Backseat Driver

The armed forces radio service invite you to hear Fiverma Ghee and Bali in a backseat driver. A fail well calculated who keep you in the spend. It can't happen to you. You read about stuff like that in the papers.

Girls murdered and mutilated. Drunks left dying in the gutter for the handful of chains they had in their pockets. Monesome old men tortured because some hootlem gets the idea their miser's were the pot of gold hidden under the floorboards of the shack.

Sure, you know it's real, but it can't happen to you. Oh, you get your fair share of trouble. I've been a professional man here in Los Angeles for 30 years. I've met up with bums and grifters and heady sharpers, fair around in any business.

But the viciousness, the real deep-down dirt, that's for somebody else. You do your work and you go home to your family. And for a real bang-up evening to break the monotony, you take your wife out to a movie.

That's what I did. That's Saturday night. We'd driven all the way in from the San Fernando Valley to Beverly Hills. Or a picture of Ellie, especially wanted to see. Wasn't that a good movie joke?

Ah-huh. Just the kind I like. Songs and dancing and girls and pretty clothes. I get so tired of cops and robbers. What's wrong with cops and robbers? You know what I mean. Murder movies, honestly.

All the policemen stupid and all the crooks sneering out of the corners of their mouth. Yeah. The stuff those Hollywood boys dream of. Yeah. You think the streets were knee deep in blood and you couldn't hear yourself think for machine guys.