Early Edition (1996–2000): Season 1, Episode 5 - Thief Swipes Mayor's Dog - full transcript

CHUCK:
Things connect,

especially in a big city.

People rub elbows,
among other things.

It's what you call a democracy.

It's one big melting pot--

whatever that is--

...where the little guy
at the bottom can sit down

to lunch with the guys
at the top.

In theory, anyway.

(tires skidding,
metal crunching)

Oh, man...
Who's fault
is this?!



It's your fault!
You broke
my taillight!

Your taillight?!
Look at my car!

CHUCK:
Yep, no matter where you look,

you can see it in action--

the free and open exchange
of ideas,

the meeting of minds.

(baby screaming)
You know what?!
You're a lousy cab driver!

CHUCK: Not that the system
doesn't have a few bugs.

I do know how to drive!
I drive every day!

(indistinct arguing)

(baby wailing)

(siren approaches)

(playing jazz melody)

CHUCK:
The point is,
there's opportunity for all,



especially a guy
with tomorrow's newspaper.

Still, having a rag
that tells the future

isn't always all it's
cracked up to be.

Help you?

Hi. I'm here
to apply for a job.

Oh, I don't believe
we have any openings.

Oh, well, uh,
it says right here, uh,

financial consultant.

See?

Excuse me one moment.

Uh, wait. My paper.

Harvey?

Do you know anything
about this?

What?

Yes, can I help you?

Uh, well, yes.

The, uh, well, right here--
"financial consultant."

This must be some kind
of a mistake.

This is my job.

Well, are you sure?
It says right here.

Yes. Been here
eight years now.

Oh, boy.

Uh, well, of course,
it must be a mistake.

And I, uh...
uh... thank you.

Harvey, is this your report?!

Yes.

It's the shoddiest
piece of work I've ever seen!

Collect your paycheck!
You're out of here!

(elevator bell dings)

Sorry. Wrong day.

(theme music playing)

♪ ♪

RADIO BROADCASTER: Good morning.
It's Wednesday in Chicago.

I'm Marty in the Morning,
and here's the news.

Lottery fever has taken
the city by storm.

The new Metropolitan Pick,

introduced by Mayor Garfield
last month,

will attempt
once again, tonight,

to produce a winning match.

After seven consecutive
drawings

in which no winner
has been found,

the payoff now stands
at nearly $17 million.

Well, more news in a moment...

I'm dying. I'm dying.

I can't take this.

Did you hear that?

Hear what?

17 million smackers.

Yeah.

And who gets the winning
number every day

before it's even picked?

Forget it.
I'm not buying a ticket.

Gary...

Gary, please,
for my health,

for my well-being,
for my sanity--

I'm begging you,
just consider it one more time.

Okay.

Uh...

I'm not buying
a ticket.

Lord, you give them eyes,
but they do not see.

All right, here's one:
sales promotions,

flexible hours,
excellent pay,

room for advancement.

Sounds good.
What's the company?

Yeah, it's, uh...

Al's Auto Wash.

You mean, the one with
the singing chicken?

Costume provided, yes.

Hmm. What else?

Well, there's nothing here
that doesn't tie me to a desk

for the rest of my life.

How am I ever going
to hold down a job

while I'm shackled
with this thing?

If I may, a suggestion.

Win the lottery,
buy a company,

and if you really need to,
work in the mailroom.

No. What I need is a job,
a real job,

one that I find for myself.
Thank you very much.

Not when you have this.

MARISSA:
What you'd need

is something you can do at home,

if that's what you call
this place.

Like what?
Stuffing envelopes?

Where's
the lottery results?

Oh, so much for trust.

Yeah.
Give me that.

Take it. What good is
it to me now, anyway?

I don't believe this.

To think that I would
stoop so low, me--

your best
and only true friend.

Hey, look at this.

Why would somebody do this?

MARISSA:
Why would someone do what?

"City officials are puzzling
over a bizarre attempt yesterday

"to kidnap Mayor Garfield's dog.

"Garfield, on his daily
'meet the press' walk,

"was accosted by an
unidentified man in a ski cap

"who ran off carrying Patsy,

"the mayor's long-time
pet terrier.

"The mayor, who was reported
shaken but fine,

"was quickly whisked away
by bodyguards...

"...while neither thief nor dog
had been heard from

by the end of the day."

So? Some nut with a pooch.

What's the big deal?

It's the mayor.

Yeah, that's what I said--
some nut with a pooch.

I take it you didn't
vote for him.

Hell, no.

Yeah, well, I did.

Do you want
some more coffee?

Sure.

I cannot believe
we are doing this.

You don't have to be here.
Go to work.

Oh, no, no, not while
there is a chance

to make you listen
to reason.

Reason. What reason?

That one.

Got the winner.

I'm going to win
the lottery.

Miracles happen,
Sister.

Doesn't this seem odd to you?

That a guy has a chance
to make a fortune

beyond his wildest dreams,
and he turns it down?

Absolutely.

No, not that.
The story.

Oh, that one.

This guy can spend
20 years in prison--

so why does he go and
steal the mayor's dog?

Maybe he ate
too many donuts.

Maybe he just doesn't
like the mayor.

I don't know.

Speaking of which.
(sirens approach)

OFFICER:
Keep it nice and tight.

(reporters shouting questions)

Hey!
Good morning, folks.

Lovely day.
Keep them back.

Now, remember, you decided--
stay away from education,

Uh-huh.
and keep your
answers vague.

I decided that?
When?

MAYOR:
Good morning.

And how are we all
this fine day?

(reporters shouting questions)

Your Honor, can you explain
the fact that your new lottery

has yet to produce
a winning match?

No, but it's
all for a worthy cause.

I bought my ticket.
Have you?

Mr. Mayor? Mr. Mayor, sir!

What do you think of your
sudden drop in popularity

over the last
several weeks?

What?
What did he say?

Mr. Mayor, the polls
indicate that...

No more questions.
Uh, keep them back.

What does he mean?
What polls?

We're going to have to
discuss these daily walks.

Why? Patsy loves them.

And I think a mayor
should be seen.

Right, Patsy?
(Patsy barks)

There he is.

Well, Hi.
I'm Mike Garfield...

GARY:
Wait!

Stop that guy!

He's the guy
with the...

GUARD:
Go! Go! Go!

Not me, that guy!
Get him out of here!

Get going! Now!
Let's go.

Right away. Move! Move!
MAYOR:
Who's that?

FLANAGAN:
Who cares?

What about him?

The last thing we need
is publicity.

The press would have
a field day with this.

Let's just get out of here.

Drive.

(siren blaring)

Holy cow.
Are you okay?

Did you see that?

Yeah, I saw it.

I don't believe it.

Neither do I.

Trying to take the mayor's dog;
the guy's a fruitcake.

Wrong.
Huh?

That guy was no fruitcake.

That guy was my Uncle Phil.

BROADCASTER:
Good afternoon.
It's 1:00 in Chicago,

and the mayor's lottery payoff
continues to climb...

CHUCK:
Come on, Gare.
GARY:
No.

No.
I'll pay
for the ticket.

Fine. Be that way.

I didn't know you had
an Uncle Phil.

It's nothing to brag
about, believe me.

And he's
really your uncle?

Me and half
the neighborhood.

Huh?
Don't ask.

He's kind of a cross
between Zorba the Greek

and Jabba the Hutt.

Calls himself
Citizen Kazakian.

Patriotic?

Armenian.

Came over here 48 years ago
in the hold of a tuna boat.

Well, where do we find
this Uncle Phil?

You don't find
Uncle Phil...

you smell him.

(sniffing)

That's right.
There you go.

Okay. Thanks.

Enjoy.
And remember to vote.

Excuse me.

Uh-oh.

Not so fast.

Charlie?
Uncle Phil.

Oh.
Long time no see.

Come on.
Hey, hey,
hey, hey, hey!

Let's go.
Hey, where you
taking to me?

We're taking you to lunch.

You can't do this to me.
Unhand me.

(door bell jingles)
In here.

PHIL:
You won't get away with this.

Cut it out.

This is a kidnapping,
you know.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Somebody could steal my cart.

Doubtful.

Okay, Phil,
talk to us.

Welcome back
to the neighborhood.

You lost weight
or something?

Thank you
for noticing.

Who's that?

Gary.
Gary, Phil.

Phil, Gary.

Charmed.
What can I do for you?

The mayor, Phil.

I don't know what you mean.

Come on.
We know you were there.

Prove it.

You tried to swipe
the mayor's dog.

Psychic.

College graduate.

Oh.

Look, we know
what you tried to do.

The question is why.

Yeah, why.
Why.

Why?
Why?

Why? You want to know why?

Ask the mayor...
(spits)

What did he do to you?

I'll tell you what he did to me.

Ha! That lousy, no-good

politician.

He ran over my dog.

It was two months ago
yesterday.

We were setting up my cart,

me and Bugle.

Ever since my wife died,
he was...

well, you know, uh...

he was watching the cart.

Then I had trouble
with the umbrella.

There was kind
of a screw loose.

The next thing I knew...

(horn honking)

Bugle!

He never even saw it coming.

(honking continues)

(slow, echoing):
Bugle!

Never had a chance.

Poor mutt.

Died for love.

I'm very sorry, Phil.

Yeah.

I'm touched.

But what does that
have to do with the mayor?

It was his garage truck.

It was written
right on the side--

"City of Chicago."

Who runs the city?

The mayor.

You gents want
some real food?

Anyway...

I made phone calls,
I sent letters.

After I buried Bugle,

I figured somebody
would want to know.

But nobody ever wrote.

Sauerkraut?

No, thanks.

I called the
Sanitation Department,

and they sent me
to Pest Control.

Now, is that democracy?

How about relish?

No. Thanks.

Then I went to the
Mayor's Office.

I figured that
this guy would understand

that when a man loses
his dog to a trash truck,

that's a human tragedy.

How come you're not eating?

Vegetarian.

Oh... mm.

Mmm, I even put on

a suit and a tie,
the one from my wedding.

I walk in,
they tell me he's busy.

Busy! Like I'm not.

I waited three hours.

Three hours!

Then I knew that
there's a rat in Denmark.

So you decided
to steal his dog?

I'd do it again-- an eye for
an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

I'd do it again!

You're crazy-- you could
go to jail for that.

Not Phil Kazakian.

Let 'em try.

See? What'd I tell you?

Hopeless.
You're an embarrassment

to the neighborhood,
you know that?

And you was always
a weaselly kind of kid.

All right, save it.
Look, Phil...

is there some kind of way
we can resolve this?

I can't spend the rest
of my life chasing

you around town
over this.

Okay.

There is something.

I want an apology
from the mayor,

in writing, today.

That's what I want.

Come on,
let's get out of here.

We're wasting our time.
No, no, wait, wait.

Okay.

CHUCK:
What?

We'll go see him now.
Are you out of your mind?

The mayor doesn't
care about some dumb dog.

Hey!
Yes, he will.

Don't worry.

He'll see us.

WOMAN:
Sorry, the mayor
can't see you today.

Here's what
I'm trying not to do.

I'm trying not
to pick up that phone,

call the alderman,
and tell him that

a Miss, uh,
what is your name?

Becker.

Miss Becker has kept us
waiting for over an hour.

Are you saying you have
an appointment with the mayor?

You're taking the line

that we never even had
an appointment, is that it?

I don't think that's going
to sit very well

with the alderman's ulcers.

Which alderman?

Hmm?

Which alderman?

Spatulatori.

Nice try.

I'm going in.
No, wait.

You wait outside.
What?!

Very good idea.
Outside.

You wait outside, too.
Me?

Go!
Are you nuts?

Now see what you did?

PHIL:
Don't start with me.

CHUCK:
Lunatic.

PHIL:
Traitor.

Miss, uh... Becker.

Yes?

I apologize for my friends.

But, you see, I've, I've got
kind of a problem here.

And I wondered if you could...

well, I wonder
if you could help me out.

What kind of problem?

It's kind of
a personal problem and, uh,

it would only take a minute.

If you know
what I mean.

The bathrooms are in the lobby

and the mayor is busy.

(Patsy barks)

MAYOR GARFIELD:
Patsy, come back here.

Who's this?

I told him you were
unavailable, sir.

No, nonsense.

A mayor's never too busy
to hear from the people.

But you have a
lottery drawing

in just a few minutes.
I know, I know, I know.

Come in.

Just come right in.

You're the fellow
who approached me

in the park,
aren't you?

Mr. Flanagan.

RECEPTIONIST:
Mayor Garfield's office.

Me? Are you sure?

Your Honor,
it wasn't you exactly,

it was one of your trucks.

What kind?

A trash truck.

That's not good.

Trash trucks are for hauling
trash, not squashing dogs.

That's Mr. Kazakian's
point exactly, sir.

Mr. Mayor.
(barking)

Ah, Flanagan,
I'm glad you're here.

You're not supposed to be
granting interviews.

It's not on the schedule.

This is a special case.

This gentleman
has come to me

with a rather
serious disclosure.

We've met.

In the park.

That's right.

What kind of
disclosure?

It seems one of
our constituents

has a grievance
with Sanitation.

Garbage?
A dog.

Dead.

And what does this
constituent want?

An apology.

You're joking.

And I'm going
to grant it.

Do you think a personal note
will do the trick?

Well, it-it, it might.

FLANAGAN:
Of course, Your Honor,

you'd know best
in these things.

But are you sure
this is wise?

Why not?

FLANAGAN:
Think about
the implications.

It's just a note.

FLANAGAN:
On the face of it, yes.

But we'll have the sanitation
union to deal with--

very powerful--
not to mention insurance,

and when this note
goes public,

there's bound
to be a movement

to refit the trucks'
safety issues.

The ASPCA
will be all over us.

Oh...
Still,

feel free to act
on your instincts.

Let me consider those.

Very prudent, sir.

Your Honor, all the man
wants is a simple...

Let's let the mayor
decide, shall we?

MISS BECKER:
Mr. Flanagan.

Mr. Roundtree
is on the line.

Uh, let me take that
in my office.

(barking)

Your Honor, I hope you won't
let that stop you.

I've got it!

An autograph.

How about that?

Signed personally.

Well, I don't think
that's necessary.

Nonsense.
I don't mind at all.

And send him my best wishes.

Well...

That's the best I can do.

An autograph?

This is it?

What happened to "I'm sorry"?

Well, I-I tried to
get it, but before...

It's got numbers
on the back!

He couldn't use
a clean sheet of paper?

I told you you
wouldn't get it.

Listen, I almost got it.

I'm telling you,
that Flanagan guy,

he walks in there,
he acts like he's the mayor.

I almost felt sorry
for the old guy up there.

Politicians are
all full it.

And to think that
I voted for that shlub.

Hey! People's mayor?!

Then I'm Arnold
Schwarz-his-face.

I'm going in.
Wait, wait.

Look, Phil!

Now, listen, you've gotta
stop this or you're
gonna go to jail.

I'm telling you, next time,
I'm not going to stop you.

Okay, okay,
you're right.

You can't fight city hall.

Exactly.

Yeah, you're right.

That guy, he's really
doing the best he can.

What are you doing?
No, no...

Hey, hey, let go.
Not till you promise.

Okay. I promise.

I promise.

Here.

The killing stops here.

An autograph
on a used piece of paper.

Do you think
he means that?

Absolutely.
Now let's go.

Where?

To buy the
lottery ticket.

Okay, go ahead.

I'm going to go home.

FEMALE REPORTER:
And, now, to recap:

The Mayor's Met-Pik lottery
failed, once more, tonight,

to produce a winner.

Miss Becker.
Mm-hmm?

I accidentally left
some of my papers
in the mayor's office,

and I seem to be missing
a particular document.

Have you seen it?

No, was it important?

Probably not.

FEMALE REPORTER (continuing):
It brings to seven

the number of drawings
without a winning match.

Here you go, Choo-choo.

Mop 'em up with these.

BARTENDER:
No thanks.

I got plenty of my own.

Turn these down, will you?

I'm starting to get
a migraine.

Oh, don't take it
so personally, Chuck.

No one else won either.

No one else isn't me.

I mean, look around you.

People are getting
all stressed out.

I'm telling you, we'd be doing
this town a favor

by winning the damn thing.

Oh, so now it's
your civic duty?

Exactly.
Ah!

And here I thought you were
just being selfish.

Come on, take your
mind off of it.

Tell me about,
um, your uncle.

Is it from your mother's
side or your father's side?

Both.

Oh, that's interesting.
Do I hear banjos playing?

My family's a melting pot.

Name a country, and we have
a relative in it-- even Peru.

Don't ask.

They're all crazy,

but Uncle Phil,
he's the worst.

Oh, come on,
you're exaggerating.

You think so?
Yeah.

It's not the first time
he pulled a stunt like this.

You remember about ten years ago
when Reagan came to town,

and some maniac sat naked
on top of a flagpole

to protest
Trickle-Down Economics?

Your Uncle Phil?

In the buff.

It wasn't pretty.

They had to reroute
the entire parade.

It's no wonder
I turned out like this.

You mean a cynic?

I mean broke.

Millions of dollars
right at my fingertips.

Just out of reach.

Seven in a row.

What are the odds of that?

RADIO ANNOUNCER:
Breaking a record once again,

for the seventh time, no one
picked the magic numbers

in the Mayor's Met-Pik lottery.

A spokesman
for the Mayor's Office
An autograph.

said it was just
a case of bad luck,

leaving Chicagoans
to ponder their fortunes.

Once again, the numbers
no one had were:

10, 13, 26,

29, 39,

and last but not least, 44.

Elsewhere in the news...

(el train rattling
in distance)

(cat mewing)

(paper thudding against door)

(inhales)

(cat meows)

(meows)

Oh, no... not again.

Oh, that's great.

That's a good one.

(train whistle blowing,
birds singing)

(footfalls approaching)

Phil?

Sorry, we're closed.

Try the luncheonette
on Wabash.

You lied to me.

What?

You promised me you
were going to stop,

but you aren't
going to, are you?

What kind of college was that
you went to anyway?

Phil, don't do it.

He liked coming here.

He liked to bark at the trains,
smell the ragweed,

catch rats.

He was good at that.

It's a nice view.

Eh, there's city hall.

Look, Phil,

let it go and take
the autograph.

No, thank you.

Listen, nothing's
gonna bring Bugle back,

and if you keep this up...

That's not what
this is all about.

Dogs are dogs,

and principle is principle.

Funny thing.

My relatives came here
from all over the world--

Russia, Armenia, Peru.

Don't ask.

They came here because
they knew that here,

they would get a fair shake.

It didn't matter
if you painted houses

or sold hot dogs.

One guy was as good as the next.

People counted.

But, today,

my God, there-there's
something wrong.

The guys in charge--
they say they have no time.

Why, if I would run my cart
like that,

I'd be broke in a week.

You know what I'm saying,
don't you?

Yeah.

You know, I...

I said that
he liked to catch rats.

Eh, he...

I lied.

He never caught one,

that stupid mutt.

You know, you're right.

Nothing will ever
bring him back.

It's over.

CHUCK:
That's what he told you?

Don't believe him.

He's lying.

Chuck, he's
your uncle.

CHUCK:
Twice removed.

I say let him
go to jail.

So much for blood
being thicker than water.

Look, the guy said he'd stop,
and I for one believe him.

Gare, I've known him
for 20 years.

He's out of his mind.

Look, he's
an old man.

So, he's a
little hotheaded.

So was Genghis Khan.

You tried
to help him twice.

Just forget about it;
let it go.

I can't
do that.
Why not?

Because the guy cares.

I mean, he-he believes in things

that most of us take
for granted.

Phil? Like what?

Like, uh...
like truth, like justice.

Like the American way?

I'm getting out of here

before you start singing
the national anthem.

Oh,

by the way, Gary,
let me remind you of six numbers

that appear in my newspaper
that begin with a ten and

end with a 44.

MARISSA:
What's that?

CHUCK:
Last night's

lottery numbers.

The one that no one won.

The one that
broke my heart.

I'm getting out of here.
Here.

Keep it.
A little souvenir.

Don't mind him.

He was born
that way.

(instrumental blues
playing in background)

GARY:
I don't believe it.

Gary, what is it?

I don't believe it.

FLANAGAN:
Where is it? Damn it.

It's got to be here somewhere.

Come on...

That's my desk.

So it is.

You mind if I ask what
you're doing in it?

I'm missing a document.

Nothing you need to know about.

As usual.

Are you spying on me?

It's my office.

What are you doing here,
anyway?

I was going over
some cabinet memos,

notes on meetings.

Has any of this been
in my briefings?

W-Where did you get those?

You don't need
to have those.

Tom...

something's not right.

Really?

With what?
Oh...

The other day in the park;

that fellow; the press--

Which is why I suggested
skipping those walks.

That's not what I mean.

I haven't been paying attention.

To what?

To what's going on in my city.

I have lost touch
with the people.

I-I think...

You didn't get elected to think.

What?!

Nothing.

Just a minute.

It seems to me
I have a right to...

No, you don't.

You gave up that right
the day you said:

"Make me mayor."

You're an image,
Your Honor, an image

I made.

Go home,
Your Honor.

It's late.

GARY:
Yesterday's numbers,

the piece of paper
the mayor gave Phil.

You want to help
me out here?

They match.

So someone wrote down
some numbers-- so what?

So Phil had this yesterday,
before the lottery closed,

so that means that
somebody knew the numbers

before they were picked.

Someone who?

Well, I don't know.

I mean, the mayor, uh...

But that doesn't
make any sense.

I mean, if they had
the numbers, why
didn't they win?

That's a good question.

What happens if nobody
wins this damn thing at all?

I'm not sure.

BARTENDER:
I know.

Ten rollovers in a row,

and the jackpot goes back
to zero.

The money reverts to the city.

Some kind of a fund
or something.

I gotta go.

Where?

To see the mayor.

At this hour?

Hey, Pete, get Marissa
a cab, would you?

FEMALE OFFICER (over radio):
73, go ahead.

MALE OFFICER (over radio):
1518 West 158th.

FEMALE OFFICER:
That's one-five-one-eight West
one-five-eight Street?

MALE OFFICER:
That's a roger.

(radio communication
continues indistinctly)

I don't get it.

When did I approve this?

(sighs)

An image, he said.

An image he made.

Me, the best alderman
the 7th District ever had,

right, Patsy?

(growls)

(shoes squeaking)

The worst thing is...

(Patsy growls)

...I let it happen.

I told myself
I was doing some good.

Yeah.

I've done nothing

except kid myself.

(barking)

Patsy?

What is it?

Hello?

Is someone there?

Hello?

Hello?!

(shoes squeaking)

Who are you?

What do you want?

Phil Kazakian... citizen!

(shoes squeaking)

(screaming)

(groans)

Aah...

I came for your dog.

(Patsy barking)

MALE OFFICER (over radio):
Two Robert 82.

Receive clear from Hyperion?

Excuse me... does
the mayor live here?

Yeah.
Thank you.

Hold it.
You can't go in there.

That's all right.
I gotta talk to the mayor.

It's-It's okay, Dave.

I was expecting
this gentleman.

(indistinct police
radio communication)

How did you know I
was going to be here?

PHIL:
I told him.

By the way, you're late.

(muttering):
Oh, not again.

What are you doing here?
You promised.

Sue me.

Sue you...?

Excuse me for
interrupting,

but before I have you
drawn and quartered,

would somebody like to
tell me what's going on?

(sighs)

PHIL:
Your Honor, it's about
a rat in Denmark.

RADIO ANNOUNCER:
Good morning.

It's Sunday in Chicago,

where lottery fever has
once again reached its peak.

The jackpot stands

at nearly 20 million
and counting,

with Met-Pik machines
staying open till 7:00 tonight.

And from Las Vegas,

news that odds-makers
have posted seven-to-one odds

against another
Met-Pik mismatch.

So if you're thinking about it,

there's still time
to go out and buy

your lottery ticket
for tonight's big drawing.

(paper thudding against door,
cat meowing)

Now, a quick look at traffic.

We have a backup northbound
on the Dan Ryan,

due to some construction.

The Eisenhower is looking like
smooth sailing into the Loop.

And the Stevenson
was clear sailing

up until a couple
of minutes ago...

Stay off the furniture.

(radio broadcast
continues in background)

Chuck, it's me.

Feel like buying
a lottery ticket?

(indistinct conversations)

WOMAN:
Hup! Heads up.

(reporters clamoring)

All right,
everyone be patient.

His Honor will be here soon.

Mr. Flanagan, does the
mayor expect to find
a winner tonight?

Absolutely. We all do.

Uh, sir, is there
any truth to the rumors

that the mayor's planning
on making a statement?

Well, of course,
that would be up to him.

(reporters clamoring)

Excuse me.

(reporters clamoring,
calling out)

FLANAGAN:
We need to talk-- now.

What kind of statement?

None that I know of.

Not allowed.
Check it out.

(sighs)

(door shuts)

Roger?

Huh?
Ready?

Uh, yeah, yeah, just about.
Just be sure

you don't screw it up.

I need this to go
without a hitch.

Uh-huh.

It's the last time.

Make it work.

Oh, come on, baby.

Find that missing number.

Come on. Hurry up.

What, did you break a leg
or something?

What's your hurry?

What's my hurry?

I'll tell you
my hurry.

It's a two with
seven zeros after it.

(siren wailing in distance)

Well, here we are.

Wish me luck.

You don't need luck.

You need a smaller car.

I'll keep that in mind.

By the way, I'm sorry
about your dog.

Put it in writing.

Thanks, Pete.

Uh, Mr. Mayor,
glad you could make it.

Thanks, Tom. So am I.

I have prepared
a statement for you to...

Oh, don't bother.
I've got my own.

Ah, the members
of the press.

(reporters clamoring)
How are we doing tonight?

(reporters shouting out
questions, all at once)

Okay.

Let's get in here
and buy, buy, buy.

No, no, no, no--
not yet.

Are you nuts?

The thing closes
in six minutes.

Five minutes.

What is your problem?

I don't know, I just,
I don't feel lucky yet.

Ah... gum.

Gary...

you don't need
to feel lucky.

You got the numbers right
there in the paper.

Can I help you?

Spearmint.

Oh, I get it.

You're trying to torture
me, aren't you, huh?

This is kind some kind
of sick revenge.

You want some gum?

MAYOR GARFIELD:
We're working on that
at this moment,

and I think that
we can do even better.

I agree the infrastructure
situation needs

a thorough review,
as well as certain funds.

Excuse me, sir.

We'll need you
in makeup.

I'm going to answer
more questions later.

REPORTER:
Thank you,
Mr. Mayor.

Is he okay?

I think so. Why?

He talked to us.

By himself.

FLOOR DIRECTOR:
Ladies and gentlemen,
please clear the floor.

We're on the air in ten.

He's making
statements.

About what?
Well, I didn't
hear it all,

but I think it was about
the emergency fund.

No, you heard wrong.

He's not smart enough
to know about that.

But he was...
I said you misheard.

Roundtree, where are we?

Getting ready to program
the onstage computer.

Wait a little longer.

Uh, that's cutting it
pretty close.

It takes ten minutes...

I don't care how long it takes.

I said wait.

Can I buy a bag of those
peanuts back there?

CHUCK:
Look, don't do this.
My heart can't take it.

Would you buy
a ticket?

Well, how much longer?

Three minutes.

(mumbling):
Three minutes.

You want a peanut?

No.

There's still
two minutes.

You're sure no one
will pick it?

It's never
happened before.

I mean, for somebody
to pick it now-- huh!

They'd have
to be a psychic.

FLANAGAN:
There it is.

29, 6...

GARY:
Seventeen...

CHUCK:
Seventeen.

Thirty-eight.

Three, eight.

Twenty.
Twenty.

...and seven.

GARY:
Yes, it's in.

We did it.

Do it?

Do it.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Gare?

I gotta go.

Hey, when do I
get my share?

Six weeks.

Once it slips through
the mayor's fund.

Hey, don't you feel
bad about this?

I mean, scheming right out
from under the mayor's nose?

I paid my dues.

He gets the mansion,
I'll settle for this.

I'm not greedy.

But...

(beeping)

Okay, this is it.
From now on, things are
going to be different.

FLOOR DIRECTOR:
Quiet, everybody!

You and I are going
to be on Easy Street.

FLOOR DIRECTOR:
Here we go-- five,
four, three...

ANNOUNCER:
Ladies and gentlemen,
Mayor Garfield.

Well, here we are, again.

I know you're all anxious
to get to the drawing.

Oh, there's
an understatement.

GARFIELD:
But before we do,

I have something to say
to the people of Chicago.

Oh, man.

Get it out.

I know you've been unhappy.

Well, I have, too,

and tonight, I want
to straighten that out.

Sometimes a politician loses
sight of what's important,

and I don't mean legislation

or highways or even lotteries
twice a week.

Sometimes, in trying to be
all things to everyone,

he ends up being nothing to all.

Got that right.
Yeah.
Mm-hmm.

But I'll tell you this,
I can't take this.

starting tomorrow,
I gotta go to the john.

things will be different,
Look, wait here.

for the guy in the street,
and for the guy in the mansion.

Starting tomorrow,
my door is open to all.

That's how I started out,

that's how I'm going
to finish up.

Attaboy, Mr. Mayor.

So, now, miss,
if you will do the honors.

(fanfare playing)

Here we go.

ANNOUNCER:
Our onstage MET-PIK computer is
busy shuffling those numbers

in random order.

(beeping, clicking)

GARFIELD:
Twenty-nine,

six, seventeen,

38, 20, and seven.

Those are the numbers.

And now, miss,
do we have a winning match?

Not a chance.

(bell clanging)

We have a winner!

No.

And a loser.

What's this?

OFFICER:
You're under arrest, sir.

Conspiracy to fraud,

misuse of city property.

You have no proof of that.

Um, actually,
they might.

Let me talk to the mayor.

Sorry, the mayor
can't see you.
Come on.

Hey, come on.

You have the right
to remain silent.

If you give up
that right...

What happened?

Did we win?

Gary?

Gary?!

(reporters clamoring)

Me? I'd keep it.

Yeah?
Sure.

If I figured I bought it,
it's rightfully mine.

I'd get myself
another cart--

maybe two-- with chrome,
maybe a puppy.

You're going to
do that anyway.

So, what's it
going to be?

I don't know.

I figure I can get one
of these anywhere.

You know, what I really
need is a job.

Well, so why don't you
come and work with me?

Selling hot dogs?!

Why not? Flexible hours,
room to advance.

I forgot.

You're a vegetarian.

Well, how about maybe
a newspaper reporter?

Oh, no, no.
No thank you.

You know, I came here
on a tuna boat...

CHUCK:
Ah, well.

Easy come, easy go.

It's a great country,
isn't it?

CHUCK:
Who needs
20 million clams, anyway?

After all, this is America

where every day is
a new deal,

and dreams are worth
their weight in gold.

(cat meowing)

Where the little guy
can reach the top,

even if he has to crawl up
a drain pipe to get there.

And where, sooner or later,

everyone has a shot

at getting exactly
what they deserve.

Sister Mary Agnes found
a winning lottery ticket

on her doorstep,
and donated the dough

to a foster care center...

...which, by the way,

is exactly
what I would have done.

(cat meows)