Original subtitles

What are we stopping for?

Get out.

Here?

Aren't you taking me to the station?

I said get out!

Hey!

What are you leaving me here for?!

Tonight's episode...

Starring Robert Stack as Eliot Ness.

Co-starring Leo Gordon.

With special guest star David Brian.

On a peaceful evening in the spring of 1931,

gang warfare had broken out again

with sudden violence in the streets of St. Louis.

Tim Harrington, long entrenched

as the undisputed boss of the city,

was fighting the challenge to his leadership.

And the challenger was an upstart hoodlum...

Joe Courtney.

The most outraged citizen of St. Louis was Dink Conway...

The owner of the swanky Jockey Club...

A fashionable clubhouse

attached to the old Maxwell Racetrack,

converted into the finest restaurant and nightclub

in the state of Missouri.

Punks! Punks!

Gutter rats, both of them.

Next they'll be rolling drunks in alleys,

holding up candy stores.

Why don't they wear those striped turtleneck sweaters

so everybody will know they're punks?

One more shootout like last night

and the cops will close this town up for good.

Where are they?

Think you can get them all in the same room

after what happened?

We're going to finish this thing tonight once and for all.

I don't know, Dink.

I just can't see the three of you

getting along together.

Who said anything about the three of us?

Oh...

You and who, Dink? Harrington? Courtney?

I don't know yet.

We got to find out where the strength is...

the weakness.

You keep your eyes open tonight, Whitey.

Joe Courtney's here.

Okay, Whitey.

Let's go.

Joe, baby.

It's good to see you.

I'm glad you came.

Boys, I want you to have a good time tonight.

The place is yours.

Normally I don't allow liquor in here,

but tonight's a special occasion

so drink it up.

You've still got that jinx with you?

Jinx?

Joe, I'm surprised at you.

Man of your intelligence with superstitions.

I don't like black cats,

I don't like spilled salt, and I don't walk under ladders.

So what does that make me?

Superstitious.

So take it away.

All right, Joe.

Here, take him back to my office and feed him.

Now, have a good time tonight, fellas.

Where's Harrington?

He'll be here.

Dink, you're a smart man.

And you've done all right by yourself.

You come a long way since the time you ran beer

for Jimmy Egan.

That was a long time ago.

One day he disappears

and the next day you're on top.

Fast moving, I'd say.

We didn't come here to talk about that.

It's your party.

Tim, boy!

Good to see you.

I'm glad you could come.

Come inside, boys.

Don't stand out in the cold.

Join the party.

Now let's make this a nice, sociable evening.

Suppose we start off

by everybody taking their hands out of their pockets.

I gave you my word there'd be no shooting

and there isn't going to be any.

You wouldn't want to make a liar out of me, would you, Tim?

Joe?

Go on, sit down, Tim.

Come on, boys, join the party.

All right, men, you can go.

You know, you're a slick talker, Dink.

Only let's get right to it.

We didn't come here to drink.

You're putting on weight, Harrington.

And you got a big mouth.

Now wait a minute, boys.

Let's not adjourn this meeting

before it's even called to order.

Surely we can sit down at the table

and discuss our problems like

intelligent people. All right. All right, Dink.

But let's skip the big words, huh?

All right.

I'll come to the point.

Organization.

No chance.

Count me out, too.

Organization means bookkeepers, accountants, taxmen.

That means trouble.

I like cold cash.

That's old-fashioned thinking, Joe.

I can't help it.

I like old-fashioned cold cash.

Me, too.

Besides, why should I organize with you?

What do you got to offer?

Something you both need... protection...

connections, a respectable front.

Now if we pool our resources,

we can double our take in a year.

We can even triple it. I guarantee it.

Right now we're operating at half efficiency.

You know why?

Because we're always watching each other.

Hiding, and then shooting it out instead of talking about it.

If we would spend our time and energy working together,

we could have this town just where we want it.

I'll buy that.

Makes sense, Harrington.

I think Dink's got something.

Shut up!

Who told you two monkeys you could think?

I do all the thinking around here, do you understand?

How do you like that?

My own men telling me what to do.

Well, I'm an old dog, Dink.

And I don't learn new tricks too easy.

I pass.

Look, Tim, it was just a suggestion.

Take your time, think about it.

Nothing to think about.

I gotta go.

If you two guys want to stay here

and have a good time it's all right.

I'll show you out.

Don't bother. I'll find my own way.

Drink up, boys.

Tomorrow we're going to be one big, happy family.

Harrington will change his mind.

He'll come around.

Get your car right away, Mr. Harrington.

Get in, punk.

Fast.

Now, look, Whitey,

maybe you better talk this over with your boss.

We're going to be joining up...

Me and Dink and Courtney.

Dink and Courtney... not you.

You got it all wrong. I mean it.

L-Let's talk to Dink, huh?

I already talked to him.

Out.

I'll give you ten grand if you let me go.

Twenty.

Fifty!

Out.

Whitey, you and me has always been friends.

Give me a chance, huh?

Give me a chance!

Sure, I'll give you a chance.

Show you I'm a real sport,

I'll give you a 50- foot head start.

Ain't a bad handicap for a fat guy like you, huh?

Get out.

All right, you're off.

Whitey, Whitey, please! Please, stop it!

That old son of a gun.

Okay, Steve, I didn't think you were so bad either.

Let's go, let's organize. It'll be great.

For a month after the unexplained disappearance

of Tim Harrington, it looked like peace

had finally descended on St. Louis

and Dink Conway had things under control.

Hey, Eddie.

Hi, Joe.

I ain't seen you around in months.

How's it going?

I'll let you know next week.

What's doing next week?

Something.

What?

Something big.

What do you call big?

B-I-G, big.

Take my word for it.

Look, I know you and Conway are big operators now.

If it's a heist job, we don't want no part of it.

You too big for a million dollars?

What kind of job?

Look, I got to make sure you're interested.

I've been working on this one a long time.

I'm interested. What kind of job?

Mail truck.

Cash and negotiable securities.

An inside job.

I promised the driver of the truck 25 Gs.

When?

Monday morning.

I don't know nothing about these securities.

How do we dump 'em? I got a guy...

He can get us 80% of their face value.

Dink won't like it.

I like it.

Cold cash, that's what I like.

Eddie... you got yourself a deal.

Rack 'em up, Steve.

We're going to begin a new game...

a brand-new game.

On the following Monday morning... May 26, 1932...

Postmaster George Rollins and his driver Louis Hoffner

climbed into their truck

to deliver a sack of valuable mail.

Very valuable mail.

$150,000 in cash and more than a million dollars worth

of negotiable securities.

Wait a minute.

Here's your share.

That same morning,

the St. Louis police contacted Beecher Asbury,

the federal district attorney in Chicago.

It's out of the question, Eliot.

You need a more experienced man

with you on a job like this.

He's a rookie. A raw rookie.

That may be, but we have no alternative.

Every man I've got's on this Arnold Rothstein thing.

Why are you so sold on this boy?

Read for yourself.

"Cameron Allison, 27 years old, born St. Louis, Missouri.

"Masters degree, Business Administration,

Harvard University."

Well, he's got a fine education.

I'm sure he'd be a credit to our department.

But it takes a long time to get a degree for experience.

He got his degree for that, too, a long time ago.

There are a few things that are not in that folder.

Does it say anything in there

about his father being a judge in St. Louis?

Does it say anything about how he was killed one night

right in front of the boy's eyes

by a cheap hoodlum because they couldn't buy him off?

That boy was a man when he was 12 years old.

All right, Eliot, you win.

You have my blessing, if you think you can handle it.

I'll take my chances.

Eliot Ness and Cameron Allison,

a special agent on his first assignment,

spent that entire day going over every foot of the area

where the mail truck robbery and murder had been committed.

There were no clues anywhere,

only chalk marks to show that death had been there

a few hours earlier.

Their next stop was the post office,

where inspectors prepared a detailed inventory

of the mail truck's cargo.

Circulars would be printed, and mailed to every banking

and brokerage house in the nation,

listing the stolen securities.

How long do you think it'll take, Eliot?

Oh, a couple of days at least.

That long?

Come on, eager beaver.

Take a tip from John Milton.

The first thing to learn is,

"They also serve who only stand and wait."

Ness was right.

There was nothing to do now

but wait for the circulars to be drawn up.

Then the tedious job

of contacting every brokerage house would begin.

Talk, Eddie. You're the only one

who could have pulled that robbery.

I told you.

I don't know nothing about it.

This one's going to knock

your head clean off. That's enough, Whitey.

Eddie's ready to talk.

Aren't you, Eddie?

Yeah. Okay.

Okay.

Now, who was it?

Joe and Steve.

The three of us.

Courtney and his torpedo?

Look, Dink...

If he finds out I told you, he'll kill me.

Oh, he won't find out, Eddie.

Not if you do exactly as we tell you to do.

I'll do anything you say, Dink.

Anything.

Well, that's fine, Eddie. That's fine.

Let it ring.

I'll get it.

Hold that.

Yeah?

Who?

Eddie?

Eddie Runge?

Joe, we're in trouble.

What kind of trouble?

Better meet me in the pool room.

I can't talk now.

Joe.

Over here, Joe.

What is it? What's... what is it?

Hey, what happened to your face, huh?

So you're a millionaire now, huh, Joe?

What are you going to do with all that money, Joe?

You dirty, double-crossing stoolie.

Oh, don't blame Eddie, Joe. Blame yourself!

Listen. Listen, fellas. I think we could...

we could talk a deal.

I got a lot of money on me. Cash money.

Yeah?

Almost 50... 50 grand.

We know all about it.

It's all yours. You can have it all.

That's nice, Joe. We'll take it later.

Listen. That's not all I got.

I got securities. Negotiable stuff.

Almost as good as cash.

In a week, I'll have almost 200 grand.

Good. We like money.

Now, listen... you take me to Dink.

I want to see Dink. He'll square me.

You hear that, Flip?

He wants to see Dink. Well...

What are we waiting for?

Oh, but he's messy.

Dink don't like people around who ain't neat.

Yeah.

And he smells bad, too.

Well, we'll stop at the river first.

Give him a bath.

No... No!

No... Go ahead.

Mr. Neuhauser, they tell me you're a stockbroker.

I want straight talk from you.

How much are those securities worth?

Oh, I'd say a little over a million.

Where are they?

They're safe.

I have them in my locker at the golf club.

Well, I'll be frank with you.

I don't know much about securities.

How does one go about handling them?

Two ways, Mr. Conway.

Locally or abroad.

I can dispose of them in Cuba or Canada,

but we'd lose 20% by selling them out of the country.

What do you suggest?

Well, I suggest we try locally first.

I'll unload, say, oh, $50,000 worth each week.

On a deal like this, I like to work

through the smaller brokerage houses.

They're not as careful as the large ones.

They... they don't read those circulars

that the government puts out.

They're only interested in making a profit,

the same as we are.

And your cut?

20%.

Ten.

Now, I'm taking a great risk.

Don't bargain with me, Mr. Neuhauser.

I know what kind of a risk you're taking.

Now that your client, Mr. Courtney, is at the bottom

of the river, you're not taking any risk at all.

In fact, if the feds catch up with you, you're clean.

They can't do anything to you. Isn't that right, Mr. Neuhauser?

You're right, Mr. Conway.

It's a wonderful position to be in, isn't it?

And now, back to:

Ness reasoned exactly as Neuhauser had.

They knew that no attempt would be made

to get the bonds through any of the large brokerage houses,

so they started contacting the smaller ones.

All that day, and the next,

Ness and Allison trudged into each small office

and requested that they be allowed

to look over the sales entries for the current month.

It was a time-consuming job, but all to no avail.

None of the stock sales matched the list

on the government circular.

By the end of two weeks, it began to look

as though their grinding door-to-door canvassing

was coming to a dead end.

Oh!

Oh!

My aching feet.

They must have the securities in cold storage.

That's where I'd like to put my feet.

In cold storage.

You know, they could be

unloading them out of the country.

I don't think so. I think they're right here in St. Louis.

What makes you say that?

One good reason.

They pay higher prices for securities here.

Well, let's call it a day.

We'll start fresh again tomorrow morning.

Why not keep going?

Now, look, I like your determination...

All right. Fine.

I know I'm... I'm eager and inexperienced

and I'll get over it.

Hello.

May I speak to Mr. Ness, please?

Who is it?

Oh, this is Mr. Meyer, of Meyer & Son.

Mr. Ness was in my office the other day

looking over my books.

May I speak to him, please?

It's for you. Mr. Meyer.

Hello.

Hello. Mr. Ness, before calling you, I talked to my lawyer,

and I assure you, if I were guilty of any wrongdoing,

I would not be calling you now.

What are you talking about?

Well, sir, three days ago, Mr. J.J. Spencer walked

into my office, and brought me $50,00 worth of securities

listed on the circular.

Before I realized those securities were stolen,

I had already sold $40,000 worth of them.

Have you paid him the money yet?

No, sir, but I... but I have a check right here

made out to Mr. J.J. Spencer,

which he asked me to mail to him.

Hold everything, Mr. Meyer. And stay right where you are.

We'll be right down to see you.

Cam, I think we got our first nibble.

Come on.

Hey, wait for me.

Seven...

These are the securities, all right.

We'll have to take these with us, Mr. Meyer.

Mr. Ness, nothing like this has ever happened to me before.

I've been a broker for 30 years,

and I never had any trouble with the government.

No one's accusing you of doing anything wrong, Mr. Meyer.

We just want your help in locating this J.J. Spencer.

I know, but I've already told you

I never saw the man before in my life.

But you have a check for him.

Where are you gonna send it?

Oh, he left a post office box number: 42-A-9,

main branch.

What-what do you want me to do with this check?

Send it as planned.

I don't think Mr. Spencer's gonna have a chance

to deposit this one.

Thanks, Mr. Meyer, you've been very helpful.

This your first stakeout, Cam? That's right.

Well, you can't say there isn't a lot of variety in this job.

We've done a lot of walking; now we'll do a lot of waiting.

You think Mr. Meyer could've tipped off this Spencer?

We'll soon find out.

You know, it's funny, ironic.

They steal the securities from the post office,

and now they're using the post office to help them get away with it.

Let's go.

Excuse me.

You better come with us.

Well, what for?

Suspicion of robbery and murder.

Robbery and what?!

Well, you can't be serious.

What do you think? You better come along with us.

Well, now, just a minute.

Where... where are you taking me?

To jail.

Now, I don't suppose

there's anything I can do to stop you,

but if you gentlemen think you're gonna hold me

on anything as preposterous as murder,

well, I'll be out in 24 hours.

We'll take that check now.

What check?

That check for $38,000 you got in your pocket.

$40,000 less five-percent commission to Mr. Meyer.

Well, now, this... this check, it doesn't belong to me.

That's right, mister... It's government property.

Come on.

"Spencer"... is that your name?

Well, let's just say it's one of my business names.

My real name is Neuhauser, William Neuhauser.

Where are the rest of the securities, Mr. Neuhauser?

I don't know.

My client only gave me $50,000 worth to sell.

Who's your client?

Joe Courtney.

That punk hood?

He may be a punk hood to you, but he's a client to me.

It was strictly a business deal.

Where does he live?

At the Concord Hotel.

When'd you see him last?

Mm, about two weeks ago when he came into my office

with the securities to sell.

If there's anything wrong in this deal,

I suggest you two gentlemen contact Mr. Joe Courtney.

He knows all the answers.

William Neuhauser was booked and questioned

while Ness and Allison paid a visit to the Concord Hotel.

Uh, nothing unusual about Mr. Courtney leaving for two weeks.

He's done it before, and he'll probably do it again.

Last year he went to Miami for a month.

I know he'll be back.

A man doesn't usually pay a year's rent

unless he plans to come back.

Not usually.

What are you looking for?

A million dollars.

He's joking, of course.

Of course.

Now, wouldn't you say that was unusual?

When a man goes away, he generally takes

his suitcases with him.

Maybe he bought new luggage.

This luggage looks new to me.

The closets are full of suits, and the dressers are full of shirts.

Wherever Joe Courtney went, he went in an awful big hurry.

Eliot, look at this.

Probably the cleaning woman's.

I-I'll return it to her.

No cleaning woman ever owned a handkerchief this good.

Did Courtney ever bring any women up here?

No.

You like Courtney, don't you?

One of the best tenants I ever had.

Excuse me, I... I must get back to the desk.

If I can be of any help to you, please let me know.

Cam, you know where I think Joe Courtney is?

At the bottom of the Mississippi River.

You're probably right.

What about this Neuhauser? Well, he's fronting for somebody,

but I don't think it's Joe Courtney.

Mr. Somebody finds out the heat is on,

I don't think there's gonna be any

securities sold around here for a long time.

You think Neuhauser knows where the securities are?

Maybe. Anyway, let's run a laundry check on this right away.

Whew! Some perfume.

Some cleaning woman.

Even before the jail doors are closed

on William Neuhauser, one of Conway's tipsters phoned him

to let him know that the broker had been picked up.

Although Conway had no real reason to worry,

he was a cautious man.

Too many things could conceivably go wrong.

Too many things connected him

to the mail robbery and the murders:

the securities, William Neuhauser,

and even Rita Rocco.

He was taking no chances.

All three would have to be disposed of, and fast.

In less than 24 hours,

William Neuhauser was out on $10,000 bail.

And Conway's first obstacle was removed.

William Neuhauser was never seen again.

Later that same afternoon,

Whitey Dearing and Flip Anderson

played a round of golf at the Brookmere Country Club,

the club, coincidentally,

to which William Neuhauser belonged.

It was also the place where

more than a million dollars in securities were hidden.

Now the second obstacle, the securities,

were taken care off.

That left only Rita Rocco.

If you come through that door, I'll kill you both!

What's all this talk about killing, Rita?

You must have us mixed up with somebody else.

No, I don't.

Rita... we just come by to see you a minute.

Courtney told us to contact you,

tell you he's going out of town for a few days.

You're a liar! You killed him!

We're coming in, Rita.

Now, don't you do anything foolish.

Come on in!

What are you men doing here?

I told that girl I wouldn't stand for it anymore,

and I won't!

Now, you get out.

You get out, both of you.

What kind of a house do you think this is?

Now, hold it, ma'am. Don't you "ma'am" me!

Go on, get out!

You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

One lousy dame all by herself, and you two goons blow the job.

She'll talk her head off

the first chance she gets.

We'll get her tomorrow, Dink.

Tomorrow's too late.

Tonight.

We can't, Dink.

That old landlady'll blow her stack.

I said now, and I mean now.

Wait a minute.

Hey, Jack, come on, play something gay!

How about this?

That's better, that's better.

Tell Lieutenant O'Farrell I want to see him.

Then leave me alone with him.

Right, Dink.

Long distance, please.

Operator, I've had a call in to Miami for the past two hours.

Call me as soon as you can put it through.

Come in, Mike.

A wonderful party, Dink.

Come on out and join us.

Mike, take that silly hat off.

Mike, I'm in trouble.

Trouble? Anything I can do?

Yes. Well...

you know, Dink, I'd do anything for you.

If it wasn't for you, I'd be a bum today.

And I haven't forgotten that you squared that drunken manslaughter rap

with the police commissioner for me.

It was nothing, Mike. Nothing, he says.

Just my whole life.

All right, Dink, what is it you want?

Just name it.

You know a girl named Rita Rocco?

Rita Rocco, Rita Rocco.

Oh, sure.

I picked her up a few years back.

I can't explain it now,

but I want you to pick her up again tonight at her house.

But Dink...

All I'm asking for is a favor, Mike.

If you don't want to do it, okay.

Well... Dink, it isn't that.

You know you could have the shirt off my back, my right arm.

Keep your arm and your shirt, Mike!

All I'm asking you for is one lousy little favor.

Look, Mike, it took one phone call to make you a lieutenant.

All it'll take is one more phone call

to bust you right down to a lousy flatfoot.

Now, go on, get out of here!

I'll get somebody else.

All right, Dink.

What do you want me to do?

I'm sorry, Rita, but I got to take you in.

We got a complaint. Don't be so sorry. Let's go.

You don't know how happy I am to see you.

I'll bet Mrs. Lindsey is the one who put in that complaint about me.

Was it her?

You don't have to tell me.

I don't care.

Listen, Lieutenant, have I got things to tell you.

Things that'll make those-those brass buttons pop right off your coat.

That Conway.

I want to see him fry.

He killed my boyfriend, Joe Courtney.

And now he wants to kill me, too.

Because I know all about that mail robbery.

Conway's got it all now, and he knows that I know it.

That's why he tried to rub me out tonight.

You listening to what I'm telling you,

Lieutenant? Yeah.

And I got plenty more to tell.

What are we stopping for?

Get out.

Here?

Aren't you taking me to the station?

I said get out!

Hey!

What are you leaving me here for?!

Well, guess that takes care of everything.

That took care of everything, all right,

except the frilly silk handkerchief

found in Joe Courtney's hotel room.

It's coming up pretty clear now.

S33.

I'll check the mark in the files.

Right.

They got thousands of laundry marks

catalogued in their files.

Let's hope ours is in there.

How do they catalogue them?

By cities, mostly.

They got a laundry mark

for every cleaning establishment

in the state of Missouri right in there.

Here's the one you want.

Oh, yes. Now I remember.

She had six of them exactly alike.

Very fussy about them.

She wanted me to be especially careful

when I cleaned them.

What's her name?

Miss Rocco.

Um... I have it here on a ticket.

Miss Rita Rocco.

The address?

310 Eighth Avenue.

Thank you.

Hello, Commonwealth Laundry.

Well, you never know, with a woman like that,

where she is from one minute to the next.

She's more trouble than any tenant I ever had.

You still haven't answered my question, Mrs. Lindsey.

When was the last time you saw her?

Last night, and I gave her a piece of my mind, I did.

Her and those two men she was with.

I knew they'd take her away sooner or later.

Who took her away?

The police, of course.

Last night?

That's right. I was looking out my window

and I saw the police car drive up and take her away.

Good riddance, I say.

Yes, well, thank you, Mrs. Lindsey.

If you see her, you can tell her,

she'd better find another room.

Ness and Allison went to the police station,

but all their inquiries availed them nothing.

Both the captain and Lieutenant O'Farrell

were very helpful...

especially the lieutenant.

But there was no record on the blotter

of anyone by the name of Rita Rocco

who had been picked up the night before.

Lieutenant O'Farrell even called the other precincts

but none of them reported

booking anyone by the name of Rita Rocco

or anyone who fit her description.

Ness was frankly puzzled.

What do you make of it?

It smells.

Look, do you think, you think that old lady, Mrs. Lindsey,

might have been mistaken?

I mean, she didn't like the girl.

Maybe she dreamed up this whole thing about the police car.

Maybe, but what about Rita Rocco?

I hate to say it, but she's probably

with her boyfriend, Joe Courtney.

That's what I'm afraid of.

All right.

All right, let's say this Rocco girl was

picked up by the police car, like Mrs. Lindsey says.

Where does that lead us?

That's what I'd like to know.

Maybe to a cop, a corrupt cop.

There's one thing I know, we made a blunder.

We tipped our hand.

What do you mean?

I mean, whoever it is is going to be in a hurry

to contact the big man.

Hey, look. There's somebody in a hurry.

The lieutenant.

Yeah.

♪ ♪

Conway.

You know him, Cam?

Everybody in St. Louis knows him.

He belongs to the new school of hoodlum...

Conservative, sociable, respectable.

They're the worst kind.

This one is scum!

Nobody's ever been able to pin anything on him.

He's always hides his tracks well.

But he wasn't always so respectable.

I remember when he drove a beer truck for Jimmy Egan.

Egan? When was that?

When my father was killed, 15 years ago.

Egan and his boys murdered him,

because they couldn't buy him off.

Too bad he was an honest judge.

I'm sorry.

I wonder how Conway figures in all this.

I don't know,

but I'd sure like to find out.

You will.

Ness knew that their best chance

to find out more about Conway

was from the inside, so that afternoon,

he arranged with the St. Louis Fire Department

to supply Allison with the credentials

of a fire inspector.

The real reason to get him inside, of course,

was to tap Conway's telephone.

Hello.

Hello, Eliot?

Unable to find it.

Murdoch's... Eliot, do you hear me?

What are you complaining about...?

Got her all oiled and tuned up... Hello.

Hello, Eliot.

Hello. Hello, Eliot. Hello.

Got you, Cam.

Everything's fine here, Chief.

No overloads I can see.

Wiring's fine.

Yes, sir. I'll be right over.

Oh, hello.

I hope you don't mind.

I took the liberty of using your phone.

Who are you?

Why, I'm the fire inspector.

Fire inspector? What are you inspecting in here?

Don't you know your own fire laws?

Of course.

Well, for your information,

rooms of eight people or more only

come under your jurisdiction.

There's never anybody in here but the two of us...

Me and my cat.

Well, I guess I just got a little overeager.

I figured since I was here, I might as well check everything.

I'm sorry if I bothered you.

Well, there's no bother.

I suggest you read your little book

of regulations more often.

Yes, sir.

Oh, everything's fine, Mr. Conway.

There's no fire hazards I can see.

Good. I don't like hazards.

Bye, sir.

Let me have long distance, please.

Long distance? I want Miami.

The number is Bayside, 4352.

That's right.

Harris?

Harris, I want you here tonight.

Yes, tonight.

Everything is fixed.

I spoke to the broker in Havana.

He'll be expecting you tomorrow.

Now, listen, I want you to land your plane

at the St. Louis Airport at 10:00.

I'll have two of my men there in a car to pick you up.

I'll expect you out at the club about 10:30.

It's the far end of the old race track.

You can pick up the stuff there.

Right.

Ness immediately called Beecher Asbury in Chicago.

Look, Beecher, they're gonna make the big move tonight.

Anything I can do?

Yeah, send me a couple of men.

Right. Pick them up at the airport in three hours.

Good.

We're expecting a few other people there, too.

At 10:00.

Right.

Thanks.

Evening, Mr. Conway.

Good evening, Jack.

Good evening, gentlemen. Everything all right?

Oh, fine. You've got a nice place here.

As good as anything they've got in New York.

The food was wonderful.

Thank you very much.

Excuse me.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

All right, it's all yours. Take off.

Hold it!

Hold it!

Conway.

Stay here, Mike.

It took a long time to pay that debt back.

Yeah, it sometimes does.

Dink Conway's dream of organizing St. Louis

ended in the parking lot of an old racetrack.

He was just another also ran.

The Untouchables.