All language subtitles for Kolchak.The.Night.Stalker.S01E08.Bad.Medicine.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-squalor_track3_eng

F. Scott Fitzgerald
once wrote,

"The rich are different
than you and me."

They sure are.
They got more money.

But there wasn't enough
money in the world...

to save some of the members
of Chicago's upper crust...

from a fiendish force
so dark, it can only
be called diabolic.

Chicago's rich
and superrich...

are no different from
the privileged few of
New York's Sutton Place...

or the nouveau riche
of Los Angeles.

They enjoy a highly
protected environment.

November 12, 11:20 p.m.

Rhonda June Markay,
real name
Adele Sapperstein,

was coming home
after an unusually
successful day.

Miss Markay was
chairman of the board of
Maison de Markay, Incorporated,

manufacturers of the famous
Rhonda June brassiere line,

a longtime bulwark of
the garment industry,
serving women from eight to 80.

She designed her first bra
in '44 when she was
an aircraft worker in Glendale.

Miss Markay had
a well-known proclivity
for fine gems...

and was reputed to
have some of the biggest
diamonds in Chicago.

November 13, 1:30 a.m.

Lucy LaPont Addison,
the reigning queen of what was
left of Chicago's old society,

was returning home
after an opera opening.

She supplied
the opera house.

Lucy Addison had
accumulated fortunes like
she accumulated husbands.

Friends referred to her
as the "Steel Butterfly."

The sudden demise of these
two powerful ladies...

jolted Chicago's elite.

Both funerals were S.R.O.

In both cases,

the police department
ruled death by suicide,

and I was calmly
explaining to Vincenzo...

that I thought
they had drawn
a rather hasty conclusion.

- Yes, but why?
- Why?

Two deaths in two days.
Two of Chicago's
wealthiest women.

Coincidence.
Purely coincidence.

Then tell me this-- Why are
the police being so
tight-lipped about it, huh?

Kolchak, these women
were very influential,
very wealthy.

They left behind
financial dynasties...

which didn't want
their good names dragged
through the newspapers.

"Suicide"
is a very ugly word.

Yeah, and so is "murder."
Yeah, here. Look, look.
Look here. See?

The Markay woman had just
won a proxy suit to take over
yet another corporation,

and, the, uh--
yeah, right here.

The Addison woman
had just added to her
personal portfolio...

as she was about to
marry her latest husband.

I didn't know
you were following
the society columns.

Well, Carl has a point,
you know, Mr. Vincenzo.

What point?

Neither of these women fit
the suicide profile, according
to the Swedish studies.

- Really?
- They weren't
chronically depressed.

They hadn't had
a recent shock.

They weren't terminating
any relationships.

As a matter of fact,

they both had
immediate goals they were
looking forward to.

Miss Emily.

- Thank you.
- No.

- Well?
- Funerals are
so depressing.

- I'll certainly be glad to
get back to my other article.
- Your high-rise article.

Did you know that
there's a brand-new
high-rise downtown,

and they've only been able
to lease the first five floors?

I'm gonna call it
"High-Rise Investments
Take a Plunge."

Tony, you cannot believe
that these women
committed suicide.

Carl, let me tell you
something.

Even if there was
a story in this, I wouldn't
assign you to cover it.

Why not?

Because you don't
have any tact.

You don't have
a rapport with society.
Well, just look at yourself.

Even if I sent you there
to interview them,

I'm sure they wouldn't even
let you inside their door.

- Okay.
- What's okay?

Okay.

If clothes make the reporter
around here,

then Carl Kolchak
can play that game too!

- Where are you going?
- I'm taking the rest
of the afternoon off.

I am going out
and buy myself
some new clothes, okay?

Finally!

Code 3, Code 3...

in the vicinity
of State and Fourth.

Proceed to
732 State Street.

- Code 3.
-

November 16, 6:05 p.m.

Police from three divisions
of Chicago's finest...

responded to a 211 that
had surrounded the city's
most prestigious gem exchange.

Hold it.
Hold back, hold back!

Okay, keep these civilians back.
All the way back. All the way.

Couple of you guys
around in back.

Kolchak, you get out of here.
Caselli, open those doors.

The safe's been ripped open,
and there's diamonds
all over the floor, Captain.

You stay right there.
You make sure nobody
touches them.

- What are you waiting for?
Let him go.

Caselli, let's go.
Get out of here, Kolchak!

Upstairs.

Freeze!

A million-dollar
sapphire stolen,

two guards dead,

and a man dressed
like an Indian who dove
off the roof into thin air.

I saw it, but I didn't
believe it, and I was sure
the police didn't either.

It is our conclusion
then that the robber--
or robbers--

created
considerable disturbance,
stole the sapphire,

and in the
ensuing confusion,
the guards shot each other.

- Captain?
- Yes, Mr. Kolchak?

Did I hear you say
that those guards
shot each other...

precisely in the heart?

Yes, Mr. Kolchak.
Regrettably, things
like that do happen.

Things like that
do happen. Yeah.
In all that confusion?

You will all get
the ballistic data
as soon as we do.

Captain. Just how did
this man actually escape?

We assume that the man we're
looking for has experience
as a high-wire aerialist,

trapeze artist or acrobat.

A trapeze artist
eight feet tall?

And I suppose
his dog belonged
to a circus too, huh?

- Dog? What dog?
- The dog that killed
the police dog.

Kolchak, you disrupt
this conference, and I'll
have you physically ejected.

Hey, but, Captain. Captain.
You haven't answered
the question.

- How do you explain the dog?
- Yeah, what about the dog?

That matter is under
investigation, but there are
a couple of possibilities.

One, that the dog
may have escaped while
we were chasing the man...

and perhaps
there was no dog at all.

May I remind the esteemed
Mr. Kolchak that no one
actually saw the alleged dog.

What about the way this guy
was dressed? He looked like
an eight-foot Indian to me.

When you've been
in detective work
as long as I have,

you learn to expect
every kind of kook and crazy
imaginable, Mr. Kolchak.

Little shot, Kolchak.

- This conference is over.
- Is that the ballistics
report, Captain?

No further questions.

- Captain?
- I'm sorry, boys.
Not at this time.

Please. No more comments.

Ask the captain.
Really, ask the captain.

He knows all about it,
honey.

Ballistics, please.

- Who?
Uh, Lieutenant Tackwood.
- Who?

Tackwood. I just got ahold
of the ballistics report...

on those two dead guards
on the gem exchange robbery.

Oh, yeah. I didn't think
you guys would go for that.

Listen, we examined
those slugs six times.
There's no mistake.

- Are you sure?
- Listen, Tackwood.

I'm telling you.
Each guard was killed with
a bullet from his own gun.

What?

Yes.

Hey, who is this?

- Kolchak, what are you
doing in the squad room?
- You're absolutely right.

- I couldn't agree
with you more.
- See he gets out of here now!

I've left!

I decided to look up
Albert Delgado,

an old acquaintance
and fairly reliable source
for underworld gossip.

Delgado was a onetime
cutter of stone and gems...

and, more recently,
a graduate of the Joliet
State College of Barbering,

where he had studied
for seven years.

No, Carl. I don't do
that kind of work anymore.

Ain't been near
a diamond wheel in years.

I'm talking about
that Markay woman's
diamond pendant.

- You know?
- Oh, the brassiere dame.

- Yeah.
- Three hundred
and 50 carats?

- Yeah, 350 carats.
- Ain't seen
nor heard of it.

That's terrific. What about
the Addison woman's emerald
bracelet worth about 250 G's?

Yeah, I read about that one.
- So?

- Sounds nice.
- Sounds nice. And the sapphire
on the gem exchange?

Mm-mmm.
Nothing emerged.

- Nothing emerged.
- No.

Ah! Albert.

I want to tell you
and warn you,
I only have one throat.

I don't nick people.
You're just prejudiced
because I'm an ex-con.

- No, I'm prejudiced not
because you're an ex-con,
- Shh!

but because
your hand is shaking.

Kolchak,
I was a diamond cutter.

What does that tell you
about the steadiness
of these hands?

That's the point
that I'm making, Albert.

- Kolchak, I think I got
an angle for you.
- Yeah?

- This jewel thief
has classy taste, right?
- Yes. Right, right.

All of those little pebbles
that only cost a couple of thou,
he passes them right by, right?

- Yeah. Right, right.
- Meaning--

- Meaning what?
- The guy is a collector.

- He likes to have the stuff
around. You know what I mean?
-

Kolchak. I'm gonna
show you something...

if your tip is generous
and from the heart.

From the heart.

Uh-huh. Still keeping
your fingers in, huh?

Not exactly.

Observe.

Glass. All I do now--
make duplicates for people.

Most of the real rocks
are stashed away
in a wall somewhere.

It takes a very dicey dame
to wear real ice these days.

The insurance kills 'em.

Well, there's gonna be
fewer and fewer of 'em
from now on.

Kolchak, none of that stuff
has hit the market.

Believe me, I know,
because I have my ear
to the door.

Frankly,
the hot rock business
is in a slump.

Well, thanks very much
for the shave, Albert.

- Is that from the heart?
- From the heart.

Come on, come on.

- Congratulations.
You finally got one in focus.
- Give me that.

Dead dog. That's
pretty important, huh?

Yeah. Well, you
can tell the difference
between a dog and a cat.

That correspondence school
is doing wonders for you.
Couldn't you get it any bigger?

Not without
losing quality.

Quality. I could have
shot that better with
a shoe box and a pinhole.

To think I stayed here
all night to develop that.

Why don't you
stay a little longer
and develop a personality?

How long have I
been warning you?

If you need a number
from the phone book,
don't tear out the page.

Take the time
to copy it down.

- Well, what was it
you're looking for?
- I'm looking for kennels, dear.

- Guard dogs.
- Guard dogs?
For what possible reason?

Well, I'm working up
an angle on that
gem exchange robbery.

What angle?
What angle?

Once upon a time,
there were some jewels.
Somebody robbed them.

Can't you just write that
and send it in without
going to a kennel?

This is not your usual
run-of-the-mill caper, Tony.

This jewel thief,
who dresses up
like an Indian,

managed to kill two guards
at the gem exchange yesterday,
each with their own gun.

Police reports say
they shot each other
accidentally.

You've been reading
too much fiction.
That's one of your problems.

Well, somebody's
cannibalized my book too.

Uh-huh!

I saw that Indian...

go off the edge
of a six-story building
and disappear.

Now, the police say, of course,
that he's an aerialist or some
kind of a circus acrobat.

Some kind of smoke.
But-- Ha-ha! Look at that!

- Oh, a dead dog.
- Mm-hmm.

Boy, that's Pulitzer
material, Carl.
Yes, sir.

Well, I happen to think...

that it's highly unusual
and probably
very significant...

that a jewel thief who
dresses up like an Indian
uses a killer dog.

Kolchak, I don't care if he's
got a trained seal that plays
"La Paloma" on the bicycle horn!

You just let the police
worry about tracking down
the leads-- dogs or whatever.

Now, you just--
you just write and report.

- Now, you just wait here.
I got an assignment for you.

I'm sorry, Tony.
I can't. After lunch.

- Wait there, and we can
have lunch together.
- No, no. I can't do that.

- Why not?
- Nope. I've, uh, had
lunch with you already.

Well, I'll pay this time.

- Thanks, Ron.
- What?

Reliance Guard Dog,
Incorporated,

and George M. Schwartz,
trainer of the three-time
Midwestern guard dog champion,

Reliance's
"Teutonic Knight."

Mr. Schwartz knew his dogs. He
also had the caution that comes
from a lifetime of paranoia.

I-I would like to find out
what kind of dog made the tracks
around the dead guard dog here.

What do you want
to know that for?

Well, if I can find what kind
of dog it is, Mr. Schwartz, then
maybe I can find the trainer.

Just what have you got
against dog trainers?

I can assure you, Mr. Schwartz,
that I have the highest
respect for dog trainers, sir.

Mm-hmm. Can't really tell
what kind of tracks these
are. You wait right here.

- Yeah.
-

- What does that mean?
- Well, it's German. They
seem to like it better.

- Told him
to keep you company.
- Oh.

-

Nice-- Nice doggy.

- Nice--
- Who do you take me for?

- I beg your pardon?
- These aren't the tracks
of a dog.

- What do you mean?
- They belong to a coyote.

Coyote?

If a man
dresses up like an Indian
to raid the gem exchange,

I say he's strange.

But if he also
brings his coyote along,
then I say he's an Indian.

- Yes? May I help you?
- Yeah, Dr. Temple?

- Yes.
- Uh, my name
is Carl Kolchak.

From the Independent
News Service, see?

- I'll get right to the point,
if you promise not to laugh.
-

I'm looking for a man
who's masquerading as an Indian
and runs around with a coyote.

A boy and his dog.
Oh, I love that kind
of story.

Well, I wouldn't tell
this story to my children
at bedtime, if I were you.

The man that I'm seeking
has killed four people
over the past week.

Oh.

Well, don't you think
that you'd be better off
talking with a criminologist...

or a psychiatrist?

Dr. Temple, I seek
information about Indians.

Now, I don't know
the difference between
a Chippewa and a Chippendale.

- Do you see anything here
that looks familiar?
- No. Nope.

Aha! Yeah.
That one over there.

Yeah, yeah.
I remember the snakeskin
and the bone thing.

- How odd.
- Wh-Why odd?

Well, how utterly odd that
you should pick that one
from all the others.

- Why?
- This is the sorcery costume
of the Diablero.

A strange figure that
occurs and reoccurs throughout
Southwestern Indian lore.

Uh-- Dia-- D-I-A-B-L--

- E-R-O-S.
- Diableros.

Diableros, yes.

The Diableros
were supposed to be
the tribal sorcerers,

the men who had
learned to step
into another reality.

What?

If I didn't know differently,
I'd say that you were
describing a Diablero.

You see, the Diableros
have the power to--

to-- Oh.
Oh, it's preposterous.

Uh, no, go on,
go on, go on.

Well, of course, it's
only legend, but the lore
says that the Diableros...

had to power
to throw their victims
into a trance...

and also, supposedly,

- they could transform
themselves into animals--
- What?

hawks, crows,
even coyotes.

But--

November 17, 3:00 p.m.

About the time
I was leaving the museum,

a Mrs. Charlotte
Elaine Van Piet...

was returning home from
an afternoon bridge game
with the girls.

She had made two
grand slams, and she was
happy, which was good...

because it was
the last game
she would ever play.

Kolchak,
what are you doing here?

Uh, well, Captain,

when I hear on
the police band radio that
a man of your importance...

is gonna be doing
what you do so very well,

how can I possibly
stay away?

- Neck's broken?
- How did you know?

- A little birdie told me.
- Don't make me laugh.

- Uh, anything stolen?
- A pearl necklace belonging to
the woman's missing, we think.

Mason. Shut up.
Kolchak, out.

Yes, sir. Yes, sir.
Leaving. Leaving.

Hey. Get out of there.

Yeah. Sure.

Kolchak!

He's not here, huh?

I.N.S.
Emily Cowles speaking.

- Emily, dear. Now, don't
say anything. Just listen.
- Who is this?

It's Carl.
Don't hang up on me.

Now, there's supposed
to be a big gem auction...

going on somewhere
in downtown Chicago
this evening.

- I don't know a thing about it.
- I need to know
where it is and what time.

And, as it's
a financial transaction,

you know who
might know very well.

-Why don't you ask him yourself?
-He won't even give me
the time of day.

You know that, Emily.
Emily! Come on!

Ron.

Do you happen to know anything
about a jewelry auction
that's being held in town?

That's not
general knowledge.
Who wants to know?

- It's a lady editor--
- Of Ladies' Wear Weekly.

She wants to cover it from
the fashion angle, and she has
to know where and when it is.

She might as well forget it.
It's not open to the press.
If it were, I'd cover it.

- She has an entrée--
- But she lost the note giving
her the time and the place,

she can't
get hold of her contact
on the inside until tonight.

No, no, no, no,

you're getting complicated.
Keep it simple, Emily.
- What?

- Now he's gonna
want to know--
- Who's her entrée?

- Now he's gonna ask--
- Could I come along?
- I knew it.

- Let me speak to her.
- Emily, I'm putting you
on hold.

Well, she just
put me on hold.

Well, I'll hold on.

- Miss Emily, would you
get that for me, please?

Sure.

I.N.S.
Mr. Ron Updyke's desk.

Emily,
thank heaven it's you.
It's me. Tell him--

It's John Vickers from
the Commodity Exchange, and
he says it's very important.

Hello. Mr. Vickers?

Now, tell him that
she had to leave, but
that he can come along,

but get the, uh, place and
the time, and she'll meet
him at the front entrance.

And then call me back
at 555-8842.

Now, get the information
and call me right back.

Ron, uh, she had to go,

but she told me
it was all right
for you to come.

And I'm to call her back
and tell her
the time and the place,

and she'll meet you
at the front entrance.

Very good.
8:00. Waverly Building.
Mr. Vickers, please.

Ronald Updyke calling.

Hi, we were cut off.
Ron Updyke.

U-P-D-Y-K-E.

Uh-- Of the I.N.--

He hung up again.

- Kolchak isn't here yet?
- No.

- I want to see him as soon
as he sets foot in that door.
- Oh, dear.

Emily Cowles confessed
to her crime,

and Mr. Updyke, unfortunately,
was spared the embarrassment
of showing up at the auction.

However, Emily did
get the information
to me first.

It was to be
the largest gem transaction
in Chicago history.

The auction itself
was to be private,

but was preceded
by a reception where
the most exclusive guests...

were allowed
to view the objects
of their desire.

Oh, 350,000 minimum.

I keep telling you that it is
in the glove compartment of
the Bentley, and the Bentley--

- What seems to be the problem?
- Are you the auctioneer
here, Mr.--

- Beloit.
- Beloit, yes.

Are you any relation
to Roger Beloit
of the Bar Harbor Beloits?

- No.
- No, I didn't think
you were.

Well, I appreciate security,
Mr. Beloit, as much
as the next person.

But I must say that, uh,
simply because I don't have
your invitation on my person,

I find it rather insulting
to have your guards
humiliate me.

- And your name is, sir?
- Kol... worth.

Carl Kolworth.

-Any relation to the Woolworths?
-Distantly, yes. They dealt
in wool, we dealt in coal.

I happen to be
the personal secretary,
uh, chauffeur,

majordomo, et cetera...

of, uh, Adrianna Jennings.

Oh, yes, yes. Well, uh,
is Mrs. Jennings coming?

Of course she's not
coming. Certainly.

I assumed that a man
in your position would be
reading the society columns.

She's in the Orient, but she
has authorized me to attend
the auction and bid for her.

Yes, well, I'm sorry,
but I don't recall sending
an invitation to Mrs. Jennings.

Of course you don't recall.
You never sent it.

She was terribly
insulted by it.

As a matter of fact, when she
spoke to Mrs. Ludlow, Mrs.
Ludlow was absolutely shocked.

Mrs. Ludlow is one
of our best customers.

I'd hate for her
to be distressed.

Perfectly all right,
Beloit. I have smoothed
the ruffled feathers.

- Thank you, Mr. Kolworth.
- Kolworth, yes.
It's perfectly all right.

Well, uh--
Oh, good evening,
Mrs. Ludlow.

- Good evening.
- Mr. Ludlow.

Oh, excuse me.

Mrs. Ludlow,
do you know that man?

Why aren't you in Yucatan
as you're supposed to be,
according to the columns?

He's a reporter.
Carl Kolchak. I.N.S.

Oh, yes,
of the Hoboken Kolchaks.

- You're to leave here
at once.
- Now, just one moment.

You stand a very good chance
of being robbed here tonight.

You do know about all
the jewelry thefts that have
been going on around town.

Mr. Baker of the Chicago
Police has checked out
our security procedures.

He feels our jewels
are quite safe.

Yeah, well,
then Baker must be
a 24-carat chump...

because if you do get hit,
you'll be dealing with something
that no security force can stop.

Will you please
do us the kindness
to leave here quietly?

Or I'll have you
physically removed.

I will leave.
I will leave by myself,
if you don't mind.

I know when I'm not wanted.

Uh, ladies and
gentlemen, we'd like to begin
the auction at this time.

Those of you who intend to bid
on the large precious stones,

please go with Mr. Beloit
in the Georgian Room.

Those who wish to participate
in the jade and pearl sale,

please follow me.

Okay. Lock her up.

Get me the case, please.
Won't you sit down?

Well, now, shall we begin?

Mr. Beloit, my wife
is very concerned about
the man you talked to.

Are we in any danger?

Danger? Well, hardly.
It was only
a street reporter.

Probably had
too much to drink.

Now, first,
the latest offering from
Van Hern in Johannesburg.

Must have been a bird.
They hit this building
all the time.

Freeze!

All right, Carl.
Let's try it from the top.

How do you want it this time?
In italics or in press book
Roman with expletives deleted?

Don't get smart with me.

You've got a lot of questions
to answer about what went on
at that auction,

like number one--
what were you doing there?

Why won't you believe me
when I tell you I was there
to get a story on the Diablero?

Diablero. Now, what is that?
Some kind of Italian racing car?

Before any European
ever set foot on this continent,
he was already a legend here.

- A legend?
- Yeah, that's right.
A legend.

Yeah, he was
an Indian sorcerer...

who had the power
to transmute himself
into different animal forms.

- Transmute, huh?
- That's right.

He had the power
to change himself
from a human being, a man,

into a coyote,
into a crow,

- into a man,
into a coyote.
- Oh, brother!

Look, I saw him change
from a man into a crow!

Are you trying to tell me
a crow killed those people?
Their necks were broken.

By the Diablero. Listen, I found
a black crow feather next to
the hand of that dead chauffeur.

Joe, we did find
some black feathers in that
Markay woman's apartment.

- Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
- Don't "uh-huh" me,
Kolchak!

I got a question for you.

What does
an Indian sorcerer need
with expensive jewels?

- Well, I haven't quite
figured that out yet.
- Uh-huh!

Maybe a little bird
will give you the answer.

Or maybe this, uh,
crow man is selling
the jewels for cash...

because he's tired of flying
south for the winter, and he
wants to take a cruise ship.

Well, I don't hear anything
coming from you. Uh-huh.

They held me
another three hours,

but they knew
they didn't have anything,

so they finally
let me go.

Thanks a lot, Kemp.

Here's a message for you
from a Miss Cowles.

Thanks for nothing.

Dr. Agnes Temple had called.

She wanted me
to meet her at the museum.

I was late,
but Agnes Temple and
her friends had waited.

Mr. Kolchak, this is
Charles Rolling Thunder.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?
How do you do?

Charles lives with
his family here in Chicago,

and I told him
how you were talking
about the Diablero,

and-- well, now, mind you,
I don't believe any of this--

but Charles insisted that
I get in touch with you.

Yes, it is important,
Mr. Kolchak, that we talk.

You have been saying some
very, very serious things.

Now, if you
are telling the truth,

you should be armed.

Mr. Kolchak says
he has seen a Diablero.

Yeah. Right. Here.

This is a picture of the dog
that was killed by the, uh--
possibly by the coyote.

Uh, there were two guards who
were killed in the same place.

And here's this, uh, feather
that I picked up at a spot
where two people were murdered.

Last night,
he almost tried to kill me.

Hmm. I must ask you,
Mr. Kolchak,

how did you escape
the Diablero's spell?

Well, I wish I knew.
I don't know. I, uh--

- Well, I took a picture.
- Did you use a flash?

- Oh, yeah, sure.
- Oh, the burst of light.

Oh, listen, a flash can smart,
but it's not gonna harm
that gargantuan that I saw.

To the Diablero,
the eyes are everything.

Uh, through his sorcery,
through his eyes,

he can "stop the world,"
as he calls it.

He changes reality,
making his enemies helpless.

But that light
from the flash blinded him,
made his eyes useless.

- Changes reality.
- Mmm.

Well, the, uh--
the bird that I saw...

was a big, black bird
right there.

I mean, it was a bird!
Now, is it a bird,
or is it a man?

Well, uh, it is both
a-and neither.

He uses the magic
of both...

and only for evil.

- Evil is all he really is.
- Oh, yeah.

Yeah, yeah. Yeah,
that I'll agree with.

Tell me, h-how would I--

- How do you kill a Diablero?
- Yeah. Yeah.
That's what I mean.

Well, since earliest times,
it was said...

a Diablero cannot
live with the sight
of his own gaze, hmm?

- Nothing more,
nothing less will kill it.
- Oh, that's terrific. That's--

That's a big help.

How do I find, uh, it?

No one knows that, but we have
heard in our lore of the
Diablero that you describe.

He lived for years
under a curse,
roaming near and far.

- What kind of a curse?
- A curse to acquire
a treasure.

- Uh-huh.
- You see, this Diablero...

was an ancient sorcerer
among the cliff dwellers.

- The cliff dwellers,
the Yakis--
- Yoshone.

Yoshone! Yoshone!
They lived in holes
in the wall, in pueblos!

Yes, yes.
And he dared to steal
the ritual treasure,

which belongs
to the gods alone.

And for his greed,
he was put under a curse--

a curse to build
an eternal treasure...

before he could cross
the River of the Seven Winds.

Thank you.
Thank you very much,
Mr. Rolling Thunder.

Thank you, thank you,
Dr. Temple.

You have no idea how much
you've helped me. Thank you!
Thank you very much!

- Carl, what are you doing?
That's Ron's desk.
- Hi, Tony.

-Those are Ron's private papers.
-Yeah, yeah.
I'm looking for something.

Carl, you know how particular
Ron is about people
disturbing his things.

In his ear.

- What, are you--
You staying here tonight?
- Yes, I'm staying here.

- You, uh, nursing a story?
- No, I'm not nursing a story.

I'm camping here because
I thought that sometime
during a 24-hour period,

like a moth returns
to the flame, you would
return to this office,

and the waiting
was worth it for what
I'm gonna tell you.

- Well, tell me this-- What's
the name of that building?
- What building?

That deserted tower story
that Ron was working on.

You know,
"High-Rise Investments
Take a Nosedive"?

Tony. Tony, listen,
there is an empty high-rise
somewhere here in Chicago...

that is being used
as a rest place by
an eight-foot creature...

who has killed at least
10 people in Chicago and
who knows how many elsewhere?

- Carl, are you insane?
- Yeah, he's called a Diablero.

- "Dia" what?
- Yeah, he's a-- a member
of a tribe of cliff dwellers.

Carl, what are you
babbling about? What's Ron
got to do with a tribe?

If you were
a cliff dweller,

where else in downtown
Chicago would you be
except in that building?

If I were a cliff dweller,
I wouldn't be
downtown Chicago.

I'd be dwelling
in my cliff in an adobe hut
two stories high,

which is not exactly
the Hancock Tower!

Tony, have you ever
seen a pueblo, huh?

They're built in the side
of a cliff hundreds of feet
high. Where is that story?

- Don't you ever
read the paper?
- No.

- Ron's feature went out
over the wire this morning.
- What?

Right here.

Champion Towers!
That's it!

Tony, call the police
and tell them-- tell them
the Champion Towers right away.

- Thank you very much, Tony.
You've been a great help.
- Carl!

Carl, come back here!
Carl, this--

Cliff dwellers.

The owners went broke,

and the whole project
went into receivership.

Only the first five floors
had been furnished and leased.

Uh-- It's after hours, sir.
You can't go up.

Oh, no, no.
Wait a minute now.

See, uh, I.N.S.
Intercity Neon Service.

- We don't have a neon sign.
- Well, that's your problem.

Your manager ordered a neon sign
for the top of the building.
You could use some advertising.

What are you doing
coming at night?

When do you expect me
to make my estimates?
High noon?

- What floor do you want?
- The roof.

- Elevator will only go
to the fifth floor.
- I'll walk.

Forty floors?

- How many?
- Forty.

I'm used to it.

I didn't bother to look
on the lower floors.

Something told me that if
the Diablero was here at all,
it would seek the heights.

Nothing was found on
that floor, not even ashes.

Baker and the police
have ruled the case closed,

all in the public interest,
of course.

But there is the matter
of those stolen gems.

Those prized stones
worth millions, billions--

over 300 years of treasure
claimed by the Diablero--

the crown jewels of Queen
Elizabeth, the Star Sapphire
of Nicholas the First,

the Firestone Diamond
of Bonaparte and Josephine,
to name but a few.

None of them have ever
turned up in any market...

in this world.

Only one thing remains.

The detectives won't admit it,
of course, but somewhere, locked
deep in the evidence files...

of the Chicago
Police Department...

is a handful
of black feathers.