The Bulletin Murder Case

Oh, thanks Eddie. Probably want to give me a bonus on that last yarn I turned into this sheep.

Who knows what he wants, including him. Walk you to the door. Yeah, I do that. Some young cub reporter might be waiting to take a bite out of me in transit. What are you working on for the old man, Harkins?

Something hot? Big secret stuff, no cantaloupe. Not even a me. I'm working here, you know. You never know it. See you later, Ed. Hi, boss. Oh, come in, Harkins. I got an assignment for you.

I got an assignment for you. Good. Let's have it. Ever hear of final events? Private investigator par excellence? Sure. I pray to him. Get an interview on him. Something about the cases he's worked on.

Want to make a good feature. Maybe we'll run it as a series on Sundays. That's all. Just like that I'm gonna get a story out of ants. Hmm. My. You know he never talks to reporters.

So don't be a reporter. Be a society gal. Be somebody in trouble. Be anybody. Nobody said you had to be a reporter. No. That's right. Nobody did. A lot of people have told me I'm not a reporter, but you wouldn't be one of them, would you, Mike?

I might, one of these days. Call me and let me know how you make art. Okay, Mike. By the way, that yarn I was on this morning, nothing doing on it. N-G-N-S. No story. What one's that?

That thing about the concert pianist, Lillian White, inheriting a half million bucks. She denies it. She denies it so there's no story? Maybe I should have sent Henderson. Wait a minute, Mike. Keep your top down.