Dick Tracy

Gangland enforcers broke the arms of|an elderly news dealer this afternoon...

when he refused to share|his week's receipts with them.

Stacks of newspapers|were tossed in the gutter...

as the thugs wrecked the business|and made their getaway.

Lunchtime crowds were paralysed|by the suddenness of the crime.

Not a hand was raised in protest!

Organized crime is their name.

What appeared to be organized hoods|shattered the kneecaps...

of the beloved operator|of a shoeshine parlour today...

as horrified customers looked on.

The bootblack would not|give up his receipts...

and paid dearly for his failure|to surrender to gang demands.

A mother of four, unable to pay|a gambling debt, lies dead tonight.

Gangland thugs left her|to expire in a pool of blood...

as they helped themselves|to the contents of a cash register...

inside the luncheonette.

I was talkin' to them,|at the station house, you know, and|it was the darnedest thing I ever saw.

Oh, yeah? Wow.

Five, no help.|King, no help.

- Aces and eights.|- Twenty.

- Ohh.|- Okay, I'm callin'.

Deuce, still possible.|Six, no help.

Got a pair of aces,|a pair of eights.

Okay, the ace bets.

- Hey, Little Face.|- What's the trouble?

Come on, let's go.|Ace bets five.

- I call.|- Six.|- See ya.

What's that?

Cat.

Ohh. A little kitty.

Hi, little fella.

Let's go.|Ace bets five.

- I'm callin'.|- I'm in.

Six, and a possible straight.

Queen, eight,|pair of eights.

Uh, nine, no help.

- Jack, no help.|- King, no help.

Well, Little Face?

See what you can find.|I wanna leave a little message here.

Calling Dick Tracy!|Calling Dick Tracy!

- Come in, Pat. This is Tracy.|- What is that?

We got five dead men at the 7th Street|Garage, and nobody knows who they are.

You'd better get over here|right away.

I'm on my way.

I'll be back.|I wanna know how it comes out.

- Excu-- Oh, excuse me.|- Ow!|- Sorry.

- Hello, boys.|- Tracy!|- Here, Chief.

- Tracy, are we glad to see you.|- Tracy, whoever they are,|they're all dead.

Five dead men, Tracy,|and we don't even know who they are.

Whoever did it|took their identification,|but they didn't take a dime.

Big Boy Caprice.

- Everything all right, Tracy?|- Fine, fine.

Just a little trouble downtown.

Tracy, they're sayin' that|Big Boy's got the city out of control.

- Is that right?|- And what about this rumour they're|movin' you up to chief of police?

We've already got an excellent|chief of police, Bert. Why don't you|shave off that silly mustache?

- How about runnin' for mayor, Tracy?|- I'm a cop, Charlie.|I don't wanna take a demotion.

- Hey, Tracy--|- Hey, McNally,|I want a copy of that shot.

- They're sayin' Big Boy's|got the city out of control.|- Still can't get anything on him, huh?

Don't let 'em get to you, Tracy.|You'll get Big Boy.

Big Boy's on the street,|and they wanna stick me behind a desk?

They believe in you, Tracy.|They think if you're Chief of Police,|this city'll be safe.

Tess, there's about as much chance of me|gettin' behind a desk as there is of me|gettin' a new girlfriend.

Sooner or later|you're gonna decide

Sooner or later|there's nowhere to hide

Baby, it's time|So why waste it in chatter

Let's settle

The matter

Baby, you're mine on a platter

I always get my man

I'm gonna love you|like nothin' you've known

I'm gonna love you|and you all alone

Sooner is better than later

But, lover

I'll hover

I'll plan

This time|I'm not only getting

I'm holding my

Man

Bad news on the garage, Lips.

They bumped 'em all off.|Our men are getting very nervous.

- Champagne, Miss Mahoney?|- Breathless...

that was beautiful, as always.

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