The good news is, all of the casinos in Las Vegas remembered to pay their electric bills. Or so it would appear from the opening shots of the Strip. We quickly move from the establishing shots to the smoke-blurred air of a crowded, noisy casino. We see a rather formidable-looking fellow step into aisle along a bank of slot machines. By "formidable," I don't mean "he's able to wreck your credit rating with a single keystroke." I mean "he's able to wreck your cranium with a single blow." If this guy is not a bar bouncer, it's only because he got tired of the hours, or he's making better money as a freelancing leg-breaker.
There are some more shots of people going about their business in the casino as Mister Toughie stands around glowering and waiting for people to poke fun at either the gaudy gold rope chain he wears around his neck, or the proto-mullet he wears on his head. It's not really "business in front, party in the back" so much as it is "massive beat-down in the front, using your shattered front teeth to pop open the celebratory long-neck he will drink after he's worked up a thirst giving you contusions in the back." Have I painted a picture with words yet?
And now Big and Beefy goes barreling through the crowd and toward a discreetly-placed door. He appears to be stalking someone.
But whatever it is he's going after? I'm not really interested in seeing it, because I'm trying to imagine what laid this fellow low, and I keep flashing back to the nasty nightmare things in Hellboy. And while I would welcome the chance for this show to transcend formula and maybe introduce a few extra-dimensional visitors with minimal social skills, well...there remains the problematic introduction of some egghead spouting paranormal esoterica, the usual baroque and gratuitously convoluted creation myth surrounding whatever demon is lurking around killing people, and the unavoidable fact that the people who come up with the extra-dimensional beasties apparently do so from a place of deep seafood phobia, if the preponderance of tentacles is any indication. Plus I am prone to looking at giant tentacle-riddled wicked things and cackling, "Evil now comes coated in a tasty deep-fried batter! Evil tastes delicious with lemon aioli or marinara!" And I'd soon go nuts with the hoary clichs that demonic killers inspire, while you worked up an appetite following repeated calamari references. Nobody wins there.
So we'll just shelve the speculation and live in the now. Brass is thinking that maybe getting your face tenderized prior to your death by bludgeoning could hurt. Years of police observation backing that conjecture, no doubt. Brass notes the many casino chips in Scary Dead Guy's pockets, and concludes that robbery wasn't a motive. Gil observes that the man's eyes bore the brunt of the punishment. Brass replies, "You can't see, you can't fight back." Unless you're Matt Murdock. I don't dare invoke his crime-fighting name, or Ben Affleck might appear. Gil notes the blood and hair under Tony Sciarra's fingernails, as Brass tells us that Dead Guy is, in fact, named Tony Sciarra, of Philadelphia, PA. Gil quips, "So much for brotherly love."
“ Down in a basement lit only by dim -- oh, I'm sorry. I had confused the subplot subbasement with the casino's security office, what with Nicky and Sara being there and all. ”
And then The Who want to know who you are, so they can send some fraternal goodwill your way. I'm still stuck on Gil's quip. Philadelphia is the city of brotherly love. Vegas doesn't need to love you. So why would...eh. Trying to figure out the presumed wit behind this is like trying to figure out what Bob Dylan is doing pimping cheap lingerie.
Once that commercial brain-teaser is over, we're back at Tony's body, with Catherine and Warrick working the scene. Several feet off, Gil's looking surly for no particular reason, and Brass comes over to exposit in his general direction and let him know that Tony hadn't even unpacked yet. Gil comments, "He made enemies fast." Brass adds, "Yeah, the old man he knocked down said the same thing. He was hauling ass."
Catherine checks out the impressive blood spatter on the wall and tells us, "Blood drops are medium to large. Low-velocity spatter. No castoff." Warrick suggests that maybe Tony wasn't beaten with a weapon. Catherine's skeptical about the possibility of hand-to-hand combat, and Warrick counters, "I know the guy is yoked. He's what -- six two, six three?" Catherine imagines that he may have been outnumbered. We flash to that scenario. Warrick comes back to the present, checks out the ground meat where Tony's face used to be, and winces. Yeah, no kidding.
Down in a basement lit only by dim -- oh, I'm sorry. I had confused the subplot subbasement with the casino's security office, what with Nicky and Sara being there and all. Anyhoo, they see Tony muscle his way across the floor, and a security guy helpfully points out that once Tony's off the floor, he's out of the cameras' sight. Nicky asks the security guard to roll back the tape so they can see where Tony had been playing prior to his death by drubbing. Nicky sees something and asks the security drone to slow it down.
He and Sara watch as a slight blond man leans over and grabs a chip off Tony's pile. Sara asks, "Did you see that?" Nicky grins as he replies, "Yeah. The little guy on the right just snaked him." Yeah, I'm sure Tony thought it was funny too. Sara watches as Tony tosses the dice, and marvels, "You've got to be kidding me. He just did it again." Nicky fatuously notes, "Two for two." Sara makes a comparative anatomy assessment regarding the blond guy's gumption vis--vis the contents of his jockeys, and Nicky wonders if the third time's the charm. Yup. Sara and Nicky continue viewing the tape and laying out the set-up: Tony notices the sneaky little guy lifting chips and makes a few threats, the blond guy gets up in Tony's grill, Tony continues to wax wroth, and then the two conclude it's time to see who the towheaded thief is. Sara asks for a still of the guy's face.
“ I wonder for the umpteenth time why something so innocuous as a two-second allusion to sex that involves a) a position other than the missionary, and b) a woman who actually enjoys the act rates an adult warning prior to the episode's beginning, while endless replays of a man being beaten to death are apparently no big deal. ”
Speaking of still facial shots, behold Tony. David the Appalled Coroner ticks off the damage: "Fractures to the zygomatic, ethmoid and nasal bones. Also the mandible and maxilla. How many teeth did you find at the scene...he's missing six." That would be four more than were found at the scene. David helpfully adds, "I found one in the back of his mouth. He probably swallowed the other three." Well, at least he knows where they are, then. Had he lived, he could have asked for a bottle of ipecac and a dentist, and been on his way. Gil prods this expository scene along by noting that blood evidence at the scene suggests there wasn't a weapon in play. David confirms this -- it was a bare-knuckle beatdown. He then works around to cause of death: "Multiple blows to the head produced angular acceleration and deceleration in the brain. Twisting in the brain causes the bridging veins to rip. From there, it's all downhill." And we see it all -- including X-ray flashes of the brain being tossed around like the S.S. Minnow -- in slow-motion, spare-no-detail shots. I wonder for the umpteenth time why something so innocuous as a two-second allusion to sex that involves a) a position other than the missionary, and b) a woman who actually enjoys the act rates an adult warning prior to the episode's beginning, while endless replays of a man being beaten to death are apparently no big deal. Clearly, I like pondering the unknowable.
Anyway, Tony's not doing any pondering whatsoever because, as David explains in a TMIcam shot, "The axons in the white matter of the brain begin to snap. Officially, C.O.D. is diffuse axonal injury. Unofficially, it's the most brutal beating I've ever seen." One assumes he's being dispassionate in his statement because he's trying to maintain professional distance, and not because the director said anything so foolish as, "Hey. When commenting on this beating? Keep it casual, like you're ordering a latte or something. I'd hate for people to get the idea that this is a brutal and horrific way to die."
Gil, who is equally sanguine about Tony's mode of departure from this vale of tears, notes that the strangulation-style neck bruises were made by someone's left hand. David adds that there are also bruises from someone's knees on Tony's chest. Gil lays out the details just in case we've missed them from all the flashbacks thus far: "So -- knees on his chest, a hand on his throat, his head was butted up against the wall, and all the blows were directed at his face." David pokes a hole in the Mob-beatdown theory by noting that the M.O. Gil described doesn't leave a lot of room for other attackers to get their licks in. Gil figures there were no other attackers, and we see a flashback of that possibility. Or rather, you, the viewer, do, while I roll my eyes and grumble about this show's increasing reliance on gristly crime reconstruction at the expense of detailed and geeky science or lab sequences. David's a little incredulous that one guy did all this, but Gil's entirely willing to believe it.
In the shot, we see a printout of the slight blond guy, and Brass is asking the maid who holds it if it matches up to a man she saw. She confirms that it does: she was in the bathroom, and she saw him march in and rinse off his hands. She adds that he left, and then she called security. Brass asks if she sees the guy now. Then, recognizing that she's more than a little freaked by this guy -- and probably thinking of every Lifetime movie ever made where Dean Cain/Mark Harmon/Harry Hamlin menaced plucky single mom/divorcee/youthful widow and struggling maid/entrepreneur/shop girl Markie Post/Melissa Gilbert/Nancy McKeon after they witnessed a crime/served on a jury before getting shot/being apprehended/being killed during a struggle thanks to the plucky heroine/her bland and hunky new boyfriend/her adorable kid...and on it goes. Lifetime movies aren't models of cinematic innovation so much as they're like ninety-minute Mad Libs. Anyway, my point is, Brass recognizes that the maid's all freaked out, and tells her all she has to do is nod if she recognizes the guy with the bloody hands. She can barely move her head for her frozen terror, but she manages to peg the guy.
“ As the uniforms cuff him, the guy gives Brass a long, presumably menacing stare. Or maybe he's just nearsighted. Anyway, he's shooting for 'amoral and cool,' yet hitting somewhere around 'daft and tepid.' ”
Nicky notes that the guy she pointed out looks different: "ID's off. We're looking for a blue shirt and jeans." Brass points out, "He could have ditched the clothes. Let's be smart about this." He does not add, "Promotion material, my ass." The music gets all ominous, and Brass sidles on over with a cadre of uniforms. As he gets closer, the camera zooms in to see the hank of hair the blond's missing behind his left ear, plus the claw mark on the side of his neck. Brass gets to the point: "Las Vegas police. Put your hands behind your head and stand up."
The guy keeps chewing -- on the bright side, at least his hands are where Brass can see them, what with them being wrapped around an enormous sandwich -- and Brass prods him. As the uniforms cuff him, the guy gives Brass a long, presumably menacing stare. Or maybe he's just nearsighted. Anyway, he's shooting for "amoral and cool," yet hitting somewhere around "daft and tepid." Brass meets the look. We then zoom in to the remorseless killer's baby blues, as if we're supposed to see that verily, the eyes of a killer have affixed on their target, but all I can think is that verily, the killer may have smoked a bowl after washing his hands, which would explain both his appetite and his red eyes. Brass is unimpressed. The music tries weakly to creep us out, then peters out.
Within seconds, we're in an interrogation room back at HQ. The blue-eyed guy is now pretending they're playing statue tag, and Brass is it. He eventually leans in and observes, "You're not much of a talker, are you, Walter? I tell you, you must be a pretty tough guy to take on Tony. A guy as big as that? He's huge. That's his name, you know. Tony Sciarra. Did you know Tony? How come you left his wallet and $500 in chips in his pocket, huh? 'Cause that makes me think this was about something else." Gil watches this impassively, because he's afraid his face might actually break if an expression were to cross it.
The camera flashes down to Walter's raw and swollen left knuckles as he growls and flexes them on the table. Brass prods, "Did he wrong you in some way? He hurt you? Huh? Maybe it was just a lover's quarrel?"
Well, that hits Walter where he lives. He protests, "I'm not soft," since he's obviously never heard of, much less attended, the Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco. Brass snickers a little, then pursues a line of questioning concerning his little scene with Tony at the craps table: "You swiped his chips, and then you whispered sweet nothings in his ear. What did you say?" Walter spits out, "Give me a reason." Brass immediately asks if that's a confession. Walter repeats coolly, "No. That's what I said." He tries to give Brass the icy stare of a stone-cold killer again, and Brass disabuses him of any delusions concerning its efficacy, adding, "But save it. They're going to love you in prison."