The Georgia Gray Murder Case

Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the godiest, the most violent, the lonesome-est mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. The carnival scream rises high on Broadway, carried high on plumes of neon light, and its shape is of many things, the metallic anguish of a trumpet shriek, the futile beating against

closed doors, the laughter, bargained for, bought, paid for under the winking girl on the spectacular. Broadway scream rises, shatters into fragments of glitter, prowls through the city, and finally touches you. Wherever you are, it touches you.

For me it was a phone call. A girl dying, it said, from a jackknife in a diamond dance palace on Broadway. Come to it, Danny. Maybe you can grab yourself a free dance. The welcome committee is out. The pale girls with the scarlet streaked across their mouths, and the restless scarlet tipped hands, playing in the spinning lights, reaching out for you.

Someone called, said a girl was hurt. Where is she? Me, I called. Sure, you don't want to dance with one of those girls first? Where is she? The square. You know, square Parisian. Come on, I'll take you to her.

Gorgeous, the neat type. Don't like to spoil the fun. That's why she picked the lonesome lounge to die. You gotta pick up where you're gonna die. You should. You really should. The lounge with the beaded curtains.

With Georgia. Get on, go dance. It's alright, Danny. You? You, Georgia? Me, Danny. Fran couldn't stay. She's my good friend. Okay, if she watches me die, isn't it? Who did it, Georgia? A dancer. King dancer.