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men in half?
Next time you go after one of my men,
I'll kill you.
Don't threaten me.
Just do your job.
Hey, Sinclair,
if the feds get me...
I'm takin' you with me.
I'm gonna tell 'em everything.
Who do you think
they'd believe?
A cheap crook or the number 3
box-office star in America?
Number 3 jerk!
[Radio Announcer] The helmeted mystery
man disappeared into the hills...
moments after the rescue
and has not identified himself.
But air circus owner, Otis Bigelow,
promises his bird man will return.
Los Angeles is buzzing.
Who is the Rocketeer?
Now, back to our programme
of dance band favourites.
Here's the plan.
We call the FBI...
get rid of this thing.
The FBI's gonna
lock us up.
They think we were shooting
at them. What do you think
was going on at the house?
House? We don't got a house.
We got a gazebo.
Between the FBI and
that King Kong gentleman,
we're gonna get ourselves
killed over this thing.
Open up.
We just come from the airfield.
It's Bigelow.
- What about him?
- His office is crawling with cops.
Somebody tore up his place
like they were looking for something.
- Yeah, so?
- They killed him.
[Millie] Cliff,
what's going on?
I'll make the call.
[Telephone] FBI, Los Angeles.
Agent Morris speaking.
- I'll be home soon, honey.
- Who is this?
- I love you too.
- Okay, wise guy.
What can I do
for you gents?
Madam, we're looking for a pilot
by the name of Cliff Secord.
Does anybody here
know him?
Haven't seen him
We need a flier
for a real special job.
There's a lot of lettuce
in this.
What do you say...
we lay out a finder's fee?
How 'bout it, dad?
Oh, yeah, I know him.
Short fella,
gimpy leg.
Didn't he move
to Cincinnati?
How 'bout you, bub?
You know this Secord?
If you boys aren't ordering,
I'm gonna ask you to leave.
We'll order!
Let's see.
How 'bout those pies?
They look good, huh, boys?
Mmm! Betcha
they're home-made.
Don't interrupt
his meal.
Yeah, I like coffee
with my pie.
You know, it's funny.
I don't like music
while I'm digesting.
Listen, friend,
we don't know where he is.
Okay, pop, maybe we
can refresh your memory.
Come on.
Follow me.
Take a good look...
'cause you're next.
- Talk, dad, or get a facial.
- Drop dead, you weasel.
- I don't know where the hell he is.
- Yeah?
Leave him alone!
- Naughty boy.
- [Groaning]
Please leave him alone.
Startin' to smoke, old timer.
[Spanish Johnny]
Hold it.
Lookie here, boys.
Lady Luck...
left her phone number.
- [Phone Ringing]
- Mine!
- Hello?
- Hello.
This is the florist.
I've got a lovely bouquet
of flowers for Jenny.
Who sent her flowers?
Cliff Secord.
- Oh, is that right?
- That's right.
Well, he's too late.
She's gone to the South Seas
Club with Mr Neville Sinclair.
Come here.
- You're not gonna believe this.
Guess where the dish went.
- Where?
With the limey to
the South Seas Club.
[Rusty] Do you think fancy-pants
is pullin' a fast one on Eddie?
I don't know,
but I don't like this.
Jeff, you and Mikey stay and
watch who walks into this joint.
- Boys, been a pleasure.
- I'll call from the club.
[Jeff] All right, Johnny.
We'll take care of it.
relax and take it easy.
We're gonna be here a while.
Mom, how 'bout
a fresh pot of coffee?
Swell outfit, dad.
Here's Mr Ketchup Bottle!
Hey, that's quite
a dish you got there.
Wait a minute.
That's Lady Luck!
Get the gun!
I got it.
I'm sorry about all this.
I'll fix everything.
[Peevy] Clifford,
what's the deal? Are you nuts?
Cliff, no!
Not again.
Peevy, half the city
is looking for us.
- I can fly to that nightclub
in five minutes.
- Take a cab.
The only place this is going is back
to the feds. We had an agreement!
Peev, I'm sorry.
I should've listened to you,
but Jenny's in trouble.

- ׸

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