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Introducing Sleuth & Flatfoot: Private Eye. Two bumbling detectives, ridiculous mysteries, loads of fun. Follow along this old school radio dramedy where Detectives Sleuth and Flatfoot face an array of crazy crimes, solving them with their cunning wit and perfectly timed luck. The 1930’s era, dark and dreary atmosphere that they live and work in backdrops the
increasingly ridiculous crimes they encounter as the story unfolds. Will these wacky detectives crack their cases? Tune in to find out.
The scent of blood hangs heavy in the air. The stench sticks to the lavish Melbourne furniture to accompany the lingering clouds of cigarette smoke. The sound of camera clicks echo the backstage as there, laying strewn across the floor in intricately embroidered leotard, is a showgirl with bright red gloss streaking her golden hair. The constant sound of hushed whispers buzzes to the room as two men approach the dame. Detective Sleuth crouches down, a cigar sitting steady between his lips.
Narrator:Welcome to Sleuth and Flatfoot Praggart Eye episode three, Case of a Slaughtered Showgirl.
Detective Sleuth:What a shame. She couldn't wait until I wasn't nursing a hangover,
Narrator:Sleuth shakes his head as as he takes a drag from his sabar before his partner, Flatfoot, pouches next to him, straightening his bowler hat.
Detective Flatfoot:But didn't he say before that crime wakes for no man, boss?
Detective Sleuth:Of course, I did. That's such a cool line.
Narrator:Flatfoot reaches over and gently turns the victim's head over to look at the injury closer. He cringes at the sight of her broken face.
Detective Flatfoot:Ew. What do you think killed her, boss?
Detective Sleuth:I don't know.
Detective Sleuth:Probably her face getting all caved in like that.
Detective Flatfoot:But by what?
Narrator:The duo glances around the backstage before Flatfoot's eyes settle on a dangling sandbag in the middle of the room. Just a few feet away, there's a few drops of blood on it.
Detective Flatfoot:You think it was that sandbag, boss? Maybe it swung down and hit her real hard.
Detective Sleuth:Where'd you even get that bull malarkey?
Detective Flatfoot:Well, there's blood on it, and it's dangling just a little ways away. Hey, maybe it was tied up and someone unhooked it, and it went flying towards Miss Sandy.
Narrator:Sleuth stands while Flatfoot speaks, striding over to a shattered bottle on the floor by a vanity. He picks up one of the larger pieces with the logo still clear, the gentleman's whiskey.
Detective Sleuth:So murder. I like the sound of that. Maybe she was poisoned.
Detective Flatfoot:What makes you think she was?
Narrator:Sleuth holds up the bottle shard towards his partner, and he grays.
Detective Flatfoot:The gentleman's whiskey? That's my favorite. But that doesn't necessarily mean she was poisoned. Am right?
Detective Sleuth:I don't know. May very well could.
Narrator:Suddenly, a voice calls from up above. Officer Bearman stands at a catwalk just above Sleuth, holding up a single white button.
Officer Bearman:Found something. This button was just laying here next to the suspiciously placed woman
Detective Sleuth:A button? You really think something that minuscule could mean anything? Come down from her son and let the real detectives do their job.
Officer Bearman:Hold on. Who are you two again? This is the crime scene. Who let you in here?
Detective Sleuth:I go wherever Lady Justice calls me. And in this case, she's a jive bombing cookie with a messed up face.
Officer Bearman:You two are definitely not supposed to be in there. How did you even get in?
Detective Flatfoot:Well, to fully explain that, we'll have to go back to yesterday morning.
Narrator:The day before, and in the early morning that the detectives stood at the bow of a ferry, as the salty sea breeze blowing past them and the sound of seagulls circling above welcomes them to someplace new. But before them, slowly rising on the horizon, it is the island of Diami Beach, gleaning like paradise across the ways. Flatfoot looks eagerly to their destination, while Sleuth seems less thrilled.
Detective Flatfoot:Boss, look. There it is. But the water looks so clear. Should we go to the beach before we hit the casino?
Detective Sleuth:Whatever you want, rookie.
Detective Flatfoot:What's the matter, boss?
Detective Sleuth:Well, I'm starting to wonder why we went on this vacation in the first place. Nothing could give me the same thrill as solving a gruesome murder constructed by the scum of the earth, bringing them to justice and basking in the flame. Truly, nothing can beat that.
Narrator:Just then, the two hear yelling in the alchemy above them, followed by a couple of gunshots. Before they can even relax, they watch as a body falls past them from above and into the water with a loud splash. But the passengers of the ferry begin to scream in panic while Sleuth turns away toward his destination with wide eyes.
Detective Sleuth:Don't make any eye contact.
Detective Flatfoot:What? I thought you said we were ditching the Sullivan
Detective Flatfoot:murder, boss.
Detective Sleuth:I was just a bunch of bull malherkey, Flatfoot. I'm tired of everyone depending on me. Can't I just be some normal Joe Smo for a day? Being perfect is tiring.
Detective Flatfoot:I understand, boss. I'm exhausted too, especially after that whole train fiasco. We're off duty. It's not our job to do anything but relax.
Narrator:Once reaching the shore, the detectives quickly leave the ferry as police flood it to investigate the shooting. While walking down the sunny city Strokington enjoying the sights, they watch as a random taxi comes barreling towards the sidewalk running over a gentleman before careening down the block. They swiftly walk by, averting your eyes. As they approach their destination, they witness another gentleman get stabbed by a masked individual that goes running down the street as the bystanders panic. The detectives speed walk by.
Narrator:Eventually, they enter into the grand casino, Brutus' Palace. The two take a direct near their side.
Detective Flatfoot:This has to be the most violent town I've ever seen.
Detective Sleuth:I'm sorry, Lady Justice, but I'm not answering your call tonight no matter what.
Narrator:Walking into the lavish hotel casino, The two stare wide eyed in awe at the luxurious sites of slot machines and tables flooded with finely dressed gins and bras, gleaming with the golden allure of monetary gain.
Detective Flatfoot:Have we died and gone to heaven, boss?
Detective Sleuth:Wait until we're in the sauce, my young compatriot.
Narrator:Suddenly, a staff gentleman in a fleshy black and red suit lined with gold parade bumps into Sleuth and Passy, glancing back at him with a brow raised, Egotistical H. Pride a magician.
Egotistical H. Pride:Watch your head, heel, sit, and the greatness is passing through.
Detective Sleuth:Excuse me? You should be apologizing to me, you shnook. You don't like nothing You don't look like nothing special.
Egotistical H. Pride:Who are you calling a shnook? Do you have any idea who I am?
Detective Sleuth:Do you have any idea who I am?
Egotistical H. Pride:All I see is a cockeyed egg head straight out of the sticks.
Detective Sleuth:Oh, I am so gonna accuse you of murder.
Narrator:Flatfoot pushes the two gentlemen apart, who have grown increasingly closer, itching for a fight.
Detective Flatfoot:Belodi disnapped your caps. Let's just
Detective Flatfoot:go get some chips, Hoss.
Narrator:Sleuth glares daggers at Pride as his partner pulls him away. Mamumbly insults under his breath.
Detective Sleuth:Damn, yuck.
Detective Flatfoot:Now what did you say before about the sauce? What does
Detective Flatfoot:that even mean?
Detective Sleuth:That means, let's get drinks.
Detective Flatfoot:Like alcohol?
Narrator:Flatfoot looks around the area before leaning closer to Sleuth to speak in a hushed tone.
Detective Flatfoot:I thought that was illegal.
Detective Sleuth:Prohibition's been over for years, Flatfoot.
Narrator:Flatfoot stares wide eyed at him for a beat. Sleuth grins. The next morning, the detective slunk across the casino floor, heat dragging and faces drawn down.
Detective Flatfoot:Why did we have to order a shot every time we saw someone else win a game, Hoss?
Detective Sleuth:That was your idea, Flatfoot, right after you proposed taking a swig every time that dame from the magic show came on stage.
Detective Flatfoot:Oh, yeah. She was really something.
Detective Sleuth:That cold fish was something alright. A real piece of work working with that square who insulted me yesterday.
Detective Flatfoot:Oh, come on, boss. You've got to admit, after a few drinks, this act was a gas.
Detective Sleuth:Alright. You lost your speaking privileges until we got another few drinks in our system.
Narrator:Just then, the two hear a scream echoed for the casino from what's just around the corner. The patrons gasp and rush to see what's going on, including the two detectives who practically get swept up in crowd. Walking into one of the showrooms, the group sees a stagehand come running out from behind the curtain of the stage, terror pose on her face.
Stagehand:She's dead. Oh my god. She's dead.
Narrator:The crowd gasps and clamors amongst themselves as many have been turned to leave, while Sleuth and Flatfoot stand there, staring at the sign by the door announcing the show. Pride and Promiscuous, the same show the two had been to the very night before.
Detective Flatfoot:No. No. No. No. We're on vacation.
Detective Flatfoot:We're not taking this case.
Detective Sleuth:Okay. If we just turn around and slowly walk out the door, it can be someone else's problem.
Narrator:The two detectives begin to slowly exit.
Stagehand:Please, is there anyone here who could solve this heinous crime?
Narrator:The detectives cringe as they begin trying to clutch to the crowd faster.
Stagehand:Is there anyone in the crowd, maybe even some detectives, that are smart enough and brave enough to take on this case?
Narrator:Sleuth stops walking while Flatfoot stares at him in a hammock.
Detective Sleuth:What are you doing, loss? What happened to walking away?
Detective Sleuth:I'm smart enough and brave enough to take on this case.
Detective Flatfoot:What happened to our vacation? What happened to the burden of being perfect all the time?
Detective Sleuth:Well, take it.
Narrator:The crowd clears the way for Sleuth and Flatfoot as Sleuth stands there confidently, basking in the attention.
Detective Sleuth:Alright, Lady Justice. You've got me again, you saucy minks. Clear the way, you schnooks.
Narrator:Flatfoot stands there, his eyes wide with rage. And when Sleuth realizes his partner isn't following, he glances back at him.
Detective Sleuth:Come on, Herky. Shake a leg.
Detective Flatfoot:Gibbley gobbley. Flippity jiggibity.
Detective Sleuth:Woah. Woah. Flatfoot, be cool. Be cool.
Narrator:Flatfoot continues his string of unintelligible profanity as he marches towards the stage, Sleuth following hesitantly after.
Detective Flatfoot:And the nets are pretty much what happened.
Officer Bearman:Sounds completely reasonable that you're here then.
Detective Sleuth:Exactly. Now scram. Let the professionals do their job.
Narrator:Bearman takes off his hat and nods to the two respectfully.
Officer Bearman:Of course.
Officer Bearman:So sorry about that. Sir.
Narrator:As Bearman exits, a stagehand approaches and lightly taps on Sleuth's shoulder.
Stagehand:Excuse me, mister Sleuth
Detective Sleuth:What did I just say, you scum?
Stagehand:I'm sorry. I just I was going to say I have something that might help.
Detective Sleuth:Spit out there.
Stagehand:Well, last night, when I was cleaning that stage, I heard some shouting coming from mister Pride's dressing room. I was real curious what was going on, so so I'd like to go check it out.
Detective Sleuth:Please say that's please say you heard that son of a gun murdering the poor girl.
Stagehand:No. But I did hear them arguing. Turns out Miss Sins wanted to quit, and mister Pride wasn't too thrilled about it. Said he'll get her back for leaving.
Detective Sleuth:I knew it. That bastard killed her. Yes.
Detective Flatfoot:And as always, boss, you're on.
Detective Sleuth:With that, the final puzzle piece falls oh so perfectly into place.
Detective Sleuth:I know exactly what happened last night.
Narrator:With the dramatic flourish of his coat, Sleuth hases the room, taking a deep drag of his cigar.
Detective Sleuth:It was late at night, and after a mediocre show, Sandy Sins walks into the dressing room of one Egotistical h Pride, her terribly untalented employer. After proclaiming rightfully that he is in fact terribly untalented, she explained that she was done with him and his cheesy act. Outraged by her confrontation, he swore to get her back for the wound to his ego. Little did she know, he had already been planning to get rid of her for weeks. He had planted the perfect trap.
Detective Sleuth:It was just a matter of time before she would fall into it.
Narrator:Sleuth walks over and picks up the shard of glass from earlier, holding it up as evidence.
Detective Sleuth:A single swig was all it took. Miss Sleuth's tired after a show of being cut in half and flashing her unmentionables, took a single drink from this liquid courage and found herself poisoned. She fell to the floor, dead within seconds, leaving behind the shattered remains of her murder weapon for us to find.
Stagehand:But what about the bug?
Detective Flatfoot:And the sandbag and her face.
Detective Sleuth:Well, after coming and seeing her lying there dead, Pride in a fit of ape like savagery, you beat her with the sandbag to further add insult to injury.
Detective Flatfoot:Wow. To the gall.
Detective Sleuth:You can't say it's out of character for the sound of a gun.
Stagehand:Well, then why would the bag still be hanging?
Detective Sleuth:Hush-hush. Now, where can we find our man?
Stagehand:He could still be in his room upstairs.
Detective Sleuth:Then upstairs, we will go. Come on, Flatfoot. Let's track him down.
Narrator:The duo rush out of the room on their mission, hassling through the crowds of the casino on their way upstairs. But in passing, Flatfoot stops in his tracks. Sleuth looks back at him with a brow raised.
Detective Sleuth:Pick up the pace, rookie. The man could have already split by now.
Detective Flatfoot:I don't think he did, boss. Look.
Narrator:Flatfoot points at a familiar sign in front of a new ballroom, Pride and even more Promiscuous.
Detective Sleuth:The plot only thickets.
Narrator:The two men slowly approach the doors of the ballroom and open them to see a familiar sight on stage, the stout figure of Mister Pride practicing his act. But right next to him is an old woman sporting a leotard suspiciously similar to Sandy Sins. The detectives stare in horror at the sight of the frankly inappropriately dressed old lady before comes down the rows and up to the stage.
Detective Sleuth:What in the name of God are you doing, man?
Narrator:Pride looks out at the two detectives in distaste.
Egotistical H. Pride:Oh, if it is the pain in the neck for yesterday, you've got some mozzie interrupting my rehearsal.
Detective Sleuth:Rehearsal? With this poor bag of wrinkles? What are you getting at?
Egotistical H. Pride:Excuse me. But this is my new partner, Dusty Miss Deeds! And I thank you to address her justly.
Detective Flatfoot:You already have a new partner the day after killing your old one? You're sick in the head, Mister Pride.
Egotistical H. Pride:What do you mean killed?
Detective Flatfoot:One of the stagehands said she heard you two arguing last night about her quitting.
Egotistical H. Pride:Sure. I was a bit heated, but not enough to kill the broad.
Officer Bearman:Afterwards, I found Miss Dusty in the back, and I just knew she had the makings of a star. I went and then made it all right to Sandy right after.
Detective Sleuth:Damn it. What the hell? Then who killed the dame?
Officer Bearman:What what Sandy's dead?
Detective Sleuth:Keep up, Pride. We've already established this.
Detective Flatfoot:Weird.
Narrator:Flatfoot stares down at his shirt, holding up the end of it to look closer.
Detective Sleuth:Weird what? Pay attention, Rookie.
Detective Flatfoot:I think I lost a button.
Detective Sleuth:A button? Now what does that have to do with
Narrator:Sleuth stops in the middle of this sentence. A long silence falls over the group before Flatfoot looks back to Sleuth, confused.
Detective Flatfoot:What? Why are you looking at me like that, boss?
Narrator:Sleuth stares at his partner with long eyes.
Detective Sleuth:You? This whole time?
Detective Flatfoot:What do you mean this whole time?
Narrator:Sleuth slowly reaches for his revolver at his hip, hauling it out to point at Flatfoot. Panic fills his partner's eyes as he sips back in shock.
Officer Bearman:What are you doing, boss?
Detective Sleuth:The show, the bottle, the button, the one that cop found on the catwalk. It was from that snazzy shirt I bought you last Christmas. The symbol of my tolerance of you is now the symbol of your great betrayal.
Detective Flatfoot:Are you saying I I killed Miss Sandy? But but when could that have
Narrator:Flatfoot's confusion slowly turns into rage as he stares at his partner of several years.
Detective Flatfoot:After all this time, you accuse me of murder? You no good rotten hill.
Detective Sleuth:No. Good. You're the one who killed someone, you rat faced yop.
Narrator:Flatfoot throws his fists up and begins to taunt him.
Detective Flatfoot:You wanna back up those words? Put down the gun and
Detective Flatfoot:we can settle this like real men.
Detective Sleuth:Alright. Fine. You wanna see a real man? I'll show you one, you yellow bellied snake.
Detective Flatfoot:Two faced double crossing scoundrel.
Detective Sleuth:Filthy brainless insult to humanity.
Detective Flatfoot:You very not nice person.
Narrator:As the two continue to walk in circles around each other, hurling insults instead of actually fighting, the doors of the ballroom open and a familiar face comes rushing in. Detective Gumshoe, his cheeks slightly red and a growl in his face, comes out to the duo.
Detective Gumshoe:Do you believe I'm saying this? But great great work, you two.
Detective Sleuth:Yeah. Yeah. Save it for after I take this sucker down.
Narrator:Flatfoot puts down his fists as he turns to Gumshoe, puzzled.
Detective Flatfoot:Wait. Wait. What are you talking about, Mister Gumshoe? Ow. What the hell?
Detective Sleuth:Yeah. I got you, you snake in the grass.
Detective Gumshoe:Okay. I, don't know what that's all about, and frankly, I couldn't care less. But did you not know about Sins, how she's actually one of the most dangerous criminals in the country?
Narrator:Gumshoe holds up a poster with an image of Sandy on it, and above it, the name Andy Sins is written in bold black letters, Sleuth leans towards the poster, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Detective Sleuth:Andy Sins. It can't be the same broad.
Detective Flatfoot:Yeah. That seems kinda like a stretch to me.
Narrator:Gumshoe stares at them in disbelief before taking out a pen and writing an s in front of the name.
Both:Oh.
Detective Gumshoe:My god.
Detective Flatfoot:So so that means I'm off the hook?
Detective Gumshoe:Sure. I don't see why the courts would wanna lock up the man who killed the world's most dangerous women. So either they're gonna be you or the chair, no doubt.
Detective Flatfoot:Hot dog. You hear that, boss?
Detective Sleuth:Yeah. Yeah.
Detective Flatfoot:You do though, I'm I'm real sorry about all that stuff I said, boss. You're not a heel or a very not nice person.
Detective Sleuth:I know I'm not.
Narrator:After a beat. Sleuth gets Flatfoot and light shove.
Detective Sleuth:I only meant half of what I said. I gotta admit, you're not the worst detective on the planet.
Detective Flatfoot:Oh, shucks.
Detective Gumshoe:You know, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but you two and I'd actually make good actual detectives. How about I get you two interviews with the chief of the NABD wants my back to town?
Detective Flatfoot:Are you on the sauce, Mister Gumshoe?
Detective Gumshoe:Yeah.
Detective Sleuth:Well, drunk or no, we disrespectfully turned down your offer, Gumshoe. I would never work with my parched nemesis. Besides, they'd be on my case all the time, and I can't work with all those damn rules and laws and hogwash.
Detective Flatfoot:Right. I actually quite like what we've gotten going already, boss.
Detective Sleuth:Don't flatter yourself, Flatfoot.
Detective Flatfoot:Okay.
Narrator:As the two men set aside their squabbles and begin to come down from their crime whacking high, they begin to settle back into the comfort and relaxation of their vacation. Sleuth and Flatfoot enjoy their week in Diami Beach, taking a much needed break and only needed to avoid a handful of other murders along the way. But as the sun sets on this paradise town and on their time away from home, they hop back onto the ferry and begin back towards New Los Atlanta, taking with them priceless memories and the realization that one of them is in fact a murderer, but they're buddies, so it's cool.
Narrator:From the files of Sleuth and Flatfoot Private Eye, the Case of the Slaughtered Showgirl. Here's exactly what went down.
Narrator:After getting quite inebriated in attending the mediocre magic show, Pride and Promiscuous, Detective Flatfoot drunkenly went backstage to give the duo his praises. While searching for Pride's dressing room, the hammered Flatfoot found his way to the catwalk, where his shirt got caught on the lever controlling the sandbags on stage. While Miss Sandy Sins returned from speaking to Mr. Pride about his new act with Miss Deeds, Flatfoot mistakenly pulled the lever, sending the sandbag barreling towards Sandy and right into her face, causing her to die on the spot from blunt force trauma. Unaware of the death that had just occurred before below him, Flatfoot stumbled his way out of the backstage, leaving a bottle of his favorite alcoholic beverage on the catwalk, which then rolled off and fell to the floor, showering.
Narrator:And so the Case of the Slaughtered Showgirl comes to a gruesome close, and Sleuth and Flatfoot return home knowing the true dangers of alcohol. But they can rest easy knowing they've soon got each other to call partner, in a super professional way, nothing more.