 Broadway's my beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway's my beat, with Larry Thor, as Detective Danny Clover. The November night has a good hold on Broadway now, and Broadway purrs in its embrace, rubs its cheek against the cool touch, then stops fighting it. The glitter explodes, the neon rockets its scarlet into darkness, bursts into wishing stars, cascades down on the happy event. The laughter, hoarded during the week, is spent freely now, and the budget of dreams have one kid. It's on me. It's the long night before Monday. Give in to it. Walk a hotel corridor past a room where gayity is registered for the night. Hungry, please do not disturb, sign on its door. And the room next to it, the one you're looking for. And it's all they're waiting for you. Detective Muggevin and the boy in worn denim, surfaded wool shirt sprawled in final exhaustion across the silk sheet of the hotel bed. The boy, dead of a knife-worn. Quite a party next door. You think in a hotel this class, they thick in the wall? All right, Muggevin. But what else have you got? The kid there, stabbed out of the heart. Couldn't find the knife, Danny. Couldn't even pry a visitor out of the hotel manager. They're discreet, they tell me. Don't notice unannounced visitors, like this kid must have had. That's why... Well, just tell me what... I was going to say, Danny, they're so discreet in this hotel, that's why the party keeps going next door. Nobody knows if someone did, except the manager and a couple of bell hops. What made them sit up and take notice? Kid's phone was off the hook. Kept lighting a light on the switchboard. But nobody said they wanted anything. A bell hop came up to find out why. Who is he? Registered Joe Blair. Identification card in his wallet, says Joe Blair. That's about all there was in it. The cards and loose change and these dime-a-dance tickets. That's his luggage on the chair, knapsack with the tennis sardines. This is an expensive hotel. How come? I asked the same question of the discreet management. They say the kid came in, told him he hitched here from St. Louis, laid a $10 bill on the desk, says, give me what that buys. Yeah, just goes to show you what I... Really fun time next door, huh, Danny? The moment gathered together and held. An instant composed of drifting laughter that seeped through a wall and added itself to the nice things furnished by the management. Then silence. The moment of requiem for a dead boy. And later, when the room has been emptied, consider the few things neatly stacked on a chair. The paraphernalia for living of a hitchhiker named Joe Blair. Knapsack, wallet, dime-a-dance tickets. Seventh Avenue Paradise, the tickets read. Dance hall, no refunds. So walk down two blocks, turn left, go up a flight of steps into a place that sells its paradise for a dime a minute. And heaven is 20 Girls 20 in a four-piece band and pink lights. Walk over to the very large guardian angel in a dinner jacket. Talk to him. Watch him as he moves away from you and whispers to the lesser angels and evening gowns. And finally, as he walks back with one of them in tow, leaves her with you. Hi. Hello, I'm Danny Clover. Well, it was, tell me it was something special. He wasn't kidding. Mostly I tell everybody I don't get off till three. Police. Hey. Hey, you snapping... No, you're not, are you? The boss just said you were a friend of Joe Blair. You got to understand when I said I was off with three to most parties when I... All I want you to do is tell me about Joe Blair. Oh, he's in trouble, huh? Well, if his bail goes over 50 bucks, I'm not going to be any help at all. Joe Blair is dead. Stabbed to death. Dead? Oh. He was here tonight, wasn't he? Yeah. Yeah, he was early, almost opening time. Bought five tickets. Wait, he was standing where you were and I was standing over there. We looked at each other and both started running till we met. Did you know him before? No. Just... Just dango, like in strange romances, magazines. I didn't take a ticket from him either. As a matter of fact, I... Well, I threw $10 in the pot so he could have a downy place to put his curl he had to sleep tonight. That's how high the boys struck me. Did he tell you anything about himself? Just that he hitchhiked across the country. He was broke and he had a guy to see in the morning. A guy named John Logan, a bitch park avenue type Logan. Other than that, we just looked flame and fire at each other. And that's all you can tell me, huh? Except my name's Vicky, need an ass. Joe's dead. What do you know? My name's Vicky, mister. Hi. Excuse me, Danny. But, you know, I... I get the message. You know it's late, you're tired. Give me what you got then you can go home. Those words. Like a good night kiss. What I've got to it. Having checked the Logan's who breathed Park Avenue's air, I have come up with a Logan who fits our bill. A John Logan to whose household over the phone, the name of Joe Blair deceased of a knife is not unknown. You talk to him? How could I, Danny? Said John Logan is now in Europe, where he has been for six weeks, where he is part 18. Who did you talk to? To a wife, I think. She said she was a wife. She said, yeah, I know a Joey Blair, but don't bother me no more with it. She said, as I am on my way to a ball. In the morning, bother me, honey. She said, honey, she said. You're a stranger. You're dead good, Gino. Go home. You honestly think I did good, Danny? So as I can relate to Mrs. T, did you honestly... Hey, kid, you Danny Clover. Look, you. Danny Clover's closed for the night. I'm sorry to keep you, Danny Boy, but tonight you loaded me with a big sorrow. This big, maybe bigger. Who are you? You walk by me maybe eight, twelve times a day, and I don't register with you, huh, kid? No, no, you don't. Warm your hand in Tommy Caps, Danny Boy. Tommy Cap, address Broadway. Profession, Broadway. You said I made you sad. Why? You come to my Goyle, and you don't dance with her. Vicki Harper? You don't dance with her, and all it costs is dimes. You talk to her about a hitchhiker, what's stabbed in a class hotel. This kind of schmooze obsets an innocent thing like Vicki. Gives her migraines, up here. I come to protect her from... Can't she take care of herself, Tommy? Take care of herself? She's so stupid she gives a vag 10 bucks to sleep on silk. That's my Vicki. Innocent, good-hearted. Generous with her cuts from dimes. For this she has to suffer from policemen who come bearing only murdered hitchhikers. Why? Stick around, Tommy. We can make you suffer, too. Because maybe you reached Joe Blair. Sarge a man's a comic. He's a comic because I got an alibi 10 blocks long. I'll give you addresses, kid. They'll treat you like a baby while you check. I'll check. Good night, genome. Hey, Danny, you kid, how's it about I give you a lift home? My car's outside. We can go any time. No, thanks. I'll ride you home to wherever you live. Brooklyn, the Bronx, Canarsie, wherever you want to go. I'll lift you sure it's not out of your way. What's out of my way? It's late, and I ain't had man talk for days. Come on, let's go, Sarge. Danny? Yeah, Geno? Just so you won't forget, I left a memo on your calendar to go see the Park Avenue Logan next AM. Now, is it okay if I... Go ahead, Geno. It's all right. Your man said it was all right, Geno. Trauma, kiss, good night. Where do you live, Geno? Where do you... And go home. Back to the room and wonder idly at the fact that there were no unfinished chess problems to solve or stamps to paste in albums. Things that a man in the profession was supposed to be good at before going to bed. Just go to bed and try again for the dream you had so long ago you've forgotten what it is and not find it again. Just sleep. Sleep and wake up to morning and dress again and coffee again and to work again. To the Park Avenue address of Mrs. John Logan, stop at the desk of the apartment hotel and be given a floor number. Three flights up and down a hall and stop because a man and woman are standing in front of the door and start to turn away because they're embracing. Hey, you. And not quite make it. Yo, come here. You see what you were looking for? I'm looking for Mrs... Don't believe him, Al. I never saw him before in my life. You sure, baby? You. Say something real fine to me, Buster. Like why you run up and down this hallway you practically don't. You'll be big and all. You'll bleed a lot. Oh, yes, you will. Police. Oh, show me. That's right, Mrs. Logan. The badge says police. Oh, yes, you will. Yes, you will. Cut it out, Ruth. We got company, Albert. You call me Mrs. Logan the way we said because I'm your employer and I can hire you and fire you and hire you and fire you. You mind her. I don't mind her. You know, you're lucky, Mr. being a cop at a time like this. I really would have right through that wall there at a nocturne I could have. Barbell muscles. I lift them. Yeah, it's a fine form of exercise. I approve of it very much. Who are you? Hers. Mrs. Logan's bodyguard. Like she said. Hired to guard the body and the home and the welfare while Mr. Logan's in Europe. And I miss him, too. Don't you forget that, Albert. I don't want anybody to forget that. You or you or any of you. Or say yes, ma'am, to me, Albert. Yes, ma'am. The boy named Joe Blair mentioned your husband's name, Mrs. Logan. How is old Joe? How's old Josie today, I ask you? Dead. Murdered. Old Josie is dead and murdered, Albert. You'd better get some sleep, Mrs. Logan. Look, Mr. I was bringing her from a party. It's my job. Mrs. Logan, how do you know Joe Blair? I picked the lad up in St. Louis and dumped him in Indianapolis. Hitchhikes with me. Hitchhikes. I told you, Albert. Yes, ma'am. On my way back from sunny California driving along, there was he. In St. Louis, Moe. Napsack on shoulder, thumb in the air, wind on his cheek. In Indianapolis, he moved over an inch toward me. I filled up near a cop's mile at Joe and told him goodbye. My life with Joe Blair. You want anything else with him, mister? Yeah, I do. When she's sober, see that she gets that way. That's my job. Do it. I'll get around to you later, both of you. What do you think, Danny? What do you mean, my good man? I mean, what do you think? Well, I only asked because I gave you the reports. Watch you spend 15 minutes looking at them and how all I want is a reaction. You want me to stand on my head? Okay, okay. I just thought all this data I gave you might... You know what's in it, as well as I do. Joe Blair is a record of vagrancy in a half dozen towns. It just doesn't happen to solve a murder for me. I'm sorry, but it doesn't. Okay, okay. I just thought there was something you might know that I don't know, and whatever was in these reports are... You gonna bite my head off if I answer? Answer it. Lieutenant Clover's office to take the mug of him speaking. Who? Oh, yeah. Wait till I write it down. What's 68th, huh? Okay, I got it. Thanks. Danny. Kid named Tommy Cap, the boy that took Tartaglia home. The call was about him. What about him? He's in an alley. We better go get him. Choppers, now let us through. Break it. Why don't you go home, lady? It's supper time. There he is, Danny. We got him. It wasn't that way at all. We didn't have him. The thing that had Tommy Cap, the thing that had fixed his hands in half-open fist for something else. The heavy nail driven through a fence a long time ago, it's point-beared through a rotting 2x4. That was it. Tommy Cap had been pushed against it. And it held him. Killed him. Every Sunday, CBS Radio's great team of correspondents and reporters give you their weekend of observations, as well as the news that will shape history in the days and weeks to come. The difference it makes, not much. Broadway reacts to clowns and death in nearly the same way. The blonde who had a little accident on the street corner. Or the dead man you saw propped against a fence in an alley. Something to tell your family about. How the policeman pushed you back so you couldn't see how it all ended. But I saw. I had to stay to the end. Until Tommy Cap was lifted down and shrouded and taken away. Until Tommy Cap was made a matter of official concern. Then I left. Go to a place, back to headquarters, write it down to be transcribed later by a stenographer. Be dated by a dater, stamped by a stamper to be put in a file by a clerk. Running Tommy Cap's car through the IBM. Anything? Just about what we figured. Petty stuff. Yeah. He was a steerer, Danny. You know, a kid latched on a convention. People showed them bars, took him to the village. Harlem. I'll come ahead of record. Little trouble conning the ladies a couple of times. Oh, how? He promote them for neckties, maybe a sport-jagged meals. The couple of times we know about he tried to put the bite on them for dough. Two, three hundred bucks. Twice the lady's squawk. Uh-huh. Did you get his address? Sure. Rooming house off of West 49th. Might be something interesting there. I don't know it. You mean it's an interesting Rooming house mug of a landmark or something? Why don't you ever let me finish anything, Danny? I'm sorry. What about it? Not the rooming house, the roommate. A musician, a piano player named Norm Persak. What's interesting is he plays piano with the Seventh Avenue Paradise, that dime of dance joint. You think that's interesting, Danny? Yeah, I think that's interesting. Thanks, Mugerman. Thanks a lot. You're Norm Persak? The one, the only Norm Persak. Come in, man. Don't stand that open door. First, you listen to this, man. You close your eyes and listen to this. All right. It is founded. I reached out and there it was waiting for me. You hear the song? It's different. You got real taste for it, please, Mugman. How did you know I was... Are you kidding, man? You made a stir at the Seventh Avenue Paradise last night. Norm Persak never forgets. And why I'm here, you know that too? Sure, man, because I feel it. You're gonna ask me why my roomie is dead, why Tommy Cap died like that on a nail. That's right. I don't know. If I could figure those things, man... You see Tommy last night? Yeah, twice. Once in the night. The next time around dawn. That's the crazy time. Tell me about it. Night. Tommy walks in here. Don's a Brooks Brothers suit. You know, with the bench in the back. Yeah. Clips events at me. Walks out. The other time. Dawn. Tommy walks in on me. Gathers up a silk shirt. The ties are glow in the dark. Throws a kiss. Says, see you around, kid. This is farewell to nothing. His party goes. You tell your worried Ben where he was going. He said where he was going. Stands because he hit me for 50 bucks before he left. 50 bucks for wires. Telegrams. They sell them down the corner hotel. You know. Yeah, I know. You're lucky, man. Here. I'll give you a song to exit on. And go to the corner hotel. Show a badge. Ask a question. Let the whispers make the rounds of the palm deck lobby. And finally let them come back to you in the shape of a man who pokes his Ponce-nay at your lapel. Oh, look here, you. Well, anything you say. You could have come in the back door. This is a family hotel. Some of our people even have children. I'll try to set a good example, Mr. Rocket. Francis Rocket. Now, just what is it you want of us? Man came here last night, Mr. Rocket. Late to send some telegrams. Sometimes wanderers come in off the street and do that in here. This man was different. He sent them, walked out of here, then was found in an alley. Murdered. That'd be Tommy Cap. The Times mentioned it today. I often told that boy to end that way in an alley if he persisted in playing. Could you tell me, Mr. Rocket, who he sent them to? He could keep a record or something. To hotels. To every major hotel between here and St. Louis. He sent them to... To what? Pay attention, please. To hotels. The exclusive ones between here and St. Louis. The Maybury and Indianapolis, the region in Columbus, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I call the list form from our owner's hotel guide. You remember what he said in them? I only counted the words, sir. I didn't stoop to explore their meaning. I could tell you this, however, if you... Tell me. He requested an answer to his query in each. The care of this hotel, collect. None have commended yet. However, when they do, I'm afraid to collect. I'm afraid. Don't be afraid any more, Mr. Rocket. When they come, just phone them into us. We've got a fund for collect telegrams. Good for you. You're finished with me, I presume? Of course you are. Yes, Mr. Rocket. Yeah, I have that, huh? Yeah. Indianapolis. Columbus. Yeah. Yeah. Springfield too. Thanks for calling again, Mr. Rocket. You heard, Danny? Nothing from any of those places, either, huh? Sam Arons is from Wheeling and Pittsburgh and Harrisburg. No one registered by the name of Ruth Logan in any of the big cities on the route. It's not positive, Danny, but... Hi, Geno. Detective. You summoned me to your presence, Danny? Yeah, I did, Geno. Last night, Tommy Cap drove you home, didn't he? Oh, no, he did not, Danny. He remembered after we drove for a little while, the most pressing engagement to phrase him. So he dropped me at a subway station and waved me a cheery farewell. While you were driving, Geno, did you talk about anything? A most refreshing conversation, Danny, about his work, about my work, man-to-man, straight from the shoulder. You didn't mention anything about the Logan's, did you, Geno? You know I know better than that, Muggeman. I've been in his business 20 years. You should behave outside of the shop as good as me. Geno. Geno, did he try to talk to you about the Logan's? Indeed, he made mention of saying, but I definitely sidestepped the issue. That's when he dropped me. What else is on your gentleman's mind? Nothing, Geno. Nothing at all. Hey, hello. I'm Danny Clover, Mrs. Logan. I met you in a haze once, didn't I? Right here, Mrs. Logan, this morning. Come in. There's nobody here but Albert. Hey, Albert, we know him, don't we? You back again, Buster? I'm interrupting something. I'm teaching the ape a waltz. Watch us. Come on, Albert. Oh, look, baby. Say yes, ma'am, Albert. Yes, ma'am, but I ain't bossin'. We didn't before anyhow, did we? Did we? Turn off the record, Albert. Yes, ma'am. We ran it down this morning, mister. Did I have fun, mister? Hey, mister. This morning we talked about Joe Blair. You remember that? Every word of his. I'm glad you do, Mrs. Logan, because now it's got another murder in it. Look, mister, I'm paid. I know you're employed. You get hired and fired. Then hired again. You waltz? Come on, waltz. Don't stand there, Mr. Waltz with me. Leave him alone. Stop makin' a jerk out of yourself. Say please, L. A man walks in here and talks about two murders, and I'm going to say please. You're a jerk, Ruth. J-E-R-K jerk. The ape spells. Give him a penny, mister. If people want to perform, go right ahead. I'm still going to talk about the murder. All right. We'll listen. Won't we listen, Albert? A question, Mrs. Logan. All right. You left Joe Blair off in Indianapolis, and you kept right on going, that right? Right. Right, right, right. From Indianapolis, where did you go? Columbus. I stayed there overnight. Where'd you stay? What hotel? The region, where I always stay. I think it was a region. Maybe it wasn't. It wasn't. It wasn't at any other first-rate hotel in Columbus. I always stay at first-rate hotels. I was at the region. We've checked every good hotel between St. Louis and New York, and most of the motels. You didn't stay at any of them. Isn't he clever, Albert? You should be like him. Buster's getting interested. Let's listen. You drove right through, didn't you, Mrs. Logan? I'm a frail little girl. That's a long, long ride for a frail little girl. Not if Joe Blair helped you drive. He must have been pretty good company. Curly-headed company. All the way from St. Louis. He must have been interesting. Curly-headed. And you must have interested him. He got to New York, and he didn't want to let you go. He gets cleverer all the time, doesn't he, Albert? Yeah. On the trip cross-country, he found out you were wealthy. You were married. He figured he had a good thing called you. Made you meet him at his hotel. When this is over, Albert will waltz and waltz. Yeah, yes, ma'am. You met him, Mrs. Logan, decided you were a fool to have ever picked him up in the first place. A knife got mixed up in it, and when you walked out of his room, Joe was dead. If what you say is true, then I'm a murderous. Did you hear that, Albert? I heard someone else figured all this before the police did. Tommy Cap, he found out about a hitchhiker mixed up with a wealthy married woman, so he checked all the hotels between here and St. Louis for blackmail purposes. You're right, baby. The mister is clever. We're going to waltz, Albert. Don't forget. So Ruth sent you, Albert, to have a little talk with you. In an alley. Where you're going? You killed him. An accident. He backed into a nail. Maybe I'll find one for you. There's a lot about this dancing I haven't taught you, Albert. Our song, Ape. Chill you? Sick of him. If you want it this way, Albert... You ready, Mrs. Logan? Or you will make me go? Or I'll make you go. I wouldn't give you the pleasure. Anytime you say, mister. The wheel stops. The red pays off with heartbreak. The black with dust in your mouth. It's Broadway, the godiest, the most violent. The lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. Broadway is My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover, with Charles Calvin as Tartaglia and Jack Prussian as Muggevin. The program was produced and directed by Elliott Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Kathy Lewis was heard as Ruth Logan, Ed Max as Al Mundo, Hiaverbach as Norm Persak, Paula Victor as Vicki, and Billy Hapa as Tommy Kapp. Lovers of fine music are already familiar with the strong melodious voices of the corollaires on CBS radio. This is to remind our many Sunday Night Corollaires listeners that this excellent choral group will be heard at a new earlier time on most of these stations starting tomorrow. Phil Anders speaking, this is the CBS Radio Network.