Stand by for crime. Chuck Morgan speaking. KOP newscaster in Los Angeles. You know, in spite of all the kidding that goes on between my blonde secretary, Carol Curtis and me, she's really quite a gal. I depend upon her more than I sometimes care to admit. She's an eager beaver when it comes to lining up feature stories for my broadcasts, which when you have to dig up two features a day is a big help. But every once in a while, Carol goes overboard in her attempts to ferret out these features. Like last week, she claimed she had a hot tip from a mysterious person whose name she didn't know and who told her that a big shipment of marijuana was scheduled to be smuggled across the border at Calexico. And if we wanted an eight-column headline yarn, we'd better be on hand. Well, I wrote that one off to one of those crackpots that were forever phoning in and told Carol we'd cover the Iowa State picnic instead. Two mornings later, I arrived at my office prepared to be greeted by Carol's cheerful grin as usual and instead found Pappy Mansfield, owner of KOP, sitting at her desk. Hello, Pappy. Where's Carol? Hi, Chuck. What do you mean, where's Carol? Didn't she tell you? Tell me. What? One day before yesterday, she asked for a couple of days off and I told her she could have them. Oh, she did? And you did? Well, not that. She's got a nerve. Who does she think she's working for anyway? If she wants to be my secretary, then she... Now, just take it easy, Chuckie Boy. It happens that you weren't around when Carol made that request. And since I only happen to own this coffee pot you're both working for, she probably figured that I was next in authority, so she asked me for the leave of absence. Leave of absence? That sounds as though she's going to be gone for a year. Where'd she say she was going? Your phone's ringing, Chuckie Boy. I asked you where she said she was going. She didn't say and your phone's still ringing. How about that? I hire a secretary and she walks out on me just when I need her the most. I ask you, how about that? Chuck, answer that phone. You know what I think I do? I think I'll fire that wench. Hello? She's got to understand that I'm the boss as far as she's concerned. Someone's talking to you, Chuckie Boy. Huh? Oh. Hello? Who is it? What do you want? It's Carol, darling. Now listen... Now look, Glamour Push, you're fired. Do you hear that? You're fired. You're fired anyway. I'm in jail at Calexico. A likely story. Now listen... What did you say? I said I was in jail in Calexico. I was caught trying to smuggle marijuana across the border. Oh, you dope. You empty-headed dope. Pappy, kick that chair over here, will you? I think I better sit down. Sure. So she got caught, did she? You're not being funny, Pappy. I think I am. Chuck, are you still there? Who are you talking to? A man with no sense of humor. Now look, Glamour Push, I ain't going to... I was framed, Chuck, and I'm mad and uncomfortable. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you. I'm mad and uncomfortable and disgusted. And you've got to come down and identify me because they won't believe I'm who I am. What do you mean you were framed? Well, I went across the border, and when I came back, the customs officials opened my suitcase and there was about a ton of marijuana inside. Oh, Chuck, the meals are horrible in this jail. Would you please hurry up? Framed meals? Hurry up. Okay, Glamour Push, I'll be there. Anything wrong, Chuck? No, no, not a thing, Pappy. Not a thing. By the way, I'd like to have a two-day leave of absence. How about it? Why, sure, Chuck. Of course you realize when you take a leave of absence, your pay stops. Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, Pappy, stop my pay. I'm leaving for Calexico. Calexico is a border town lying some 200 miles southeast of Los Angeles. On the other side of the line in old Mexico, the town is called Mexicali, the names of both being a play on words. A bunch of years ago, there was a song written about Mexicali in some kind of rose. I can hear it now, as I recall it one popular favor. When I pulled into town around four in the afternoon and went immediately to the customs office, Glamour Push had said she was in jail, but I figured it might be a good idea to establish her identity before I went over to bail her out. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the customs official in charge was a man named Dave Walker, whom I knew when he was stationed at Tijuana. Dave was sitting in his office with his feet cocked up on his desk, and there was a good-looking blonde babe with him. The blonde babe I recognized, too. Her name was Carol Curtis. Hi, Chuckie boy. Come on in and sit down. Chuck Morgan. How are you, boy? Long time no see. Good to see you, Dave. Who's the babe? Who's the... Okay, I'll go along with the gag. The babe claims she's Carol Curtis. She was picked up this morning trying to run some marijuana across the line. I see. What's the rap for that, Dave? Oh, four or five years. Good, good. She deserves it. Yeah, yeah. Say, look, Chuck, if you really want in on a big story... Sorry, Dave, I'll see you around. Chuck. Who said that? Okay, funny man, you've had your joke. Now, if you'll just listen... I'm sorry, ma'am, you seem to have the advantage. Am I supposed to know your prisoner, Dave? Well, look, Chuck, you don't have to... There's only one thing I have to do, Dave, and that's get back to L.A. and report to Pappy Mansfield so I can get back on the payroll. I was asked to come down here and identify someone who was mistaken for a smuggler. Well, I haven't seen anyone to identify. Oh, Chuck, for heaven's sake. That expression sounds familiar, but I still don't know the face. Oh, there's just one thing, Dave. Was this babe actually picked up and did you find marijuana in her suitcase? Well, yeah, only it was a gag. You see, she wanted you to come... That's enough for me. I've been sucked in on deals like this before. This time I'm bowing out. You have your prisoner and the evidence. Carry on, old boy. So long. Chuck. I went out of there and I was mad. I should have known the whole thing was a trick of Carol's to get me down here just because of a crackpot telephone call. Well, it was high time that she understood that I... And I stopped thinking along those lines and stood stuck still staring at a yellow custom-built convertible parked across the street. Most anyone in L.A. would have recognized the convertible. It belonged to Max Craig, the gangster, racketeer, gambler. Max himself came along the street, got into the convertible and drove away. So what was Max doing in Calexico? For my money, there was only one answer to that. Max was mixed up in the smuggling. Well, that would make a good story. I was on the verge of turning back to the customs office when a girl came running across the street. Senor Morgan! Senor Morgan! What? Rosita! Well, I'll be. Rosita Gonzalez, how are things? What are you doing in Calexico? Oh, then you remember me, see? Remember you? How could I forget? How long ago was it we worked on that wet back story a couple of months, wasn't it? Almost, I think. I am very happy that you could come this time. I think you will have a big story. You sound as though you expected me. Oh, see? Didn't Miss Curtis tell you? Miss Curtis? Look, Rosita, let's duck into one of these saloons so we can order a beer and talk. So it was you who called Carol. Si. For many reasons I disguised my voice. You must promise to keep what I tell you very secret. Sure, I won't say a word. Gracias. First, you must know that I am a member of the border patrol. No kidding! Si. As you know, my husband Jose was killed by a smoker some time ago. Yeah, had a hand at running down his murderer. And for that I am very grateful, senor. That is why I called you about the dope smuggler. It will make a big story, I think. Well, that's fine, Rosita, but dope smuggling doesn't make very good copy anymore. It's become too common. Now, if you could set it up so the boys could dig up the big shots. That is what we are going to do tonight, senor. As you say, there are many little men who smuggle dope. All of them work for this big shot. When one of the little men is captured, the big shot merely hires another small man to do his dirty work for him. Yeah, and Mr. Big is too doggone smart to ever show himself. Ah, but we have contacts. Oh? You see, senor, in the dope division of the border patrol, there are only 50 men to guard 2,000 miles of boundary. Yeah, I knew they were pretty badly undermanned. Oh, 50 are enough, senor. It is easy enough to smuggle the dope across the border. It is after it is in the United States that the arrests are made. When the contraband is transferred to the American distributors. I should think that would be the toughest part of all. Oh, no. It is the contacts, the informers, who make it easy. Ah. Some of these people we pay. Some inform because of dislike for dope smugglers. Oh, there are many reasons. I see. There is one man in town who is my contact, senor. He is a very important man. Many times he has given me information that has led to the capture of the smugglers in years. Oh, who is this gent? I will tell you his name, senor, because you must meet him. But again, I must ask you not to repeat. If his identity becomes known, the patrol will suffer greatly. I understand perfectly. His name is Pancho Florite, a naturalized American. He is an important man in town, a banker and politician. He has many friends among the peons. Many sources of information are open to him. And does senor Florite know the identity of the big shot? Several days ago, a big shipment of marijuana came across the border. It will be worth many thousands of dollars when it is sold retail. Pancho has information that the big shot himself will be on hand to pay the money and receive the counterband. Does Florite know where the transfer will take place? Tonight, senor, Pancho will meet you and me at a secret place. He will give us the information we need. You and me? Well, isn't the patrol going to be in on this? Senor, as you know, I am a very excellent shot. Yeah? It would be a great honor to me to make this arrest alone. And to you, senor, would go the honor of what you call the scoop. Well, Zita, if you hadn't helped me prisoner for a whole day in Dead Horse Canyon a couple of months ago, I'd turn this deal down flat. Oh, then you will do it, senor, see? See? For many more reasons than you think. Just one thing. If you're seen so frequently in the company of senor Florite, wouldn't it be... Oh, senor Morgan, no one knows I am a member of the patrol. And this senor Florite is young and very handsome. I drove out of town about 10 miles and stopped at a motor court. At 10 o'clock that night, Zita picked me up. We drove along the highway for a half a dozen miles and turned off into the desert. We came to a wide spot in a dirt road and parked, switching off the lights. There was a crescent moon hanging on the horizon and a soft breeze blowing. You're sure your boyfriend will show up? He is not my boyfriend, senor. Pancho is married and very happy with his family. I envy him. But you said that... That he is young and handsome? See? It is very convenient for the roles we both play in this game. Ah, I see. Does the patrol pay Florite for the information he supplies? Pancho will accept no money. Oh? He has three children. People who handle dope he detests more than the lowest form of life. He has seen too many lives wrecked. Yeah, I can go along with him there. Listen. The car was approaching over the bumpy road, its lights out. In a moment it drew alongside. A man got out and Rosita introduced me to him. In the dim light I could see that he was, as Rosita said, young and handsome. He motioned Rosita to get out and they crouched over a smooth place on the ground. Florite drew a rough map with a stick, speaking rapidly in Spanish. Then he scuffed out the map, said goodbye to me briefly and drove away. Rosita and I started ahead along the gravel road. This is all very mysterious. It is the only way the smugglers will operate when they make the transfer. Oh, why is that? It is very quiet on the desert at night. An approaching automobile can be heard a long way off. I get it. Where are we going now? There is a deserted range camp not far from here. It is there that the rendezvous will be made. We reached the range camp in about half an hour and Rosita parked behind a group of mesquite and she opened up the trunk compartment, took out a flashlight and two guns. She gave me one of the guns and we went inside. It will be a long wait, senor. Do you not mind? Not at all. I have charming company. Gracias. But we must not talk or smoke. The smugglers will arrive first with the dope. We must hold them prisoner until the man who is to buy it arrives. So we waited. An hour passed. Two. The anchoring for a cigarette was becoming unbearable. I was considering making a tent of my coat and lighting up when Rosita said... Shh, listen. I think they are coming. This is strange. What you said they would arrive by horseback. Something has gone wrong, do you think? I do not know, but whoever these are, they will not be friends. I had an uneasy feeling there had been a hitch somewhere along the line, but there was not anything we could do about it now. The car stopped outside and we heard footsteps approaching the shed. It sounds as though there were a dozen of them. I think they are coming. I think they are coming. I think they are coming. I think they are coming. I think they are coming. I think they are coming. I think they are coming. I think they are coming. The car stopped outside and we heard footsteps approaching the shed. It sounds as though there were a dozen or more. Then the door opened and people came in. All right, get your hands up. Why you! Get up! Don't shoot against the lady, these mispermiss, you have hit her! Now, the conclusion of Stand By for Crime. Well, this was a fine kettle of fish. Lying on the floor, bloodstaining the right sleeve of her blouse was Carol. Standing above her, a gun smoking in his hand was Dave Walker. Behind Dave were two other border patrol officers. But all this was only subconsciously registered on my mind. All I could see was Carol lying on the floor. I crossed quickly and kneeled down. Carol, darling, Blam, look to speak to me. Hi, Jackie boy. You're, you're all right? I was all right as anyone can be with a bullet lodged in your arm. Oh, Miss Curtis, I am so sorry. Rosita Gonzalez, what are you doing here? Yeah, what are you doing here, Charlie? Never mind that. Right now, we've got to get Carol to a doctor. Rosita, let me have your scarf. Here. I'll bind this up and then we've got to get out of here. Well, there wouldn't be any dope peddlers captured this night. If anyone had been within 10 miles of that range camp, they'd have heard the shots and yells. We drove back to town, rooted out a doctor, got Carol's arm fixed up. Then gathered in Dave Walker's office and were told where to head in. And then we went to the doctor's office and we were told that we were going to be in the hospital. And then we went to the doctor's office and we were told that we were going to be in the hospital. And then we went to the doctor's office and we were told that we were going to be in the hospital. Rosita, you were under strict orders not to pull a stunt like that. I am sorry, Senor. I only wanted to... Being sorry doesn't help matters, Annie. You're under suspension for a month. Aren't you being a little rough on her, Dave? If you want to know the truth, I'm being easy on her. What you people can't realize is that border patrolling isn't a game for a bunch of adventurers. It's darn serious business. As a result of tonight's escapade, we probably missed our one chance to pick up Mr. Big. All right, all right. Simmer down a bit, Dave. I don't blame you for being sore on throwing your weight around, but if this is such serious business, why did you have any part in helping Carol trick me into coming down here? Oh, Chuck, that isn't fair. Sure, it's fair. Well, Dave? Yeah. Yeah, you're right. It's my fault as much as anybody's. I apologize. Let's skip the whole thing. I'll probably be the one to be suspended when the boss hears about this. Well, the boss won't mind if we hand him Mr. Big. We've got a fat chance of doing that now. I don't know. You know Max Craig was in town? Sure. We've had a man on him ever since he got here. Uh-huh. You think he's your boy? If we did and could prove it, we'd have nailed him a long time ago. Sure you would. By the way, who tipped you off about the rendezvous at the range camp? Rosita isn't the only one who has good contacts in this outfit. I should have known it. It is all my fault. I was thinking selfishly only about what a great honor it would be. Skip it, Rosita. This will be a good lesson for you. The Border Patrol functions as a team. That's the only way it can be successful. Yes, I know. I shall not forget again. Have you got any ideas, Chuck? Sure, I've got ideas. I've always got ideas. Want to hear them, Dave? What can I lose? Thanks. That's encouraging. Look, have you got anyone else spotted besides Max Craig, who might be Mr. Big? Sure. About five. Why? They all here in town? Some are, some aren't. It doesn't matter, so long as none are farther away than Los Angeles. I don't know what you're getting at. We've been trying for months to put our finger on the one man who handles the greater part of the stuff that comes over the line, and so far all we've picked up is small fry. And it's high time you baited the big fish into your net. You know, whoever your boy is, he's probably already been told about the incident at the range shack. How does that prove anything, Chuck? The chances are that no one was close enough to identify any of us. As a matter of fact, knowing the type of people who handle dope, they probably hit for the border like a bunch of scared rabbits that's under the first shot. So? So? Our friend Mr. Big is probably sitting at home right now wondering what the devil was happening at the rendezvous last night. Well, what's your big idea? Suppose we send a telegram to the five people on your list of suspects. Just say something like, meet me rendezvous tonight, midnight, important. And what do you think will happen? All but one of the five who receive the wire will either disregard it or turn it over to the sheriff. The fifth will be the boy we want. He'll be the only one who knows where the rendezvous is located. And you think he'll show up at the range camp? Eh-heh. And no good Chuck, he'd become suspicious in a minute. Eh, I don't think so. He knows that something went wrong last night. He knows a smuggler won't contact him personally, but he'll understand that telegram. Okay, now how are you going to get the smugglers there with their marijuana? Once the transfer is made, we'll have nothing on the boy we want. I'll be the smuggler and you provide the dope, Dave. Just put a lid on a box and throw it up with something to make it weigh as much as the shipment that came over the line a few days ago. Well, I finally talked Dave into it. Dave was in the position of a man who was willing to try most anything after the fiasco the night before. Frankly, I wasn't too hopeful that my plan would pay off. But I kept thinking that if this was a really big shipment, Mr. Big wasn't going to pass it up. There were too many other buyers who could take it over in small lots. So we sent the telegrams and then got some sleep. At 4 p.m., Dave checked the sheriff's office and was told that no one had reported receiving a mysterious telegram. Well, this wasn't surprising. The five men to whom the wires had been sent were all shady characters and it wasn't likely that any of them would want any truck with the law. Just after dark, we all piled into my jalopy and drove off to the range camp. I parked in plain sight, told Carol to stay in the car, and if anyone showed up to get down and out of sight, I didn't want her to get mixed up in any more shooting. Azita and I went into the shack. Dave and the other officer would come along hidden in the bushes. Waiting was a repetition of the night before. Only this time it was easier. I was pretty sure our man was going to show up. About a quarter of twelve, we heard a car coming across the desert. The car is coming, senora. Yeah, I hear it. Get over to that window, but keep down, out of sight. Oh, you needn't worry. You have the package. Yeah, right here. Well, here goes. So I opened the door of the shack and stepped out, keeping in the shadows the package under my arm. A car was parked next to mine. The clamor bus was nowhere in sight. I stood still and waited. At first I thought the man behind the wheel wasn't going to get out. He just sat there watching me. I didn't move either. After a while the car door opened and the guy got out and walked toward me slowly. He stopped about ten feet away, his face in the shadows. At the start? Yeah. You got the dough? Yeah. Put the package on the ground, back up. So I put the package on the ground and backed away. The man waited a minute, then he moved forward. His hat was pulled down and his coat collar turned up. Turn around. So I turned around and waited a couple of seconds faster. Okay. I turned back. The package was gone. There was an envelope lying on the ground. The man was backing toward his car. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my gun. All right Pancho Florite, get your hands up, or you... Florite didn't get his hands up. He'd been holding a gun all the time. He lifted one arm, slammed a shot at the shackle. There was a crash of glass. Then he dropped to one knee and took a shot at me. I let go with an answering shot. But Florite was on his feet zigzagging toward his car. Dave and his power coming from their hiding places. Florite slammed the door of his car and meshed the gears. Then a figure rose up behind him and smashed something heavy down in his head. It sagged forward like an empty sack. I went running up and found Glamourpus standing up in the back seat of the convertible with a heavy wrench in her hand. Glamourpus. I'm sorry Chuck, but I wanted to be in on this too. Did I do all right? Did you do... Glamourpus. Remind me to tell you how wonderful I think you are the next time we're alone. I told you that blonde secretary of mine had what it takes. She'd been watching the shack and had seen Rosita's face at the window. And had guessed what was going to happen. Rosita after all was a woman and was therefore curious and couldn't resist taking a look at Mr. Big. When she recognized her contact, Pancho Florite, she was probably so startled she just stood there and gaped. Fortunately Florite's bullet missed her. Well by four o'clock that afternoon Glamourpus and I were back in LA telling the story to Pappy. Chuck figured it all out Pappy. Don't you think he's wonderful? Oh he's terrific. What's your arm doing in the sling Carol? Oh never mind that. You see Chuck reasoned that Max Craig wouldn't be stupid enough to show himself in Calexico driving his familiar yellow convertible if he were Mr. Big. I see. You won't be able to run a typewriter for quite a spell will you? Who cares? So then Chuck figured that this Pancho Florite had to be Mr. Big. You want to know why? Was it an accident or did Chuck break your arm? All right I'll tell you. Pancho was in the business so he knew everyone else in the business so when anyone else began to get big he just informed on them and had them eliminated and at the same time he kept himself in solid with the border patrol through Rosita. Get it? Chuck was pretty mad when he left here the other day. And also Chuck reasoned that nobody but Pancho could have had enough information to know about the trap we were setting up that first night. I don't want to sound catty but I can't help being glad that Rosita wasn't as smart as she thinks. Do you think I'm being catty Pappy? Well I'll tell you what I think Carol if you want to know the truth. I do? Well then I think... Pappy. Oh hello Chuck. Are you still here? Yeah back on the payroll again. Look Pappy do me a favor will you? Now Chuck I told you that a leave of absence... The only thing I want you to do is get out of here. What? Yeah scram. Beat it. I'll do it. Well if I'm in the way... You are. Hmm well okay I'm the last man in the world to stick around some place that I'm not. So long Pappy. Bye Pappy. Find me a purse? Yes Chuck. Want to know something? What? You're wonderful. Oh Chuck. Chiaaack.
