The November People’s Choice Award goes to…

The people have spoken… The 2025 November People’s Choice Award goes to Dana Hall for their short play, Last Lick of Justice, presented as a staged reading live at Theater Wit and Simulcast on November 3rd. Congratulations, Dana!

Courtesy of Dana, we’re pleased to share the first few pages from the award-winning script. Enjoy!

Last Lick of Justice
Written by
Dana Hall

SYNOPSIS:
In the shadowed corner of a Chicago police station, an aging German Shepherd named Sergeant Buck, once the celebrated star of the 1930s K-9 unit, decides to confess the truth about a famous old murder case he once “solved.”

CAST:
SERGEANT BUCK: (Male, middle-aged+) A retired German Shepherd who used to be the best dog on Chicago’s Prohibition-era K-9 unit. These days he’s almost deaf, can’t see much, and his nose isn’t what it used to be, but when he starts telling stories from back in the day, he lights right up again.

Buck sits in his partner’s old chair, collar tarnished, eyes cloudy but sharp. Across the room, a rookie is waking up for his first night on the beat. It’s Buck’s last.

SERGEANT BUCK
(Soft growl, half a chuckle.)
You can stop pretendin’ to sleep, kid. (Beat.) I can hear your ticker tap-dancin’. First day’ll do that. You don’t look too bad for a rookie… though I’ve sniffed pork chops with more street sense.

Name’s Sergeant Buck. Top dog once, Chicago PD, back when gin was cheaper than water and the streets had more rats with guns than alleys with cats. Nose like a crystal ball, jaws like a vice. Bottomline, I was you, a long time ago. Nervous, green, hungry for a win. So here’s a tip from an old hound: watch yourself.
Letter of the law ain’t always ink on the page.

(Beat. Soft, bitter smile.)

They say we’re loyal. Truth-sniffers. Heroes. (Shakes his head.) But in ‘32, on the south side, I lied. With my whole tail waggin’. (Puffs on his cigar, lets the smoke curl around his muzzle, paints the picture with his paw.) Picture it: smoke thick as gravy. Gin spillin’ across velvet carpets. Saxophones moanin’ like widows in the corner. As for me? (Crouches low as if under a table, claws tapping a rhythm on the armrest.) I’m crouched under a speakeasy table, ears cocked, tail stiff, claws tappin’ time with the trumpet player. My partner Mick’s at the back door, sweatin’ through his too-tight fedora like a cheap ham under glass. I’m waitin’ for his signal–(He imitates hand signal.)

(He jolts upright, barks once, sharp and sudden with a snarl.)

But then…BANG. (He freezes.)  Silence. Even the trumpets choke mid-note.

(He sniffs the air, twitching his nose as though catching the scent.)

I smelled fear, hot and sharp, like burnin’ hair. Mick busted in the door and there he was, Toothpick Tommy, king of the joint, floatin’ face-down in bathtub gin. The whole lot of ‘em scatter like rats
out the back.

And me? I’m trained to sniff out the gunpower, so I go after Lefty Malone. Tommy’s rival. (He springs from the chair, barking wild, tearing up a pillow.) Lefty was no saint, mean as a snake, ran numbers, busted heads, made widows by breakfast. I had him in my teeth, kid. His coat stank of sweat and cheap whiskey, and I clamped down hard, draggin’ him across the carpet like yesterday’s laundry. (He shakes his head violently, acting out the struggle, then drops back into the chair.)

Mick grabs Lefty, slaps the irons on him before the echo dies. The room cheers. They called me a hero. The papers called me The Nose That Never Lies. (Pulls his collar forward.) They even gave your boy a medal. But here’s the thing, kid. I knew it wasn’t Lefty. My nose told me the truth.

TO BE CONTINUED….

Join us for our next Monday Night PlayGround: Musical Parody – live and in-person, on Monday, December 15th at 7pm CT at Theater Wit and simulcast! Click here for more info and tickets.