| Likely Story
Summary from official site, www.duesouth.com via Wayback Machine When Fraser's friend Mr. Tucci, the pretzel vendor, is gunned down in the park, Fraser is surprised to learn his friend was a millionaire. Then Mr. Tucci's long lost son reappears to claim the fortune. Kowalski fears his attraction to Luanne, Mrs. Tucci's beautiful attendant, is clouding his judgement. Yearning for the wilderness, Fraser camps out in a Chicago park where he makes new friends, including Mr. Tucci, a pretzel vendor. When Mr. Tucci is gunned down, Fraser promises to look after his dying friend's wife. Kowalski is smitten by Luanne, Mrs. Tucci's attractive personal attendant. When Fraser camps out in the Tucci's backyard to guard Mrs. Tucci, Kowalski camps out to keep an eye on Fraser. It turns out that Mr. Tucci, the simple pretzel vendor, was actually a millionaire. He willed his entire estate to his long-lost son Franco Jr. At a funeral well attended by members of the Chicago mob, Franco Jr. reappears. Despite his attraction to Luanne, Kowalski begins to suspect that she may be involved in the murder. A professional hitman tries to shoot Frankie but Fraser saves his life. The hitman, Nervous Nellie, thought he killed Frankie years ago in Phoenix. It was a mob hit. If the mob finds out Frankie is alive, Nellie could be dead. Fraser talks Nellie into turning himself over to the Chicago police. Meanwhile, before Mr. Tucci died, someone in the Tucci household hired a private investigator to search for the lost son. Now the investigator seems to have disappeared. Fraser and Kowalski are confronted with several mysteries: Is Frankie really Mrs. Tucci's long lost son? Is Luanne involved in the murder? How did a pretzel vendor become a millionaire? Kowalski fears following his heart may cloud his judgement. But if Luanne is innocent, he could be missing out on the love of a lifetime. Written by David Young
Regular Cast
Guest Stars
Unofficial transcript: Likely Story **camp** Fraser: High atop Sulfur Mountain in his lonely stone cabin, Loooooooou Skagnetti heard a knock at the door. . . boom, boom boom. . . So he opened it. . . creeeeak. . . And there on his stoop stood the beautiful princess from the valley below. And the wind whipped about her hair and the snow swirled about her. And Lou Skagnetti froze. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know whether to kill her and eat her, or whether to bake her some of those tarts he was so fond of, the ones that feature choke cherries and brown lichen and little bits of dust - Ray: Fraser! Fraser: What? Ray: What are you doing? Fraser: I'm telling you a ghost story. It is customary to exchange ghost stories around a campfire in the wilderness. Ray: We're not in the wilderness. Fraser: It's an approximation of wilderness. Ray: No it's not, Fraser. We are in a park in the middle of Chicago. I had to step over a wino and kick through junkies just to get here. This is not the Yukon Territories. Fraser: It's the Northwest Territory or the Yukon. . . The thing is, I was feeling a little suffocated at the Consulate. I just felt I needed some room to breathe. Ray: Well I got two things to say about that. One, you are not Daniel Boone, and two, this air, uh, the less room to breathe, the better. Fraser: Dinner? Ray: No thanks. Fraser: Oh, you really should. Everything tastes much better cooked over an open fire. . . Dief! Ray: Oh, yeah? What about spaghetti? Fraser: Oh, it's delicious. And those rooty tubers there, very tasty also. Ray: Umm. Where'd you get this? Fraser: Diefenbaker dug them up under that tree over there. [bell] Fraser: Here we go again. Mr. Tucci and his pretzels. Mr. Tucci: Buonasera, Signore Red Coat. Fraser: Mr. Tucci, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Ray. He's with the Chicago Police Department. Mr. Tucci: Buonasera. Ray: How's it going? Mr. Tucci: It goes. Dief: Arf Mr. Tucci: Hey, there's my boy. . . Fraser: Mr. Tucci, you spoil him. Here, please, let me - Mr. Tucci: No, no, no. The end of day, not so fresh. I charge only for fresh. That way I keep my reputation. I better go home. My wife, she worry for me. Arrivederci. Fraser: See you tomorrow. Mr. Tucci: Si. Ciao. Ray: Nice guy. Fraser: Yes he is. He and his wife celebrate their 40th anniversary next week. They had hoped to go to Sardinia for a visit, but Mrs. Tucci is very ill. She requires around-the-clock nursing. Ray: Where's Sardinia? Fraser: It's in the Mediterranean. It's an island - [gunshot] Mr. Tucci: My wife, she worry for me. Fraser: Everything is going to be all right, sir. Help is on the way.
Fraser: Yes. Ray: Chicago PD! Skater: Scumbag! Ray: Stop, stop, stop! Police officer. I'm a police officer. Just, just. . . Ah! God! Mr. Tucci: Buona note, mi amore. **GTO** Fraser: How's your nose? Ray: Like I got myself kicked. Fraser: She was innocent, Ray. She thought you were attacking her. **Tucci house** Fraser [to Dief]: Wait here. Ray: Fraser, you don't have to do this. This is my job. Fraser: Well, I promised Mr. Tucci that I would look after his wife. That's a promise I intend to keep. [knock] Luanne: Yes? Ray: Uh, Miss Tucci? We're with the police. Luanne: Come on in. . . Mrs. Tucci, these men are with the police. Mrs. Tucci: Oh, Mr. Red Coat! Ray: Um, I'm sorry, ma'am, there's been a shooting. I'm afraid your husband is dead. Mrs. Tucci: What you say? I'm sorry, I don't hear you. Luanne: Oh my God. Ray: I'm sorry, ma'am. There's been a shooting, and I'm afraid your husband is dead. Mrs. Tucci: Franco! Ray: Yeah. We're just starting the investigation. I'm very sorry. Luanne: I should take her to her room. **outside** Ray: Wow! Fraser: Wow? Ray: She's something else. Fraser: Ray, if you don't mind me saying, that is a staggeringly insensitive remark considering the circumstances. Ray: Look, Fraser, I'm very sorry for Mrs. Tucci's loss, and I will make every effort to find the killer of her husband, but the fact remains she is a very beautiful woman. Fraser: Possibly. Ray: Nopossibly about it. **squad room** Ray (continued): I don't know who has less sex, me or you, but at least I still think about women. Is that better or worse? Fraser: It's an interesting question. Ray: Thank you. **squad room** Welsh: Vecchio? Where do we stand on the Tucci homicide? Ray: He was killed with a .32 caliber. At this point, we suspect everyone and no one. Welsh: Well, you can rule out robbery as a motive. This was found on the cart. Ray: How much is there? Fraser: $4,000. Welsh: Right. Now what's a peanut vendor doing with $4,000? Fraser: Well, it's not peanuts, sir. Welsh: You're damn right it's not. Fraser: It's pretzels, sir. Welsh: Whatever. Frannie: He's got a record. Ray: Who? Welsh: The deceased. He did six months for receiving stolen property in '53. Ray: Why are we investigating the deceased? Welsh: Because we're doing a full investigation. Frannie: Yeah, 'cause he's Italian. Welsh: What? Frannie: He's Italian, so he's got to be Mafia, right? He's Italian. He's a gangster. Did you ever stop to think that just maybe he's a decent guy who worked all of his life and saved every penny he has? Welsh: And he kept it in his peanut cart? Ray: Why not? Fraser carries his around in his hat. Fraser: Quite true, sir. Welsh: Are you saying I'm prejudiced? Fraser: Oh, no, sir, I'm sure she doesn't mean anything like that. It's just that your remark does have the air of cultural stereotyping about it. Ray: Yeah. Welsh: Let it go, Detective. Remember, you're only pretending to be an Italian. Ray: Ciao, sir. **interrogation room** Ray: Okay, so what did you see in the park? Witness: Nothing. Ray: You told the officer you saw something. Now what was it?. . . Look, I'm not in the mood for 20 questions, so just tell me what you saw. Witness: A guy. Ray: What kind of guy? Witness: A lumpy guy. Ray: Was Mr. Tucci with the lumpy guy? Witness: Yeah. Ray: Was he arguing with this lumpy guy? Witness: No. Ray: Did you ever see Mr. Tucci in the park have any trouble, like an argument with a customer? Witness: Kill somebody over a pretzel? Ray: When did you see this lumpy guy? Witness: Right before the shot. Ray: Can you describe him besides lumpy? Witness: Droopy moustache, big gut, skinny legs. Like a fat skinny guy. Ray: Would you recognize him? Witness: I guess. Ray: Okay, come on. I want you to take a look at some pictures. A lot of different pictures. We got tall guys, we got wide guys, we got. . . **Welsh's office** Fraser: You could set your clock by him, sir. The route was predictable and almost never varied. Over the course of the week it became clear that his route would take him along here and then up to here and then across to here on Rainier Street and then straight back through the park. Welsh: You memorized the pretzel guy's route? Fraser: Well, I'm sorry, sir. It's not something that I actively choose to do. On the other hand, it's not something I actively choose to ignore, either. Welsh: Fair enough. Fraser: I will try and correct that, sir. In the meantime, I thought it might be useful to your men to know where he had been on the day of the murder. Welsh: Oh, yes, absolutely. Frannie: Hey Frase? There's a Luanne Russell on the line. She's calling on behalf of Mrs. Tucci. **lunch room** Ray: Frannie, you're a woman, apparently. What do women look for in a man? Frannie: You're asking me? Why? What sick thing are you up to? Ray: I'm just asking. I got this friend. So this love at first sight, is that legit? I mean, if you don't make a good first impression, are you dead in the water or what? Frannie: Well, you're not deformed or anything, really. I don't know. It really depends. I mean, did you show her your disgusting tatoo or how far you could spit or, you know, that charming thing where you kick holes through the ceiling tiles - ? Ray: Come on, Frannie, give me a break here. Frannie: Ooh, aren't we touchy? Who is this woman? Ray: Nobody. Just somebody I met at work. Frannie: A cop? Ray: No. Frannie: A criminal? Ray: No. Frannie: I don't know, Ray. My best advice would be to be yourself, but in your case, I don't think that's a great idea. **corridor** Ray: Fraser? So, where're we going? Fraser: Well, I'm, uh, I'm, uh. . . **Tucci house - living room** Fraser: . . . A good-looking boy. Mrs. Tucci: That's my son, Frankie. Fraser: Your husband never mentioned him. Mrs. Tucci: My Franco and Frankie Junior, they fight. So. . . he run away 20 years ago. Fraser: What did they fight about? Mrs. Tucci: Oh, father and son, what does it matter? What makes the difference? But he'll come back. I know he will. **Tucci house – kitchen** Ray: How long have you worked for the Tuccis? Luanne: A little over 2 years. Ray: Can you describe Mr. Tucci? Luanne: He was unbelievable. He didn't have a lazy bone in his body. He worked every day from sunup to sundown and never complained. Most people I know just complain about everything, you know. Ray: Yeah, yeah, I know. Luanne: They're both just amazing. She's got this nerve thing. It's only getting worse. Some days she can't hold a book. Her eyes are going. She never complains. I just love her. You know what she really likes? Ray: No. Luanne: When I read to her. She loves these big romances. Today I started Sword of Desire by Dawn O'Connor. Do you know her? Ray: No. I don't get a lot of time for reading, though, you know, I like reading. Luanne: Well they're great. Ray: 'Gabriella's chest heaved with passion. . .' **sitting room** Cassette recorder: . . . The wind whipped her raven hair as she stood at the end of the parapet thinking only of her passion for Paulo. Her lips - Mrs. Tucci: She reads it to me every afternoon. Sometimes she puts it on a tape so if I get awake in the middle of the night and I can't go back to sleep, I listen again. Fraser: Mrs. Tucci, you said on the telephone that you were frightened. Mrs. Tucci: I just don't understand what happened.. You see, Franco, he never talk about himself, never talk about his business. Just shut you right out. That's Franco. But the last week or so he was not himself. He was - how you say - distracted. He was so nervous. And now somebody's. . . I feel so helpless. **kitchen** Ray: Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill Mr. Tucci? Luanne: No, nobody. It's that park. The crackheads are crazy. I told him it wasn't safe. Mrs. Tucci: Luanne, perhaps the gentlemen would like a glass of Franco's wine. Fraser: Oh, no, thank you. Luanne: Detective Vecchio? Ray: Uh, no thanks. I'm working. Mrs. Tucci: I'll have a glass, for sleeping. Ray: Well, it's late and I'm booking out, so, yeah, a glass of wine would be great, thank you. Thank you. [phone rings] Ray: Excuse me. . . Vecchio. . . Yeah?. . . Okay, I'll talk to you in the morning. . . [to Fraser] ? In his report. He had cancer. He would have been dead in 2 months anyway. [crash] Mrs. Tucci: Oh! Luanne: I'm sorry. He didn't say anything. He must have known. Mrs. Tucci: What is it? What? Ray: Your husband was ill at the time of his murder. He had cancer. Mrs. Tucci: Franco was dying? They killed a dying man? Ray: They? They? Who do you mean by 'they'? Mrs. Tucci: No, what if they try to kill me? Fraser: No one has any reason to kill you, Mrs. Tucci. Mrs. Tucci: Well, no one had any reason to kill Franco either. Oh, I'm afraid. . . Fraser: Please, don't be afraid. Nothing will happen to you, I promise. Ray, I think it would be a good idea for me to bivouac here for the night. Ray: You're what? Fraser: I'll explain later. **Tucci driveway** Ray: Hey, I know what's going on here. Fraser: Ray, please. Ray: You just can't stand it, can you? You just can't stand that she's more interested in me than she is in you. Fraser: You're embarrassing yourself. Ray: Look, I'll be back here, 6:30 sharp. **back yard** Fraser [to Dief]: Well, it's a nice clear night for sleeping under the stars, such as they are. Dief: Arf. Fraser: I hear it. . . Ah, Ray. Glad you could join us. Ray: Oh, yeah, I bet you are. . . Anything happen? Fraser: No. Ray: You get called in on any emergencies? Fraser: No. It's been very quiet. . . Lou Skagnetti looked across the stone table at the beautiful princess, and he said to himself - Ray: Fraser? Fraser: What? Ray: You think she had something to do with it, don't you. Fraser: I try not to prejudge people, Ray. Ray: You do. Come on. Fraser: Well, all I will say is that I detected a certain, well, almost a musk-like animal wariness about her. Ray: Musk? You're talking to me about musk? I detect a certain kind of musk here myself. Dief: Whine Fraser: Oh dear. Ray: Oh yeah. Fraser: Ahem. Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray. . . Ray. **morning** Fraser: Ray, Ray, Ray. . . [thumps Ray's head with boot] Ray: Time? Fraser: 6:30. Coffee? Ray: Anything happen? Fraser: No. Ray: You sleep? Fraser: Very little. You? Ray: No. What about him? Fraser: I don't think he's moved. Ray: He saw it all? Dogs, huh? They have all the fun. Fraser: It would seem so. . . Well, we should get going. Ray: Look, Fraser, I'm wallowing. Give me a little time for a wallow. Fraser: Right you are. . . Do you take sugar when you wallow? Ray: One. **car** Dewey: Do you believe this guy pedaled this entire route every day? Huey: Pull over, will you? Dewey: Humm? Huey: Pull over. Pull over!. . . I don't know. I feel nauseous or something if I'm not driving. Dewey: Look, I feel nauseous if you are driving. Huey: But you're always - Dewey: Lisen, hey, let's end this right? Okay? I'm sick of this argument. Is it because you got to have a steering wheel in your hands? Is that it? Huey: Yes. Dewey: Okay, get out of the car. Right now. Get out. . . Hey, he, hey, hey, this is for your stomach. Huey: I suppose you think this is funny, right? You want to know something? It's not funny. It's cruel. I mean, all I said was - Dewey: Shhh. Huey: What? Dewey: Look at this. Huey: Well, well, well. The Polermo Social Club. **station corridor** Ray: Let me see if I got this right, Fraser. Luanne is a beautiful woman, therefore she must be bad. And since she's a really beautiful woman, that means she's got to be really bad. Is that how it goes inside your brain? Fraser: Are you sure it is my brain we are talking about? Frannie: Randy said this was as close as he could come. Mind you, you eyewitness hasn't slept in about six months, so he wasn't at his sharpest. Fraser: Hmmm. Ray: What? Fraser: Nothing. Ray: You think this is a woman in disguise. Fraser: Well, there is something off kilter about it. Ray: You think she's involved, don't you? Fraser: Ray. Ray: Look, you're going to tell me this is a false moustache. Fraser: All right. The smudge she had on her upper lip when we went to the Tucci household could - and I say 'could' - have been the residue of spirit gum used to hold the moustache on. Ray: And the pillow that fell off the chair. . . Fraser: Might account for the description of the fat man with skinny legs. I say 'might'. Ray: And I suppose that cassette tape you found in the living room of her reading Sword of Desire, she used that to fool Mrs. Tucci into thinking that she was sitting in a comfy chair reading to her from across the room. . . Fraser: Thereby providing her with an alibi so she could slip out to the park and shoot Mr. Tucci. But as I say, Ray, this is just the purest of speculation. Ray: Right. So why don't we just bring her in here and grill the snot out of her? Fraser: Without cause, that would violate her civil rights. Welsh: Jack and Dewey called in. Old man Tucci used to bring his pretzels by the Palermo Social Club every day. It's a real wise guy hangout. I mean, you had to have major bones before you can even get a decaf there. Maybe he heard something. Ray: So you're saying this is mob-related. Frannie: Hello? Random. Anyone ever heard of random killings? Welsh: He owned a home in Lincoln Wood. Had a couple of semis in Oak Park. No mortgage. He was worth 1.7 million dollars. Ray: Related to the mob. Fraser: I would resist the temptation of jumping to conclusions, gentlemen - and lady. By way of example, Joe Obodiak was a humble janitor with a women's Christian temperance center in Eagle River, and honest as the day is long. But by the time he died, he owned a split level home, two power boats, and several expensive pairs of shoes. Welsh: Miss Vecchio, the phone records. I want to know what calls were made to and from the Tucci house and who made them. Frannie: Probably Al Capone. Did you ever stop to think this might be personal? I mean, we know this guy was worth 1.7 million dollars. So who inherits it? Did you ever think of that? **Tucci home** Fraser: Mrs. Tucci, it would appear that your husband has left everything to Franco Junior. Mrs. Tucci: Ah, Frankie. Frankie will take care of me. My Frankie. **Tucci patio** Ray: So what now? Did you know Mr. Tucci was worth a million and a half bucks? Luanne: Yeah. No, but I know he had some money. Ray: Do you know where he got it? Luanne: Well, he worked 12 hours a day for fifty years, I guess he just saved it. Ray: And it all goes to a guy nobody's seen for 20 years? A guy who could be dead for all anybody knows. Luanne: The court will direct at least half of it to us, to Mrs. Tucci for upkeep of the house and everything. She'll get the rest after he's declared legally dead. I mean, that's how it's worked, you know, for other families I've worked for. Ray: Right. Luanne: Ray, things are such a mess. Ray: No, they're not a mess. Luanne: Yeah, they are. Ray: You all right?. . . What? Fraser: Ahem. . . Ray, I'm sorry. **station** Ray: You talking to me or chewing on a brick, 'cause either way you're going to lose your teeth, freak. . . [to Luanne] Hi. Luanne: Hi. . . Listen, I'm sorry about, uh. . . I didn't mean to make you feel - Ray: No, no, no, now. That was me. I was way over the line. I was going to call you. Luanne: You don't have to say that. Ray: Okay, okay. So. . . Luanne: Uh, did you. . . Did the police find any money on Mr. Tucci? Ray: Yeah. Luanne: $4,000? Ray: Yeah. Luanne: It's mine. **interrogation room** Ray: So, we can talk here. Luanne: I have to return that to the library. What's that? Ray: Oh, it's our suspect. You ever seen anybody around the house who looked like that or. . . ? Luanne: No. It's odd-looking. Ray: So. . . um. . . money. . . Luanne: My pay. A month's pay. Ray: The Tucci's paid you 4,000 bucks a month cash? Luanne: Um-hmm. The last Friday of every month. A thousand dollars a week. I know it's illegal. I don't pay any taxes or anything. But I don't have any education or training, so I couldn't say no. Ray: You didn't think to ask him where he got it? Luanne: No. It's none of my business. The thing is, with the will being the way it is, I, um. . . We really need that money now. Can we get it? Ray: I don't know. I would have to ask my lieutenant. Luanne: I understand. I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble. Ray: That's okay. No trouble. Dief: Arf. Luanne: Will I see you at the wake this afternoon? Ray: Yeah. I'll be there. Sure. Luanne: Great. **corridor** Frannie: I think what you need is a cold shower. Ray: I think what you need is a size D kick in the. . . Dief, what are you looking at? **squad room** Ray: It's the same plot. Fraser: I'm sorry. Ray: Sword of Desire. Look, okay, in the book, Gabriella is a lady in waiting to an aging duchess. Then the duke dies. Follow? Fraser: I think so. Ray: Good. Cast of characters. Okay? Luanne, Gabriella. Duke, Mr. Tucci. Duchess, Mrs. Tucci. Gabriella has the duke killed so she can get hold of the castle and all the grapes. Fraser: Grapes? Ray: It's Italy. It's a wine castle. Anyway, Gandolfo shows up and all the villagers go bananas, right? Fraser: And Gandolfo is. . . ? Ray: We don't have a Gandolfo. Fraser: So what's the point, Ray? Ray: The point is, she's involved, right? She's after the old man's money, just like in the book. Fraser: Are you suggesting that she left the book sitting around here in some kind of subconscious desire to be caught? Ray: Well, it sounds dumb, but you got a better idea? Fraser: Maybe she just forgot it. Ray: What the hell are you doing with my mail, anyway? Fraser: I'm sorry. I just noticed that your box hasn't been emptied in about a month. To your credit it seems you've been stuck with largely with fast food menus, so I don't think any vital police work is suffering. There is also a fax that came in from the National Crime Database. They ran a check on Luanne Russell. She has a record. Ray: For what?. . . Phone fraud? Mail fraud?. . . She's a con artist? Fraser: She has been. She may not be now. Ray: She's a con? She likes me? What does that mean? **outside Tucci home** Huey: Luciano Siracusa. . . Milano Valecchia. . . Mrs. Tucci. . . And there is Luanne Russell. . . And that's Gino Tortelli. Ray: The guy that owns the Palermo Social Club, runs the east side for the Iguana family. . . Hey, who's that guy with Mrs. Tucci? Dewey: I don't know. Fraser: Perhaps we should find out. **Tucci home** Mrs. Tucci: Grazie, signorina. . . Oh, Constable Fraser. Constable, come see my Frankie. My Frankie's come home. Ray: Gandolfo. Father: It's unbelievable, my boy. You haven't changed a bit. Frankie: I wish that were true, Father. Mrs. Tucci: Frankie, Frankie, this is my friend, Constable Fraser. Frankie: Oh, I've heard a lot about you. Fraser: And I you, sir. Ray: Excuse me, I'm, uh - Fraser: Detective Vecchio. Frankie: Lots of police. Ray: Luanne? Luanne: Not now, Ray. Frankie: I'm so ashamed, Mama. I should have come home a long time ago. I should have been here. If only I could see Papa again. Ask his forgiveness. But I am never going to leave you again. Mrs. Tucci: Oh. . . Tortelli: Frankie, it's Gino Tortelli. I was a great friend of your father's. If there is anything you need, anything. . . Frankie: Thank you. Thank you. Tortelli: Welcome home, Frankie. Welcome home. **squad room - Fannie's desk** Ray: Okay, maybe it's just my suspicious nature, but a guy disappears for 20 years and then he shows up a couple of days after his father's murder just in time to inherit a million bucks? I don't . . . Frannie: Hey, hands off the merchandise! Ray: I hate this computer! Frannie: Well, here's why they didn't find Frankie Junior when they ran his father. 1979. Couple of chops as a juvenile. Ray: 'Chops'? Do you mean 'beefs'? Frannie: Yeah. Beefs, loins, chops, ribeye, it really doesn't matter. The point is they sealed the records and they think he also goes by the name of Sammy Franks. Dewey: Went by the name of Sammy Franks. Ray: Film at 11 or what? Dewey: All right. A few years back I was at the 1-9, right? One night a couple of marshals from Tucson, wearing the big cowboy hats and everything, fly in to pick up one of our collars, Nervous Nellie Martin, who was up on a murder one chop - Frannie [on phone]: Hang on. . . [to Ray] Did you hear that? Chops. Chops are okay. Thank you. . . [to phone] Sir? Huey: Chops are good. A little applesauce on the side - Dewey: Would you let me finish the story here? Huey: Sorry. Go ahead. Dewey: All right. So the victim is Sammy Franks, an up-and-coming mob guy, right? Attracting a lot of heat at the time. But Nellie beats the rap because they can't find enough pieces of Franks' body to identify. No body, no murder. No murder, no prison volleyball. Ray: So this Sammy Franks may or may not be Franco Tucci who may or may not be dead and this guy at the house may or may not be him. Is that about it? Fraser: I think you put it rather well, Ray. Frannie: Oh, I finished checking those phone numbers, and there's nothing here except a bunch of calls made to a detective agency. Ray: From the Tucci house? Frannie: Of course. Ray: Why would they be calling a private investigator? Frannie: I don't know. Ray: I'm going to check this out. Fannie: It's Apex Investigations on Van Buren. Ray: Van Buren? Van Buren. **Apex Investigations** Ray: So, do you know when he'll be back? Receptionist: He didn't say. Ray: Look, he's not in any trouble. I just want to ask him a couple of questions about this case I'm working on. Receptionist: Mr. Fahey is never in trouble with the law. He's very law abiding. He doesn't even get parking tickets. Ray: No tickets? Lucky guy. That's a lucky guy. Do you get tickets? Receptionist: Sometimes. Ray: I get 'em all the time. I hate 'em. But I'm a cop so, uh, those tickets you get? They could kinda, you know. . . That's a nice dress. I like that. That's very attractive. Receptionist: You think? Ray: Oh, yeah. Receptionist: You could leave your name and number. I mean, he checks his messages. Ray: Right. Well, he would have to 'cause he's in the field looking for missing persons, right? Receptionist: No, not really. Actually, his specialty is not finding them. Ray: Excuse me? Receptionist: Like if you wanted to declare someone legally dead? You have got to make an effort to find them. Something you can show a court. Ray: Right. **outside Tucci house** Frankie: It's time you got with the program. I'm in charge here and what I say goes. Luanne: You promised me - Frankie: Hey! All good things must end. You've been on the gravy train for, what, 3 years now? Fraser: Are you all right? Luanne: Constable. You startled me. Yeah, I'm all right. But something's wrong. Frankie's acting crazy. He's talking about putting Mrs. Tucci in a home. Fraser: Did he say where he was going? Luanne: To get a drink. Fraser: Excuse me. . . Diefenbaker, come. Dief: Whine Fraser: I said, come. Dief: Whine. Fraser: What do you think you are doing? You're part of a team, and on a team there is only room for one alpha dog. Now like it or lump it, that's me. Alpha. Now, come. Dief: Arf. Fraser: Diefenbaker, stay. . . I thought you would like that. **street** Nellie: Frankie! Fraser: You don't want to do this. Nellie: Sorry, pal. Fraser: Think about it, Nellie. Right now I'm the only friend you have. Nellie: Do I know you? Fraser: No. Nellie: Who the hell are you? Fraser: My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I - it's not really important. What is important is that 2 years ago you were paid money to kill Sammy Franks and certain people are going to be very unhappy to discover you've missed a second time and the money, which I'm virtually certain is all gone, is, in fact, all gone. Nellie: Well, you got a good point. Fraser: Thank you. Why don't you give me the gun? I promise you the full protection of the Chicago Police Department. **interrogation room** Nellie: I want to make a deal. Dewey: Deal? Here's your deal. You tell us everything we want to know, okay? If we want to know the lyrics to Oklahoma, you'd better know them 'cause if you don't we're going to kick you out of here and broadcast your movements on the all-news traffic reports. You dig? Nellie: Okay, okay. Look, all right. Okay. Fine. Huey: That's good. Good man. **squad room** Frannie [on phone]: Yeah. . . [to Fraser] It's Ray. Fraser: Ray, where are you? Ray: I checked the photo on his PI license application. Franco Junior's real name is Wayne Fahey. He's the PI she hired to find the long-lost son. It's a scam. Fraser: I don't think Miss Russell - Ray: I'm going over there right now to pick her up. Fraser: Ray, wait. Ray: I can pick 'em, can't I? **interrogation room** Nellie: Anyway, I'm in Phoenix and this guy comes up to me and says, I'm surprised you're showing your face. And I says, why. He says, a buddy of his just got back from Chicago, and Frankie Tucci's back in town. I says, no way. I killed the guy, you know. And he says, no, no, you know, he's walking around. And I think, geez, you know, this is an affront to my professional dignity. I mean, someone pays me good money to kill the guy, you know, bing-bing, you know, I kill him, you know? I'm a professional. Hey, if that's a crime, I'm guilty. Right? Plus the de Luca family will be trying to kill me, right? So I hop the first plane east and I start asking around and I find he's walking around and he's squeezing melons like the Godfather. Huey: You took a contract on Frank Tucci Junior 2 years ago in Phoenix. Nellie: Only he wasn't going by the name of Tucci then. He changed it 2 years ago after he left home. I got him on his boat. Blew it right out of the water. All they found of him was pieces. I guess it was pieces of somebody else. Huey: You're proud of it. Nellie: It's my job. **observation room** Welsh: So what do you got, Constable? Fraser: Interesting that you should ask, sir. **interrogation room** Nellie: Do your job, and I do my job. You wouldn't have a job if not for guys like me. Welsh: Well, Mr. Nellie, I got a couple of news bulletins for you. The good news is you were right the first time. You did kill Franco Tucci in Phoenix. The bad news is, you just ratted out the de Luca family. So if you're going to help yourself, I would start pretty quick. Nellie: Yeah, yeah. Okay. **car** Dewey: Fraser, you want to sit back? You're blocking the mirror. Fraser [on phone]: What, he's there with you now? Luanne: Yes, he's here and he's acting crazy. He's running around like a mad man. What's going on? Fraser: Get out of the house. . . [to Dewey] Go. **Tucci house** Fahey: Put it down. Luanne: You're not Franco. Fahey: You're damn right I'm not. But someone who thinks I am just tried to kill me. Luanne: Why? Fahey: I don't know. And I don't care. But you can have Franco Tucci, the money, the old lady, the whole nine yards. I'm getting out of here. Ray: I don't think so. Drop the gun! Fahey: Man, am I glad to see you. Someone just tried to kill me - Ray: I heard you. Now drop the gun! You put the gun on the ground! Move! Kick it over here! Kick it!. . . What I want to know is which one of you pulled the trigger? Luanne: What? Fahey: She did. The whole thing was her idea, I swear. Ray: Okay, both of you, on the floor. Luanne: Ray. . . Ray: On the floor! Both of you! Hands behind your head, interlock your fingers. Get down! **street** Huey: Put. . . the gun. . . down!. . . Now! **Tucci driveway** Fraser: Mr. Tucci feared that when he died, there would be no one to provide for his beloved wife, so he hired this man Fahey to help him find his long-lost son. When he showed Fahey the photograph of his son, Fahey's resemblance to Franco Junior was obvious. And that was the genesis of his scheme. He would murder Mr. Tucci, then he would impersonate the son and lay claim to the money and the property that Mr. Tucci told him awaited Franco Junior. Dewey: He didn't know the old man was ill and probably would die in a few months. Huey: And he didn't know the real Franco was a man with a price on his head. Fraser: The axiom would seem to hold that proper preparation prevents poor performance. Ray: So she had nothing to do with it. . .
Ray: I don't know what to say. . . I made a mistake. . . I'm sorry. Luanne: Yeah, you did. Ray: Look, I'll talk to my lieutenant and I'll get back your 4,000 bucks. Luanne: I know that's good, Ray. Because as we walk along life's highway, it's nice to know that in a crunch I can just really count on you. Ray: Look wait a minute, I- **camp** Ray: Why couldn't I trust her? I mean, if I trusted her, I would be sitting with her tonight instead of. . . sitting out here in the wilderness. Fraser: We aren't actually in the wilderness, Ray. We are in a park in the middle of downtown Chicago. Ray: It's not you, you know. Those things I accused you of? It's me. I mean, I looked at her. She's drop-dead beautiful. She looked at me. She's actually interested in me. And right away I - click - I start thinking, okay, so what's wrong with her? What kind of guy is that? What does that say about a guy? Fraser: . . . Lou Skagnetti looked at the princess who sat across the stone table in the stone cabin high atop Sulfur Mountain, and the princess smiled at him. And for a brief second, Lou Skagnetti could hear his own inner bell ring as though it were rung by a thousand angels. And he took his hand and he placed it over his heart, and Lou Skagnetti vowed that never again would he kill and eat another princess as long as he lived. . . unless, of course, she were covered in choke cherries and brown lichen and a sprinkling of dust - Ray: Fraser? Fraser: What? Ray: That's one dark story. Fraser: Yes. It is. . . The spaghetti's ready. Ray: Ummm. . . Where's Dief? **Luanne's bedroom** Luanne: Gabriella's chest heaved at the sight of him. His boldness made her feel like a true princess. As he came near her, she could feel the trembling of the deep inside her most secret place. . . **End** |