Barrie Craig: The Deadly Fight (EP0491)

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Welcome to the Great Attractors of Old Tom Radio.

From Boise, Idaho, this is your host, Adam Graham.

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Now it's time for today's episode of Barry Craig Confidential Investigator, the Deadly Fight.

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William Gargan stars as Barry Craig, Confidential Investigator.

The fellow in their driver's seat is always much better off folks, especially if it's the Morgwagon.

The National Broadcasting Company presents William Gargan in another transcribed drama of mystery and adventure with America's number one detective, Barry Craig, Confidential Investigator.

Barry Craig speaking, a thing that defeats the Confidential Operator, it is hot.

I don't mean to wear a tear that comes with chasing creeps around the landscape.

Hot, mean the way you get involved emotionally with a case or a client.

Like a doctor gets involved with a patient or a fight's not to, be humanate.

You go for it, put a tear in your eye and a throb in your throat.

And you're no longer working for a fee.

No, sir, you're a dedicated sucker.

My guy wasn't the case of boxed oil, a ring champ of his day.

My first introduction to the strange boxed oil story began in the Times Square penny arc case.

I'd stopped in for two bits where to practice on their rifle range.

And so I could check down whether a punchy looking guy in a Eisenhower jacket had been dogging it after me as I suspected he was.

The Eisenhower jacket was watching my marksmanship fall eyes.

I can shoot okay, our friend?

Yeah, both I every time.

There's a fly squatting on your ear, watch how I do.

I said you were good, you don't have to prove anything.

46th and park, then west of Broadway, then south to here. Why so attached to me, friend?

I was making up my mind about whether you were the guy for the job, Craig.

And?

I'm throwing my business your way right on the rifle, I tell you.

I can't wait to hear.

Only an hour's work, nothing complicated, everything oning up and up.

So much for the preamble.

You represent me confidentially in an auction sale at the Phoenix galleries tonight.

What am I bidding on?

The diamond belt that went along to Boxer Doyle when he was well-to-weight champ.

Mrs. Doyle has put it up for sale, I want it.

Why?

The sentiment boxer Doyle has been one of my heroes.

You can still bid on it yourself.

You don't want the job?

How much can I be losing?

500.

I pay for an hour's work.

Get me the diamond belt.

What's the ceiling Mr.

Get up to 5,000 if you have to.

And if I'm out then?

I don't think so.

It's been a praise at only 1,500.

Ooh!

Sentiment is expensive.

From to a side I'll catch you out the dome.

Sentiment wearing a fancy price tag.

I sat in at the Phoenix gallery.

There wasn't too much bidding competition.

I bid $2,000 ladies and gentlemen for the diamond belt.

$2,000.

Going once.

Going twice.

$2,500.

$2,500.

I bid $2,500.

Bit lightly please.

$2,500.

Going once.

Going twice.

How's there any more bids?

Bear warning.

So, two.

Great.

Very great.

I turned the belt over to Mr. Voney.

I collected my five bills and wrote them off as a sentimental screwball.

A weird deal, kind of, but legitimate on the face of it.

So why push my imagination?

Another day, another dollar, I figured it.

That is, until Lieutenant Frab Right is popped into Runzini's pizzeria

to drop a poison pellet in my minestrone suit.

How's the soup craig?

Nine parts water, one part can, as usual.

A ball of minestrone, Tony.

Mine company craig?

The Yeats are public.

Just don't jostle my elbow.

I never do what a man's eating soup.

Police, protocol, Emily Poes.

No.

I came across an interesting item in the morning paper.

There are Iranians in Iran, back page.

But I put the fillers not at ease.

I'm reading.

Diamond belt once presented to box a oil by the sports writers award committee

was sold by the Phoenix auction galleries

by order of Mrs. Boxer Doyle.

The belt was purchased by Barry Craig,

whose successful bid was $2,500.

Who spent money craig?

What's money for?

Same morning paper.

An inside page now.

A muck-raking column titled Sports Topics.

I'm reading.

Memo to the police.

The auctioning of boxer Doyle's diamond belt

at the Phoenix galleries last night,

pumps an old question.

What did happen to Doyle?

And who's covering up?

Why?

Who do you buy that belt for, Craig?

Why is such a gift?

You're not rich enough.

Or sentimental enough.

It's confidential, sorry.

Think again.

And eats soup.

Boxer Doyle disappeared years ago.

Droped out of sight.

Droped out of the world.

The police handled it as a missing persons case.

We got nowhere.

Now, this business of the belt

might be the first significant development

in the sticker we've long given up on.

You can hope.

I want to ask your client about his expensive interest

in the boxer Doyle's diamond belt,

just on the chance.

I'll ask him now, Craig.

I owe him that much discretion, Trev.

I'll ask him then you ask him.

I want to ask Mooney.

A pre-bitten hotel in the East 20s,

where the desk right looked like he was dying

to frisk duty ball, letting you plan the stairs.

Room 4A.

I've been there before, delivering the belt.

Craig.

You forgot something?

Yeah.

A footprint.

I've left it somewhere on the rug.

Take it up and go.

Go where you're going.

Use your eyes a lot.

I'd be blind not to see your suitcases,

packed and ready.

I'm moving downstairs.

442 high up.

I get nosebleeds and altitude.

It's gonna turn out to be a pest.

I am?

Look, you've been paid generously.

No quarrel.

And ring off.

Go look for your next job.

This thing keeps building, and I've got my next job.

Mystery's fascinating.

I made a mistake throwing work your way.

Craig, what do you want?

Answers.

What's your real interest in the missing boxer Doyle?

I'm only interested in this belt.

Standing pat on your story, huh?

People collect general grants buttoons

and John L. Sullivan's gloves.

You've got a personal hero.

Then you're crazy sentimental.

Okay then.

Let's go.

That sounds like police headquarters.

I promised you to a lieutenant if I got nowhere.

You object.

You tell me.

You object.

How'd you do it?

Slight of hand?

I ought to kill you.

Good you're fighting the impulse.

You'll park here while I move downstairs

when you come to Craig.

Change your thinking.

I'll make a sincere effort.

I won't turn the gun around the next time.

There was no use trying to change my thinking.

When I came to,

the only thought in my head was how to get out of a locked closet.

Get out before I died of suffocation.

At headquarters,

travel roaches was overjoyed at the lump on my head.

Craig, the violence means something.

My aching head.

It means there's life in a case

it's been in the doldrums for years.

You say you'll hope.

Go to it Craig.

What does that mean?

Find out what happened to box of doiled.

Who did it to him?

Come again.

My Craig, don't be coy.

You want me to work up a case that police gave up on?

That's right.

But who's behalf?

What's left?

Me.

You're representing me very confidentially.

The department has a stake in it.

Nothing less say than it's honor.

We've been pilloried by the press night

that by columnists abused by a thousand sports fans

who love box of doiled and who idolizes memory.

Let's see the file on box of doiled.

No.

Our files merely tell the story of a failure.

Then where do I start?

There are two important principles after box of doiled himself.

Mrs. Doyle and Sam Spiro.

Spiro was doiled manager and close friend.

Mary, I would forget to say that.

Don't forget one other thing.

What's that?

My fee, client.

Want to commit yourself now?

Why not?

The best inner in town at 21.

State caviar, champagne.

Corona, corona, cigars, big and chimney stacks.

All on me if you come through.

And if I flop?

Hot dogs and an orange drink.

On you.

I'll take the proposition up with my ulcer.

Mrs. box of doiled.

Wilma doiled had a henna bleach

in the telltale look of an ex-child girl

a little too old and preyed around the edges for the chorus line.

What's his visit about, Mr. Wright?

Very great.

I explained over the phone.

I'm a police operative, wondering about the whereabouts of box of doiled.

Is it a little late to be wondering?

Maybe.

I can see that when I say hello to his corpse.

But you talk to me.

I've done nothing but talk to the police for years.

But never did I.

I'm fed up talking.

He's gone.

He went out for a comic book one night and never came back.

Did he leave you comfortably fixed?

All the gold I could carry in my teeth.

Doyle was a fast man with a book.

He even tried handing me cigar components to table money.

Look around you copper and tell me this dump reminds you of Buckingham Palace.

Almost.

I missed the crystal chandelier.

The next world champ, Doyle made barrels of dole.

And Saul who did away where I couldn't hurt his.

Who could and can?

Dan Sparrow, his manager.

Sam got the power of attorney over everything Doyle owned.

Except me.

And that diamond belt you auctioned off the other night.

Doyle gave it to me in a weak moment.

All of it was no love loss between you and Box of Doyle.

We fought all the time.

Doyle scored payows that don't appear in the records.

Why would he pick up and disappear?

Wands in his head throughout the end of our happy marriage.

Doyle was not even set up as rotters.

I slept with a gun under my pillow in case he went to search.

What had him down?

This came here with behind him.

He hung up his gloves.

It's ours, disappointed and depressed.

Now you ought to be all out of question.

One more.

Who's in the bedroom?

What kind of a stupid...

The door is open a little.

It wasn't when I came in.

Who's getting an earphone?

Hi, boyfriend.

Boyfriend?

Is it a crime?

Doyle walked out here nearly eight years ago.

See?

Cannot be introduced.

This is Steve Martin.

Steve, very crazy.

A pleasure.

It isn't mutual.

Steve!

Shut up, well, man.

He's not here for your good.

I got an earful Craig in a line on your angle.

What is?

A weasel and brow beat Wilma out of her rights as Doyle's widow.

Said rights being?

An accounting of every penny Sam Spiro holds of Doyle's and Wilma's right to cash in Doyle's insurance.

If Doyle did.

He did.

Legally anyhow.

Enough time, Mr. Lap.

You're petitioning the court to have Doyle declared legally dead.

Wilma is.

Oh.

I don't like that wise guy.

Oh.

You're so full of dislikes, Buster.

And ready to demonstrate.

Oh.

Oh.

Nice right court.

Whether just knuckles or brass knuckles.

My bare fists.

You're a boxer?

I am a biker.

The lady's preferences run on a single track.

Get out, Craig.

Sure.

But not the way I am.

I don't mind nursing my jaw.

But not my pride.

When the contender comes to tell me to suck up for an uppercut.

I'm sorry, Mr. Craig.

Skip it.

I don't know what to wheeze or you, he said.

That's both true and false, Wilma, depending on how the facts develop.

The guy drops out of the world and his deserted wife turns out to have a profit motive.

And the nigga boyfriend with an itching palm.

The situation like this pops the ugly word into my head.

Murder.

Honest treat a few doors down from Wilma's kind of mentality.

Somebody blow over to me with the evening mitts.

My company, Craig?

No.

Provided you don't say goodbye to me in locked closet.

Keep walking.

I sense a gun, but I don't see it.

You think me draw off?

Yeah.

Regular slider hand.

Jumping me would be a mistake.

I never want that spelled on my two stones.

How much, Craig?

How much for what?

For you to hop a plane to Tijuana.

What's there?

Highlight.

Never play with it.

You're bright, you learn.

Is it expensive?

Only if you lose.

What's the maximum I can lose?

Five grand.

When I go, I go.

Eight.

He'd blow me to an eight grand vacation.

You got rings under your eyes.

Keep getting hit on the head.

You'll lose your mind.

That's no joke.

You need to knock off, rest up.

Pick your hand out for the dough.

You really want me to forget about boxer dough.

No changing the subject.

We're talking about eighth grand.

And what if I'm busting with curiosity about boxer dough?

Craig, don't be funny.

No fooling.

I'm still kiddin' off to be glory struck over famous sports figures.

Enough to be sentimental, like your sentimental.

You don't want the dough?

What goods my sitting in Tijuana with my mind on something else?

I want to know what happened to Doyle.

Where did he go?

And if murder, who killed him?

And where is the cop at the lecture?

Walk ahead of me, before I come.

I'm going to get shot in the back.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Maybe today.

Maybe tomorrow.

Walk.

Walk away from a gun.

You don't have to feel the lead to feel shocked.

You imagine it.

The sudden burning heat in your spine.

So hot, it's ice cold.

But Mooney didn't shoot.

I just walked away from him into the fog.

I finally located Sam Spiro and Kelliho's gymnasium.

Colody and anonica that place smell like a surgeon's office.

Spiro was watching one of his plugs work out.

Sam Spiro?

Whatever it is, David, I'm busy.

Your boy will keep while we talk.

Look, look, I told you.

Hey, who are you?

Barry Craig.

Cross your saver.

Confidential investigator.

Does that seem to cop?

It is.

And say what you mean.

If you're transferred your interest from your meal ticket a minute, I will.

Hey, I'm not under arrest.

Depends on what's on your conscience.

Come on.

Watching the kid one on the aggravate you.

You think he's that bad?

His arms are too short.

The model where we can talk.

Big snappy.

Okay.

Where's the body buried?

Who's body?

Boxer Doyle.

What makes you think Doyle's dead?

I think you killed him.

So you could keep the doughey.

Let your hole for him.

Or you blew the dough in.

Stockmark at the horses.

So you're not doing Doyle to avoid an accounting and prosecution?

When you stop hiding behind a cot at that lab.

Doyle to the lab is you.

Flattery won't help you.

What makes you so sure he's dead?

Eight years.

Where does the celebrity keep himself eight years?

On an island.

What island?

Samoa.

Doing what?

Painting.

He got fed up with people.

He bought a paint box and a roller canvas and swam to an island.

Where else does he keep himself?

On a mountain top.

He grew a beard and he's writing a story of his life.

He's in touch with you.

All the time.

We're like koshercom brothers, Doyle and me.

We communicate all the time.

Give me the word I can't think of.

Telepathy.

Telepathy.

Every night, probably 11 p.m.

There's a message on my wavelength.

What does it say?

It says, say, why can't people mind their own business?

Signed boxer.

How much loot of Doyle are you holding?

I'll remember to count it sometimes.

One's Doyle reappearing from wherever he is.

That message I ain't received yet.

Now I've got to get back to my boy.

Yeah.

Let it go.

Wipe his nose or let it begin bawling for his mama.

Overstakeburgers and curly cupatators

I ran over what I had with trapped roaches.

So Doyle's both alive and dead.

Depending on whose angle you see it from.

It's not alive, but on the world.

Incognito somewhere.

Keeps spiral in charge of Doyle's acid.

And keeps Mrs. Doyle out in the cold.

And it's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

It's not a big deal.

I thought you said they were gonna destroy Doyle.

That question was.

Uh huh.

I thought he was gonna throw out McCullough.

In a crisis what do you expect, Spyro?

We've been produced as funny picture postcards from Doyle.

And Mrs. Doyle's calling Doyle dead for wrong practical reasons.

In shorts and tossing away to legal accounting from Spyro.

Either one could have murdered Doyle in the disposal of the bunny.

who originally did the dirty work, the weller or Sparrow, either one.

And now Mooney's busy seeing that the case doesn't get off the ground, blow a heart.

I could buy it, if one thing didn't stick out, what thing?

The diamond belt.

Mooney's reason for the purchase, eh, there I'm stumped, when he go from here for a ride,

I think, arrived, parked on the street side of the plate glad, I ain't me and waiting

for me, but don't look now, who, I shadow, the eyes and how I jet, Mooney, I'm going

out.

Can I have him?

No, give more or anyone else.

I've got a feeling he's finally provoked enough to tell me something, but the risk, he

couldn't kill me twice, but didn't.

I'll leave the tip, the check saw your eyes will turn it.

I didn't wait to be coached to take a ride.

I guess you were waiting to show for me, Mooney, you've got nerve, Craig, you've noticed

now.

And God, you sure made a study, I mean, I won't even bother asking our destination, I'll

tell you.

Our destination turned out to be the home of a man who shingled outside a big rambling

of state red, Dr. Otto Steiner, a round little nervous man, Steiner, with lettering hand,

who was plain to see that Steiner didn't relish the upcoming session.

Tell Craig about Boxer Doyle Doc, so Craig, yes, I treated Boxer Doyle, get to a talk,

tell Craig the condition Doyle was in, depressed to a manic state.

His vitality, the splendid energies and the secrets, had carried him so far in his career.

Tell it out in a word, Doc, Doyle had a wish to self-destruction, he told me he'd attempted

his own life on two occasions, that's about all I suppose.

That wraps it up.

Not so fast, Moni, Doc, Doyle was in treatment when he disappeared, yes.

How long have you known Boxer Doyle, or a very long time, Mr. Craig, I was his personal

position and friend for a long time before his break down.

Let's get out of here, Craig, kind of a fast shuffle, Moni, is it the limit?

Okay, set, let's get out of here.

Moni checked on a post-cryptor to the Doc's testimony, over drinks from the nearest

roadside tavern, a small beer for me, and lots of drinks for Moni, like a guy drowning

in a painful memory, you heard the Doc Craig, what were you to Doyle?

My name is Moni, Bolly, trainer Bolly, trainer Bolly, same rubs off, I was a racking contender

once until Doyle flattened me, sorry, I can quote you baseball batting averages and pitches

when Doyle stopped me, I joined up with him, Doyle's trainer, Doyle's friend, you are

really close to Doyle, huh?

I worship the guy, Doyle went for close with me too, now you know why I bought him that

belt, yeah, now I know, now you know why I didn't fit it in myself, you didn't want

to be identified as trainer Bolly, didn't want any publicity on it, it's all up stuff

in the papers.

Any $64 question, Mr. Un, advice still is, don't ask it Craig, do like I've been coaxing

you all along, cancel out, take a vacation, forget Doyle, any $64 question, Mr. Un, we'll

be stuck keeping a secret, maybe, we'll blab what I tell you, make like a cop disgrace

Doyle and I'll kill you, Doyle tried twice to dox it, with a third try, you are saying

that box of Doyle committed suicide right in front of me on a cabin cruise or fishing

off the Florida Keys, Doyle was better I thought, laughing, cracking jokes

working on a sun tan, I took my eyes off him, he went over the side, period, six hours

later I found him washed against the rocks, I buried him at sea in the middle of the

night, your reason, what do you think disgrace, your word disgrace, suicide was a disgrace,

Doyle was a heroic legend, you didn't want an entarnish on it, not then or now, but close

your file on Doyle Craig and live, no mind I'll drive you back to town, no thanks, I'll

stick around here for a while, way out here with four, tie on a bun maybe, like you did,

what are you up to Craig, I could be sad and sentimental, like you're sad and sentimental,

good night mister, when train of barley tore himself away I got on the pole,

headquarters relay this message to Lieutenant Frab Rogers and quick, he's to meet Barry Craig

at Dr. Otto Steiner's in Wentmore, out in Nassau County as fast as he can make it, leaving

the taverns who will hitch a ride to Dr. Steiner's train of barley, tried to make good on a

net, while he's shooting from the concealment of roadside bushes, I need surgery and

electric therapy to recover the use of my left hand, I found my own bush, I warned you

the secret would be hard to keep Craig, call a lie by its right name mister, I saw you

go on the phone, that common get the rest of my gun, I order you to surrender barley,

you're not in the penny arcade now Craig, no shooting at sitting ducks, barley it's a

lost cause, the legend's not half the size of your crazy sentimental fanaticism, give up

barley, I'm finding the range Craig, I found the range, your voice was the range barley,

crawl into the open on your hands and knees or I'll shoot the kill, later after patching

up barley's leg wounds in a private hospital behind Otto Steiner's residence, third

rages and I got to meet boxed oil in the flesh, gentlemen this is boxed oil, a shrunken

man half as big as the sports world remembered him, he sat in the chair facing a window,

baking to his surroundings, deaf to our voices, around his waist was a diamond belt held

in place by tins, this was the secret kind of body wrist is like the key and Sam Sparrow,

only his wife knew nothing, a rare disease of the spy, belignant, do I fell away a bit

by bit to what you see, how long back now, not long, there's nothing left, only his magnificent

fighting heart, Craig, yes Craig, when the story gets out, I'm taking over, as crazy

fanatic as Triner Bolly, any tonish on the legend of a great champ or break heads, good night

folks, see you next week.

You are listening to William Gargan in another exciting transcribe mystery drama from the adventures

of Barry Craig, confidential investigator, the night story the deadly fight was written by John

Robert, next week it's the strange story titled the very odd job about which Barry Craig has

to say, next week I'm hired to deliver a puppet, watch a girl faint, discover a vintage murder,

and realize that the only thing that's black as it's painted is a coffin, see you next week folks.

Richard in the role of Mrs. Doyle was Brian Collins, Barry Craig starring William Gargan was under

the direction of Hyman Brown, this is Don Pardo speaking.

Now, Robert Montgomery presents something different in news analysis on NBC.

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Welcome back, well a very complex and emotionally involved case, as usual, carried off very nicely

by William Gargan, who earned himself a very nice meal the hard way. Well I do want to let you know

for those of you who have the app or premium site we've got another great extra for you,

this one features William Gargan in a radio program called Obsession, kind of a darker role for

Gargan. Well now we turn to listen or comments and feedback, this one comes from

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I specially liked the radio broadcasts from the Armed Forces Network, as they now broadcast

television overseas, so I would watch AFN on TV, it really made me feel a connection to soldiers

from previous wars, far from home. Thank you for putting together the radio shows in a format

that we can all enjoy. Well thank you so much and thank you for your service and sacrifice,

glad you're listening out there, and then we have a comment from J. Rocks says thank you Adam

for this great podcast, it really helps me unwind after a long day at work to listen to your podcast,

it's fun to listen to these mysteries and try to figure them out before the murderers reveal,

thank you again Misty, thanks so much Misty and I'll admit that I don't usually make it,

and if I make it too easily I think there's what may have been something wrong with the script,

but definitely appreciate it Misty, and that will actually do it for today, we'll be back

tomorrow with Rogue's Gallery, in the meanwhile send your comments to Boxler Tainek,

great detectives.net, give us a call 208-9914783 and follow us on Twitter at radio detectives,

but from Boise, Idaho this is your host Adam Graham signing off.

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