(THEME. GK SINGS)

CF: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but high above the busy streets, on the twelfth floor of the Acme Building, one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions --- Guy Noir, Private Eye --- (PIANO)

GK: It was one of those warm fall days that fill a guy with the sort of vague longings that you associate with poets, or painters, or waiters at very pricey restaurants. I was sitting nursing a cup of cold java and watching my potted palm make a feeble attempt at photosynthesis with the bare 60- watt bulb overhead, when --- (KNOCKS ON DOOR) Yeah, come in, the door's unlocked. (QUICK DOOR OPEN, CLOSE) It was my landlord, Lou. (LONG SERIES OF FOOTSTEPS). Hi, Lou.

TR: Hi, Guy. Got a moment?

GK: I guess so, Lou. Have a seat.

TR: Thanks.

GK: He was wearing an expensive blue suit. I wondered how he could afford it, considering how much rent I owed him.

TR: I've got some bad news, Guy. You're going to have to move out of the Acme next week. I wanted you to hear it from me.

GK: What? Move out? But why----

TR: I'm renovating the building, Guy.

GK: What???

TR: Gonna completely redecorate. Gotta move with the times, Guy.

GK: You're kickin everyone out? The newsstand? The tobacco store?

TR: Yeah...

GK: Virgil the tailor? Shirley the bookkeeper?

TR: All of em....

GK: Not Saul the podiatrist?

TR: He's history.

GK: Ohhh, Lou...

TR: I got a Thai restaurant moving in on the first floor....

GK: You're gonna evict Jimmy's Blast Off Lounge?

TR: I got a marketing consultant firm moving in on fourth floor. A health club on fifth and sixth. A hair salon on seven. And a law firm on the eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh...and twelfth.

GK: Lawyers....

TR: So the carpenters and plasterers and panellers are coming next week, Guy. Sorry.

GK: Suddenly I felt like a T-bone steak at a piranha picnic. --- My office is my life, Lou. Have a heart. This is where I live, where I dream, where I fly. How about a drink, Lou? Huh? (OPENS FILE CABINET) Got a bottle of rye here.

TR: No rye, thanks. A buttery Sonoma Valley chardonnay, maybe, but not that rotgut of yours.

GK: I reached into the drawer for my heater. (CLUNK OF GUN)

TR: What in the world is that, Guy!!??

GK: It's my piece, Lou. My roscoe. My tickler. My .45 hand cannon. Here. Shoot me in the head, you might as well.

TR: Listen, Guy. It's the Nineties, okay? Hardboiled gumshoes like you are obsolete, passe, as out of place as a whalebone corset on Kate Moss.

GK: I'm not listening to you, Lou.

TR: Guy, this is the era of the softboiled detective, handgun- free, and gender-sensitive. You want to clean up your act, I'll renovate an office for you. Nice print curtains, a berber carpet, a computer workstation...

GK: A computer!

TR: Look at this, Guy. (COMPUTER) I've been meaning to show you this.

GK: What is it?

TR: It's a software database for skip-tracing missing persons.

GK: I'm not a computer-type guy, Lou. My idea of software is a cashmere sweater.

TR: Look, you type in the name of the missing person and it checks every hospital, every prison, every tax return, every phone listing, every police log and credit card application in the country....(COMPUTER)

GK: Don't need it, Lou.

TR: You could be sitting at a keyboard instead of hitting the bricks, Guy. Let your fingers do the walking....

GK: I don't walk on my fingers, Lou. (DOOR KNOCKS) Yeah, come in....(DOOR OPEN. HIGH HEELS, SLOWLY. DOOR CLOSE. LONG APPROACH.) She was tall and blonde, for starters, in a black sheath dress so tight you could count her ribs. She had more curves than a scenic railway and a set of stems that would make a cadaver break out in a cold sweat.

CF: Your name Noir? Guy Noir?

GK: That's me, Miss.

CF: Mrs. --- Mrs. Wallace J. Bjornstedt.

GK: Aha. Is that the same Wallace J. Bjornstedt who married the heiress to the Carraway Insecticide fortune?

CF: The same, the big jerk.

GK: So you're...

CF: Yes. The former Caroline Carraway, worth a hundred million, so why did I get involved with this louse, I just ask you----

GK: What can I do for you, Mrs. Bjornstedt?

CF: Caroline. ---- You can find my housekeeper, that's what. Sonja. She disappeared last Tuesday. (STING) With my husband, the little weasel.

GK: A good housekeeper is hard to find.

CF: I can't live without her. Him, you can keep. I want her back. Right away. She's the only one who knows where everything is. And I'm willing to pay to find her. Plenty. (STING)

TK: We'll be back with more Guy Noir, after a word from the Ketchup Advisory Board.....

TR: (PRETENTIOUSLY new AGEY MUSIC) Recently, not too long ago - maybe it was a year, could have been last month, two weeks ago maybe - in a place not far away - maybe 200 miles from here, or 150 -- there was this little town. And they didn't have any ketchup in this town. That's why the Mayor hated the Sheriff. And the trees turned brown. And none of the kids knew how to swim.

And then one day a stranger came to town. He had this bottle of red stuff. And he put it on his meat and potatoes. And the townspeople put it on their meat and potatoes. And today, nuns are allowed to dance. Everyone gets free cable TV. And the people who rob convenience stores...give back the money. Today's ketchup. All the best a ketchup can be.

TK: And now...back to Guy Noir, Private Eye. (SEGUE MUSIC)

GK: Is your husband a religious man, Caroline?

CF: Not in the least.

GK: A drinking man?

CF: No, not really.

TR: I'm running "Bjornstedt" through the database, Guy, and I've got 617 hits.

GK: Don't bother me, Lou, I'm working. So your husband wouldn't be likely to confide in a minister or a bartender then, I take it----

CF: My husband wouldn't confide in his own dog.

GK: Hmmm. Who's his barber?

CF: His barber? Nick. Nick at Hail, Hail The Gang's All Hair.

GK: I see. (HE PAGES QUICKLY THROUGH PHONE BOOK) Hail, Hail.....here it is. Broadway 5482. (DIALS NUMBER)

TR: The database is showing nine Wallace Bjornstedts! (COMPUTER)

(PHONE RING AT OTHER END, PICKUP)

TK (AT OTHER END): Hail Hail the Gang's All Hair.

GK: Nick?

TK: Yeah?

GK: Nick, this is Guy Noir. I'm a friend of Wally Bjornstedt---

TK: Wally....right. The bald guy.

GK: Listen, Nick, I been trying to locate Wally cause I owe him quite a chunk of change and I know he needs the dough right now. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find him, would you?

TK: You need a haircut?

GK: Could be.

TK: I got Monday at two o'clock open.

GK: I see.

TK: That was Wally's time.

GK: I'll be there.

TK: He was a really good tipper, Wally.

GK: I know. That was a shared interest of ours, overtipping.

TR: (TO HIMSELF) Ha! Here it is. Wallace J. Bjornstedt. Just typed in the name and I found it.

GK: You know where I could reach him to give him a check?

TR: (TO CAROLINE) 4413 Uppsala Avenue South.

CF: That's our home address.

TR: Oh.

TK (ON PHONE): You could try the No Tell Motel in Cedar Rapids.

GK: Okay, thanks. See you Monday. (HANG UP)

TR: How about this? Suite 325, Soo Line Building.

CF: That's his office.

TR: Oh. I see.

GK: He's at the No Tell Motel in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, ma'am. And I imagine Sonja is there with him. Want me to go fetch her?

CF: No. Thanks. I'll send Eugene with the car.

GK: Okay.

CF: Mind if I have a glass of your rotgut whiskey?

GK: Not at all. (POURS WHISKEY IN GLASS) There you go.

CF: (GULPS DOWN, LOUD EXHALE) Good rotgut.

GK: Five bucks a quart!

CF: Well, here's a brown paper sack full of unmarked non- sequential fifty-dollar bills, Mr. Noir. Spend it in good health. Thanks.

GK: No problem. Anytime. (HIGH HEEL RECEDE) I watched her walk to the door, my heart pounding in my throat like a caged jackrabbit. (DOOR OPEN, DOOR CLOSE) She closed the door and I poured myself a drink. (POURS WHISKEY, DRINKS, EXHALES) When do I need to be out of here, Lou?

TR: How about Monday?

GK: Monday!

TR: Tuesday?

GK: No. I'll be out on Monday.

(THEME)

CF: Join us next week for the continuation of "Guy Noir, Private Eye" when we'll hear Guy say----

GK: Bus depot, driver. And step on it.

TR: Okay. (CAR PULLS AWAY) Whatcha got in the cardboard box and the grocery bag, Mister?

GK: The souveniers of a wasted life, pal.

CF: Guy Noir, Private Eye, is brought to you by the Ketchup Advisory Board, which reminds you.....

TR: Ketchup, its not just a condiment anymore. It's a zesty main course too! And a whole lot more. So just say, "Fill it up...with ketchup!"

CF: A dark night in a city that keeps its secrets, and there on the twelfth floor of the Acme Building is a guy still trying to find the answers to life's questions.....Guy Noir, Private Eye.

(MUSIC OUT)

©1996 by Garrison Keillor