Original subtitles

Harry.

How are you?

Hello?

Yes, this is Harold Angel.

Yep, middle initial "R" just like in the phone book.

Excuse me? Winesap.

Herman Winesap of Winesap and Mackintosh.

Hold on a second.

Okay, Winesap... of Winesap and Mackintosh.

Okay, I got it.

Of course I know what an attorney is.

Yeah, it's like a lawyer, only the bills are bigger.

Sure, I'll hold. Asshole.

Hello, Mr. Winesap, yeah, Harold Angel.

Well, yeah, I could be free.

Would this be with your firm?

Okay, give me that again.

Louis.

How do you spell that?

Cyphre. Okay. What is it, foreign?

A foreigner? Is your client a foreign gentleman?

Okay.

Mr. Winesap, could you give me a few more details?

Okay. No, I know the place.

It's a long way up, but I can be there.

Hallelujah!

Permit me to be transmittable, hallelujah.

Permit me to be reincarnatable, hallelujah.

Permit me to be reproducible, hallelujah.

For His kingdom is yours, today, right now.

Hallelujah. Follow me. Follow me through his paths.

Hallelujah. I want you to show right now how much you love God.

I want you to show as your tithe.

I want you to open up your hearts and open up your wallets.

And open up your purses. And open up your pockets.

And give it up. Praise the Lord.

Somebody's been talkin' about me, talkin' about I've been riding around in a Cadillac.

If you love me, and you wanna give to me...

then I should be in a Rolls Royce.

Let's hear it, Brother. Let's go. Yes!

Hey! Hey! Come on.

- Mr. Angel? - Yeah.

Herman Winesap.

Would you come with me, please?

An unfortunate husband of...

one of PastorJohn's flock took a gun to his head.

Most unpleasant.

Mr. Angel? Please?

Mr. Angel.

Allow me to introduce my client, Monsieur Louis Cyphre.

Hiya. Harry Angel.

Pleased to meet you, Mr. Angel.

I don't want to appear rude or impolite, but do you have any I.D., before we begin?

Sure. Yeah. Here.

Let me see what I got here.

How's that?

Nothing personal. It's just that I'm a little overcautious.

- You know how these things are. - Oh, I know. I know.

So, how did you hear about me?

I guess you guys just looked in the phone book, huh?

Usually that's what happens.

Because my name is Angel. It's under A's.

People... You know, people are lazy.

They flick through. They see the first name in the book and...

- Johnny Favorite. - Excuse me?

Do you by chance remember the name Johnny Favorite?

Remember the name Johnny? No, I don't think so.

- You never knew him? - Am I supposed to know him?

He was a crooner before the war. Quite famous in his way.

Well, I'll tell ya, Mr. "Cyphre," you know, I...

Mr. Cyphre.

I'm so big mouth, I'm sorry.

Mr. Cyphres. I usually don't get involved in anything really heavy.

I usually handle small-time stuff:

insurance jobs, divorces, things of that nature.

I get lucky, sometimes I handle people.

But I don't know no, you know, crooners...

or anybody famous, you know?

- His real name was Liebling. - I don't...

I don't know any Liebling either.

So what is it you guys want from me?

- Does this man owe you money or something? - Not quite.

I gave Johnny some help at the beginning of his career.

So were you, like, his agent?

No, no, no. Nothing so...

Monsieur Cyphre has a contract.

Certain collateral was involved, to be forfeited in the event of his death.

You're losin' me a little bit. Are we talkin' about a guy who's dead?

No, he was drafted in '43. North Africa.

Special Entertainment Services. There was an attack.

He was badly injured about the head and face.

- He had... - Amnesia, I think you call it.

- Shell shock? - Shell shock. Yes.

- I know how that feels. - Why? Were you in the services, Mr. Angel?

Yes, I was in for a short period of time.

But I got a little fucked up real quick. Excuse my language, you know.

And they shipped me back home...

and I sort of missed the whole shebang.

You know, the war, the medals, the whole nine yards.

And I guess you could say I was lucky.

Poor Johnny wasn't so lucky. He returned home a virtual zombie.

Favorite's friends had him transferred to a private hospital upstate.

There was some sort of radical psychiatric treatment involved.

Favorite's lawyers had the power of attorney to...

Pay the bills, things like that. But you know how these things are.

He remained a vegetable, and my contract was never honored.

I see.

I don't want to sound mercenary or anything, but you must understand...

that my interest in Johnny is only in finding out if he's alive...

or if he's dead.

Each year my office receives a signed affidavit confirming that...

Johnny Liebling is indeed among the living.

Until this last weekend, when quite by chance...

Monsieur Cyphre and I were in the vicinity of the hospital just outside Poughkeepsie.

We decided to check for ourselves but were given misleading information.

- Yeah, the run around. - Yes. I didn't want to cause a scene.

I hate to have any sort of a fuss.

So I thought perhaps you could,

you know, subtly, in a more quiet manner...

- You want me to check it out. - Check it out.

Okay. Yeah.

It's funny. I have a feeling I've met you before.

I don't know. I don't think so.

Do you by chance remember the name Johnny Favorite?

His real name was Liebling.

My interest in Johnny is only in finding out if he's alive or if he's dead.

- May I help you? - Yes.

My name is Harry Conroy, and I'm with the National Institute of Health.

Is there anyone in particular you'd like to see, Mr. Conroy?

The Institute is conducting a survey of incurable trauma cases...

and I understand you have a patient here fitting that description.

I'm afraid we can't let you see anyone without an appointment, sir.

Oh, sure. I appreciate that. But maybe, you know...

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 will check.

So, was you workin' here last weekend?

No. Day off.

- Did you do anything nice? - My sister's wedding.

We did have a Mr. Liebling...

but it says here he was transferred.

- Are you sure? - Yeah, that's what it says here.

- But when was that? - Years ago. December '43.

May I take a look at this? Thank you.

- Is this recent? - It's an old file.

It's in ballpoint. You know, they weren't too big on ballpoint in '43.

- Is that ballpoint? - Yeah.

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.

About time for your evening fix?

Who are you? How'd you get in here?

Through the mail slot. I'm a private detective.

Breaking and entering is a serious crime, whoever or whatever you are.

Hey, man, call the police.

Which you won't do in case they discover your little opium den...

you got in the icebox there.

I'm a doctor. I'm perfectly entitled to keep pharmaceuticals at home.

Hey, look, Doc, tell it to somebody else, all right?

We're not talkin' about a Band-Aid and two Bongateen.

- How long you been hooked? - What do you want of me?

Information about Johnny Liebling.

I vaguely remember treating a patient of that name many years ago.

Hey, look, Doc, I'm not foolin' around here.

Either you start giving me some straight answers, or I'll call the police myself.

I've seen the works cookin' upstairs, pal, and it ain't Mr. Salk's vaccine, huh.

I remember. He was in detainer during the war. Neuro case.

No chance of recovery. So we transferred him to a V.A. hospital in Albany.

Hey, Doc, I hate to shake you up, but I checked with Albany.

He's not there. You faked the transfer.

I did that quickly because he had a visitor recently.

In 12 years, he hadn't had a visitor.

Popular guy, huh?

- Where is he now? - I honestly don't know where.

Look. Come here. Huh? Huh?

I haven't seen him since he was a patient in the war.

Look, Doc, you're in a cold sweat, huh. Look at you.

You can't wait for me to leave here so you can raid the goodies in the icebox.

Now, the sooner you get out with it...

the sooner you can shoot yourself to Palookaville, okay?

I'm gonna ask you again.

- Where is he? - I don't know.

Some people came one night many years ago.

He got in the car with him and drove away. I never saw him again.

He got into a car? I thought this guy was a vegetable.

When he first came here, he was in a coma, but he soon recovered.

But he still suffered from acute amnesia.

The friends? Who were the friends?

The gentleman's name was Kelly. Edward Kelly.

The young lady, I don't know her.

- She stayed in the car. - Where were they taking him?

I think down south. The man said, "We're taking him home."

- What was the deal? - $25,000.

For what?

I must maintain the pretense that he was still a patient in the hospital.

But didn't the administration suspect?

Why should they? I kept the charts up to date...

no one asks questions when the bills get paid.

I want you to tell me about Johnny Liebling.

- What did he look like? - I don't know. I have no idea what he looked like.

His face was damaged. He had extensive facial reconstruction.

He was still in bandages the day he left.

Tell me about this guy Kelly.

- It's so long. I have only a vague memory. - Come on.

I can't remember. He was well-dressed. He had a southern accent.

- I... - What?

- Truly can't remember. - All right, Doc. All right.

Hey, hey. You're gonna have a little lie-down, all right?

I'm gonna go out, and I'm gonna grab a cheeseburger.

Maybe a few hours cold turkey will refresh your memory. All right?

Come on.

Watch yourself there.

Okay, Doc. You're gonna take a little nap now.

Sit your ass down.

You're gonna clear your mind on a little bed.

I'm gonna go out. Maybe when I get back...

I'll fix you some goodies from the icebox, all right?

Listen, you tell me what I want to know, I'll be out of here forever.

Johnny.

Harry. Harry.

Harry.

Hey, I'm back, Doc. I brought you a little somethin'.

You'd think you'd want a cheeseburger and a shake.

- I won't. Bye. - Bye.

- Hey, Allie. - Hey, Harry.

Is that your boyfriend?

- He got a car and everything? - Yeah.

- Yeah? - Yeah.

- Bye. - See you later.

- Did you see him? - No.

- Why not? - 'Cause it would have been difficult.

- Why? - Why? 'Cause he's not there.

Your Johnny Favorite walked out of Sarah Harvest Dodd's 12 years ago...

wearin' his best suit and a new face wrapped in bandages.

With a headache.

He took off with some guy called Kelly and a girl.

Do you know this Kelly?

Well, it seems that this guy Kelly paid off...

some bent doctor called Fowler to pinch-hit for your guy all these years.

He's been coverin' up for him ever since.

It looks like our Johnny has found himself a perfect disappearing act.

Yeah. It seems so.

Well, 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.

'Cause I left out one little detail.

This Dr. Fowler guy ended up dead with his fuckin' brains blown out all over the place, all right.

- Fowler? - Yeah, Fowler.

- Did you kill him? - No, I didn't kill him.

But the cops might think I did.

Hey, look. I took on $125 a day missing persons job with you, all right.

Now I'm a murder suspect. That's it. I'm out.

Such are the hazards of your profession, Mr. Angel.

If the fee bothers you, we can have it adjusted.

No, Cyphre, you bother me. Listen, the closest I ever come...

to death is standin' on the corner on 2nd Avenue watching the stiffs go by...

in the hearse, all right, 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? - $5,000.

You must want this Johnny pretty bad, huh?

I don't like messy accounts.

You know, some religions think that the egg is the symbol of the soul.

- Did you know that? - No, I didn't know that.

Would you like an egg?

No, thank you. I got a thing about chickens.

Gavilan weighs 146 pounds tonight, just a pound...

under the welterweight limit.

Turner weighs 144 1/2.

It's a $270,000 gate, an all-time record for the welterweight title.

It's after 11:00, Harry. You're late.

I'm sorry. Did you get it?

If I lose my job, I'll come and be your secretary.

Hey, I couldn't pay you what the Times pays. Besides, you're not gonna miss thing.

They must be digging up stuff like this all the time.

Hiya, Johnny. Where the fuck are you?

Johnny Favorite was a crooner, like you said.

I didn't realize he was so big.

He used to be in a band called the Spider Simpson Orchestra.

- They're all dead. Only Spider's here in town. - Oh, yeah? Where is he?

I wrote it all down.

The dyke in Archiving's library is getting suspicious.

My boss hasn't researched a story in years.

You can get the files.

Spider's in an old people's home on 138th Street.

Oh, wonderful. I get to go to Harlem again.

There was a picture of Johnny with a guy called Toots Sweet.

- A guitar player. - And?

No one's heard of him for years. Now here's the juicy bit.

He was engaged to a rich broad, name of Margaret Krusemark.

Dad Ethan owns half of Louisiana.

Met Johnny at a high school prom in New Orleans.

Johnny shit on her, and she went back home to Daddy.

- Oh, yeah, there's lots on her spells. - Spells?

- Hmm. - What do you mean, spells?

You mean like eye of a newt and toe of a frog, that kind of shit?

Seems she's a bit of a crackpot.

Casting spells at society do's and stuff.

Didn't go down too well with the Ivy League stiffos.

Oh, yeah, she was known as the Witch of Wellesley.

The Witch of Wellesley.

- Did I do good? - Yeah, you did great.

So, what do I got? I got some kind of religious loony for a client.

I gotta find Johnny "Golden Tonsils".

We don't know where he is. He probably doesn't know who he is.

I got a geriatric bandleader at a home in Harlem.

I got a guitar player called Toots Sweet.

- What else I got? - A hard-on.

Are you okay?

January 3rd, 1955.

Client: Louis Cyphre.

Copy: Winesap and Mackintosh, attorneys.

As reported, Johnny Favorite has not been...

in the Sarah Dodd Nursing Home of Poughkeepsie for the last 12 years.

He was taken away by a man called Edward Kelly and a girl.

The girl is unidentified.

Kelly paid a Dr. Fowler $25,000 to falsify reports...

stating that Favorite was still at the hospital.

The doctor is now deceased.

Before Johnny's accident, it seemed like his career was goin' great...

till he started to dump on everyone around him.

I tracked down Spider Simpson, Johnny's old bandleader.

Spider now resides at the Lincoln Presbyterian Hospice...

for the Elderly, on 138th Street.

Johnny also had a close buddy, a guitar player called Toots Sweet.

Toots went back to Algiers.

That ain't Algiers in Africa. That's Algiers in New Orleans.

I think maybe Margaret went back there too, and maybe Johnny.

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 loves should stay secret.

And the only other person who Johnny was seeing regularly...

was a palm reader out in Coney Island called Madame Zora.

Hey, are you Izzy?

Yeah.

- It looks like the last bit of the sun, huh? - Yep.

Hey, listen. The guy in the arcade over there told me you might be able to help me.

- Oh, yeah? - Yeah.

I'm lookin' for a Madame Zora.

Yeah, sure, I know her. A friend of the wife before the war.

- It's the fortune teller, right? - Yeah, and then some.

Real creepy. I hate those hocus-pocus bitches. Fuckin' witch.

Her and the wife got along real well.

The wife's a Baptist. Oh, here.

Have a nose shield. Go on. Take one.

I found a whole box fell under the boardwalk.

There's not much sun in the city right now.

Yeah, but it keeps the rain off too.

Hey, listen. You ever hear of a Johnny Favorite?

- The singer? - Yeah, the crooner.

He used to visit Madame Zora all the time?

I heard of him, but I don't know nothin' about him.

Ask the wife. She'll know. She's always singin' stupid tunes off the radio.

She knows all that kind of shit.

- She likes the water, huh? - Nope. She hates it.

She's gettin' on the heavy side. She thinks it's good for varicose veins.

All right. Thanks.

Listen. What do you do around here in the summertime?

- I bite the heads off of rats. - What do you do in the winter?

Same.

Excuse me!

I was just talkin' to your husband over there!

I was inquiring about a Madame Zora!

Yeah, I knew her before the war. Madame Zora, you say?

Yeah, she was some kind of gypsy fortune-teller.

Yeah, she used to have the booth across the boardwalk from me.

She wear no gypsy. She was a debutante.

She was messin' with more than readin' tea leaves.

Did you ever see her with a guy called Johnny Favorite?

Yeah, he was cute. Used to visit her all the time. She was real stuck on him.

The guy with the golden tonsils, they used to call him. I knew all his tunes.

Hey, did you ever hear of a... of a Margaret Krusemark?

Don't be a gazoony, fella. Madame Zora was Margaret Krusemark.

What happened to her?

Packed up her stuff one day and closed up for good. Went back home. Down south.

Do you have any idea where I could find Johnny Favorite?

Nope. Maybe the cemetery.

Wanna hear one of his tunes?

♪ I cried for you ♪

♪ Now it's your turn to cry over... ♪

Hey, thanks for the nose shield.

- Okay. - I'm gonna need it where I'm goin'.

- In Brooklyn? - Nah. Louisiana.

Nice.

Where'd he go?

Mr. Angel.

Sorry to keep you waitin'. You're a little early.

Well, you know, I had a bad line. I didn't know if it was 4:00 or 4:30.

Wow, this is really a wild place you got here.

Yes, I've been very happy here.

Hey, you know, I never had my fortune read before.

- Does this take long? - I'll just take the details now.

It usually takes me a couple of days to do a chart.

Tea?

- Do you want some tea? - Oh, yes. Thank you.

Darjeeling, jasmine or oolong?

- Oolong. - Not many people like oolong.

Do you play the piano?

No, not exactly.

Sing?

Well. I can carry a tune, but not really.

So, who's this mean-looking guy?

It's my father.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Don't worry. He hates it too.

You know, he really looks like one of those guys in an old pirate movie.

What's his name?

- Ethan. - Ethan. Ethan Krusemark.

Well, I'll tell ya, you know, I never saw any of Ethan's movies.

Do you speak French, Mr. Angel?

- I'm from Brooklyn. - I'd prefer it if you didn't smoke.

Oh, that's okay.

- Cream or sugar? - No. Straight up is fine, thank you.

Now. I'm gonna need your exact date of birth.

Sure.

Okay, I was...

born February 14th.

1918. That's Valentine's Day.

How curious.

I used to know a boy who was born on that exact same date.

Oh, really?

Well, you know how it is. All the soldiers home on leave and all.

Hey, maybe we could pull your friend's chart and save ourselves some time.

I don't think so, Mr. Angel.

Every person's very different. I don't think you'd like his chart.

- Place of birth? - Brooklyn, New York.

Why, was he a jerk or something, your friend?

- Yeah, you could say that. - Yeah.

So, I guess you just didn't get along. You and Johnny.

Huh?

You and Johnny Favorite?

Who are you?

I was an old army buddy.

I thought that you two were kind of a... You know.

All right. Look. I ain't no army buddy.

I'm just a guy who was paid to snoop around.

But to tell you the truth, I wasn't born on Valentine's Day.

It's Johnny's future that I'm interested in.

Johnny has no future. He's dead.

He died 12 years ago, and Mr. Angel, I'd like you to leave.

Hey, look, I know you're probably thinking who's this creep poking his snitch around in everything and...

Hey, look, I don't want to sound nosy or nothin', but...

He's dead, Mr. Angel. And if he isn't, he is to me.

Wow. He must've hurt you pretty bad, huh.

We all have our scars, Mr. Angel.

Look. You know, I don't know too much about this guy...

but he must've been really stupid if he let you go.

Lies and cruelty come very easy to some people. Good-bye, Mr. Angel.

It's a pity. You know, I really would've liked to have gotten my palm read.

Could've held your hand a little while longer.

I don't think you'd like what I see.

That's a very pretty necklace you got there.

- Hi. - Hi.

You got any Hygeia the Conqueror root?

- Powdered or hanging? - I don't know. I'm not really sure.

- Caught in the rain, huh? - Yeah.

Two roots. $1.20.

Eh, listen, I have a question I wanna ask you.

I have an acquaintance back in Harlem...

who used to deal in Hygeia the Conqueror root.

And her name was Evangeline. Did you ever hear of her?

Practically everyone around here is called Evangeline, mister.

After the poem, huh. You know the poem?

Yeah, I know the poem. Yeah, this...

This acquaintance of mine had a store in Harlem. It was the same name. "Carter."

Everybody uses the name, mister. Like "Howard Johnson," this is the real place.

Her name was Proudfoot, Evangeline Proudfoot.

Yeah, I knew her.

She used to come back here all the time when she was livin' in New York.

Well, do you know where she is now?

She got sick. Died. She went back to Holy Shelter Swamp.

They buried her in Almondville. She was waitin' on some fella.

- Just like in the poem, huh? - Just like the poem.

$1.20.

Well, who was the guy?

She never told.

Okay, thanks.

- A week, you say? - Yeah, at most.

What you crying for? What? What?

What you crying for?

Let's go see Grandma. Who's over there?

It's Grandma. Grandma.

Let's go.

Give me your hand.

Soap.

Excuse me?

- Miss Proudfoot? - Yeah.

Oh, I'm sorry. Hey, I got these from some guy...

in Coney Island. Some babies react to 'em.

- I'm sorry. - Stop crying.

Listen, I was hoping maybe I could talk with your mama.

Yeah? You're a little late for that. Did you know her?

No, I've never met her, but I was hoping...

maybe she could answer a few questions for me.

- What are you? Some kind of cop? - No. My name's Harry Angel.

How are you? I'm a private detective.

- So what's... - Epiphany.

- Epiphany? - Yeah.

Your mama left you with a very beautiful name, Epiphany.

Not much else.

Well, actually, to be quite frank, I'm looking for a friend...

of your mama's, a guy called Johnny Favorite.

Yeah? I met all of mama's friends.

I never met anyone called Favorite.

Jesus. Oh, shit, man! I got a thing about chickens.

Yeah.

Yeah. This guy Favorite...

he was friends with your mama, back in New York City, before the war.

Yes? She never told me.

My mama had a lot of guys. She liked men.

How 'bout a guy named Toots Sweet?

He was a friend of Favorite's. Did you ever meet him?

- No. - He was supposed to be a pretty good guitar player.

I was gonna go try to catch his act tonight.

Oh, listen, I'm gonna be stayin' here in town, in a hotel.

And I figured if maybe, if you could remember anything that might help me...

maybe you could give me a call.

You're a very pretty girl, Epiphany. Your name suits you.

These chickens.

Hey, what are you after him for? Johnny Favorite?

I'm not really after him. I'm just being paid to find out where he is.

He could be six feet under.

Then I'll have to buy a shovel.

♪ She had two cups of coffee ♪

♪ And I had one small cup of tea ♪

♪ She just walked out of my life ♪

♪ Left them low-down dirty blues with me ♪

♪ It was on ♪

♪ Oh, Lord, it was on ♪

♪ On a rainy day ♪

♪ One time for Toots ♪

♪It was on ♪

- ♪ Oh, Lord it was on ♪ - How's it hangin', sugar?

♪ On a rainy day ♪

Go ahead.

Hey, that was some beautiful tune you were singing in there, Mr. Sweet.

- Toots, son. Thank you. - Yeah, listen. Can I buy you a drink?

No, I get mine on the house. Two Sisters cocktails.

I don't know what's in 'em, but I get a bigger kick out of 'em than I do six stingers.

Listen. You know that I heard you play years ago in New York?

- Yeah? - Yeah, it was before the war at the old Dicky Wells Bar.

- Yeah. - Yeah.

Yeah, you were hammin' it up pretty good with some guy called Johnny Favorite.

Yeah, I vaguely remember playin' with that guy once too.

Yeah, you and him was buddies, weren't you?

No. He made a record of one of my songs, but that don't make us buddies.

Say, are you a dick or book writer?

I'm neither. What I am, I'm a journalist.

You see, what I'm doing is, I'm doing this piece.

The piece is on Johnny and the old Spider Simpson Orchestra.

I remember Spider. He used to play them drums like two jack rabbits fuckin'.

Got to go, son. I ain't got much time.

Take a piss and a spit and back to work. Say you try one of them Two Sisters cocktails...

and then you can make the whole thing up, any way you want to.

That's what you newspaper people do anyway, don't you?

♪ He starts his lovin' when you get through ♪

I can't even take a piss.

Hey, look, pal. You know, I just wanted to have a little talk...

with you about Johnny Favorite and Evangeline Proudfoot.

I'm too big to go hidin' under beds. I don't know nothin'.

Two Sisters cocktails are the only thing I'm interested in nowadays. Fuck!

- What's going on, Toots? - Nothing.

Mind your own business. I wanna piss.

If you don't get the hell out of here, I mean clean out on the sidewalk...

you gonna wish your little white ass never was born.

Please. I've got a thing about chickens.

♪ So take a tip, honey and just leave my door ♪

♪ Because your key don't fit in my lock no more ♪

♪ You got the right key ♪

♪ You're knockin ' on the wrong door ♪

All right, now. Hey.

This is the end of bullshit time, pal, okay?

I got a good look at you and young Epiphany...

doin' your hot-shoe number with the chicken.

And listen.

I ain't up on all this voodoo shit. I'm from Brooklyn.

We ain't all Baptists down here, sonny.

What's the story with this Proudfoot girl?

She's a mambo priestess, like her mom. Has been since she was 13.

When's the last time you saw Johnny Favorite at one of those chicken stuffings, huh?

He used to run around with Mom Mambo, didn't he?

I told you, I ain't seen him since before the war.

Hey!

What about the chicken foot in the john, huh?

- It means I got a big mouth. - It's not big enough, Toots.

What's this fuckin' star you wear in your mouth? I'll tell you what.

I'm gonna give you my hotel number, and you give me a call...

in case you hear anything.

You never know, the next time you get...

a special delivery chicken foot, you may need a little help.

I'll tell you, as far as I'm concerned...

any dead chicken's a good chicken to me.

Hey, only cops and bad news don't knock.

Only private dicks sleep so late.

That's quite a dream you were having.

I was on my way to Mandalay again.

Shit. There's some leak you got up there.

Here. Is this your name?

- Yeah. - That your hotel?

- You're standin' in it, ain't you? - Your handwritin'?

I think so.

Then perhaps you'd like to tell us why...

we found that in the hand of a dead guitar player?

- Toots Sweet is dead? - Yeah. Toots Sweet.

Only this one weren't so quick. This one took time.

How did he die?

Technically, asphyxiation by his own genitalia.

But not so technically.

Somebody cut his dick off, stuffed it in his mouth and choked him to death.

And took to redecoratin' his apartment with the poorjerk's blood.

So, when'd you see him, Angel?

- I interviewed him yesterday around 1:00. - Yeah, in connection with what?

A missing person.

Who?

Some guy took a walk 12 years ago. I saw Toots in an old photograph with him.

What's the name of this party you're lookin' for?

I'm sorry, friend. I can't say. That's right of privacy.

- I'm workin' for a New York lawyer. - Name?

Oh, come on, man.

Winesap. You want his number, you want his address?

Ask Tess Trueheart over there. It's in the book he's flickin' through.

It's under "W," genius.

You know Ted Williams, the baseball player?

Yeah.

Herman Winesap.

All right, is that it, guys?

That's it.

You and your "right to privacy" can go eat lunch.

But don't stroll too far, Angel.

Not till we talk to this lawyer of yours.

You ever watch the Mickey Mouse Club?

'Cause you know what today is?

Today is Wednesday. It's "anything can happen" day.

Hey, man, you want a tune?

Yeah, I got a tune for you.

Hiya, boys.

Oh, yeah, same to you.

- Hey, I'm gettin' kinda hungry. Do you wanna sell some of those things? - Yeah.

- Hey, Pop. - Huh?

- Ten cents a sack. - Sure, man, give me a sack.

Shit! Fuck...

You listen good, mister.

Margaret Krusemark's old man wants you on that first train home.

Get that fuckin' thing away from me!

If you don't, the dog here's gonna bite your fuckin' face clean off.

Oh, fuck!

What happened to you?

A dog bit me.

Yeah. So what do you want?

Well, right now, I need a laundry.

- Listen, Epithany. - Epiphany.

- Epiphany. I got something on my mind I wanna ask you. - Yeah.

Yeah. The other night, you know, I saw you and Toots Sweet...

boogyin' with the cock-a-doodle-doo out the woods.

Looked like you all were havin' some party.

Yeah, so what's your problem? It's a free country.

Not for chickens it ain't.

Oh, yeah, you got a thing about chickens. I remember.

Listen, Epiphany, Toots is... Toots is dead.

I know. I heard.

- You set him up. - No, I didn't.

You were the only one that knew I was seein' Toots.

- Yeah? - Yeah.

You're the one that sent the gift-wrapped chicken for two, aren't you?

Yeah, well, Toots had a big mouth.

I guess he did, judgin' by what the cops found in it.

That's quite a cute religion you people got.

Nailing a man to a cross ain't so cute, either.

Oh, yeah, I know. You got to kill a chicken to make the soup, eh?

If we don't go around murdering people, all right, Mr. Angel? What about your Johnny Favorite?

Oh, so now you remember him after all, huh?

Yeah, he was my father.

Mince?

Mince, I'm gonna pick the baby up later, okay?

He's gonna be all right.

Hey, look, if you got anything you're holding out, now's a good time to tell.

Nothing to tell.

Yeah, Johnny never came back from the war.

Mama waited. Mama died. It's sad and simple.

Epiphany, there's too many dead bodies floatin' around...

even for Louisiana.

I'd tell your old man to look out for you.

- You do have a husband. - No. No husband.

- No? - Eh-eh.

Jesus, you got beautiful eyes, Epiphany.

You really do. They're truly beautiful.

They're the kind of eyes you can tell just what's goin' on inside.

- Right now, you're scared. - I'll manage.

- Hey, well, listen... - Yeah, yeah. I'll call you if I hear anything.

Hey.

Call me if you don't.

All right?

I have a message for you.

- Thank you. - You're welcome.

I'm so glad you could come.

Yeah. I didn't know you were comin' to town.

I have a speaking engagement in Baton Rouge...

and I thought it would be opportune to catch up with your progress.

I'm tellin' ya...

Progress ain't too good.

I found out a lot of stuff.

But so far, no Johnny Favorite.

How unfortunate.

All I got is a bellyful of hocus-pocus...

and three stiffs.

- Stiffs? - Yeah.

Dead bodies, Mr. Cyphre. Murders.

- Murders. - Yeah. - Hmm.

I got Fowler... Johnny's doctor bumped himself off.

I got this old voodoo guy, Toots Sweet.

He got choked to death with a part of the body meant for pissing with.

This is a church, Mr. Angel.

I'll tell you something. I know it's a church...

but there's a lot of religion going around with this thing.

It's very weird, and I don't understand it. It's ugly.

They say there's just enough religion in the world...

to make men hate one another, but not enough to make them love.

Oh, is that what they say?

I'll tell you something, Mr. Cyphre, there...

wasn't too much love around for Johnny Favorite.

All right, that guy was bad luck and it's starting to rub off on me.

I'm a murder suspect already in two cases.

The police found my name and my address in Toots Sweet's hand.

I know. Winesap told me.

You must be careful, Mr. Angel.

And the third? You said there were three murders.

I checked out Johnny's old society girlfriend... Margaret Krusemark.

- Do you know her? - Vaguely.

Vaguely? Let me tell you, I'm a little fed up with fuckin' "vaguely."

"Vaguely" is puttin' a noose around my neck, and I'm startin' to choke, all right.

So, Mr. Cyphre, did you know her or not?

I knew about her, but I never actually knew her.

All right. I'll tell you what.

She was doin' my chart. I gave her Johnny's birth date... February 14th...

Except someone got to her and took out their own Valentine's card.

They split her open and they cut out her heart.

I guess she couldn't predict the future for herself.

The future isn't what it used to be, Mr. Angel.

- And your conclusions? - I haven't any.

Except all I know is Johnny's runnin' around bumpin' off everyone he used to know.

And more and more it's me who's on the line for it.

I'm bein' set up, and it's scarin' the shit out of me, all right?

So why don't you just tell me and level with me what the fuck is goin' on here?

Just Johnny Favorite and the debt that's owed to me, Mr. Angel.

I have old-fashioned ideas about honour.

You know, an eye for an eye, things like that.

Who the fuck are you, Cyphre?

Watch your language.

Hey. Hey, I don't give a fuck if this is a church, okay?

Churches give me the creeps. I don't like churches.

- Are you an atheist? - Yes, I am.

I'm from Brooklyn.

I'll be in town for a day or two.

Let me know what else you find, and if you need money...

No, no, the money's fine.

But if I ain't careful, that 5,000 bucks you gave me...

could just buy me a seat on the electric chair.

Hi.

Frightened eyes never lie.

Come on. Come on inside.

- Where's your child? - He's with Mincy.

She's bringing him over later.

She's got 14 of her own, so he'll be okay there.

Look, Epiphany, you're very welcome to stay here or I'll get you a room.

No, I'm okay.

I'll tell you what, I'm wanna have a drink. Do you want a drink?

You're gonna have one anyway.

- I've been thinkin', Epiphany. - Yeah?

I was wondering what the hell your mama ever saw in a guy like Johnny Favorite?

I don't know. Whatever he had, he sure stole her heart away.

To tell you the truth, the guy was a creep.

Oh. She sure missed him.

I mean, I'll tell ya.

What does a lady see in a guy that runs around choppin' up pigeons, you know?

You know what they say.

It's always the badass that makes a girl's heart beat faster.

Did she ever say anything about him?

- Johnny? - Yeah.

- Just two things. - Yeah, like what?

She once said that Johnny Favorite was as close to true evil...

as she ever wanted to come.

- What else did she say? - That he was a terrific lover.

How old are you, Epiphany?

- Seventeen. - Seventeen.

That's kind of young to have a kid, isn't it?

It's old enough.

- So, where'd the father go? - I never knew him.

Ups. I'm sorry.

To tell you the truth...

I don't know why I took this room. There is...

I can't believe this!

It was at Bamboucher.

When the spirits possess you, it's called chevalier.

Oh, yes, I'm familiar with that... Chevrolet.

- Chevalier. - That's what I said: Chevrolet.

Mounted by the gods.

- Oh, so the gods got you pregnant? - Yeah.

I understand that. I'm sorry.

I'm not. It was the best fuck I ever had.

Want to dance?

In here?

Yeah, here.

I got bit by a dog this mornin'. I can't move around.

Well, you won't feel a thing.

- All right, I'll dance with you. - Yeah?

- Yeah. But you gotta promise. - What's that?

No chickens.

- Okay. - Come on. Jump on.

All right, I'm coming!

I should've recognized the knock.

Well, at least you got a reason for sleepin' late this time.

Down here, Angel, we don't mix with the jigaboos.

The colored folks keep to themselves.

Well, hey, I ain't from down here.

- You cut yourself? - Dog bit me.

Somebody named Margaret Krusemark figure in this missing persons case of yours?

- No. Why? - She's dead.

That nigger guitar player of yours, he don't matter a shit.

He was into voodoo. They 86 one another two a week.

This Krusemark dame, she comes from a Louisiana money family... white money.

So two people get bumped off in the same week. What's the connection?

- Similar circumstances. - Like what?

Did she get her dick cut off too?

No. Some fucker cut her heart out, neat as a butcher on Decatur Street.

Hey, look, mine's a missing persons. It's not a murder, okay? Why you telling me this?

I want to know the name of the party you're lookin' for.

I already told you. Call New York. Talk to the lawyer.

Yeah, I did. That fancy mouthpiece, he gave me the same big-city shit as you.

What do you want me to say? Hey, you and Effie Klinker over there...

why don't you just fuck off and leave me alone?

This ain't jigaboo town, ass wipe! You play jump rope with Louisiana law...

and I'm wanna stop your big-city smarts right up your New York ass!

This Krusemark broad, she was into stargazing, black magic, all kinds of shit.

There ain't nothin' worse for a cop than people who get killed for nutso reasons.

Sorry if I made a mess. Maybe you can get your nigger to clean it up.

♪ Girl of my dreams ♪

♪ I love you ♪

♪ Honest I do ♪

♪ You are so sweet ♪

♪ If I could just hold your charms ♪

♪ Again in my arms ♪

♪ Life... ♪

What's that tune you're singin'?

You don't know it? It's one by Johnny Favorite.

My mom used to sing it to me all the time.

- You okay? - Yeah.

♪ If I could just ♪

♪ Hold your charms ♪

♪ Again in my arms ♪

♪ Life would be complete ♪

Shit!

What do you want, Mr. Angel?

I guess you already knew that.

Why should I?

A couple of your morons with a matching poodle...

have been chasing my balls around for days.

I'm looking for Johnny Favorite.

As far as I know, that dance band scumbag is dead.

That dance band scumbag may be the one that killed your daughter.

Who's employing you?

I can't say.

I'll pay.

So do they.

Hey, twelve years ago, you and your daughter snatched Favorite...

out of some nut hatch up in Poughkeepsie.

You paid a junkie doctor 25 grand to pretend Johnny was still a turniphead.

You did a pretty good job until a week ago.

You used the name Edward Kelly.

Angel, let's walk over here. It's a little private, and you can sample our gumbo.

You're right. I got an acid stomach.

Besides, Cajun cooking kills me.

It's a pity about your stomach. You'd have enjoyed our gumbo.

I was Edward Kelly. It was me who paid Fowler the 25 G's.

- Did Favorite know you? - No.

He acted like a sleepwalker.

He just stared out the window and watched the lights go by.

Where were you takin' him?

Times Square. It was New Year's Eve, 1943. I just dropped him off...

in the crowd and he walked out of our lives forever, or so we thought.

You're tellin' me that you paid 25 grand for a guy and you lost him in a crowd?

I did it for my daughter.

It was some sort of hocus-pocus she and Johnny were foolin' around with.

- My daughter was obsessed. - I know.

I found a mummified hand in her room.

The "hand of glory." It was supposed to be able to open any lock.

It was the right hand of a convicted murderer...

cut off while his neck was still in the noose.

That's so Margaret believed.

- Black magic. - Black, white, what difference does it make?

- Margaret was always... - Evil.

Evil is a dunghill, Mr. Angel.

Everyone gets on his own and speaks out about someone else's.

Margaret wasn't evil. She was a strange kid, though.

She was into tarot cards before she could read.

Who got her started?

Some maid, or governess... who knows?

Some maid, some governess... Everything you tell me is a crock of shit!

You're the one that got her started! You're the fuckin' devil worshipper!

The Prince of Darkness protects the powerful.

- That's a crock of shit! - True. I can't help it if you don't believe.

You come straight with me, you slimebag, or I swear I'll save this state an execution.

I introduced Johnny Favorite to my daughter. He was very powerful.

I once watched him conjure up Lucifer in my living room.

He was in it much deeper than me.

He made a pact with Satan. He sold his soul.

You expect me to swallow that?

Swallow it. Spit it out. I don't give a damn.

That's a crock of shit, you lying, old, fucking motherfucker!

- He sold his soul for stardom. - For stardom? Are you...

- That's a crock of shit! - Was Satan rose from the depth.

It was magnificent, except he thought he could outwit the Prince of Darkness.

Johnny sold his soul. Then when he made it big, he tried to duck out of it.

That's a crock of shit, you're lying!

Johnny came across an obscure rite in an ancient manuscript.

- He needed a victim. Someone his own age. - Why?

To steal their soul. So Toots and Johnny picked up a young soldier.

Who?

Just a boy, just a soldier out celebrating New Year's Eve in Times Square.

- Who was this soldier? - They took him back to Johnny's hotel.

- And that's where the ceremony took place. - What ceremony?

The boy was bound naked on a rubber mat.

There were complicated incantations and stuff in Latin and Greek.

A pentacle was branded on his chest.

Margaret handed Johnny a virgin dagger and he sliced the boy clean open.

And he ate his heart.

He cut it out so quickly the heart was still beating when he wolfed it down.

Johnny's plan was to drop out and resurface as the soldier.

But before he could work things out, he was drafted.

And then Johnny was injured, sent home without even knowing who he was.

Why that boy?

Only Johnny knew. He sealed the dog tags in a vase and gave it to Margaret.

It was Margaret's plan to drop him off in Times Square.

That would be the last place that he'd remember before it happened.

He needed a victim... someone his own age...

to steal their soul.

And he sliced the boy clean open and he ate his heart.

Who was the boy?

Johnny's plan was to drop out and resurface as the soldier.

Or maybe he gained possession of the guy's soul.

He's still looked like Johnny to me.

Oh, shit!

I know who I am! I know who I am!

Alas.

How terrible is wisdom when it brings no profit to the wise, Johnny.

Louis Cyphre.

Lucifer.

Even your name is a dime-store joke.

"Mephistopheles" is such a mouthful in Manhattan, Johnny.

You think posing as the devil...

just 'cause it scared some superstitious old guitar player...

and that witch and that nutty old man...

do you think it's gonna scare me?

It ain't, 'cause I know who I am.

And you killed them, and you're tryin' to pin it on me.

And I know who I am.

If I had cloven hoofs and a pointed tail, would you be more convinced?

You're crazy.

I know who I am. You're trying to frame me.

You're trying to frame me. Cyphre, I know who I am.

You murdered them people. I never killed nobody.

I didn't kill Fowler...

and...

and I didn't kill Toots...

and I didn't kill Margaret and I didn't kill Krusemark.

I didn't kill no one.

- I'm afraid you did, Johnny. - My name's not Johnny.

All killed by your own hand.

Guided by me, naturally.

Frankly, you were doomed from the moment you slit that young boy in half.

And Johnny...

for 12 years you've been living on borrowed time and another man's memories.

Hey, I'm wanna tell Winesap, 'cause he knows.

Winesap? Oh, he's dead.

Nasty accident.

Don't worry. No one will mourn one less lawyer in the world.

There's death everywhere these days, Johnny.

But what gives human life its worth anyway?

Because someone loves it or hates it?

The flesh is weak, Johnny. Only the soul is immortal.

And yours belongs to me.

I know who I am.

That's it, Johnny. Take a good look.

However cleverly you sneak up on a mirror...

your reflection always looks you straight in the eye.

I know who I am!

I know who I am!

I know who I am!

Why'd you come back?

I live here.

Who is she?

She ain't "Angel, Harold."

She's my daughter.

Bullshit. Who is she?

She's Epiphany Proudfoot.

She stayed here for a little while.

Long enough for you to kill her, all right?

Unless that ain't your gun up her snatch.

You're gonna burn for this, Angel.

I know.

In hell.

Harry.

Johnny.