Original subtitles

SERLING: Starring tonight:

Cornel Wilde,

Geraldine Page,

Jack Albertson,

Rosemary Forsyth,

James Gregory,

and Bobby Darin.

Good evening and welcome to an art museum of the unique.

Paintings offered up that infrequently find themselves

hung in the more prosaic places.

Paintings that are frequently as much formaldehyde as they are pigment.

So upon viewing,

if you sense a touch of the grave, the morgue, the concrete slab,

count yourself more or less normal in terms of your taste in art.

At least this art.

Number one entry.

A painting that suggests a story

replete with gaslight, handsome cabs and cadavers.

An all-star cast of corpses appearing

in what we call Deliveries in the Rear.

Delivered to you now on Night Gallery.

Well?

Tell Dr. Fletcher we've brought...

Never mind what you've brought.

Bring them in.

Look lively, come on.

Now, gentlemen,

the cardinal rule in all dissections

is to locate all important structures

and those most vulnerable to damage.

Nerves are essentially more important than muscles.

And in this category,

motor nerves are more important than sensory nerves.

Arteries are more important than veins.

Now, in that area of the cadaver

where we are overwhelmed by

a conglomeration of nerves,

best keep in mind that you may ignore all nerves but the chief ones.

In this way, the would-be surgeon achieves two things,

a savings in time and a much clearer picture.

Example.

In the axilla, keep the axillary and cephalic veins,

ignore all the others.

In the femoral triangle,

profunda femoris.

Mr. Tuttle,

if that look of yours bespeaks fatigue, nap in your dormitory.

If you are prone to fainting,

be good enough to take it into the hallway.

And if nausea is your special weakness, out of the building, please.

I'm sorry, Dr. Fletcher.

Speak up, please.

It's the corpse, sir.

The what?

The cadaver on the table, sir.

It's just that he looks so...

He looks so unappetizing.

Unappetizing.

My dear would-be Dr. Tuttle,

this poor, dead, nameless wretch is not on a restaurant menu.

He's here in a post mortem attempt to teach you to save lives.

That he is unappetizing should not affect you in the slightest.

I wonder how appetizing you would look

if you had been cut into, and sewed up,

and generally opened and closed as often as he has.

The important thing, gentlemen, is the direction of the incision.

It's an oblique angle, roughly like this.

Excuse me.

Delivery, sir.

Gentlemen, tomorrow morning at 10:00.

A good evening to you, Dr. Fletcher.

Lovely merchandise this evening.

Remains to be seen.

That's funny.

Not intended to be.

Where did you find this?

Oh, now, you know as well as I do, Doctor,

I'm not at liberty to divulge...

You're certainly at liberty to divulge time, place and method of exhumation.

This man's been dead at least three weeks.

Not even a nodding acquaintance with a mortician.

The body's never been embalmed.

Decomposing and of no use at all.

We ain't doctors.

Indeed, you're not.

Get this out of here and bury it where you found it.

Oh, but, Doctor, you'll be pleased with this one.

Oh, this one's an absolute Jim Dandy.

That's more like it.

There's not even rigor mortis here.

This man's been dead less than two hours.

You said you preferred 'em fresh, Doctor.

Where did you find him?

Just a spot of luck, Doctor.

A little good fortune on our part, eh?

Fifty dollars, at least, wouldn't you say?

I think next Thursday we'll be able to do you good again, Doctor.

All right. All right.

Jamie, take a look at this.

Oh, dear God!

Dead about two hours.

The cause?

Look there, behind the ear.

The man's been bludgeoned.

Mmm-hmm. Skull fracture

and instantaneous death, from the look of it.

You know, Jamie, it's a moot question

as to whether our suppliers merely disturb death or actually cause it, hmm?

However, if I'm to teach young men the art of surgery

I cannot allow myself the luxury of moral outrage.

If I don't leave soon I'll be minus a fiancé.

See you in the morning, Jamie.

Come now, Jamie.

No one else mourned him. Why should you?

Beauty, talent, goodness, what more could any man want?

I hope not much more.

Barbara dear, there's a bottle of claret in my study.

I wonder if you'd be good enough to...

You wonder if I'd be good enough to leave you two men alone for a bit

so you can say something inappropriate for a young woman's ears.

Is that the idea?

To beauty and talent add discernment.

You're marrying a most exceptional young lady, Dr. Fletcher.

I say this cognizant of the father's bias that goes with it.

You have five minutes and no more.

Sit down, John.

I wanted to chat with you all evening.

I had a talk this afternoon with Dr. Shockman.

With negative results, I'm sure.

I'll grant you he's a bit single-minded.

But in this case.

I'd like to hear the case.

Your use of cadavers.

What would he suggest as an alternative? Store mannequins?

He doesn't object to your use of the bodies.

But he did express to me a deep concern as to...

As to their source.

If the good Dr. Shockman

wants his college to turn out reasonably competent surgeons

then he must also supply the wherewithal

to teach them the arts and skills of healing with a knife.

I grant you, I'm no doctor, of course.

But it does strike me that we tread on thin ice here.

Rumor has it, according to Shockman,

that you and certain others accept delivery of these corpses

with no question at all,

as to where they came from.

Well, that, unfortunately, has become the case.

But, you see, Mr. Bennett,

it's very rare that the surviving loved ones

allow us to move in to the graveyard after the sad ritual.

And therefore we are forced to deal with the dregs, the scum,

a breed of social sub-humans

who have no qualms about their profession.

That's just the point. What is their profession?

To rob graves? To murder?

John, you can't be a part of that?

I am no part of it, Mr. Bennett.

I do not sell shovels, I do not fill holes,

I do not order assassinations.

I am a surgeon, sir, and I teach surgery to others.

About these cadavers...

What about them?

Dr. Shockman went so far as to suggest that

they were the victims of foul play.

I have no doubt.

You mean you'd accept...

What Dr. Shockman did not say is that

if they are indeed the victims of a knifing, a bludgeoning, a garrote

the victim, in each case, is himself a piece of scum.

A drunk, a derelict, a felon,

a nameless, wandering nonentity

whose death goes quite unnoticed.

John, you can't!

Now let me tell you what we do with this nameless derelict.

We give him a kind of immortality.

We give him something he hadn't had in all his life, a function.

We make him valuable. We put him to work.

We lay him on a slab

and we use him in the most salutary, educative fashion,

to teach young men, through his death,

how to maintain life in others.

And that, Mr. Bennett, although it may shock, offend, unnerve,

that is man using his brains to the best possible purpose.

And to do so, you'll rob him of his own right to live.

And I submit to you, John,

that that may be professionally expedient,

but it is neither right, nor just, nor moral.

It appears that I have absented myself too long.

Well, your father and I had a minor disagreement, but it's finished.

I don't consider it a minor disagreement, and it's hardly finished.

We'll talk about this again, John.

What happened, John?

Oh, it's was inconsequential.

It's just that your father has taken it upon himself

to dabble in surgery

in a peripheral area.

He was talking to Dr. Shockman this afternoon.

Oh, and Dr. Shockman must be part mystic.

Apparently, he believes that birth

comes from a rib in the Garden of Eden

and that cadavers are

manufactured like gas mantles in some factory.

I better go now, darling.

I have a class in the morning

and a damnably long day.

Please say goodnight to your father

and offer him up apologies for me. Will you?

Sincerely felt apologies?

Oh, hardly.

Diplomatic, ritualistic apologies in deference to his age,

and the fact that I'm going to marry his only daughter.

And tell him that I have one endearing quality.

I happen to love his daughter very much.

And all the cadavers in the world can't change that.

Is that somehow supposed to assuage him or please me?

There are times, John, when the surgeon in you gets in the way of the man.

Maybe that's the reason it took you so long to decide to marry.

I've done myself no good this evening.

Tell your father for me that there are numerous times

when I would gladly throw away

the scalpel, the sutures and all the rest of it.

But the problem is that disease always manages to outdistance science.

And whatever our ingenuity and brilliance,

we're still no match for death.

And until we are, my darling,

you'll have to share the man in me with the surgeon.

A most unpleasant confrontation.

I gathered.

There are facets to John that, well,

to say the least, they disturb.

How could a man so dedicated to saving lives

be so ignorant of the sanctity of life itself?

I'm afraid you're at the wrong address, mother.

You're Dr. Fletcher, ain't you?

That's correct. I'm Dr. Fletcher.

But I don't receive patients at my lodgings.

I ain't here for no treatments.

What then? You've got me Charlie.

Mother, I have nothing that belongs to you.

But I do have some advice for you. Go home and sleep it off.

You don't get off scot-free like that, Doc!

Not a bit of it. You've got me Charlie.

You've got him in that hell hole of yours.

You've got him lying on a slab,

and every day you cut into him. Every day!

Now, listen to me, mother, I do not have your Charlie.

I don't even know who Charlie is.

And if you don't get off my front steps

I'll have a policeman here in a minute and then you'll see.

Don't give me that about a policeman.

Don't give me that!

That's what I should've had here first.

You're no better than the ghouls you hire.

You're just a ghoul yourself. That's what you are.

You're just a ghoul. That's what you are.

You're a grave robber!

I'm going to get the police!

I'm going to get the police!

To kill you, to hang you,

for disturbing the dead!

The police, I'm gonna get 'em.

Good afternoon, Dr. Shockman.

What an unexpected pleasure.

Not pleasure, Dr. Fletcher.

Why don't you just leave it at unexpected?

Well, whatever.

What can I do for you, Doctor?

Precious little.

Except reassure me that no member of my staff has involved himself

in the grimy, unpalatable business of corpse stealing.

Dr. Shockman, you and I both know

that frequently when a cadaver is brought to us,

we very pointedly refrain from asking questions.

That may very well be.

But this morning I was visited by some ancient biddy

who was not so reluctant to ask questions.

Her principal question was the present whereabouts of her husband.

It was her contention that he's in this building,

where he's currently being used for dissection.

We have no such subject here.

That had better be the case.

The woman has threatened to bring the police into this.

I expect we will shortly be visited by a raft of detectives

with a court order to examine the premises.

And should they find a cadaver named Charlie, Dr. Fletcher,

you had best be very glib in your explanations

as to how he arrived here.

Dr. Shockman, we have no male subject here at all.

As a matter of fact, we have the body of a woman,

which should lay at rest any interest the police might have in the matter.

I hope for your sake that is the case.

This further admonishment, Dr. Fletcher,

for the time being I would discontinue the dissection of humans.

Use animals.

Animals?

Dr. Shockman, we are trying to graduate a class of surgeons here,

not taxidermists!

Better taxidermists

than sanctimonious collaborators in murder.

Apparently I'm in your debt, Jamie.

Fortunately, the good Dr. Shockman

is rather ceremonial about his comings and goings.

When I heard he was coming here

I very hurriedly and conveniently hid the body in the basement.

I am in your debt.

But it's a short-term indebtedness, Doctor.

As long only as it takes the police to arrive

demand that we produce the body

and comprehend that you were lying to Dr. Shockman.

You told him that we had a woman cadaver.

So it shall be. So it must be.

All right, get down and ask him.

Why me ask him? Why not you?

You heard what the Doctor said.

He's got to have a female. No ifs and buts. One corpse, female.

Get down and ask him now.

Oh, it's you.

Any merchandise on display?

He's all I got.

"He"?

You got no she? No.

I could let you have him after 11:00 in the morning.

Cheap at that. County's burying him,

so the casket'll be closed right after the morning service.

It won't do. I got to have me a female.

Then you'll have to try elsewhere.

Appears that's the case.

Well, a little brisk to go digging.

Much too brisk, for my way.

I think we'll do our hunting on the wing this evening.

Risky. Mighty risky.

Especially since it's a woman.

Fletcher's anxious. And in a frantic hurry.

That means he'll pay top dollar.

And that means I don't care about the risk.

You're Dr. Fletcher? Yes.

Hannify is my name.

I wonder if you'd mind answering a few questions?

Yes, a very few, I'm due for a lecture inside.

Well, we have a complaint, Doctor.

A woman named Woods has...

Had a husband named Charlie.

Yes, I've met the lady.

She has some insane idea that we have her husband's body here.

I take it then that you don't?

You take it correctly.

Are you dissecting this evening?

That would be my intention.

I was further told by Dr. Shockman that you have the body of a woman.

That's quite correct. So it would seem that the good lady...

What did you say her name was? Woods.

Yes, Woods. So it would seem

that the good lady is over-abundantly imaginative

and less abundantly sober.

It would seem so, Doctor,

if indeed the cadaver is that of a female.

May I see it?

Am I to understand that the word of a drunken old crone

has the same value as mine?

The lady was in a saloon last night,

and overheard some conversation between two men

who've been on our books before.

They're grave robbers, sir.

She heard one of the men mention her husband's name

and then your name was brought up.

The degree of dependability, Doctor, is not at issue.

But a missing corpse and a possible homicide, that is the issue.

And so I'll ask you again

to allow me to examine whatever it is you're cutting into this evening.

It is the body of a woman, Doctor.

Yes. As I told you.

I thank you for your trouble, Doctor,

and I apologize for any inconvenience.

It's quite all right. I hope the good woman finds her husband.

Well, I share the hope, Doctor.

And I have one more hope,

perverse and forlorn.

That one day I catch you accepting a delivery,

and I'll see to it

that the next thing you hold in your hand won't be a scalpel,

it'll be a sledgehammer in a prison rock yard.

They're waiting for their pay.

This was a sticky one, Doctor. As you can imagine.

$100 for this delivery.

The price is going up, hmm?

Aye, price goes up

when you've only got an hour or so to produce a female corpse.

And there'll be no questions about this one.

No questions at all.

All right, gentlemen,

tonight we will continue our examination into the art of dissection.

First, a small preface to tonight's event.

It has to do with the value of life.

The so-called value.

No doubt you've heard whispered concerns

about where we obtain our subjects for dissection.

May I tell you briefly that such concerns are misplaced.

Any cadaver which aids

in teaching you young gentlemen the art of surgery,

that cadaver has served its purpose.

And so that there is no misunderstanding

among any of you in this room,

no individual life is of any consequence

if it means the saving of many lives.

That, gentlemen, is the first and cardinal lesson you must learn.

And now we will begin tonight's session.

Painting number two in the Night Gallery.

Addressing itself to the strains and stresses of the married.

Having to do with the fact that

there is more than one way to kill a cat

and more than one way to dispose of a wife.

Our painting is called, Stop Killing Me.

My name is Mrs. Frances Turchin,

and my husband is killing me.

And my wife is killing me.

What, you wanna lodge a formal complaint against him?

Is that it, Mrs...

Turchin. Mrs. Frances Turchin.

My husband is Bernard W., 6310 East Howard Street, Staten Island.

Aren't you writing any of this down?

Oh, well... No. No, ma'am.

That is, not unless you wanna make a formal complaint.

See, the taxpayers don't like us to waste so much paper.

You know what I mean?

Now. Now then, you say your husband has tried to kill you?

No. No, no, no. He is killing me.

Right now, while I'm talking to you, he is killing me.

Don't you understand?

No. No, ma'am, I don't believe I do.

You mean to say that your husband has made an attempt on your life?

No! No, no, no, no, no, he hasn't done anything

but tell me that he is going to kill me.

He's going to kill me, he's going to kill me, he's going to kill me.

At least 100 times for the last three weeks.

In person, on the telephone, at home, in the car.

Any chance he gets and...

Friday night we went to the movies

and right in the best part, he turned to me and says,

"I'm going to kill you, Frances."

It spoiled the whole film for me.

Tell me this, Mrs. Turchin,

has he made these threats on your life in the company of other persons?

Oh, of course. Of course. He doesn't care who's around.

Two weeks ago my sister, Velma, was over for dinner

and right in the middle, when she was telling about her neighbor's asthma,

he says, "Excuse me a minute, Velma."

And then he turned to me and he said,

"I'm going to kill you, Frances."

And then he laughs.

And he tells my sister, "Go on with your story."

You don't believe me?

Well, I said that...

You call him up, he'll tell you.

You call him on the telephone. He'll tell you himself.

Ulster 8-9-9-4-5. Oh, he'll tell you. He's proud of it.

He says no one has ever found an easier way to kill a person.

And you, uh...

You really think your husband is serious about this?

Well, call him. Ulster 8-9-9-4-5.

Ulster, 8-9-9-4-5.

And has he indicated just how he intends to kill you?

Oh, certainly.

He says that I will probably be run over by a car.

Or if not, I will fall down a flight of stairs and break my neck.

We live on the third floor.

Oh.

And if not that, he says maybe I will take too many sleeping pills.

I don't know how many I've taken

since he started this crazy thing.

Maybe I've taken too many already.

And if I do doze off, he pokes me and he says,

"I'm going to kill you, Frances."

And then he goes to sleep.

And I lie there all night, worrying.

That's how he's killing me.

Yeah. Hey, you know, maybe that's it.

Maybe he just figured he'd start worrying you to death?

Oh, exactly. Exactly. He is worrying me to death.

And someday, I'm going to be worrying so much,

that I will get run over by a car.

I will fall down a flight of steps. I...

Oh, well, what's the use?

It's just the way he planned it.

And the other night,

he said that he gives me a week at the most.

Oh?

A week. A week, and I'll be dead.

And you know what?

No, no. What? What, ma'am?

I believe him.

Just today, on the way over here,

I didn't even see the bus that I was waiting for.

I was standing right out in the middle of the street,

and if some nice girl hadn't pushed me back,

he would have killed me right then.

Your husband.

Well, of course, my husband. Who else are we talking about?

I'm sorry, ma'am.

So.

What're you going to do about it?

Well, I don't know what I can do about it, Mrs. Turchin.

You know, unless you want to file a formal complaint against your husband.

A complaint? I have told you. He's killing me.

Isn't that complaint enough?

I don't want to start with papers and subpoenas. I will be dead already.

I don't want to swear on complaints.

I want you to speak to Bernard and tell him to stop killing me.

Well, I suppose I could call him up and talk to him, Mrs. Turchin, if you'd like.

But, first... Now, first, Mrs. Turchin,

you know, would you mind explaining to me

why you think your husband's trying to kill you?

Because I won't divorce him. That is all.

Just because I won't divorce him,

is that a reason to kill a person?

There's some people I know who might think that's reason enough. Yes, ma'am.

Well then, he will have to kill me

because I will never divorce him. Never!

At my age, where would I find another husband?

Yes, ma'am.

So.

Ulster 8-9-9-4-5.

Yeah. But, uh...

First, would you mind telling me why

you think your husband, you know, wants a divorce, because...

Now, wait a minute, now, Mrs. Turchin.

You know, this just might be a matter for a marriage counselor or something

not for the police department at all.

He says there are a thousand reasons.

And all of them are crazy.

Would you like to hear some of those crazy reasons, Officer?

Yeah. If you don't mind. Yeah.

I don't mind. They're all crazy, you'll see for yourself.

Crazy reason number one.

He says

that I do not cook well enough.

We have been married for 23 years

and suddenly he says I do not cook well enough.

So it's either divorce him or killing me.

Are you married, Officer?

Yes, ma'am.

Is this your wife?

Yes, ma'am.

Oh, she looks like a very sweet woman. Does she cook well?

Hmm? Well, I guess you could say she's about the average.

Well, there you see, nobody is perfect.

And then, crazy reason number two.

Because I'm not as beautiful as I was when he married me.

Now is that a crazy reason or not?

How long have you been married, may I ask?

Fourteen years come next May, ma'am.

Well, is your wife as beautiful as she was when you married her?

Be honest.

No, I don't guess you could say that. No, ma'am.

So! Crazy reason number three.

He says he has nothing left to say to me.

After 23 years, he says he's all talked out as far as I'm concerned

and he is not interested in listening to anything I have to say, either.

Now is that a crazy reason or not?

I mean, don't you have times when you don't have anything to say to your wife?

Yes, ma'am.

Is that a reason for divorce or killing?

I've been married just as long as he has, you know.

Ah, crazy reason number four.

Because I clutter up the bathroom.

Well, what woman doesn't clutter up the bathroom?

I have... I have cosmetics,

I have cleansers, I have shampoos.

I try to keep as much as I can on the dresser.

But where am I to put all the rest? In the closet?

Where does your wife keep her cosmetics?

In the bathroom, ma'am.

There you are.

And crazy reason number five.

Excuse me, Mrs. Turchin,

but I think I got a pretty good grasp on the situation right now.

Yes.

Going to call your husband up on the telephone,

ask him to come down here and I'll have a little talk with him.

Oh, I'm so glad.

Maybe you can talk some sense into him.

Ulster 8-9-9-4-5.

Bernard W. Turchin.

Would you like me to wait while you call him?

No, no.

No, that won't be necessary, Mrs. Turchin.

I'm just gonna call him up and ask him to come down here, you know.

You run along home, and we'll just have a little chat, that's all.

Thank you. Thank you.

I don't know what I would've done.

Just today, on the way over here,

I was standing right out in the street thinking about it.

I told you about that, didn't I?

How do you mean?

About the girl pulling you back from in front of the bus, yeah.

Well, you see? You see what he's made me?

A week he gives me, at the most.

I don't know. I just hope I get home all right.

Well, I'd be glad to have one of the officers drive you home then.

No. No, I'll be all right.

I feel so much better just having talked to you about it.

If only he'd just stop that, killing me, killing me, killing me...

Yeah. Yes.

The system's foolproof he says.

Anybody could do it. Just anybody.

And all they have to do is follow his instructions. Can you imagine?

Isn't that the craziest thing you ever heard of?

Well, thank you.

Quite all right, ma'am.

You have the number now? Yeah.

Ulster 8-9... 9-9-4-5.

Got 'em right here. Yes, that's right.

Good bye, Mrs. Turchin.

Thank you again.

Hello, is Mr. Turchin there, please?

Oh.

Mr. Bernard W. Turchin?

How do you do, sir?

Now, you don't know me. My name is Bevelow.

Sergeant Stanley Bevelow down at the 14th Precinct station.

Yeah.

I was wondering if you could come down here

and have a little talk with me?

Oh, no. No, no, nothing official, actually.

It's kind of a... Kind of a personal matter.

Yeah.

Well, if you could it would be just fine.

Sometime this afternoon?

Say around 4:30? It'll be fine, I'll be off duty then.

All right, Mr. Turchin. Thank you, sir.

Thank you very much. Yeah. Bye.

Here we have a cameo dandy.

Problem, how to flee the coop.

How to make tracks away form the police and unhappy peers.

Ship out to safer climbs.

The story of a chap, who, if he'd had to do over again,

would've remained where he was.

He finds out that he is precisely what is the title of the picture,

Dead Weight.

Come in, sir, come in.

Well, Mr. Landau.

I'm happy to announce that you'll be out of the country by this time tomorrow.

With no trouble, sir. No trouble whatsoever.

As I've already explained, my system is absolutely foolproof.

On that, sir, I pledge my word.

Your word, huh, Mr. Bullivant?

Well, for $15,000, I'm going to need more collateral than that.

But you have it, sir. You have it.

The unsullied reputation of my firm.

Over 47 years of business at the same location,

and not one customer complaint.

Well, I figure if anything goes wrong

I don't get me a chance to get a refund.

Not from a cell on death row. You know what I mean?

Well, Mr. Landau,

place yourself in my hands,

and never again will you see the inside of a cell.

You talk a good game.

I do more than talk, sir.

I am a man of highly ethical principles.

If I thought myself incapable of honoring my promises,

I would enter some other line of work.

You tell me I can go anyplace I want in this world? I mean anywhere?

Anyplace at all, Mr. Landau.

You just name it.

Interestingly enough, I had one customer,

a rather whimsical chap, who opted for Red China.

And he arrived in Peking two years before the ping pong team.

Yes, Mr. Landau, nothing is too challenging

for Bullivant and Company. Nothing.

I was thinking of South America. Yeah. South America.

Splendid. Splendid. A capital idea.

Might I suggest Buenos Aires?

Rio's become a bit overdone of late, if you know what I mean.

I don't know what you're talking about.

I mean, for $15,000 I just don't know.

Well, you can always take your business elsewhere.

There is no somewhere else.

And even if there was, there's not time. You read the papers?

They got me splattered all over the front page,

I got more space than the last moon shot.

I'm surprised I got over here before some joker put the finger on me.

In that case, Mr. Landau,

15,000 is not such an extravagant expense.

As a matter of fact, unless the reports are greatly exaggerated,

you'll show a profit of, oh, better than $200,000 for your efforts.

Do you know what I had to go through to get this, old man?

"Two bank guards, one teller and a six-year old child."

I suppose the child was necessary?

He got in the way of a bullet.

What was I supposed to do, whistle it back?

There was lead flying all over the place.

Besides, what was a kid his age

doing on the street at 10:00 in the morning?

Why wasn't he in school where he belonged? Why wasn't he in school?

Well, I guess that'll teach the little rascal not to play hookey.

Are you playing some sort of a game with me or what?

I, sir? Heaven forbid.

Let's see.

Well, Mr. Landau, the hour's growing late, there's much to be done

if I'm to put the machinery in motion.

You sure that nothing can go wrong, huh?

What could go wrong, sir? I'm an exporter.

And you, sir, are simply another consignment

of outward cargo bound for Argentina.

Now you just make sure you take good care of the merchandise.

I handle everything with care, Mr. Landau.

That is why, after 47 years, I am still in business.

Forty-seven years in the same job. Are you kidding?

For me that'd be like pulling hard time.

I'd rather do a stretch on a rock pile.

Forty-seven years.

Well, to each his own.

Would you join me in a little sherry, Mr. Landau?

Sherry? What, are you crackers? That's for old biddies.

Ain't you got nothing with little more muscle, huh?

I'm afraid not.

Perhaps it's merely foolish superstition.

Ah, let's put it down to the eccentricity of an old man,

but I always like to complete a transaction

by sealing the bargain with a toast.

Would you indulge me, sir?

I mean, what could it hurt, right?

Right. Godspeed.

Yeah, whatever.

You know, I was thinking about that kid you were talking about.

He ran right in front of my line of fire.

I put a .45 slug in him. Six years old.

You could drop an elephant with a .45 slug.

Come to pick up some air freight to Buenos Aires?

I'll be ready in a moment or two.

Would you mind giving me a hand?

I've got to nail this lid down.

Dog food, huh?

My Pomeranian's off her feed,

do you think if I switch to your brand...

I'm afraid you won't find this stocked on the shelves

of your neighborhood supermarket, young man.

This is strictly for exportation.

For export only, huh?

Must be pretty expensive merchandise.

Well, there've been some complaints.

But in the end, the customer invariably pays the price.

Well, you get what you pay for in this life, I guess.

Indeed you do, young man, indeed you do.

And if you'll forgive a boast,

I think I can say with pardonable pride

there's not another manufacturer in the country

who can duplicate my secret recipe.

My goodness, how time flies.

We must hurry, young man. Hurry.

It wouldn't do to miss the plane. Wouldn't do at all.

I promised my customer this would leave the country today.

And in 47 years, I've never failed a pledge.