01x11 - Horror in the Heights

[bunniefuu]

There are sections
of Chicago the guidebooks don't refer to.

You can't blame them, really.
The guidebooks' function...

is to sell the glamour and
excitement of our Windy City.

And whichever way you dress it up,
old age is neither glamorous nor exciting.

Roosevelt Heights used
to be a plush neighborhood.

But the plush neighbors moved
uptown, leaving the old people.

And old people
don't move easily.

They become set in their
surroundings. Their friends live next door.

They've been going to
the same store for years.

And, probably
most important of all,

they can't afford to relocate
even if they wanted to.

The battle of fixed income versus
galloping inflation never ends.

But even inflation took a backseat
here in Roosevelt Heights...

as a far greater fear
overtook the residents...

A terror which effectively
dwarfed everything else.

October , one Harry Starman
was about to break the law.

He'd done it before many times.

Gambling on Friday night
was forbidden by Hebrew law.

So, to escape his wife and
to escape going to temple,

Harry and his cohorts
took drastic measures.

There were other residents
of Roosevelt Heights.

The locals had tried to get
rid of them a couple of times,

but what with the fact that
the garbage collection...

wasn't as efficient
as it could have been,

they just hadn't been
too successful.

- Do you mind if I cut?
- Cut! Cut, cut.

What am I, a cheat?

- You're late.
- What's with the late?

I stopped to get this.

They raised the prices again.
You each owe me cents.

Uh-uh. You still haven't paid
for the bottle I bought last week.

- I paid you!
- You did not!

Jo, I leave it to you. You were
there. I paid you, I'm tellin' you!

Are we gonna play poker,
or are we gonna schmooze?

Penny ante, penny raises.

Good. But I paid him. No
matter what he... what he...

- Where's the glasses?
- Glasses, glasses.

Did you ever get 'em? No.
I always have to get 'em.

And you did not pay me for last week
and don't stack the deck while I'm out.

Silly old... If it wasn't his table,
I wouldn't be found dead here.

I hate to go out there! The bacon
and ham hocks, pigs' knuckles.

So who told you
to take this job anyway?

Then tell a lie so you wouldn't
lose anything on social security.

- You know it. You know him.
- Ante up.

Ah, ah, ah! Ante up.

Hey, did I ever tell you about the
time I played with Nick the Greek?

- You did, Harry. You did.
- It was in Las Vegas.

It was a pleasure to lose to him. He could
bluff you without flinching an eyelash.

He was an artist.

Buck
Fineman, years old.

A cantankerous old geezer.
No one liked him much,

but they allowed him to play
poker with them once a week...

because he was a terrible cardplayer
and had been known to lose...

as much as cents
in a single evening.

Also his part-time job allowed
their group a safe hiding place...

for their clandestine
games of chance.

For Buck's case, this particular
night, it was too clandestine.

Who's there?

It looks like, uh... Hey, Rabbi
Schulman. What are you doing out here?

Now, no matter what terrible
stories my wife told you,

it's still
only a penny ante game.

Wrong, I know,
but it's only penny ante.

Normally,
an old guy dropping dead...

wouldn't get me
to cross the road.

But things were pretty quiet that week,
and there was something in the report...

that I'd picked up over my police
radio that didn't sound strictly kosher.

Please, one at a...
One at a time.

Why should we have to live
with such tsures?

I'm sorry, but
I don't understand Yiddish.

- Tsures!
- Grief, unhappiness. Don't you understand?

All right, what happened?

Old guy croaked.

Well, we have
a nice choice of words.

You expect to escape old age?

- Okay, an old guy passed on.
- Passed on.

- What'd he pass on of?
- Who knows?

- Old age? Boredom?
- "Old age.

Boredom."

- Uh...
- Wait, wait. Who are you?

- Press.
- I wouldn't if I were you.

Son, I've seen more dead
bodies than you've had TV dinners.

Oh, yeah.
Old age and boredom.

How'd it happen?

Well, apart from the old people,
the other tenants in this area are rats,

and rats do get hungry.

- "Rats."
- Anything else you wanna know?

- No.
- Okay, then you take care, okay?

If only we didn't send
him out for the glasses.

I really liked him.

- He was a nice guy.
- Look, did any of you gentlemen here know the deceased?

- Sure, I knew him.
- What was his name?

Fineman.
Buck Fineman.

His real name was Julius.

Buck, he got from the movies.

He loved movies.

- Hey, are you a reporter?
- Mm-hmm.

Then how about reporting, for instance,
how come the Health Department...

won't get their cans down
here and clear out the rats?

It's not only here. You should see
my apartment building around the back.

Health Department. Usen't you
work for the Health Department?

- Me?
- Yeah.

No, no, that was my brother.

No, he was in charge of
printing up quarantine signs.

- That was a long time ago.
- What about the rats?

Well, we all have rats, sir. You
should see the one I work for.

I'm talking about rats that eat you
before you can get a decent Jewish burial.

Uh-huh. Well, you may
have a point there, Mr., uh...

- Uh, sir, your name?
- Who, me?

- Yeah.
- Starman.

- Starman.
- Harry Star... You're writing this?

- Yes.
- Starman. S-T-A-R.

- One "R."
- One "R"?

- One "R," yes.
- "Starman."

You know, I understand we've all
got problems, and we gotta handle 'em.

Okay, I understand that.
But, on top of all of that, rats...

Rats that chew you up
before you even get cold?

- Well, how long was he dead?
- Well, you see, we were playing poker.

I brought some wine.
He went to get some glasses.

About a half hour later,
we went to look for him.

And that's when we
found him. Right, fellas?

- Right, right.
- "One half hour."

A half hour.

What do the police say?

Nothing.
Well, nothing official.

Unofficial?

Well, it had to be longer than half
an hour for Fineman to be devoured.

That the old guys made a
mistake, and they're getting senile.

Well, it is an old
people's neighborhood.

Old doesn't have to be synonymous
with senility, Tony. How old are you?

Just imagine. There's
all these old people...

hanging on to whatever
they've got left out of living...

in this-this ghetto with flesh-eating rats
breeding all around them like-like rats.

All right, all right.
Here. Put it on the wire.

But take out
that bleeding heart stuff.

Bleeding hearts? Me?
Where?

Oh, yes. "The tragic death of Julius
Fineman, age ." "Tragic" offends you, huh?

Just make it, "The death
of Julius Fineman, age ."

We don't wanna imply that we're tossing
brickbats at the Sanitation Department...

for malfeasance
or anything like that.

- You're a real crusader, Tony.
- Listen, you've got a good angle there. Just get more of it.

You get some damning facts,
and I'll go with you all the way.

We'll slam anyone
who's responsible.

Really? You're gonna throw
a few brickbats, are you?

Or is that, uh, too rough? Maybe we
can just pelt 'em with some wet biscuits.

Here, maybe
you better sign this.

- What is it?
- Just sign it, Tony.

- I gave Harry a few bucks.
- What for?

Come on, Tony. Just sign it,
will you? It won't do you any harm.

Apart from a pension,
he's got nothing.

Thanks very much, Tony.

You're Richard the Lionhearted,
Patrick Henry and St. Teresa...

all stuffed into one, big,
pin-striped suit.

Manny, send up a corned beef
sandwich lean and a bottle of cream soda.

And fresh pickles this time.

Well, you're working late
tonight, Miss Emily.

I'm helping out
with the advice column.

All these poor people,
such problems.

Look at this.

All those
women hanging around him.

I should have such a problem.
What are you gonna tell him?

Well, I'd hoped you'd
come up with a suggestion.

Me?

Okay. You tell him...

to get his doctor to prescribe a
massive course of hormone treatments.

- And, him, years old.
- Is this your story?

- Yeah, uh-huh.
- Well, may I read it?

Yeah, sure. It's not gonna
help you with that stuff though.

Well, I'll let you in
on a little secret.

I just took this job as a stepping-stone
to what I really want to do.

Which is what?

I'm writing a novel.
A detective novel.

Well, good for you.

I needed experience of life.

I was becoming insulated
in that little place of mine.

And, anyway, down here,
I get to use the typewriters,

and the paper's free.

Well, that's a very good
attitude for a professional writer.

- Madam Emily.
- Good night.

When you're finished with that,
give that to Martha to put on the wire.

If Vincenzo was going to give
me a feature series on Roosevelt Heights,

I'd need more background...
Lots more.

But, right now, I'd had enough. I
was tired, and I wanted to go home.

Maybe if I'd done my job properly and gone
back to Roosevelt Heights that evening,

the Goldsteins
would still be alive.

I didn't understand it.

- What?
- The movie.

What's to understand
movies nowadays?

They take their clothes off.
That's all that matters.

Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson
Eddy, they never took their clothes off.

Neither did we, really.

Never left the lights on either.

Now that I come to think of
it, what would it have hurt?

- Come on, Miriam.
- Well, what would it have hurt?

All that running in and out of the
bathroom, puttin' on our pajamas.

All that ceremony.

Oh, Sol.

What were we so ashamed of?

Come on, Miriam.

Sol, where are you going?

- I'm takin' the shortcut.
- I don't want to.

What's with "I don't want to"? We
always take the shortcut through the alley.

No, that was before
Mr. Fineman d*ed.

So what is that
supposed to mean?

Buck Fineman is gonna pounce
on you fresh from the grave?

You know what I'm talking about.

Mr. Fineman... God rest
his soul... he didn't just die.

He was k*lled by
the same wicked person...

that's doing that
all over the neighborhood.

Those are just kids, Miriam.

Just kids. Kids don't
go around k*lling people.

All right, Mr. Wise Guy. So
what did k*ll Mr. Fineman?

He d*ed. He was pushing .
He was entitled.

- I am not gonna take the shortcut.
- Okay.

So the cocoa will be ready on
the stove when you come home.

Sol?

You're a stubborn man,
Sol Goldstein.

My feet hurt.

Ah.

It's nothin'. Come
on. Come on. Come on.

Don't worry.

Come on.

Good evening, Officer.

Sol, I was so silly.

Someone
called in the middle of the night...

to let me know what had
happened, more or less.

I say more or less because that someone
was too hysterical to make much sense.

But the little that I could glean
made it hard for me to sleep.

Who croaked this time?

b*at it. I'm busy.

Just a name. Come on.

- Goldstein, Mr. and Mrs.
- Mr. and Mrs.

Chewed up like the rest of 'em?

I'm not a quiz show host. For one
thing, they make better money than I do.

Better jokes too.

- Mr. Kolchak?
- Hi, Mr. Starman.

- Why aren't you home in bed?
- Who can sleep in an atmosphere like this?

- Listen, Mr. Kolchak, I know who did it.
- Yeah, sure.

Please, Mr. Kolchak, listen.
I'm tellin' ya. I know who did it.

Mr. Starman, would you do me a
favor? You're right in my picture.

But you don't understand.
I'm the one who called you.

- You what?
- I called you.

Why didn't you
identify yourself?

Didn't I?

Come on, Mr. Starman.
Let's have a talk.

He lives
there. It's his restaurant.

- Who?
- The man who m*rder*d the Goldsteins.

- The Hindu.
- Why would he wanna k*ll the Goldsteins?

He's a n*zi, that's why.

Harry, excuse me, but you usually
don't find Hindu Nazis in any great number.

Look, the Goldsteins
were Jewish, right?

Yeah, well, this is a
Jewish neighborhood, Harry.

Sure, it is. That's why he chalks
up those swastikas all over the place.

Well, how do you know
it's him, Harry?

Look, he moved in here
a couple of months ago...

just after the rats chewed
up old Mrs. Reznik.

And that's when the
swastikas started to appear.

I mean, Mr. Kolchak,

what sort of a nut opens an Indian
restaurant in a Jewish neighborhood?

Me, personally, I'm not too crazy
about kosher chutney. Do you mind?

Yeah, well,
you got a point there.

Sure, he's up to something
bad. I saw him the other night.

He was painting swastikas
all over the door and fence...

back where he lives
in back of the restaurant.

I'm tellin' ya.
He's as crazy as a bedbug.

- He is?
- Who are we talkin' about?

All right, Harry, let's go see.

- So? So? So?
- You'll see. You'll see.

- Yeah?
- Huh?

- Well?
- Here?

Yeah?

Okay.

- Huh? Was I right, or was I right?
- You was right.

- You wanna join me?
- Are you kiddin'?

I can barely climb the
stairs, let alone a fence.

I'll wait here.

Keep your eyes peeled, huh?

Hey, Mr. Kolchak,
how'd you get around there?

I'm not around there.
I'm around here.

Mr. Kolchak!

Rakshasa!

- Well, am I glad to see you guys.
- I'll bet you are.

Okay, Kolchak,
let's have it one more time.

Okay, this will be the fifth
"one more time."

- Oh? You got nothin' better to do, have ya?
- You're kiddin'?

Now, you and Harry
climbed over this fence, right?

I went over,
Harry stayed outside.

- Why?
- Why what?

Why did Harry stay outside?

He was an old man. His
fence-climbing days are over.

Maybe he was afraid of you.

Maybe you oughta have
your marbles examined.

Oh, boy.
I love a wise guy.

Okay, keep goin', Kolchak.

Well, let's see. I dropped
down over the fence.

He was back there. I moved out
a little and took a couple pictures.

And then I heard him
scream.

- What's going on here?
- Police business, that's what.

Are you up to it again, Prodman?

Weren't you reprimanded for
getting a little rough a few years ago?

- Who, me?
- You all right, Carl?

He was just giving
testimony. Tell him, Kolchak.

No, that's right, Tony. No,
just like the officer says.

I'm surprised at you guys.

Surprised and very disappointed.

- Hey, am I out, Tony?
- Yes, you're out.

Now, let's see here.

You are Prodman. And you're a new
face around here. What's your name?

- Come on!
- What's your name?

- Thomas.
- Thomas. Thank you very much.

Reading between
the lines of all the police hassling,

their message came through.

Poor Harry had d*ed of natural causes, and
then been stripped of his flesh by rats.

That theory had been passable
in the case of Buck Fineman,

specious in the case
of the Goldsteins,

and, now, in the case of Harry
Starman, just too hard to swallow.

After all, I had been there.

I knew that Harry had been
devoured in the short time it takes me...

to click off
a couple of snapshots.

Mr. Rivas?

Frank, you remember me?
Carl Kolchak, I.N.S.?

I.N.S. You fumigated our
offices last January for roaches.

Oh, yes, I remember you.

You still leavin' those half-eaten doughnuts
and bagel crumbs all over your desk?

Ain't much any exterminator can do for
you, you keep up that kind of behavior.

- I don't eat bagels. Vincenzo eats bagels.
- Oh, yes, you did.

Listen, is there somethin'
I can do to help ya?

- Quickly. I don't even have time to break for lunch.
- Yeah, okay.

Now, your typical urban rat... How
long does it take a pack of them...

to, uh, destroy a
good-sized carcass of beef?

- I've worked in some of your big packin' houses.
- Yeah.

Sometimes, a pack of brown rats will strip
a whole beef carcass in minutes flat.

- Twelve minutes.
- Then again, sometimes the joke's on them.

They get caught
in the grindin' machinery.

Listen, you're getting spray all
over your sandwich. Uh, poison?

Oh, what difference
does it make?

It's all loaded with chemicals
and preservatives anyway.

Twelve minutes for a steer, huh? How
about one minute for a human-sized carcass?

Oh, if they're deprived of their
normal food, they can do wonders.

But one minute?

I think you're getting into
the piranha category.

It just don't seem feasible.

Thank you, and bon appétit.

Here you go, sahib.

- Mah-gum-bakh.
- Mah-gum...

Bakh.

- What is it?
- Beef curry.

- Beef curry?
- Mm-hmm.

Well...

Yes, it looks like curry,
but I don't see much beef.

Well, it's not, uh, bad.

Wait'll it starts doing the flaming
sword dance in your colon.

Shalom.

Sit down.

- You get many customers in here?
- Are you kidding?

In this neighborhood, if it's not
chicken soup and matzo balls, forget it.

Mm-hmm. That's what I heard. That's
strange, him opening a place like this.

It's crazy.
But he's like that.

Let me tell you something.

I saw him talkin' to one of these
old neighborhood guys, right?

You know what he asks?
He asks,

does the old guy ever see any of his friends
or relatives hangin' around at night?

Well, the old guy tells him all
his friends and relatives are dead.

So do you know
what the boss says?

The boss says, it doesn't make
any difference if they're dead or not.

Does he see them?
Now, that's crazy, right?

Well... Is he at home?

He's never home. If you saw
where he lived, you wouldn't ask why.

Do you ever hear your boss talk about something
like "Rakoosha" or "Rakaka" or "Raka-something"?

Uh-uh.

The only thing he's ever
talked to me about...

is to wash my hands before
I serve the food to people.

- That's considerate.
- Why? Why all the questions?

Well, I've only got one more,
really. Where's the bathroom?

The curry's getting to you
already, huh?

- It's out back, sahib.
- Out back.

Thank you.

Uh, Carl? Carl.

- Yeah?
- Carl, just recently, you were making some big noises...

about a series on the plight of the
old folks down at Roosevelt Heights.

- Uh-huh.
- I haven't seen one written word about it yet.

Oh, I was doing it
tonight, Tony.

Something very weird is going
on. It's coming together very oddly.

- You're dripping on my desk.
- Oh, yes.

Well, look here. See?

Oh, that's a national disgrace, a man that
age having to eke out a living as a busboy.

No, no, those are East Indian clothes,
Tony. He tried to k*ll me with a crossbow.

- A crossbow?
- Yeah.

Look, this is where
he lives, see?

- See those swastikas on the wall?
- Wait a minute. A crossbow?

Yeah, for cryin' out loud.
A crossbow.

Look, see there, right in
his hand? It's kind of blurry,

but you can sort of make it out
if you squint your eyes a little bit.

A crossbow and swastikas, and
he lives in Roosevelt Heights?

Yeah, that's right. Listen,
I've been doing a little reading.

Apparently, the Nazis did not
invent the swastika. It's a Hindu sign.

It's very old, used
to ward off evil spirits.

- Ward off evil spirits?
- That's right.

You know, in the year , the
Saxons lost the Battle of Hastings...

because their crossbows were no match for the
Norman longbows in terms of range and accuracy.

In that way, two disparate
cultures were melded.

You know, Ron,
in your own quiet way,

you're...

Well, thank you.
Thank you very much, Ron.

His non sequiturs are gonna
drive me into a state institution.

Tony, I heard this man say something about
a "bakusha" or a "monaksha" or something.

Have you ever heard
of anything like that?

No, and I don't
really care, Carl.

- Uh-huh.
- I'm just gonna finish some work, and then I'm going home.

Suddenly, I'm very tired.
You're dripping on my desk again.

Indians,
swastikas, Norman conquest.

Am I supposed to see
God's design in all this?

March , : a.m.

Officers York and Boxman, th
Precinct, making their normal rounds.

They'd been told to keep an extra lookout
since the events of the past couple of days.

It would have been better
for them if they hadn't.

Oh! What's the time?

It's only :.

- It's gonna be another long night.
- Mmm.

Well, let's roll.

What are you stoppin' for?

I thought I saw somebody
run into that alley.

- Where? Down there?
- Yeah.

- I don't see a thing.
- I could've sworn I saw something.

All right, you win.
I'll take a look.

Tomorrow night,
I'mdriving all night long.

Okay.

Hey!

Hey, you, in there!

- What'd you see?
- There's somebody creeping around in there.

Sergeant Da Vito. I thought
he was in the hospital.

- Mom?
- What did you say?

That's my mom out there.

What do you mean, your
mother? That's Sergeant Da Vito.

Sarge, just stay back.

Sarge, just stay back. Don't
come... Don't come any closer.

Sarge, don't come any closer!

This is one of my
most prized possessions.

I doubt seriously you'll find...

a better third century rendering of
the goddess Kali anywhere in the world.

I always like to say...

the third century is when
the cult of Kali flowered.

Cauliflower. Vegetable.

Um, I'll be with you
straightaway.

Excuse me, will you?
Feel free to browse.

Oh, Mr. Marriot-Lane. My name
is Carl Kolchak. I'm with the I.N.S.,

and you, sir, are the foremost
expert on East Indian arts.

And I have a few questions
for you.

It's Lane-Marriot,
not Marriot-Lane.

Yeah, certainly, certainly.
Now, let me see what I can do...

about not putting the cart
before the ox.

Now, I'm trying to find out something about
a creature named "Raka," "Rakashoshe,"

"Rakalaki," "Raka"...
something I didn't hear too well.

There are a plethora of Indian
words beginning with those syllables.

Well, this "Rak" takes
pleasure in eating human flesh.

- You're talking about the Rakshasa.
- That's it! That's it.

Well, that's all right. Don't worry about
me. I don't have to be back at the office.

No, go on. Give me the
poop about this Rakshasa.

Well, the Rakshasa
is the disciple of Ravana...

Ravana, whose deeds were so horrible, he
stopped the sun and the moon in their course.

I had a date with a girl in
college just like that once.

Mr. Kolchak,
I value my time.

If it's your intention merely to be
a music hall wag, please state so.

No, no. I was just
trying to ease the tension,

and I noticed that you were a man
who appreciated a good joke over there.

I mean, uh, cauliflower?

Well, yes, now and again.

Well, go on. Go on.

Well, a Rakshasa
is an evil spirit...

who can possess a man's mind...

and delights in the
consumption of human flesh.

Really? Well, I had a
run-in with an old Indian.

Maybe he was a Pakistani, I don't know.
Anyway, he tried to k*ll me with a crossbow.

Now, is it possible
that he's a Rakshasa?

Think, man! Think!
I just told you.

A Rakshasa is a spirit,
a myth. They're not real.

However, a crossbow is the
method prescribed in legend...

by which one may destroy
a Rakshasa...

with arrows blessed by
the divine Brahma himself.

Well, then this old man was trying
to k*ll a Rakshasa, or thought he was.

Why would he take a sh*t at me?

The chap's actions seem
understandable to me somehow.

You do enjoy a good joke.

So that's all the
Rakshasa are after, huh?

Eating people?

After Ravana, their leader,
was k*lled,

the Rakshasa
lived on leaderless.

They drifted
into a timeless limbo...

where, according to legend,
they sent emissaries...

into the living world to
see if the time is right...

To see if the time is right for their
reappearance on the face of the Earth.

When is that?

When the world has slipped
to the edge of the abyss.

- Uh-huh.
- Mistrust, decadence.

- Mm-hmm.
- Moral decline.

I see!
In other words,

they might be getting their
marching orders right now.

Now, you really mustexcuse me.

Yes, yes. Well, I'll
just hang around here.

Say, my boss might like this
as a paperweight.

How much you gettin' for it?

$,.

Oh.

Well, come to think of it, he's got a
sentimental attachment to the one he's got.

It's a little round ball
with a little cottage inside.

You shake it up,
and snow falls on it.

Did-Did you ever see
Citizen Kane?

Yes! Yes.

Take a look at that hanging
over there. You may find it of use.

Thank you.

Oh, yes.
I remember her well.

- Tony?
- Yeah?

- This is it, huh?
- Yeah, yeah.

The story that starts out with the rodent
problems of the lower-income old folks,

and then generates into this
drivel about some evil spirit...

that comes from New Delhi and
makes sandwiches out of people?

It's a Hindu spirit. It's got
nothing to do with New Delhi.

Who also appears to his
victims as Carl Kolchak,

but actually looks like
Bongo the Chimp with fangs.

He only appeared to
Harry Starman as me, Tony.

Why don't you read
the thing thoroughly?

The Rakshasa have magical powers.
They seduce the victim to death...

by taking on the image of
someone the victim trusts.

- And poor Harry Starman... he trusted you?
- Well...

Obviously, he never had to depend
on you to come up with a cogent story,

something that'll turn a profit.

You gotta put this story
on the wire now!

If only one paper picks it up and prints
it, some butchery may be prevented.

Put this on the wire? Put myself up for
ridicule? Put myself on unemployment?

Well, think about it a moment, Tony.
Just think about it. Consider the logic.

Before Harry d*ed, he called
my name. He thought he saw me.

Now, that young cop... What's
his name? York. The scuttlebutt is...

- Scuttlebutt?
- The-The rumor is...

that he believes
he saw Sergeant Da Vito,

a guy who's been a father
figure to him all his life.

And Da Vito was on sick
leave because of a coronary.

Oh, he just wigged out because
he saw his partner get hurt.

Well, what did happen to his partner? Eaten
by rats while York stood by and watched?

Come on. Listen, it's the
way the Rakshasa works.

He plucks images from the brains
of those he wants to slaughter,

someone he knows
that they can trust.

Even if the papers
print it as a joke,

it might make sense to some of those
old people, worry them into being careful.

Sure, it would make sense
to them. They're senile!

Just a minute!

You may be my employer, but you're walking
on eggs when you talk that way, buster.

I'm sorry,
but this is a little too much.

Come on, Tony. Will you do
it? Put it on the wire, will ya?

As far as I'm concerned,
it's bedtime for Bonzo!

Vincenzo, what...
Where are you going?

- That's none of your concern.
- Vincenzo, come back here!

Chicken.

That's where I get
all my stories.

All I've been able
to get out of him is that...

he's going to the doctor
for some sh*ts.

Mm-hmm. Yeah, well, I'd like
to give him a sh*t in the head.

That's what I'd like to do.

Great Brahma,
creator of all creatures,

to you I commend
my unworthy soul.

Sir? No, no, no.
Wait, wait.

I'm not the Rakshasa. I'm
the Kolchak. Carl Kolchak.

Please. Please, I wish
to apologize for last night.

I thought you were...

- The Rakshasa.
- Yes. I'm sorry.

I never thought I would
be old, but look at me now.

My eyes don't serve me,
my hands betray me,

and my courage
is as shaky as my body.

That is why I fired at you.

You're very ill. It looks
like you've got a fever.

Listen, I've got a car outside.
Let me take you to the hospital.

No, no. I have to remain here
and try to complete my task.

- Hunting the Rakshasa?
- Yes.

I am a servant of Brahma.
I must do my duty.

For years now,
I have roamed the world...

seeking and destroying the
Rakshasa wherever they appear.

- Have you ever gotten any?
- Oh, yes.

Yes, indeed. A few.

Sixty years?
How old are you?

I'm nearly .

But I'm afraid I've
destroyed my last Rakshasa.

All I can hope for is to pass
on arrows to another of my kind.

Here in Chicago?

To combat the Rakshasa,
one must be clear of mind.

But, most of all, honest
and brave. Per-Perhaps you.

You'd best go home.

You need a doctor.
I'll bring my car around.

No, no, no. Please, go home.
It's dangerous here for you.

The Rakshasa knows I'm helpless.

I can sense him lurking nearby,

waiting to strike...

like the spineless cowards
they all are.

Easy, Pop. Easy. Now, I'll
find a way to take care of you.

Please, please, remove yourself from here.

And take these with you, should
you have to defend yourself.

- Uh...
- Please.

- But, uh...
- No, take them.

They're blessed. Don't
let yourself be fooled.

He will present himself to you
as someone you know and trust.

But you must sh**t... sh**t...

Or your flesh
will be ripped apart.

Well, I got one problem, Pop.

There isn't anyone that I trust.

Don't be fooled!

His power is that he can find a
person and deceive you. Go home.

Don't come back. You'll
be ripped as if by mad dogs.

Stop.
Don't you come nearer.

Emily?

Emily, what are you doing here?

- You answer me.
- Well, I just had to follow you.

You know all about
the haunts of criminals,

and I wanted to have some
real-life research for my novel.

Well, I don't care
about your novel.

Now, if you don't stop right
there, I'm gonna have to sh**t you.

Oh, Carl!

I just wanted to experience
a case for myself.

Put down that bow.
You're scaring me.

Well, then you stop walking.

Carl...

Now, I mean it, Em...
Emily, I really mean it.

I'm frightened
down in this bad place.

Emily?

Geez.

I'd like to have told Miss Emily that
the Rakshasa appeared to me as her.

According to the legend,
it meant that I trusted her.

But then I would have also had to tell her
that I sh*t a steel arrow straight into her.

I don't think she would've
appreciated that.

But in the final analysis,
what's the difference?

As long as we all trust each other,
why should anyone's feelings be bruised?

Why, Miss Emily! You look
absolutely gorgeous!

Why, thank you.
I have an appointment.

Really?
Business or pleasure?

Uh, business.

Mrs. Cowles,
I'm Mr. Cartwright.

- Oh, Mr. Cartwright.
- How do you do?

Mr. Cartwright, Mr. Kolchak.

- How do you do, sir?
- My pleasure.

It must be very nice working
with such a great lady. Allow me.

She gives the best advice,
even medical advice.

- Oh, I'm sure.
- She's right on the button.

Yes. Yes, I...

Mr. Cartwright.

Hormones!
Mr. Cartwright... Good luck, Emily!

Thank you.

Let's see.
Where was I?

Yes.

And if you happen to be walking
along a lonely country road one night...

and you see your favorite
aunt coming toward you,

good luck to you too.