The peril of recapping two separate shows which take place in Las Vegas is that occasionally, I will happen into a scene -- say, a smooth valet chatting up an attractive blonde -- and suffer some serious disorientation. Am I watching a show about intermittently crime-fighting hotel staffers who sleep with lots of people, or am I watching a show about people solving crimes, some of which take place in hotels, while only intermittently enjoying the pleasures of the flesh? The presence of neon confuses me.
Anyway, a desultory check of the TiVo tells me I'm watching CSI, and the presence of glad-handing Sheriff Xander confirms that. Apparently, he's hanging out at the "Orpheus" casino, the only place in town where the showgirls hunt you down and tear you to pieces after they've had a little too much to drink. Then someone who is about to become either a victim or a witness pulls up in his car; we know we won't be seeing him again after the credits, because it's rare for anyone who gets a few minutes of pre-credits attention to get anything other than a scene or two -- usually when they're being loaded in an ambulance or coroner's wagon -- afterward. The guy looks familiar, but I can't place him. It doesn't matter, because he's about to be blown sky-high, what with the car he's driving blowing up very dramatically. Some poor bystander also becomes a human croquette. Sheriff Xander, to his credit, does not shriek and duck during these goings-on, but gives the scene an irritated look.
When the camera cuts back to the smoking husk of the car, the fire department's dousing the flames, and one poor, charbroiled guy is getting wheeled into an ambulance. Gil and Catherine stroll through the melee, and the sheriff hones in on them with unerring accuracy: "Car bomb. Driver and valet are dead. Another valet is critical. Got at least a dozen injured. I was having dinner here -- I was on my way out. If it'd gone off a few seconds later, you'd be picking my badge up off the ground."
Either Gil's still retained the poker face he developed during his playing days, or he's sincere when he says, "Thank God you're all right."
Then Gil asks if the area has been swept for secondary bombs; the sheriff says the bomb squad took a pass through and saw nothing to get excited about, and just as Catherine blah-dee-blahs about how they're going to work the scene -- for someone who has no problem beating other people over the head with the seniority hammer, she's sure ignoring the fact that both Gil and Xander outrank her here -- there's another series of short, sharp pops. Gil tackles Catherine; S.S. Geek Love passengers across the land aren't sure whether to swoon over this matter-of-fact display of heroism or sulk over Gil tackling a non-Sara female. As the melee continues, Gil and the sheriff look around, as if to determine where the noise is coming from. Or maybe Gil's looking around for his cue to deliver the pre-credits zinger.
“ I wonder if management training for law enforcement's top brass includes a seminar like 'Grissomics 101,' where everyone reads PowerPoint slides with bullet points like 'You cannot stop his contempt; you can only hope to contain it.' ”
The Who kicks in. Looks like Gil's snappy line got blown up, huh?
When we get back from commercials -- and is Pier One's goal to drive us all screaming toward an anti-materialistic celebration of the holiday season, or are the Kirstie Alley ads misfiring yet again? -- Gil and Sheriff Xander are staring at the trunk of the car. They show here why they're seasoned law-enforcement professionals and I am not when Sheriff Xander looks at the smoldering slag pit and decrees, "Guess it wasn't a sniper." Gil clarifies, "Fixed ammunition in the trunk. The gunpowder must've heated up and the, uh, rounds cooked off." We get a flashback: the whole deal is not unlike watching Jiffy-Pop heat up on the stove, only instead of talking popcorn and a cute foil container, we're looking at a case of ammo and the lid of a trunk. Catherine tells the world at large that she's off to log evidence. Gil is too busy to notice; he's looking at the trunk and telling Sheriff Xander, "I believe the, uh, glass pressure traveled from the rear of the vehicle through the front, and evidently separated the driver's boots at the ankles." Which we see. Gil calls out, "David, we have body parts in the car." Emergency Backup David looks up with a distracted expression and says, "I've been looking for the feet." Gil cheerfully directs David to come on over. Xander wants to identify the driver; Gil, who's peering at the smoldering car's dashboard, notes that the Vehicle Identification Number (VIN) is somehow not melted down. Xander dispatches a minion to do the DMV legwork. Gil stands around and looks wise, or wanders off to the Excalibur (huzzah!) for Krispy Kremes or something. In any event, we're off to spend some quality time with Catherine.
It should surprise no-one that Catherine's wearing The Very Serious Crimefighter Face. Nicky pulls up and apologizes for being late; apparently, a car blowing up in front of a Vegas hotel will cause a traffic jam on the Strip. You'd think Nicky would be conscientious enough to have plotted alternate routes by foot, by back road, and by casino monorail. Catherine tells Nicky she found a Sig Sauer -- considerably mangled by the blast -- and he replies that he'll begin the bag-and-tag drill with all the little metal parts scattered hither and yon.
Gil's back from his doughnut break. As a news van shrieks to a halt in front of the scene, Gil gives Sheriff Xander a faintly supercilious smile and says too-brightly, "Here's the press! You're on! Wish I could help, but I have a vehicle to process!" This is yet another way we can tell Gil is nothing like Horatio: in addition to not arousing the fear that exposure to direct sunlight will make him spontaneously combust, Gil doesn't look at the press as an opportunity to grandstand about stalking the mean streets, Javert-like, in the name of avenging whatever victim set off his outrage meter this week. No -- Gil just places a big, smoking block of evidence between himself and the Fourth Estate. Sheriff Xander attempts to persuade Gil: "A bomb goes off these days, [the media will] assume it's a hit. What do you think?" Gil goes all empiricist on Sheriff Xander: "I'm not thinking. I'm just looking." Sheriff Xander walks off, saying, "That's good. Can I use that?" I wonder if management training for law enforcement's top brass includes a seminar like "Grissomics 101," where everyone reads PowerPoint slides with bullet points like "You cannot stop his contempt; you can only hope to contain it."
“ With some difficulty, Sam the manager introduces the CSIs and says, 'There's been an accident.' You know, there's breaking the news gently, and then there's just kind of tapping on the news and waiting for it to crack on its own. ”
Meanwhile, a B-plot is unfolding up the Strip. We see it from 500 feet away -- literally. There's a big sign at the "Mediterranean" casino for Myles Rueben, crooner especial. And then we're inside a suite that looks like the domestic spawn of Doug from Trading Spaces and the Michael Graves collection from Target. Some detective I don't recognize tells Warrick and Sara that the woman floating face-down in the Jacuzzi is Amelia Rueben, age 25, who just happens to be married to Myles Rueben. Sara asks who found Amelia, and the detective tells us that 40 minutes ago, a maid came in to do turn-down service, saw the missus bobbing like a cork, and called hotel security. And then, hotel security called in the most discreet Las Vegas police investigation ever, since there's nary a paramedic, coroner, or other crime-solving type lurking around the scene. As Sara fishes out a wine glass, Warrick asks the detective if Myles knows his wife's dead. The detective replies, "He's still onstage."
And how. As Myles sings lyrics that are probably contextually relevant -- the line "Why you want to start giving me / all of this responsibility" wafts out -- the camera cuts back to Sara "There's plenty of room at the top -- now SCOOT OVER!!" Sidle working the scene. Warrick finds a nearly empty wine bottle, and the camera cuts down to Myles and his hand telling us, "Love ain't gonna get me / 'til I know I'm ready." Warrick tells Sara, "Alcohol...hot tub...a little bit too relaxed." Myles is telling everyone they're only seeing just a part of me. Back in the Doug Target suite, David the Demurely Dressed Coroner is giving the body a once-over and explaining, "The temperature of the suite makes the liver temp irrelevant. Given the redness of her eyes, I'd estimate she's been dead less than an hour." Downstairs, Myles is telling everyone, "You'll be having visions of / happy ever after love." Ooh! Prescient! Sara's printing what looks like the temperature control on the Jacuzzi; her expression hasn't lightened since Warrick produced the bottle of wine. What, is she flashing back to a misbegotten evening with Hank the duplicitous body-moving bastard? Where he whipped out a portable foot spa and a Bartles & Jaymes, then wondered why Sara failed to swoon? Anyway, Warrick tells us that he just remembered Myles' biggest hit -- "Amelia."
Sara and Warrick are now waiting in the wings while Myles tells the audience for what must be the hundredth time that love ain't getting him until he's good and ready. Myles's manager Sam -- whom some of you may recognize as Bob Pinciotti from That 70's Show -- tells the two CSIs he's going to break the news to Myles before the encore.
Myles finally finishes the song and bounds backstage for a quick fret over his performance; I get the feeling this is as much a routine as the way he bounds back on stage for an encore. With some difficulty, Sam the manager introduces the CSIs and says, "There's been an accident." You know, there's breaking the news gently, and then there's just kind of tapping on the news and waiting for it to crack on its own. Myles is all, "An accident! Did something happen to my mother back east?" because he, too, is in on the conspiracy to draw out this breaking-the-news scene as long as possible. Sam finally works around to not managing to break the news, so The Piano Player of Plinky Poignancy kicks Sara with a free foot and nudges her into saying, "Mr. Rueben, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but your wife is dead." Myles turns to Sam, who looks abashed as he nods. Just then, the audience begins chanting for Myles to come out and sing his dead wife's eponymous song. O, situational irony! Laying it on a little thick, aren't you? Anyway, Myles head off to handle his grief in private while Warrick stands there and makes a beleaguered face.