A
DEAD BODY’S A DEAL-BREAKER
A Minuscule Mystery by Hal Glatzer
Copyright 2002
No performance rights granted without express permission
of the author
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CAST OF CHARACTERS:
MARK MARKHEIM – a shamus with a shingle in Tinsel
Town
EDDIE EDSEL – Editor of Eye Spy, the rumor
rag
VENUS VELVET – a famously flashy femme
ARNIE ANGLEMAN – an animal among agents
BOB BEST, L.A.P.D. – a high-up in Homicide
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Me? I’m Mark
Markheim – a shamus with a shingle in Tinsel Town. The telephone rang Tuesday, around two.
“It’s Eddie Edsel.
And am I edgy!
Eddie’s editor of Eye Spy, Lotus Land’s leading
rumor rag.
“Might be mayhem, Markheim. Protect me, pronto. I’ll pay plenty. Hurry here to my house.”
Happy to be hired, however hastily. But a traffic tie-up caught my convertible
in a snarl of slow S.U.V.s on Sepulveda.
Finally, at five-to-four, I found Eddie’s edifice: a mansion on Melrose.
Needless to note, Ed was dead: a cold corpse on the creamy carpet of
his hacienda. And –woo woo! – Venus Velvet, holding a heater in her hand.
“I didn’t do it!”
My files were fat with facts on the voluptuous Venus
Velvet: a veritable vamp, twice a two-timer, and once a wandering widow.
I stepped away, sideways, and said:
“Pocket your pistol, Pretty One. I doubt you did the deed.
That hole in his corduroy's too colossal for your
caliber.”
“Help me, Handsome.”
She lowered the Luger.
“Eddie said he had a paparazzi’s prize picture here
at home. It’d crush my career if the
paper published a print.”
“Perhaps.”
“Help me hunt, please. I’m pleading.”
Venus – vain as ever! Her career'd crashed a year ago August.
But Eye Spy was famous for photo-features of
flashy, fleshy femmes in flagrante.
“Why would they want one, anyway?”
“Skin still sells, Sweetie.”
“Forget it. A
frame of your flesh is old--No! You're not too old to ogle. Belay
that barrel, Baby! You’d be a pleasing
pinup. Whew! What I mean is, Venus, you're old news
now.
Eye Spy
ran riot with various visions of Venus Velvet last Valentine's Day.”
“That was then. Posed
party pictures. Pure publicity pap.”
“Sure, Sugar, so forget the photo.”
“Unh unh. Gotta
get it. Secure the sneaky snapshot,
and I'll give you gossip.”
Learning the lady’s lurid low-down might mean money
in lean months, so I lingered. She
whispered wise, naming a nabob never known to be naughty. Persuaded, I promised, politely. We searched study and studio, fingering files.
Checked kitchen cabinets, clothes closets, pantries and porches, terraces,
too, but found no photo. I phoned the fuzz.
“Bob Best, Homicide, here.”
“Bob, old buddy.
It’s Mark Markheim. Come collect
a corpse. High-tail it here, too.”
I added the address.
“Can we cut out, quickly?”
“Vamanos,
Venus.”
SFX – Music
[transition]
I drove her directly home, hurriedly, bypassing the
black-and-whites that swept up Sepulveda, sirens singing. Venus Velvet made money in movies. Her Hollywood home hung off a huge hilltop,
vistas visible at every eave. But
that evening, there was rubble in her rec room, the remains of a ruckus: ragged
rugs, battered bric-a-brac, a broken breakfront, and shattered shards of two
TVs.
“Look left, Lover!”
I peered where she pointed. Propped up on the piano top: a calling card
from her attentive agent, Arnie Angleman.
“CAME CALLING
– ENCOUNTERED ED – HATE HIM! – FIST FIGHT – GETTING GUN – HE’S HISTORY!” was
written on the back with a Bic.
“Madman! Murderer!
Must be!”
“Arnie’s an animal among agents. A lion of a leech. A leading light to the low-life lemmings of Lotus Land. ‘Fraid he's no fair fighter.”
“See, Sugar – I’m shivering!”
Found a phone under punctured pillows.
“Call him, Cutie.
Make him meet us. My outer
office, twelve tonight.”
Then we two tarried. She seemed sumptuously sexy, suddenly, sidling up softly, sweetly.
I sighed, and huffed a “Hubba-hubba.”
“Wait.”
“What d'you want?”
“Can't you cut those constant consonants? Darn it, Darling! You're making me do double-whammies with my dental-work.”
“Honey . . . .”
“Huh?”
“Hush.”
SFX – Music
[transition]
After a while we went to my office, where wide windows
overlook LaBrea, the town's bleak blacktopped tarpit of prehistoric predators.
(Appropriate, eh?)
“Are you armed? Arnie's
angry.”
“Wouldn't worry, Wonderful. He'll hang himself.”
Arnie Angleman came in, in a khaki jacket, chewing
a cheap cheroot, unlit. Said —
“Can’t quite quit.”
— and sat.
“Arnie, it’s awful. My recently renovated rec room’s ruined!”
“Aw, again? You’re
partial to parties where people propel punches, Pet. But why wangle me downtown for a midnight meeting
at Markheim’s? Publicity possibilities, perhaps?”
“Say, sir, did you sneak a snapshot from Eddie Edsel,
earlier?”
“No. But she
knows the nosy newshound. He around? Great guy!”
“Eddie’s dead.”
“No loss! Never
liked the lousy loser. While we’re
here, however, let’s make it a meeting. View this, Venus: a copy of a contract.
Sign, Sweetheart–“
He reached around his rump.
“Look out, Lover!”
SFX – 6
gunshots
One shot slit my sleeve. Arnie dropped down on his duff.
She stood, shuddering, her Luger looming large in
her hand.
“Had to! Had
to! Before he blew us to bits!”
“Unh unh. Before
he blabbed.”
“But—”
“Blurted. ‘Bout
you two – you and Eddie – goin’ steady, on the Q.T., till you quarreled, Queenie.”
“The photo –”
[Wolf-whistle] “Phony!”
When I wolf-whistled, cops – cached in corners – crashed
in.
Big Bob Best karate-chopped her cannon to the carpet.
“Mark my man!”
He hastened to handshake.
“Thanks for the ‘high-tail’ tip.”
“What? What?”
“Mark, my man, told me to tail you two, today!”
“Previously partners in police patrol, my ‘high-tail’
was coded communication.”
“Kept the Cutie in the cold!”
“But earlier, at Eddie’s, you believed me, Baby.”
“I lied. You
had a gun and a grin, Girlie.”
Grrrr!
“Bad break for you, Beautiful.”
But Bob’ll get a bonus for a quick collar. I’ll e-mail an eyewitness eyeful to Eye
Spy and earn a fast fee.
“Victory, Venus!
Bad publicity’s better press than no news, now. Could kick-start a come-back.”
“Aha! Arnie’s
alive!”
“Shirt shredded, sure, but pump un-peppered, Pal.
Kevlar under khaki.”
“And Arnie takes away a tale to tickle the twerps
on Tabloid TV. I’ll brief you, Bob:
She shot Eddie Edsel. Venus’s version, aimed at Arnie, was a foul
frame.”
“How in hell’d you make me out a murderess, Mark?”
“Truth to tell, Temptress, in Tinsel Town – and absent
all alliteration, as asked – when your career's in the tank, your agent never
comes to your house!”
SFX – Music [under ANNCR./credits]