Tex Murphy Radio Theater
Episode Four: Foreshadowings and a Funeral
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Cast & Crew
Tex Murphy ...................... Chris Jones
Chelsee Bando ...................... Suzanne Barnes
Louie LaMintz ...................... Randall Edwards
Rook Garner ...................... Doug Vandergrift
Clint ...................... Steve Barnes
Mac Malden ...................... Kevin Jones
Fortune Teller ...................... Maureen Clark
O.S.S. Agent ...................... Suzanne Barnes
German Man ...................... Parham Mohadjer
Middle-aged Woman ...................... Stephanie Welch
Greek Man ...................... George Manousakis
Cop ...................... Jon Clark
Russian Man ...................... Eric Fitzenmaker
Caycian Man ...................... Noraa Srennoc

Overseers ...................... Aaron Conners & Chris Jones
Scripts & Dialogue ...................... Aaron Conners
Audio Production ...................... Jon Clark
Music ...................... Third Ear
Foley & Additional Music ...................... Jon Clark
Assistant to Mr. Clark ...................... Les Oswald
Constant Hovering ...................... Doug Vandegrift
Script

NARR: Welcome to Tex Murphy Radio Theater! When we last left our hero, Tex had described the sinister tarot reading he and Chelsee had gotten at the Golden Pagoda. This, in turn, triggered the traumatic memory of getting shot later that night. But Rook and Clint aren’t buying it. Accused, confused, and on the lam, Tex’s only ally is Louie, who finally tells Tex the horrible truth: Chelsee is dead and Tex is the prime suspect! And now, Episode 4: Foreshadowings and a Funeral!

TM: [VO] I’d never believed in intuition. Don’t ask me why – it was just a feeling. Despite what Louie had told me, I knew Chelsee wasn’t dead, but it seemed like I was the only one, which explained why the cops were looking for me. For the first time in my life, there was a bounty on my head, and that explained why, after I got done telling my story, Louie had to wrestle the phone away from Rook. But in the end Rook and Clint agreed to keep quiet about me and Louie and I agreed not to beat them both to a pulp.

[CLANKING FOOTSTEPS ON METAL]

TM: [VO] I heel-toed it up to the Ritz hotel and climbed the fire escape to my apartment—slash—office. I’d been a month behind on my rent the night I went to the Golden Pagoda, which meant I was now two months behind. And my landlord Nilo didn’t need a reward to turn me in to the cops; actually, he probably would’ve paid good money. [DOOR SHUTTING, FOOTSTEPS] My apartment looked like it had been ransacked – just the way I’d left it. I’d made a mental list of things to do, and the first two were a shave and a self-imposed bath. Once I’d cleaned up – literally and figuratively – I decided to lie on the bed…relax for a few minutes...

[VOICES ARE ECHOEY, DISTORTED]

FEMALE VOICE 1: I’m with the O.S.S. We’re investigating the claims of Miss Anna Anderson…

MALE VOICE 1: [IN GERMAN] Have you heard of the Enigma Machine?

FEMALE VOICE 2: It’s somewhere in the North Atlantic, frozen in the ice…

MALE VOICE 2: [IN GREEK] Where is the egg?

MALE VOICE 3: Look, Donnelly, we know you killed your partner…

TM: [VO] I woke up two hours later…in a cold sweat. The nightmares were back. I made a pot of my special rejuvenating java and went on-line to find out more details on why I’d made the city’s Ten Most Wanted List. Apparently, my speeder had been found outside the city, still burning. Charred bone fragments of a woman’s body were inside and Chelsee’s purse was discovered nearby. I’m no lawyer, but even I would’ve been able to convict myself. There had to be some evidence that I could use to clear my name. I decided to take a chance on the only person I was on speaking terms with in the police department.

MM: Well, if it isn’t the Pandora Detective. How’s tricks?

TM: Can’t complain, Mac. At least I’m not fat and ugly.

MM: Stop, you’re killin’ me. Oh, wait. I’m gettin’ me confused with your girlfriend.

TM: Funny you should mention that. That’s the reason I was calling.

MM: What a guy. You coulda confessed to anyone, but you chose little ol’ me.

TM: I would if I could, Mac. But I didn’t, so I won’t.

MM: What was that second part?

TM: [VO] Using the smallest words possible, I told Mac why a confession was out of the question. After the disappointment wore off, he agreed that I probably wasn’t the most logical suspect.

MM: The fact is, I know you didn’t whack Chelsee. Hell, everybody knows you didn’t.

TM: Well, not exactly everybody.

MM: You got set up. But somebody’s dead and somebody’s gotta get blamed. And, as usual, you’re standin’ there like Bambi in the headlights.

TM: Your point being…?

MM: The only person who’s gonna get you off the hook is you.

TM: [VO] Mac had always been a master of the obvious. But now I knew I couldn’t let the cops take me alive. If I ended up in the pokey, I’d never make bail, and that meant I’d never be able to clear my name, and the conviction would be a mere formality. I thanked Mac for the tip and hung up.

[VID-PHONE RINGS]

TM: Hello? [beat] Hello?

[LINE DISCONNECTS]

TM: [VO] I’d never understood why, but I’d always gotten more than my fair share of obscene phone calls and wrong numbers. I mean, what were the odds of someone randomly dialing 069-6969? But I had a hunch this call was different…someone was checking to see if I was home. I decided to get the hell out. But where was I gonna go? My speeder was charcoal and I had just enough cab fare to make it to the Brew & Stew. [beat] Now there’s an idea…

L: Sure, Moiph. I gotta car.

TM: You mean a speeder.

L: Nope. A ’74 Camaro. Souped up, mag wheels, the works. You know how to drive a stick, dontcha?

TM: Uh…sure.

[SOUND OF GEARS GRINDING]

TM: [VO] It’d been a while since I’d driven a car, but it was just like riding a bike.

[HORNS HONKING, AN ANGRY FEMALE VOICE:]

FV: Learn how to drive, dumbass!

TM: [VO] It wasn’t just my gut that was telling me Chelsee was alive – I remembered that my sponge-bather had said something curious:

GM: [FLASHBACK] How much longer we gonna hold him? I hear they finished up with the girl.

TM: [VO] And then there was the fortune cookie I’d found – I was certain it was from the Golden Pagoda. I’d opened mine –it’d said Beware of Fortune Tellers – but Chelsee had put hers in her purse – I was sure of it. And I knew she found me mysterious and just a little dangerous, but she also knew I was one hell of detective. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but it seemed possible she’d left it for me to find.

[SOUND OF HORNS HONKING, CARS SMASHING]

TM: [VO] As I made my way through the streets of Old San Francisco, I racked my brain, trying to figure out who would want to frame me for Chelsee’s murder, and why. When you’re a top-notch PI, making enemies comes with the territory. I’d only made a few, but of those, J. Saint Gideon, Lowell Percival, the Chameleon, and Jackson Cross were all dead, and Big Jim Slade, as far as I knew, was still somewhere making license plates and using soap-on-a-rope. There were only two people I could think of that hated me and weren’t dead or in jail: Frank Schimming and my ex-wife, Sylvia. But Sylvia wouldn’t do anything unless there was money to be extorted, and Schimming would’ve killed me, not Chelsee.

[CAR STALLING TO A STOP]

TM: [VO] I finally found my way back to where I’d been held captive for over a month. It was an old Victorian mansion, overgrown and dilapidated. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I was weaponless and faced with the same obstacles I’d had while escaping. Luckily – or maybe not – the house looked abandoned.

[DOOR CREAKING OPEN]

TM: Hellooo?

TM: [VO] Whoever had been there had cleared out in a hurry. There was a room stacked to the ceiling with medical supplies and closets full of clothes. The kitchen had remnants of half-eaten meals. There was even fresh pipe smoke in the air. I found the room where they’d kept me – the handcuffs were still hooked to the bed frame.
I started in room on the fourth floor. By the time I reached the ground floor, all I’d found of interest was a mostly-full bottle of Jack Daniels and a pamphlet for an upcoming Faberge exhibit. Then I found the only locked door in the entire house.

[DOOR BEING KICKED IN VIOLENTLY]

TM: [VO] It took some finessing, but I was able to pick the lock. Inside the room, I found surveillance equipment, cameras, and a video-disc player. Unfortunately, there weren’t any video-discs to be found, but experience had always taught me to look in the most likely place.

[ELECTRONIC SOUND OF DISC TRAY SLIDING OUT]

TM: [VO] Sure enough, there was a disc inside the player. I popped it back in and hit the play button.

[SOUND OF OUTDOORS: BIRDS CHIRPING, BREEZE BLOWING…VOICES SPEAK SOFTLY IN THE B.G. IN RUSSIAN]

TM: [VO] It was a video of a funeral, filmed from a distance…apparently by a couple of foreigners. Russian, maybe. As the camera moved around, I saw some familiar faces – Louie, Rook, Clint, Zack from the Electronics Shop, Crazy Gary, the vigilante vegetarian…even Nilo. And there were some faces I hadn’t seen in years – Ardo Newpop, and Mrs. Lucido from the Slice O’ Heaven. There were also a few other people I didn’t recognize, but it suddenly dawned on me that the funeral I watching was Chelsee’s.

[VIDEO STOPS, TRAY OPENS]

TM: [VO] The video-disc player was a cheap piece of crap from the Electronics Shop, so I decided to take a closer look on my high-tech equipment back at the office. I was just slipping the disc into the pocket of my overcoat when I had a noise behind me.

[HYSTERICAL MALE VOICE:]

HM: Who are you?!

TM: Who are you?

HM: I am a representative of the Caycian faction. Now give me the disc!

TM: Why?

HM: Because I say so!

TM: All right. Close your eyes and hold out your hand.

[SOUND OF CHAIR SCRAPING, PUNCHING… AN EXTENDED FIGHT WITH PUNCHES, GROANS, AND SMASHING OBJECTS.]

TM: [VO] Whoever this guy was, he fought like a girl. After I’d sucker-punched him and scratched his eye, I grabbed hold of his hair and smashed his head on the edge of a table, knocking him out cold.

TM: You picked the wrong PI to screw with today, pal!

TM: [VO] With the disc and pamphlet safely tucked away, I pulled out the bottle of J.D. and took a well-deserved swig as I swaggered out the front door. The Camaro was right where I’d left it, except I didn’t remember parking it next to a bunch of police speeders.

P: [OVER A MEGAPHONE] You’re under arrest, Murphy! The building is completely surrounded! Drop the bourbon and back away!