1920: The Roaring Anthology

by Union Combine

  A shadow passed over Chuck, and he looked up and saw Ed.

  “May I join you?” Ed asked.

  Chuck nodded, so Ed hunkered down and sat next to Chuck under the tree.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation from last night.”

  “You want to change your name?”

  “What? Heavens no, I meant earlier in the evening. We were talking about Comedy. Do you remember?”

  Chuck nodded and bit into his sandwich.

  “I think we need to take the Keystone Kops in a new direction, I’m sure you agree.”

  Chuck didn’t know what to say, and anyway, his mouth was full, so he just kept chewing.

  “I wrote down some ideas, I’d love to share them with you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Well I should think you’d have an interest in it. You are a Keystone Kop, after all.”

  “Hank’s been here the longest.”

  “Yes, but he’s so surly! But I suppose you’re right. As senior member of the group, he should hear it first. Thank you, Chuck. You know, beneath that hang-dog face of yours, there’s a startling intelligence.”

  “You mean I’m not as dumb as I look.”

  “Precisely! You just proved my point. Don’t say anything to Hank just yet. Let me run it by him first.”

  Ed stood up and began walking back towards the studio. Chuck wolfed down the rest of his sandwich and followed him.

  * * * * *

  They heard a commotion as they approached the studio. Opening the door, they saw a group of Kops standing in a circle cheering. Ed shouldered his way past to see Burt and Hank wrestling on the ground.

  “That’s enough of this! Stop this at once!” Ed shouted, but he was drowned out. He tried to get an arm around Burt, who had Hank pinned to the ground. Chuck jumped in, and together they pulled the men apart.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ed demanded. Hank spit blood at his feet and wiped his mouth. Bert’s usually perfect hair was tussled and a mess.

  “He started it,” Bert said.

  “The Hell I did!”

  “What’s this about, Hank?” Chuck asked.

  “He’s been messing with my girl.”

  “That’s bull,” Burt replied, “We just danced.”

  “You think I don’t got eyes? You think I didn’t see the way you danced?”

  “Why don’t you ask Sofia?”

  “She’d just deny it. But you listen up, if I ever catch you near Sofia again, I’ll kill you!”

  Hank stormed off into the dressing room and slammed the door so hard the sets shook.

  “Everybody clear out,” Ed said, “Take a break, be ready to work again in half an hour, understood?”

  There was some muttering, some laughter, and the actors wandered away, leaving Ed, Burt and Chuck alone.

  “Was there any truth to it, Burt?” Chuck asked.

  “None,” Burt said, trying to smooth his hair back, “Practically none. Maybe some. Sofia is a fine looking dame. What a set of pins on her! Hank doesn’t deserve her.”

  “You listen to me, Burt,” Ed said, pointing a thin finger in Burt’s face, “You steer well clear of Ms. Sofia Whatsername, you understand me? I’ve got plans, big plans, and you’re a big part of them. So stay away… at least until the picture is wrapped. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah,” Burt nodded, “I can do that.”

  “Good.”

  Ed looked Burt in the eye, and when Burt didn’t flinch away, Ed nodded.

  “I’ll talk to Hank when he’s cooled down,” Ed said and left. Chuck stood around uncomfortably for a while.

  “Nothing happened,” Burt said.

  “Nothing yet, you mean,” Chuck answered.

  Burt smiled.

  * * * * *

  Half an hour later, Hank was nowhere to be found, so shooting had to go on without him. Ed filled some time with close-ups and establishing shots, hoping Hank would show up, but he didn’t. They started doing some bits without him. He filmed a shot of some Kops busting into an apartment that was so small, they were forced out of the back window when more Kops shoved in after them. Ed asked Chuck to do the pratfall. They filmed him falling out of a window into a garbage can, then Ed did a cameo passing by the garbage can and tossing some trash in. Then they got a close up of Chuck doing his droopy miserable face, his jaw hanging open, a banana peel on his head.

  They took a few shots of Burt, a few close-ups, shots of him entering a room, smiling at the camera. Chuck scratched his head, he couldn’t think where these shots might fit into the movie. Later, as he was leaving for the day, he saw Burt and Ed talking excitedly in a corner. Again, Chuck wondered what was going on, but he figured it was none of his business, so he left.

  After hanging up his uniform and cleaning up as best he could, Chuck drove over to Hank’s apartment to check up on him. He walked up to the apartment and knocked on the door, but there was no answer, and Chuck didn’t see any lights on, so he went home.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Chuck arrived early to the Studio. No one else had arrived yet, but he went in anyway. He liked being in the studio alone, it was a rare treat. The sets, the cameras, the lights, it all looked different when there wasn’t a room full of people messing around with them. It was thoroughly modern equipment, but in the shadows it looked like relics from a by-gone age.

  The dressing room was a special indulgence when he was alone. Ordinarily, he would have to shoulder his way through several people to get a peek at the large make-up mirror surrounded by lights, but alone, the entire reflective surface was all his. He had to dress in a tight corner, pushed to the side by bustling men and rolling racks of costumes, but alone, he could stretch his arms and spin if he so chose.

  Gazing into the mirror, he noticed his mouth was hanging open again. He gently pushed it shut with his hand. He knew that if he could keep his mouth shut, he wouldn’t look so dopey all the time, but he only really cared about it when he looked into a mirror. He turned and looked at his profile. With his mouth shut, he just might pass for handsome, maybe.

  His eye drifted away from his cracked jaw line and noticed in the mirror a pair of shoes poking out from behind a rack of Keystone Kop uniforms. They were pointed toes up. He turned and looked directly at them and saw they were connected to a pair of pants that went out of sight behind the clothes rack. The pants were Keystone blue. Chuck felt a shiver down his spine.

  He stood up and pushed aside the rolling clothes rack, and there was Hank, lying propped up against a wall. He could have been asleep, except for the blood that had run from his throat, soaking his undershirt. That and the fact that his eyes were wide open. Chuck gulped loudly. He lifted a shaky hand and turned Hank’s head slightly to reveal a pair of scissors jutting from his neck. He yelped and took a step back. He turned to get away from Hank’s dead stare, but he was only confronted by its reflection in the make-up mirror. The light from the many white bulbs that surrounded the mirror made Hank’s formerly reddish face look so ghastly pale. He felt his stomach churn and he quickly left, fumbling with the doorknob, making an awkward exit as his feet crossed each other, left over right, and he swayed. He couldn’t quite make it to the exit before his stomach lurched again. He fell to his knees, hardly noticing the familiar flare up of pain, then he was vomiting all over the floor.

  “You okay, Chuck?”

  Chuck looked up and saw Artie, looking down at him with a look of concern.

  “Police!” he said, wiping his mouth, “Murder! Call the police!”

  * * * * *

  Chuck had locked the dressing room and refused to allow anyone in until the police got there. Two detectives arrived first, flashing badges. The first was Lieutenant Shaw, a tall man with graying hair and a fully gray mustache. With him was Sergeant Gomez, a stocky guy with a round face, a thin mustache and shiny jet-black hair. Chuck could tell immediately that something wasn’t right. They were looking left and right and snee
ring at everything they saw. Lieutenant Shaw approached him.

  “So, you’re a Keystone Kop?” he asked.

  “Yes sir, Chuck Cooper.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you, being an idiot for a living?”

  “Better than being an idiot for free.”

  Gomez laughed and Shaw shot him a dirty look.

  “Where’s the body?” Shaw asked.

  Chuck unlocked the dressing room and stepped aside. He followed the two men inside and shut the door.

  Shaw and Gomez looked around, seeming to examine everything but the body. Shaw picked at the costumes on the racks, Gomez whipped out a comb and started combing his hair in the mirror.

  “He’s over here,” Chuck said pointing toward Hank’s body.

  “I see him,” Shaw said, finally looking in Hank’s direction. He took a step closer and bent to examine the body. After a moment he stood up. “The cause of death is clear.”

  “Scissors in the neck,” Chuck said.

  “Let the real cops do their job,” Gomez said.

  “I say we round up the film critics!” Shaw said.

  “We can eliminate the ones that like good movies,” Gomez replied.

  Chuck frowned. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

  “Says the comedian!” Shaw spat on the floor. “You’re the one who found him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he have any enemies?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really means yes,” Gomez said.

  “Maybe it was suicide!” Shaw suggested.

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” Gomez said, “He saw one of his own movies and decided to kill himself! Ack!” Gomez pantomimed stabbing himself in the neck.

  Chuck’s face turned red. He clenched his fists. For once, his jaw was clenched shut. Shaw only looked bored.

  “Go ahead, buddy, take a swing, see where it gets you.”

  Chuck turned abruptly and walked out. Behind him, Shaw called out, “I’m gonna need to get statements from everybody!”

  * * * * *

  Ed arrived at the same time as the coroner. He burst into the studio while the detectives were interviewing Burt.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded, “What happened?”

  The detectives looked up at Ed. Chuck intercepted him.

  “Hank’s dead, Ed. Murdered.”

  Ed took a step back. “What? When?”

  “I don’t know yet. We’re gonna find out, I promise.”

  “But… Chaplin is supposed to be here today.”

  “Chaplin will have to wait.”

  Ed nodded. He turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To call Chaplin and tell him to stay home!”

  Burt stood up and walked away from the detectives, looking nervous.

  “Everything okay, Burt?” Chuck asked.

  “I don’t know, Chuck. They know about the fight with Hank yesterday. Somebody must’ve told them.”

  “Don’t worry, Burt. The innocent have nothing to fear.”

  Burt looked like was about to say something else, but at that moment Sofia entered the studio, followed closely by a pretty blonde girl.

  “Where is he?” she cried.

  She rushed towards them. Burt blocked her path towards the dressing room.

  “Easy, Sofia. You don’t want to go in there.”

  “Is he really dead?”

  Burt nodded, and Sofia burst into tears. Burt awkwardly put his arms around her and patted her on the back. The detectives glanced at each other and stood up.

  “Lemme guess,” Shaw said, “This is Sofia.”

  “Ma’am, we have some questions for you.”

  “Can’t you see she’s in shock?” Burt asked.

  “You can rock her to sleep later, lover boy.”

  “It’s okay,” Sofia said. She stepped away from Burt and followed the detectives.

  “Do you get the feeling they don’t like us much, Chuck?”

  “Yes,” Chuck said, “They think the Keystone Kops make them look ridiculous. They aren’t even trying!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Chuck said, “They barely even looked at Hank. They saw the scissors and stopped there.”

  “What else was there to see?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” Chuck answered, but he was lying. Before the detectives had arrived, Chuck had noticed a few things. Hank reeked of whiskey, for one thing. For another, he had noticed a smear of lipstick on Hank’s knuckles, and tiny bits of broken glass on his jacket. He suspected there had been a struggle, but there were no signs of struggle in the dressing room. With all the people who went in and out of that dressing room, it was unlikely that the murder took place there, so Hank was moved after the fact. Besides, there was blood all over Hank’s shirt, but other than that, nothing in the dressing room. If Hank had been murdered there, wouldn’t blood be sprayed on the walls? Chuck didn’t know if the detectives had noticed any of that, but they didn’t fill him with confidence.

  Chuck noticed that the blonde girl that showed up with Sofia was standing around nervously. She was looking up at the camera rig with her mouth open, something that Chuck found charming. Making sure his own mouth was firmly closed, he approached her.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  “Oh, I’m a friend of Sofia’s.”

  “I’m Chuck. Chuck Cooper.”

  “Anne Berry.”

  “Listen I’m sure they won’t be keeping Sofia long.”

  “Is Hank really dead? I can’t believe it. I just saw him the other night at the club.”

  “I was at the club,” Chuck said. He remembered the blonde girl in the silver dress, and he was sure it was Anne.

  “Oh, uh, I just popped in for a second before I had to go,” she said.

  Then it dawned on Chuck that this was the girl he was supposed to meet that night. She had shown up, and then promptly left, no doubt after getting a good look at droopy ol’ Chuck. He forgot that he was keeping his mouth shut, and it swung open again. He turned and left before Anne could notice how embarrassed he was.

  * * * * *

  Before he went home, he decided to swing past Hank’s apartment again. The door was locked. He walked around back and noticed a broken window. The glass was all over the side lawn, it had been broken from the inside. He was able to get his hand in far enough to unlock the window, then he pushed it up and climbed inside.

  Once inside, he found himself in the living room, and here were the signs of struggle that were missing from the dressing room. Chuck surveyed the damage. There was a chair over-turned. A broken whiskey bottle was lying on a whiskey soaked rug. That explained the broken glass and whiskey smell on Hank. Chuck guessed that Hank had died against the wall where he entered, based on the spray of blood. He was probably stabbed, he staggered back, broke the window, then slumped over and died.

  He had definitely found the scene of the crime. He started looking around for more evidence. He found a newspaper with an article cut out of it. The article itself was on the floor nearby. A quick perusal proved that it was a review of a comedy Hank had appeared in, and not a favorable review either, but Chuck knew that Hank kept all the reviews of his films, good or bad. Nothing else stuck him out of the ordinary, except a weird piece of wood, about two and a half inches long, rounded along the length on one side, flat on the other. A black fabric had been glued to the rounded side. He turned it over in his hands a few times, before he realized he was looking at the heel of a woman’s high-heeled shoe.

  Could Sofia have done it? Chuck remembered the lipstick on Hank’s knuckle. If Sofia had murdered him, she would’ve needed help to move the body.

  After a moment of deliberation, Chuck slipped the heel into his pocket. He worried briefly about stealing evidence, but he suspected Shaw and Gomez wouldn’t care, they seemed to have no real interest in solving the case.

  * * * * *

  Chuck’s
suspicions about the detectives seemed beyond doubt three days later when no one had heard from them. Hank’s wake was that night, and Chuck was getting ready, tying his tie in the mirror. Looking at mirrors gave Chuck the willies, ever since that night. Even though he knew it was ridiculous, he couldn’t help but worry that he might see Hank’s corpse in the reflection. He shuddered and looked away.

  He was also worried that the wake would be mobbed with reporters, but when he arrived at the funeral home, he didn’t see anything. Apparently, Mack Sennet, the head of the studio, had paid some people to keep it quiet, and it worked. Not a reporter was in sight, even though Chaplin was there. Chuck wondered how many people even knew Hank was murdered.

  When he entered, he saw Sofia. She looked beautiful in black, but she had been crying. Chuck wondered if they were crocodile tears.

  Burt was there, looking nervous. He still expected the police to arrest him at any moment. Chuck noticed he was steering clear of Sofia.

  Chuck overheard Chaplin talking about Hank, saying he was a consummate professional and a joy to work with. He made some comment about how no one else had brought joy to more people by being angry all the time. There was some light respectful laughter, which faded quickly. People were embarrassed to laugh at funerals, which Chuck felt was odd when you considered that they were at a funeral for a man who had devoted his life to making other people laugh.

  Chuck approached the casket to pay his respects. He frowned when he saw Hank lying there. His face wasn’t red enough and the peaceful expression was one he had never seen on Hank before. Hank’s jowls were losing the war with gravity, sinking toward his pillow, like a wax sculpture just starting to melt. They had dressed him in a formal jacket with a stiff high collar so his neck wound was obscured. Chuck wondered if Hank might’ve preferred to be buried in his Keystone Kop blues. With sadness, he realized Hank would never again tell him he was catching flies again.

  Anne was standing next to him, looking down on Hank. “Charlie, right?”

  “Chuck.”

  Anne nodded. “It’s a shame, I never got to work with him,” she said.

  “Oh, are you an actress?”

  “Yes. But I guess we’ll be working together soon.”

  “We will?”

  “Yes, on the next picture.”

  “What next picture?”

  “Oh,” Anne said, “I guess Ed didn’t tell you. Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

  Chuck glanced over to Ed. He was in a corner with his arm around Burt, whispering in his ear. Then he noticed Sofia, glaring angrily at him. With a start, he turned away, wondering what he might’ve done to upset Sofia.