King in Yellow
Sep 24, 2026 · 34 min · 20 segments
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- SuitabilityLimitedBiasNot political
Sep 24, 2026 · 34 min · 20 segments
Night moves in and the city becomes hushed and stealthy.
The nightclubs close up one by one, but now and then the police whistle and the prowl car siren serenade the sleeper.
If you've got any cop in you at all, you get on edge and you have to get dressed and go out and walk it off to relax.
Well, I was relaxing past the Swank Carlton Hotel on the Sunset Strip about 1 a.m., when all of a sudden, recess was over.
Hmm? Is
It was George Millar, the quiet-spoken night clerk of the Carlton, hailing me from the doorway, probably to Moochie Millicrino.
No, I was wrong.
Why, my love, if I may be as cagey as all that.
We've got some trouble on the eighth
floor.
Where's Curly, your fearless house dick? Tonight he has to have a hangover.
What's the beef on floor eight? King Leopardi.
Do you know him? King Leopardi? Oh, that's the sweetest trumpet this side of Gabriel.
Is he tanning here tonight? He's in the corridor on the eighth floor, dressed in yellow pajamas and his trumpet.
Well, suppose the king rejects my diplomatic notes.
Well, uh...
Get rough, but only if you have to.
Okay, thanks.
But a guy with such an ear for music ought to listen to reason.
All right, I'll be down in five minutes more.
Night moves in and the city becomes hushed and stealthy.
The nightclubs close up one by one, but now and then the police whistle and the prowl car siren serenade the sleeper.
If you've got any cop in you at all, you get on edge and you have to get dressed and go out and walk it off to relax.
Well, I was relaxing past the Swank Carlton Hotel on the Sunset Strip about 1 a.m., when all of a sudden, recess was over.
Hmm? Is
It was George Millar, the quiet-spoken night clerk of the Carlton, hailing me from the doorway, probably to Moochie Millicrino.
No, I was wrong.
Why, my love, if I may be as cagey as all that.
We've got some trouble on the eighth
floor.
Where's Curly, your fearless house dick? Tonight he has to have a hangover.
What's the beef on floor eight? King Leopardi.
Do you know him? King Leopardi? Oh, that's the sweetest trumpet this side of Gabriel.
Is he tanning here tonight? He's in the corridor on the eighth floor, dressed in yellow pajamas and his trumpet.
Well, suppose the king rejects my diplomatic notes.
Well, uh...
Get rough, but only if you have to.
Okay, thanks.
But a guy with such an ear for music ought to listen to reason.
All right, I'll be down in five minutes more.
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