All language subtitles for Night Gallery S02E19 Deliveries in the Rear.DVDRip.NonHI.ENGLISH.UNVSL

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.