01x08 - Bad Medicine

[bunniefuu]

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 , : 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 .

She designed her first bra in ' 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 , : 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 su1c1de,

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.

"su1c1de" is a very ugly word.

Yeah, and so is "m*rder." 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 su1c1de
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 su1c1de.

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 , Code ...

in the vicinity
of State and Fourth.

Proceed to State Street.

Code .

November , : p.m.

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

responded to a 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 sh*t each other.

- Captain?
- Yes, Mr. Kolchak?

Did I hear you say that
those guards sh*t 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 k*lled 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 sh*t, 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 a hold
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
k*lled with a b*llet from his own g*n.

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 carats?

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

That's terrific. What about the Addison
woman's emerald bracelet worth about 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 sh*t 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 k*ll two guards at the gem
exchange yesterday, each with their own g*n.

Police reports say they
sh*t 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 k*ller 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
k*lled 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-I...

- 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 , : 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 -.

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. :. 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, , 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 -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 k*lled
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
k*lled by the, uh... possibly by the coyote.

Uh, there were two guards who
were k*lled in the same place.

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

Last night,
he almost tried to k*ll 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 k*ll 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 k*ll 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 -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 k*lled at least 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 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.