Double Dynamite Page #4

Max. Now you'll see.

Max, what happened?

Where is everybody?

Was it Chick Sloane,

or did the police get wise of the setup?

Are you addressing me, old chap?

You're not Santa Claus.

You're an impostor.

- All right, Johnny?

- Honest, Emil, this doesn't make sense.

Santa Claus was a lookout.

- Tell me you believe me. You do, don't you?

- Of course I believe you, Johnny.

- Now, will you do me one little favor?

- Sure. What?

Head for the border.

Yes?

Oh, hello, Mildred. Is Johnny in?

Mr. Dalton's apartment is the next one,

Number 2A.

Oh, thank you.

- What do you mean, "Is Johnny in?"

- Well, I just thought...

Do you think I'm in the habit

of entertaining people like this?

I know.

What kind of a girl do I think you are?

Anyway, I wouldn't invite John Dalton

in here if he were starving.

- Who is it?

It's me, Emil.

Oh. Just a second.

What are you here for, pal?

Got some information for you.

You can take a plane

and be in Mexico City in eight hours.

Now, look, Emil. I didn't rob the bank

and I'm not taking a plane to any city.

I don't know whether you did or didn't.

I've got an open mind.

- That's white of you.

- But I would like to be present...

...when you explain to J. Edgar Hoover

that you won $60,000 on a shirt.

Never mind about that.

What did you do with the car?

Parked it in front of the police station.

You'll never get a ticket there.

Mibs. Mibs.

- She can't hear you through the wall.

What do you want now?

California concrete.

Mibs, let me finish telling you

exactly what happened this afternoon.

Not exactly.

Exactly wouldn't make a good story.

Embroider it a little.

Look, the man that I saved

took me into the shirt shop...

...and gave me one little drink.

And with one little drink,

you try to get me to marry you...

...with promises of ranches and diamonds

and... Shirt shop, my eye.

Look, it wasn't exactly

a shirt shop, Mibs.

It was a horse room.

I mean, it isn't anymore.

Never tell a woman.

She'll blab everything all over town.

You'll have your picture

in every post office by morning.

Shh! Be quiet.

And then he gave me a thousand dollars.

What was his name, Santa Claus?

No, no, Santa Claus was outside.

He was the lookout.

- He was watching for the cops.

- Oh, Johnny.

Keep quiet.

Richard Lovelace, 1583.

I don't wanna hear another word

out of you until you've sobered up.

And even then, I'm not sure that...

Quick, out the window.

Tegucigalpa, Honduras. Nice, dry climate.

That's her doorbell.

Why, I don't remember ordering anything

from McCray Company.

Look, this time of year, people sometimes

send other people presents.

It's a quaint old custom,

and I wish they'd cut it out.

Sign.

- Merry Christmas.

- Merry Christmas.

The mink coat.

Oh, I'd forgotten all about the mink coat.

Maybe she won't open it.

They usually put those stickers on it.

"Do not open till Christmas. "

A woman can smell mink

through 6 inches of lead.

- We'll have to tell her.

- Did I ever tell you about the Lavender Kid?

Told his own sister about a job he pulled.

She turned him in for the reward money

and bought herself a fur coat.

And that was only skunk.

- Well, Mibs wouldn't do a thing...

- Do you think she'd believe you?

No, I guess not.

Have you got a cold chisel?

- It's raining.

- That's her shower.

Splendid, now one of us can sneak in

and get the package.

Which one of us?

This should be mere child's play

for a man who robbed a bank.

- Emil, I told you I didn't rob the ba...

- Johnny, I believe you.

But I'm the only one in the world

who would.

Johnny?

- What?

Wouldn't you like to know

where Bob Pulsifer's taking me tonight?

No.

Well, I'll tell you.

He's taking me to Hollywood

to a very swank nightclub.

Keep talking. Keep her occupied.

I'll bet you'll be very thrilled

when he orders hamburger in French.

You're jealous.

Just because he spent four years at Yale.

Six years.

And at that,

he graduated magna cum nothing.

He's a wonderful dancer.

He could have learned that at UCLA.

Every girl in the bank

is just crazy to go out with Bob.

They'd have to be.

Well, anyway, he doesn't

go out and imbibe too freely...

...just because he's mad at somebody.

I did not imbibe too freely.

There was this alley and these three men.

And Santa Claus.

Don't forget darling Santa Claus.

All right, all right.

I got drunk and I was seeing things.

That's more like it.

And if you'd only been man enough

to admit that in the first place...

Johnny.

No, no, it couldn't have been.

More champagne. Fill it up, please.

Mibs, don't you think maybe you're living

a little too dangerously?

- Supposed to make you feel gay, isn't it?

- Yep.

Well, then, why doesn't it?

Little Mildred feels, hup, terrible.

Well, pretty soon,

you won't feel anything.

And then we'll see whether Yale really made

me a gentleman and a scholar, won't we?

- I don't like him a bit, you understand?

- Who?

- You said it.

- I didn't say anything.

But why do I keep seeing him

every time I look at you?

Him and his mink coats

and diamond rings and...

And go up and down and up and down.

He was gonna give them to me.

But he was drunk, you know.

Disgustingly, hup, drunk.

- What's that?

- Your dinner, madame.

Roast pheasant.

- Oh, I couldn't eat a pheasant.

Why not?

Oh, no, I used to feed them popcorn

at the zoo.

Oh, but, Mibs, look...

- You don't...

- But not this one.

You don't understand.

They used to come up to me

and I'd feed them.

And they were so cute,

and now you want me to eat it.

Oh, now, Mibs, please.

- I want pickled pigs' feet.

- Pickled pigs' feet?

- Under glass.

- Mibs.

What's wrong with pickled pigs' feet?

Just because they didn't go to Yale?

Oh, take it away.

- I wanna go home.

- No, what you need is something to eat.

- I'm not hungry.

- You're going to eat.

- Let me see that menu, please.

- Oui, monsieur.

Oh, my.

What Miss Goodhue

would like to have...

...is the viande hache champignons

en vin.

- Bien, monsieur, bien, monsieur.

- I'll bet you're ordering me a hamburger.

Oui, madame.

It is the specialty of the house.

Ohh. Hup!

Twenty-eight thousand.

Poor Mibs. What a dirty trick, leaving

an empty box under the Christmas tree.

- Twenty-nine thousand.

- Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Thirty thousand.

This was an inspiration.

They'll never think of looking here.

- Who heard of a cop taking a shower?

- Stop talking about the police.

It makes me nervous.

I jump every time I hear...

- Who is it?

Mr. Kofer. Open up, Dalton.

- It's my landlord.

- Tell him to use his own bathroom.

I must let him in. He's got a key.

See if he's got a sponge too.

Get rid of him.

- Well, hello, Mr. Kofer. What's wrong?

- I don't talk in the hallway.

Listen, there was a man here

asking a lot of questions...

...about you and Miss Goodhue.

- Really?

- A detective.

- You've torn my chair.

- A detective, you say?

Yes. I don't wanna have

any trouble with you.

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