The St. Valentine's Day Massacre Page #2

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 palJake 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?

Twenty-eight 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 palJack 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'Bannion

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 b*tch... 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 19, 1943, 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.

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. 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 besides 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'Bannion 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, every previous

leader of the North Side gang...

has been murdered

by the Capone interests.

Hymie shook the dirty hand

of that rotten greaseball!

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 thatJack McGurn

up here to snoop around.

Well, that may bejake with you guys...

but not me.

I say it's time we put Al Capone

and his bums out of business.

For good!

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'Bannion?

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'Bannion 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 greaseballs.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes