Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave.
There's no other end, but they never learn.
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The Girl from Pitchfork Corners.
Sure, I'm sure when I'm saying what I'm saying. Do I look like I'm wearing blinkers?
Now for the third and last time so I can go back to marking this form.
Nobody's been in that seat mister since we left LA, nobody, nobody.
You sure you got the right stall?
Yeah, yeah, car J, lower 12, your J upper 12, right?
Right, right, right, like rain, like rain.
Now let's lie for you.
Now look friend, friend, let's go around again, huh? His name is Latimer, Arnold Latimer.
I don't know what he looks like but he's supposed to be heading for San Francisco.
Now maybe you heard somebody call him, page him, something.
Uh-uh, uh-uh, nobody call no one except that pool cue conductor with the brass buttons and the sandpaper voice.
Uh, you checked him, you checked him?
Yeah, twice, twice. Now look, lower 12 is vacant as far as he's concerned, right?
And no Arnold Latimer in the club car, the diner either?
Hey, now wait a minute. Have you tried the washroom?
Yeah, same story.
Ah, well, well, looks like your entry was scratched, huh, scratched?
Uh-huh, also looks like Glendale is where I get off.
So long pal, good luck with the ponies.
Hey, now hold it, hold it, don't tell me that Latimer bird is the only reason you're on this train.
The one and only, look if you run across a pony called Not On Hand, play it heavy, huh?
Yeah, sure, but not to show, not to show.
Good night friend.
I waited on the platform at Glendale until the chrome streamliner had glided out with car J, lower 12 still empty.
Then I got a cab back to Union Station in LA, picked up my own car and headed for 1312 North Bronson Drive in Hollywood.
And a woman I'd never seen named Donna Rollins.
She had hired me by special delivery letter that afternoon, crisp $50 bill enclosed therein.
To be sure that one Arnold Latimer was going where he said he was going.
That had been my job.
Well, the place on Bronson was the kind of imitation Mount Vernon architecture where Washington couldn't have slept a wink.
The lady that answered the door was about as colonial as Bebop.
Yet she was a full lap behind the other extreme known as glamorous Hollywood type.
Just a nice looking anybody.
With freckles, brown hair and a soft bun and dressed in a white blouse that didn't plunge an inch.
Yes, what is it?
Oh, I'm Philip Marlowe, Miss Rollins. I'm afraid you're entitled to some change.
May I come in?
Change? What do you mean change?
You're $50. It's a lot of money for a one line report on a little man who wasn't there.
Miss Rollins, do you hear me?
Yes, yes Mr. Marlowe. I don't like to seem abrupt but I'm very busy. Excuse me please.
You seem to have lost interest in Mr. Latimer. Now hurry.
You know when you sent me the letter this afternoon...
Have to eat Mr. Marlowe. There isn't time for talk. I've already told you I'm very busy. Good night.
Okay baby, good night it is.
I backed my nose off the front door knocker, chalked Donna Rollins off as another woman who had changed her jittery mind...
and walked a dozen yards back to where I'd parked my car.
The crisp $50 bill was still burning a hole in my pocket.
When I was in behind the wheel I was still worried about taking so much for so little.
Until I flicked my headlights on and a slash of white picked up something I hadn't expected.
Donna Rollins, a coat thrown over her arm, a face stamped with fear...
was running away from the house like it was going to blow up.
Headed for a taxi cab parked close to a corner.
I started my car to follow her but I never made it...
because a hot rod decided all at once to park in front of me.
I am a big jerk!
The adolescent climbed over his door and came toward me. He was strictly brash high school sophomore with dialogue to match.
Of course the cab was gone.
Well, Pappy, nice going. Your bumpers pleated my twin pipes.
Well, what are you calculating doing about it?
If you were five years older and five inches taller I'd pleat you, Pappy. Now come here!
Let me go!
Not until I speak my piece.
You son of a bitch, you're going to get those two cars apart in less than two minutes...
because I don't calculate on being gone any longer. Is that crystal clear?
Yeah, yeah, sure, mister. Sure, I'll fix it up double quick, you'll see. I practically got it done now. Okay?
I don't know. We'll talk about it again in two minutes.
I had no idea what Donna Rollins had been running to or from.
But the fact that she was gone while her front door was still open made her house the first place to check.
I found the living room nothing more or less than I'd seen at my first peek.
Plush but empty.
The bedroom beyond was the same.
White satin drapes spilling onto a wall-to-wall jet, black hook rug, and...
on the far side of the room, sprawled over, and also white ottoman.
A very beautiful blonde girl.
Very dead.
She'd been shot twice in the back, sometime in the last hour.
There was no identification in any of the pockets of the expensively tailored gabardine suit that she wore.
In a handbag, the story was the same.
Yeah, it looked like Donna had had good reason to run...
but that I had a better one for calling the police...
or taking her messages.
Hello?
I want to talk to Donna.
She isn't in, message?
Yeah, she has a message. I want you to find her and get her this to me, please.
Hey! Hey, I can't hear you.
Are you still there?
Yeah. Hold on.
His phone booth is leaked.
Okay. Who are you?
Friend of Donna's. You said you had a message.
Yeah, so I did.
But?
But I think you're awful anxious, fella. Too anxious.
Oh, now, wait a minute. Don't get touchy. I'm a friend, all right.
Skip it. Friend.
Not a chance, Junior.
Nevins, one, two, one, two.
We may get together yet.
I'm sorry.
Los Angeles City, Bidley. Fire department.
Battalion Chief Kegler, please.
One moment, sir.
Battalion Chief.
Phil Marlow, Keg.
Oh, hi, Phil.
Look, can you get me some dope in a big hurry? It's important.
Oh, sure, Phil. Name it.
What firehouse went out on a call less than a minute ago? Can you look it up?
Well, I don't have to. It's here on the board in front of me.
Engine Company Five, Phil. San Fernando Valley. But it's only a small brush...
I don't care about that, Keg. Where does Engine Company Five live? Where in the valley? Can you give me that?
Well, I think so, Phil. I've seen it was me own outfit for 14 years.
The corner of Ventura Boulevard and Witsett. But, Phil, what do you want to...
I'll call you later, Chief. We'll talk it over then, huh? Thanks. Goodbye.
I was playing a long shot.
But any kind of a lead on a deep freeze voice who had a message for a girl who left a corpse in her bedroom was worth checking.
So, over the time being, I skipped calling the police and left the place lights out, door closed, but not locked.
Then I found my car where the hot rod pilot had left it.
Started for the San Fernando Valley in the firehouse called Five.
Twenty minutes later, when I was there and out of my car, I came face to face with my second break.
The only pay phone within a half block of the Engine Company was at an all-night open air hot dog stand.
And the attendant on hand, a girl with a kind of arched eyebrows that left her looking constantly surprised, had an A1 memory.
I most certainly do remember the party you're talking of, Mr. Most Certainly.
And for two, a special one.
I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I can remember the party.
I most certainly do remember the party you're talking of, Mr. Most Certainly. And for two especially good reasons.
Like what, honey?
Like top and bottom, hair and shoes I refer to.
The former, red like this ketchup here. And the latter, suede and yellow no less.
Hey, Bessie.
Yeah, excuse me.
Well, let's be quick.
Hot dog, Bessie. You pick it with your own dainty fingers.
Yeah, with my own dainty fingers. Really, Chris, you say the same thing every night. It gets to be very, very hot.
Hey, Bessie, pardon me dear, but this counts. Do you know who this redhead in yellow suede shoes is? His name?
Oh, no, I never saw him before.
Oh, fine. Well, thanks, baby.
Oh, don't mention it. By the by, I do know where he went, if that means anything.
Baby, it means a lot. Where? Tell me.
With the old Mexico club here in Studio City. He works there or something.
Anyhow, I know he made a call to Herbert Ring, the gambling big shot, and called him boys. And Ring runs that place.
Thanks, sweetheart. Here's ten for your trouble. Bye, Chris, and you, old hat.
Thanks.
Goodbye.
The old Mexico club was phony south of the border from authentic Latin American rumba team I'd seen build as Mr. and Mrs. Buck and Wing a month ago at the policeman's ball.
To a life-size painting of a bullfighter who had his cape thrown over the wrong shoulder.
It was strictly second rate all the way down and back up the line to the propriety himself, Herbert Ring.
An almost smooth, almost big bookmaker whom I knew slightly.
I found him at a corner table huddled over a glass of milk, listening hard to none other than the redhead with the gaily colored feet.
When I stepped up to them, the conversation broke off sharply.
Well, well, well, hiya, Phil. What's new, boy?
Oh, nothing much, Herb. Outside of a job I just landed.
A girl named Donna Rollins.
Donna Rollins?
Quiet, Larry.
Excuse us, sir, won't you? Sit down, Phil, sit down.
Mr. Marlowe, Larry. How are you?
I'll be at the bar, boss.
He's not so friendly, Phil. The evasive type, if you know what I mean.
Yeah. Evasive like Arnold Latimer, maybe?
Arnold Latimer? Who's that, Phil?
Now listen, Herb, I'm trying it straight. Donna Rollins and you, what's the tie?
I forget.
Your angle?
Right now, curiosity and a corpse, no more.
Oh, somebody's dead, huh? Where?
I forget. Round two, Herb.
Yeah, yeah. Okay, Phil, you've got as much good sense as you have nerve.
Thanks.
I'll try it straight for a while.
A certain party has me over the bow. Tonight's the payoff. I plan on making it. That's all.
Blackmail? And you're almost happy about it?
Oh, look, Herb, you don't expect me...
Marlowe, you're thinking like an honest man. Now, turn it over.
Huh?
I'm stuck, so I pay. Once.
Blackmail's your name for it. We call it smart money. And smart money's what we're dealing with.
You follow?
Almost. But this certain party, is it Donna Rollins?
Marlowe, after what I said about your good sense...
Oh, yeah. How straight can you get, huh?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Leave it alone, Phil. Good night, boy.
I watched them go as far as the bar and pass Larry, who quietly fell and stepped behind without so much as the command heel.
And when they both disappeared into a door marked private, I decided I'd had enough of old Mexico.
I got out of my car and pointed it back for Donna Rollins' place for the only reason left.
I didn't know where else to go. Half hour later, when I was there, I was glad it had played that way because...
Number 1312 North Bronson was not dark as I'd left it, but lights on, front door wide open, radio going, and for a topper...
A gentleman of maybe 35.
I was a little bit worried, but I was glad I had a friend.
As I'd left it, but lights on, front door wide open, radio going, and for a topper, a gentleman of maybe 35.
In tweeds in a sunburn, mixing himself a drink.
The evening paper open on a nearby coffee table.
Good evening.
Oh, you startled me. You a friend of Donna's?
Yeah, yeah. Is she in?
No, she... Say, who are you? You barge in here, close the door, make yourself at home.
I told you I'm a friend of Donna's.
Oh, that's odd. So am I.
A study boyfriend. Shall we try again?
All right, the name's Marlow. I'm a private detective working for Donna.
A private... Donna hired a private detective? Why? What's wrong?
Take it easy. Mr. and...
Mr. Sattler, Doug Sattler, please, no, Mr. Marlow, come to the point. I had a date with Donna.
Yeah, well, from the way she left here, I don't think she's going to keep it.
Why not? Why shouldn't she?
Well, for one thing, if you don't know already, there's a body in the bedroom there.
A body? Somebody's dead in there?
Yeah, very dead. Let's have a look, huh?
Maybe somebody you can identify. It's a woman, Mr. Sattler, a blonde. She was shot.
Well, who is it, Sattler? Friend of Donna?
Oh, it's Donna.
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Now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's exciting story, the girl from Pitchfork Corners.
The thing in the bedroom was no prettier than it had been when I first found it, only now it had a name.
Donna Rollins, my client. And as Doug Sattler stared at it and repeated the name his long hands began to twist each other and its forehead got sticky.
That finally took him by the shoulder and turned him around away from it.
His glistening gray eyes avoided me and instead darted at the corners of the room frantically like a pair of scared mice looking for a place to hide.
Donna, dead like that? I just can't get it through my head. Why? Why?
Now let's try the easy ones first, like who, huh?
You mean you know who did this?
It's not exactly the handcuff stage, Sattler, but I got a prospect. Come on, let's go in the other room. You can probably use a brace.
Yeah, thanks. I need a drink.
Yeah, I think it's a girl, a cute one with dark eyes and a double row of freckles across her nose.
Freckles?
Yeah, also she has brown hair and a bun and a mouth that probably liked to smile once. I wasn't doing much of that when I reported to her tonight.
You reported to her? Now wait a minute, that's impossible, Marlowe.
Why? She was right here in the apartment. Furthermore, she said she was Donna Rollins.
I can't understand this, any of it.
Hey, wait a minute, take it easy with that stuff. I said a brace, not a bottle.
I need it. See, I know the girl you've just described.
Hmm?
Her name's Beverly Cheskin.
Cheskin? And a reason for killing, if she didn't?
Jealousy.
Maybe you better draw me a picture.
She's a crazy, unreasonable kid from the sticks, Marlowe. From Pitchfork Corners, Kansas.
From where?
That's right, Pitchfork Corners. The rest of it's just as fantastic.
Marlowe, what's the rest of the story?
Last summer my car broke down, I was stuck there for a week. She worked in the only drugstore in town, I was just about the first guy she'd ever seen in something beside a straw hat and overalls.
She fell for me and, well, I kind of let her on. You know how a fellow will.
I should. I've been hearing the same story since I was in the third grade.
It's the truth.
Oh sure, sure. Rest of it, no doubt, goes right down the same cob.
Sweet nothings to love letters sealed with a kiss.
You finally got around to breaking it to her gently about Donna, she wouldn't believe you, and before you knew it she dropped everything and came to the big city, huh?
Yeah, two days ago.
Yeah.
You make it all sound pretty silly.
It's no sillier to me than that corpse in there.
Okay.
It's hard to believe she'd actually commit a murder, Marlow. She does have a temper.
She's just pulled her life out by the roots.
And you know what? They grow deep in places like Pitchfork, Corner City. Boy, I didn't you care.
Of course I did. Crazy little fool, I tried to reason with her in my letters but she...
Never mind, never mind. Let's get on to the sophisticated part, huh? About Donna and one Mr. Latimer, for instance.
Latimer? Who's that?
Oh. How about Donna and Herbert Ring?
I don't know any Herbert Ring either.
But Donna had a lot of business friends I didn't bother with. Why?
Well, you should have. Doing business with her, Ring, means...
Means what?
That you have to be fast on your feet.
What's that? Where'd you pick up off the floor, Marlow?
An old envelope. I'm a stickler for neatness.
Where's Beverly staying, Sadland?
I don't know. She called me once but she wouldn't tell me. I haven't seen her.
Where'd she reach you?
My hotel, the Greenwood Arms.
Marlow, what are we gonna do about Beverly?
Right now I'm gonna try to find her. If you can stand it, Sadler, stay here. And stay sober.
The crumpled envelope I'd found that didn't belong on Donna's floor had come from the Sunflower Motor Court.
Qualified as a lead only because the name might appeal to a sentimental Kenzen a long way from home.
Well, it took the night man at the place five fumbling minutes to discover that Beverly Cheskin actually was a man.
Five more to remember that she got a call just before I showed up.
Had left in a big hurry and had crossed the street towards Sam's.
Which was the U Drive car lot done in tired green.
So was Sam.
Sorry, Sonny, but you're out of luck.
Ain't a buggy left on the lot.
I'm too out there, laid up.
I don't want a car, Sam. I got my own across the street. I'm looking for a girl.
What you doing in here for?
Because her name is Beverly Cheskin.
Beverly Cheskin?
Well, say now, ain't this coincidence?
Pretty little thing by that name, what you're saying.
Freckles and all.
Don't say freckles out here much.
Made me kind of homesick.
Yeah, I bet. Did she rent a car from you?
Oh, sure did.
Brand new NAS, last one.
Oh?
Darn near didn't give it to her.
She's mighty keyed up, you see.
Figured that LA traffic had put the wild on her till I found out it was love.
Love?
What do you mean?
Why, she asked me what was the shortest way up to Vista Point.
Won't you get it, son?
I'll be very honest, not yet, no.
Well, Vista is Mexican for view, senor.
Oh.
Point is just a hootin' holly to the observatory.
See the whole darn valley and all of LA up there.
That's where she's headed, huh? You sure?
We reckon most romantic spot around.
Dangerous road, but it's a good spot.
Dangerous road, though, more ways than one.
But you ain't kiddin' me, huh?
Bet you know all about it.
Well, not all, but I'm willing to find out.
Thanks, Sammy.
Not joy, don't break a neck cross the street, son, as you wait.
Leave that heap right where it sits, Thomas.
Won't be needing it.
I won't take your word for it, Laryn.
You'd better.
Mr. Ring wants you and me to have a nice talk.
Tell him we have nothing in common.
I know it's different. The name aren't Latimer, for instance.
Sorry, some other time. I got a date.
You.
Said we were gonna talk, Mr. Cool Cucumber.
If I have to warm you up to it to hide with it, it's okay with me.
You know, Larry, there's something wrong with a guy who'll wear yellow suede shoes like those.
He must be slow in his reflexes.
Imagine I'll be seeing you.
As I headed for Vista Point, two ugly plaques stood out clearly.
First, the only person Beverly Cheskin would rush off to Vista Point for was Doug Sattler.
Second, he had to be a liar because he called her just as soon as my back was turned.
And they both added up to the same thing and other cops.
A road up from the valley floor was a narrow strip of crumbling concrete is full of twists as a hurt worm.
But near the top, it leveled off in a series of ragged terraces, grossly overrated as a lover's rendezvous.
I pulled off the road, hit my car near a scrub oak, and went the rest of the way up on foot.
A cold wind lashed at the manzanita as I worked my way up to the crest.
The half moon played unpredictable tag with low clouds.
So I followed the shadow of a stone wall out onto the jetting point.
But a mountain fell away on three sides into a black gorge.
Finally, I spotted them.
Doug Sattler and the freckled kid from Pitchfork Connors, standing close together at the edge of oblivion.
I was in love with you, Doug. I still am.
Doesn't my being here prove that?
When you called me at the motel, I came up here as fast as I could, even though I knew what you'd done.
Oh, Doug, why did you have to kill her? Why?
Because she double-crossed me on a business deal.
A blackmail deal, Beverly.
Blackmail?
That's right.
Donna knew plenty about certain men in this town, big-timers who'd pay thousands or kill to keep others from finding out about them.
Oh, Doug, how could you?
Well, it was risky. I had to pose as somebody who didn't exist, Mr. Arnold Latimer, and pretend that he was the one who had all the information.
I demanded 50 grand from a guy named Ring and said Donop is the go-between.
Then, as Latimer, I was supposed to go to San Francisco on the train and wait for Donna to come with the money.
But I'd have waited the rest of my life. She intended to keep it all for herself.
But you killed her, Doug. Was it that important to you?
You still don't get it, do you?
I know now that there's no chance for us, for you and me. No chance at all, ever.
I'm going through with the deal alone, Beverly. I'm going through it with you.
I'm going through it alone, Beverly. I'm going to get that money. But I've got to do something else first.
I've heard enough. I reached for my 38 nays along the wall, saw them to where I knew I couldn't miss.
I made a mistake, Beverly. I dropped an envelope in Donna's place and Marlow found it.
He knows I lied, but I can still say I did it to protect you.
Protect me? What do you mean?
He'll be up here eventually, but all he's going to find is a stupid kid from Pitchfork Corners, murdered a rival and a bit of jealousy, and then couldn't face it.
I was counting on the wind to cover any noise, and it did. That's why I was caught flat-footed.
A sharp cane. Sattler lurched up on his toes and doubled over clawing at his stomach.
I crouched down as Herbert Ring stepped out of the brush across the clearing, a thin-barreled gun in his hand.
Don't move, sister!
Sattler had fallen face down on the ground. I started moving again. His ring rolled him over with his foot. He was dead.
That's the only payoff Mr. Arnold Latimer gets for me.
It's too bad you had to be here to see it made, sister, because I can't afford a witness.
I'm sorry, I really am. But it's no worse than he was going to do to you.
Ring! Duck Beverly!
Let that gun lay, Ring. Don't reach for it. Just relax.
That Larry, that louse! He was supposed to...
Yeah, it's a little late for tips, Herb. You should have hired a better class of help.
Go fry your head. Nobody's perfect. Even you.
Yeah, where'd I slip? Too much volume when I talked to Sam?
Yeah, that's right, Bob. I tagged you there and listened.
So you knew where to come and you heard the rest of it up here just like I did.
Take it, Herb. It's not going to be easy getting it down this hill to a dock.
Are you kidding, Shamas? I ain't moving any place.
If you know any pretty words, go say them to the lady.
She's the one who needs a...
They'll go over big in...
Bitch, fuck...
I couldn't think of any pretty words. Not then, anyway.
I let her figure it all out for herself when she was still at it,
when we got to police headquarters where we told the whole story to homicide from start to finish.
And finally when a coroner's crew went up to Vista Point to take Sattler and Ring to the morgue
and a gone police secretary with calluses on her mind hammered out the reports.
I went over to Beverly with a little country girl
who was looking through a dingy window at the dingy backyard of the city.
Are they going to ask any more questions, Mr. Marlowe?
No new ones. They've got it all. They just like to repeat to be sure it comes out the same each time.
You can't blame them, you know.
Well, they're not going to hold you. You can leave tomorrow and go home.
Yes, I know, but I'm not going back.
I'm going to stay here in Los Angeles.
Be sure, baby. It's a big place, lots of people.
An awful lot of people.
Not if you think about them one at a time.
Say, Marlowe, you can go now if you want, but we'd like to talk to you again, Miss Chesson.
Will you come in, please?
Oh, yes, sir. Well, good night, Phil.
Can I call you one of these days?
You'd better. Starting tomorrow.
She smiled, and the freckles on her nose all ran together.
Yeah, it was a lovely sight, that nose.
I watched her walk into the lieutenant's office, and then I went out, got in my car, and headed home.
And as I drove, I thought about hep-cats, hicks, and hayseeds.
But as she suggested, one at a time, you know what? It worked.
That way there's no difference. They're all people.
Yeah, I had a hunch I was going to be planning on that phone call tomorrow.
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The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, presented by Wrigley Spearmint Gum, bring you Raymond Chandler's most famous character and star, Gerald Moore.
Philip Marlowe is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald and written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Leavitt.
Featured in the cast were Sammy Hill, Peter Leeds, Wally Mayer, Hugh Thomas, Anthony Barrett, Vivi Janis, and Harry Bartell.
Special music is composed and conducted by Richard Arant.
The makers of Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum hope you enjoyed tonight's Adventures of Philip Marlowe and that you're enjoying Wrigley Spearmint Gum every day.
We invite you to be with us next week when Philip Marlowe says,
This time I spent the night in an ancient Spanish castle with an overworked count guarding a tomb.
A caretaker with blood on his mind and a seven footer called Peter the Cruel, which was one thing, the other was worse.
They all lived in the 16th century.
Bob Stevenson speaking, this is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
Music