All language subtitles for Kolchak.The.Night.Stalker.S01E15.720p.BluRay.x264-GalaxyTV_track3_[eng]

The teenage years...

Sixteen candles,
fervent passions,

aimless joyrides and the
forbidden taste of beer.

A time the world allows
for sowing one's wild oats.

But for some individuals | came to
know in the summer of their discontent,

it had been a time when they had
sown the seeds of their own destruction.

Chicago's outskirts, April 5.

The Cook County Warehouse
and Impound Yard.

It had been the center
of considerable controversy.

One of Chicago's largest cemeteries,
the Hills of Lethe,

had been sold to a real estate developer
who was going to erect condominiums.

The former occupants of
Hills of Lethe had to be moved.

In spite of the care that was taken,
there were some mistakes and oversights.

In one case,
the oversight was very small,

but it blossomed
into a flower of evil.

10:45 p.m. Mrs. Rita Baker,
widowed, age 62,

had lived a hard,
spare life and had become a hopeless insomniac.

But on the night of February 5,
she had managed to doze off for a while.

When police arrived,

they agreed the 1956
model B.S.A. motorcycle

had been stolen.

The police never did answer
how a 20-year-old motorcycle,

rusted and long since
drained of gas and oil,

had roared out into
the chill Cicero night.

April 6. Near the Great
Lakes Naval Station.

Joseph Morton, 36,
would have liked an answer to the question

the police brushed aside.

Joe probably could have provided
some of the information too,

because the event also
had a place in his past.

Joe could have provided some
answers if he had survived the day.

Joe!

Joe, move it!

No!

Unit Mike-Niner-Niner.
A 219 at Domino Cab Company.

2287 Valencia.

The guy had no head.

Excuse me.

Then he... he...
Then he came at Joe.

Who gave you permission to come into the garage,
Kolchak?

The founding fathers
of this great republic,

who set forth some 200 years
ago in Philadelphia...

That's in Pennsylvania, son...

The fact that the people
of the United States

could have a free, open
and unfettered press.

- Oh, spare me.
- | heard about the homicide on the radio.

- Give me the details, Lieutenant.
- Captain.

- Captain? Really? Since when?
- Mm-hmm.

Right before Christmas. | put Reuben
Estevez in the joint for 30. No chance of parole.

Really? Well, that's terrific. Deck
the halls. Congratulations, Captain.

From now on,
things are gonna be a little different, Kolchak.

For too many years, I've seen how my
predecessors have handled you press boys.

- Oh?
- All wrong.

There'll be no pictures until
| say so, for one thing.

- What?
- | saw you flashing over there a few minutes ago.

- You can't get me on that rap.
- Give me the film, Kolchak!

Listen, this is the way
| make my living.

This is part and parcel of
the free flow of information.

Give me the film.

You realize, of course,
that this goes directly against

the First and the Fourth
Amendment. The...

| forgot to load the camera.

You know,
|... |do that more and more as | grow older.

Fortunately for all of us, Kolchak,
you're your own worst enemy.

- Oh, you think that's funny, huh?
- Yes.

It was horrible. The
whole head... it was gone.

Head gone?
Was the victim beheaded?

Don't mess with me, Kolchak.

I'm the youngest captain on the force,
and I'm going to be the best.

| believe that. | believe that. If
you don't die from hypertension first.

Learn to relax, will ya?

Did the killer ride a motorcycle,
a motorbike?

- No comment.
- Thank you. Did you get a make on it?

The founding fathers didn't give you permission
to park at the scene of an investigation.

- You st...
- | told you things would be different.

Hey, wait a minute!
Wait a minute!

Okay. Let's see if we can
make some sense of this now.

Well, if it isn't the third runner-up in
the "Spike Jones Dress-alike Contest."

And a fond hello to you too,
Neil. Joe Morton, cabdriver.

First, let's not forget
my scholarship fund.

- You still want to be a beautician, huh?
- Mm-hmm.

Won't it give your customers the creeps knowing
what those clammy hands of yours have touched?

My hands aren't clammy.

For a routine homicide, Jonas has this
thing sealed up like a Japanese imperial code.

Was Morton
by any chance beheaded?

Yes. And you could use
a good trim yourself.

Come on. Come on.
Open up the icebox.

Eh, Morton, Morton, Morton.

Here.

Out we come.

- Oh, boy.
- Want my expert opinion?

- Yeah.
- Asword did that.

A sword? Come on. It
looks like a surgical incision.

That's cleaner,
better than most of the work we do here.

Hmm.

Boy, look at Morton's hair.
Look at that oil.

The only thing missing
is the croutons.

Uh, Kolchak, don't you want to hear
about Mr. Morton's bulletproof vest?

What bulletproof vest?
He was a cabdriver.

What was he driving on?
The Ho Chi Minh Trail?

Cabbies get held up a lot. It
makes sense. But that's not the point.

- What is the point?
- The point is the high cost of education.

- I'm gonna end up putting you through university.
- That's not a bad idea.

Personal effects.

Mr. Morton was struck in the back
before he caught the decapitating blow.

- That chopped his head off with a sword.
- Mm-hmm.

- Want some more of my expert opinion?
- Yeah.

Try a wet razor cut
with a blow dry,

and a good shampoo with nucleic acids,
maybe celery concentrate.

- Your hair will look marvelous.
- What? Are you crazy?

I'll do it for you myself.

- Come on, Kolchak.
- Oh, thank you, Neil.

Kolchak!

Now, what were we talking about?

Um...

Oh,
we're talking about that little doll over here.

No, long before we started
talking about this little doll,

we were talking about
these motorcycle tracks.

- What kind of a tire made those tracks?
- Oh, let me see.

That's a Johansen Road Monarch,

5.60 by 18.

Yes. Now, here's...
Here's a model,

an N.B.H. model 80,
made in Germany.

Very, very conservative. Just the
thing for a journalist like yourself.

Yeah, well...

Mr. Bresson,
on what kind of bike would | find these tires?

Now, hold on,
Mr. Kolchak, will you?

Now, you're a reporter, and your
function in life is to ask questions, right?

- That's right.
- Well, since I'm a motorcycle dealer,

isn't it fair that it's my function
in life to sell you a motorcycle,

especially since
| own this store?

- Absolutely right, Mr. Bresson! Absolutely right.
- Yeah.

Now can you answer
my questions first?

You'd find those tires
on an antique bike.

They haven't made those tires
in over 20 years.

The Johansen Tire Company
went down the tubes.

That's a joke, isn't it?
Yeah, a motorcycle.

You are serious, aren't you?
Come on, this isn't an old tire.

It's brand-new.
It's in perfect shape.

| Know. It's cherry.
But I'm telling you the fact.

Those tires were made for
the old B.S.A... the "Beezers."

And not one has hit
the asphalt since the '50s.

That tire was very popular with the bike
gangs when Ike was in the White House.

What, 20 years ago?

The Jokers and the Bishops... they
were the two outlaw biking clubs.

They... They were the best. But
| don't think they exist anymore.

Now, this Matsuda is just
the bike for you, sir.

Jokers and the Bishops?

Matsuda made planes
during the war.

Made good ones.

| was a Navy flyer.

It just so happens that | was
shot down in flames over Tarawa

by a Matsuda 140 Tiger Shark.

| was in the V.A.
for a year. I...

| couldn't walk.

But they make darn good bikes.

Forgive and forget.

Yes, of course. Certainly.
Listen. I'll, uh, come back.

We can talk about me buying a bike
maybe with some training wheels, all right?

April 6, 8:45 p.m.

Studs Spake,
real name, Henry Barlow Spake,

was making a halfhearted
attempt at earning an honest living.

Within minutes,
his only concern became living, period.

Yeah, | got it fixed.
Yeah, I'm knocking off now.

- So, how's it going, Emily?
- No luck so far.

Nothing yet, huh?

All right. Well...
What are you doin' here?

You should be in the
hospital with your ulcer.

| can't stay away any longer,
Carl. I've got responsibilities.

Responsibilities?
Did the doctor let you out?

Yeah. But the diet he
gave me is... is the worst part.

Oh?

- Oh, bland and gooey. | gotta take this stuff.
- Yeah?

What is it? Magnesium suspension,
mint flavored.

Yeah. Tastes like eggnog

mixed with, uh, toothpaste
and billiard chalk.

It's for your own good.

Oh-ho, that's very original.

Tony... Tony... Tony,
do you really think you oughta be back to work?

Yeah. Yeah,
all | have to do is

take it easy and go easy
on the workload,

- and sort of ease into things, that's all.
- Uh-huh.

Now what is it
you're working on?

You don't wanna know about the news,
Tony. It's always grim.

- No, no, no. Come on...
- No, no, no, really.

Why don't you stick to your
managerial duties for a while?

No, come on. Whip it on me,
like the kids say.

- Come on, Carl.
- Tony, if | tell you, you're gonna get upset.

- Your ulcer's gonna get all churned up again.
- The news is my business.

| have to know
what you're working on.

You're gonna get angry.
You're gonna get mad.

Carl!

Okay. I'm still on the murder |
mentioned on the telephone. The cabdriver.

- You're still on that same thing? Carl...
- D-Don't...

Carl, do you really think
it's that important?

| mean, it seems like a routine homicide
to me. Of course, that's only my opinion.

But if you tell me
otherwise, fine.

Okay.

Joe Morton was wearing
a bulletproof vest.

It got cut into shredded
wheat by a sword.

That's interesting. Velocity of
force of attack by motorcycle.

- It's grim. It's real. | like it.
- You do?

- Yeah.
- That's just it, Tony. It-It's not real.

It isn't?

| checked it out with the crash
experts at the highway department,

and it's virtually impossible
for someone swinging a sword

to inflict that kind of damage,
no matter how fast the bike was going.

Oh, | see.

Wait a minute. | think |
like that angle even better.

"Police Take Spill
on Motorcycle Murder,

Release incorrect
Cause of Death."

Carl, when you're good,
you're very good.

No, no, no. Wait, wait,
Tony. That's just the point.

It was a motorcycle,
and it was a sword. Yeah.

You see, but that kind of bike
hasn't been seen on this earth,

for the last 20 years,
two decades.

And whoever, or whatever,
it was that swung that sword

would have had to have had...

Well, let's face it,
superhuman strength.

Where are you going, Tony?

Uh, Tony, listen, don't overdo it.
You'd better follow the prescription.

Really! You're gonna make
yourself sick on that stuff.

Oh, something else, Tony. An eyewitness
named Norman Kahill, a taxi dispatcher.

Well, nobody can find him
apparently.

Emily and | have been
working on it around the clock.

Now, why have the police
sequestered Kahill, huh?

- Why?
- | give up. Don't keep me in suspense.

- Or suspension, right?
I'm sorry, Tony.

- I'm sorry.
- Well, I've located Kahill.

Oh, you did? Oh,
you are an angel. You are Sherlock Holmes.

- It wasn't easy. A friend of mine... a nurse...
- Uh-huh.

Says that he's been consigned to Mercy
General's psychiatric ward, Room 312.

Uh-huh. Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Psychiatric ward. You see,
Tony?

That dispatcher saw something!

Yeah, when you see this cab dispatcher,
tell him to dispatch one here.

‘Cause I'm ready to go home.

Oh.

- Sir? Sir, where are you going?
- Oh, it's perfectly all right, Nurse.

You see, I'm the official police sketch
artist. My name's Van Dam, Carl Van Dam.

Well, just a moment...

No relationship to Van Gogh. You see |
have no deficiency in the ear department.

Captain Jonas cleared it
with your boss.

All | have to do is go in
and talk to Mr. Kahill,

- and he's gonna describe everything that he saw.
- May... May...

- May | see your credentials?
- Look at that bone structure.

As a matter of fact,
look in that direction.

Look at that profile.
Look at the skin texture.

Look at the chiaroscuro,
even under these dreadful florescent lights.

Look at the... Look at the time.

We'll talk about a sitting when I'm finished
with Mr. Kahill. You can come to my garret.

Well... Hmm.

It's about time
you got here, Uncle Ned.

- I'm terribly sorry | was late, nephew.
- Well, you should be.

Look! Look! That spider's
gonna drop on you.

That was no spider!
That was my wife!

Yeah, I... | can understand that.

Uh, Mr. Kahill,
my name is Carl Kolchak.

I'm with the Independent News
Service. | was at the garage yesterday.

- Did you see it?
- No, no, | didn't.

But you did. | wish
you'd tell me about it.

A headless motorcycle rider
swinging a sword.

But nobody'll believe me.
I'm as Sane as you are.

|... | believe you.
| believe you.

Now just think carefully.

Are you sure it wasn't the lights or the
speed of whatever it was that happened

that makes you think
the way you do?

All right. Go ahead. Go ahead.
Treat me like a nut. Everybody does.

| am sane. | am lucid. | am as
clearheaded as Walter Cronkite!

| Know. | know. | believe you. Really,
| do.

Now if you saw
what you say you saw,

you won't find anybody
more interested in it than | am.

But let's go through it very carefully,
point by point, and get all of our facts straight.

All right.

This guy... This... This thing went
after Joe Morton and killed him.

He was riding the same kind of bike
that Joe Morton used to ride years ago.

He told us about it.

- Wait. You mean Joe Morton was a bike rider?
- Yeah.

- When?
- Ohh...

Was he a member of a bike club?

Mr. Van Gogh,

go!

- See ya later.
- You stepped on my wife!

Save the wear and tear
on my ears.

I'm releasing no information
on the Morton homicide, period.

Okay.

Understood. | just wanted to find out
if you'd notified the board of directors.

- What board of directors?
- Morton Mining and Manufacture.

You're not kidding.
You don't know.

You don't know that Joseph Morton is
an heir to that whole copper dynasty?

What?

Oh, boy. Oh, boy.

Well, | got an inside tip,
and | had our financial editor check it out.

And it's true. Joseph
Morton was in line to inherit

the whole entire
Morton's Holding Company.

About 10, 12 corporations
out in Kanab, Utah.

That loser wasn't about to inherit
anything but a cabdriver's fat behind.

He was a young punk from Cicero,
had a yellow sheet as long as your arm.

A nobody.

He was worth eight million
bucks! That's somebody.

Morton ran away from home when he was
about 14 years old, lived with a couple in Cicero.

But the Morton family knew
where he was all the time.

And they let him join the
Jokers? A punk bike gang?

Boozing? Girls?
Breaking store windows, huh?

In 1956 alone, Morton
was busted nine times.

Drunk and disorderly. Aggravated
assault. Grand theft auto.

- Copper heir, my Yankee.
- Okay. All right.

Captain Jonas,
you'd just better check it out for yourself.

| mean, it's your neck. They're old
money there. Society people involved.

Sit down.

Henry Spake, a.k.a. Studs, head of the Jokers,
stabbed a gym teacher at 16.

That was Morton's best friend.
Spake is still a biker, even worse now.

He runs the Devil's Advocates.
Loves to run tour buses off the road.

Is that the kind of society chum the
Morton family picked for their son? Huh?

- You're pathetic.
- Who knows about families these days?

| don't know anything about
it. Joe and... and his father,

Old Man Morton, J.J., had
irreconcilable differences.

But, uh, Mrs. Morton, Joe's mother,
Glenda, loved the boy,

and kept sending him money
surreptitiously year after year after year

until last, uh... until she died.

- It was about, uh...
- Mm-hmm.

Yeah, late last year.

And Mom let him marry Lila Polito,
huh? A high school dropout.

Lila and her sister Coral used to ride
with the Jokers. Real debutantes, those two.

Well, Lila | knew about.
But not Debbie.

- Coral.
- Coral. Coral.

You know, you really got
a lot of information there.

- You've really done your homework.
- | don't miss much.

No, you don't. We're a lot alike,
Captain. We really oughta work together.

This, uh... This Morton Mining
thing is really gonna put me

into the A-number-one
position in the paper.

It's gonna do terrific
things for my career.

As for you and the department here,
it's gonna be sensational for you.

| hope you realize that.

You realize this...
| never work with the press.

And the question of Joe Morton
is not open to outside investigation!

You get no help
from this office!

I'm just trying
to benefit us both.

Out! And take your
riches-to-rags nonsense with you.

Oh, that's the thanks | get for
trying to help. Out! Out, huh?

- Yeah!
- Out! Out!

All right. Take it easy, huh?

Don't worry about nothing.
I'm gonna take care of it.

Come on.

- Oh, | beg your pardon. Excuse me. I'm sorry.
- Yeah.

Oh... Uh... Uh...
Uh, Mr... Mr. Spake?

May we speak?

- Uh...
- How'd you know my name?

Well, it's... it's embroidered
right there on your... on your, uh...

Uh, tunic.

It says Studs. It doesn't
say nothin’ about Mr. Spake.

Oh, no.

But | knew who you were.
You're very famous.

- Oh, yeah?
- Yeah. Yeah. My... My name's Kolchak. | make...

- | make documentaries.
- Documentaries?

Yeah. Yeah. | made...
| made one about the Angels.

You may have seen one | made
about the Washington Airplane.

Now, wait a minute.
You mean the Jefferson Airplane.

Studs! Shh!

No, | mean
the Washington Airplane.

Yeah, you see, I... | made a...
A short film about, uh...

Uh, field bikes, you know.

And | screened it on a, uh... on a... on
a... an airplane flight to Washington, D.C.

- Oh, yeah.
- Washington airplane.

Studs used to fly to Washington all the
time. He was Secretary of Rock and Roll.

That's right. You know,
a-and | never did see any of your flicks.

Oh, well, | don't blame you.
It was really very poorly cut.

- So are you.
- We can make some alterations.

We could take in
your ears a little.

Uh, just back off. You too,
Snow White. I'm not in the mood.

Rah, rah, rah.

- Uh, Mr. Spake, and...
- Shh!

- Mr. Spake... M-Mr. White. White?
- Yeah.

What... What I'd like to do,
you see, is to, um...

Is... is to make a film
showing the contrast

between bike clubs of today
and bike clubs of the '50s, you see.

Now... Now, uh, Joe Morton was a friend of yours,
and he gave up on bikes.

Oh, he gave up on everything,
for a potbelly and a TV set.

He got old.
He's very off-the-wall.

They all get old. Old men.

- Shut up, will ya?
- Uh, gentlemen...

Uh, Mr. Morton... Joe...

Was killed by someone riding a,
uh, a... a bike, a 20-year-old bike.

Now | find that very interesting... filmically,
that is.

- Hmm? You... You want some interesting shots?
- Y-Yeah.

You should have filmed
the old geek here last night.

- Shh! Shh!
- Okay, I'm sorry.

See, he was a very naughty boy
when he was a kid.

So, now he's going all wiggy about
seeing goblins that don't stay buried.

Just today, he goes,
"Gaga, gaga, gaga."

And he makes us come out to this old
cemetery with him. | think he's a fraidycat.

- Oh?
- He buried something out there he shouldn't have,

a long time ago.

- Shut up.
- But all the big man found was an open hole.

All the stiffs had moved
to a warehouse.

- Shh!
- Goblins and ghouls! Goblins and...

Stop it! You guys,
get out of here!

Studs, if you can't keep your
friends quiet get out of here!

I'm gonna call the cops if you
don't stop! I'm gonna call the cops!

Studs.

I-I-I'm sorry, Lila.

| mean, | don't mean no disrespect
for your old man. He was okay.

| mean,
nobody ever understood Buddy Holly like he did.

"Buddy Holly." Get out of here. Get out of here,
Studs.

Leave me alone.

I'm sorry. You know, they
were always bums, right?

Uh, Mrs. Morton?

My name's Carl Kolchak. I'm with the I.N.S.,
that's the Independent News Service.

- How do you do?
- I'm terribly sorry about your... y-your husband,

and also about this scene.

Oh, they're a bunch
of animals. It's, uh...

It's so hard to believe
they're part of my past.

Well, when people are young,
they do crazy things.

| remember, | used
to swallow goldfish.

Oh, no, | did. Matter of fact,
I'm still considering doing it.

Price of food these days.

Uh, well,

crazy things are one thing,

but, uh, | got into
something else, you know.

Me and my sister Coral...

We still can't believe it.

Yeah, | know. You...
You ran with the Jokers.

Yeah. Yeah.

You know, | Know this isn't the right time,
but | don't know when would be a better time.

Can you tell me who might
have killed your husband,

or who might have wanted
to kill your husband?

Somebody on a cycle
20 years old.

No. No.

My, uh...
My sister Coral and me,

and my Joe got out of that
a long, long time ago.

Uh-huh. Well, some of Spake's
friends... | guess you could call them that...

Said something about things
that won't stay buried.

Now, could they have been talking
about a... a killer without a head?

What?

- Huh?
-A killer without a head.

Well, they're all on drugs.
I'm not.

Who knows
what they're talking about?

| don't Know what's wrong
with you either.

Well, what was Studs talking about? | mean,
w-w-why did he come here?

To pay his respects.

Oh, well,
that... that's terrific. That's very thoughtful.

But... Well, he looked scared to death
to me. As a matter of fact, you do too.

Listen,
why don't... why don't you leave me alone, huh?

| mean,
| don't associate with people like that anymore.

Studs came in here... he
was probably high as a kite.

He babbles. He rambles. |
don't know what he was saying.

Listen, | don't
have to talk to you.

- Studs was right.
- Studs was right about what?

About not talking to anyone? About
keeping quiet about something? What?

- Buddy Holly.
- Buddy Holly?

Buddy Holly.

When my old man used to get a
couple of beers in him, he used to...

He used to get out an old scratched
record of "That'll Be the Day."

And he used to dance to it.

And he used to sing along,
"That'll be the day that | die."

He used to sing to that,
my old man.

Oh, Joe.

Oh, honey.

Ohh.

Oh, my poor baby's dead.

Bye, Joe. It's okay.
It's all right.

8:40 p.m.

There was only one warehouse |
knew of that was in any way related

to cemeteries
or things of the dead,

the Cook County Warehouse.

The papers and our own wire
service had been carrying news

of the squabbles over it
for the past two weeks.

When this night was over,
there would be a lot more to squabble about.

Here.

What do you think
you're doing there?

This here is county property.

It's posted. Now you
just get your hands up,

and just stay right
where you're at.

Why? You gonna shoot me,
old man? Huh?

I'll call the police!

Take off or I'll dance on
your head! Now move it!

Call the police!

Police... Get me the police.

I'm in the
Cook County Warehouse.

Send somebody. Quick!

Hey, no.

Hey!

Hmm.

Uh, Manny... Manny,
this is Tony Vincenzo.

Tony Vincenzo. Yeah, look,

uh, send up a couple
of knishes and, uh,

a side order of bean salad
and a dill pickle.

And make it fast, will ya?

Thanks. God love ya.

Excuse me, Tony.

Carl...

Carl, you know | have an ulcer problem,
don't ya?

Yeah.

Now here you are stealing things
out of the Chronicle file. Now what is it?

Is... Is that your idea of
"Be kind to Tony" week?

- Now what are you doing here? What is this?
- Don't ask, Tony. Don't ask.

| mean, for the sake of your duodenum,
don't ask. It'll only upset you.

Here's a Kolchak special.
You chopped the head off.

| don't chop the head off of
any pictures | do for God's sake.

Look. See? The top of the shoulders there,
and the top of the photograph.

See the blank space in there?

| mean, that guy's head
was chopped off 20 years ago.

Carl,
if you're so interested in beheadings and such,

there's
a guillotine exhibition

of the French Reign of Terror

down at the Museum
of Science and industry.

Oh, thanks, honey.
I'll check into it.

Boy, you people got a lot of gall,
let me tell you.

You sit around here collecting your
salaries and gassing about guillotines,

and corpses on motor scooters
and stuffing your faces.

Aha.

This isn't a functioning newsroom.
This is occupational therapy!

The police claim they want
to keep this all quiet

because they don't want to get the public
all quivering over bike gang violence, huh?

There it is.

"August 22, 1956. The decapitated
body of Harold Baker, 20, of Cicero

"was found today on Route 15
outside Cicero.

"Baker, also known
as 'Sword Man’ Baker

"was a known member of the Bishops,
a local motorcycle club.

The man's head was not found
in the vicinity of the body."

That's it! That's what
I'm gonna go looking for.

Huh?

- I'll be back.
- Kolchak, where are you going?

Come back here, Kolchak!
Kolchak!

Thanks a lot. Keep the change.

Ah, that's just marvelous,
Luis! Fix it!

And never mind the excuses
about 200-year-old wood either.

Hmm. I'm sorry, Mr. Kolchak,
but you'll have to come back tomorrow.

The exhibit starts tomorrow,
and we're unprepared. We're totally unprepared.

I'm only sorry I'm not gonna
be able to make the exhibit.

Maybe | can help you out
with a feature story or...

Even with pictures.

Wax. Wax, Luis!

And some good
old-fashioned elbow grease!

That always helps. Yeah.

| like your idea, Mr. Kolchak. But
no pictures till we get it working right.

- Oh, certainly.
- What, um, aspect

of the Reign of Terror would you
like to concentrate your oeuvre on?

- Oeu...
- Political ramifications?

Social problems? Historical antecedents,
perhaps?

Well, actually | was thinking more
about the supernatural aspects.

The supernatural aspects
of the Reign of Terror?

- That's inane.
- But original.

There was nothing spooky
about the French Revolution.

People lopped off the heads
of thousands of aristocrats,

and carted them away
in straw baskets,

then turned the blades on
themselves and killed thousands more.

Just another segment
of Western history.

Yeah, | know. | know that a lot of heads
were lopped off during that Reign of Terror.

But, uh, were there
any unearthly events

resulting from that lopping off of heads? | mean,
that you know of.

You're not interested
in history, Mr. Kolchak.

You're interested
in wives' tales.

- Use some steel wool, Luis!
- Try graphite.

- What about those wives' tales?
- - Oh, there was some... nonsense

about, uh,
burying the executed in common graves.

Well,
with careless gravediggers and what have you,

the heads and the bodies
were often separated,

sent to different locations.

Oh, you mean like what happens
to luggage out at the airport?

Exactly.

Happened to me
when | flew into Chicago.

It happens all the time here.
It's terrible.

What happened
to those headless bodies?

Oh, legend has it that... that headless specters,
corpses

were seen wandering
the streets of Paris,

attempting to... to wreak revenge
on those that had decapitated them.

Wh-Wh-What did the people of Paris
do about these wandering corpses?

A program was instituted to
rebury the heads with the bodies,

and to make sure that future
burials were done with care.

And that stopped the dead
from walking, right?

Legend would have us
believe it did.

Will you get off that platform?
I'll do it myself, Luis!

- Uh... Uh, Dr. Strig? Dr. Strig?
- Yes?

- Try shoe polish.
- Shoe polish?

- Why not?
- Shoe polish?

That night, at a few minutes
before 10:00,

Lila Morton's sister Coral, who had once
rode on a motorcycle with the Jokers,

and was now
a respectable housewife,

never got back to her house.

Uh...

Oh. Ooh!

Oh...

You!

Mrs. Morton, however far you're going,
it's not gonna be far enough.

Get out of my house!
Get out of here.

| will, just as soon as you tell
me about Harold "Sword" Baker.

How do you know his name?

Oh, | know all about
Harold "Sword Man."

You tell me who killed him,
how he was murdered and who buried him.

It was an accident.
It happened 19 years ago,

and Harold Baker was killed.

- An accident.
- What? An accident?

You mean you Jokers
decapitated Baker accidentally?

Not all of us Jokers.

My sister and | only watched.

Oh, terrific.

Studs and Joe
and Turk Pellatier

set up this booby trap

just to knock Sword Man
off his bike.

Only Studs, that idiot,
set his end too high.

- And Baker lost his head?
- Right.

Who's Turk Pellatier?

Oh, one of the gang,
my sister's boyfriend.

Ohh...

He was one of our gang.

You see, Turk was the... the first one
who was murdered by the headless rider,

19 years ago.

No, wait a minute. Wait a minute. There
was never anything about Turk Pellatier

in the papers or records
that | read.

- We buried him secretly.
- What?

Well, you see,
Turk used to carry around...

Sword Man Baker's head in a canister,
sort of like a trophy.

Oh, those were the days.

Yeah. Yeah, those were
some days, all right.

Who figured out that they had to
put together Baker's head and body

in order to free his spirit?

- Studs.
- Studs, the bright one.

Right. Studs went to the cemetery,
and he found the coffin,

and he stuck the canister inside of the coffin,
and then everything was fine.

- Until they dug up the old cemetery.
- Right.

Will you get it?

Sure, sure.

Aren't you ever
at your typewriter?

Mrs. Morton, I'd like you
to come with me, please.

- What? Why? Why?
- For your own protection.

But we'd also like to
ask you a few questions

about the decapitation killing
of Harold Baker in 1956.

That's old news. Today, Baker's head is
lying out in a county warehouse somewhere.

| mean, that's what Spake was doing out there,
trying to put the body and the head together.

Everyone at headquarters has known for some time,
Kolchak, that you've been out to lunch.

There's nothing to worry about,
nothing to be afraid of, Mrs. Morton.

Sure, some biker has taken it into his head
for some reason to avenge Baker's death.

Oh, it's... it's weird, but...
And probably drug induced.

- And he has a costume!
- There is no costume!

And he certainly hasn't taken it into
his head because there is no head.

Baker's head is lying somewhere
out in the county warehouse.

If you have any brains, you'd go out there
and put it back together again with the body!

You're telling me that | should go into a
barn of bones and... and find someone's skull,

- and then play pin-the-head on-the-stump?
- Right! That's right.

Is that what you
think police do?

| have given up trying to
figure out what police do.

All | know is what
has to be done. Right?

- Right! Right.
- Now, you're just upset, Mrs. Morton,

and thanks to this man and his morbid,
macabre babbling!

Babbling?

And you're supposed to be the brightest
and the youngest captain on the force, huh?

Well, you're not even fit to
be captain of the Rockettes!

Suck in your gut!

Mr. McHenry?

This is George Solomon.

There's something in here.

It's happening again.

| don't care
about the extra money.

| changed my mind.

You do whatever you want.
I'm gettin’ outta here.

Oh, no, wait a minute! Wait a
minute! | had nothing to do with it!

There's an old simple axiom
about the dead:

Don't disturb them,
not for any reason at all.

Well, | had decided
to overlook that,

and so | was almost beheaded
by a phantom sword.

Vincenzo refused to even
discuss publishing my story.

He didn't even
look at the pictures.

But the headless rider
is at rest now.

All the bones are together in one place,
in one coffin.

As for those members of
the Jokers motorcycle club...

| mean, those
who are left, of course...

Well, maybe
they've suffered enough.

Three of them died violently.

And the others will carry the nightmare
of the headless rider with them

to their silent graves.

And, incidentally,
so will Captain Jonas,

formerly of Homicide,
now Sergeant Jonas of Traffic Control.

You see, he's in charge
of towing away parked cars.