Original subtitles

He's out of gas.

He's made dead-stick landings before.

Scratch one airplane.

And one pilot.

It's unfortunate.

Tonight's episode...

Starring Robert Stack as Eliot Ness.

Co-starring Victor Buono, Bruce Gordon,

John Kellogg.

And narrated by Walter Winchell.

Prohibition, 1932.

The city of Chicago was consuming alcohol

at the rate of 32 million gallons a year.

The figures are incredible, but they are documented.

86,000 gallons a day.

It was manufactured in everything

from massive distilleries to grimy bathtubs.

It came into the brawling city by truck and motorcar,

by pop bottles and pipeline.

All of it was illegal.

Most of it was bad.

Some of it was poison.

A mere trickle, less than one percent

of this staggering total,

was the finest liquor money could buy,

the purest scotch and rye whiskey.

It came from Canada.

For the speakeasy proprietor

who would assure the silk-stocking trade

of a steady supply of imported scotch,

the rewards were enormous.

But the risks were even greater.

All right, the party's over!

Front door.

For Eliot Ness and his men,

the violence which exploded at an isolated roadhouse

30 miles from Chicago was the first indication

that a major gang war was about to erupt.

Frank Nitti's men.

Nitti?! What are they doing here?

I wish we knew.

How many hurt in here?

Two dead, three critically injured.

One was just a kid.

Coed from Northwestern.

The manager is back there, Eliot.

His name is Grayson.

All right, let's have it.

Well, we were minding our own business.

All of a sudden, these guys come in

and start shooting up the joint.

Your men with machine guns...

you were just protecting yourselves, huh?

Well, sure.

We've been getting anonymous threats.

Where are you from?

Chicago.

All of you?

Please.

They're taking my girl to the hospital.

Why did you come here, son?

We had our commencement exercises at the university.

We just wanted to celebrate.

Bill?

Ask one of the state boys if they'll escort these people

to County Hospital, huh?

Right.

Get anything? Plenty.

Somebody's been supplying these roadhouses

with imported liquor, stuff you can't buy in Chicago.

It's pulling the money trade out here.

From the looks of things, Nitti doesn't like it.

What will we do about the manager?

Put him under arrest for illegal sale of alcohol,

contributing to the delinquency of minors,

unlawful possession of automatic weapons.

It'll be a pleasure.

All this good booze...

we've got to find out where he's getting it.

We better.

If we don't, this state could be in

for the biggest gang war

since Capone discovered the tommy gun.

Lucky!

They call you Lucky?

What is that name, for laughs?

Frank...

I tell you, they was waiting for us.

They had their own guys with choppers.

It was a massacre.

And you came straight back here?

What happens if you was followed?

We wasn't followed, Frank.

Not a chance.

What bugs me is...

is how they knew we was coming.

There's no way they could have known.

They was just ready for us.

Two months ago, you couldn't get a shot

of scotch or Canadian booze in the whole town.

So, now, all of a sudden,

half a dozen clubs are serving the stuff.

Where are they getting it?

Well, if I knew that, I wouldn't...

What happened?

Somebody tossed a bomb.

Hi.

Hi.

Wanted to see how you were doing.

Fine.

I'm doing fine.

Daddy, please don't get angry.

About tonight, I mean.

Jimmy and I were...

just having a good time.

Come closer.

I can hardly see you.

Listen... Daddy...

I'm awfully sorry about... my new dress.

I guess I ruined it.

I'll need another one.

But I promise...

I won't ask for another nickel my whole sophomore year.

Nurse.

♪ ♪

Jimmy?

How is she?

She didn't even want to go, Mr. Ness.

I talked her into it.

It isn't your fault, Jimmy.

What am I going to tell her father?

What is it, Rico?

The Montmartre Club.

Somebody just tossed a bomb.

How many this time?

What do you mean?

How many people hurt?

Luckily, the club was closed,

but six pedestrians and a taxi driver were injured.

We don't know yet how badly.

That makes 12 in less than three hours.

Well, there won't be any more.

Here's the Cook County line.

And here, here, here

and here are the most expensive clubs we got.

And here, here, here and here

are roadhouses, and each

one of them is opposite one of our clubs.

And they all got this imported liquor,

and they're taking away so much of our business,

we can't even afford to pay the help.

You think this is an accident?

Nobody said it was an accident, Frank.

You call Guzik.

You tell him to get in touch with Detroit.

You tell him I want 100 guns in town

by day after tomorrow.

Frank, I think we ought to discuss this quietly

before we make any decisions.

All right, we'll discuss it.

And when we're through discussing it...

we'll hit.

Why aren't you and your men inside?

We're waiting for a warrant.

A warrant?!

Nobody will file a complaint,

so we got no right in there without a warrant.

Hold it, Ness.

You got a warrant?

Yeah, we'll take it...

What are you doing here?

I'd like to talk to Mr. Nitti alone.

All of you, out.

Stay where you are. You got five seconds.

Get out!

Now, wait a minute!

I'm the boss! I'll tell you when to leave!

Hey!

This yours?

Yeah, and I got a permit for it, too.

How do you like that?

I like it fine.

You're making a big mistake, Ness.

You get out of here.

What's the matter, Frank?

You're a little nervous tonight.

Somebody try to knock you out of the organization?

I told you to get out.

Who is it, Frank?

Who's moving in on the Big Boy?

Somebody bigger, stronger, smarter?

What are you talking?

Sure, somebody's starting outside the city,

outside Cook County.

Slowly moving in till he squeezed you dry.

No liquor in your speaks, no blood in your veins.

Nobody does that to me... nobody!

Why not? The word's out.

Every hood in town is saying Frank Nitti's weak,

Nitti's soft, that he's ready to be pushed over.

When's the last time they called you the Enforcer?

When Big Al was around

to fight your battles.

When Big Al was around to hold your hand!

But you never could sit in Big Al's chair anyway!

Why you...!

Thanks, Frank.

You're under arrest for striking a Federal officer.

You got to be kidding!

How do you like the evidence?

You can't pull me in on a rap like this.

Watch me.

Frank Nitti had been booked

at the Cook County Jail

at 11:55 p.m. on September 17.

To his surprise, he was released from custody

less than 36 hours later.

The charge is dropped.

I knew you couldn't make it stick.

Where's my gun?

Gun?

Did he have a gun when he came in, Sergeant?

No, sir.

You... you got the gun.

I also got some advice for you.

I don't care what you and your kind do to each other,

but if one more human being is hurt in this town,

I'm going to set you up for a life sentence.

You mean like this?

Try me.

Just step out of line once

and Hobson's going to put a bullet in me with your gun.

What kind of a game are you playing, Ness?

And I'm gonna arrest you for the attempted murder

of a Federal officer; that's a life sentence.

And that charge we'll press.

You, you're a witness.

You heard him say he had my gun.

What gun?

You think it'll work?

It's worth a try.

The town's filling up with gunsels.

If Nitti turns them loose, it'll take

the National Guard to clean up the mess.

But it cost us a fortune to bring those guys in!

Well, send them back. Okay, Frank, you're the boss,

but you was the one that wanted to hit!

I changed my mind.

I'm gonna try something else.

Bring him in.

Swede?

This is the manager of the Blue Lion Roadhouse.

He's been "in conference" with the boys

ever since we posted bail for him this morning.

All right, manager, you ready to talk to us?

Oh, that's good.

Who set you up in business?

Surigao.

Suri what?

Surigao.

Panis Surigao.

Ever hear of that guy?

Yeah, I know him.

He used to run the opium traffic in Hong Kong.

Surigao.

What kind of a country we running here?

Every time you turn around some lousy foreigner

is trying to muscle in.

Where do we find this Surigao?

Côte d'Azur.

It's on the Old Farrell Road.

How's he getting the stuff in?

I don't know.

You can work me over all day long.

I can't tell you any more.

All right.

You get on this telephone and you call this Surigao.

You tell him I'm coming over to see him.

You tell him I'll be there 11:00

and there'd better not be no fireworks

or he's going to regret it.

Now, dial.

At the moment when Frank Nitti

was planning to visit the Côte d'Azur,

its owner, Panis Surigao,

was responding to an urgent summons

from a deserted field some eight or ten miles away.

How long has he been circling?

Over a half hour now.

He must almost be out of gas.

Have you signaled for him to come down?

At least a half a dozen times.

He's probably in some kind of trouble.

Signal again.

He's out of gas.

He's made dead-stick landings before.

He's not going to make this one.

He's not even gonna make the field!

It's too late, Aaron.

Did you see this happen?

We seen it. Heard it, too.

Sounded like he was out of gas.

Did you see if the pilot got out?

Mister, if you was in that when it come down,

do you think you'd have got out?

Come on, Mama, we better go call the police.

Scratch one airplane.

Mm-hmm.

And one pilot.

It's unfortunate.

The Old Farrell Road...

about five miles from the county line.

Got it.

How soon can you get here, Mr. Ness?

About a half hour, if the traffic's not too bad.

Anything we can do in the meantime?

You might set up some lights,

so we can see what we're doing.

Check.

Thanks, Captain.

A plane carrying a load of Canadian whiskey

crashed and burned at a farmhouse

just outside the county line.

Let's go.

I put them in your private office.

You think you should

go in there without some of the boys?

I hardly think Mr. Nitti is foolish enough

to try to harm me in my own club.

Ah, Mr. Nitti, we are honored.

You're Surigao?

That is correct.

Since we're in the same business,

I thought it was time we met.

I expected you to find me before this.

Well, sometimes we're a little slow but we're thorough.

Mm-hmm, so I've heard.

Uh, Mr. Temple, pour the gentlemen a drink.

Forget it.

My men don't drink when they're working.

A most sensible precaution, Mr. Nitti.

I congratulate you.

Never mind the fancy talk.

Where are you getting this?

Surely you don't expect me to tell you that.

Mr. Capone don't like competition.

He thinks you ought to share the wealth,

you know what I mean?

And if I say no?

We'll wipe you out.

You tried that the night before last

with rather unfortunate results.

The next time we don't send two cars, we send 50.

You think you can handle pressure like that?

I've been prepared for it for a long time.

You see, Mr. Nitti, you control Cook County.

But I control this county.

You try to bring in 50 carloads

of Chicago hoodlums

and you may very well take back

50 carloads of dead ones.

You talk a real good battle.

Our skirmish at the Blue Lion

should have convinced you that I can also fight one.

But a major battle is not going to help either of us,

and I have an alternative suggestion.

I'm listening.

I'll stay out of your territory,

and you stay out of mine.

Not a chance.

Well, now, don't be too hasty, Mr. Nitti.

I have my own private police force in this county,

under the able leadership of our local sheriff,

whose election I personally supervised.

If you wish to face those odds,

it's your privilege.

Let me give you a piece of advice, Surigao.

A lot of smart operators have tried to buck the organization,

and nobody ever succeeded yet.

There's always a first time.

And a last.

If I was you, I'd remember that.

You think he's bluffing

about that private police force?

He's got six clubs in this county,

and they're all operating wide open.

Do you think he could do that without protection?

Oh, he's got his police force, all right.

If you're right, it's gonna be real rough.

Al told me once there's a way to break into every setup.

If you can't make it through the front door,

try going around to the back.

What's going on?

I don't know.

Looks like some kind of accident.

That's Ness!

Rope off the area around the plane, hmm?

Why don't you boys get out a tablecloth and have a picnic?

Oh, we're sorry, Officer.

What's going on?

Plane crashed.

It's none of your business. Now move on.

Yes, sir.

You know, the Feds wouldn't investigate plane crashes

unless the plane was carrying something special.

Harry, pull over

when you get around the next curve.

I got a job for you guys.

Uh, check the brush over in that area.

Oh, Mr. Ness.

Captain.

Well, there it is, what's left of it.

Pilot killed, I suppose?

Well, we don't know.

He didn't die in the cockpit.

We figure he must have been thrown clear.

Could he have been taken out?

I don't think so.

The people that own this farm were here

seconds after the crash.

They didn't see anyone leave the plane.

They thought the pilot was still inside.

It's possible he's still alive.

Going somewhere, flyboy?

I always thought pilots wore big white scarves.

Can't count on nothing nowadays.

And now back to...

At 1:55 a.m.,

two hours and 18 minutes after the plane crash,

state and federal investigators

were completing their preliminary examination

of the burned aircraft.

It was a Curtis-Robin monoplane,

registered to Prebble Air Service.

They have a field about 20 miles from here

down on the state highway.

I've read their ad in the Chicago papers.

Don't they run an air circus out there on Saturday afternoon?

Yes. According to the local people,

they're quite a famous group.

All ex-World War pilots,

and if local gossip has it right,

they accounted for about 100 German planes.

How many of them are there?

Three.

Prebble and another were Army.

The third was an English squadron leader.

And now they're picking up a fast buck

in the smuggling business, huh?

Well, it beats meeting von Richtofen at dawn.

Thanks, Jess.

Right.

They're taking off.

The Feds, I mean. Yeah.

They still got the state cops out there,

so don't let him up.

Okay.

You ever been grounded before?

There's a farmhouse over there.

I seen it.

A car out in back.

Yeah, all we need is

one little key. A key and a whole lot of brains!

I should've done that in the first place.

Yeah. A little while longer, and we'll move.

Yeah.

Hello?

Where can we find Mr. Prebble?

Well, if it's about money, old boy,

I doubt if you'll find him at all.

Oh... Oh, that's a bit different.

Oh, uh, this way.

Johnny, this is Mr. Ness.

Hi.

He's a Federal agent.

Oh?

Mr. Ness, this is John Prebble.

I'm Tony Masters.

What can we do you for, Mr. Ness?

Prebble, Masters.

That leaves Miller.

Miller?

That's right. Miller.

Oh, Rusty Miller.

Well, you remember him, Johnny.

I can't seem to.

Well, of course you remember him, old boy.

He was always tattooing himself.

Oh, yeah, that Miller.

Yeah, he hasn't been with us for a while.

Since when?

I can't seem to remember.

It's been such a long time.

Like about four hours?

Two hours ago, a plane crashed and burned

at a farmhouse about 20 miles from here.

It was traced to this hangar.

But you don't know Rusty Miller.

Come on, Lee.

Mr. Ness...

What happened to him?

You're flying liquor in from Canada.

I want to know who you sell it to,

who runs the operation.

We fly freight and passengers.

You're wasting your time.

Where's Rusty?

Who's buying it, Prebble? Who pays your salary?

Mr. Ness, I'm afraid we can't trade.

You see, we've made a bargain with the devil.

Miller wasn't in the plane when it crashed.

He disappeared.

If you can break that bargain,

call me at that number.

People shouldn't fly.

If man was supposed to fly...

Be quiet, Aaron.

Sorry to bother you, folks.

We're in a big hurry.

The pilot.

He must be the pilot.

This man's got a gun.

What is this? Easy!

Easy.

You just stay where you are.

That's right, he's the pilot.

We're taking him where he can get himself fixed up.

Oh, he looks bad.

Uh-huh. So, we, uh, thought we'd borrow your car.

Course we got to have the keys.

Car keys?

That's right, Pop.

The kind that makes the car go.

Come on.

I-I don't know where they are.

Do as I tell you!

I don't know where they are.

Come on.

Where are they?

I don't know where they are.

Yeah, well, where'd you put 'em?

Are they in the drawer in the bedroom?

I don't know. Well, look!

You don't want your missus to be a widow,

be all by her lonesome

just because of some... some keys?

Come on!

Oh!

Now, there goes the hero.

He all right?

Yeah, I'm fine.

You bring your cannon over here.

No!

No. The-The car keys are in...

in the top shelf in the cupboard.

Farm people are supposed to be more friendly.

I'm sorry. I... Don't be.

You're a very brave man, Aaron.

"Prebble Air Service."

Huh?

Oh.

It's Celia and Emily Peckham talking about the accident.

Hello, Emily?

This is an emergency, Emily.

Margaret Phelps.

Could you get off the line for a minute, please?

Doesn't it seem strange to you

that we haven't heard from Surigao?

His men must have been there when the plane crashed.

That's right.

Maybe we ought to have a talk with Surigao.

I mean, if Rusty comes back here,

then he's bound to wait for us.

That won't be necessary, gentlemen.

All right, start talking.

About Mr. Miller?

About Mr. Miller.

Well, as you guessed,

my men were at the scene of the crash.

As it happened, so was I.

But you didn't bother to let us know.

I felt that a telephone call on a party line

monitored by half the countryside

was hardly the way to tell you.

Particularly since, by that time,

the police were on the scene, and it was known

that Mr. Miller's plane was loaded with contraband.

Hello?

Yeah, speaking.

What?

Well, when?

Yes, I understand.

Thank you, Mrs. Phelps.

Yes, thank you.

Did you leave two men at the scene of the accident?

I left no one.

What is it, Johnny?

Well, Rusty's alive.

I mean, he's hurt pretty bad, but he's alive.

Two men brought him into a farmhouse at gunpoint.

They stole the car, and then they-they took him away.

I have many contacts in the business, gentlemen,

and I promise you I will get Mr. Miller back.

Oh... just one thing.

I think it would be unwise

to use any of our usual landing fields tomorrow night.

You'd better land directly at the warehouse.

Mr. Surigao, we're finished flying booze for you.

I mean, that stopped with Rusty.

That's rather inconsiderate of you, Mr. Prebble.

You expect me to rescue your friend,

and in the same breath, you tell me

you won't complete the flights.

All right.

All right, we'll fly, but you better make sure

you keep your promise about Rusty.

Well, I don't suppose it will come

as any great surprise to you, Johnny,

but I think the devil is a filthy liar.

Yeah. In spades.

Right now, he's the only hope we've got of finding Rusty.

You think it was Nitti's men?

Undoubtedly.

You're not really going to try to get Miller back?

I'm not a complete fool, Mr. Temple.

Nitti's the immediate problem.

Why?

Because he's not a fool, either.

He knows now that we're bringing the liquor in by air.

He will conclude

that light planes cannot supply an operation this big,

and that, therefore, we must have a stockpile.

He will ask Mr. Miller the location of the stockpile.

Maybe Miller won't talk.

I think we can rely on Mr. Nitti

to find a way of persuading him.

Within a matter of hours.

Well, then, shouldn't we find another location

for the warehouse?

No.

We are going to have to face a showdown with Nitti

sooner or later.

The warehouse would be an excellent spot,

particularly since he has no way of knowing

that we're expecting him.

Will you be there?

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

For 11 hours after Rusty Miller's arrival in Chicago,

Frank Nitti, in deference to Ness's ultimatum,

had used every means short of physical violence,

to persuade Miller to talk.

By 7:00 p.m., however, Nitti finally resorted

to the kind of persuasion he knew best... brute force.

I'll tell you something, Frank.

Yeah?

This guy ain't gonna talk. Oh, he's got to talk.

He's the only chance we've got of finding that warehouse.

You do what you want...

the more we work him over, the more stubborn he gets.

Bring him in.

All right, Swede.

Give me Broward 7195.

Somebody there named Prebble?

Let me talk to him.

It's for you.

Hello?

Got a friend of yours here named Miller.

Rusty Miller.

Who is this?

Never mind who this is.

I want some information.

You're flying booze in for a guy named Surigao.

Where does he keep the stuff?

Look, uh, let me talk to Miller.

Here, talk.

Hello?

Hello, Ace. You all right?

I never felt better in my life.

Look, uh, what's this all about?

Uh, Johnny, don't tell Nitti a lousy thing!

Your friend's gonna be a dead hero, Prebble,

unless you start talking.

All right, the, uh, warehouse is an abandoned farm.

It's a barn.

It's out on the Old Farrell Road.

Six miles past the cutoff.

How much booze they got there?

I don't know, they got 4,000 or 5,000 cases, I guess.

Look, Mr. Nitti,

if we don't see Rusty back here in one hour, alive,

then we're gonna personally help the Feds cut you to pieces.

He'll be back but not till we make sure

you're leveling with us.

W-When will that be?

Tomorrow morning.

Oh, and one more thing,

if Surigao finds out we're coming,

you don't have to expect Miller at all.

4,000 or 5,000 cases...

in an abandoned barn six miles past the cutoff.

We're gonna need choppers and two more good men.

When? Tonight.

You can't tonight. Why not?

We're supposed to deliver a shipment tonight.

Prebble and Masters are liable

to get caught right in the middle.

Now, listen, punk.

You been in the middle ever since you started

flying that booze.

Get him out of here!

Well, we can be absolutely sure of one thing...

If Frank Nitti has Rusty,

our dear friend and colleague Surigao

isn't gonna get him back.

Well, Mr. Surigao can just whistle

for tonight's shipment,

because I'm not gonna move from this office

until we see Rusty.

Come on.

The collapse of Rusty Miller

triggered the government's action

against the impending gang war.

The pilot was removed to Cook County Hospital

and Eliot Ness summoned his deeply troubled colleagues

of the Prebble Air Service.

Where is he?

In there; he's under sedation.

Will he be all right?

Don't worry, he'll be all right.

For what it's worth, Mr. Ness,

we're not gonna fly that booze any more.

It's worth a great deal to me.

If you don't show up on schedule,

won't Surigao be suspicious?

How did you find out about Surigao?

Miller and I had a long talk.

Nitti's going to hit Surigao's warehouse tonight.

Oh, I see.

Then you'll let them maul each other

and collect the survivors.

That's what I'd like to do,

but I'm paid to stop murder, not encourage it.

What do you want us to do?

I want you to do what you promised Surigao.

I want you to fly.

At 10:37 p.m.,

three hours after Ness met with the flyers,

a dark sedan proceeded along the Old Farrell Road.

Its destination: the liquor warehouse

belonging to Panis Surigao.

Flyboy was telling the truth.

How much farther?

I don't know; I've never been on this road before.

Hey, what's that?

What is this?

All right, Nitti, back to town.

You ain't got no right to stop me.

I ain't breaking any law.

What kind of a phony rap is this?

Consorting with undesirables.

Come on, get in!

So far, so good.

The next step may be a little rougher.

How did it go?

Okay.

As well as I could see from up there, they got Nitti.

They're on their way in now.

What's the matter?

Just look at all the armament around this place.

Yeah.

If Ness walks into this, it'll be a massacre.

How can we stop him?

Have they got you about unloaded?

Almost.

Well, you'll be taking off in a few minutes.

You'll think of something.

How much further?

Another two or three miles.

It must be nearer than that.

That plane's awful close.

He must be out of control.

Look out... Look out, here he comes again!

It takes a lot of nerve to do that in the dark.

Something's wrong, that's for sure.

We better figure it out now.

We may not have another chance.

Maybe he isn't coming.

Patience, Mr. Temple, patience.

If I know Frank Nitti, he'll be here.

Do we let him get out of the car?

Why take chances?

Mr. Surigao!

Wait till they get into the open.

Hold it, Surigao!

You're covered! Hold it!

Hold it! Come on, drop them!

Panis Surigao, purveyor of fine beverages,

petty tyrant, commander in chief

of his own small army,

died as flamboyantly as he had lived.

With his destruction, the threat to the Capone Empire

was reduced to a small troupe of men

who were eventually to destroy it.

The Untouchables.