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Radio-play Transcript
"Headline Chaser" show:
#2: 'If You Can't Stand the
Heat...'
Transcribed & Edited by
E.O.Costello
Update 16 March 2013
(Re-broadcast 17 February 2013 on KFAI Radio)
The audio file for this show is now posted at
the Great Northern Audio Theatre website, and is a free download.
http://www.greatnorthernaudio.com/gnrt/spontoon.html
| National
Broadcasting Company Transcription: "The Headline Chaser": "If You Can't Stand the Heat" ('Kitchen') Thursday, September 15, 1938 10.00 p.m. Gnu York Time WEAF feed [Whistled version of "Trouble in Paradise"] Michael Mooney: Headline: "Cat Snoops In Kitchen, Ends Up In Hot Water." Subhead: "Doesn't Even Know It Ain't Saturday Night." [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: The finest things in life should never be rushed. That applies to everything, including one of America's finest Pilsner beers. Since 1843, the Saybrook Brewing Company of Hartford, Connecticut has brewed Blue Diamonds Pilsner beer. Open a bottle. Pour out a draught of sparkling, golden refreshment. The sparkle of Blue Diamonds comes from the pure water used to brew this fine beer. And when you taste a glass of Blue Diamonds, you taste the result of using the finest hops and malted barley, slow-brewed and chill-brewed to bring out every bit of flavor that quality ingredients can give. No bottle, no keg leaves the brewery until the brewers are satisfied that the beer deserves the name for quality since 1843. So when you go to your favorite tavern or store, remember: ask for Blue Diamonds Pilsner beer, or Blue Diamonds Ale. Then all you have to do is sit back, and slowly enjoy. [Musical bridge] [GRAMS: Sound of manual typewriter being operated; newsroom sounds soft in background] Michael Mooney: Okeh, so there I was. I'm working. I'm working in a newspaper. I'm actually earning some dough. All right, I'm working on the rewrite desk, trying to turn what I'm given into something resembling the King's English. I don't have a bunch of goons firing off their heaters at my head. And, last but not certainly least, I've got a friend, a minkess who's a real looker, happy with me 'cause I saved her from getting strangled by her former boss, and got her the heck out of danger. So ask yourself: am I smart enough to keep my big, feline mouth shut? [GRAMS: Sound of paper being removed from typewriter] Mooney: What do YOU think? [GRAMS: Sound of door opening] Mooney: Here's the rewrite on that missing truck of fish, sir. Phil Jaguarundi: Awright, put it in th' basket over there... well? Mooney: Well, I'm wondering what you need next. Jaguarundi: Aren't you a ball of fire. Second day on the job and you're looking for a by-line already. Mooney: Hey, I didn't say that. Jaguarundi: No, but I seen the look in your eyes. Crane was right about you. [Musical sting] Mooney: The "Crane" in this case was Charles Foster Crane, the guy what owned this rag. Namely, the Spontoon Mirror, the number two of two daily newspapers here in the Spontoon Islands, a bunch of rather well-arranged rocks in the Pacific a good long flight away from my "friends" in Los Antelopes. The Mirror, depending on your viewpoint, was either a newspaper digging around for the truth, or a supply of overpriced fishwrap. I leaned toward the first point of view. Part of it was, that's just me. Part of it was, I wasn't in this place legally. See, I left home without a few things. Like passports and visas. And for that matter, a change of clothes. Jaguarundi: Look, be a good little kitten and pad on back to rewrite. I need two hundred words on the Sewage Committee's meeting last night. Two hundred words that won't make my head hurt. Mooney: Awright, comin' right up. Jaguarundi: Hey, Mooney. Mooney: Yeah? Jaguarundi: Look, kid. It ain't that I don't wanna send you out, see. But you're the first rewrite guy Crane's given me that speaks English as a first language. It ain't personal, it's professional. Mooney: Yeah, okeh. Sure. Two hundred words on septic tanks that would make a plumber weep, comin' right up. Jaguarundi: Atta boy. [GRAMS: Sound of door closing, newsroom noises in the background] Mooney: So, yeah, life wasn't too bad. I was actually feeling pretty good. Which should have been a warning sign. [GRAMS: Telephone ringing; telephone being answered] Mooney: Rewrite, Mooney here. Stella Watermaster (masked mike): Hello, Mike, it's Stella. Mooney: Yeah, this was the minkess I was telling you about earlier. Nineteen, but with a brain a bit older. Some of it hard-won experience. Mooney: Hey. I got about another hour here. You know any fancy synonyms for "sewage pipe?" Watermaster (masked mike): Yeah, how about "maitre d'hotel?" Mooney: Stella, with her looks, didn't have problems landing a gig, even if it was starting in on the off-season. The kid had taste. No cocktail waitress in a casino stuff for her. No, within 24 hours she'd been made a hostess at a fancy four-star restaurant, one connected to Shepherd's, a big, fancy hotel. Mooney: What's the matter? Watermaster (masked mike): If his attitude was as phony as his accent, I wouldn't care. Mooney: What, Paris by way of Nutley, New Guernsey? Watermaster (masked mike): Yeah, got it in one, Mike. I get off at six. Let's meet for a bite. Someplace *other* than this place. Mooney: Yeah, all right, it's a date. You're buying, though. They don't give advances here. Unless you like ketchup and hot water as an entre. Watermaster (masked mike): Chivalry lives. See you, Mike. [GRAMS: Sound of telephone being hung up.] [Musical bridge] Mooney: They call this joint Casino Island for a pretty good reason. The Spontoons coin a lot by figuring out ways to separate tourists from their dough, and make 'em like it. From what I see, they're pretty good at it. 'course, not everyone who works in the casinos can afford to eat there, so, there's a pretty good selection of the equivalent of coffee shops and greasy spoons tucked away in the side streets. Two days I've been in the islands, and I've learned something already. Poi tastes pretty good if you use enough ketchup. [GRAMS: Sound of the bottom of a bottle being struck by a paw, and then spoon against dish.] Watermaster: Better not let any natives see you pouring that stuff all over. Poi's supposed to be semi-sacred in this neighborhood. Mooney: Hey, this is an important ritual. I view eating, as opposed to starving, as sacred. Watermaster: Sacred, hey? Mooney: Beats the alternative. You aren't going local, I see. Watermaster: Noooo. The chef where I work is pretty good. He's a real Frenchfur. Mooney: Uh-hunh. How far his French habits go? Watermaster: Nosey. Or are you being protective, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor? Mooney: Nosey. I'm a reporter, remember? Besides, my lance and steed are in hock. Watermaster: Don't worry, big man. I'm paying for you. Ego bruised, yet? Mooney: Yeah, another round an' somefur'll have to cut me. Anyway, what is that stuff? Watermaster: Salmon with a dill-hollandaise sauce and a side of steamed saffron rice. Mooney: Hold the onions. You gonna have some Orca-Cola with that? Watermaster: You're a real high-class act, Mike. [GRAMS: Sound of cutlery on plate; eating sounds] Mooney: I try. Nice little perk, getting a meal like that. I'm in the wrong line of work. All they have at the Mirror is something in a pot that I think was once coffee. I'm afraid to go near it without a whip and chair. How much does the blue-plate special run anyway, at your joint? Watermaster: It's "La Specialite du Maison," not the blue-plate special. And it runs three Spontoonie pounds and ten shillings at lunch, four pounds at dinner. Mooney: Eat enough of that, you'll have pounds all right. How much is that, American? Waterwaster: About $12.95 for lunch, $15 for dinner. [GRAMS: Sound of clattering cutlery] Mooney: Holy smoke! You're kidding me. Watermaster: Nope. Mooney: And furs'll pay that much for a meal? Watermaster: Hey, it's the meal and the service. This is a real white-glove joint, Mike. Furs actually dress up to eat there. *And* they know what fork to use. And don't put it in their pocket when they're finished, either. Mooney: Well, that eliminates me. I like hotel towels, too. Watermaster: Here, shut up and have a forkful. It'll elevate your palate. [Musical sting] Mooney: I did. It *was* good. Real good. I'd had something like this only once before, when I was a best mel at a buddy's wedding a long while back. Mooney: I'm in the wrong line of work. Any openings for a busfur over at...whatchamacallit? Watermaster: L'Etoile d'Argent. You wouldn't be happy as a busfur. You'd have the maitre d' breathing down your neck all the time. Mooney: Yeah, and I hate acorns. Watermaster: Listen, it ain't easy running one of those places, Mike. Trying to get top-quality eats for the marks is nearly a full-time job. Mooney: Uh-hunh. Watermaster: No, I'm serious. It's hard enough getting fresh stuff and good stuff without having it swiped from you. Mooney: Swiped? Watermaster: Yeah. Chef Joseph... Mooney: The guy who's sweet on you. Watermaster: Jealous? Mooney: Hey, I know when I'm losing to a better fur. All I can make in the kitchen is boiled water. Watermaster: Do you burn it? Mooney: Only some of the time. Anyway, what does Joe say? Watermaster: Well, *Chef Joseph* was all upset this morning because his delivery didn't come in. He had to go to one of the other hotels and swap a case of champagne for the salmon. Mooney: Just like that? Watermaster: What goes around, comes around. Last week, one of the big casinos had two crates of shellfish pinched. Right outside the back door, not two minutes after somefur signed for it. Chef Joseph bailed them out of that one with a potage aux fruits de mer. Mooney: Hope he kept the label up. It'll crack otherwise. Watermaster: Only thing cracked is your imagination, Mike. No, there's a whole little network of the chefs here on Casino Island. When something gang aft agley, out come the tom-toms. Keeps the marks happy and fat, which is all that matters. I'm full, you want to finish this? Mooney: Heh. The sacrifices I gotta make. [GRAMS: Sound of plate being pulled over.] [Brief musical bridge] Mooney: Stella went back to her place, I went back to mine. No scandals. Actually, no room, either. The only way I'd swing in here was if I used a noose and the light fixture in the ceiling, and I wasn't any too sure about the plaster. I was watching a few palmetto bugs playing tag the fan when I remembered something. See, fish is brain food. And someone else remembered that, too, because I'd given my boss two hundred words on a missing truck of fish. So, I had a choice. I could lie here on my bed, have a nice long sleep, and stroll into work at the rewrite desk, refreshed. Or, I could spend a chunk of the night prowling and snooping around. Of course, I chose option #2, which proves that you need brains for fish to be brain food. [Musical bridge] Mooney: I didn't have any networks of contacts here in the Spontoons. Yet. The only furs I knew were Stella, Mr. Crane, my boss, and the fur who sold me my cigarettes. Of course, the flip side of that was that no fur knew who *I* was. So, taking advantage of that, I strolled on over to the casinos. Not the front part, with the tables, the slot machines, and the waitresses dressed in not much. No, I went to the back part, where the garbage was put out, and the food taken in. Even I, without a refined palate, could tell which was which. [GRAMS: Sound of boxes being hauled around.] Mooney: I'm not sure the fur who was hauling around the boxes cared all that much. He was kinda small to be hefting that big crate of cans. Mooney: Hey. Hey, buddy. Wanna paw with that? Kitchenfur: Huh? Oh. Affirmative-is. Thanks-thou. Mooney: So I toted up the crate, and shoved it inside for him, and gave him a smoke. Kitchenfur: Euro? Mooney: Naw, American. Kitchenfur: Euro-is. Negative-Spontoonie, Euro is. Mooney: First time anyone's accused me of being French. Kitchenfur: Negative act-thou Euro. Mooney: What, ya mean I don't run around with a camera around my neck, or going chasing after everything wearing a grass skirt? Nah, my ma raised me right. She told me to stick to back-alley crap games. Speaking of alleys, whatcha doin' back here? Small fur like you shouldn't have to do this. Kitchenfur: Bossfur myself-speak. Myself-tell: metal-house meal, kitchen-move emphasis quick. Mooney: Yeah, well, bosses are always in a hurry. It's like that all over. Kitchenfur: Bossfur myself-tell. Metal-house meals missing are, big bossfur bossfur-tailfur kick. Big bossfur bossfur-tailfur kick, bossfur myself tailfur kick. Myself negative desire tailfur-mine kick. Mooney: Yeah, sounds like home. Kitchenfur: Law-Guardian witness-myself: Metal-house meals missing are, affirmative reason paws borrow-sarcastic making. Mooney: You're saying they're walking all by their lonesome, hanh? Kitchenfur: Heh. Euro funny is. Metal-house meals legs image funny is. Mooney: 'cept when you get your tailfur kicked. Kitchenfur: True for telling is. Mooney: Yeah, I could be swiping them, y'know? Kitchenfur: Huh. Query kidding-thou? Euro, back-alley dirty paws? Myself laugh. Negative is. Law-Guardian myself witness: Spontoonie is, metal-house meals walking teach. Euros lazy are, additionally knowledge negative back-alleys. Myself request-thou myself-excuse. Bossfur myself myself-see talking-thou, myself-tailfur kicked will be. [Brief musical bridge] Mooney: I thought about what the kid had to say. Part of me said he was right. I couldn't see the average...well, "Euro," as he said, coming to some dingy back alley to swipe a crate of canned pineapple. I mean, if some guy was sore about getting busted out at the blackjack table, he'd be more likely to get drunk in the bar, like a normal fur. Part of me said that the kid was underestimating just how low a "Euro" would go for an easy buck, though. The kid might be blind to something. What exactly, I dunno. Right now, I was feeling pretty blind, and I didn't have any carrots right at paw to fix that. [Brief musical bridge] [GRAMS: Sounds of carts being pushed, bags and boxes being loaded, and some low conversation.] Mooney: Early morning found me far away from the bright lights of the casinos. I was over near a dock, in a big open square. There was a pretty strong smell of seafood in the air, which made my nostrils and tail twitch. It reminded me that I was going to be eating poi and ketchup, at least until my first paycheck cleared, unless Stella took pity on me and gave me some table scraps. [GRAMS: Loud thudding of bags and crates.] Stevedore: Hey, buddy! You posin' fer a picture? Gettout from underpaw! Mooney: Sorry. [GRAMS: Sound of nearby cart being moved] Mooney: Yeah, this looked like Casino Island's pantry, all right. A fur could make just about anything from a ham sandwich up to a four-star meal from the fixings that was going through this market. [GRAMS: Sound of loud conversation and dealing] Mooney: A few furs were testing the fruit, I guess maybe for someone's breakfast the next morning. I didn't think the guy I saw doing it would eat 500 oranges before going to work. Customer: Ya lousy crook, you! Vendor: Take it to the Constabulary, don't bother me about it. Customer: Yeah, but the SIC doesn't owe me 62 pounds and nine. Vendor: Aw, that's a load of... Customer: I wish I had a load. A load of Alaskan crab that I paid for. Vendor: Yeah, you know what F.O.B. stands for? Customer: Change one letter, and I've got an idea. Vendor: Why you lousy...for twopence, I'd take this hook... Customer: It'd be better if you got off your tailfur and got me my crab. Vendor: How'm I s'posed to find it? Customer: Use your head. Or your nose, I don't care. Just get me that crab... Mooney: The guy behind the counter was obviously not all that familiar with the old one about the customer always being right. Another minute or so of this, and the customer stomped off, plenty mad. He gave a passing tarp-covered cart such a kick it rocked. Teamster: Oi!! Careful-you, bereft-brains!! Query desire-you cases-three Nootnops skull-you apply? Mooney: The customer told the teamster where he could put the bottles. It wasn't the refrigerator, neither. I would have put money on the teamster if there'd been a fight -- or if I'd had money, but he just made a paw-motion back, and drove off with his load. I was looking at him, as he drove off. I couldn't figure it out, but there was a little voice in my head that said something was wrong. I figured maybe the little voice was referring to the fact that I was going to need some sleep if I wanted to keep my sterling reputation as a rewrite man. Or maybe not, I dunno... [Musical bridge] Quartet: Pour it out A golden stream! Pour it out A sparkling gleam! Basso: Pour it out, a glass of cheer! Tenor: Pour it out, Three Diamonds Beer! Quartet: Start with barley, the best on tap Add some hops, a bit of snap! Cool clear water, fresh and pure Skilled brewmasters, patient, sure! Kettled-brewed, rich and slow Chill-brewed for that rich, smooth glow! That's no secret, no sir-ee! Since eigh-teen hundred, forty-three Blue Diamonds Pilsner Best in class! Puts that 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: Sound of manual typewriter, faint newsroom sounds] Mooney: So, there I was. Short of sleep, not particularly well-groomed, cigarette dangling from my mouth, and cup of stale coffee at my elbow. My boss' comment? Jaguarundi: Fittin' right in there, Mooney. Mooney: I suppose he was right. I'd have been much happier about what he said if I could focus on it. Most of my attention was trying to untangle the verb placement in a blurb for a lecture on seaweed. I diligently worked for the two or three deer that would actually read this stuff. [GRAMS: Loud creaking sound in chair, sound of coat being thrown to floor.] Mooney: This was the introduction I got to the guy I was sharing one-half of a double-desk with. Another "Euro," though in this case, the tag was even crazier, since this guy had an accent that dripped like a busted bottle of blackstrap molasses. Jimmy Rayzor: Ah swear, this ol' island's crazier'n boxa bedbugs. Who yew? Mooney: Name's Mooney. I'm rewrite. Jimmy Rayzor: Shoot, glad t'hear it. We ain't no real rewrite fella since Ah been heah. Shore is hard on a boar t'have to learn onea these heah Spontoonie fellers how to speak. Mooney: Uh-hunh. Mooney: Didn't point out the irony. Rayzor: Ah'm Jimmy Rayzor, late o' Fayetteville, Arkansas. Ah swear, they got me workin' the DANGEDEST beat. Mooney: Women's Page? Rayzor: Don't ah wish. Be simpler. Naw, they got me workin' the rest-au-rant gig. I gotta go 'round t'all them restaurants heah, say what they're servin' up. Mooney: How hard is that? Rayzor: Ah cahn't even say half them dishes them fellers are cookin' up. Y'all kin come up with only so many ways o' sayin' "mighty tasty" 'fore folks gonna figger out yer a fraud. Mooney: How long you been doing this? Rayzor: 'bout a year or so. Mooney: Nobody's figured it out yet? Rayzor: Son, ain't nobody buys th' Spontoon Mirror for the vittles reviews. Most furs wanna see the cutie we put on page 3. Y'all seen today's? Man AH-live, that's one good lookin' lioness. Ah figger that's why they call it a pride. Mooney: Hey, I got a question for you. Rayzor: Shoot, son, ah'm listenin'. Dang typewriter. Made the keys so dang small. Mooney: That your review in your notebook, there? Rayzor: Sure is. Mooney: Here, give it over, I'll type it up. Rayzor: Now, that's mighty neighbor'ly of you, Mike. [GRAMS: Sound of rapid touch-typing] Rayzor: Well, one good turn, as mah ma said. What kinda question y'all got? Mooney: Do the restaurants around here complain a lot about stuff being stolen? Rayzor: Y'all mean the silverware? Wouldn't put it past most tourists 'round these parts. Mooney: Well, I was more interested in furs stealing food. I was told there's nearly always a scramble to get replacements. Rayzor: Yeeeeep, that's raht. Sorta like a treasure hunt. Mooney: Local cops know anything? Rayzor: Ah thank they talked to 'em, but I ain't heard nothin' 'bout it. No fur ah know has filed a holler with 'em, anyhow. Naw, just a whole lotta grumblin'. Mooney: I'd figure...[typing stops] what's this word? Rayzor: Bay-sha-mel. Heck I know whut that means. It's that French feller over at Laytoil Dargent. Man, his stuff has the worst, finger-bustin' names Ah evah... [GRAMS: Typing resumes] Mooney: I'd figure somefur would notice by now. I mean, if it's that widespread. Rayzor: Wellll, now, lemme tellya. Most these heah restaurants, they're busier than a tattoo parlor durin' Fleet Week. Furs dancin' 'round every which way, half 'em don't hardly know what day th' week it is. Naw, ain't hardly a joint, from the smallest greasy spoon way on up to Laytoil that ain't had somethin' goin' walkin'. Gets furs hot under the collar, lemme tellya. Mooney: So, nobody sees any of this going on? Rayzor: Ah ain't heard o' nobody droppin' nickel. 'course, Ah figger anyfur catches someone walkin' off, they're gonna be the next special, ya falla me. [GRAMS: Typing finishes, page removed from typewriter] Rayzor: Well, shoot, son. Y'all desplitted mah infinitives. Heck, Ah sound educated when Ah read this. Furs gonna wunner whut got inta me. Thankya kindly. [Musical bridge] Mooney: My neighbor, having had his review cleaned up, put his hat over his eyes and began to snore. [GRAMS: Sound of loud snoring] Mooney: No one blinked in the newsroom: I guess this was normal around here. Anyway, I did some more thinking, which was pretty easy, since I was doing mostly rewrite on some local government reports. Sort of funny, in a way. A whole lot of thefts going on, and no fur has seen no thing. Now, my first gut reaction would be that a whole lot of furs were in on this. But both Stella, and now Jimmy, who was rattling the whisky glass in my desk drawer with his wood-sawing, told me in various ways that a lot of furs weren't happy with what was going on. And I was still getting that little voice in my head telling me something was wrong. The little voice in my head was also giving me suggestions. I've learned to be wary about any advice the little voice in my head gives me. But not wary enough. [Musical bridge] [GRAMS: Sound of rain falling] Mooney: For one thing, I wish the little voice in my head had told me it was going to rain that night. I mean, okeh, this was the first time in a while my suit was getting something close to being cleaned, and it may have made me a bit fresher than normal. Too wet to smoke, though, which wasn't a good thing. Anyhow, I walked back to the market that I'd seen the night before... [GRAMS: Sound of footpads on dirt] Mooney: This part of the island wasn't paved all the way. Guess they were saving the money for where the tourists showed up. I mean the real ones, not like me. [GRAMS: Sound of cart] Teamster: Oi! Brains-bereft! Tailfur-you rapid-move. Query cart-mine, footpads-you crush? Mooney: Yeah, all right buddy, take it easy, I'm moving. You don't own the road, you know. [GRAMS: Sound of cart moving away] Mooney: I suppose the guy was het up on account of working in the night and the rain. And the mud probably wasn't helping any, neither. He looked like he'd prefer going under the tarp that covered his cart, and I was beginning to think he was right. And he was getting paid to be out on a night like this. [GRAMS: Sounds of wooden boxes being stacked; sound of dripping water] Mooney: I ducked under an awning, out of the way of furs who were gonna yell at me for getting underfoot. While I was waiting for my cigarettes to dry out, I was watching some of the boys moving around the goods. [GRAMS: Sounds of wooden boxes being stacked] Mooney: A few guys there had forearms bigger than my neck. No surprise if you haul around heavy boxes of food for eight hours every night, every day of the year. A real advertisement for outdoor living. [GRAMS: Sounds of wooden boxes being stacked] Vendor: Okeh, take this special batch over to Shepherd's, you savvy? Make sure you get a receipt. Teamster: Affirmative understand-myself. Mooney: This was an even bigger specimen, who'd obviously been eating his corn flakes. Boxes moved into the cart like they were filled with creampuffs, tarp on, and cart clattering off, all in the space of a few minutes. Didn't have much trouble with the mud, either. I remembered where I'd seen him before. I never forget a face, much as I'd like to with this cat. First feline I'd ever seen with a nose that did a sort of bend. Must have been an early-career disagreement with a box of vegetables. This was the guy I'd seen last night, giving sign language to a customer that wasn't happy. The little voice in back of my head was starting to yell. I told it to shut up, unless it had some bright ideas where to get some hot coffee and a warm bed. Or at least some dry cigarettes. [Musical bridge] [GRAMS: Sound of manual typewriter, which then stops] Mooney: What the...hey, Jimmy? Rayzor: Yeah? Mooney: This description of Gull Island on the level? Rayzor: Y'all mean the most noteb'l feature? Mooney: Yeah. Someone telling a long one, here? Rayzor: Son, gulls been livin' thar since long fore mah ancestors were in Arkansas. Y'all get mah drift. Mooney: Holy smoke. How can furs live there? Well, maybe I shouldn't ask. Reminds me of a place I once lived near in Chicago. 3rd floor cold-water flat, with view of stockyards. Rayzor: Shifty-eyed lil' fellers livin' thar. They done sold that ahland twice last year. Ah'm tellin' yew, native furs 'round heah, they'd take the pants offen a Wall Street bull, an' sell 'em back to 'im. Get a good price, too. Mooney: Uh-hunh. [GRAMS: Sound of typing] Mooney: Something told me that the idea of a casino being built on a four-hundred year old open-air outhouse for non-anthrop seagulls was either a joke or a con job. I wondered if I could ever meet the fur that would invest in that kind of a racket. I could use a new shirt. [GRAMS: Typewriter bell] Mooney: Funny thing. What Jimmy told me jibed with what that kitchenfur told me the other night. It was starting to add up like a few long-timers around here weren't nearly as stupid or downtrodden as some of the more red-flag waving furs would have it. 'course, I had no way of proving this, and I really wasn't in any mood to test the libel laws around these parts. For all I knew, they settled things around here with shark spears. [GRAMS: Telephone ringing; telephone being picked up] Rayzor: Spontoon Mirror, y'all got Rayzor heah. Who? Why shore, darlin', right heah...hey, Mike. Mooney: Yeah? Rayzor: You been holdin' out on me, boy. Ah got some fur on th' line askin' fer yew, an' man alive, Ah ain't clapped eyes on her, an Ah'm makin' some guesses. Mooney: Yeah, well keep your guesses to the track, Jimmy. It's strictly business. Rayzor: Well, shoot, Ah wuz wunderin'... Mooney: Wonder less, and pass over the phone more...hi, Stella. Watermaster (masked mike): How'd you know it was me? Mooney: You charmed my office mate, here. Watermaster (masked mike): Good looking? Mooney: They think so in Arkansas. Watermaster (masked mike): Yeah, well tell Lum or Abner I said hello. Mooney: He'll love you for it. Watermaster (masked mike): Well, I'm just calling to let you know 86 on the vittles today, big man. You're on your own for dinner. Mooney: Chef Joe down to making hash and eggs? Watermaster (masked mike): It isn't funny, Mike. Whole shipment of steaks went AWOL this morning. Only steaks on the Islands right now, so the whole place went loud and angry. Mooney: Sheesh. What did Chef Joe... Watermaster (masked mike): *Joseph* Mooney: Sorry. What did Chef Joseph say? Watermaster (masked mike): Stuff in French. No subtitles. Under-chef signed for it early this morning, turned around to do other stuff, back two minutes later, poof. Mooney: Waitaminnit. Two minutes? Watermaster (masked mike): Yup. Listen, I gotta go. The maitre d' is on the warpath. We'll meet up for coffee, later. Mooney: Okeh. [GRAMS: Telephone being hung up.] Mooney: Now this, I couldn't put my paws around. At least not at first. How the heck does a whole stack of boxes vamoose that fast? [Musical sting] Mooney: It was then I remembered. Last night. I'd seen the stuff loaded on the truck. The guy had said it was a special order for Shepherd's. A load of steaks? That fit the bill as special in my book. And you know, now I was starting to figure out why the little voice in back of my head was yelling at me. It looked like another sleepless night or two for me, but I figured they weren't going to be empty. [Musical bridge] Mooney: I had my eyes wide open the first night. I was using a pair of binoculars left over from the Great War that the furs in the newsroom used to scan the nearby beaches. Particularly the secluded ones. I didn't see anything, except for a constable that told me that moonlight swimming was done on the other side of the island. [Musical sting] Mooney: It was the second night that I saw what I was looking for. No, I didn't go to that moonlight skinnydipping beach. Maybe another night. No, I was looking at the far less pretty figure of a fur loading up his cart. What he looked like in his swim trunks, I didn't want to think. [GRAMS: Distant sound of boxes being loaded onto a cart] Mooney: I could see him. He was having an easy time of it. Way too easy. I figured it was going to take a lot of fast paw-work on my part to beat him to wherever he was going. [GRAMS: Sound of footpads on hard road surface] Mooney: Well, at least it wasn't raining. And the moon was out, so I could see my pal pretty clearly. After a few minutes of driving along, he pulled into the service entrance of one of the casinos... [GRAMS: Sound of cart coming to a clattering halt, fur stepping down from the cart, door being knocked on, indistinct conversation.] Mooney: For the moment, I hung back. I didn't need to be a buttinsky on this part of the conversation. I saw what I needed to see: someone in from the kitchen signing a few papers, and the teamster starting to unload boxes just inside the service entrance door. It all seemed practiced. Very practiced. [GRAMS: Sound of boxes being stacked] Mooney: The kitchenfur watched the process, and then invited the teamster in for something. I kept my eyes peeled, and as soon as the service door closed, I stepped out from my hidey-hole... [GRAMS: Sound of footpads on hard surface, then slowing.] Mooney: If I'd listened to my little voice a bit earlier, I wouldn't have been quite so surprised. [GRAMS: Sound of lid being opened a crack] Mooney: The boxes were empty. It explained a few things. For example, why my pal a few nights ago had been able to go through the mud with not much of a problem. For another thing, how he was able to load them so easily. And more important, so quickly. Yeah, he'd only need a few minutes, and then a few seconds with the tarp, and a nice, clean getaway, leaving some poor kitchenfur holding the bag. Like the pal said, it would be tailfur kicking time. [GRAMS: Sound of lid being closed] Mooney: Now, a smart fur would have left well enough alone, and would have gone to the cops. A few tips here, a little post-arrest followup there, all nice, neat and clean, ready for running under the tide tables on page 5. But no, your friendly reporter, he's too hungry for a byline. Heck, he's too hungry, period. I knew I should have eaten before I went out on this job. [GRAMS: Sound of service door being opened slowly and cautiously] [GRAMS: Sound of footpads on hard surface] [GRAMS: Sound of fork on plate] Mooney: Awwwww. Lifting around empty boxes all night. That's gotta work up an appetite. [GRAMS: Sound of dropped fork] Teamster: Query yourself is? Mooney: Me? Me, I'm just another cat with a terminal case of the curiouses. Like how come a lot of joints around here keep on losing their vittles. Teamster: Law-fur yourself is? Mooney: Law-fur, what the...oh, yeah. No, I ain't a cop. If I were a cop, I'd have better coffee. Teamster: So. Negative law-fur is. Query yourself money desire? Mooney: Translation: this bum was feeling me out to see if I was up for sale. Mooney: Nothing doing, chum. Way I figure it, there are a whole lotta furs around here that are owed a whole lot of money. Save your dough for them, see? Teamster: So. Query noble-fur? [GRAMS: Sound of chair scraping across table] Mooney: I was thinking of a snappy comeback to this. What I should have been thinking was to duck. This guy was strong, and that wasn't any empty box he was throwing at me, but a chair. [GRAMS: Sound of chair smashing against wall] Mooney (slightly out of breath): I'd just managed to duck that when he uncorked a haymaker at me. [GRAMS: Loud sound of fist hitting face] Mooney: Gaaaaaarrrrghhh! [GRAMS: Loud sound of crashing pots and pans, followed by the sounds of kicking] Mooney (out of breath): Lying in a mess of cookware didn't do me any favors for ducking his kicks, and he got a few good ones in my ribs. One eye was already swelling shut, so with the other good one I had left, I grabbed a cast-iron skillet. [GRAMS: Loud metallic clanging sound] Teamster: Aaaarrrrgh! Mooney (out of breath): Well, that's one guy that wasn't going to trip the light fantastic any time soon. I ducked out of the way... [GRAMS: Sound of scattering pots and pans] Mooney (out of breath): But not quite fast enough, as a big meaty paw grabbed my neck, followed by its twin brother in the same place. The last things I heard as it was starting to go black was first a comment about my mother, and then... [GRAMS: Sound of copper pot hitting a head] [Musical bridge] Mooney: I came to a few hours later, lying on my back in a room. A small fox with a big set of brass knuckles was sitting opposite me. Given the fact that he told me that anything that came out of my yap would be used against me in court, I figured this one was on the side of the angels, even if he had brass knucks instead of a harp. I spilled my guts to him for the better part of an hour, then got my tail tossed into a jail cell for my trouble. [GRAMS: Sound of jail cell door clanging shut.] Mooney: One good thing, anyway. The floor was cool, which felt good against my ribs and face. [Musical bridge] Warder: Hey! Emphasis you! Visitor-you having are! Watermaster: Hello, Mike. Don't get up. Mooney: As if...ow!...I could. Watermaster: You look like the Fighting 69th just marched over your face. Mooney: Aren't you sweet. I'll bet you say that to all the mels. Whatcha got there? Watermaster: Lunch. I figured you'd want something on your stomach. Mooney: Look, angel, unless that's a wedge of beefsteak for my eye, forget it. I think I got my stomach punted back to the goal-line this morning. Watermaster: Yeah, he sure did a number on you. Oh, well. More lobster mousse for me. Mooney: Eat hearty. I'll watch. It's the most I can do right now. Charles Foster Crane: Really? And here I was, hoping for something more. [Musical sting] Mooney: Oh, this was lovely. Given the fact that I hadn't showered, groomed, cleaned my clothes, and Stella's description regarding the Fighting 69th was pretty accurate, this really didn't seem like a good time to say "hi" to the boss. Crane: On the Islands less than a week, and you've already managed to brawl with someone twice your size and three times your strength. Stella: Yeah, but half his brains. Mooney: I know how to pick 'em. Crane: Your references seem to be accurate. Mooney: References? Oh, no... Crane: Yesssss. Your recent and former employers gave me a run-down on you that might be considered libelous in certain circles. Among other things, they said you had a small brain, a big mouth, and an even bigger appetite for a by-line. Something about running over your grandmother for a story. Mooney: Yeah. Well. I'd have a time trying to disprove that in court. And explaining why Granny had tire-tracks on her back. Crane: I was also informed that you were a, quote, sewer-crawling guttersnipe who would sift through five tons of wet fertilizer to get two hundred words under a by-line, endquote. Possibly illustrating the former comment, I suppose. Mooney: That's one of the few things I haven't done for a story. Give me a week, sir, and it might just pan out. Crane: I had a clipping service airmail me some of your stories, too. Very colorful turn of phrase you have, Mr. Mooney. I can see why you have so many fans among the political and business classes. Mooney: Unnnhhhhhh... Crane: You will be happy to know, by the way, that no charges are being pressed against you for your little tiff last night. It seems someone poked around those boxes and found something remarkable in them. Mooney: What was that? Crane: Nothing. That was what was remarkable. I'm told the Constabulary got your friend to talk. Eventually. I'm inclined to think it was verbal persuasion that did the trick. Mooney: Not brass knuckles? Crane: No. Not this time, anyway. Mooney: Small favors. Crane: Well, anyway, I've come to the conclusion, Mr. Mooney, that you're a nuisance, a loudmouth, and a troublemaker. [Musical sting] Mooney: Oh. Yeah. Well. Crane: It's quite fortunate for you, Mr. Mooney, that I am a troublemaker myself. I simply prefer a more refined way of causing mischief. We'll just have to keep you out of the paws of the magistrates until we can straighten out your paperwork. Do try to keep a low profile, impossible as that might be. Mooney: Unnnnh... Crane: Oh, and one other thing. I'm having a warder bring by a typewriter. Have 500 words, a first-person account of what you did last night, ready for the last evening edition. I won't be reading it before it goes to press. I have a dinner meeting with the Restaurant Association. It seems they are grateful to the Mirror for our efforts in breaking up this little theives' ring. The chef at the Grand, I'm told, makes a marvelous poached snapper. But I will read your account with great interest over the coffee and cigars. Good day, Mr. Mooney. [GRAMS: Sound of walking away] Stella: Well. You got out of that scrape mostly intact. Except for your face. Mooney: Yeah. Great. You take dictation? Stella: Want me to sit on your lap? Mooney: Aren't you a riot. Stella: C'mon, big man. Make all gone with lobster mousse, and build up your strength for the four star final. Open your mouth so the plane can come in... Mooney: And that's a thirty. [GRAMS: Sound of manual typewriter] [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 "If You Can't Stand the Heat," 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 Norris Goff as Jimmy Rayzor. 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 |