Peter Gunn (1958) s01e02 Episode Script
Streetcar Jones
1
And now for the exponents of the new sound.
The big guy presents for his final
performance the man who's found some
strange and exciting ways to wander from the tonic
to the dominant chord in the company of minor sevens.
Martin Swift.
Take five.
Peter Gunn?
That's right.
My name's Lodi.
First or last name?
The world's too complicated to read.
One name's enough for anybody.
You happen to know the late Mr. Swift?
No.
He had a good sound, all right,
but most of us never dug him personally.
Then why the send-off?
His union dues were taken.
He paid up and he wanted it and had it coming to him.
I hear a lot about you down in my place.
You kind of got a nice feeling for people.
Some people?
Yeah.
You happen to know a swinging vibe man by
the name of the Streetcar Joe?
No.
Law thinks that he murdered Marty Swift.
Did he?
Thought you'd like to answer that question yourself.
Up to now, the city ain't made much bread,
but when the spot's open tonight,
we'll get better action.
Mr. Gunn, you're going to find out that
Streetcar had a good reason to slip it to Marty Swift.
You're going to find out also that the most of us did too.
How was the funeral?
I didn't get past the wake.
What about Streetcar Jones?
What about him?
In your mind, he's guilty?
You want to change my mind?
Why not?
He did everything but put it in the neon
how someday he was going to kill Swift.
Motive?
From the size of that knife, he must have had a good one.
He was seen hanging around in the alley
outside the big eye just before Swift was killed.
Come on.
I'd like to see him.
Sure, why not?
You'll make number two for the day.
Who was number one?
His attorney, Gerald Norris.
Somebody must be spreading a lot of juice around.
A lawyer like Norris doesn't come a dollar a pound.
Pass me the gun.
Pass me the gun.
I'm glad to see Streetcar Jones.
How did he ever get a name like Streetcar?
The way I hear it, when he plays,
all you've got to do is get on and ride.
Streetcar?
Yeah?
My name's Peter Gunn.
Wild sounds, huh?
Ooh.
But, like, I got a problem.
How do I take these swinging bars with me?
The problem's where you're going.
Man, like, that's no problem.
I go where it swings.
Where it swings where I go.
I'm not sure.
Lodi sent me.
Crazy.
I'm supposed to see what I can do about
getting you out of here.
Yeah.
It could be a drag.
Lodi?
Yeah.
There's a cool old cat.
Swings way back.
Oliver, Bichet, Ori, Wildsons.
You dig Lodi?
Yeah.
You dig murder?
No.
Did you kill Martin Swift?
Man, if I don't dig something, I don't make it.
Swift bugged me, but like I could turn him off.
I don't have to kill him.
Did you ever say you wanted to kill him?
No.
No, I said eliminate.
Like not what the good Lord set down, but the man was.
Just turn him off like he was the worst.
Why?
Like I don't know why, but when a cat don't have it and
he makes it with somebody else's talent, that's the worst.
I'm sorry, I don't think I quite understand.
Semantics.
Sometimes words are a drag.
Like I'll try to make it so you understand.
You know what's weird, jazz?
It's basic, like the most.
A lot of cats, musicians, get with it up
to a point, but they never really dig it.
Understand.
Well, you don't have to make it too simple.
Crazy.
Because understand doesn't cover it.
Dig is the only way I know how to say it.
It's more than up here.
Blow-dye digs.
I think I do.
Swift had a style, technique, but he wasn't creative.
He could never dig the original sounds.
That's why he stole them.
Stole what?
Sounds, music, riffs.
Maybe a guy's got a right to pick a pocket or steal a safe.
I make no judgments.
But swing with somebody else's talent?
And that's what Swift did.
My music.
Blow-dye's music.
Anybody who had it.
That's pretty far out.
For who?
Well, my first consideration would be the police.
Well, like we all got our problems.
Yeah.
I'll see what I can do.
It's been a pleasure.
Why not?
Just about anything else?
Oh, you would.
That's right.
My name is Gerald Lawrence.
This is my daughter.
This is Miss Hart.
I understand we're representing the same client, Mr. Gunn.
So I've heard.
This is hardly the place for business, Father.
Oh, Miss Hart, would you mind terribly if
I asked Mr. Gunn to dance?
How'd you like to step outside?
Don't you think we'd better go?
Mr. Gunn?
Excuse us.
May I?
Sure.
I could say a penny for your thoughts,
but why waste the money?
They're buoyant, Miss Norris.
I'm the daughter of a man with a very
analytical mind, like yours.
You're thinking adjectives like rich, spoiled, stubborn.
And you're wondering how I happen to be on
such influential terms with men like Lodi.
You did save your money, you're right.
So are you.
I'm rich, spoiled, stubborn.
And as for my influence with Lodi, that comes
from being what is known as a patron of jazz.
That means I contribute rather handsomely,
whenever and wherever I can.
Including your father's services?
The lesser of my accomplishments,
he comes rather high on the open market.
Do you know Streetcar Jones?
I know his music.
That's enough for me.
How about you?
The only music I've ever heard him play
was on the bars in his cell.
You should hear his records.
I'll buy some.
They're only in private collections, like mine.
Any night this week, Mr. Gunn.
Call will only cost you a dime.
All right.
Go home, people.
Load the eyes, beat out to the bone.
You came because you've got questions, Mr. Gunn?
Yeah.
What do you know about the murdered man?
Oh, he played way out there.
When it come to stuff he'd heard played before.
But our kind of music ain't what a man's
heard played before.
It hammers at your brain.
It screams and wails till you just can't hold it no more.
It comes from your man's soul.
Marty Swift never had no soul.
You mean he stole musical ideas from other musicians?
That's what it was.
He just was frantic for the make the scene.
Too frantic.
That's what Streetcar said.
Now, Mr. Gunn's wondering if Streetcar didn't kill him.
Maybe some other musician did.
All right.
Let's say I'm wondering.
I know them all.
I know every cat from New Orleans to
Chicago, from Los Angeles to the village.
I know who they are, where they go, and what they do.
I'd know even if they kill.
Somebody in that day world out there had
this case of hurt feelings against Marty Swift.
Oh, but you won't find that out for yourself.
Maybe that's why you could.
Thanks, Lennon.
I, uh I guess that's all for now.
Uh, Mr. Gunn.
There's something else you ought to know.
What?
Remember the night that Marty Swift wake,
how they played sad songs, yet it had a beat?
Yeah, I remember.
That's that soul music I was telling you about.
All that week, up the street, there was
playing sad songs, for Marty Swift,
and he wasn't even dead yet.
So?
Playing sad songs again.
For whom, Lord?
I don't know.
Maybe it's for you, Mr. Gunn.
You scramble some eggs.
For a lawyer, you keep pretty late hours.
I'd like to talk to you.
Now, look, Mr. Norris, I only danced with your daughter.
This has nothing to do with my daughter.
I was rather surprised to discover that
you'd been hired to assist in the Jones case.
In 32 years of practicing law,
I've tried quite a number of murder cases.
I'm not familiar with your record.
Maybe you know that not even once have I
tried to use outside help.
Meaning you want me to back off.
In the interest of our mutual client.
Mr. Norris, I've discovered one thing.
The victim was only a salaried musician.
But he's been talking up his future like
he discovered a money tree.
So?
So maybe he's been stealing something
other than musical ideas.
For instance?
Skeletons.
Skeletons?
Yeah, you know.
The kind families keep hanging around in closets.
Good night, Mr. Norris.
You still haven't given me an answer.
Sure I have.
Hey, got a light?
Do you really want one?
Not especially.
What do you want?
Let's take a walk.
Hi.
Edie, hello, Mother.
Barney.
Why, you on duty?
Yeah, but I'll have some coffee.
It isn't too much of a strain.
Oh, it's no strain at all.
I'll have a cup, too, Barney.
Are you sure it was the same person?
Yeah.
Well, thanks, Charlie.
Sure it'll help.
Bye.
Hey, Mother, where's the phone book?
Ah, some joker pulled it off the wall last night.
Here it is.
Thanks, Barney.
It's getting sore.
Now the citizen can't walk the streets anymore.
Did they get away with anything?
No, I've still got everything.
Only they rearranged it a little bit.
Looks like a nice professional job.
Thanks.
Thanks.
Do you know them?
No.
I'll catch up.
How about a description anyway?
Just for the sheer joy of it.
Tall, dark hats, nasty disposition.
That makes it easy.
He'll be around again.
Goodbye, you beautiful doll.
Did I tell you I loved you?
Yeah, but I don't believe it.
Eat your heart out.
Anybody I know?
Miss Nordstrom?
Norrick?
Norris.
There's a whole page of Norris's.
There's only one salad.
Maybe.
You'd like to listen to some music.
I always like to listen to music.
But I thought we were going to play records.
Understand from Lodi, you're one of his best customers.
Oh, I contribute to the kiddie now and then.
He tells me something like two or three times a week.
What's on your mind, Pete?
Patrons of jazz, I'm very happy to bring
you tonight a real surprise.
A man that's never set out of this world
because he's seldom in it.
Ha, ha, ha.
If you like music Ha, ha, ha.
You know him.
Streetcar Jones.
Really?
Want me to tell you about it?
Well, isn't that why you called?
If Streetcar didn't kill Swift, whoever did
was so familiar around here they could wander.
No one would pay any attention.
That sounds reasonable.
I've been doing some checking on Swift.
Every job.
All the way back to Buffalo three years ago.
Interesting thing happened in Buffalo three years ago.
Well-known sax player was killed by his wife.
Socially prominent young lady whose father was
a highly respected member of the legal profession.
He got her off on self-defense.
There was never any question.
Only because there was a witness.
Martin Swift.
He told the truth.
Did he?
Your bank account's been checked.
In the past three years, you've paid Swift
something over $100,000.
Personally, I think blackmail's about the
dirtiest fact that there is.
Text to murder.
You think it'll stand up in court?
I think so.
I've got a pretty good lawyer.
I hope his heart's in his work, for your sake.
I told him not to touch your face.
I was hoping you could be persuaded to get
your kick some other way.
You'll forgive me if I don't thank you.
You'll forgive him.
I believe you've met the fool.
If I were you, I'd just go along quietly.
I believe you've met the fool.
And now for the exponents of the new sound.
The big guy presents for his final
performance the man who's found some
strange and exciting ways to wander from the tonic
to the dominant chord in the company of minor sevens.
Martin Swift.
Take five.
Peter Gunn?
That's right.
My name's Lodi.
First or last name?
The world's too complicated to read.
One name's enough for anybody.
You happen to know the late Mr. Swift?
No.
He had a good sound, all right,
but most of us never dug him personally.
Then why the send-off?
His union dues were taken.
He paid up and he wanted it and had it coming to him.
I hear a lot about you down in my place.
You kind of got a nice feeling for people.
Some people?
Yeah.
You happen to know a swinging vibe man by
the name of the Streetcar Joe?
No.
Law thinks that he murdered Marty Swift.
Did he?
Thought you'd like to answer that question yourself.
Up to now, the city ain't made much bread,
but when the spot's open tonight,
we'll get better action.
Mr. Gunn, you're going to find out that
Streetcar had a good reason to slip it to Marty Swift.
You're going to find out also that the most of us did too.
How was the funeral?
I didn't get past the wake.
What about Streetcar Jones?
What about him?
In your mind, he's guilty?
You want to change my mind?
Why not?
He did everything but put it in the neon
how someday he was going to kill Swift.
Motive?
From the size of that knife, he must have had a good one.
He was seen hanging around in the alley
outside the big eye just before Swift was killed.
Come on.
I'd like to see him.
Sure, why not?
You'll make number two for the day.
Who was number one?
His attorney, Gerald Norris.
Somebody must be spreading a lot of juice around.
A lawyer like Norris doesn't come a dollar a pound.
Pass me the gun.
Pass me the gun.
I'm glad to see Streetcar Jones.
How did he ever get a name like Streetcar?
The way I hear it, when he plays,
all you've got to do is get on and ride.
Streetcar?
Yeah?
My name's Peter Gunn.
Wild sounds, huh?
Ooh.
But, like, I got a problem.
How do I take these swinging bars with me?
The problem's where you're going.
Man, like, that's no problem.
I go where it swings.
Where it swings where I go.
I'm not sure.
Lodi sent me.
Crazy.
I'm supposed to see what I can do about
getting you out of here.
Yeah.
It could be a drag.
Lodi?
Yeah.
There's a cool old cat.
Swings way back.
Oliver, Bichet, Ori, Wildsons.
You dig Lodi?
Yeah.
You dig murder?
No.
Did you kill Martin Swift?
Man, if I don't dig something, I don't make it.
Swift bugged me, but like I could turn him off.
I don't have to kill him.
Did you ever say you wanted to kill him?
No.
No, I said eliminate.
Like not what the good Lord set down, but the man was.
Just turn him off like he was the worst.
Why?
Like I don't know why, but when a cat don't have it and
he makes it with somebody else's talent, that's the worst.
I'm sorry, I don't think I quite understand.
Semantics.
Sometimes words are a drag.
Like I'll try to make it so you understand.
You know what's weird, jazz?
It's basic, like the most.
A lot of cats, musicians, get with it up
to a point, but they never really dig it.
Understand.
Well, you don't have to make it too simple.
Crazy.
Because understand doesn't cover it.
Dig is the only way I know how to say it.
It's more than up here.
Blow-dye digs.
I think I do.
Swift had a style, technique, but he wasn't creative.
He could never dig the original sounds.
That's why he stole them.
Stole what?
Sounds, music, riffs.
Maybe a guy's got a right to pick a pocket or steal a safe.
I make no judgments.
But swing with somebody else's talent?
And that's what Swift did.
My music.
Blow-dye's music.
Anybody who had it.
That's pretty far out.
For who?
Well, my first consideration would be the police.
Well, like we all got our problems.
Yeah.
I'll see what I can do.
It's been a pleasure.
Why not?
Just about anything else?
Oh, you would.
That's right.
My name is Gerald Lawrence.
This is my daughter.
This is Miss Hart.
I understand we're representing the same client, Mr. Gunn.
So I've heard.
This is hardly the place for business, Father.
Oh, Miss Hart, would you mind terribly if
I asked Mr. Gunn to dance?
How'd you like to step outside?
Don't you think we'd better go?
Mr. Gunn?
Excuse us.
May I?
Sure.
I could say a penny for your thoughts,
but why waste the money?
They're buoyant, Miss Norris.
I'm the daughter of a man with a very
analytical mind, like yours.
You're thinking adjectives like rich, spoiled, stubborn.
And you're wondering how I happen to be on
such influential terms with men like Lodi.
You did save your money, you're right.
So are you.
I'm rich, spoiled, stubborn.
And as for my influence with Lodi, that comes
from being what is known as a patron of jazz.
That means I contribute rather handsomely,
whenever and wherever I can.
Including your father's services?
The lesser of my accomplishments,
he comes rather high on the open market.
Do you know Streetcar Jones?
I know his music.
That's enough for me.
How about you?
The only music I've ever heard him play
was on the bars in his cell.
You should hear his records.
I'll buy some.
They're only in private collections, like mine.
Any night this week, Mr. Gunn.
Call will only cost you a dime.
All right.
Go home, people.
Load the eyes, beat out to the bone.
You came because you've got questions, Mr. Gunn?
Yeah.
What do you know about the murdered man?
Oh, he played way out there.
When it come to stuff he'd heard played before.
But our kind of music ain't what a man's
heard played before.
It hammers at your brain.
It screams and wails till you just can't hold it no more.
It comes from your man's soul.
Marty Swift never had no soul.
You mean he stole musical ideas from other musicians?
That's what it was.
He just was frantic for the make the scene.
Too frantic.
That's what Streetcar said.
Now, Mr. Gunn's wondering if Streetcar didn't kill him.
Maybe some other musician did.
All right.
Let's say I'm wondering.
I know them all.
I know every cat from New Orleans to
Chicago, from Los Angeles to the village.
I know who they are, where they go, and what they do.
I'd know even if they kill.
Somebody in that day world out there had
this case of hurt feelings against Marty Swift.
Oh, but you won't find that out for yourself.
Maybe that's why you could.
Thanks, Lennon.
I, uh I guess that's all for now.
Uh, Mr. Gunn.
There's something else you ought to know.
What?
Remember the night that Marty Swift wake,
how they played sad songs, yet it had a beat?
Yeah, I remember.
That's that soul music I was telling you about.
All that week, up the street, there was
playing sad songs, for Marty Swift,
and he wasn't even dead yet.
So?
Playing sad songs again.
For whom, Lord?
I don't know.
Maybe it's for you, Mr. Gunn.
You scramble some eggs.
For a lawyer, you keep pretty late hours.
I'd like to talk to you.
Now, look, Mr. Norris, I only danced with your daughter.
This has nothing to do with my daughter.
I was rather surprised to discover that
you'd been hired to assist in the Jones case.
In 32 years of practicing law,
I've tried quite a number of murder cases.
I'm not familiar with your record.
Maybe you know that not even once have I
tried to use outside help.
Meaning you want me to back off.
In the interest of our mutual client.
Mr. Norris, I've discovered one thing.
The victim was only a salaried musician.
But he's been talking up his future like
he discovered a money tree.
So?
So maybe he's been stealing something
other than musical ideas.
For instance?
Skeletons.
Skeletons?
Yeah, you know.
The kind families keep hanging around in closets.
Good night, Mr. Norris.
You still haven't given me an answer.
Sure I have.
Hey, got a light?
Do you really want one?
Not especially.
What do you want?
Let's take a walk.
Hi.
Edie, hello, Mother.
Barney.
Why, you on duty?
Yeah, but I'll have some coffee.
It isn't too much of a strain.
Oh, it's no strain at all.
I'll have a cup, too, Barney.
Are you sure it was the same person?
Yeah.
Well, thanks, Charlie.
Sure it'll help.
Bye.
Hey, Mother, where's the phone book?
Ah, some joker pulled it off the wall last night.
Here it is.
Thanks, Barney.
It's getting sore.
Now the citizen can't walk the streets anymore.
Did they get away with anything?
No, I've still got everything.
Only they rearranged it a little bit.
Looks like a nice professional job.
Thanks.
Thanks.
Do you know them?
No.
I'll catch up.
How about a description anyway?
Just for the sheer joy of it.
Tall, dark hats, nasty disposition.
That makes it easy.
He'll be around again.
Goodbye, you beautiful doll.
Did I tell you I loved you?
Yeah, but I don't believe it.
Eat your heart out.
Anybody I know?
Miss Nordstrom?
Norrick?
Norris.
There's a whole page of Norris's.
There's only one salad.
Maybe.
You'd like to listen to some music.
I always like to listen to music.
But I thought we were going to play records.
Understand from Lodi, you're one of his best customers.
Oh, I contribute to the kiddie now and then.
He tells me something like two or three times a week.
What's on your mind, Pete?
Patrons of jazz, I'm very happy to bring
you tonight a real surprise.
A man that's never set out of this world
because he's seldom in it.
Ha, ha, ha.
If you like music Ha, ha, ha.
You know him.
Streetcar Jones.
Really?
Want me to tell you about it?
Well, isn't that why you called?
If Streetcar didn't kill Swift, whoever did
was so familiar around here they could wander.
No one would pay any attention.
That sounds reasonable.
I've been doing some checking on Swift.
Every job.
All the way back to Buffalo three years ago.
Interesting thing happened in Buffalo three years ago.
Well-known sax player was killed by his wife.
Socially prominent young lady whose father was
a highly respected member of the legal profession.
He got her off on self-defense.
There was never any question.
Only because there was a witness.
Martin Swift.
He told the truth.
Did he?
Your bank account's been checked.
In the past three years, you've paid Swift
something over $100,000.
Personally, I think blackmail's about the
dirtiest fact that there is.
Text to murder.
You think it'll stand up in court?
I think so.
I've got a pretty good lawyer.
I hope his heart's in his work, for your sake.
I told him not to touch your face.
I was hoping you could be persuaded to get
your kick some other way.
You'll forgive me if I don't thank you.
You'll forgive him.
I believe you've met the fool.
If I were you, I'd just go along quietly.
I believe you've met the fool.