Brother Orchid

"Gangland guns slay rival racketeer.

Big Tim O'Hara

latest victim of underworld war. "

This is murder. Just plain murder.

Besides, this is the first time in the history

of this organization a rod's had to be used.

You guys by pulling this thing

you made Little John awful brokenhearted.

Oh, boss, you shouldn't take

that altitude towards us.

The guy was chiseling in on us. Me and

Philadelphia Powell caught him red-handed.

Sure, everybody thought you'd be

glad to have that guy illuminated.

Oh, that ain't it.

The job was pulled in Molly Madigan's.

The police closed the joint.

Now where's a guy gonna get

a plate of corned beef and cabbage?

Yeah, it was tough on Molly. Using her

establishment for that there kind of work.

A lot of people are funny like that.

They don't wanna sit when that

merchandise is being carried out.

Besides, why wasn't I

in on the know beforehand?

We're partners.

Why wasn't I given no memo?

Lay off, will you?

The guy's washed up, ain't he?

You bet he's washed up.

So is Molly Madigan's business,

so is our record and so am I.

- What do you mean?

- You heard.

I've been getting fed up on this business,

I've been thinking of getting out.

This latest transaction convinces me.

- You don't know what you're saying.

- I know exactly.

I'm fed up on this business.

I don't see no career in it no more.

Besides, I'm too sensitive.

Johnny, what are you gonna do?

Plenty. I got my little bundle.

I'm gonna retire, see?

From now on, I'm going after the

two things I've always wanted most.

Good taste and refinement.

I'm gonna get what I was born to have:

Class.

What kind of conversation is this?

The guy's blown his roof off.

Cut the clowning,

the guys ain't in a mood.

I ain't clowning. I'm on the level.

I'm through with the rackets forever.

From now on, the business is yours.

I'm stepping out.

Of course, without Little John,

you're starting from scratch.

But you'll get along.

- You mean that, Johnny?

- Absolutely.

This is a kiss-off.

Now, you guys are no longer looking

at John Sarto, boss of the rackets.

You're now looking at John T. Sarto...

...world sportsman, socialite

and art student.

- Where are you going, boss?

- I'm gonna tell Flo.

Then tomorrow, I'm off for London, Paris

and St. Moritz...

...and with all the class

that goes with them there joints.

Willie, you can come and help me pack.

So long, guys, I won't be seeing you.

He's certainly going a long way

to get class.

The way he's going after it,

he'll come back reeking with it.

Well, don't worry, pal.

He'll never come back.

Look, Johnny. Don't it look elegant?

Yeah, it's got class all right.

Look, you dumb cluck,

you got it pasted on the inside.

Sure, it gets scratched on the outside.

Anybody's smart enough to know that.

Flo, sometimes you got me guessing

whether you're even a nitwit.

Okay, Johnny. That's the thanks I get

for dropping in to help you pack.

Oh, I'm sorry, baby. Look, I didn't mean

I should hurt your feelings.

I keep forgetting you don't catch

on to class faster than I.

Where do you want me to tuck these

croquet mallets, boss?

See what I'm up against?

Not croquet, stupid. Them's polo clubs.

- Won't they fit in the trunk?

- Not a chance.

Not even if I bend them.

I got an idea, Johnny.

Pinky Johnson at the Can-Can Club has

a black bow fiddle case you can borrow.

No good. Hop over to Can-Can. Ask Pink if

he got a brown one he can let you have.

- Okay.

I wanna match my luggage.

Nobody can say Johnny ain't in good taste.

- Oh, you're always in good taste, Johnny.

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