SS: 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.
GK: It was May, beautiful May, a month beloved of poets, maybe because it rhymes with more things than April does, and it's spring which is love time, which means plenty of work for me. Love. It's everywhere. Nobody escapes. We all come under its spell. Except people in politics. They can't afford love because it can make you do crazy things and craziness and politics don't go well. (PHONE RING, PICKUP) Yeah, Guy Noir, Private Eye.

TR (ON PHONE): Mr. Noir, this is Congressman B.F. "Buzz" Fairfax of the 12th Congressional District of Virginia. Pleasure to talk to you, sir.

GK: Pleasure to talk to you.

TR: You do surveillance?

GK: Right. What you need surveilled, Congressman?

TR: I need you to go scout around in my district and find out who these people are yelling at me about the wombats.
GK: What about the wombats?

TR: Everytime I give a speech, when it's time for questions, these people in back yell, "What about the Wombats?" It's kind of disruptive.

GK: So what do you say?

TR: Well, I tell them that I am deeply concerned about wombats and I am keeping a close watch on the situation and there are no simple solutions but with a united effort we can solve the problem which is our obligation to future generations.

GK: Sounds like you've got it covered. What do these people look like?

TR: They're small and hairy and have small eyes and their face is what I would describe as rodent-like.

GK: Might they be wombats?

TR: Do wombats have claws?

GK: They do.

TR: Then these are wombats.

GK: And they're shouting at you?

TR: In rather high-pitched irritating voices.
GK: Congressman Fairfield, I wonder if this isn't--

TR: Congressman Fairfax. B.F. "Buzz" Fairfax of the 12th Congressional District of Virginia.

GK: I wonder if this isn't a trick by your political opponents to try to throw you off-stride?

TR: Well, they certainly have succeeded then. They get me so rattled sometimes I forget most of what I was going to say.

GK: People may be grateful for that.

TR: Anyway, I'm having a big Memorial Day weekend picnic on Monday and I wonder if you could come and scout out the wombats. (BRIDGE)

GK: I said I would and then I remembered, all of my summer casual wear got destroyed by acid when the car battery leaked when I set it down on my clean laundry. So I called up my cousin whose late husband Art was about my size.

SS: Well, I've got a pair of his Sangria shorts here.
GK: I don't think so. Sangria isn't a good color for me.

SS: It was a good color for Artie. It looked so good on him, we didn't notice he was dying.

GK: Uh huh. What else you got? (POUNDING ON DOOR. TR MUFFLED YELLS) Excuse me just a moment. There's somebody at the door.Be right back. (PUTS PHONE DOWN. FOOTSTEPS.) Who's there? I'm on the phone! Quit pounding on the door. (OPENS DOOR)

TR: Listen you idiot, you give me back the money you stole.

GK: I don't know what you're talking about.

TR: I'm talking about the money you stole.

GK: I don't even know you.

TR: And that makes it all right to steal? Huh? (HE SWINGS. GK OOF. THEY STRUGGLE)

GK: Who are you? what is this--

TR: Who am I! Why you-- (HE SWINGS. GK OOF. STRUGGLE)

GK: I think maybe you missed school when they had the unit on manners, you big-- (HE SWINGS. TR OOF. FALLS. GROANS) There. Let it be a lesson to you. No hitting. You try that again, I'll poke you in the beezer again. (SLAMS DOOR) (FOOTSTEPS. STOP. PICKS UP PHONE) There. Sorry.
SS (ON PHONE): I found a pair of Artie's Madras shorts, Guy.
GK: You know, Norma-- my legs are not what they once were. I'm gonna skip the shorts -- what do you have in long pants?

SS (ON PHONE): Well, Artie always liked festive colors, as you know.

GK: I know.

SS (ON PHONE): I have a pair of his tangerine pants that he wore golfing or there's an orange pair too.

GK: Is that the Sunburst Orange, you're referring to? The color the highway department crews wear, right?


GK: I thought so. Look-- (POUNDING ON DOOR. MUFFLED SHOUTS) Excuse me. I'm gonna have to deal with this. (PUTS PHONE DOWN. FOOTSTEPS.) Whoever you are, get it through your thick skull that you got the wrong guy, okay?. (OPENS DOOR)

TR: You saying that I'm a liar? That I made this whole thing up? Huh?

GK: I have done nothing to you. Nothing. Ixnay. Zilch. Zero. Nada.


GK: How about plain blue trousers? It seems to me that Art used to wear those when he went birdwatching.

SS (ON PHONE): Art went birdwatching?

GK: Yes, he used to go down around the slough and look for grosbeaks and grommets.

SS (ON PHONE): Art did? My Art?

GK: Is this Norma?

SS (ON PHONE): This is Maureen.

GK: You're not my cousin?

SS (ON PHONE): This is Mrs. Art Loman.

GK: Loman. I'm talking about Art Larson.

SS (ON PHONE): You've got the wrong number.

GK: I'm so sorry.

SS (ON PHONE): It's okay. What size are you?

GK: I'm a 34 waist, jacket is a 46 long. (POUNDING STARTS AGAIN. MUFFLED SHOUTING) Excuse me, let me get rid of this guy once and for all. (PUTS PHONE DOWN. FOOTSTEPS.) I had about enough of you, mister. This is the last time, I'm warning you. (OPENS DOOR)

TR: Oh yeah? Take this, you big weasel. (GUNSHOTS)

GK: Oh yeah. Well, two can play that game. (HE FIRES GUN) (DOOR SLAMS. FIRING STOPS) (PAUSE. OPEN DOOR. BLAZE OF GUNFIRE, RICOCHETS. SLAM DOOR. PAUSE. OPEN DOOR. BLAZE OF GUNFIRE. SLAM DOOR) (FOOTSTEPS. STOP. PICKS UP PHONE) Anyway, I'm sorry I bothered you, I thought you were Norma Larson.

SS (ON PHONE): It's okay. You know, I do have a pair of Artie's azalea sweat pants

GK: You know I never had a pair of azalea sweat pants. Didn't even know azaleas could sweat.

SS (ON PHONE): Let me bring it over.

GK: Well. Okay. Thanks. (CRUNCH OF WOOD, DOOR IS BROKEN, TR ANGRY THREATS). Oh oh. What do you think you're doing? Look, you ruined my door.

TR: Serves you right, ya big dingus. (CRUNCH)

GK: And look, you crunched the nameplate on the door. That's just destructive. (PAUSE)

TR: Your name is Noyer?

GK: Noir.

TR: You're not the plumber who charged me $200 to come and fix the toilet and it still doesn't work. Two hundred bucks.

GK: I am not the plumber, okay?

TR: Okay. (PAUSE) Sorry. Wrong guy. (PAUSE) Would you happen to know how to turn off the timer on an explosive device?

GK: Oh boy. You've got a bomb too? (TICKING) You know, I'm glad your mother isn't here to see this. She would not be proud.

TR: I'm sorry. I got carried away.

GK: Did you ever hear about writing a letter of complaint, huh? Violence does not solve anything. -- Excuse me, I'm on the phone. --Norma?

SS (ON PHONE): Maureen. What's your address?

GK: I wouldn't come over right now if I were you.

SS (ON PHONE): Well, it's right on my way to church.

GK: Maybe you should go to church first and then come here. Could I put you on hold for just a second?

SS (ON PHONE): Well--

GK: Thank you. (CLICK) So how do I disarm this bomb?

TR: I don't know. I'm really embarrassed about this.

GK: Well, I hope you are embarrassed. This is terrible.

TR: I fired a pistol at you, I busted down your door, and now here I am with an explosive device set to go off in two minutes and no idea how to disarm it.

GK: Two minutes?

TR: That's right. I set it for 2 o'clock.

GK: Two o'clock!

TR: And it's one fifty-eight right now.

GK: Not according to the clock on the bomb it's not. Look.

TR: One fifty-nine.

GK: Your clock is fast.

TR: So we've got less than one minute.

GK: I'd say so. About forty-five seconds. (PHONE RING) Darn. (PICK UP) Yeah?

FN (ON PHONE): This is William Wyman of the Wombat Society, I understand you were looking for me.

GK: I was but I have other things going on.

FN (ON PHONE): I'm about ready to go to the Congressman's picnic and make a big stink.

GK: I'm about ready to go to the moon, mister. (HANG UP) You know you really need to get into some kind of anger management program, I mean-- (PHONE RING) Oh boy. (PICK UP) Yeah?

SS (ON PHONE): You want me to come over now?

GK: In about half a minute, I'm going to come flying over there.

TR: Ten seconds.

GK: Just a moment, Norma.

SS (ON PHONE): Maureen.

GK: Right. Sorry.

SS (ON PHONE): Maureen Loman.

GK: Right. Listen. Hang on. I've gotta disarm a bomb in about fifteen seconds.

TR: Ten seconds.

GK: You know something? I'm gonna just pick this thing up (RAPID FOOTSTEPS) and drop this thing in the toilet and see if that doesn't take care of the whole problem-- there (SPLASH) -- maybe that'll short circuit the thing. (FOOTSTEPS. DOOR CLOSE.) There. Consider the problem solved. (ENORMOUS WATERY BLAST, AND THEN GUSHING WATER. ALARMS)

GK: Well, it could've been worse. I'll say that. At least neither of us got blown up. (KNOCK ON DOOR) Who could that be? (DOOR OPEN)

FN: Hi. Looks like you need a plumber. -- Oh oh.



GK: Maureen?

SS (ON PHONE): What was that explosion?

GK: Nothing. Just a bomb. Would you mind if I come over there and pick up the azalea pants? And use your toilet?


SS: A dark night in a city that know how to keep its secrets.....Guy Noir, Private'Eye. (MUSIC OUT)