How are you?
Hello!
Yes, this is Harold Angel.
Yes, initial R, like in the phone book.
Excuse me?
Winesap.
Herman Winesap, Winesap & Mackintosh?
Hold on a second!
Winesap from Winesap & . . .
Mackintosh. I've got it!
Of course I know what an attorney is.
It's like a lawyer, only the bills are bigger.
Sure, I'll hold.
Asshole!
Hello, Mr. Winesap? Harold Angel.
Yeah, I could be free.
Would this be with your firm?
Gimme that again.
Louis . . . how do you spell that?
Cyphre . . . okay. What is it . . . foreign?
Is your client a foreigner?
Mr. Winesap, could you give me a few more details?
Okay, I know the place.
It's a long way up, but I can be there.
Hallelujah! Show right now how much you love God!
I want you to show! It's your time!
Open up your hearts and open up your wallets!
Open your purses!
Open your pockets!
And give it up! Praise the Lord! Somebody has been talking about me
riding around in a Cadillac. If you love me and want to give to me,
then I should be in a Rolls-Royce!
Would you come with me, please?
An unfortunate husband
of one of Pastor John's flock took a gun to his head. Most unpleasant.
Mr. Angel? Please?
Allow me to introduce my client, Monsieur Louis Cyphre.
Hi, Harry Angel. - Pleased to meet you, Mr. Angel.
I don't want to appear impolite,
but do you have any l. D.? - Sure! Here . . .
How's that?
GU N PERM IT
Nothing personal. I'm a little over-cautious.
You know how these things are. - I know. So . . .
How did you hear about me?
I guess you guys just looked in the phone book.
Usually that's what happens. Because my name is "Angel", it's under "A" . . .
People are lazy. They see the first name
and . . . - Johnny Favorite.
Excuse me?
Do you by chance remember the name Johnny Favorite?
Johnny . . . No, I don't think so.
You never knew him? - Am I supposed to?
He was a crooner before the war, quite famous in his way.
Well, I tell you, Mr. Cyphre . . .
I'm sorry!
I usually don't get involved
in anything very heavy. I usually handle insurance jobs, divorces,
things of that nature.
If I'm lucky sometimes I handle people. But I don't know
no crooners
or anybody famous. - His real name was Liebling.
I don't know any Liebling, either.
What do you want from me?
Does this man owe you money? - Not quite.
I helped Johnny at the beginning of his career.
You were like . . . his agent?
No!
Nothing so . . .
Monsieur Cyphre has a contract.
Certain collateral was to be forfeited in the event of his death.
You're talking about a guy that's dead? - He was drafted in '43,
North Africa. "Special Entertainment Services".
There was an attack, and his head and face was badly injured.
He had . . . - Amnesia. I think you call it . . .
Shell shock. - Exactly! - I know how that feels.
Why? Were you in the services? - I was in for a short time.
But I got a little fucked up.
Excuse me! They shipped me home, and I missed the whole shebang:
the war, the medals, everything. I guess you could say I was lucky.
Johnny wasn't so lucky. He returned home a zombie.
His friends had him transferred to a private hospital upstate.
There was some sort of radical psychiatric treatment involved.
His lawyers had the power of attorney
to pay the bills, things like that. But you know how it is.
He remained a vegetable, and my contract was never honored. - I see.
I don't want to sound mercenary.
My only interest in Johnny is in finding out if he's alive or dead.
Each year my office receives a signed affidavit confirming
that Johnny Liebling is indeed among the living.
But last weekend Monsieur Cyphre and l, just by chance,
were near the clinic in Poughkeepsie.
We decided to check for ourselves, but we got misleading information.
The run-around!
I didn't want to cause a scene, I hate any sort of fuss.
I thought, perhaps you could
subtly and in a quiet manner . . .
You want me to check it out. - Check it out!
I have a feeling I've met you before.
I don't know, I don't think so.
Do you remember the name Johnny Favorite?
His real name was Liebling.
My only interest in Johnny is in finding out if he's alive or dead.
May I help you? - My name is Harry Conroy
from the National lnstitute of Health.
Is there anyone in particular you want to see?
The lnstitute is conducting a survey of incurable trauma cases.
I understand you have a patient here fitting that description?
We can't let you see anyone without an appointment.
I appreciate that, but maybe you could check the files
and make sure I'm on the right track.
I don't want to bother anybody unnecessarily.
Okay? Thank you.
What's the name of the patient? - Liebling, Jonathan Liebling.
One moment please, I'll check.
Were you working here last weekend?
No, day off. - Did you do anything nice?
My sister's wedding.
We did have a Mr. Liebling, but he was transferred.
You sure? - That's what it says.
And when was that? - Years ago, in December '43.
May I take a look at this? Thanks.
Is this recent?
It's an old file. - It's in ballpoint!
They weren't big on ballpoint in '43.
Is that ballpoint?
Well, I'll be! They didn't have ballpoints back then?
No.
This here
Dr. Fowler,
does he still work here? - Just part-time, he's old.
Thank you.
Time for your evening fix?
Who are you? How did you get in here?
Through the mailslot. I'm a private detective.
Breaking and entering is a crime,
whoever or whatever you are. - Hey man, call the police!
Which you won't do in case they discover your opium den
in the icebox!
I'm a doctor. I'm perfectly entitled to keep pharmaceuticals at home.
Tell it to somebody else! We're not talking about a Band-Aid
or a tube of unguent. How long you been hooked? - What do you want?
Information about Johnny Liebling.
I treated a patient of that name many years ago.
I'm not fooling around.
Either you give me some answers or I'll call the police myself.
I've seen the works cooking upstairs, and it ain't Mr. Salk's vaccine.
He was an entertainer during the war, a neuro case.
No chance of recovery, so I transferred him to a V.A. hospital in Albany.
I hate to shake you up, but I checked, and he's not there.
You faked the transfer.
Because he recently had a visitor, the first in 1 2 years.
Popular guy, eh?
Where is he now? - I don't know . . . - Come here!
I haven't seen him since he was a patient here.
You're in a cold sweat! Look at you!
You can't wait for me to leave so you can raid the icebox.
The sooner you get out with it, the sooner you can shoot up.
I'll ask you again: Where is he?
I don't know.
Some people came one night years ago. He got in the car with them and left.
He got into a car? I thought this guy was a vegetable.
At first he was in a coma but he quickly recovered.
But he still suffered from amnesia.
The friends.
Who were the friends? - His name was Kelley, Edward Kelley.
The young lady I don't know. She stayed in the car.
Where did they take him? - Down South. The man said: "We're taking him home."
And what was the deal? - $25,000.
For what? - I was supposed to pretend that he was still a patient in hospital.
Didn't the administration suspect? - Why should they? I kept the charts
up to date. And no one asks questions when the bills get paid.
Tell me about Johnny Liebling.
What did he look like? - No idea. His face was damaged.
He had facial reconstruction. He was in bandages the day he left.
What can you tell me about Kelley?
It's too long ago. I only have a vague memory.
He was well dressed and had a southern accent.
I truly don't remember. - All right, Doc. Have a lie down.
I'm going out to grab a cheeseburger.
Maybe a few hours cold turkey will refresh your memory.
Watch yourself!
We're going to take a little nap, sit your ass down.
We're going to clear your mind.
I'm going out. When I get back,
I'll fix you some goodies from the icebox, alright?
Tell me what I want to know and you'll get rid of me forever.
I'm back, Doc! I brought you a little something!
I didn't think you'd want a cheeseburger . . .
I will! Bye!
Hi, Ellie!
Is that your boyfriend?
He's got a car and everything?
See you later!
Did you see him? - No.
Why not? - It would've been difficult. - Why?
Why? Because he's not there.
Johnny Favorite walked out of the clinic 1 2 years ago,
in his best suit, with a new face wrapped in bandages and a headache.
He left with a guy called Kelley
and a girl. Do you know this Kelley?
It seems this Kelley paid off some bent doctor called Fowler
to pinch hit for your guy. He's covered up for him all these years.
Looks like our Johnny has
a perfect disappearing act. - It seems so.
But you know what they say about slugs.
No, what do they say about slugs?
They always leave slime in their tracks.
You'll find him. - No, I won't find him.
Because I left out one little detail.
This Dr. Fowler ended up dead
with his fucking brains blown out.
Did you kill him? - No!
But the cops might think I did.
I took on a $1 25-a-day missing persons job for you.
Now, I'm a murder suspect. That's it! I'm out.
Such are the hazards of your profession. If the fee bothers you, we'll adjust it.
You bother me!
The closest I ever come to death
is watching a hearse go by on 2nd Avenue. That's the way I like it.
Are you afraid?
Yeah, I'm afraid.
I'll instruct my lawyer immediately to send you a check for $5,000.
If you don't want the job, I'll engage someone else.
5,000?
You want this Johnny pretty bad, eh?
I don't like messy accounts.
Some religions think the egg is the symbol of the soul, did you know that?
No.
Would you like an egg?
No, thank you. I got a thing about chickens.
It's after eleven, you're late. - I'm sorry.
You get it? - If I lose my job,
I'll come and be your secretary.
I couldn't pay you what the "Times" pays. Besides, they won't miss it.
Hi, Johnny, where the fuck are you?
He really was a crooner, like you said. I didn't realize he was so big.
He was in a band called the Spider Simpson Orchestra. They're all dead.
Only Spider is here in town. - Where? - I wrote it all down.
The dyke in the archive is suspicious.
My boss hasn't researched the story in years.
You can get the files.
Spider is in an old people's home on 1 38th Street.
Oh, I get to go to Harlem again.
There was a picture of Johnny with Toots Sweet, a guitar player.
No one's heard of him for years!
Johnny was engaged to a rich broad,
Margaret Krusemark. Her dad owns half of Louisiana.
Met him at a high school prom. Johnny shit on her, and she went back to Daddy.
There's lots on their spells.
Spells, what do you mean, spells?
The eye of a newt,
toe of a frog and that kind of shit? - Seems she was a bit of a crackpot.
Casting spells at society do's and stuff.
Didn't go down too well with the lvy League stiffos.
She was known as the Witch of Wellesly.
Did I do good?
Great! So what've I got: A religious loonie as a client.
I gotta find Johnny "Golden Tonsils" and we don't know where he is.
And he probably doesn't know who he is.
I got a geriatric bandleader in a home in Harlem.
I got a guitar player called Toots Sweet.
What else have I got?
A hard-on?
Are you okay?
January 3rd,
1 955. Client: Louis Cyphre. Copy: Winesap & Mackintosh,
attorneys. As reported, Johnny Favorite has not been
in the Sarah Dodd Clinic in Poughkeepsie for the last 1 2 years.
He was taken away by a man called Edward Kelley and a girl.
The girl is unidentified.
Kelley paid a Dr. Fowler $25,000 to falsify reports
stating that Favorite was still in the hospital.
The doctor is now deceased.
Before Johnny's accident it seemed like his career was going great,
until he started to dump on everyone. I tracked down Spider Simpson,
Johnny's old bandleader. He resides
at the Lincoln Presbyterian Hospice
on 1 38th Street. Johnny also had a good buddy, a guitar player
called Toots Sweet. Toots went back to Algiers.
That's Algiers in New Orleans.
I think maybe Margaret went back there, and maybe Johnny, too.
Oh, yeah! According to Spider, Johnny had a secret love.
A black lady called Evangeline Proudfoot.
Evangeline ran some kind of spooky store in Harlem
called "Mammy Carter's."
You don't need to know that, Cyphre. I think
a secret love should stay secret.
The only person
who Johnny was seeing regularly
was a palm reader in Coney lsland called Madame Zora.
Are you lzzy?
Looks like the last bit of sun, eh?
The guy in the arcade over there told me you might be able to help me.
I'm looking for Madame Zora. - I know her, friend of the wife before the war.
She was a fortune teller, right? - And then some!
I hate those hocus-pocus bitches! Her and the wife got along real well.
Wife's a baptist. Oh, here!
Have a nose shield!
Go on, take one. I found a whole boxful under the boardwalk.
There's not much sun right now.
Yeah, but it keeps the rain off too.
Ever hear of a Johnny Favorite?
The singer? - Yeah, he used to visit Madame Zora.
Heard of him, but don't know nothing. Ask the wife.
She always sings stupid tunes off the radio. She knows all that shit.
She likes the water, eh? - She hates it.
She's getting on the heavy side. She thinks it's good for varicose veins.
Alright, thanks.
What do you do here in the summer?
Bite the heads off the rats.
And in the winter? - The same.
Excuse me!
I was just talking to your husband.
I was inquiring about Madame Zora.
Yeah, I knew her before the war, Madame Zora, you say?
Yeah, she was a gypsy fortune teller!
Had the booth across the boardwalk from me. She was a debutante not a gypsy,
and she did more than just read tea leaves.
Did you ever see her with a guy called Johnny Favorite? - Yeah, he was cute.
She was stuck on him. He was called "Golden Tonsils". I knew all his tunes.
Have you ever heard of a Margaret Krusemark?
Don't be a gazoony, fellah! Madame Zora was Margaret Krusemark.
Well what happened to her?
Packed up her stuff and went back home, down south.
You have any idea where I could find Johnny Favorite?
No, maybe the cemetery. Want to hear one of his tunes?
Thanks for the nose shield. I'm going to need it where I'm going.
In Brooklyn? - Louisiana. - Nice.
Where'd he go?
FOR COLORED PATRONS ON LY
Mr. Angel? Sorry to keep you waiting, but you're a little early.
I had a bad line. I didn't know if you said 4:00 or 4:30.
This is a wild place you got here! - Yes, I've been very happy here.
I've never had my fortune read before. Does it take long?
I'll take the details now. It usually takes a couple of days to do a chart.
Tea?
Do you want some tea?
Yes, thank you.
Darjeeling, jasmine or oolong?
Not many people like oolong.
Do you play the piano?
No, not exactly.
Sing?
I can carry a tune, but no . . . not really.
Who is this mean looking guy?
My father.
I'm sorry!
Don't worry, he hates it too.
He looks like one of those guys in an old pirate movie. What's his name?
Ethan. - Ethan Krusemark . . .
Well, I tell you, I never saw any of Ethan's movies.
Do you speak French?
I'm from Brooklyn.
I would prefer it if you didn't smoke. - That's okay.
Cream or sugar?
Straight up is fine, thank you.
I need your exact date of birth.
Sure!
I was born on February 14th . . .
. . . 1 91 8, on Valentine's day.
How curious! I used to know a boy who was born on that exact same day.
Well, you know how it is, all the soldiers home on leave and all.
Maybe we could pull your friend's chart and save ourselves some time.
I don't think so. Every person is very different. I don't think
you'd like his chart.
Place of birth?
Brooklyn, New York. Was your friend a jerk or something?
You could say that.
I guess you didn't get along.
You and Johnny.
You and Johnny Favorite?
Who are you? - I was an old army buddy.
I thought you two were kinda . . .
Look, I ain't no army buddy, I'm just a guy who was paid to snoop around.
To tell the truth, I wasn't born on Valentine's day.
It's Johnny's future I'm interested in.
Johnny has no future, he's dead.
He died 1 2 years ago. I'd like you to leave.
I know you're thinking who is this creep poking his snitch in everything.
I don't want to sound nosy, but . . . - He's dead, Mr. Angel.
And if he isn't, he is to me.
He must've hurt you pretty bad!
We all have our scars.
I don't know too much about the guy, but he must've been stupid to let you go.
Lies and cruelty come very easily to some people.
Pity, I really would've liked to have gotten my palm read.
Then I could have held your hand just a little longer.
I don't think you'd like what I see.
Very pretty necklace!
You got any High John
the Conquerer root? - Powdered or hanging?
I'm not really sure.
Caught in the rain, eh?
Two roots, $1 .20.
I have a question. I had an acquaintance in Harlem
who used to deal in the root.
Name was Evangeline. Heard of her?
Practically everyone around here is called Evangeline. After the poem.
Do you know it?
Yeah, I know it.
This acquaintance had a store in Harlem and it was the same name:
"Carter." - Everybody uses the name, mister.
Like "Howard Johnson," but this is the real place.
Her name was Proudfoot.
Evangeline Proudfoot?
I knew her. She used to come back all the time when she lived in New York.
Do you know where she is now? - She got sick and died.
She went back to the Holy Shelter swamp and was buried in Armandville.
She was waiting on some fellah. - Just like in the poem? - Yep.
$1 .20.
Who was the guy? - She never told.
Okay, thanks.
A week, you say? - At the most.
What is it?
Why are you crying?
We're going to Grandma. What's there?
Grandma.
Let's go.
Give me your hand.
I'm sorry! I got these off a guy in Coney lsland.
Some crazy guy.
I'm sorry.
Stop crying.
I was hoping I could talk with your mother.
You're a little late. Did you know her?
No, I never met her but I was hoping she could answer some questions for me.
Are you a cop?
No, my name is Harry Angel.
I'm a private detective.
So what's . . .? - Epiphany.
Your mama left you with a very beautiful name.
And not much else.
Actually, I'm looking for a friend of your mother's,
a guy called Johnny Favorite.
I met all her friends but never anyone called Favorite.
Shit!
I got a thing about chickens.
This Favorite was friends with your mother in New York city before the war.
Well, she never told me. Mama had a lot of guys. She liked men.
How about a guy called Toots Sweet?
He was a friend of Favorite. Know him? - No. - He was a good guitar player.
I was going to catch his act tonight.
I'm going to be staying in town, in a hotel.
If you remember anything
that might help me, give me a call.
You're a very pretty girl, Epiphany, your name suits you.
These crazy chickens!
What are you after him for, Johnny Favorite?
I'm not after him. I'm just being paid to find out where he is.
He could be 6 feet under. - Then I'll have to buy a shovel.
How are you, sugar?
Some beautiful tune
you were singing there, Mr. Sweet. - Toots, son! Thanks. - Buy you a drink?
Mine's on the house. Special cocktail. Whatever's in it gives a big kick.
You know, I heard you play years ago in New York.
Before the war at the old Dickie Wells Bar.
You were having it up pretty good with a guy called Johnny Favorite.
Yeah, I vaguely remember. - You and he were buddies, weren't you?
No, he recorded one of my songs. Say, are you a dick or a book writer?
Neither. I'm a journalist and I'm doing this piece
about Johnny and the Spider Simpson Orchestra.
Spider played them drums like two jackrabbits fucking!
Haven't got much time. Got to piss, spit and get back to work.
Try one of those cocktails. Then you can make the whole thing up as you like.
That's what you usually do, anyway.
I can't even take a piss!
I just wanted to talk about Johnny Favorite and Evangeline Proudfoot.
I'm too big to go hiding under beds. I don't know nothing.
I'm only interested in cocktails. Fuck!
What's going on? - Nothing! Mind your own business. I want to piss!
Get outta here,
or you'll wish your little white ass was never born.
Please! I've got a thing about chickens.