Murder Mystery: Hoods, Molls and Murder!

I’ve written a number of murder mysteries for performance by our drama group. Here are the opening scenes of Hoods, Molls and Murder! For the full text and performance permissions, please contact me via the ‘Contact’ page.

Hoods, Molls ... and  Murder!

A Murder-mystery Evening Script

by

Marsali Taylor

SCRIPT

Copyright Marsali Taylor, July 2011
CHARACTERS:

Roxy the Weasel (the Reporter):  we don't see him, but he's the first person to be murdered. 

Mario Granleone, an old-fashioned 'head of the family firm' - which just happens to be a protection and liquor racket.  Outgoing, friendly, a 'larger than life' character. Costume:  Dark suit with brighter waistcoat, flashy cigarette case.

Pietro, his son.  20s, good-looking, but rather sullen, in the shade of his outgoing father.  He's  more money-orientated, more sleekit - any good initiative, he'll be looking for ways to turn it to a profit.  Costume:  Dark suit and waistcoat, Fedora.

Rita Cantatari,  40s.  The established singer in Mario's club, and a close friend of his.  She's caring, but insecure, and a little resentful; after his wife died, she expected he'd marry her, but he didn't.  Costume:  on club evenings, she's as flamboyant as you like - could be Mexican gipsy style, or could be 20s Hollywood glamour.  Out of club, a simpler cotton dress.

Lola da Lupa, Pietro's girlfriend.  20s.  The perfect gold-digger - so artificial she's practically plastic.  She's out for herself.  Her big ambition is to be a singer, and she's hoping Mario will replace Rita with her. Costume:  Hollywood vamp - sleek hair, scarlet nails, figure-hugging dress - and a figure worth hugging - or spangled flapper. Long cigarette holder.

Gisella Tattani, 40s, the widow of Mario's business rival, now running her late husband's racket - protection and liquor on the other side of town.  Ruthless and devious - example of the female of the species being deadlier than the male.  Costume: flamboyant, with jewels and furs.

Lieutenant Bruno Capaldi  the detective, from the Chicago CID, and Mario's brother.  Corrupt as they come, in contrast to Mario's honesty.  Sharp, sleekit, in charge of the drugs racket for the whole town.  Costume: dark trousers, shirt, ‘Columbo’ style raincoat and Fedora OR American Cop outfit. 

PROPS / set dressing:  big, imposing desk and swivel  chair; old-fashioned telephone; poster for 'Granleone's Grand Tournament'.

Scene 1:  set as Mario's study.  Desk, 20s statuette / vase, telephone.

Scene 2:  tablecloth, tray with toast-rack, teapot, butter, marmalade etc.  Paper.

Scene 3:  as for scene 1.

Scene 4:  tablecloth, decanter, glasses for 'wake'.

Scene 5:  Gisella's house: tablecloth, vase of flowers.

Scene 1:

The room is set out as a 20s speak-easy.  In the acting area, there's Mario Granleone's desk, an imposing piece of furniture with an old-fashioned telephone, a 20s style statuette or similar ornament, a small posy of flowers in 20s jug, and some papers.  Behind it, a chair.

All the family can be showing the guests to their seats:  Mario with proprietor good humour,  perhaps asking them if they enjoy sport and promising them a big announcement, a treat in store.  Pietro is more sullen, perhaps offering to cut deals, asking about interest in liquor, or suggesting he could have a word with the cops if they get a parking ticket, one favour deserves another.  Rita is warm and welcoming, wishing them a good evening; Lola is busy showing herself off, patting her hair etc.  Visibly no love lost between them.

When all the guests are seated, actors exit.  Lights dim; MARIO GRANLEONE returns to sit at desk, where he is just ending a phone call.  RITA enters; Mario holds up his hand to stop her speaking.  She pauses, then exits, overhearing these words:

Mario:  Don't go gettin cold feet on me, Weasel.  Just make sure your paper gives me a good spread.  And - good luck.  Mind your back the next few days, know what I mean?

He puts the phone down.  Acting pause; we can see that he's worried about what he's done, but determined to go ahead.  He picks up the phone again.

Mario:  Gimme the cops.

He waits a few seconds, then re-thinks.

Mario:  Forget it.

He, puts the phone down, then picks up some papers.  Back to work.

Enter PIETRO GRANLEONE, his son.  Mario lifts his head, then returns to his papers.

Pietro: Mornin, Papa.

Mario:  If there's roosters crowin, it's to tell the hens it's bedtime.

Pietro: We agreed I'd do the late shift in the club.  Even you can't expect me to be up with the garbage can men if I ain't been to bed till after the owls. 

Mario grunts contemptuously.

Pietro: You keeping me outa the loop again, Papa? 

Mario:  Since when I gotta tell you everything I do?

Pietro:  Word on the street is Roxy the Weasel spent half the morning here.

Mario:  When I was your age I'd a known that by cappucino time.  I didn't need to wait for a cop to tell me.

Pietro:  Like I keep sayin, Papa, we could get in bed with the cops.  You could see Tattiani's widow off the south side, and have the whole town sewn up.

Mario:  You just don't understand this business, son.  Me an old man Tattiani, we grew up together.  We both made a good living.  Gisella's got the guts to keep his business runnin, and good luck to her.

Pietro:  We could make a lot more dough.

Mario:  There's more to life.  Listen, Roxy's promised me a big spread in tomorrow's paper.  I got this idea.

Pietro:  Oh, yeah?

Mario:  Granleone's - this family firm - we been in business since old Grandpapa Granleone made it to Chicago.  This is our neighbourhood, know what I mean?  We protect these businesses, and they look up to us.  Respect, that's important.  The cops, they got none of that, but we still got it.  These are our people.

Pietro:  What's your point, Papa?

Mario:  You talk about nothin but Depression, people get depressed.  You seen them queueing up for jobs, and none to be had?  I wanna give them somethin else to think about.  I'm gonna stage a grand games tournament.

Pietro:  Oh, you takin up snakes and ladders now?

Mario: You're the snake in this business.  You better take care I don't get sick of hearin you hiss.

Pietro:  You threatenin me?  I got friends.

Mario:  Your friends need to watch their own backs.  Could be a slice of trouble's coming their way.  He picks up poster, shows it to Pietro.  This is what I'm plannin.

Pietro:  Granleone's Grand Tournament.  Boxing - Athletics - Football - Horse-riding.

Mario:  We gonna get the best from all over the world comin to compete - and we're gonna put up some show.  Think flags - bands - a big parade down Main street, with all the kids cheerin and yellin, and all the banana cabs honkin their horns.  This is gonna be the biggest thing this town's seen since the Great Fair of 1900, and it'll have our name behind it.  Suddenly he slams Pietro against the wall.  An you and your friends ain't spoilin it. This is gonna be clean as a new-washed baby.

Pietro:  I get you.

Mario:  Don't forget it.  Exits.

Pietro:  You're getting past it.  Maybe it's time for a change of rule.  He looks at poster and throws it on the ground. Granleone's Grand Tournament. When I think of  how much it's all gonna cost, I could cry nails. Calling.  Hey, Lola!

LOLA DA LUPA undulates her way in.

Pietro:  Look at this, honey.

Lola:  Granleone's Grand Tour-na-ment.

Pietro snatching it back The old man's gone nuts.  He's gonna host this tournament for as a social duty to his neighbourhood.  Be lucky if it don't bankrupt us.

Lola:  Boxing - athlet-ticks -  You'll surely make on the action somehow.  Don't you know a few promoters?

Pietro:  Sure I do.  When I think of the wasted opportunites I could shoot myself.  You got sport, you got a whole racket.  There's dope, and promotions, and match-fixing.  I could make a hundred grand just on bets alone.

Lola:  Then why's your face tripping you?

Pietro:  The old man wants it clean.  He's warned me.

Lola:  Clean?  Like, straight?

Pietro:  Snow-white. 

Lola;  He's gonna shell out for all this, just for the hell of it?

Pietro:  Didn't I just say so?

Lola:  Then you need to stop him.

Pietro:  He spent the morning with Roxy the Weasel, plannin the spread in tomorrow's paper.  He ain't gonna be stopped once it's plastered across town.

Lola:  There's ways of stoppin a story before it's out.  This is big, ain't it?

Pietro:  No, he's gonna run the athletics with a coupla pensioners from the local drop in.

Lola:  I got one favour I can call in.  I can only call it once.  What's it worth?

Pietro:  You get this stopped, we'll go and choose a diamond.  Holds up her left hand.  To fit this finger.

Lola:  You got a deal.

RITA enters.

Lola fake sweet Hey, honey, you not feeling well?

Rita:  Nothin wrong that you leaving the room won't cure.

Lola:  I just thought you wasn't dressed up for singing.

Rita:  Some of us don't need a fancy frock to distract the punters from the bum notes.

Lola:  Why, you -  She makes a beeline for Rita; Pietro restrains her.

Pietro:  Lola, you gotta call to make.

Lola:  Then we gotta diamond to buy.  Then we'll see who sings round here.

Rita:  You don't scare me.

Exit Pietro and Lola.  Rita looks anxiously at herself in a mirror.

Rita:  Wrinkles ...  waist gone.  But  I'm the singer in this club.  Mario wouldn't change that.

The first course is served by catering staff.

Once it's served, if possible (if Izzy being Rita) then dim to night club lighting, and Rita sings a couple of numbers during course.

After that, she or a waitress clear Mario's desk and fling a cloth over it.  Breakfast time: tray with toast, teapot, two cups.

Scene 2:

The next morning, at the breakfast table - a quiet domestic scene, with Mario and Rita eating. 

Mario:  It's like I'm trying to go back.  You remember the way this town used to be?

Rita:  I remember.

Mario:  We ran a liquor racket, plain and simple.  Gov'ment said nobody could drink, we said anybody could.  Now my own son's involved with dope.  You think I don't hear all about it? 

Rita:  He's in bed with the cops.

Mario: The cops!  Grandpa Granleone would be spinning in his grave so fast you could balance plates on him.

Waiter:  Your paper, sir.

Mario:  Now we'll see.  He reads the paper with increasing incredulity. Tattiani's Grand Tournament - Mrs Tattiani's way of commemorating her husband - boxing, athletics, horse-riding - Mrs Tattiani said -

Enter GISELLA TATTIANI.  She picks the newspaper from his hands and keeps reading.

Gisella:  Mrs Tattiani said she felt for the unemployed of this country.  It will be a carnival for them to remember.

Mario:  Gisella Tattiani!

Gisella:  I thought I'd call by to see how much you liked my idea, now it's out in print.

Mario:  You know damn fine it's not your idea.

Gisella:  The newpaper says it is.

Mario:  You bribed Roxy the Weasel to change the name in the article.

Gisella:  Poor Roxy.  He had an accident at work last night, apparently, just after typing up his copy.  Such dedication!

Mario:  Roxy?  What kinda accident?

Gisella:  Let's say he won't write no more articles.

Mario:  Don't tell me.  He took a long walk without using the stairs.

Gisella:  He ate a lead sandwich.  Same result.

Mario:  While you, of course, were out at a charity dinner.

Gisella:  I enjoyed our dance together very much.

Mario:  You're a double-crossing tarantula, and your husband would be ashamed of you.

Gisella:  Tattiani was old-fashioned, like you.  I intend to move with the times.

Mario:  What d'ya mean by that?

Gisella:  All the Gov'ment's givin us is depression, depression.  Folk are gettin restless.  It's gonna affect business soon.  So I thought, well, time to distract them. 

Mario:  You thought.

Gisella:  Says so, right here.  Mrs Tattiani thought razzamatazz.  Bread an circuses, the Romans called it.  A big build up to add the feel-good factor, encourage the hoods to put up room prices, more money flowin in, everyone benefits.

Mario:  Bread an circuses.

Gisella:  Then, next year, I squeeze a few things to pay for it.

Mario:  Callin you a tarantula is an insult to spiders.

Gisella:  A black widow might be more accurate.

Mario:  So, are you putting in a south side team for your games?

Gisella:  Of course.  Thought you might scrape together a few hoods an broads from the north side, just to show the flag?

Mario:  We'll look forward to sweepin you clean off the track. 

Enter LOLA.

Lola:  Mario, have you had a chance to think about - oh, visitors!

Mario:  Mrs Tattiani is just leaving.  Show her out, will you?

Exit MARIO.  Lola and Gisella look at each other in silence.

Gisella: I gotta present for you.  She rummages in her handbag.  It's  a reporter's notebook. She tears one page off and gives it to Lola.

Lola: reading  Seen L da L somewhere - follow up. What is this?

Gisella:  A page from the Weasel's notebook.

Lola:  The cops ain't got nothin on me.

Gisella:  No need to encourage them to start diggin.

Lola:  What's the hook?

Gisella:  Ain't no hook.  We're square now.

Lola:  You don't want nothing from me?

Gisella:  I could give you something.

Lola:  I don't want nothing from you.  It's too late for that.

Gisella:  Word is you wanna be a singer.

Lola:  And?

Gisella:  This opening ceremony is gonna be big.  Could be a good chance to launch a new face.

Lola:  I've got family loyalties now.  Waggles large diamond.

Gisella:  Pass me my shades.  Well, if you've decided which side you're on -

Lola:  I didn't say that.

Re-enter RITA.

Rita:  Do the room a favour, get out of it, both of you.

Gisella:  I was hopin you'd come back.  I wanted a word with you.

Rita:  I don't want one with you. 

Gisella:  About a notebook.  A reporter's notebook.  The Weasel's notebook, to be precise.

Rita:  Where d'you get that?

Gisella:  Let's say it arrived in my hands.  With these pages missin.

Rita:  What's that to do with me?

Gisella:  While Mario was telling him about my idea, the Weasel was asking questions about something else - something that took up a good few pages of this notebook.

Rita:  So?

Gisella: So I was thinking about how Mario didn't take you to the do last night.  Getting too old for arm candy, are you?

Rita:  If the Weasel was going to do the dirty on me, there'd be somebody else in the story.  There were two girls who clawed themselves outta the gutter.

Gisella:  I got money.  That shortens folks' memories. 

Rita:  A wealthy widow's got more to lose than a speakeasy singer.

Gisella:  You threatenin' me?

Rita:  I go down, I'll make sure you come with me. 

GISELLA turns on her heel and leaves the room.  RITA picks up the paper, looks at the picture and hurls it to the floor. 

BLACKOUT, then serving staff clear the first course plates.  The actors' table is also cleared, back to Mario's desk.