ANNCR:

Here comes ... THE FAT MAN IN PORTRAIT OF MURDER, starring J. Scott Smart ... and presented by the makers of CAMEL Cigarettes.

(MUSIC: "HOW MILD" . . THEME . . . )

 

1st ANNCR:

How mild can a cigarette be?

2nd ANNCR:

In a coast-to-coast test of hundreds of people who smoked only Camels for thirty days, noted throat specialists reported not one single case of throat irritation due to smoking Camels!

1st ANNCR:

Test Camels yourself, in your "T-Zone" - T for throat, T for taste - and see why more people smoke Camels than any other cigarette!

(PAUSE)

 

2nd ANNCR:

There he goes ... he's lighting up a Camel cigarette ... he's stepping on the scales ...

(COIN IN SLOT)

 

VOICE:

Weight 234 pounds ...

(CARD EXPELLED)

 

VOICE:

Fortune - danger.

(MUSIC: STING AND OUT)

 

VOICE:

Who is it?

FAT:

The Fat Man.

(MUSIC: FAT MAN THEME ESTABLISH. . FADE DOWN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

I find life changes perceptibly as you add a year to your age every so often. I'm sure I'm not alone in this discovery either. As my friend Corey Ford states, stairs seem to get higher and clothes have an odd habit of shrinking when hung too long in a closet. Despite these unpleasantries, most people want to go on living -- not so some goons who shoot up their next-door neighbor and end up in the electric chair for murder.

(MUSIC: . . . . . . )

 

FAT:

The note was sticking under my door when I got back from lunch ... a business card reading "Thurston Maple, Interior Decoration," with a Fifth Avenue address. On the back, in feminine handwriting, in purple ink, it said: "Mr. Runyun! Please call REgent 4-7567." So - -

(RINGING ON FILTER, RECEIVER UP)

 

ELOISE:

(FILTER) Hello?

FAT:

Hello. This is Brad Runyun.

ELOISE:

Really?

FAT:

Truly.

ELOISE:

Oh, Mr. Runyun, you have no conception how flattered I am that you called.

FAT:

I usually call when people leave notes.

ELOISE:

I mean, you're so busy, and all. (NERVOUS LAUGH) A girl who has led a sheltered-type life like me knows virtually nothing of the private eye racket, as you no doubt realize. But now, I ... oh, dear ... (WAILS)

FAT:

What seems to be the trouble?

ELOISE:

Trouble, Mr. Runyun, I have nothing else but. Are you sure you have time for me?

FAT:

Well, it so happens time is what I have nothing else but, Miss ... ah ...

ELOISE:

Eloise McGinnis.

FAT:

Oh...

ELOISE:

Mr. Runyun, since I would prefer not to delineate my tribulations over the telephone, how about copping a short and trucking up here?

FAT:

Where is here?

ELOISE:

650 East 77th Street ... the penthouse.

(MUSIC: IN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

So I "copped a short" and trucked up there ... took the elevator up to the top floor of the apartment building and walked up the stairs to the roof. The penthouse, stuck in the middle like the top layer of a wedding cake, was solid glass on two sides. In the middle of the room was a huge aquarium full of tropical fish ... and in front of it, on a platform, Eloise was standing, holding an apple. A stringbean in his shirt sleeves who looked like he had barely the strength to hold up his horn-rimmed glasses was painting her picture.

(DOOR OPENED)

 

SLOAN:

(OFF) Eloise, will you puh-leeze ...

FAT:

Uh ... excuse me.

SLOAN:

Oh. What do you want?

ELOISE:

(FADE IN) Mr. Sloan ... I have employed a dick.

SLOAN:

(FADE IN) You mean, about the picture?

ELOISE:

What else?

SLOAN:

Ohh, no! All that, and now this.

FAT:

Look, friend, if I'm not wanted ...

ELOISE:

Mr. Runyun, you most assuredly are wanted. Shake hands with Mr. Sloan, here ... my employer.

FAT:

How are you?

SLOAN:

Mph. How do you do? If this routine goes on much longer, Eloise, I won't be your employer. First, that ridiculous picture, now ...

FAT:

Wait a minute. Stop talking in riddles.

ELOISE:

There was positively nothing ridiculous about that picture, Mr. Sloan. I was informed by a very reliable source it was, on the contrary, a fairly hot hunk of canvas.

SLOAN:

Look, Eloise. You are posing for me - for pay. I have six unfilled commissions and I can't stand around here wasting time with your problems. However, I'm going down to lunch and I suggest you finish your business with this gentleman here and be ready to continue posing when I come back.

ELOISE:

Do not concern yourself unduly, Mr. Sloan. Order me up a hot pastrami on rye and a glass of beer. I'll be down in a minute.

(DOOR OPENS)

 

SLOAN:

You better be.

(DOOR CLOSED, OFF)

 

ELOISE:

Hmph! That Sloan. Every day I order hot pastrami and every day I get rye crisp and wilted lettuce.

FAT:

Mmmm. What is all this about a picture?

ELOISE:

Mr. Runyun, I will give you the facts. I won't cover up a thing.

FAT:

Well, you haven't so far.

ELOISE:

Huh? Oh. (NERVOUS LAUGH) Oh .... Ha ... I better get my robe. (FADES) It's kind of chilly.

FAT:

(MUTTERS) Me and my big mouth.

ELOISE:

(OFF) Huh?

FAT:

Skip it. Go on.

ELOISE:

(BACK ON) Uh.... It may not be apparent at first blush, Mr. Runyun, but although I have been in the modelling racket for some three years now, my interests are intellectual. I have been told on several occasions I am extremely mental.

FAT:

Uh-huh. So ... ?

ELOISE:

So I'm passing an interior decoration shop on Fifth Avenue yesterday ...

FAT:

Thurston Maple's.

ELOISE:

How did you know?

FAT:

The card you stuck under my door.

ELOISE:

Oh... Oh, yeah.... Well, so I'm seeing a picture in the window ... of a girl, dancing in a garden in front of a rock wall. It's tagged Oriflamme and it hits me as something solid. Furthermore, it is priced at twenty bucks. Thus I acquired my first painting.

FAT:

Oriflamme?

ELOISE:

Yeah. Mr. Thurston Maple himself tells me this means Flame of Gold in French. So I stick it under my arm and continue on my way, pausing only at a handy saloon for a glass of beer.

FAT:

A very sensible move. Then what?

ELOISE:

Well, I no sooner get to my apartment when the phone rings and it is a smooth voiced guy who declines to tell me who he is, but ... get this ... he makes me a firm offer of one thousand bucks for the painting.

FAT:

A tidy profit.

ELOISE:

But I decline.

FAT:

Oh..... Why?

ELOISE:

It comes over me in a flash I have unwittingly picked up something real hot .. Well, like for instance an undiscovered Old Master or Old Mistress. So I hang up and take the painting out again to have it cased by someone who knows, but it is late and the art marts are closed, so I come home again. I open the door and walk in.

FAT:

Yeah?

ELOISE:

If you look closely at my right eye, you will see that under the makeup is a mouse. Also, over my ear, here, is a lump.

FAT:

Yes, I do see.

ELOISE:

Inside my apartment, lying in wait for me is a little character with thick glasses and a limp. He walks up and without further ado, puts the slug on me, grabs my painting and scrams. Hmph! The doc who examines me when I wake up tells me I am fortunate to escape without a percussion.

FAT:

I see. Well, what do I do?

ELOISE:

Find my painting and also the little gimp who accosted me. If you have to rough him up, so much the better. I must warm you, of course, that you might have your hands full, since we are dealing with an unscrupulous party.

FAT:

(CHUCKLES)

ELOISE:

What's funny?

FAT:

Sweetheart ... from here on in, anything will be an anticlimax.

(MUSIC: IN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

I'd be the last one to agree that Eloise was extremely mental, but the idea she'd got hold of an Old Master or Old Mistress was as good a start as any ... so I grabbed another short, which took me up to the quainty-dainty ruffle-and-tuck shoppe operated by Mr. Thurston Maple ... a solid, grey-eyed man who looked more like a bank president than an interior decorator.

MAPLE:

Mmm ... Eloise McGinnis?

FAT:

Yeah... Yeah... she bought a picture in your window, called Oriflamme.

MAPLE:

Oh, yes, I remember now, unfortunately.

FAT:

Unfortunately?

MAPLE:

Well, I hoped I'd forget it. Matter of fact I very nearly discharged my assistant for putting it in the window. Heaven knows how many passers-by saw it and wondered if I'd gone out of my mind. A horror, Mr. Runyun..an absolute horror.

FAT:

You mean the kind of horror that sells for big dough?

MAPLE:

I'm afraid I don't understand.

FAT:

Skip it. This was a bad painting, hmm?

MAPLE:

We wouldn't sell a good one for twenty dollars. It was probably done by some amateur whose wife wouldn't have it in the house.

FAT:

Where'd you get it?

MAPLE:

Who knows? Might've come in in any of a dozen job lots.

FAT:

How about looking it up?

MAPLE:

Well, is it that important?

FAT:

It was important enough for someone to beat up my client and run off with it.

MAPLE:

Well, whatever for, Mr. Runyun?

FAT:

That's what I'm supposed to find out.

MAPLE:

You don't know how ridiculous that is. That painting is absolutely worthless. However, if you insist, I'll check my files and ... wait a minute.

FAT:

Huh?

MAPLE:

I remember now. Parker took it in.

FAT:

Parker?

MAPLE:

My so-called assistant. He bought it for six dollars from a woman...a dancer, I believe. Yes, that's right. He told me she came in last night and tried to buy it back, but I'd already sold it.

FAT:

Now we're getting somewhere. Who was she?

MAPLE:

Now let me see..what was it? Ariel. Ariel Strand. She's a dancer at a place called the Rendezvous in the Village.

FAT:

That's remarkable.

MAPLE:

What's remarkable about a dancer in Greenwich Village?

FAT:

Oh nothing. I'm talking about your memory. G'Bye, Mr. Maple.

(MUSIC: IN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

Ariel is a name you don't run into every day, even in New York...yet I had run into it, because it rang a bell somewhere. I decided I'd seen it in the papers. My feet were tired, so I bought one and stopped off at a one-arm joint for a piece of pie. Sure enough, there was a picture of Ariel, on Page 3, slumped over, with her blonde hair awry and her mascara running down her face. Underneath, it said: "DANCER WEEPS AT MOBSTER'S BEDSIDE," with a squib describing the last mortal hours of a red-hot named Tommy Bronson, who, it seemed, had double-crossed his colleagues on some kind of a gambling payoff and had left the gangster profession via the trade exit. His last words were to Ariel, "It's in oriflamme, baby." What this reference to the missing painting meant remained to be seen, so I "copped my third short" and trucked over to Ariel's apartment in the Village.

(DOOR BUZZER, PAUSE, DOOR OPENED)

 

ARIEL:

Yeah, what is it?

FAT:

Oh. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?

ARIEL:

I'm busy. Maybe later, huh? I ...

FAT:

(SQUEEZES IN, CLOSES DOOR) I'm sorry, this can't wait.

ARIEL:

What do you think you're doing?

FAT:

Take it easy sweetheart ... this has nothing to do with Tommy Bronson, so relax.

ARIEL:

Who are you?

FAT:

I'm just a poor guy trying to run down that picture you sold to Thurston Maple a while back.

ARIEL:

What for?

FAT:

Someone slugged my client and stole it. Maple tells me it's worthless. What do you think?

ARIEL:

(RELAXING) It's not worthless. He paid six bucks for it.

FAT:

Why'd you sell it to him?

ARIEL:

If you'd seen it you wouldn't ask. It was supposed to be of me and I looked eighty years old.

FAT:

Who painted it?

ARIEL:

Some poor shmo who lives around here. He gave it to me.

FAT:

Hmm. (PAUSE) That's all?

ARIEL:

That's it.

FAT:

(PAUSE) You're pretty good, baby, but not good enough. Why'd you try to buy it back from Maple last night?

ARIEL:

Who says I did?

FAT:

He did.

ARIEL:

He's lying.

FAT:

Why would he lie?

ARIEL:

(SHRUGS) Should I know why? (PAUSE) Look, sMister ... why don't you run along? I'm busy.

FAT:

(FADE) So I noticed. You working for a Photographic Magazine on the side?

ARIEL:

Huh?

FAT:

(PICKS UP A CAMERA, PUTS IT DOWN) Camera, flash bulbs, roll of film. Mmm ... exposed, too.

ARIEL:

What else? I took some pictures of my portrait for memory's sake before I sold it.

FAT:

I'd like to see those pictures.

ARIEL:

(EVENLY) You better put that down.

FAT:

Oh, I'm only curious ... (TAKE) Well. What's the gun for?

ARIEL:

To convince you you'd better go ... and that's the last question on the program, Fat Boy.

FAT:

What's with the film?

ARIEL:

Nothing. Get out of here.

FAT:

Well, I hate to run off this way. Of course, I can always look up the little guy with the glasses and the limp.

ARIEL:

(QUICKLY) What do you know about him?

FAT:

Oh. He a friend of yours, too? Well, I'll tell you..

(GRABS HER ARM, SCUFFLE AS..)

 

ARIEL:

Oh! ... What do you think you're ... (GASPS)

FAT:

(STRAINING) Take it easy, now..let's have it. (WRENCHES) There. Now sit down and play lady for a while...if possible.

ARIEL:

You big, overstuffed flatfoot, I'll...

FAT:

Shut up and sit down!

(SHOVES HER INTO CHAIR)

 

ARIEL:

Oh! ... What's the idea?!

FAT:

Now ... I'm taking the film with me.

ARIEL:

What for?

FAT:

Got a wild idea it has something to do with my six-dollar painting. If it has, I'll be back. If it hasn't, I'll return it to you with a long note of apology and a bouquet of petunias. So long, sweetheart.

(MUSIC: IN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

At the drug store photo department they told me they'd have the prints back in a couple of hours. I sat down at the fountain, ordered a cup of coffee and took the paper out again. It seemed Tommy Bronson's funeral...a simple affair with only twenty thousand dollars worth of flowers, was being held at a mortuary across town .... according to Eddy Symes, the police reporter who wrote the article. There was a good chance Eddy would be there to cover it .... and right now, he was a guy I wanted to see.

(MUSIC: SEGUE TO FUNERAL ORGAN UNDER)

 

FAT:

I found him sitting in the back row, with his notebook open. The chapel was filled with hoods, gawkers, sightseers and such...a gaping mob of idiots paying homage to a rat whose greatest service to humanity was dying in his prime.

CAST:

(OCCASIONAL HUSHED AD LIBS)

EDDY:

Hi, Runyun.

FAT:

Hi, Eddy. How's it going?

EDDY:

Well, see for yourself. Caesar never had it so good. What are you doing here?

FAT:

Hmm, wish I knew. Who killed him?

EDDY:

Artie Layton. They got him down at headquarters right now.

FAT:

Why?

EDDY:

You read the papers, didn't you?

FAT:

Is that the McCoy?

EDDY:

Yeah. Quarter of a million in cash...payoff on the gambling setup. Bronson got it but he didn't go for the split.

FAT:

Hmm ... What happened to the dough?

EDDY:

That's the funny part. The guy had a dozen bank accounts, but he cleaned 'em all out ...as if he knew what was coming. Oh... Uh...he left a will, you know.

FAT:

Oh, no!

EDDY:

Yeah, sure. They read it yesterday afternoon. He left three hundred thousand in cash and securities to the floozie he was running around with.

FAT:

Ariel Strand?

EDDY:

Yeah.

FAT:

You just said there wasn't any dough.

EDDY:

There wasn't. The rumble is, the only thing he ever gave the Strand dame outside of a headache is a picture of her he painted himself.

FAT:

A painting?

EDDY:

Yeah...he was an amateur painter, y'know. So that's where it stands. Where the dough is is anybody's guess....

FAT:

Hey, hold it, Eddy. See you later!

EDDY:

Where you going? Hey! Hey!

(MUSIC: IN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

I hated to run out on him, but I'd happened to be looking at one of the side exits when a small character ducked in, looked around, and then ducked out again. He had three interesting points; (1) Thick glasses, (2) A limp, and (3) A brown paper package under his arm. I got out onto the street just in time to see him scurry into a drugstore across the way. At that point I got hung up in a red light and had to wait, but I kept my eye on the door and he didn't come out. When I finally made it, I took a look around the store. I didn't find him, then spotted a stairway in the corner marked "TELEPHONE". (COLD) Three of the four booths were empty. The last one was occupied. I slid into number three and waited. (PAUSE) Whoever he was talking to must've been monopolizing the conversation because Gimpy was doing all the listening. I looked closer...through the glass of the door...then pulled it open.

(DOOR OPENED, PAUSE, THEN BODY FALL)

 

FAT:

Gimpy fell out at my feet. There was a knife in his back. I picked up the dangling receiver.

MAPLE:

(CLICKS) Hello, hello?

FAT:

(PAUSE, PROFESSIONALLY) I'm sorry, sir. This is the Service Office. Your party has been disconncted. Would you give me your number, please?

MAPLE:

Regent 4-7567.

FAT:

Thank you. I'll reconnect you.

(HANGS UP)

 

(MUSIC: IN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

I'd written it down before I realized that, for the second time today, I was looking at Regent 4-7567...the number of Sloan's wedding cake penthouse on East 77th Street.

(MUSIC: FIRST ACT CURTAIN)

 

MIDDLE COMMERCIAL

FAT MAN:

Did you ever watch a real connoisseur study a painting? He steps back, looks at it from different angles, examines the composition and the details. The important thing is, he takes his time, And that's the sensible way to evaluate most things - including cigarettes.

1st ANNCR:

You hear a lot about cigarette tests these days - one puff of this cigarette against one puff of that .... or one quick sniff of the tobacco. Well, Friends, you won't find out much about steady smoking pleasure that way. The sensible test of a cigarette is day-in, day-out smoking.

2nd ANNCR:

Make the Camel thirty-day test. Smoke Camels for thirty days ... enjoy the rich, full flavor of Camel's costly tobaccos ... and you'll discover just how mild a cigarette can be... Your "T-Zone" - T for throat and T for taste - will tell you all you need to know!

1st ANNCR:

In a coast-to-coast test of hundreds of people who smoked only Camels for thirty days, noted throat specialists reported not one single case of throat irritation due to smoking Camels!

2nd ANNCR:

Make your own thirty-day Camel mildness test - the sensible test - and see why more people smoke Camels than any other cigarette!

SINGERS:

How mild,
How mild,
How mild can a cigarette be?
Make the Camel thirty-day test
And you'll see!
Smoke Camels and see!

1st ANNCR:

And now here again is the Fat Man.

(MUSIC: OVERTURE)

 

FAT:

If I'd made that traffic signal, I'd've seen it happen, but I was a minute too late. Whoever left the knife in Gimpy had gone down the other stairs and was probably two blocks away by now. Someone else had seen the body topple out of the phone booth and reported it and suddenly the little room was filled with people.

CAST:

(AD LIBS: "OH! ... LOOK AT THAT!" "WHAT HAPPENED?" "WHO IS IT?" ETC.)

EDDY:

(PUSHES WAY THROUGH CROWD) Runyun! What happened? Oh-oh.

FAT:

Hi, Eddy.

EDDY:

I wondered why you took out of there so fast. (BENDS DOWN) Mmm..so Augie finally got it, huh?

FAT:

Augie?

EDDY:

Yeah... Yeah... Tommy Bronson's errand boy. Any idea who...?

FAT:

Got a couple of vague notions. He had a package when it happened. He hasn't got it now. How much time have you?

EDDY:

All night, if this keeps up. Lemme call this in.

FAT:

Call headquarters first. Here...take this...it's a claim check on some film I left at a drugstore across town. It'll be ready pretty quick. Pick it up and then meet me here..at this address....(SCRIBBLES)....penthouse on East 77th. Got it?

EDDY:

Right. (MORE CROWD AD LIBS) All right, stand back, everybody! Stand back! Stand back! (ETC., FADING UNDER..)

(MUSIC: UP TO COVER, THEN UNDER)

 

FAT:

It was dark when I got there, making the penthouse look all the more unreal ... I moved up in the shadows, near an open French window ...

MAPLE:

(OFF) I tell you, something's happened to him! Why doesn't he call back?

SLOAN:

(OFF) Oh, who knows? Maybe he got a better offer. What are you going to do about it?

MAPLE:

I'll tell you one thing, Sloan. I certainly don't intend to sit here!

SLOAN:

I wish you were sitting. For an hour, now, you've been pacing the floor and wearing holes in my best broadloom.

MAPLE:

There's a fortune in that picture, Sloan! Can you get that through your head? A quarter of a million dollars!

SLOAN:

And you sold it for twenty. Let's see ... that's a clear loss of $249,980 even.

MAPLE:

Oh, shut up!

SLOAN:

(OFF) Well, say, if you want my opinion ...

MAPLE:

I don't ...

SLOAN:

I think the whole thing is fantastic . How do you know Augie didn't make it all up? How did it -

(SMALL VASE FALLS TO FLOOR)

 

FAT:

Oops - clumsy me.

SLOAN:

What are you doing here, Runyun?

FAT:

Don't let me interrupt. Somebody was just saying the picture was worth a quarter of a million bucks. How come?

MAPLE:

It's none of your business.

FAT:

I think it is, since you sold it to my client..I think Little Augie knew it was worth something -- Found out Ariel sold it to you and when he came to you to buy it you figured with all the to do something was up so you cut Little Augie in and hired him to put the slug on her and swipe it.

MAPLE:

I did nothing of the kind.

FAT:

No? Augie ought to know what he's taking about.

SLOAN:

Where is he?

FAT:

Never mind that now. Which one of you hired him?

SLOAN:

Map1e here.

MAPLE:

Oh, all right, so I did. He said he could get it for me. I tried to buy it back from her, but she... Well, where is he, Runyun? What happened to him?

FAT:

He's dead.

MAPLE:

(PAUSE) I was afraid that might happen.

FAT:

All right, let's have it now. What's with the picture? Why is it so valuable?

SLOAN:

It's a keepsake, Runyun..painted by her dear, departed mother-in-law.

FAT:

It was painted by Tommy Bronson. As such, it's worth slightly less than a hunk of second-hand wallpaper...not exactly the kind of thing people commit murder for. (PAUSE)..You'd better talk, Maple.

MAPLE:

(PAUSE) All right, Runyun...I'11 tell you. It's ... it's really a valuable picture. A ...a Venetian primitive. I didn't realize it and ... uh ....

FAT:

Start over. It was painted by Bronson, as I told you.

MAPLE:

No, you only think so. He claimed it, but ...

FAT:

It's a picture of a dame he ran around with named Ariel Strand...a lousy likeness, but an honest try. She's dancing in front of a stone wall...some routine she does at the Rendezvous Club called the Oriflamme Dance. So forget the Venetian primitive.

MAPLE:

(AD LIBBING FURIOUSLY) Well, b-but you see, that's just the point. He...he did paint her...he painted over the primitive to conceal its value. After the top is removed...

FAT:

Save your breath. That's two strikes. One more and you're out.

MAPLE:

Now see here, Runyun, I'm telling you ...

FAT:

You're lying. And if it's any news to you the Strand dame took photographs of the picture before she sold it.

MAPLE:

Sloan! - that means we're too late.

FAT:

(TOPS HIM) So, the photograph seems to be just as valuable as the original...hardly true if it's a rare Venetian primitive.

(DRAWER OPENED, OFF)

 

FAT:

Now, how about gettin' down to the facts?

SLOAN:

That'll be all, Mr. Runyun.

FAT:

(TURNING) Now wait, Wishbone. Come out from behind that fish tank and put the gun down. It's the second one I've looked at today and I'm tired of it.

SLOAN:

Then you'd better go.

FAT:

I'll bet you don't even know how to work it.

SLOAN:

No?

FAT:

No..or you wouldn't leave the safety on like that ...

SLOAN:

What are you talking about? It's....

MAPLE:

Look out!

SLOAN:

Eeee!

FAT:

(SHOVES)

(CRASH OF FISH TANK, WATER, WATER, EVERYWHERE)

 

SLOAN:

My fish! My guppies! My pedigreed swordtails!

(MUSIC: IN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

It was a dirty trick, shoving forty gallons of tropical fish at him, but I couldn't think of anything more sporting at the time. Suddenly we were all up to our knees in water, glass, tangled iron and flopping guppies. I found Sloan's gun in the middle of it and backed over to the door just as someone knocked...

(KNOCK)

 

FAT:

Who is it?

EDDY:

Eddy.

FAT:

Oh. [(DOOR OPENED)] Did you get the prints?

EDDY:

Yeah.

FAT:

No ... not here. C'mon outside.

(DOOR CLOSED, STEPS)

 

EDDY:

What's going on in there?

FAT:

They're mad at me. Let's see the prints. Over by the light, here. Mmm ...

EDDY:

All six are of that painting. How come?

FAT:

She didn't want to take chances on missing. It's clear enough. It was a lousy painting, at that. Oriflamme.

EDDY:

What does that mean?

FAT:

Flame of Gold, in French.

EDDY:

Huh! Wonder, what that's got to do with Tommy Bronson's garden.

FAT:

It's the dance she does at ... (TAKE) What'd you say?

EDDY:

That rock wall in the background. It's in Tommy Bronson's garden out in Westchester. (PAUSE) What's the matter? Did I say something?

FAT:

You sure did. Come on boy, we're on our way to Westchester.

(MUSIC: BRIDGE)

 

(STEPS ON GRAVEL, STOP)

 

FAT:

Hold the light a little higher.

EDDY:

Look, what's this all about, Runyun?

FAT:

Over this way. That's it. You're sure this is the rock wall in the picture?

EDDY:

Sure. There's the sundial see? Just like in the painting.. And the corner of the house comes in on the other side.

FAT:

Wait, now. She... She's standing right here. Her hand is pointing...here...hold the picture.

EDDY:

Yeah.

(FAT TRIES ROCKS IN WALL, FINDS LOOSE ONE, PULLS IT OUT)

 

FAT:

There we are. Flash the light inside.

EDDY:

(PAUSE) It's empty.

FAT:

Yeah...we're a little late, but we've still got a chance. Come on!

(MUSIC: IN AND UNDER)

 

FAT:

We were also a little late getting to her apartment. A cab driver was pulling into the stand on the corner who told us he'd just taken her to the airport.

CAST:

(AIRPORT CROWD, AD LIBS, ETC)

P.A.:

Flight 18, Miami, Camuguey, Ciudad Trujillo, San Juan, St. John, Port-of-Spain, Paramaribo, and Rio de Janeiro. Now loading at Gate 12. (ETC.)

FAT:

(NARR) We about decided we were a little late there, too, when a woman in dark glasses busted out of the Ladies Lounge and headed for Gate 12. Right size and build, but she had dark hair. It was a gamble, but I took it.

(HURRIED STEPS, SLIGHT SCUFFLE AS)

 

FAT:

Excuse me, lady.

ARIEL:

Huh? Let go of me.

FAT:

Ahh, I'd know that voice anywhere. Take off the glasses, sweetheart...you're among friends. (UP) Here, Eddy!

EDDY:

(RUNS UP) Yeah?

FAT:

You asked who stuck the knife in Little Augie. Here she is ... Uh ... this is the brunette version. What is it, Ariel, a wig or a dye job?

ARIEL:

You seem to know everything, Runyun ... you tell me.

FAT:

Sure. You're a bright girl, Ariel ... but not as bright as Tommy figured when he slipped you the map to his three hundred thousand bucks. It took you a long time to add it up, didn't it? The Dance of Gold ... the hand pointing to that rock in the wall in his garden. By the way, where is the masterpiece?

ARIEL:

(DULLY) In the bag, there.

FAT:

With the dough?

ARZEL:

Yeah.

FAT:

Too bad, baby. It was all yours ... legally. Only you had to commit murder to get it.

ARIEL:

I had to get the picture when you stole my films. That's the only way I could find the dough.

FAT:

That's too bad, because, where you're going, it's gonna be pretty hard to spend. Eddy, watch this dame while I call my client and tell her what this picture was really worth.

(MUSIC: CURTAIN)

 

CLOSING COMMERCIAL

ANNCR:

(OVER MUSIC) The Fat Man will return in just a moment.

(MUSIC: OUT)

 

1st ANNCR:

What cigarette do you smoke, Doctor?

2nd ANNCR:

That question was asked of one hundred thirteen thousand five hundred and ninety-seven doctors.

1st ANNCR:

What cigarette do you smoke, Doctor?

2nd ANNCR:

The brand named most was Camel! Yes, according to this nationwide survey, more doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette!

1st ANNCR:

Camels are the favorite cigarette of millions of smokers - including many whose voices are their fortunes .. Martha Tilton, Ezio Pinza, Ralph Bellamy are some of the stars who choose Camels for mildness! Start your own thirty-day Camel mildness test today!

SINGERS:

How mild,
How mild,
How mild can a cigarette be?
Make the Camel thirty-day test
And you'll see!
Smoke Camels and see!

(OUT)

 

1st ANNCR:

(BEAT) Now here's the Fat Man with a special message.

FAT:

Friends, most of the people who have served in our armed forces have returned to normal life. Many others, however, are in various hospitals around the country. The Camel people send this deserving group gift Camels every week.

ANNCR:

This week's Camels go to: Veterans' Hospitals, Los Angeles, California, and Tucson, Arizona ... U. S. Army Fitzsimons General Hospital, Denver, Colorado ... U. S. Naval Hospital, Bremerton, Washington.

MUSIC:

CAMEL THEME .. FADE UNDER .. CUSHION)

1st ANNCR:

Tonight's program starred J. Scott Smart as The Fat Man and was directed by -

(MUSIC: OUT)

 

1st ANNCR:

Clark Andrews. The music was under the direction of Bernard Green.

MUSIC:

CAMEL THEME .. CUSHION .. THEME FADE & OUT)

(CLOSING)

 

ANNCR:

(IN BOOTH) Men, there's smoking pleasure in every pipeful of Prince Albert! Natural fragrance and the rich flavor of choice tobacco, crimp cut for smooth, even burning ... specially treated to insure against tongue bite. Enjoy Prince Albert, America's largest selling smoking tobacco!

(MUSIC: CAMEL THEME CONTINUING UNDER)

 

ANNCR:

Listen, next week when Camel Cigarettes again present that fascinating and exciting character The Fat Man, in the adventure called "No Heart for Murder."

(MUSIC: BOARD FADE)

 

ANNCR:

THIS IS YOUR FBI - the official broadcast from the files of the FBI - follows immediately. Stay tuned.

(TWO SECOND PAUSE)

 

THIS IS ... THE AMERICAN BROADCASTING COMPANY.