by William M. Razavi

ANNOUNCER: My Gun is Deadly is brought to you by Maxwell House. Maxwell House…Good to the last drop.

SHAKER: It was a dark and drizzly night. The mist gave everyone outside a wet five o’clock shadow on their faces. I would have had one of those, too, but it was tax day and I’d been going over the receipts with my secretary all day. She made more money than me this year, which made me reconsider having my name on the door. I figured I could sit behind the desk and answer the phone and she could hit the pavement and follow all the flatfoots around town. Then I took a long look at my desk. There was a sandwich in there from Roosevelt’s first term–Teddy Roosevelt. Best to leave things as they are.

RITA: I’m going home. See ya tomorrow, Joe.

SHAKER: Joe? Until an hour ago it was Mr. Shaker.

RITA: An hour ago you were still making more money than me.

SHAKER: Rita–

RITA: That’s Ms. Maple to you, Joe.

SHAKER: I suppose dinner’s out of the question.

RITA: I don’t think you could afford it.

SHAKER: That secretary position was looking better and better to me.

RITA: If you don’t start pulling your weight here, Joe, we’re both going down the drain–and I don’t like drains.

SHAKER: I’m not too fond of them myself.

RITA: Good. Get us some business.

Pause.

RITA: Lucrative business.

SHAKER: Whatever you say…Ms. Maple.

RITA: And get yourself a shave. You look horrible.

SHAKER: Thanks.

RITA: Awww. Don’t get sore, Joe. You know I love you.

SHAKER: You’ve got a funny way of showing it.

RITA: Get a shave.

SHAKER: I was losing all self-respect and that sandwich was looking better and better to me. Maybe Rita was right. I could use a shave. I started pondering what that meant as a metaphor. I was starting to despair of all human interaction when she came in.

SHAKER: She was the Eiffel tower all lit up for Bastille Day. She was a strawberry sundae with extra strawberry. She had eyes that saw things when they were open. She had a pair of gams that put the gam back in gams. She was all woman, with a little fabric material to cover her up–mostly. She was all that and there she was…looking like she had a story and boy did she have a story.

LESLIE: Are you Joe Shaker?

SHAKER: Who wants to know?

LESLIE: I’m Leslie Howard.

SHAKER: I loved you in Gone with the Wind.

LESLIE: What? Oh…that’s very funny.

SHAKER: Thanks. Maybe I can write for the funny papers sometime. What can I do for you?

LESLIE: You see, Mr. Shaker–

SHAKER: Call me Joe.

LESLIE: Oh…Joe…That’s such a nice name. You see…Joe…It’s my husband…someone’s trying to kill him.

SHAKER: And then came the waterworks.

LESLIE: I don’t know what to do. He’s been acting strange ever since he started working with antiques. I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know who I can depend on.

SHAKER: Antiques, eh? Maybe we should talk to your husband.

LESLIE: Okay.

SHAKER: There’s a rule with detectives–that you don’t just walk off into a misty night with the first weepy dame that walks into your office. But no detective with a story to tell has ever followed that rule and I wasn’t going to start now. Besides, antiques meant lucre and lucre was the root of lucrative and lucrative would make me happy.

When we got to her place it looked like Dante’s Inferno without the poetry. Someone had given the place a thorough going over and then gone over it again.

LESLIE: Who could have done this?

SHAKER: I was gonna ask you the same thing. I didn’t know this place from Squatsville and I wasn’t going to start guessing about it now.

SHAKER: And then we found her husband. There wasn’t much to find. What he left behind wasn’t worth leaving.

SHAKER: I suppose we could bury him by mail.

Pause.

SHAKER: Why don’t we go back to the beginning? You said your husband was involved in antiques. What kind of antiques?

LESLIE: At first it was just furniture and knickknacks and the occasional curio, but then he got into rare statues and old coins and then…Enrico Fermi.

SHAKER: Enrico Fermi? The scientist?

LESLIE: No, the antiques dealer. He scared me so much. He scared my husband, too, but we didn’t know what to do. He was in too deep.

SHAKER: That wasn’t how I imagined I’d be waking up. My head felt like Pearl Harbor…and the dame was gone. I went back to the office to sort things out.

RITA: You look like hell, Joe.

SHAKER: I’m sure hell feels a lot better than I do.

RITA: Lucrative case?

SHAKER: If by lucrative you mean a murderous antiques ring and a bump on my head the size of Idaho then, yes…very lucrative.

RITA: I’ll get you some ice.

SHAKER: I wanted to think about the case some more but my head hurt like a really hurt head. Needless to say, I wasn’t thinking straight. That’s when Laszlo Kovacs showed up. Laszlo was the kind of guy you could trust. You could trust him to take your wallet when you weren’t looking. Fortunately, someone had already taken their turn with me last night and Laszlo would leave me empty-handed.

LASZLO: Hello, Joe.

SHAKER: Hello, Laszlo.

LASZLO: You look…how do you say…beat.

SHAKER: Very funny, Laszlo. To what do I owe the honor of your presence today?

LASZLO: I have something to show you, Joe.

SHAKER: Congratulations, Laszlo. Four more of those and you can get yourself a nice big sandwich and retire.

LASZLO: Look at it carefully.

SHAKER: It looks like it’s got some shellac on it.

LASZLO: Yes.

SHAKER: So? It’s lacquered.

LASZLO: It’s not a real penny.

SHAKER: Someone’s counterfeiting pennies?

LASZLO: Yes.

SHAKER: Why would anyone do that?

LASZLO: Don’t you see how brilliant it is? No one would think to check a penny. You can put them all around the world and no one would know.

SHAKER: I take it you’re not the inventor of this thing.

LASZLO: I’m just admiring the evil genius of it.

SHAKER: Any idea who might be behind this?

LASZLO: I might have a few ideas.

SHAKER: I suppose you’re not going to share them with me.

LASZLO: It doesn’t pay to tell you.

SHAKER: I take it you have a plan to make a penny or two from these pennies.

LASZLO: You might say that.

SHAKER: I never took you as an extortionist, Laszlo.

LASZLO: Extortion is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as a business partnership.

SHAKER: Call it whatever you like, where do I figure in this?

LASZLO: I need you to look after some papers.

SHAKER: Papers? I see.

LASZLO: Yes. You see, I believe in covering my back.

SHAKER: So, whatever’s in here will do that, eh? What’s to keep me from peeking in here when you go out the door?

LASZLO: Greed. If I’m alive after this deal and that seal is broken you won’t get your share.

SHAKER: A substantial share, I hope.

LASZLO: You know me, Joe.

SHAKER: Yeah, I do. That’s what worries me. And if you die?

LASZLO: That, my dear Joe, is not going to happen so long as you have those papers.

SHAKER: I’ll keep them safe, you can be sure. Now, maybe you can help me.

Have you heard of Enrico Fermi?

Pause.

LASZLO: The scientist?

SHAKER: No, the antiques dealer.

LASZLO: I only know him by reputation. He is supposed to be a tough cookie. Every antique in this city passes through his hands at least once–a dangerous character.

SHAKER: Sure, sure. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope your deal goes well.

LASZLO: For both our sakes?

SHAKER: I was smelling a rat. And my head hadn’t stopped hurting.

RITA: You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find ice in this city.

SHAKER: You’re right, I don’t believe it.

RITA: Listen, Joe, you mind if I cut out early today? My sister’s having a baby and needs some help at home.

SHAKER: Why ask me? I though you were in charge.

RITA: You’re a sweetheart, Joe.

SHAKER: This case was going nowhere fast and I needed it to go somewhere…even if that somewhere was just away.

LESLIE: Hello, Joe.

SHAKER: Leslie. What happened?

LESLIE: They took me away. I don’t know where I was. I never saw their faces. I’m so afraid.

SHAKER: You and me both. How’d you get away?

LESLIE: They blindfolded me and let me go downtown. I didn’t know where to go.

SHAKER: So you came here?

LESLIE: That’s right. What are we going to do, Joe?

SHAKER: We’re not going back to your place, that’s for sure.

LESLIE: Hold me, Joe!

LESLIE: I need you.

LESLIE: I want you.

SHAKER: She was acting odd for a woman whose husband had only recently been turned into a handful of lint. It should have sent off every alarm in me, it hadn’t sent off something else and that something else was calling the shots now. Still, something about this wasn’t quite right, even though it felt more than alright.

SHAKER: I woke up with another splitting headache. I was beginning to sense a pattern and that pattern wasn’t doing my skull any favors.

Rita enters.

RITA: Have a rough night?

SHAKER: It was awful.

RITA: I can see that.

SHAKER: What’s the news?

RITA: Your friend Laszlo’s dead.

SHAKER: How?

RITA: Three shots in the gut.

SHAKER: This was turning into a hell of a morning. The news went from bad to worse. Then I went to check for the papers. They weren’t there. Laszlo was dead, I was next and my only piece of insurance was long gone. I had a feeling that I finally knew what was going on, but that just assured me that the end was near–my end. I had to think fast.

Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Rita?

RITA: Are you sure, Joe?

SHAKER: Yeah, sure as blueberry pie.

SHAKER: I had a feeling there’d be a visitor for me any minute now and there was no sense getting Rita killed too. I didn’t have to wait long for my visitor.

FERMI: Mr. Shaker.

SHAKER: You must be Enrico Fermi.

FERMI: I am.

SHAKER: So you’re the one who’s been counterfeiting promises.

FERMI: Indeed, I have. Fortunately, you have no way of proving it.

SHAKER: So you don’t have to kill me.

FERMI: Oh, I’m going to kill you.

SHAKER: Why?

FERMI: There’s no sense leaving any loose ends.

SHAKER: I can keep a secret.

FERMI: I wish I could believe you.

SHAKER: Did you kill the dame, too?

LESLIE: I’m here, Joe.

SHAKER: I thought you would be.

LESLIE: Don’t take it personally.

SHAKER: Don’t worry, I won’t. Why’d you kill your husband?

LESLIE: I didn’t.

SHAKER: So it’s that way, is it?

FERMI: I’m afraid you misunderstand. You see, I am her husband.

SHAKER: Then who was the poor sap you turned into a pile of lint?

FERMI: That was another private detective.

SHAKER: Hell of a way to go. So what gives with the pennies?

FERMI: I have a dream of remaking this city, of remaking this world. There are great things we can do–but even antiques can’t fund the future.

SHAKER: It’s a shame you won’t be able to enjoy it.

FERMI: Really? Why not?

SHAKER: Why don’t you check the desk drawer? I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.

FERMI: I have Laszlo’s papers. There’s nothing else I have to worry about.

SHAKER: Sure, sure. That’s if you believe that I had to look at Laszlo’s papers to figure out that you were behind this. But I never had to look at Laszlo’s papers. Check the seal.

LESLIE: The seal hasn’t been broken.

FERMI: That doesn’t prove anything.

SHAKER: Sure, sure. If you want to believe that the first thing I did this morning was anything other than going over to the post office and meeting with a pair of treasury agents.

FERMI: You couldn’t have.

SHAKER: I did. And I even got a note from them. It’s in the drawer. Go on, have a look.

FERMI: I don’t believe you.

SHAKER: Sure, sure. You can chance it, but that isn’t your style. You want to know what’s in there, don’t you?

LESLIE: Just check in the drawer. It can’t hurt.

FERMI: What was in there?

SHAKER: A very old sandwich. An antique, you might say.

FERMI: You can’t stop the future.

SHAKER: I’ve seen the future, brother. It’s murder.

LESLIE: Thank goodness. You saved me from him. Let’s get out of here.

SHAKER: Sure, sure. That would be swell.

LESLIE: I’m sorry, Joe.

RITA: I’m not.

Rita shoots Leslie.

LESLIE: How? Why?

SHAKER: Sorry. Don’t take it too personally.

LESLIE: We were great together.

SHAKER: I couldn’t take all the concussions.

RITA: Is he dead?

SHAKER: No, but his future isn’t what he thought it would be. How’d you know to come back?

RITA: Something wasn’t right to me…and I smelled cheap perfume when I found you in the morning.

SHAKER: You’re the only one for me, Rita.

RITA: Sure, sure. That’s what they all say. But I love you anyway, Joe.

SHAKER: When I woke up the next day the sun was shining and I didn’t have any new concussions, which was a good start for a new week. And with one less competitor in town things were looking better and better for Joe Shaker, Private Eye.