Kolchak: The Night Stalker (1974) s01e11 Episode Script
Horror in the Heights
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 25 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 14, 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, theyjust 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 50 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, 72 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 card player and had been known to lose as much as 75 cents in a single evening.
Also his part-timejob 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 decentJewish 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 ofJulius Fineman, age 72.
" "Tragic" offends you, huh? Just make it, "The death ofJulius Fineman, age 72.
" 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, 73 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 steppingstone 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 oflife.
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 myjob 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 died.
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 killed 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 killing people.
All right, Mr.
Wise Guy.
So what did kill Mr.
Fineman? He died.
He was pushing 80.
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? Beat 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 murdered the Goldsteins.
The Hindu.
Why would he wanna kill the Goldsteins? He's a Nazi, that's why.
Harry, excuse me, but you usually don't find Hindu Nazis in any great number.
Look, the Goldsteins wereJewish, 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 died of natural causes, and then been stripped ofhis 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 lastJanuary 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 12 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 appetit.
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 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 kill 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 1066, 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 3, 12:15 a.
m.
Officers York and Boxman, 12th Precinct, making their normal runs.
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 2:30.
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'm driving 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 who was 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 kill 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 kill a Rakshasa, or thought he was.
Why would he take a shot 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 killed, 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 must excuse 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? $3,750.
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 dribble 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 more, Tony.
Just think about it.
Consider the logic.
Before Harry died, 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, this is 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 shots.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah, well, I'd like to give him a shot 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 60 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 80.
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 come at 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 shoot- shoot- 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 ifby 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 shoot 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 shot 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.
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 25 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 14, 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, theyjust 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 50 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, 72 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 card player and had been known to lose as much as 75 cents in a single evening.
Also his part-timejob 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 decentJewish 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 ofJulius Fineman, age 72.
" "Tragic" offends you, huh? Just make it, "The death ofJulius Fineman, age 72.
" 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, 73 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 steppingstone 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 oflife.
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 myjob 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 died.
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 killed 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 killing people.
All right, Mr.
Wise Guy.
So what did kill Mr.
Fineman? He died.
He was pushing 80.
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? Beat 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 murdered the Goldsteins.
The Hindu.
Why would he wanna kill the Goldsteins? He's a Nazi, that's why.
Harry, excuse me, but you usually don't find Hindu Nazis in any great number.
Look, the Goldsteins wereJewish, 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 died of natural causes, and then been stripped ofhis 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 lastJanuary 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 12 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 appetit.
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 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 kill 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 1066, 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 3, 12:15 a.
m.
Officers York and Boxman, 12th Precinct, making their normal runs.
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 2:30.
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'm driving 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 who was 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 kill 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 kill a Rakshasa, or thought he was.
Why would he take a shot 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 killed, 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 must excuse 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? $3,750.
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 dribble 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 more, Tony.
Just think about it.
Consider the logic.
Before Harry died, 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, this is 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 shots.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah, well, I'd like to give him a shot 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 60 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 80.
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 come at 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 shoot- shoot- 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 ifby 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 shoot 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 shot 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.