wanted to go, and I didn't feel like walking, just about now. Certainly not as far as I had to go. I was starting to wonder what size I took in either prison suits or coffins when salvation turned up, in a boxy form, right next to the newsstand... [GRAMS: Sound of truck pulling up and idling] Mooney: Bless my heart, it was the delivery of the three-star final of the Observer, bang on time. I said a brief little prayer, and swung myself aboard, flashing my press pass, which no one thought to take back from me. Driver: Yeah, so yer a scribbler. Big deal. Mooney: This was no time for lies. It was time for the truth. Mooney: Listen, buddy, I'm in big trouble, and I gotta get away, fast. Driver: Aw, wazza matter? Mooney: I just got canned because I know something the big boss doesn't want me to know, and he just sent a few goons to turn me into a furry collander, that's what. Driver (whistles): So, yer on the run from the boss, hanh? Mooney: Yeah. Driver: An' his flunkies? Mooney: Yeah. Driver: An' he wants t'bust ya up real good? Mooney: Yeah. Driver: Heh. Where can I take ya? Mooney: It was at this moment that I could kiss the ground and/or the footpads of this driver, and bless the spirit of union brotherhood. The driver was true to his word, playing pass the parcel with me... after a few whispered words with the other drivers... and I soon ended up at the Long Beach Marine Air Terminal. [GRAMS: Sound of propellors, sound of loudspeakers in the distance.] Mooney: I looked around. And looked around. And looked around some more. I hoped I wasn't being double-crossed and left out to dry like a badly laundered shirt. Announcer (over loudspeaker): Ladies and Gentlefurs, this is the final call for Flight 74, the 5.50 flight from Los Antelopes, making stops at Honolulu and Eastern Island Terminal/Spontoons. All aboard, please. Mooney: It was at this point that a paw grabbed mine. I nearly choked on my heart, until I realized the paw was soft and didn't have a pair of pawcuffs in it. Watermaster: Come *on*. That's our flight. I thought you'd *never* get here. Mooney: I was going to say something, but it got interrupted by a kiss. A short one, my worse luck, but it sure helped our cover. Made us look like a happy little family... [Musical bridge] Mooney: The flight itself was pretty uneventful, but as we were getting closer to the Spontoons, I began to get nervous. I realized that, among other things, I was short money, a passport, a visa, and a job. Little things like that. There was also the possibility that the cops in the Spontoons wouldn't mind sending me back to a nice, warm reception in Los Antelopes. Followed by a nice, cold pillow in the medical examiner's office. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Stella was thinking the same thing. She had more money. She also had the little problem of having tried to brain a congressfur, if that's at all possible. I don't think a round-trip was in her future, either. [GRAMS: Sounds of milling about, stamping sounds.] Mooney: By the time we arrived, I still hadn't formed a plan in mind. I trusted to both my luck, and my big fat mouth to somehow pull us through. Customs official: Passports, please. Watermaster: Ummmm... Mooney: You know, I'm really disappointed with the way things are run around here. Customs official: I'm sorry, sir? Mooney: Here I am, all set to start my new job, and I don't have a single one of my documents ready for me. Customs official: But sir... Mooney: They *told* me that everything would be ready and waiting for me at customs, but it isn't, is it? A fine way to treat an experienced journalist. Customs official: No, sir. I... Mooney: Sloppy. Very sloppy. I am going to tell my new boss about this. I'm sure there's going to be a sternly worded editorial. Customs official: I see. And what newspaper would this be, then? Mooney: He had me stumped, there. I hadn't done my homework. How could I? It looked like the game was up when a voice came from behind me. Charles Foster Crane: Oh, yes. There you are. Mooney: I turned around. Hey, the guy was tallking to me. Kinda tallish bird, seersucker suit, bow tie. Real spiffy. He had a wing out. Crane: Did you enjoy your trip, then? Mooney: Yes, sir. Thanks for asking. Crane: Well, come along then. I have a water-taxi waiting. Send the forms over to my office, I'll have my secretary take care of them and send them on to the Interior Ministry. Customs official: Yessir, Mr. Crane. And the bags? Crane (laughs): Ah, they're traveling light. You can rest assured that my new employee isn't that dangerous. We hope, eh? Customs official: Yessir. Good day, sirs. Ma'am. Crane: This way, please. You can put your bags in the back. Driver, Shepherd's Hotel dock, please. Driver: Yessir, Mr. Crane. [GRAMS: Sound of motorboat starting up, and then humming as the boat goes through the water.] Crane: You're a frightful liar, aren't you? Mooney: Well, hey, I *am* an experienced journalist. Crane: Indeed? In Wyoming? Mooney: No. The Los Antelopes Observer. Crane: Oh. How charming. What brings you out here, without passport? And, given your lack of luggage and attire, presumably without money or job? Mooney: There's the little matter of what I know about Congressfur Littoralis, one of my boss' pals. Crane: Oh, yes. Charming little fellow, Littoralis. Makes some of the coastal roads seem ruler-straight. Mooney: It was then that I realized I had two things: an ex-employee...and some negatives in my jacket pocket. I reached in, and handed them to Crane. Mooney: Yeah, you got that right. This here's our boy's ex-squeeze. And this here is some of the proof of the fun he's been up to. [Musical sting] Mooney: Crane raises one eyebrow, an' tells the driver to slow down and stop. He holds the negatives up to the light, and squints at them. He also gives the once-over to Stella. Crane: Driver, never mind what I told you before. Take me the landing nearest the Mirror Building. Mooney: The what, now? Crane: The Mirror Building. Where they publish the Spontoon Mirror, the number two out of two newspapers in these islands. I have the privilege of being its publisher. My name is Crane, Charles Foster Crane. Mooney: I said a silent prayer. My luck had held out, and I still had all nine lives intact. Crane: Let's have a little chat in my office, shall we? I used to live in Los Antelopes, and I know, albeit don't love, our mutual friend Littoralis. I think we have much to discuss. Let's go, driver. Driver: Yessir. [GRAMS: Sound of boat revving up, and moving off] Mooney: And that, as they say in the biz, is a 30. At least for now. [Musical flourish] Graham: The brewers of Blue Diamonds Ale and Blue Diamonds Pilsner Lager hope you have enjoyed this program. They also hope that when you visit your favorite tavern or favorite store, you'll remember things in threes: the three ingredients, hops, barley and pure water; slow-brewing, chill-brewing and pure-brewing; and the three Blue Diamonds on the label, which is your assurance that the beer inside will sparkle in the glass, and provide a refreshing and pleasing addition to any meal, or any period of relaxation. Since 1843, that's a promise, the promise made each and every day by the Saybrook Brewing Company of Hartford, Connecticut. [Musical flourish] Graham: You have been listening to "Curiousity Exiled the Cat," written by E.O. Costello, and starring Gerald Mohr as Michael Mooney, and Alice White as Stella Watermaster. Also heard in the cast were Alan Reed as Charles Foster Crane, and Karl Swenson as Harry Snowe. On behalf of the Saybrook Brewing Company, this is Graham MacNamee speaking. Goodnight, all. [Musical flourish] Network announcer: This is the Red Network, N-B-C, the National Broadcasting Company. [G-E-C] Transcribed and edited by E.O.Costello |