Dark Passage Page #2

Yes, someone's in here with her.

Now, go away.

Take another good look, Madge.

Shouldn't have dropped those

stinking clothes down the chute.

Couldn't get far in a Turkish towel.

Everything in order. Neat. Clean.

Calvin Jansen,

sentenced four years ago...

to life imprisonment

for the murder of his wife...

died last night in San Quentin

still claiming his innocence.

Jansen, wealthy architect,

was accused....

Thought I heard somebody talking in here.

Just me talking to myself.

A habit I picked up in prison.

-Did you get rid of your clothes?

-Yeah.

I'm glad you provided a towel

big enough to cover my embarrassment.

It's decent enough.

May I have the clipping?

You had a caller.

I told her to go away.

That wasn't very bright.

My friends will think that I--

I know. I told you I should get out.

Not that I care what they think.

I'm just trying to be technical, and careful.

I hope those fit.

Don't you get lonely up here,

all by yourself?

I was born lonely, I guess.

-Is that why you visit murder trials?

-No.

I went because your case

was like my father's.

I know he didn't kill my stepmother.

I know he told the truth...

yet he died in prison.

I thought it might be that way with you.

-It was that simple?

-Yes, I wanted to help you...

but all I could do at the time

was write crazy letters to the Record...

until today.

Why were you painting there?

Did you know I was--

No, I didn't.

When I woke up this morning...

I found myself wondering

how you were getting along.

I don't believe in fate or destiny,

or any of those things...

because I know it wasn't destined

for my father to die in prison.

But I guess it was something like fate...

to make me go out

to Marin County to paint.

Maybe it was simply because

I was thinking of you.

I don't know.

Excuse me. I'll get cigarettes.

Thank you.

Who's Bob?

You remember things, don't you?

Some things. What about this Bob?

He was engaged to somebody else.

She hates him now,

but at the same time....

She didn't want anybody else to have him.

-How did you know?

-I've known people like that.

You know more than that.

You know she was the woman

who knocked at the door.

The one who worked against you

at the trial.

It's dark enough. I'd better be going.

But she didn't see you.

She doesn't know I know you.

Yeah, but she's the kind

who always comes back, and back again.

I'll go pack the rest of your clothes.

You finish your smoke.

Head down the hill.

I'll tell you where to go from there.

-Mind a little speed?

-I like speed.

-Nice looking suit you're wearing.

-Thanks, and I don't feel chatty.

-Some fellows like to talk.

-I don't.

You always that way?

Yeah, that's why

I don't have many friends.

-You know, it's funny about friends.

-It's funny you can't take a hint.

Brother, you never drove a cab.

You got no idea how lonely it gets.

What's lonely about it? You see people.

Sure, you're right there.

You should see the character I had

for a fare yesterday.

Picked him up at the Ferry Building.

Standing on the curb with a big

goldfish bowl in his arm, full of water.

Two goldfish.

Climbs in the back of the cab, sits down

and puts the goldfish bowl in his lap.

Where do you think he wants to go?

To the ocean.

Clean from the Ferry Building

to the Pacific Ocean.

But he doesn't know

that there's seven hills.

Seven steep hills in between.

So we start off.

Up the first hill, slippity slop,

down the hill, slippity slop.

Water all over the back seat,

the goldfish on the floor.

He picks them up,

puts them back in the bowl...

up we go again, slippity slop,

water all over the....

You never saw such a wet guy in your life

when we got to that ocean.

And two tired goldfish.

But I like goldfish.

I'm going to get a couple for the room.

Dress it up a little bit,

it adds class to the joint.

Makes it a little homey.

-I thought you said you got lonely.

-That's right.

I pick people up and take them places,

but they don't talk to me.

I see them get out and go in spots,

have fun...

then I pick up another load coming out...

and I hear them telling

about all the fun they had.

But me, I sit up here all alone,

and it gets lonely.

That's tough. You're in a bad way.

You said it. Where are we going?

If I tell you,

you'll ask me why I'm going there...

and what am I going to do there,

and am I gonna have fun.

A guy gets lonely

driving a cab, remember?

That's right, brother. Lonely. And smart.

-Smart in what way?

-About people.

Looking at them. Faces.

What about faces?

It's funny. From faces I can tell

what people think, what they do...

sometimes even who they are.

You, for instance,

you're a guy with plenty of trouble.

-I don't have a trouble in the world.

-Don't tell me, buddy. I know.

She gave you plenty of trouble, that dame.

So you slugged her.

Not now, not here, too many cops around.

Don't try to hit me

in the back of the head...

or I'll run this crate up

into one of those hotel lobbies.

I'll give you $500.

Don't give me nothing.

Where do you want to go?

You might as well

make it the police station.

Don't be like that.

You're doing all right. You're doing fine.

If it was easy for you to spot me,

it would be easy for others.

That's where you're wrong.

Unless you'd be happier back in Quentin.

Sure, that's why they sent us up there,

to keep us happy.

I see what you mean.

Let's go up here and talk.

-Did you really bump your wife off?

-No, I didn't.

I don't figure it that way.

I figure you slugged her with that ashtray

because she made life miserable for you.

I know how it is.

I live with my sister and her husband.

Now, they get along fine.

So fine, that one day

he threw a bread knife at her.

She ducked.

That's the way it goes.

Maybe if your wife had ducked...

there'd be no trial, no Quentin,

no on the lam.

That's life.

-Smoke?

-All right.

Light?

-What was she like?

-She was all right.

Just hated my guts.

For a long time I tried to find out why,

then I didn't care anymore.

I know. Nice, happy, normal home.

I almost got roped in

a couple of times myself.

If you find the right girl, it's okay.

-What'll I do?

-You won't listen.

I'll listen. I want ideas.

That's what I want

more than anything else. ldeas.

I didn't kill her.

Why should I go back to San Quentin

for the rest of my life if I didn't kill her?

I wonder what he could do with your face?

-Who?

-A friend of mine. Knows his stuff.

-How much would he want?

-How much you got?

$1,000. That's all I've got.

-He'd take $200.

-And keep after me from then on.

No, he's a friend of mine.

-What's your charge?

-Nothing.

I've seen him work. He's great.

I wouldn't know my own mother

after he got through with her.

How long would it take?

Maybe a week,

if he doesn't have to touch your nose.

I don't think he will. Just a little

around the eyes and here and there.

-Got a place to stay?

-We're right near the place.

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