Chicago Deadline Page #6

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You wanna search me?

By the way, have you got a warrant for me?

Could have.

What's he doing here?

Looking at fans.

Fans?

Yeah, Rosita's fan.

All right!

Now look, Jack...

We're going at this all wrong. I'm after the story of a girl

and you're going after a killer.

I'll do everything I can to help you,

but don't box me in.

If the guys who killed Blacky Franchot find me

trading with you...

you'll have another corpse on your hands.

Somebody's gonna shoot you sooner or later.

Come on.

Where to?

Wherever you'd go if we weren't along.

I haven't any idea.

Then we'll just ride around.

That'll be nice.

I'd like to leave a two-dollar deposit

on the fan, please.

Three, four, five and five is ten.

Thank you, very much.

It's a pleasure.

Where to?

As I remember, 3675, Belmont Avenue.

A gent named Hotspur Shaner.

There may be a resemblance, but I can't be sure,

my eyes are not good.

What did the other girl who lived here call herself?

I don't know what I have to do with this case.

I've read about this Rosita of yours, but any attempt to connect me

with such a person is nothing short of ridiculous.

As a matter of fact we didn't say you were connected.

Mr. Adams knows more about it than we do.

Would you mind telling us her name, Mr. Shaner?

Ellen Ransom. And you you'll find

you can't drag her through your paper.

She was one of the finest young women I've ever known.

And she acted as your housekeeper.

How long was she here?

Not for a month.

When?

She came just after Christmas.

How did you meet her if you say

you can't get out of this house?

I see no reason why I should answer any more

of your questions.

Perhaps you'd better, Mr. Shaner.

You said that the girl resembled the picture.

How did you meet her?

My nephew brought her here.

Would you mind telling us your nephew's name?

John Shaner.

Or John Spingler.

It's quite a family resemblance.

John Spingler runs a bar down in the North side.

I saw him yesterday offer to bury her.

He was down at the morgue to see her.

It's not the same girl.

It can't be, I can't believe it.

Why not?

You knew the real Rosita.

The one the papers are writing about is a phony.

But you are the newspapers. She's what you've made of her.

Public image.

Not mine.

I think I know her better than you do.

That's why I want to write the truth about her.

What caused her to leave you, Mr. Shaner?

I've never known.

I'll get it.

Oh, hello, Pete.

Hello, boy.

Hello, Pete.

How did he get here?

He got another vision.

Sure did.

We oughta be able to use him.

Is this Hotspur Shaner?

Yeah.

What's going on?

What's John Spingler to you?

May I ask who you are?

Peterson, homicide.

I don't understand.

We found your name on a paper in his pocket.

In his pocket?

They picked him up in a ditch a couple of hours ago.

Is he dead?

He certainly looked like he was when I...

Ed! Ed!

Ed, you're a lunkhead!

Could you explain the killing?

...The Evening Mirror bureau, from the blotter, just came in.

Well, add this to it with my compliments.

Spingler was another one of Rosita's friends.

Rosita? You sure, Ed?

Looks like a chain reaction.

Jimmy!

A chain reaction? That's good, Ed. What a gal.

You better come in and give us a copy of that book.

Oh, no I don't.

I'll put a couple of men on it.

No, no.

Where are you?

Sorry, but I have to get out of here.

Hang on.

I was fondest of her than anybody I ever worked for.

And now she's dead.

You haven't told me why you left her, Hazel.

It wasn't exactly I left.

She left me on account of that man.

Mr. Temple? You quarreled?

She and him. I knew there was something wrong

the minute they came in. XXX

Why, Miss Rosita!

What is it, honey?

Get out!

But, Mr. Temple...

Get out!

Please, go, Hazel.

Now, tell me again what you think of me.

I can't talk to you.

Where did you go...

Please, don't hit me!

I thought I told you to get out.

But Miss Rosita.

She has locked herself in the room.

You won't be needed any more.

You can go for the night.

Yes, sir.

He was gone when I came back in the morning.

She left me my money then she mailed me my references.

When was that?

About a year ago.

Did you see her again?

After the scream you heard a noise. A thud.

Yes.

Was it like a body falling down to the floor?

I don't know. It could be. I was so fluttered.

Do you suppose he hurt her?

I don't know.

They're bad stories they're writing about her.

Yes, I know.

Thank you.

Come here, look at this!

Gee, who worked you over, mister?

How's your head?

Looks bigger than Gribbe's.

By the way, Gribbe sent a man over to Hazel.

She's okay. They didn't get to her.

That's good.

Tommy Ditmond's outside. You want to see him?

Yeah, send him in.

Yeah.

Oh, and incidentally, Anstruder's got a couple of clods

out looking for you.

Hello, Tommy.

Nothing I told you meant anything to you, did it?

Look what you've been writing about her.

Dirty filth!

What kind of a guy are you anyway?

Why do you have to do this to her?

I didn't write that story, Tommy.

Don't welsh. Don't be yellow, too.

I've been digging up the facts and running them in.

If they're distorted, blame the desk.

You're making her look like the lowest kind...

You said you were sorry for her.

I am sorry, truly sorry.

You promised.

I know, but she wasn't news then.

Who made her news?

All right, cut me down if it'll make you feel any better.

Maybe I was kidding you at first.

But I'm not now.

Maybe I'm a heel and a rat.

But I didn't start out to be.

I was only following a story from a slant

that anybody else would've.

Now I'm caught in it.

You haven't any idea how tight I'm caught in it.

Tommy, I'm doing everything I can to help her.

Ed!

Oh, sorry.

You didn't get hurt seriously, did you, Ed?

Not by the mugs, no.

Who's been writing this stuff?

I have, myself.

What have you been using, a paintbrush?

This isn't Rosita.

What is?

That rather brings us to the point.

I'm sorry for not running the paper to please you, Adams,

but if we knew more about the girl, we might probably do different.

Now, George, Ed... I hate to say this...

but George seems to feel that you're holding out.

I have to do it my way.

What about Temple?

What about her relationship with Franchot...

I'm sorry, I have to do it my way.

If you have anything you're concealing,

any leads that we ought to know...

I have a hundred.

I know too much, yet not enough.

When I get it all together, I'll give it to you,

my way.

I don't know what you want. You've got two murders

and a sensational mystery woman.

If that isn't good enough, you'd better get yourself

another reporter.

Ed!

I'm sick, I'm filled up to my feet with it.

Hey, where are you going?

I'm going to the bar then to the fight.

Oh, Gribbe, if you wanna keep your hands in friction,

why don't you write about the little girl who was beat up

by the vice-president of the Ayckroyd Trust?

Yeah. Thanks a lot.

Seems our dear little Belle Dorset once had a mother

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