J. Edgar: The Most Powerful Man in the World Page #8

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"Only eight more days.

Funny how even the dearest face

will fade away in time.

Most clearly, I remember your eyes...

with a sort of teasing smile in them,

and the feeling of that soft spot...

just northeast of the corner

of your mouth against my lips."

What is it?

Lt's a letter from Lorena Hickok...

the White House reporter with

the bad breath, to Mrs. Roosevelt.

No. What are you gonna do with it?

Nothing. I accused her

of having an affair with a man...

and Old Horse Face is having

an affair with Mrs. Bat Breath!

- A woman! Can you believe it?

- Mm.

Oh, excuse me, Mr. Hoover.

They'd like to see you in the laboratory.

Yes, Miss Gandy. You tell them

I'll be there in one minute. Thank you.

We'll get to this later.

Speaking of horses, Clyde,

I'm going to Del Mar this weekend.

I was thinking of taking

a quick vacation...

and, well,

I thought you'd like to join me.

Well, I've never been

to the horse races, Edgar.

Well, it's wonderful.

And between me and you, when I lose,

the track, they actually cover the losses.

- So, what happens if you win?

- They still pay.

Then where's the thrill?

In the sun that falls on the stands,

the hotel rooms, the service...

the restaurants, but, most of all,

Clyde, it's the company.

- Come with me.

- I'd love to.

Fantastic. I'll have Miss Gandy

make all the arrangements.

Well, I can't go now. But maybe

in a couple months after I've saved up.

- lt's completely covered, Clyde.

- Edgar, I can't let you do that.

Listen, you've done so much for me,

for this Bureau. Consider it a thank you.

I don't know that I'd feel comfortable.

I'll get a suite with adjoining rooms...

rather than having us stay separate.

That'll be savings enough.

Deal.

What do you have for me, Mr. Koehler?

Well, as you can see, ahem,

there are several kinds of wood here.

Pine, birch, fir, and, if you look closely,

you will see...

- Thank you.

- Mr. Tolson.

That each has its own internal markings,

rings and knots...

and its own external markings from the

machinery used to mill the raw timber...

and these that mark the tools

used to build the ladder.

The question is, how does this help us

identify the kidnappers, Mr. Koehler?

I need more money, sir.

- More money, sir, for what?

- Postage.

I need to write every mill

on the East Coast...

and see if their blades

match these marks.

Hmm.

I want a report from each mill

and a map tracking all leads.

By the time I get back from New York,

I want something to report.

Good day.

Just like the communist radicals

before them...

the gangster fell from favor.

Now, finally, children dreamed

of joining the FBI.

On your feet. On your feet.

Yeah?

He's taking his shower. Any message?

There ain't any shower there, copper.

Miss Temple!

Mr. Hoover, I was wondering

if you would join my police force.

Why, yes, Miss Temple.

If you agree to be an honorary G-Woman,

and give me one little kiss.

I don't know if your wife would approve,

Mr. Hoover.

But, you see,

I still live with my mother.

Oh. Okay.

- Look this way!

- That's real spiffy.

Nice smile. Thank you very much.

Excuse me, sir. Can we get a statement?

How'd you like the picture?

This way, Mr. Hoover!

After you, Mother.

Should we go to the club?

After we drop Mother off at the hotel.

I have you at a table with Anita Colby.

Lela Rogers and her daughter Ginger

have asked if they can join.

As long as it's near the front.

Miss Rogers, pleasure to meet you.

This must be your mother.

Hello.

J. Edgar Hoover. This is Clyde Tolson.

Anita, good to see you.

The bullet entered

the back of the head...

and exited through the front

near his cheek.

The thing that most people don't

realize is that there is little blood.

The heat from the bullet actually

seals the wound as it enters...

so the crime scene is far more peaceful

than is depicted in your moving pictures.

And little Lindy.

Did you see the child with your own eyes?

Those are details I wouldn't disclose...

with a refined group of women

such as yourselves.

I couldn't bear to make you shed a tear.

But I assure you this, we are on the case.

I saw the Lindberghs in Paris.

I hardly recognized them.

Hmm.

Only justice can bring reason

back to their lives.

But I might share one confidential

clue with you, if you swear to secrecy.

Of course.

The gold notes from

the ransom money have surfaced.

And can you guess where?

Tell us. Please, Mr. Hoover.

In the Bronx, on three occasions.

And each one of the shop owners claim...

they received them from a man with

a pointed chin and a German accent.

Take my word for it, Mr. Hoover.

All the admiration in the world

can't fill the spot love goes.

Hmm.

Or keep your bed warm.

I serve my country, Miss Colby.

The nation's admiration

is more than enough for me. Heh.

But it likely makes for a cold bed.

Mr. Hoover, would it be out of the question

to bother you for a dance?

Oh, uh, how do you mean?

Well, simply a dance.

You do dance, don't you?

Well, that is a skill

that, um, I haven't yet mastered.

And the night is getting long,

isn't it, Mr. Tolson? Mr. Tolson?

No time like the present.

Lt's my favorite song, come on.

Lt's time we leave.

Uh, we have a great deal of work.

We... We...

We have a great deal of work tomorrow...

and I'm afraid we don't have time

to dance. We're very busy, aren't we?

Yes.

And my sincere apologies. I...

Right now, Mr. Tolson.

Thank you very much.

- Good evening.

- Ha, ha.

Good night.

I don't...

I...

I don't... I don't like to...

I don't like to dance, Mother.

- I don't like to da...

- Edgar, go look in the mirror.

Talk the way the doctor taught you to.

Be my little Speedy.

I can spit my words out with... With...

I can spit my words out with precision,

diction, and clarity.

I can sp... Spit my words out with

precision, diction, and clarity.

I'm a proficient, remarkable lad,

capable of remarkable feats.

I'm a profic... Mother.

Mother, I don't like to dance.

Mostly I don't like to dance with women.

I think it's time you knew this.

And I find it humiliating

and I refuse to be humiliated.

Edgar, stop.

Do you remember Barton Pincus?

Yes, Mother.

His father was a watchmaker.

He was 10 years younger than me

and you used to call him...

Birdy or Daffy

or something to that effect.

And do you remember

what happened to Daffy?

After the school custodian discovered him

in a hoop skirt and flower bonnet?

He was made to stand outside

in front of the school...

wearing the bonnet and skirt

as punishment.

Did you ever wonder why

we called him Daffy?

For his odd behavior, I believe.

Lt's short for "daffodil," Edgar.

Do you remember what happened

to Daffodil Pincus?

Yes, Mother. He...

He shot himself six weeks after.

That's right.

And I thank God every day that my own

sons don't suffer from his condition.

Edgar.

I'd rather have a dead son

than a daffodil for a son.

And now, I'm gonna teach you to dance.

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