All language subtitles for CSI 3x01 - Revenge Is Best Served Cold.EN

To you, sir.

Check.

He doesn't bet,
but he keeps a beat.

You check.
Someone's on a flush draw.

I'll take
a free card. Check.

I'll check.

(squirting)

What do you got,
Candyman?

Check.

Thank you.

Stiff... typical.

I can bet.

Make it...

$2,000.

The grinder speaks.

(chips clinking)

We raise $4,000.

Call the bet.

$2,000. Raising $2,000.

It's all about you,
Grinder.

I'm going to go get
a $2,000 slice of pizza.

Well... might as well make it

a poker game.

I'm all in.

What do you got, Southern Iowa?

A pain in the ass
on my right side.

Yeah... you might have
a winning hand.

You might be just
trying to buy it.

Johnny Chan thought
I was too old, too,

back in the '86 series.

You mean, the series

where the ball
went through Buckner's legs?

Save the story, kid.
Here's what's what.

I got aces. What do you got?

Maybe you got trips,
maybe king, queen.

Maybe
you got
two pair.

Ace hits the board...

I win.

Club hits the board...

I win.

Eight, nine hits the board...

I win.

Here's the math,
old man.

13 of every suit
in the deck.

I see three clubs.

That means you've
got ten coming,

37 cards left in the deck.

You like those odds?

I like 'em a lot better
than I like you.

(screams)

(gagging)

(machines beeping and ringing)

(coins clinking)

You lost?

I'm listening.

For what?

E-O-G...
O major chord.

All the slots play
the same notes...

perfect harmony.

Makes people happy.

Yeah, except when
you're losing.

Then you don't
hear anything.

What's up, Warrick?

Hey, Hank.

Sara with you?

She's on the way.

Tell her I said hi.
Will do.

Thanks, man.

Doyle Pfeiffer.

Best poker player in the world.

18 hours ago, he sits
down at the table
a healthy man.

A half an hour ago,
he drops dead... in his chair.

That's a big pot.

Casino's not satisfied
with a heart attack?

We're not satisfied.
This is high stakes.

We're treating it
like a murder.

Suspicious circs.

Mmm.

You ever played poker, Warrick?

Nah. Poker's not gambling.

It's playing
against percentages.

It's a skill.

I like to play
for the thrill.

Whose hand was this?

Mine!

That pot's mine.
He dropped dead

before he went all in!

Some young,
loud-mouthed player

thinks it's his pot.

Excuse me.

Two cowboys...

one in the flop... trips.

Pair of aces.

No river card, though.

Burn one, turn one.

Ace of spades.

The death card.

Who called it in?

Western LVU
ornithology student.

Saw turkey vultures.
Got curious.

(shrieks)

Birds of prey
beat maggots

to a body. Impressive.

Gunshot. Entry just
below the cheek.

Not much blood,
no blood pools.

Means he wasn't shot here.

Where exactly
is "here?"

Frenchman Airfield...
it's an old landing strip

hasn't been used
since the '60s.

Well, it's flat.

You could still land
a plane here.

Yeah, but in the middle
of nowhere?

Perfect place to dump a body.

I got chocolate.

What color is it?

Green... you know what they say
about the green ones?

Bag it separately.

But you agree
with me, right?

It's a forfeit.

Doyle never
went all in.

He can wipe his ass
with those aces,

river card
or no river card.

I beat him.
It's a forfeit.

Whoa. Shh!

See this badge?

I'm not with
the gaming commission.

You got a problem with gaming,
see the guy in the bad suit.

Here's the deal:

Pending an investigation,
it's
our
pot.

Is that what I think it is?

Urine, maybe.

Game like this,
leaving the table early

could be perceived
as a sign of weakness.

Tell me they Scotchguard
these things.

Why don't you tell me
when you take it back to the lab

and process it?
Yay.

How is it that you know
so much about poker?

It's how I financed
my first body farm in college.

You're kidding.

Wow. I'm impressed.

I mean, the fact that
you sat at a table

with actual
living beings.

Well...

poker's not a game
of interaction.

It's a game
of observation.

I used
to study people.

And then I guess I, uh...

got bored.

Now I study evidence.

What I don't get is

it's not like we've never talked
about gambling before.

How come you never mentioned it?

Same reason a good player
hides his "tells."

He doesn't want to be exposed.

You know why Steve Wynn
hired Bobby Baldwin

to run the Nugget,
then the Mirage...
the Bellagio?

He was a great poker player...
great thinker.

I did not know that.

Stop the world.

No violaceous
lividity prominent

above the level
of the shoulders.

So no heart attack?

Not ruling out stroke,

but check out the Mees lines
in his fingernails.

Milky, vomit-like fluid

in the corners
of his mouth...

Single blue line

running across
his gums...

all the earmarks
of lead poisoning.

I haven't seen a case
of lead poisoning in years.

What's that look
like to you?

It looks like he's got
a bullet in his thigh.

It's probably been there
quite a while,

leeching lead into his system.

Enough to kill him?

I'll know better

when I get the tox screen back,
and examine the brain.

Everyone has a tell,
don't they, Lita?

A whiskey sour, huh?

Yeah, I'm a "Thug Passion"
man, myself.

(mispronounces)
It's a Tupack thing.

Tupac?

So, what does your
paramedic like to drink?

I bet, with
a name like Hank,

he's probably got
some ho's sipping on 'yac.

"Yac"?
Cognac? No.

"Ho's"? I'm not
going there.

And, um... that's none
of your business.

It's nobody's business,
as a matter of fact.

All right, well, I won't tell
Warrick and Nick about Hank

on one condition...

You tell me what he's got
that I don't got?

There was tetrahydrozoline
in the victim's drink.

I never got my answer.

I got mine.

You don't even like Tupac, Greg.

She killed him

with
eyedrops?

Well, it's not
that far-fetched.

Tetrahydrozoline is the active
ingredient in eyedrops.

It's a vasoconstrictor.

Obviously, it's great
for bloodshot eyes.

I can buy that:
You ingest eyedrops,

it constricts the blood vessels
throughout your body,

maybe even spike
your blood pressure,

perhaps even cause a stroke.

It's a perfect poison.

It's odorless,
colorless, tasteless.

Doyle would have never known
it was in his drink.

Only one thing.

What's that?

Lita Gibbons was the last one
to sit down at the table,

and she never left her chair.

So...

how'd the eyedrops
get into his drink?

Hey, Catherine.
Nice timing.

I just finished
my prelim

on your John Doe.

No longer
a John Doe.

Got a name
and
a rap sheet.

Jace Felder, busted
for selling meth in '98.

His prints are in AFIS.

Your turn.

Cause of death:

Perforating gunshot wound
through and through.

Wound penetrated
the zygomatic arch,

exited the right
temple.

Check out his right eardrum.

His eardrum's gone.

Presence of blood indicates
the tympanic membrane

was blown out shortly
before death.

We found him on an airstrip.

Maybe he was too close
to a jet engine.

Jet engine? Well, that would
explain his clothing...

a gasoline smell.
Sent if off to Trace.

Here's something you don't
see every day, though:

Perimortem bruising
on his torso.

Two symmetrical lines.

Looks like it could be
from a harness or a seat belt.

Maybe.

What was this guy...

a top gun?

Well, this was no plane.

Marks are too narrow.
No center wheel, and...

when was the last time a plane
lost a rearview mirror?

Actually, we're looking at two.

Two?

Yeah, I've got
fresh marks at the
head of the runway...

two sets, both
parallel, so...

My guess is one car
spun out here...

Man, you are way ahead of me.

Yeah, well,
I been here awhile.

Over there,
another set of treads

going straight ahead, so...

Right.

And you only lay down treads

when your wheels
aren't rolling smoothly.

Panic braking?

Sudden boost
of acceleration?

Race?

I think so, yeah.

Drag racing?

Or street racing.

Ah...
There's a reason
it's illegal.

Yeah.

Kids end up dead.

Midnight drags.

My brother was a gearhead.

Rebuilt a '65 GTO
with three carbs.

Ran the thing flat out.

Zero to a buck-13
in a quarter mile.

So your brother's
cooler than you.

(laughs)

No.

No, not really.

Welcome to pregame.

Every gear-banger
in Clark County,

all with the
same question...

"What are you runnin'
under there?"

Foreplay is foreplay.

So, when do they race?

It's not
so much when:

It's where. Racing locations
are always in play.

Once the call comes in,

the street will empty out
in seconds.

They go all the way

out to Frenchman Airfield
from here?

Only when it rains.

It rained last night.

Rain brings up the oil
from the streets.

They got to go somewhere
to get some traction.

The desert.

Centrifugal
supercharger.

Nice.

Yeah, it's like
the compressor side of a turbo

but, instead of spinning
on the exhaust,

it goes through a gearset
to the crank.

More power,
no extra weight.

Every girl's dream.

I like that.

(laughs)

Yeah, check the nitrous speed.

NOS.

Nitrous Oxide System.

Nitrous Oxide as in speed?

Well, speed
is ultimately limited

by how fast you can mix oxygen
with fuel and ignite it.

Regular air is
about 20% oxygen.

Nitrous is 40.

Double the burn,
double the power.

(hissing)

(exploding)

(engine rewing)

(tires peeling)

So the sudden boost
of acceleration

could account
for the treads
back at the airstrip.

Check out
that racing harness.

Same as

the bruises found
on the victim.

(stereo blasting
hip-hop music):

Hey! You deaf?

Thanks a lot.

What's up?

Thumpy G.

A jackhammer is
about 50 decibels quieter.

You know the
only way to beat
a jackhammer

is to bust 15,000 watts
of Run-DMO's "Dumb Girl"

or... or LL Cool J's

"Goin' Back to Cali."

You know?

Hey, G, what's up?

Yo, dawg.

So, Thumpy,

you blow out a
lot of eardrums?

I try to.

You know this cat?

Jace Felder.

Negative.

What's up, baby?

Hi.
Hey!

Hey, Thumper!

How about
we impound

your car, seize
your stereo system,

and charge you
with disturbing the peace?

Oh, she is hot,
but now it's real hot.

All right. Yo, do.

It's coming back to me.

We're all ears.

(whirring)

Wow. Is this new?

Yup. Turbo.

I like it.

You need any help?

Nope.

Ah.

(groans)

Cool.

(saw whirring)

(saw stops)

Want to step back a little?

How many pots is that?

Too many.

Yeah.

Lita Gibbons?

Why don't you sit this one out?

Come with me.

Yeah.

I live here.

Tangiers is a damn smokehouse.

Bothers my eyes.

You use eyedrops?

Bottles and bottles.

Can we see them?

Pick a pocket.

Miss Gibbons,

what color
are your eyes?

Brown.

Why are you wearing
just one contact lens?

I have 10/30 vision
in my right eye.

Why is it tinted?

We're going to need
to take that contact lens.

And your eyedrops.

You ever held a
legend's brain?

Brain cried uncle.

Correct spelling: U-N-O-A-L.

Uncal herniation...

swelling at the

base of the temporal lobe,

which compresses the posterior
cerebral artery,

resulting in a stroke.

Let's back up here.

Victim had chronic
lead poisoning

from a bullet
that was left in his leg.

Tox is pending.

But what you're thinking is

the lead from the bullet
made his brain swell up

with... uncal herniation?

Wild card
was blood pressure.

If he kept that
under control,

he might have had
another 20 years.

Except that someone put
tetrahydrozoline in his drink,

which made
his blood pressure spike,

and now we got his brain
in a bowl.

Yup.

Nasty.

Michelangelo?

Yup.

It's an odd name
for a mechanic.

Well, Thumpy G said
he was an artist.

Michael... Angelo.

Nick Stokes,
Catherine Willows.

Vegas Crime Lab.

Later.

Wow.

Yeah.

So how long
you been racing cars?

I don't race 'em.
I soup 'em.

And, at $650 an hour,
you're costing me money.

And you're costing us time.

We're investigating a murder.

Jace Felder, right?

That's right.

How do you know?

Small world.

Shame about
what happened.

He was the Steve McQueen
of Southern Nevada.

We're looking
for the kid he raced

the night he was shot.

Why come to me?

Thumpy G dropped your name, man.

Said he was driving
a "Michelangelo."

I have
many
works of art.

Which one?

A blue Honda, blue rims,
tinted windows.

Works of art.

Billie...

Holiday.

Built this baby for myself.

Sold it to some punk kid.

Never should
have done that.

Sold out.

Kid walks in one day,

$100,000 price tag in his head.

Wants a racer
off the showroom floor.

No custom, no waiting,
right now.

Paid by check.

Silver spoon kid.

You got a copy of the check?

Tossed it.

Tossed it?

Never should have done that,
either.

No.

All I know was, it was
an insurance company check.

Third party.

Sat on it till it cleared.

(phone ringing)

Yeah?

Found Jace Felder's car.

Where?

We were lucky.

It was right under our noses.

Uniform found it out
on Gibson Road.

Tent sale.

The, uh... VIN number
was scratched off,

but I ran the firewall.

Came back Jace Felder.

Who's the seller?

Some guy named

Steven Masters.

Well, make him an offer.

We'll take the car.

So, we meet again.

Lita Gibbons wasn't putting this
on her nipples, was she?

You have been drinking
too many Thug Passions.

The woman is twice your age.

She may be three times

your age, Greg.

Old case. Sorry.

(printer whirring)

Well?

Well, uh... you'll get
your answer when I get mine.

Hey, Grissom.

Hooked you up.

Is this the same color
as the contact lens?

Only bigger.

Glass is my life.

All right, stick around.

I need your eyes.

As long as they stay in my head.

Find the aces.

How many are there?

Four.

First row, third card.

Second row, fourth card.

Third row, eighth card.

And, fourth row, third card.

Anaglyphics.

Color contrast
to see hidden marks.

Lita Gibbons was
playing the daub.

She was cheating.

She marked the cards
with lip balm.

And that's all she was doing.

The vic's drink contained

.05% tetrahydrozoline
hydrocholoride

and
.25% zinc sulfate.

There was no zinc sulfate

in any of Lita Gibbons'
eyedrops.

It's a different
formulation.

So she didn't kill
Doyle Pfeiffer.

No. But
someone's
eyedrops did.

You're costing me money here.

I've got a second shift
at the Monaco.

Well, you didn't seem
too worried about money
the other night.

We watched
the surveillance tape.

Doyle Pfeiffer didn't
even pass you a nickel,

yet you were
all over him.

I can tell
you've never served drinks.

Catch him in
the right mood,

with the right pot,

he can make your month.

Is that why you were giving eyes
to the California kid?

I wasn't making eyes with him.

You tipped some waitress
$1,500 the other night?

You in business,
or you in love?

I was running a hot streak...
three kill pots in a row...

60 grand in 40 minutes.
I threw her a bone.

That all you threw her?

Put a shot in her?

Anything else
I should know?

I mean,
we're just talking here.

All I can say is,
for 1,500 bucks

you get great service.

I'm a waitress,
not a call girl.

I was playing one guy
against the other.

You want to make money?

You bait.

Besides...

I thought Doyle
had a heart attack.

He did, but he had help.

Someone put something
in his drink.

What can I get you?

I'd like some information.

Do you know what happens
when you beat a legend?

People see you different.

They... they play you different.

I wanted that edge.

All right,
let's go with that... an edge.

It does not play
into my hand to
have the guy dead.

The days of comping drinks,
sticking the hotel

with the bill...
those are done.

Everything's
computerized now,

down to the last drop.

Standard protocol.

Down to the way
the girls order
their drinks:

Sodas first, mixers second,
beers last. No exceptions.

Where's your alcohol?

I don't see any bottles.

Back of the house.

Really?

May I order a double bourbon
on the rocks?

Coming up.

Eight dollars.

You keep the drink
and the change.
Thank you.

You mind if I take
a look in your purse?

Yes, I do mind.

(sighs)

I'll tell you this.

You bust me...

you better bust all of us.

No glass,
no paint flecks,

no personal effects.

It's been cleaned.

Hold the phone.

I've got what looks like...

Ah.

...a nine-millimeter round.

No visible body fluid.

What do you think?

Maybe a miss?

If he was
shot in this car,

there's got
to be some blood.

Spray it up.

Well, the only void
is in the driver's seat.

Means it was occupied
by our victim, Jace Felder.

So he was shot in the head,
left to right.

Spatter on the passenger door
is from the exit wound.

Well, what about
the rest of this blood?

It's everywhere.

He was shot while the car
was in motion?

Bled out while the
car was rolling?

I want to meet the seller.

Opportunity knocked.

I answered.

Okay.

Let's back up
and start over,

shall we,
Mr. Masters?

You and your brother
were off-roading.

Yes, sir.

And you stumbled upon a wrecked
racer out near Mercury.

Yes, sir.

Why didn't you just...?

Wait a minute.

Let me, uh...
let me get in on this.

Please.

What were you thinking?

You... you took the car?

Damn right.

Engine alone's
worth 15 grand.

The keys are still
in the ignition.
See if it runs.

What about him?

Leave him here.

And what does
a person's life go for?

Ma'am, he was already dead.

I drove the car home,
washed it out.

And you didn't think to call 911
or anything like that?

No. You guys would have
impounded the car.

Okay, Mr. Masters.

You've just confessed
to grand larceny.

Tampering
with a crime scene.

Detective Lockwood
will get back to you

on the murder charge.

Make yourself at home, boss.

Jackass.

Dumbass.

"Opportunity knocked."

Hey, guys.

I got a name
on that third-party check

signed over to Michelangelo.

Tony Del Nagro.
8824 Sandy Creek Road.

Yeah. I race.

You race Jace Felder
the other night?

I race a lot of people.

If you're looking

to bust my son
for street-racing,

you can get your partner
out of my backyard. I...

Sir, we're investigating
a murder.

Jace Felder was shot and killed.

He doesn't know anything
about that.

Tony...

tell me about
the race.

We went head up.

Put my pink slip up
against his five grand.

Guess you could
say I won.

New glass. Less tint.

From what I hear,
Jace Felder was...

Mario Andretti.

Why would you...?

(door opens)

Why would you risk

your "Michelangelo"
against the best?

The best?

Yeah, right.

Jace was nothing
but a lip-flapper.

Told me I was all flash
and no dash.

He wanted to nut up a title.
I took it.

Everybody scattered.

No one wants to be there

when the cops show up.

Did you replace one of your
car windows recently?

Yeah.

Last week.

Some tweeker
blew it out

doing doughnuts.

Before or after he fired

the gun in your car?

All right, look.

What is this all about?

I mean, look,
my son doesn't have

to answer any more
of your questions.

Dad, it's okay.

It's fine.

Yeah, I popped off a few rounds
through the sunroof.

The sunroof?

Yeah, everybody does it.

Music's pumpin',
and everybody's

showing off
their wheels.

You get hyped.

Everybody does it.

Where's the gun, Tony?

It's not his.

It's mine.

It doesn't
belong to him.

It's registered to me.

Well, sir, we have reason
to believe this gun

was used in a homicide.

Well,
sir...

my wife was murdered
two years ago,

and I couldn't even get a cop
to return my phone calls,

and now here you are

in my home

harassing my son.

Get out.

Now. Take a walk.

We'll be back with a warrant.

What do cowboys drink?

Whiskey.

And when I chew
on a lemon wedge,

boy, is it...

Sour.

And vacuums are great
because they... suck.

Reverse suction.

His drink in her eyedrops;
her eyedrops in his drink.

Dr. Edmund Locard
would be proud.

Well, we got
a bonded bartender,

eye in the sky,
other waitresses.

How the hell did she
get that into his drink

without anyone seeing?

Aye. There's the rub.

(Mozart opera playing)

What do you got?

Suspicious waitress.

Standard protocol
for ordering drinks...

the sodas, then mixed drinks,
then beers.

First five rounds,
she ordered correctly.

The last round, however,

she ordered Doyle's
whiskey sour first.

You can't pin this on me.

Sure, we can.

You put your eyedrops
in Doyle Pfeiffer's drink.

That's what killed him.

(chuckling)
My eyedrops?

Look, you saw the way
it works.

I didn't have time.

You made the time.

Whiskey sour, decaf,
bottled water, beer.

Come on, Nadine.
Order your drinks
in the right order, okay?

I'm swamped.
Just give them to me.
I am, too.

You changed the order
of your drinks,

and the switch-up gave you...

opportunity.

So let's talk motive.

You want motive?

Yes.

He was a stiff.

I gave him
a standard eyedrop shooter.

I was trying to give the guy
diarrhea, not kill him.

Doyle sat at my table
night after night,

and never even
so much as tossed

one of those piddly-ass
candies of his my way.

In my line of work, there are
two kinds of tippers:

The "Georges" and the "stiffs."

Matt was a George;
Doyle was a stiff.

Now, if you want
to charge me

with conspiracy of trying
to make a guy crap his pants,

then fine, go ahead.

I'm guilty.

But I didn't kill him.

So the kid gets the pot,

but he doesn't
get the reputation.

Server's revenge.

Yeah, that's what she said.

A pissed-off waitress

and a rounder with
a bullet in him...

it could be a
lethal combination.

Got that tox
report back.

Basophillic stippling?

Well,
that can't be.

Coarse basophillic stippling
only occurs

from massive
infusions of lead.

Yeah. And, according
to the tox report,

the bullet in his leg
wasn't degraded enough

to account for the amount
of lead in his body.

So where did the rest
of the lead come from?

What do you got, Bobby?

Yo, got your bullet.

You pulled this
out of a ORX, huh?

Yeah.

Well, it's a lead core
of a bullet. Looks like a...

medium caliber,
just mangled upon impact.

Can't get any stria,

so test firing the suspect's
weapon's a waste of time.

Great. So it's useless.

Well, I don't know.

Take a look at the tip there.

Bullet's
got splinters.

Light glass, tinted glass.

Thanks, Bobby.

Yeah. Sure thing.

Okay, the last hand.

I'm Doyle.
I've been sitting

in the same chair for 13 hours.

Here comes
the cocktail waitress.

She serves me
my drink,

flashes me,

then she looks at Matt.

Question is, why?

Let's not forget
the eyedrops are already

in the drink;
maybe she's
giving him a signal.

Yeah, maybe they're
working together.

It's irrelevant. We've been
chasing eyedrops to death.

We're looking for lead.

Well, maybe the lead
came from the glasses.

Lead crystal.

Yeah, in a casino?
Picture that.

Already tested them.
Negative.

So, I looked into

Rita Del Nagro's death.

The accident report
says hit-and-run.

It was a two-car collision.
It's still open.

An arrest was made,
but the suspect was released

due to insufficient evidence.

Now, guess his name.

Jace Felder?

Gives Tony Del Nagro

plenty of motive.

He lost his mother.

Wanted revenge.

Maybe. But why try
to gun down Felder

in the middle
of a street race?

Well, if it looks
like an accident,

the investigation
would be abbreviated.

All right, stand back, y'all.

No full-on autopsy.

The bullet
could go undetected.

Firing!

(gunshot)

Bullet's nose picked up
trace of both windows.

Just like the one recovered
from Jace Felder's car.

You guys rock.

(laughing)

So, we know the bullet

can make the shot.

Let's go see
if the driver can.

You're all set.

Okay. Thanks. We'll take care
of them for you.

Hey, wait, hang on.

Cath, give me
a test fire, will you?

Love to.

(alarm sounds)

I wired the target
to the car's alarm system.

Gotta make sure
we hear it.

Always thinking, there,
Nicky, aren't ya?

Yeah.

Okay, remember...

full out till fifth,

then hit the nitrous
and hang on.

You just try to keep up.

(engines roaring)

(tires squealing)

(alarm sounding)

(tires screeching)

(tires screeching)

Thank you! Good night!

Jace killed my mom.

Everybody knew it.

Everybody knew it,
and nobody came forward.

It was a street race.

Jace's car just
slammed right into us.

(tires screeching)

Killed my mom instantly.

He just plowed right into us.

Kept going.

You were in the car.

Why didn't you
just tell the police?

Because I didn't know
it was Jace.

I found out later on
that it was a street racer.

And you weren't?

Not at the time, no.

So I went
to a couple of events

and hooked into the world.

I found out within
one hour
who killed her.

So, let me
get this straight.

You decide to become
one of them.

You buy a car with your
mother's death benefit,

toss your hat in the ring,
and wait for your shot.

Revenge is best served cold.

(three gunshots)

(glass shattering)

(engine accelerating)

I never stopped.

I just kept going.

Never looked back.

Took his title, and
then took him down.

He took my mother's life

so I took his.

What's up, Gris?

Did you guys know that 70%
of the world's chocolate

is produced in West Africa?

Really?
Yeah.

The Ivory Coast,

Ghana, Nigeria
and Cameroon.

No, I didn't know that.

Doyle Pfeiffer
didn't know either.

Chocolate comes
from cocoa plants.

But, in West Africa,
the cars still use leaded gas.

So, when the exhaust fumes
disperse into the atmosphere...

and it rains...
it pours lead.

Like acid rain.

Whatever's in
the atmosphere

gets into the soil,

gets into the cocoa plants.

Capillary action.

Then the cocoa's harvested,
processed, refined,

sold into bulk
and, eventually...

Choco-bees.

Doyle Pfeiffer's nickname
was the "Candyman."

He got that name

the night he won
the world championship in '86.

Well, if he had those
chocolates with him in '86,

he's had them every night since.
His lucky charm.

By my calculations,
he might have consumed

up to a pound of chocolate
a night for 16 years.

Wow. That would explain
all the lead in him.

Ultimately,

the tetrahydrosoline
in the eyedrops

triggered it but,
essentially, it was...

death by chocolate.