Tänk till exempel att leasingbilen pajar mitt på E4. Att jogga, lifta eller ladda ner första bästa elmoppeapp hjälper lite. IF hjälper mycket. Välkommen till IF-försäkringar. The following audio drama is rated PG for parental guidance recommended. San Francisco in the roaring 20s is a city that hasn't quite shaken her old self.
Scratch the surface of civilization and out pumps the hot chaotic blood of her Barbary Coast days. Sometimes somebody needs help bringing order back to this chaos. And that's where I come in. I work for the Federated Detective Agency. 63 Audio presents Adventures of the Federated Tech. Created by Pete Lutz and Mark Slade. And dramatized from stories by Dashiell Hammett.
This time it's all I can do to avoid knives, guns and an angry girl as I try to bring a man who isn't quite what he seems to justice south of the border. Tonight's story... The Golden Horseshoe Part 2 Adapted for audio by Pete Lutz Our story so far Hired by attorney Vance Richmond to find Mrs. Ashcraft's runaway husband, the tech eventually tracks him to Tijuana, where he's living under the name of Ed Bohannon. The tech goes south of the border, not to bring the man back.
But in accordance with his wife's wishes, merely to find out if all is well. The tech meets up with Bohannon and an assortment of strange, potentially dangerous characters. And upon his return to San Francisco, discovers that his client was murdered in his absence. Believing that the killing of the lady was planned in Mexico, the tech heads south again to meet up with another detective and see what they can find out at The Golden Horseshoe.
San Diego was carefree and packed when I got off the train early the next afternoon. Filled with a crowd that the first Saturday of the racing season across the border had drawn. Movie folk from Los Angeles, farmers from the Imperial Valley, sailors from the Pacific Fleet. Gamblers, tourists, grifters, and even regular people from everywhere. I lunched, registered, and left my bag at a hotel and went up to the U.S. Grant Hotel to pick up the L.A. operative I'd wired for.
I found him in the Grants lobby, a freckle-faced youngster of 22 or so, busy just now with a racing program, which he held in a hand that had a finger bandaged with adhesive tape. I passed him and stopped at the cigar stand where I bought a pack of cigarettes and straightened out an imaginary dent in my hat. The bandaged finger and the business with the hat were our introductions.
Somebody invented those tricks back before the Civil War, but they still worked smoothly, so their antiquity was no reason for discarding them. The young fellow caught up with me on Fourth Street. His name was Gorman, and he turned out to be a pretty good lad. So, what's the lay? You're to go down to Tijuana and take a plant on the Golden Horseshoe Café. There's a little chunk of a girl hustling drinks in there. Short, curly brown hair, brown eyes, round face.
You can't miss her. A nice-looking kid of about 18 called Kupi. Eyes only. Don't try to rope her. I'll give you an hour's start. All righty. And what are you going to do? I'm coming down, too, to talk to her. I want to know what she does right after I leave, and what she does for the next few days. You can get in touch with me at my hotel each night. Here, I've written it down for you. Don't give me a tumble anywhere else. I'll most likely be in and out of the Golden Horseshoe often.
So I'll make like I don't know you. Righto. On your way then. After we parted, I went down to the plaza and sat on a bench under the palms for an hour. Then I went up to the corner and fought for a seat on the Tijuana stage. Old Town Tijuana had a deserted look. Nearly everybody was over at the racetrack watching the dogs do their stuff. Gorman's freckled face showed over a drink of mezcal when I entered the Golden Horseshoe.
I hoped he had a good constitution. He needed one if he was going to do his sleuthing on a distilled cactus diet. The welcome I got from the horseshoers was just like a homecoming. Even the bartender with the plastered-down curls gave me a grant. Where's QP? Brother-in-lawing Ed? Painless? I'll see if I can find her for you. Painless? There she is. Hello, Painless. Come on now, QP. Climb down off me before you make a nuisance of yourself.
Are you down for another swell sows? No, it's business this time. Where's Ed? Up north. His wife kicked off and he's gone to collect the remains. That makes you sorry? You bet. It's tough on me that Papa has come into a lot of sugar. And you think Ed's going to bring the Jack back to you? Hey, what's he new? One of two things is going to happen.
Ed's going to ditch you, he was figuring on that anyway, or he's going to need every brownie he can scrape up to keep his neck from being... Goddamn liar! I had a feeling I'd be at the end of your knife adventure. Damn it! Drop it! Drop it! Get away from me, you... Hey! What the hell's all this? Huh? Where'd you get that stuff? Um... Hi, handsome.
If you're a waiter, bring me a bottle of beer and something for the kid. If you're not a waiter, sneak. I'll bring you a... Shut up, gooseneck. Mine's bourbon. Hers is bourbon handsome. Who's your friend? Gooseneck, did you call him? You'd do well to lay off him. I think I've seen him before in a nightmare. Is that long neck for real? And that tiny head? Lay off, I said.
Now, what's all this about Ed being in trouble? You read about the killing in the papers? Yes. You oughtn't need a map then. Ed's only out is to put the job on you. But I doubt if he can get away with that. If he can't, he's nailed. No, you're crazy. You weren't too drunk to know that both of us were here with you when the killing was done. I'm not crazy enough to think that proves anything. But I am crazy enough to expect to go back to San Francisco wearing the killer on my wrist.
See you some more. Hey, miss. Hey, miss. Where are you going? I return to San Diego and send a wire to L.A. asking for another operative. Then I got something to eat and spent the evening in my room, smoking and scheming and waiting for Gorman. It was late when he arrived, and he stank of mezcal from San Diego to St. Louis and back, but his head seemed level enough.
Looked like I was gonna have to shoot you loose from the place for a moment there. Between the twist flashing the blade and the big ugly guy loosening a sap from his pocket, it looked like action was coming. You just let me alone. Your job is to see what goes on and that's all.
If I get carved, you can mention it in your report, but that's your limit, all right? All right. All right. What'd you turn up? Well, after you blew, the girl and Mr. Ugly put their noodles together. They seemed kind of agitated, all agog, you might say.
He slid out, so I dropped the girl and slid along behind him. He came to town and got a wire off. I couldn't crowd him close enough to see who it was to. Then he went back to the joint. Things were normal when I knocked off. Who is this big guy? What did you learn? He's no sweet dream from what I hear. Gooseneck Flynn is the name on his calling cards. He's bouncer and general utility man for the joint. I saw him in action against a couple of gorbs and he's nobody's meat.
As pretty a double throwout as I've ever seen. And ugly? Did you see his- So this gooseneck party was the Golden Horseshoes clean-up man? And he hadn't been in sight during my three-day spree? I couldn't possibly have been so drunk that I'd forget his ugliness. And it had been on one of those three days that Mrs. Ashcraft and her servants had been killed. I've wired your office for another op. He used to connect with you.
Turn the girl over to him and you camp on Gooseneck's trail. I think we're going to hang these three killings on him, so watch your step. Don't worry. I'm in no rush to tangle with the fella. Fine. I'll be in to stir things up a little more tomorrow.
But remember, no matter what happens, everybody plays his own game. Don't ball things up trying to help me. Aye, aye, Cap. I'm off to get some sleep. The next afternoon I spent at the racetrack fooling around with the bangtails while I waited for night. Textning Stina Hedin www.btistudios.com
Some of them on my side of the game, some on the other, and some neutral. After the last race, I got something to eat over at the Sunset Inn, and then drifted over to the big casino, the other end of the same building. 1,000 or more people of all sorts were jostling one another there, fighting to go up against poker, craps, chuckaluck, wheels of fortune, roulette, and 21 with whatever money the racetrack had left or given them. Textning Stina Hedin www.btistudios.com
He was pushing toward the door and his face held that peculiar emptiness which belongs to the gambler who's gone broke before the end of the game. It's a look of regret that's not so much for the loss of money as for the necessity of quitting. Did they clean you? Mm-hmm. Well... You can back out anytime. You don't like the looks of things. Okay. Five bucks is five bucks.
I put the farmhand over by a door and went after another. A little plump man with round optimistic eyes and a weak mouth. He was willing to earn five dollars in the simple and easy manner I'd outlined. Then I got a Filipino, glorious in a fawn-colored suit, and a stocky young Greek who was probably either a waiter or a barber.
Four men were enough, my quartet pleased me immensely. They didn't look too intelligent for my purpose, and they didn't look like thugs or sharpers. We all climbed aboard a jitney and went over to Old Town. Okay men, this is it. I'm going into the Golden Horseshoe Café around the corner. Give me two or three minutes and then come in and buy yourselves a drink.
Here's five bucks to pay for them. It's not part of your wages. There's a tall broad-shouldered man in there with a long yellow neck and a small ugly face. You can't miss him. I want you all to take a good look at him without letting him get wise. Sir, is this it? As safe as houses. Nothing to worry. Now listen fellas. We don't have time for a lot of questions. Hang here for a couple of minutes and then come in like I said.
Gooseneck was behind the bar helping out the bartenders when I entered the place. They needed help. The joint bulged with customers. The dance floor looked like a mob scene. Turmoil, uproar, stink, a Tijuana joint on a Sunday night. I couldn't find Gorman's freckled face in the joint but I picked out the hatchet sharp face of Hooper, another Los Angeles operative, who must have been the one sent down in response to my second telegram.
Kupi was farther down the bar drinking with a meek little man who looked like a model husband on a tear. She nodded at me but didn't leave her client. I ordered a bottle of beer and Gooseneck handed it over with a scowl. Presently my four hired men came in. They played their parts beautifully. ... ... ... ... ... Textning Stina Hedin.
The three who were left shot their drinks down their gullet and tried to catch my eye. I was reading a sign high on the wall behind the bar. Only genuine pre-war American and British whiskey served here. I was trying to count how many lies could be found in those nine words and had reached four with promise of more when one of my confederates, the Greek, cleared his throat with the noise of a car engine's backfire.
Gooseneck was now edging down the bar, his face purple, a bung starter in one hand. I looked at my assistants. Their three heads bobbed together, a signal that nobody within 20 feet could or did miss, and they scooted out of the door. Away from the long-necked man and his big mallet. I emptied my bottle of beer, sauntered out of the saloon and around the corner. They were clustered where I told them to wait.
We'd know him. Yes, sir. We'd know him. That's right. That's fine. You did great. I think you're all natural-born gumshoes. Here's your pay. Now, if I were you boys, just to be on the safe side, I think you should avoid... They grabbed their wages and were gone before I'd finished my speech. I returned to the Golden Horseshoe to be on hand in case one of them should decide to come back and sell me out to Gooseneck.
Kupie met me at the door, stuck an arm through mine, and led me through the rear of the building. I noticed that Gooseneck was gone from behind the bar and wondered if he was out gunning for my four fake witnesses. Business looks good, Kupie. Why don't we sit here? Ah, good. Who were your friends? What friends? The four jobbies who were at the bar when you were there a few minutes ago. Too hard for me, sister. There were slews of men there.
Oh yes, I know who you mean. Those four gents who seemed kind of smitten with Gooseneck's looks. I wonder what attracted them to him, besides his beauty. If you tie anything on Ed, I'll kill you! I could give you some advice, but you wouldn't listen to it, so I'll save my breath. But it won't do any harm to tell you to keep an eye on Gooseneck, though. He's shifting.
There wasn't any special meaning to that speech except to hope that it'd tangle things up a little more. One way of finding out what's at the bottom of either a cup of coffee or a situation is to keep stirring it up until whatever is on the bottom comes to the surface. I've been playing that system thus far on this affair. Ooper. Hello, what's doing? Sorry to bother you. Don't be silly, it's only 2 a.m. Come on in. What have you learned?
Gooseneck disappeared, with Gorman tailing him immediately after your first visit. After your second one, the girl went around to Adobe House on the edge of town, and she was still there when I knocked off. The place was dark. Gorman didn't show up after Hooper left. A bellhopp with a telegram roused me at 10 o'clock in the morning. The wire was from Mexicali. Drove here last night, holed up with friends. Sent two wires. Gorman. This is good news.
The long-necked man had fallen for my play, had taken my four busted gamblers for four witnesses, had taken their nods for positive IDs. Gooseneck was the lad who had done the actual killing, and the lad was in flight. I'd shed my pajamas and was reaching for my union suit when the boy came back with another wire. This one was from police sergeant Ogar sent through the agency.
Operator, give me room 502. Hooper, sorry to bother you. No, be still. It's only 10 a.m. What's wrong? Get down to Tijuana. ... ... ... ... ... Tall, with blue eyes. Don't let him shake you. He's the big boy of the party just now. I'll be down soon. If the Englishman and I stay together and the girl leaves us, take her, but otherwise stick to him.
I finished dressing, put down some breakfast, and caught a stage for the Mexican town. The boy driving the stage made fair time, but a maroon roadster passed us as if we were standing still near Palm City. Ashcraft was behind the wheel. The roadster, empty now, was standing in front of the Adobe house when I saw it again. Up in the next block, Hooper was doing an imitation of a drunk talking to two Indians in the uniforms of the Mexican army. Who is it? Me, painless.
Just heard that Ed is back. Ah! Come in. The Englishman sat tilted back in a chair, his right elbow on the table, his right hand in his coat pocket. If there was a gun in that pocket, it was pointed at me. Hello. I hear you've been making guesses about me. Call him anything you like, but don't let's kid each other.
You had Gooseneck knock your wife off so you could get what she had. The mistake you made was in picking a sap like Gooseneck to do the turn. A sap who went on a killing spree and then lost his nerve. Going into hiding just because three or four witnesses put the finger on him. And only going as far as Mexicali. That's a fine place to pick. I suppose he was so scared that the five or six hour ride over the hills seemed like a trip to the end of the world.
He said nothing, so I kept my chin wagging. You aren't a sap Ed, and neither am I. I want to take you riding north with bracelets on, but I'm in no hurry. What I mean is, maybe you've got a gun in your pocket and maybe you haven't, but I'm not going to stand up and trade lead with you. This is all in my daily grind. If I can't take it today, I'm willing to wait until tomorrow. I'll get you in the end unless somebody else beats me to you. And that won't break my heart. Now.
There's a rod between my vest and my belly. If you'll have Kupi get it out, we'll be all set for the talk I want to make. Okay, Kupi. Feel this painless? Remember it if you try it. Ja. Take it away from the back of my neck, honey. Here's his gunhead. All right.
Good. Now here's my proposition. You and CUPE ride across the border with me, so we won't have to fool with extradition papers, and I'll have you locked up. We'll do our fighting in court. There's always a chance of beating the courts, especially if you're guilty, and that's the only chance you- ... ... ... ... ... Throw it away because Gooseneck bungled the deal? Or are you going to stick to the finish? Win everything or lose everything?
A lot of these boys who make cracks about not being taken alive have been wooed into peaceful surrender with that kind of talk. But my game just now was to persuade Ed and his girl to bolt. If they let me throw them in the can, I might be able to convict one of them, but my chances weren't any too large. It depended on how things turned out later.
So long as they scooted, I didn't care where they went or what they did. I'd trust to luck in my own head to get profit out of their scrambling. The Englishman was thinking hard. I knew he was worried, chiefly through what I'd said about Gooseneck Flynn. He bit his lip and frowned. Then he shook himself and chuckled. Oh, you're balmy, Painless. But you're a...
Your paws on the table, Ed. Gooseneck Flynn's shoebutton eyes focused on me. His hands turned over. That was all you could see. They simply turned over and there was a heavy revolver in each. All right, old man. And you, girly, stay where you're at. So this is what you wired me to come back for, huh? A trap? Me? The goat for you? I'm gonna speak my piece. And then I'm going out of here if I have to smoke my way through the whole damn mech's army. I killed your wife, all right. And her help, too.
Killed him for a thousand bucks. Shut up! Damn you! Shut up yourself! I'm doing the talking here. I killed her for... Vadå! Gooseneck stopped shooting and tried to speak. The brown half to the girl's knife stuck out of his yellow throat. He couldn't get his words past the blade. He dropped one gun and tried to lift his hand to the knife. He went down slowly to his knees. Hands and knees. Rolled over on his side. And lay still. Don't move, Ed. Whoa! Damn it! Now I say it to you. Don't...
Move, Painless. I'm leaving. As soon as the door shut behind the Englishman I was on my feet. I cursed myself for a clumsy fool having slipped on the revolver Gooseneck had dropped just as I was jumping for it. I scooped up the gun that had thrown me, tore the other gun out of the big man's dead hand, and plunged into the street. The maroon roadster was trailing a cloud of dust into the desert behind it. Thirty feet from me stood a dirt-caked black touring car.
That would be the one Gooseneck had driven back from Mexicali. I jumped for it, brought it to life, and pointed it at the dust cloud ahead. I chased the Englishman for quite a while. There were no roads and the daylight was going fast. I did my best to follow the dust cloud ahead of me and hoped to see the occasional red taillight. Eventually the dust cloud disappeared and I drove right past the roadster. It was stopped. From behind the roadster I heard the report of three pistol shots.
Det skulle vara svårt att plugga mig med hur jag var bönsing runt. Han fyrde en gång och jumpedt ner i den shelteren av en narrow arroyo. Jag sentde min car efter honom. Jag stoppede på den edge av den arroyo och jumpedt ut, then released den bräck och shovede den från behinden.
The car plunged down into the gully after. The Englishman scrambled to get out of the way, but he held onto his gun. As he looked up and saw me, his right hand was raising it, and I smashed his forearm with my second shot. You know, I fancy your true name isn't Painless Parker at all. You don't act like it. Hold still while I get this tourniquet on you. You sure your roadster ran out of gas? Yeah.
But this seat is certainly comfy, isn't it? Not a bad way to die. We'll get a lift. I had a man watching your house and another one shadowing Gooseneck. They'll be coming out after me, I reckon. Meanwhile, we have time for a nice heart-to-heart talk. Go ahead, talk your head off. But don't expect me to add much to the conversation. You've got nothing on me. Boy, if I had a nickel.
For every time I've heard a smart guy like you say that... You saw Kupi bump Guznikov to keep him from peaching on her. So that's your play. The girl hired Gooseneck to kill your wife out of jealousy when she learned that you were planning to shake her and return to your own world? Exactly. Not bad, Ed, but there's one rough spot in it. Yes? Yes. You are not Ashcraft. Now your enthusiasm is getting the better of your judgment.
Could I have deceived another man's wife? Don't you think her solicitor, Richmond, made me prove my identity? Well, I'll tell you, Ed, I think I'm a smarter baby than either of them. Suppose you had a lot of stuff that belonged to Ashcraft. Papers, letters, things in his handwriting. If you were a fair hand with a pen, you could have fooled his wife. Four tough years and becoming a hophead would account for irregularities in his writing. As for the lawyer, the solicitor as you British say.
Ha ha ha. Ah, that comes from riding around in the sun. At first your game was to bleed Mrs. Ashcraft for an allowance, to take the cure. But after she closed out her affairs in England and came here, you decided to wipe her out and take everything. You knew it wasn't likely that there were many people in America who could say you weren't Ashcraft. Ah, but where do you think the real Ashcraft would be while I was spending his money? Dead, up north.
You may be right, of course. But even at that, I don't see how you expect to hang me. Can you prove that QP didn't think I was Ashcraft? Can you prove that she knew why Mrs. Ashcraft was sending me money? Can you prove that she knew anything about my game? I rather think not. There are still a number of reasons for QB to have been jealous of this other woman. I'll do my bit for fraud, Painless, but you're not going to swing me.
The only two who could possibly tie anything to me are dead behind us. You may get away with it. Jury's are funny, and I don't mind telling you that I'd be happier if I knew a few things about those murders that I don't know. Do you mind telling me about the ins and outs of your switch with Ashcraft in Seattle? You're a puzzling chap, Painless. I can't tell whether you know everything or whether you're just sharpshooting.
Eh, I tell you, it won't matter greatly. I'm due to go over for this impersonation, so a confession to a little additional narsony won't matter. I am amazed. Simply amazed. The man admitted to you that he wasn't Ashcraft? What else could he do? I had him dead to rights on that. Well, it's as you say. It never occurred to me that he wasn't Ashcraft. It's...
It's simply the most astounding story I've ever heard. Go on please. I know there's more. Go on. Yes. Well Bohannon told me that his main game was pinching valuables from hotel rooms. He came to the States after England and the continent got uncomfortable. He was making a good living at it and with his gentleman act he was able to pull his jobs in the swanky hotels on both coasts. But how did the switch with Ashcraft come about?
One night in a Seattle hotel, Bohannon had just let himself into a room when he heard a key rattling almost immediately in the keyhole outside. He hid himself in a closet for several hours as the room's occupant paced back and forth, talking to himself. Then Bohannon heard two things. The man writing something and then a single gunshot. He jumped out of the closet and saw the man who turned out to be Norman Ashcraft dead on the floor of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the temple. Oh my God.
Textning Stina Hedin www.btistudios.com But there he was, in another man's hotel room, holding skeleton keys, a gun, and pocketfuls of jewelry pinched from other rooms. And then a knock came on the door. Somebody had heard the gunshot. What did he do? Well, our boy is pretty clever. There's no doubt about that. To play for time, he shouted out, get the police. Then he took a first good look at the dead man. Ashcraft and Bohannon, he realized, were two peas from the same English pod.
Blonde, fairly tall, well set up. He took his chance and swapped belongings from his pockets to the dead man's and pouched all of his. Then he put on Ashcraft's hat and topcoat, which he'd left on a chair, and dropped his own hat on the floor beside the body.
Then he traded guns with him and opened the door. Smooth operator, wasn't he? Yes, he was banking on the hotel staff not having noticed Ashcraft's appearance and taking Bohannon's word that he, Bohannon, had walked in on a prowler and shot him. To his amazement, the police and hotel staff started calling him Mr. Ashcraft. Apparently, the man had arrived in the hotel only that afternoon, wearing the same hat and topcoat that Bohannon had put on just moments before he'd opened the door.
To them, one typical blonde Englishman is very like another. Obviously. I made the same assumption when he came up after his wife. I mean, after Ashcraft's wife had been murdered. Yes. Now Bohannon did admit that he suspected the police smelled something wrong, but they couldn't put their hands on it, so he decided to stick. He knew he was safer by seeing the thing through than by running.
Ashcraft had left behind a bushel full of papers plus a diary into which he'd poured everything he'd ever done or thought. He spent the first night studying and memorizing those things and practicing Ashcraft's signature. How long did he stay in Seattle after that? For three days, continuing his impersonation as Norman Ashcraft. After the excitement died down, he came down to San Francisco and resumed the Bull Hannon identity.
But he held on to Ashcraft's papers because he'd learned from them that Ashcraft's wife had money, and he knew he could get some of it if he played his cards right. And I knew I could get some of it if I played my cards right. She saved me a lot of trouble figuring out a deal for myself. I ran across one of her adverts in The Examiner, answered it, and here we are.
Hey, see that cloud of dust off in the distance? That's our ride back to Tijuana. The two operatives I told you about are going to be here shortly. So keep talking, Ed. Tell me. You didn't have Mrs. Ashcraft killed? Huh? You'll never prove it Maybe not But suppose we play a game This is just for my own satisfaction It won't tie anybody to anything Won't prove anything I'll put two cigarettes here on the seat between us One
2. If you did a certain thing, pick up the cigarette that is nearer me. If you didn't do that thing, pick up the one nearer you. Will you play? No, I won't. I don't like your game. But I do want a cigarette. Oh, which one did he pick up? He reached out his uninjured arm and picked up the cigarette nearer me. Oh. Then I said, Thanks, Ed. Now, I hate to tell you this.
But I'm going to swing you. You'll bore me, my son. You're thinking of the San Francisco job, Ed. I'm talking about Seattle. You, a hotel sneak thief, were discovered in a room with a man who had just died of a bullet to the head. What do you think a jury will make out of that, Ed? And what did Mr. Bohannon say to that? He laughed at me. And then something went wrong with the laugh. It faded into a sickly grin. Please tell me what you said after that.
I said, I know what you did. When you first started to work your plan to inherit all of Mrs. Ashcraft's wealth by having her killed, the first thing you did was destroy that suicide letter of her husband's. It had served its purpose. You wouldn't need it. It would be foolish to take a chance on it turning up. I can't put you up for the murders you engineered in San Francisco, but I can sock you with the one you didn't do in Seattle so justice won't be cheated.
You're going to Seattle, Ed, to hang for Ashcraft's suicide. And did he? And he did. You have been listening to The Golden Horseshoe, Part 2, Episode 9 of Season 2 of Adventures of the Federated Tech. Our cast consisted of the following players. Pete Lutz as the Tech. Dana Gonzalez as Gorman. Riannon McAfee as QP. Mark Kalita as Gooseneck. Jeff Moon as Ed Bohannon. John Bell as The Four Witnesses. Ian Feddergreen as Hooper. Jason D. Johnson as Ogar. And Noah Diamond as Vance Richmond.
Textning Stina Hedin www.btistudios.com This program was adapted by and produced under the supervision of Pete Lutz. This is Darren Rockhold speaking. Please join us next time when the Federated Tech says... An up and coming young sleuth takes on the Grim Reaper for a client in a dark alley. But there's no time for me to mourn as I take up the hunt for his killer. Be with us for our next episode, the season two finale, Who Killed Bob Teel? Coming from 63 Audio. 63 Audio.
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