The Joey Herbie and Beebe Murder Case

Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the Godiest, the most violent, the lonesome-less mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor has a protective Danny cover. When it's sunny August and you walk the morning on Broadway, walk slow.

Give yourself time to gather up things you want to say for memories. And stop now and then and look around. Beneath your feet, the concrete strikes splints of any color you want. And the passersby are nicely proportioned with sun-pan shoulders and doxons and breeze-possed hairdo's, and sky-words, the copper sky and the blue.

But mostly, the secret things that only you can see set to the carousel music your mind makes. This is the day Broadway belongs to you. Just east of Broadway, where I was, a detective mug of unground floor apartment in rooming house in 49th.

And the man whose room it was... Hang me by the thumbs. I didn't have anything to do with it. His name was Joey Pell. The man who was visiting him was named Herb Murray. Hang me right alongside Joey if you want.

Only I have no thumb on my left hand on it. Okay Herb, okay. Well I was just going to tell the little tongue about my accident, that's all. So my conversation is one of those social graces.

This I want to... I said okay. Okay. Look. Could I say something? Go ahead. Nancy Lee likes to brain herself trying to knock down a building by auto which is stood up for the last 25 years.

I remember when they were putting up that building. How sturdy they made it. Press, feel the use. I remember asking, I remember. Shut up, Herbie, I'm talking. Well, I'm just trying to prompt it, I said shut up.