(GUY NOIR 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 February and the weather turned warm and I was thinking of going out for a walk when, (KNOCKS ON DOOR) ---- Yeah. (KNOCKS.) Just a minute (KNOCKS) (FOOTSTEPS) Coming, coming, coming.... (DOOR OPEN)
TR: Hi, Guy.
GK: Joey!
TR: Okay if I come in, Guy?
GK: Sure, of course. (FOOTSTEPS. DOOR CLOSE.) Have a seat. (HE SITS DOWN.)
TR: I come to see you about something.
GK: I figured.
TR: I'm here for Tony.
GK: Tony Rigatoni? The capo primo de primo?
TR: Exactly.
GK: Well. This is an honor.
TR: He respects you very highly, Guy.
GK: That's nice.
TR: And he hopes that he has your respect.
GK: Of course. Always. Please convey my respect to Tony.
TR: I will do that. In fact, he's here. In the hall. Mind if he comes in?
GK: Tony --- he's in the hall --- what's he doin' there? Huh? Oh my gosh.
TR: Hey--- hey--- hey--- it's oday. No problem. No problem. Okay? Okay if he comes in?
GK: Sure. (FOOTSTEPS. DOOR OPEN)
TR: Come on in, Tony. (FOOTSTEPS) Tony, you remember Guy.
TK: Yeah.
TR: Guy, you remember Tony.
GK: It's good to see ya, Tony. It's been awhile.
TK: Yeah.
TR: Tony's been at Leavenworth for eighteen years, Guy.
GK: I was going to say, it's been about eighteen years, hasn't it.
TK: Yeah.
TR: Tony got out on Tuesday.
GK: Well. Congratulations. I'm happy for your.
TR: And now Tony would like you to do a job for him.
GK: I see.
TR: Tony spent eighteen years in Leavenworth and while there he got interested in writing poetry and now he wants you to get these poems published for him.
GK: Aha. A poet.
TK: Yeah.
GK: Well, I'll see what I can do. I don't know much about poetry, but -
TR: Tony has written some very fine poems, Giu.
GK: I have no doubt about that, Joey.
TR: I brought them with me.
GK: I see.
TR: Tony wants these published right away. It means a lot to him.
GK: Uh huh.
TR: And he wants them in the Paris Review.
GK: Where?
TR: He liked the title. Paris Review. Classy, huh?
GK: I see.
TR: And he wants to get a hundred grand for each one of em. Or else.
GK: That's a lot of money.
TR: You get a lot of poem for that money. And you get the name: Tony Rigatoni. Huh? That ain't chopped liver, pal.
GK: I know that, but I don't think people get a hundred grand for a (SLAP)---
TR: You're takin' a very negative attitude, Guy.
GK: Is there going to be a lot of hitting here, Joey? Huh? I'm only asking.
TR: You ain't even seen the poems and already you're running down their cash value.
GK: I'm sorry. Let me see it.
TR: Which one you want me to show him, Tony? Huh? This one? "My love is like a red, red rose"? Huh?
TK: Yeah.
TR: Here. (SHEET OF PAPER IS PASSED)
GK: Okay. Thanks. Very nice typing job, Tony, let me congratulate you on that right away. Good neat margins. White paper, heavy stock. You're winning points right away with that.
TR: Read the poem.
GK: My love is like a red, red rose that's newly sprung in June. My love is like a melody that's sweetly played in tune.
TR: It's beautiful, ain't it?
GK: So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, so deep in love am I, that I will love thee still, my dear, till I see the gang go dry.
TR: Whatsamatter?
GK: Till I see the gang go dry?
TR: He'll stop loving her the day he sees the boys give up beer and whiskey. Meaning, never.
GK: Oh! Oh! Of course.
TR: Something wrong with that?
GK: No. Fine. Just was confused, because, you know, in the original, it reads a little different-
TR: Original!
GK: Yeah.
TR: What? You saying that Tony stole this? Huh?
GK: Well ---
TR: Why you --- (WIND UP AND KONK OF PUNCH. GK OOF) You saying this ain't original?
GK: No, no --- it's always been original. Great poem. Always was.
TR: You like that one, listen to this one ---- you want me to read him this one, Tony?
TK: Yeah.
TR: Listen to this, meathead.
Let me not to the marriage of true guys
Admit informants. Love is not love
Which has alteration in the waistband size
Or uses a stain remover to remove.
Oh no, it goes straight for the mark
And posts a lookout for the breakin,
It is the car that's waiting in the dark
That takes you to your hideout south of Macon.
GK: That's good. Very Shakespearean.
TR: Very what??? Shakespearean! Why you---(WIND UP. KONK. GK OOF)
GK: You know, it's getting dangerous to make any statements about literature these days. It almost doesn't pay to be a critic. That was a compliment, Joey. Shakespearean.
TR: Well, it didn't sound like one. Did it sound like a compliment to you, Tony?
TK: Yeah.
TR: It did?
TK: Yeah.
TR: Okay. Tony says he took it as a compliment. My apologies.
GK: Does that mean that I get to hit you now?
TR: I donno. Tony?
TK: Yeah.
GK: Thanks, Tony. Why you (HE SWINGS, KONK. TR OOF)---
TR: Ohhh. You hit me a lot harder than I hit you, Guy --- I think I got a freeby coming. Do I get a freeby, Tony?
TK: Yeah.
TR: Okay. (HE WINDS UP. KONK. GK OOF)
GK: This is a rough business, poetry. I don't think I care to get into it.
TR: You're in it, wise guy. Tony says you're in it, you're in it.
GK: Okay. I'm in it.
TR: You want I should show him another one, Tony?
GK: I don't know if my jaw can take another one.
TR: I didn't ask you, I asked Tony. You want I should show him this one, Tony?
TK: Yeah.
TR: Okay. Here. (PAPER PASSING) Read it.
GK: You know, I think these poems are too good for me, in a way. I think you could find ----
TR: Read it.
GK: Okay.
Whose house this is I think I know
He's gone into the village though
He will not see me stopping here
To write my initials in his snow
Tonight I drank a quart of beer
And now there is no men's room near
I feel like I contain a lake
Like I could stand here for a year
Finally I give a shake
And button up for goodness sake
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind, you stupid flake
The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
I've got to put some guys to sleep
Including him, the little creep.
TR: It's good, isn't it. Huh? It's good. You like it?
GK: It's good.
TR: That's his. Tony wrote that. Spent eighteen years writing poetry. Now he wants to see some money out of it. Anything wrong with that? Huh? Guy's a poet, he deserves to get something out of it.
GK: I couldn't agree more.
TR: I figure a hundred thou a piece. Paris Review. Want you to take care of it, Guy. How soon can you fly to Paris?
GK: Listen. The Paris Review! You don't need the Paris Review.
TR: Huh?
GK: The Paris Review isn't going to give you top dollar for these.
TR: No?
GK: French people - they don't read poems in English. These are in English. You want Tony's poem to go unread?
TR: No, of course not.
GK: You want New York.
TR: The New York Review?
GK: Naw. The New Yorker. That's where you get top dollar. The New Yorker. These poems are perfect for them.
TR: They'll like em there.
GK: They'll love em there.
TR: Hear that, Tony? The New Yorker.
TK: Yeah.
GK: The person to see there is Tina Brown. You go see her. Or ask for Roseanna.
TR: Roseanne works there?
GK: She's an editor.
TR: Hey, Roseanne is going to love these.
GK: You bet she will.
TR: Tina Brown? How do you spell that?
GK: B-r-a-u-n (PENCIL SCRATCHES) Right.
(KNOCKS ON DOOR)
TR: Who's that?????
GK: I don't know. Let's see. (FOOTSTEPS)
TR: No--- (DOOR OPEN)
CF: OKAY ---- PUT EM UP HIGH WHERE I CAN SEE EM. HIGH.
TR: Doggone it.
CF: You --- your name Noir?
GK: Right, officer.
CF: Sergeant Tuesday. Poetry Squad. I've had my eyes on these turkeys for a couple of weeks now.
GK: What did they do?
CF: Impersonating a poet!
GK: I see.
CF: Unfortunately, the First Amendment creates a lot of loopholes for fake poets. So we have to get emk on something else. I got you two on dropping your gum on the pavement.
TR: You'll never make it stick, copper.
TK: Yeah.
CF: What's this? Tina Brown is involved in this too? The soul singer?
GK: Both Ike and Tina Brown. They're in it up to their eyebrows. They're the money behind it.
CF: Or is it Tina Turner?
GK: You're thinking of Ted Turner. The one who married Jane Johnson.
CF: He's in it too?
GK: No, he and Jane know nothing about this. So far as I know.
CF: Well, we'll get to the bottom of this. Get moving, punks. C'mon---
(MUSIC)
TR: A dark night in a city that keep its secrets, but one guy is still trying to find the answers, Guy Noir, Private Eye. (MUSIC OUT)
© 1996 by Garrison Keillor