Manhattan Mayhem (24 page)

(Switch to
LEWIS
.)

LEWIS
: Hey, can I make a little suggestion, here, Detective Wong? You want to know who killed the guy, maybe start with the person who literally said the words, “I could
kill
that guy.”

WONG
: And who was that?

(Switch to
MARCUS
, who looks up from his crying and takes a long pause before speaking.)

MARCUS
: Yes. Technically, yes. Yes, technically, I said that. But not like
that.
I didn’t say it like, “I am
going
to kill him.” I said it like, “I
could
kill him!” As in, like, “You’re exasperating me!” Haven’t you ever said you wanted to kill somebody!

WONG
: No.

MARCUS
: But surely people have said it about you.

WONG
: Excuse me?

MARCUS
: Nothing. Forget it! I did not kill Mr. Klein. I didn’t—I couldn’t!

WONG
: Because …?

MARCUS
: Because … because …

WONG
: Yes?

MARCUS
:
(leaping from his chair)
Because I
loved
him. And he loved me, too. He couldn’t say it, Detective, but he did. It was clear every time I looked into his eyes. He would say, “Good morning, Marcus,” but what his heart was saying was, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

WONG
: Interesting.

MARCUS
: Interesting? I lay bare my soul and all you can say is “interesting”?
Are you not human, Detective? Have you no soul? This man and I shared a hidden passion, smoldering in our breasts like the living coals of a fire, and all you can say is “interesting”?

WONG
: Very interesting.

MARCUS
: Oh, for God’s
sake.

WONG
: Will you sit down, please?
(
MARCUS
complies, slowly, while
WONG
checks her notes.)
I had understood that Mr. Klein was married.

MARCUS
: Yes. Right. “Married.” To a “woman.” His “wife” is a “makeup artist” and she “travels frequently.”

WONG
: May I take your quote marks as indicative of skepticism?

MARCUS
: He was in the closet, is what I’m saying. He was way back in the back of the closet, with the winter hats. Which was totally infuriating. Hello? The twenty-first century has arrived, Mr. Klein! You work in show business, Mr. Klein! And not television, either. In the
theater.
It’s New York! It’s Chelsea! Go ahead and be gay!

WONG
: So, the fact is, then, that you confessed your love to him, and he turned you down.

MARCUS
: I guess so. I guess if all you care about is “facts,” then yes.

WONG
: Excuse me.
(
WONG
takes out her phone and listens for a moment.)
Well. Well. Okay, then.

MARCUS
: What? What was that?

(During the following, the various pools of light melt away into a general wash, and we find the cast members, in their various positions, around the room.
WONG
turns her attention back to where it started, to
PATRICK
, while the others watch.)

WONG
: Well, we found him.

PATRICK
: Peter?
(visible relief)
Thank God.

WONG
: And … he doesn’t know anything about any missing phone.

PATRICK
: What?

WONG
: Peter told my officer that your cell phone was definitely in your possession yesterday evening. He says that you were sending and
receiving texts all night.

PATRICK
. What? But that’s—that’s impossible.

MARCUS
: Oh, my
God!
Patrick killed Klein!
Again.

PATRICK
: But—but I didn’t. I didn’t kill him. I’ve never killed anyone. My phone—my phone was stolen—

WONG
: So you’ve said.

ELSIE
: I am going to write such a great play about this.

LEWIS
: So, the mystery is solved? We can leave now?

WONG
: Not quite.

ELSIE
. It’s old-fashioned, sure, but producers will love it. Small cast. Virtually no set …

(
PATRICK
leaps for the props table, grabs a battle-axe.)

PATRICK
: No one is going anywhere!

ELSIE
: … shocking denouement.

WONG
:
(unruffled)
I thought those were all props.

PATRICK
: Not all of them. My research revealed that constructing a fake battle-axe would cost as much as buying a real battle-axe. I also got real police handcuffs from an online auction site, rather than paying through the nose for fakes.
(He swings the axe menacingly at
WONG
.)
I’m a great stage manager.

WONG
:
(drawing her service weapon)
Put that down, please. I’ve called my officers, and they will be here any minute.

PATRICK
: But I didn’t kill him! Why would I? He was my ticket!

WONG
: He was your what?

LEWIS
: Yeah. What does that mean?

PATRICK
: It means I’ve been stealing from him, you dummy.

WONG
: What?

PATRICK
: Why would I kill him when I’ve been robbing him blind for years?

ELSIE
:
(taking notes)
Oh, this is fantastic.

MARCUS
: Stealing! Oh, my
God
! Patrick is a thief! An embezzler! Hm. Actually, I guess that’s not as bad as a murderer.

WONG
: You’d best explain yourself, Mr. Wolfish.

PATRICK
: What’s to explain? I’ve been submitting phony receipts. Raiding the petty cash. For years. Years! Klein is a dope who doesn’t pay attention, and that’s been my livelihood for a decade and a half! Why do you think I wanted him to do a show that might draw a paying audience! Peter and I just bought a house in Hudson, for God’s sake. If Klein is dead, how will I pay the mortgage?

(A booming, merry voice sounds from offstage.)

KLEIN
: Yes! How?

(The door of the studio swings open. Enter
OTTO KLEIN
, beaming, drinking a Dr. Pepper.)

KLEIN
: How, indeed?!

LEWIS
: Well, I’ll be damned.

ELSIE
: Another twist!

(
MARCUS
runs to
KLEIN
and hugs him fervently.)

MARCUS
: You’re not dead! You’re not dead! This is
so
amazing. He’s not dead, everybody!

KLEIN
: No, I’m not, kid. Though I got one hell of a crick in my neck.
(To
WONG
.)
Listen, next time I die, remind me to do it in a hammock.

WONG
: You got it.

PATRICK
: But—but—I don’t understand—

KLEIN
: Of course, ya don’t. But I been wise to you a long time, Patrick. I just needed to hear you say it! And more important, I needed to get it all recorded on my phone.
(He holds up his iPhone and grins.)
You’ll be offering your next round of explanations to a judge.

PATRICK
: And—but—
(He wheels toward
WONG
.)
Don’t cops have better things to do than aid in this sort of—of—playacting?

WONG
: I wouldn’t know. I’m not a cop. I’m—

ELSIE
: Wait! Ooh! Wait! Let me guess it! You’re his
wife
!

WONG
: Bingo.

(
WONG
and
KLEIN
embrace.)

ELSIE
: I
love
it!

MARCUS
: Well, color me corrected. Not gay at all! Straight and married to a fake policeman! God, I love this cit—ahh!

He screams as
PATRICK
charges past, tossing aside the battle-axe and leaping at
KLEIN
in a fury.
KLEIN
and
WONG
move to defend themselves, but
LEWIS
smoothly intercepts
PATRICK
, drops him with a hard left to the chin, grabs the handcuffs from the table, throws them on
PATRICK
, and sits on him. Everybody applauds.

ELSIE
: Wow.

MARCUS
: Bravo!

KLEIN
: Well done, Lewis. Well done and thank you.

WONG
:
(getting off her phone)
The real police will be here momentarily.

KLEIN
: Good. Very good! Boy, this all worked perfectly.

PATRICK
: This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair, goddamn it! I was trapped. Trapped!

ELSIE
:
(to
LEWIS
)
So, wait. Are you an undercover cop or something?

LEWIS
: No. Are you kidding? God, no. That’s all from the play
Harlem Streetlights,
which I did with LAByrinth at the Bank Street in—God, was it ninety-two? Ninety-four?
(Everybody has immediately lost interest. They begin to yawn or take out their phones.)
Anyway, Stevie—that’s Stephen Adly Guirgis; I call him Stevie—he handpicked me for the role, and Stevie said that in the interest of verisimilitude …

(The curtain falls as he keeps talking.)

Dedicated to Erik Jackson, man of the theater

BEN H. WINTERS
is the author, most recently, of the Last Policeman trilogy, which won both the Edgar Award and the Philip K. Dick Award for distinguished science fiction. He is also the author of
Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters,
a
New York Times
best-selling satire, and
The Secret Life of Ms. Finkleman,
an Edgar-nominated middle-grade novel. Before doing any of these those things, he was for many years a lyricist and librettist. He lives in Indianapolis and at
BenHWinters.com
.

“Mr. Emil Bauer, I’d hoped to see you here. Especially today.”

I had rubbed against a hunchback this noon. Accidentally, of course. I’d never be so crass as to touch the poor fellow on purpose. Besides, everyone knows the luck comes from an accidental touch. Thus, you understand my excitement. Then I positively tripped over little James here, who dropped his five-dollar bill right in my path! Don’t tell ME that’s not luck! So, I hustled him and his cash right here. To Emil’s spot.
“Please meet my friend, newly minted, you might say, heh, in this neighborhood.” I flourished my hand toward the child. “Mr. James Conner.”