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Excerpts – ACT 1

AT RISE: It’s summer in Chicago, 1931. A sparse office suite. A folding chair and a small desk with an office chair, on which is a vintage telephone, a period typewriter, a small notepad, stubby pencil, cash ledger and exactly two messages on a spindle. If there’s a wire inbox, it’s empty. There’s a lackluster fan and a coat rack with a rumpled sports coat on it. LONGSCHOTT in short sleeves, suspenders and dress slacks sits a little downstage of the desk, flips playing cards into a hat. WHITLEY enters SL wearing period formal daywear. She crosses all the way DSR and narrates above noir music, idly buffing her nails.

LIGHTS UP

WHITLEY: The late afternoon sun stared like a bored streetwalker into the rundown office suite on the top floor of the Rogue-Wisteria building. The long Chicago summer had been a quiet one at K. R. Whitley Investigations — too quiet. Money was like last year’s girdle — tight and stretchin’ thin.

STACKETT: (Runs in SL, a little breathless — there’s no elevator — wearing period business wear and carrying three different newspapers. She looks disapprovingly at LONGSCHOTT and the cards on the floor, and hands him a newspaper. She sits at the desk and looks through hers, while LONGSCHOTT sets his on his knee and continues flipping cards).

WHITLEY: The firm’s secretary, Sophie Stackett, had taken to combing through the late editions looking for unfinished business — missing persons, petty larceny, con jobs — the kinds of cases that are bread and butter for a detective firm.

STACKETT: Crime everywhere — bootlegging, embezzlement, acrimony — (Sighs) What are we doin’ wrong?

WHITLEY: Lately our bread was sliced so thin we wouldn’t dare butter it. We’d started praying for the misfortunes of others.

BUSTIER: (Saunters in SL, wearing a trench coat, blonde wig, tinted glasses and a big hat. Her non-reception suggests LONGSCHOTT and STACKETT have all but forgotten how to interact with clients. The accent in her low speaking voice is hard to place, something vaguely European). This is K. R. Whitley Investigations?

WHITLEY: We was about to find out how misfortunate others could get.

…

WHITLEY: Mr. Longschott, by himself, is a top-drawer detective, Miss Bustier. But it is easier to support a family like he’s got when you’ve got cases coming in. I’ve got a better head for business. It is also easier, when you are me, to keep cases coming in when you’ve got a man in the office.

STACKETT: Lousy city ...

WHITLEY: He follows up leads for me when we’ve got a case. Otherwise he’s a ficus.

BUSTIER: A ficus?

WHITLEY: He sits in my front office and looks pretty for $40 a week plus caseload. Perhaps, Miss Bustier, if that is your real name, you should tell us what it is you’re here for.

BUSTIER: I beg your pardon?

WHITLEY: I doubt it. But I do know, whatever your real name is, you have not been completely honest with me.

BUSTIER: Look, sister, if this is how you ... why, I’ve barely said 20 words to you.

WHITLEY: And most a’ them was false. (Refers to STACKETT’s notes) You were not, for example, out with Gary Lassiter last Saturday or any other day. He is married to his job first and his wife second. It’s convenient ‘cause they’re in the same building. She’s Mrs. Gina Wallace, assistant D.A. for Cook County.

BUSTIER: I thought you said they were married.

WHITLEY: He kept his name. Anyway, no offense, but you wouldn’t have a chance with him.

BUSTIER: How d’ya figure?

WHITLEY: Let’s just say he was the one that got away. (BUSTIER smiles victoriously) He likes ‘em tall, leggy, with red hair, and married to him. So, according to you, what happened on Saturday?

Excerpts – ACT 2

AT RISE: That evening, Jake’s Double Eagle, with a bar, a small stage with a band, couple tables, including one for Miss N’EST PAS DI PALMA, who has tarot cards and incense burning. There’s also a coat-check window. At the bar sits BLIND EDDIE with a glass of water, and a statue, ideally of a double-eagle. Otherwise, a double-eagle motif should be suggested somewhere else in the room. There’s a few patrons at the tables. JAKE stands behind the bar with VINCE at the door, which has a peephole. He’s holding a gun on TRUELOVE, seated nearby.

WHITLEY: (Meets her at dressing room door) Nice number. Ethel Merman, right?

LANA: Oh, the name's Lana. I'm the cigarette girl but I'm sorta filling in.

WHITLEY: You ain't kidding. That's quite a voice you've got on you. You mind if I talk to you for a minute?

LANA: Just for a minute. I got kinda a full card tonight. Lacy left early last night and she didn't come in at all tonight, neither.

WHITLEY: Who's Lacy?

LANA: Miss Lacy Underthings. She's the other chanteu-zee Jake brings in to sing along with the band. We usually get a little break after the number but with only one of me here, I've gotta be the cigarette girl, too.

WHITLEY: Makes for a pretty full night.

LANA: Well, I'm used to working around all of Lacy's admirin' public. Ain't seen Lester Lookie-Loo in here at all tonight. Always with the requests.

WHITLEY: Well, I'm actually here about a little fur scarf number ...

JAKE: Hey! Ethel! Stop with the chinwaggery and trot those butts!

LANA: Sorry Mr. M. (To WHITLEY) I gotta go.

WHITLEY: Right. Just when I was in danger of gettin' somewhere.

JAKE: You looking to find out something specific-like, Whitley, or you just out on the town tonight?

WHITLEY: Yeah, come to think of it, you seen any prominent city officials stepping out with leggy blondes and their out-of-season fur scarves around lately?

JAKE: I run a respectable establishment, here, I don't need none a' them city stiffs musting up the joint.

WHITLEY: But they stop by though.

JAKE: Yo! Blind Eddie! You seen any city officials hangin' around?

EDDIE: Let me see if I can recall ...

WHITLEY: So no, then. You don't see Mayor Cermak or Alderman Stevens or Gary Lassiter ...

JAKE: Lassiter? What you need to know about Lassiter for?

WHITLEY: He ever stop in to your respectable establishment?

JAKE: I suppose we've seen him once or twice ... special occasions ...

WHITLEY: How special?

JAKE: Look (Pulls her aside downstage) What Lassiter might be doing in here on his own time with his own people is his own business.

WHITLEY: Say you was to take an interest. He here more to raise a friendly glass or play some cards?

JAKE: I believe he and his party were here to listen to the jazz.

WHITLEY: Well, I'm not here to listen to none a' your jazz. I happen to know that they was playin' cards.

JAKE: … and play some cards. You didn't let me finish!

…

WHITLEY: You don't mind my askin' around, do you?

JAKE: You got 10 minutes.

WHITLEY: What?

JAKE: Look, Whitley, youse bad for my business. Get done and get out of here.

WHITLEY: Right. Well, so, Lassiter was here Saturday night...

JAKE: And nothing happened to my sainted father's bird last night. Exactly.

WHITLEY: Anything turn up in a fur?

JAKE: Oh, right. The busty blonde's fur everyone's so excited about. No, it didn't turn up. And if you're finished with your lemonade, Whitley ...

di PALMA: (Sidling up) I think perhaps she will have another.

JAKE: And I think your crystal ball might have a smudge.

WHITLEY: And you're ...

JAKE: Miss Pay da Piper

di PALMA: N'est-pas di Palma, ORACULIST extraordinaire.

JAKE: She's a real live gyp.

di PALMA: -sy! Gypsy N'est-pas di Palma, ORACULIST extraordinaire.

JAKE: Takes up space in my joint, tellin' all the guys they got luck in their future.

di PALMA: Is true! (To WHITLEY) I do not say good luck.

WHITLEY: And whaddya know, she's right. (Hands glass back) I will have another.

JAKE: 10 minutes, Whitley.

WHITLEY: (They move to di PALMA's table) So, what did you see here last night?

di PALMA: Cross my palm with silver and I can show you the world.

WHITLEY: Hmm. This cash upfront policy of mine is a good idea after all. (Hands her a buck) So, what did you see?

di PALMA: I see you are in much danger.

WHITLEY: I'm in danger of running out of time, here.

di PALMA: Your young man, he is not what he seems.

WHITLEY: Johnny? What does any of this have to do with Johnny?

di PALMA: He is ... most uncomfortable.

WHITLEY: We're a little out of his element. Why don't you tell me about last night?

di PALMA: It was as was foretold. (As in a trance) Oh, much devastation comes from so much love.

WHITLEY: Enough about Johnny already. What about ... hey, can you tell me anything about Miss Lucy Bustier's fur?

di PALMA: (Re-entering trance) I see the fur. Is on a ... falling star. (Pause) Your fur, she is not here. She has gone.

WHITLEY: That's it? That's what I get for a buck?

di PALMA: I see also roses. Many yellow roses. Yellow roses for a blue lady.

WHITLEY: White flag. If you're gonna talk in riddles, I'm hoistin' the surrender.

LANA: (Passing by with her cigarette tray) That might not be a riddle. There's a dozen yellow roses in the dressing room. One of Lacy's fans, no doubt.

WHITLEY: Was there a card with these roses?

LANA: I can go and check (Withdraws)

di PALMA: One of her fans, yes. I did see the girl leave —out the back way — with a mysterious stranger.

Excerpt – ACT 3

LONGSCHOTT: (Entering SR as LIGHTS UP on FLORIST STAND) Last place on my list. Excuse me, ma'am, but anyone stop by last Friday or Saturday buying roses?

FIORI: I had a few sales. Love was certainly in the air this weekend.

LONGSCHOTT: I can narrow it down some. Mook woulda purchased a dozen yellow roses and a card with them.

FIORI:  (Quoting) "Tonight ... and Forever." Quelle romantique, yes?

LONGSCHOTT: Maybe for him. We're looking for a girl who disappeared, might be able to shed some light on another case we're working on.

FIORI: You're with the police?

LONGSCHOTT: No ma'am. Private investigator.

FIORI: A GUMSHOE! How interesting.

LONGSCHOTT: I'm Ray Longschott with K.R. Whitley Investigations.

FIORI: A hired gun! Oh, that's even better. Yes, I remember the man. Bieberdorf. Lester Bieberdorf. Diminutive in stature, black hair, beady little eyes that spoke of danger.

LONGSCHOTT: You watch a lot of movies, Miss ... ?

FIORI: Fiori. Millie Fiori, I watch as many movies as I can, but I love all the detective stories, especially Dashiell Hammett. I just finished his new one, "The Maltese Falcon." Oh, it's so exciting to be helping with a real case.

LONGSCHOTT: Maybe you are, and maybe you aren't. Helping, I mean. The guy you sold the flowers to, he live around here?

FIORI: Oh, yes. He lives in the tenement building up the street. He's up and down the block all the time. He's a mailman, you see.

LONGSCHOTT: Mailman?

FIORI: He's not very good. My celebrity magazines are always going missing.

LONGSCHOTT: Celebrity magazines?

FIORI: Oh, he's a real stargazer, just like me. He's been really agitated too, ever since last week. Marlene Dietrich was supposed to be coming through town on a tour for her new movie and he said he knew where to find her. (Ponders) You don't think those roses were for her, do you?

LONGSCHOTT: Maybe. (Turns away)

Kill LIGHTS SR, bring up SPOT downstage on LONGSCHOTT.

LONGSCHOTT: (Over noir music) I thanked the florist for her help, fearing the worst. If the description given by Miss N'est-pas di Palma was accurate, that wasn't no Marlene Dietrich and she wasn't all lovey-dovey with this star-struck postal worker Monday night.

SOUND CUE: Cats meowing, gaining volume as SCENE continues.

LONGSCHOTT: I strolled to the block of housing flats Flower Girl pointed out, getting a little sicker, a little queasier in my gut the closer I got. There was a smell I couldn't quite place without remembering Charlie, my buddy during the war. Little guy got hit and hit hard in my last trench skirmish with the Krauts. Doc told me I'd dragged him dead for five miles. The smoke and fire and death of that weight stays with a man. I could hear the cats yowling, getting off to an early start around the building. A little ... too early. Instead of marchin' up the front steps to confront Bieberdorf directly, I crept around the side of the building. (Shouting at the cats) "HEY! Get offa there!"

SOUND: Caterwauling reaches a crescendo, diminishes as "cats" scatter.

LONGSCHOTT: More cats than I'd ever seen scattered in a million directions. "There oughta be a law! " Phew! The smell was stronger now back here sheltered from the wind, and I could see what ...

LIGHTS up full on SL, revealing garbage cans and loose trash in BACK ALLEY — this being a period production, the garbage is likely to be loose, rather than bagged up — and the CORPSE of LACY UNDERTHINGS wrapped in a blanket, possibly hidden partially behind the cans, dressed in a dark blue cocktail dress, ideally sequined, in matching pumps and with the fur scarf around her neck. Kill SPOT.

LONGSCHOTT: ... or who was causing it. (Kill noir music) A tall brunette, pretty, skinny, was lying, partly clawed out of the thick blanket she'd been wrapped up in. (Run to throw back the blanket and toss the cans aside). In her hand was a single yellow rose, and around her thin, pale shoulders, still in one piece, was a fur scarf with a ruby-studded head clasp. (Removes scarf, tosses it off SR, crosses self in moment of reflection.)

SOUND: Noise from above stage, as BIEBERDORF looks out the window in a cheap suit, a platinum blonde wig and big plastic glasses.

LONGSCHOTT: I heard a sound from the upstairs window. (Looks up) "Hey! Bieberdorf!" (BIEBERDORF vanishes from view)

SOUND: Receding footsteps from above stage.

LONGSCHOTT: "Stop! " (Calls off in both directions) "Police! Police!" (Runs and exits UCS to give chase)

SOUND: Scuffle off stage, three or four male VOICES, ad lib, "There he is!" "She tricked me!" "Grab him!" "You'll never take me alive, copper!" Etc.

LIGHTS DOWN SL, bring up SPOT DSC.

LONGSCHOTT: (Appearing in SPOT, calling back). Nice work, officers. Body's out back. I think you'll find the rose matches the ones up there in his room — or at least a few over in a dressing room at Jake's Double Eagle. No, don't call ahead — Jake loves surprise visits.

TRUELOVE: (Running up, very nervous) I heard the shouting. Something about ... a body?

LONGSCHOTT: Truelove! What are you doing here?

TRUELOVE: I'm staying the next block over, saw the sirens. I mean, I heard ...

LONGSCHOTT: Yeah, I found her. Miss Lacy Underthings, and — I'll bet you a month's salary — stage name of Miss Elizabeth Elfwasser-Fitz — Elfie's missing sister. (Retrieves fur) Complete with a fur scarf. (Noir music sting)