“Across the roof-top, a dim shadow slipped silently to a barred window, like a dull gray wraith that merged perfectly with the curling fingers of fog drifting in from the lake.” For those unfamiliar with shadows, we are told that it made no noise.
The “hissing intake of breath, unmistakably a woman’s” reveals who is casting that shadow. She cuts a circular hole in the window, and fires two shots at a man sleeping in bed: “two dull clicks from the blue metal in his fist.” Wait, is the killer a man or woman? Dude breathes like a lady.
The next morning, Detective Dan Conley tells Captain Steele, “Mugs Brandon was bumped off last night in that roof-top apartment of his.” Conley says the killer is a woman because, “There was one footprint on the roof under that window, and it was made by the rubber sole from a woman’s shoe.” Steele suspects it was either one of Mugs’ old molls, a Clancy Street Dame, a Hallway Baby, or Totie Fields.[1] Conley more specifically suspects, “Clerical Clara. It looks like her work.”
Steele responds by spitting in “the brass cuspidor which is a part of every police captain’s furniture.” That response, though disgusting, is well-earned. Steele points out, You know dam’ well that dame ain’t never been mixed up in this booze racket.” OK, so how exactly did this look like her work then? And by the way, in 1931 was leaving the “n” off of “damn” enough to bamboozle the censors?
Despite his captain’s well-reasoned spitting, Conley heads over to Clara Beaumont’s accounting office. As well he might, as she is a “blonde beauty . . . between twenty-five and thirty-five, according to her mood.” She denies knowing Mugs Brandon, and Conley notes her feet are 2 sizes smaller than the print left at the murder scene. Clara says, “You dicks make me sick”. Sensing there would be no double-entry posting with the bookkeeper that night, Conley leaves.
Ten minutes later, a “quietly-dressed girl” enter’s the office. Clara feels threatened because the girl has a pistol, and also is 10 years younger than her. The visitor is “a dark slender girl of about twenty-two, with the regal high-breasted carriage that speaks of breeding in any language.” They exchange some snappy dialog, but the purpose of the visit is not clear. Not having Conley’s eye for feet, the girl also suspects Clara shot Mugs. She holds a gun on Clara all during the witty repartee, and threatens to kill her next time she sees her. Then leaves. Hunh?
Two days later, Mugs is buried. After the festivities, “Sergeant Conley could not have told you what prompted him to return to the apartment where Mugs Brandon had been killed” (i.e. the writer couldn’t think of a reason). In Mugs’ desk, he finds a box containing $50,000 and a list of names written in Clara’s hand:
- Jake Cling, $5,000.
- Soapy Taylor, $5,000.
- Toad Wilson, $3,000
Once he remembers that “Jake” is just a nickname, he realizes what all three men have in common — they were recently shot.
Clara shows up and pulls a gun on Conley. She is owed the dough for killing the three men on the list. Then the younger woman, Mugs’ moll Carmen, shows up and pulls a gun on Clara. Clara is able to elbow Carmen in the mouth, and the ladies start fighting.
20 minutes later, when it is clear this brawl is not going to lead to any ripped clothing or them kissing, Conley tries to escape. But Clara holds them both at gunpoint. The cops bust in, but Clara is able to get away.
It goes on, introducing a couple of unnecessary characters, but maintains a good pace. Bonus points for Clara hiding out disguised as a messenger boy at the end. My mental image of that outfit is pretty cute, but wholly impractical as the scandalous décolletage would have given her way immediately. But think of the tips . . . from the customers, I mean.
Some crackling prose and good zingers make this a pretty good read . . . of the short story, I mean.
Other Stuff:
- [1] No one under 80 will get that reference. I am under 80. Ergo I don’t get my own reference. What? It is 2:10 am.
- First published in the August 1931 issue of Gun Molls.
- Also that month: Lou Gehrig played his 1,000th consecutive game — nothing can stop him now!
Spencer goes undercover to the doctor for a physical. In the waiting room, he observes on the doctor’s diploma that he graduated in 1907. He exclaims to the nurse, “That would make him at least 70!” Well, yeah, if he graduated from medical school at age 21 it would. Maybe there was less to learn then. They were only up to COVID-3.
Sweet Jesus, this thing is only half way through! Dull story short, Dr. Dove has discovered a serum which will add 50 years to the average human life. But the real stunner is that SFT actually came up with an interesting twist. If life expectancy increased that dramatically, then the population would quickly increase, leading to mass starvation as the lines at Cracker Barrel grow to a mile long. 
Executive James Barrett barks at his secretary to book him a flight to Toronto. He is leaving the Muldoon merger in the hands of young Philip Weaver. After handing off the file, Barrett calls his dimwit, baby-talking, still-in-bed trophy wife who thinks Canada is overseas. What could such a mature, educated titan of industry see in this numbskull? Oh, she’s 29 years younger than him. Not quite the 37 year difference we saw in yesterday’s 
The next morning, the doorman comes up to their apartment to drop off the mail and pick up Mr. Barrett’s luggage. After her husband leaves for the airport, Mrs. Barrett rifles through the mail until she finds Phillip’s letter. She reads, “By this time, my sweet, your adoring husband is on his way to the airport.” Phillip is pretty trusting that the USPS would get that letter there on the right day. Even more-so that it would be only be delivered after Barrett left, although he did improve his odds by mailing it the same day as the Monkey Ward catalog.
Mrs. Barrett . . . she doesn’t seem to have a first name. Let’s just call this treacherous, cheating ninny Helen. No reason at all. Just seems like a Helen.[1] So Helen immediately addresses an envelope to her husband’s hotel in Canada. After getting stuck because she doesn’t know what “smarmy” means — no, seriously — she pulls a picture of Phillip out of the desk drawer for inspiration. Wait a minute — she keeps a photo of the guy she is cheating with in her desk at home? And this is not a wallet size photo, this is an 8 x 10 glamour shot. It is even framed! These are the dumbest criminals ever.
Back in her apartment, she is mortified. I really felt for her, sitting on the sofa, almost catatonic with anxiety. Although in my case, it would have been because I had to attend a cocktail party. On the other hand, she does look pretty snappy in her little black cocktail dress. Gladys suggests that she go to the Post Office and see if she can retrieve the letter. She does, but again just misses the letter as it is sent out.
OSB once again, to great effect, uses historical and stock footage to add depth to a story which is just not that interesting. We open with several shots of WWII Dunkirk and London in 1940 before we arrive at a bunker where a group of men cheer Winston Churchill’s rousing “finest hour” speech on the radio:
This is an odd assortment of a farmer, a coal miner, a chaplain, a bank teller, a chemist, a grocer, a retired one-armed WWI hero, a young volunteer, and the headmaster of a girl’s school. It is a different time when this group of patriotic civilians would prefer to defend their country rather than going to work in their own jobs every day (well, except the headmaster, I imagine).
The elderly Blakely takes the first watch. Nazis row the boat ashore, hallelujha — wait, that’s not how that goes! But he has already dozed off. He dreams of his wife Ethel, as well he might — she is only 35 years old! Uh, wait a minute, Charlie said they had been married 20 years. Oh well, it was the olden days, I guess.[2] He dreams of Ethel at home asleep in their bed as bombers release their load, which is more than he’s done lately. The old guy is awakened by the whistling of the bombs, the explosions, and his enlarged prostate. Good thing, too, because at that very second, a Nazi is peeking into their bunker.
Another not particularly interesting — not even really a twist — but more of a gimmick or hook this week. It really is a mixed bag though, with some great elements. The episode had great potential with an large cast of defined characters, but didn’t know what to do with them. Too many people were thrown at the viewer at once, and arcs were hinted at but never paid off. The shaky kid did kill a Nazi, but that wasn’t really a satisfactory resolution. Well, not for the kid.
On the other hand, OSB continues to astound with its production design. It might start out in a one-room bunker, but it eventually moves outdoors (even if it was on a set) to show some effective fighting with the Nazis. The devastated town that Blakely walks through is utterly convincing. That and the bombed out home are worthy of a movie in that era. Much as I love The Twilight Zone and Alfred Hitchcock Presents, they never matched the visuals on this series. If it had not been so committed to such a narrow genre, this series might have been remembered as the equal of those classics.
