INT. RADIO STUDIO – NIGHT

Fat ties and fedoras. Polka dots and pert curls. A haze of yellow smoke hovers near the ceiling of a large, soundproofed studio. PERFORMERS stand one or two to a mic, huge booms hanging from the ceiling emblazoned with the DUMONT logo, scripts in hand or on music stands. In the back of the room sits ORGANIST. Next to her, TWO FOLEY ARTISTS with their collection of sound effects.

RODERICK BEAN (50s, balding, stooped in a too-large suit) shares a mic with BEA MORTIMER (20s and stunning in gold hair and yellow dress). He speaks with a rich baritone to match her sultry alto.

RODERICK

Miss Lane, did you get a look at the thief?

(beat)

Here.

Foley #1 shakes out a blanket with a firm SNAP of his wrists.

BEA

(sniffing)

Thank you Mr. Mink. No, I didn’t get a look at him, but I’d recognize him if I heard him again.

RODERICK

He had a distinctive voice, you’re saying?

BEA

Very distinctive. I’m still all shook up.

RODERICK

Let me pour you a belt.

BEA

Have you any vermouth?

RODERICK

No ma’am, but I can do you one better. I’ve got Addison’s Old Kentucky, the only bourbon that’s charcoal filtered and fortified with cocaine.

Foley #1 opens a small box next to his microphone, the hinges squeaking loudly. Then silence. Everyone turns to Foley #2 who looks lost in thought. A painful two seconds go by and then Foley #1 sticks his finger in his mouth and quickly pulls it out with a POP.

BEA

Mmm. I can smell the rich oaky aroma from here.

Foley #2 still stares into space. Foley #1 rushes over, grabs a bottle, and pours into a glass pitcher, spilling everywhere. Foley #2 comes out of his reverie and frantically flips through his script to find his place, loudly knocking over his music stand.

RODERICK

One sip of Addison’s Old Kentucky and you’ll feel your cares floating away.

BEA

Mmm. Thanks, Mr. Mink.

(beat)

I’d feel a lot safer if I knew the Silver Stoat were on the case. Do you think you could get in touch with him?

Foley #1 is flailing his arms about in a whispered fight with Foley #2.

RODERICK

I’m sure I can, Miss Lane.

The organist plays melodramatic chords while WHIP HUNTLEY (30s, beanpole thin, dapper in a checkered suit and bowtie) cups his hand to his ear and steps up to his mic.

WHIP

What Lucinda Lane doesn’t know is that Desmond Mink and the mysterious masked crime fighter known as the Silver Stoat are one and the same. Back in his penthouse, the hard boiled private eye pours himself a glass of Addison’s Old Kentucky Bourbon – the only bourbon that’s charcoal filtered and fortified with cocaine – and contemplates his next move. But he’s not alone.

Ominous music from the organ. Foley #2 walks a pair of shoes on his hands along a piece of wood. Step. Step. Pause. Tentative step.

Meanwhile, Foley #1 cocks a revolver next to his microphone.

WHIP (CONT’D)

Desmond Mink is trained in all the deadly mysteries of the Orient, but sometimes an old fashioned Colt Peacemaker is what’s called for.

RODERICK

Hello, Bluelane.

Low, atmospheric music from the organist. She plays with one hand and eats a turkey club with the other.

At a mic of his own, MICKEY BRILL (40s, short, solidly built) opens up. His voice is soft and lispy, and drips with jonquils.

MICKEY

Put the piece away, Mink. I’m just here to talk.

RODERICK

Talking is fine, Bluelane, but I’ll keep you in my sights while we do it. Have a seat.

MICKEY

I heard on the street that you’re looking for that new cat burglar in town.

RODERICK

You heard right.

MICKEY

Back off this one, Mink. For your own good.

Foley #2 picks up a large bag labeled “GLASS” and drops it on a board in front of the mic.

WHIP

Oh no!

Dramatic organ.

WHIP (CONT’D)

Looks like Sigmund Bluelane wasn’t alone! We’ll be back with the shocking conclusion after this message from our sponsor, Addison’s Old Kentucky Bourbon.

The Organist picks up a Jews Harp and begins to pluck it. Foley #1 bangs two halves of a coconut shell together rhythmically. Foley #2 shakes a spur. They stop and Foley #1 whinnies.

DAVEY BURNS (15, cleancut, squeaky-voiced) clenches his script in both fists.

DAVEY

Ma? We got company. Reverend McGillicutty’s here.

(softer)

She’s probably out back tendin’ the roost. I’ll go get her, sir.

Foley #2 sprinkles sand on a piece of wood and walks shoes rapidly across it.

DAVEY (CONT’D)

Ma?

Foley #2 swings open his rusty, squeaky-hinged box.

DAVEY (CONT’D)

You in here, Ma?

Foley #1 pours thick liquid from one pitcher to another. The sound it makes, something like GLUG, GLUG.

BEA

Hey Davey. Shut the door afore any revenooers catch a whiff of my squeezin’s cookin’.

DAVEY

Oh no, ma! Reverdend McGillicutty is payin’ a visit!

Foley #2 opens his rusty box sloooooowly.

MICKEY

Davey? You find your ma? Oh. My. What have we--

BEA

--Reverend McGillicutty, it ain’t what you’re thinkin’.

MICKEY

I’m thinkin’ your makin’ shine.

BEA

I reckon it is what you’re thinkin’.

MICKEY

But I don’t understand what for? Why’d you wanna make shine when you could just buy Addison’s Old Kentucky Bourbon?

BEA

Is it as good as they say?

MICKEY

Better. And a whole lot healthier than cookin’ your own. Fortified with cocaine, Addison’s Old Kentucky is smoother, sweeter, and better for you than any other bourbon. It’s just the best.

DAVEY

Remember kids, tell your mom and dad to ask for Addison’s Old Kentucky Bourbon by name. It’s fortified!

The Organist begins playing again while Foley #1 and Foley #2 finish up their smokes.

WHIP

When we left Desmond Mink, AKA the Silver Stoat, he was at the mercy of Sigmund Bluelane.

The music becomes dissonant and eerie. Roderick moans.

MICKEY

Finally awake, I see.

RODERICK

You’ll pay for this, Bluelane.

MICKEY

No, Mister Mink. I’ll get paid.

Foley #2 clomps a pair of high heels along his board. Bea glares at him and he softens the steps. She keeps glaring until the steps are delicate little footfalls.

BEA

Heya Mink. Nice work, Bluelane.

The Organist plays a wall of sound, all stops open.

WHIP

Tune in next week to Addison’s Old Kentucky Bourbon Theater for another thrilling installment of

(beat)

The Silver Stoat!

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