(THEME)
TR: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but one
man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions --- Guy Noir, Private Eye ------- (FADE)
GK: It was November in Minnesota, a sort of twilight time of year when the sky seems to fall on you and Nature starts giving you the clear impression that it doesn't want you around. And I start getting calls about missing spouses.
SS (ON PHONE): Mr. Noir, I need your help, my husband is missing......
GK: I see. When did you notice he was gone?
SS (ON PHONE): I'm not sure. Wednesday, maybe. Tuesday. ---- Sunday.
GK: What does he look like?
SS: (LONG PAUSE) You know, he's been gone so much----
GK: Was he tall? short?
SS: He worked such long hours. He was always on the road. I'm just not sure----
GK: What color hair did he have?
SS: Let me ask the kids. (OFF) Sean??? Lindsay????? ------ They're gone. There's a picture of a man ---- here on the piano.
GK: Does he appear to be about your age?
SS: Yes. And he's standing in front of our house.
GK: Maybe that's your husband.
SS: If that's him, Mr. Noir, I'm not sure I want him back.
GK: No?
SS: He doesn't look that pleasant. Maybe I should think about this.
GK: Okay, you do that----(MUSIC)
GK: People disappear and they head south. And who can blame them? It's cold in Minnesota. But there was something odd about this missing husband. Larson was his name. I checked the airline that makes the milk run up to Canada, Dairy Air. The guy had gone to Saskatchewan. And then I got a call from Charlottesville, Virginia, a fellow named Al Fairfax.
TR (VIRGINIAN, ON PHONE): We've got a little problem here in Virginia, Mr. Noir, I'm wondering if you might give us a hand.
GK: Yes, of course.
TR (VIRGINIAN,ON PHONE): I'm a direct descendant of Thomas Jefferson, Mr. Noir, and I'm on the board of Monticello, and we need you to investigate a rumor that Mr. Jefferson had a passionate romance with a Norwegian lady.
GK: I doubt this very much.
TR (VIRGINIAN): She came through Monticello in 1784. Her name was Inga Larson. She was a cook. She made a delicious dish from macaroni and cheese. He was crazy about her, as a result of which there are several hundred Larsons in Minnesota claiming to be descendants, and they want to turn part of Monticello into a Bible camp.
GK: I see.
TR (VIRGINIAN, ON PHONE): Could you look into this?
GK: I'll do my best. (BRIDGE) Saskatchewan. The Larson who had left his wife to go north. Could there be a connection? (STING) I boarded a plane for Saskatchewan (ENGINE MISSING), I was sitting next to a caribou (CARIBOU) and he was nervous as we headed in for a landing (PROPELLER PLANE MISSING, COMING IN FOR A LANDING) -----
TR (ON P.A.): We are now making our FINAL DESCENT. I repeat: our FINAL DESCENT.
GK: I hate that phrase, 'final descent" ----- (PLANE MISSING) There was a strange sound (MOTOR, HYDRAULIC, HISSING OF SLIPSTREAM), as the plane lowered its skis and we dropped through the clouds (SHAKING, JIGGLING) and the plane shook and (LANDING ON SKIS) we dropped down onto the frozen tundra. The caribou had passed out. (CARIBOU GROANING) I helped him off the plane (WIND, BLIZZARD) and I couldn't see three feet in front of my face and the caribou and I were taken by dog sled (DOGS, WHIP, CRY OF MUSHER) off to the hotel which was a Quonset hut that smelled of fuel oil (SHIVERING) and then ----- I found a clue. A wine label. It took me a day or two or three to get to the bottom of things, it was hard to tell how many days because the sun never came up ---- and then one morning, or what I assumed was morning (POUNDING ON DOOR) Yeah, come in----- (DOOR OPEN) (FOOTSTEPS) Mr. Larson. I've been waiting for you.
FN: I got your note. How did you find me?
GK: I noticed a certain resemblance to the third President of the United States.
FN: You did?
GK: Especially the red hair tied back in a ponytail. And the knee breeches.
FN: I'm a descendant of his----
GK: I doubt that very much, Mr. Larson. The fact that Mr. Jefferson was fond of macaroni and cheese does not establish paternity----
FN: Why did you ask me to come?
GK: I found your vineyard, sir.
FN: A vineyard? Here in Saskatchewan?
GK: Don't play innocent. Monticello Brunello.
FN: I don't know anything about it!
GK: You wish you didn't.
FN: I swear, it wasn't my idea!
SS (DEEP): It was my idea, Noir----
GK: Who are you?
SS (DEEP): Keep your hands up high where I can see em.
GK: How about I put my foot up high---- (EFFORT, KONK, FN OOFF) -----
SS (DEEP): Don't get cute, Noir.
GK: Not much chance of that at my age, Miss Falwell.
SS (DEEP): How'd you know my name?
GK: Geraldine Falwell, backsliding Baptist.
SS (DEEP): So what?
GK: Your scheme almost worked, Miss Falwell. To ship a tanker truck of Monticello Brunello to Virginia. Thirty-thousand bottles of lousy wine you were planning to sell to southern Baptists. People who deep down don't approve of drinking so it makes them feel better if it's a bad wine. And if it costs thirty bucks a bottle.
SS (DEEP): So what?
GK: I called the border patrol. That truck's been stopped and they're pulling the plug. Your wine is flowing in a ditch. The wine you were going to sell at Monticello once the Larsons had blackmailed the Jefferson people into letting them get a foot in the door.
SS (DEEP): You'll never make it stick, Noir. Let's see you take it to court.
GK: Don't need to, ma'am. Living in Saskatchewan is its own punishment. See you round. (BRIDGE) I got back to St. Paul and when I walked into my office in the Acme Building, there was a message on the answering machine. From Charlottesville. (BEEP)
TR (ON PHONE): Mr. Noir, it's Al Fairfax. At Monticello. I've received another message from the Larson family. They say that if we don't recognize them as descendants of Thomas Jefferson, that they'll produce documents showing that he wrote the Declaration of Independence but that originally it was entitled "The Purfuit of Happineff" and it was a novel about a Norwegian named Leif and his girlfriend Liberty. Call me. Please. (BEEP)
GK: And just then I noticed the woman standing in the corner. (STING)
SS: Hi. I'm one of the Larsons. Brooke. Brooke Larson.
GK: I thought you might be. (BRIDGE) She wore leather pants so tight I could see her pulse beating in an artery on her upper leg. Her pulse sure was steadier than mine. She wore a white blouse that if it had been any more low-cut it would've been a belt. She was the sort of woman who made you feel privileged just to be in the same room with her breathing the same oxygen. If I'd had any nuclear secrets, I would've spilled them right then and there.
SS: I need your help, Mr. Noir.
GK: You do?
SS: I'm very interested in geneology.
GK: Me too. Especially in the business that leads to geneology.
SS: I found a library that's full of information about my family history.
GK: That's nice.
SS: It's in Miami.
GK: Miami......
SS: Have you ever been to Miami?
GK: Miami. The last time I was in Miami, I walked out of the airport and my glasses steamed up. Just like they're steaming up now.
SS: I need you to come to Miami with me and be my researcher. And my chauffeur.
GK: Miami, huh.
SS: There's a plane that's leaving at midnight for Miami. We'll get a little cottage on the bay. White sand. I bought a new bathing suit. You want to see it?
GK: Miami, huh. Kick me so I know I'm not dreaming, okay? Just kick me. (KONK) Thanks.
(THEME)
TR: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but on the 12th floor of the Acme building one guy is still trying to find
the answers to life's questions.....Guy Noir, Private Eye.
(MUSIC OUT)