All language subtitles for sobalova

In 1946, the American justice system
gave a present to the Mafia...

Sent back to Italy, his home country,
Salvatore Lucania,

alias Charles "Lucky" Luciano,
the king of the New York underworld.

Sentenced to 50 years in prison in 1936,
by District Attorney Thomas E. Dewey

he was acquitted after nine years

for "special services" rendered
to the US Armed Forces

by the same Dewey, who had become
the new governor of New York.

How are you, Godfather?

Hey, Lucky, Lucky, Lucky!

Open the gates, come on, come on.

Come on, open the gates!

- Hey, hold it, you.
- Nobody gets on the pier.

Who says so?

- Why not?
- Who the hell are you anyway?

People are working over there,
somebody might get hurt.

We don't want no accidents, fellas.

Yeah, well, we'll take the responsibility.

I said no one on the pier!

He says no one on the pier.

We have it all set
with Luciano for an interview.

The Bureau of Immigration
fixed it for us!

Mr. Luciano doesn't want to be disturbed.
He will see no one!

Follow me.
Open the gates, open the gates.

Hurry up!

Let's go.

Where do you think
you're going, Mac?

I'm taking these boys to see Luciano.
I'm from the Bureau of Immigration.

I don't give a damn where you're from!

Nobody gets on the dock. Get back!

Come on, boys!

Hey, relax, take it easy.
What are you, crazy?

No pictures, no pictures.

How about a couple of pictures,
goombah, huh?

Look, I'm tellin' you for your own good,
go home.

- Stay back.
- What do you mean?

Remember, boys,
it wasn't the Bureau of Immigration

that kept you off the boat.

Yeah, we know who runs the waterfront.

It fuckin' ain't right!

Mr. Luciano just told
the United States government to drop dead.

That wop.

Say hi to my hometown!

I guess we'll go.

Excuse me. I need the bathroom.

- Where were you?
- I was washing my hands.

Take pictures of everyone.

- Where were you?
- Washing my hands.

I went to the men's room for a minute.

When I heard the shooting,
I ran back,

but there was nobody around,

and my old friend,
Joe Masseria, was dead.

We were eating.

We just had some spaghetti and clams.

You can't know how I feel.

He was like my father.

I loved him like a father.

Hey, Siragusa, look.

Here comes Albert Anastasia,
the Justice Department.

He's responsible for at least 50 executions,
but there's no evidence.

I'm runnin' out of film.
Who is this guy?

Meyer Lansky, are you kiddin'?

Lansky, the brain.

What's a Yid like that
doin' with all those guineas?

Hey, I'm a guinea, too,
and I'll break your ass.

How do you like this guy?

You're an asshole.

Hey, none of that stuff.

What's a "stronzo"?

It's a turd.

All right, load it up.

Let's get some footage
of these guys, huh?

Stronzo.

Here comes Frank Costello,
the Prime Minister,

with Socks Lanza.

- Boss of the Fulton Fish Market?
- Yeah.

Christ, what a party.
Huh, Charlie?

Wouldn't it be beautiful
if we could pinch those bastards right now?

Here we are, freezing our balls off,
while they're out there having a good time.

A toast to Charlie's health!

Champagne! Come!

Hey, Charlie?

They're gonna be drinkin' champagne
and you're pissin' in a Coke bottle.

I'll be a son of a bitch.

One must always be on the side of power,

because it's the only way
one can achieve balance.

In the world we want,

a man, in order to be a man,
must be a man of order.

I'd even say a man of peace.

Five months after the death
of Joe Masseria,

on the night of September 11, 1931,

which became known as
the Night of the Sicilian Vespers,

40 crime bosses were killed from
one end of the United States to the other.

The strategy for decapitating
the old Mafia was Lucky Luciano's,

who thus became "the boss of the bosses."

Bitter Sicily
The blood you gave me is all red.

It's been long since I left as a boy.

So alone and sad.

All around the world.

Mama.

Your death.

Has broken my heart.

But, my homeland
You should not abandon me.

But should hold me in your arms.

Like Mama.

Friends, I thank you with all my heart.

I was a free citizen in America.

I'll be a free citizen in Italy also.

Although
I don't plan to stay there long

even if I have to get back through Mexico.

I trust you won't make me wait
another nine years.

This is $200,000.
If you need more, just say so.

What the fuck?

What do you want?

It's okay, Albert.

Let's not spoil the party.

Come in, come in!

A little drink.

I'm sorry, I'm on duty, I can't drink.

What duty? It is a party.

I'm sorry. I can't drink.

- But you're Italian.
- Yes, I am.

It's okay. He's a paisan.

Yes, I am a paisan. My parents
are from the province of Avellino.

Can I do anything for you?

Your family is in Italy? I can visit them.

What can I do for you?

- Would you like a raise?
- Yeah, a promotion.

A promotion, I'd like very much,

but they're deporting you to Italy.

How can you help me
if you're being deported to Italy?

Don't worry about it. It's my business.

I got some connections in Washington.

Hopefully.

Excuse me, Your Excellency.
I was running a little late.

You know, I've been busy.

- He's returned to see his native town.
- Yes.

It's her third son killed this year.

INNOCENT VICTIM OF
A CRUEL AND UNSCRUPULOUS HAND

THE FAMILY HEARTBROKEN WITH PAIN
THEY ARE IN TEARS

DEAD BY AN UNHOLY HAND
LEAVING A DESOLATE WIFE

HERE LIES ANTONIO GIARDINA

WHO SACRIFICED HIS LIFE
FOR THE WORKERS' CAUSE

AND FOR SOCIALISM

THE MORTAL REMAINS
OF CARMELO NICOSIA

INNOCENT VICTIM OF A CRUEL ASSASSIN
TWELVE DAYS OF CRUEL SUFFERING

KILLED BY A CRUEL AND UNKNOWN HAND
THE FAMILIES IN TEARS

AN HONEST AND HARDWORKING MAN
DIED TRAGICALLY

HERE LIES THE DEAR BODY
OF SALVATORE PUELO

DIED AT AN ASSASSIN'S HAND

You're Lucky Luciano?

I'd like spaghetti alla marinara.

Sir, you're not Italian?

Are you American?

Sort of.

Do you like Naples?

I like the sea.

Take a spaghetti to the American.

A fleet of fishing boats,
freighters, and other vessels

sailing out of Marseille and Sicily,

sweep the Mediterranean,

from Tangiers to Beirut,

and from Malta to Genoa to Trieste,

under the orders of a top Mafioso,

a con man with sad eyes
who lives undisturbed in Naples:

Lucky Luciano.

In a few years,

he has created the largest
international criminal organization

that ever existed.

Our investigations in Italy,

carried out in spite of the skepticism
and indifference of the Italian police,

prove that the Mafia drug pushers
in this country

receive most of their heroin

from respectable
pharmaceutical distributors in Italy.

We calculate that just from
the Schiaparelli Company of Turin alone,

770 pounds of heroin

have been turned over
to the illicit drug market.

Now, we have asked the Italian Commission
for Public Health to intervene.

Stop the illegal sale of licenses,
and you stop heroin.

But they have done nothing.

We arrested Migliardi,
the director of the Schiaparelli Company.

He was sentenced to 11 years
in the penitentiary!

But you haven't changed a single thing,

and Luciano's men go merrily on buying
from these firms all the drugs they want.

Sir, our scientists
and the Italian medical authorities do insist

that heroin,
properly administered, of course,

in many diseases, can be quite helpful.

Send these scientists of yours to America!

We'll show them how helpful heroin is!

What do you know about it in Italy, huh?

Let's face facts.

The big chemical industries in Italy

have very powerful
political connections in Rome.

And, uh, how can you explain this fact?

The fact that all these Mafiosi,
these out-and-out gangsters,

are supplied with passports
and permits to carry weapons.

And in the Italian police records,
why are they described as persons

of good political, civil,
and moral character, huh?

Now, really, why don't you ask
those questions

to the United States
Department of Justice?

These gangsters, these Mafiosi,
who shipped them to us?

You Americans, by the hundreds.

You had a name for them:
Undesirable aliens.

So they landed in Sicily
behind the Allied Armies,

and then they moved up
the Italian peninsula,

to Naples, to Milan, to Genoa,

following the Army of the United States.

Ask your generals why did they appoint,
as mayors in Sicilian towns,

people like Calogero Vizzini,
like Genco Russo,

who were known and feared
as Mafia bosses?

Ask your Colonel's superior
in Naples at the time why he chose,

as his collaborator, as his right-hand man,
Vito Genovese?

Now, you all knew as well as we did
that Vito Genovese was a big gangster.

I found this city stinking like garbage,

but I'm gonna leave it
smelling like a rose.

We strut through these rooms
like a breath of fresh air

and gave the Italians back
their self-respect.

Creatures! Come on, come on...

Salute the colonel!

Beautiful! Beautiful!

Upstairs.

Great piece of ass, huh?

You see, you've got to understand
the psychology of the Italian people.

To win them over,
I had to convince them that the war is over.

That's why I had the bomb shelters
and the sirens removed,

to show them that the war
is finished here.

You understand,
it's a matter of psychology.

Am I right or am I wrong?

- Right!
- Right!

You have got to know
exactly what you're doing

and who you're dealing with.

Well!

But, you see, that's not all.

We have to keep their bellies filled.

I hear that people are saying...

"Less talk and more spaghetti."

And they are right.

After all, why are we fighting this war?

Because we have everything
and they have nothing.

But we give them cigarettes, food, gas,
the works, all the way down the line.

After all, that's what freedom
is all about.

- Am I right?
- Yes, sir!

Come over here, will ya?

Hey, Jim, I don't like your friend.

Bring me another one tomorrow, okay?

My boyfriend will blacken my eyes
if I see another American.

Don't worry. They're always drunk,
and they don't want anything.

What I'd give for corned beef.

Oh, thank you.

Well, good luck.

You see, men, this is
one hell of a responsibility.

All this stuff coming into Naples
must go to the people,

not the crooks and the speculators.

We've made one mistake in Sicily,
my dear Genovese. We were too soft.

You're right.

We made one big mistake in Sicily:

We were too damn soft.

- Right.
- Now, enough of this crap.

I don't care who it is...
Princes, cardinals, everyone.

You tell them, Vito.

I want the people to cooperate
and stop the black market,

and if they don't,
I will show no mercy.

Vito, tell them.

- Am I right, gentlemen?
- Right.

Well, if you don't speak up,
they won't listen.

So now, he'll tell them.

Stop, stop!

Attention please, the Colonel
wants everybody to know

that in order to cut out
the stealing and the black market,

the penalty for the violations
are gonna have to be very, very strict.

The colonel wants
the cooperation of all citizens

to end this scandal of the black market.

Severe penalties
will be meted out to the offenders.

Now we're gonna cut out
all this injustice,

and we're gonna have rationing

so that the poor people of this city
finally get a break.

Severe and strict rationing
will ensure fairness,

so that the aid that comes
from the American people

goes to the Italian people.

Viva America! Viva Italy!

One, two, one, two, three, four.

That makes five tons of wheat

and a thousand gallons of olive oil.

And listen, the mayor has authorized

to transport and buy and sell oil and wheat.

And look, not to be requisitioned.

That's a lot of stuff.
We'll be needing around a dozen trucks.

Trucks... you name it, we got it,
but watch out for those drivers.

They're all blacks, (unintelligible)
and drink the gas out of the tanks.

And sell it in the black market.

Here's the pass for the gasoline.

No name, no amounts.

Everything we want.

It's better we unload the trucks
outside of Napoli.

There's too many MPs
inside the city.

Okay.

Look at that beauty.

Why ain't that mine?

After you're unloaded,
you burn all the trucks.

- We leave no traces.
- Right, okay.

All clear!

Let's go!

Stop.

Stop!

You like that, huh?

- You can say that again.
- Yeah, me too.

You gotta throw in the Packard, too,
or the deal's off.

Okay, goombah.
Go ahead, take it.

I got a brand new Buick
back in New York.

Hey, what about these blacks?

Sell them with all their clothes.

Have you got any shame?

Get outta here!

Wish I had one like that.

You'd like having one like that?
Get all the broads in there.

- Hello, Colonel.
- Hi!

Wow, that's some boat, huh?

That's the first Packard in Italy.

Really?

You wanna try her out?

You mean, it's yours?

Here, come on, let's go for a ride.

All right!

Okay, fellas, look out.

Here we go.

What do you want for this?

We gotta have a new city magistrate
and a new president of the bank in Naples.

- Of course.
- And we got a lot of applications.

You know, everybody wants
to get into the act.

But don't worry.

I made up a list of anti-fascists,

real friends of Americans
that I personally guarantee.

Good.

Oh, by the way, I need more passes
to bring in oil, gas, and everything else.

But the real problem

is the power plants
who run the industries,

and those who want 'em
are just gonna have to pay for them.

- Right.
- You know...

This isn't Russia,
we just don't give it away.

- Am I right, Colonel?
- Right!

You like the car?

Keep it.

And by the way, who gave
Lucky Luciano his credentials

as a useful person...

The documents... as a useful man

who had "rendered services
to the Armed Forces of the United States"?

You released him from jail,

you practically gave him a medal!

Don't forget all the help we gave you
through the Marshall Plan.

Your statement is an attempt to blackmail
the people who you claim you help.

There is also socialist morphine
that comes to the United States.

Yugoslavia is very good
at stopping Italian smugglers

the moment their fishing boats
enter your territorial waters.

Why don't you notice
certain giant whaling ships

like the one belonging
to Sr. Rosario Mancino of Palermo?

It lands on the Dalmatian coast
every week!

Sit down, Charlie.

There's no use trying to put
all the blame on the Italians.

The ballgame isn't in Rome or Naples.

It's in New York and Washington.

What do you mean, Commissioner?

They've been putting a big campaign
on here against us.

While you've been chasing
Luciano around Italy,

they've been trying to discredit
the Narcotics Bureau.

They say we're a bunch of paranoids
and megalomaniacs,

and that we arrest people
without proof,

and that we invented
the whole Luciano story

for political reasons.

I'll tell you what was invented:

That fairy tale about Lucky Luciano
winning the war in Sicily.

After what came out
in the Kefauver investigation,

you'd think that people
would know the score.

Now the Democrats are saying
that Mr. Dewey let loose

a flow of drugs into this country

when he got Luciano sprung from jail.

Mr. Dewey doesn't like any mention
of the Luciano matter,

and he's fighting back,

and with the Republicans
in Washington again in power,

he's got some pretty big friends there.

The Attorney General, for one,
and the Secretary of the Treasury,

to drop a couple of names.

Who have we got?

Each other, Charlie.

So be careful.

Mr. Dewey is forming
his own commission to, and I quote,

"investigate Lucky Luciano,"
unquote.

He's trying to prove
that everything we told

the Kefauver committee was a lie

and that we have no real evidence
against Luciano in Italy.

So now, Lucky's the hero
and we're the villains.

Who's gonna buy that crap?

Judges, the same judges
who are still on the bench,

the ones who Frank Costello
had nominated

when he and Meyer Lansky
and Luciano

were still pulling wires
at Tammany Hall.

But now the Republicans
are in office.

The Mafia makes no distinction
about parties.

They have no party.

They're on the side
of whoever is in power.

In Truman days,
they were backing Truman,

and Dewey was fighting them.

Now Dewey has the power
and Kefauver is fighting them.

And where are we?

In the middle,

and if we're not careful,
we'll be getting it from both sides.

So what do I do now?

Well,

you keep on chasing Luciano,

Dewey will keep on chasing us,

and Kefauver will keep on chasing Dewey.

And when all this running around is over,

everybody will find himself

back at the same goddamn place
where he started.

Oh, Charlie, Charlie.

Not everyone.

Not Mr. Charles "Lucky" Luciano.

Get me the Giannini file please.

Right away, sir.

Thanks, that'll be all.

Yes, sir.

Gentlemen, here's Lucky Luciano.

I'm here. What do you wanna know?

Where were you all this time?
Did you escape from Italy?

Who gave you a passport?

Ah, what frenzy. One at a time, please.

Is it true you owned
all of Cuba's gambling houses?

Let's go sit down. I've prepared a table.

Mr. Lucania, today at the UN,
they're talking about you, about drugs.

The one that talks about drugs
is always the Narcotic Bureau.

And that "Asslinger."

Anslinger.

Harry Anslinger,
the head of the Narcotics Bureau.

"Asslinger."

He's German, protestant and a cop.

If a racketeer is mowed down,
it's Luciano's fault.

If the Queen of England leaves
her husband, it's Luciano's fault.

If at a party, people have fun,

and there must be,
how you say in Italian, "stupefacente"?

Yeah.

And they point to Luciano.

But by now, Luciano and drugs
stand for the same thing to everybody.

I don't take any.

Yeah, but the scandal is in every paper.

Mr. Lucania,
they talked about it in the Congress,

in the US Senate.

It's politics.

In America,
they need to elect a president.

Dewey, a Republican, is the best man,

so the Democrats dug up the story
that it was he who pardoned me.

He pardoned you for helping the army.

Is it true that in 1943, they parachuted
you in to prepare the invasion?

I've never seen Sicily from above,
never crossed over to it in a plane.

I go there occasionally by ship,
just to Palermo,

where I have a candy factory.

Right. Filled chocolates.

The comfits.

And I soak in the sun, like in Capri.

And the contraband?

Since your return,

Sicily has become the headquarters
for contraband cigarettes.

Look.

I smoke the cigarettes
of the state monopoly.

And I think I'm the only one in Naples
who doesn't smoke contraband cigarettes.

How about you? What do you smoke?

They have no evidence against me.

If there was even an inch of proof,
I'd be in jail in the blink of an eye.

Why hasn't the US
asked for my extradition?

I'd be ready to go back,
even in handcuffs,

and defend myself.

Even in handcuffs?
You want to go back to America?

You were born in Italy.

I came to America as a young boy.
I lived there for 30 years as a free man.

I was unjustly condemned by the false
evidence of pimps and prostitutes.

No respect for the rules.

But here in Italy, it's all persecution.

There are no rules.

Here they don't even know what bail is.

You already had some convictions, though.

Penalties.

Because I didn't stop at traffic lights
when I was carrying whiskey.

- It was during prohibition.
- Prohibition!

Another story of Jesuits like Asslinger!

People wanted to drink.

And someone had to give them
something to drink.

If it weren't for us,
what would the government have done?

Eh. You performed a public service.

Yes, we performed a public service.

That's why we gave all of our support
to Roosevelt.

He knew that a lot of things
had to be changed.

That's why in Chicago
we gave him our vote.

You liked politics then? But not in Italy?

This is a poor country.

What kind of politics can you do
without business?

Why, Mr. Lucania,
do your affairs in Italy go wrong?

With my candy factory in Palermo alone,
I've lost $10,000.

How do you manage to live?

You spend lots of money.
At the racetrack you bet enormous sums.

I already explained this
to the Department of Finance.

I received a little help
from my friends in New York.

Even my car is a gift from them.

I'm not a rich man.

What about your living expenses,
the bodyguards?

What bodyguards? The police
don't lose sight of me for a minute.

Of course. You move around a lot.
Rome, Milan.

They even gave you a passport.

- You go abroad.
- Excuse me.

I'm a free man.

The American government has pardoned me.

Anyway, when I go to Capri,
there's the head of Interpol.

He looks after my security.

Why, you mean that someone like you,
like Lucky Luciano,

in America would be left on the loose?

I can return to America
with my head held high.

And there I must return.

And as for my death,

I've already bought my family vault
in Brooklyn.

Well, welcome to Genoa, Contessa.

Come in!

Come on, Charlie,
you fuckin' idiot, come on!

Come on in, sit down,
we'll have a talk.

Where the fuck am I gonna sit here?

You know, the trouble with you is,
you're a stupid cop.

You should be like me, I can travel
anywhere in the world, I've got money.

Here, look, look.
Look at the ring.

You know what you can do with that?

Stick it up your ass.

I know where I'd like to shove it, huh?

You see this?

That's a real countess.

I bet you never fucked a real countess.

Countesses, look,
you're a dime a dozen.

And I don't care for whores.

Whore?

You called me a puttana?

You stupid bastards!
Half-witted wop!

One is a thief and the other a thug!

You two talk like slobs!

And take your hat off, gentleman!

And you know something?

- What?
- Fuck yourself!

She's just like my sister, no?

Where the hell did you find that bitch?

She may be a bitch,
but she's a great fuck!

You know something, Charlie,
I like you.

You and I, we oughta go
into business, huh?

I get you started, and then afterwards,
I promise you you'll be thankful.

Yes, or wind up like you,

in prison or in a gutter full of holes.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

That doesn't happen to me.

Of course not, because we're protecting you,

but you'd better watch your step.

We know you're pushin' that white stuff.

You're a big connection,
and we also know who you've been talking to.

Sure.

Sure you know who I'm talking to.

Where else would I get the information?

In the meantime,
you're working your own deals,
Cheers.

And what do you give us? Crumbs.

That's better than nothing though.

Listen, I've heard enough of your crap
about the Turks and the Arabs.

We know all about that,

but when I want to talk to you
about Lucky Luciano, what do you do?

- You choke up.
- What do you mean, choke up?

Who the fuck chokes up?
I didn't choke up!

Who's the one that told you
he got $50,000 in Naples? Me!

$4,000 fine, for Christ's sake,

and the guy walks outta the courtroom
laughing, big deal.

Fuck the "big deal" shit.
Look, leave me alone.

Leave me alone, let me operate
in my own way in Italy and France,

and I promise you I'll come up
with something big, huh?

Look, you listen to me, you hear?

I know you're pushin' penicillin,

I don't give a damn
and the Italians don't care,

but you're messin' around
with counterfeit money,

and it's gonna screw up
the Italian tourist business.

- You hear?
- Yeah, I hear.

- And one final thing.
- What?

You know goddamn well
what I want from you.

- What?!
- Lucky Luciano!

Okay.

They're here.

Tell me where I can find Luciano.

Yes, sir.

He's there, there he is, there he is.

Fuck you, Lucky.

Hey, Charlie!

Mr. Luciano, Contessa.

Hey, this is Mr. Giannini.

- You want to rest up a little?
- No.

- We go for a ride, huh?
- We go.

One moment. Take this to my room.

Yes, sir.

You didn't know I could speak Italian, huh?

I'm gonna take you to see
the roads of Pompeii.

Come on.

My God, this is a dirty city, you know?

We oughta organize the garbage men here
like we did in New York.

Remember Tony Strollo?

Yes.

Over 40 years ago,
you were born somewhere in here.

This place stinks, Lucky.
You know what you should do?

I don't know how you live here.
You should come with me.

We could go to Paris
or the Riviera.

Hey, I talked to our friends in Marseille.

What about the penicillin deal,
yes or no?

Hey, honey.

Go on, have a look at that.

Hey, look at this.

It looks like me, huh?

Yes, it was showing the way
to go into the brothel house.

- The whorehouse.
- Want to see?

- Always.
- Yes, this is the short way to go.

Come to this side.

Yes, here we are.

Will you come in, please,
I am waiting for you.

See, this, now we are in the whorehouse.

The oldest loving house.

These, these people, was very intelligent

because when you come here,

and didn't know the language,

we got to talking looking at the frescos

you went in the room which you want.

The first one, for example,

is assigned the kind of style,

the woman on the man.

The second one is a Spanish position.

What is Spanish position?

The shoulder of the man,
see, on the top of... Yes...

The legs, the legs
of the woman around your shoulder.

The third one is dog fashion.

In front of you, there is (unintelligible).

In front of you here there is the 69.

Another one is against nature.

See here, no comment,
you can see with your eyes.

- It's sodomy, sodomy, sodomy.
- Yes, you can see with your eyes.

And here's another fresco here

might be as about interesting.

Yeah, but why, why does he have two?

It's because one he uses for the day,

and other one was used for the night.

I should be so lucky!

Look at the beautiful garden!

They got the fresh air of the garden.

Beautiful room was all the way
over the garden.

How long, how long did he relax?

In that day,
they got to relax for an hour (unintelligible)

Or less or more,

while the slaves were working
in the garden for day.

- How many slaves there?
- There'd by twenty.

- Twenty?
- Less or more.

That's living, huh?

You think you would've been a master?

Now we are going to reach another house

go through this room
at the end of the corridor to the right,

you can see a pleasure room

with the beautiful erotic frescos
very well preserved.

Lucky, what about Marseille?

You know I don't like to travel.

Even in America,
I didn't move around much,

except to go to Florida in the winter
for a vacation.

Always well-known places.

Here too, always in Naples.

Sometimes in Sicily

with my people.

Or Milan for the horse racing.

We could make a lot of money in Marseille.

My friends usually visit me
for pleasure...

...not to do a job.

But for the tourism.

I'm sorry, sir, but we have
an arrest warrant for you.

- You must be kidding.
- No.

You're being arrested
on a very specific charge.

- Contraband.
- What?

False money.

- False money?
- Counterfeit.

You can't arrest me,
I'm an American citizen.

- This is Italy.
- I don't give a fuck what it is!

- I make one goddamn phone...
- Sit down, please, sir.

Sit down.

Please, sit down.

"I've been rotting in jail
for three months,

not even a window, just an iron grate.

No air and no light.

The heat and mosquitoes eat me alive.

There are six in here, and we must
all go to the toilet in the same place.

It's a cesspool here night and day.

There's no room to move,
and we can't even sleep in peace

because one must stay awake
to keep the rats off,

which are starved
and big enough to attack us.

The bedbugs are as big as cockroaches.

I must pay to have a little water
and some straw to lie on.

It cost me $50
just to send you this letter.

Yours truly"... Etc., etc.

Here in Italy, you're born in poverty.

But you know, even in Italy,
you can do big business.

I tried to do some business with Gene.

But what we need is a man like you.

Listen to me.

If you want to go to the opera
at San Carlo theater,

to the horse races at Agnano hippodrome,

if you want to have fun, here I am.

But I don't do business.

Here, another letter from Gene.

This one's about you.

About Joe Picci and Frank Calace.

This letter can ruin you.

I'm supposed to give it to Siragusa,
but I'm giving it to you.

You must trust me.

Go on. Tear it up.

You're supposed to give it to Siragusa?

Then that's what you'll do.

Hey, you want a lift?

Gene, hey, Gene!

Everything okay?

Everything's perfect.

You let me rot in a goddamned jail for a year.

Come on, Gene, get in,
I wanna talk to you.

Come on, get in.

I got you outta jail without a trial.

If you stood before a judge,
you'd never get out.

As far as you're concerned,
I could have died in there.

You could have got me out
any time you wanted to.

You gotta get one thing through
your thick head, you know?

You were in the hands of the Italian police.

They don't take orders from me,
an American cop,

so I had to invent a story to get you out.

Who the fuck invented the story to get me in?

It's not my fault!

You're the guy that insisted on fooling around
with the phony money.

So, who told 'em at the border
I had the phony dollars?

It was probably one of your
good friends that tipped 'em off.

- Maybe it was even Lucky Luciano.
- No, no, no, no, Lucky doesn't talk.

Lucky's a mob guy, he's not a cop.

What about you?

You're not a mobster, you're not a cop.

You're nothing, you're nothing but a stool pigeon.

Okay, so I'm a stool pigeon!

I'm not a mobster, and I'm not a cop,
so why don't you leave me alone?

You want this passport?

- You gotta earn it.
- How?

Make a little trip to New York.

We'll pay the expenses.

- New York?
- That's right.

For what?

So you can testify in the big case,
we need your evidence.

No, oh.

No, no, no, no you stop the car,
no, no, no, no, I get out here.

Use your head, Gene.

If you stay here without
an Italian passport,

they'll throw you out as an undesirable.

If I go to New York, they'll kill me.

Damn it, I'm trying to save your ass,
but you've been talking too much.

How could I talk, I was in prison for a year,
who did I have to talk to?

You also have a bad habit
of writing letters.

No, the only one I ever wrote to was you.

- What'd you do with the letters?
- I got them,

but I told you not to trust accountants, didn't I?

No, no!

No, no, no, no.

I know what you're trying to do.

You're trying to fight me
so I'll do anything.

And I'm not going to New York City,
I'm going to stay right here in Italy.

And I say you're not gonna stay right here

because I've had all the bullshit from you
that I can take, you got that?

So, here's your passport
and ticket to the States.

In one hour, the plane takes off,
and you're going to be on it.

Jack.

Charlie.

I don't know who's a bigger shit,

you or Luciano.

Around the beginning of September, 1952,

Gene Giannini was back from a trip to Italy.

He'd done ten months in jail over there.

Tony Bender sent for me

for the biggest contract I ever got
from Cosa Nostra.

He took me out to dinner
at Rocco's on Thompson Street

down in the village, Greenwich Village.

We talked about one thing
and another for a while,

then he got down to business.

"Gene's been talkin', " he told me,
"to the Narcotics Bureau."

Vito Genovese got the word
straight from Lucky himself.

Lucky says Gene's been talkin'
to them narcotics guys for years.

He's gotta be unloaded,

him, and anybody with him.

I telephone Giannini, and I tell
him to meet me at a bar, The Casbah.

I make up an excuse,
he owed me some money.

I went to meet him,
and I took Joe Pagano with me.

Pagano was a new guy.

Gene wouldn't have recognized him,

but Pagano was a genius with a gun.

Giannini told me he was broke and couldn't pay me.

"Skip it," I said.

"Let's just have some fun."

I had a girl come from the bar.

We had some drinks together,

and I went out and left him with the girl.

The next night, I took Pagano
and another couple of the boys

to see the gamblin' place
where Gene Giannini was workin'.

I explained the plan to them.

One of the boys would wait in the car

by the sidewalk a block away.

The other two would wait for Gene at the door.

- I'm with ya, I'm with ya.
- Ah, we'll see ya later.

I'll sit in the front, I'm fatter than you are.

I told 'em especially

to throw the guns away
right afterwards into the East River.

I got in touch with Bender,
and told him to tell Vito Genovese.

Gene Giannini wouldn't give him any more trouble
with the Narcotics Bureau.

Lucky Luciano didn't have nothin' to worry.

The arrival order is the following:

First, number 1, Mister Chips.

Second, number 2, Moliserno.

Third, number 4, Pinecone.
Fourth, number 5, Golden Parable.

The odds on the seventh race.

First, horse number 6, Mister Chips,

Second, number 2, Moliserno.

Third, number 5, Golden Parable.

Fourth, number 4, Pinecone.

Winning: 22.
Ranked placed: 12, 13, 17.

Coupled bet: 31. Simple bet: 40.

Want to bet with me?

Thanks, but I prefer to bet alone.

Don't move.

What the hell are you doing?

Just one word.

I'll tell you what Lucky Luciano was doing

at that racetrack at Agnano, Naples.

That's his office, you understand that?

He controls a dope racket from there.

Lucky is the brains.

Lucky is the king sitting on the throne.

The big kilo connections from New York
contact him directly at the racetrack at Naples.

He then introduces 'em to the Sicilian Mafiosi

to Corsican suppliers,

but he's never there when a delivery is made.

He waits until later.

He gets his cut from both
the buyers and the suppliers.

The payments are deposited to Lucky's account

in a Swiss numbered bank account.

All right, Charlie.
But then what was that slap about?

It doesn't mean a goddamn thing,

it's got no connection with the heroin traffic.

It's just a case of a Neapolitan guapo
tryin' to act like a big shot

at Lucky's expense, that's all.

International organization,
drugs, killers...

All this we already know.

But the evidence is different.

This man never leaves Naples.

He goes out in the morning,
walks his dog, then bets on a few races.

Now, after what you said,
we'll try to make the races off-limits.

He's nice to everybody.

He gives to charity.

He's liked by sympathetic reporters
and even some policemen.

And when I mentioned his past
to a police chief,

I happened to get this reply,

"Yeah, we know that he was convicted
of incitement for prostitution."

But what kind of crime is that?

If a woman prostitutes herself,
she's a whore.

And we can't arrest a man
for a crime from 20 years ago.

"But if he commits a crime in Italy"

certainly.

If he is the brains behind all this,
one must admit that he is brilliant.

One thing is for certain,

ever since Lucky Luciano
has returned to Italy,

the Mafia controls the entire drug trade

which is now worth
several hundred million dollars.

So why don't we arrest Lucky Luciano?

The answer's very simple.

He takes no unnecessary risks.

He insulates himself.

This makes it tough for the cops
to catch him with the goods.

Why, even from a mile away,
he can smell a stranger.

That Sicilian bastard personifies
the power and evil of the Mafia,

but there are hundreds
and thousands of good Sicilians

who have to pay for his sins.

That's why I hate the Mafia!

That's why I won't give Lucky Luciano
a moment of peace.

From the files of a special parliamentary
commission on the Mafia in Sicily.

In October 1957, in the city of Palermo,

a series of high-level meetings took place
between American and Sicilian mafiosi.

The presiding chairman was Lucky Luciano.

The purpose of the meeting
was to enhance Sicily

as a transit area for drug trafficking
directed to North America.

Giuseppe Bonanno,
alias Joe Bananas, born in Sicily,

American citizen,
head of the New York syndicate,

has come to Palermo to sign an agreement
between Cosa Nostra and the Sicilian mob,

as well as to set the groundwork
for the Mafia summit

which would take place a month later
in the Appalachian mountains in New York.

The Sicilian boss, Giuseppe Genco Russo,
participated in the gathering in Palermo,

to guarantee compliance
with the pacts and order

in the ranks of the island's traffickers.

Nine years later,
17 suspected Mafia bosses

appeared in front of a judge,
accused of forming a criminal association.

But only five were convicted...

Camillo Garante, Giuseppe Scandariato,

Giuseppe Genco Russo,
John Bonventre, Joe Bananas.

I would like to propose a toast
to our good friend, Lucky Luciano.

Although you're far from home,

you're always in our heart.

A hundred years of good health!

Hey!

You made me come back from Italy
just for this?

You refused to answer.

You've been asking me the same questions
for the last five hours,

and I've given you the same answers.

Am I here as a witness or a defendant?

Governor Dewey appointed this commission
to investigate Luciano's parole.

Aren't you an expert on Luciano?

I am a Bureau of Narcotics agent

assigned to investigate
the drug traffic in Europe.

Everything I know about Luciano
is in the reports I submit regularly

to my commissioner, Harry J. Anslinger.

Ask him for those reports in Washington.

You testified in front of the Kefauver committee

saying that Luciano was king of narcotics.

I said if he was not the king,

Luciano was at least a member of the royal family.

And the evidence, where is the evidence?

I've already told you,

it's difficult to get direct
evidence against Luciano.

But behind every pinch we make,

Joe Pici, Frank Callace,

Frank Coppola, we find his shadow.

And every thug we arrest,
with his hand on a bag of heroin,

turns out to be one of Luciano's
criminal associates.

What's that mean, "criminal associates"?

It means that every time we trace these men,

they're connected to one head, Luciano.

- In the Joe Biondo case...
- In the Biondo case,

it was only a matter of acetic anhydride.

Only?

Acetic anhydride is used
to convert morphine into heroin.

Luciano was never prosecuted
by the Italian courts on narcotics charges.

That proves they never had anything against him.

No, it only proves that his accomplices
don't wanna give his name,

maybe out of reverence,
or out of fear.

But our informants have always told us

Luciano was the source of supply,
even Giannini.

Giannini is dead,
and it's still not clear why he died.

If he'd stayed in Italy, he'd still be alive.

Why did you force him to come back to America?

I did not force him!

I only bought his return ticket,

and went with him to the airport.

Are you tryin' to accuse me of Giannini's murder?

We must investigate everything,

and it does no harm now and then
for a policeman to see how it feels

sitting on the other side of the desk.

Yes, and it could be
a good experience, too, for a judge,

even for a governor.

Why don't we start by investigating
the real reasons

Luciano was released from jail
and sent back to Italy?

I've got the papers here,

and the report of your colleague,
Agent White, as well.

As usual, you base everything
on confidential whispers

and insinuations from gangsters
who end up murdered.

White's informant is dead,

but Governor Dewey's assistants,

the ones that went to see Luciano in jail,

they're still alive!

- They can tell you what they told me.
- And that is?

That Lucky Luciano had no information
that could possibly help the United States Navy.

All he had to offer was a fat check
for Governor Dewey's political campaign.

You wanna end up on trial for perjury?

You don't scare me, I tell you the truth,

and I don't give a damn about politics.

And you don't call it politics
when you blame Luciano for your failure

and the failure of the Bureau of Narcotics
to put a stop to this drug traffic?

It's easy to make accusations.

I'm morally convinced that Luciano
is the boss of the heroin racket,

- and we'll get him yet.
- Give us the evidence.

If he breaks the law,
we'll ask for his extradition.

Since the Italian courts won't arrest him,

they should be happy to send him back
to the United States to face his accusers.

He was in the United States, in jail!

He should have been kept there!

Boys, let me through.

Didn't you come inside?

- Did you hear the mass?
- I heard it from here.

Inside, I was too much of a distraction.

But you need to see the priest.
Otherwise, it doesn't count.

It's like I'd seen him.

Don Ciccio, you love me.

You don't ask me too many questions.

And after the death of Igea...

I need people like you nearby.

Listen, Lucky.

Between charity and the hospital expenses,
I'm drowning in debt.

Some friends would let me import
some German machines.

Like they have in the bar.

They say if you put in 100 lire,
you get out 1,000. Or even 5,000.

What do you think?

Don Ciccio, I've been in America.

Forget the machines.

It's not the thing for you.

How do you like that, here it is the first time
I'm face to face with Lucky Luciano,

and now they're sending me back to the States
for another assignment.

- Why, Charlie, what's the reason?
- Well, it looks like, uh,

the big shots in Washington
are afraid I'm digging too deep.

Isn't that disgusting?

Those American sailors asking that
son of a bitch mobster for autographs.

Who is it?

The police. Open up.

Is Salvatore Lucania in?

He's inside lying down.

Tell him we need to speak to him.

Come in.

He's waiting.

Good evening. We have a search warrant.

Is that boy with you?

Yes, he's one of our agents.

Can I offer you a whiskey?
Would you like to have a drink?

No, we don't drink on duty.

Then go ahead, search.

You want to bet I find something
right away?

And this?

I have a license.

What's your name?

Marshal Schioppa.

You're a smart guy.

I'm taking this telegram.

If you want.

But you also need to come with us.

The Finance Inspector wants to see you.

At this hour?

Yes, at this hour.

Well, what does this telegram mean?

I've been telling you all night.

What else can I say?

Tell me again.

Now let's read the report.

"My connection with the American writer,
Martin Goesh, presently living in Madrid,

was for the sole purpose of his writing
a script based upon my life.

He telegraphed that
he was flying into Naples today

to turn over the script to me.

"The script has my approval, but
I want to withdraw it from circulation."

Is this true?

Fine. Tell us everything you did yesterday
after receiving this telegram.

Ask him.

He was glued to me all day.

It's better that you tell us.
Let's start again.

"On the 25th of this month at 1:00,
I went out to the California restaurant

and I ate with a friend,
Giuseppe Di Giorgio, who lives in Naples

after having escaped from Cuba
where he was a croupier.

While eating, my friend Francesco Cimone,
aka Cico, came in,

who owns a club in Taormina.

Cico just came back from Spain,

"where he had gone together
with Mr. and Mrs. Rubino of Miami."

Your friends like to travel.

And coincidentally, the tourism boom
between the US, Naples and Sicily

broke out
since you established yourself in Naples.

Now, then,
it's the popularity of bullfighting.

From Cuba, from Taormina, from Miami...

Everybody passes through Spain
and then meets up with you in Naples,

and then it's back to New York.

Is that so?

If you say so.

"It was 2:00
when I left Cico at the California

who was about to go back to Sicily by car,

and I went to Agnano for the races.

At the hippodrome,

"I met my friend Pasquale Eboli,
alias Pat Ryan."

Eboli lives in Scisciano,
a village nearby.

He comes often to Naples.

It's only half an hour.

And he too is going to Spain,
to make a movie.

So they call him Pat Ryan,
as if he were an actor.

Siragusa always says that the milieu
of drugs is like that in filmmaking.

Siragusa is a bastard.

Siragusa loves you.
He always speaks of you.

Siragusa is a bastard.

You can tell him from me.

Siragusa looks like you,
talks and acts just like you.

Between him and you, we haven't
had peace in Italy for ten years.

You mean because he's Sicilian,
he's like me?

Just like

the chief prosecutor
of the Republic at Palermo, Scaglione.

Just like

the chief of police, all Sicilians.

And me, like a lot of people,

I'm a peaceful man and bother no one.

It's only that bastard
who puts these things in your head.

And yet he was right about the Canapa
brothers. We caught them red-handed.

And soon we'll also get
those who are in Spain.

And before long,
you too will be in the net.

It's all a plot of Charlie Siragusa.

The Canapa brothers
were arrested three months earlier.

But the judge in Rome freed them.

I had nothing to do with it.

But your partner, Antonino Sorci, did.

We have documents.

They created a financial company together,
in Rome.

Proof, you need proof. You need
a notary to form a company in Italy.

We found that notary.

The same one you used in Palermo
to buy the Orleans park,

together with Sorci and Mancino.

Is it a crime now to buy a little land?

More than 160,000 square meters!

And all of it land for development,

including permits
from the city of Palermo.

If the City of Palermo gives permits,
it means it's legal.

Also the university was one of the buyers.

As well as a few
Christian Democrat politicians.

Things have changed, Lucky.

If you still count on political support,
you're gravely mistaken.

What politics?

Here, I don't even know
the chief of the traffic cops.

In America, I did politics.

But face to face with President Roosevelt.

Never mind President Roosevelt.

And let's return to your friend,
Pasquale Eboli, eh?

"Eboli in New York owned
a barbershop with his brother

and some other business,
what kind, I can't recall now."

Do you remember
what kind of business it was?

"Pasquale Eboli told me
of a factory producing Formica

and wanted to set up
a chain of stores in Italian cities.

While Cico Cimone spoke of setting
up a club in Rome with the Rubinos

who had returned from Miami
with the earnings of their business.

"What kind, I can't recall now."

Let me see if I can help you out. Eh?

Could it be like that factory you set up
in Palermo in '46

with your pal Vizzini... Don Calò...

Dismantled in one night and disappearing
with three tons of comfits?

Or maybe canned sardines?

Like that of Nick Gentile, eh?

Or a cheese factory?
Like with Carlos Marcello in Tunis?

Or like the tomatoes
for the Mamma Mia Importing Company

of Joseph Profaci in New York?

Or maybe a factory for bouillon cubes?
Vegetable bouillon for export.

Like the one of Frank Coppola in Pomezia?

From there, they were shipped to Sicily
in crates crammed with heroin.

You think I'm stupid, Lucky Luciano?

We've arrested 40 people here
and in America.

We caught them with both money and drugs.
All of your friends.

Only three escaped to Spain,

because the American justice system
let them out on bail.

A fine system that country has.

Since then, you receive calls or telegrams
from Spain every day...

From Madrid or Barcelona.

And then they meet you "by chance"

at the races or in restaurants,

to talk about Formica,
dancing halls or horses.

What is it? Hey.

What's with you? You feel sick?

You want a coffee?

I don't drink coffee.

I don't smoke anymore.

Give me a glass of water, please.

Get him a glass of water.

Some old scars from your friends, eh?

No, not from friends.

From cops. The New York policemen.

Anyway, it's not the scars.

I've plenty.

I've had two heart attacks.

Can I go to the toilet?

I'll go with you.

Once, in America,
you gave a certain address,

and the police found a package of heroin.

That time, I told them what I knew.

Today, I don't know anything.

You can talk to me.

I have my own ideas about you.

And they're a little different
than Siragusa's.

It'd be worth it to you.

It'd be worth it to you.

And your career.

To you

to Asslinger, Siragusa,
the generals, the police chief.

And it's worth it to the politicians,
to distract the people,

who know nothing
and will never understand anything.

Politicians, when it suits them,
also use criminals

and, as you say, the mafiosi.

Sorry, but I can't be of any help.

Make him sign it and then take him
to the airport to pick up that American.

And then do we arrest them both?

If you find drugs.

If not, seize the script
and send it to Siragusa.

Ah, finally.
You're entirely different now.

You seemed dead before.

Look at yourself.

All we need is a simple yes or no.

We get it, no we need time for that.

Stand back.

- Who are you?
- Police.

Get a doctor.

So what do I do now?

Well

you keep on chasing Luciano,

Dewey will keep on chasing us,

and Kefauver will keep on chasing Dewey.

And when all this running around is over,

everybody will find himself back
at the same goddamn place where he started.

Oh, Charlie, Charlie.