Mountie Sings the Blues
[Canadian consulate; Inspector Thatcher’s
office]
Thatcher: These
orders are straight from the Minister of Industry, Trade
and Commerce.
Fraser: I see
they’re classified, sir.
Thatcher:
[licking
envelopes]
Yes. Well, no. I have my own stamp.
Fraser:
Ah.
Thatcher:
Canada’s Sweetheart needs protecting.
Fraser: They
feel her life may be in danger while she’s here in
Chicago?
Thatcher:
Danger... As if those pencil-neck geeks in Industry, Trade
and Commerce would know danger if it jumped up and pierced
their spleen with an ice pick. I know danger. I live
[lick lick
lick]
danger.
Fraser: Indeed
you do, sir.
Thatcher: We
will not be part of any-- What is that noise?
[stands & walks
across the room]
--part of any publicity circus. My command here in Chicago
has been characterized by one word: dignity.
[she opens the
door: Turnbull wears an apron, rubber gloves, & mask,
and is vacuuming the entry hall]
Turnbull:
Hello, sir. I was just freshening up the Regal
Suite.
Thatcher: You
are not a charlady, Turnbull. You are a member of the
Royal Canadian Mounted--
[doorbell
rings]
Turnbull: Ooh!
Oh! Oh! It’s them! It’s them! It’s them!
[Fraser exits, as
Turnbull excitedly untangles himself from the vacuum
cleaner, then follows Fraser; Thatcher sighs heavily &
bangs her forehead on the door frame; Fraser opens
consulate door]
Fraser: Good
afternoon, and welcome--
[man (Earl Jeffers) barges in, checks the entry hall, then
speaks into walkie-talkie]
Earl: It’s
clear. Bring her in.
[to
Fraser]
Earl Jeffers. I head up security.
Fraser. Ah. My
name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted
Police. I--
Earl: You came
looking for the guy that killed your father.
Fraser:
Yes.
Earl: I’ve
seen your file.
Fraser: I
see.
[Tracy Jenkins
& her manager (George Monroe) enter]
Fraser: Good
afternoon, and welcome to the--
Turnbull
: Oh! Oh! It’s Tracy!
[faints]
Thatcher:
Canadian consulate.
[Inspector
Thatcher’s office; Turnbull is gazing longingly down at
Tracy]
George: This
was faxed to the hotel last night from somewhere in
Chicago.
Thatcher:
[reading]
If I can’t have you, no one will.
Fraser: It’s a
death threat?
Thatcher:
Possibly.
Fraser: Did
you check the number?
Earl: It’s a
cyber grind. Internet computer joint.
Turnbull: Oh,
over on Madison.
Earl: Yeah,
that’s the one. Any creep could have sent it.
[to
Tracy]
You gotta keep your head down.
Tracy: George,
look,
I-I--
George: Trace,
I agree with Earl. We got some kind of wacko out here on
the loose.
Tracy: Look.
I’m playing the Music Hall. End of discussion.
George: You’re
a star.
Tracy: You
know, you see the problem here is that he won’t book me in
a club that sits 200 people. He’s always booking me in
front of fifty or sixty thousand. And not a paying
customer can get close enough to even see if it’s me. I
just...I can’t see
their faces,
George. You know, the music is about getting closer to the
people, okay?
[Turnbull nods
knowingly]
Fraser: Well
indeed it is, but I think in this case Mr. Monroe’s advice
is prudent. This letter demonstrates all the
characteristics of an obsessive-compulsive disorder,
coupled with delusional symptoms and an escalating
pathological desire.
Earl: Back
home we don’t trust a man who talks too much.
Fraser: Ah.
Where I come from, we don’t trust a man who leaves the
house without a knife, a compass, and some beef jerky.
What time are you sheduled to arrive at the club?
Tracy:
8:30.
[Music
Hall]
[fans flank the
entrance; a woman & a Mountie exit a limousine and
walk toward the doors... a sniper from a rooftop across
the street shoots; the woman falls, chaos
erupts]
Ray: Across
the street!
[Fraser runs toward the sniper; Kowalski kneels down to the fallen woman]
Ray : McCafferty?! [helps her turn over]
McCafferty
:
Ah!
[through gritted
teeth]
They said the vest was just a formality, Vecchio.
Ray: You
okay?
McCafferty : As far as I can tell. Oh, no... My shoulder. Hurts like hell! [panting]
[Kowalski checks her (left) shoulder]
Ray
: [into
walkie-talkie]
Shots fired! Officer down! Officer down!
[Fraser reaches the
rooftop; he finds a picture of Tracy
Jenkins]
[27th precinct; Welsh’s office]
[Kowalski hands Tracy the bullet in a plastic
bag]
Tracy: I can’t
believe this bullet was meant for me.
Ray: Yeah, for
you.
Tracy: And the
officer?
Welsh: They’re
keeping her overnight in the hospital, but she’ll be all
right.
Tracy: What’s
her name? I-I don’t even know what her name is.
Welsh:
McCafferty.
Tracy:
McCafferty.
Welsh: Officer
McCafferty.
Tracy:
Oh.
Fraser: And
this was found at the scene.
[holds up the
picture of Tracy Jenkins]
George: We
send those out to fans by the thousands.
Welsh: Dewey,
take this stuff down to forensics. I want a full report on
my desk by nine.
Dewey: You got
it.
[exits]
Tracy: I’m
sorry, George. I should have listened to
you.
[bullpen; Turnbull
waits outside Welsh’s door]
Turnbull: How
is she?
Dewey:
Trace?
Turnbull:
Trace?
Dewey: Yeah,
we’re-we’re tight.
Turnbull: So
she’s....
Dewey: She’s
good.
Turnbull: Oh,
I knew it! She’s a fighter!
Huey: Tracy
Jenkins. Wow.
Turnbull:
Yeah.
Francesca:
Wow? What, you like her music??
Huey : Duh, yeah! I love her music!
Francesca
: How can you like country music?
Turnbull:
Ohhhh, Miss Vecchio! The mournful longings. The lament for
a better life. Some ethnomusicologists refer to country
music as the “white man’s blues.”
Francesca:
Blues.
Turnbull:
Sure. Look at me.
Francesca:
Country music is nothing but pick-up trucks, trains, and
donkeys, okay?
Dewey:
Donkeys, right, okay. Why don’t you name one song with
donkeys in it?
Francesca:
Pfff! Please! There’s millions!
Huey: Oh yeah?
Name one.
[pause]
Huey & Dewey : Annhh!!!
[Welsh’s
office]
Welsh: We’ll
continue on the fan stalker angle. You have a list of her
fan club, the Chicago branch? Maybe we-we might get
lucky.
George: Got
the database in my laptop.
Ray: What
about fan mail?
Earl: The
actual letters?
Ray:
Yeah.
Earl: They’re
back in Nashville at the office.
Welsh: How
soon can you get them here?
Earl: Tomorrow
morning.
Ray:
Good.
Welsh: All
right. For your own safety, don’t go back to your hotel
‘til we get this guy off the
street.
Fraser: Uh,
sir, I think Miss Jenkins will be safe and uh...quite
comfortable at the Canadian consulate.
[Dief licks Tracy’s face]
Fraser : And she’s obviously very welcome. If you’ll excuse me for one moment.
[Fraser opens the office door and speaks into Turnbull’s
ear]
Turnbull:
Yee-hee-hee-hee!
[Fraser closes the door]
Welsh: What the
hell was that?
Fraser: The
sound of a grown man squealing in a manner not becoming a
member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
Welsh: Oh,
Turnbull.
Fraser:
Hmmm.
[bullpen]
Francesca:
Donkey Kong Angels.
Dewey: That’s
‘Honky Tonk Angels.’ Kitty Wells. I don’t think she was
singing about video games back in the fifties.
[belligerent man
enters, followed by the desk sergeant]
Desk Sergeant:
You can’t go in there!
Dwight: Yeah?
Just watch me.
Desk Sergeant:
Look, I said-- You just--
Huey:
Problem?
Desk Sergeant:
Yes.
Dwight: Why
don’t you just take twenty, sweetheart, all right? I’m
looking for my wife. I wanna see--
Huey:
Wife?
[all exit Welsh’s
office]
Dwight:
Baby--
Earl: That far
enough, Dwight.
Tracy: It’s
okay, Earl.
Dwight: What,
I gotta hear this on the radio? You can’t call me?
Tracy: Well.
There’s a lot of bars between here and Tennessee, Dwight.
Guess I just didn’t know which one to call.
Dwight: Aww,
that’s cold, baby. Because you know if anything ever
happened to you...
Tracy:
[to
Earl]
Listen, we need to get him to a motel...
Dwight: You
know that I couldn’t...
Tracy: And
we’ll deal with him later.
Dwight: What?
What-what-what?! You’re gonna deal with me? Huh? You’re
gonna deal with me?! Who wrote The Tune, huh?
Earl: That’s
enough, Dwight.
Dwight: Who
wrote the damn Tune!
[Earl & others muscle Dwight
out]
Earl: That’s
enough! You’re going home!
Dwight:
...regret it too!
Earl: Drop it
Dwight! Come on!
[consulate]
[doorbell rings;
Turnbull opens the door to Tracy & Fraser]
Turnbull: Ahh,
welcome. In honor of your stature as the Queen of Country
Music, I have prepared the Regal Suite. And oh,
uh-uh-also, uh, on behalf of your privacy, I intercepted a
number of messages. A man named Sid called about uh, I
don’t know, I sent him packing. Uh, a reporter looking for
an interview, I also sent him packing. And a very curious
conversation with a man named “The Coast.” Something about
a movie thingie.
Fraser:
Turnbull. Miss Jenkins has had a very full day--
Turnbull: Say
no more, sir. This calls for something calming. Some
Saskatoon berry tea.
[exits]
Fraser: I’m
sorry. He’s uh...
[gestures, ‘screw
loose’]
Well, shall we? Your life sounds very busy.
Tracy: Well,
George has a motto, you know. Busy is bigger, bigger’s
better. I think he’s got it tattooed somewhere actually.
[they
chuckle]
I love George but uh, I wonder what happened to the simple
things.
Fraser: Well,
I often ask myself the very same question.
Tracy: Thanks
for tonight.
Fraser: Oh, it
was nothing.
Tracy: You
saved my life, Fraser. Thank you.
[kisses him
gently]
Fraser: You
uh... My cheek.
[Dief barks]
Fraser : Right uh... Well, it’s uh, 16 stairs here to the landing. Follow me please.
[27th
precinct; bullpen]
Welsh: All
right everybody, listen up. I have a medical update on
Officer McCafferty. She sustained some muscle damage to
her right arm, but she’s gonna be just fine.
[all mumble approvingly]
Ray
: Uh, they checked out the Cyber Grind Café, and nothing.
Mind you, those space cadets couldn’t ID Monica Lewinsky
if she was interning for ‘em.
Welsh: All
right. Keep up the hard work. Let me know if Monica shows
up.
Ray: Uh,
Frannie. What did you get?
Francesca:
Listen to this. From Russia.
[reads]
“Dear Tracy. You have been an eyesore to us these past
three months in our sensory canal. We flatter you, Oh
Courageous Queen. ‘I Can Love Again’ is for us the gate
key to leave Siberia and become supermodels.” Signed Olga
and Vaselina.
Ray: Vaselina,
supermodels? They got a return address on that?
Dewey: Why are
you cheapening this? I mean, listen to what they’re
saying. That song gave them hope.
Francesca:
Yeah. Just like
you hope there’s
no donkey in a country song.
Huey: Fifty
bucks.
Francesca:
You’re on.
Huey: You got
it.
Fraser: You
know, letter writing can sometimes be something of an
art.
Francesca:
Yeah. Some are just plain creepy.
Fraser:
Hmm.
Dewey
: You know what? You know what we should do?
Huey:
What?
Dewey: We
should write one.
Huey: Write
what? A letter?
Dewey: No, a
country song. I mean, how hard could it be?
Huey: Yeah.
Could be fun, huh? We could cut a CD.
Dewey: Watch
it go platinum.
Huey: Or we
could make some
real money.
Write some jingles and have the song used in a
commercial.
Dewey: No, no,
I’m not going to allow my music to be prostituted like
that, okay? I’m not going to compromise my
principles.
Huey: Oh
please. You don’t have any music. Or principles.
Fraser
: [indicating stacks
of
letters]
Now this group is harmless. This group is threatening to
some degree. And – thank you, Dief.
This
pile Diefenbaker found to be particularly offensive.
Dewey:
[yells]
Hey. Check this one out. Got a guy here, he sends in a
stack of lottery tickets so that she can bless them.
Francesca: So
why didn’t he just send them to the Pope?
Ray: ‘Cause
the Pope can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Okay, who’s the
biggest freak show?
Francesca:
Well, we’ve got a wide assortment, but it seems the most
dedicated one is a Mr. Carver Dunn.
Ray: Oooh,
he’s a hometown boy.
Francesca:
Look at this. There were 114 letters written over a
three-month period, all of them ending with “Your One True
Love.”
Ray: Hang on a
second. You got a copy of that fax?
Fraser:
Mm-hmm. Any connection?
Ray: Uh, same
lingo. Uh, run him, Frannie.
Fraser: Lingo
is a... Well, it’s a tenuous connection, Ray.
Ray:
Tenuous.
Fraser:
Mmm.
Ray: Look.
[reads from
letter]
“If I can’t have you, no one will.”
[reads from
fax]
“If I can’t have you, no one will.”
Fraser: Yes,
but Ray, these letters, I mean, apart from being a-a-a
testament to the sad and lonely absurdity of man’s cruel
fate...
[Kowalski holds his
head]
...are
relatively benign; whereas this fax is a virtual torrent
of mental illness.
Francesca:
Ooh, look at this. Carver Dunn: disturbing the peace,
loitering...
Ray: Who gets
busted for loitering?
Francesca:
Fruitcakes.
Ray:
Uh-huh.
Francesca:
He’s got a restraining order against him.
Fraser:
[reading over
Frannie’s
shoulder]
Forbidding him to go within a hundred yards of Linda
Lawless, singer. Well, it would appear that perhaps I was
uh...
Ray:
Wrong.
Fraser: Wrong,
and that maybe we should uh...
Ray: Pick him
up.
Fraser: Pick
him up.
[corridor; Kowalski
& Fraser bring in Carver Dunn, rather
roughly]
Dunn: I’m a
wacko! Who’d give a wacko a permit?!
Fraser: The
state of Florida seems to have a loose approach to gun
ownership.
Ray: You ever
been to Florida?
Dunn: Once, to
see Mickey.
Ray: Did he
give you a gun?
Dunn: He’s a
mouse, mister! I was six! Where’s my lawyer?
Ray: How ‘bout
we give him a paraffin test. See if he fired a weapon
recently.
Fraser: Won’t
work, Ray. [sniffs
Dunn’s
hand]
Peroxide.
Dunn: I dyed
my mother’s hair this morning. That’s not a crime!
Ray: In the
state of Illinois? Yes it is, pal. It is a crime to be
your mother’s hairdresser.
Dunn: I’m not
a hairdresser, mister! I’m a
stylist.
Fraser: “If I
can’t have you, no one will.” Did you write these
words?
Dunn: There’s
a fan club. They ask you to write in. That’s not a
crime.
Ray: A police
officer was shot. That’s attempted murder. That is a
crime!
Welsh:
Vecchio! Mr. Dunn is lawyered up.
Ray:
[sarcastic and
angry]
Oh well. Very, very sorry. Terrible, terrible mistake.
Let’s go. You’re free to go. Thanks a lot for coming.
Bye-bye. Your parking will be validated at the door.
[pushes him
out]
Thank you.
[Welsh’s
office]
George: You’re
letting him go! He’s written a million letters, tried to
put a bullet in her, and you’re letting him go?!
Welsh: I’ll
have two of my best men parked outside his house. But
right now we have nothing that places him at the scene of
the shooting. Unless we have some solid evidence we can
take to the State’s Attorney’s Office, there’s-there’s
really not much more we can do.
George: Until
she’s dead. Is that what you’re saying?
Fraser & Ray & Welsh : Not...not really.
George : Cops.
[consulate]
Turnbull: It’s
called ‘I Won’t Be Home for Supper Because They’re a-Gonna
Hang Me
Tonight.’
It’s a story song that blends the world of horticulture
with the world of bank robbery.
[Earl enters, holding a cigar]
Earl: Trace,
you ready?
Turnbull:
Excuse me, but this is a non-smoking environment.
Earl: This is
a cigar. [to
Tracy]
We got about a half hour ‘til the session.
Turnbull: I
could sing it in a heartbeat.
Earl: Band’s
set to go.
Turnbull: I
could do it in double time.
Tracy: All
right, guys.
Earl:
Tracy--
Tracy: Listen,
he-he’s a songwriter. You never know where my next hit
record’s gonna come from. So uh, go on to the car, okay,
Earl? I’ll be right out, all right?
Earl: Okay,
you the boss.
Tracy: So
Constable, how many verses in this song of yours?
Turnbull: Oh!
[grabs chair &
she
sits]
Twenty-one. And a half!
[Earl gets into
limo, finds a plastic stirrer from Cyber Café; he pockets
it]
[recording studio]
[Music: ‘Nobody’s
Girl’ by Michelle Wright]
[Kowalski & Fraser (& Dief) are in the sound room with George, Dwight, and the sound man]
Tracy : [sings] She’s a fallen angel/ She’s just flesh and bone/ She’s the Rock of Ages/ She’s a rolling stone/ She’s Nobody’s Girl...
Arlene : [sings off-key] Nobody’s Girl...
Tracy : [sings] She walks this road alone...
Arlene : [off-key] Nobody’s Girl...
Sound
Man
: Just a touch flat on that, Arlene. Let’s take another
run at it.
Ray:
[into cell
phone]
Any sign of Carver yet?
Huey:
[voice]
No, nothing yet.
Ray: Right.
Well let me know if he sticks his head out.
[stakeout; Carver
Dunn’s]
Huey: Okay.
[hangs
up]
Dewey
: [singing, with
Huey humming a bass
line]
“Don’t call me for supper/ If you don’t mean to feed me/
Don’t tell me you love me/ With that gun in your
hand.”
What do you think of that?
Huey: Uh, I
dunno. What’s it mean though?
Dewey: What’s
what mean?
Huey: Like, is
he going to shoot her, or what?
Dewey: Uh, how
would I know?
Huey: You
wrote it.
Dewey: Well, I
know I wrote it. It’s a song. It’s not supposed to mean
anything.
Huey: Of
course it does. It’s a song. That’s the whole point of
songwriting. It’s supposed to have significance.
[recording
studio]
Tracy
:
[sings]
She’s Nobody’s
Girl...
Arlene:
[off-key]
Nobody’s
Girl.
Tracy : [sings] She walks this road alone...
Arlene
:
[off-key]
Nobody’s
Girl.
Sound Man:
Still a little flat on that one.
Arlene: I’m
sorry. I can get the note.
George:
Question is when.
[mutters]
Five hundred an hour, I’m not sure I wanna know the
answer.
[Arlene yanks off her headset & walks out of the
studio]
Tracy: George,
the mike was still on.
Sound Man: How
‘bout we take five, everybody.
George :[voice] Five? Great, that’s another... $41.66.
[Tracy walks to sound room]
Sound Man : [voice] I know she’s not great, but... Well, I’ve heard worse.
George
:[voice]
Worse?! You killed a pig with your bare hands?
Tracy: George,
there’s no call to be so mean.
[to Kowalski &
Fraser]
Do you mind, guys?
Fraser : Dief.
[Dief whines as they exit]
Ray
: [to
Fraser]
I thought she was pretty good.
Fraser: Good
as in attractive?
Ray: I don’t
care.
Dwight: Look,
her name is Arlene Williams. She was in the band that
opened for us in Minneapolis. Remember the one with the
regional hit?
Tracy: Look, I
hire the talent, Dwight. Always have, always will.
Dwight: Oh
well, hey. God forbid that the great Tracy Jenkins would
need anybody else’s help!
[studio; Fraser
approaches the piano & plinks out the melody to
‘Nobody’s Girl,’ then tries a different key]
Muddy: Hey.
What are you doing there, son?
Fraser: Well,
it just occurred to me that if the song were moved up a
minor third, it might ease the tempo and release the
vocal.
Muddy: Now
that just occurred to you?
Fraser: Yes,
sir.
[sound
room]
Tracy: Dwight,
this girl may have a talent, but since it doesn’t appear
to be singing, maybe you can tell me what her talent is,
huh?
Dwight: Ohhh,
how cold is that heart of yours, baby, huh? And how hard
would it be to allow me to contribute every now and then,
huh?
George:
Contribute?! Contribute? Your contribution turns out to be
a girl who couldn’t hold a tune with handcuffs!
Dwight: Am I
talking to you, huh? Do I ever talk to you?!
Sound Man:
[returning]
Issue’s dead guys. Arlene quit.
Dwight: Nice
work, George. Good management there, buddy. Why don’t you
go on out there and see if you can’t lose the rest of the
band while you’re on a roll?!
[Fraser plinks out
‘Nobody’s Girl’ in the new key... Tracy approaches &
sings along; Fraser, mortified, stops & stands up
quickly]
Tracy: You
sing?
Fraser: Me,
sing?
[laughing]
No, no, no, no... Well, when I was a child...church
choirs. Well, if we were within sledding distance.
Tracy: Oh.
That minor third idea, that-that’s a great idea.
[to
Muddy]
Let’s get him a mike.
Muddy: Boys,
we’re gonna try a little something here. It’s a little bit
country, and it’s a little bit rock-and-roll.
Fraser: Well,
no, no, no... I’m, I’m, I uh... I mean I, I...
[hallway]
[Kowalski &
Earl sit together; Earl sips from a flask]
Ray: Kind of
a...high maintenance job, huh? Running security for
artistes?
Earl: Huh.
Yeah, well, it’s better than my last job. Worked homicide
ten years, Memphis PD.
Ray: Hmm,
Memphis. [accepts
proffered
flask]
You ever meet Elvis?
Earl: Yep.
Couple days ago. Nice guy. Bit tubby.
Ray:
Tubby.
[27th
precinct; Frannie rolls a TV down the hallway]
Turnbull: Oh,
uh, Miss Vecchio!
Francesca:
Constable Turnbull!
Turnbull: I
got your message.
Francesca:
Well, you could’ve just called me back.
Turnbull:
Well, you said it was important, and it’s only 97
blocks.
Francesca:
Listen, um, you’re kind of a country music expert,
right?
Turnbull: I am
a buff, yes. A devotee. Possibly aficionado. But an
expert... heh heh, you flatter me.
Francesca:
Okay, whatever, listen. I got fifty bucks riding on this.
Do you know of
any songs about
donkeys?
[pause]
Turnbull
: I’ll certainly put my mind to it.
Francesca:
Great. Thanks.
Turnbull: Oh,
uh, uh... If you’ll do me the favor of allowing me to
convince you of the depth and resonance of country
music.
Francesca:
Yeah, well, I’m kinda busy right now.
Turnbull: Uh,
oh, perhaps, um, during your lunch, maybe we could have a
beverage. Non-alcoholic, caffeine-free,
sugarless....
Francesca: You
mean like a date?
Turnbull: A
date. A-a-a date, wow, a date. Um, possibly, uh,
perhaps.
Francesca: Um,
I just-I can’t leave the building, and I’m kinda... I’m
kinda working through lunch.
[exits]
Turnbull:
[grinning]
Say no more.
[recording
studio]
[Tracy sings
‘Nobody’s Girl’ (in the new key) with Fraser as backup;
Fraser is very stiffly moving to the music; Kowalski
watches from the sound room]
Ray: That man
has the rhythm of a stick. Come on, Fraser. Do something.
Move.
[corridor]
[Earl stealthily enters Tracy’s dressing
room]
[27th precinct; break room]
[Turnbull has
arranged a lovely candle-lit lunch for two]
Turnbull: You
said you couldn’t leave the building, and I have a friend
who lives nearby, so I borrowed his kitchen to whip you
up
tagliatelle al
cartoccio
con pomodore e basilico da fiera
Mosca
.
Francesca: So,
is this like a prerequisite for being a Mountie? You just
have to be completely nutty? I mean I was just thinking of
a...hot dog from a street vendor.
Turnbull: Oh,
no, no, the fecal matter count is far too high,
far too high. Do
you like poetry, Miss Vecchio?
[music: ‘You Are Always on My Mind’ by Willie
Nelson]
Francesca:
Poetry? Yeah, yeah, I like poetry. “We are the hollow men/
We are...” the fulfilled guys. Yeah, I love poetry.
Turnbull: Oh,
I’m glad. I’m so very glad. Because you see, country music
is the poetry of the people. Unaffected. Heartfelt. It has
great strength and-and beauty. And if you love the tender
muscle of the English language, you have to love a man for
simply saying...
[speaks along with
lyrics]
You are always on my mind.
Francesca: I
am always on your mind?
Turnbull: I
know of a mule.
Francesca: You
do?
Turnbull:
Different from a donkey, genetically speaking, but
metaphorically, very agreeable. Walter Brennan. ‘That
Mule, Old Rivers, and Me.’
Francesca: I
was always on your mind?
[Turnbull grins sheepishly]
Desk Sergeant:
Must be the uniform.
Officer 2:
Isn’t that
sweet.
[recording studio]
Sound Man: You
should sign this guy up.
George: I just
might.
Muddy: You
were damn good, I mean
damn good!
Fraser: Well,
thank you, Mr. Muddy.
Muddy: Yeah.
Keep rocking.
Fraser: Excuse
me. [joins
Kowalski]
Ray: Forensics
got a partial print off the postcard, but nothing they can
use. You seen Earl?
Fraser: No, I
was uh...
Ray: Moving
like a block of wood.
Fraser: I’m
sorry.
Ray: Singing
like a bird.
Fraser:
Really?
Ray: I didn’t
tell you what kind of bird.
Fraser:
Oh.
George: Anyone
seen Tracy?
[stakeout]
[Dunn strolls by
The Duck Boys]
Dewey:
[singing]
“Do you mind if I
talk.”
No.
“Do you mind if I
speak.”
Yeah!
“Do you mind if I speak... Do you mind if I speak/ I would
like to be frank/ Your cooking is wretched and....”
Huey
: This coffee’s rank.
Dewey:
Perfect.
Huey: No, no,
no. This coffee is rank.
Dewey
: Who cares? It rhymes.
[cell phone
rings]
Huey:
[answering]
Yeah.
[recording
studio]
Ray: Watch
him! Do not let him move out of the house! We may have
lost her. I-I say
may have lost
her.
[Dief barks from
behind Tracy’s locked door; Fraser lets him out]
Fraser: We
have lost her.
[street; Tracy flags down a cab]
[exotic dance club.
Music: ‘Why Don’t You Want Me’ by Roy Buchanan &
Denise Osso]
[Dunn arrives &
sits down at Earl’s table]
Dunn: Did you
get the underpants?
Earl:
Stockings.
Dunn: You said
underpants.
Earl: I said
stockings. [hands
over a paper bag]
Dunn
: Jeez! You wouldn’t be forgetting about those
racketeering charges in Memphis, now would you,
mister?
Earl: You
know, I was in Yellow Springs once. Ohio?
Dunn:
Oh?
Earl: Sitting
across the table from a guy kinda like you. A little
diddler. And it didn’t take much. Two hands, short move.
Both his eyeballs were hanging out of his sockets.
Dunn:
What-what are you trying to say?
Earl: Check
the statute of limitations. As of tomorrow I’m off the
hook.
Dunn: Well,
maybe your boss would like to know
tonight.
Earl:
[grabs
Dunn]
You see, this is how it works. You put your thumbs here,
then you pop the eyes like you’re opening a can of beer. I
see your eyes swinging on your cheeks. All you see is your
boots.
[slams Dunn back into his chair; Dunn runs off; waitress
approaches]
Waitress: Will
there be anything else?
Earl: Just the
check please.
[someone approaches
Earl, places a silenced gun against his neck, and fires...
the person takes the stirrer from Earl’s pocket and exits;
Earl collapses onto the
table...
someone
screams]
[police at the scene]
Waitress: Well,
I was working the floor alone, on account of Doreen had
some kind of foot fungus thing, which is typical, and
there was the normal bunch of creeps, and...oh, we had a
special party, a stag for a guy named Smith, and then the
dead guy who ordered for one.
[hands over a
receipt]
Fraser: Double
bacon, double cheese, double mayo. It’s not very
healthy.
Ray: Better
than a bullet.
Fraser: Does
this time code here indicate the time he paid?
Waitress: No,
no, no. That’s the time I rang it in. The guy died before
he paid me, which is typical, so now I’m out $8.99. He
didn’t have any loose bills on him did he?
Fraser: Uhm,
no. But I’d be happy to take care of that.
[pulls money from
his
Stetson]
There you are.
Waitress: Oh,
is this Canadian?
Fraser: Yes,
it is.
Waitress:
Better make it a hundred.
Fraser:
Ray?
[27th
precinct; Welsh’s office]
Welsh: You
were writing a song? The prime suspect in the shooting of
a police officer eluded surveillance because you were
writing a
song?!
We’ll revisit this momentarily. Do we have anything that
places Carver at the scene of the crime?
[silence]
Is there any evidence that
anybody was at
the scene of the crime?!
Fraser: There
were 23 other men at the club, sir. Unfortunately their
attention was largely diverted by a number of women who
were performing what I’m told is a form of modern
dance.
[Kowalski
smirks]
Ray: Uh, the
waitress figured that the, um, dead guy was waiting for
someone.
Welsh: Hmm.
That would be Carver Dunn, who miraculously slipped
through our usually vice-like police dragnet, and managed
to get to the club at 3:35.
Dewey: Sir,
according to the reports, everybody who knew the deceased
had opportunity.
Ray: Including
Tracy Jenkins.
Welsh: Who
also
miraculously slipped through our usually vice-like police
dragnet!
Fraser: Yes,
sir. We had, or rather I had, become momentarily blinded
by the bright lights of the music business.
Welsh: Is that
so?
Fraser: Yes,
sir.
Welsh: And
you?
Ray: You know
my eyes, sir. But uh, we’re working on another
angle.
Welsh: Oh
good, good, good, good. That’s encouraging. And how about
you guys. You got anything?
Dewey:
Actually, uh, we’re pretty close.
Huey: Yes,
sir. Uh, ‘There’s a house we call love/ Built next door to
hate/ And both them got lawns with a white picket gate/
Their taxes don’t differ/ And their water’s the same.’
Dewey: One more
line? We got that chorus, sir.
Huey : Right.
[Welsh rubs his hands down his face]
Dewey : Oh, you meant in terms of police work. I see. Okay.
[they exit as Dutch enters]
Dutch: Yo, Ray.
This guy, Mr. Brown-Smith-Jones dropped this off for you.
[hands Kowalski a
video cassette]
Fraser: Thank
you kindly.
[the videotape
plays]
Ray: What
losers. This stag party really sucks.
Welsh: Here it
is. Top of the frame.
[video shows Earl seated at a table alone]
Fraser: He was
expecting someone.
[tape ends]
Ray: Couple of
more seconds and we would’ve had it.
Fraser: We may
still have it.
[rewinds tape: Carver Dunn approaches Earl’s table]
Fraser
: There’s your man.
Welsh: Pick
him up.
[consulate]
George: Now
sweetheart, I want you to get some sleep. First thing in
the morning, we’ll try and patch things up with Dwight.
The man loves you in his own way, and as crazy as he makes
me, he did write The Tune. He’s always been part of the
team.
Tracy: Well,
George...
George:
What?
Tracy: What
about Earl? Wasn’t he part of the team?
George: Yes,
darlin’, he was. And what happened to him is a sad, sad
thing. And if I sound casual about it, believe me I don’t
feel casual. And that’s why you running off like you did
today scares me half to death.
Tracy: I just
feel like I’m living in a fishbowl and it’s driving me
crazy.
George: I
know, I know, I know, and that’s why I am gonna look at
all the bookings. I’m gonna find you some breathing room.
In the meantime, you stay here. Stay safe. Stay put. Let
the Mountie look after you. I’ll call you first thing in
the morning.
[kisses her on the
forehead]
Get some sleep.
Tracy:
Okay.
[Fraser’s
office]
[Fraser is
strumming on the guitar; Tracy enters with a bottle of
wine & two glasses]
Tracy: Hi. I
hope this isn’t too forward. I was just having some
trouble sleeping and I heard your guitar. Thought
I’d...
Fraser: Oh,
no, no, no. Please.
Tracy:
Sit?
Fraser:
Please. To be entirely truthful, I was having difficulty
sleeping also.
Tracy:
Entirely truthful. Well, that’s a concept. Would you like
a drink?
Fraser: Oh no.
Thank you. I don’t drink. Well, unless it’s the obligatory
toast to the Queen’s health.
Tracy: So you
don’t lie, and you don’t drink.
Fraser:
No.
Tracy: You’re
a rare specimen, Constable.
Fraser: Oh, I
shouldn’t think so. You know, not all men are--
Tracy: Awww,
like my husband Dwight? You know underneath it all, he’s a
good man. He wrote my first hit song, ‘Scaredy Cat.’ We
never call it by the title, though. We’ve always just
called it The
Tune.
But I’m-I’m grateful for that song.
Fraser: How
did you get started singing?
Tracy: Sixteen
years old, first time I stepped foot on stage. Flin Flon,
Manitoba. There was about 20 people in the audience, but
uh...I knew right then what I was gonna do with my life.
Just seems so far away now. It’s gotten so
complicated.
[Fraser reaches
over & removes something from her hair]
Fraser: Were
you at the Strattenger Building today?
Tracy: I’m
divorcing Dwight. My lawyers are there. How’d you
know?
Fraser: Pine
needle. They have a magnificent northern pine in the
lobby. I often go there if I’m...homesick.
Tracy: So, do
you have a home up north?
Fraser:
Mm-hmm, yeah. Well, it’s a cabin, actually.
Well...lean-to, really.
Tracy: Well
maybe I can see it sometime.
Fraser: That
would be nice.
[sidewalk; uniformed
cop picks up Carver Dunn]
[27th precinct]
Fraser: Let’s
see what Mr. Dunn has in his knapsack.
Francesca:
Tracy Jenkins poster. Tracy Jenkins tape. Pair of silk
stockings...I don’t even want to know. Two unopened Tracy
Jenkins CDs.
Fraser:
[picks up
receipt]
Hmm. Excuse me.
[interrogation
room]
Ray: We got a
piece of tape that puts you in the bar.
Dunn: There
were a lot of other people in that bar, mister.
Ray: We
searched your room. We found this in your closet,
newspaper clippings. It seems the deceased had some
trouble with the law, which you used to blackmail him,
which he got sick of, which forced
you to kill
him!
Dunn: I didn’t
kill him!
Ray: You
didn’t?!
Dunn:
No!
Fraser:
[entering]
No, he didn’t, Ray.
Ray:
[aside]
Come on, Fraser, I’m really laying on the lumber
here.
Fraser: I
realize that and I apologize. But he is telling the truth.
He’s innocent.
Dunn
: Yeah, sometimes he’d bring me stuff, stockings and
stuff, and sometimes he’d get ‘em. Except some stuff he
couldn’t get, like I really, really wanted a pair of
her--
Welsh: Save
it, mush-mouth.
Dunn: Don’t
tell my mom, okay, mister?
Welsh:
[to Kowalski &
Fraser]
Outside.
Ray:
[mutters]
Someone ought to check that guy’s freezer.
[corridor]
Welsh: So if
our clocks tally, our little extortionist was at the other
end of the street buying a CD when the guy was
killed.
Fraser: And
the clocks do tally, sir, and the clerk identified him
from a photograph.
Welsh: Dutch?
Set Carver free please.
[exits]
Ray: Coffee? So
if the killer’s not Carver, it’s got to be somebody who
knew Carver was gonna meet Earl.
Fraser: Well,
not necessarily. I mean the killer could have just
followed Earl and then killed him when the first
opportunity to do so presented itself.
Ray: Okay,
someone tries to kill the star. Then somebody
does kill the
star’s bodyguard. Come on,
Fraser.
No connection? The peroxide, the letters, the silk
stockings? The guy’s a pervert.
Fraser: Well,
I agree he’s a pervert. He’s also an extortionist. Ray, I
do not believe that Mr. Dunn had anything to do with
either shooting.
Francesca
: Maybe someone’s trying to frame him. Like, let’s look at
the husband. There’s rumors of a divorce, right? If they
get a divorce, he gets nothing. That’s a motive.
Ray: Okay,
where’s that leave Earl?
Fraser: Well,
perhaps Earl was in on the plan to murder her, or perhaps
he found out about it, and he was using that to blackmail
Dwight. Is that what you were thinking more or less?
Francesca:
Exactly what I was thinking.
Ray: Okay,
let’s run Dwight on the computer.
Francesca: I
already did. There’s nothing. I mean, unless he’s got an
alias.
Dunn
: Dwight Jones, born Dwight Parsons. Changes his name
after tracking his birth parents to a trailer park in
Louisiana, 1979.
Ray: Okay,
thanks.
Dunn: Meets
Tracy Jenkins, March 4th 1981, at the Sixteen
Acre Lounge, Nashville, Tennessee. She, a cocktail
waitress; he, a disc jockey with a criminal record for
fraud and assault.
Ray: Okay,
that’s good.
Dunn: Tracy is
nothing if not loyal. Her current manager, George Monroe,
was the former owner of the Sixteen Acre Lounge. And her
band leader, Muddy Johnson, was the
guitarist-in-residence.
Ray: You can
shut up now.
Dunn: From her
earliest days, Tracy displayed a determination to conquer
singing.
Ray: Okay,
that’s it! Enough said!
[pushes Dunn into
the
elevator]
Close your talking hole, okay?!
Dunn:
[shouting]
She played until her fingers bled.
[elevator doors
close]
That’s just the kind of person she is, mister!
[consulate]
Turnbull: Miss
Jenkins?
[runs from room to room]
Turnbull : Uh, Miss Jenkins? It’s Constable Turnbull. Whoo-hoo, Miss Jenkins? Miss Jenkins? Uh, uh, oh dear, Music Hall. She said she was going to Music Hall. Constable Fraser, Constable Fraser. Constable Fraser. [dials phone]
[27th precinct]
Huey &
Dewey:
[singing]
Their taxes don’t differ.
Huey:
No, they don’t!
Huey &
Dewey:
[singing]
And their water’s the same/ But in one you get comfort/
And in the other house shame.
Huey
: Yee haw! Nashville, here we come!
Dewey:
Somebody call up Wilkinson, Hallett, and Summerlane, and
sign this act up!
Fraser: Excuse
me. Wilkinson, Hallett, and Summerlane, aren’t they in the
Strattenger Building?
Dewey: Yeah,
on Michigan Avenue, yep.
Fraser: I
thought they were divorce lawyers.
Dewey: No, not
divorce lawyers, nothing as tawdry as that. These guys are
talent managers. High-powered, low key. Remember the
Unplugged fad?
[Fraser shakes his
head]
Dewey: That was
them. They created it. They’re taking on some of the
biggest acts in the business.
Huey: That’s
right.
Fraser: Like
Tracy Jenkins.
Ray: Fraser,
come on. Turnbull’s got his pumpkin pants in a knot.
Thinks Tracy’s gonna make that date at the Music Hall
tonight.
[Fraser & Kowalski
exit]
Francesca:
Na-na-nah, excuse me boys. ‘That Old Mule, Rivers and Me,’
Walter Brennan, fifty
bucks!
Cough it up! Anhhh!
[outside Music
Hall]
Fraser: Excuse
me, Mr. Muddy?
Muddy: Sorry,
I’m late for rehearsal. Gotta go, man.
[inside Music
Hall]
Tracy: Check,
check, two, one, two. I need a bit more monitor there,
okay? Check, two, two, two, one two. Where the hell is
Muddy?
[outside]
Muddy: Whew.
Sixteen Acres, boys. Boy I’ll tell you...that was a bad
dive on the bad side of bad street. Nobody had a dime back
then. We’d all go down to the A & P grocery store and
shoplift some bologna and crackers, play a couple of songs
for free beer. Life was good. ha ha ha. Tracy was just a
kid back then. We was all crazy about Tracy, man.
Especially old George.
Fraser: Was
George involved with Tracy?
Muddy: Yeah.
Except she didn’t know it. ha ha ha ha. Tracy had a thing
going on with Dwight. Old George hung in there anyway. And
when the Sixteen Acres burned, he took the insurance money
and produced her first album. He’d have done anything for
Tracy.
Fraser:
Including commit arson?
Muddy: Well,
you know, that was a long time ago and you know, nobody’s
sure. But uh, you know, one thing is, the bar burned,
George got the cash, Tracy got an album, and I got a real
good job. ha ha ha.
Ray: What’d
Dwight get?
Muddy: Bitter.
ha ha ha. Gotta go, man. Gotta go.
[inside Music
Hall]
[Tracy rehearses.
Music: ‘Every Time You Come Around’ by Michelle
Wright]
[Kowalski & Dwight watch from the wings, Fraser
investigates the catwalk; a gun aims at Tracy from behind
a curtain... Kowalski spots it & shines the spotlight
up; the gun fires at Kowalski, shattering the spotlight...
Kowalski fires into the air, and everyone scatters; Fraser
swings over on a rope & knocks the gunman to the
stage: it’s George!... he grabs Tracy & holds gun on
her]
Fraser: George!
You’ve nowhere to go. The building is surrounded with
police officers.
Ray: It’s all
over.
George: I was
gonna take care of her. I gave up everything I had for her
and she was just gonna throw me away!
Tracy: George,
I wasn’t! I was always going to take care of you.
George: What,
turn me into a loser like
Dwight?!
I don’t need you to take care of
me!
I had big plans for us.
Tracy: George,
now you’re going to kill me?!
George: Kill
you?! Tracy...I love you!
[Kowalski grabs
George, disarms him, and cops rush
forward]
[concert in progress]
[Tracy motions for
Fraser to join her; he demurs, but Kowalski shoves him
onto the stage]
[Music: ‘Nobody’s Girl’ by Michelle Wright]
[Dewey & Huey & Welsh & (dozing) Inspector
Thatcher at table]
Welsh:
[nudges
Thatcher]
Great, huh?
Thatcher:
[rouses]
Exhilarating.
[Turnbull (in cowboy hat) and Francesca (holding cowboy hat) at table]
Francesca : I just can’t wear hats. I don’t-I don’t have a hat face.
[Turnbull looks crushed]
Dewey
: It *has* to be Huey and Dewey.
Huey: Oh,
yeah? Why?
Dewey: Because
all the great acts have two names.
Huey: Like
who?
Dewey: Laurel
and Hardy, Abbott and Costello... Milton Berle.
[Huey gives Dewey a look]
[Carver Dunn & Officer McCafferty – with (left) arm in sling – at table]
Dunn
: I’m sorry I shot you, mister.
McCafferty:
You didn’t shoot me.
Dunn: Oh,
that’s right.
[Dwight & Dief at table; Dief has beer]
Dwight : I don’t know, then everything just got worse. I lost my pickup, my mama died, had a hernia operation. You gonna drink that?
[Dief groans]
[concert ends, to a standing ovation]
[consulate; Fraser’s office]
[Fraser irons his Stetson; knock knock knock]
Fraser: Come
in.
Dwight:
Hey.
Fraser:
Ah.
[music: ‘Western
End of the Trail’ by Jay Semko & Jack Lenz]
Dwight
: The bus is all set to go here. I just, uh...thought I’d
come in and say that I’m sorry you got tangled up in this.
You know, money, it’s...got this way of making people see
things funny, you know?
Fraser:
Indeed. You know, it’s been reported that when Colonel Tom
Parker heard that Elvis had died, the first words out of
his mouth were, “This changes nothing. Double
production.”
Dwight: Yeah.
Yeah, it can be an ugly business.
Fraser: You
two going to be all right?
Dwight: Yeah,
sure. She needs me.
[they shake
hands]
Catch you down the line, buddy.
[exits]
[Tracy
enters]
Tracy
: Well, this is it. I came to say goodbye, and to say
thank you for everything.
Fraser: Oh no,
I should thank you for letting me sing. It was
very...stirring.
Tracy:
Stirring. I didn’t know you could be stirred.
Fraser: Yeah.
I-I can be stirred.
Tracy: Well
then, maybe I could interest you in seeing America through
the window of a tour bus.
Fraser: I’d
love to, but I’m afraid that I have...
[glances behind
him]
obligations.
Tracy: Another
woman.
Fraser:
Mmm.
Tracy: I
thought so. I’ll never forget you, Fraser.
[kisses him on the
cheek, and exits]
[Fraser looks at the Queen’s picture]
Fraser: The
things I do for
you.
End
[note: the song that the Duck Boys write is ‘Two Houses’ by Paul Gross & David Keeley]