 Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gutter of the prison of the grave. It was a broken body in a quiet house. Gunplay on a merry-go-round at midnight. And a boy and a girl in love running away, all because of one man's fine Italian hand. From the pen of layman Chandler, our standing author of crime fiction comes his most famous character in The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. Now with Gerald Moore starring as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Crime Italian Hand. They just passed a handful of jarring contrast. Last a hiding heartbreak. A woman dying of loneliness from an overcrowded city. A man who sacrificed everything to make a fortune. And shot himself when he got it. The messed up byproducts of our hopped up civilization. The thought of them shaped my mind as I drove over the freeway to San Fernando Valley because the job I was on promised no change in the day's pattern of combining things that didn't belong together. When I parked at the corner of Magnolia in Van Nuys Boulevard, I was still trying to reconcile my new client, the owner and operator of a little amusement park for children, with a panicky voice on the phone that had begged me to come at once. It wasn't hard to spot a heavy-set old man moving among the stampeding merry-go-round stallions and picking crumpled tickets like plums in the fists of laughing kids, grabbing for briars free. We never changed, do we? When he saw me, hopped off. Nick! Nick! Take off, please! Take off, please! You, Mr. Marlowe, maybe? That's right, Mr. Angelo. Oh, Mr. Marlowe, come this way to Magnolia. We've got to talk right away. No time, Mr. Wait. Oh, that's a nice little boy. I'm very proud of you. Now, you take your free ride with Nick. I've got to talk to some of the business. Goodbye! Come in, Mr. Marlowe. Please, sit down. Right. Mr. Marlowe, I'm a very worried man. Yeah, I know. About your son, you said on the phone. What sort of trouble is he in, Mr. Angelo? He's a good boy, my brother-in-law. He's been into college. He's a veteran from the war with two bronze stars and a purple heart. Look, there's his picture in his uniform. How? He's a good boy. Sure, sure. Now he's in a jam, is that it? Yeah. He's in a jam with a gamble. Man in name is a friend. You notice, man? Yeah, slightly. Frank Saffron's a bad boy. Did your son owe him money or what? No, no, no. My boy, not throwing his money away like a bear. No. It's about a girl. Which way does it go? She's Saffron's girl and Bernardo's making a play for her? That's right, that's right. This girl belongs to the gamble and my boy is taking her out. Oh, fine. He won't tell me nothing. I find out it's just the same. Maybe he's just playing with a big shot. And maybe he really loses his heart. I don't know. It's going too far. Now there's a trouble. My boy's going to be killed or he's going to kill somebody. And I don't know what to do. What makes you think it's going on that far, Mr. D'Angelo? Maybe Saffron will just get Saffron's cabernado off, huh? No, no, Mr. Marlowe. My boy's going to get off. He's a pretty tough. He's a champion with a golden glove. Really? Yes. But tonight there's no help for him. Bernardo'll come home tonight with his face all a bit off. He won't tell his papa nothing. All he says is that the red, the face of the dog, I'm going to get even. I'm going to kill him. He's just a crazy mad. My Bernardo, he won't listen to me. He'll push me away and he'll go out again. Red change doesn't sit Saffron. You sure he was the one who had your son beat up? Sure, of course. Who else? And it's just because of Mr. Dancer, Mr. Paula. I don't even know her last name. Paula, huh? What do you think I can do about this, Mr. D'Angelo? If we're not around and bring him home? No, that's no good. My Bernardo, he's a tool to help the strong. No, Mr. Marlowe, I must have found out something. I must have found out if this girl is using my boy for a play team or if she's really in love with him. What difference does that make with Saffron? Well, if this girl really loves my boy, then I do anything to bring them together. Anything. Now, if this is only a game she plays, then what does that mean, Pa? Oh, that means if it goes that way, that's the way it goes. And I know what I've got to do. So you find out the difference for me, please. Well, I don't know, Pa, but it's not the kind of thing I like. Look, I know asking you to spy on somebody just to find out the difference. I cannot talk so good. With you, it's not so hard. I know, Pa, but really... my boy and my mom died, and now Bernardo's all I got to laugh. He's so good, the boy. He shouldn't have to get into trouble just for a cheaper game of love. Don't you understand me? I understand you. And from what I knew of Frank Saffron, he had plenty to worry about with a hot-headed son who didn't know when to quit. Or maybe it was Saffron who didn't know when to quit. That thought plus the fifty bucks in advance goes me. Mr. D'Angelo gave me a description of the girl he'd seen, but once told me that Bernardo had moved away from home, he didn't know where. But the park closed at ten, and that he'd be there all night, and that was all. My first step was to locate the dancer named Paula. So outside, I said, make her through a phone until I called everything from ballet to burlet. But got no Paula. Which left only Frank Saffron's easy money move. It was a Ranch House California tile tucked under the hills south of Ventura on a dead-end called Sunbird. That's why I got the nod at the peek-a-boo window. I wandered through the bar and passed the dice-table with the door at back, marked private, and went in. I tucked Cito's rock tile with a boil-lots of confessions formed up at me from the telephone as he talked. The waggle's a thick, hairy finger, so I took the hint and waited quietly for him to finish. I don't care if it takes you a week, this joint don't soak up no five-brand shortages. You guys find it. Goodbye. Well, what's on your mind, I don't seem to remember you being an aunt. It isn't a formal call. I'm just looking for an old friend. We don't have any old friends to sit, but... That figures. Mine's Paula. She's a dancer. I understand that Mr. Saffron knows her quite well. You might tell me why I can get in touch with her. Ah, so you're a friend of Paula Baker's, huh? Yeah, that's right. I'm way back. Well, that's all I'll touch you through. Her name's Not Baker. That came right out of thin air now. What do you really want? Take it easy, boy. She just caged you with last name. That's all. She gave us Jones. The Duncan Department Store credit section. 300 bucks for it. I got this far in her references, and I want to see Mr. Saffron. Well, he's not in. I'll take it up with him later. If it was his time, he'll hear from us. Take it easy on yourself, Mike. Just tell me where I can find it. Out that door there. You've got the whole city to look in. And take your crummy bit. Oh, wait, oh, wait. Hey, a blushing boy. One thing more. What's your name? I want to get it straight. It wasn't a total loss. I'd managed to keep the back door open long enough to snap off the nightlash. And I'd met the red-faced man who no doubt supervised the beating Bernardo had taken earlier. I'd kicked plenty of noise out of the iron steps going down, and then I crossed the parking lot and ran back against the wall and waited. Halfway through my first cigarette bunker came out, got in his car, and drove away. I watched him on his side. Then slipped back in quietly, located Saffron's 8x12 desk and started throwing. In the top drawer, I found the first letter with a gambler's home address on it. And under that picture, one of smiling lovelies, closed in front of a dance studio on Wilshire. She wore Paula's description like a smug pair of slacks, and dance instruction was appealed in the fine art of roofing, but I'd overlooked completely. I closed the drawer and potted out when I heard someone coming. I jammed my cigarette into the ash tray, and got stuck against the door frame as a cleaning woman bustled in. It's an oldering cigarette bust. So wonder this trap don't sprout out of the ground. Hey, somebody's been in here. Hold it quiet, baby. Shut up, and I'll let you have some air again. Is there a deal? Okay. Come along here, mister. Hey, there you are, beautiful. Let's forget we saw each other, huh? Look, I'm a truck to the employees, guys. Hey, silence is golden. How golden? Five bucks worth. And if I hear one peep out of you before I get out of here, they input glue in your soap bottles. Goodbye, baby. The deal is presently glossy. It's my social modernistic facade on Wusha Boulevard to withdraw from old-fashioned receptionist inside, who signed me up express sympathy over my rusty rumber and assured me that since I'd heard so much about her, I could have called her. That is, Miss Kelvin, while on duty as my instructor, if I'd only be so kind as to step this way. So, I stepped this way. Into a ballroom with a black burnished floor that looked as deep as a nice sky and after a death-hand signal from the receptionist, Paula Kelvin glided sort of. Introductions were made. How do you do? And suddenly, a room was filled with a soft beat of a rumber band and we were off. Well, at the end, it would have been fun. If I hadn't had work to do, that part was tough. You're doing beautifully, Mr. Muller. Just loosen up now. Now try. I'm glad I drew you with my instructor, Miss Kelvin. Bernie said you were tough. Told me to insist on you and accept no substitutes. Bernie? Uh-huh. The Angelo. You remember him, don't you? Yes. Yes, of course, I remember him. Nice guy, Bernie. Good kid. Don't you think so? Keep your feet a little closer together, Mr. Muller. Don't be afraid to use your knees. You know, baby, Bernie's got everything. Look, brains, even a temper. Just to keep life interesting. Isn't that right, Muller? Guy thinks a lot of you, doesn't he? Hey, I'm talking to you. I've heard you. The next question, I suppose, is how do I feel about you? Yeah. Now it's your turn to loosen up and relax, baby. Listen, I resent being checked up on by anybody. When I want Bernie to Angelo to know how I feel, I'll tell him. And when I want Frank Saffron to know, I'll tell him too. And if he can't hit a night for a room blessing, then I'm only Mother Hubbard. OK, Mother Hubbard. I want to find out one thing. Are you in love with Bernie the Angelo? It's nobody's business, but mine, Mr. You could be real wrong about that, baby. Then it's my mistake that I'll make it all by myself, huh? Have you seen Bernie tonight? No, I haven't. And that's all the conversation you get. You can have the rest of your room, Bernie, if you want it. No, Bernie. I'll see you around, Paula. I stopped and called his gambling plan, but he was still up. So I drove up into Coldwater Canyon to number 8100. The first real hint that something was wrong was a curtain. Dangling at a crazy angle over one of the lighted windows. Next to the front door, panting six inches open and in time, the legs of an overturned table were sticking up in the air, and then pieces of a broken lamp littering the floor. That was only the beginning. I nudged the door open and stepped in. It was a mess. I tore his feet first and behind the couch. He only took one glance at his face. Frank Saffron had been literally beating to death by a pair very fast. Don't move one inch, Jacko. So I take three guesses and turn around and look. Bernardo with guns. Oh, I got it all right. It was him. Automatic caliber 25, and I'll use it if I have to. Who are you? My name's Marlowe. What happens, boys? You got a real talent for being wrong, haven't you, kid? Who are you? A private detective hired by one ambrosial of the Angelo. Papa. Yeah, because he was worried sick about his boy. But I told him to stay out of it. I told him it was my business. And you did a nice total job of handling it. You did this, didn't you? Yeah. Saffron had it coming to him. I was beat up tonight on his orders. I came here to pay him back, but I didn't intend to kill him. What'd you stick around for? I didn't stay. He looks to me like he's been dead over an hour. I left and I got worried and I came back just a few minutes ago. Yeah, yeah, I know. He found out he was dead, huh? Well, I guess I'd better call the police. I guess you'd better stand still. If you're really working for my old man, if you really want to help him, the best thing you can do is to get out of here and shut up about this until tomorrow morning. I don't work that way, kid. I'm going to call your old man and the police. And we're going to sit here until they show up. You won't give me a break. Not that time. If you run, you haven't got a chance. We'll just have to see about that. I'm sorry it turned out this way, but it didn't. I got a lot of things to do. So take your ethics tomorrow and sleep on them. Oh! Hurry! Go run! Come back! In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, with thousands of dollars of wonderful prizes, sing it again is fun for the whole family to play. Make a date to listen over most of these CBS stations every Saturday night. Now with our star Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, The Fine Italian Hand. I splashed the water on my face and wobbled over to the telephone that was still across the floor in their Frank Saffron broken body. It was too late to do anything more constructive than call my client. And before he heard it from the police, tell him what his boy, Bernardo, had been up to. The kind of job I'd have given at least an eye to to get out of. So when I dialed his number and got no answer, I was glad. Even though it didn't quite figure that the elder of the angelos shouldn't be in. Now there was absolutely nothing to do but call the police or... Get away from that phone. Oh, pay attention to a man who just stepped into the room. A man with a red face who also held a gun in hand. Oh, well, the department store, Dick. Look how he gets around. There's just a Frank's last name with Jones, too. You're overworking a bum's joke, also I didn't do this. Then who did? And how do you figure in around here and over at the club? Come on, smart guy, let's level. First, who are you, the name? Marlowe. And the trade? Private detective. Hired by who? Come on, let's not pull teeth. Who you working for, Marlowe? Quite old guy named The Angelome. Has nothing worse than running a merry-go-round for kids, meaning... Quite old guy named The Angelome. Yeah, yeah, that must be the punk's old man, huh? Which means that the kid, Bernie, must have done this, right? Yeah, he did it. But only after he got cut up this afternoon by the late Mr. Saffron here, all representative. That's not me, Rover Boy. I've never missed in Frank's private life any more, and I could help. Which means what? I'd take Bernie The Angelome one night to a flat he has over on Lancashire near Moore Park. A flat on Lancashire? What number? I don't know. It's the first house-office corner of Moore Park on the south side. He just moved in. But what's the difference? Don't move, Marlowe, or I'll knock you flat in that handkerchief. What handkerchief? That one by the body. Oh, yeah. With the initial... The A. The A. The Angelome. That doesn't... Okay, Buster, put away the house. I'll leave quietly. But where? I'll crack at that flat on Lancashire near Moore Park south-side. Why? So that if the kid's still around, I can stop him without calling a cop. And then we rattle him into losing his grip altogether. Which would mean lots of firepower, and the kid sooner or later did, and he got it. What's wrong with that? A couple of things. But in particular, what it might do to... Ah, yeah, I know. It's a nice old guy who runs a merry-go-round for kids. Nuts. It's a long sucker. A howitzer, though. I'd eat it before I start crying. Bernie D'Angelo's flat on Lancashire turned out to be second floor rear, and all that went with it. From this outland lady to the very public payphone to the faint line of naked, unforested light bulbs, so weak to disturb the shadows in the corridor. What's of course the unhappy marriage of a half a dozen distinct cooking odors sinking out of the transom of as many rooms where cooking was perfectly prohibited. Bernie had room nine at the end of the L-shaped hall, and when I turned and taught it for a door, I was glad to see yellow light oozing out of the cracks. And they hear a tinny phonograph making not-so-grand grand opera. When I knocked, I did it with a barrel of my 38. Yeah? Who is it? Connick! You better turn that phonograph down. We can't hear ourselves think out here. Okay, I'll take care of it. Goodbye. Not so fast, Junior. Take care of it now. I don't want to come out here again. It'll make me feel nasty. Does that come across? Yeah, real clearly. Yeah, Marlowe, get back all the way. Connick, quit shouting! Quit shouting! What do you want with me? Conversation for a starter. Turn that thing off. Now, we're gonna talk, Bernie. About what? Not my old man again. That's a waste of time. What's done is done, Marlowe. You know that. Yeah, and I also know you'll never get any place running. Unless we try real hard. Don't run around, Marlowe. Oh, fine. Madam was longer. Take his gun, Bernie. Throw it over there. Yeah. If you please, Mr. Connick. Mr. Connick! How stupid did you think we were, Marlowe? Or have you forgotten all about Paula here? No, I hadn't forgotten. I just figured she might be on the other side. Then you figured wrong because there's never been any other side. Never been anybody but Bernie from the moment we met. Which is why you kept dating Frank Saffron? Which is exactly why I kept dating Frank Saffron. I didn't want any jealous and gunning for Bernie. I didn't want trouble. Now that you've got it, you don't want to let it go. Is that it? What do you mean, Marlowe? Yeah, I mean, if you turn yourself in now tonight, that's still a chance you'll get off easy. Yeah, and a better chance that he won't. All right! But even then, it'll only be manslaughter prison for a few years. This way it's got to be worse, hiding seats from here on out for both of you right up to the end. No matter when that is. Look, honey, maybe... No, maybe, Bernie. I don't want you rotting away in jail and me rotting away in the outside because you accidentally killed Frank Saffron. Now come on, Bernie. Let's get out of here. Put him in the closet here. Yeah, yeah, sure. Look, Marlowe, if you do go back to pop, tell him I wish it had been different, would you? Why? They can eat his heart out a little more? No dice, kid. Shut the door. The sight of you is making me sick. Okay. Tell her, shut it in! And shut it safe! The best had been swinging wild, hoping that a lucky punch, no matter how low, would connect and jar some tense back into the kids. But it would play differently, and as I started to kick the lock on the closet door, I knew now that Bernie DiAngelo resented me and probably his father along with the rest of the world that wouldn't give him an even break. All in all, it was the kind of thing that made me mad enough to do the trick! Hanselmer, fight over the girl or don't you like the way the furniture's arranged? Me, there. Before you get too upset about this land, lady, I'll cut you in on something. A minute after I get to your phone, every cop in town is going to be looking for your star border because tonight, Bernie DiAngelo killed a man. Yeah, it's got nothing to do with the stuff you've read. Come on, Hanselmer. Let's settle off. There's one splinter door and a small stand on the board and a lot of little pieces. It used to be a vase. That broken box over there with them papers and it ain't mine, so it's no charge. Okay, how much... How much do you want? How much? Well... 25. It's 30 with the vase. 30 bucks in all. Hanselmer, what is it? Oh, there's a slip of paper here. It's all out of the box. It's filled with a lot of other papers. Can't hurt, yes. Only a receipt. What's the fuss? Because it is a receipt, Granny, from of all places of the province, so a receipt for a present to live it a long time ago. What? Yes, gotta be. All right, Granny, here. 30 you said, huh? 20, 25, 30, 30 bucks. And if I'm right, sweetheart, I'll send you another vase come Christmas. Now, forget what I said about the phone and Bernie's being your killer. Because a mistake may have been made all the way around. What kind of mistake, Hanselmer? A big one, abuse. And I can't be more specific than that until I find the elder, Mr. D'Angelo. Good night, Granny. By midnight, the Tansen and O'Valley is always time to sleep. So I cover the five miles back to the amusement park in close to as many minutes' worrying all the way that either my hunch was wrong and I was heading no place or that it was right and I was too late to keep murder from happening again. When I was out of my car and moving quietly in between the dark machines of stuffy and gay bobbing animals when the kids were gone, I knew that I could quit worrying all together. Because standing ahead in close to the merry-go-round was Mr. Ambrosio D'Angelo. And opposite to him, holding a gun that I'd already seen once tonight was Lou Bunker, the man I figured had killed Frank Saffron. And when I was winning a dozen yards of misplaced stuff, it was back. Okay, stop that far enough stuff. Right where you are and turn around. Why? So you can hit me over the back of the head and kill me like it was accident, huh? I fall in the dark while I work on the merry-go-round, huh? Pretty smart, the guy, Mr. That way, no I'm Brogio D'Angelo to testify that you killed Frank Saffron. No more fight for love. Get out of here and quit jaffering. Nobody told you to go peaking into windows or to play drop the hanky when you went inside to make sure that I killed Frank Saffron. With all your own ideas. Yeah, and brilliant, Robert Bunker. Mr. Boyle, look out for me tomorrow. You won't get far, but to believe me. Mr. Boyle. Mr. Boyle, look out, look out. He's hiding over there on the merry-go-round. All right, Bob. I know, I know how to get him out of where we... Yeah, so I'll get out. Robert, you all right? It's all right. That's okay, Mr. Marlowe. This is Frank. Don't worry about me. Just to get you ready for Bunker because I'm going to go over there and make it through the switch. You can hide no more, Mr. Marlowe. I'm going to start at the merry-go-round and make him join us or run. I go now. Where you fellow fool! There, Mr. Marlowe, he's run! Stop him! With pleasure. Oh, my leg! Listen up, Marlowe. Not quite, Bunker. You want to make it to our hospital still in the blank flat? Come on. Why did you kill Stefan? Come on. Okay. I dipped into the chill at the club and dummied up the books to cover. He was going to find out about it, so I went to his place to get him. Bernie got that first, huh? Yeah. They had a fist fight after he left. I went in there. I'm going to finish him off with your piece. I see that. I went there, Mr. Marlowe, because I wasn't worried about Bernardo. I had to do something. How did you know that the Angelo was there, Bunker? Oh, Marlowe, please. Come on. Keep talking. I heard a noise when I was inside. Sure, it's less than double back. He was inside then, but I only knew that it was an old man. I didn't know who he was. And so later, when I came back a second time, when you were there and saw that handkerchief, it hadn't been there before. Then when you talk about the old man here, I figured that the Angelo initials could fit him as well. Oh, my God! Oh, that's my boy Bernardo. Bernardo, come on, please! Come on, Bernardo! Come on, come on, come on! Look, Mr. Marlowe, the girl is with him. Thank you for running away, Mr. Marlowe. Ah, they didn't run away. Come on, come on, come on! That's good, Mr. the Angelo. Welcome your boy home. Mr. Marlowe, it's going to be tomorrow morning before all the police men are finished talking with my boy and Paula. That's right. After that, everything okay? Okay, just because you talk is smart to do both of them as Bernardo slaps. Just because of what you said. Well, that's what they were smart enough to do, the Angelo. I don't think it was easy for him to change that mind to come back to what could have been put in. No, I guess not. It's also on account of you that there won't be no prison and there won't be a funeral for me. You know, that's what I don't understand. Mr. Marlowe. When you tell the police men that you know where to come and find the Lou Bunker at my place, because of the department store receipt, I'd get all of them absorbed. I can't let... Oh, I get off of here, please. All right, sir. Well, the receipt was by handkerchiefs monogram D.A., Mr. the Angelo, which would have been sent to you as a gift from your son. That put the idea in my mind that the handkerchief I saw at Frank Saffron is yours, not another. Oh, I could see, sir. Well, Mr. Marlowe, we are forever you good friends. Now I say goodbye in here. Hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute. This is Marlowe's new place. I don't mind driving you home. No, no, no. That's all right. That's all right. I just want to go around the corner. An old friend of mine is there. I want to tell him all about the angelo of Goodluck. Thank you for just the thing, Mr. Marlowe. I'd agree to help you. I watched him walk away. A quiet old man in a quiet empty street. A grateful old man, who at 3 o'clock in the morning had to find his friend and tell him all about the angelo of Goodluck. Then, when he was around the corner and out of sight, I found myself wondering who the old friend could be. A minute later, when I had driven as far as the corner and could see which way ambrosia of the angelo of God, I knew it was less than half a block away. A familiar Gothic architecture, stone, stained glass, with people reaching for the sky. And, yeah, his old friend. The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman McDonnell. Scripted is by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Georgia Ellis, Jane Avello, Paul Dubov, Barney Phillips, Anne Morrison and Vivi Janus. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Aron. Be sure and be with us next week when Philip Marlowe tells... This time I took a beating from a clever Chinese, ran into a twisted corpse in an alley, and watched death strike on the railroad tracks. All because of an open-toed banjo, which was jinxed from the start.