Regina and Larry

9:13 on a Friday night when Jack Frost blew through the precinct, stirring Dick's papers, rustling his thoughts and cooling his tootsies. It's the sort of night that can bring an incredibly hot, steamy and paper-thin Dame in to lend a hand. Instead, he got Regina. All curves and body, with a mind as sharp as a tack and a lead so hot Dick could melt, weren't it for Jack Frost and his cold, cold breeze. Is Dick one step closer to finding the killer? We can only wait and see.

What is Dick Clever?

It's a classic tale. A lone detective, a dark town, and a victim with a cod piece stuck in their ear. It's the sort of murder that could turn one to drink, to shun society and start a jazz band in his mother's basement. But not Dick. A man who's not quite Poirot, Sherlock, or Jake Peralta, but a man whose very much...well, Dick. Accompanied by a pallet of colourful characters, sharp tongues, wit and humour, we follow Dick and co on a bizarre journey to find truth, justice, and just how long a telephone cord really is.

(Dick Clever, Episode Four, Regina and Larry)

WIND BLOWING WITH PAPERS BEING BLOWN ALL OVER THE PLACE, THEN
A WINDOW SHUTTING.

DICK: 9:13 on a Friday night when Jack Frost blew through the precinct,
stirring my papers, rustling my thoughts and cooling my tootsies.

THEME SONG / JAZZ HORN UNDERNEATH:

My thoughts, what good were they? My case had gone cold. The lock
had frozen shut. And The Cod Piece Murders, well…. There were too
few clues and no one knew the true news but on cue…

OLD-STYLE PHONE RINGING.

Come in.

DOOR OPENING

REGINA: (VERY SULTRY) Well hello, Dick.

DICK: Hello yourself Regina.

DOOR CLOSING.

Regina had a voice that would stir a eunuch into lust and the body of a
God. That God happened to be Bacchus.

REGINA: I heard you were stuck on the Cod Piece Murders.

DICK: What's it to you?

REGINA: I may have a morsel you may be interested in.

DICK: I don't doubt it, but what have you got about the murders?

REGINA: If I tell you, what's in it for me?

DICK: I won't throw you in gaol for hindering an investigation.

REGINA: Don't get sassy with me!

DICK: I'll get sassy with anyone I choose.

SLAP ON FACE.

It was at this point that she went too far. No one slaps Dick on
his own turf. I returned the favour, but being so much shorter than
her I only managed to hit her ample left bosom and like the office
decoration with the little metal balls that go back and forth…well…we
watched a full five minutes before she came to rest.

REGINA: Alright Dick, you win. You need to speak with Larry.

DICK: Larry the Lynch?

REGINA: No, Larry the Lemming.

DICK: Larry was the kind of guy you honestly felt for. He grassed on
the mob several times and had tried to commit suicide before they
got to him. He's jumped off bridges, office towers, water towers,
cliffs and the odd refrigerator. Somehow he managed to survive
each attempt. Finally, the authorities put him away for his own safety
and that of the public below.

But wait, Regina, Larry has been the choirmaster at the prison for years.

REGINA: All I know is that he’s ready to spill the beans at the next
performance. You need to take to him a photograph of the thinnest
barbecue tongs held in evidence for the Mercutio Murders.

DICK: So let me get this straight, I have to take a photograph of the thinnest
barbecue tongs to the choir master's performance in prison?

REGINA: That's it, bring the thin tong to sing song at sing sing.

(PAUSE)

DICK: I am really sorry you said that.

REGINA: You're not the only one, anyway Dick, come up and see my etchings
some time.

DOOR OPENS AND THEN SHUTS. LOW JAZZ HORN.

DICK: She was some strange broad. This wasn't an offer of anything
other than to see her artwork. She had a real talent and etched long
into the night. Glassware, silver goblets, she could do the lot.
God, she was good. Not that I’m into that sort of thing. Or have
any of her pieces.

So, Larry the Lemming was ready to rat. This was an opportunity
too good to miss. Armed with the picture of the tongs I made my
way to the performance.

SINGER: (SINGING) So screw you…

SINGER AND CHOIR: (SINGING) Amen.

ENTHUSIASTIC APPLAUSE.

DICK: It was a good show, but I feared it was the last time that Larry
would sing.

BLOOD-CURDLING SCREAM FOLLOWED BY A SOUND
LIKE A CREAM PIE HITTING A HARD SURFACE.

We found him after the performance on the pavement
sixty feet below the window to the auditorium. He was just breathing.

LARRY: (COUGHS)

DICK: Larry!

LARRY: I didn’t do it.

DICK: Didn't do what?

LARRY: Jump! I was, I was pushed.

DICK: I know Larry, this was too good a job to be yours.

LARRY: Am I going to die?

DICK: As surely as God made little green apples.

LARRY: I, uh, actually subscribe to the theory of evolution.

DICK: Really? Then as surely as little green apples developed over millions of
years from a single celled common ancestor.

LARRY: (COUGHS) That…wow…um…sounds, sounds really incredibly
implausible.

DICK: Well yes, I guess it does.

LARRY: Is there anything…in the middle?

DICK: Looks like a fence post.

LARRY: Not me, I mean, I meant evolution and, uh, creationism.

DICK: Possibly a looming war, anyway I have the picture of the tongs.

LARRY: You must look closely....... aaargghhhh.

BUCKET BEING KICKED.

DICK: It was too late, he’s gone. The Lemming had taken his last
plunge and met his end.

THEME SONG UNDERNEATH:

Honestly, the way he fell, he met his end and kissed it goodbye.
As a mark of respect at his funeral, they lowered his
coffin into the ground from fifty feet up.

So, there was something with the tongs and people were ready to kill
for it.

THEME OUT.

END

Copyright by Mike Jones and Iley Jones