Page 12 - Murder on the Dirigible

Murder on the Dirigible

now. Let me get through here. (all return except Metcalf, who is
going through Fisk’s pockets)

PEABODY: (comes to as Oglethorpe putting her in seat; slaps him)
Don’t get fresh with me, young man! I know your type!

OGLETHORPE: But—

MATTHEWS: (to Oglethorpe) Sit down. (to Metcalf) You there:
What are you doing? Get away from that man.

METCALF: (stands) Calm down, Captain. (takes out badge, flashes it
quickly) Curtis Metcalf, FBI. I’ve been following this bird for three
weeks. You had better turn this blimp around and fly back to L.A.
immediately. Radio ahead and notify my office. Well, go ahead: get
moving!

MATTHEWS: Hold your horses, fella. This is my airship, and I’m in
charge here.

POMELLO: (sobbing) No, it’s not, Oscar. Not any more. You lost
your shares in my company a long time ago. I own more of the
Golden Cloud than anyone else here. I say we continue to San
Francisco.

MATTHEWS: (goes to her side) But I am the captain of this vessel: I
am responsible for everything that happens here.

METCALF: I’m sorry to break up your little argument, folks, but the
FBI’s jurisdiction covers the entire continental United States. Now,
do you want to co-operate, or do you want to be charged with the
obstruction of justice?

MATTHEWS: (turns to Metcalf) Let me straighten you out, Mister.
Take a look out that porthole. You see those lights shining very, very
faintly in the distance?

METCALF: Yeah, nothing wrong with my eyes. So what, flyboy?

MATTHEWS: You are looking at Santa Barbara. We are not in, or
over, the United States. We are somewhere out over the Pacific

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