This isn't Kansas anymore. After being wrongly accused of participating in a brilliant bank heist, Joe Rolfe (pasty John Payne), a disgruntled ex-con, sets out to clear his name. The trail leads first to Tijuana, then to the seaside resort of Borados. At the resort with his fishing boat Manana is the mastermind of the heist, Tim Foster (the oddly avuncular Preston Foster), a retired police captain. Foster's inspired ploy was to keep all his accomplices anonymous, so when they converge, a game of gato y ratón ensues. Posing as tourists are Jack Elam, Lee Van Cleef, and Neville Brand, three of the smarmiest hoods this side of San Quentin. Using a cool documentary style, director Phil Karlson heaps on the greed and mistrust as the “vacationing” thugs absurdly blend with tequila time in the tropics. Odd gringo out Rolfe must unmask the hoods while withstanding their violent assaults. When the Mexican police finally appear, they are portrayed with unexpected respect even though their jurisdiction is “bananaville.”