Hey, it's Las Vegas! For thirty seconds! I'm guessing the producers finally figured that four seasons in, we'd all know where the show takes place.
Music that someone far hipper than I would be able to identify bubbles up as we zoom abruptly from the skyline to a glossy roulette table. The ball whirls around the wheel as a slender blonde claps, "Okay, let's go! Come on -- don't fail me! Come on...black 22." She puts down a big pile of chips, and her partner, a dark-haired guy with a receding hairline, tells the dealer, "If this happens, I'm buying you a shot, man." The dealer closes the table to bets, we see the ball bounce some more and, with a big ol' stroke of luck -- or maybe plot contrivance -- it lands in the black 22 slot.
The blonde and her husband are ecstatic. The dealer places a bottle of clear fluid on top of the chips -- I guess he's a bartender as well as a roulette wheel operator -- and the couple's doing some more smoochy-face stuff. The blonde leans over the table and the guy rubs her back. Hey, it's Brian Bloom! Someone's going to end up dead some time soon, if his stint onOz is anything to go by. Wait -- what am I saying? This is CSI and we're less than a minute into the episode. Someone is going to end up dead here too.
Anyway, Brian's rubbing his wife's back, and he notices that another skinny blonde is watching him while her dark-haired husband is nuzzling her. The blonde at the roulette table gets her giant stack of chips. She throws her arms around Brian and tells him, "Let's cash out." He asks, "Why? I thought we were gonna take some risks tonight." Brian, your wife bears an uncanny resemblance to Jessica Simpson; if looks are anything to go by, your biggest risk of the evening will be getting drawn into a debate about whether tuna is fish or chicken. Anyway, the wife wants to go dancing, and Brian replies, "Okay -- as long as it's lap-dancing." The wife is not nearly so shocked by this as she pretends to be. As she hugs Brian, he looks over her shoulder and notices that the other blonde and her husband are no longer in their spot at the bar.
We then shift perspective so we're watching the bartender at that bar pour drinks for Brian and wife. Ah, heck -- until we get names, let's call her Jessica. Anyway, Brian orders them martinis, and Jessica's all, "Why don't we take those up to the room, 'cause I'm feeling a little, ah, frisky." She giggles through the whole proposition. That's always smooth. Brian ignores the woman currently flinging herself at him to peer around the bar until he finds the blonde and her husband again. Jessica figures out that Brian's attention is elsewhere, and she turns around to follow Brian's line of sight until she sees the other couple; both of them are now watching Jessica and Brian.
Jessica turns around and looks at Brian. He's not looking too unhappy to be caught out. She asks, "Do you know them?" He recovers with, "No. But how frisky do you feel?" Jessica proves that she's from a beer commercial, or maybe the Spice Channel, and not from a planet where someone might take umbrage at her husband being all, "Baby, thanks for the pass, but I'd like a little more company tonight." She leans back over and checks out the couple. There's some pointing and staring and laughing, and either the couples are going to have drinks together, or one of them is going to ask the waiter to pass a napkin with the message "Do you want to have a spouse-swapping party? Check () yes () no." The two couples meet for drinks. Wow, that other couple looks kind of evil.
And then we're watching the sun rise over Vegas, and for some reason, housekeeping has decided to begin making its rounds at the crack of dawn. Ooh, that's a sadistic hotel. The maid enters the room, opens a window, then turns around and begins screaming. The reason? There's a brunette in a slip dress slumped in a chair, her throat slit and its former contents sprayed all around the room.
The camera whirls around the room and ends up on...Gil. Boy, he got there fast. And he brought his beard with him. Gil walks by the stripped bed and checks the body. He observes, "The throat's been slit by what appears to be a very sharp implement." Catherine, who's busy checking out her plunging tank top in the blood-splattered mirror and wondering, "Should I maybe have worn something a little less recreational to work?", doesn't say anything. Gil notes that the room is completely stripped -- no bedding or sheets. Catherine adds that there are no towels either. Gil produces the wallet of the slain woman. She's Alice Dominguez, until recently of 311 Sephill, Los Angeles, CA . From the wallet, Gil concludes Alice wasn't robbed. Catherine adds that Alice isn't in her room either, as the room was registered to the Parkers, whoever they are. Gil then trains his flashlight on a diamond the size of a cashew and notes the wedding ring. He asks where the husband is. Before Catherine can answer, she's interrupted by a barely-audible buzz. Gil follows the sound with his eyes; it's coming from a cell phone attached to Catherine's bag. Looks like that operation worked, huh? Too bad for us: no more of those amusing "mwa WAH mwa wah wah WAH" exchanges. Gil points out, "I think your cell phone is vibrating." Catherine turns around and asks, "You heard that?" No, Catherine, he's got sonar now and he uses it to detect other disturbances in the air. Gil all casually clucks, "Mmm-hmm," while the strings of mirth are plucked on the soundtrack. Catherine picks up the phone and comments, "You're back." Gil looks up and says, "Huh?" Catherine quickly realizes he's kidding, and goes to answer her phone. Since Gil doesn't credit the rest of the audience with catching on as quickly as Catherine, he winks and smiles slightly. Oh, how puckish!
The Who don't know what to do with this new and improved Gil; they're wondering who he is.
“ Catherine opines, 'This is very weird.' You're telling me: Megan Donner's pirate pants just rose from the grave and claimed another victim. ”
Hey! New credits. No more Catherine walking around all saucy and wearing bangs. They kept Gil bashing the mannequin with the golf club, though.
When we return from the commercials, Brass is walking down the hotel hall with Nicky and Warrick. Did George Eads whittle off even more weight? It's not like he had a hefty screen presence before. Warrick opines that people are only killed in a hotel room for two reasons; Nicky adds that the reasons are sex and money. Brass explains that he's got the money angle covered, as the room was booked under a stolen credit card belonging to one elderly Mrs. Parker of Henderson, Nevada. He sums up the sex angle: "I want to be a believer." Nicky notes, "Room closest to the exit." Warrick adds, "Quick escape. Murder central." Somewhere, Sara's screaming, "I knew that!" Somewhere, but not here. The three amigos split up: Brass goes off to handle the door-to-doors, Nicky decides to take the exit, and Warrick takes the money trail.
Gil and Catherine are circling the late Alice Dominguez. Catherine opines, "This is very weird." You're telling me: Megan Donner's pirate pants just rose from the grave and claimed another victim. The CSIs are more weirded out by Alice's throat. The cut indicates that the person sat and faced her, slicing from the ear down to the larynx, and the cut's not very deep. Alice has no ligature marks, or any other marks indicating she was restrained. We see a flashback of her sitting in the chair, sobbing, as someone facing her holds the knife to her throat. Catherine asks incredulously, "She sat there and allowed someone to slit her throat?"
Down in the casino, Warrick runs into Sara. "Hey, girl! I wasn't planning on gambling. No sirree, those days are far behind me, just like Gil's chronic deafness, and your thing with Hank, and Catherine's issues with Eddie the duplicitous pancake-making bastard," he says. Or maybe he stops somewhere in the beginning of that. Sara's been getting information on Alice Dominguez; she had checked in with her husband to Room 859. Warrick notes that it's two floors away from where her body was found. Mr. Dominguez is currently nowhere to be seen; Warrick notes, "He's MIA, but he left a gambling paper trail. I have a signature and a thumbprint from where Mr. Dominguez signed a $5000 cash-advance check." Sara's intrigued. Warrick adds, "It was a cash advance on a credit card. That's not cheap -- ninety dollars every thousand." Sara's all, "That's a rip-off." Think that's a rip-off? Check out the interest rates the credit card will charge on that balance. Warrick's all, "He must be desperate. Must have had a bad night." But pity not the missing gambler. Sara reminds us that the missus is the one who got her throat slit. Warrick and Sara decide to check out the Dominguez suite together.
Brass, meanwhile, is talking to some middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and a bathrobe. We'll call him Brad. He looks like a Brad. Brad tells Brass that he heard the couple arguing earlier in the evening, but it was hard to tell what they were saying because "the walls in these joints are pretty thick." Wow, if the three seasons didn't compel me to suspend disbelief, this statement about soundproof hotel walls surely would. Brass asks if Brad got a good look at them; he did, through the spy hole. We see, however, that Brad is talking about Brian and Jessica. They're arguing. Jessica's all, "Why would you put me in that situation?" and Brian's rebutting, "I didn't put you in that situation!" Brass asks what time the dispute happened, and Brad rattles off 10:35. Brass is intrigued as to why Brad is so accurate. Brad answers, "Well, I had just ordered a pay-per-view movie, and it was just about to begin." Brass asks which movie. Brad replies, "Arma-get-it-on." Brass replies, "You mean Armageddon." "Hell, no. You think I'd admit to paying for a Ben Affleck movie? In which he sings? It's porn and I'm proud!" Brad replies. Actually, he just repeats the title. I suspect Brass was messing with him anyway. Brass asks, "Good movie?" "Worked for me," Brad replies. It's cinematherapy, guy-style.
Nicky is off lifting prints. I see that he, like Warrick, is wearing his CSI vest. Do you think they coordinated that on the phone? Anyway, he opens the door to the stairwell and walks into an M.C. Escher painting. Will he be going up the stairs? Will he be going down? Will he be doing both at the same time? Eventually Nicky wrests his way free and ends up at the valet stand in the parking garage. As he introduces himself, a valet who looks like he just rolled out of bed calls, "Nick Stokes? What's up?" Nicky's clearly drawing a blank. Valet says, "It's Kenny!" Nicky's vacantly affable expression doesn't change. The valet tries again: "Kenny Richmond!" Now Nicky realizes he should know who this clown is, but still can't place it. Kenny's all, "Rebel baseball, played backup catcher..." Nicky feigns recognition. It's now old-home week at the parking lot. I'm a little hung up on that Rebel thing; I thought Nicky went to Texas A&M, and they're the Aggies. Maybe it was intramural baseball and his team was named the Rebels? Maybe I'm overthinking this. Kenny's all impressed that Nicky's a CSI. We establish that Kenny's aware of something happening in the tenth floor, but he's under the impression that "some chick got her brains bashed in, right?" Nicky, overcome with relief that he's not parking cars with the rest of the engineering graduates and always eager to provide the correct answer, babbles, "Actually, she had her throat slit and bled out over the room. I'll know more when I check the surveillance camera." Kenny the valet asks why Nicky's in his office, as it were, and Nicky replies, "I'm just checking possible escape routes. She was murdered in the room closest to the exit. It's murder central." Oh, Nicky. Why don't you just lose the evidence now, since you're devoted to screwing up your work? Get a jump on your egregious gaffe quota for the night. Kenny the valet can't wipe the grin off his face: "Murder central, huh? Cool."