All language subtitles for wtsvdm

U"

February 14, 1929-

the year of the black bottle,
six-day bicycle races,

flagpole sitting and the first
flight from Paris to New York.

Mickey Mouse makes
his screen debut,

and Herbert Hoover
is inaugurated...

as the 31st president
with the words,

“We in America today are nearer
to the final triumph overpoveny“.

than ever before in any land.”

Six months later, the New York
stock market will crash...

and bring about
the greatest depression...

in world history.

In the city of Chicago,
the time is 10:25 AM.

The temperature-
18 above zero.

Oh, my God.

My God!

In the years following the passage...

of the National Prohibition Act of 1920,

the nation's underworld
rises to power...

and battles amongst itself,

just as modern nations
and corporations do.

Open periods of gang warfare
are followed by peace treaties...

and attempts
at consolidation and monopoly,

each of which is shattered
as new warfare erupts...

in quest of the booming
bootlegging and vice profits.

By 1929, the gangs of Chicago...

operate 21,207 speakeasies,

and their gross income
reaches $357 million.

618 members
of the city's unden/vorld...

are murdered within nine years.

Corruption extends
from the mayor's office...

to the humblest
side-street speakeasy.

Tell your lousy sister
to keep her lousy mouth shut!

Do me a favor,
will you?

I mean, just to give
her tonsils a break-

Two beers.

Nice place you got here.

Thanks.

Do a nice business, huh?

Pays the rent.

What are you trying to do,
poison me?

If you don't like the beer, mister,
you don't have to pay for it.

Well, now, ain't you
the cat's pajamas?

Did you hear that, Jimmy?

Bright eyes here says we don't
have to pay for this slop.

How 'bout it, bud?
You're drinking this stuff.

Tastes terrible, don't it?

I guess I'm not what
you'd call much of a judge.

What's the matter? Don't you
know when something stinks?

I guess I drunk better at that.

Ah, ya hear that? Even
your friend don't like it.

What more do you want?

All right, bright eyes,
where you getting it?

Fellow named Slauson.

Slauson, Slauson.

Only Slauson I know
works for Capone.

Al Capone.

That wouldn't be the same
Slauson, would it?

Huh?

I think it is.

How much you move
in a week?

Five barrels.

Five?

A swell joint
like you got here?

With the right kind of beer,
you could double that, easy.

I'm gonna put 1O barrels in here
tomorrow morning, cost you 55 a barrel.

Look, mister, you trying
to get me knocked off?

I can't buck Capone.
Neither can Moran.

Moran?

Only Moran I know
drives a streetcar.

That, uh-

That wouldn't be
the same Moran, would it?

My mistake.

Aw, that's okay.

Anybody can make
a mistake.

Take me.

Why, I could even be wrong
about your beer.

Maybe it's swell, and it's
just you got dirty taps.

Happens.

Well, now, you know what you
got there, bright eyes.

It's not the pipes at all.
it's green beer.

Here, you can smell it.

See what I mean?

Peter Gusenberg, born
Chicago, Illinois, September 22, 1898.

Ex-convict.

Mail robber. Burglar.

Hijacker.
Professional killer.

When, at the age of 13,
he came home from school...

to find his mother dead,

his first act was to pry the wedding
ring from her finger and pawn it.

He has been a member
of Bugs Moran is North Side gang...

for the past seven years.

Ten barrels,
starting tomorrow.

And don't forget,
I'm doing you a big favor.

Frank Gusenberg,

younger brother
of Peter Gusenberg.

Born Chicago, Illinois,
October 11, 1902.

Burglar. Car thief.
Extortionist.

Professional gunman.

Member of the North Side gang
for the pas! nine years.

He is married
to two women simultaneously...

but lives with neither.

Vincenzo DeMora,
alias “Machine Gun” Jack McGurn.

Born Brooklyn, New York,
July 7, 1903.

When he was nine years old,
his father was murdered.

By the time he was 20,
he had personally killed...

every man connected
with his father's death.

He has recently become a top
trigger man and extortionist...

in the Capone organization.

Just where the hell
were you?

Nothing
I could do, Jack.

Guy came up like right
out of the woodwork.

First I know, the door is
open and he's blasting away.

Did you make him?

Yeah.

One of Moran's boys.

Frank Gusenberg.

Alphonse
Capone, alias AI Capone,

alias AI Brown,

born Castellamare, Italy,
January 6, 1899.

No criminal record.

Raised in a Brooklyn slum,

he has migrated to Illinois
early in 1919.

Shrewd, ambitious
and utterly ruthless,

Capone, in six short years,
has climbed...

from the status
of saloon bouncer...

to become unchallenged
leader of Chicago's...

most powerful
unden/vorld organization.

To his associates,
he is “The Big Fellow. ”

To the public,
he is “Scarface” AI Capone.

Thank you, Mr. Capone.

Sorry about
that raid, Jake.

It so happens I got a new captain
out there who won't play ball.

What's wrong with him?
Playing hard to get.

We had him put down
for a yard a week.

He says if we want to
operate in his district,

we gotta triple that.

300, huh?

Those guys must think
we're made of money.

Write me out his name.

I'll have the bum
transferred to the sticks.

If it helps get him
reelected,

half a million in Thompson's
campaign fund's a bargain.

They put Cermak
in the mayor's office,

and we're gonna lose
2O million a year.

That's a waste of dough.
We bought one mayor.

He loses out,
we buy the next one.

You don't know
Tony Cermak, Frank.

Charles “The Fixer” Fischetti,

born Castellamare, Italy,
August 11, 1891.

A second cousin
to AI Capone,

Fischetti acts as chairman
at executive meetings.

He is a hea vy drinker
but' ne ver drunk.

His principle value
to the organization...

is his ability
to suborn political leaders...

and public officials
on both state and city levels.

He will be murdered
on April 7, 1951.

...and that's where
we can get hurt.

He ever tries chiseling
on the Big Fellow's rackets,

you'd think a suitcase
fell on him.

Ah, come on, Frank,
you know-

Hello, Al.

Meeting will come to order.

Jake.

Jake, we got you
down here for a report...

on the stockyards
district.

How's everything
going down there?

I'll read you
the figures...

and let you tell me,
okay?

We took over
that territory...

from Joe Saltas at the
end of last October,

and right away
things got better.

For example,

beer sales for the 30-day
period ending December 15...

are up 21.4.

Jake “Greasy Thumb” Guzik,

born Peoria, Illinois,
November 9, 1894.

A one-time proprietor of a string
of suburban houses of prostitution,

Guzik is now in charge of all
bootlegging, sales and distribution...

for the Capone syndicate.

He will die of natural causes
on July 11, 1956.

Ha. I've been telling
you guys for months...

that when it comes
to selling beer,

that big Polack don't know
his hat from third base.

For Christ's sake!

All I get
out of you guys is talk!

The rest of the time,
you're strutting around...

with dollar cigars in your kisser
like a bunch of bankers!

Oh, big shots.

What-
What's wrong, Al?

What's wrong?

You guys just get off the boat
or something?

Huh?

Am I the only guy around here
knows what's going on in this town?

Now let me give you
some real facts,

not the kind of love and kisses
we've been getting...

from our good pal Jake here.

Nobody has to tell me
we're making money...

out in the stockyards...

or anyplace else on the South
Side or the West Side.

But what about
the North Side, Jake?

I don't hear
no nice fat figures on that!

Or maybe you figure
that end of town...

ain't worth holding on to.

We talked about this, Al.

Yeah, we talked about it.

You talked about it!

“We don't want
no trouble, Al.”

“Forget about it, Al.”

“Bugs Moran's
just showing off, Al.”

That's what I think
of your figures, Jake!

Now you're gonna get
some of my figures!

Since Labor Day,

Bugs Moran's-

Bugs!

Pushed our beer
out of 28-

28 joints south
of Chicago Avenue alone.

That don't sound
like much, does it?

Not 28 joints. What's 28
joints out of 12,000?

Peanuts, right?
Right?

Al, if you'd just
listen to reason-

Shut up, Charlie!
Right now I'm doing the talking!

There's something else.

Take our pal
Jack McGurn here.

Now, Jack's a nice fellow. Does as
he's told, keeps his nose clean.

I wish I had a couple
of hundred like him.

So what happens here
a month ago?

Damned if a punk of Moran's don't
up and turn a chopper loose on him!

Tony Lombardo.

MY Pal Tony.

I went to his funeral.

I cried at his funeral.
I bawled like a baby.

Here's a guy never carried
a gun in his whole life.

Middle of the Loop,
4:30 in the afternoon,

two slugs through
the back of the head...

put there by a couple
of Bugs Moran's red hots!

Al, now, now, just
think a minute, huh?

I mean, going after Moran,
it just ain't good business.

Business!

I'm talking about
staying alive!

Try getting it through
your cement head...

that what Moran's pulled so far,
that's just for openers!

He wants me!
He wants me dead!

The way Dion O'Banion
wanted me dead!

The way Hymie Weiss
wanted me dead...

right down there
on 22nd Street!

Middle of the day!

Damned if that crazy Polack
don't come looking for me...

with a whole army!

That was Hymie Weiss for you.

And right now,
Moran's getting set...

to pull something
just as crazy.

Well, the hell with that!

We're gonna get him
before he gets me!

I want that Irish
son of a bitch... hit.

All right, Al.

You want Moran hit,
we hit.

Of course, it's gonna
take a little time.

All right,
now wait a minute.

All right, Al, you're sore.

Okay, nobody's saying you
haven't got a right to be sore.

But, now, you remember-

You want to argue
with me, Charlie?

Work it out, Frank.

Only make it quick.

Quick? I don't know.

To tell the truth, Al, there's
a whole lot about the guy...

we don't know
to begin with.

Francesco Nittoni,

alias Frank “The Enforcer” Nitti.

Born Montedoro, Sicily,
January 9, 1887.

Nitti is in charge of the Capone
organization's punishment squad,

made up of accomplished
strong-arm men...

and professional killers.

On March 7.9, 7.943, while under
indictment for income tax evasion,

Nitti will use a gun
for the last time,

to take his own life.

...before we could take the chance
to put him on the spot at all.

So- I don't want
to hear all that.

Everybody wants to argue!

I told you what to do.
How long is it going to take?

I don't know
what to tell you.

Honest, I don't. Like I told you,
we got nothing to go on.

I can't hear you, Frank.

Five weeks.

Six at the most.

Six weeks?

What are you gonna use
on him, a bow and arrow?

Something
on your mind, Jack?

Well, uh, yes, sir.

Maybe I'm wrong
to butt in like this,

but the last couple
of months...

I've been doing a little
checking up on Moran.

He lives at the Belden Essex
Apartments on Lincoln Park West.

Apartment 5-C.

Uses the name George Miller.

He's crazy about
his wife and kid.

He stays home most nights.

Never goes anywhere
without two torpedoes-

Willie Marks
and Ted Newberry,

both bad guys to tangle with.

If that's any help,
Mr. Capone.

You left something out, Jack-
where he buys his BVDs.

I said I wish I had a couple
of hundred like him.

Now you know why.

Come here, Jack.

You want to know
something, Jack?

I like a guy
who can use his head...

for something
beside a hat rack.

And seeing as how you know
so much about Moran,

I'm giving you the job
of getting rid of him.

If that's okay with you,
Frank.

I got no objections.

Think you can handle it, kid?

Yes, sir.

There's just one thing,
Mr. Capone.

We may have to take
some of Moran's boys with him.

I'll send flowers.

I'm not scared of a war
with Capone.

It's gonna be him or me.

If he'd stuck to his word
these past couple of years,

it would be
a different story.

But every deal he's made,
he's broken.

O'Banion thought
he could deal with him.

Weiss did too.

Well, I don't have to tell you
how they ended up.

George Clarence Moran,

born St. Paul, Minnesota,
July 9, 1893.

Ex-convict. Burglar.
Horse thief.

Hijacker. Suspected killer.

Present leader
of Chicago's notorious...

and long-established
North Side Mob,

which,
during the past five years,

has been almost
constantly at war...

with the Capone organization...

for control of the city's
bootlegging and gambling profits.

During these five years, e very pre vio
us leader of the North Side gang...

has been murdered
by the Capone interests.

Hymie shook the dirty hand
of that rotten grease ball!

Oh, sure, sure.

We've been giving him
a lot of trouble lately,

but I'm telling you here and
now that it's not enough.

Not when you figure
what he's been doing to us-

Pushing his slop
in our saloons,

hijacking our trucks...

and sending punks like that Jack
McGurn up here to snoop around.

Well, that may be
jake with you guys,

but not me.

I say it's time we put
Al Capone and his bums...

out of business.

Forgood!

George... with what?

You can start a war
with Capone,

but you're
not going to win it.

Not when every wop in town
is working for him.

I know some that aren't-
Joe Aiello's mob.

That five-and-dime punk?

Capone don't even know
he's alive.

Jimmy, that's no way to talk
about our new partner.

Wait a minute.
Wait a minute.

- What is this, some kind of rib?
- Sit down, Frank.

Since when do we hook up
with a bunch of crummy spics?

You can count me out.

Don't you pop off to me,
you stupid Kraut.

When it comes to getting Capone,
I don't care who I use.

You remember Deeny O'Banion?

Remember Hymie Weiss?
Well, you ought to,

because you helped load their
coffins into the hearse.

Or maybe when a friend of yours is
gone, you don't give a damn no more.

Well, I do.

And Deeny O'Banion
was my friend,

and I don't forget him.

And I don't forget
who had him knocked off.

Hymie Weiss and me,
we was with Deeny...

not 10 minutes
before they got him.

Now, remember
those grease balls.

They'd just as soon put a bullet
in your back as eat a pizza.

To hell with them Sicilians.

Be seeing you, Hymie.

Morning, Johnny.

Ah, good morning, boys.

[ Grunts I

N'

No.

And that's the way Capone operates.

That's the murdering
double-crosser...

who swore up and down he'd keep
the hell out of the North Side.

Well, I'm not waiting around...

for Capone to put me
in no cemetery.

We nail him
before he nails me.

All right, let's nail him
to get it over with.

I just say we do it
without the help...

of a two-bit spaghetti snapper
like Joe Aiello.

Frank, you're a dummy,
you know that?

Capone's protection
comes from the Mafia.

He can't make a move without
permission of the head wop.

And he can't be the head himself
because he's not Sicilian.

So he's got his own man,
Patsy Lolordo, running the outfit.

Now, your spaghetti snapper
Joe Aiello...

is a pal of Lolordo's.

He helps us
knock over Lolordo,

then he takes over the Mafia.

And that's when we take
old Scarface...

for a nice one-way ride.

And if it don't work,
he'll take us for a ride.

Well, it better work, because
I'm putting you in charge.

Well, I'm not saying
it cannot be done,

especially if Aiello
gets us in there.

Albert R.
Kachellek, alias James Clark,

born Krojoencke, Germany,
February 25, 1888.

Ex-convict. Burglar.
Car thief. Suspected killer.

Since marrying Bugs Moran's
sister five years ago,

he has become the number-two
man in the Moran gang.

And then we need a good
driver for the getaway car.

I don't care how you do it.

Just get rid of Patsy Lolordo.
Quick.

I learned how to drive
when I was young.

John May, born Chicago, Illinois,

September 28, 1897.

Married. Seven children.

Twice arrested on charges
of safe-blowing and burglary.

No convictions.

Has worked occasionally for the
Moran gang as an auto mechanic.

He has promised his wife he will stay
out of further trouble with the law,

but he is three months
behind in the rent.

I'd really like to help you out, Mr.
Clark. it's just that I don't-

Up to you, Johnny.

You want to do us
a favor, fine.

[Crying 1
If you don't,

that's your luck out.

Here, see?

Well, I'm not really
a trigger man, you see?

Matter of fact,
I don't even own a gun.

And if there were
any shooting to start-

Well, I'd tell the cockeyed
world it won't be you.

Think we want some lousy
amateur gummin' up the works?

Why, I wouldn't even
let you kill my own mother.

Shh.

The Gusenbergs will do
their shooting, Johnny.

All I'm asking you to do
is drive the car.

That, and maybe use a little
muscle if things get rough.

Pay's 100 bucks.

Now, are you in, or out?

It's 100 bucks
for the whole job?

Uh-huh.

I'll do it.

Besides, I really
need the money.

Come on, darlin'.
Don't you want any more?

N'

J"J"

Nicholas Sorello,
born Marsala, Sicily,

May 13, 1872.

Brought to the United States
by his cousin Dominic Forenza...

when in his late 30s.

Married with five children
and 11 grandchildren.

He has had difficulty learning
the ways of the new world...

and has lived
in continual poverty.

He will be murdered
on February 15, 1929,

less than 24 hours
after completion...

of the only criminal activity
of his life.

Come in.

Mr. McGurn?

I'm Nick Sorello.

Sit down, Nick.

Want a drink?
Something to eat?

Thank you, no.

It is kind of you to ask.

Dominic Forenza says
you're a man can be trusted.

Maybe that is because
my memory, it is very bad.

What do you do
for a living, Nick?

I have the truck.

Sometimes I'm selling
the vegetables.

Sometimes I'm
in the moving business.

It's very hard to get a good job
when you talk with accent.

Yeah.

Any trouble with the cops?

No. One time, yes.

They tell me
I'm moving the, uh,

stolen goods.

I say,
“I do not know this.”

They take what is in my truck.
They let me go.

Same thing
as in old country.

It's no different here.

Got a job for you, Nick.

Bring it off,
you get paid big.

F."

500 bucks.

It honors me to serve you,
Mr. McGurn.

You're gonna need
a couple par/sani-

guys that can
keep their trap shut.

Sometime tonight there'll be a
car left in front of your house.

It'll be hot, so ditch it
soon as the job's finished.

Got that?
Write this down.

Tomorrow morning,
9:00 on the nose,

you and your boys
be on 33rd Street,

half a block west of Robie.

You're gonna need a gun.

A gun?

That is something
I do not have, Mr. McGurn.

Guns make trouble.

No bullets, no trouble, okay?

Okay.

Operator?

Yeah, Lettie,
get me the cops.

I just seen a hijack
being pulled off.

Johnny and me got
our end of it down pat.

Now all we need to know
is-

Yeah?

Mr. Moran,
it's Nick Sorello.

Mr. Sorello,
I don't think I know you.

Yeah. Yeah.

What label?

Uh-huh.
How much you asking?

All right, suppose you call me
back in an hour and a half.

Yeah, do that.

What was all that about?

A guy named Sorello,
he's got 80-odd cases...

of Old Log Cabin
he wants to peddle.

Fifty-six bucks a case.

Price seems all right.

Yeah, but is he all right?

Monroe 8099, please.

Lieutenant Dellacosta,
please.

Oh, hello, Larry,
this is George.

Look, Larry,
a couple of things.

Let me know
if your boys got anything...

on a booze hijack
last couple of days.

Out near the stockyards.
Right.

And while you're at it,
see if you got a make sheet...

on a wop named
Nick Sorello.

Right. I'll call you back
in about an hour, okay?

Thanks, Larry.

Oh, sorry, Jim.
What were you saying?

Oh, just that we're about
ready to make our move.

All we need now is to make
sure Lolordo's bodyguards...

change shifts
the same time every day.

I've got a couple of boys
checking on that right now.

Bang, bang! You're dead!

Alphonse, be/I/'ss/ma.

Pasquafino.

Come in, come in.

Grazie.

Patsy, uh,

Bugs Moran's been
stepping out of line.

I've, uh, told the boys to
go ahead and fix his wagon.

This I do not like
to hear, Alphonse.

Maybe if you would
talk things over-

Talk, hell!

I talked to O'Banion,
and he laughed at me.

I talked to Weiss.
I pleaded with Weiss!

Three times he tried
to have me bumped off!

Now, Moran is just
as bullheaded.

You can't talk any sense
to these peasants.

Every time I try it,
I wind up getting shot at!

I'm not asking you, Patsy.
I'm telling you.

I'm getting rid of Moran.

You and I, we will not quarrel
over the life of a worthless man.

I'm letting
Jack McGurn handle it.

He wants two Mafia boys
on the choppers-

Scalisi and Anselmi.

Same dough we paid for knocking
off Hymie Weiss, okay?

As you wish, my friend.

Alphonse.

Something else
troubles you, no?

Yeah.

I've been
hearing things, Patsy.

You know how it is.
You-

You pick up a word here
and a word there.

You put them together,
and pretty soon you got a picture.

Maybe it's on the level,
and maybe it ain't.

The way I get it,

Joe Aiello is gonna take
over the Mafia in this town,

and they got your name
on a bullet.

I have nothing to fear
from Aiello.

Don Giuseppe and I
are as brothers.

We attended the university
in Palermo together.

We came to this country
only months apart.

We are both members of the inner
counsel of the Brotherhood.

No, Alphonse.

I thank you very much
for your concern for me,

but what you have heard
is not true.

I know this.

Yeah?

It's Nick Sorello.

Get in.

Get your-

Who else you got
out there, Nick?

It's just a couple of-
Two of my good friends.

They come help me to-
Get them in here.

Hey, Mario! Joe!

Avanti!

Come on, come on!

Come on!

What'd you have in mind, Nick?

I ask your pardon,
signor.

It's only to watch the
whiskey I have the gun.

You're a very
naughty boy, Nick.

All right,
let's get it in here.

Dr. Reinhardt H. Schwimmer,

born Chicago, Illinois,
December 1, 1896.

Twice married, twice divorced.

Schwimmer
has no criminal record,

but is one of that group of men...

who are fascinated
by the exploits of gangsters.

In the last few months
he has become acquainted...

with the members
of the Moran organization...

and spends a good deal of time
in their company.

A licensed optometrist, he has
recently abandoned his practice...

and is presently supponfed
by his widowed mother.

Okay, Nick, get it unloaded.

The money.

Signore? First you
pay me the money.

Uhh.

Don't worry about it, Nick.
We'll send you a check.

Your pardon, signore.

Uhh.

Myself, I talked to Mr.
Moran on the telephone.

He said, “Okay, Nick,
I pay you the cash.”

Fifty-six dollars a case
for the first-class stuff.

Hey, you tasted, huh?

It's first-class stuff, no?

Okay.

Now you pay me
the money,

we take 'em off-a
the truck.

Where'd you get it, Nick?

Mr. Moran,
he don't say that.

He just say-

A little hijack job, huh, Nick?

Got it off of Dingbat
Oberta's boys, right?

Uh-

We hear these things, Nick.

You don't pay the Dingbat,
we don't pay you. That's fair.

Okay, move it.
You'll get your dough.

Move.

Adam Heyer, born
Springfield, Illinois, June 26, 1881.

Criminal record, one conviction
for operating a confidence game.

Married twice.
One child, a son by his first wife.

As a qualified accountant,

He yer acts as bookkeeper
and collector...

for the Moran organization...

as well as handling payoffs
to local politicians and the police.

His wife has been ill
for several years...

and he is careful to conceal
the true nature of his business...

from her
and from their friends.

They're all here,
Mr. Gusenberg.

Nick.

Stuff checks out.
Old Log Cabin uncut.

How many cases?

It's 82.
Myself, I counted it.

Nick wouldn't lie to us.
He wants to stay healthy.

Ain't that right, Nick?

That's 82 cases.

Fifty-six dollars
a case.

That figures $4,592.

$1,000... $2,000...

$3,000... $4,000...

one, two, three, four, five.

We'll make it, uh,
even money.

$4,500.

500 for handling
charges, Nick.

When we help unload
a truck, we get paid.

Check?

Thousand thanks, signore.

Maybe we do business again
some more next time.

You betcha, Nick!

Nothing we like better than doing
business with bright boys.

You're my idea
of a bright boy.

Yeah.

Some of the money,
they steal it back from me.

More than $500.

I figured they would.

In fact, I counted on it.

You got one more job to do.

Just when, I don't know yet.

A real easyjob, Nick.

Just one simple phone call.

J"J"

Now, remember, Pete,
Frank will pick you up...

tomorrow afternoon
at 3:30 sharp.

At exactly 1O till 4:00,
both of you will pick up...

Joe Aiello on the corner
of Walton and Pelilah.

Now the three of you
got to be upstairs...

at five till 4:00 on the nose.

You got all that?

Don't worry about me.
I can handle my end.

You better do your worrying
about Aiello.

I think he's all right, but if something
goes wrong, I'm counting on you, Pete.

See you.

As Mr. and Mrs. Peter J. Gauntley,

Peter Gusenberg and an ex-showgirl
named Myrtle Nelson Koppleman...

have occupied Apartment 5-C...

at 434 Roscoe Street...

for the past seven months.

Hey, MY"-.

You gonna lay there
reading that thing all night?

You made me lose my place.

Yeah? Come on over here,
I'll find it for you.

What are you eating?

What's it look like I'm eating?
A sandwich.

Well, you could have
made one for me.

What's the matter,
you bust a leg or something?

Pete... guess what?

You know that coat
you got me for Christmas?

You told me I could exchange
it because it was too big?

So what?

Well, I did, this afternoon-
for a nicer one.

Nicer?

What do you mean, nicer?

That coat set me back
750 smackers.

Oh, I know it did, Pete.

You've been awful good
to me.

And don't you think for one
minute I don't appreciate it.

It's just, well, this one
I couldn't resist, that's all.

I know.
You just sit right there.

I'll go put it on for you.

You'll see how nice
it looks.

N

Yowza, yowza, yowza.

This is Ben Bernie
and all the lads...

coming to you from the College
Inn of the Hotel Sherman.

And now for all you
lads and Iassies...

listening
in the great Midwest,

we're gonna play
“Stumblin '. ”

Let's stumble a bit, Iaddies.

u"

isn't it beautiful, Pete?
How much?

You don't have to use
that tone of voice.

How much?
- it was a bargain, baby. They marked it way down low.

I just knew you'd want me-

3,000. That's all.

Three grand?
Why, you lousy little gold-digger!

When I picked you
out of the line,

all you had to your name was a cloth
coat with monkey fur on the collar!

Well, that goes back tomorrow,
you hear me? Back!

Listen, you cheap gangster,
I'm gonna-

u"

Ahh!

[YelpS 1

Aah!

Hey, you know you're
disturbing the peace?

Let me in!

Cheap gangster!
I'm gonna call the cops!

When interviewed
by the press some weeks later,

Myrtle Koppleman
had this to say:

Oh, Pete and I have
been married about a year.

I can't remember exactly
where we were married,

except that it wasn't
in Illinois.

I had no idea
Pete was a gangster.

He said he was a salesman.

Truly a kinder,
more gentle man-

you just couldn't meet one.

On January 7,

the Moran gang
puts into effect its plan...

to murder Mafia chieftain
Patsy Lolordo.

The first step is for
Pete and Frank Gusenberg...

to use Joe Aiello's
friendship for Lolordo...

as a means to enter
his apartment.

Your name Aiello?

Aiello.

Hop in.

One thing I got to know,
Aiello.

You positive this guy Lolordo ain't
setting us up for a double-cross?

Don Pasqualino and I
are just like blood brothers.

He truly believes we are calling
on him on a business matter.

The men who guard him
will know this,

so they will allow us to enter.

Capisce?

Get in.

Take it easy, Aiello.

The second step of the
plan I0 murder Palsy L olordo...

is the systematic elimination
of his bodyguards.

Salute.

Pasquafino!

D/0 m/0/

N'

N'

Whoo!

You know, Judge, the trouble
with this country today...

is its morals
are all shot.

I mean, look at
the young people.

Girls- smoking cigarettes
right on the streets.

And necking in
the backseat of a car,

and wearing skirts so short you
can see everything they got.

And fellas, packing a hip
flask full of rotgut whiskey,

driving around half-drunk.

You're perfectly right,
Mr. Capone.

I see them in my courtroom
every day-

drunk, disorderly, defiant.

I hardly know
how to handle them.

What these kids need,
Your Honor,

is a good working-over with a
razor strap on their bare behind.

Boys and girls.

If any kid-

Excuse me, Your Honor.

Freshen up your drinks, folks.
I'll be right back.

Hello?

Yeah, yeah, this is Al.

Who?

Oh, hello, Marty.

Now, what's so important
you got to-

Oh.

Get the boys.

N'

What is it, Al?

What's wrong?

Patsy Lolordo-

He's dead.

Murdered him
in his own house!

Shot him!

His friends!

Al, there's people-

Al!

All right.
Who killed him?

Three men.

Two of Moran's punks...

and Giuseppe Aiello.

Aiello?

Yeah.

What was it you were
saying, Charlie?

Talk to Moran,
pay the guy to lay off?

Give the poor guy
a pass?

Al- Listen! Let me
tell you something!

I came that close to saying,

“Maybe you're right for the
first time in your life.”

But no more, Charlie.

Moran goes.

And so does Aiello.

Him, I take care of.

You see that?

Like an old man. I tell you,
the union's out to get me.

They already made one try. They
came at me with a shotgun.

Next time shoot
a couple back at them.

I'm not a gunman, George. I just
wasn't cut out to be a gunman.

What were you cut out
for, to sell neckties?

Listen, you're in the rackets,
brother, same as the rest of us.

And the kind of dough
I'm paying you,

you either fight back
or get out altogether.

I thought maybe I could run
one of your speaks for you.

Now, that's my real line.
You know I'm good at it.

I've got no jobs
for saloon keepers.

I don't know
when I will have.

Either keep the job
you've got, or-

Albert Wienshanker,

alias Alben' Wienshank,

born Chicago, Illinois,
December 23, 1893.

No criminal record.

Although Wienshank
is not a gangster...

in the usual sense
of the word,

he has been associated
with the North Side Mob...

for the past three years.

First as an operator
of speakeasies,

now in charge of a non-union
cleaning ano' dyeing association...

controlled by Bugs Moran.

Well, Bert, I know
it isn't easy for you,

but you do a good job
for me.

I'd sure hate to lose you.

Listen, why don't you
go back home,

give it some more thought?

Talk it over with Irene again.

I'll be
at the Clark Street garage...

Thursday between 10:00
and 10:30.

Stop by and let me know
one way or the other.

I'll do that.

If I could just get Irene
to quit being so nervous-

Well, you know how women are.
Yeah.

I can't thank you
enough, George.

Forget it. We're old pals,
remember? Hello?

Mr. Moran?

It's Nick Sorello.

You remember me?

Yeah, I remember you, Nick.
What about it?

Maybe pretty soon
I get some more.

Same stuff, like before.

Same price, okay?

Yeah, I guess we can work something out.
How big a load?

Uh, this I'm not sure.

I do not have delivery yet.

You understand, Mr. Moran?

Yeah, I understand.

How soon do you think
it'll be?

Maybe tomorrow.

Or maybe two days.

Okay, call us when you're ready.
I'll have the boys take delivery.

Uh, Mr. Moran,
is one thing.

Last time, your boys, they
push me around a little bit.

This time, I do business
with you, okay.

But with your boys? No.

Okay, make it this Thursday
morning around 10:30.

Same place.
I'll be there myself.

I guarantee you'll get
everything that's coming to you.

That's fine.

Eh, to meet with you
is my pleasure.

Thank you, Mr. Moran.

Mr. Moran.

Why don't you
step down here?

I have a beautiful LaSalle
I think you'll like.

It has a hot water heater,

safety glass,
ventilated crank case.

The best self-starter
on the market.

Only 16,000 miles.

A lot of pep
and zing in this baby.

I don't know,
used car and all.

Ah, but a used LaSalle, sir.
That's the big difference.

I'll let you in
on a little something.

Belonged to a Cook County
commissioner.

Oh?

And I don't have to tell you how
those boys take care of their cars.

How much?
$800.

But for you, 750.

Sold. Provided I can drive
her out of here right now.

Don't see why not.

How'd you like
to finance it?

Oh, uh, cash on the line,
if that's okay.

Yes, sir.
Can't argue with cash.

All I need is your name and
address for the bill of sale.

Oh, yeah.
Uh, James Morton.

212 Hubbard Street.

Los Angeles, California.

Four months in advance.

Yes, sir. You betcha.

I'll get you a receipt
for this, Mr., uh-

Uh, James Morton.

I'm pleased to meet you,
Mr. Morton.

On the evening of February 11,

Angelo Molina, a second
cousin of Joe Aiello's,

buys a train ticket
to Los Angeles.

Aware that AI Capone
has discovered his part...

in the murder of Patsy Lolordo,

Aiello will use the ticket to board
the train at the last minute...

in an effort to escape
the vengeance of Capone.

Who says people
are getting fed up?

The papers?
These guys on the radio?

What do they know?

Think most guys give a damn
who gets bumped off...

long as it ain't them?

Listen, I know people.

I make it my business
to know people.

They get a big kick
reading in the paper...

where some poor stiff
gets taken for a ride.

Hello?

Yeah, Frank?

Wait for me.

At the barbershop.

Come on, Jake.

Stick around, guys.

I got to go pay a bill.

Board!

Who's there? Tickets.

Just a minute.

Signor Capone.

Basra!

Assassino!

“Giuseppe-

Mrs. Doody?

My friend here and me,

we're looking for
a nice front room,

and your sign out there- Come on in. I
can't afford to heat up the whole street.

Way they charge
for coal nowadays.

Yes.

You in a band
or something?

An orchestra.

One of the cabarets
over on Fullerton.

The rooms are upstairs.

Okay.

Oh, this is a charming place
you have here, Mrs. Doody.

I don't want
no horn-tootin' in here.

My roomers wouldn't stand
for nothing like that.

Don't you worry
about that, ma'am.

We only play these things
when we get paid for it.

Do you want two singles,
or just the double?

One room's enough
as long as it's a front.

If you're gonna be
sleeping days,

I'd advise you
to take a back room.

The noise on Clark Street
isn't to be believed,

what with the buses
and the people-

I said a front room, okay?

You see, we're out here
from New York, ma'am.

It's too quiet,
we can't go to sleep.

Bet you're the same way.

I'll show you what I got.

Oh, it's a nice room,
Mrs. Doody.

We'll take it.

You get a change of linen
twice a week.

Bathroom's
at the end of the hall.

No visitors after 11:00.

And I don't want
no women up here!

I run a respectable place-

Well, don't you worry
about that, ma'am.

We'll move our stuff
in tomorrow.

How much do we owe you?

Comes to nine dollars a week.

In advance.

Your receipt and an extra key
will be on the hall table.

What's your name?

He's Mr. White,
and I'm Mr. Johnson.

Hey, lady.
What about a phone?

Pay phone
at the end of the hall.

You'd better give
Vic a call.

Right.

Long Beach 6599.

Filling station.
O'Meara talking.

Yeah, hold on.

Phone.

Hello?

He just stepped out.
Any message?

I'll call him back.

Okay.

Who just stepped out?

Wrong number.

Okay?

Okay.

U"

Out for some fun
tonight, eh, boys?

Well, you've come
to the right place.

I've been here before,
you know?

Thought
I recognized you.

That'll be two dollars...
apiece.

All right.

The car is in a garage
behind 1723 Wood Street.

Right here.

Opens onto an alley
running north and south.

Take the alley
to Bloomingdale...

and jog left to Wood.

East on Webster to Clark,

south on Clark Street
about half a block,

and there she is.

Since you boys come
from out of town,

nobody in the place
is going to recognize you.

All you got to do
is act like cops.

Huh. Must be yours.

That's Moran.

You probably won't be able
to see his face...

from across the street,

but none of his boys are built
like him, so that's no problem.

He wears brown clothes
a lot-

suit, overcoat, hat, shoes.

Albert Anselmi,
born Marsala, Sicily,

June 11, 1892.

He is a member of the Mafia
and a professional assassin,

as is John Scalisi,
born Castelvetrano, Sicily,

January 24, 1895.

In a period of less
than six years,

these two men,
acting together,

have participated
in 31 murders,

including those of Dion 0'Bani0n
and Earl "Hymie ” Weiss.

There's always
the outside chance...

you'll be spotted
by a legit squad car.

If it happens before you get there
and they try to stop you, okay.

That's a rap
the lawyers can beat.

If it happens
afieryouleave,

you might as well
start blasting.

You got nothing to lose.

Any questions?

That's it.

Hello?

Jack, great to hear
from you, kid.

How's the weather
back there?

Right around zero,
Mr. Capone.

Sure could use some of
that Miami sunshine up here.

Yeah, I'll bet you could!

Anything special
you want to tell me, kid?

Yes, sir. it's all set for
this Thursday, Mr. Capone.

In the morning.
Around 10:30.

We got a nice valentine
all ready to deliver.

Valentine?

Hey, that's right.

This Thursday's
Valentine's Day.

Ain't that a hot one?

A valentine for Bugs!

Say, Jack, just make sure...

it's a great big
red valentine, huh?

A 2' 6:45 on the
last morning of his life,

John May takes
an early bus to work.

He has been promised
a $10 bonus...

if he can replace
the transmission...

of one of the gang's cars
before noon.

A! 7:02 on the
last morning of his life,

Pete Gusenberg
is considering ways...

to rid himself
of Myrtle Koppleman.

There are plenty more
where she came from.

A I 7:23 on the
last morning of his life,

Alben' Kachellek,
alias James Clark,

is thinking of buying a new car.

His status in the gang
demands better than this.

Ah. You should have
woke me, Ma.

I'd have had
breakfast with you.

How do you expect me to
know you were even home,

coming in at all hours?

You said you would
be here for supper.

I'm sorry, Ma.
I ran into a couple of friends.

I might have guessed.

Where those friends
of yours are concerned,

you don't have a mother.

A! 7:30 on the
last morning of his life,

Reinhardt Schwimmer
is in desperate need of money.

I have to talk to you, Mama.
it's important.

Listen, Mama, I hate to tell you
this, but... I'm in trouble.

Not with the police,
Reinhardt.

Nothing like that.
I owe some money.

$300. it's got to be paid quick,
or I'm in a real jam.

It's frustrating, this,
Reinhardt.

A man
with a fine profession...

doing such things.

All right.

If you promise to stay away
from those gangsters,

I'll get you the money.

I will. I give you my word.

Just be a good boy,
Reinhardt.

That isn't so much to ask.

Hello?

Um, what do you want?

What?

Hello? Eddie.

Yeah, I'm up.

Yeah, Eddie, I'm up.

I'm up, I'm up, Fm UP-

What's your hurry, honey?

You think I like sitting around
here and listening to you snore?

Stick around, hot stuff.

We'll open a keg of nails.

You still here?

Look, mister,
you owe me $25!

And I don't leave
until I get it.

You know, with a he-man
like me, you ought to pay.

That'll be the day.

Why, thanks, lover.

See you around.

A! 7:47 on the
last morning of his life,

Frank Gusenberg is wondering...

if he shouldn't go back
to one of his wives.

Can I fix you
some breakfast, dear?

A 2' 8:00 on the
last morning of his life,

Adam He yer is calculating
how much the cost...

of an operation for his wife
will take from his savings.

You will tell him, Bert.

You won't back down.
Promise me.

Don't worry, honey.
I'm through.

I'll walk in and say,
“So long, George.

I won't be seeing you anymore,”
and walk out.

Finished.

Thank God.

I'll call you after lunch,
around 1:30.

At 8:15 on the
last morning of his life,

Albert Wienshank
has decided that his safety...

and his peace of mind are more
impo/1ant' than $20, 000 a year.

Listen to this.

Only 600 bucks.

“Four-cylinder floating power.

Freedom from vibration
and rumble.

That makes driving
a constant delight.

Increased speed and”-
Alex.

Moran?

Nah, he's too short.

You know something, Paul?

That's the sixth guy
in there already.

Nobody told us
we got to keep score.

All we're supposed to do
is count up to one.

Morning, boys.

If it ain't
good old Reiny.

How's the eye business, Doc?

Haven't you heard?
I, uh, retired.

Living on my investments.

He means his old
lady is paying the bills.

Saw Pete's car out front.

I thought I'd drop in, say
hello, get a cup of coffee.

Would you mind
helping yourself, Doc?

The waiter just left.

Sure.

How's it going, Pete?

Okay.

Say, a fella over
at the barbershop...

give me a tip
on a filly from Miami.

Indian Broom.

Long shot.

Claims it's in the bag.

I'll make my own mistakes.
Okay by you?

Sure, Pete, sure.

Just thought I'd pass it
along, for what it's worth.

You know?

How's the weather out?
Still coming down.

Winds like a handful
of razor blades.

You guys are getting soft.

Uh, Mr. Miller?

It's a Mr. Bernstein,
long distance from Detroit.

Abe, George.
What's so important?

[ Sighs 1
What s keeping the guy?

Bingo!

Right height, right build,
even the right clothes.

That's our baby. I can let
him have it right now.

Ixnay,paL

We'll let him have it-
if he comes out the door.

Go call Vic.

Go on.

Operator? Hey, get me
Long Beach 6-

Long Beach 6599.
Right, right.

Yeah, hello?

Mr. King?

He just stepped out.
Any message?

Yeah. Tell him
his shirts is ready.

Okay.

Hey, what's that
all about?

Garlic.

In case the bullets
don't kill you,

you die of the blood
poisoning.

I told him the next time
he tries to jack up...

the price
at the last minute,

I find somebody else up
there to do business with.

I ought to stick
a pineapple in his hat.

Lousy cops.

They sure picked
a swell time to get nosy.

Hell of a rut if Sorello shows up with
the booze with them still in there.

Let's get a cup of coffee.

Yeah, I could use one.

Okay, Mike. Quiet, Trench.

George, is that you?

Hello, boys. Something
I can do for you?

Yeah, you can shut up.

Now line up, all of you.
Face that wall.

You, over there!
Come on, move!

Now wait.
Let's go.

You too.

All right, you two,
let's go.

Listen, buster,
you better be kidding.

Move.

Lousy flatfeet.

Wait till they hear
about this downtown.

Move!

Hey! You!

You on the car!
Let's go! Let's go!

Sir, I'm just
a mechanic here.

Let's go. All I do is
work on the automobiles.

Move! I don't have anything
to do with these people.

Come on.
Move!

Hands on the wall!
Lean on it!

Lot of guys tell me, “Get into
the stock market, George.

Pull up a few grand. Inside a
year, you'll be a rich man.”

I say, “What the hell?
I'm already a rich man.”

Besides, I-

Must have been a bad accident.
Yeah.

The way people drive
today, you're lucky-

Kenny!

Hey, Kenny, the cops just
killed a bunch of hoods...

in the garage
up the street!

One of them
was Bugs Moran!

Frank?

Can you hear me, Frank?

Who shot you, Frank?

Who did it?
Who shot you?

Nobody.

Nobody shot me.

Your brother's dead.

They're all dead.

Come on, who did it?

I've got to tell you, Frank.

You're not going to make it.

You want me to get
a preacher?

No.

Just leave me alone.

You don't want to let them
get away with this.

Come on, help us.

[ Grunts I

it's cold.

It's awful cold.

Fix this thing, will you?

A few hours after...

the St. Valentine's Day
Massacre,

the newspapers managed
to locate Moran,

something the police
have not yet been able to do.

Just a heavy cold.

I thought I'd better
take care of it.

Where were you, Mr. Moran,
when it happened?

L- Out of town.

How long do you expect
to be laid up?

Well, can't say for sure.

Uh, maybe a day or two.

Did you know the cops are
looking for you, Moran?

I can't imagine why.

Nothing I can tell them.

This gonna put you
out of business?

You must be a little
mixed up, buddy.

I happen to be
in the real estate business.

Oh, yeah, I knew
some of those fellas,

just to talk to, you know?

L-I even read where it said
they were working for me.

You can't believe everything
you read in the newspapers.

Mr. Moran, there are
a lot of people around town...

who are saying it was
actually the police...

who killed your-
those seven men.

Do you think it's possible?

You must be new
around here, mister.

Only Al Capone
kills like that.

Well, make yourselves
a drink.

Hey, you know, I'm always glad
to have you people drop around.

But believe me,
this is one time...

I'd like to know
the answers.

Mr. Capone, I wonder if you
saw those awful pictures...

of those men
in the newspapers.

Ha ha.
I glanced at them.

Terrible.

If you don't mind
telling us, Mr. Capone,

where were you
when it happened?

Why, right here in Miami.

In fact, I was in a meeting
with your district attorney...

that same morning.

Do you know this Mr.
George Moran personally?

I met him- once.
A few years back.

I doubt if I'd recognize him
on the street.

The Chicago authorities
insist you were behind...

the, uh, massacre.

Any comment on that,
Mr. Capone?

Well, I'm not surprised.

They've blamed everything on
me since the Chicago Fire.

Did you hear what
Bugs Moran...

told the Chicago papers?

He said, “Only Al Capone
kills like that.”

Yeah?

Well, I'll tell you
what Al Capone says!

And you can quote me.

They don't call that guy
“Bugs” for nothing.

Public indignation...

at the St. Valentine's Day
Massacre...

brings to a halt'
the most' notorious era...

of open gang warfare
in American history.

Later in the century,
the gangs will rebuild...

so that by the 1960s,

their power will be
far above that of the '20s.

Once more,
law enforcement agencies...

will be aware of the names
of the syndicate leaders,

and once more they will
not prosecute them,

awaiting perhaps the moment
when the public will demand,

as it did in 1929,

that the criminals
be brought to justice.

No one is ever brought
to trial for the slaughter...

of the seven men
in this garage,

but within 19 months,
all four of the killers...

will themselves
die of violence.

On the evening
of May 7, 1929,

John Scalisi
and Albert Anselmi...

are invited to a banquet
at the mansion of AI Capone,

unaware that he has discovered
their plot to murder him...

and take over his empire.

Yeah.

I want to make a toast.

To my good friends,

Giovanni Scalise...

and Alberto Anselmi.

Salute.

May you rot in hell!

Of the two
supposed police officers...

involved in the massacre,

Boris Chapman is shot to death
on January 5, 1930,

while attempting to rob
a St. Louis jewelry store.

The body of Adolph Moeller
is found in a pond...

12 miles south
of Joplin, Missouri,

on September 8, 1930.

Vincenzo DeMora,
alias “Machine Gun” Jack McGurn,

is murdered
in a Chicago bowling alley...

on February 15, 1936,

almost exactly seven years...

after the St. Valentine's Day
Massacre he masterminded.

George Clarence Moran
disappears from Chicago...

soon after the mass murder
of his followers.

While serving a 10-year
sentence for bank robbery...

in the federal penitentiary
in Leavenworth, Kansas,

he dies of lung cancer
on February 25, 1957.

Alphonse Capone.

While he is never tried
for complicity...

in the St. Valentine's Day
Massacre,

his role as the man behind it
goes unquestioned.

Three months later,
he is in prison,

and more than half of the
remaining 18 years of his life...

are spent
in federal penitentiaries.

On January 25, 1947,

Alphonse Capone,
his mind gone,

his body ravaged by syphilis,

dies in his sleep.

On February 4, his body is
interred in the family plot...

in a Chicago cemetery.