Original subtitles

(theme music playing)

WALTER WINCHELL: In the summer of 1932,

there were 12 million unemployed

in the United States.

Things were so bad, even the bootleggers went hungry.

That is, hungry for profits.

In Chicago, the whiskey syndicate met

to consider ways and means of stimulating sales.

The meeting took place at the home of their chairman,

Vincent Tunis, known as The Moor.

I don't know, Vince. What do you think?

You think we should cut prices again?

No, no, no. I say, no, Vince.

I think maybe we better hit a few more operators again.

MAN 2: Hit the operators, okay.

But I'm against letting Charlie Grac work

on any more speakeasies.

Excuse me, Mr. Barnett, but I...

But you what, you muscle head?

You go to troubleshoot a saloon, you pulverize it.

Vince, it's cheaper to find new operators

than to stake them the new fixtures.

Mr. Barnett, I only did what I was told.

All right, Charlie.

Everybody knows you only do what you're told.

So now I'm telling you, shut up.

(exhales)

So, your idea is to hit the speak operators hard, huh?

And we'll get more business out of them, is that it?

Sure, that's it.

Of course, exactly wrong.

Charlie, would you be willing to help me show then they're wrong?

Okay, Mr. Tunis.

Now, you said okay.

Yeah.

Give me a toothpick, Charlie.

I want Charlie to give me a toothpick.

I guess I ain't got one.

(grunting)

Hold-hold him.

Give me a toothpick, Charlie.

Let me go out, and I'll get you one.

-I want one right now. -How can I?

Give me a toothpick, Charlie.

ANNOUNCER:

"The Economist."

Starring Robert Stack as Eliot Ness,

co-starring George Mathews,

Joseph Sirola,

Ellen Madison,

and narrated by Walter Winchell.

Charlie, give me a toothpick.

What do you want?

What do you want from me?

I can't give you what I haven't got.

Neither can the speakeasy operators.

Now, do I make my point?

The saloon keepers are getting 15 cents a shot.

That's three dollars a bottle.

$36 a case,

and we want $75 a case.

How can they reorder?

Knocking them off is not gonna help.

It's a matter of economics.

Oh, Charlie,

Charlie, excuse me, Charlie.

But remember, I did ask you and you said okay.

(chuckles)

That's right, Mr. Tunis.

You asked me,

and I said okay.

(laughter)

So, uh, what's on your mind, Vince?

If it's economics, how do we fight it?

We fight economics with economics.

We do what the United States government is doing.

What's the matter; don't you guys read the papers?

"The federal farm bought today reached the $500 million mark

"in its program of supporting farm prices

by storing surplus wheat and cotton.”

What have I got in mind?

We support our prices by storing surplus whiskey.

We pool our stock.

We collect from all the different warehouses

and set up a reserve in one place.

We keep it off the market.

The whole city of Chicago will be dry

for a while.

Then what happens?

The law of supply and demand goes to work for us.

The price of a drink goes up, 20 cents, 30 cents,

50 cents where it belongs.

Then we turn loose our stock,

and everybody makes a profit.

How much would you want to stall?

We can each put up a half a million dollar share.

Two million dollars’ worth?

You don't manipulate prices with an eyedropper.

This has got to be big.

Yeah, but if it's grabbed, then we all get crippled big.

Yeah, Vince, you got to think,

what happens if somebody like Eliot Ness locates the stuff?

Where we're gonna put it, nobody's gonna locate it.

Not even Eliot Ness.

Where?

In a navy ammo vault.

In a what?

In an underground ammunition vault.

During the war, the navy built this one near Calumet

by the harbor on city land.

Now, the navy's been out of there for 12 years, and the city

doesn't know what to do with the land.

It's not even good for a garbage dump.

So, for a lousy thousand dollars a year,

I rented it.

(sighs) I got to admit,

nobody would think of looking for booze in the vault.

Huh?

Yeah, sounds like a good place to lock it up.

All right, Vince.

You put it over.

Charlie, come here.

Charlie, now this is your department.

I want you to get a half dozen good-sized trucks,

and a dozen men.

And make sure you pick good men.

Eliot Ness better not find out this stock even exists.

Suppose he does?

Is Mr. Barnett going to excuse me on the grounds

that I was only doing what I was told?

I mean, so long as it's my neck that's out,

I should be able to handle a job my own way.

Would you agree to that, Mr. Tunis?

Okay, Charlie.

I agree.

I appreciate it.

Don't worry, I'll do it all right.

WINCHELL: The wheels were set in motion at once.

Chicago didn't know it,

but the city was about to dry up.

Charlie Grac himself supervised

the entire operation.

As a result, no public attention was paid

to sudden activity in the area of the ammo vault.

Arrivals and departures were carefully scheduled.

The traffic was organized to give the impression

of normal industrial activity.

To assemble a hoard of surplus booze,

Grac used syndicate trucks and men

as Tunis had told him to do.

These men collected the whiskey

from various points all over the city and brought it

to the one-time navy underground ammunition vault.

But as fast as the syndicate men

carried the whiskey in through one door,

two of Grac's specialists carried it out another.

The special thing about these men

was they were honest.

They had no gangland connection.

They were unemployed truck drivers.

Charlie Grac found them in a union hall

at the end of a hopeless hiring line.

George Dahlstrom, originally of Milwaukee.

His brother-in-law, Miles Henning,

a native of Chicago.

From their first day on the job,

they knew they were hauling illegal whiskey.

But in 1932, a week's pay

carried more weight with the unemployed

than a lifetime of ethics.

Especially with Henning.

He had a wife and baby to support.

From the former navy ammunition vault,

Dahlstrom and Henning moved the mountain of whiskey

four city blocks, to another white elephant,

a construction project abandoned for lack of money.

The owners had been glad to sell Charlie Grac

an option with no questions asked.

Charlie Grac, who knew something about cranes,

had familiarized himself with this one.

He had shown Henning and Dahlstrom

how to operate it.

(engine revving)

25,000 cases went into the basement

of the unfinished building.

The value, two million dollars.

In a little over a week, the job was finished.

Well, so that's it.

Yeah.

You're all right, you and your buddy.

Good workers.

Come on, I'll pay you off.

I'm very sorry for you, my friend,

but I can't take no chances.

(gunshot)

(gunshot)

(gunshots)

♪♪

WINCHELL: July 4, 1932.

War veteran Miles Henning celebrated Independence Day

by staying out of sight.

When night came, he left Chicago with his wife and baby,

following an instinct that told him

that this was his only chance to stay alive.

Eliot Ness and the Untouchables also left town

to follow up a tip from a Canadian source.

Competitors of the syndicate

were said to be hauling in whiskey

in a convoy of trucks coming down from the border.

(fire crackling)

Seems kind of wasteful to me.

They go through all the trouble of hijacking a shipment

and just touch a match to it.

Twice in one week.

It's like Tunis is trying to do our job for us.

Yeah, we ought to thank him,

if we could figure out why.

WINCHELL: Two days later,

at a pastry shop in West Chicago,

Eliot Ness picked up a clue to the riddle.

A man named Sarro, a wholesale supplier of yeast and sugar,

had had his hand caught in a kneading machine.

So mangled that the rescue squad took an hour to free him.

The police told Mr. Untouchable

that Sarro also supplied yeast and sugar

to many of the families in the tenement district.

These families, he was told, made moonshine

in the privacy of their kitchens.

I gave him a shot of morphine.

If you want to question him, you better do it now.

Okay.

(Sarro moaning)

(hissing with pain)

Sal, who did this to you?

(Italian accent): Accidente.

Some accident.

They took your hand, jammed it in between the blades

and turned the power on.

Ah, mama mia!

Sure it hurts.

Why don't you tell me who did this to you.

(panting): Non capisco.

At least tell me why.

Non capisco.

Suddenly, he doesn't understand English anymore.

Ask him in Italian.

Chi ha fatto questo?

-Non lo so. -He doesn't know.

You know, Sarro.

Maybe you bought your sugar and yeast from the wrong outfit.

Maybe you didn't deliver it fast enough

so the moonshiners couldn't cook the alcohol fast enough

to suit the syndicate, so they crippled you.

Sarro, pay them back.

(hissing): Silenzio!

He follows a law of silence.

Silence.

Ascoltami.

(whispering)

Com'e va piace, stupido!

Eliot, let's get out of here.

We're wasting our time with this guy.

Come on. Let's clear the doorway.

Clear the door. Come on, come on.

It's all over. Come on. Come on.

(crowd clamoring)

What'd he say?

He said if you're smart, you'll raid his daughter's house.

She runs a still in her kitchen?

According to Papa.

(sighing)

We raid ten of those little moonshiners

and never make a dent,

and we run them out of booze, the other 990 are turning out.

Why'd it be so smart to raid Sarro's daughter?

For cover.

The best way to talk to her

without making anybody suspicious.

Sarro follows the law of silence.

His daughter doesn't.

WINCHELL: At high noon the following day,

the Untouchables raided six tenement moonshiners,

including Sarro's daughter.

Smash it!

Why don't you smash us, too?

Smash everything!

My husband's outta work a whole year now.

Is there any other way we can live?

You.

You jump on us like criminals.

Wish I knew what else to do about you.

Are we so bad in your eyes?

If you break the law.

(metal clattering)

Sure, you get very little out of it for yourselves,

but every drop of moonshine you furnish to Tunis' outfit

makes him that much richer

and rougher.

Tunis sent his two bodyguards

to follow my father into the pastry shop.

Why, because your father wasn't supplying

sugar and yeast to the moonshiners?

No, because he was.

Because he was?

The organization sent out orders not to cook any more alcohol.

She's apparently right, Eliot.

Out of the six stills we hit, not one of them was working.

Some of the people wanted to cook a little

just to make a few dollars to sell by themselves.

They begged my father for the sugar and the yeast.

He gave it to them.

That's all I can tell you.

I'm sorry we had to raid you.

The organization will pay my fine.

How does that figure?

As scarce as whiskey's getting to be in Chicago,

why doesn't Tunis want to get his hands on more?

Maybe because he already has enough.

WINCHELL: The strategy

of Vincent "The Moor" Tunis was based on the fact

that Tunis, like the rest of us,

was a terrific critic of government policies.

All right, now wait a minute.

Now, don't you guys read the newspapers?

Did anyone notice the price of cotton today?

Four and seven-eighths, not even five cents a pound.

All right, quote me the price of wheat.

Down again, ain't it?

Fifty cents a bushel.

A half billion dollars of surplus commodities in storage

and prices are still falling.

Now, why is that?

Because the Federal Farm Board

has no power to control production.

That means that the stupid farmers

are still turning out stuff, and the supply is getting bigger,

so the price gets smaller.

Now, we're not gonna make that mistake.

We're gonna control the whiskey supply around here

to the last drop.

If we have to burn every rumrunner

and mangle every moonshiner.

And I don't want anybody complaining to me

that we got too rough with his wife's second cousin.

(thumping crate)

Bring me Charlie Grac!

(door slamming)

You shouldn't be mad at me,

because remember, I asked you if I could do this my own way,

and you said, "Okay."

So what was your way, Charlie?

I figured a dozen men collecting the stuff and bringing it here,

that's 12 men that know about this place,

and each of them has got a tongue.

I couldn't trust 12 men to shut up.

It was my neck, right?

Still is.

So I had the stuff moved out of here

to another very good place, believe me.

For that job, it took only two men.

Two men is easier to control than 12.

And you think you can trust those two men

to keep their mouths shut?

Yeah, I think so.

They're dead.

Both dead?

Both dead.

(laughing)

Charlie, Charlie!

I give you credit. You're all right!

So that makes me the only man alive

who knows where the stuff is now.

Yeah, so where is it?

You want to know that, it's gonna cost you $20 a case.

Say that again.

Twenty times 25,000 cases is half a million dollars.

Unless, of course, you want me

to peddle the booze to somebody else.

So that's what you call doing it yourself, huh?

Oh, Mr. Tunis. Excuse me, Mr. Tunis,

but remember when I asked you, you said, "Okay."

(grunting)

-Vince, no! No! -(men yelling)

Calm down, Vince!

You gotta keep calm.

You're right.

Please, please,

you kill him, we never find out where the stuff is.

You're right!

I didn't hurt him, did I?

-You all right, Charlie? -Sure, he's all right.

-Hey, Charlie. -Come on, Charlie.

Come on get up, Charlie. You can do it.

Like a drink, Charlie?

What?

Come on. It'll do you good.

Come on. Take a drink!

Never mind. I don't need it.

Well, Charlie, what's the use in arguing? You got us.

How do you want to get paid?

At the airport, tomorrow afternoon at 4:00.

When I put one foot on a New York plane,

you hand over the money,

and I'll tell you where the stuff is.

Good-bye.

I give you credit, Charlie.

Just give me cash.

(tires screeching)

-(tires screeching) - (trolley bell clanging)

(tires screeching)

(trolley bell clanging)

(tires screeching)

(car horn honking)

(tires screeching)

(horn blaring)

WINCHELL: Charlie Grac wasn't dead... yet.

He was picked up and taken

to the Southwest Receiving Hospital

where at first, the staff did not recognize him

for the noteworthy mobster that he was.

How do you feel?

Is there someone we should notify?

(hoarsely): It's that bad, huh?

I must tell you,

you are very seriously injured, Mr. Grac.

I'm-I'm through, is that it?

Oh, no.

-I'm through. -No, of course not.

You mean, yes, I'm through.

You're glad, you louse.

Mr. Grac?

You think now you'll get it.

Sooner or later, you'll find it.

And it won't cost you nothing.

No, you louse.

You won't get it.

I'm gonna take your booze to the grave with me.

What are you saying, Mr. Grac?

The whole $2 million worth.

Is this something you want me to know?

I-I want the Moor to know

You want us to notify someone named Moore?

No.

Is there someone you do want us to notify?

Yeah.

E-Eliot... Ness.

WINCHELL: Ness was notified that night,

but not before the nurse had called

a Chicago evening newspaper

which had a standing offer to some hospital employee:

ten dollars for every item worth printing.

As a result, when Ness arrived at the hospital,

the corridor was populated with reporters and photographers

buzzing over the fantastic rumor:

that a $2 million hoard of whiskey existed somewhere,

and that Charlie Grac would reveal its hideout place

only to Eliot Ness.

Grac... it's Eliot Ness.

How's it going?

You wanted to see me?

Down.

Down.

It's okay, I can hear you. Go ahead.

Falling down... Falling down...

London Bridge is falling down,

falling down...

Grac's dead.

What'd he say to you?

-What'd he say, Mr. Ness? -Nothing.

What do you mean by "nothing"?

He didn't talk.

Mr. Ness, one question, please.

Is there a $2 million stock

of booze hidden somewhere in Chicago?

There may be.

Did Grac tell you where it is?

Grac told me nothing.

But Grac said he was gonna tell...

Look, I don't know how I can make it any clearer.

Grac didn't talk.

(men clamoring)

Let me get some decent shots, will ya?

-He's dead. -Yes.

He didn't talk to Eliot Ness?

He did talk to Eliot Ness.

He did? What'd he say?

All I can tell you is Mr. Ness bent down,

and Mr. Grac whispered something to him.

I couldn't catch it.

If you want to know what it was, you'll have to ask Mr. Ness.

"What did Grac whisper to you, Mr. Ness?

"Is it believable that he would summon you to his deathbed

"just to say good-bye?

"It is much easier to believe that Grac paid off a grudge

"against his boss Vincent Tunis, 'the Moor'

"by tipping you to the location

"of the $2 million liquid treasure.

Next question, Mr. Ness: why don't you raid it?"

Obviously because I'm planning to peddle the stuff myself

and put the $2 million in my pocket.

They're just getting nasty

for the sake of filling up space.

Nobody's gonna believe a word they say.

Eliot, there's a man that wants to talk to you.

I want to talk to you.

Go ahead.

Just you.

If you don't mind.

I mind, but it's part of my job.

Hmm.

You know, you just can't go by

what you read in the papers today.

There isn't any $2 million liquid treasure.

It's more like a couple of $100,000.

Believe me, I'm in a position to know.

Believe me?

I believe you're in a position to know.

All right, you ready to do business?

How much you want for it?

What's the matter,

You can't find the words to express how insulted you are?

Who are you kidding?

If you don't want to do business,

all you have to do is throw me out.

Lee.

I didn't throw you far enough, I'll be glad to try again.

WINCHELL: In the second week of July,

Eliot Ness was offered deals for the gold mine of whiskey

by various crooks quick to believe that The Untouchables

had at last been touched.

It's human nature, Eliot.

A man looks at himself in the mirror

while he's shaving,

and he asks himself what would he do if he were faced

with that kind of temptation.

He only wonders whether he could resist,

the more he decides I couldn't.

They're writing letters to Washington.

I've received three urgent memos from the Bureau about you.

What are you gonna tell 'em, Beecher?

You think I know where that whiskey is?

Don't be foolish.

You shave, don't you?

I'm just trying to say I think you better remove me.

You've got some case.

If you don't, they'll say you're in it with me.

There's enough money involved to corrupt a dozen men.

How are you gonna convince the newspapers

you're not taking a cut?

I'm depending on you

to convince them when you raid that stock of booze.

How can I raid what I can't find?

The second-largest city in the United States.

The second-largest collection of basements, warehouses,

lofts, empty stores.

We don't even know where to start looking for a lead.

WINCHELL: On the following day, a lead came looking for Ness.

A body came to the surface of the Chicago River.

The dead man was identified through a union card

which remained legible inside his wallet.

His name, George Dahlstrom.

The Untouchables had found out that fellow union members

had seen Dahlstrom speaking with Charlie Grac.

I figure Grac was a Tunis man,

and I don't need trouble with the whole syndicate.

So long as some of the boys have talked to you,

that out to be enough.

So, the captain this morning,

you saw Grac walk into your hall?

I told him. That doesn't mean I've got to tell you.

I'm sorry, Mr. Ness, but with you in on this,

it's gonna be a big deal; all over the newspapers.

Just tell me one thing.

In your union, you call your fellow member "brother"?

Yes.

Your brother was murdered.

You're not gonna do anything about it?

What do you want to know?

What Grac talked to Dahlstrom about.

He hired George for some kind of trucking job.

He hired Henning, too.

He hired who?

Miles Henning. George Dahlstrom's brother-in-law.

I suppose that means he murdered Henning, too?

No, I don't think so.

I tried to get in touch with Henning,

ask how the job was going.

Found out he came home around ten days ago.

Took his wife and baby

and carried whatever they could carry.

Nobody's laid eyes on him since.

Okay, you can forget about your name in the paper.

There won't be a word of this in print.

Thanks.

What you just told me, that's a dead end.

I don't want you to repeat

a word of this to anyone, you understand? Anyone.

Sure, whatever you say.

If Henning is still alive,

it's only because the syndicate doesn't know he exists.

Once they get to him,

he'll last about as long as a candle in the wind.

WINCHELL: To prevent the candle

from being violently snuffed out,

Ness took every possible precaution

to conceal his interest in Henning.

He stayed behind the scenes

while his Untouchables began the job

of tracing the only man

who could help him clear his name.

From the union files,

they learned that Henning was a war veteran.

At the headquarters of the Chicago Veterans Organization,

they learned that Henning had joined

the Bonus Expeditionary Force,

which was then camped on a vacant lot

in the shadow of the Washington Monument.

He went to the veterans for help in leaving town.

He had no money, and they said, if he'd join up,

they'd transport him as far as Washington

and feed his family as long as he stayed with the Bonus Army.

Okay, Lee, get us a couple of plane tickets.

It's risky for you to leave town, Eliot.

If Tunis finds out, he'll put a tail on us.

No, he won't.

We have the perfect excuse to go to Washington.

Beecher can link a story to the effect

that I was called down to answer charges.

We don't find Henning, it may turn out to be the truth.

WINCHELL: On July 21, the Chicago afternoon papers

carried the planted story.

And, that night, Ness and Rossi flew to Washington.

The Bonus Army had shrunk

from its original 20,000 marchers

to 10,000.

Enough, however, to present the Untouchables

with an almost insoluble problem.

It was complicated by the mood of the times.

These ex-doughboys had been promised a bonus

based on a dollar and a quarter

for every day of their military service overseas.

But they couldn't collect it.

They were hungry, hopeless and hostile

to anyone who represented authority.

It was as though they could sense

that, in exactly one week,

their tar-paper shacks would be burned to the ground

and the Bonus Army scattered by federal troops.

Ever see this man?

You ever seen this man before?

Thank you.

Excuse me, ladies.

I'm a federal agent.

Have you ever seen this man before?

He has a wife and baby about six months old.

No. Thank you very much.

Ever see this man?

WINCHELL: The search for Henning was a slow and labored process.

The grapevine worked much faster.

"On charges that he was told the location

"of the multimillion-dollar store of bootleg liquor,

"a secret not even known to Vincent Tunis himself,

"Mr. Ness, who was the chief agent in the Chicago area,

would not comment.”

- Joan... -Hmm?

Joanie...

I'm sorry, honey, we gotta move.

Now, Ness is in trouble himself.

And if he lays his hands on me, he'll blame me for everything.

Honey, we gotta run.

Again?

Aren't you getting tired of it, Miles?

Honey, I'm sorry!

Aren't you getting tired of bread lines

and... and begging

and telling me, "Honey, I'm sorry"?

What can I do?

Well, we could run.

We could run in style.

At least you could do that much.

We... we could run!

Pullman.

This man, Vincent Tunis,

he'd pay you a lot of money to know what you know.

You could make a deal with him, Miles.

You could call him collect.

(phone ringing)

Yeah?

Who?

Well, what's the name?

He said he used to work with who?

Uh, yeah, all right.

I'll accept the call.

WINCHELL: The price of that three-minute phone call

was a good investment for Tunis.

Henning took the protective cloak of secrecy,

which Eliot Ness had wrapped around him

and threw it away.

Oh, and Mr. Henning,

I apologize because I didn't know about you before.

Now you beware we said tomorrow morning,

and we got a deal.

Good-bye, Mr. Henning.

Miles, did you ask him for the 2,000?

Nope.

Miles, why not?

'Cause I asked him for 5,000.

Five!

Honey, he said we got a deal.

Oh... oh!

(Miles laughing)

-Tomorrow morning, -Yeah.

Saint Brendan's Church in Roseland.

Tunis's gonna pay us off in cash.

-Oh... -And then, honey,

they're gonna see us for dust.

(Joan laughing)

WINCHELL: 5:00 a.m. the following morning,

Joan Henning sent her husband off to meet Tunis.

The running seemed over at last.

Mrs. Henning.

I'm Eliot Ness.

I know who you are.

I know what you want.

But my husband isn't here.

He went away and he's, uh... he's not coming back.

Is that right?

He just got tired of everything.

It gets hard, you know.

He went away and took a job for a couple of days.

That doesn't make him a criminal.

Nobody says he's a criminal, Mrs. Henning.

There are no charges against him.

Even if there were, we couldn't make them stick;

there were no witnesses.

All I want is a...

certain piece of information.

I see.

And you won't get it...

because you're too late.

You... forget about it and just leave us alone.

Why am I too late?

I told you, Miles went away.

Mrs. Henning, do you know who Vincent Tunis is?

What if I do?

You should understand why it's so important

for your husband to tell me where that whiskey is.

If he does, I'll destroy it, and that'll be the end of Tunis.

If he doesn't, Tunis is bound to catch up with him, and...

it'll be the end of your husband.

You would say that naturally.

Why?

You-you don't want my husband to make a deal for himself.

You want him to help you.

He made a deal with Tunis?

What if he did?

Business of a couple of decent kids

to make a deal with a cutthroat like Tunis,

thieves can't do without getting burned,

what chance have you?

(baby crying)

Please go away.

My baby's crying.

Do you care about your husband?

Do you care about him at all?

I love my husband.

If you love him, listen.

I spell it out for you in one-syllable words.

If I don't get to him before Tunis,

your husband's a dead man.

Don't you understand?

Tunis will murder your husband.

Saint... Brendan's Church...

in Roseland.

♪♪

WINCHELL: The meet had been arranged

for 6:00 a.m. the following morning.

Henning was early.

Tunis was right on time.

Mr. Henning?

Yeah.

$5,000.

What's the matter?

I was just thinking.

What?

What's gonna happen when I tell you where the stuff is?

You ain't gonna do the same thing to me

you did to George Dahlstrom.

Oh, that I did, huh?

You're making a mistake, Mr. Henning.

I didn't do a thing to George Dahlstrom.

Grac did.

Oh, wait a minute, Mister, now, wait a minute.

Now, does that make you feel better?

Yeah.

The stuff is in a basement of a half-constructed building

near the ammo vault.

Just four blocks west; you can't miss it.

There's a big crane out in front.

Oh, excuse me.

(grunts)

(tires screeching)

(gunfire)

(car horn blaring)

(horn continues blaring)

(horn stops)

You okay?

Yeah, thanks.

Get home, thank your wife.

Now do you want to do business

with the United States Government,

or you still want to do business with him?

Move out.

Open that back door.

Now get in.

WINCHELL: Two days later,

Vincent "The Moor" Tunis and the entire

Chicago whiskey syndicate were put out of business

by a devastating economic crash.