"It took me one night to write my novel" "The Spoils Before Dying." "Hunched over my old Olivetti, I pounded away like a madman with only a case of vodka and some stolen amphetamines from an Avignon hospital to keep me locked into my story." "I'm Eric Jonrosh, the writer and director of tonight's presentation." "The '50s were a heady time in American letters." "Mailer, Vidal, Cheever, Jones, and myself competed yearly for the mantle of Master of American Fiction." "The Spoils Before Dying was to be my greatest achievement." "However it was banned in this country, and I was summarily exiled from the country of my birth." "Even now, I am a man without a country, and an apartment." "I have only my wine and a humble cot in the guest house of an old lover." "My death is imminent." "Anyway, you're about to see Part IV of Spoils Before Dying." "It's pretty good." "I think you'll enjoy it." "Oh, hi, Doris." "Your porcelain skin, it's intoxicating." "Ooh, a little cat-and-mouse game." "I enjoy cat-and-mouse." "I drove back to The Swingyard with the alto sax that Wardell had on him when he was murdered." "Wardell was mixed up in something big..." "Let me get a knife." "And the saxophone might tell me what I needed to know." "What are you looking for, Rock?" "A gold cigarette case." "I'm looking for something, and it's hiding right under my nose." "Say, you were here the night that Fresno and Wardell walked out." "Was this the saxophone that Wardell was playing?" "I don't think so, Rock." "Wardell played the tenor sax." "Good girl." "Now..." "Where is that tenor sax?" "That's the question." "There you are, old chap!" "You went straight off the deep end last night, scared me 4/9 out of my wits, my God." "People were calling in to the station claiming that you were on drugs." "What?" "Imagine that, a respectable jazz musician such as yourself wankered on yellow jackets or red robins or the Queen's ears or Oscar Wilde's left shoe," "OGOGBLGBQTA Esquires, right radish goose governors straight off Miss Havisham's broly blunkin." "You weren't on drugs, were you?" "Oh, no, no, man." "Well, probably." "Yeah, I was on drugs, Alistair." "But listen to me." "Fresno is dead." "Wardell is dead." "Wilbur Stygamian is dead." "Would this be a bad time to talk about the strings album?" "They're gonna pin all three on me." "I got less than a day to find the real killer, or it's lights out." "That would be a great title for the strings album." "Look, I can get you into a West Coast recorder's, just like..." "That!" "It's gonna have to wait." "Rock, you didn't say no." "Pimm's cup!" "I took a drive out to Kenton Price's house, hoping to find out more." "Price lived alone on the beach in one of those bungalows you get as a prize for being the smartest guy in the class." "Something was different about him this time." "He was jumpy, like a puppet on a string, made of barbed wire." "Listen, I know I said I would ask around about world-class scientist Wilbur Stygamian, but..." "I'm not sure I can help you any more, Mr. Banyon." "Nothing, huh?" "Thank you anyway." "Was hoping maybe you could find something as to why he got murdered." "Well, I couldn't." "How's your drink?" "I'm something of an amateur mixologist." "Tasty." "You seem nervous." "Why would you say that?" "I'm not nervous." "Can I fix you another drink?" "Say... you think Stygamian was blackmailing another homosexual?" "That's ridiculous." "He would never have done that." "He was protecting us." "Protecting?" "From who?" "I need you to leave now, Mr. Banyon." "From who?" "Please, leave." "I don't want to be seen..." "With what, a jazz musician?" "Please, we're both in danger." "Who is he protecting you from?" "I can't." "It's a matter of life and death!" "I can't!" "Oh, God." "Gerhart Moll." "Gerhart Moll." "Gerhart Moll." "Was it an outerwear company?" "The title of a Gustave Flaubert novel?" "The name meant nothing to me." "Delores... you here?" "I am right here." "Hey, chumsville." "You need to be more careful." "Yeah." "Seems I'm always one step behind." "Maybe you need to start thinking like a cat." "Cats are the poets of the animal world." "Right on, my man." "So you digs cats?" "Yeah." "I dig cats of the poetic sort." ""I dreamed of lions in a cage." "Back and forth they walked in rage."" "Yeah." ""Then one day the doors swung free."" "Yeah, man, go." "Go, man, go." "Tell me about those lions." "Slow down, man... damn." "Why you bringing up lions?" "It's about the cage." "Listen." ""Then one day the doors swung free, and now the sad cage sits empty."" "It's about the cage, not about the lions." "Stop thinking about the lions, man." "Yeah." "I can dig that." "Cool, man." "I knew that you could." "Hey, Dizz." "Yeah, man." "My manager wants me to do a strings album." "You think I should do a strings album?" "Oh, man, everybody does a strings LP, Rock." "Parker, Garner, Baker, even Gillespie." "It's a real cash cow." "You didn't answer my question." "That's because cats don't talk, Rock." "That's day one stuff." "Come on, man." "You got to get it together, my man." "Don't let the weather un-tether your feather." "And don't let any mother smother your other, my brother." "Up high." "Mr. Banyon!" "Hey!" "Siesta time is over!" "Don't hurt him." "Good morning, Mr. Banyon." "Rock, I'm sorry, he broke in." "He said if I screamed he would kill you." "He made daiquiris, though, and they're pretty good." "Thank you." "What's the play here, Salizar?" "I don't have your cigarette case... yet." "Mister "yazz" musician." "Yeah, well, apparently, somebody got to Stygamian before the police did, because the cigarette case is gonzo." "You're saying you don't have anything?" "Well, I found out that cats really don't talk." "Wait, what?" "Don't be smart with me." "If you play me like a piano for rent," "I come back... and she gets it." "Blam!" "Brains on the floor." "Listen here." "You put a hand on her again, and you'll wish the piano was the only thing I was playing." "I'll be around." "I look forward." "Count on it." "See you in the funny papers." "What?" "Oh, no, no, in our country that's the comics section in the newspaper." " Ah." " Yes, okay." "Drive safely." "Oh, Rock." "Oh, lover." "I'm so scared." "Of that punk?" "He's straight out of a dime store paperback." "What can I do to help, Rock?" "You want to help me?" "I want you to take those pretty lips you sing from... and put them right here." "I don't know what good that's gonna do." "Oh, Rock." "Did that help, Rock?" "It helped a whole lot." "Are you sure?" "Oh, yeah." "I just want to help, Rock." "I want my mouth to help." "I want to give you good mouth help, Rock." "Oh, that mouth is the eighth wonder of the world." "Oh, Rock." "Somewhat dunderheaded censorship laws at the time of its original air date did not allow for the next five minutes of my mystery-thriller to be seen." "The original footage was confiscated and destroyed, much to my displeasure." "Rumors of a reconstructed scene between Rock and Delores circulated throughout the European cinema community for many years, but without substantial evidence, until Gunter Sveldwolt, a Swedish film historian, was able to piece together the scene from the audio of a German broadcast" "and original storyboards found in the basement of a Parisian whore house that I used to frequent called Le Petite Mort." "Although not up to my cinematic standards," "I show it here, only to get back at the boobs who thought they could repress us all, some of them still alive." "Darren." " Oh, Rock." " Delores, I need you." "I need you more, Rock." "Oh, let me help you, baby." "Yes!" "No!" "Uh-huh." "Don't... ooh, ooh." "Oh, I like that." "Oh, yes, oh, yes, do that, only the mouth this time." "Do part of that." "Oh, Rock, yes." "Yes, yes!" "Oh, oh, Rock." "Oh, yes, oh, yes, do that, Rock." "I like that." "Ow!" "If only." "If only what, my love?" "If only I wasn't about to die." "Me and you could have had a real good wedding." "We still can, Rock." "We still can." "You need to find out who killed Fresno." "I don't know." "You're still in love with her." "I've always loved Fresno." "Now I..." "You can't give up, Rock." "I know what it feels like to give up." "You need to find out who killed Fresno, for both of us." " Delores." " Mm." "Where's Dizzy?" "I think he's outside." "I was pretty sure he was in the bed with us." "Mm, no, I let him go play in the street." "But we live on a six-lane highway." "I know, but he met some coyotes, and I thought they could just run around together." "You sure you didn't smother him?" "No, I'm pretty sure he's outside." "Dizzy?" "I was running out of time, but was starting to make people nervous." "Nervous people make mistakes." "I was in the mood to make a few mistakes myself." "I decided to check out Stygamian's house in the hills." "Who are you?" "Could ask the same thing about you." "I'm calling the police." "Okay, but first you got to explain what you're doing in a dead man's house." "This is my house." "Your house?" "Yes." "Wilbur Stygamian is..." "Well, was my father." "That's strange." "Didn't see you in not one picture on the piano." "We were estranged." "On the account of he was..." "homosexual?" "Partially that." "You still haven't answered either part of my two-part original question." "who are you?" "what are you doing here?" "I'm Rock Banyon." "I'm looking for the cigarette case." "The gold one." "Yeah, what's it to you?" "Well, it seems to be a very popular item." "But no one will tell me what's in it." "What's in it, Mr. Banyon?" "Hm, I don't know." "Maybe a secret recipe for an A-bomb or the Dodgers' pitching rotation." "Whatever it is, people are dying for it, including your father." "And what makes you think it would be here?" "Long shot, really." "I guess dead men really do draw straws." "I don't know what that means." "I believe you, Mr. Banyon." "Where would he hide something like that?" "Well, if it was important, it'd be in the... secret room." "He built this room deep in the Hollywood Hills." "He was hunted down by the Nazis in Germany and narrowly escaped via the over-ground airline." "He thought the same thing would happen here because he was a homosexual." "So he built this." "This is pretty far down." "He was a very secretive man." "It's like more than a mile below the surface." "An elevator?" "Yes." "Welcome to our little party, Mr. Banyon." "There's nothing to fear, really." "You're not his daughter." "Sit down." "Your Mr. Roosevelt was wrong." "You are going to have a lot more to fear than fear itself." "I'm going to give you a little something that I whipped up to take the edge off." "Okay." "They tell me there are more of these coming, a fifth and sixth part." "I say "Wonderful" to that." "I don't know why they didn't cut it up into even smaller parts, like a hundred parts, like a cinematic approximation of Brion Gysin and Billy Burroughs's cut-up technique." "God damn these people." "Can't anyone sit through a simple narrative story?" "What's going on?" "We have the attention span of fleas."