THRESHOLD | Part 1 "Dead Man's Mouthpiece"

PART ONE: DEAD MAN’S MOUTHPIECE

Transcripts made and edited by jack, Oro

CWs: gun violence, sounds of gunshots, knife violence, blood/gore, organ harvesting, death/murder, police, sounds of eating/drinks

(BEGIN Part 1.)

(Pouring rain and thunder. Persistent knocking. ‘Faroe’s Song’ begins. A door opens. Footsteps. The knocking continues throughout.)

ROBERT PUCKETT (annoyed): Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. (More knocking.) You must’ve been close. (The door opens. Louder rain.) Thank you for stopping by so late. I… hello? (He grunts. The door shuts. Footsteps. Knocking.) Who’s there? (More knocking.) I said ‘Who’s there’? (Louder knocking.) I said ‘Who’s there’?

Fucking… (Metal clicks, like a gun.) You think you’re fucking funny? (Emphatic knocking.) Do you know… who the fuck I am? (Overlapping with knocking.) Do you have any idea whose fucking door… you’re banging on? (Knocking.) You got one chance to piss off… before I end you. (Knocking.) Alright! (Five gunshots. Metal clicking.) You bang on my front door… middle of the fucking night. (He grunts. Footsteps. Sounds of a rotary phone.)

JOHNNY (muffled, over the phone): Mr. Puckett.

ROBERT PUCKETT: Yeah. Johnny.

JOHNNY: Y’alright?

ROBERT PUCKETT: Get the car. Overtime tonight.

JOHNNY: Yes.

ROBERT PUCKETT: Clean up duty.

JOHNNY: Stay there sir. (The phone clicks. A sudden thud, followed by loud rain. A cuckoo clock chimes.)

ROBERT PUCKETT: What? What the fuck? Ugh. (Rising ghostly noises.) No. It’s you. It’s… (Objects clattering. Puckett grunts in confusion.) Stay away from me. (More clattering.) You stay away from me! You… (He grunts. Repeated, loud thuds, as if breaking down a door. Wood splintering. Paper fluttering.) Come on… come on… (Sounds of writing.)

(More desperate.) I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. No! No! (He yells in agony.)

(Arthur wakes with a gasp, makes noises of distress.)

ARTHUR: Where… where am I? (He stammers.)

JOHN (pointedly): In the car. You got to sleep. (A whimsical tune begins.)

ARTHUR: In the car?

JOHN: The Arnett Farm. The stakeout? Our case?

ARTHUR: Oh. Right. Right. I, uh… (He yawns.) How’s it going?

JOHN: About as well as it’s been going for the last few hours.

ARTHUR: Well. Thanks for keeping an eye out. (Fabric shifting.)

JOHN (annoyed): Yeah, for four goddamn hours while you dozed. Remind me again. How exactly is this fair?

ARTHUR: How? Mm, you want a full refresher? Okay, well, let’s see, uhm… last year, I opened a mysterious book that was delivered to my office. (He yawns.) And when I did… a fragment of an eldritch god known as the King in Yellow… (He clears his throat.) That’s you, John… was somehow transferred into me.

JOHN: I meant –

ARTHUR: Leaving me completely blind. However, he… again, that’s you… got control of my eyes. So when we do stakeouts, or have to tail a client, or hell, have to file a police report…

JOHN: Arthur!

ARTHUR: You’re sadly the one who watches. While I… I get to nap.

JOHN: It’s the napping I’m talking about. Feels like I have to work while you get to rest.

ARTHUR (satisfied): That’s exactly what it is.

JOHN (deadpan): Hardy har har.

ARTHUR: Oh, come on. You get plenty of time to rest, too. Do you not?

JOHN: I don’t rest. I –

ARTHUR: Sure, sure. What I mean is, when I sleep, you get your time to relax, to pursue your own endeavors…

JOHN: And you do the same! When you want time alone, I let you put me in time out. Willingly.

ARTHUR: You said you enjoy that space! You said it’s like sleeping for you.

JOHN: It is! I’m not complaining. In moments like this, shouldn’t we both be working?

ARTHUR: What am I supposed to do here? We’re stuck, staring at the broad side of a barn.

JOHN: And the fields surrounding.

ARTHUR (petulant): Well, how am I supposed to know?

JOHN: I mean, you could review the case with me. Keep me company.

ARTHUR (whining): I know. But it’s so boring!

JOHN: Like it isn’t for me! (Arthur scoffs.)

ARTHUR: Fine. The Arnett case. He hired us because he suspected someone of nefarious nature was living in his barn.

JOHN: It wasn’t just him who hired us. A few of the local farms were concerned. Some of their livestock went missing.

ARTHUR: Right, right. Arnett is the one who noticed the guy.

JOHN: Yes. And for the past three nights, he’s seen a figure skulking about the fields. And when he looked into the barn during the day… he saw signs of someone living there. Including…

ARTHUR: Including a sigil painted on the floor.

JOHN: In blood.

ARTHUR: In what he thought looked like blood.

(A whimsical tune begins.)

JOHN: It can’t be blood?

ARTHUR: It can be. But we don’t know that. For all we know, it’s a vagrant just needing a warm bed for the night.

JOHN: A vagrant?

ARTHUR: We don’t know anything! In fact, we don’t even know if Old Man Arnett is all there.

JOHN: All there?

ARTHUR: Oh, he’s older than dirt, John. And he said himself that his granddaughter was dating a troublemaker. It’s probably the two of them sneaking off to canoodle in the barn while the old man sleeps.

JOHN (stuttering): What about the sigil?

ARTHUR: I don’t know. Maybe kids these days make love in mysterious ways. I’d rather not know.

JOHN: Yeah, well, you’d better know. Faroe is bound to start dating soon.

ARTHUR (urgent): Don’t bring Faroe up, please. God, I'm having a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

JOHN: Well, then wake up! (Arthur groans.) Why is she keeping you up?

ARTHUR: You know why! It’s been what, a handful of months since…

JOHN: Since we got back.

ARTHUR: Yeah, and, I mean, I can’t tell her about you.

JOHN: I know.

ARTHUR: You know how awkward that is for me?

JOHN: I know. I know. I’m just… I need more time to…

ARTHUR: To what? Look, good as I am without needing to see, she’s bound to start asking questions. She’s a sharp girl, John. Sharper than I am.

JOHN: Than either of us.

ARTHUR: She knows something’s up.

JOHN: Don’t put this all on me! You’re hesitant to tell her, as well.

ARTHUR: Of course I am. Of course I am, are you kidding me? All my life I wanted a second chance with Faroe. All my life, I had hoped to see… the woman she’d grow into, and now… now that I do, I… you know how terrified I am to upset the apple cart? She’s such a force… she has such heart. You know she’s acing all of her classes at Miskatonic?

JOHN: I know. (Arthur chuckles.)

ARTHUR: People out there… they are desperate for times to change, for the next era. But me? I’m begging for life to just slow down to a crawl. I want to sit in every moment with her, catch up on all of those years missed. Tell her everything. And yet… I’m so nervous to say the wrong thing. I could lose her again.

JOHN: You’re not going to, though. She’s not… she’s not like that.

ARTHUR: I know, I know. Look, I don’t know what the Manager did, I… I don’t know what magic he pulled to have her here with us, but… it’s clear that she’s never known anything else.

JOHN: Same with everyone else, for that matter.

ARTHUR: Yeah, god. (Amused.) Navigating the discovery was awkward. ‘Hey, Daniel! Did I ever mention Faroe?’ (Lower register.) ‘Of course, Arthur! She was staying with me while you were out dealing with those monstrosities.’

JOHN: It’s as if she’s always been here.

ARTHUR: Which makes it all the more awkward when I ask her things I’m supposed to know about. Like where she’s staying or what she’s studying.

JOHN: It’s difficult to find out what you don’t know…

ARTHUR: Without her thinking I’m a shit father who doesn’t listen.

JOHN (caring): You’re trying your best.

ARTHUR: Yeah.

JOHN: We both are.

ARTHUR: And thank God no one seems to question why I’m only fifteen years older than her.

JOHN: Speaking of. Don’t forget that we’re meeting her for dinner after this.

ARTHUR: Don’t f – don’t forget? (He splutters.) You’re the one watching the time, aren’t you?

JOHN (smugly): I’m watching the barn.

ARTHUR (frantic): Well, how the fuck am I supposed to be watching the time?

JOHN: Well, maybe if you weren’t sleeping.

ARTHUR: Tell me you’re fucking with me. And that you’re taking —

JOHN: Wait, wait, wait.

ARTHUR: What?

JOHN: Movement. From the treeline. Behind the barn. (Arthur exhales.) I can barely see through the rain, but I… I think it’s a figure. Moving from the wood toward the field.

ARTHUR: Stay with him.

JOHN: He’s crouched low… the light outside is very dim. The moon, covered in shadow, but… he moves with a nervousness.

ARTHUR: Arnett said he found some entrails in the woods… a-a creature…

JOHN: A deer.

ARTHUR: Yeah.

JOHN: Gutted with a knife.

ARTHUR: Do you see a weapon?

JOHN: Tough to tell. (A short pause.) Alright. He’s scampered up the hay bales on the side of the barn and headed into the loft. Shall we confront this vagrant?

ARTHUR: Don’t suppose the rain is going to let up, is it? (Fabric shifting. Metal clicking. A gentle melody begins.)

JOHN: You’re bringing the gun?

ARTHUR: Shouldn’t I?

JOHN: Well, what about this seems violent?

ARTHUR: Nothing, but… it can’t hurt, can it?

JOHN: People get spooked by guns, Arthur. It speaks to… intention.

ARTHUR: Speaks to intention! What do you…

JOHN: I’m just saying.

ARTHUR: You said yourself, blood sigils.

JOHN (defensive): You said it wasn’t blood! (Arthur grunts.) Look, you’re just nervous. I get that. But this isn’t like it was before. You know, we’re just outside the city. These are just people… and the majority of the cases that we’ve handled so far… they all end in mundane, simple explanations.

ARTHUR: Yeah.

JOHN: Remember the garnet case? Literally just misplaced. And the stained livery case?

ARTHUR: Oh, yeah. Leonard Gilbert.

JOHN: They’re just people. You bring the gun… and this could change a potentially friendly chat… to an armed encounter. But look. It’s your call. I support, either way.

(Arthur sighs.)

ARTHUR: People they may be, but it's people that I'm cautious about, John. As you said, these cases are mundane. But at this point, the mundane can do just as much damage.

JOHN: Very well.

(Metal clicking of a gun being loaded.)

ARTHUR: All right. (He pauses and sighs.) Damn.

JOHN: What?

ARTHUR: It's so wet out there.

(A whimsical tune begins. John scoffs.)

JOHN: Get out.

ARTHUR: All right.

(A car door opens and shuts. The rain grows louder. A gentle melody begins.)

JOHN: The barn is straight ahead. Though the cloud covers the moon, there's still a fair bit of light coming through. The barn sits black, drawn of all its color against the blue hue of the lightning strikes and obfuscated moonlight. The barn looks old. Not the oldest we've encountered, but surely one that has been around for some time. Do you want to enter the way he did, or would you rather move through the front?

ARTHUR: Let's follow him.

JOHN: All right. The hay bales are stacked up opposite the forest. Move to the right of the building. There's a small wooden fence here. You'll need to... (Shifting. Arthur grunts.) Yes. Yeah. Perfect. Now stay low. The rain may cover the sound of our movement, but it won't hide our approach should he look out. Here, here! The hay bales. You'll need to climb them. (Arthur grunting.) Here, okay. Okay, okay good. Here, here. Excellent. Okay, okay. The opening. It's just ahead. Just stay low. Crouched on this top bale of hay. See if you can peek over the edge just slightly. Give me a moment to look.

ARTHUR: Anything?

JOHN: Darkness. It doesn't even look like he's using light. And I don't see any movement.

ARTHUR: Alright.

JOHN: Hit it. (Arthur grunts as he enters the barn. The rain quiets.) Okay. Okay. From the dim light outside, it looks like there are crates, a few stacked against the far wall of this upper barn loft area, and a few to our immediate left. We are near the back of the barn, so...

ARTHUR: Okay.

JOHN: This loft area is rather large. It looks like a maze of mold-covered hay bales, and wooden crates filled with various farm supplies almost serve as... walls, creating a branching path deeper into the barn. I can understand why this vagrant would have gone undetected. He must be somewhere, squirreled away, near the front of the barn.

ARTHUR: Can you see? Can you… navigate?

JOHN: Barely. I can for a bit with a guiding hand, but eventually I'll need some light. Unless...

ARTHUR: Unless he has a light deeper in that we can't see.

JOHN: Yes.

ARTHUR: All right. Slow and steady. Anything you see, you... (Footsteps.)

JOHN: Yeah, yeah. Of course. (A slow melody begins.) This loft feels maze-like. A few flashes of blue light from the opening behind us cut hard shadows through the crates, painting the floor in angular patterns. Like a funhouse, only...

ARTHUR: Only there's no fun.

(Muffled whispering: mostly unintelligible, interspersed with ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you can do this’.)

JOHN (sudden): Shh. I hear… something. Listen, listen. I can hear him, but I can't make out what he's saying.

UNKNOWN VOICE (muffled): — innocent lives!

ARTHUR: All right. I mean, look, we're not going to kill him. We need to tell him to shove off. So, might as well just… approach. (Footsteps.)

JOHN: Okay. Okay. But it's still dark. Use the lighter.

ARTHUR: Right, right.

JOHN: Show him that you don't mean him any harm. (Rustling of fabric. Arthur flicks a lighter.) He's just around the crates to our right. And—

UNKNOWN VOICE (scared): Light! (Clattering.)

JOHN: He has seen the light.

UNKNOWN VOICE: Who are you?

JOHN: He stands and—

UNKNOWN VOICE: W-Who are you?

JOHN: He’s dropped a knife he held.

ARTHUR: It's okay.

JOHN: But his hands are...

ARTHUR: It’s okay.

JOHN: Covered in blood, and–

ARTHUR: I don't mean you any harm.

JOHN: He clenches his fists in rage.

UNKNOWN VOICE (demanding): Who are you?

JOHN: His eyes are wild, Arthur.

ARTHUR: My name is Arthur Lester. I'm a private investigator here in Arkham, or downtown.

JOHN: He looks feral, Arthur. His eyes dart behind us as if expecting others. He's shaking. Nervously or angrily, I can't tell.

UNKNOWN VOICE: What are you doing here? Who sent you?

ARTHUR: Who sent me?

JOHN: Arthur, behind him, on the floor, in dim candlelight, is the sigil and some blood. There's also a page from some… book.

ARTHUR: The farmer who owns the barn sent me. Look, I'm only here to—

UNKNOWN VOICE (terrified): Liar! H-He sent you, didn't he? He sent you.

ARTHUR: Who? Who do you think sent me?

UNKNOWN VOICE: He did, didn't he?

ARTHUR: No! No, listen, listen. Whatever happened to you, I promise, I am not part of it. I’m not—

JOHN: Connect with him. Ask him his name.

ARTHUR: Look, look, let's just talk, okay? What's your name? What can I call you? Please. Please. I swear to you, I'm alone.

SAM (noises of fear): Sam.

ARTHUR: Sam, okay, okay. Sam, listen to me. I swear to you, whatever you're wrapped up in, whoever you think sent me, it's not the case. I have nothing to do with it, okay.

JOHN: He unclenches his fist. His shoulders relax, but only slightly.

ARTHUR: You know, but maybe I can help you. Tell me, why are you here?

JOHN: He glances to the sigil on the floor for a moment.

(Footsteps.)

ARTHUR: What are you doing—

SAM: I have to stop it. But it's not working.

ARTHUR: What's not working?

SAM: He did such terrible things. Such horrible... b-but I found a way. I did. I found a way to stop-stop him.

(More footsteps.)

JOHN: He scrambles to the floor to fetch… the page. (Ruffled paper.) It's bloodstained and it looks ripped, as if torn from a book.

SAM (frustrated): See, see. But-But it's not working. It’s not working.

JOHN: He's handing the page to you. His feet firmly planted, unmoving, but his arm is outstretched. You should take it.

ARTHUR: Okay, okay.

JOHN: A little lower. There. (Sam gasps in fear.) Oh, oh! Arthur, his eyes fall. He spots the gun in your holster beneath your coat.

ARTHUR: It's fine. It’s fine.

JOHN: Arthur, he –

ARTHUR: Look, I always carry.

JOHN: He scoops down to his feet and picks up the knife again. God dammit.

ARTHUR: Look, look, look! I'll put it down. I'll put mine down. (Metal clicking.) Look. Okay?

SAM: I need to finish what I started. I need to stop him.

ARTHUR: I believe you.

SAM: I need to stop him. You – you –

ARTHUR: We can stop him together. I believe you.

JOHN: He's taken a step back.

ARTHUR: Look, look. I'm putting my gun on the floor. Look! (Metal clicking.)

JOHN: He's watching you as you... (A clattering noise.) You put your gun down.

ARTHUR: There. See?

SAM: Look at it.

ARTHUR: At?

SAM: Look at the page.

JOHN (overlapping): The page.

ARTHUR: Oh, the page. Yes. Yes.

SAM: Look. See?

ARTHUR: I'm looking. I'm looking.

JOHN: It looks like... a ritual of some sort. An old page from some ancient tome. We've seen things like this before. It isn't in English, but it seems to depict a sigil, like the one he's drawn and various symbols around it. Some seem familiar, others more...

SAM: I tried animals. I tried animals first. I didn't want to hurt anything. But I was naive. I knew what it needed.

ARTHUR: What is – ?

JOHN (in horror): Oh God.

SAM: I have to stop him. I have to save them.

JOHN: One of the symbols. It's a heart, Arthur.

SAM: I have to save myself.

JOHN: He's been cutting out the organs to harvest a heart.

SAM: I knew an animal wouldn't work.

JOHN: Oh God. Arthur, step forward.

ARTHUR: What have you done?

SAM: But you have to help me now.

JOHN: Beyond the candlelight, I-I see.

SAM: You can help me now.

JOHN: A person.

ARTHUR: Oh.

JOHN: A young man.

ARTHUR: Jesus... Sam.

JOHN: He's laying on his back.

SAM: He's still alive.

JOHN: He's been stabbed.

SAM: He's still alive. I couldn't... You need to finish him. And then... And then I can... I can harvest the heart. Please.

JOHN: Arthur, he's —

SAM: Please.

JOHN: He’s moving to the body.

ARTHUR (urgent): No, no, no! Sam. Sam, you cannot. Stop!

JOHN: He stops. A look of petulant anger washes over him.

SAM: You! You!

ARTHUR: Not like this, Sam. Look, I can help you, but not like this.

SAM: It has to be this way. (Screaming.) It has to!

ARTHUR: Let's just talk.

JOHN: The body is still breathing, Arthur.

ARTHUR: There's no –

SAM: Fine! Fine. I will kill him.

ARTHUR: Wait, wait.

SAM: And you can get the heart. It'll be easier. You'll see.

ARTHUR: Sam, no!

JOHN: Arthur, stop him!

(Sounds of rushing footsteps.)

ARTHUR: Sam, stop!

(Sam pants rapidly.)

JOHN: The gun, Arthur! He’s too far from…

ARTHUR: The gun?

SAM: I am sorry. This was not your fault—

JOHN (overlapping): Now! Here, here.

SAM: But I need to—

JOHN: Aim, aim!

ARTHUR: Sam, stop!

JOHN: Fire! Fire!

SAM (desperate): We have to— Sacrifice! All we can—

ARTHUR: Sam!

JOHN: There. Shoot, Arthur! (A gunshot. Sounds of gore. A thud. Rattling. John and Arthur exhale.)  You… You stopped him.

ARTHUR: Fuck.

JOHN: He was laying across the chest of the young man, Arthur, t-the knife held over his head. He was about to kill him.

ARTHUR: Is he…?

JOHN: It was a clean… shot.

ARTHUR: A clean…?

JOHN: His head. (Arthur exhales.)

ARTHUR (weary): Fuck.

JOHN: Arthur, the body, t-the young man.

ARTHUR: Right. (Sounds of shifting. Arthur’s grunt of exertion.)

JOHN: Here, here, here. He can’t be more than… eighteen. Barely old enough for a beard. He’s wearing slacks, a-a white collared shirt. Looks like… he’s…

ARTHUR: The boyfriend?

JOHN: Boyfriend? (In realization.) Oh! The farmer’s daughter. Maybe! Maybe. Just… wrong place, wrong time.

ARTHUR: You could say that again.

JOHN: But he is breathing. Shallow. The cut that… Sam gave him, before we arrived, it’s… superficial, largely. I think he’ll make it.

ARTHUR (sighing): I should’ve tackled him, I could’ve taken the knife.

JOHN: Arthur, I am telling you. Had you tried to close the distance, had you not went for the gun… this boy would’ve been dead. You saved his life. There’s no doubt in my mind. And there shouldn’t be any in yours, either.

ARTHUR: Right. Right. Look… (He breathes out. Sounds of shifting.)

JOHN (sighing): What a mess.

ARTHUR: You’re telling me.

JOHN: What is this ritual for? Maybe we can learn something. We would need to translate it, but… where’s that paper?

ARTHUR: Paper? Oh. Right. Um… it’s back here. (Shifting. Grunts of exertion.)

JOHN: Yeah, we may as well take a second there before calling – (A faraway thud.)

UNKNOWN COP: Police!

ARTHUR: Fuck.

JOHN: Fuck! Arthur! Put the page in your pocket, quickly! Hide it. (Paper shifting.)

UNKNOWN COP: This is ACPD, my gun’s out.

JOHN: There.

UNKNOWN COP: Drop your weapon.

ARTHUR: I understand!

JOHN: Your gun! Drop the gun. (Metal clattering.)

ARTHUR: My weapon is dropped.

UNKNOWN COP: Do not move.

ARTHUR: I’m unarmed. I’m back here.

UNKNOWN COP: Keep your hands where I can see them.

ARTHUR: I am complying, officer. (Approaching footsteps.)

JOHN: They’re moving back here, through the maze of boxes we navigated. The light from their touch is bright. It’s tough to make out who’s… he’s…

UNKNOWN COP: Up, up, up! Keep ‘em up!

JOHN: It’s…

UNKNOWN COP: Do not… huh?

JOHN (realization): Oh.

UNKNOWN COP: Arthur?

JOHN: It’s Callihan.

ARTHUR (surprised): Michael?

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Arthur, what the heck are you doing here? (Arthur and John make noises of relief.)

ARTHUR: Oh my God, it’s you. (Metal clicking.)

JOHN: He’s dropped his light and holstered his gun.

OFFICER CALLIHAN (relieved): Oh, guh…

JOHN: He looks equally relieved. He’s come over to help us up.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Come on, get up. (They both grunt in exertion.)

JOHN: He hands you your gun.

ARTHUR: Thanks.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: What the heck happened?

ARTHUR: What happened, what the heck happened to you? What are you doing here?

OFFICER CALLIHAN: I got a call this afternoon about a suspicious looking maroon Plymouth parked for hours on a nearby property, and I…

ARTHUR: Oh, God.

JOHN: Callihan stares at the scene with a grisly expression.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: I had no idea it was you. What… on God’s are you up to?

ARTHUR: Well, I… I mean…

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Well, it was your shot I heard, I suppose.

ARTHUR: Yeah, look, this… farm hired me. Mr. Arnold.

JOHN (growling): Arnett.

ARTHUR: Arnett.

OFFICER CALLIHAN (quietly): Oh, Jesus.

ARTHUR: Yeah, he had… someone poking around his barn.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: The one on his back or the one that you beamed?

ARTHUR: Listen, he had a knife. He brought the kid here to cut out his heart, and I…

OFFICER CALLIHAN: His heart?

ARTHUR: Look at the floor. The… symbol.

JOHN: Callihan looks at the sigil with a detached eye. He’s focused on Sam.

OFFICER CALLIHAN (unnerved): Yeah, I see why they called you.

JOHN: He sighs, the way he does when you’re telling him something he doesn’t quite grasp. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

ARTHUR: Look, I had to save the kid. Least, he’s still breathing. Cut’s only skin deep.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: No, you made the right call, just…

JOHN: He looks as though he’s trying not to remember something.

ARTHUR: Michael?

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Why you gotta take these cases, Arthur? You’re a good PI, hell, I’ve seen your work. You only take this kind of stuff, this devil’s work…

JOHN: He says ‘devil’ with a chill. (He chuckles darkly.)

ARTHUR: Hey, it’s out there. And someone’s gotta do it. Right? (Sounds of shifting.)

JOHN (sighing): Same as I said last time, Arthur.

ARTHUR: Right?

JOHN: It’s clear Callihan is a skeptic.

OFFICER CALLIHAN (doubtful): Yeah, I guess.

JOHN: He doesn’t want to believe there’s more than thugs and brutes on the streets of Arkham.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: As long as people keep believing in this spit. (Sounds of shifting and fiddling.)

JOHN: He’s a good cop. Trustworthy. Kind. His eyes especially. But he’ll never understand our work. Best to continue keeping him in the dark.

ARTHUR: People are the real devils.

JOHN: And staying in his good graces. For when we need him.

ARTHUR: Sam here wasn’t a monster, just a man. A troubled…

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Sam?

ARTHUR: Yeah, that’s what he said. I don’t know if it’s true, but…

OFFICER CALLIHAN: You ID’ed him.

ARTHUR: No. You came in right after I… I…

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Right, well, we’re gonna have company soon, so.

JOHN: Company?

ARTHUR: How so?

OFFICER CALLIHAN: When I heard the shot, I called the station.

JOHN: Fuck.

ARTHUR: Shit, Callihan.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Hey.

ARTHUR: Yeah, sorry, look. Michael, I… I have to go. I can’t…

JOHN (quickly): Dinner, with Faroe.

ARTHUR: Yeah, I have dinner plans! With Faroe. I can’t miss, I really can’t. A-And I’m probably late as it is, I…

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Why were you on a stakeout?

JOHN: Priority issues.

ARTHUR: I’m bad at saying no.

JOHN: He’s looking through the body of Sam, checking his mud-soaked pockets.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: How is she? Still liking school?

ARTHUR: Yeah, she is. She’s…

JOHN: If the police come, we’ll be stuck here for hours, Arthur.

ARTHUR: Look. You have what you need, right?

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Yeah. Says, uh… you said Arnett hired you, you followed this Sam in here, he threatened to kill the kid with a knife, and you did what you had to save the kid. That about sums it?

ARTHUR: Yeah. From the horse’s mouth. So are we… jake here, or?

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Yeah, you better make tracks.

ARTHUR: Brilliant. Thank you.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Hey, but look. I’m not signing for you again. I’ll hide this signature ‘til I see you, but I-I need you to actually sign it this time, okay?

ARTHUR: I’ll swing by the station after dinner with Faroe, I promise.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Perfect.

JOHN: Let’s go. Quickly.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Oh, Arthur!

ARTHUR: Yeah?

OFFICER CALLIHAN: You didn’t take anything, right? Nothing from the crime scene? Everything stays. Right?

(John exhales.)

ARTHUR (sighing): I…

JOHN: Arthur! We need that.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Arthur?

ARTHUR (glum): Oh, yeah. I nearly forgot.

JOHN (incensed): Arthur!

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Forgot what?

ARTHUR: A-A piece of paper. He handed it to me. The stiff.

JOHN: Well, now we have no idea what this was all about.

ARTHUR (sighing): Here. (Sounds of shifting, fabric and paper.)

JOHN: Why do you want to call it a day on this job?

ARTHUR: You’re a good man, Callihan. And a good friend.

JOHN: Alright. I get it.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: What in the blazes?

ARTHUR: I think Sam thinks… he was trying to… stop something. He kept muttering about stopping… ‘him’.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Who’s him? The kid? (Continued sounds of paper rustling.)

ARTHUR: No, no, no. Someone else. He was scared, Michael. Really scared. He thought someone sent me… a-a man, but I-I didn’t catch the name. (He exhales.) He said he did horrible things. Terrible things, and he thought… well, he thought this page was the key to stopping it.

JOHN: He’s studying the paper intently, darting his eyes between the sigil on the page and the one in blood at our feet.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: What do you think?

ARTHUR: I think he needed help.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Well. I think you made an impossibly tough call… but did the right thing. As you tend to do.

JOHN: He looks at you with… admiration. Respect, even. (Paper shifting.)

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Here.

JOHN: He’s handing the paper back!

ARTHUR: Michael. You sure?

OFFICER CALLIHAN: It’s baloney to me, and I-I know they won’t see it as much either. Even if we did have one cop like you on side, he’d still be laughed out of the room for taking anything on that with any sort of weight. I don’t want to believe in any of this hooey.

JOHN: He meets our gaze.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: But you do. And that’s enough for me.

ARTHUR: Thanks, Michael.

OFFICER CALLIHAN: Now shake a leg.

JOHN: Let’s go. (Footsteps.)

ARTHUR: I will meet you later to sign a statement, I promise.

OFFICER CALLIHAN (distant): I’m gonna hold you to that.

ARTHUR: You can!

JOHN: This way, Arthur. Through the crates. (Footsteps.)

ARTHUR: See? What did I tell you?

(A whimsical tune begins.)

JOHN (complaining): You didn’t tell me anything!

ARTHUR: You had doubts.

JOHN: You didn’t know he was going to let us keep it!

ARTHUR: I played a hunch, okay? Detectives play hunches. You should know that by now.

JOHN: I do! My detectives have hunches all the time. It’s in the –

ARTHUR (overlapping): Your detectives? I’m talking about real detectives. (John huffs.) Where’s the –

JOHN: Here. It’s the exit back into the rain.

ARTHUR: We need to hoof it.

JOHN: Before more arrive. Here. (The rain grows louder. Arthur’s noises of exertion.) A hay bale. Climb down… y-yes. There. I’d say you just got lucky, so…

ARTHUR (strained): Well, detectives get lucky too.

JOHN: No matter what I say, you’re gonna say you were right about this, aren’t you?

ARTHUR: No doubt.

JOHN: To your left.

ARTHUR: You just don’t like to admit when I make a gamble and it pays off. You like to be the only one with a flash of inspiration. Right? Right? (A sudden thump.)

JOHN (bored): Oh. Fence.

ARTHUR: Okay, you want to be a wise guy?

JOHN: Oh, sorry. Thought you’d get lucky and sense it. (Arthur scoffs.) Look, the truth is, we both got lucky.

ARTHUR: That’s what I said. I wasn’t discounting you.

JOHN: I mean in general. Not just with the pages, but with Michael. Coming back from seeking the Blackstone, you know, we were in a lot of trouble.

ARTHUR: Well, we thought we were. Parker’s body was stashed in our closet.

JOHN: And Eddie was dead in the basement.

ARTHUR: Both, more or less dead by our hand.

JOHN: We’re at the car.

ARTHUR: Thanks. (The door opens and shuts. The rain quiets.) Alright, we gotta step on it.

JOHN: I’ll get us there as quick as I can.

ARTHUR: Appreciate it. And hey, hey! I appreciate you. I was only making cracks earlier. I’m sorry I was sleeping while you were working, okay? You know, we can be as fair as you want.

JOHN: I  know. Believe me, by now I know you well enough. Sorry for the fence. (The engine starts.)

ARTHUR: Ah, it’s been a while since I had a good bruise. (They both chuckle.)

JOHN: You’re… okay if I take over?

ARTHUR: Yeah, just the left.

JOHN: All I can ever do. You know that.

ARTHUR: I-I know, but… sometimes I do wonder.

JOHN: Wonder what? (They start driving.)

ARTHUR: I don’t know. Your powers. You’ve embraced them.

JOHN: I’ve tried to. You told me –

ARTHUR: Of course, of course. I want you to. I-I don’t mean that negatively.

JOHN: What do you mean?

ARTHUR: Well, you know, there was a time… brief as it was, that I had another god in my head. Lillith.

JOHN: Nyarlathotep’s daughter.

ARTHUR: Yeah. You know, she may have helped us track Nyarlathotep in the end, or Kayne, as he prefers to be called, but… before she agreed to help, you know, she took control of me. A-And not just of my left hand. My whole body.

JOHN: All of you?

ARTHUR: While I was passed out from pain. I know you take control of my left side, my hand and leg.

JOHN: Only when you’re okay with it. It –

ARTHUR: Of course, but… I do wonder…

JOHN: If I can’t do more.

ARTHUR: Sometimes.

JOHN (exhaling): Perhaps it’s that I’m not as powerful as Lillith. After all, she is a Great Old One, but… Arthur, I swear. At most, I can control only your left side. Believe me. There are times I’d love to move a little more.

ARTHUR (quickly): Well, given how it felt to have something else control my body, I’m glad you can’t. No offense.

JOHN: None taken.

ARTHUR: And besides, you have a few other tricks as well.

JOHN: Projecting has come in handy a few times.

ARTHUR: Projecting? I mean, that makes it sound so immaterial, but… it literally saved the world from Kayne’s wrath, with a bit of effort.

JOHN: Manifesting outside of your body into a somewhat physical form isn’t easy.

ARTHUR: Yeah, I can imagine. And draining.

JOHN: On both of us.

ARTHUR: But it sure helps us in a pinch.

JOHN: Though… you still don’t want people seeing me. Not in that way.

ARTHUR: No no no. It’s an ace up our sleeve, really.

JOHN: The real ace… is laying a hand on the dead.

ARTHUR: I can’t deny that. I mean that… that’s a big reason that we’ve been getting so many jobs, you know. Touching the flesh of the recently deceased… and you seeing the final moments leading up to their demise, you know, it’s put us head and shoulders above the rest.

JOHN: Much to the chagrin of Arkham PD. (He chuckles.)

ARTHUR: Well, not all of them.

JOHN: They have a nickname for us at the precinct.

ARTHUR: I-I know. God, I know. (He exhales.)

JOHN: You act as if I’m the only one whose talents have aided us. What about you?

ARTHUR: What, I’m the brains?

JOHN: You can silence me, lock me out of your body.

ARTHUR: Oh! You mean ‘time out’? Yeah –

JOHN: You’re always so offended by the notion, as if we don’t do it every night

ARTHUR: I know. It just feels… odd. Being able to push you out.

JOHN: A reprieve from each other is nice, for both of us.

ARTHUR: I-I know, I know. I just… I guess being the only one in control… of it… you know, makes me feel…

JOHN: I get it.

ARTHUR: But you’re – you’re right. It gives us both time to think. You know, time to be alone. To rest.

JOHN: When I want to. It’s a good thing.

ARTHUR: Yeah. Yeah. Lillith acted as if it was some kind of torture.

JOHN: Lillith is a different manner of creature, in every way.

ARTHUR: She’s still out there… in Larson’s body.

JOHN: Let’s not start counting the threads left undone by our time seeking the Blackstone.

ARTHUR: You’re right. Let’s just… appreciate our luck, like you said, with Michael. And… Parker, and Eddie.

JOHN: It’s an uneasy feeling.

ARTHUR: What is? Parker’s death?

JOHN: No. Eddie’s.

ARTHUR: What do you mean?

JOHN: Eddie was there for him all along. He thought we were covering for Parker w-when –

ARTHUR: Parker owed two grand, John. I had no idea he borrowed the money from an outfit. Otherwise I would’ve helped him to —

JOHN: No, I know. He was a marked man. But when I –

ARTHUR: We’ve been over this. You know, Parker’s death… it was a tragedy. But knowing what he owed and to whom… I don’t know if we could have saved him.

JOHN: I mean Eddie! Why were the police so content to have his death go unsolved?

ARTHUR: Because he was a low level enforcer for whatever outfit Parker borrowed money from. You — you remember what Callihan said. Look, they were probably all too happy to just cross his name off their shit list.

JOHN: Maybe.

ARTHUR: Look, we were grilled, we kept our story straight, and we had Daniel to support our claims, and, thankfully, pay our rent. It’s not airtight. But we have covered our tracks as good as possible. And yeah, got lucky.

JOHN: It just feels like…

ARTHUR: Like what?

JOHN: Like our luck is about to run out. (Arthur exhales.) Anyway, we’re back in Arkham. Only a few streets away from the Junction Cafe.

ARTHUR: On Washington?

JOHN: Yeah.

ARTHUR: That’s across the street from Saint Teresa’s, right?

JOHN: Yeah, that’s it, isn’t it?

ARTHUR: Yeah. Yeah, I should’ve suggested somewhere nicer, somewhere where we could talk—

JOHN: Arthur, she chose this place. Relax.

ARTHUR: How late are we?

JOHN: Yeah, you don’t wanna know.

ARTHUR: You’d think I could keep a weekly dinner going.

JOHN: You are! We are. Arthur, you need to give yourself a break. She loves you. She isn’t holding you to the standards that you are holding yourself to.

ARTHUR: I know.

JOHN: She doesn’t know about what came before. She’s only known you her entire life.

ARTHUR: I know.

JOHN: Okay. We’re just down the street.

ARTHUR: Alright. (The door opens. Crickets chirp.)

JOHN: To the right. (Footsteps. Occasional city noises.) It’s warmer in the city. The autumn air is stifled against the cigarette smoke and automobile exhaust, but still, the city is alive. People scurry about with various intents, each an entire life of wants and worry.

ARTHUR: Ah. October smells… different. Something about apples and spices, jack-o-lanterns and… children desperately trying to get their fill of the dying days of warmth before winter sets in. I do love this time of year.

JOHN: The Junction is just ahead.

ARTHUR: Hey, maybe we’ll be able to pop over to Saint Teresa’s after dinner. Maybe Michael will be there. Or at least Sam’s body. (John abruptly exhales.) What?

JOHN: She’s sitting in a booth… at the window. (Arthur sighs.) Faroe. Her dark, shoulder-length hair is brushed behind one ear as her eyes dance across the pages of an open book. As if holding a secret, the corner of her thin mouth curls up to one side. A crooked smile. A joke only she knows. Her brown eyes are so… bright, sharing a keen intellect like her father’s, only unhidden. Her dimpled chin, her delicate ears, her sharp nose, they belong to her mother, but her eyes… her eyes are her dad’s. As are her freckles. (He chuckles.)

She turns the page like a student, practiced and determined, uncaring for the paper, wanting only the knowledge within. All the while, her smile unmoving. She has the world figured out. A wisdom not bought or borrowed, but earned… in some unknowable way. A young woman who knows this world through and through for all its bane and benefit, one who understands not just the people around her, but their role to play in the stars.

ARTHUR (emotionally): Faroe.

JOHN: And, as she checks her watch, one who undoubtedly brought the book because she knows her dad all too well.

ARTHUR: Fuck, alright.

JOHN: Are you gonna tell her about Sam? About the shooting?

ARTHUR (aghast): Tell her that I killed someone tonight!? I don’t think so.

JOHN: She’ll know you’re hiding something.

ARTHUR: Right, and what’s the harm in that? She said she doesn’t want to know about my work.

JOHN: She said she doesn’t want to be your secretary, Arthur. That’s different. (Arthur sighs.) Look, it’s up to you. But if she looks up from that book and sees you standing here…

ARTHUR: Right, right, right. (John huffs.)

(A door opens, a bell jingles. Footsteps. The door shuts.)

JOHN: She’s at the last booth on the left. Her back’s to us. (Footsteps.) Here, here, here.

ARTHUR (put-on stuffy accent): Can I get you anything?

FAROE: Oh, sure. Another coffee? (Arthur stutters.)

JOHN: She doesn’t turn her head.

FAROE: And a slice of pie. If you’re still paying. (Arthur chuckles.)

JOHN: She’s not fooled for a second.

ARTHUR: Pie already. Did you eat?

FAROE: Hey, can’t keep a girl waiting forever, Dad.

JOHN: She turns, a coy smile plastered on her face. (Sounds of shuffling.)

FAROE: Sit down.

ARTHUR: How did you know it was me?

FAROE: Oh, I’d know you with a blindfold on. You have a very distinctive way about you.

ARTHUR: Way about you? I mean, I should change my gait? Hate to think I’m predictable.

FAROE: Definitely. Maybe even a new pair of shoes?

ARTHUR: What’s wrong with my shoes? Out of style?

FAROE: Out of sole. Sounds like your socks are wet, too. Rainy up north? (Footsteps.)

JOHN: The waitress walks over and drops a piece of pie between the two of you. (Clattering of dishware. Liquid pouring.)

FAROE: Thank you.

JOHN: With two forks.

ARTHUR: How did you know I was up north?

FAROE: The west is water.

ARTHUR: And two forks?

FAROE: Got hungry?

ARTHUR (realizing): You saw me at the window.

JOHN: She smirks and takes a bite of pie.

ARTHUR (joyfully): You’re a better detective than I am. We should hire you.

FAROE: You weren’t exactly hidden. And it’s just you now, Dad.

JOHN: You said ‘we’.

FAROE: Uncle Peter is…

ARTHUR: Oh, right, yes. I, well… I should hire you.

FAROE (mouthful): No, you should pay me for taking your messages.

ARTHUR: Again?

FAROE: Mhm. Right before I came here.

JOHN: She slides a small piece of paper across the table to you. (Paper shuffling.)

ARTHUR: Why were you at the office?

FAROE: Grabbing my spare jacket in case it rained.

ARTHUR: Well, you didn’t have to take this message. You could have let it ring.

FAROE: Well, it seemed urgent.

ARTHUR (disbelieving): You can sense when a ringing phone seems urgent.

FAROE: Mm-mm. Not any phone. Just yours.

ARTHUR: Why just mine?

FAROE: I don’t know. Suppose we have a connection. (Arthur laughs.)

ARTHUR: You’re insufferable!

FAROE: He says lovingly. (Arthur sighs.)

ARTHUR: Oh, I was just talking about apples and spices. (Faroe hums.)

FAROE: You always loved Halloween.

ARTHUR: As did you.

FAROE: What kid didn’t? (Arthur hums.) Do you remember what I was for Halloween when I was seven? That year, Marnie, the neighbor we had in Boston… the year she started making those candy apples?

JOHN: Pivot, Arthur. Change the subject.

ARTHUR: Hey. Way to change the subject.

FAROE: What subject?

ARTHUR: How did you know I came from the north?

FAROE: Didn’t rain here.

ARTHUR: And I’m…?

FAROE: All wet, daddy-o. (Arthur huffs in laughter.) So what were you doing? Anything worth sharing?

ARTHUR: Well… I… y-yeah. I, um. (He sniffs.) It was a case, watching a barn, at the Arnett Farm. I-I… was trying to see if I could stop a perp from taking a nap. He was… killing some… local wildlife, and… cattle…

FAROE: Killing.

ARTHUR: Yeah, yeah. He was, um… he was troubled, um. He needed help, I-I think.

FAROE: What happened to him?

ARTHUR: Well, he tried to hurt a kid he had up at the barn with him. He wanted to… carve out his… heart, a-a-and… well. I had to, um… I had to…

FAROE: You didn’t.

ARTHUR: I-I did, yeah.

JOHN: She stops eating the pie.

FAROE (breathless): Dad.

ARTHUR: I… I’m sorry, should I… should I not have t-t — ?

FAROE: It’s your work. Sometimes you do what you have to do. I guess. Right?

ARTHUR: Yeah.

FAROE: You didn’t have a choice.

ARTHUR: Yeah.

FAROE: Did you?

ARTHUR: What?

FAROE (emphatic): Did you have a choice?

ARTHUR: I-I… yeah, I suppose I-I did have a choice.

FAROE: Oh-kay.

JOHN: She looks… (He sighs.) Y-You don’t want to know.

FAROE: Well… whatever the case… I’m sorry it kept you.

JOHN: She… She finishes the last bite of pie and… (Silverware clattering.) Leaves the crust for us. She stands from the booth.

ARTHUR (urgent): W-W-W-What, no no, no, please! Oh, Faroe, please.

FAROE (overlapping): No no no, Dad, honest. I’m okay with it.

ARTHUR: No no.

FAROE: I knew this was the deal with dinner.

ARTHUR: No, you’re not. Please. Please.

FAROE: Dad, honestly.

ARTHUR: Two minutes.

FAROE: It’s fine. I’m not leaving in a huff. I just, I have to head back to the dormitory before they lock the doors.

ARTHUR: What time do they lock them?

FAROE: Ten thirty.

JOHN: Fifteen minutes.

ARTHUR: Five minutes.

FAROE: The dorm is a ten minute walk, Dad.

ARTHUR: Two. Two minutes? Please?

FAROE: Okay. Two minutes. (Sounds of shifting.) But only ‘cause I couldn’t care less what that old bag Hilda thinks.

JOHN: She sits back down.

FAROE (sighing): Alright.

ARTHUR: Alright. How’s school, how’s Astrology?

FAROE: Astronomy.

ARTHUR: Astronomy. Of course. I’m sorry.

FAROE: Don’t be, I love it. It’s amazing, it’s surreal, Dad, you have no id — no idea what it looks like to see through the telescope they have at the Brandywood building, on the roof? The one just outside of town? My God, Dad. It was… breathtaking. (Sounds of drinking.)

JOHN: She speaks with such… elation. Such love.

ARTHUR: I can only imagine.

FAROE: I’d love to… no, it’s dumb.

ARTHUR: What is? What?

JOHN: She shakes her head at herself.

FAROE: I don’t know. Maybe… Maybe I could get you in. Sneak you in, maybe? (Conspiratorially.) My professor is very lax. I’m sure I could convince him to make an exception.

ARTHUR: To get me in? Like we could go look together?

FAROE (dreamy): You could see the stars.

ARTHUR: I’d love that.

FAROE: Yeah? But you have to be there. You could not show up late.

ARTHUR: I’d be there.

FAROE: Promise?

ARTHUR: I’d move heaven and earth.

FAROE: I’ll ask him.

ARTHUR:I’d love that.

FAROE:Okay. Now, I should go. (Sounds of shifting.)

JOHN: She stands.

ARTHUR: Alright. Yeah.

FAROE: You don’t need to stand too, Dad.

ARTHUR: Eh. Call me old-fashioned.

FAROE: Are you gonna stay?

ARTHUR: I may pop across the street to see a friend before heading home.

FAROE: The morgue again?

ARTHUR: Yeah.

FAROE: You’re starting to earn that nickname, Dad.

ARTHUR (surprised): You know about that nickname, too? Hey – I’m… sorry I was late. I promise next week.

FAROE: I know. (Arthur sighs.) I know. I love you.

ARTHUR: I love you. (Choked up.) So much.

FAROE: Dad. Don’t cry. (Arthur laughs through tears.)

ARTHUR: You just… you’re growing up so fast, it’s, um…

FAROE: It’s fine. I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.

ARTHUR: And I will answer.

FAROE (distant): And get a secretary!

JOHN: Oh, her book! Arthur. She left it. (Distantly, a door opens.)

ARTHUR: Oh, Faroe!

FAROE: What?

JOHN: Grab it from the table, where she was sitting!

FAROE: Oh, thank you.

ARTHUR: You don’t want to go losing books. I’ve been there. What is this, anyway?

FAROE: Oh, a puzzlebook.

ARTHUR: A puzzlebook?

JOHN: The Torquemada Puzzlebook.

FAROE: It’s just a bunch of crosswords, acrostics, ah, anagrams. All from the Observer.

ARTHUR: Keeping the mind sharper, eh?

FAROE: I work out the muscles I want.

ARTHUR: Damn straight.

FAROE: Talk soon, Dad. Love you.

ARTHUR: Bye, love. (Faroe begins to walk.)

FAROE: Oh, try to see that guy tonight.

ARTHUR: Who?

FAROE: The guy who called. Sounded like he was in a tizzy.

ARTHUR: Who?

FAROE: The note, Dad. I forget his name. Robert something.

ARTHUR: Oh! Yeah.

FAROE: Take care!

ARTHUR: Take care.

JOHN: She walks away, jogging down the sidewalk, hoping to catch the light.

FAROE: Oh, and for what it’s worth… I don’t get it.

ARTHUR: Get what?

FAROE: The nickname. What even is a ‘Dead Man’s… Mouthpiece’? (John sighs.)

ARTHUR (quietly): Be safe, Faroe.

(A lighter begins to flick repeatedly. Arthur’s breathing grows shakier.)

JOHN: Look, we tried our best to get here. It’s not always going to be perfect. We’ll be early next time. Right? We can do that for her. Make the effort. Not take a job the same day. (John chuckles. His voice grows more distant.) Right? Arthur? Arthur?

(The lighter flicking stops.)

ARTHUR: Yeah, yeah. Sorry, sorry.

JOHN (normally): What’s wrong?

ARTHUR: No, nothing. Nothing, so, um… the message.

JOHN: The message?

ARTHUR: The one she took.

JOHN: Oh, right.

ARTHUR: Well, what does it say?

JOHN: No number. Just an address. On the East Side. and a name.

ARTHUR: And what name would that be?

JOHN: One… Robert Puckett.

ARTHUR: I don’t recognize the name.

JOHN: Neither do I. But… Officer Callihan surely isn’t at the morgue yet, nor the body of Sam. Care to take a drive?

ARTHUR: The night is young. (He chuckles.)

JOHN: That’s the spirit! (John laughs.)

ARTHUR: Let’s go see this… Puckett.

(A lighter flicks repeatedly.)

(END Part 1.)