Double Dynamite Page #8

will you get me the police, please?

Yes.

Hey, Mibs. That's my car.

Police! Hey! Police! Pol...

And is wanted for embezzling $ 75,000

from the California Fidelity Trust.

Audit of books confirms identity.

The man, Caucasian, brown hair, blue eyes,

5- feet-10, wears elevator shoes...

...anemic-looking.

When last seen, was wearing ill-fitting suit,

well-padded at shoulders.

Resembles Frank Sinatra.

The girl, Caucasian, brown hair and eyes.

Height, 5'7". Weight, 135 pounds.

Extremely well-distributed.

They are in a Chrysler convertible,

license, 4F... Like in "fish. "... 1150.

Last seen heading south

toward Mexican border on Highway 101.

All units in vicinity proceed at once.

That is all. Rosenthal.

Oh, Johnny,

I don't care what you've done.

I just don't want them to catch you.

Mibs, this may come

as a great disappointment to you...

...but I didn't steal any money

from the bank.

- But Emil said...

- Oh, Emil.

They can't do anything to me.

I don't have to run away, Mibs.

What they're really after is the money.

And even if I were guilty,

they wouldn't touch me until they got it.

- Johnny.

- Mm-hm.

They've got it.

Stop the car, Mibs.

Look, I love you for what you're trying

to do for me, but it's no use.

And my Santa Claus story is true,

believe me.

All right, then, Johnny,

the man with the sunglasses.

No gambler's gonna stick his neck out

to save me.

Oh, Johnny, what are we gonna do?

All my life, I've been practical

and cautious, and look what it got me.

To heck with tomorrow, Mibs.

Let's get married tonight.

You mean me? Mildred Goodhue?

- Tonight?

- Now.

All right.

Okay, okay, break it up.

- Come on, get out of the car.

Come out.

Okay, I'm ready.

Hey, what's the big idea?

We're arresting Mildred Goodhue for

embezzling $ 75,000 from the Fidelity Trust.

You are?

- They are.

- Oh, there's some mistake here.

That was my money

she gave Bob Pulsifer.

I won it on the horses,

only I can't prove it.

- You gotta arrest me.

- We know all about you.

You won your money

from Hot Horse Harris.

- Hot who?

- Everybody knows Hot Horse.

A bald-headed guy,

always wears sunglasses.

We picked him up a couple of days ago.

- Come on, you're going with us.

- But we're gonna get married.

We'll get you a cell with a double bed.

If you'll pardon the expression, gin.

I'll get it. Always ready to serve.

- What are you doing here?

- What are you doing here?

- Comes out even.

- Stop playing millionaire.

They got Mibs in jail.

They blamed the bank shortage on her.

Who is it, Emil?

Mr. Pulsifer, my name is John Dalton.

I'm only a teller,

but you gotta listen to me.

- Now, see here.

- Give him a hearing, R.B.

It's all a mistake about Mibs.

You can't have her thrown in jail

on Christmas Eve.

Why, she never stole a thing in her life.

Oh, now I know who you are.

The bonding company told me about you.

- You're the man who won all that money.

- That's what I came to tell you.

That was my money

that Mildred Goodhue turned over.

I don't blame you

for trying to protect the girl you love.

But I'm afraid you've been taken in

by that young woman.

You're not the first

to be deceived by a pretty face.

But I know Mibs.

I know that she wouldn't take anything.

For your information, Dalton...

...our audit of her accounts

shows a deliberate falsification of $ 75,000.

- And figures don't lie.

- Figures don't lie.

But human beings do.

Two and two make four

no matter who gets hurt.

- Is that the way it is?

- It's there in black and white.

- The girl is guilty.

- How can you say she's guilty?

You don't even know Mibs.

Can't your arithmetic be wrong for once?

Can't your books be wrong?

Can't your bank be wrong?

Not this time.

It's been checked and double-checked.

- Ashtabula National Trust.

- What?

1902. Sent a teller to jail

for stealing $ 14,000.

Fifteen years later,

they found the money...

...where it slipped into a crack

behind his cash box.

Maybe that is it. It could be.

That bank is so old

it's ready to fall down now.

Little Rock Security, same thing, 1928.

Certified check for $50,000 missing.

Ten years after, found stuck

to chewing gum behind a filing cabinet.

- Come on, or I'll see you're sued.

Where are we going?

The bank. Maybe somebody there

has made the same kind of stupid mistake.

I don't hire people who make mistakes.

How do you know?

You haven't been there.

I keep in touch by telephone.

Where would I be

if I ran my business by phone?

Up to my neck in pigs' feet.

Things like that

don't happen in a well-ordered bank.

McKissack is one of the finest managers

in the country.

You've never met him.

I've seen his recommendations,

they were excellent.

Probably wrote them himself.

Mm. What have we here?

Bang, bang, bang.

- He'll hear from me in the morning.

- By telephone?

All this is absurd.

We're on a wild-goose chase.

Believe me, Mibs is being blamed

for something she had nothing to do with.

Someone must have taken cash

and concealed the loss in her book.

- Who?

- How far do you trust your son?

- Keck!

- No harm in checking.

Blood isn't thicker than money.

I placed my son here

to see that things are run efficiently.

Your son, sir, sits at his desk all day...

...shooting paper clips

at girls bending over the files.

Hm.

What have we here?

What was that?

Probably a mouse

in the Mortgage Department.

He'll never get a loan.

Well...

...I'm sorry, my boy,

but I'm afraid we're wasting our time.

The money is missing,

the shortage is in her books.

The girl is guilty. Two and two make four.

Simple arithmetic, Mr. Pulsifer.

But it doesn't always apply where

human beings are concerned, believe me.

No one will ever convince me

that Mibs is guilty of any crime.

- Things add up, Dalton.

- Sure.

Two and two make four.

- You try it. Go on, you try it. Go ahead.

- Impossible.

Try three and three. Let's make it tough.

There's the criminal.

Run for your life.

The machines are striking back.

Tomorrow morning,

your burglar alarm may spit in your eye.

You're who?

R.B. Pulsifer Sr., you nincompoop,

I own this bank.

I've never seen you around here.

If you'd take the trouble

to verify my statements...

My friend, here, Emil J. Keck,

the eminent millionaire, will vouch for me.

Him?

Why, he's a waiter

at Baganucci's Restaurant.

- I eat there all the time.

- Hi, Sam.

- I hurried right over. What happened?

- Breaking and entering, Mr. McKissack.

- Ever see this fella before?

- Never.

You idiot, I'm R.B. Pulsifer.

Now, I'll tell one.

You don't look anything

like that picture in there.

I did once.

Note the eyes. Dull, glazed, moronic.

Not only criminal, but tinged with insanity.

A Frankenstein.

Your unemployment insurance

paid up, McKissack?

John Dalton.

- Emil J. Keck.

- Dick Tracy.

Your father visit banks

in the middle of the night?

Not even in the middle of day.

The old man's lazy.

I hope he doesn't put us into bankruptcy.

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