The Adventures of Frank Race, starring Paul Dubov. The war changed many things, the face of the earth and the people on it. Before the war, Frank Race worked as an attorney, but he traded his law books for the cloak and dagger of the OSS. And when it was over, his former life was over too. Adventure had become his business, The Adventures of Frank Race. And now we join Frank Race for the adventure of the sobbing bodyguard. It wasn't what you might call a respectable hour, and I had nothing left but a grunt of relief as I doused the light and burrowed into the bedding. There'd been a meeting with two former combat companions, a pair of lusty travelers intent upon my liquid downfall. I'd outlasted them, but now with mourning threatening to crack at any minute, I needed no crystal ball to forecast what had held for me, a fat hangover. But before I could concentrate on oblivion, there came a sound from the living room. I heard the switch click and then... That you, Mark? Yeah, be in a second. What goes on? Where are you? Bed. Finally. What have you been doing? Packing someone on your back? Look, whether you know it or not, you ain't kidding. Well, I hope you're kidding. I'm in no condition to nurse me to a drunk. Look, your bottle. Oh, I'm sober enough. You actually have someone in there? Race, remember when you were in Italy last summer by yourself? Yes. Well, I took a fair up to Saratoga for the races. While I was up there, I got into a beef with Addy Harrington. I'm a little muddy. The name rings no bell. Look, get with it, will you? Nightclub owner, hot guy. We get into an argument at the track and I bust him in his snowt and he has his boys working me over. And this is the first time you tell me about it? Well, I guess I was kind of ashamed of being moral. Of course, I took four of them to do it, do you understand? I understand. And does all this have something to do with the fair you just unloaded in the living room? It does indeed, brother. That lump in there happens to be Harrington. Come again, will you? If he's drunk, why bring him here? Or are we conducting a haven for lusher's? Grace, listen to me. The guy in there ain't drunk. He's dead. That brought me out of bed and sent me into the living room with a lunge. Mark's passenger lay spilled over the end of the divan. A big fella, the athletic type gone to seed. His features even in death held to a sadistic leer. That's quite a deal, huh? What's the story? And it better be good. There ain't nothing good about it. Look, I am in Follies having me a cup of coffee. When I come out here, there's this lad planted in the cab. A guy I had a roof on with. The guy that had me beat up. And he's dead in my hack of a bullet through the scots. So right there I say to myself, Donovan, you are behind the well-known double forebore. Bullets through the year. Could have been suicide. Are you a kid with no gun around? No, Grace, no. The brains of homicide were just snorted, that one. I gotta plant this boy in somebody else's doorstep, that's all. I gotta think about it with great care. Mark, the smart thing to do would be to call the police. Oh, no, no, no. I don't want to do that, Grace. First place, I tear the thing for a frame. Not against me in particular, you understand. It's just that somebody perforated this guy and wants a patsy to pin it on. I happen to fit. Motive and everything. All right, if you want to play it that way. But if the police do move in, it'll be that much tougher. Why don't you just dump him out in the street somewhere right away? Ah, because I picked up a tail the moment I pulled away from Farley's. A prowl car, no less. Latched on, wouldn't let go. Followed me right here to the door. I had to make like this boy was a drunk I was delivering home. It's all two pats. Are they still outside? No, I think they left. I'll have a look, though. Hey. Still there? Yeah, with another one pulling up behind him. If this thing is getting tied in a French bathing suit, I'm gonna get out of here. Wait, what for? Them cops! If they take you, I'll have you out in a matter of hours. Look, nothing doing. I never liked a clink. But if you really want to help me, here's something you should know. Harrington and I got into that fracas because of a dame he was shoving around, see? Dish by the name of Carl Kennedy. Last I heard she was singing somewhere in Jersey City. I'll see you later. He got clear of the room by a scant couple of minutes. The visiting group included a patrolman and a couple of plainclothes officers. One of the detectives I knew, a Lieutenant Kessel. This was a complication because we'd never liked each other. Does this layout belong to you, Race? I've been under that impression. What's the picture? Am I being evicted? I'll laugh at that one after breakfast, but I'm not so liable a gag on it. How'd he explain the lad on the divan? Looks a little inebriated. He's dead and you know it. How'd he get in here? All you had to do was push the door open. He might have done the same thing. With a bullet hole in his head? Why don't you stop? Where's the other guy that lives in the apartment? He was spotted packing this cargo in here. What's the pitch, Kessel? It's all so pat. You're knowing just when to arrive and tabbing Donovan so neatly. He felt he was being framed by someone. Looks as though he's right. You helped him get away, didn't you? You can put that one back in your hat, Lieutenant. I know nothing about this business. Anything I do for Donovan from now on will be done in my capacity as a licensed investigator. Yeah? Well, first you're going to stand a little investigating yourself. Starting as of now. What with the medical examiner and pictures and questions, it was eight o'clock before I was able to detach myself long enough to grab a shower. After this, Kessel finally and grudgingly indicated that I wasn't to be taken in. So I went out for a breakfast of dry toast and black coffee. While I ordered, another customer slid onto the stool beside me. Plump, sleek, well manicured, he eyed the counterman with the quiet gaze of a snake, digesting a rabbit. You only have some coffee, too. Make sure it's hot or I'll push your face in it. Hi, Race. Remember me? I remember you. Flip Clemson. Ah. I come in here so I could talk to you. I'm gratified. I hear you got out of Harrington's body over to your place. You're full of news. I hear things. But this is hard to believe. You see, Race, I've been working as Harrington's bodyguard, and I couldn't help feeling real hurt if that was really Addy's body. Sorry, Flip. You'll have to read about it in the papers. Keep stalling. I ain't gonna like it. Look, Flip, I've had a tough night. I've got a headache. Start nagging me and your face will go into the coffee. Don't ever try nothing like that with me, Race. You'll only get your fingers down your throat. A long wait down. All right. Now that we've both made faces at each other, why don't we just say so long? Race. Yes? That ain't really Harrington's body, is it? Buy a paper, Flip. Read all about it. A nightclub at noon. It's like looking at an unmade bed. And the yellow slipper in Jersey City was no exception. But there was nothing dowdy about the girl I found there practicing new vocal numbers. No. I don't mind taking time out. But if you're an agent, I already have one. Do I look like an agent? They come in all shapes and sizes. I don't know anything about your mentality. I'm not an agent. Wouldn't be a better job, would it? No deal if strings dangle from it. Put away the charculance, will you? I came over here simply to ask an impersonal question. Go ahead. Can you think of any reason why Addy Harrington would want to commit suicide? Can I? She took time out for a few seconds and the weariness tightened across her features. She turned to the man at the piano. The swarthy personality looked more like a croupier than an accompanist. Hear that, Rocko? Yeah. Yeah, I hear it. What would you say? I would say Addy wouldn't commit suicide for nothing or nobody. Well, Race, there you are. I asked you the question. No offense, Rocko, but would you mind getting lost? Me? I'm a stay. Unless Coral tell me to go. Take five, Rocko. Go get yourself a beer. For some reason Rocko didn't like it, but he left. And then I told the girl about Mark Dunnaman. Oh, yes, the cab driver. Well, I certainly do remember him. You see, Harrington got pretty mean that day. I think your friend saved me a mauling. Harrington was like that. I always wanted to wrestle. And you had enough of that type. I've had a hat full. How about helping Dunnaman? What can I do? I didn't even know Harrington was dead until you broke the news. Who else could I talk to about Harrington? Rocko Mentora. Rocko knew him pretty well, but Rocko never liked him. Rocko doesn't like questions. Who else? You could talk to Jean Harrington, Addy's wife. Where would I find her at his club? Jean? She never went near the place. You wouldn't be caught dead in it. Don't sound so bitter. Doesn't go with those freckles on your nose. Afraid I can't help it. Singing in a $1.95 layout like this when I could be in New York. And if it weren't for Harrington, I would be. New York isn't very far from here. When do you have a night off? Tomorrow. But if you... Dinner with me? I'm the mental type. I don't start wrestling until very late in the evening. All right, Ray. Might be fun. This thing was beginning to worry me. They brought Mark Donovan to trial. He might not fare so well. They bring out his liking for bras. They dwell on a revenge motive. I had a friend with the district attorney's office, so I called him only to find he'd gone on a vacation. But the call brought results. The office sent a visitor that evening, a deputy DA by the name of Manning. He stirred up quite a fuss at the office this afternoon, Rayce. What's the gripe against the police department? I thought I was talking to Carlson when I got on the phone. That's why it seemed as though I was popping off. Oh, they said you seemed to think the homicide bureau was pulling a fast one. That's the nuts. There's nothing wrong with the department. Nothing vicious, but a thickhead by the name of Kessel happens to be handling the Harrington case. Someone gave him a tip on Mark Donovan. He can't think of anything else. Oh, yeah. I know Kessel. One track mind. But what do you want us to do? I called Carlson because I thought he might give me a break on information. I got nothing from Kessel but abuse. Well, I'll do what I can to help. Right now, we don't know any more than was in the papers. But I'll keep in touch with you. It was about an hour after he left that I got a call from Mark Donovan. Rayce, I think I'm in trouble. Where are you? Michael's drug store. You know, on the one right around the corner. What's the problem? A couple of joes at the fountain look like dicks. They've been giving me the double O. Now, if I had you here to sort of create one of them divisions... I'll be right there. Right away. Stay put. Oh, you ain't going nowhere, Rayce. You're going to stay right here. It was Rocco, the Jersey City piano player, standing just inside the doorway. There was fever in his eyes and the way he drew on the cigarette plaster to his lower lip and the way he gripped the automatic in his hand. He was feeling big and tough and in command of things. My guess would have been the stuff that dreams are made of. Bad dreams. Some drug that made him about the deadliest item in the city at the moment. I spoke soothingly to him. Sit down, Rocco. We'll have something to drink. Won't do you no good to try not to, Rayce. Because I'm pulling a stopper. Right now. We'll return to the Adventures of Frank Rayce in just about one minute. And now back to the Adventures of Frank Rayce. I was on the floor with a room full of gun smoke, with Rocco still at the door looking as though he'd just been elevated to a priesthood. But his bullets hadn't spilled me. I had dropped the split second before he fired and now I feigned limpness, reasoning he'd come over for a closer look. He did. And when he got near enough... I grabbed him! And now Rocco was down and out. It was probably going to be several minutes before he'd be capable of answering questions and unfortunately I couldn't hang around, not with Mark waiting for me. But at the drug store there was no sign of Mark. I slammed back to the apartment and found Rocco gone too, which left me floundering. So I called headquarters and I learned that Mark Donovan had just been brought in and was being booked on suspicion of murder. Now I had two things to do. One was to see about freeing Mark. The other was to pay a visit to a woman I'd never met. Cool and sparkling, she reminded me of fine glass. It was hard to picture as being married to a man like Addy Harrington. Then it occurred to me that I hadn't seen Addy Harrington at his best. You're not a policeman, Mr. Ray. How do you know? You're too intelligent looking. Hmm. I can see I'm going to have to tread carefully with you. Not unless you. Not unless you want to. I have a taste for big men who also happen to be good looking. And you a brand new widow. Addy and I were divorced six months ago. It was a parting without tears. And you don't know a thing about what just happened to him? Not a thing, Rayce. Yet right away you're going to enact for me a man you've never seen before. Why? I don't know what you mean. Look, Duchess, you're much too smooth to start gushing within the first fifteen minutes. Unless you have a motive. Oh, come now, Rayce. You underestimate yourself. You wouldn't want to tell me if Harrington carried heavy insurance, would you? I would if I could, mister. But Addy Harrington always kept his affairs very much to himself, which was one of the reasons we were never compatible. Do you happen to know anything about his death? Only what I read in the newspapers. I've been out of town, Rayce. I got back only a few hours ago. Uh-huh. Well, is there anything you can tell me about a lad called Rocco Mentora? I don't believe I've ever heard of him. With a slight touch of hesitation, indicating that your answer would hardly stand up against the lie machine. Rayce, for a man who isn't with the police, you're boringly inquisitive. I'm sorry, Duchess, I have to be. In this case, it'll keep a friend of mine from being convicted of murder. Hey, Rayce. Come on over. Hello, Clemson. Rayce, this is Johnny Ortega. Climb in, we'll give you a lift. No, thanks. I need the exercise. What'd I tell you, Johnny? Cagey guy. Never wants to say nothing. Rayce, go on, go on, look at me. It's all I've been ballin'. Guys gotta write the ball when a pal gets knocked off, ain't he? Well, ain't he? I guess he has, Flip. Addy Harrington was a good guy. An unhappy guy, too. The club going broke on him. There was no reason for the knock Addy off. Besides, it ain't good for a bodyguard's career to lose an employer. Who's this pal of yours that gunned him down, Rayce? Hang up, Flip. You've got the wrong number. You heard me. Who was he? Sorry, Flip. All right, you asked for it. Take him, Johnny. Ortega had been standing alongside the car and suddenly I found myself in the iron clutch of a hammerlock. Maybe he'll talk before Ortega breaks your arm. Put a little pressure on him, Johnny. Don't cave, give. If you talk a Johnny, he'll twist that arm clear over your head. Give him another boost, Johnny. When you're standing erect, there's an antidote for a hammerlock. But you have to get your feet clear of your man. Ortega, busy with his sadism, finally left himself open. So against his shin, I jammed a heavy heel. He let go of the hammerlock and sat down on the sidewalk to rock back and forth in agony. Flip, glimpsed and stared in disbelief for a second, then stabbed at the car's glove compartment. But he dropped the gun, getting it out. And as he bent over, I jammed his head against the floorboard and got it myself. Just relax, Flip. Then we'll all be happier. Personally, I have no hard feelings at all. Because you've just given me the probable reason for Addie Harrington's death. I got Mark out on a writ of habeas corpus. But with an inquest coming up, we were in need of information. So I called Detective Lieutenant Kessel. When I told him what I'd like to know about Jean Harrington, whether she had a boyfriend or not, his reply mirrored his feeling for private investigators. Look, you're a shamus. Find out for yourself. And that was that. I felt fortunate I could go to Manning in the DA's office. I guess we can find that out for you, Reyes. Anything else? I'd like to know if Harrington carried a big insurance policy. But I'll check on that myself. On the anxious seat now, I phoned Manning the next afternoon. No thanks, Reyes. At least no boyfriend we can turn up. Thanks anyway. What'd you learn about the insurance? That part gels, Manning. One of the terms of their divorce settlement stipulated that Harrington keep up a $100,000 policy with Jean Harrington as beneficiary. Yeah? What do you make out of it? Nothing I can prove yet. But I'm going to keep trying. It was the next night at dinner that Coral Kennedy told me she'd given up her Jersey City job and come to New York for good. I'll be with Harrington, Dad. I'm finally free. Free? Well, Addy had me under contract. When I walked out on him, he wouldn't release me. That's why I was working under the phony name. All of which might be an excellent motive for your having murdered Harrington. Gosh, it could seem that way, couldn't it? Except that he wasn't murdered. What? Well, at least that's my belief. I just wish I could prove it. There was plenty of reason for his suicide. Harrington was broke, been drinking heavily, and his club was deep in the red. When did you find out all this? Today. I've been in half the bars and nightclubs in town. Who'd want to make it look like murder when it's a suicide? Mrs. Harrington, they were divorced, and one of the terms of the settlement was that Harrington maintained $100,000 insurance with her as beneficiary. But suicide on the part of the insured always voids a policy. Well, I've got some news too, Race. I went by Harrington's nightclub today. It was closed, but I ran into Addy's man there, his Filipino houseboy. He told me that Addy had been feeling morbid and depressed. He said Addy took an overdose of sleeping pills just a week ago, but got sick and snapped out of it. My angel, where can I find that boy? I've got his address right here. Oh, gosh, Race, I left it in my other purse. It's at the apartment. I know of no better reason for you to take me home with you. Come on, baby. You'd better wait in the hall, Race. Nothing doing will help you look. Oh. And then? And then I'll go and get some ice cream, and we'll have a real homey evening together. Oh, you fool. You ain't going nowhere. Neither one of you. Rocco. Yeah, Rocco. You've been talking too much, chicken. You've been talking too much to the wrong people. Seems as though you and I went through this sort of thing once before, Rocco. Yeah. For this time, I ain't missing. I came out of it looking up at a clinically white ceiling. That and my sense of smell told me I was hospitalized. Swibbling the neck a little, I gazed into the opaque countenance of Detective Lieutenant Kessel. Well, Race, how do you feel? Like a ham on a hook. What goes with the arm? It's strung up like that because you took a slug through the shoulder. Nothing serious. You'll be out in a couple of days. How'd they do all of this to me so quickly? Get wise, Race. You've been here some time. This is now tomorrow afternoon. Well, it's nothing like a good sleep. How about the girl? You're speaking of this one, I suppose? He pushed a newspaper at me with a photograph on the front page, Carl Kennedy's photograph. But beyond recognizing that, my eyes wouldn't function, so I asked Kessel to read the account. I don't have to read it. I know it by heart. She was found this morning by some guys going to work in a galvanizing plant. What was left of her was found in a vat of molten zinc. Kessel had said I'd be out of the hospital in a couple of days. He turned out to be wrong. I made it the next morning. But I left the place with about as much enthusiasm as a used car appraiser inspecting a Model T. At the curb, I found Mark Donovan waiting in his cab. Climb in, Race. We've got things to do. What are you so brisk about? This is the day of the Harrington inquest. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, I know. The way things look, I will most likely be indicted. But I just toyed up a little nugget of info that might change the whole picture. I have learned where that lad Rocko is holing up. And it happens to be at none other than the apartment of the late Mr. Harrington's former wife, Jean. You're sure? I am in dead earnest. What do you say we go get him? All right, but not by ourselves. One, it wouldn't be good for you to become involved in a fight right now. Two, I personally haven't the strength to wiggle a mound of tripe. So we'll get Kessel. And to make sure he stays in line, we'll also take along Manning of the district attorney's office. I hope this doesn't turn out to be a false alarm. I've got other things to do. Don't worry, it ain't no false alarm. Can we take your car, Manning? It's a sedan. Sure, it's right here. And what am I going to do with this Rocko, even if I take him in, Race? It's only your word against his that he's shot you. What's the matter, Manning? Can't you get your own car door open? Oh, there it is. Okay, get in. We can at least go out and talk to this fellow. Wow, what a deputation. I'm sure you don't mind if we come in. I'll check right through the whole place right now, Race. Look, what goes on? Do you happen to know a man called Rocko Mentora, Mrs. Harrington? Rocko? Well, of course he's my former... Yeah, yeah, he's here all right, Race. I'd call whether from sleep or reefers. I wouldn't be prepared to say. Mr. Mentora hasn't been feeling well. He came over here for a few hours to rest. It's all perfectly proper. I keep a housekeeper here and a maid and I... You told me a few days ago you'd never heard of Mentora. Just what are you trying to prove? Yeah, that's a good point, Race. What are we trying to prove? Well, first, that Addie Harrington wasn't murdered, but he committed suicide. But it was important to Mrs. Harrington that it looked like murder, so she could collect her husband's fat insurance. That's why her boyfriend murdered Coral Kennedy because Coral knew too much. Boyfriend? You mean this Mentora guy? No. I mean you, Manning. Manning? You're kidding, Race. I'm not kidding. I didn't bring Manning into the case. He came in himself when he heard of my calling Carlson. It gave him a chance to be on top of everything all the way. And it was Manning who pushed Coral Kennedy into that vat of zinc. He's gone off his rocker, Kessel. They'll let him out of the hospital too soon. Oh, wait, wait. How do you know, Race? How do you know? How do you know Manning pushed her into the vat? He couldn't get his car open because of the condition of his keys. His keychain must have been dangling when he handled Coral Kennedy's body, so that the keys went into the galvanizing solution. That's why he had trouble opening his car. Take a look at the keys, Kessel. The evidence is all over them. Don't go for that gun, Manning. Ain't smart. I figured you'd be handy when I asked you to come along, Kessel. You're always so doggone truculent. The Adventures of Frank Race starring Paul Dubov with Tony Barrett as Mark Donovan comes to you from Hollywood. Others heard in tonight's cast were Lillian Bief, Jack Crouchon, Tom Holland, Michael Ann Barrett, and Gerald Moore. This series is written and directed by Buckley Angel and Joel Murcott. The music is composed and played by Ivan Ditmars. Be sure to be with us again this time next week for another dramatic chapter in The Adventures of Frank Race. Art Gilmore speaking. This is a Bruce Ells production. .
