Original subtitles

Oh my God.

It looks like the mustache boy's been at it again.

That's the way it looks, boss.

So some loser gets his ticket punched. What's the big deal?

Pete?

Tracy?

Lieutenant, this is patrolman Peter Rossini.

Tell him, son.

Steaway was a classmate of mine at the academy.

It's Grimaldi. Tony Grimaldi.

Ralph G's kid? Could be.

Raffaello only had one son named Antonio.

You check for ID?

Driver's license indicates the victim was Giovanni Falconetti.

174 Houston Street, apartment 3C.

You can put it through escrow. This is Luciana Grimaldi, Ralphie G's widow.

I'd appreciate it if you'd red -balled that autopsy report. This one's family.

Get to a phone and turn out the troops. I want it door to door, the entire

neighborhood. Yes, Lieutenant.

Right.

Deceased apparently expired as a result of a bullet fired at point -blank range

into the heart.

The absence of bloodstains tends to suggest that the homicide occurred

elsewhere.

How's that for openers?

Terrific.

Lieutenant, who's Raffaello Grimaldi?

Living legend, Cracker.

A squeaky clean straight arrow with more guts than smarts. You know, I rode

shotgun with him once.

We were both still in blues.

So what happened?

Oh, maybe nine years ago.

Ralph's tooling home from the old 2 -6.

When he spots this Lincoln Continental doing figure eights on the FDR.

Checks his hot sheet and gives chase.

Flagged him off the parkway just below the Queensborough Bridge.

When these two teenage cockroaches file out pitch and lead.

Grimaldi evidently gave as good as he got. The meat wagon collected three

corpses. That would have been it, only it turns out the boosters are Carmine

Roberto Delatello.

Franco's kids?

When they hit him with the news, the old man freaked out.

He swore he'd never rest until he buried Grimaldi's son.

Who knows? Maybe it was grief talking.

But Tony's mama wasn't taking any chances.

She shipped the boy out to be raised by some relatives out west. We all figured

he'd be safe there.

Well, then how... Yeah, crocker.

How?

Here comes the brass.

Who's the kid?

Over here, Captain.

Who's the barracuda with McNeil? Captain Bonatucci of the Organized Crime

Bureau. What I want to know is what he's doing here.

Well? How do we hack this?

Let's grab some coffee.

Yes, Albertine. The lieutenant wants us to toss the apartment.

You've got the address. I'll meet you there in an hour.

Yeah, I've been.

You think we run a nationwide recruiting program?

Ever since the Valachi song fest, we've been scratching for a fail -safe method

of stiffing an undercover cop into the organization.

Four months ago, we got lucky.

One of our most reliable stools was nailed on an ADW.

With his yellow sheet, if he didn't scratch our backs, he knew he'd be

his twilight years trimming the warden's hedges. Being a sensible man, he caved.

We had our passport. All we had to do was select a candidate.

We combed the list of applicants currently in line for training at the

And finally narrowed it down to the one kid who came closest to filling the

bill.

Of Sicilian descent.

raised out of state, and an honor student in his class at UCLA.

The son of a dead cop.

His mother already gave Bonaduce. Wasn't once enough? Enough for her, maybe, but

not for Tony.

That kid could have been anything he wanted, but what he wanted was to be a

police officer, so we obliged him. He was enrolled at the academy, given a

special course of training, a brand new identity, and a bogus rap sheet. We did

not send him down the rapids in a paper canoe, Kojak. We gave him the best we

had. Hey.

Wasn't enough.

Did Stuhl manage to bring him into the mob? As an apprentice butcher at the

Palestrina Meatpacking Company.

which is owned by Franco Sixpits Donatello. That was two months ago.

We've learned the hard way.

You want results, you gotta practice patience.

Officer Antonio Grimaldi learned an even harder lesson. Damn it, Kojak, he knew

the risks.

Something else is bugging you. Tell me, please.

Tony was in double jeopardy.

If his cup had been blown, that's why they simply cut him loose.

You know, the syndicate tends to think long and hard before wasting a cop.

But the kid wasn't just another police officer.

He was Ralph G's boy.

No way they burned him, no way.

You want an audit? I'd say he was off by a rival model.

Oh? And where'd you get that? Because of where they dumped the body. That

warehouse is leased by Umpire Realty, which in turn is owned by Franco

Donatello. You honestly believe he would deliberately deposit a corpse on his

own doorstep?

I want to talk to you, Stuart.

That's privileged information and you know it.

If you're noodling with the notion that he rolled over in Grimaldi...

Not my drift. I'm thinking if Franco didn't order the hit, he's got to be

waiting, wanting some answers, too.

And if I know Sixpence, he'll be asking the questions at the business end of a

blowtorch.

All right, yeah, I'll pull my man in as soon as I can find him.

Mr. Blenning, I've got to see a dog about a man.

Under the Air Police Department.

Okay, let him in.

Tracking this dirt all over my living room.

What am I, some kind of a lousy street punk who can't blow his nose without a

diagram?

Ileana, upstairs.

Papa. Come on, already it's past your bedtime.

I ain't going to pay no fancy tuition to St.

Theodora's so you can nap during your French lessons.

Good night.

And you too. No wife of mine is going to play hostess to no cop.

Yes, it would be rather déclassé.

Good night, darling.

And you, the fox.

With all the high -priced answers.

So tell me, consigliere, how come Kojak is shaking my tree?

I don't know.

I'll let him in.

Lieutenant, I want it understood that my client will receive you against the

advice of counsel. Quite frankly, this unwarranted...

He's spanking an alfalfa gardener gate outside.

Williams, Chetty, and Brian here greeting at the door. No surprise to see

right?

Is any of your business cut?

Mr. Carver is here on a social visit. He did me a favor and hauled my wife to

the ballet tonight. Frank, you don't do no obligation to explain anything to

him. He's here, ain't he? He sure as hell didn't drive all the way out here

read the gas meter.

And as for those dum -dums at the gate, I don't need no hired cannons to run

pushy cops off, Kojak.

I could rent a chihuahua for that. It's my family.

Living out here in Atulis.

I want to protect my loved ones. Protect, okay. What about revenge?

Oh, don't give me no smoke.

Now, if you got a package for me, let's have it.

Antonio Grimaldi, a .k .a. Giovanni Falconetti.

Employee of the Palestrina Meatpacking Company and undercover cop. Found dead

outside a warehouse on the Lower East Side. A bullet in his heart.

Period.

Raffaello Grimaldi's kid.

My mother's grave, Korczak.

It's the first I hear of it.

Frank, as your attorney, I've got to advise... You won't believe this, but

news gives me no satisfaction.

Nine years ago, yes, two boys dead.

My wife dying of cancer can make me no more sons.

Yes, I wanted to see Antonio in his grave, but time has changed.

I changed.

I got a young wife.

She could make me more sons.

And you thought, yeah, you did, didn't you? If you suspected me, you would

have come with more than you notice.

Because on your payroll, the body turned up on your piece of turf. Nobody had a

stronger motive.

If Raffaello's son was executed, it was not by my orders.

I couldn't buy that. We'd be having our conversation in the squad room.

The Iceman, that's all I want.

You got ways of prying loose information I can't get at. I recommend you do so.

Because until I have the answer, sonny boy...

This town won't be fit to live in.

Oh, please don't bother.

Either I'm being set up or somebody's sending me a message.

Who? I want action.

I want real intelligence.

But first I want the guts of that double -dealing Lucha Tola who finessed...

Grimaldi into that packing plant.

Frank, I think that would just prove counterproductive.

Because you know the Organized Crime Bureau is just going to be laying in

They're going to be anticipating you're making that exact move.

See?

Yeah.

Okay.

But I'm not going to take your advice.

But still, I've got to make a move.

Now, you heard Kojak.

I know that happened.

Until he closes this case, I'm going to be wearing him like an appendix scarf.

Frank, listen, I've got an early filing in the morning.

If you don't leave me all.

No, go on, drift.

Aunt, darling.

No, look, look, look, look. He was a cop.

Darling, just relax.

No, look, look.

Three miles from here, there's an old mill pond, and all you have to do is

the camera, the blanket, and the gun, and just get rid of them there.

We'll be home free.

Dropping in on Donatello just like that.

Somebody die and leave you your own police department?

No wonder I can't flush my snitch.

Thanks to your skin -headed squad commander, I'll be lucky to recover his

Damn.

You think I'd give Sixpence anything he wouldn't have routinely collected from

the grapevine?

You know, that surprise visit put him on formal notice.

You wouldn't go near him now if you dipped a slob in platinum. Hey, I didn't

jeopardize your stoolie, baby. I bought him a life insurance policy.

Then where is he?

It's not the only question. It's shopping for an answer.

Like why was Grimaldi's apartment tossed?

Forensic dusted the pad. You know what they come up with? One alien palm print

on a window sill.

He also found a case for a mini camera with the guarantee that came with his

purchase. But no camera, no film.

Yeah.

Excuse me, gentlemen. The squad is all present and accounted for.

Tell these co -workers that the packing plant should be grilled.

Forthwith, determine who the victim hung out with.

How he spent his leisure hours.

Did he have any lady friends?

Crocker, you spoke with the M .E. Anything we can use?

The autopsy indicates that the deceased dined before expiration. Now, his

stomach contents are being analyzed. If they find out what he ate, maybe we can

find out where.

Are ballistics able to give us a make on the murder weapon?

Slug was fired from a .32. It's European bore characteristic.

So far, we don't have anything on a matchup.

Stavros. What's with forensic?

Well, wolf fiber was found clinging to the decedent's apparel, suggesting he'd

been bundled for transport in a blanket. Additionally, there were traces of face

powder, perfume.

Okay. From all, it was your boy, Captain.

Don't you think it's time he contributed a little something to the plot, like

maybe a name of your informant?

Gruffy Sutherland.

All right, you got that separate statement? Got it. Pull this mugshot

52 file, run off a few hundred copies and put it out on the streets.

One final note.

Words going out to every command, back with the full weight of the PC's office.

Until otherwise notified, all available pressures, however petty, are to be

brought to bear on known or suspected mob operations.

Translation, that we should start to build fires under their tushies? Right.

the wise guy's word hurts right in the cash register. And the same goes for

stools. Squeeze them till they sing Madam Butterfly.

You know, everybody takes it for granted that the kid was snuffed because of who

he was.

Why?

He was there to gather intelligence, right?

Now, has it occurred to anyone that he might have hit pay dirt?

Excelsior! We got us a witness! Would you come in, please? Just step right in

this way.

Thank you very much. Just right this way.

I don't think there's anything to worry about, darling, but if you're worried,

I'll cancel the hairdresser. What for?

Serafina can take care of the young.

Just because she's staying home with an upset stomach don't mean that you have

to spoil your day.

Serafina, it was that third helping of Zabiglione.

You know, she can't handle that rich stuff.

She's delicate, like a mama.

Thank you.

Bye -bye, darling.

Nothing? I'm not going.

Going? Going where?

Away to finishing school.

You think you'll wear Papa down?

Well, Papa is a rock.

It's for your own good.

No, Cleo. I think it's for your own good. You just want me out of this

You don't love Papa.

Not the way my mama did.

Not the way I do. You're just... You better take two aspirin and drink lots

liquid. That's some temperature you have.

Exactly. And please continue.

I've got to see you.

Are you insane?

After last night?

Lou, if I wanted a sedentary life, I would take up dog breeding and have

buy me a station wagon.

Yes, Alfredo.

Three o 'clock, Washington set. Thank you.

It's a dark continental car.

I knew from the looks of it. From the window, I couldn't see the other driver.

The other guy, though, the one that dumped the stiff, you know, he was about

feet tall.

Neat head of hair, good fit on the clothes, which he didn't buy out of no

We'll show you some pictures, okay? Maybe you can pick out a face. It's

dark in the alley, man.

Well, I was looking down, you know. We'll try.

Let's give it a try.

Come with me, please.

Right this way.

Thank you.

Uh, Captain, your stoolie's on line two.

Gruffy, where the hell are you?

What could he know? How to put pants on a lamp top?

I'm telling you, Cap, that kid was onto something part... skinny as news to me.

Somebody must have made them. Don't ask me how.

You must have some idea.

I got just one idea, but a whole lot of geography between me and this town. When

they stop from all these clocks, my life expectancy dip to zip.

I got a cousin who runs this car wash in Grand Rapids. Let's spread some shade

on me. Just give me the bus fare and I'm off and running.

Come on, Bonaduce, don't jerk me around. Ain't my fault the kid buys a harp.

You put me in the toilet. Don't pull the chain.

That's all I got with me.

Well, it's better than a walking ride to Hearth Island. Anybody got a spare

smoke?

Keep your nose clean, Scruffy. Grand Rapids, yeah. They blessed you for

gum on Sundays.

Any luck with our witness?

Nothing.

I ran him for every picture in the house. Not even a marginal ID.

If that honcho is mobbed up, either we're not carrying him on our books or

a pilgrim father.

The perfume is an astronomically expensive French import.

Alain d 'Ange is handled exclusively by La Petite Boutique, 237 East 56th

Street. And the face powder is an equally precious commodity, blended

for the woman what wore it. Now, based on the law of probabilities, I figure

there's maybe a couple of hundred dollies in the New York area with

tones who might be using the same skin blend and who could afford the tariff.

Wonderful, Prince.

Is there anything on the blanket?

A cashmere, shedding like a 12 -year -old airdale. Find me someone who's

it, and providing they haven't schlepped their clothes to the cleaners yet, I'll

nail them with my trusty spectroscope.

Ah.

Stavros?

Thanks, Moskowitz.

What is it?

Glossary list? No, pathology's analysis of the contents of Grimaldi's stomach.

Cloud ear fungus, preserved turnip, agar, agar, szechuan pepper, fermented

paste, five -star anise, coriander, sesame.

Chinese food, right, Skipper? Yeah, but definitely not Cantonese. All right, dig

up some manpower.

Start canvassing every Szechuan, Mandarin, Hunanese restaurant this side

Boston Post Road, okay? You gotta be kidding.

Do you know what you're asking? On Mott Street alone, there are more dumpling

joints than all of Shanghai put together.

Yeah, Stavros.

You know, Wednesday afternoon, the mayor's giving Antonio Grimaldi an

inspector's funeral.

I'll be there.

And so will his mother.

And when she asks me, Stavros, are we making a headway in this case, what do I

tell her?

May I help you?

Say, is there another way out of here?

Right this way.

Traced Grimaldi's camera back to the dealer. Turned out he left some film

for developing.

It was picked up first thing this morning.

Make any description of the claimant? Little guy. Grizzle, mostly faded jeans,

black turtleneck, sheepskin jacket.

Dirty beard with pimples?

Yeah, but how did you, uh... Oh, we've been eight balls, baby.

Now you grab a photo of Scruffy Sutherland. Hustle your butts back to

camera shop.

Pull that creep's prints from C .I .B. and match them to the portion we left at

Grimaldi's bed.

Now go ahead and move!

Little termite.

He sells us ten acres of swampland and cons me out of a senile for getaway

money.

What's he up to?

of prickly heat. I scratch in one place and already it itches in another.

It cuts into the receipts.

Very soon the only people making any profit will be the bail bondsman.

It'll go away.

The cop is dead.

If it was one of ours, would we let it go away?

I give you the action.

You're supposed to keep everything nice and tidy.

You can't do it!

We have to hand them somebody.

So as that goes, maybe that somebody is you.

Don't hang up on me, pal.

Another dime and one of the little helpers will be spraying your love nest

Easy Off before Mrs.

Donatello's wriggled back into her girdle.

I see I got your attention.

suitable for framing.

50 Gs is what it's going to cost you to buy yourself out of this jackpot,

because otherwise... The next time I drop puts me right through to the lady's

husband.

Well, now I'll need some time here now, you see, to come up with that large an

amount. You got it.

Two hours.

I'll call you later at the office and tell you where to deliver the bread.

Couldn't wait.

That kid's body isn't even cold.

We're back doing business in the exact same stall. Because of you, we're going

to be paying blackmail for the rest of our lives.

I killed that kid.

For nothing.

Whatever possessed me to think you were a man.

Franco's 20 years your senior, and you couldn't even wear his hand -me -downs.

Tell me you're not scared.

Of course I'm scared.

But I'm also a survivor.

And you can just sit there and wallow in your hysteria. I propose to do

something.

Last night, around 8, 8 .30, he was alone.

What about him?

Maybe an hour ago, but he was only here a minute.

He didn't order anything.

I see.

Thank you very much. Thank you.

Gee, I'm sorry, pal. I guess I must have fucked you in. C 'est la vie, right?

Give me half a second. I'll give you some room, okay?

Okay.

You know, Sutherland breaks into Grimaldi's walk -up last night.

The birds are hardly awake this morning. He's at the camera shop collecting

pictures. Is it only me, or does anyone else begin to smell a shakedown?

Going with that premise, we've got a figure of Grimaldi somehow stumbled

the slash of dynamite. Yeah, but whose dynamite?

Scruffy might be shy of a couple of aces, but he's not so dumb he'd

the mob.

Well, maybe it was something the killers wanted kept from the mob.

A fake.

It was so atomic.

Cream cola.

Chris, give me forensic. I want to talk to Sergeant Prince.

Yeah, but your report failed to state precisely where the traces of face

and perfume were detected.

I don't know what you're getting at. He assumed it was in the region of the

face, neck, collar, and coat lapels. Normally that would be the case.

Not so.

The residue is on from all these pants cups.

Bye.

The trough.

And how's it come to be on the trousers?

I'm helping to dump the corpse into the Continental.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Well, what are you saying? That the wheel man was abroad?

Well, you got a better fit.

Look, let's say Grimaldi had them under surveillance with snapping pictures.

They caught on, took them by surprise, that, but that, but do like that. The

rest is history.

Well, why move the body? Why try to make it look like a gangland robot?

Well, that part's easy. The original crime site was too close to home.

Well, go with what we know.

We know the kid was killed shortly after eating. We know he took his last meal

at that Zeshuan Pagoda and what do you want from a New York kid?

We know one thing else.

Scruffy Sutherland was seen hanging around the pagoda earlier this

Beto!

Hey, uh, we in business?

Crazy!

Okay, uh, Battery Park, near the ferry, third bench from the entrance.

I'm wearing a sheepskin jacket, black turtleneck, and, uh, some whiskers on an

honest face.

All right.

Now, what I want to know is, what assurance do I have that you're not

come back later for more?

Man, my bed's a packed.

Hot as this town will be for you, that's how hot it already is for me.

I'll see you later.

I don't think we're going to have to kill him after all. Because he said... I

don't care what he said, Lou. We can't have him walking around knowing what he

knows. And don't forget, you expect to get dinner tonight.

Not tonight.

But you must.

There are all sorts of guests coming.

Dignitaries, civic leaders, heads of state. Franco's going to be very

uncomfortable in their presence without you to rely on.

And we don't want to upset Franco, do we?

Column A, a list of all credit card accounts at La Petite Boutique.

Column B on the proposition that only a peasant spends cash at such a chic

establishment. The records of credit card accounts and checks received over

past year.

You know something, Kroger? In the perspicacity sweepstake, you'd be a

for life.

And furthermore, um... We got it.

I brought the money. Did you bring the merchandise?

Yeah, I got it.

It's good. Don't worry.

Park Patrolman was first on the scene. He recognized Sutherland, then notified

our squad.

Gunshot point -blank range. Two witnesses claim they saw him talking to

woman. Middle -aged, about what kind of dumpy, you know?

Carrying a shopping bag.

And that's it. Miami and friends have gone their way.

Too bad, Scruffy.

It's awesome.

No sign of the photographs.

Surprise, surprise.

Pocket comb, handkerchief, $94 in currency, dress book, and two

matchbook covers. I hope nobody gets trampled to death fighting over the

Yeah, beg and tag them.

Now, wait a minute.

Why would he save an empty matchbook folder?

Jenny, I'll be leaving for the day.

Ready for this?

The license number scribbled on that matchbook car checked out to a 75

450 SL sports coupe.

Registered owner?

Uh -huh.

Mrs. Franco Donatello.

Thank you, Frankie. Hey, can you think of a better reason for icing Grimaldi

then Sutherland? But who's the fox?

Much as it pains me to throw salt in your egg cream, Theo, we checked the

of clients at the Petit Boutique and Cleo Donatello is not one of them.

Crocker.

Here, check with the importer who distributes that perfume.

See if there's a retail outlet on Long Island.

And if there is, find out whether Donatello's wife is a customer.

Oh, and tell him this is why I want to see him.

Traces of human blood turned up in the alley behind the Szechuan Pagoda.

Typo, same as Grimaldi's. Why there, I ask myself.

Here, boss.

Get over to the Times.

Take out a photo of Cleo Donatello. Turn it down to the Szechuan Pagoda. Show it

around the neighborhood, hotels, apartments, houses like that. Huh?

Another lady's been shacking up somewhere.

And it damn sure wasn't the YWCA.

Yeah? Just got the report of the slug we dug out of Scruffy Sutherland. Hold on,

Mr. Mayor.

Go ahead.

It's a .38, Lieutenant, so it didn't come from the weapon that killed

But listen, that doesn't mean it's a dead end.

This bullet's no stranger to ballistics.

The cannon that wasted Sutherland is the same job that blew away two -ton Johnny

Amare in the men's room at the old garden.

Good luck.

Thanks.

There's no way that Mrs.

Donatello was implicated in that hit.

She wasn't even out of diapers when it happened.

So maybe her boyfriend supplied the kill gun.

Maybe Mr. X is the dude who bushwhacked Johnny.

Quarter of a century we carried a case in our books. Two -ton Johnny, last of

the mustache beats.

You know something, troops?

We call out the owner of that .38. We're going to close out a lot of accounts.

Judge Macklin signed the warrant. You can swing by and pick it up on your way

out to Long Island. Where's Crocker? He's down taking statements at the

Traveler's Rest Motor Lot. All right, Fats, I'll saddle up. Yes, sir. We're

Ain't that the pit. It's about time somebody nailed him for something.

Oh, you know that too, Lieutenant?

Oh, yeah.

He's done a Tello's Band -Aid. Why?

Well, he was at that Sichuan Pagoda today.

Blue Continental.

That part checks out. That description we got from our eyewitness. Now hunt the

rest of me.

Tall, rangy, nice set of hair, sharp dresser, lawyer type.

What witness? What are you talking about? Can I have the keys, please? I'd

to take a look at your trunk.

For what? If you want to move a body, find another way.

That blanket was shedding like a 10 cent Christmas tree.

Get it on the airwaves.

I'm in a peaceful time. They must have stacked.

No regrets.

You'll be unable to dine tonight.

Not that this is going to do a lot for your appetite, either.

As a matter of fact, we have bought two arms, Mr.

Donatello, one for your arrest on suspicion of murder, the other an

authorization to conduct a search of the premises for incriminating evidence.

Specifically, Elena Dion's perfume, blend 47275. I like that.

And then the articles of wearing apparel to which cashmere wool fiber might be

found to claim.

You have the right to remain silent and... What the hell is going on here?

Oh, that's a reasonable question.

Uh... Want the answer here or in the library?

Well, your boyfriend, Mr. Cobb, he left his brains on a highway.

He was dead?

Maybe he's the lucky one.

Okay, okay, it's true.

It's true we were having an affair.

But it was a ghastly mistake and one which I couldn't extricate myself from.

I pleaded with Lou. I pleaded with him, but he was like a madman. He swore that

if I left him, that he would go to Franco and confess everything.

Franco,

what could I do? I was in fear for my life.

And then last night, the unthinkable happened.

As God is my witness, I did not know that that man was a policeman.

All we knew was that someone had found us out.

But then Lou panicked, and the next thing I knew, the man was dead.

Beautiful.

You know, you put that on at 2 o 'clock in the afternoon, you sell more soap

than the guiding light.

How about you, Six Bits? You swallow that, huh?

Get that refugee out of here.

She's soiling my furniture.

You know something, sweetheart?

You just might swing it.

I mean, with Cobb at bed knowing to contradict your testimony, you might

that snake oil to a jury.

But you left out one item.

Scruffy Sutherland. And baby, if we can't send you up on the Grimaldi

we can crucify you for that battery park job.

How do you propose to do that? With this?

Eliana, you know what you've done?

She betrayed you with your own gun.

I thought you'd be glad.

I don't understand.

What did I do?

But I thought she was right.

We're going to close out a lot of accounts for this one.

We carry on laughing along with Sid James, Barbara Windsor and co. at 10 to

which rounds off an hour of classic British comedy, starting with a spot of

-wheel trouble for Stan and Arthur in On the Buses. Next.