 Auto light and it's 96,000 dealers present. Suspense. Tonight, auto light brings you too hot to live. Our suspense plays starring Mr. Richard Widmar. Hey, you, freeloader. What? We don't sell tickets on this freak. Well, it was empty. I didn't think anybody'd mind. They're slowing down for a crossing. I don't want to find you when I come back. Where are we? Half mile from Marcus Junction. Thanks. Forget the thanks. Just beat it. Before somebody inquisitive starts asking questions. Yeah, don't they always? The train rolls by slowing and the crossing bell warns that death is here. I don't recognize it, though. I walk toward Marcus Junction. Toward death. In just a moment, Mr. Richard Widmar can the first act of too hot to live. Well, Hap, how are the hop goblins? Halloween isn't here yet, Harlow. Soon will be, and that means the time has come to have your car made ready for the cold driving days ahead. And your friendly auto light spark plug dealer is the man to see. What'll he do, Harlow? Why, your auto light spark plug dealer will winterize your car, put in anti-freeze, change the oil and grease. And check the spark plugs, too. Thanks, Johnny Plug Check, for a worry-saving reminder. Because spark plugs are the very heart of your car's ignition system. These are better than ever. You mean spark plugs need winterizing, too? They sure do, Hap. And that's why it pays to have your auto light spark plug dealer replace worn-out spark plugs with world-famous ignition engineered auto light spark plugs. Auto light spark plugs, you know, are ignition engineered to operate as a perfect team with your car's ignition system. And that's why you can't buy better spark plugs for your car than auto light. So, folks, see your friendly auto light spark plug dealer. Remember, you're always right with auto light. And now, with too hot to live and the performance of Mr. Richard Widmark, auto light hopes once again to keep you in suspense. The sun is 11 o'clock high and starting to pucker the tar road leading into Marcus Junction. I'm heading in. Sweats beginning to streak through the old suntan uniform and my shoes are sucking tar every time I lift them. The sole of one boot busts loose and starts flapping against the road. That's bad. A drifter needs a good pair of shoes. And I'm on the drift. Marcus Junction. No different than a thousand others like it. About a mile square of small buildings all pasted together. I walk a couple of blocks without finding a shoemaker that town's almost empty this Saturday morning. And then a door opens ahead of me and a big man steps out. Really big, both ways. Big high, big wide. He's wearing steel-rimmed glasses screwed up tight above the pug nose of his round face. And six full inches of hat-brim circled a pink flesh like a halo. All right, good morning, son. My name's Benjamin. Benjamin Maxwell. Oh, good morning, Mr. Maxwell. Benjamin, son. Call me Benjamin. That's the handle that shakes this pump. What's yours, boy? Jeff Casey. Jeffrey or Jefferson? Jefferson. Jefferson. That's a good name. Now, look, don't think I'm changing the subject. But where could I get this fixed, Benjamin? Well, pretty socks. Yeah, they are at that. But who take care of this shoe? I'm going down to Stacey's for a coke. Shoe fixtures right next door. Come along, Jefferson. As we turn to walk, I see his left side. Gun holstered high up on his hip. And a gold star with the word sheriff gliding in the sunlight. Still wearing your old army clothes. I hear those duds wear like iron. You just throw them away when they start to rust. Uniforms wear forever. These have seen their last war. What we in, boy? Air Corps. Captain. Pretty uniform, sweet pay, and lots of respect. You miss it, Jefferson? Maybe I do. What are you looking for now? I'm not looking for anything, just living, more or less. Oh, man ought to find more to do with his life than that. It's all the same to me. I could die today, and it wouldn't make any difference. You've got a bad taste in your mouth, but you'll spit it out someday. See, how do you like this weather? If it gets any warm, it'll be almost too hot to live. In a manner of speaking, you understand? Yeah, I understand. Here's the shoe repair. I'll be next door. Leave your shoes and waddle in on them pretty socks to yours. Buy you a drink. Coca coffee. The shoemaker tells me that my shoes will take a couple of hours so I start next door to join Benjamin. I don't know, maybe I'm feeling pretty good, but I pull an old schoolboy trick of mine. I take off my socks, roll them up and throw them on the counter with my shoes. Then I walk outside to feel the cool shaded cement prickle up through the bottom of my bare feet. Through the store window next door, I see the four people in the restaurant. Benjamin waves for me to come in. Inside the entrance, a blonde waitress is arguing with a tall sliver of a man who's showing about three inches of wrist and shin bone below the edges of his clothes. The squat moon-faced grill man has his Popeyes focused intently on the argument. I go in, walk over to Benjamin and sit on the next stool. Oh, Jefferson. Hi, Benjamin. Came for that coffee. In a minute. Rachel's about to finish. I must try. And all her sins must find her out. She's a Jezebel and kidnapped only to the devil. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll find it on the menu next week. Now find yourself a street corner and get it out of your system. Oh, you are bad. Bad beyond all hope. See you around, Pop. I don't hope. The girl plays rough. Oh, that's just Rachel's way, Jefferson. Uh, I see you lean to bare feet. What's your friend having, Buster? Benjamin, Rachel. Maybe smart to technique names on people, but my folks figured me for a Benjamin and I'd like it that way. Sure, Buster. Will it be soldier? Black coffee, lady. And don't let the uniform throw you. I'm no soldier anymore. The Hollywood line of her mouth twists up into a lopsided kind of inviting grin as she turns to get the coffee. I watch the dark shadows that follow the rippling lines of her uniform when she moves. Rachel is quite a woman. All women. Coffee. Barefoot. Like you, soldier. Your friend's real pretty, Buster. You think everybody's pretty? He's a doll. You'd be around long, soldier? Long enough to get my shoes fixed, Rachel. Rachel. You know, that name doesn't go with you. It's a name. Too bad you're moving on soon. New faces are scarce around here. Especially one like yours. Well, I've got some law to enforce. Well, I'll see you before you go, Jefferson. I'll find you, Benjamin. Do that, boy. I'm afraid to face that heat out there. Now, you behave yourself, Rachel. Yes, well... You like playing it tough? Under it all beats a heart of gold. Tell me what it's like in the world outside, soldier. Hey, Rachel. Why don't you put up some more coffee? Tend to your bacon lover. I got company. Your boyfriend? No, that's Kenny. He's keeping company with our hot grill. You aren't gonna talk about me like that, Rachel. Not very nice. Well, then, don't bother me while I'm with my friends. Hey, soldier, I'm off about now. Let you and me go at the carnival for a couple hours, huh? Hey, you, you let her alone. Don't you go with her? You hear? Yeah, I hear, Kenny. Well, I'd like to, Rachel, but how do I go barefoot? Oh, I got. Got any other ideas? Yeah, matter of fact. I live upstairs over this greasy spoon. Let's go up and mix ourselves something cool while we wait for your shoes. You can't do that. It is nice. Don't look right. Don't it? Come on, let's go, Rachel. Don't you... No, you can't. I'll stop you. I'll go hash some potatoes, lover. My arms, soldier. No, no, Rachel. Hey, look, I'll get someone to tend here. What are you doing? I'll barbecue you on your own grill. We go out and my feet scruff over the shaded pavement as we pass through the doorway on the left. I follow her up a flight of stairs and into a small box-like apartment. Living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. Be it ever so humble, this is home. Let's kick out a wall or something. The windows don't help much, but the drinks will. Hey, why do you have to lean into the kitchen? Why not just walk in? Fresh varnish on the floor. The heat doesn't let it dry. It's a long reach for a long drink. It's a long day. Here you go, soldier. Don't you believe in mixing anything with your liquor? Well, four of the cubes will melt. What do we drink, too, soldier? The heat. The heat. Cools you off, don't it? It burns its way down my stomach and explodes. My pores open and the perspiration oozes down. Here, let's have another. She's still talking, but I'm going numb. Let's drink to my conscience. The heat. No food. I shouldn't be drinking. Who cares? I'm getting foggy. She's drifting closer. I don't know who kisses who first. Bitter tears, tears of loneliness and regret. Let's drink to us, soldier. Everything's moving around. The weather's in a high wind. Sometimes one drifts in through the fog. We're drinking. How many? I don't know. Breathing, sucking down scorchy air. Hot, damp waves of heat. She can smell perfume, cheap like tin earrings. Black rolling in, black velvet. And the shimmering heat, wavering like plucking a taut string. Wavering, wavering. There's a steady sound, sharp, smart little cracks. I tear my eyelids apart and a flash of ceiling wears by. A purple-red mass is coming toward my face. And when it hits, there's a sound in the ceiling moving the other way. Laugh this off. Laugh now, I don't... A frozen kind of pain is seeping through to my brain and I can make out a voice now. Then laugh. I want to hear you laugh. I get my hand up to my face and I wipe my ass. My hand comes away wet. Sticky and red. The ugly purple mass comes. Wake now, swell. I got something for you. Let me alone. In the corner of the kitchen. See how she's lying there? Take your hands off me. That's how I found her. You beside her, your filthy hands still tie her on her throat. What's the matter with my hands? They're sticky. That's varnish and blood, your blood. See that knife in her hand? She cut you, trying to stop you. You killed her. You killed Rachel. He doesn't make any kind of sense. The bathroom doors open and I staggered toward it stepping on broken glass, pain stinging, remembering bare feet. The open shower waiting for me. I turn the handle of the cold water and I have thrown myself into the shock of the stream. I'm coming alive. Reaction setting. Fright. He said I killed him. Hey, Sheriff. Benjamin. Hey, Benjamin, come up here. I got a dirty killer for you. That lousy friend of yours killed Rachel. Go and get him. Kenny's shouting out the window in the other room to Benjamin. I got to get away. I got to think. What happened? What? I get through the bathroom window out into the glare of the sun. My feet hit the scalding tar of the marquee. I scramble across it, drop to the street. A narrow alley and I'm running down it toward the fence that blocks off a far end. A garbage can near the fence and a woman putting something into it. I jump, reaching for the fence. Hey, what do you think you're doing? Let me go. Let's go. Pick up that garbage, you freak. Let's go. I didn't do it. What do you mean? I saw you take it over. I'm not going to clean up that man. I didn't kill her. Take your hands off me. Why would I kill Rachel? Why would you kill her? All right, Jefferson. Come along and tell me why you killed Rachel. AutoLite is bringing you Mr. Richard Widmark in Too Hot to Live. Tonight's production in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills. Suspends. Hey, Hap, did you hear about the wise witch? What about her, Harlow? She brought her broom in for a tune-up. The AutoLite spark plug dealer tightened the straws, tightened the handles. And checked the spark plugs, too. He would have if that broom had had them, Johnny Plug Check. Spark plugs are the heart of a car's ignition system. One of the keys to efficient engine operation. And did the witch understand, Harlow? Why, sure, Hap, being a sage sorceress, she knew all about ignition-engineered AutoLite spark plugs, the spark plugs that are world-famous for quality and dependability. Why, she even knew that AutoLite spark plugs are used as original factory equipment on many leading makes of America's finest cars and trucks. Did she know it pays to have spark plugs winterized, too? She sure did, Hap, and she knew the place to go was to her friendly AutoLite spark plug dealer. Because he can put in antifreeze, change grease and oil... And check the spark plugs, too! Yes, folks, see your friendly AutoLite spark plug dealer and have worn out spark plugs replaced with ignition-engineered AutoLite spark plugs. And whether you choose the resistor type or the standard type, you can be sure you can't buy better spark plugs for your car because you're always right with AutoLite. And now AutoLite brings back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Richard Widmark in Elliott Lewis' production of Too Hot to Live. A tale well calculated to keep you in... Suspends! Benjamin is leading me out into the sweltering street again. The sun burns into my flesh, accusing as if to cause the murder to flow out of my open pores. And Benjamin walks beside me again, not holding me, just talking, asking questions which I can't answer. Why'd you do it, son? I didn't kill her, Benjamin. I don't remember, but I know I didn't kill her. You don't sound sure, Jefferson. Don't you know? Well, we were drinking. I blacked out. Drunk unconscious. You could still move around. You could do what was done in that apartment. But I couldn't. Why would I want to do that? Maybe you played too rough. Maybe she tried to stop you, cut you with a knife. Why did you run away? I was scared. Kenny said my hands were round her throat. I have to lock you up, and then I'll go back and have a good look around. Maybe I'll find something. And if you don't? Rachel's dead, Jefferson. Wasn't premeditated, but that don't excuse it. She's still dead. They'll try to hang me. Why can't I remember what happened, what led to this? The sweats rolling down Benjamin's forehead, collecting along the top of his glasses, sliding into his eyes. They smart and snap shut. He has to stop, try to rub the sting away. I slap at his glasses, knocking them off his face and grab for his gun. His arm comes down fast, hard chopping at my hand, numbing the arm to the shoulder, and the gun falls to the road. I run, hobbling up and down, lopsided, trying to get away from Benjamin and from the burning and torn feet under me. Come back. You can't get far. I'll get you anyway. I'm running again down the burning streets, out to the end of town, toward the railroad. I run till my legs slide away from under me. And then I crawl, dragging a body that has no feeling. A dead weight that robs my arms of the strength. And finally, finally steel rails glisten ahead as I lay sprawled out. My heart and lungs going crazy in my body. Something, something starts down in my chest, spreads up to my throat, spilling out of my mouth. I've had enough. An hour has passed, and the sun is moving away toward the west. No trains have passed, but it's all right. I know what I have to do now. Find Kenny. And one way or another force him to tell the truth, for he must be lying. I lick my handkerchief and I wipe the dried blood off my hands and feet. I comb my hair. I throw away the army shirt and move back to town. Stepping gently, I make my way up the back streets to the restaurant. Pulling my pants down low to cover as much of my bare feet as possible, I step inside. There's a stranger behind the counter. Well, howdy. Hi. Say, where is everybody in this town? Almost out at the carnival. Some are looking for a killer roaming around. Yeah, I heard about him. Heard he was picked up a couple of miles out. Good deal. You know, Rachel worked here. Yeah, I know. Say, where's Kenny? Oh, he's out at the Clovis Place. You wanted to be the one to tell Rachel's folks about, you know... Sure, sure. Well, I guess I ought to go out there and pick him up. I don't know the place too well. How do I get there? Just follow this road down. About a half a mile out of town you'll find a dirt cut off. Can't miss the mailbox. Thanks. Say, if you miss him, who will I say was asking? Just tell him his cousin Jim was here. Well, pleased to have met... Hey, you ain't wearing shoes. You're the one. You're the killer. Run, run, run again, another alley, blistering pavement, cement ripping in the jagged rocks again. Time's running too running out. Benjamin will know where I'm going. Out to the main highway, pants pulled low, thumb up in the air. Ah, here comes my ride. He's got to stop. He's got to stop, please. Hop on, son. Oh, thanks. Thanks, Mr. Thanks a lot. You're welcome, but I'm not going far. Well, I'm just going out to the Clovis farm. I know the place. Why are you going there now? I'm a cousin at Kenny's. I'm going to meet him out there. Oh, I don't place you. I'm visiting from back east. You're not wearing shoes. Yeah, that's a silly thing. I lost my shoes while waiting barefoot in the stream. Didn't help my feet, any. What stream is that, fella? Well, you know the one. I don't know the name of it. It's out there in the woods. I think I know that one. Now, this is the dirt road you want. The house is over the rise. Thanks again. I'll see you. I limp up the rising dirt path. At the top, I turn for a look at my ride. He's swinging around toward town. Benjamin will get to me soon. An old two-storied farmhouse rises out of the cleared fields around me. A big gray barn stands off near the house and two old cars are sitting empty behind it. Kenny's got to come to one of them. I'll wait. Time. Still running out and away from me. Little shimmery waves of heat rise off the tin hoods of the cars. Here he comes. Now or never! Hey! Quiet! I want the truth, Kenny. The truth, and I have to kill you for it. I didn't kill Rachel. You did. I didn't. You killed her. You were crazy jealous. You came to check up. You found a drunk and you got wild. You killed her. How can you prove it? That wasn't three minutes from the time I left the restaurant and the time I called Benjamin. Not enough time to get up there, kill her and bring you around. Three minutes. I can prove it. That's all the time. You did it. You have cut hands from a knife. Those hands were still around her throat when I came in. You killed Rachel. And there it is. He isn't lying about the three minutes that gloating smirk in his face tells me that. I had killed her. The horror of this afternoon had been for nothing. I tried to save my life and instead I proved myself guilty. Tied the rope finally and for all time around my neck. Shoot him. Don't just stand there. Shoot. He's the man who killed your daughter. He stands there watching. The gaunt sliver of a man with shins and freshly scarred wrists exposed below the edges of his clothing. A double-barrel shotgun is cradled in his arms but he just looks at me. A wild fire striking out of the black pupils of his eyes. Shoot him. He killed your daughter. He killed Rachel. So you're her father. I thought it was just another nickname. She was no daughter of mine. She was born to me and I named her Rachel from the Bible but she was the daughter of Satan. I'm sorry, Mr. Clover. Go on. Shoot him because I am Rachel's dad. She turned away from me but within me the voice was strong. I followed her begging to the place where she lived. I'm sorry. I was drunk crazy. In that apartment I drank like an evil cloud. You lying there drunk with the devil's fever. You were there. Shut up, you crazy old fool. And it came to me like a voice from on high and I knew what I must do. You killed her. It wasn't me. It was you. Now you did it. Why couldn't you give your master? And you knew he did it, Kenny. You tried to make me believe that I'd been the one. Why? You. You in tramps like you always keeping her from me. Coming along every time. But I couldn't know this, Kenny. You didn't care. You laughed at me. You made Rachel laugh at me. I passed the old man when I went up. I knew as soon as I walked into the room. You tried to blame it on me. Why not? Wasn't the crazy old go-to killer? Now you killed her and you'd die for it. Give me that gun, old man. No, Kenny, not now. Come on. Turn around, soldier. No. Turn around and see it when it happens. Put up your gun, Kenny. No. No. Get up, Jefferson. We'll go home now. The sun is moving down low in the skies. And a cool light breezes come up from somewhere. I'm leaning back on the front seat beside Benjamin. Breathing deeply, evenly. Feeling the goodness of just living seeped through. In the back seat, old man Clover sits staring ahead. Not even aware of the blanket-wrapped body of Kenny lying on the floor of his feet. If you hadn't been so eager to run, I could have saved your feet a lot of wear. I knew you weren't a murderer, son. You knew? I went back to the apartment. Old stories there in the varnish on the kitchen floor. No bare feet around the body, but lots of half-nailed boot prints. You cut your hand on broken glass in the living room. And it bled. And I was running. Well, you can stop running now, son. Stay here in town with us, huh? There's lots for you to do. Thanks. It's been quite a day, Benjamin. Sure has been a scorcher. Glad to see the sun going down. On a day like this, it's almost too hot to live. No, don't say that, Benjamin. It never gets that hot. Spens, presented by Autolight. Tonight's star, Mr. Richard Widmark. Hey, Hap, did you hear about the ghost who got stiff on Halloween? Oh, come, Harlow. The laundry starched his sheet. Oh, that must have been corn starch. Well, this is no corn, Hap. It's good advice. Get your car tuned up and winterized now. And remember, Autolight makes more than 400 products for cars, trucks, planes, and boats in 28 plants coast to coast. These include complete electrical systems used as original equipment on many of America's finest cars. Generators, coils, distributors, voltage regulators, wire and cable, starting motors, and electric windshield wipers. All engineered to work together perfectly as part of the Autolight team. All engineered to give you un-excelled Autolight service. Don't accept electrical parts supposed to be as good. Ask for and insist on Autolight original factory parts at your neighborhood service station, car dealer, garage, or repair shop. And remember, you're always right with Autolight. Mr. Widmark may currently be seen in the 20th Century Fox production, Daryl F. Zanuck's No Way Out. Next week on Suspense, Mr. Herbert Marshall as star of Victoria Cross. And in weeks to come, you will hear such famous stars as William Holden, Kerry Grant, Ozzie Nelson, and Harriet Hilliard, all appearing in tales well calculated to keep you in. Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with music composed by Lucian Moraweck and conducted by Lud Bluskin. Too Hot to Live was written for suspense by Sam Roth. And remember next week on Suspense, Mr. Herbert Marshall in Victoria Cross. It's Autolight resistor type, four-standard type spark plugs, Autolight staple batteries, Autolight electrical parts, and your neighborhood Autolight dealers. Switch to Autolight. Good night. 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