by Sam Shepard
VINNIE: Yeah—
SIMMS: So what’s your main line, Mr Webb?
VINNIE: Excuse me?
SIMMS: You said pedigrees was a sideline. What’s your main line?
VINNIE: Oh, uh—well, actually I’ve been working as a private investigator for the past five years.
SIMMS: A “sleuth”! A “gumshoe”, as we used to call ’em.
VINNIE: That’s right.
SIMMS: How ’bout that. Used to love those old detective movies. Raymond Chandler. Dashiell Hammett. Don’t make enough a’ those kinda movies anymore, do they?
VINNIE: No, they sure don’t.
SIMMS: Don’t make any of ’em, as a matter of fact.
VINNIE: I guess not.
SIMMS: Double Indemnity, Maltese Falcon. Pictures with a plot you could sink your teeth into.
VINNIE: Right.
SIMMS: Who was it decided to do away with all the plots?
VINNIE: What?
SIMMS: They must’ve had a meeting somewhere. Behind closed doors.
VINNIE: I don’t know. I—stopped going to the movies.
SIMMS: Wise decision, Mr Webb. Very wise. (Pause.) So—you’re an authentic detective, is that it?
VINNIE: It’s—a way to make a living.
SIMMS: Must come across some dyed-in-the-wool characters, in the course of things.
VINNIE: Yeah. You do. You sure do.
SIMMS: Some real scumbags too, I suppose.
VINNIE: Yup. Plenty of those.
SIMMS: So, what do you need from me? All the low-down on somebody’s sleazy past? Oh, I’ve seen ’em all roll through this little murky office, believe you me. The whole wide spectrum.
VINNIE: I’ll bet you have.
SIMMS: It’s the spotless ones you gotta watch out for. The “lawyer-types”. The ones who’ve got beepers hung on their hips and tassled loafers free of manure. They can’t go to the bathroom without carrying their earphones with ’em. They’re the ones who’ll kill a horse to collect the insurance. Pay a groom to cut their air off in the middle of the night. Ruthless and clean as a whistle.
VINNIE: No, uh—I’m actually on a search for a man who used to hold a very high position out West.
SIMMS: Oh, I see. A kingpin, huh?
VINNIE: A man—who fell from grace.
SIMMS: Well, that includes just about everybody on my Christmas card list, Mr Webb. Have a seat.
VINNIE: “Vinnie”. You can call me “Vinnie”.
VINNIE sits in armchair as SIMMS gets up, moves to a liquor cabinet tucked into bookshelves, takes out a bottle of bourbon and glasses.
SIMMS: “Vinnie”? Sounds more New Jersey than California.
VINNIE: Yeah. I know. Friends always called me “Vinnie”. Short for Vincent, you know—
SIMMS: Bourbon, Vinnie?
VINNIE: Uh—no thanks.
SIMMS: Kentucky bourbon? Maker’s Mark, Fighting Cock?
VINNIE: No. That’s all right. I’m on the wagon.
SIMMS: Yeah, I was on that for a while myself but the wheels broke off. (Pours himself a drink.) So—you’re on a manhunt, is that it?
VINNIE: More, less. I happened to accidentally come across some material in the course of an entirely different investigation. This uh—material was so shocking, in a way, that I got sidetracked.
SIMMS: I see. And what type of “material” would that be?
VINNIE: Well, it was of a pornographic nature.
SIMMS: Aha! Pornographic! Now we’re talkin’ modern language. It’s just about all pornographic these days, isn’t it, Mr Webb? Not much left that isn’t.
VINNIE: Well, I suppose. If you look at it that way.
SIMMS: That’s exactly the way I look at it. Music, news, politics—pornography personified. Wouldn’t you say?
VINNIE: Um—This stuff I came across is so specifically amoral that, unfortunately, it became incriminating to the party in question.
SIMMS: So, he must’ve paid the piper then, huh? This “party”?
VINNIE: Yes. He did.
SIMMS: Probably paid ten times over. Didn’t he?
VINNIE: Well—
SIMMS: Must’ve suffered very dearly for his little transgression. Maybe suffered far more than any of his revilers could’ve imagined. That’s the way it usually goes.
VINNIE: I don’t know.
SIMMS: No. Of course not. How could you? You’d have to be inside the man’s skin, wouldn’t you?
Pause.
VINNIE: My point is—What I’m trying to get at, is that I’ve uncovered some very interesting evidence along with this material.
SIMMS: And what would that be?
VINNIE: Well, on closer examination and following a few crazy leads that I had, it would appear that this man was framed.
SIMMS: Is that right? And what led you to that conclusion, Mr Webb?
VINNIE: Well, I started to delve into it a little bit and—
SIMMS: “Dabble.”
VINNIE: Excuse me?
SIMMS: Never mind. You started to “delve” and…?
VINNIE: Yes. I traced the photographs right back to their source. There were dates on the negatives, see—
SIMMS: Photographs?
VINNIE: Right. That’s the “material” I was referring to.
SIMMS: I see.
VINNIE: I’ve got them right here.
SIMMS: In the shoebox.
VINNIE: Yes. I’ve got all of them. The negatives.
SIMMS: The originals.
VINNIE: That’s right.
SIMMS: Dirty pictures.
VINNIE: They are. No question about it.
SIMMS: Are you a Puritan, Mr Webb?
VINNIE: Am I—what?
SIMMS: A Puritan. A “Founding Father”?
VINNIE: No, I—
SIMMS: Does sex trouble you?
VINNIE: No. I’ve got no problem with that.
SIMMS: Are you terrified by a beautiful woman?
VINNIE: No!
SIMMS: You indulge in the odd blow-job from time to time?
VINNIE: What? Look—
SIMMS: No?
VINNIE: I’m not here to—
SIMMS: Never?
VINNIE: Maybe once—or twice—in the past.
SIMMS: In the past?
VINNIE: A long time ago. I can’t remember. A long, long time ago.
SIMMS: Did you enjoy it?
VINNIE: What?
SIMMS: The blow-job in the past. Did you enjoy it?
VINNIE: I can’t remember. I was very, very young—
SIMMS: Did you wish it would last forever or did you just take it in your stride, like a man, and go on about your business? Go on “living your life”, as they say? Realizing there’s no such thing as eternal ecstasy?
VINNIE: I’m trying to explain something here!
SIMMS: That you were shocked.
VINNIE: No! I mean about the origin of the photographs!
SIMMS: You are shocked even though you yourself had debauched in the very same activity. Probably worse.
VINNIE: Worse?
SIMMS: No?
VINNIE: No. Never like this stuff. I mean this is really—
SIMMS: Really what?
VINNIE: Barbaric. I mean—Primitive.
Pause.
SIMMS: I see. Barbaric. Carries an edge of violence, does it?
VINNIE: What I’m trying to say is that—this man was set up and I happen to know the party responsible. I have letters. Correspondence. Absolute proof.
Pause.
SIMMS: How many lives do you think a man can live, Mr Webb? How many lives within this one?
VINNIE: I’m not sure I understand you, sir.
SIMMS: Well, say for instance, you could put the past to death and start over. Right now. You look like you might be a candidate for that.
VINNIE: That’s not possible. I mean—
SIMMS: No? Vengeance appeals to you more.
VINNIE: Vengeance?
SIMMS: Yes. Blood. Now
why is that? Why is blood more appealing than re-birth? Is it the color? The satisfaction of seeing it out in the open? Bursting free of its fleshy boundaries?
VINNIE: I’m not—I’m just trying to help out an innocent man, that’s all.
SIMMS: Ah, so it’s innocence that attracts you! Justice!
VINNIE: I’m a detective! That’s my job. I’m paid to get to the bottom of things.
SIMMS: And who’s paying you now?
VINNIE: Well, that’s the thing—I’ve struck out on my own because I believe I could help this condemned man reinstate himself.
SIMMS: Vindication!
VINNIE: Yes. Exactly.
SIMMS: And he would, most likely, be very grateful for that. This poor man. This fallen soul. Most likely he would pay you a great deal of money.
VINNIE: I’m not interested in money.
SIMMS: No?
VINNIE: No.
SIMMS: Did you know this sinner? Is he a personal friend of yours?
VINNIE: No, he’s not.
SIMMS: Then it is blood. Am I right?
VINNIE: Not exactly.
SIMMS: Well, if it’s not blood or money then it must be drugs or sex.
VINNIE: No. It’s not any of that.
SIMMS: Don’t tell me you’re a man of honor? The last of a dying breed? Is that possible, Mr Webb?
VINNIE: The man I’m looking for went under the name of “Simms”. “Darrel P. Simms”. Does that ring any kind of a bell with you, Mr “Ames”?
Pause.
SIMMS: “Simms”? “Darrel P.” Nope. Can’t say that it does.
VINNIE: Commissioner of Racing in Southern California, nineteen fifty-nine through seventy-eight. Approximately.
SIMMS: Ah! California. Now that’s a whole different ballpark. Tough for us old Kentucky Hardboots to keep pace with the West Coast, ya know. Hard for us to consider it legitimate when we’re straddling the apex right here.
VINNIE: You’re not from Kentucky originally though, are you?
SIMMS: Bourbon County. Born and bred.
VINNIE: Oh. I didn’t realize that.
SIMMS: No. How could you? You don’t know me from Adam. Do you, Mr Webb?
Pause.
VINNIE: If I could find this man—If you could help me track him down, I’m sure he’d be very interested in what I’ve uncovered.
SIMMS: Why are you so sure?
VINNIE: He can’t help but be interested! He’s been living in the shadow of blackmail now for fifteen years! Look—there’s a very powerful figure here, in the racing industry, who’s gotten away with murder at Mr Simms’ expense.
SIMMS: I’m not in the muckraking business, Mr Webb. I’m in the horse business. You’re either buying gold or mining for gold but you’ll never find a diamond up a goat’s ass. I don’t give two shits about these festering souls and all their dirty laundry. I’m obsessed with my work. Can you understand that?
VINNIE: Yes, but I have inside information—
SIMMS: I’m so completely absorbed in my work that the outside world has disappeared. It’s vanished, Mr Webb. I’m no longer seduced by its moaning and fanfare. I’m busy with the “Sport of Kings”
VINNIE: But I could turn this whole thing around for Simms! He could be completely exonerated and Carter would end up crawling on his knees like a lizard.
SIMMS: Carter? Lyle Carter?
Pause.
VINNIE: Yes. That’s right.
SIMMS: You’re kinda plowin’ in high cotton, aren’t ya boy? You need to go see the powers that be. I’m just a little ole bloodstock agent. That’s all I am. Seasons and shares. Small potatoes. And I like it that way.
VINNIE: But you—
SIMMS: What?
VINNIE: You must have heard of this man, “Simms”, somewhere along the line. I mean—over the years.
SIMMS: As a matter of fact, I did hear of him. Quite a while back. Out West somewhere. I suppose it could’ve been California. I think maybe you’re right about that. Vilified in the press, as I remember. Slandered. Railroaded outa town.
VINNIE: That’s him! It was all over the news.
SIMMS: They had a field-day.
VINNIE: That’s the man!
SIMMS: Lost his family too, I believe.
Pause.
VINNIE: Oh. I didn’t know that.
SIMMS: Yes. Wife and kids packed it up on him. I believe that’s right. Bankrupt. Lost everything in fact. Bottomed out completely.
VINNIE: I’m sorry to hear that.
SIMMS: Why should you be sorry? Loss can be a powerful elixir.
VINNIE: I mean—in general. It’s uh—a sad thing.
SIMMS: That’s just something to say, Mr Webb. That’s just something lame to say.
VINNIE: Yes, but—
SIMMS: You have no way of knowing. Do you?
VINNIE: No—but—What became of him?
SIMMS: “Simms”? Disappeared I think.
VINNIE: He never showed up under a pseudonym—an alias of some kind?
SIMMS: Not to my knowledge, no. ’Course you’re free to snoop around town. Do your “dabbling”. After all, gossip happens to be Lexington’s second biggest industry. My guess though, if you do happen to find him, is that he’s willing to let sleeping dogs lay. That’s just my hunch.
VINNIE: Why would you suppose that? He’s got everything to gain.
SIMMS: I’m a gambler, Mr Webb. We go on hunches.
VINNIE: But if I was him—if I was this man and I had this kind of an opportunity—to come out of hiding—to live out in the open again and regain my—my self-esteem—my good standing in the public eye—To move freely. It just seems to me—
SIMMS: You’re not.
VINNIE: What?
SIMMS: You’re not this man.
Lights dim into cross-fade.
SCENE THREE
Night. Cross-fade back to stage-right split set. Place-name card above reads—“CUCAMONGA”. Lights up on VINNIE’s room from Act One. CARTER is sitting on bed, sifting through contents of cardboard boxes he’s pulled out from underneath VINNIE’s bed: letters, photographs etc. and VINNIE’s detective paraphernalia. CARTER in shirtsleeves now with cuffs rolled up, collar open, tie hanging loose. He drinks from VINNIE’s bottle. His suit jacket and overcoat are thrown on foot of bed. His briefcase containing cellular phone is on the floor, center stage. CECILIA moves through the room, pausing at dirty dishes and VINNIE’s pile of dirty laundry.
CECILIA (examining laundry): I can’t believe he lives like this. Gives you a whole different impression of someone when you see how they actually live.
CARTER: Yes, it does doesn’t it. He’s basically a pig.
CECILIA: Well, I wouldn’t go that far.
CARTER: He’s always been a pig.
CECILIA: It’s just so stark and—
CARTER: I told him he needed a few throw-rugs to liven the place up, but he wouldn’t listen.
CECILIA: Do you think you ought to be going through his private things like that? I mean, what if you come across something personal?
CARTER: I’ll ignore it.
Pause. She moves to the sink as CARTER keeps sorting through papers, etc.
CECILIA: Look at these dishes! There’s ants all over the place. Trails of ants.
CARTER: You don’t have any idea where he may have stashed them, do you? The photographs?
CECILIA begins rinsing dishes and washing them as CARTER continues.
CECILIA: No, I never ask him things like that. It’s none of my business.
CARTER: I thought you and him were having some big flaming affair.
CECILIA: Well, I don’t know how big and flaming it was—but I don’t pry into his private life.
CARTER: So, you’ve never even been in this place, evidently?
CECILIA (washing dishes): No. I never have.
CARTER: So all the uh—“trysting” must’ve been done at your house, huh?
CECILIA: Trysting?
CARTER: Screwing around. Heavy petti
ng.
CECILIA: We never did that.
CARTER: Oh.
CECILIA: He comes over to my place and we have tea and talk.
CARTER: Tea and talk. Sounds great.
CECILIA: It was. It—is.
CARTER: He enthralled you with detective trivia, I suppose.
CECILIA: I was interested in his latest case.
CARTER (drinking): Oh yeah? Which one was that? The time he almost toppled the Heads of IT&T?
CECILIA: It was a divorce settlement.
CARTER: Ah! Juicy.
CECILIA: We were working on it together. In fact, it might’ve been that woman who had him arrested. I’ll bet it was.
CARTER: I see. Some other woman.
CECILIA: She might’ve felt we were getting too close to the heart of the matter.
CARTER: Poor thing.
CECILIA: It was very exciting. I’d never been on surveillance before.
CARTER: It never occurred to you that the whole deal might be an elaborate game to get you in the sack?
CECILIA: I’ve told you, we never did that.
CARTER: Never kissed? Never hugged even?
CECILIA turns to him at the sink.
CARTER: Just a little peck on the neck?
CECILIA: What’s it to you?
CARTER: Just curious.
Pause. CECILIA resumes washing dishes.
CECILIA: So, where’s he gone to? Your best friend. You said he was going to be here. He was “dying to see me”.
CARTER: Probably down at the mall or hiking to Glendora. He takes long walks these days. Long, aimless walks.
CECILIA: You make him sound so desperate.
CARTER: Well, there’s nothing like heartbreak to drive a man insane. He didn’t have that far to go anyway.
CECILIA: He’s not crazy. Just lonesome.
CARTER: He’s a madman. Didn’t you recognize that? Couldn’t you see that in his eyeballs when you first slid up next to him at the bar?
CECILIA: What bar?
CARTER: Wherever you met him!