Look, everyone, it's the luxuriously shiny Vegas strip! Money, money, money! And now, marvel at the juxtaposition as the camera pans below an I-15 overpass and down to the shantytown below. In case you're wondering what it looks like: think of a music video from the 1980s, any one where the artist is Making A Statement about how terrible it is to be poor/homeless/a teenage runaway-turned-whore, and thank God they have royalties to save them from that fate. The video format usually entails the socially-aware star dancing and singing around a dark and squalid urban setting, while stylishly ripped-and-slashed street kids with heretofore untapped dancing abilities strike poses and stroll around like extras from Cats when they're not looking urchin-like and victimized by society. If this doesn't ring a bell with you, go watch VH-1 Classic and just wait for it.
Anyway, a fairly nice car comes by, and several women who might charitably be called long-term contract workers in the sex industry saunter on over to make small talk. The car rolls on, past the usual clutch of street people drinking over an oil drum with some sort of fire in it, and the people throw their bottles and look generally unhappy about the vehicular intrusion. It doesn't faze the clear-skinned yuppie behind the wheel. He just pulls up to the burning oil drum, and the , and then gets out of the car. We see a clutch of people watch him leave, the music gets all dramatic
And then the shot fuels the fears of every person who's ever hissed, "Lock your doors! This is a bad neighborhood!" to the other passengers in the car as they drive through a section of town not yet terraformed by big-box stores or national franchises. The yuppie's on his back, several stab wounds puncturing his chest. Gil and Brass hunker down, and Gil notes, "No watch, no wallet, no shoes." "No service," Brass replies. The two men get up and walk away, making this the shortest CSI episode ever. Kidding! Brass comments on how the guy's lucky he still has the fillings in his teeth. Why? They can't really be used to fill the bleeding holes in his torso. Gil checks the corpse's teeth, just to be sure, and Brass chuckles. Ah, graveyard humor. Gil then notes the man's marvelous manicure, and comments on how well groomed he is. Brass replies, "I don't care if he was lemon-scented and Martinized, if he was on Washington and D, he was copping. You should have just said no!" Heh. Gil checks out the group of kids -- the same ones as before, dramatically backlit and lurking at the end of an alley. He takes us to the credits with, "Maybe somebody just wouldn't take 'no' for an answer."
Cue the Who. They'd like to know who didn't take no for an answer.
“ Nobody blows off MadTV players. If you want to blow off SNL players, go ahead: the alumni have left a trail of cinematic carnage no nuanced late-in-life Bill Murray performances will ever be able to clean up. But don't be hating on Mad TV. ”
When we get back from the commercial break ("kitchen fresh chicken" is the most amusing rebranding attempt ever; I love how the KFC people are all "It's floured and cooked! The word 'fried' is verboten!"), the closed-captioning shows Sara asking the broody-and-therefore-intriguing Detective Cavaliere how long he's been in Vegas, but on-screen, it's Catherine purring the small talk at him. Sara pops in with, "Welcome to Trannytown. This is where the hustlers come." I personally want to see the mayor of Trannytown. I bet she's fabulous. Cavaliere replies, "I can see why. It's very romantic." All three people hunker down to check out the body stuffed in the tire. By the way, Cavaliere is played by Jose Zuniga, who was quite enjoyable in Stop Wonderland and Gun Shy. Anyway, Sara and Catherine note the traces of makeup the corpse has on, and Sara concludes that the dead body fits the profile for transvestism. She looks up at a dilapidated old bus and adds, "Honeymoon suite's across the way. Anonymous sex becomes anonymous sex crime." Catherine points out, "Murder's usually personal," since we have no serial-killer plotlines this week to disprove that premise. Sara muses, "Maybe whoever had the last dance left behind a corsage." Catherine would just settle for the guy's clothing.
Emergency Backup David comes on over, notices the guy crammed in the tire, and asks, "You think a hacksaw's going to do the trick?" Catherine thinks not, but adds, "That's why God invented Sawzalls." For those of you who were wondering, "Is this product placement? Or a swanky forensic tool?" the answer is: Yes and, um, I don't know. You can get an "orbital action" Sawzall off Amazon.com for a mere $185. That's a low price to pay for the "outstanding ability to cut through almost any material: wood, nail-embedded wood, steel, cast iron, aluminum, brass, drywall, composition materials, hard rubber, cement, brick, plaster, and fiberglass."
The Sawzall sawz away while merry forensic music plays, and Cavaliere helps Catherine and Emergency Backup David pull the corpse out of the sawed-up tire while Sara and some poorly lit secondary figure check out the honeymoon suite. There's a filthy blanket and the token disturbing prop -- a filthy beheaded Barbie doll. Sara heads over to the body crew and glumly reports her finding: "All we got is a decapitated doll." Catherine points out, "That's still legal in Nevada." And Lindsey ducks juvie once again. Emergency Backup David is looking at the body and shaking his head; Catherine asks him if he's found something, and he replies, "I was just thinking, I wouldn't be caught dead in those shorts." Heh.
Meanwhile, on the other crime scene, the contract workers I alluded to earlier are watching the fun, drawn to Warrick like moths to a flame. One of them asks Warrick, "Yo, baby. Why you rushing today? We got plenty of night left." Warrick doesn't even look at her as he replies, "I'm working, lady." "See, that's something we already have in common," she shoots back. I like her. Warrick comes over to see if she saw anything, asking the sassy prostitute if she was working the dead guy. She replies, "Him? No. No, sir. But I tell you one thing: good-looking white boy like that, I know plenty of women that would be tripping over their platforms to get a little something-something. But no, sir, he wasn't anybody's customer." Warrick skeptically replies, "Really," and then heads back to work. Hmph. I don't think anyone should treat Divine (as she's named in TV Guide) that way after she bothered to provide some information. Plus she's played by MadTV alum Debra Wilson. Nobody blows off MadTV players. If you want to blow off SNL players, go ahead: the alumni have left a trail of cinematic carnage no nuanced late-in-life Bill Murray performances will ever be able to clean up. But don't be hating on Mad TV.