The Dummy Detective

It's not easy being a private detective

with a wooden partner.

The world: a stage of shadows, voices, illusions,

where no one can be trusted, even yourself.

Everybody has something they're hiding.

A dark secret, it messes with your head after a while.

Sometimes I wish I was the wooden one.

I, the puppet master, yearning for redemption

through a simple reversal of control.

Another night tossing voice in a dingy dive bar,

when I saw her sitting there,

I knew right away she would change my life forever.

You'd think I'd have learned better by my age,

but all guys are suckers for lookers.

Even old private dicks.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

Hey, I can end the act with a really dramatic

thing here, Mr. Trillo.

What? - Can do a tongue twister.

How about that Peter Piper one?

Peter Piper picked a pack of pickled peppers.

If Peter Piper picked a pack of pickled peppers,

how many packs of pickled peppers did Peter Piper pick?

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

Thank you.

Thank you.

It's no use, Mr. Trillo.

Let's give it up for Van Trillo and Ezra.

Come on, you can do better than that. Let's go.

All right, all right.

All right.

Don't give me that look, Suede.

It's open.

She's a looker.

Can I help you, Miss...

Lake, Chloe Lake.

I need your services, Mr. Trillo.

You see, Mr. Trillo? Some folks appreciate our talent.

What's the occasion, Ms. Lake?

Birthday party, communion, bar mitzvah?

I don't need a ventriloquist, I need a detective.

You are a detective, aren't you, Mr. Trillo?

I heard that you use your dummies to question suspects.

Throws them off guard.

- What else did you hear, Ms. Lake? - That it's effective.

You've got me talking to one of your dummies,

or should I say, detective partner?

Ezra's not my detective partner. Sam Suede is.

I'm their underpaid assistant.

Can you talk to people without a third party involved?

What's the problem, Ms. Lake?

I received a call about my mother

when I was at an audition for a play.

By the time I got to my mother's house

in Canarsie she was already... mm.

The coroner said it was a heart attack, but she was murdered.

- How do you know? - Because someone phoned me

saying he murdered her and he would murder me as well.

Could be a crank.

He knew details only a murderer would know.

Did you recognize the voice?

No.

Then I received another call this afternoon, a death threat.

He knew everywhere I'd been and where I was.

Sorry, I can't help you, Ms. Lake.

I'm leaving for Cleveland, working a case.

There are loads of private detectives in New York.

Most private dicks are corrupt, just like the cops.

Pay each other for leads, go to the same bars and brothels.

I need an outsider, Mr. Trillo. Like you.

What makes you think I'm-

An outsider?

That's what people say about you because you're... weird.

I would be terribly grateful.

Sorry, Ms. Lake.

My number.

I do hope you change your mind, Mr. Trillo.

As quickly as it came, the moment passed,

yet the memory of her gaze lingered.

A reminder of the power of a pair of eyes

to cut through the noise.

I didn't think you could say no to a looker.

You're finally thinking with the right head.

I know. It's okay.

Welcome.

I'm afraid we don't allow pets

of any kind here, love.

He's my mother's cat. Was.

I needed some place to get away to that was quiet

and remote and there's no one to take care of Charlie

now that my mother's...

Oh.

You poor dear.

All right, love.

Just keep your precious little pussy inside your room.

Upstairs and to the left.

Thank you.

I know, Charlie. Ooh!

He's a little jumpy.

We bill at the end of your stay.

And help yourself to tea or a little nibble in our parlor.

Thank you.

Oh, Charlie. It's okay, it's okay.

I know, Charlie. He's not usually like this.

Mm.

Intending to rest,

she was shocked instead to see her dear,

sweet cat lying dead.

I trust you'll find your stay here

relaxing, Ms. Lake.

I bought this inn shortly after my husband died suddenly.

Ah, we were very young when we came to America.

The atmosphere is most conducive for writing.

What do you write?

Murder mysteries. - (gasps) Ah.

That's my favorite genre.

And your name's Harriet Hubbard?

Oh, no. I write under a pseudonym, Elvira Cutler.

Yes.

I've read one of your novels.

The one about the passengers on a train to World's End

that are all murdered by that mad ventriloquist.

Did you enjoy it? - I loved it.

Hmm. - (gasps) I just saw

a ventriloquist performance in Brooklyn yesterday.

Did you?

My inspiration for the book was Elliot Black,

who has lived here at the inn for many years now.

He was a very famous ventriloquist at one point.

Is he?

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

Oh, no. He could not possibly be a murderer.

Though, he is quite eccentric.

It is in deference to him

that I do not allow cats, normally.

He does not tolerate them.

I'm not intolerant, I'm allergic.

I was not trying to be offensive, Mr. Black.

I was merely explaining. - Yeah, no offense.

It's the most offensive people who say that.

He never leaves the premises.

He's an agoraphobic.

He lives only to broadcast his radio show.

World's End is the only village

where you can hear his program.

Hmm.

Some people appreciate me.

Did you forget about this, Dinky?

My fan letter.

See, Dinky, people do listen to my radio show.

I wrote him a fan letter a couple of years ago.

From your room to his?

Oh, no.

I posted it anonymously, out of pity, I suppose.

I was there the fateful night

that he lost control of his dummy.

It so unnerved him that he was never able

to perform ventriloquism again.

The poor man.

Sing the song, Dinky.

No.

Our, our, our friends in the audience

are, are waiting, Dinky.

They may be your friends, Elliot,

but I wouldn't be caught dead

with this bunch of stupid, ugly mother suckers.

What, what,

what's the matter, Dinky?

There's nothing to matter with me, Elliot.

I'm just sick and tired of being your prop

to get cheap laughs with your corny jokes.

Oh.

Here, get me outta here. I'm sick of this crap.

Not gonna take it anymore, Elliot.

Don't ever do this again, Elliot.

I tried to help that woman and look at the thanks I get.

She'll ruin everything for me.

I shouldn't feel responsible for her.

It's not my fault her parents are dead.

I'm coming.

I'm Harriet Hubbard, the proprietor. Welcome.

Dr. Andre Cox at your service.

I present to you, Mr. Archibald Grimsly

and Mrs. Hortense Grimsly.

Ah, you don't happen to be members of the family

that owns Grimsly Bank, do you?

What an honor to have you stay at Les Saisons.

And a doctor too.

Ah, Dr. Cox is not an ordinary doctor.

He's my personal physician and personal assistant.

Ah. I don't believe you have a reservation.

Indeed, turns out we do have rooms available.

We bill at the end of your stay.

We certainly are not staying here.

Our car just broke down,

and there's no cell phone signal available.

Oh, you won't find a phone signal here at World's End.

We're in a dead zone.

Uh, can we use your phone to call a garage?

A garage on a Sunday afternoon? (laughs) Oh.