Cole: Right, let's see if we can find out who's been over seasoning the soup in this place. LAPD. Who owns this factory, ma'am?
Betty: Mr. Parnell, Howard Parnell. I'll let him know you're here. Please, take a seat.
Cole: If you don't mind, we'll come with you.
Betty: If you must.
Roy: You just wanted to follow her, didn't you? You sly dog. I must apologize for my partner's roving eye, he hates saying goodbye but he loves watching them leave.
Cole: Give it a rest, Roy.
Betty: If you could show these men in to see Mr. Parnell, Doris? They're from the LAPD.
Doris: Follow me, gentlemen.
Howard: What is going on?
Cole: LAPD. Sit tight, fatso, you could be in very serious trouble.
Howard: There's no reason to be rude. Take a seat, gentlemen, I'm sure we can sort this all out.
Cole: Maybe you can explain why we found $5 bags of marijuana in sealed Parnell Soup cans?
Howard: That's an outrageous allegation.
Roy: How do you explain it, chubby? We found at least 30 cans, all sealed up tight with your label on them.
Cole: Can I get a list of your employees?
Howard: Of course, we have nothing to hide. Doris, can you bring me in the current employee listing?
Doris: Here it is, Mr. Parnell.
Howard: On the desk, please.
Roy: Any name on that list that rings a bell?
Cole: This is familiar, 1452 N. Las Palmas. A Jorge Garcia Cruz. How are your sales, Mr. Parnell?
Howard: Just fine and dandy, son. We're entering a new era of prosperity. I hope you're both big soup eaters.
Cole: Mr. Parnell, do you know what kind of trouble you're in? Come clean with us.
Howard: Okay, so things are a little flat. We're deciding whether to lower production. It's taken a while to adjust to not having any military contracts. You know, we sold Uncle Sam five million cans of minestrone?
Cole: The factory sealed cans we found suggest a very professional operation, Mr. Parnell. We're looking for an inside man.
Howard: I know nothing about this. I want this stopped as much as you do.
Cole: Tell me what I want to know, Parnell, or I will have half the LAPD down here tearing this place apart. You're hiding something.
Howard: Am I right in thinking you would not want to pursue misdemeanors outside your drug case?
Cole: Depending on what you call a misdemeanor, we might be prepared to turn a blind eye.
Howard: The truth is, I employ a lot of illegals. No one wants to do menial work anymore. Most of my factory staff are wetbacks. The local blacks and Chicanos all want jobs in aircraft factories.
Cole: Presumably because the pay is a lot better. Ever heard of Juan Garcia Cruz?
Howard: Not that I know of.
Cole: He has a brother employed here, you know him?
Howard: We employ large numbers of Mexicans. I'm not familiar with them all.
Cole: That's funny, Parnell, he has the same address as his brother Juan, who we shot dead less than an hour ago. You better give me something.
Howard: Look, I'm not involved in this. I'm getting enough grief from Washington. There's an investigation going on into profiteering. Like a guy shouldn't be able to turn a buck while the war is on?
Cole: I'm sure thousands of dead Marines sleep soundly knowing that you did okay. Tell us about Jorge Garcia Cruz.
Howard: Jorge? I had no idea of his last name. His team does daily maintenance on the conveyor belts and cookers.
Cole: So he's here now?
Howard: No, maintenance is at night. Night shift finishes around midnight. He would usually come in around nine p.m. and have everything ready for the morning shift at six.
Cole: We'd like to take a look around the factory floor, Mr. Parnell.
Howard: I hope we won't have to shut down the line.
Cole: No, nothing like that.
Howard: Thank you, I'm grateful for that. I'll show you around, myself.
Roy: I hate seeing how things are made. This is going to be like that time I went to the slaughterhouse and couldn't eat steak for a week.
Factory Worker 1: Isn't that the cop that solved the big case and got promoted?
Howard: This is where the produce comes in. We peel and sort all of the vegetables, and add them to the line in regular quantities.
Voice: Why don't you keep quiet? You might learn something.
Roy: Oh, good God. This really is turning into some nightmare school trip flashback.
Factory Worker 2: That's disgusting, didn't you ever hear of germs?
Factory Worker 3: Remember the dead lady they found under the train? He solved her.
Howard: This is the hopper, which boils and purees the vegetables. The other hopper is for the pasta. This way, please.
Roy: You're loving this, aren't you, Phelps?
Howard: The soup is ladled automatically into cans. Next stage is labeling.
Cole: I'd like to see the packing and dispatch area, if you don't mind.
Howard: Sure, it's over here. Follow me. This is one of our dispatchers. Sergio, right?
Sergio: Yes, sir.
Howard: These men are from the LAPD. Sergio here reports our outgoing deliveries. They all go in the book, just there on the desk.
Roy: We're looking for repeat business in large amounts, Cole.
Cole: What's going on, Parnell? There's enough soup going to this place every day to feed a company of Marines.
Howard: What are you talking about?
Cole: Can I have a look at that coin?
Sergio: Sure, why not?
Cole: Silver dollar, right?
Sergio: Yeah, that's right.
Cole: The markings on it say it's been taken out of circulation.
Sergio: Maybe. I'm not trying to buy anything with it. I like it, brings me luck.
Cole: Do you have access to the canning area?
Sergio: I do, but I keep to my station, loading and unloading. Don't care much for soup.
Cole: Sergio, if you don't give me something, I'm going to go to Immigration Services and have you deported.
Sergio: I get a shipment once every two weeks. Ernesto does the driving, don't know his full name. It's delivered here at night where he gets it canned up. From here it gets sent all over the country.
Cole: What do you know about the 20th Century Market?
Sergio: Nada. I get the orders from upstairs, I send the goods where I'm told.
Cole: And you don't know Juan Garcia Cruz?
Sergio: No, not me.
Cole: You're a liar, Sergio. You're in it, and I'm going to break you for it.
Sergio: You're loco, placa. I got nothing to do with Juan Garcia.
Cole: We found a matching silver dollar on Juan Garcia. What are the odds of that, Sergio?
Sergio: Juan and Jorge aren't brothers, they're cousins. They work for some evil gabacho, that guy is an aberration. He gives out the silver dollars. Jorge gets me a list of deliveries every morning, 20th Century is always on it.
Cole: You keep your mouth shut for today, and I don't take you in. Do we have a deal?
Sergio: Do I have a choice?
Roy: Is that a serious question?
Cole: That's it for now Sergio. If we need to speak to you again, we'll put in a call to Mr. Parnell.
Sergio: If you have to, I guess.
Cole: We will be in touch, Mr. Parnell. It is imperative that things appear as normal here. Keep an eye on Sergio, in case he gets tempted to blow the whistle.
Howard: Thanks, I'll do that. You're going to overlook my little immigration problem, aren't you?
Roy: Cheer up, fatso. We're going to let you go on squeezing these poor saps a little while longer. Well, until some commie union types infiltrate this place.