Peeper

**

Twentieth Century-Fox presents...

a Robert Chartoff-Irwin Winkler production.

Michael Caine and Natalie Wood in Peeper.

A Peter Hyams film.

Costarring Kitty Winn,

Michael Constantine,

Thayer David,

Timothy Agoglia Carey,

Liam Dunn and Don Calfa.

Production designer: Albert Brenner.

Film Editor: James Mitchell.

Music by Richard Clements.

Director of Photography: Earl Rath, A.S.C.

Screenplay by W.D. Richter.

Based on the novel Deadfall by Keith Laumer.

Produced by Irwin Winkler and Robert Chartoff.

Directed by Peter Hyams.

Here's looking at you.

**

**

I suppose I should tell you how it all began.

Except I'm not sure I know exactly when that was.

My name is Tucker. I'm a private investigator,

or "peeper" as they like to call it here.

They have a lot of strange words for things in America,

and none of them are in plain English.

I came to Los Angeles right after the war.

I guess, like everybody else, I was looking for success and glamour...

and Betty Grable.

As it turned out, Betty Grable had an unlisted telephone number.

So do success and glamour.

I opened a small office around the corner from Hollywood Boulevard.

The rent was cheap enough, and I figured...

if Betty Grable ever trips on her way to a big premiere,

I could run around the corner and help her.

You never can tell, you know. Thoroughbreds have weak ankles.

So that's where I was that night.

It was after midnight, there was nothing good on the radio,

and I couldn't get my heart into doing my bookkeeping.

I kept on trying to get the numbers on the adding machine to lie...

and tell me I wasn't broke.

The adding machine kept telling me the truth,

which is that the robbers make more money than the cops.

I read in the paper the other day...

where President Truman said this country is in the middle of a postwar boom.

I've kept my windows open, and I still haven't been able to hear it.

I've also kept my door unlocked-- for prosperity to walk right in.

Maybe that's where it all started.

I should've locked my door.

You maybe looking for somebody, tough guy?

Good-bye, tough guy.

You're in your office late at night, minding your own business,

and someone races down the hall like that-- You get curious.

Judging by the sound, it was either a guy or a 200-pound lady.

My hunch was it was a guy.

You have to go with your instincts.

I saw George Raft do this in a movie once.

I don't know exactly what it proves,

except, if you add up all the times I've done it,

I'm out about a dollar.

I don't like the light!

You're right. It doesn't do you justice.

I'm Lou Anglich. Oh, charming.

Don't worry. I didn't read none of that.

You must have a lot of dough-- the front you put up.

It's my cleaning lady's day off.

These are the ones I like. I like 'em too.

How'd you find me? I was passing by.

Oh, really? I have a rather restricted clientele. Oh, I get it.

The widows' and orphans' friend. But a guy which maybe he ain't had all the breaks--

You throw him out on his tailbone.

You know something? You're not an American.

I can tell. You talk funny. You think so?

Hey, take a look at this.

That's my little Anya. My kid, see?

I don't see her for 29 years. 1918.

I tell you a secret. Sit tight.

All right. Now I tell you.

I come into my own lately.

Yes, that's very nice, but I couldn't help noticing...

that some people were trying to get into my office-- Listen to me!

I put my kid in an orphanage 29 years ago.

It was a nice place-- trees, flowers, other kids to play with.

I-I had to go away on business. You get the picture?

When you came back, she was gone.

And you are holding my shirt.

Oh. Thank you.

Only two years later, they give her away to some stranger.

She was adopted, you mean. Adopted? The place is a pawnshop!

I got ahold of this mug that worked there.

He charged me $75. In 1918, that's a million!

Anyhow, he told me she was took by a guy named Conroy.

Where's this Conroy now? Beats me. At the old address, nobody knows him.

I checked the first day I got in town.

What do you mean, got in town? I've been in Tampa, Florida.

I left L.A. 12 years ago. I only been back a couple days.

You mean you haven't looked for your daughter since 1918?

I been busy! Anyhow, listen to me.

It was down in Tampa that I come into my own-- in the Sunshine State.

You're holding my shirt again. Oh. So, listen.

I come back to give Anya her fair share.

You are playing games with me.

I got another picture.

I can't see in this light. Well, it's supposed to be the guy-- Conroy.

It was taken when Anya disappeared.

This picture was taken in the spring of 1918 in Los Angeles--

the Wilshire area, probably in Hancock Park.

It was probably taken around 3:00 on an April afternoon,

because the light hits from the right.

The number on the front-- 547, odd-- means that the house is on the north side of the street.

So, if it's still there, she'll be easy to find.

You are a smart guy.

Who have you shown this to? Lately, I mean.

Only the people in the house where Conroy used to live.

But you drew a blank. Yeah.

Well, 29 years is a long time.

This contact at the orphanage-- Would he have a name?

What's the matter with you? Everybody's got a name. So let's hear it.

Oh, Jaster-- A.P. Jaster. But he changed jobs. He moved on.

Why don't you tell me...

exactly what is bothering you, Mr. Anglich?

I'm being hunted-- by three guys who make a habit of killing people for a living.

- Torpedoes. - Yes! In a black Buick with a big dent on the hood.

I left a little unfinished business in Tampa.

That's why I got to find Anya now, fast.

Before it's too late. Yes. I went to this office that Jaster has.

The orphanage told me-- Just a minute. You know where Jaster is?

Nobody was there except the torpedoes. They tracked me down.

I skipped town. That's how come I'm hiding in here.

- I'll take your case. -

Tucker!

I knew you was an all right guy. So did I.

You go see Jaster. I'll see if I can dig up some facts on Conroy with that photo.

Maybe it'll be nothing. Believe me, it sometimes is.

Here. How can I reach you? Uh, I ain't settled yet. I'll call in.

Hey. Here's my number.

Oh, uh, Tucker.

Uh, you know, uh, when Anya was a little girl,

she always loved, uh, dogs.

Really? I will remember that.

Hey.

Don't get yourself killed. Oh. Right.

A guy falls into your office at that time of night...

in that much of a hurry, you can believe a lot of what he says.

You have to have time to lie.

Anglich seemed to be running out of time.

The house wasn't anywhere near where I said it would be. It was in Beverly Hills.

Who can tell from a little photograph?

If the daughter, Anya, was in there,

she was doing a lot better than Anglich.

I walked in the front door trying to look like I knew where I was going.

The guy polishing the brass was convinced, so I started to believe it.

How did you get in here?

Uh, the front door was open. Was it?

Close it on your way out then. Is the lady of the house at home?

I'm afraid Mrs. Prendergast isn't seeing anyone just now.

I was hoping to speak to a member of the family. You are.

Leslie C. Tucker. Franklin W. Prendergast.

Husband? Brother-in-law.

Just who are you, Mr. Tucker? I drove over from the Examiner...

hoping to check out a few things, Mr. Prendergast.

What sort of things, may I ask?

Well, that photo for a start.

Oh, this is Harvey Prendergast-- my brother. Deceased.

I think you'd better tell me just exactly what you want.

I, uh-- I have no patience.

Can I sit down? Must you?

I suppose you'd like a drink, Mr. Tucker.

I seldom indulge, especially on such a beautiful morning.

Same here.

Now then, you were going to tell me...

about how you came by the photograph, Mr. Tucker.

Uh, no-- No, I wasn't.

I stopped by to ask you about an old photo, Mr. Prendergast.

I expect to be given the fast gate.

Instead, here we are settling down so that you can pump me.

For a man in my position, that's enough to make me curious.

Just what the hell is your position, sir?

My having the photo bothers you. You being bothered bothers me.

And the fact that I haven't been thrown out of here sooner bothers me even more.

If it'll make you happy, I will.

Nice birdie.

Gypaetus barbatus, Mr. Tucker.

Usually he's found in the mountains of southern Europe or Asia.

He loves the heat.

Because of his habit of gorging himself to repletion...

on carrion and garbage,

he's often considered the most repulsive bird of prey.

- Very unfair. - But he's very smart.

He uses his keen eyesight to stay at great heights...

until circumstances are healthy for him to risk descent.

Otherwise, he keeps his nose out of other people's business.

Beg your pardon. I was just seeing to the vulture, sir.

I, uh, think I've talked enough for this morning.

Now I'm going to say good-bye.

Before I tell you where I got the picture of Harvey?

All right, where did you get it? Why do you want to know?

- Good day. - Maybe I should ask your niece.

Are you sure I even have one?