Wiretap - Private Eye

Episode Date: July 20, 2020

Comedian Rob Corddry tells the story of a detective confronted with the biggest case of his career: a stolen soul. He'd heard of stolen hearts. Heck, he'd stolen plenty of those himself. But a stolen soul?

A lot of news podcasts give you information, the basic facts of a story. What's different about your world tonight is we actually take you there. Paul Hunter, CBC News, Washington. Margaret Evans, CBC News, Aleppo. Jerusalem. Ottawa. Prince Albert. Susan Ormiston, CBC News in Admiralty Bay, Antarctica.

Correspondents around the world, on the ground, and at the source where news is happening. So don't just know, go. Your world tonight from CBC News. Find us wherever you get your podcasts. This is a CBC podcast. You're listening to Wiretap with Jonathan Goldstein. On CBC Radio 1, today's episode, Private Eye, in which Jonathan is blinded, Michael Corleone pockets meatballs, and Rob Cordry solves crime.

Dental hygiene is key, and I don't stop brushing for no one, but I was smitten. A toothbrush frozen, clenched in my mouth like a thermometer, a thermometer reading 110 degrees. How'd you get into my office, I asked. You don't have a door, she said, and strictly speaking, this isn't an office. True debt. I was presently between offices and renting a cubicle at a local table. telemarketing firm. She introduced herself as Linda, but she had me at Lynn. The duh? Just gravy. Hot, scalding gravy. In her tight leopard-skinned chemise and black miniskirt,

Linda was the spinning image of a young Ricky Schroeder. Hot damn. That dazzling smile, that bold bust line that said, hey, what are you looking at? Stop looking at me. What are you, some kind of pervert? Officer, officer. And those legs. Linda had legs that went all the way from the Lachine Canal to the Gulf of the St. Laurent. Legs that ran down the D'Carry Expressway to the American border, that waited at the border with proper photo ID and continued on to the Hickory Farm parking lot in Plattsburgh, New York. In short, she was the most beautiful dame I'd ever seen. I want to hire you, she said.

How'd you hear about me? I asked, toothbrush still in my mouth, hopefully making me sound like Humphrey Bogart. I saw her ad in the Kroger weekly coupon circular, she said. The Kroger was where I advertised, ideal since I catered exclusively to coupon-cutting retirees and pensioners, oldsters looking for lost pocket watches and poodles named Brandy. What's the job, I asked? Someone's stolen my soul, she said, and I'd like it back. I'd heard of stolen hearts.

Heck, I'd stolen plenty of those myself. I should mention here I'm a handsome man, and a moustachioed, Semitic Tony Shalub sort of way. But a stolen soul? The case stank of metaphysics and liturgy. Souls ain't my beat, I said, uncertainly, because I really did want her to like me. Please, she said sweetly.

I had no idea what I was getting into. I was at a costume party when a man dressed in one-piece red pajamas and carrying a pitchfork asked me to sign some documents. I was tipsy and thought I'm an insurance salesman. Rather than sit through a long spiel about a crude income, I signed. Ever since, I feel soulless. Worse than reading gossip blogs all afternoon, I asked. Worse, she said.

Did you try listening to Gershwin? I asked. Rhapsody in Blue? Performed by Bernstein, she said. Not a single goose bump. Now this was clearly some sexy and fascinating stuff, but something worth knowing about me is that I'm both cowardly and incurious. Odd traits from my line of work, but they keep me safe, safe and alive. While my colleagues turn up in dumpsters, meat lockers, and in one case, a closed beach umbrella,

I have an uncanny knack for not getting dead. But back to my cowardliness. I'm a rotten coward and I don't care who knows it. In fact, a country singer friend of mine once celebrated my cowardice in a song called Stop Hiding Behind the Refrigerator so I can knock your teeth in. But just then, to my surprise, I sort of did care. I didn't want Linda to think I was yellow. All right, I said. I'll take the case. We exchanged cards, and then she flounced out of my cubicle.

I'd never seen anyone flounce before. Stomp, strut, swagger, and one-time crab walk. But flounce? Never. I kicked my legs up onto my desk and got to work. If I were a beautiful woman's soul, I mused, Where would I hide? To help my musing, I poured myself a glass of Diet Dr. Pepper and Crem de Mont.

It was my drink of choice, something I called a peppermint Diet Cream Supreme, poured myself a thermos lid full, then another, and another, and another, and another, and another. The text woke me up from under my desk where I was passed out in a tight ball. As I rarely received texts, my fingers being too pudgy and often too sticky with Crem de Mont for texting, I was scared. We have a nude photo of you, the text read. I texted the number back. Took me close to half an hour. I've never taken a nude picture in my life, I wrote.

I think you may have the wrong texting number. They wrote back immediately. You have a mole above your left knee and a Terminator 2 tramp stamp. Drop the case, and no one has to know about your chicken thighs or short. Schwarzenegger fetish. It was all true. What had I gotten myself into? Then followed another text. Contained a photo of my naked pinky toe. These guys meant business. How could this have happened? I'm very rarely undressed. The sight of my own naked body fills me with revulsion. For the three minutes in which I must bathe, I hop out of my clothing, make a mad scramble into the

shower. I didn't even check the water temperature or wash behind my ears. Don't scrub the private's too hard either for fear of vomiting. Yep, keep the eyes shut and imagine I'm standing at attention fully dressed, oftentimes in a majorette uniform, not sure why. Later that night in the middle of dinner at my parents where I currently reside, the phone rang. My mother called me over. It's your friend Linda, she said. She's not my friend, I hissed. No easy task hissing when you've a mile full of hummus. She's my client. I'm a professional, you know. My son, the professional, she said, spooning two more giant glops of hummus onto my plate. How did you get my number here? I asked into the receiver. It was on your business card, said Linda, right below your landlady's and

above your dentists. And never mind that. I'm in grave danger. We both are. We both are. I was in danger. Me, a man who had studiously avoided. to danger his whole life, a man who wore oven mitts to bed for fear of scratching himself in his sleep, a man who never ate trout unless he was dining with someone who knew the Henry Heimlich maneuver. You chew real sexy, Linda said, making me blush. Sounds like brisket. Is it brisket?

Indeed it was. Linda got me. But before I could answer, the line went dead. My mother offered me another slice of meat, and though my stomach was in agony, stoically, I accepted, along with a courageous third knish and macho helping of Barnishkas. I put my head in my hands. Think, I commanded myself. To aid in my thinking, I devoured another serving of Schmaltz Herring.

Suddenly there was a knock at the front door. My mother rushed over to answer it. Your friend's Rusty and Deutsche here, she said, returning to the kitchen. They want you to come outside to play. Mother, I whispered angrily, those men might very well be here to murder me. Well, she said, offer them soup. On the porch stood two of the largest men I'd ever seen. They were dressed immaculately, the collars of their dress shirts,

pointy enough to perforate my uterus. While I do know Kung Fu, what with the possibility of sprained wrists and personal lawsuits, I fear using it. Chop the wrong punk and watch your life savings go down the turlet like yesterday's yesterday's sea monkeys. Now, I prefer using the old Noggin. Check my oil, I'll say to a gas attendant, and then slam the hood over their head. Oldest trick in the book, called checkin the oil. Then there's the filler up, to clean my windshield, and the what's that clanking noise way in the back of my trunk that you'd better get inside of to hear. Unfortunately, these techniques

were less effective outside of gas stations. We're going for a drive, said the one in the bow-tined cashmere cardigan. Shotgun, I yelled. The horrible irony of my words filling my stomach with spiders of pain. We drove for close to an hour. Aside from my pointing out cows two or three times, the hour-long drive was spent in terrifying silence.

Then we stopped at a farmhouse. This is where it all ends, in a barn. Even the word barn, not at all for me, probably smells like a barn inside. Maybe a barn cat in there, too, possibly giving birth to a litter of barn kittens. I could only imagine. I did not want to die. I wanted to live. Oh, why hadn't I ever danced to the music of the Doobie Brothers in the spray of an open fire hydrant in the streets of Harlem?

Why hadn't I learned to play the Jew harp? Why hadn't I danced in the spray of a fire hydrant while playing a Jew harp? why so many things but now it was all too late and yet inside the barn rather than my own death was confronted by something worse

a billboard about three stories tall of myself naked in the monstrous photo I was lying down on a bearskin rug my goose bumped romp in the air for all to see

and with what a appeared to be, a rose in my teeth. It was all coming back to me, the ill-fated ad campaign I'd done for lactose intolerance, the tagline reading, nothing comes between me and my intolerance of milk. Or maybe it was dairy, my dairy air. Who can remember it was so long ago when I was a young and naive male model just starting out in the business. My agent assured me all the negatives have been destroyed.

A small, squirre man in capri pants and leather necktie suddenly appeared. snapping his cell phone shut he spoke linda might just be another case to you he said but she's more to me she's your babysitter i ventured she's my fiancee he said shooting me a mean look i've already booked us a disneyland fantasy wedding which has been a dream of mine since i was nothing more than a fancy lad goofy minnie the whole gang less soul the better get me it was you who stole her soul i cried make sure she drops the case he said. Otherwise, that nude of you is going to be up on the Villa Maria Expressway. He then grabbed a lump of my hip blubber and pinched it, and I broke into high-pitched hysterical sobs. I was led to the car and driven, sniffling and pouting, back to my parents. Seeing my condition, my mother prepared a plate of pinwheeled tam-tam crackers and chopped liver, which I ate with very little gusto. The very next morning I called up Linda and told her to meet me at my office,

and two hours later, in she flounced, as beautiful and perfect as ever. This is a fool's errand, I said. Souls are the transcendent aspect of a person. They're not physical, and cannot be lost or found. I've been up all night reading an intro to philosophy textbook that had been sitting on a bookshelf since my community college days, and I was doing my best. but it soon became clear I was in over my head. Thales of Meletus thought the soul was made of magnets, she countered.

That's pretty physical. Magnets, I said, incredulous. If that were true, soul music tapes would spontaneously erase themselves. Linda moved in closer. People lose 21 grams when they die, she said. It's because the soul has physical weight. And who do you know who's ever died on a scale, I asked? She waved her arm dismissively.

Read the Stoics, she said, her voice now sultry. They believed the soul was corporeal and diffused throughout our body. Just think, you've got a little soul here. She reached out her finger and touched my cheek. And a little soul there. She ran her finger down my corduroy tide, a hover somewhere near my belly button. That's a load of pre-Socratic hogwash, I said, nervously. We were face to face.

St. Augustine says the soul is an unseen force. The Bhagavad Gita tells us. us the soul is one hundredth of one hundredth of the width of a human hair, Linda replied. Our lips almost touching. Are you telling me those sexy glasses of yours can't detect something so small? I grabbed her into my arms and kissed her heart on the mouth. Anything? I asked. Nothing, she said. But then she reconsidered. Maybe a little something. I thought of my hip-fat again, being pinched. I winced. I'm dropping the case, I said. because if I don't, you'll regret it, or at least I will.

And maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, possibly Wednesday. She moved towards me, and we kissed again. Then she left. I never would have thought a flounce could be sad, but there it was. The next few weeks were painful. The telemarketing office I was working out of, it started a new bonus incentive in which salesmen were made to ding a bell on the manager's desk whenever they completed a sale. Every time I heard a ding, rather than imagining an angel getting its wings,

I imagined an angel having its wings pulled off by a little squirly guy in capri pants. And then one day I received a postcard. It was from Linda. It read, Wedding was amazing. Mickey Mouse is adorable and super funny in a smart way. You'd totally like like each other. I'm now honeymooning on the Clipso Celebration cruise ship and loving it. Might have the lobster tail for dinner. Smiley face. I guess I had some pretty crazy pre-wedding jitters, huh? Sad face. Thanks for being so nice. I'll never forget your kindness. Dames. If I ever had a soul, it was already lost. But with any luck, I'd find it again. At the bottom of a glass of peppermint Diet Cream Supreme.

Well, old friend, I said to the green sticky beverage pouring from my thermos like nuclear waste, this looks like the beginning, middle, and end of a beautiful friendship. Outside my cubicle walls, the dings ran out like gunfire. Pretty soon, I'd be fast asleep. Pretty soon after that, I'd be eating a dinner of chicken cutlets and cacha. And pretty soon after that, I'd be asleep again. Then awake. Then asleep.

Eating, brushing, asleep, and then awake again. So goes the life of a private dig. All told, it really isn't so bad. So we finally found a podcast that speaks to you. It's so good that when you finish the final episode, it leaves a whole. in your heart and your schedule. What now? Personally is here for you. It's a collection of true stories that explore what it means to be, well, human. The best part, there are six incredible seasons to dive into, with more on the way. Personally, get lost in someone else's

life. Available now, wherever you personally get your podcasts. Hello. Johnny. Gregor. How are you, my friend? I'm not good. I'm not good at all. What's the matter you, Johnny, as we say in the old country.

What's the matter you? I'm blind. Gregor, I'm not making a joke. I have no sight. I was at a doctor all morning. What happened? You lost your glasses? No, I was...

You got like a little ketchup in your eye or something? I have to... Well, it's a temporary condition. Okay. But you know that gig that you booked me into yesterday? The one that you told me... was a college reading. Yes, you're welcome.

That it was going to be on McGill campus. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm. It was a foam party in the bar room. They pumped wall-to-wall foam, and everybody was wearing bathing suits. It turns out that I have an allergy to foam, and I got some in my eyes, and the doctor says I won't recover my sight

for another few days. Oh, I'm sorry, Johnny. I should have told you to wear the swim goggles, like the kind you take in a shower with you to make sure you didn't get soap in your eye. I was trying to tell the story of my grandmother's appendix operation. No one was paying attention.

to me. Of course, nobody was paying attention to you. They were at a party having fun. Do you think they want to hear you talk about somebody dying of appendicitis? You know, I tried to call you from the hospital to take me home and you were nowhere to be found. Okay, I'll tell you what, Johnny. All joking aside, I'm a full-service friend agent and publicist, and I'm not even charging you for the friend pardon. Thank you. I'm going to get you a helper monkey. It'll be like your aide-de-camp. What are you talking? No, you mean like a seeing-eye dog. A seeing-eye dog. A dog is useless for a guy with your level of disability. Now, you need a monkey. It's got articulated thumbs.

He can work the remote. He can make you omelets in the morning. I'm not going to eat a monkey's cooking. You know, they say some blind people develop heightened other senses. You think you'd develop a little more grateful sense. Gregor, that's not a sense. And I don't need a helper monkey. You sure do.

Have you ever heard your ringtone? It's embarrassing. A monkey can help you choose a less embarrassing ringtone. He'd be essentially better than you in every way. Picture, Goldstein Jr. learns to ride one of those little mini scooters. Goldstein Jr. He could be your friend on those cold nights when no one wants to watch movies with you.

Monkey will. You know, it would be nice to watch a movie, but unfortunately I can't, Gregor, because I'm blind. Well, now that is something I can help you out with. Oh. Have you ever heard of seeing with sound? No, no. What is that? It's like closed captioning, only it's for the blind.

I don't get... How does that work? It's a telephone service. You call up this number on the phone. You get this professional narrator, and they walk you through what's happening on the TV. That way you don't miss out. So let's say you're watching, I don't know, like Forrest Gump, they'd be like, it's Tom Hanks sitting on a bench. he's eating a box of chocolates and a woman sits down and blah blah blah and before you know it you just watch the whole movie even though you're blind as a post so i just call them up and they'll walk me through whatever i feel like watching yeah exactly you decide what channel to watch and they watch the same thing over the phone and they describe it to you they give you the full experience it's like better than three-day all right well okay thanks hey maybe i maybe i will give that a try okay johnny we'll see you soon you won't see me but i'll see you soon okay bye bye

Yeah. Hello. Oh, I just, sorry. Sorry, I'm just, I drive something. Is this seeing with sound? What? See, the TV watching service for the visually impaired. Oh, yeah, yeah, that's me.

That's right. Yeah, yeah. Yes. Hello. You've reached seeing with sound. I'm Jesse. How can I help you? I've temporarily lost my sense of sight, and it's kind of a, you know, it's a rainy day outside, and I was in the mood to watch a few movies. Okay. So, if I've got this straight, I turn on the TV, and you watch the same channels as me, you're going to describe to me what I'm seeing as it's happening. Bullseye. Just tell me what you're going to watch, and I'll be your eyes. I'll be. your ears. Okay, I'm not deaf. I don't need any ears. Oh, I see. You can hear me. How do you think

I'm having this conversation right now? Well, you know what? It was just a turn of phrase. My eyes and ears, all right? Okay, can we just get started, please? Well, you turn on the TV. Tell me what channel you're on. Okay. I was thinking maybe the movie network. Okay. Channel 77. 77. Let's Take a look. Okay, it's The Godfather. Oh, great. Okay, I love that movie. Yeah, go ahead.

All right, so this scene, they're in a small, this Italian restaurant, three guys are in suits. They're sitting down at a table, and they're just eating. Oh, this is the famous restaurant scene with Michael Corleone. Yeah. And Michael seems to be having some problem with his stomach. He's having some indigestion. He's getting up. He has to go to the bathroom.

This guy's patting him down. He's like checking him out. And that's traditional. I mean, I don't know if you've ever been to Italy, but you get patted down to make sure you're not stealing bread or meatballs and stuff. No, no, Jesse, he's patting him down because he wants to make sure he doesn't have a gun. Why would he have a gun? Have you never seen The Godfather? Oh, my God.

Oh, my God. He's got a gun. Yeah, I know he does. Oh, oh, people are getting shot. Okay. Oh, my. Oh, there he goes. Walking out, Dine and Dash.

Okay, Jesse. Free meal. Okay, this isn't working. Can we maybe try another channel? All right, what? Let's just flip around and see what else is on, all right? Okay. Um, let's see.

What have we got here? Who's the boss? No, I'm not in the mood for that right now. Uh, Masterbee's Theater. No. Next. Oh, Greystoke. Legend of Tarzan?

No, keep flipping. Clickety, clickety, click. Oh, there's. golf. Well, I wouldn't mind watching a little golf. I don't like golf. It's boring. Okay, cartoon networks. Let's do that. You know, I'm not really in the mood right now for cartoons.

What's going on? It's hilarious. What is? Oh, Tom and Jerry. Tom and Jerry. The mouse just squirted hot sauce in his eye. That little mouse just cruising for a punchout Okay, let's try something else

I would like to watch a movie Turn to 78 Okay Let's meet the Falkers Oh yeah Robert De Niro I love him And he's in a boxing ring

It's black and white He's getting his face Just punched in It's like a mess It sounds like a fight sequence From Raging Bull Pretty sure it's meet the Fokers It's in black and white

Duh, it's a dream sequence You know, Robert De Niro was in other movies Before Meet the Fokkers It's raging bull Well, just, we all look stupid When Ben Stiller walks in a minute Okay, look, let's try something else Okay, try Channel 2-15

Okay, 215 That's a great movie, the crying game Oh, great, I... With that guy, Stephen Ria I've been really wanting to see that The girl who ends up having a penis at the end I didn't I've never seen the movie Jesse

You haven't seen the crying game No no I haven't seen it No and I don't appreciate you ruining the ending for me Well everybody knows the ending I didn't Okay I've got another news flash for you Rosebud is sled Spoiler alert

Okay Darth is Luke's father Can we maybe try another channel Oh turn it 1002 Okay You'll love this one Mm-hmm. Charlie was you.

Charlie, it was you. Remember that night down in the garden? You came in my dressing room and said, ... Jesse, I could... There's nothing wrong with my ears. I could hear it. You're my brother, Charlie.

You should look out for me a little bit. I could have been a contender. I could have been somebody instead of a bump, which is what I am. Let's face it, it was you, Charlie. Okay, Jesse, I'm going to go listen to the radio. Oh, oh, great. Well, thanks for calling seeing.

with sound, and since you're going to listen to radio anyway, you know, we have another service called Hearing With Smell, where I come to your home and I enhance your radio listening experience with odors. That sounds awful. Well, smell is one of the most powerful senses. So, like, if you're listening to, you know, New Age music, I'll light some incense and blow it in your face. If you're listening to, like, car talk, I'll hold a can of gasoline under your nose.

Or if you're listening to, like, White Coat, Black Art, I'll glorify. If you're listening to that show, WIRETAP, I'll chloroform you. On Wiretap today, you heard Rob Cordry reading a short story by Jonathan Goldstein. For more, Cordry, check out his television series, Children's Hospital, on Adult Swim. You also heard Gregor Ehrlich and Sean Cullen. Wiretap is produced by Jonathan Goldstein with Mira Bertwintonic and Crystal Duhame. cbc.ca slash podcasts.