John Still applies for a job at some film operation in midtown to work as a sound editor. But after the
interview, which includes a hearing exam, they tell him no dice.

Since it’s still the Depression, and the pavement
in New York is a helluva lot hotter than the job
market, he decides to plot his next move inside the confines of a shady bar.

As he’s sipping a beer, decidedly let-down, some
flatfoot settles himself on the stool next to him and says simply: We want you….

He’s a wanted man, after all. For his hearing.
The police are hiring informants–to drive cabs, eavesdrop, and report back. The cop says it pays $22.50 a week.

Is a former rumrunner, like John Still, the right guy for the job? Depends on how he looks at it. Depends on the job.