Shift

[frequency modulating, static hissing]

Houston edged the Cubbies, 5-4, last night --

[frequency modulating, static hissing]

Chicago!

It is August 15, 1998, 10:30 p.m.,

and we're coolin' off into the 60s after a hot --

[frequency modulating, static hissing]

Hey there, Pinkertons.

How are you tonight?

I know it's been a sultry August, in part thanks to me,

but I'm hoping to cool you off for a while.

Kick your feet up, grab a cold drink,

and settle in with me, because before you know it,

the night will heat up

and all you'll be able to do is hold on tight.

Loose those lips, Pinkertons, and share a secret with me.

I promise not to tell.

- - Ah. This is Grace Kelly.

She's been with the company longer than I have.

She's always on time, never clocks out,

and, best of all, works for free.

Try to be like Grace.

She's a squeaker.

Lever's broken.

No benefits, you know? Wah-wah.

Best to stay out of everyone's way.

If anything happens, call the cops.

This job's not worth getting hurt over,

and I don't want to do the insurance paperwork if you do.

-Got it? -I don't have insurance.

Good. It's a scam.

Oh! I hate when people move out.

You'd be surprised

how many forget they own a storage unit after a while.

Automatic payments deduct nonetheless.

Uh, change the tapes at the end of your shift.

Mark them with the date. Put them on my desk. Okay?

-And if anything does happen... - Oh, shit.

...mark that down too.

-Okay. - Are -- Are you okay?

Yeah. I'll be fine. Let's go.

Like so.

Ah, but hardly anything ever does.

-Grace can attest to that. -

Bring something to stay busy.

You got something for tonight, right?

-Uh... -Oh, geez.

Hold on.

Okay. Here. Here.

Listen to this.

Feel free to bring whatever tomorrow.

Uh, those are the Joneses.

They come in a couple of times a week.

Mr. Jones is an entrepreneur -- uh, whatever that means.

Mrs. Jones comes in a little bit more often.

She shouldn't be too much trouble, though.

Damn camera slips from time to time.

I'll get around to it.

You a writer or something?

Lots of folks who take this job consider themselves a King type.

Don't drink in here.

-Just want to clear my head. -Mm.

Good luck with that. Come on.

I want to show you the storage room.

Okay. Right here.

All kinds of crap.

Okay. Come on. Come on.

Haul that bucket over here.

Mop up everything, wall to wall.

- Every hallway. - Okay.

Door to door, all the way down.

Okay.

See you tomorrow, Tom.

Bye.

Looks like it's just you and me, Grace.

Excited to have company?

Me too.

[down-tempo instrumental music plays]

Mm.

Hm.

Uh, no.

How about Chinese, Grace?

[frequency modulating, static hissing]

[frequency modulating, static hissing]

[frequency modulating, static hissing]

[frequency modulating, static hissing]

[frequency modulating, static hissing]

[The Mamas and The Papas' "Monday, Monday" plays]

- Hey. Tom. -Hey, boss.

When you leave for the night, throw away your trash.

We don't need renters complaining about rats

in their lockers because the security guy is a slob.

-Got it? -Yeah. Sorry about that.

Just don't do it again.

Here. You need to finish this.

You need an emergency contact.

-Oh, I don't really have one. -I need it for insurance.

Okay.

Great. Thanks.

I'm headed out. Any questions?

No. I'm good. It was...quiet.

Always is.

Don't forget to change the tapes.

Who's still in today?

I agree.

What do you think she's doing in there, Grace?

- -...will happen again.

-Not today. -

I can't remember when... Wait. What -- What the fuck?

You know, going to bed at 9 never made more sense.

The scent of alcohol...

Let's settle in, Miss Kelly.

Hey there, Pinkertons.

Welcome to Chicago's Mystery Hour on WPIK.

I'm your host, Iris Keen.

And tonight I want to talk to those provocateurs

hustling and grifting their way...to the top.

So go on. Give me a call.

I love to hear what

or who you've stumbled into lately.

Talk to me, Scottie.

Hi. Iris?

I think my wife is cheating on me.

Oh, pray tell, baby.

She's spending time