A Slight Case of Murder Page #2

right away.

Gentlemen, I beg your pardon.

Please refrain from any rough talk.

What kind of a joint

do you think you're in?

What do you mean?

Remy's going legit, see.

- What?

- Yeah, that's right.

From now on, Nora wants you

to be high tone and talk refined.

Attaboy, Remy.

Yeah, put a muzzle

on that "attaboy" lingo.

That goes for all of you.

What will it be?

Schindlers, Budweiser, or Gold Velvet?

Anything but Gold Velvet.

I'm sorry. We are not renewing

our order on Gold Velvet Beer.

This joint used to take care

of two dozen barrels...

of Marco's stuff a week in the old days.

Those days are over.

They want real beer now.

- What was in that glass?

- Gold Velvet Beer.

Take it away.

I'm not having a tooth pulled.

- Remy?

- Yeah?

We got another letter this morning

from Mary's school.

Yeah?

We're six months behind on her bills.

They want $4,850.

Well, they got a lot of nerve

bothering Marco...

about chicken feed like that.

Nora, I ain't got it.

They gotta wait.

Remy, I knew things were pretty bad,

but I didn't think they were that bad.

I'm in pretty deep.

Four years legit,

and I'm worse off than when I started.

You'll pull out of it. You've done it before.

But in the meantime,

we gotta start cutting down on expenses.

First of all, Mary's gotta come home.

Gee, I hate to do that.

You know, I want her to get a load of all

that swell education they got over there.

But how can we do that?

You say she's in hock for 4,850 smackers.

Well, we gotta sell some stuff. That's all.

Look, why don't you call her up right now?

Start economizing this very minute.

Oh, gee, I hate to do that.

I guess you're right, Mama.

Gee, I...

Hello, long distance? Get me Paris.

What?

Sure. Paris, France.

Wait here, driver.

When the bank takes this brewery over,

we ought to keep that slogan.

It's good. Different.

Yeah, nothing wrong with the slogan.

Nothing wrong with the brewery.

Perfectly equipped, well located,

it's got everything.

Ought to be a gold mine...

once we get hold of it

and change the beer.

Too bad Marco couldn't find that out

for himself, isn't it?

It's a shame.

Morning, Miss Ferguson. Mr. Marco in?

Yes, he is, Mr. Post...

but I'm afraid he's going to be engaged

for quite some time.

His daughter just arrived from abroad

this morning.

- Shall we wait?

- We'll wait.

Well, well, well.

You're looking swell, kid.

You know, you look even prettier

than your mother did at your age.

And that's going some.

Remember, I used to be willing

to bet a million dollars...

that you were the best-looking dame

in the whole burg?

And I got no takers, either.

Remember that?

Nobody disagreed with your father

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