The St. Valentine's Day m*ssacre (1967)
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 31 st president with the words...
"We in America today are nearer to the final triumph over poverty... 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 a.m.
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 g*ng 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.
Six hundred and 18 members of the city's underworld... are m*rder*d 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 10 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 pipes.
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 of 1898.
Ex-convict.
Mail-robber.
Burglar.
Hijacker.
Professional k*ller.
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's North Side g*ng 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 g*ng for the past nine years.
He is married to two women simultaneously... but lives with neither.
Vincenzo DeMora, alias "Machine g*n"Jack McGurn- born Brooklyn, New York, July 7, 1903.
When he was nine years old, his father was m*rder*d.
By the time he was 20, he had personally k*lled... 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 Al Capone, alias Al 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 underworld organization.
To his associates, he is "The Big Fellow." To the public, he is "Scarface"Al Capone.
Thank you, Mr. Capone.
Sorry about that raid, Jake.
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.
Three hundred, 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 20 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 Al Capone...
Fischetti acts as chairman at executive meetings.
He his a heavy drinker but never 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 m*rder*d on April 7, 1951.
...and that's where we can get hurt.
He ever tries chiseling on the Big Fellow's rackets...
he'll 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.
Huh.
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 outta you guys is talk!
The rest of the time, you're strutting around...
with dollar cigars in your kissers like a bunch of bankers!
Oh, big sh*ts.
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 g*n 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 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 K*llers.
On March 19, 1943, while under indictment for income tax evasion...
Nitti will use a g*n 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 w*r 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 k*ller.
Present leader of Chicago's notorious and long-established North Side Mob...
which, during the past five years...
has been almost constantly at w*r 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 g*ng... has been m*rder*d 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 w*r 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 sp*cs?
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.
They'd just as soon put a b*llet in your back as eat a pizza.
To hell with them Sicilians.
Be seeing you, Hymie.
Morning, Johnny.
Ah, good morning, boys.
No.
And that's the way Capone operates.
That's the murdering double-crosser who swore he'd keep 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 likeJoe 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 k*ller.
Since marrying Bugs Moran's sister five years ago...
he has become the number-two man in the Moran g*ng.
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 g*ng 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.
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 g*n.
And if there were any sh**ting 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 k*ll my own mother.
The Gusenbergs will do their sh**ting, 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 a hundred bucks.
Now, are you in, or out?
- It's a hundred 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?
Nicholas Sorello- born Marsala, Sicily, May 13, 1872.
Brought to the United States by his cousin Dominic Forenza...
when in his late 30's.
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 m*rder*d 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.
Five hundred bucks.
It honors me to serve you, Mr.
McGurn.
You're gonna need a couple paisani- guys that can keep their traps 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 g*n.
A g*n?
That is something I do not have, Mr.
McGurn.
g*ns make trouble.
No b*ll*ts, 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, bellissima.
Pasqualino.
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'Bannion, 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 sh*t 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- Scalise 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 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 b*llet.
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 here.
- 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 'em 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 g*n.
You're a very naughty boy, Nick.
All right, let's get it in here.
Dr.
Reinhart H.
Schwimmer- born Chicago, Illinois, September 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 supported by his widowed mother.
Okay, Nick, get it unloaded.
The money.
Signor, first you pay me the money.
Uhh.
Don't worry about it, Nick.
We'll send you a check.
Your pardon, signor.
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...
Heyer acts as bookeeper and collector for the Moran organization- - Operator, get me Long Beach 1098, please.
- 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.
One thousand, 2,000...
3,000, 4,000...
one, two, three, four, five.
We'll make it, uh, even money- $4,500.
Five hundred for handling charges, Nick.
When we help unload a truck, we get paid.
Check?
Thousand thanks, signor.
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 easy job, Nick.
Just one simple phone call.
Now remember, Pete.
Frank'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon at 3:30 sharp.
At exactly 10 till 4:00, both of you will pick up...
Joe Aiello on the corner of Walton and Pelilah.
Now, the three of you have got to be upstairs...
at five to 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.
PeterJ.
Gorman...
Peter Gusenberg and an ex-showgirl named Myrtle Nelson Koppelman...
have occupied Apartment 5C at 434 Roscoe Street...
for the past seven months.
Hey, Myrt?
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.
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 lassies listening in the great Midwest...
we're gonna play "Stumblin'." Let's stumble a bit, laddies.
- 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- - Three thousand.
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 keep- 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 g*ng puts into effect...
its plan to m*rder Mafia chieftain Patsy Lolordo.
The first step is for Pete and Frank Gusenberg...
to useJoe Aiello's friendship for Lolordo as a means to enter his apartment.
- Your name Aiello?
- Aiello.
Hop in.
One thing I gotta 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 to m*rder Patsy Lolordo...
is the systematic elimination of his bodyguards.
Pasqualino!
Dio mio.!
Whoo!
You know, Judge, the trouble with this country today is its morals are sh*t.
I mean, look at the young people.
Girls smoking cigarettes right on the streets...
and necking in the back seat 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 of mine- 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.
What is it, Al?
What's wrong?
Patsy Lolordo.
He's dead.
m*rder*d him in his own house!
sh*t him!
His friend!
Al, there's people- Al.!
All right.
Who k*lled 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.
The union's out to get me.
They already made one try.
They came at me with a shotgun.
Next time sh**t 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.
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 Albert 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 and dyeing association controlled by Bugs Moran.
Well, Bert, I know it isn't easy for you...
but you do a good job for me, and 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?
- Eight hundred dollars.
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 Al Capone has discovered his part...
in the m*rder 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, kid.
Stick around, guys.
I gotta go pay a bill.
Board.!
- Who's there?
- Tickets.
Just a minute.
Signor Capone- Basta.!
Assassino.!
Giuseppe Aiello.
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.
- The way they charge for coal nowadays- - Yeah.
- You in a band or something?
- With 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.
Gets 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.
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 gonna recognize you.
All you got to do is act like cops.
Huh.
Must be yours.
That's Moran.
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 Scalise, 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 O'Bannion 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 b*at.
If it happens after you leave...
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?
At 6:45 on the last morning of his life...
John May takes an early bus to work.
He has been promised a 10-dollar bonus ifhe can replace the transmission...
of one of the g*ng's cars before noon.
At 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.
At 7:23 on the last morning of his life...
Albert Kachellek, alias James Clark...
is thinking of buying a new car.
His status in the g*ng demands better than this.
Ah.
You should've 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.
At 7:30 on the last morning of his life...
Reinhart 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, Reinhart.
Nothing like that.
I owe some money.
Three hundred dollars.
It's gotta be paid quick, or I'm in a real jam.
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, Reinhart.
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, I'm 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.
At 7:41 on the last morning of his life...
Frank Gusenberg is wondering ifhe shouldn't go back to one of his wives.
Can I fix you some breakfast, dear?
At 8:00 on the last morning of his life...
Adam Heyer 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 important 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...
gave me a tip on a filly from Miami.
Indian Broom.
Long sh*t.
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.
- Mr.
Miller?
It's a Mr.
Bernstein, long distance from Detroit.
Yeah, Abe.
George.
What's so important?
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.
lxnay, 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 b*ll*ts don't k*ll 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'd find somebody else up there to do business with.
I oughta 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.
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, l- - Must have been a bad accident.
- Yeah.
- The way people drive today, you're lucky- - Kenny.!
Hey, Kenny, the cops just k*lled a bunch of hoods in the garage up the street!
One of them was Bugs Moran!
Frank?
Can you hear me, Frank?
Who sh*t you, Frank?
Who did it?
Who sh*t you?
Nobody.
Nobody sh*t 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.
It's cold.
It's awful cold.
Fix this thing, will you?
A few hours after the St.
Valentine's Day m*ssacre...
the newspapers manage 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, I 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?
I-- 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 k*lled 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.
I glanced at 'em.
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, m*ssacre.
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 m*ssacre...
brings to a halt the most notorious era...
of open g*ng 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 tojustice.
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 K*llers will themselves die of v*olence.
On the evening of May 7, 1929...
John Scalise and Albert Anselmi...
are invited to a banquet at the mansion of Al Capone...
unaware that he has discovered their plot to m*rder 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 m*ssacre...
Boris Chapman is sh*t 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 g*n"Jack McGurn...
is m*rder*d in a Chicago bowling alley on February 15, 1936...
almost exactly seven years...
after the St.
Valentine's Day m*ssacre he masterminded.
George Clarence Moran disappears from Chicago...
soon after the mass m*rder 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 m*ssacre...
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.
St. Valentine's Day m*ssacre, The (1967)
Moderator: Maskath3
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