Auto Light and its 96,000 dealers present Suspense.
Tonight, Auto Light brings you Too Hot to Live, a suspense play starring Mr. Richard
Widmark.
Hey, you!
Freeloader.
What?
We don't sell tickets on this freight.
Well, it was empty.
I didn't think anybody'd mind.
We're slowing down for a crossing.
I don't want to find you when I come back.
Where are we?
Half mile from Marcus Junction.
Thanks.
Forget the thanks.
Just beat it.
Before somebody inquisitive starts asking questions.
Yeah, don't they always?
The train rolls by slowing and the crossing bell warns that death is here.
I don't recognize it though.
I walked toward Marcus Junction.
Toward death.
In just a moment, Mr. Richard Widmark, in the first act of Too Hot to Live.
Well, hap, har the hobgoblins.
Well, Halloween isn't here yet, Harlow.
Soon will be, and that means the time has come to have your car made ready for the cold
driving days ahead.
And your friendly auto light spark plug dealer is the man to see.
What'll he do, Harlow?
Why, your auto light spark plug dealer will winterize your car, put in antifreeze, change
the oil and grease.
And check the spark plugs too.
Thanks, Johnny Plug Check, for a worry saving reminder.
Because spark plugs are the very heart of your car's ignition system.
These are better than ever.
You mean spark plugs need winterizing too?
They sure do, hap.
And that's why it pays to have your auto light spark plug dealer replace worn out spark
plugs with world famous ignition engineered auto light spark plugs.
Auto light spark plugs, you know, are ignition engineered to operate as a perfect team with
your car's ignition system.
That's why you can't buy better spark plugs for your car than auto light.
So folks, see your friendly auto light spark plug dealer.
Remember, you're always right with auto light.
And now with Too Hot to Live and the performance of Mr. Richard Widmark, auto light hopes once
again to keep you in suspense.
The sun is 11 o'clock high and starting to pucker the tar road leading into Marcus Junction.
I'm heading in.
Sweats beginning to streak through the old sun tan uniform and my shoes are sucking tar
every time I lift them.
The sole of one boot busts loose and starts flapping against the road.
That's bad.
A drifter needs a good pair of shoes and I'm on the drift.
Marcus Junction, no different than a thousand others like it.
About a mile square of small buildings all pasted together.
I walk a couple of blocks without finding a shoemaker.
The town's almost empty this Saturday morning.
And then a door opens ahead of me and a big man steps out.
Really big both ways, big high, big wide.
He's wearing steel rimmed glasses screwed up tight above the pug nose of his round face.
And six full inches of hat brim circle the pink flesh like a halo.
All right, good morning, son.
My name's Benjamin, Benjamin Maxwell.
Oh, good morning, Mr. Maxwell.
Benjamin, son.
Call me Benjamin.
That's the handle that shakes this pump.
What's yours, boy?
Jeff Casey.
Jeffrey or Jefferson?
Jefferson.
Jefferson.
That's a good name.
Yeah, now look, don't think I'm changing the subject, but where can I get this fixed,
Benjamin?
Well, pretty socks.
Yeah, they are at that.
But who take care of this shoe?
I'm going down to Stacey's for a coke.
Shoe fixtures right next door.
Come along, Jefferson.
As we turn to walk, I see his left side, gun holstered high up on his hip and the gold star
with the word sheriff glinting in the sunlight.
Still wearing your old army clothes.
I hear those duds wear like iron.
You just throw them away when they start to rust.
Uniforms wear forever.
These have seen their last war.
What were you in, boy?
Air Corps, captain.
Pretty uniforms, sweet pay and lots of respect.
You miss it, Jefferson?
Maybe I do.
What are you looking for now?
I'm not looking for anything, just living, more or less.
Oh, man ought to find more to do with his life than that.
It's all the same to me.
I could die today and it wouldn't make any difference.
You got a bad taste in your mouth, but you'll spit it out someday.
See, how do you like this weather?
If it gets any warmer, it'll be almost too hot to live.
In a manner of speaking, you understand?
Yeah, I understand.
Here's the shoe repair.
I'll be next door.
Leave your shoes and waddle in on them pretty socks of yours.
I'll buy you a drink, Coke or coffee.
The shoemaker tells me that my shoes will take a couple of hours so I start next door
to join Benjamin.
I don't know, maybe I'm feeling pretty good, but I pull an old schoolboy trick of mine.
I take off my socks, roll them up and throw them on the counter with my shoes.
Then I walk outside to feel the cool shaded cement prickle up through the bottom of my
bare feet.
Through the store window next door, I see the four people in the restaurant.
Benjamin waves for me to come in.
Inside the entrance, a blonde waitress is arguing with a tall sliver of a man who's
showing about three inches of wrist and shin bone below the edges of his clothes.
The squat moon-faced grill man has his Popeyes focused intently on the argument.
I go in, walk over to Benjamin and sit on the next stool.
Oh, Jefferson.
Hi, Benjamin.
Came for that coffee.
In a minute.
Rachel's about finished.
I had somewhere else, Pop.
Let me alone now.
I'm busy.
And all her sins must find her out.
He's a Jezebel and kin only to the devil.
Yeah, I know.
I'm busy.
He's a Jezebel and kin only to the devil.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
You'll find it on the menu next week.
Now, find yourself a street corner.
Get it out of your system.
Oh, you are bad.
Bad beyond all hope.
See you around, Pop.
I don't hope.
The girl plays rough.
Oh, that's just Rachel's way, Jefferson.
Hey, I see you lean to bare feet.
What's your friend having, Buster?
Benjamin, Rachel.
May be smart to tack nicknames on people.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
May be smart to tack nicknames on people, but my folks figured me for a Benjamin, and
I'd like it that way.
Sure, Buster.
Let it be, soldier.
Black coffee, lady.
And don't let the uniform throw you.
I'm no soldier anymore.
The Hollywood line of her mouth twists up into a lopsided kind of inviting grin as she
turns to get the coffee.
I watch the dark shadows that follow the rippling lines of her uniform when she moves.
Rachel is quite a woman.
All woman.
Coffee.
Barefoot.
Like you, soldier.
Your friend's real pretty, Buster.
You think everybody's pretty.
He's a doll.
You be around long, soldier?
Long enough to get my shoes fixed, Rachel.
Rachel.
You know, that name doesn't go with you.
It's a name.
Too bad you're moving on soon.
New faces are scarce around here.
Especially one like yours.
Well, I've got some law to enforce.
Will I see you before you go, Jefferson?
I'll find you, Benjamin.
Do that, boy.
I'm afraid to face that heat out there.
Now, you behave yourself, Rachel.
Yes, well.
You like playing it tough?
Under it all beats the heart of gold.
Tell me what it's like in the world outside, soldier.
Hey, Rachel, why don't you put up some more coffee?
Tend to your bacon lover.
I got company.
Your boyfriend?
Lover boy, there?
No, that's Kenny.
He's keeping company with a hot grill.
You're hardening to talk about me like that, Rachel.
Not very nice.
Well, then don't bother me while I'm with my friends.
Hey, soldier, I'm off about now.
Let you and me go out to the carnival for a couple hours, huh?
Hey, you.
You let her alone.
Don't you go with her, you hear?
Yeah, I hear, Kenny.
Well, I'd like to, Rachel, but how do I go barefoot?
Oh, I forgot.
Got any other ideas?
Yeah, matter of fact, I live upstairs over this greasy spoon.
Let's go up and mix ourselves something cool while we wait for your shoes.
You can't do that.
It is nice.
It don't look right.
Don't it?
Come on, let's go, Rachel.
Don't you?
No, you can't.
I'll stop you.
Go hash some potatoes, lover.
My arms, soldier.
No, no, Rachel.
Hey, look, I'll get someone to tend here.
I'll come right up.
You do, and I'll barbecue you on your own grill.
We go out and my feet scruff over the shaded pavement as we pass through the doorway on
the left.
I follow her up a flight of stairs and into a small box-like apartment, living room, bedroom,
kitchen, and bathroom.
Be it ever so humble, this is home.
Let's kick out a wall or something.
The windows don't help much, but the drinks will.
Hey, why do you have to lean into the kitchen?
Why not just walk in?
Fresh varnish on the floor.
The heat don't let it dry.
It's a long reach for a long drink.
It's a long day.
Well, here you go, soldier.
Don't you believe in mixing anything with your liquor?
Wherefore, the cubes will melt.
What do we drink to, soldier?
The heat?
The heat.
Cools you off, don't it?
It burns its way down my stomach and explodes.
That's good, soldier.
My pores open and the perspiration oozes down.
Here, let's have another.
She's still talking, but I'm going numb.
Let's drink to my conscience.
The heat.
No food I shouldn't be drinking.
You're really...
Who cares?
You're a real piece of shit.
I'm getting foggy.
She's drifting closer.
I don't know who kisses who first.
Bitter tears, tears of loneliness and regret.
Let's drink to us this time.
Everything's moving around.
Us.
Like feathers in the high wind.
You're a real piece of shit.
Sometimes one drifts in through the fog.
We're drinking.
How many?
I don't know.
Another drink.
Breathing, sucking down scorchy air.
Hot, damp waves of heat suffocating.
Wimsy, filthy.
Here's another glass.
Scorch.
Can smell perfume cheap like tin earrings.
Black rolling in.
Black velvet.
And the shimmering heat wavering like plucking a taut string.
Wavering, wavering, wavering.
There's a steady sound, sharp, smart little cracks.
I tear my eyelids apart and a flash of ceiling whirrs by.
A purple-red mass is coming toward my face and when it hits, there's a sound in the ceiling
moving the other way.
Laugh this off.
Laugh now, I don't...
A frozen kind of pain is seeping through to my brain and I can make out a voice now.
Then laugh.
I want to hear you laugh.
I get my hand up to my face and I wipe my eyes.
Come on, wake up.
My hand comes away wet.
Can you hear me?
Sticky and red.
The ugly purple mass comes.
Wake now.
Swell.
I got something for you.
Leave me alone.
There, in the corner of the kitchen.
See how she's lying there?
Take your hands off me.
That's how I found her.
You're a real piece of shit.
I'm not a piece of shit.
I'm a piece of shit.
You beside her and your filthy hands still tied around her throat.
What's the matter with my hands?
It's sticky.
Wet.
That's varnish and blood, your blood.
See that knife in her hand?
She cut you trying to stop you.
You killed her.
You killed Rachel.
He doesn't make any kind of sense.
The bathroom door's open and I staggered toward it, stepping on broken glass, pain stinging,
remembering bare feet.
The open shower waiting for me.
I turn the handle of the cold water and I half throw myself into the shock of the stream.
I'm coming alive.
Reaction's sick.
Fright.
He said I killed him.
Hey, Saris.
Benjamin.
Hey, Benjamin, come up here.
I got a dirty killer for you.
That lousy friend of yours killed Rachel.
Come and get him.
Kenny's shot.
He's shouting out the window in the other room to Benjamin.
I gotta get away.
I gotta think.
What happened?
What?
I get through the bathroom window out into the glare of the sun.
My feet hit the scalding tar of the marquee.
I scramble across it, drop to the street, a narrow alley, and I'm running down it toward
the fence that blocks off the far end.
A garbage can near the fence and a woman putting something into it.
I jump, reaching for the fence.
Hey, what do you think you're doing?
Let me go.
Let go.
Pick up that garbage, you crazy...
Let go.
I didn't do it.
What do you mean?
I saw you kick it over.
I'm not gonna clean up that mess.
I didn't kill her.
Take your hands off me.
Why would I kill Rachel?
Why would you kill...
All right, Jefferson.
Come along and tell me why you killed Rachel.
Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Richard Widmark in Too Hot to Live, tonight's production in
Radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspend.
Hey, Hap, did you hear about the wise witch?
What about her, Harlow?
She brought her broom in for a tune up.
The Auto Light spark plug dealer tightened the straws, tightened the handles...
And checked the spark plugs too.
He would have if that broom had had them, Johnny Plug Check.
Spark plugs are the heart of a car's ignition system, one of the keys to efficient engine
operation.
And did the witch understand, Harlow?
Why sure, Hap, being a sage sorceress, she knew all about ignition engineered Auto Light
spark plugs, the spark plugs that are world famous for quality and dependability.
Why she even knew that Auto Light spark plugs are used as original factory equipment on
many leading makes of America's finest cars and trucks.
Did she know it pays to have spark plugs winterized too?
She sure did, Hap, and she knew the place to go was to her friendly Auto Light spark plug
dealer.
Because he can put in antifreeze, change grease and oil...
And check the spark plugs too.
Yes, folks, see your friendly Auto Light spark plug dealer and have worn out spark plugs
replaced with ignition engineered Auto Light spark plugs.
And whether you choose the resistor type or the standard type, you can be sure you can't
buy better spark plugs for your car because you're always right with Auto Light.
And now Auto Light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage, Mr. Richard Woodmark, in Elliot
Lewis's production of Too Hot to Live, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Benjamin is leading me out into the sweltering street again.
The sun burns into my flesh, accusing as if to cause the murder to flow out of my open
pores.
And Benjamin walks beside me again, not holding me, just talking, asking questions which I
can't answer.
Why'd you do it, son?
I didn't kill her, Benjamin.
I don't remember, but I know I didn't kill her.
You don't sound sure, Jefferson.
Don't you know?
Well, we were drinking.
I blacked out.
Drunk unconscious.
You could still move around.
You could do what was done in that apartment.
But I couldn't.
Why would I want to do that?
Maybe you played too rough.
Maybe she tried to stop you, cut you with a knife.
Why did you run away?
I was scared.
Kenny said my hands were around her throat.
Well, I have to lock you up, and then I'll go back and have a good look around.
Maybe I'll find something.
And if you don't?
Rachel's dead, Jefferson.
Wasn't premeditated, but that don't excuse it.
She's still dead.
They'll try to hang me.
Why can't I remember what happened, what led to this?
The sweat's rolling down Benjamin's forehead, collecting along the top of his glasses, sliding
into his eyes.
They smart and snap shut.
He has to stop, try to rub the sting away.
I slap out his glasses, knocking them off his face and grab for his gun.
His arm comes down fast, hard, chopping at my hand, numbing the arm to the shoulder,
and the gun falls to the road.
I run, hobbling up and down, lopsided, trying to get away from Benjamin and from the burning
and torn feet under me.
Come back.
You can't get far.
I'll get you anyway.
I'm running again down the burning streets, out to the end of town toward the railroad.
I run till my legs slide away from under me, and then I crawl, dragging a body that has
no feeling, a dead weight that robs my arms of their strength.
Then finally, finally steel rails glisten ahead as I lay sprawled out, my heart and
lungs going crazy in my body.
Something starts down in my chest, spreads up to my throat, spilling out of my mouth.
I've had enough!
An hour has passed, and the sun is moving away toward the west.
No trains have passed, but it's all right.
I know what I have to do now.
Find Kenny, in one way or another, forcing to tell the truth, for he must be lying.
I lick my handkerchief and I wipe the dried blood off my hands and feet.
I comb my hair, I throw away the army shirt and move back to town.
Stepping gently, I make my way up the back streets to the restaurant, pulling my pants
down low to cover as much of my bare feet as possible as I step inside.
There's a stranger behind the counter.
Well howdy.
Hi.
Say, where is everybody in this town?
Almost out at the carnival.
Some are looking for a killer roaming around.
Yeah, I heard about him.
Heard he was picked up a couple of miles off.
Good deal.
You know, Rachel worked here.
Yeah, I know.
Say, where's Kenny?
Oh, he's out at the Clovis place.
He wanted to be the one to tell Rachel's folks about, you know.
Sure, sure.
Well, I guess I ought to go out there and pick him up.
I don't know the place too well.
How do I get there?
Just follow this road down.
About a half a mile out of town, you'll find a dirt cutoff.
Can't miss the mailbox.
Thanks.
Say, if you miss him, who'll I say was asking?
Just tell him his cousin Jim was here.
Well, pleased to have met...
Hey, you ain't wearing shoes.
You, you're the one.
You're the killer.
Run, run, run again.
Another alley, blistering pavement, cement ripping in the jagged rocks again.
Time's running out, too.
Running out.
Benjamin will know where I'm going.
Out to the main highway, pants pulled low, thumb up in the air.
Here comes my ride.
He's got to stop.
He's got to.
Stop, please.
Applin, son.
Oh, thanks.
Thanks, mister, thanks a lot.
You're welcome, but I'm not going far.
Well, I'm just going out to the Clovis farm.
I know the place.
Why are you going there now?
I'm a cousin at Kenny's.
I'm going to meet him out there.
I don't please you.
I'm visiting from back east.
You're not wearing shoes.
Yeah, that's a silly thing, isn't it?
I lost my shoes while wading barefoot in a stream.
Didn't help my feet any.
What stream is that, fella?
Well, you know the one.
I don't know the name of it.
It's out there in the woods.
Oh, yeah.
I think I know the one.
This is the dirt road you want.
House is over the rise.
Thanks again.
I'll see you.
I limp up the rising dirt path.
At the top, I turn for a look at my ride.
He's swinging around toward town.
Benjamin will get to me soon.
An old two-story farmhouse rises out of the cleared fields
around me.
A big gray barn stands off near the house,
and two old cars are sitting empty behind it.
Kenny's got to come to one of them.
I wait.
Time, still running out and away from me.
Little shimmering waves of heat rise off
the tin hoods of the cars.
Here he comes, now or never.
Hey!
Help!
Quiet!
Quiet or I'll break your back.
I want the truth, Kenny.
The truth, and I have to kill you for it.
I didn't kill Rachel.
You did!
I didn't!
I didn't!
You killed her.
You were crazy jealous.
No!
Yes!
You came to check up.
You found us drunk, and you got wild.
You killed her.
I didn't.
I can prove it.
How can you prove it?
That wasn't three minutes from the time
I left the restaurant and the time I called Benjamin.
Not enough time to get up there, kill her,
and bring you around.
Three minutes.
I can prove it.
That's all the time.
You did it.
You have cut hands from a knife.
Those hands were still around her throat when I came in.
You killed Rachel.
And there it is.
He isn't lying about the three minutes.
That gloating smirk in his face tells me that.
I had killed her.
The horror of this afternoon had been for nothing.
I tried to save my life, and instead, I proved myself guilty.
Tied the rope, finally, and for all time, around my neck.
Shoot him!
Don't you stand there.
Shoot!
He's the man who killed your daughter!
He stands there watching, the gaunt sliver
of a man with shins and freshly scarred wrists
exposed below the edges of his clothing.
A double-barreled shotgun is cradled in his arms,
but he just looks at me, a wild fire striking out
of the black pupils of his eyes.
Shoot him!
He killed your daughter!
He killed Rachel!
So you're her father.
I thought it was just another nickname.
She was no daughter of mine.
She was born to me, and I named her Rachel from the Bible.
But she was the daughter of Satan.
I'm sorry, Mr. Clover.
Go on, shoot him!
Because of him, Rachel's dead.
She ran away from me, but within me, the voice was strong.
I followed her, begging to the place where she lived.
I'm sorry.
I was drunk, crazy.
In that apartment, the stench of drink like an evil cloud,
you lying there, drunk with the devil's fever.
You were there, shut up, you crazy old fool.
And it came to me, like a voice from on high,
I knew what I must do.
You killed her.
It wasn't me, it was you.
Now you did it.
Why couldn't you give your master?
And you knew he did it, Kenny.
You tried to make me believe that I'd been the one.
Why?
You, you and tramps like you, always keeping her from me,
coming along every time.
I couldn't know this, Kenny.
You didn't care.
You laughed at me.
You made Rachel laugh at me.
I passed the old man when I went up.
I knew as soon as I walked into the room.
You tried to blame it on me.
Why not?
Wasn't a crazy old go-to killer.
Now you killed her, and you'll die for it.
Give me that gun, old man.
No, Kenny, not now.
Come on, turn around, soldier.
No, turn around and see it when it happens.
Put up your gun, Kenneth.
No.
No.
Get up, Jefferson.
We'll go home now.
The sun is moving down low in the skies,
and a cool light breeze has come up from somewhere.
I'm leaning back on the front seat beside Benjamin,
breathing deeply, evenly, feeling the goodness of just
living seep through.
In the back seat, old man Clovis sits, staring ahead,
not even aware of the blanket-wrapped body of Kenny
lying on the floor at his feet.
If you hadn't been so eager to run,
I could have saved your feet a lot of wear.
I knew you weren't a murderer, son.
You knew?
I went back to the apartment.
Old stories there in the varnish on the kitchen floor.
No bare feet around the body, but lots
of hobnailed boot prints.
You cut your hand on broken glass in the living room,
and it bled.
And I was running.
You can stop running now, son.
Stay here in town with us, huh?
There's lots for you to do.
Thanks.
It's been quite a day, Benjamin.
Sure has been a scorcher.
Glad to see the sun going down.
On a day like this, it's almost too hot to live.
No, don't say that, Benjamin.
It never gets that hot.
["The Star-Spangled Banner"]
Suspense presented by Auto Light.
Tonight's star, Mr. Richard Widmark.
Hey, Hap, did you hear about the ghost
who got stiff on Halloween?
How come, Harlow?
The laundry starched his sheet.
Oh, that must have been corn starch.
Well, this is no corn, Hap.
It's good advice.
Get your car tuned up and winterized now.
And remember, Auto Light makes more than 400 products
for cars, trucks, planes, and boats in 28 plants
coast to coast.
These include complete electrical systems
used as original equipment on many of America's finest cars.
Generators, coils, distributors, voltage regulators,
wire and cable, starting motors, and electric windshield wipers.
All engineered to work together perfectly
as part of the Auto Light team.
All engineered to give you unexcelled Auto Light service.
Don't accept electrical parts supposed to be as good.
Ask for and insist on Auto Light original factory parts
at your neighborhood service station, car dealer, garage,
or repair shop.
Remember, you're always right with Auto Light.
Mr. Widmark may currently be seen in the 20th Century Fox
production, Daryl F. Zanuck's No Way Out.
Next week on Suspense, Mr. Herbert Marshall
as star of Victoria Cross.
And in weeks to come, you will hear such famous stars
as William Holden, Cary Grant, Ozzie Nelson, and Harriet
Hilliard, all appearing in tales well calculated
to keep you in Suspense.
Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis,
with music composed by Lucian Morrowek
and conducted by Lud Bluskin.
Too Hot to Live was written for Suspense by Sam Ralph.
And remember next week on Suspense, Mr. Herbert Marshall
in Victoria Cross.
You can buy world famous Auto Light resistor type
or standard type spark plugs, Auto Light staple batteries,
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