What? No shot of the Strip at night? What manner of fever dream is this? I...I am disoriented. I don't believe this is CSI, even though we're getting a panoramic view of Las Vegas' suburban sprawl and some sand dunes thrown in for effect.
As we take in the sunlit terrain, some Spanish-language music with a pretty sharp beat is playing. This is probably not your abuelita's music. It does, however, remind me of a totally excellent video I saw on Univision, wherein a Spanish-language rap group tooled around East L.A. on tricycles, picking up chicas who rode on the back, and intimating to the viewers at home that it was indeed possible to be a menace even when reduced to transportation that caused one's knees to bob around one's ears.
In the neighborhood we see onscreen, however, the tricycle gang would be getting their handlebars shoved somewhere that handlebars aren't normally meant to go. We see a boy in the back of a truck; the song is playing from the truck. I can tell they're singing something about someone's heart, but I'm terrible with translating music. It's what makes Sabado Gigante such an intriguing TV-watching experience for me. Anyway, the kid hops out of the truck to restock a newspaper machine with a fresh bundle of tabloids (name of said tabloid: Hoy). This goes on until he opens one machine and sees a bloody, bald head resting on the stack of papers.
The music abruptly switches from the Spanish-language stuff to the "Synthesizer? No! This is the Aughties! We have better computer-generated musical montages now!" soundtrack. We see Catherine hanging out, and Vega talking to folks, and two extras picking up the machine to take it away. Then we zoom to the autopsy bay, where David the Backlit Coroner is taking the head -- the livid, bare red scalp indicates that the head did not normally traverse through life bald -- and putting it on the examining table. He inspects it. Catherine comes in to take photos, and when we get to a point where it's time to open the head's mouth, David pulls out a tiny, dead rattlesnake. Catherine makes a horrified face…
And we go to credits. A totally silent pre-credits opening? But then The Who have no idea how to determine who the people work are!
When we get back from commercials, David is explaining that the head belonged to a woman in her early thirties, probably of Latina descent. He adds, "Vitreous potassium was 11.74 milli-equivalents per liter, so PMI's approximately six hours." For those of you wondering why this dialogue is relevant: PMI means "post-mortem interval." As you can imagine, this is helpful in deducing when someone went from ante- to post-mortem. Now, about the potassium and the vitreous humor: in a dead body, potassium levels rise. However, the vitreous humor's potassium levels don't rise the same way, so they can be tested to determine an accurate PMI by comparing the potassium ratio against the normal range using any one of a number of formulae (see also: Journal of Forensic Sciences, 46:2, pp. 209-214, 2001). Using one of these, David and Catherine conclude she died at one in the morning. They also conclude that she was beheaded after she died. Death and beheading -- that seems like a combination even the most stalwart optimist would have a hard time salvaging. Because the scalp shows naked follicles without any accompanying inflammation, it looks like the hair-pulling that left the head bald was also done post-mortem. "Ripped out in chunks," Catherine says, and we get a sepia-tinged flashback just in case we're unclear as to what any of those words mean. David decrees, "It takes time and dedication to do something like that." "And a lot of hatred," Catherine adds. You think? What was your first clue, Catherine? She also notices the dead woman's eyebrows have been shaved off and penciled back in, and "I know that's popular among Latinas on 28th Street. She could be a banger, or a girlfriend of one." David's all, "Gang activity aside, girlfriend had excellent bridgework." Catherine notices the number carved into the inside of the bridge and asks if it's a Social Security number; David tells her, "Dentists usually put down some form of identification on removable bridgework. It's better than a license plate." Well, it's more discreet.
Meanwhile, in another part of the lab, Nicky rolls ink over the newspapers while spooky music plays. Eventually, he realizes that what he's got are prints of the outside of someone's hand -- prints made when one holds a decapitated noggin between one's palms and sets it down. We then see him telling Catherine the odds of finding out who it is based on their palm prints are roughly the same as their victim getting an open casket at the viewing. We then establish that Ecklie's especially interested in this case -- although, unfortunately, not interested enough to come on by and ooze impotent spite in everyone's general direction -- and although Nicky's primary priority on this case will be to, you know, solve it, his secondary one is to cover Catherine's ass. "My pleasure," he tells her. He's a big talker when Warrick's not around.
We then go to the lab where a herpetologist is examining the snake. I'm pleased to report it's the same delightfully deadpan expert as the last time. She looks up from the magnifying glass with which she has been inspecting the wee dead reptile and says, "Large elevated vertebral scales. Definitely not your typical U.S. Crotalus." Or, if you're insisting on species names too, C. atrox, the Western diamondback rattlesnake. Nicky's not insisting. In fact, he's all, "You herpetologists, always throwing the Latin around." Let's not diminish the contribution ancient Greek has made to taxonomy, my fine Texan friend. He wonders why they can't just call a snake a snake. The herpetologist says, "My specialty, my jargon." She's so cool. She's probably an ectotherm herself. Anyway, she explains, "Stripes at the base of the neck...[that] makes it Crotalus simus. Indigenous to southern and coastal Mexico." Nicky's puzzled: "Apparent Mexican vic on a Mexican newspaper with a Mexican snake." Give someone points for cultural consistency, I guess. Nicky continues to blithely trample the distinguished field of herpetology by referring to snakes as "buzz-worms" when he asks whether the Central American rattlesnake might have decided to winter in the high desert. Nope. The herpetologist explains, "These snakes like to burrow in damp soil. They like it hot and humid." They'd be right at home in the Calistoga mud baths, then. That's a little something to think about if you're ever up there. No, no -- don't thank me now. So Nicky asks whether it's remotely possible that the C. simus, parched from the discovery that Las Vegas is not at all humid, crawled into a warm, wet head on its own. The herpetologist replies, "In a newspaper dispenser in the middle of a desert city?" She does not add, "You idiot." We end the scene with the scientist suggesting that the snake was dead when it was shoved down the victim's throat. Let's hope that the victim was dead too.
Finally! We get our Strip shot. Thank God. I was beginning to wonder where this show takes place. The scene switches to the very top of a parking structure well off-Strip. It's fairly empty. Brass quickly explains to Warrick that the vic du jour's in the driver's seat of the handicapped van. He's Vincent DeCarlo, age 28, and whoever killed him was interested in neither his 500 bucks nor his Nevada license. Warrick calls shotgun and hops in the van. He looks over at the late Vincent and comments that he's dressed quite nattily for someone who was chauffeuring around a bleak gray van. Emergency Backup David doesn't bother to respond. So Warrick tries a different line of inquiry, asking if there's any chance the late Vincent was using that there wheelchair lurking in back of the van. Emergency Backup David checks the late Vincent's legs and shoes, noting, "He's not wearing prosthetics and his soles are worn." That would be a no on the wheelchair, then. Emergency Backup David adds, "Gunshot wound to the head. It looks like it came through the windshield." Warrick looks haunted. That's probably because Sofia just crawled across the windshield and turned to the boys inside to say, "Crater in the windshield faces out, which means that the shell came from inside the van." What, did Ecklie teach his stealth moves to all his underlings? We then get the lamest new special effect ever -- Sofia imagining the crime kind of in reverse, as the bullet whizzes backward through the windshield, then back out through an unbroken windshield. Warrick looks unsettled by this too. Or just dyspeptic. Sofia then says, "So he's tapped out. Catherine asked if I could lend a hand." Who is this "he" to whom she refers? Did we miss part of an earlier conversation? Are we establishing that Sofia operates on her own planet, and its wildly erratic orbit intersects ours only infrequently? Both Warrick and Emergency Backup David look as if someone just gave them a wedgie.
Sofia stomps around to the back of the van. I have no personal objection to either the character or the actress, but I cannot fathom why Louise Lombard elects to have Sofia lurch around like she's on a pair of rented shins. After she hops into the back of the van, Warrick regains the power of speech, asking Emergency Backup David, "You see that blood spot on the lapel? It's inconsistent with the head wound. To avoid cross-contamination, do you think you could cut it out for me?" Emergency Backup David sure can. He's so agreeable. Sofia lurks in the back of the van, possibly preparing to scare the bejeesus out of Warrick from a different angle. Actually, she's telling us all about the possible GSR on the back of the driver's chair, which indicates that the shots were fired from the wheelchair. Warrick's all, "How'd he shoot him in the face?" Sofia calls, "Hey, Vinnie," and when the little flashbacked guy turns around, she makes the appropriate sound effects while pointing her index finger. Unlike the rest of us, however, her finger is lethal. It wings Vinnie in the head and blows a hole in the windshield. Warrick's still skeptical: "We got a guy that fired a shot from the wheelchair, then escaped on foot." Sofia looks thoughtful.
Back in the A-plot, Vega, Catherine, and Nicky are wandering around an apartment. Conveniently enough, the bridgework belonged to a Veronica Juarez. She's got no immediate family in the States and no roommate on the lease with her. Catherine says dismissively, "That's why bangers have girlfriends -- to sign things they can't." And that's why this episode has Catherine -- to jump to conclusions early in the episode. Nicky comments on how nice the place is, and Catherine agrees. Vega sees something and calls them all over. Perhaps he's stumbled across the rogue flamenco guitarist who's been scoring this scene. Actually, he's called them over to check out Veronica's college diploma. For the curious, she got a B.S. in communications from the University of Texas El Paso. Interestingly enough, there's no date on the diploma. Nor is there any signature from a governor. Then again, if there's an outside chance your governor would have signed in crayon, I can see where you'd want to spare everyone the embarrassment. Catherine says, "Gangbanger girlfriend with a degree?" "Sounds like a rock band," Nicky deadpans. Or a premise as wacky as a stripper who turned into a CSI supervisor, Catherine. Vega looks at Veronica's shelves, which are crammed with books and assorted ethnic-art-looking things. Nicky's stuck on gangbanger girlfriend with a degree's desk, and begins noodling around on her computer. Catherine's using an ALS to see if she can pull up semen on the bed. Then Nicky moves to the digital camera, and we see many shots of Veronica dressed in a cowboy hat and draped over another Latino also in cowboy gear. Nicky calls Vega over to check out the pictures and adds rather unnecessarily, "Think she liked to party?" Is "party" a code word for "wore a flamboyant hat and was seen in the company of men not her husband"? And is that code for "liked to have sex"? Because if that's the case, we've solved the crime already: Veronica was another one of those hussies who had the nerve to enjoy sex, and was therefore killed for her licentiousness. A dozen episodes spent dispatching tarts to the afterlife don't lie.
Vega notes, "That barely looks like the same girl." Well, you try losing your hair and your body below the neck and see how well your looks hold up and -- ohhhhhh. He's talking about the shiny, happy Veronica we've seen in the other pictures around her apartment. Catherine points out that there's no signs of sexual activity, which argues pretty strongly against the hussy-deserved-it plotline and Catherine's gangbanger girlfriend with a degree angle. Unless she was a gangbanger girlfriend with a degree in a chaste relationship. However, Catherine does find a small plastic envelope filled with...beads? No, apparently it's crystal meth. Catherine points out, "You could be up for a week straight on that stuff and not even know it." Nicky replies, "It's the perfect drug for this town." Vega pops back in the scene with, "You think our vic was a groupie?" Catherine describes the poster perfectly with: "A mariachi band. With artillery."
Because we have no Brass to exposit for us, Vega must fill in. He does, ably: "I had a big dose of them when I worked the gang unit in L.A....the scumbags who listen to that music, Sinaloa cowboys. Big drug producers." Catherine catches us all up with, "Okay. We've got a female victim with a degree. Mexican artwork. Drugs. And Sinaloa cowboys." So we're looking one of two things: an eclectic individual, or the world's toughest Jeopardy! board.
We then transition to the outside of a building, and a parking lot packed with a lot of cowboy-hat-wearing guys. The strains of a mariachi band tuning up can be heard over their conversations. Vega and Nicky go striding through the parking lot. They've both elected to leave the "LAW ENFORCEMENT! ESTAMOS LA POLICIA!" blinking neon signs behind, because Vega's Men's Wearhouse special and Nicky's narrow black leather motocross jacket are ample warning that these two are out of their depth. We go inside, and the place is rocking as the guy from Veronica's flyer sings, "No me puedes negar / lo que te hago sentir / No me puedes negar / Lo que sientes por mi." Then the accordion takes us to the finish. Remember how last week I said some instruments just scream class? Anyway, loosely translated, what this means is "I can't deny / that I will make you regret this / I can't deny / what you feel for me." Anyway, some guy in the audience attempts to get the audience all hepped up, but he's no Don Francisco.
The band then takes us into the tender ballad: "Yo me paso las noches tomado / Quierendo olvidar / su recuerdo / buena aquella noche maldita…" Meanwhile, Vega asks the zonked-out looking bartender, "Conoces esta muchacha?" Or for those playing along on the solamente-ingles version, the guy was singing, "I spend the nights taken / because I want to forget the memory / of that damn good night…" And Vega was asking the bartender, "Hey! You know this girl?" At least, I hope that's what everyone was saying, or my translation skills are rustier than I thought. The bartender replies that it's Carla. Nicky's all, "Are you sure it's not Veronica?" And the bartender replies that she may well be Veronica, but she done told him her name was Carla. Only not nearly so colloquially as the above exchange would imply. Anyway, we learn that Veronica did hang out at the bar a lot. Nicky turns his attention back to the stage in time to hear, "…Se que por ser poderoso / que mi vida mas pasaria…" or something along the lines of "That's being powerful / that my life more has happened…" Nicky asks if Veronica was palling around with the band, and the bartender's all, "If by 'palling around,' you mean 'montando al cantante de plomo tenga gusto de un toro del rodeo,' then yes, they were friends." He also points out that Extremo is the bestest hardcore mariachi band ever, and invites the guys to take a listen.
They do, just in time to hear, "Yo soy malo / y no puedo negar / Que desde me acuerdo no he sido / La vieja resulta mentirosa." Or, if you're me: "I am bad / and I cannot deny / that's for me to decide that I've been / the old girl's a liar." Vega provides another off-the-cuff translation of the song, which ends on the upbeat lyrics: "She stole my heart. So I stole her life." Too bad he was talking through the song, so all I got out of it was "but however, I took her life." Nicky watches the lead singer of Extremo sing something along the lines of, "I made a snake eat a snake." Well, there you go. We're in for a sensational trial where someone claims hostile mariachi music drove them to kill.
After the commercials, Extremo is busy filing toward the back of the bar. As Nicky and Vega stop the main singer, he gives them a shiny plastic smile and says, "Leave your card, and I'll send you an autographed picture, huh?" Nicky gives a tight smile and a laugh that indicates how unfunny he thinks the little gibe was. As Nicky goes to follow the guy, a second man who bears an uncanny resemblance to a retaining wall stops him with, "I'm their manager. You got something you want to ask the band, you ask me first."
Nicky plays along, asking what El Jefe can tell him about the song Extremo just played. The manager's all, "Why do you want to know?" and Nicky says, "Quite frankly, those lyrics are very similar to a homicide we're investigating." With innocence radiating from every pore, El Jefe smiles that the narco corrido is over a decade old, and it's a classic. He points to Vega and says, "I'm surprised you haven't heard it." "Well, I prefer the musical stylings of Ozomatli, as opposed to the adenoidal shriekings of thug mariachi," Vega snaps. Or something to that effect. El Jefe declines to defend Extremo's craft. He then tells Nicky to buy a CD on the way out, and Nicky says, "I might do that. Hey, listen -- one more thing: don't you worry that your name might confuse Gary Cherone, and one day he'll be twirling around on stage in spandex pants and saddle shoes while you're trying to sing about brutally killing someone?"
Actually, Nicky wants to ask about Veronica, or as El Jefe recognizes her, Carla. "She's dead?" El Jefe asks. Nicky confirms this is so. El Jefe visibly struggles to say something that can't be construed as either tasteless or giving false testimony. He settles on, "She was a loyal fan. She knew the words to every song we did. Anything else?" Nicky and Vega gape for a while.
And now, some strange brunette is wandering the Labitrail, rounding the corner and entering the office of some strange bearded man. Oh, wait. It's Sara and Gil. It's just that we so rarely see them. They then have this conversation:
Sara: You got a minute?
What Sara Meant To Say: You got a minute?
Gil: Sure.
What Gil Meant To Say: Why isn't the button triggering the trap door working? Gil wants OUT!
Sara: We really haven't had a chance to talk since the staff changes --
What Sara Meant To Say: Why are you ignoring me? Is it Sofia?
Sara: -- I, uh, I wanted to let you know I said some things to Ecklie that might have done the team a disservice.
What Sara Meant To Say: I may have knocked the competition for your attention to the swing shift. I did it for us, baby!
Gil: Ecklie wanted to break up the team. And he did.
What Gil Meant To Say: I know. And don't think I'm not holding it against you. Oh, how I miss my Adopted Son Number One, Warrick, and my young ward, Nicky.
Sara: He asked me if you and I had had our post-PEAP counseling session --
What Sara Meant To Say: You used to call me. You used to send me plants. You used to take predictable routes home from the office.
Gil: And we didn't.
What Gil Meant To Say: I've been enacting a comprehensive Sara Sidle avoidance strategy. Isn't it obvious?
Gil: Regardless, you should never have to cover for your boss. I'm sorry.
What Gil Meant To Say: Just because I'm a principled boss doesn't mean I'm a big catch as a boyfriend. Just a friendly reminder.
Sara: You've been a little more than a boss to me.
What Sara Meant To Say: Teacher. Mother. Secret lover.
Gil: [stares dumbly]
What Gil Meant To Do: [stares dumbly]
Sara: Why do you think I moved to Vegas?
What Sara Meant To Say: I didn't leave the scenic Bay Area and move to the desert to spend every night alone, you know.
Gil: [stares dumbly]
What Gil Meant To Do: [stares dumbly]
Sara: Look, I know our relationship has been complicated.
What Sara Meant To Say: Look, I am a catch.
Sara: It's probably my fault. It's probably definitely my fault.
What Sara Meant To Say: I blame you. You, you, you. You. But I would forgive you in an instant, my love.
Gil: You, uh, completed your counseling right?
What Gil Meant To Say: I work in law enforcement. I know people who can get me restraining orders. Why isn't this damn trapdoor working?
Sara: Yeah. Yes.
What Sara Meant To Say: Just so you know, I've disabled the trapdoor.
Gil: And?
What Gil Meant To Say: Fuck!
Sara: Let's just say that sometimes, I look for validation in inappropriate places.
What Sara Meant To Say: Let's just say, the writers have given me a gold-plated opportunity to play this so it appears that our fruitless flirtation has been extended yet again.
Gil: [stares dumbly]
What Gil Meant To Say: This plotline leaves when I do.
Sara: [stares dumbly]
What Sara Meant To Say: That'll hold the die-hard 'shippers for another few episodes. Shall we go back to ignoring each other?
Gil: Look. Let's, um --
What Gil Meant To Say: If I stall, maybe it'll become so awkward in here, Sara will have to leave.
Gil: [stares dumbly]
What Gil Meant To Say: Is it working yet? Sara: Okay. You know what? We did our session. Don't forget to document this for Ecklie.
What Sara Meant To Say: He did the uncomfortable thing again, didn't he? Three months of counseling, I still can't curb my reaction to it.
Gil: Right.
What Gil Meant To Say: Don't think this isn't going into The Big Book of Gil's Unpleasant Social Interactions, Volume II.
Sara: Thanks.
What Sara Meant To Say: Some day, you will weep the bitter tears of regret on the pillow of remorse. I love you! I didn't mean it!
Sara leaves. Gil is sitting there with an expression on his face like "What the HELL just happened?" Well, don't turn to the forum for answers, Gil. They're still debating it too.
And now we're back at the B-plot. David's jawing about what killed Vincent, while Sofia and Warrick feign interest. Oh, wait, that's me feigning interest. The upshot is, Vincent was shot twice. They need to figure out exactly what shot him, so Sofia elects to escape Warrick's contemptuous gaze and go back to the scene to try and find the AWOL bullet. After she lurches off, David's all, "At last we can talk! I hear you found a wheelchair." Warrick's pooh-poohing the usefulness of his find, and David asks if he checked the serial number. Warrick didn't even know wheelchairs had serial numbers. David explains that wheelchairs are registered with medical supply companies. Find the registration, find a lead.
Or maybe not: the wheelchair belongs to an elderly stroke victim who recently passed on. We learn this as Brass and Warrick are perambulating through a retirement home. Warrick's all, "She's dead? Because her wheelchair was found at the scene of a crime." The nurse is all, "Look, Bonnie hadn't left the grounds in an least six months." She lets Warrick and Brass in the apartment -- which is scheduled to be cleared out in the week or so -- and the two CSIs step into a direct-marketer's wet dream. Bonnie, you see, apparently purchased a lot of things from NZA, Inc. "Scumbag telemarketers," Brass correctly guesses. A passel of uppity elders has been gawping in the window. One pounds on the patio to get Brass's attention, and he mutters in anticipatory exasperation as he ambles on over.
Once he gets to the door, he's got his company manners on, reminding everyone to watch their fingers. Two elderly folks -- Stuart Manslow and Betsy Lewis -- have appointed themselves the fact-finding commission here, and are wondering what's going on. Warrick cleverly redirects the conversation, asking, "Could y'all tell me what's the deal with the boxes here?" We learn that Bonnie, lonely after her husband's death, struck up a telephone friendship with a salesman and kept buying things from him. That's...dismayingly common. For the first year that my mom was in her widow support group, she'd tell me about other women who, for want of any social interaction or actual purpose in life, would spend days simply wandering the malls or calling in to QVC and buying things. If your life doesn't include some sort of external purpose, it's easy to push shopping into the void and confuse it with accomplishment. Warrick looks suspicious. Or maybe he's wondering why he's on AARP patrol for all these cases.
We cut to a rough-looking Sofia fixing a laser through the bullet hole in the windshield and muttering, "Off we go, in the wild blue yonder." Just then, the newest CSI ambles up and clears his throat. This CSI? You once knew him as "Liam the Lab Tech," but as he is no longer a lab tech, that name is no longer appropriate. "Greg Sanders" does not please me. And so, by fiat -- and backed up by intermittent survey results -- I hereby declare the erstwhile Liam the Lab Tech to be known henceforth as "Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three."
Sofia turns around and fixes Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three, with a look. "Why are you here?" she asks audibly, while her tone of voice tacks on worm to the end. Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three, says, "Grissom said it'd be okay for me to come help. I need the experience." Sofia accepts this, and immediately conscripts Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three, into helping her find shell casings if she can't find bullets. She then takes his pen and tells him stand back, saying, "You don't shoot a man with your door open." A brief flick of the switch and the wheelchair ramp raises up. Sofia tells Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three, to keep an eye on the pen. Then she makes like she's shooting, and pushes the pen lid with her thumb. It tumbles out past a surprised Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three, and that's how they figure out the casing is stuck in the van's ramping mechanism. Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three, sees the pen lid come tumbling out, then extracts a casing. Sofia smiles with pleasure over having been able to share a smart bit of crime-scene modeling with Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three.
Back at the lab, Nicky's sitting on the floor cross-legged, listening to Extremo and translating the lyrics as he goes. Catherine gets his attention by rubbing the back of his buzz cut, and Nicky grins as he turns around. Oh, this lab. Catherine reads the lyrics Nicky's been working on: "They were found the day in a dry river bed / their intestines exposed and many cats feasting upon them." No doubt it's catchier in Spanish. Nicky then explains that Catherine's just had her first exposure to the narco corrido, a ballad which exalts particularly notorious incidents in the controlled-substance marketplace. Nicky explains that narco corridos often come with their own clip file, bringing up a file from TODOS Dias which features the headline, "Ultima Pieza de Rompacabeza," and a picture of an mannequin's head. Oh, wait -- that's supposed to be a real head. And the headline's alluding to how this is a complete beheading, since you wouldn't be able to figure that out from the notable lack of body below the neck or anything. Nicky explains the story -- your typical drug lord meets girl, drug lord dumps girl, girl rats out drug lord, drug lord kills her and does who-knows-what with the body, narco corrido becomes a huge hit. And to think that in this country we just have people fretting that Britney Spears' lyrics cause, rather than reveal, profound mental atrophy. Catherine herds us toward the conclusion that Veronica's murder was life imitating art...that imitated life. Nicky points out, "If that's the case, then anyone who knows this song could be a killer." Catherine adds to his unease by pointing out that all they know about the victim is that she's somewhere between art lover and meth user.
Just then, Nicky has a flash of insight and returns to the room in which the rest of the evidence is kept. He pulls out a copy of the paper and we see what he remembered: Veronica had written an article on narco corridos for the paper upon which her head ultimately rested.
Cut to a shot of a printing press in production, and an editor explaining that Veronica had been freelancing for about six months. The narco corridos was her first major story. The guy finishes, "It makes me sick to think she's not going to finish it." Ah, spoken like a true editor. You know the only thing that's keeping him from bitching about having to run wire copy is the knowledge that he doesn't have to pay for the first installment of the series. We find out Veronica had been working undercover because she figured it was the best way to get the guys to open up to her. By...opening up to them? So is this what I missed by not going to J-school -- the class where they explain when it's okay to date your sources?
Everyone then turns into the world's quietest newsroom as the editor explains that Veronica felt the narco corridos were "poisoning our young people." Catherine and Nicky set upon the interns' desk that Veronica shared, and they find a big black candle. Ack! Goths! The editor tells them, "I warned her that it was a vicious subculture." And how -- they set some creepy guy with a lot of tattoos and a cowboy hat to wander around the newsroom and mutter darkly, while everyone sat around with their thumbs planted somewhere that would have made dialing 911 very difficult. Anyway, since it was El Creepo who was waving the candle around, Nicky figures it's his fingers what left an imprint in the hot wax, and scarpers with the candle back to the lab so he can lift a print.
We soon find out that it belongs to a bald fortysomething guy named Elindio Zapata. Oddly enough, he's listed as "Caucasian" in his record, which seems inaccurate given the story here. Anyway, within seconds, we're in Zapata's zhop, which appears to traffic mostly in superstition-enabling knick-knacks. Vega calls a few times, but Zapata is zilent. When Vega and Nicky get to the back of the store, Zapata's back there hunkered down in front of a low altar and a ridiculous number of candles, muttering assorted incantations. Vega impatiently shouts, "Elindio Zapata," and Elindio Zapata replies, "No hablo ingles." Vega snaps, "Well, that's funny because the border patrol said you spoke perfect English."
Well, after having his bluff called so effectively, Zapata moves on to Plan B: Menace The Gringo. He saunters past Nicky and sneers, "You break it, you bought it." Nicky gives Vega a look that speaks volumes, beginning with, I am so tired of every two-bit perp in Vegas thinking I was put on this Earth for them to mess with and escalating into the kind of threats that make Vega go pop-eyed in alarm. Or maybe Vega's just keeping an eye on Zapata. Nicky goes poking around the store and stumbles across the display of a small, brown bone resting on a bed of rose petals. Zapata points out that it belonged to Jesus Malverde. Incidentally, that's the name Zapata invoked when chanting at Veronica. Nicky leans in to get a closer look at the shrine, and notices a rack of leather jackets in the back. One bears a resemblance to the fringed number Veronica was seen wearing in the digital photos they pulled from her camera.
As everyone stares at him, Nicky pulls the jacket from the rack and explains, "Veronica Juarez had a jacket just like this one, minus the tire treads." He's a-takin' the jacket with him when he goes. Vega's a-takin' Zapata with him. It looks like Nicky got the better end of the deal for once.
When we get back from commercials, Zapata's sitting in the interrogation room, and Vega's pointing out that barring some wildly improbable coincidences and/or doppelgangers, they're sure he's the one who went to Veronica's office and threatened her. Zapata replies, "Si, senor. I went to the oficina. Her mentals were going places they need not." Nicky then whips out a photo of the bone they...took from the store? Zapata smirks, "Pollo bone. Religious. My right in America." Nicky points out that it's actually a human finger bone that's been burned. Zapata attempts to creep him out with a ghoulish expression and the intonation, "Eyes can fool you." "That would be why I do a lot of lab tests," Nicky smoothly replies. He moves on to the jacket, and Zapata claims some nice young man brought it to him. He does some more mystical crap, and Nicky and Vega exchange looks suffused with acute suffering. Zapata looks up, catches this, and promptly quits the capering. Unfortunately, he begins the raving. Because I have very little patience with the Jackass Monologues, you're going to be getting the short version: Zapata claims to be the descendent of Jesus Montverde, and it has given him supernatural powers. Nicky exposits historically, "The Mexican Robin Hood? A thief and a killer. Hung May 3, 1909." That's mighty specific. How did Nicky know this? Did he carry around a deck of Criminal History cards and make Warrick quiz him?
Anyway, after Zapata repeats, "No me puedes tocar" (you cannot touch me), Vega spits, "You're a disgrace to our community." No, he's not. Alberto Gonzales is a disgrace to the community. Zapata's merely a rabid embarrassment. And, as Vega points out, "A greedy fence who will do or say anything to make a buck." "You say that like it's a bad thing, Vega. I'm an entrepreneur. In Bush's America, we're holy, blameless creatures, immune from your man-made laws," Zapata replies, and my blood runs cold. Okay, so maybe I just made that last part up.
Oh, God, the B-plot. Warrick's futzing around with Vinnie's stuff when Sofia comes barreling in. She tells him that the blood on Vinnie's lapel isn't the same as Vinnie's, and it's matched to one Dax Blanchard. Dax happens to be in CODIS owing to a long-overdue law making possession of a soap opera-esque name a felony offense. Kidding! He's in there owing to an old assault and battery charge. Warrick has been looking at a piece of paper he found in Vinnie's pocket. He pulls it out, smirks slightly, and then calls Brass to deliver the following monologue:
"Congratulations, Jim Brass! You've just won one of these five amazing awards -- a trip to London, a brand-new Caddy, tennis bracelet, a plasma TV, a water purification system. Congratulations, Jim. You finally did it. Just send NZA a check for $300 to claim your prize."
I can't believe anyone stays on the phone long enough to listen to all that. Brass did, because it took him a second to figure out Warrick was pulling his leg. Warrick explains he got the pitch "from the victim's personal effects. My guess: it's the same boob who was calling Bonnie." Brass decides now is the time to go check out NZA.
If you really want an idea of what NZA is like, go rent The Prime Gig, which stars Vince Vaughn and Rory Cochrane. CSI worlds colliding! But if you'd rather not, here's a thumbnail summary: NZA is loud, it's filled with faux-affable salespeople goading folks into sending them money, and it is an excellent argument for going off the grid. We wind our way over to Dax Blanchard, who is every bit as objectionable as the name suggests. The gun he happens to be toting around doesn't do much to ingratiate him to Warrick and Brass either. It's a 9MM -- same as the one used to kill Vincent.
After they've wrenched Dax away from his mark -- I mean, customer -- we find out how his blood came to be on Vinnie's lapel: the two men brawled because Vinnie bilked Dax's grandma of all her earthly goods. Vinnie justifies this with, "Everybody we sell to is someone's grandmother," a line that makes me want to become Gramma's Phone Vigilante. I'd lurk in the shadows like Batman -- the Frank Miller-style Batman, mind you, and not the Adam West Batman -- then deliver unto Gramma-targeted telemarketers that which was coming to them. Anyway, the two men scuffled and Dax confirms that, verily, he hated Vinnie for ripping off his grandmother. Brass deadpans, "Honor among thieves?" Dax protests that his nana's in a nursing home and confined to a wheelchair. Brass hypothesizes that Dax killed Vincent because Vincent was a better salesman and "he sold your bubbe Bonnie, so you wanted him out of the way." Dax is all, "Who the hell's Bonnie?" Not his Nana, that's for sure. There goes Brass's hypothesis.
Cut to Catherine doing a science montage. She's busy trying to determine what kind of tire ran over Veronica, based on the width between the tire treads. There's some Spanish-language rap playing in the background, but the closed-caption guy has thrown up his hands in surrender. Catherine eventually determines that the tires belong to Toyo Open Country MT line.
Nicky comes in then to share the news that the palm prints aren't Zapata's. Catherine reminds him that all it means is that Zapata didn't put Veronica's head in the newspaper box; her blood was on the jacket he had in his store. Catherine adds that Veronica was crunched to death by "a big-ass truck tire." The big-assed truck also happens to be a retread, and there's only one place in Vegas that does business like that.
In a most improbable coincidence, guess who happens to be working at the tire center that sells all these retreads? Did you guess "the lead singer of Extremo"? Well, you'd get a cookie, but I'm thinking you got advance information courtesy of watching the episode. Nicky calls the guy over with, "I'll take that autograph now." That's pretty suave for Nicky. The guy gives him a look like, I know! And here I thought you were put on this earth for me to make fun of! and comes over. He explains to Catherine that yes, he was dating the woman he thought was Carla, until Veronica Juarez's article came out. Then he figured out who it was "and I dumped her ass, what do you think? She put down my music, my band, made it look like everyone involved with narco corridos was a drug dealer or a criminal." That this guy happily sings songs about crime, then complains that people associate him with criminal doings, does not go unregistered on Catherine's Irony-O-Meter. He's actually pretty torqued that Veronica lied to him. The actor playing this guy is doing a fabulous job of conveying that it wasn't merely a matter of his old lady bashing the band; he felt as though a very personal trust had been violated. Extremo guy continues, "Narco corridos are an entertainment. The drugs, they're an economic necessity interwoven in the fabric of Sineloa history. The music does nothing more than reflect that." Catherine counters that narco corridos depict actual events." "So does the six o'clock news," Extremo man shoots back. Oh, snap. Catherine tries to goad Extremo man into saying Veronica deserved to die, and he sets her straight: "I'm saying she was a two-faced bitch who got off on our music at night, and wrote about how disgusting we were during the day -- when she was the one smoking, and snorting, and screwing everything she could find." Catherine points out that lab tests show Veronica wasn't doing drugs, and sneers, "I seriously doubt she was having sex with you." Extremo man winces to let us all know Catherine hit him where he lived. He repeats that he didn't kill Veronica, but he's not surprised some other little go-getter did.
Commercial time. I mention this only because I get to see some long-haired Don Juan de Marco guy making sweet love to chickens in the El Pollo Loco commercials. In light of this episode, it seems like perhaps not the greatest example of advertiser/show synergy. Apparently this man promises his birds "a delectable dance of delight," and tangos with his dinner. I vow never to step into any place which regards amorous gourmands molesting their food as a positive development.
Anyway, back to the episode. In the lab, Sofia's eyeballing the bullets and coming to the conclusion that maybe the inscription "K DWM K 480C" could be significant. She begins running a comparison in a bullet database and finds a 9 MM entry that matches. "Deutschland uber alles," she says to herself. Because she's an Axis spy. I knew that walk was suspicious!
Sofia stiff-legs it into the lounge where Warrick's working and tells him, "I identified the casings found at the scene. They don't match Dax Blanchard's 9-mil. Did he have any other firearms?" None that were registered, it appears. Sofia hands over a photo of the bullet, noting that the stamp on the casing was a little unusual, as it's not every day you see bullets cranked out by the Deutsche Waffen und Munitions Fabrik. Warrick breathes, "That's World War II-era German." Sofia shrugs, "It's one thing to collect old guns -- old ammunition comes from a trophy. An enemy gun a soldier brings back from battle." And that's how Warrick is led around to the conclusion that the shooter's an old soldier.
Cut to Stuart Manslow explaining, "Bonnie had Alzheimer's, you know. And that son of a monster sold her twice a day. Once in the morning, and again that night." Oh, this can be going nowhere upbeat. For one, Stuart's chatting in the dark. For another, he's staring out the window like a man who's already been sentenced. Warrick just stands and stares, wondering why he always gets stuck dealing with the senior citizens who are truly heartbreaking cases. Stuart continues: the dead rat bastard Vinnie knew Bonnie had no memory, and thus gleefully committed elder fraud in the name of bulking up his sales. Warrick asks politely, "And what did you do about it, sir?" Stuart explains that when Vincent started calling him, he played along, then told Vincent he didn't have a checking account: "So the bastard offered to drive me to the bank. I wanted him to think I was weak, so I borrowed Bonnie's wheelchair. He drove me to the bank, pushed me right up to the teller. Oh, he was hopeful. And then he drove me back to the casino...nobody parks on the roof. I would have killed him in one shot. Lousy shakes. But I got him good the second one. Been a long time since I had to kill someone."
Warrick asks nervously where the firearm is now. You can tell he's developed the impression that Stuart's about to kill himself rather than turn himself in, and after a tense few moments, so do we. The monologue about how the world's changed and the enemy are parasites like telemarketers who prey on the elderly doesn't allay that impression. Warrick eventually gets the gun, but he doesn't look happy about it at all. And indeed, who would?
And now, back to figuring out who killed Veronica. Catherine's comparing the tire treads on the leather jacket with those made by the tires they lifted from the yard, and getting nowhere fast. Nicky comes in share the news that the palm prints don't belong to Rafael; Catherine counters that the tire tracks don't match either. Nicky points out, "There is one place the victim was where there are a whole lot of these [big-assed truck] tires." That would be the parking lot of the bar in which Veronica did her undercover work. We cut a scene where lab techs and LVPD people are crawling all over the place, yet there's nary a patron to be found. How convenient! Nicky stops by one particularly excessive truck and notices something wedged in a front tire track. It doesn't require any especial CSI-sight -- this truck and its wheels are so enormous as to make it possible for small dogs and countertop appliances to fall into the crevices of the tire treads without affecting the vehicle's smooth, fuel-burning ride. Nicky calls Vega over, and after peering intently at it, they're all, "Bag this. It's the fifty-six minute mark. Let's bring in someone and wrap this case up."
Inside, Extremo has come to the same conclusion, singing something that can loosely be translated as, "Hey, our lead singer convinces even us he's a bad-ass / which is why he's a lead singer / but that doesn't mean he's a killer / because it would cut into the time he spends practicing all his broody looks." Or something along those lines. Nicky immediately collars the bartender Juanito, and we establish that Juanito's got the night off. He has big plans and a hat to match. He asks sleepily (or stoned), "You still looking for Carla?" Nicky's all menacing with, "No. We're looking for you." We confirm that Juanito does indeed own a full-blown "conchito mobile" (translation: "I said bag the 401(k) -- what I really want is a super-expensive truck that'll depreciate at light speed") and Vega snaps, "Oh, your pig-mobile. Nice name." Just then, the closed-captioning silently compliments Juanito on his cool belt. Audibly, he says to Nicky's silent glare, "Yeah." We notice a big hank of hair hanging from the belt. Oh, that's not obvious at all. And then we get dialogue again, with Nicky opining that it's a cool belt and Juanito getting all nervous. Juanito picks this moment to make a break for it, and as he gives chase, Nicky screams, "No, no, no, no, NO!" Well, it's about time someone on this show got loud. Someone's hollering, "Muevan se por a tras!" which is another way to say, "Move it!" Every man in the place in the place instantly goes for the piece he keeps tucked into the waistband of his pressed-and-starched Wranglers. Nicky and Vega hold off ten dozen drunken, armed, and irritated music-lovers with the sheer force of Nicky's twanged, "Este muchacho mate a una senorita innocente! Innocente! INNOCENTE!" It's so cute how he screams his Spanish with a Texas accent. And would you like to know what he's shouting? It's "This boy killed an innocent girl! Innocent! Innocent!" Since fans of narco corridos are known for their enlightened approach to innocent women and their right not to be killed in gruesome ways, the crowd quickly parts like the Red Sea and lets Nicky and Vega leave with Juanito. As they leave, Nicky's screaming a phrase he no doubt memorized in a number of languages during the Rage Diary heyday -- "Tiene que pagar" -- they must pay, they must pay, they must pay.
Back in the interrogation tank, Vega's saying with some frustration, "I don't understand you, Juanito. You manage to stay out of the gangs, the drugs. You're making honest money --" "What? Seven dollars an hour?" Juanito says derisively. Nicky says virtuously, "It's better than the joint. I can promise you that. Besides, you didn't prove anything taking the life of an innocent woman." Juanito posits that Veronica handed him the perfect opportunity to impress the narco corrido crowd. We see that Juanito ran Veronica down in the street. Presumably, getting hit by a vehicle the size of Jean, Nevada while it's accelerating is what did her in.
Juanito says that a little murder was merely the means by which he planned to achieve immortality. He says, "I'm not going to die a barback or a dishwasher." "You're going to get the needle, menso," Vega hisses, adding, "You're going to die a murderer." Ah, but that's only a niggling detail so far as Juanito is concerned, because people will write songs about him. And they'll go a little something like this:
So I killed the woman, and ripped out her hair
While I shoved a dead snake down her throat.
My creepy bald friend did some dancing around and screaming
Because he's planning on applying for a performance grant, maybe at one of those artist's colonies
And he's a big fan of multitasking. Where was I? Anyway
After we took advantage of the fact that most people complaining to the FCC
aren't fluent in English, much less other languages
And screamed some rotten words in Spanish
We decided that revenge was best served low-carb
So we ate Veronica. And boy, is free-range reporter tasty!
It's too bad I look like a big puffy dork recalling this.
Well, it's more chilling in the original Spanish, because then you also get flashbacks. The show ends with Nicky looking as though he acutely regrets having a working knowledge of the language, then one final Latino-music-flavored note.