 The FBI in peace and war, ordinarily heard at this time throughout the year, is taking its usual summer vacation and will return to CBS two weeks from tonight on September 1st. Broadway's my beat. From Times Square to Columbus Circle. The godliest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. With Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Broadway, where you can take a bus ride into the summer evening and make believe it's a dream boat. Then, Broadway's as innocent and nostalgic as carousel music. But if you walk, you can get hit in the face by a guy fishing for nickels under a grating. Then you can't make believe any more. But either way, it's Broadway, my beat. The big voice that boomed through the afternoon heat belonged to Silks Bergen. Him, the heat couldn't bother. There wasn't enough of it. Silks was a jockey, about five hands high. With a wet saddle, he might have scaled one ten. He waved to me from the doorway of a haberdashery store. In here, Danny, in the store. Yeah, Silks, sure. I've been waiting. I said I've been waiting for you to pass by, Danny. What's the matter with your voice, Silks? You're down to a whisper. Lyringitis had it for a week. Hey, Danny, I want that you should meet a friend of mine. Joe Murdoch. Say some hello to Danny Clover, Joe. Hello, Mr. Clover. Joe? Joe's six foot six and speaks like a tenor. You should know about things like that, Danny. Is it possible? Joe, go buy me a shade over there. I gotta talk to Danny. Sure, Silks. Add the lavender and the polka dots. The dots, Joe. The dots. Can you hear me good, Danny? My voice has got so far to go from down here for me to up there to you. I'll listen close. What's on your mind? I want you to... I said I said do me a favor, huh? About the key. Why didn't I think of it myself about the key? What key, Silks? Well, I'm riding a race down to Maryland tomorrow. You see, I don't know how long I'll be gone. Now, you understand. Oh, that key. What key, Silks? The key for the locker at the LaGuardia plane terminal. Now I know. That key for that locker. I got a parcel checked there. I ain't got time to run down for it now. It begins to dawn, Silks. Yeah, sure. So if I ain't back tomorrow night, how about having one of your boys who's on duty down there pick it up, huh? Yeah. And you hold it for me. Yeah. That'll save me rental, and it'll make us even for them riding lessons I'll give you in Central Park. Okay, Silks. Give me the key. Thanks, Danny. Don't lose it. Don't worry about it. I'll put it right here on my ring. By the way, what's in the parcel? Just some of my riding, Silks, Danny. What else does a jockey own? I patted Silks on the head, bit him a fond yikes, and mushed back into the tropical heat of Broadway. Tropical was an illusion that wasn't hard to believe. The crushed pineapple and papaya stands, the coconut milk in real whiskered coconuts, the sly grinning beat of the native drums heard through wilting loudspeakers, the girls, the luminous girls in their grass sandals and 14th Street sarongs, and then one whose lips looked as if they'd been painted with wild strawberries stopped me, kept me from my appointed rounds. I didn't mind. I'm so honest. I don't have the price of a dream, and I'm honest. Here, you dropped this. What? This $100 bill. You dropped it. Take it before it burns through my hands. $100. Wasn't I the careless one? Must have been in that crackerjack box I just threw away. Never throw anything away, Mr. Clover. There can be a prize in each and every package. That's a hard thing to remember. Will you help me try to remember, Miss... AIM. Bell Aims. Oh. You ever need me help, Mr. Clover? Ring for Bell Aims. That's cute. Very cute. Now maybe I can do something for you, Bell. Maybe give you back all this money you said I dropped. All right, so I lied. All you have to do is believe you dropped that money and listen. See how easy it is? $100 and no pain. For $100, you can throw in a little pain. Who do I listen to? It's written on the bill. Marty wants to see you. Oh. Marty says it's easier to talk to people who have money. He likes people with money. He says they listen better that way. I'm a fool for psychology, Bell. Let's go listen to Marty. Not me, Mr. Clover. You. It's you he wants to listen. Hey, come back here. Bell. Bell, come back here. The heat melted her into the crowd and then into a cab. And I was left standing there with the aftersend of a perfume I'd never smelled before and a $100 bill I'd never held before. I inhaled both of them. They added up to the accurate odor of a bribe. I had to find out why. 42nd Street, the address on the bill said. I decided to walk. Some were between Broadway and the number I was looking for. The honky tonk started. And at the corner where women's high heels plaque more slowly and the handouts become more frequent. I took a right turn into limbo. Two blocks down was what I was looking for. The last paddock hotel, room 16. You name, Marty? Yeah. Yeah, that's my name. And these are my boys, Tinker and Dolly. Say a greeting to the police, boys. Police? Gee. Police, golly day. Boys are from out of town, police like me. The word don't impress us. You're going to give me some more money, Marty? Maybe. Maybe money, maybe trouble. Guy has a hard time figuring which is which these days. What's she trying to buy, Marty? Talk. I'm buying words like I'm an editor. Marty's a kid, Katie. Thank you. You're a regular comedian. Your floor show stinks. Well, they ain't really working, police. So let's stop playing footsie, huh? We got business, me and you. About an hour ago, police, a little guy hailed you into a haberdashery shop. He's got a message for you. The kind of message did he have. You should have heard. All you need, Marty, is a long, thin ear. Hey, hey, the police is a kick too, Dolly. A jolly boy, real jolly. What did Silksburgon tell you, police? Who? Now, look, I got time. Time. Patience. Let's do it again. Silksburgon, what did he tell you? You're looking for a tip on the horses? I got a tip. You're it. Honey, you look sad for a win. You look like hardly anything at all. Show him the gun, will you, Dolly? Yeah. Look, Mr. Police, this is a gun. Golly day. Let me have it, Dolly. Yeah. Hey, Marty. Now, what did Silksburgon tell you, police? Marty, you go to movies to see how gunsles act in this kind of situation? Yeah. Yeah, in a movie. How did you know? Dolly. Yeah? Show the police the second reel. Yeah, pleasure. A great big pick. You know the language better than that, police? You might say something. Your two muscles and your gun make me bashful. States fried, huh? Dolly. Yeah. Hey, Tinker, this is fun. You can play too, Tinker. Yeah. Such a jolly guy. Playin' movies with a jolly guy. With a jolly, jolly guy. Some where a light going on and off made a big noise and a bigger hurt just in back of my eyeballs. It screamed at me from across the street and threw a window hung with grease stained drapes. I knew I was still in Marty's hotel room. I knew that ours had been torn out of my light and thrown away. Then the light screamed again and this time there were words, big thousand-watt words that said Pearl Club, delicious dancing girls, first one, then the other. And in between there was the creaking sound of a rocking chair and the rocking chair made words too. Don't worry. It's rather pleasant here, sitting rocking in the dark with that brazen sign, throwing its naked intermittent light. This gun gives me the right to introduce myself. I'm Gil Sherry. Oh, shall I know you? Perhaps. I believe I'm in the class book of one of our more venerated colleges. That's my identity. A thesis on Gil Sherry would make lurid reading for the boys with the old-school tie, don't you think? I wouldn't know. Read me a chapter. I'm delighted. Chapter one begins. Early in life, I learned to love money was a symbol of the sordid life into which I'd fallen. Now, sitting in the bleak, villainous hotel room, my comrades are detective and the corpse. The corpse and the detective? Is that all me? Not quite. You're the detective, true, and the corpse is the true corpse lying in the corner. I believe he's a friend of yours, Mr. Clover. Silks. Silks. Rather fancifully named, don't you think? Silks, Bergen, proud, colorful name. But pride and color seem to have drained out of him. Maybe he's ashamed of wearing bullet holes for his polka dots ought to be. He was a neat little guy. So? And he'd be pleased with death. Death is so precise. Closes your mouth, too. That wasn't smart of Marty. And Marty realizes that. That's why I have to keep watch over you until you open yours and tell us what Silks had to tell you. Oh, by the way, here are your mega belongings. Yeah. Your wallet, the key ring, your badge, and a hundred dollar bill. Marty's orders. That's good of him. They're all there? Yeah, yeah. You said a hundred dollars like they were words that hurt you. As I suggested, money is beautiful, Mr. Clover. Money buys money. Money is an ex-busy of an exquisite plane. Oh, uh, Gil, I dropped the bill. If you pick it up for me, I'll let you hold it for as long as you want. Go on. Touch it, Gil. Feel it. Oh, of course I'll, Gil. Yeah, Gil. And get this! I'm not going to send my boys to college. Their nose is break too easy. Took 15 minutes for the riot squad to clean up room 16. I booked Gil Sherry as an accomplice to murder, and the morgue booked Silks Bergen. The thing I had to do now was break a promise to a dead man. I couldn't wait until tomorrow to use Silks key, the key that Marty didn't even notice. A half hour later, I was in the big waiting room at LaGuardia Field. American Airlines DC-6 leaving at gate five for Chicago and Los Angeles. Floating at gate four. Hi, Lieutenant Clover. What brings you down here? You're an officer? Had any trouble? Locker thieves? No, only trouble was a three-year-old kid in a $400 cowboy suit screaming because he lost his nurse and chauffeur at the same time. Where's Locker 147? One point is, uh, right over here, sir. Let's go. Now, let's try this key. Suitcase, Lieutenant. Yeah, pretty heavy. Something you're looking for? A loan a second, since I get this open. Holy, all that dough. Tens and fifties and hundreds here. What could be bought with that? It's bin-bot, officer. Lot of blood, bought and paid for. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thorne as Detective Danny Clover. Practically all of Casey's crime photographers' adventures are summed up in the title of tonight's show, Big Danger. If you haven't met this ace newspaper cameraman, his pretty assistant and effelbert, the merry bartender, if you're looking for a top-rating thrill show, be sure to hear this latest of crime photographers' adventures. Along with Escape, which tonight will present Urban S. Cobb's Snake Doctor, crime photographer is heard on most of these same CDS stations. Now back to Broadway's My Beat. Broadway is an animal that feeds on hot tips. A tip on a horse or a chopped liver sandwich. There are even touts who will hockey with scratch-sheet giving odds on Broadway's being wiped off the face of the earth. Sometimes the tips pay off, like the one not to put your two bucks on jockey silks' bourgon because silks was dead and his handicap was a chest full of bullets. Or maybe his handicap was a heavy $100,000 left in a paste-board suitcase in a public locker. It didn't make sense for silks to have that kind of money. Even to sane, sensible, sensitive Sergeant Tartaglia, it didn't make sense. It's don't make sense, Danny. Silks with $100,000 left kicking around. Ah, that's not like him. Yeah. Got a cigarette, Tartaglia? I put a carton in his desk drawer a week ago, and I haven't been able to open it since. Oh, here, let me try, Danny. It's stuck, Tartaglia. Just give me a cigarette. Danny, my wife, Mrs. Tartaglia, says I am the best opener of stuck drawers she ever saw. Give me a cigarette. Yeah, sure. Here, Danny. Hey, and how about some circus peanuts to munch while we're thinking? When do you have time to go to circuses, Sergeant? Well, not me. Not me, Danny. It wasn't me. It was my kid. Yeah, there was a street carnival on Mulberry Street, so it was my kid. Okay, okay. You know, for a minute there, Danny, I thought you were munching me out. All right. Playtime's over, Sergeant. We had any reports that anyone is shy, $100,000? No, Danny. The money has been reported, and either lost, stolen, or strayed. Did you check whether Silks made any bets that would have got him that kind of money? Yeah, Danny. The word from our stoolies is that no bookies is out that kind of dough. Not out the Silks, anyway. The word also is that Silks didn't have a wrinkled douche to bet on his own name. Yeah. What do we got on the man they call Marty? Ah, not a thing. Aside from his autographed $100 bill. Well, we can't find him, Danny. We can't trace him from no place to no place. Uh, Danny, you feel all right from that beating? I've had it better. Sergeant, what's on Bell Ames? Ah, likewise. It's an empty day with a hole in it, isn't it, Tataglia? Yeah. Huh? If you want me, I'll be in Gilshary's cell. There must be somebody who can tell me something. Anything. There's no need to humiliate me further, Mr. Clover. Being forced to talk to you is humiliation enough. Murder doesn't bother you, huh? As long as it's not mine. Dying can come to a man a lot away, Sherry. You could die as an accessory to Silke's murder. And there are so many things to prove, though, before I die. Aren't there, Detective Clover? If you told us some secret, you could maybe keep on living. That's as good as money sometimes. True, true. That's why I keep my mouth shut. I'll breathe longer that way. You mean Marty'll kill you if you talk to us? I'm not brilliant like you, Sherry. But it seems to me you'll lose either way. Man has few choices. But the destiny of Gil Sherry will spin itself out as Gil Sherry chooses. That's what my class books said about me. Yeah. Real profits, your classmates. Real profits. Here's the envelope with Sherry's belongings. You asked for it, Danny. Thanks. Now, I return your meager possession, Sherry. Here's cigarettes, an empty wallet, a fraternity pin, and... This is interesting. Roll the tickets to Plague's shooting gallery. You know Plague's, Sherry? Plague's, the ex-bookie? You shoot at his shooting gallery? Yeah, that's what I thought. Happy destiny, Sherry. Happy destiny. Oh, Plague's, keeping in trim? Pardon me, Danny. You're in my way. Oh, sorry. Nice shot. You angry at somebody? What's on your mind? Guy named Marty? You like that stuff? Makes me quiver with excitement. You think I hit that duck twice before it sinks? I doubt it. See what I mean? You're still booking races, Pelagus? I got caught once. You're still booking? You're in my way again. Try getting used to it, Pelagus. Try this. Where would Silksburg and get a hundred grand? Yeah. Where? From you? Oh, yeah, from me. From Pelagus. I give people a hundred grand, sir. That's why I'm running this thing, considering gallery, because I give such big prices. You hit that duck, Lieutenant. I give you a hundred grand price. Is that what you mean? Oh, Palau. Palau. Palau, Palau. Palau, Palau. Palau, Palau. Tony Vrani, Joe Murdoch, Nessa Stupotami. Peti Manos. Oh, Peti Manos. Joe Murdoch. Joe Murdoch. Silks his friend, the big guy with Silks and the Habradashri. Pelagus, what's he saying about Joe Murdoch? It's hard to explain. Hard, eh? Like this? Joe Murdoch. Fistardier's River. Murdered. Affisetona Securistegi. Don't spare me that last, either. What did you say? May he rest in peace. Yeah. See you around, Pelagus. Piercing of those. Danny Clover. Affisetona Securistegi. The thought I had to think, that Pal Joey Murdoch was dead for the same reason that Silks was. I checked headquarters, found out that Murdoch's last known address was the Last Paddock Hotel. He shared a room there with Silks. The environment made its own possibilities. The lobby of the Last Paddock had a new embellishment. Above the clerk's desk was an embroidered reed. To Silks it said, you finally beat the bookies. The clerk didn't sound funerial at all. Sorry, mister, you gotta come recommend it. The Last Paddock don't rent rooms to just any think that ass. I didn't mention room. The sign under your chin says information. I'll take that. You don't look like you carry that much dough. I got it sewn under my lapel. Here, take a look. A cop, a shaman. A real friendly policeman, mister. Come on, the information. Look, I'm a new boy here. You ring that bell, I give you the register. You sign it, you got a room. That's how it works, that's all I know. Yeah, say that's pretty big safe over there. Why such a big safe for such a small fleabag? New, too. Yeah, new. How come? How come such a big new safe? Look, like I said, I'm a new boy here. Look, friendly, we got laws about new boys who get close to new murders. Put your out to lunch sign on the counter. We're going uptown. No, no, no, wait a minute, wait a minute. About that new safe. See, we had an old one. What happened to it? Well, yesterday the boys opened the old safe and all it gave back was an empty stair. The boys did. What boys? The boys, the guys that live here, the bookies. Oh, they kept their money in a safe, huh? Sure, it's much safer than a bank. No peeping tea man that way, eh? That way the bookies don't pay income tax. That way if their money gets stolen, they can't run to the police. Yeah, yeah, and that's all I know. You can take me uptown and that's still all I know. Yeah, don't go away, friendly. Maybe soon you'll be able to tell your story to an audience. Get in the car, Clover. Well, Marty, good seeing you, Marty. I've been looking all over for you. Get in the car, Clover. Dolly's looking at you with a gun pointed to where your badge might be. You're not just getting in the car. Hey, Tinker. It's the police again. Maybe we'll get to play some more movies after I take his gun. Yeah, golly day. You'll play later, boys. Wait out here. Oh, Marty. Wait. This way, police. In that house. Two murders, eh, Marty? How does a guy feel when he's murdered two men? A good feeling. I like it. Open the door. Yeah. There's someone I want you to meet again, Clover. In here. Mr. Clover, Mr. Danny Clover. You mind if I blush with joy? You can still think of a reason to blush, Belle. Such pretty words for a man who's nearly dead. You got one chance, Clover. The dough, the hundred grand. Where is it? First I'm going to tell you something about Marty, Belle. He had that money and he didn't know it. What? What's he saying, Marty? You tell us, Clover. Belle, when Marty had me worked over, he should have taken a look at my key ring. One of the keys was for a locker. Locker, Marty. Marty. How could you be so stupid? Answer the policeman, Marty. So I made a mistake, Belle. Don't worry. We got the police. We'll get the dough. $100,000, Marty, like that, right under your nose. Belle, you picked yourself a dull playmate. You can't afford a playmate who makes mistakes, Belle. Marty, you fool. You stupid fool. I've got to ask you too, Belle. How does it feel to kill a man? Where's the money, Mr. Clover? At police headquarters, in my office. Get on that phone, Mr. Clover. Get on that phone and have one of your flunkies bring it over. No tricks, Mr. Clover. Just tell them. It's not hard to kill from up close, huh, Belle? Pelagos. It's me. Pelagos, a Pelagos shooting gallery. You see, Clover, I well learned from Pelagos. You always teach him with a gun in your hand. One needs something to wrap one's pupil across the knuckles when he sees bad. No, Belle? Belle deserves it, Pelagos. She tried to double-cross you. That makes two. Belle and Marty. You didn't know you're so much alike, Belle. You and Marty. Don't listen to the policemen, Pelagos. No, it's just you and me. Nobody else. It's you and me and a hundred thousand dollars. Oh, it sounds good. To me, that sounds good. How does it sound to you, Clover? Speaking strictly from a personal point of view, I wouldn't believe it. Uh, from a personal point of view, that is. Uh-huh. But Pelagos point his view differently. Then it's all right, Pelagos. It's all right, isn't it? Oh, it couldn't be better. Just show me a minute. Throw away your gun. Huh? On the floor. Belle, throw away. Sure, sure. Anything you say. You're a good girl, Belle. Nice, good girl. Belle was a nice girl. She had nice, good ideas, Clover. How did she say, get on the phone and have a flunky bring money over? No tricks. That's how she said. The flunky comes along, Clover. I tell you in English, not in Greek, so you understand. He comes alone in 20 minutes. Yeah. Tartaglia, this is Danny. Silk's dough. Yeah, the 100 grand. Bring it here to me. Yeah, to 8 West 63rd. In my desk drawer, Tartaglia. It's in my lower left-hand drawer. Yeah. Yeah, right away. Come alone, Tartaglia. Alone. You did good, Clover. Nice, good. No, you wait. 20 minutes. 20 minutes, the man said. Just Pelagus and me. There was no way to play him off against. No Marty, no Belle. Just me. The Fall Guys I'd set up, Marty and Belle. All gone. It all belonged to Pelagus now. Two new Fall Guys, Tartaglia and me. A few more minutes, the man said. Mostly the man watched the clock. You're lucky, Clover. In two minutes you could have died. Open the door. Hiya, Danny. Well, here it is. I brought the dough just like you said. Hey, you know it's good to get away from the office. Put a suitcase on the table. Hey, it's Pelagus. Hey, and he's got a gun. Hey, Danny, what goes? Never mind the suitcase, Tartaglia. Well, whatever you say, Danny. Ah, Clover, you're a nice good fool. I get the money, you still die, huh? You and the funky. Talk to us before we die, Pelagus. I like to talk. What do we talk about? That was your money. Silk stole it from the safe at the last paddock. Thought he could get away with it. He thought you couldn't do anything about it. But you crossed it. You had Marty kill him and his friend Murdoch. You talk all by yourself, Clover. You didn't let me say a word. Now fold your hands behind your head and stand facing the wall. You both. Good. That's nice good. Now I want to look once more on my money. It's too long since I looked on the money. The money. Something wrong, Pelagus? This money, see. It's what, Pelagus? It's nothing but paper. Lousy toilet strips of dirty noose paper. Paper is nothing but paper. Hit the floor, Tartaglia. I'll take him. Nice good, huh, Pelagus? Nice good. First, I kissed Tartaglia on the top of his bald head because today that's where his brain was. My lower left-hand desk drawer had been stuck for a week and he'd gotten a cue. Dolly and Tinker, they were sitting outside just like Marty told them, right in the middle of a police net, just like Tartaglia had arranged. So I kissed him again. So he invited me to a spaghetti dinner. Midnight's a happy time on Broadway. It's crowd and it's laughter and it's a trumpet that screams. It's a place strung into the night like some phosphorescent alley and their heap there, the bright-eyed kid, the voice that whispers from the doorway, the poet, the drags. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway, My Beat. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover is produced and directed by Gordon T. Hughes with script by Morton Fine and David Freakin. Musical direction is by Lud Gluskin. Be sure to join us next week, same time, same station for Broadway's My Beat. This is CBS, The Columbia Broadcasting System.