|Tex Murphy||......................||Chris Jones|
|Chelsee Bando||......................||Suzanne Barnes|
|Louie LaMintz||......................||Randall Edwards|
|Rook Garner||......................||Doug Vandergrift|
|Mac Malden||......................||Kevin Jones|
|Cop 1||......................||Les Oswald|
|Cop 2||......................||Lannie Nielsen|
|Professor Angela Perry||......................||Stephanie Welch|
|Chance Bando||......................||Aaron Conners|
|Overseers||......................||Aaron Conners & Chris Jones|
|Scripts & Dialogue||......................||Aaron Conners|
|Audio Production||......................||Jon Clark|
|Foley & Additional Music||......................||Jon Clark|
|Assistant to Mr. Clark||......................||Les Oswald|
|Constant Hovering||......................||Doug Vandegrift|
NARR: Welcome to Tex Murphy Radio Theater! When we last left our hero, Tex had been shocked to learn he was wanted for Chelsee’s alleged murder. With the dual realizations that (1) someone had set him up and (2) the cops didn’t mind, Tex boldly—if stupidly—returns to the site of his month-long nap, finding the house mysteriously vacant. After finding a video recording of Chelsee’s funeral, Tex makes quick work of a surprise guest, then steps outside into the waiting arms of the New San Francisco Police. And now, Episode 5: Jail, Bail & Happy Trails!
TM: [VO] The cops handcuffed me, but at least they let me keep my clothes on. After a short flight to the cop shop, I was scanned, printed, and photographed, then they took me upstairs. One of ‘em asked if I wanted some coffee, but I wasn’t gonna fall for that old joke. I was escorted to an interrogation room – the chair was as uncomfortable as I remembered, but it looked like the bare bulb was a fresh 60-watter. I settled in for a battle of wills. [long beat] 12 hours later, I was to ready to confess that I’d kidnapped the Lindbergh baby. I told the cops I wouldn’t say another word without my attorney present, but they weren’t falling for that old joke, so I resorted to feigning a spastic seizure. It did the trick. A few minutes later, I was safely in the drunk tank, curled up in a fetal position.
[CLICK, CLANK, BEEP! BEEP! DOOR SWINGS OPEN, MAC MALDEN SPEAKS:]
MM: C’mon, Murphy. We both know you ain’t got Tourette’s.
TM: My chain’s all yanked out tonight, Mac. Go get someone else to pull your finger.
MM: Shut up. We gotta talk.
TM: [VO] Mac sounded serious. Either his hemorrhoids were acting up again, or things were somehow worse than I thought.
MM: We’ll have to make this quick. I know we don’t exactly send each other birthday cards, but we’ve helped each out a few times and that’s worth somethin’.
TM: Tell you what, Mac. Get me outta here and I’ll buy you a cake. When is your birthday?
MM: September 7th, but that’s not what I’m--
TM: --Virgo. I should’ve guessed.
MM: Can the voodoo, Murphy. Clements thinks she’s bein’ generous makin’ the charge Second Degree, but that’s just ‘cause she knows you can’t make bail.
TM: Well, that depends. You think it’ll be more than a couple hundred bucks?
MM: Try three more zeros. Maybe you could hock some stuff.
TM: I was already counting that. Maybe you could pick me up a couple lottery tickets.
MM: I got another idea. [beat] Punch me.
TM: Look, I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, and any other time I’d be all over it, but, seeing as how we’re gonna exchange birthday cards--
MM: Look, you gidgit, if you knock me out, I can say you blindsided me and used my keys and passcards to escape. It’ll be embarrassing as hell, but it’s worked before.
TM: I don’t think I can do it, Mac. I’m a lover, not a fighter.
MM: That isn’t what Chelsee said.
TM: Excuse me?
MM: Yeah, me and Chelsee used to hook up while you were out of town. She gives great full body massages. She uses lots of oil…’course it takes more oil than it used to… but, hell, we’d talk about you for hours…and laugh and laugh. And then we’d dress up like-- [PUNCH!] Ow! C’mon, Murphy! Is that all you got? [PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH!]
TM: [VO] We ended up going with Plan
B – Mac gave me his keys and pretended I’d
knocked him out. Things were finally looking up. Not only was I
out of the pokey, I’d gotten to punch out a fat-nosed bastard
cop. On the down side, I owed him birthday cakes for life and, even
if I managed to break out of the big house, I’d be on the
lam forever, or at least until I found my one-armed man.
I crept down the corridor, playing passcard roulette with Malden’s keychain. As I reached an intersection, I paused at the corner.
[DISTANT ECHOING VOICES OF COP 1 & COP 2]
C1: How’d he make bail?
C2: He didn’t. It was some friend of his.
C1: He’s got friends?
C2: Yeah…stupid friends. He’s gonna run like a pair of cheap nylons.
C1: I hate cheap nylons.
TM: [VO] If they were talking about
me, it seemed to good to be true. Getting bailed out beat the hell
out of a jailbreak, so I made like Elmer Fudd hunting wabbit and
tip-toed back to the cell.
After some paperwork and a stern warning to stay within the city limits, I found myself in the passenger seat of Louie’s Camaro. I’d pretty much decided the whole setup was connected to Chelsee and not me – I’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time…as usual. I asked Louie if he’d mind making a quick stop at Chelsee’s apartment at the Seven Gables.
He waited out in the car as I climbed to the third floor, stopping only once to catch my breath. I reached her door and was about to go to work on the lock when I heard something inside the apartment.
TM: [VO] The door was unlocked and I flung it open, catching a swarthy and guilty-looking fellow by surprise.
SF: [EXPRESSION OF SURPRISE! (IN GREEK)]
TM: [VO] My suspicions were confirmed when the intruder bolted for an open window. I was right behind him.
[SOUND OF A CHASE – TWO SETS OF FEET RATTLING DOWN A FIRE ESCAPE, JUMPING TO THE GROUND, HITTING GARBAGE CANS, TUMBLING ROUGHLY, CAT SCREECHING]
TM: [VO] The man was obviously a
professional. He managed to give me the slip, but I was able to
catch a glimpse of the Nevada license plate on his speeder as it
lifted off. [beat] I returned to the apartment and started my search
with the large pile of mail on the floor near the mail slot in the
door. Only one item caught my eye: the new Victoria’s Secret
catalog. I decided to follow up on a hunch; sure enough, the bottom
drawer of a dresser in Chelsee’s bedroom was packed full of
lacy underpants and other sexy lingerie. More than ever, I wanted
to find her alive and well.
I continued to search her bedroom until I found her diary. [beat] Hey, I’m a PI, and PIs leave no stone unturned. The diary was sealed with one of those chintzy locks, but it was a snap to pick, once I found a pair of pliers.
CB: [ECHOING VO] Dear Diary, tomorrow will be one year since I met Tex. Looking back, it’s hard to believe I’d be interested in the smelly bum passed out in my newsstand. I’ve made reservations at the Golden Pagoda to celebrate the anniversary, but I’ll probably have to drag him there – he’s hands-down the most irresponsible man I’ve ever met. I know he likes being a PI, but I don’t think he’s cut out for it. It seems like he gets beat up a lot and never makes any money. I think he’d do much better as a security guard, or maybe a doorman. I just wish I knew what he thinks about me. He still wears his wedding ring. Maybe I’ll ask him about it tonight.
TM: [VO] As usual, Chelsee was speaking in riddles. Did she like me or not? It was too confusing to think about and I had bigger fish to fry. I continued my search, finding plenty of interesting things, but nothing related to Chelsee’s disappearance. Not until I checked her vid-phone, that is.
[CLICKING SOUND, A COMPUTERIZED VOICE:]
CV: Message one. Left 33 days ago.
TM: [RECORDING] Hey, Chels. It’s me. I’m out of bed now, but I cut myself shaving and the tourniquet won’t stay on. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
CV: Message two. Left 32 days ago.
[A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN SPEAKS:]
MW: [RECORDING] Hello, Chelsee. This is Professor Perry. I’d like to get together outside of class and discuss the paper you wrote about Anastasia Romanov. It’s absolutely extraordinary. You have my number. I’ll talk to you soon.
CV: Message three. Left 28 days ago.
[MUMBLED FOREIGN LANGUAGE [GREEK], HANG UP]
CV: Message four. Left 9 days ago.
[A YOUNG MAN SPEAKS:]
YM: [RECORDING] Hey, Big Sister. Look, I’m in a bit of a bind and I really need to get a hold of you. There’s no way for you to contact me at the moment, but I’d appreciate it if you can be home tomorrow at this time and I’ll call back. OK? Love ya.
CV: Message five. Left 8 days ago.
YM: [RECORDING] OK, Sis. Now I’m getting worried. I wanted to see if you got the books I sent. I need the cash pretty bad. That little guy at the pawnshop should’ve given you top dollar for ‘em. I hope you get this message soon. I have to leave town, but I’ll get back to you when I can.
TM: [VO] I found the books referred to in the message, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember a single thing about Chelsee’s brother, not even his name. But I did know a little guy at a pawnshop.
TM: I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this, Louie.
L: It wasn’t just me, Moiph. Don’t tell Rook I told ya, but he pitched in a bunch. So did Clint and some of the other folks in the neighborhood.
TM: No, I mean I have no idea how I’m gonna come up with cash.
L: You don’t have to, Moiph. We’ll get it all back. I got faith in ya.
TM: [VO] I didn’t have the
heart to tell Louie I was about to roll the dice on what must have
been most of his life savings. He knew I was a rotten gambler –
I couldn’t break even on an ATM – but it was a calculated
risk I had to take: if I didn’t find out what had
really happened to Chelsee, no one would, and unless the truth came
out, Louie would get his money back, but I’d end up going
to jail for a zillion years.
I was planning on going somewhere, but it wasn’t jail. The guy in Chelsee’s apartment had come from Nevada, and a stamp on the inside of her brother’s books had read: DeLuxe Importing/Exporting – Chance Bando, Proprietor – Las Vegas. Ironically enough, my search for the proverbial one-armed man was about to lead me to the land of one-armed bandits.