Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid Page #5

I always carry my harmonica.

It's lighter than an accordion, and

more powerful than a sleeping pill.

I left him napping like a baby when

I ducked out at Grunion Point.

Here's three bucks if you can get this

cab to 46 Bay Court in ten minutes.

Follow that cab!

It was a pretty clever thing I did.

By taking the only two cabs, I made

sure Handsome couldn't follow me.

When I arrived at Mr

Huberman's, I was surprised.

Mr Huberman turned out to be a sexy

dame who was throwing a party.

She didn't even ask me what I wanted,

just made me feel real welcome.

How about you, handsome? Haven't

I seen you somewhere before?

Maybe. I've been somewhere before.

It's nice of you to invite me.

I feel a little like a party crasher.

I like party crashers.

I like classy dames

with bedroom eyes.

You know something? I like you.

I like me too.

When these people leave, maybe...

you and I can have a party of our own.

I... I have to think that over.

She was a fast thinker.

I'm very sorry. You all have to go.

It has been a perfectly hideous party.

- Good night.

- Good night.

Stuffy in here, isn't it?

Suddenly I realised she'd

slipped me a Mickey.

My lips felt like two manhole covers.

My tongue felt like it had hair on it.

My ears started to ring.

I felt like a dog.

Woof!

Woof, Huberman, woof!

Come on. Let's go out dancin'.

You put on your black dress,

and I'll go shave my tongue.

Come on, FX. I'm ready!

Let's go dancing.

Hold it!

Sorry, Dollface.

- How did you get here?

- Your door was open, so I walked in.

- I've been trying to call you all night.

- How did I get here?

- I guess you must have crawled.

- God!

- No, that's OK.

- It's just a little alcohol.

- They don't hurt.

- Don't be a baby.

Get back!

What's up?

Sam Hastings is dead.

Poor rummy. How did he get it?

Fell out of a window reaching

for a bottle of whisky.

He could have been pushed. I'll have

Marlowe check his back for fingerprints.

- Anything else?

- Yes.

I found another note

Daddy wrote to himself.

"NYTAG-216."

I think it's a New York

license plate number.

Not bad, Dollface.

Unless I'm... Agh!

Careful. Let me get

you some alcohol.

No!

It's not N-Y TAG. It's N-Y-T.

New York Times.

So what's "A-G"?

- Standard library talk for August.

- And 216?

Stands for the August 2nd

issue, page one, column six.

Extension 20, please.

Hi. It's me, Rigby.

Sorry, Hot Legs, I've been busy.

You sashay over to your

New York Times file...

Read me what's on page one, column

six of the August 2nd issue...

Maybe I'll wine and dine

you some night soon.

I'll wait.

You'd wine and dine

her for information?

Her? Him.

Yeah... Then read me

the whole article.

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote