08x23 - Search for a Dead Man

[bunniefuu]

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Good morning.
May I help you?

I'd like to see
Mr. Ingram, please.

Mr. Thompson
of Northwest Floor Coverings

to see you, Mr. Ingram.

Okay.

You can go right on in.

Hello, Norman.

Good morning.

You know my partner,
Mr. Wayborn.

Of course.
Nice to see you again.

Sit down, Norman.

You owe me $ , .

For what?
You blew it.

Just a moment, Mark.

Let's hear what Norman
has to say about it.

There's nothing to say.

I made the hit,
Albert Coleman is dead,

I expect to be paid.

What did you do with the body?
I don't dispose of bodies.

I k*lled him and left.

Norman...

I think you missed him.

I never miss.

It's true.
You never have before.

Now, Coleman's a cautious man.

Maybe he's taken to wearing
a bulletproof vest.

It wouldn't have helped him;
it was a head sh*t.

I saw him fall.

Oh, you saw him fall.
You'd do the same thing

if somebody took a sh*t at you
and missed, if you were smart.

Then you'd play dead
until you thought it was safe

to get up and run away, which
is exactly what Coleman did.

I didn't miss.

Check the hospitals, the morgue.

Of course, Norman.
We'll do that.

Maybe the police are trying
to keep it quiet.

Are you kidding?

Nothing would make
the police happier

than to produce the corpse of
the West Coast Syndicate boss.

None of us is safe if
Albert Coleman is still alive.

And I'm sure he is.

He's dead.

We don't owe you a cent
till we're sure.

Now, you get us proof the job's
done, and that means a body!

Yeah. Well...

Good morning.
Good morning.

May I help you?

I-I-I'd like to see, uh,
Mr. Mannix, please.

May I tell him
what it's about, Mister...?

Uh, Thompson.
Nor-Norman Thompson.

I-I'd rather tell him myself,
if-if you don't mind.

All right, Mr. Thompson.

No way!
Come on, three a side.

Right.

Okay, I'll see you at, uh...

: .
Hey, and Paul...

bring money.

Joe, there's a Mr. Thompson
to see you.

What's he selling?
Floor coverings?!

I don't think
he's selling anything.

He looks pretty worried.

Show him in.

Mr. Thompson?

Mr. Mannix.

Mr. Thompson.

Uh, th-thank you
for seeing me, Mr. Mannix.

Please, sit down.
Oh, uh, thank you.

I, uh...

I don't quite know,
uh, wh-where to begin. I...

Well, now, just take your time.

What seems to be bothering you?

Well, it-it's something
that I saw night before last,

or at least I'm...

I'm pretty sure I saw it.

What's that?

A man sh*t.

Go on, Mr. Thompson.

Well, it-it was just
after : in the morning

and I was on my way to my hotel,

the Markham-- |-I always stay at
the Markham when I'm in town--

And I heard what I-I-I thought
at first was a-a backfire.

Only there were... there were
no other cars on the street.

So-so then I realized the sound

must've come from one
of the buildings--

Maybe a-a window or the roof.

I looked up;
there was nothing.

And then I- - looked
across the street.

And?

Well, outside one
of the apartment buildings,

I saw that a man had fallen
in the bushes,

and I realized what I had heard
was a g*n and the man was sh*t.

And I also knew from the way
he was lying there that...

that he was dead.

"The way he was lying there"?

Well, I-I-I was in the army
in Korea, Mr. Mannix.

You get to know
when a man has been...

hit fatally.

What did you do?

Well, I'm-I'm afraid I panicked.

I went on to my hotel.

And, uh, uh...

what do you want me to do,
Mr. Thompson?

To find out if I saw
what I think I saw.

I've-I've heard nothing
about it since.

Well, you know it would be
much easier and a lot cheaper

if you called
the police department.

Now, they would do it
for nothing.

I suppose so. I mean,
I-I know I should have...

have notified the police
but I-I-I just...

I can't afford
to get involved right now.

Why not?

Well, I-I was out
that evening with a lady, a...

a married lady. I...

I was afraid that
if I called the police

there'd be... questions.

Now, uh, you say you were
across the street,

and you're pretty sure
about all of this?

The sh*t and the man
dead in the bushes?

Yes. The sound of the g*nsh*t
and the body.

The combination scared me.

All I could think of was getting
out of there, because of my...

my-my, my-my friend.

The lady.
Yes.

And you went straight
to the Markham?

Yes, I've been watching
the newspapers,

and there's been nothing.
Nothing!

It's driving me crazy.

|-I see a man sh*t dead,
and then...

nothing.

I'm-I'm even beginning
to wonder if...

Wonder what?

Well, it's possible
that I was mistaken,

and that-that he wasn't dead,
he was just hurt,

and that he d*ed
because I failed

to notify somebody in time.

I mean, I-I've got to know,
Mr. Mannix.

You understand, don't you?

C-C-Can you help me?

Well...

I'll do what I can,
Mr. Thompson.

I-I-I can't ask you to spend
a lot of time on this.

I-I'm not a rich man.

Well, let's not worry
about that right now.

And so far,
there isn't even a case.

No, there are no unsolved
homicides Thursday night...

or Friday morning.

There are some assaults,

a few accidents,

but nothing in the neighborhood
you're talking about,

not even a disturbing the peace.

Mm.
Who you playing golf with?

Paul Richman.
What about the fire department?

No rescue calls?

Paul Richman is gonna k*ll you.
Are you kidding?

No, no fire department calls.
There you are, Herman.

He's gonna give me
three strokes a side.

Hey, uh, maybe my client saw
a wino lying in a doorway, huh?

Richman could give you
six strokes a side

and still b*at you.

Would you like
to put a little wager on that?

Malcolm.

Oh, yeah, good.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Okay, that'll do it.
Thanks a lot.

Well, at least your client is
who he says he is.

Norman Thompson,
he's a sales representative

for Northwest Floor Covering,

with offices in San Francisco,
Portland and Seattle.

Lives in a little town
up near Santa Maria.

Yeah. Thanks a lot, Art.

You know, you didn't have to go
through that much trouble.

Hey, if you don't want
somebody checked out,

don't mention him to me.

You know how nosy I am.

Yeah, that I do.

Oh, uh, this guy Thompson,
is he married?

No. Why?

You know how nosy I am.

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Yeah, I got it, Ed.

Any idea when it was fired?

Okay.

All right, thanks a lot.

A r*fle b*llet, right?

. , he thinks.

That's a pretty good-sized slug
for that small a caliber.

Well, they make 'em up to
grain for coyote or woodchucks,

things like that.

A varmint r*fle?
Could be.

Anyway, it was fired
within the last week,

but not longer than that.
It wasn't oxidized enough.

What about the stain,
was it blood?

Type , human.

As opposed to, uh... varmint.

The lab say anything more
about the r*fle?

It's almost always used
with a scope.

I guess because nobody gets
that close to a coyote.

It's accurate up to yards
and powerful.

Up to , feet per second
muzzle velocity.

That would explain why it went
right through whoever it hit.

You know, it could've
grazed somebody

who then got up and ran.

Art, my client says
he saw a body,

a dead body.

And a Mr. and Mrs.
Arthur Young in ?

Yes, I've got it.

And that completes
the tenants list?

Well, thank you
very much, Mr. Wanamaker.

You've been very kind.
Bye-bye.

What'd you get?

Oh... that apartment has
a lot of respectable people.

Businessmen, doctors, lawyers,

a high-fashion model, architect,

all very high-income tax types.

Very interesting.

Thanks, Peg.

Good evening.
Hello, Mr. Thompson.

Uh, Mr. Mannix,
I-I, I got a message

that you'd called the hotel.
Yes, I did.

I-I just happened to be
in the neighborhood,

so I thought I'd drop by.

Well, I'm glad you did.
Come in, Mr. Thompson.

Oh, thank you.

I think I may be
on to something.

Oh? Uh, w-w-was I right?

Did th-the police find the body?

No, no, as a matter
of fact, they say

that there have been no reports
of sh**t or homicides

in that neighborhood
in the past few months.

Oh, well,
that's bad news, isn't it?

But y-you said you were
on to something else.

Yes, well, what I wanted to
tell you is that I found a slug,

flattened near where
you told me the body was.

A slug?
Yeah, that's a spent b*llet.

The police lab say they also
found human blood on it.

Oh?

A-Anything else?

Well, they were able to identify
the type of w*apon.

It's a g*n commonly called
a varmint r*fle.

There should be more
on it tomorrow.

Oh, you mean on-on the r*fle?

Well, M-Mr. Mannix, I-I-I don't
think that makes any difference.

What I really want to know...
I understand, Mr. Thompson.

What you really want to know is

if anyone was
hurt or k*lled, right?

Yes, that's right.

Well, as soon as I find out
anything, I'll be in touch.

Oh, well, all right, uh...

thank you very much.
Good night.

G-Good-bye.

Third floor:
Walter Overland, novelist.

Huh, I've read a couple
of his books.

Dr. and Mrs. Woodmere.

Ms. Hope Gordon, fashion model.

And not a b*llet wound
among them.

Yeah. Good night, Peg.
See you in the morning.

Good night, Joe.

Second floor...

Joe?
Yeah?

There is one thing.

What's that?

Hope Gordon, the fashion model.

What about her?

Well, she'd have to be
very successful

to afford that kind
of high rent, wouldn't she?

And if she were that successful,
you would have heard of her.

That's right.
But you haven't.

That's right.
Let me put it this way:

I read every fashion magazine
published at the beauty parlor,

and I've never read
the name Hope Gordon.

I like the way your
little old mind works, Peggy.

It pays to be suspicious, Joe.

Yeah, I'll check out
our Miss Hope Gordon.

Good night!

Good night.

Malcolm.

Oh, hello, Joe.

Who?

You wouldn't mean
Angel Gordon, would you?

What do you know about her?

If the lady's who I think
she is, stay away, Joe.

Why?

Because this angel flies
with Albert Coleman.

The Syndicate Coleman?

You got it.

He's had a "no trespassing” sign
on her door ever since

he took over the number-one spot
in the Syndicate.

Art, she lives in the building
where the sh**ting took place.

It could add up.

What adds up?

That somebody tried
to g*n down Al Coleman

in front of a building
where his girlfriend lives?

It doesn't add up.

Where's the body?
Where's the evidence?

What am I going to bury,
a ghost?

Maybe I can dig up
some evidence for you.

How? With a Ouija board?

With an angel.

Mr. Mannix?
Yes.

Wait until I unlock this vault.

Burglaries?

It's a maximum security
building.

Ah. I can see why.

Thanks. Come on in.

Now, let's get
to the commercial.

You said you had
something important

to tell me about Al Coleman?

When was the last time
you saw him?

Let me get something straight

before I drive
in the wrong lane.

You're not fuzz?

Not fuzz.

You're in the private sector
of the detective business,

is that right?
That's right.

Okay.

Now, what would someone
in your line of work want

with information
about Al Coleman?

He's a little out
of your league, isn't he?

Well, I've played in some

pretty good-sized
ballparks, Miss Gordon.

Well, for a shamus,
you don't dress too badly.

Huh. Thank you.

All right, what would
you like to know?

I have a client who says he saw
a man sh*t two nights ago.

sh*t?!
Outside this apartment.

And he thought it was
Al Coleman?

No, he doesn't know who it was.
Uh, he heard a sh*t.

He saw a man who had fallen
in the bushes.

He's convinced he was dead.

What about the police?

Well, he didn't call them.
Why?

Well, the, uh... the lady
he kissed good night

didn't happen to be his wife.

And how did you get to me?

I checked all the tenants
in the building,

on the off chance that
one of 'em might be in,

shall we say,
a dangerous profession.

And you came up
with fashion modeling?

No, no, I came up with a friend
of a fashion model.

Oh. And being a detective,
you deduced--

That is the right word,
isn't it?

I'd say so, yes.

That Al left me, walked out
into the moonlight

and collected a b*llet.

Something like that.

Being a good detective,
Mr. Mannix,

I'm sure you noticed my luggage.

Oh, that's very nice.

I'm going to Las Vegas.

To meet Al Coleman.

That's his coat,
as a matter of fact.

I saw him at noon today
when he left,

and I talked to him
on the phone an hour ago.

And he's all right?
Fine.

If there was a b*llet hole
in him, it didn't show.

Well, there goes
a pretty good deduction.

I'm sorry to have
bothered you, Miss Gordon.

Oh, by the way, |, uh...

I also like your perfume.

Do you?
Uh-huh, what's it called?

What do your clients pay you?

$ a day plus expenses.

You don't really want to know
the name of my perfume.

Hmm?

Good night, Mr. Mannix.

Good night, Miss Gordon.

How long are you gonna wait
for Thompson to call us?

We should've heard
from him by now.

Maybe I should call him
at the Markham?

No! No, not through
the switchboard.

He'll call us when he's got
something to tell us--

He's got our home phone numbers.

That's another
mistake we made.

Hello?

Yes, Angel.

What did he want?

I see. You did the right thing.

I'll tell Mark.

Enjoy yourself.

Give my regards to Al.

Angel saw Al Coleman?

She talked to him.

When?
Today.

She's on her way up to Vegas
to meet him.

She had a visitor.

Some guy named Mannix.
A private eye.

What did he want?

He has a client.

The client says he saw some guy
sh*t outside Angel's building.

Guess who the client is.

Thompson! He's gonna
get us both k*lled!

First he blows the contract,
then he hires a private eye!

I think he's gone
off his rocker.

The whole thing's
falling apart, Mark.

Aw, take it easy.
Al has to know someone's

gunning for him.
A contract gets around.

How long before
he puts it together?

We haven't blown it yet.

I'll get ahold of Thompson.

He'll make the hit in Vegas.

Suppose Al knows him?

How could he know him?
Thompson's clean.

If he wants his money,
let him make the hit in Vegas.

Mannix.
Mannix,

I understand you've been
talking to a certain lady.

Who is this?

This is Al Coleman.

Now, look, Mannix,
I'm gonna say this once:

You lay off Angel, you hear me?

Yeah, I heard you.
You stay out of her life...

if you want to keep breathing.

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Good morning.
Peg.

I see you made
the coffee yourself.

What happened to Mrs. Olson?

Uh, she got another job.

Okay, well, was she pretty?

Mrs. Olson?

No, Miss Gordon.

Oh, yeah, well, she goes
by the nickname of Angel

and flies to Las Vegas whenever
Al Coleman tells her to.

From the L.A. Airport,

where I watched her
take off last night.

Oh, it's your client.

We're in here, Mr. Thompson.

Good morning, Mr. Thompson.

Would you like some coffee?
Uh, no, no, thank you.

Mr. Mannix, I hope
I'm not disturbing you.

I-I wanted to see you
as early as possible

because I have to go on the road
this morning, and |, uh...

M-M-May we talk privately?

Oh, of course.

If you change your mind about
some coffee, just let me know.

You, uh, you have
a very nice secretary.

I think so.

Mr. Mannix,
I-I-I've checked out.

I'm leaving in a few minutes.
I'm driving up to San Francisco,

and I-if it's all right,
I'll-I'll mail you your check?

Oh, sure, that'd be fine.
And thank you very much

for all your trouble.
Wait a minute, uh...

you mean you don't want me
to keep looking for the...?

No, no, uh...

Uh, thanks very much for, uh...

for being so, uh... indulgent.

, uh, I-I've given
the whole matter

a great deal of thought, and...

I-I don't know
whether I mentioned it,

but I had had a few drinks
earlier that evening.

Quite a few,
as a matter of fact.

And, well, Mr. Mannix,
th-there's something else

th-that I have to admit.

What's that, Mr. Thompson?

Well, it's, uh...

I-it's happened to me before,

the same type of, uh,

hallucination, you might say.

Are you telling me you now think

you imagined seeing a body
in the bushes?

I'm afraid it's... possible.

Mr. Thompson...

...you ever thought
of seeing a psychiatrist?

Oh, yes, of course.
I-I-I've seen more than one.

I-I-I've been told that
the problem is somehow related

to my-my m*llitary experience.
I see.

I know it's, uh, my imagination,

but I-it's very real
to me at the time.

And do you know,
hiring someone like yourself

and paying to find out
that it was a hallucination,

I mean, well, it...
I-it always seems to help me.

The doctor explained that, too.

Part of the therapy?

Exactly.
I-I-I'm really very grateful.

Well...

I'm glad I could be of help,
Mr. Thompson. Have a nice trip.

I-I'm sorry I wasted your time.

Good-bye, Mr. Mannix.

Good-bye.

I'll be in touch, Peg.
Where are you going?

After our client.
I think we've been had.

I'm gonna tail Mr. Thompson,

and see what's really
playing on his phonograph.

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Well, Joe, there you are,
a . varmint r*fle with scope.

I'd say your client
was a hit man.

But he missed Al Coleman.

He evidently didn't
think he missed.

He hired you to find
the body, remember?

The question is, who hired him?

Whoever did is in a lot
of trouble with Al Coleman.

You didn't get a good look
at the guy on the bike, huh?

No, no, just the license number.

Did Motor Vehicles
have anything on it?

The bike is registered to
John Webber, a small-time hood.

We're checking him out.

Now, if I'd stayed closer
to Thompson,

I might have stopped that.

Oh, delayed it,
maybe, that's about all.

Gotten yourself k*lled
in the process.

Yeah. It's getting chilly.
Yeah, a little.

Hi, Peg

I've got messages
for both of you.

That's for you.

And your friend Charlie Hill
called from Las Vegas.

He had no trouble whatsoever
in locating Angel Gordon.

What about Al Coleman?
She wasn't with him.

Her escort's name
was Mark Wayborn,

and they took a flight for L.A.
a couple of hours ago.

Mark Wayborn-- now, where
do I know that name from?

Ingram and Wayborn,
import-export business.

You know, Art--
hey, you want some coffee?

No, thanks.
Neither do I.

They could all be connected
in this thing:

Angel Gordon; Coleman;
Thompson, the hit man.

Sure, they could be.
That import-export business

is probably a laundry
for Coleman's money, but we've

never been able to prove it.
And what've you got?

Well, the medical examiner's
report is in.

Thompson was k*lled
with a plain old . slug.

Peggy, what else
did Charlie Hill say

about Angel and Mark Wayborn?

They were very friendly.

Hmm, how friendly?

Drinks together in the lounge,
you know, that sort of thing.

Little Angel's gonna
get her wings clipped

if Coleman finds out.

Question is...

Where's Coleman?

Hello?

Ingram?

Who is this?

I just thought
you'd like to know,

your hit man is cold meat.

Who is this calling?

Norman Thompson was his name.

Why don't you call the morgue?

Listen, I don't know
what you're talking about.

You must have dialed the...
Ingram!

You're next.

You and then
that partner of yours.

Who is this?!

Well, this is
a friend... of a friend.

Charley, that teletype arrive
from Washington?

Yes, it's on your desk.

Charley.
Joe.

Norman Thompson, corporal,
two years Korean combat,

Bronze Star, Purple Heart.

Try and reach Judge Berg
for me, will you?

And if you can't do it,
try Judge Carpenter. And fast.

Unit Presidential Citation.
sn*per.

Commanding officer: Robert
W. Ingram, U.S. Army Reserve.

Well, he was a sn*per
right to the end.

And maybe working for the
same commanding officer, Ingram.

If Ingram put out
that contract on Coleman;

he could be in trouble.

Coleman's probably
got it figured out.

And started paying
everybody back,

beginning with your client,
Norman Thompson.

Well, now, I think we ought

to pay Captain Ingram
a visit, don't you?

Not without a warrant.

He's got all kinds of lawyers.

Yeah, well, this is the year
for 'em, all right.

This will only take
a couple of minutes.

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Oh, hi, Art. What'd you find?
Well, the slugs match.

It's the g*n that k*lled Ingram
and your client Norman Thompson.

Well, whoever dumped that g*n
in the garbage can in the garage

was either in a hurry
or wanted you to find it.

Could be.

Oh, I got a call
from Mark Wayborn.

Wayborn? Yeah, he's afraid
he's gonna be the next target.

I'm on my way
over to see him now.

Well, mind if I tag along?
No, it's all right.

Malcolm.

Are you sure?

Good enough.

Well, we got a registration
on the g*n.

Al Coleman?

Yeah, I'm putting out
an APB on him now.

That won't do any good, Art.

Why not?

The rap won't stick.
Coleman will prove that

he was a thousand miles from
either one of those killings

and that somebody stole his g*n
at least two years ago.

Now, why don't we go
see Mark Wayborn?

Al right.

Charley, put out an APB
on Coleman, will you?

I'll get on it right away.

Wasting your time, Charley.

You're certain that
it was Coleman's voice?

And the first call,
I think you said

you got it around : a.m.?
Yeah.

That was Coleman, too?
I'm sure of it.

Where'd you get
the calls, at home?

No, uh, I was
at a friend's apartment.

Why should Al Coleman
want to k*ll you?

Somebody tried
to assassinate him.

And he thinks
you hired the hit man?

Lieutenant, I had nothing
to do with it, I swear!

Who did?

Well, somebody set it up.

Why should Al Coleman
think it was you?

I don't know.

But you know who did
put out the contract?

Yeah.

My partner Bob Ingram.

Your dead partner.
That's right.

Coleman k*lled him,
and now I'm scared. Why?

Because he thinks I'm trying
to make time with Angel Gordon.

Lieutenant, Coleman is crazy.

If you even talk to that girl,
his muscle moves in.

Now, I need protection!

Well, I've got an APB out
on Coleman.

That's about all I can do
right now.

There isn't any hard evidence
that your life is in danger.

You mean, I haven't been
sh*t at yet.

Mr. Wayborn, this is a big city.

Maybe you should think about
getting some private protection,

at least until Coleman's
in custody.

He's guilty as hell, Art.

Of what? Putting out
the contract on Coleman.

He's in it with his partner
right up to his ears.

But he had a better reason.

You mean Miss Gordon?

Beautiful lady.
Yeah.

Sweet, innocent, naive--
just my type.

Well, he was scared, Joe.

Oh, I'd be, too, Art, if I'd put
a contract out on Coleman

and my man had missed.

Well, I got to get back
to the office.

I sure wish
it'd make up its mind.

Yeah, see you, Joe.

Thanks for lunch!
Yeah.

Eh, beautiful day for banana
fish, ain't it, Mr. Mannix?

Willie, what are you doing
on the pier?

You know this fresh air
could k*ll you.

Well, I kind of got my hook out.

You interested?

In what?

Guy named Webber?
Rides a bike?

I hear you and the cops
are looking.

I'm definitely
interested, Willie.

For about a hundred?

Oh, well, now the price
of fish have gone up, huh?

It's that Arab oil, Mr. Mannix.
Oh, I see.

Okay, Willie, a hundred.

Well, I'm at the marina, see?

And there's this boat,

and a guy on a bike
rides up-- Webber--

And he gets on the boat.

Now, did you, uh,
happen to notice

the name of the boat,
too, Willie?

What am I, an amateur?

I lost my head.

The Tiki.
That's her moniker.

I'll do it.

Okay.

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The perfume man.

Open up, Angel.

Go away. It's late.

Not that late.

You look like you
just got out of bed.

Not quite.
Would you like a drink?

Yeah, scotch, thanks.

How's your client?
The kooky one.

Dead.

Really? How sad.

And I found Al Coleman, too.

In Nevada?
No, in a freezer.

Also dead, like my client.

Is that a detective joke?

No, his body's
in the county morgue.

I think I'll join you.

Aren't you upset
about Al's death?

Upset?

What an old-fashioned word.

Coleman was in love with you.

That's an old-fashioned word,
too, isn't it?

Oh, you're good, Angel.

Yeah, really good,
there's no doubt about that.

Would've worked, too,
except for one thing.

Somebody got a little
too anxious.

Joe... It is Joe, isn't it?

It's Joe.

Joe, what are you talking about?

What could I possibly
have had to do

with the death of your client,
let alone Al Coleman?

Oh, and Bob Ingram, sweetie.

Don't forget Ingram.
Three counts of m*rder.

That's what the police
are gonna charge you with.

You're insane.

Oh, come on, Angel,
the game's over.

Tell me what happened.

Did the gilded cage get
a little too small,

or weren't the diamonds enough?

What did Mark Wayborn promise
you to help set up Al Coleman?

Marriage?

Yes.

Marriage...

Now, that's an old-fashioned
word, too, isn't it?

Joe, listen, I didn't plan it.

Not any of it.

You have to believe me.

Believe you, why?

Marriage, yes.

And the security, I wanted that.

But it was Mark and Ingram
who hired Thompson.

Maybe so.

But when Coleman was k*lled,
your boyfriend had Webber

standing by to take away
the body and put it on ice.

Coleman would be blamed
for all of the murders,

then one day his body
would wash ashore...

defrosted.

But I had nothing to do with it!

Do I look like a k*ller?

Yeah, well, you didn't actually
pull the trigger, Angel,

but you did know
what was going on.

You lied to me.

I was frightened.

Mark is a dangerous man.

I'll tell you anything
you want to know.

Oh, that's nice.
That's real cozy.

Booze and all.

What's she been telling you?

Nothing that Webber, your
gunsel, hasn't already spilled.

Mark, sh**t him.
We can still get away together.

I was only stalling him
until you got here.

Sure you were, Angel. Mm-hmm.

You were stalling him
just long enough

to sell me down the river.

Just like you sold Al Coleman.

Mark!

First you, baby,
then the shamus.

Police! Open the door!

Want to open the door, Angel?

The Lieutenant has a bad temper.

Open up!

They're all yours, Art.
Two beauties.

Get him out of here.

You never did tell me
the name of that perfume, Angel.

You still can't afford it.

Yeah, maybe you're right.