Rocky Fortune: Messenger for Death 11/10/1953

Welcome to Choice Classic Radio, where we bring to you the greatest old-time radio shows. Like us on Facebook, subscribe to us on YouTube, and thank you for donating at choiceclassicradio.com. NBC presents Frank Sinatra, starring as that footloose and fancy free young gentleman, Rocky Fortune. Hi there. You know when it comes to losing jobs, I got about the best batten average in town. Something always happens. I mean, either I strike out on a secretary's curves or else I get put out for dropping a suggestion in a suggestion box, suggesting that the boss dropped dead. I start out with the best of intentions, but there's always something wrong with the setup. You take what happened last week. I land myself a job that pays $100 an hour, and at last I think I'm really living. And then I find out when it's time to collect that your life will not be living. One moment, please. What is it? Miss Chandler? I'm her secretary. What do you want? Instant messenger service. We don't want any. Look, honey, it's 8 a.m. This is my first job. Now don't give me a hard time. Now look, honey, I handle all of Miss Chandler's affairs, and we don't want a messenger. Oh, how would you like to get a... What is it? This boy in the man's suit says you call for a messenger. Yes, I did. For the package. You're not really going to send it, Laura. I've got to. I still think I'm making a mistake. I haven't any choice. Well, then why not let me deliver it for you? No, I thought it over. That neighborhood's dangerous, Eve. Well, nobody's going to kidnap the leavey, darling. Who's going to pay the ransom? Why don't you run along? Please, Eve, let me handle it. Yeah. Oh, all right, honey, it's your own funeral. Only I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. About 800 yards, left-handed. Leave us alone, Eve, please. Nice kid. Where does she live in the refrigerator? You'll have to excuse Eve. She's been with me for years. She's very devoted. I have a seat, Mr. Fortune, Rocky Fortune. You don't look like a messenger, boy. You're older. Well, my boss is very inefficient. He always sends a man to do a boy's work. Will you have a drink? I think I need one. Well, I don't usually start at 9 a.m. Excuse me. Yeah, steady on a year. Pull yourself together. You're shaking. I had a bad night. Hey, uh, charge your batteries. Thank you. Now, let me see. Messenger service, remember? Oh, yes. I left the package in my room. I won't be a moment. Will you wait? Forever. Laura Chandler is a blonde with a figure like Swedish stemwear. Tall and slender and curved in the right places. She walks out and I look around. The place is a plush two-story studio apartment from the drawing equipment. I figure her for one of these high-class fashion designers. I begin to wonder if she'll make it back before the nervous breakdown sets in. Here. Here's the package. Where to? 14 Barberies Street. Oh, that's a pretty rough neighborhood. Room 2B. Here's the key. Go in and leave this package on the table. You'll find another package. Pick it up and bring it to me. This doesn't sound like fashion proof. That's my business. Pardon me. And one thing. I don't want you snooping in the packages. Well, it's been grand meeting you, Miss Chandler. Where are you going? I insult very easily. Just a minute. Well? I'm sorry. Please, I'm terribly upset. Hung over, they call it. No, I haven't been well. Please forgive me. Okay. You want kissing makeup? It's very important to me that this package be delivered and the other package be turned to unopened. I'll pay you well. Well meaning what? $100. What's in this package? A new slim silhouette for the aged bar? Nothing with that. Will you take the job? Yeah, one condition. What's that? Advance me $0.30 for a couple of subway tokens. Here. Here's $10. I just want two tokens, not a seat in the stock exchange. Take a cab. Here's the package. Be careful. Don't worry. Do a good job and... Yeah? I'll be very grateful. Oh, in that case, lay off the happy juice. I may even ask you out to dinner tonight. I'd rather you were sober. I'm afraid I'm too expensive, Mr. Fortune. Rocky. And don't worry about it. I'm rich if I live to collect. I leave the apartment with the distinct feeling that something peculiar is in the wind and that it ain't the Fulton fish market. I leg it out the lobby past the door man in Full-Admire's uniform and flag down a cab. Where's it to? 14 Barberry Street and Powell. Don't ever put the flag down before the cab starts next time. I can see this is going to be a fat tip. Don't give me a hard time, Max. Yes, sir. I can remember when the subway was good enough for you guys. It still is if you like to stop here. Oh, no offense, excellence. You know if you pipe some of that gas into the tank, you'd be a rich hacky. Don't look around you when you're with the lightest green. Move. I feel refreshed after this little exchange of pleasantries and settled back to untie the wrapping on Laura Chandler's package. Not that I'm the suspicious type, understand? But when somebody offers me $100 to deliver a package, I like to make sure I'm not playing patsy with a pumpkin full of microfilm. And just as I get the wrapping undone, Max trumps the brake pedal. And I find myself up to the knees in nice crisp $100 certificates. Hey mister, you dropped your money. Why don't you give out safety belts and these things if you're going to stop this way? What are you, a messenger for the United States men? Just turn around, pal, and keep going. I'll gather up the cabbage. What do you think this says? An armored truck? Next time you rob a bank, hire a van. If you really want to know, this is Halloween money. I got a plan trick or treat. Where? The First National Bank? You're clever. Yeah, stop soaping me, bud. I know real money when I see it. And I sing it. Max guns the cab while I collect the spilled lettuce. I figure there must be four or five thousand, and I've just wrapped it up again when Max goes in another one of his famous quick stops. What now? Out. Nussam Arif, Latvianth. Which means we're here, 14 and but. I never thought we'd make it. What's the wrap? 65 cents. Here's a 10. Thanks. Hey. Huh? We'll use the expression, the change, $9.35. Yeah. Here. Here's a buck. Get yourself a B-29. I already got one. Barberry Street is a dead end in the worst slum in town. Number 14 is a condemned building. I picked my way past a couple of prostrate bums in a garbage can, and I'm about to walk in when somebody taps me. Pencil, mister? Help an old blind lady, pencil? Here, ma'am. Keep the pencil. I got nobody to write to. Bless you, son. On second thought, I'll take it, mother. Here, you crumb. The hallway is the crepit pink plaster that is crumbling, crumb by crumb. I let myself in the room 2B, which resembles a sanctuary for unemployed mice. There's no packet, so I deposit my bundle of government greenery and wait. After a couple of minutes, I hear something coming. It's the old blind lady's stick topping down the hall. She comes in and goes to the moulin on the table like a Saint Bernard goes to a fallen traveler. Pays better than selling pencils, huh, ma'am? Keep your trap shut. The stuff here? The stuff is there, and it's so green, it's mellow. How about the packets I was supposed to collect? In my bag. Here. Fair exchange. What's in it? None of your business. Thanks. Can I help you down the stairs, Mother Deer? I can find my way. Don't try to follow me. Me? Hello, lady. Perish the thought. I give her a head start and pick up the package and head for the door. And I am just in time for lowering of the 9 o'clock boom, which descends on the back of my skull as I step into the hallway. I'm going to break it. Sometime later, I regain consciousness. The first thing I notice is a clammy hand inside my pocket. The second thing I notice is that it ain't mine. I keep my eyes closed and then mousetrap the guy. Yeah. Okay. Oh, you're breaking my arm, brother. I ought to break your... Well, well, if it ain't Sam Socrates, the philosophical pickpocket. How is the biggest thief in town? Rocky. My old companion from Gramercy Park. That Schopenhauer said it's a small world. Is that what he said? How are things in a pickpocket union? Oh, haven't you heard, my boy? I've been elected international representative. Oh, goody for you. Congratulations. A hipster like you should know better than to lay in the dust in a creep joint like this. Why, if I hadn't come along, you might have been rolled. I've got a bad one on my skull bone. Hey, you know the old blind woman? Rosie? I think she hit me with a poker stick. Rosie's new around here. But I don't think she goes for mugging. It was probably the other one, the blonde. Blonde? The one who came out after Rosie. You don't say. How was she dressed? Oh, very glad. About two grand worth of me in present market value, figuring a 10% kickback to defense. Figures. You notice anything else? She was carrying a package. How about this big? I assumed you had been mugged. Naturally, I don't like to interrupt a colleague while she's working, so I waited. Naturally, a professional courtesy. I come in to copy a quick snoop, as they say, and find you laying here like a dead locks. Ah, thanks, Socrates. Here, here's a fin for your trouble. Oh, Rocky, I couldn't accept a gratuity from an old pal. The beggar's guilt would have me up on charges. Sorry, I didn't mean to offend. Yeah, however, if you just turn around and permit me to sop it out of your pocket, I think we avoid a jurisdictional dispute. Have it your way, Sam. Brush the creases out of the cashmere while you're at it. I leave the house and walk about three steps when a hand falls on my shoulder like it was judgment day. I turn around to look into the bloodshed eyes of my good friend, Sergeant Hamilton J. Finger of homicide. I'm halted. Unclassed finger, you're bruising the button. This the guy? That's him. He had a role like he was Bobo Rockefeller. What's the problem, Finger? The hype, curious as you were fashioning a lot of letters. Jeez, Dream, and he smokes old socks. I tell you, I've seen him. What about us? I don't know what you're talking about. He knows all right. Let's have a quick frisk. Huh? Well, it is clean. Then he hit it. You better take him inside. Oh, back off, just a minute. What's the charge? Remember, Sarge, you've got to have a charge, Sarge, to arrest a taxpayer. You've got a charge to bring? He was carrying like five grand in real money. That's a crime, ain't it? He's a suspicious character. You've got a charge or just suspicious? I ain't got a charge. You've got a charge, Max. Me? I ain't got no charge. I just told you what I saw. That's all. If you two gentlemen will excuse me, I'll be on my way. Just a minute. Yes, Sergeant? Nothing. Beat it. I walk away like I own City Hall, but inside I'm still six different shades of green. I make it to the subway in Jockey, my way to Lloyd Chandler's apartment. My head feels like the inside of Yogi Bearer's mitt after a hot day in the bullpen. Oh, you. It's me. It is also I. You got any of the 100-true battery acid left? No. I'm not going to do that. I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it. You got any of the 100-true battery acid left? There's some bourbon on the table. Thanks. Did you get the package? Well, it's a long story, but I'll boil it down. No. Oh. I'm sorry. Well, it doesn't really matter. No? You were pretty upset this morning. You see a psychiatrist or something? I decided to calm down. Uh-huh. If you don't mind, Mr. Fortune, I'll pay you the $100 and get it over with. I don't mind. Only I don't get it. Don't get what? Why, a dame pays $5,000 for a package she doesn't get and then brushes it off like it was dead flies? I see you opened my package. Uh-huh. That isn't polite. It isn't polite to hire a guy to get a package and then hit him over the head and steal the package. I don't know what you mean. You know what I mean, baby. You followed me down there and pulled me in the noggin. You're insane. You left your mink coat on the table over there and one will get your tent as covered with pink plaster from 14 Barbary Street. Here's your money. Now get out. Uh-uh. I said get out. Let's have the package. There's none of your business. I got a lump in my head that says it is. Get back. I got a gun. I can see that and I can also see that you don't know how to use it. I warn you. It's a funny thing about those automatics. You can't pull the trigger with a safety catch on. Now let's have it. Come on, give me the... Let me go. There. Sit down. Take your hands off me. I said sit down. That's better. Now fess up. I went to a party last night at my editor's. I met a couple, a young man. He said he was an artist and a woman, a redhead. We'd been drinking. I gathered as much. He invited us up to his apartment to see his work. Oh, brother. Where was the apartment on Barbary Street? Yeah. Somehow I got in a quarrel with the other woman. I don't even remember what it was about. So? I said I was leaving. He said have one more drink first and then he'd call a cab. I took the drink and then suddenly I felt funny. After that, it felt so horrible. Give, baby. I don't know what happened, really. I came to sitting on the sofa. The red-haired woman was lying on the floor. There was blood. In my hands, I had a gun. Whose gun? Mine. Naturally, no nice girl is ever without one. Well, there have been so many muggings and robberies in the neighborhood lately. My secretary thought I'd better carry one of my purse. Well, back to Barbary Street. What happened next? He told me I'd gotten very drunk and we'd quarreled. He said she'd slapped me and I'd taken this gun out of my purse. It seemed to go off before I realized what I was doing. I'm not a murderer. I've never heard anyone in my life. All right, all right. Take it easy, baby. Now, look, what's with the packages? The man, Charles, his name was. He told me to go home, that he could have the whole thing hushed up. He said the woman was a tramp and... Well, I was too frightened to argue. I went home. And about five this morning he called. He said it needed money, $5,000. He said he had the gun with my fingerprints on it, and if I wanted it, I'd better pay up or we'd go to the police. And you fell for it. Oh, baby, how square can you get? Well, I don't know why I did it. I suppose the police is the only way. Just a minute. One more item. How come you conked me? Well, after you left, I began to wonder if I could trust you. So I followed you down there. I overheard your talk with a blind woman, and I knew you'd open the package. I waited, and then I hit you and took the package with a gun. Is this the gun? Yes, that's my gun. What are you doing? Just want to look inside. I think we'd better call the police. I'll feel better when we're here. Relax, baby. Nobody's calling the police. But the murder... There was no murder. What? Look at the barrel of this gun. It's loaded with rust. I'm going to pull it through here since Grant took Richmond. But I heard... You heard a blank, and, honey, I got news for you. News? When P.T. Bonham said there was one born every minute, he meant you. I don't understand. It's the old badger game in reverse. The whole thing was staged. The artist was phony, the corpse was phony, the bullet was a blank, and the blood was catchable. You sure? Make bets on it. Rocky, I don't know how to thank you. I got a suggestion. Yes, what? Don't hurry me now. Just give me time to pucker up. I exit later feeling like a beaver scout with the ears back log of good deeds. I can still taste Laura Chandler's lipstick, and I got a hundred bucks burned in a hole in my jeans. I got back to the messenger service and put on a phone call to the precinct station. I figure if the crooks aren't in Argentina by this time, my friend, Sergeant Finger, can start trying to recover the 5Gs. Finger ain't in, so I finish out the day, then hit my flat for a change of drapery. There is a reception committee from the city of New York, and it ain't Grover Whalen. Good evening. Well, well, Sergeant Hamilton J. Finger, as I live and don't breathe. Don't bother to shut the door. You're leaving? I wanted to see you. We're leaving. I wanted to see you. How long? To deplace Jandam? The same. You mind if I ask you why? Not at all. You'll read? Not fluidly. You look at pictures? Fluidly. You seen the newspapers? I seen the green sheet in the morning telegraph. According to the evening papers, a woman named Gloria Verne was found murdered. Shat's through the heart. Here's a picture in the paper. So? So she was found in a place on Barbaris Street, number 14, according to the journal, Department 2B. You familiar with this place? I spent half the morning laying her on my face. So, I recall. So? So the lieutenant invites you to the Irish clubhouse for tiffin and mixed grilling. Shall we promenade? Be my guest. I spend the next few hours being pounded on the eardrum by the Inquisition Squad. I tell them everything I know, including about the gun which Laura Chandler has at home. Hey, you say she thought she killed this woman, but the gun wasn't fired. The barrel was stuffed with rust. She has this cannon? She had it when I left her this morning. And she dropped five grand to an old blind woman without even feeling sorry? I told you, Sarge, this is a nice girl. She didn't kill Gloria Verne. Nice girls don't go on drunks with Greenwich Village con artists. So she made a mistake. Maybe you made the mistake, Rocky. Come on. Where now? Laura Chandler's apartment. I want to gaze into her cold blue eyes. Also her cold blue automaty. We prowl up to Park Avenue and press the buzzer of Laura Chandler's apartment. Oh, it's you. Yeah, I brought a friend along for you, baby, Sergeant Finger of Homicide. This is Eve Hobson, Miss Chandler's secretary. Pleased, I'm sure. Is your employer home? She's asleep. She wasn't feeling well, so she took some sleeping pills. Has she been asleep all day? As far as I know, I went out of business for about an hour. Wake her up. Not without a pretty good reason. Murder is a pretty good reason. Murder? Get her. Eve, who is it? Oh, hello, Rocky. Miss Chandler? Yes? Sleeping pills don't work so good, I see. They never do much for a guilty conscience. I beg your pardon. This is Sergeant Finger, Laura. Homicide. Homicide? You've heard of it, I see. I don't understand. Just a little bit. You're under arrest. Under arrest? Do you recognize this picture in the paper? Laura, don't say a word. It's not a huge, Rocky. It was nice of you to pretend I didn't kill her, but it's her picture. That's the woman I shot. Laura, for Pete's sake, you didn't do it. And you got the gun? Yes, I left it in my desk drawer. Here. That gun hasn't been fired for years, I tell you. Let's have a look. Hmm. Okay, Miss Chandler, get your coat. Fill it with rust, huh? The barrel of this gun is as clean as the inside of a hospital cafeteria, and judging by the smell, it's been fired recently. What? Let me s- Holy smokes. Lord, you use this gun? I left it in the desk drawer. You've been asleep all afternoon? Yes, I took some sleeping pills. Okay, Miss Chandler. Hold it, Sergeant. Well... And they got some kind of a test to prove a party fired a gun? A paraffin test. If Laura fired a blank, could you tell? I don't know if it's the same as if she fired a real bullet. In other words, anybody who fired a gun, it shows up, huh? That's right. Rocky, it's no use. Let me handle it, baby. You can get ten years in the Castine Academy for shielding a murderer, Rocky. Let me talk a minute, will you? Talk. How long has this Gloria Verne been dead? The medical examiner says about four hours. Four hours? Oh, no, I killed her last night. Hold it, honey. Laura, tell me, could anybody have taken that gun out of your drawer, gone downtown, and back? Who would have done anything like that? And why? I don't know, but I got a good idea. Go ahead, fortune. Well, let me paint the picture. Somebody stages a fake murder to make Laura think she killed Miss Verne. Somebody gets five grand a return for the murder weapon and disposing of the body. And then I fumble my way into the frame and spot it for a fake. Maybe I call the police. So somebody takes the gun and kills Miss Verne for real. Okay. Who done it? Eve Hobson. Sergeant, the boy is delirious. The woman who could have taken that gun, gone out, shot Miss Verne, replaced it, baby. Rocky, it's a little preposterous. Eve has been with me for years. If it's so preposterous, then how about little Eve here taking a paraffin test to see if she's fired a gun recently? Don't be ridiculous. And why were at it, honey? How's the pencil-selling business? Pencil-selling business? No, I know he's mad. You do a pretty convincing old blind woman except for one thing. You were selling artist pencils with a special soft lead that Kanye Boss uses for making her fashion sketches. Here's the one she sold me, Sergeant. Miss Hobson, do you object to a paraffin test? Not in the slightest. I'll get my coat. Okay. If that dame didn't do it, then my name is... Look out, she's got the window open. Grab her some. Okay, Miss. Let go of me, let go of me, let go of me. Take it easy, take it easy, maybe you won't. Wow. Is that enough for you, Sergeant? Yeah, that's enough. Let's go, Miss. Do you want me? Just stay where we can reach you. Hey, you too, Rocky. Let's go, Miss Hobson. Well? Well? You got any more messages to be delivered, lady? Only one. What's that? This. I like your messenger service, mister. Laura. Yes, Rocky? Next time, don't send for a boy. This is a man's work. Yeah. NBC has presented Frank Sinatra as that footloose, fancy-free, and frequently unemployed young gentleman, Rocky Fortune. Tonight's cast included Marion Richmond, Georgia Ellis, Bill Justine, Parley Bear, and Ted Von Elts. Tonight's script was written by George Leppert and Andrew C. Love, directed, Eddie King speaking. Now, to tell you about next week's adventure, here's Frank Sinatra as Rocky Fortune. Did I ever tell you about the bebop musician who dropped me into a hotel shaft and said, man, dig that crazy grave? He meant mine. Tell you about it next week. See you around. Let's visit with Pepper McGee and Molly tonight on the NBC Radio Network.