HARRY: (stage whisper) Psst. Sid! Hey, Sid!
SID: What are you doin’, Harry? You’re supposed to be keeping watch around the corner!
HARRY: I know, I know. I was just starting to get the heebie-jeebies all by myself out there. What’s taking you so long to crack that thing, anyway?
SID: Don’t rush me, Harry. It’s been a coupla years since I pulled a safe job, that’s all.
HARRY: Yeah, when was it we did that bank job in Moose Jaw? Boy, you was in and out like lightning, Harry. I bet there ain’t been a safe cracker in Moose Jaw like you ever since.
SID: Yeah, but now I’m all rusty. That’s what comes of goin’ straight, Harry. I tell ya, every time we decide to go straight, I start getting all soft and forgetting everything useful I ever learned.
HARRY: Well, once we pull off this job, we’ll have enough money that we can stay straight this time. Maybe retire someplace. Like Banff. I always thought it’d be nice to live in Banff. D’you like Banff?
SID: Hey! I think I almost got it open!
HARRY: Yeah?
SID: Yeah. Just one more wiggle, and—
SFX: Click
HARRY: Atta baby, Sid! What I always say, you’re the best in the biz!
SID: Ah, I couldn’t’a done it without you, pal. OK, I’ll keep a lookout—you ease the door open real slow. It might creak.
SFX: It does indeed creak, and immediately after it creaks open there is a THUD of something falling out of it.
SID: Jeepers! What was that?
HARRY: Something was leaning against the inside of the door. It’s—oh, jiminy, Sid, it’s a stiff!
SID: There’s a stiff inside the safe? What about the jewels? Are the jewels in there, like that fella said?
HARRY: No! It’s empty, cept for this guy. Aw, Sid, what are we gonna do?
SID: O.K. O.K. Well, I’ll tell you what we ain’t gonna do. We ain’t gonna panic—is there any blood?
HARRY: I don’t see any.
SID: O.K., then we ain’t gonna panic. We’re just gonna shove him back in, and lock the safe back up, and walk away, and it’ll be like we was never here. O.K.?
HARRY: O.K. Yeah. No worries, right?
SID: Yeah, no worries.
SFX: Door banging open
COP: Freeze! Police! Put your hands above your heads!
SID: Aw, nuts.
MFX: Intro music
ANNOUNCER: Empress of Blandings Productions presents radio’s newest detective—Jack Cassidy, PI—and her thrilling adventures, in—Hardboiled!
SFX: Door opening, light background chatter of a police precinct
JACK: This is the police station the guy said, right?
EFFY: Yeah, but he didn’t say where to go once we got here. Oh, maybe this guy can help us. Excuse us, officer?
COP: Yeah?
JACK: I’m Jack Cassidy, PI, and this is Effy, my secretary. I just got a call to come down here—it seems some fella you arrested last night wants to retain my services.
COP: Last night? Oh, sure, the jewel thieves. Come right this way.
SFX: Footsteps
JACK: Jewel thieves? I thought you said he wanted me to clear him of a murder charge.
EFFY: That’s what he said. Maybe it’s both.
JACK: What was the guy’s name again?
EFFY: Uh, Somebody-or-other Smeester.
JACK: Smeester. Why does that sound familiar?
COP: Here you are, Miss Cassidy. We got em right back here—two of em. I caught em in the act myself.
JACK: Well! Slippery Sid and Horse-Face Harry, as I live and breathe!
EFFY: The ghostly gangsters?
HARRY: (a little sheepish) Hiya, Miss Cassidy.
COP: These clowns are friends of yours?
JACK: “Friends” is putting it a little strong. What are you boys doing in here? I thought you were going straight!
HARRY: We was!
SID: Well, for a little while.
HARRY: Yeah, we was real straight for—a month, d’you think, Sid?
SID: Call it six weeks.
HARRY: Yeah, six weeks. That’s an awful long time to be straight, Miss Cassidy.
JACK: What do you want, a medal? I’ve managed to make it my whole life without even committing a wee felony.
SID: Well, we all have our little frailties, Miss Cassidy.
JACK: Sure, sure. I can’t go too long without a smoke, Effy here can’t go too long without a cup of coffee, and you boys can’t go too long without shooting up a bank.
HARRY: But we didn’t! That’s just it, Miss Cassidy, we didn’t shoot up nothin’! That’s why we asked you to come down here!
SID: This is all a frame job.
HARRY: Someone else is behind this. We were set up!
SID: Yeah, we’re just the fall guys!
HARRY: Yeah, the patsies!
SID: Yeah, the pigeons!
HARRY: Yeah, the can-carriers!
JACK: So, you’d like me to prove your innocence?
HARRY: Yes.
SID: We-ell…
HARRY: Well….
SID: “Innocence” is a bit of a strong word.
HARRY: Overstating it, as you might say.
COP: We got a call to come down to the Bank of Nova Scotia at four o’clock in the morning, and we found em standing next to an open safe, wearing masks and holding safe-cracking tools, with a dead body on the floor in front of them.
JACK: Ooh. That doesn’t sound good, boys.
HARRY: No, well, no, it don’t.
SID: As we’d be the first to admit.
JACK: So what was in the safe?
COP: Nothing. Nothing left, anyway. It was supposed to hold some rich old broad’s priceless collection of jewellery, but it had been pretty well cleaned out.
JACK: And where’s this priceless collection now?
COP: We don’t know. These fellas must’ve had an accomplice who made off with them, but so far they ain’t squealing on him.
SID: We keep telling you, pal, we didn’t have no accomplice, and we didn’t steal no jewels, and we didn’t murder nobody!
JACK: If you didn’t steal anything, why were you in a bank, holding safe-cracking tools at four o’ clock in the morning?
HARRY: Oh, well, to steal the jewels, of course.
JACK: Cripes.
SID: But we didn’t! That’s the point! We got the safe open, and it was empty except for some dead guy who’d been stuffed in there!
HARRY: And that’s when the cops showed up.
EFFY: Who called in about the robbery?
COP: Huh? I dunno. I think we got an anonymous tip that somebody saw something hinky going on at the bank.
JACK: Interesting. So you boys say you were set up? Who sent you on this job?
HARRY: We don’t know, exactly.
JACK: You two really need to start getting more clarity about who hires you.
SID: This time we met him in person!
HARRY: Well, we met someone in person. He said he was acting on behalf of an interested party.
SID: But we never actually met that party, no.
(JACK groans)
HARRY: Everything really seemed on the level this time! He said he and whoever he was working for needed some guys to crack a safe full of jewellery—
SID: And he said they’d heard good things about our work and wanted to know how much experience we had safe cracking.
HARRY: And I said, experience safe-cracking? My pal Sid here is the best safe-cracker east of the Rockies! (as an afterthought) We’ve never been to BC before.
JACK: Where did he hear all these good things about you?
SID: Well, truthfully, Miss Cassidy, you ain’t really seen us at our best up to this point. But we done some pretty good contract work over the years.
HARRY: Oh, sure. We been hired by lots of major players in our time. Scoodles Shea—
SID: Peace River Jim—
HARRY: Izzy Cheesecake—
SID: Dangerous Dan McGrew—
JACK: O.K., well—
HARRY: Two-Gun Cohen—
SID: The Lemon Drop Kid—
HARRY: Three-Gun Cohen—
SID: Big Eddie from Mushaboom Harbour—
JACK: O.K.! I get the picture.
SID: The point is, we ain’t never been double-crossed like we was this time.
HARRY: The guy we met told us there’d be reduced security at the bank that night, and told us exactly what time to sneak on in and get the job done. He said it’d be a cinch!
JACK: So, this interested party hires you—robs the place, clears out the ice, and leaves the body in the safe himself—and makes sure you’re there looking guilty as hell when he calls the cops at four a.m.—so while they’re busy interrogating you, he rides off into the sunset with his ill-gotten gains. That how it figures?
COP: Hang on, you’re telling me you believe their goofy story?
JACK: Sure, I believe them. They’re not smart enough to come up with a story that goofy. Anyway, they may be safe-crackers but they’re not murderers. Sid here has a thing about blood.
SID: Hey!
JACK: What can you tell me about the man who hired you?
HARRY: We met him in the lounge in the King Edward Hotel. He didn’t give us his name.
JACK: Was he short? Tall? Fat? Thin? Fair? Dark?
(pause)
HARRY: Um…
SID: I think maybe he wore a grey suit.
JACK: Seriously?
HARRY: It was real dark in there! And he kept his hat tilted down over his eyes.
SID: You know how it is when you’re conducting business.
JACK: Good grief. Well, the King Edward Lounge—that’s a start, anyway. What about the body? Did you recognize it?
HARRY: Nope.
JACK: Officer? Any ideas?
COP: We haven’t been able to ID him yet. Coroner’s report says somebody slipped him a Mickey Finn before stuffing him inside—he suffocated a couple of hours before these two showed up.
JACK: Hm. What about the contents of the safe? Who’s the rich old broad it belonged to?
COP: Uh…lessee, we called her earlier to let her know what happened…a Miss Dell, it says here.
EFFY: Did you say Dell?
COP: You know her?
JACK: Have you got a phone I can use?
MFX: Transition
PRIMULA: (filter) Primula Dell’s residence, Primula Dell speaking.
JACK: Hiya, Miss Dell. It’s Jack Cassidy here—
PRIMULA: Jack, darling! What a treat to hear from you! How goes the crime-fighting?
JACK: Oh, could be worse. I’m calling to ask a few questions about some jewellery I understand was stolen from your bank vault last night.
PRIMULA: Yes, a very vulgar sort of policeman fellow called me up to tell me all about it this morning. Too sick-making. He assured me they were on the case, but of course I have much more faith in you if you’d like to take it on.
JACK: Well, that’s real nice of you to say, Miss Dell. As a matter of fact I am on the case, on behalf of a couple of chumps here who’ve been framed for the robbery—
HARRY: (in the distance) Did she say “chumps”?
JACK: —and I was wondering if you had any more information than they’ve been able to provide.
PRIMULA: Well, darling, I’m not sure I know much more about this ghastly business than you do. There was certainly a great deal of very valuable stuff in there—but most of it was grotesquely out of fashion, if I may be quite frank with you, my dear. Family heirlooms, you know, the sort you keep locked up and never think about.
JACK: Who else knows about them?
PRIMULA: Let me see. Besides the people who work at the bank, I can’t think—oh! Now wait a minute. It’s just coming back to me.
JACK: What is?
PRIMULA: I gave a dinner party last week—my dear, you must come to another one of my little soirees, you can’t think how charming they are when no one gets murdered during the first course—and one of my guests was this delightful young man who was visiting from Spain, and, darling, I don’t suppose you would have thought so, but he was just what one imagines a handsome Spaniard is supposed to be, you know, flashing black eyes and the charmingest moustache—
JACK: Miss Dell….
PRIMULA: Right, anyway. So I happened to mention, over the course of dinner, one of these hideous family heirlooms: a string of pearls my grandfather bought in Havana, that supposedly came over on the Spanish treasure fleet. And he seemed to find that very intriguing indeed. At the time I thought it was simply because it was an interesting, well-told anecdote about his home country—I am quite lauded for my skills as a raconteur, Miss Cassidy. But perhaps it was more than that.
JACK: What do you know about this dashing Spaniard?
PRIMULA: My dear, not too terribly much. We have some friends in common—he was attending the party along with dear Miss Margaret Crang—you know, that nice young alderwoman who went to fight in Spain?—and Dr. Norman Bethune. They were all hoping to get some donation out of me for the Committee to Aid Spanish Democracy—for the civil war effort against Franco, you know.
JACK: Sure. Did they get one?
PRIMULA: Oh yes, darling, I wrote them quite a plump little cheque. But perhaps Señor Arenque decided it wasn’t enough for him.
JACK: Hm. Well, I’ll check him out. Any idea where I might find him?
PRIMULA: I believe he mentioned he was staying at the King Edward Hotel.
JACK: The King Edward, you said?
PRIMULA: Yes, that’s right. He said he’d been spending most evenings in their lounge—said it was the only decent nightlife Edmonton had to offer.
JACK: That’s very interesting. Thanks very much, Miss Dell, you’ve been a great help.
SFX: Hang up
EFFY: Well?
JACK: Well, angel, it looks like we have ourselves a lead.
MFX: Transition, into—
SFX: Babble of voices, clink of glasses, noises of a lounge-y bar-y sort of place after dark. A sultry lounge singer, GILDA, gives a sultry rendition of “Why Don’t You Do Right’; we hear the first verse or so before she fades into the background behind JACK’s narration.
JACK: The lounge of the King Edward was dimly lit, and packed with people. The fact that Effy and I were unaccompanied by a male escort in a joint where liquor was being served didn’t seem to bother anyone working there - it didn’t seem like the sort of place where they were sticklers for the laws. At one end was a crowded bar, and at the other a sultry sort of dame in a backless dress was crooning into a microphone. Effy and I found ourselves a little table, and took stock.
EFFY: See anybody who looks like a dashing Spaniard with a moustache?
JACK: Nope. See anyone who looks like a nondescript man in a grey suit?
EFFY: Nope. This does seem like a good place for criminals, though, don’t it?
JACK: Classier sorta joint than I would’ve thought.
EFFY: Well, I mean for classier criminals. The sorta people who go to the effort of setting up fall guys for bank jobs are probably higher on the criminal social ladder than the sorta people who just stick to, you know, smash n’ grabs and things.
JACK: Maybe I shouldn’t’ve lit into Harry and Sid about not knowing who hired them. I can’t see a damn thing in this place.
EFFY: I’m gonna go see if I can find my way to the bar and get a drink. Want anything?
JACK: Whiskey, neat. Thanks, Eff.
GILDA: Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?
Like some other men doooooooo?
SFX: Applause.
EFFY: I’m back! Here ya go.
JACK: What the hell is that?
EFFY: Your whiskey, silly.
JACK: I meant that thing you got for yourself.
EFFY: Isn’t it a pretty colour? It’s a Mary Pickford.
JACK: What’s in it?
EFFY: Um, let’s see, white rum—and pineapple juice—and grenadine—and maraschino liqueur. And I asked for extra cherries. You want a sip? It’s yummy!
JACK: I think I’ll take your word for it. So, did you see any shifty-looking characters over by the bar?
EFFY: Hard to tell what’s just a regular amount of shifty versus a bank-heist-organizing amount of shifty. Hey—here comes the woman who was singing up there. I bet she has a good view of whatever shifty-looking characters hang around here.
JACK: Good thinking. Excuse me, miss?
GILDA: Yes?
JACK: Jack Cassidy, PI. D’you think you could help us answer a couple of questions about a certain gentlemen we’re looking for in this joint?
GILDA: I don’t know, detective. You don’t find a lot of gentlemen around here this time of night.
JACK: We’re looking for a guy who’s visiting from Spain—apparently a dashing sort of specimen with a moustache.
GILDA: Arenque?
JACK: You do know him?
GILDA: Our paths have crossed. He likes to have a table right in the front while I’m performing.
EFFY: Sure, who wouldn’t? (beat) You got such a great voice, I mean.
GILDA: The voice you can hear from the back. When men get the tables right up close to the front I generally assume it’s my gams they’d like to be close to.
JACK: So you and Señor Arenque…?
GILDA: Oh, he’s bought me a drink or two. He and that moustache of his made a nice change from the usual ugly mugs who crowd round this place. But he seems like the sort of man who prefers to have more than one string to his bow at a time, y’know?
EFFY: Yeah?
GILDA: He invited me up to his room the other night, but he got a call from some dame. He got all quiet and discreet when he took the call, too. Maybe in Spain the dolls don’t like it when a guy’s seeing more than one of them at once—I don’t know.
JACK: You didn’t object?
GILDA: Object? He’s the ninth man who’s invited me up to his room this week. What’ve I got to make a fuss about?
EFFY: The ninth?
JACK: I thought you said all the men around here were ugly mugs?
GILDA: Well, sure, but it’s better than nothing at all, right?
JACK: D’you know anything about the dame he spoke to?
GILDA: I think I heard him call her Miss de Havilland—something like that. And he muttered something about being busy with de Havilland tomorrow morning.
JACK: De Havilland, eh?
EFFY: Any relation to the movie star?
JACK: The who?
EFFY: Olivia de Havilland? She’s this new up-and-comer, she’s in Captain Blood, and The Charge of the Light Brigade…
GILDA: I haven’t the slightest idea who she is. Ask him, if you’re interested.
JACK: He’s here?
GILDA: Sure. Saw him wander in a few minutes ago and make a beeline for the bar. See? He’s just right over there, next to the guy in the pinstripes.
JACK: Well, thanks, ma’am, you’ve been real helpful. C’mon, Eff, let’s go have a chat with this fella.
GILDA: Buh-bye.
JACK: (undertone, as they move across the room)I thought you were supposed to keep your eyes peeled for shifty, moustachioed characters when you went over there, Eff.
EFFY: He ain’t even that shifty-looking. I think he’s kinda handsome, actually. Don’t you think he’s kinda handsome?
JACK: No. Excuse me, Señor Arenque?
ARENQUE: Yes?
JACK: Jack Cassidy, PI. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?
ARENQUE: (suspicious) What kind of questions? Who are you?
JACK: Well—
ARENQUE: (even more suspicious) And what, please, is a “PI”?
JACK: It stands for—
EFFY: (talking over her) Oh, Jack here’s just trying to be cute. What she means is that she thinks we have a mutual friend. See, uh, it’s a little joke in Miss Dell’s social circle—she has this diverse sorta set of acquaintances and pals she picks up, and she calls them, uh, Primula’s Intimates. Y’know, like intimate friends.
ARENQUE: You are intimate friends of Señora Dell?
JACK: She, uh, she told us what a terrific time she’d had with you at dinner the other night, and we heard somebody call your name and we thought we’d just…uh….come over and say hello.
ARENQUE: You guessed at who I was, and came to greet me simply because Señora Dell said I was a pleasant dinner companion?
EFFY: (nervous) That’s right!
ARENQUE: (delighted) But this is charming! She is such a generous hostess, is she not? With such engaging friends! Well, any PI of Señora Dell’s is a PI of mine, eh? Ha, ha! Would you care to join me for a drink?
JACK/EFFY: (relieved) Sure thing!/be delighted!/thank you! (etc)
ARENQUE: So, what brings the two of you in here?
JACK: Miss Dell told us you mentioned this lounge was the only decent nightlife Edmonton had to offer, so we thought we just had to come take a look around.
ARENQUE: Ah, yes. I hope you are not offended by my saying you have very little here in the way of nightlife.
EFFY: Oh, no, we know.
ARENQUE: And frankly, even the King Edward—well, but I should not complain. The music is very pleasant, and I have met such interesting people.
JACK: What sort of people?
ARENQUE: Well— your charming selves, for instance. Truthfully, I have been pleasantly surprised by the company I have met with here—I did not come to Edmonton in search of engaging conversation, and yet I have found it everywhere I turn!
EFFY: So what did bring you here to Edmonton, Señor Arenque?
ARENQUE: I am here on a visit with my dear friends Señor Bethune and Señorita Crang—perhaps you know them? They are Canadians by birth, but they have been tremendously helpful to the war effort in my native country. I joined them on their return trip here, for a fundraising mission.
EFFY: And have you had much luck raising funds?
ARENQUE: Oh, not as much as we would have liked, perhaps. Some people here remain a little skeptical of the fight against facism. But some of your countrymen have been very helpful—and very generous.
JACK: Like Miss Dell?
ARENQUE: Oh, yes! Señora Dell has been more helpful than perhaps even she understands.
JACK: What do you mean by that, Señor?
ARENQUE: Oh, it is difficult for Canadians to truly grasp what their support is able to help us achieve in my home country. But they give so generously nonetheless. I think I will be very sad to leave.
EFFY: Are you leaving soon?
ARENQUE: Alas, yes. Myself and Señor Bethune must be returning to Spain very shortly. I just have one little piece of business I must take care of tomorrow morning, and soon after that I believe we will be off.
JACK: Yeah, that singer friend of yours mentioned you had an appointment you were quite intent on.
ARENQUE: Oh, yes! Ha, ha—perhaps she was a little annoyed that I could not lavish all my time on her. But, as I say, I have met so many fascinating people in Edmonton. To my friends in Spain, Señorita Cassidy, I am quite well known as something of a—what is the word in English? a maquinista?—and when one of the charming ladies I encountered at Señora Dell’s dinner party discovered this, well, I could not very well refuse what she requested of me.
JACK: So your appointment tomorrow is with a dame then?
ARENQUE: “Dame”—is that the English word? Yes, she is quite a beauty. I have one much like her myself, back in Spain, though not quite as old as this one.
EFFY: She’s—old?
ARENQUE: A little older, ah, but still full of life. In these cases older does not always mean there is no more use to be had out of it. I am quite an expert at getting the engines in an older body up and running again.
JACK: (grossed out) I see.
ARENQUE: I beg your pardon—I should be being more discreet, I suppose. But it is good to keep in practice. I am hoping that perhaps my skills may come in useful during the war.
JACK: Sure. (beat) Wait, what?
ARENQUE: Well, in my youth, this passion of mine was really just for my own entertainment. But I think it’s the sort of thing that does come in very useful in modern warfare, doesn’t it? Oh! I beg your pardon, do you have the time?
JACK: It’s, uh, it’s getting on for midnight.
ARENQUE: Midnight? Oh, if you will excuse me, I think I had better retire. I’m obliged to be up very early tomorrow morning—and then I think Señor Bethune and I will have to prepare to travel. I am so sorry to be rude. But I have very much enjoyed meeting you!
EFFY: Yeah, um, us too.
ARENQUE: Give my regards to Señora Dell, will you not? And if you ever happen to be in Madrid, by all means pay a call on Señor Arenque Rojo! Adios!
(pause)
JACK: (very confused) So is he going to win the war by…seducing Franco?
EFFY: Maybe the Popular Front is going to use him as a secret weapon of seduction. You know, he sneaks into the nationalist headquarters by seducing every woman who works there so he can….plant a bomb or something.
JACK: Yeah, that sounds very plausible.
EFFY: Well, not very plausible. But you have to admit that you would watch that movie.
JACK: I would not.
EFFY: Ramon Novarro could play him.
JACK: What d’you figure maquinista means? You don’t know any Spanish, do you?
EFFY: Nope.
JACK: Italian? Romanian? Portuguese?
EFFY: I got a little Ukrainian.
GILDA: Excuse me. Miss detective?
JACK: Oh! Hello again.
GILDA: I gotta get up onstage in a minute—but—-I just remembered something else from that phone call he had with the de Havilland dame, and I was wondering—
JACK: Yes?
GILDA: Well...why the interest in this guy, anyway? He some kinda criminal?
JACK: Maybe. We’re not sure. What is it you remembered?
GILDA: I—I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But if he is some kinda criminal, maybe it’s kinda sinister.
EFFY: Well, what was it?
GILDA: I just heard little snippets. But he was talking to this dame, I guess to Miss de Havilland, and I think he said something about wanting to strangle her—
JACK: You didn’t think anything of that at the time?!
GILDA: Well, I thought he was just kidding around! He didn’t say it in a threatening kinda voice, y’know? Just said it sort of matter of fact, so I thought—
EFFY: Are you sure he said strangle?
GILDA: Something like that. Strangle or throttle or—no, it was hang. He said—yeah, he said, “I’m coming over to hang her.”
EFFY: Jeepers.
GILDA: But he just said it so casual, I figured maybe it was some kinda joke or something. Oh, nuts, have I taken up with some kinda murderer again?
JACK: You’ve taken up with murderers before?
GILDA: Well, never on purpose. What, you want I should get the cops to do a complete background check on every mug who I—
JACK: He might not be a murderer. We haven’t heard anything about a dame being strangled.
GILDA: I really thought I was getting better at sorting out the bad eggs from the good eggs. It’s always the handsomest ones, isn’t it?
EFFY: Who turn out to be murderers?
GILDA: Who turn out to be trouble. (beat) Or murderers. Listen, I gotta go finish my set—if it does turn out he offed this de Havilland dame, it’ll be in the papers, right?
JACK: I should think so.
GILDA: Good. It’s good to keep on top of these things. Well! Nice meeting you.
SFX: Footsteps walking away
EFFY: Do you think he did kill that old woman he was talking about?
JACK: We don’t even know exactly what he said. “I’m coming over to hang her”—weird turn of phrase, isn’t it? I guess if his English isn’t too good—
(EFFY gasps)
EFFY: Hang on. Wait a minute. Wait a minute.
JACK: What?
EFFY: I’m not 100% sure but I might be about to be brilliant.
JACK: Well?
EFFY: O.K., hear me out. Suppose, if you’re a maquinista, that means you’re really good at mechanics?
JACK: Could be, I guess. “Maqin”- kinda sounds like machine, maybe?
EFFY: Yeah. And de Havilland can be a last name, right? Like the film star. But y’know what else could be called a “de Havilland”?
JACK: No. Where are you going with this?
EFFY: No, you wouldn’t, because you only know names for bicycles and busses and you never read any articles about Wop May, but a de Havilland is a type of—
JACK: Wait—Wop May, like the pilot? Is it a type of airplane?
EFFY: Yes! And, if you were on your way to someplace where you keep your airplane, you might say you were—
JACK/EFFY: —coming to the hangar!
JACK: Eff, you’re a genius.
EFF: I know.
JACK: C’mon, let’s grab a cab.
Ad break
ANNOUNCER: The thrilling adventures of Jack Cassidy will return in a moment. But first, we’d like to share some important information with you. Located right on Whyte ave and just off Gateway is a historic building that houses dozens of local Albertan artists. The Old Strathcona Arts Emporium is a space that welcomes anyone who wants to showcase their art with affordable rates and retail support. Inside you will find that it has become home to painters, photographers, crafters, jewelers, furniture artists, upcyclers, and makers of all kinds. Within the first 60 days of being open, 50 artists have signed up to be a part of this market-style, open-6-days-a-week Emporium - and more sign up everyday. It is a magical place. The artists that sign up can feel it right when they walk in, and, folks, they can’t wait to share that magic with you. There is truly something for everyone in the Old Strathcona Arts Emporium and new artists move in every Monday! See you there soon!
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SFX: Large door slowly creaking open
JACK: (whispering) Have you got the flashlight?
EFFY: (ditto) Yeah, here.
SFX: Click
EFFY: Wow.
JACK: What?
EFFY: It’s just real big in here.
JACK: What d’you expect? They have to fit airplanes in it.
EFFY: Hey, is this technically breaking and entering?
JACK: It’s a municipal building, isn’t it? Our tax dollars paid Mr. Blatchford to build this.
EFFY: Uh-huh. Will our tax dollars also pay to fix the lock we just pried off the door?
JACK: Let’s worry about the greater good here, huh, Eff? We’re trying to catch a jewel thief slash murderer. What’s a broken lock in the grand scheme of things? Now, what are we looking for?
EFFY: I dunno. A bag of thieves’ tools? Another body?
JACK: I meant what sorta plane.
EFFY: Oh. Probably a little biplane. With a “DH” logo on the side.
JACK: Well, let’s start looking.
SFX: Footsteps echoing
EFFY: They’re bigger up close.
JACK: The planes?
EFFY: Yeah.
JACK: Most things are bigger up close.
EFFY: I’ve only seen them from far away, y’know? Doing loop-the-loops under the high level bridge and things. Wop May’s s’posed to be putting on some kinda airshow later this month for charity, and Stanley asked me to go see it with him, but—ooh!
JACK: Who’s Stanley?
EFFY: Look! I think this is a de Havilland right here.
JACK: Oh, yeah. D. H.
EFFY: Now what? I mean, what d’you figure this is all about? Is it his getaway plane?
JACK: Maybe.
EFFY: And if it is, why didn’t he get away already? And why would he tell us all about it?
JACK: He didn’t tell us all about it. And he didn’t know we were detectives, remember, thanks to your bit of quick thinking. He just thought we were two broads in a bar.
EFFY: “We?”
JACK: Huh?
EFFY: He didn’t know “we” were detectives?
JACK: Slip of the tongue. He didn’t know I was a detective, and you were my loyal girl Friday. C’mon—still got your screwdriver? I’ll boost you up onto the wing—see if you can get the door open, and we’ll find out if there’s anything interesting in the cockpit.
EFFY: O.K. Hup!
(grunts/panting of EFFY scrambling up)
EFFY: Gee, they really don’t want anybody who’s not s’posed to get inside this thing to get inside this thing. Might take me a minute or two to get her open.
JACK: Take all the time you need. I’ll keep a lookout. What’s it look like inside?
SFX: Sound of a lock being picked
EFFY: Dunno. Dark. Dusty. Lots of little dials and things. It’s a little rusty, too. (giggles) Remember what Arenque said? “She’s a little older, but still full of life?”
JACK: I feel like a bit of dope. Well, you walked away thinking he was a skirt-chaser too, didn’t you?
EFFY: Of course! When really he was just talkin’ about planes! (both laugh)
(beat. Metallic sounds continue.)
JACK: (clears throat) So, speaking of, uh…skirts—this Stanley, is that the new boyfriend?
EFFY: No. Just a boy. A guy. I don’t know.
JACK: You’re going to come see Mr. May’s flight show with him, though?
EFFY: No, I don’t think so. I think when the time comes that might turn out to be the day I hafta wash my hair or something.
JACK: What’s wrong with Stanley?
EFFY: Oh, nothing, I guess. Sometimes I just feel like…
JACK: Like?
EFFY: Well, I don’t know. Going out to soda shops, and movie theatres, and miniature golf with gentlemen is fun n’ all. But lately—I’ve been feeling like it ain’t as much fun as it’s supposed to be. D’you know what I mean?
JACK: I still don’t really see the point of miniature golf.
EFFY: Maybe I’m just one of those modern working women you hear about. Because sometimes it seems like I enjoy my job a lot more than I do spending time with boyfriends. Last week when I was out at the movies with Teddy—oh, he was such a mug, he just had nothing interesting to say at all, and I kept thinking, if I were here with Jack, if we were workin’ a job here together, I mean, she would have interesting things to say. Maybe it’s just—(SFX: click)—Aha, got it! You want a hand up?
JACK: ….yeah. Thanks.
SFX: Jack scrambling up, plane door opening
EFFY: (giggles) Kinda cramped in here.
JACK: Yeah.
EFFY: I guess the pilot and the co-pilot have to be real good friends, huh? Otherwise it must get pretty uncomfortable when they’re squeezed together like this.
JACK: I guess it must.
SFX: Thud
EFFY: Oh, shoot! The flashlight!
JACK: Did you drop it?
EFFY: Yeah—sorry—I think it’s over there by your foot—
JACK: Let’s see—(scrabbling)—
EFFY: I think it might be—oops! Was that your leg? I’m sorry—
JACK: That’s O.K.—
EFFY: Gosh, it’s dark now—
JACK: I think I feel it—-here, by my foot—
EFFY: Where?
JACK: Here, hold on—I’ll guide your hand to it—-
SFX: We just hear EFFY’s breath catch for a moment, then there’s a beat, and then a click.
EFFY: There we go.
(Both laugh a little nervously)
JACK: (coughs) Well, I’m not sure what we’re going to find in here. Seems to me we can run the flashlight around the whole cabin in two minutes and see everything there is to see.
EFFY: Yeah, not a lot to it, is there? Still, I’m glad we came. I always wanted to see the inside of a plane. I hafta say, I’m glad I’m not a pilot, though. I never thought it’d be so uncomfortable to sit in one of these things.
JACK: Yeah, kind of poky, isn’t it? And stuffy. I don’t know how you concentrate on shooting huns or carrying diphtheria cures in this space.
EFFY: And you’d think they wouldn’t make the seats so lumpy.
JACK: Lumpy?
EFFY: Yeah, how hard would it be to put a little cushion in or something? I feel like I’m sitting on rocks.
JACK: Effy, stand up.
EFFY: I can’t stand up in here.
JACK: Well, slither onto the floor then, and let me take a look at the seat.
SFX: Fabric rusting
EFFY: You mean yours doesn’t feel like that? D’you think there’s something inside?
SFX: More rustling fabric
JACK: Feel that. There’s definitely something in there.
EFFY: Should we look for a secret compartment?
JACK: Or, we could do things the easy way.
SFX: Penknife opening, ripping fabric
EFFY: (gasp) That’s a mighty promising looking bag.
SFX: More rustling fabric—then a tinkle of glass/metal. EFFY squeals with delight.
JACK: I have to assume this is the jewellery we’re looking for.
EFFY: We did it!
JACK: And only destroyed a minimal amount of property in the process.
EFFY: And most of that property belonged to murderers and jewel thieves, anyway. Hey, what time is it?
JACK: Almost morning. You better get out of here before Arenque and his accomplices show up.
EFFY: Don’t you mean we better get outta here?
JACK: No, I think we’d better split up. Listen—take the bag and get a cab back to the office as quick as possible, and call McGregor and tell him to send backup to the Blatchford Hangar, and maybe he’d better send someone round to the King Edward as well. And you can call Miss Dell, too, and let her know we’ve got her ice.
EFFY: What about you?
JACK: I’m going to hang out here just in case our friends show up before the cops make it down.
EFFY: But—
JACK: Don’t worry, I’m not going to charge out, guns blazing. I’ll just keep in the shadows and see if I can catch any useful plotting. You go on—hurry!
EFFY: Are you sure?
JACK: Uh-huh. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Go on, go!
MFX: Transition
EFFY: You really didn’t have to come all the way downtown first thing in the morning, Miss Dell. I woulda kept the jewellery nice and safe for you. I might even be supposed to bring it to the police station before I can hand it off to you, I don’t know—
PRIMULA: Nonsense, darling, I don’t give a fig for those old baubles, really. I was just so terribly keen to see the inside of a real live private detective’s office. It’s just everything I dreamed it would be…with the frosted glass window, and that teensy swinging door on the inside…too delightful!
EFFY: Well, I’m glad you like it, Miss Dell.
PRIMULA: And the story of how you got them back—breaking into an airplane hangar in the dead of night! The two of you really must come back to one of my soirees and regale us with your escapades one of these days, Miss Strembitsky.
EFFY: We’d be delighted to. Especially if nobody gets murdered.
PRIMULA: And where is that charming employer of yours now?
EFFY: I don’t actually know. She stayed behind at the hangar to see if she could find out anything else, and meet up with the cops when they came. But I’m surprised she isn’t back by now.
PRIMULA: Worried?
EFFY: A little, I guess. I mean, if Jack were here she’d tell me she can take care of herself. But I still worry about her sometimes, y’know? She can get herself into scrapes.
PRIMULA: Yes, I imagine she can. Have you ever had to get her out of one of those scrapes?
EFFY: Well, mostly she gets me out of scrapes.
PRIMULA: But what would you do, if she were in trouble?
EFFY: In trouble? D’you think she is? Oh, gee, go rushing out to save her, I guess. I don’t know what I’d do if Jack were in real danger.
PRIMULA: You care about her very much, don’t you?
EFFY: Of course! Well, you know, it’s funny, I was just realizing earlier that whenever I’m spending the afternoon with one of my boyfriends, I’m almost always deep down wishing I was with Jack instead.
PRIMULA: Spending the afternoon with one of your what?
EFFY: My boyfriends. I told Jack that earlier tonight, actually, and I said—
PRIMULA: Stop. Miss Strembitsky. You told Jack that when you go out with a boyfriend, you always wish you were with her instead?
EFFY: Yeah. And so I said I must be one of those modern women, you know, who cares more about the job than about her love life, I guess.
PRIMULA: Oh my good lord in heaven.
EFFY: What?
PRIMULA: Do you mean to say the two of you haven’t—
EFFY: Haven’t what?
PRIMULA: Haven’t—realized—anything?
EFFY: I’m…sorry, Miss Dell, I really don’t think I know what you’re talking about.
PRIMULA: Oh, dear, dear me. Perhaps it’s not for me to break the news. You are both highly skilled detectives, after all.
EFFY: Break what news?
PRIMULA: (sighs) Well, thank you, my dear, for helping to recover my little trinkets. As I said, they’re dreadful old baubles, but it’s nice to have them back. Some of them have very interesting stories attached to them.
EFFY: Yeah, like those pearls that were brought over by pirates!
PRIMULA: Quite so! And this brooch—my father won that in a game of poker against some Count or other. And this diamond here, oh, you’ll like this, my dear—this supposedly belonged to Lucrezia Borgia.
(beat)
EFFY: I’m sorry, what did you just say?
PRIMULA: Yes, it’s one of the Lucrezia Diamonds. According to legend she had a whole lot of them once all strung on the same necklace, but that would have been, oh, hundreds of years ago. Is something wrong, darling?
EFFY: I…
SFX: Phone ringing
EFFY: Just, uh, hold on a second, Miss Dell. (SFX: Receiver being picked up) Jack Cassidy Detective Agency.
VIVIAN: (filter) Good evening, Miss Strembitsky. It’s been such a long time.
EFFY: (gasps) Vivian!
VIVIAN: Oh yes, that is how you know me, isn’t it?
EFFY: You! You…you lying, slimy snake!
VIVIAN: Oh, it’s so lovely to be appreciated.
EFFY: It was you! It was you the whole time, wasn’t it? You’re the one who hired Sid and Harry—and the one who took the jewels—and who killed the guy in the safe! What was he, another accomplice you got tired of?
VIVIAN: Please, Miss Strembitsky, let’s not waste time with needless exposition.
EFFY: And what about Señor Arenque? Was he in on the plot too?
VIVIAN: Arenque? Of course not. I needed some repairs done on my dear little hornet moth—you remember, Miss Strembitsky, the one you so cruelly ripped apart earlier this morning—before I could make my way out of town.
EFFY: So it was a getaway vehicle!
VIVIAN: Of course. When I met him at Miss Dell’s dinner party—well, it was quite easy for me to get myself an invitation; she loves new curiosities at her little fetes—I discovered he had quite a lot of experience in airplane mechanics, and engaged him to help out. He hasn’t the faintest idea what I was hiding in the front seat—although I imagine right now he’s having some difficulties explaining as much to Sergeant McGregor and his men. But now, Miss Strembitsky, if you don’t mind, I’d much prefer to cut to the chase.
EFFY: Yeah, me too. I’d like to cut to the part where I chase you right outta town!
VIVIAN: Oh, come, there’s no need for that. Let’s approach this situation like sensible women. The fact is, you have something I want—and now, I have something you want. Or rather—someone. Didn’t you wonder why it was taking your precious Jack so long to return to the office
EFFY: You—you mean—
VIVIAN: I’ll expect to see your charming self—with the diamond—at the High Level Bridge in no more than four hours, Miss Strembitsky. Or you may never see that boss of yours alive again. Au revoir.
SFX: Click
ANNOUNCER: This episode of Hardboiled featured the voices of:
Ceris Backstrom as Jack Cassidy
Lauren Hughes as Effy Strembitsky
Rory Turner as Slippery Sid and Primula Dell
Andres Moreno as the police officer and Senor Arenque Rojo
Kaleia Odelle as the torch singer, with special guest Nathanael Wilkerson on the piano
And Michael Vetsch as Horse-Face Harry, and, as always, your announcer.
Hardboiled is written and directed by Celia Taylor and edited and produced by Tegan Siganski, with an original score and sound design by Dave Clarke.
Hardboiled is presented in association with the Edmonton Pride Centre,and with the support of the Edmonton Heritage Council, the Edmonton Community Foundation, and the Edmonton Arts Council. Tune in next week, when we’ll return with another thrilling installment of - Hardboiled!