Kiss of Death

Christmas Eve in New York.

A happy time

for some people... the lucky ones.

Last-minute shopping,

presents for the kids...

hurry home to light the tree

and fill the stockings... for the lucky ones.

Others aren't so lucky.

Nick Bianco hadn't worked for a year.

He had a record... a prison record.

They say it shouldn't count against you...

but when Nick tried to get a job...

the same thing

always happened:
"Very sorry."

No prejudice, of course,

but no job either.

So this is how Nick went Christmas shopping

for his kids.

Good afternoon.

Don't move.

Put your hands behind you.

- Come on.

- What about the safe?

We've got enough. Come on.

- Didn't you ring?

- Take it easy. I rang.

- Anybody out at four?

- Yeah.

This isn't the lobby, mister.

All right, miss.

Stand back. Stand back.

Everybody stand back.

Everybody stand back.

Stand back.

The same thing happened

20 years ago to Nick's father.

He died with a policeman's

bullet in him. Nick saw it.

It was one of his earliest memories.

Yeah?

- Shelby's here with Nick Bianco.

- Send 'em in, both of 'em.

Hello, Bianco. How's the leg?

All better, huh?

- Yeah.

- Sit here.

- You know who I am?

- What difference does it make?

- Never mind getting fresh, Bianco.

- You're the D.A.

Assistant. My name is Louis D'Angelo.

Let's see what we got here.

"Bianco, Nick. Age 29.

"At the age of 17,

burglary in the first. Plea: Guilty.

"Sixty days in the city reformatory.

"Four years later, grand larceny

in the first, charged.

"Convicted of grand

in the second at the trial.

"Two and one half to five years

in Sing Sing.

"Third charge:

Robbery in the first while armed.

Witness failed to appear. Case dropped."

By the way, how much do witnesses cost

on the open market now?

- How should I know?

- Do you know why you're here?

I'm supposed to squeal.

I want the names of those three men

that were with you on that job.

You know what you're gonna get on this rap?

Fifteen years. Maybe 20.

- Maybe I can help you.

- Look, you're wasting your time.

Those records you got there ain't complete.

It should say I was offered a deal by

another assistant D.A. If I squealed.

I took the full four years.

I'm the same guy now I was then.

Nothing has changed. Nothing.

I wouldn't say that, Nick.

Something has changed since then.

Seems to me I saw where the parole officer

reported here that...

you have two kids.

Two little girls.

That ought to change things a little.

You know, sometimes I think the doctors

are right, and that all crooks are crazy.

- Imagine a guy with two little girls...

- Shut up!

He don't like that.

How old are they?

You know, I'm always interested in kids.

I... I have four of my own.

Here.

- Can I take a look at your pictures?

- What pictures?

Pictures you got

in your inside coat pocket.

- Beautiful kids, Nick.

- Yeah, they're cute.

You know, a man's lucky to have kids.

But having a father like you

I wouldn't say is very lucky for them.

No, Nick, your kids

haven't had much luck.

I'll take care of my family... my way.

You mean by keeping your mouth shut

and going to jail?

You know why you're doing it?

Because you've got that good old

hoodlum complex... no squealing.

Desert your kids. Let 'em starve.

Let your home go to pot.

But don't squeal on some no-good hoodlums

who wouldn't turn a finger for you.

- I hate crooks.

- Then why are you wasting your time on me?

Because any guy that could have two kids

like that isn't a crook.

Crooked, yes. Stupid, yes.

On the wrong foot, yes.

But he isn't one of those mugs

that don't belong to human society.

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