Murder, My Sweet

I remember you as a noisy little

fellow, son. All of a sudden, you get quiet.

Is your book of answers lost,

or are you waiting for your lawyer?

Maybe you don't think

murder looks good on you.

- Maybe I didn't do it.

- Maybe he didn't do it.

Look, Marlowe, we're arraigning you.

We don't like you, but it ain't personal.

We just follow a routine after a killing.

Where's Randall?

He asked us to talk to you, if that's okay.

- Is he holding the kid?

- I wouldn't know.

- Is she all right?

- I wouldn't know that either.

- Where did you see her last?

- I forget.

- How do you feel?

- Like a duck in a shooting gallery.

- Cigarette?

- Yeah. Thanks.

Want to make a statement?

Boys tell me I did a couple of murders.

Anything in it?

You got a rope under my ears?

I think you better let me have it.

I'll have to hold it on you,

but I think you better let me have it.

Okay, Dowling. Bring in your notebook.

We're all set.

- The works?

- Yeah.

Some of it you know. If I misquote you...

Let's get it on the record,

from the beginning.

With Malloy, then.

It was about 7:
00. Anyway, it was dark.

- Why were you at the office that late?

- I'm a homing pigeon.

I always come back to the stinking coop

no matter how late it is.

I'd been peeking

under old Sunday sections...

for a barber named Dominic

whose wife wanted him back. I forget why.

I only took the job because my bank

account was trying to crawl under a duck.

And I never found him.

I just found out all over again

how big this city is.

My feet hurt.

And my mind

felt like a plumber's handkerchief.

The office bottle hadn't sparked me up...

so I'd taken out my little black book

and decided to go grouse hunting.

Nothing like soft shoulders

to improve my morale.

The soft shoulders had a date,

but she thought she could fix that...

and was going to check right back.

There's something about the dead silence

of an office building at night...

Not quite real.

The traffic down below was something

that didn't have anything to do with me.

I seen your name

on the blackboard downstairs.

Yeah?

I come up to see you.

You're a private eye?

That's right.

I'd like you to look for somebody.

I'm closed up, pal. Come around

tomorrow, and we'll talk about it.

I looked for her where she worked...

but I've been out of touch.

Okay. Tomorrow.

I'd like to show you where she worked.

Okay. You show me where she worked.

This way.

The joint looked like trouble,

but that didn't bother me.

Nothing bothered me.

The two twenties felt nice and snug

against my appendix.

I tried to picture him in love

with somebody, but it didn't work.

They changed it a lot.

There was a stage where she worked,

and some booths.

Pink flowers was in the slatwork.

She was cute as lace pants.

A redhead.

Eight years since I seen her.

Six she didn't write,

but she'll have a reason.

- What's she do, sing?

- Yeah.

Let's you and me go up

and nibble a couple.

Boss.

- Whiskey. Call yours.

- Whiskey.

You never heard of Velma?

Look, Joe, I'm sorry about your girl.

And I know how you feel,

but she ain't here.

No girl's been here

since I owned this place.

No show. No noise.

I got a reputation for no trouble.

She used to work here.

You ask him about Velma.

We've been over all that. Drink up, Joe.

You remember Velma?

I'll have to request

you don't bother the customers.

So far you rate me polite?

I don't bother you none.

Some guys has the wrong ideas

when to get fancy.

Whiskey.

Come on. Eight years is a lot of gin.

They don't remember Velma.

- Who asked you to stick your face in?

- You did. Remember me?

I'm the guy who came in with you, chunky.

Moose. The name is Moose.

On account of I'm large.

- Moose Malloy. You heard of me, maybe?

- Maybe.

They changed it a lot.

There was a stage

where she worked and some booths.

You said that.

I'm beginning not to like it here.

- Maybe I told you too much.

- No.

- We was to be married.

- What happened?

Where do you figure I've been away

those eight years?

Catching butterflies.

I put away a few grand before I went up.

- You been in the caboose ever?

- Just a couple of overnight stops.

Okay. You find Velma.

- She got a last name?

- Velma. Velma Valento.

- How will I get in touch with you?

- I get in touch with you.

I spent a buck in another bar

for some history.

Mike Florian ran the joint until 1939.

He died in 1940

in the middle of a glass of beer.

His wife Jessie finished it for him.

Tracing her was easy. I could do that.

A bright third grader

could have done it, but not Malloy.

He needed a private detective.

She was a charming middle-aged lady

with a face like a bucket of mud.

I gave her a drink.

She was a gal who'd take a drink...

if she had to knock you down

to get the bottle.

That liquor's been keeping

the right company all right.

Just hold it careful, mister.

This ain't no time to drop anything.

What was it we was talking about?

The red-headed girl named Velma Valento.

Used to work in your husband's place

on Central Avenue.

Who was it you said you was, mister?

There.

A private cop.

You didn't say that, mister...

but I knew you wasn't no regular cop.

No regular cop

ever bought a drink of that stuff.

Do you remember Velma?

- Who was that, copper?

- Velma.

No. I don't seem to right off.

What was it you said you wanted her for?

I'm tracing her for a client of mine.

I shouldn't ought to sit here

and bother with you...

but when I like a guy

and he buys me a drink...

the ceiling is the limit.

Hold on to your chair

and don't step on no snakes.

I got an idea.

No peeking.

Them is all Mike left me,

them and his old clothes.

Publicity, that is.

But them dolls didn't never get

in the papers...

at least not in connection with the place,

they didn't.

Why did you hide this picture of Velma?

Why did you hide it?

Give it to me!

She's dead.

She was a nice kid...

but she's dead.

- Moose will be sorry to hear that.

- Yeah. Won't he, though?

Yeah, he's out. He's out,

and he's looking for his girl.

Why did you hide her picture?

I don't know anybody

by the name of Moose, copper.

Beat it!

I don't know anybody

by the name of Moose.

Suddenly, she wasn't drunk anymore.

Her hand was steady, and she was cool...

like somebody making

funeral arrangements for a murder...

not yet committed.

Hello, sweetheart.

I let in a guy a couple hours ago.

He said it was important. Okay?

He's in love and in a big hurry.

He'll get over that.

- Cute little fella, isn't he?

- Yeah.

- Sober?

- Yeah.

He smells real nice.

Mr. Marlowe?

I took the liberty

of waiting here, Mr. Marlowe.

The attendant gave me the impression

I could expect you soon.

Who put in the pitch for me, Mr. Marriott?

- I beg your pardon?

- How did you get my name?

As a matter of fact...

I decided to employ a private investigator

only today.

This being Saturday afternoon,

I failed to reach anyone by phone...

and was somewhat at a loss as to...

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