And now, tonight's presentation of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Tonight, we bring you the story of a man who wanted to become important and the crime he
committed to accomplish it.
So now, starring Mr. Tony Barrett with Mr. William Conrad, here is tonight's Suspense
play, The Man Who Threw Acid.
He was a young man serving his second year in the city assembly.
And because he believed in honest government, he wanted to enact restraining legislation
against the racketeers.
At first, the older men, the wheels of the political machine laughed at him, patted him
on the back, gave him a cigar.
They liked him because he reminded them of their lost ideals wasted in urges.
And then, they began to listen to him, wondering.
The young assemblyman said in council, I wasn't elected to this office to see my wife and
kids or anybody else's wife and kids dictated to by the racketeers and the hoodlums in this
city.
That's what's happening.
Dope, gambling, mugging, the protection racket started again.
If the chief of police won't or can't do anything about it, I say we should.
Make laws.
Put teeth in them.
Get rid of the big boys who run the rackets and we'll have a clean city.
It wasn't a brilliant speech, not in content or in delivery, but it made its point.
And the young assemblyman kept on making his point.
The older, wiser city fathers began to take notice, so did the press, and so did the big
boys, the racketeers, and the man who was considered the boss called a meeting.
There was no red tape involved, no orders on triplicate, a simple direct edict from
the top.
And the organization was such that by seven o'clock that evening, the highland had been
cleaned.
His name was Steve Clyburn, a thin pasty-faced man of 42 who looked no more than 35.
He lived on the fringes of gangster society and like so many of his kind, was still considered
a punk.
He was desperately trying to gain a total before it was too late because a middle-aged
punk is the lowest form of underworld life, a lackey.
The boss's contact explained the situation about the assemblyman.
That's a snap, Steve.
Just throw acid in his face and beat him?
Yeah, that's it.
Two hundred?
For doing nothing.
You, uh, you get the acid for me.
Sure, sure, Steve.
You put the finger on him?
Ah, it'll be all set.
There's nothing else to it?
I told you.
Uh, the assembly guy is, uh, important.
Ah, look, you want the job.
It's none of your business, Hock.
I'm just the one doing it.
Well, I'm just thinking maybe.
You're very busy, Steve.
I'm just thinking maybe.
You're very busy, Steve.
I'm just thinking maybe.
If it is kind of important and you want me, maybe you put in a word for me, huh?
With the boss, maybe?
Oh, now, Steve, the boss don't know anything about this.
It's a private grudge.
Oh.
Okay, sure.
You, uh, gonna pay me now?
Half now.
The other hundred when you've done it.
Yeah.
Okay.
I'll pay you.
following a too rich dinner.
The assemblyman sat up late into the night writing the draft of an anti-racketeer speech
to be made at Rotary the next day.
[♪ dramatic music playing in background.
A week later, Klaiber received a phone call.
He was told to meet his contact in the park at eleven o'clock.
He went to the designated place.
[♪ phone ringing.
Hi Steve. You're on time. That's good.
You're gonna get a head boy.
You don't like being late.
Here's the stuff from this bag.
I'll send a pint jar with a wide mouth. That way you won't have as much chance missing.
Oh, you better wear a glove too. You don't want to get burned.
There's a glove in the bag.
Are you right handed?
Mm. Lefty.
So we're in the left hand. It won't matter.
What do I do with it?
Five, five thirty.
Today?
Yeah.
What?
You'll be coming out of the athletic club. He's got a six o'clock appointment.
He'll leave the club about five, five thirty.
Eh, how am I gonna know?
Pictures. Here.
Take a look at them.
Yeah.
Now he looks like these pictures so you won't have to worry. You can't miss him.
Mm.
Yeah. Can I keep these?
Yeah.
What do I do after I told her stuff?
Litch the bottle. Break it.
And don't touch it without you wearing a glove.
No prints on them.
Okay. Then what?
Take off.
You ain't gonna have a car to pick me up?
Ah, it's too risky. Cars can be traced. Someone sees the license.
You shouldn't have any trouble though. It's a quiet street. Buildings...
You know what it is, isn't it? Corner.
Yeah, yeah.
Okay, you're right off the main drag. Just get lost in the crowd and don't run.
By the time anyone figures out what happened, you ought to be home.
Hey, it seems to me I'm taking some chance for a lousy two hundred.
I thought I gave you. I got somebody else...
No, wait, wait. It's okay.
But I sure hope you guys appreciate the risk I'm taking.
We appreciate it.
Or in Steve.
Yeah.
Something should go wrong. Like, uh...
Like say you do get picked up. You don't talk.
No names. Not even mine.
Sure. My buddy gets me to talk.
That's my boy. Well, I'll be seeing you.
You come around to the bar for your doll when it's finished and I'll leave it there for you.
He had six hours to kill before doing the job.
Standing outside the entrance to the park, he was undecided. Six hours.
And he moved casually to the bus stop and correctly, obediently took his place in line behind three other passengers as the bus pulled in.
A very ordinary man carrying a paper sack and which was a jar of acid and a glove.
He went to a favorite hangout, a bar at the east end of town, not because he needed a drink.
He wasn't nervous, but rather because he hoped to run into some of the boys or he wouldn't tell them anything.
But he'd let them understand that he was onto something big.
Hey, what do you say, Harry?
Steve.
Any of the boys been in?
Not early. What's it going to be? You want a beer?
Nothing like that. Something fancy. I'm celebrating, boy. Give me something fancy.
What do you want?
Oh, I don't know.
Something with bourbon. Good bourbon.
Soda? Water?
Old fashioned. With everything in it. Make it old fashioned.
Oh, make one for yourself, Harry. And me.
Too early.
Come on, help me celebrate.
I never celebrate until after five.
Well, at five I'm going to be tied up. I'm sorry. At five I got an appointment. Big appointment.
Uh-huh.
How are you, Harry?
Morning, Lou. How's everything?
Couldn't be better.
Fine.
What do you say, Lou?
Oh, Steve.
Well, you've been keeping yourself.
No, not. Hey, hurry up. Break a quarter for me. I've got to make a phone call.
Yeah, sure.
How about joining me, Lou? Old fashioned?
Why not?
That's a good drink.
So, Lou, got any good tips?
Here's your change, Lou.
Oh, thanks.
Lou?
What?
I say anything good in one of the day.
Thought I'd put 50 across the board. I figured you'd get 50 bucks, punk.
You know, it's funny the way you guys call me. That's really funky.
Old fashioned. 65 cents.
Huh? Oh, sure. Sure. Thanks, Harry. Hope you can change your 20. It's the smallest I got.
Yeah, Lou, that's what it is.
Hearing you guys call me punk is pretty funny.
You've got loads of prize coming to you, boy.
Yeah? Well, I'll live.
Thanks, Harry.
It's okay. Forget the tip, Lou. I just thought I'd do you a favor.
Give you a fin if the horse comes through. But from now on, I do my business uptown direct.
You do that.
Never that guy, you hear? Small time and he's calling me...
Oh, it's good old fashioned, Harry. That's the best.
You sure know how to make them, all right?
Uh-huh.
The drink was too sweet. He didn't like it. But it was gulp down.
He wanted to show them the bottle of acid. Tell them. That would make them know he wasn't a punk anymore.
Instead, he pocketed his change and sonnered out.
There was little better than five hours to kill. So he went to a movie.
It was a triple feature. And when he came out, blinking in the strong sunlight, the time was four o'clock.
Holding the paper sack carefully, he took a bus uptown and noted the traffic was getting heavy.
At 4.30, he walked past the athletic club and into a drug store across the street.
Sitting at the counter, he leaped through a detective magazine and drank two large cokes.
The assemblyman had played handball, taken a shower, and by five o'clock was dressed and on his way out.
His companion suggested a cocktail, but because of his appointment at six, he baked off.
I wish I could, but it'll take me an hour to get out there. I'll take a rain check for next week.
So long. Say hello to the wife and kid.
Steve Kleiber was waiting outside the drug store when the assemblyman emerged from the athletic club.
He recognized the man immediately and crossed the street.
By the time the assemblyman reached his car and was unlocking the door, Kleiber was behind him.
The jar held firmly in his gloved hand. There was no one else in sight.
Hey, mister. Yes? Here's something for you.
Steve Kleiber didn't see the assemblyman clawing at his face.
He dashed the jar to the street and ran to the corner and a moment was lost among the five o'clock homecoming crowds.
He felt pride in the smoothness of his accomplishment. His nerve had held up.
He proved himself as a man to be trusted.
Any punk could do a good job with a gun, but he had performed a task that was not easy to do.
He had performed a task that few men could have done better.
Cold, sure, perfect timing.
He went home to his girl and as he relived the moment in telling, he felt himself become flushed, hot with excitement.
So I figured it out, see, just like a shotgun. You know how when you shoot a shotgun the lead spreads out?
So I figured the same with the acid. Get close enough, just close enough so it won't spread.
I was three feet, three feet. That's when I said, hey mister, and he turned around.
Boy, he could have put me on the Olympics the way I took off. You should have seen the guard.
I'm glad I didn't.
Huh? Honey, I'm just telling you that...
What's an awful thing doing a thing like that?
I don't get you. It's a job, that's all.
How come you didn't tell me that's what you were going to do?
Why should I tell you it's none of your business? I tell you now because I thought you'd be interested.
I'm not.
Well, that's a fine thing.
I'm hungry. Let's go eat.
No, no. I'll figure it out in a couple of days, lay low, just to be sure, you know.
Now look, you go on down to Delicatessen and get some stuff.
Then Lady can go down to Harry's and pick up a hundred bucks for me.
He'll be there.
By seven o'clock the extras were on the street.
By ten that night the entire city knew what had happened.
And the man who had ordered it to happen, the boss, was at home smoking a cigar, reading.
His wife came in and said...
I just heard the news on the radio.
What news?
Some man threw acid in somebody's face.
He's a representative or a senator or something in the city.
No kidding.
Gee, that's terrible. Awful.
Boy, I hope they get him, the man that did it.
Yeah.
And a phone call came in to the boss on his private line.
He listened for a long time. His cigar went out.
He looked puzzled.
You still there?
Yeah, yeah, I'm here.
Oh.
Well, it's like I said.
He ain't dead, but it might be better if he was.
The cops are really out tonight.
Who did the job?
Oh, some punk. Steve Clyburn.
Does he know anything?
No, I don't think so.
I had a good boy give him the word.
Then we're in the clear.
Don't worry, in a couple of days it'll quiet down.
But the boss was disturbed.
His wife's reaction disturbed him.
The phone call, what he'd heard himself on the newscast disturbed him.
The violent act had all the earmarks of a boomerang.
Rather than instilling fear, the purpose for which the deed was done,
it had brought out swift and great anger.
Clyburn was worried too.
His girl had gone to the bar and returned empty-handed.
The second hundred-dollar installment of his payment was not there.
His contact had not been seen that day.
The next morning a reward of $5,000 was posted for the apprehension of the man who threw acid.
And by afternoon the prize money had risen to $12,000.
Clyburn read the newspapers that night and was frightened.
Listen, honey, I'd better get out of here.
Some of these rats get an idea to turn me into that kind of dorm in trouble.
Yeah, maybe you'd better.
Look, honey, you get out of Harry's again.
I need that hundred bucks.
I'll have to get out of town for a while.
What's the use? He ain't going to be there.
They made you a sucker.
After all I've done for you crazy, a nice clean job...
Listen, I'm going to hide out in old places in town here.
Until you get the dough for me.
How can I get it?
Well, try, will you?
Here's a flop house. I'll write you down the address.
If I'm not there, I'll be in the Grand Theater.
You know where it is.
I know.
Okay, if anybody asks you to see me, you say no.
I left town, all right?
Okay.
Hey, what about me?
What will I do for money?
Honey, I gave you ten bucks yesterday.
Well, it might take a couple of days to get your hundred.
Yeah, all right, here.
Here's twenty. I can't give you more.
All right.
Now, look, you won't let me down, kid.
You'll find them. You'll get me the dough.
What do you want me to do? Write it in blood?
All right, all right. Thanks, honey.
I'll make it up to you.
I'll bet.
I'll see you.
What a dirty little punk.
At first, only a handful of people knew who had done the job.
The boss, a half a dozen of his associates,
the contact man, and Clyber's girl.
And then the bookmaker Lou remembered the incident
with Clyber and Harry's bar.
Howie?
Yeah, another of the same.
Oh, a minute.
Hey, uh, you seen Steve Clyber around the last couple of days?
No.
I was just wondering.
Oh.
Remember the day he was in two, three days back?
The day the guy got a face full of acid?
Remember him talking big, flashing a twenty?
Yeah.
Oh, what do you think?
I'll tell you, his girl's been a few times
looking for an envelope he's supposed to get.
She's been asking for someone, if that means anything.
Yeah.
You know what the reward is?
Lest I heard $12,000.
Twenty.
It's a big stink.
I wouldn't want to be in that guy's shoes.
If Steve did it, I wouldn't want to be in his shoes.
Oh, me neither.
The police had no leads,
but they had an aroused city on their side.
They weren't working alone.
Every citizen was a potential ally.
Every news agency a powerful voice.
The reward mounted, and a week it had reached $40,000.
The money was offered for the city by indignant groups and individuals.
Clyber was no longer a punk.
He was a dangerous animal, a big man.
And he waited in dark places, waited for his girl to bring him $100
so that he could run further to get away.
The police, the district attorney's office began asking questions, lots of questions,
and they started with the boss.
They weren't playing games now.
Why do you keep after me?
I don't know anything about it.
Some nut probably who doesn't like it, no smoking law or something.
Why don't you guys lay off me?
But they didn't lay off him, and he knew something had to be done, done quickly.
He called his associates together.
His city is not healthy with Clyber running around loose.
I get the feeling we better get to him before the cops do.
He might know something.
If he starts talking, we're all in trouble.
It shouldn't be hard.
Must be a dozen guys on the look-for-him right now.
$40,000 ain't hate.
I don't want him turned in.
I want him killed.
Yeah.
Well, we'll get on it right away.
It took three hours and the word was out.
To every petty racketeer, hoodlum gunman, the word was, find Clyber.
If you turn him into the cops, we'll get you.
Just find him and pass the word to the right man.
You'll get paid off.
The boss wanted him dead, not alive.
Clyber hadn't heard from his girl for two days.
In desperation, he took a chance and telephone Harry's bar.
Asked for the contact man.
Harry said...
That's you, Steve?
Yeah, Harry, yeah, it's me. Is he there?
Where are you?
Never mind. Is he there?
Wait a minute.
Hello?
This is Steve. Listen, I want that money.
I've got to have it. What are you trying to pull?
Well, I don't get excited, kid.
We had a little trouble at Laylaw. I'm sorry about it.
Where are you, Steve? I'll get it to you right away.
Never mind where I am. You give it to your girl?
Well, Steve, I would, except haven't you heard?
She left town yesterday. She's gone off the coast.
Now, Steve, why don't you tell me where you are and I'll get...
He was afraid. More afraid than he'd ever been in his life.
He'd read the papers. The whole city was after him.
And now we knew from the sound of that voice, they were after him, too.
There was nobody to trust now. His girl, everything gone.
And even in his fear, he still didn't quite understand why it was happening.
He'd done the job he'd been told to do, done it well.
And they'd all double-crossed him. The big boys.
He didn't understand. One thing he did know now, however, he was valuable.
He was worth money. But was it his life that was valuable?
Or perhaps they'd find him, kill him, and then turn him in.
The rewards didn't say anything about being alive.
As he left the cigar store, he didn't see the proprietor pick up the telephone.
Hello? This is Shackley on the corner fifth.
I thought you'd like to know Steve Kleiber was just in here making a phone call.
Yeah, he just went out walking east.
I'm in trouble. I'm in bad trouble.
Plunks, a lot of them double-crossed.
I'm in trouble, I'm scared.
I shouldn't be out like this. I've got to find some place to hide out.
Where? Where? They'll get me. They'll be looking. They'll get me.
And he felt safer walking because every place, any place that he might want to go,
a shelter, was now a trap.
He saw the police station at exactly the same moment he saw the black car around the corner
and a sixth sense told him what was about to happen.
He started to run toward the police station.
You cop! You give me protection!
I'm the guy who threw the acid.
I'm the guy.
Suspense.
In which Mr. Tony Barrett and Mr. William Conrad starred in tonight's presentation of
The Man Who Threw Acid.
Be sure to join us next Wednesday when we again bring you another presentation of
Radio's outstanding theater of thrills.
Suspense.
Suspense is produced and directed in Hollywood by Anthony Ellis.
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The Man Who Threw Acid.