Bright lights! Neon! And -- surprise -- we're not in Las Vegas but in Los Angeles. More specifically, we're on Hollywood Boulevard. It's every bit as glamorous as you might think, if by "glamorous" you mean "filled with prostitutes, none of whom look at all like Julia Roberts." Anyway, we see one saucy little number go sauntering down the street, her heels striking the stars on the sidewalk just close enough for us to savor the irony -- hookers! The dark side of the L.A. dream! -- without having the estate of any featured sidewalk stars sue. The hooker meets up with a friend, and the two confirm that sometimes, it's not the best night to be in the negotiable affection business.
Anyway, that may change soon as a BMW pulls up. "My knight in shining German armor has arrived," cracks the previously perambulating hooker. The other woman's eager to get in on some hot Teutonic action, and the two girls pinky-swear on it. Then the girl leans into the window of the car. We get a shot of her from the side in full-on WhoreMart gear. Do Lucite heels really go with a black-and-red ensemble? They're clear, so I suppose in the world of hooker gear that makes them a mix-'n'-match neutral.
To make a long tracking shot short, it looks like the power of the pinky swear was no match for a one-on-one date. Better luck time, brunette girl!
Cut to the girl telling a cop she's convinced something is wrong because "Dakota always calls me. We have a system." The cop tells her, "Go home, Jersey. Eat something for once. Get some sleep." Jersey storms off. Once outside, she rolls her eyes. Once they're settled in perpetual spin, she dials a number on her cell phone.
Surprise! Jersey the hooker is calling Brass. More disturbingly, she's calling him "Dad." Even more disturbingly, Jersey is Ellie.
The Who doesn't believe it. See what happens when you dye Ellie's hair brown and get a different actress to play her?
When we get back from commercials, Brass is flagging down some strange man in the hall. This is apparently our new sheriff. Aww, again? Las Vegas goes through sheriffs like Spinal Tap goes through drummers. This is, what, the third? Has anyone thought to investigate what happens to the ones? Anyway, Brass asks for family leave, and Sheriff Amiable replies, "I didn't know you had a family." Well, it's clear this guy replaced Sheriff Xander Berkeley because he was the consummate departmental man, working his way up, slogging through cases cheek-by-jowl with the cops. Or not. Brass replies, "You're new, we haven't had a chance to talk. I briefed my lieutenant on my cases. He'll cover for me the couple of days." In addition to his people skills, the sheriff's a big proponent of flexible workplaces: "This is not a good time for family problems." "Well, duh. If it were freakin' convenient, it wouldn't be a family problem," Brass points out. Only more politely than I just did. And he finishes, "I don't normally ask for time off. I'd appreciate the courtesy here." The sheriff recognizes that he really doesn't have a choice: Brass is going, whether the entire narcotics staff is out of the office at the HIDTA conference or not. By the way, HIDTA is an acronym for "High Intensity Drug Trafficking Area." This is relevant only because it…has nothing to do with Brass's job, so why he'd be covering for the narcotics squad is kind of confusing.
Anyway, Brass departs for a road trip to L.A. He stops at a greasy spoon for breakfast and picks up a cellophane-wrapped little basket for his daughter. It's exactly the kind of sad, impersonal gift that someone gives to a recipient when they're trying not to admit how little they know the other person. The tentatively hopeful expression on Brass's face as he pays for it makes me want to cry.
Within seconds, we're on the road and in Los Angeles. Would that it were that easy in real life; I'm usually begging for death by the time I pull into the Barstow In-n-Out, and that's only the halfway point. Brass heads into the swan-kay Los Angeles police headquarters. Instantly, the light changes: it's like Michael Mann just swaggered onto the set and booted the camera crew. Either that, or there's a federal statute stipulating that any police drama taking place in L.A. be shot in the same spare, stark aesthetic we've come to know and love from Heat and Collateral.
Anyway, we're in a plushly-appointed office, and Brass is hugging a laughing woman just a moment too long. She pulls away without letting go and tells him, "You're looking good, Jimmy." "You, too, Annie," he replies. Jimmy? I'd like to see Catherine try saying that even once. Brass tells Annie that L.A. seems to agree with her, and she quips, "I couldn't take another Jersey winter, or another Jersey cop." Well maybe they didn't like you either, missy. Brass asks if Annie keeps in touch with the old crew and she cracks, "Dirty cops don't like to keep in touch with clean ones." "So that's why they called me Squeaky," Brass says. "And that's why Vic Mackey's not in my rolodex," Annie replies. I wish. She tells him, "I thought what you did took a lot of guts. Integrity is hard to come by in vice." Brass says, "Yeah, it's the only detail where you're told to drink, gamble and pick up hookers. All while carrying a gun." And he left this worker's paradise?
Brass decides they've spent enough time mourning their lost Jersey Eden, and tells Annie, "My daughter Ellie and her friend Dakota were out partying and Dakota got in some guy's car. Ellie pulled a partial -- something about a whale tail." Brass hands over what's he's got -- the letters "1TA." The whale tail belongs to the California Coastal Commission license plates. Annie promises to run the plates through DMV and cross-reference them with BMWs. She then moves from the "good news" portion of the conversation to the "bad news" portion: "I pulled Dakota's rap sheet…[she and Ellie] both do. [Dakota] works a stretch of Hollywood Boulevard between Highland and Vine. When was the last time you saw Ellie, Jimmy?" Brass admits, "About three years ago. She got into some trouble in Vegas, hanging around with a bad bunch. Looks like her taste in people hasn't changed that much." Brass looks temporarily despairing; in that one instant, you can tell he had clung to the fantasy that the reason Ellie never called was because she had cut all the ties to her old life and moved on to something better. Annie keeps her eyes averted. She then writes down an address and hands it over to Brass, saying, "Last known address…in case you don't have it." Aw. Brass's rueful, grateful look says volumes.
We then see Brass heading down a trash-strewn alley. He gets out, surveying the neighborhood: graffiti-covered buildings squatting sullenly behind unremarkable iron fences, the windows bare of coverings. Brass looks up to a second-story window and sees a girl inside. He makes sure he's out of eyesight, then calls the number he's got. Ellie instantly snaps, "How'd you get this number?" Such nice manners on this one, and after she asked her daddy for a favor too. Brass tells her to chill, as he got the number off caller ID. Ellie accepts this. Brass then decides to see exactly how big a liar his daughter is: "So how are you doing?" Answer: a rather big one. Ellie lies, "Great, actually. Living over by the beach, temping, waiting tables. Got some really good friends." And there's one of them now, along with a little glass pipe. Ellie takes a hit, and tells Brass, "It's a big bowl of cherries." Brass looks upset. Cheer up! It could be worse. You could be discovering that your drug-addled daughter also made you a grandfather. So count your blessings.
Enough time elapses so it's night, and Brass is pulling up to the scene where the LAPD's found the BMW in question, complete with two would-be thieves. Brass is all set to talk to them, but Annie's all, "No. I'll talk. You listen." Oh, Annie. Please come back to Las Vegas with Brass. Anyway, Annie proceeds to school the punks but good. The punks are actually indignant that "the car was busted! It wouldn't even start." Imagine! The nerve of stolen property not being in prime working condition. Annie decides that since the two boys like playing with cars, they can certainly come out and volunteer at the LAPD's fund-raising car wash on Saturday. And they can wear skimpy cut-offs and tanks while they're doing so -- it's the gift that keeps giving.
Brass tweaks Annie over the general neighborhood with, "No Rudy Giuliani 'broken windows' theory here, huh?" Well, to get pedantic about it, the "broken windows" theory was actually put forth by James Q. Wilson and George L. Kelling in "Broken Windows: The Police and Neighborhood Safety," which appeared in the Atlantic Monthly in March 1982. The basic theory: an unfixed broken window sends a message that the city doesn't hold citizens responsible for enforcing a basic quality of life. Turn people into window-fixers, and you send a message that criminals aren't tolerated. Whether this theory is sound is up for discussion elsewhere, since Brass and Annie would rather work on fixing windows than dicker over the semiotics of broken glass.
Anyway, Brass notes a sticker in part of the windshield; the sticker readers "BHGC." Brass moves on to the trunk. It's suspiciously empty, shiny and clean, and the bullet holes in one corner don't do much to allay anyone's suspicions that something hinky went down. Annie says as much. Then she calls her pet CSI, someone named "Glazer," who promises to leave the conference and "I should be there in twenty minutes, if there's no traffic." This is where I'd insert a joke about how there's always traffic in Los Angeles if I weren't so busy trying to smother my irate diatribe on that selfsame subject. Anyway, Glazer gets off the phone and taps Warrick on the shoulder. Warrick turns around and Glazer says, "Vegas…you know a Jim Brass?" Warrick gapes. Poor man. There he is, wondering why he's at HIDTA with the rest of the narcotics squad, and now he's also got to ponder how he got the nickname "Vegas" and what Brass is doing in Los Angeles as well.
After some freeway shots to confirm that verily, the entire case didn't move out to the Inland Empire, Glazer and Warrick stroll onto the scene. Brass is sort of slumped to a cruiser, wearing a look like, "The only thing saving this trip from total disaster is my ability to lie about it back in Vegas," when up strolls Warrick. Warrick calls, "Jim," and Brass scrambles to pull himself together. Warrick gets it immediately, and jokes, "Buddy of mine from the LAPD told me there was a new captain in town, stirring things up. So what are you doing here?" Brass sighs and says, "It's a long, sad story," and Warrick asks lightly, "Got anything to do with a feisty little blonde named Ellie?" Brass says, "She's not blonde anymore." His tone telegraphs everything else he doesn't want to share. The two head over to the car. Annie and Matt Glazer are introduced to Warrick and Brass. Then Warrick starts in with the smack-talk: "I thought L.A. was all about the car culture. This [burnt-out car] reminds me of home." Warrick, we Angelenos may need our cars, but we don't revere them as gods. Glazer proves he's a CSI by noticing the thin, nearly-undetectable-to-the-naked-eye rime of blood along the edge of the bullet hole. Then he and Warrick conclude that perhaps those aren't bullet holes but bores made by a blunt instrument. Glazer heads off to find out what made the holes. Warrick says, "You know, ah, Jim, I'm in Los Angeles all weekend. If you need anything. Don't hesitate to call." Aw. I like the relationship these two have. Warrick tells Annie it was a pleasure to meet her, then strolls off after telling Brass, "Whatever happens in L.A., stays in L.A." Brass mulls the implications of that. Annie, who seems slightly quicker on the uptake, asks Brass, "You still a scotch man?" Brass weighs the offer for a moment, then says a little distractedly, "I'll take a rain check." He walks off, clearly preoccupied. Annie looks disappointed, but unsurprised.
Back on Hollywood Avenue, Ellie's climbing out of the car on one date. As Brass's car slows down, she saunters over to it, adjusting her miniskirt for maximum effect. She leans down and says, "Hey, baby, you want to party?" Brass opens the passenger window. This is awkward. Ellie -- the same girl who lied to Brass about what she was doing out in Los Angeles -- snots, "I can't ever trust you! All I did was ask you to make a call!" She may not hold the high moral ground here, but I suppose she gets points for defending her territory with gusto. Brass shakes off the rest of her snit fit and says shortly, "I have information about your friend Dakota. Get in." Ellie decides that she's in a position to bargain: "I'm not going to play 20 Questions with you."
As Ellie gets in, a police car zips by, preparing to bust the bustling flesh market. Ellie realizes Brass may have done her a favor here. She asks, in a slightly less snotty tone, "Did you find her body?" Brass tells her they found the car. "So she could still be alive," Ellie reasons. "We found blood in the trunk," Brass says. Ellie insists, "She's alive. I can feel it." Ellie is about the last person whose unsupported assertions would be worth taking seriously. Brass asks if Ellie had anything with Dakota's DNA on it, like a hairbrush or clothing. Ellie says they don't, because "we share everything." "Even the bed?" Brass asks. What is this? Your daughter the drug whore is okay, but if she's a lesbian it's a problem? Ellie cuts off that line of questioning. Brass points out, "If the lab doesn't have anything to match the blood to, then we'll never know." Ellie rolls her eyes.
Brass tries something else: "Let's get some dinner, huh? You look hungry." Ellie's not having any of it, but she does provide some useful information: "Wait -- blood. We went and got tested last week at the free clinic on Ivar. Maybe they keep it." Brass gets paternal and asks, "Tested for what?" Ellie pins him with a look: "What do you think?" In a tone of voice that just about kills me, Brass asks his daughter, "Don't you use protection?" Ellie rolls her eyes again -- if anyone's drinking every time she does this, they'll have drunk themselves blind by now. Savor the irony! Anyway, Ellie rolls her eyes a few more times so she can act all cool with, "Guys pay extra for bareback." Brass sighs. He looks away as if wondering where to start, and then he jumps on with what sounds like the beginning of an argument they've already had a dozen times: "You're a lot smarter than that, Ellie. Come --" Ellie snaps, "Just because you want me to be smarter and sweeter and safer doesn't mean I am." So she became a hooker to spite her dad? Hasn't anyone ever told her "living well is the best revenge"? Anyway, Ellie does the Spiteful Stomp out of the car as Brass pleads with her not to leave. Ellie then snaps, "All my life, all you ever did was walk out. Now we're going to Norman Rockwell it?"
To Brass's eternal credit, he does not point out that growing up with an absentee father is hardly the worst thing that could have befallen Ellie, and in the who-had-a-rotten-childhood sweepstakes, she's not likely to win a contest among his coworkers when those include a child abuse victim (Nicky) and a witness to domestic violence and murder (Sara). And neither of them is hustling Hollywood right now. Although I kind of wish he would point out that a lot of Ellie's problems appear to be of her own making. I just don't get the Ellie character -- clearly, Brass loves her, but it's damn hard to see why because we have so little to go on, and she's not exactly Exhibit A in the case that shaky families make for rotten people. I don't think there's a single lead on CSI that grew up in a Cleaver-esque household and they all manage not to flounce around in spandex, hurling recriminations at whomever tries to help. Although if the show wanted to start putting more of its principles in spandex, I wouldn't mind.
Anyway, once we get back from the commercials, we're at the free clinic. The clinic worker's protesting that this is a most unusual request, but Annie gets her persuasion on with "We're working on a possible homicide here." Brass helpfully adds that they found blood in the trunk of a car; it could be Dakota's (nee Sasha Reynolds), but only the test results will know for sure. Before the clinic worker can comply, some rumpled starlet who's supposed to be playing the PTC-friendly version of a crack whore comes in for condoms. There's a brief back-and-forth with the worker before she's sent off with 12. As the girl walks off in her pedal pushers -- because nothing says "teenaged crack whore" like a Dirty Dancing wardrobe -- Brass asks, "Is that all the help they get?" Yeah! How dare the clinic try to prevent the transmission of disease! The clinic worker sighs, "These kids come from all over the place with stars in their eyes. While they're waiting to be discovered, they still gotta pay their rent. They do a bump to turn their first trick, then they're doing tricks for their bump." You know, it all sounds like such a merry occupation when referred to as "bumps" and "tricks." Anyway, as the doctor hands over Dakota's blood, she sighs, "Good luck." "Good luck to you too, Doctor," Brass replies. Oh, good lord. This non-snarky Brass has got to stop. It unmans me. Or unwomans me. Whichever is more accurate.
While this has been going on, Annie's been taking a call. It's not the call she's been waiting to get, unless Annie's been hankering to take a trip to a fancy-schmancy place in the Hollywood Hills so she can talk to rich people. Frankly, that house is so nice -- a combination of Arts & Crafts lines and materials with some of the clean, concrete minimalism that characterizes 1950s style -- that the pleasure of being in it might mitigate the radiantly smug hoo-ha that will undoubtedly emanate from the owner of said house.
Annie and Brass ring the doorbell, and someone who looks like the beta test in Project Clone Colin Firth comes to the door. He seems happy to see Annie. She says politely, "Hey, Todd. I, uh, stumbled across something, thought I'd pay you a house call. You missing a car?" Todd blinks once before answering calmly, "Yeah, it was stolen." He certainly is serene for losing a pricey automobile. Perhaps for rich people, nirvana is the absence of desire for BMWs? Annie notes that Todd didn't report the car missing, and he admits that, "No…I didn't…" Annie wants to know what that's about, and Todd's all, "It's part of my quest to let go of earthly things. So don't harsh my enlightenment." Or maybe he claims he got carjacked when he went down the hill to hire himself a date for the evening. Amazingly enough, Brass doesn't laugh and ask why on earth this guy doesn't use an outcall service, as the higher "date" price would still be less than a cheap Hollywood hooker plus BMW replacement cost. Instead, Brass simply pokes a dozen holes in Todd's story. This is a little awkward, what with Todd being an assistant city attorney and therefore a little more wired into the machine of civic government than Annie is. Brass and Annie ask if they can come inside, and Todd's all, "Nope. Expecting a carpet-cleaning service and someone to scour the house free of all clues -- I mean, 'I have company coming.'"
After that little exchange, Brass and Annie make it back down the hill. As Annie drives them down into Hollywood, they debate how to get into Todd's house: there's not enough evidence to simply get a warrant, and since Todd's a lawyer, they really can't snow him. Annie asks, "He admitted to being with a prostitute. What makes you think he's not telling the truth about the rest?" "He's hinky -- I can feel it," Brass insists. Let's hope his intuitions are more on-target than Ellie's. Annie shoots back, "Your gut can talk to my judge. Better yet, talk to Ellie. You should -- you should get the 411 on Dakota from her." Brass immediately dismisses that suggestion with, "There's an unreliable witness. So what do we do now?" Annie sighs, "We eat steak." My kind of woman.
They'll be eating overpriced steak, since they're going to Musso & Frank's. While I dig the atmosphere there, I've got to say, if you want that "I ate in old Hollywood" experience, you should head on down the street to the Pig & Whistle. Better prices, better appetizers. However, I'm not the one taking two Jersey ex-pats out to lunch. Annie strolls on back, telling Brass she's doing him "a big favor." I love it when favors involve steak. Make my favor rare, please.
Annie just "happens" to run into Judge Silvio Peters at his table. She does a round of grip 'n' grin with Brass and the seated bigwigs -- Councilman Joe Cohen, Comptroller Daniel Reichmann, and Vic Patterson, an actor now running for mayor. Unsurprisingly, Vic is a vacuous boor. He's all, "Hey, real cop! We shot a few episodes of my fake cop show in Vegas. Remember that show? Be nice to me -- there's always the off-chance that fame is communicable disease and you'll catch some!" There's some completely insincere badinage, and I would recap it if I weren't so busy trying to quell my rising nausea. As the tiresome chitchat continues, Annie quietly presses Judge Peters for the okay to romp through Todd's house, but the judge points out, "If you had enough for a warrant, you wouldn't be here. You'd be on your cell phone, calling me from Tommyburger. Now get out of here, you grubby little prole." That last part's mostly implied. Brass, meanwhile, is suffering the Trial By Actor, which has now moved on to the ghastly round of "No, really, I insist, little man -- here's my autograph." Interestingly enough, Vic is wearing a tie clip with the initials BHGC. Brass notes that detail. Annie then collects Brass and they take off.
We zoom over Hollywood on a nice day, with the hills crisp and green behind the $cientology building and the Capitol records building. And then we zoom to Ellie's building, which is not so nice. Brass knocks on a door. Ellie answers and cracks, "Well, if it isn't Dick Tracy and his sidekick, Nancy Drew." I cannot believe a cop's daughter can't come up with a better putdown than that. "Oh, hi, Charlie. Aren't you down a few angels?" Or: "Moses Hightower called. He'd like you two to get back to the academy." See the damage drugs do to you? They dull your wits for sure. Annie's not having it: "We're here on official business. Just let us in." They enter. It looks like Ellie isn't one of those drug addicts who goes on cleaning sprees. That's too bad. Annie gets down to business while Brass looks around and wonders whether to hire a cleaning service or rent a blowtorch. She asks, "You and Dakota share the same pimp." Ellie replies that, like other Fast Company subscribers, she's a member of the Free Agent Nation. Annie asks, "If [Dakota] were going to pull a con with some guy, who would it be?" Ellie insists Dakota's the proverbial hooker with a heart of gold. Annie persists, "So there's no other men in her life? You and she are…" Cut to Brass, looking pained. Which I don't get. Because in the lesbian-vs.-drug-addled hooker match-up, I'm thinking having a daughter who's clean, sober, and unfortunately fond of The L Word beats the El-ternative. Ellie drawls that she and Dakota were merely roommates.
Brass finally puts on the perp-talkin' pants and says, "You can be cute, or you can help us find your friend. What's it gonna be?" Ellie begins talking: there's a guy named Ronnie, who was "kind of" Dakota's boyfriend, but was unfortunately hung up on the whole my-girlfriend-turns-tricks thing. Well, there's usually one small, nagging habit someone has in a relationship that turns out to start a lot of fights. "Where do we find this Casanova?" Annie asks. Conveniently enough, he lives upstairs. That's handy.
Brass is now trudging down the hall to Ronnie's apartment, his face dark with fury. Annie begins saying, "I can't go in there without probable cause or a warrant --" "You're not going to arrest me for breaking and entering, are you?" Brass asks. "I thought I told you to save that business for the bedroom," Annie sighs. And then, in the real episode, she just asks what Brass is hoping to find in there. "I'll know it when I see it," he replies, then elbows open the door.
I don't suppose Brass was hoping to find a meth lab? Because that's what we're seeing. Without looking over his shoulder at Annie, Brass says, "Smell something in the hallway -- that's why we broke in, right?" "Yup," Annie deadpans. Oh, this is reassuring from a constitutional perspective.
Cut to Warrick crouched amid the debris and treating the scene. Annie cracks, "L.A. has over 200 criminalists. You gotta bring your own guy?" "Warrick is like a vampire -- he needs to be invited in," Brass replies. Warrick cracks up. It's not clear whether he's laughing at Brass, or at the fantastical concept of a major urban center having more than a few CSIs. Annie says, "If this goes back to court, Warrick's going to have to come back and testify." Warrick's all, "Beaches? Bikinis? Free trip to L.A.? I'm down." Someone needs to tell Warrick he can wear a bikini just as easily in Las Vegas, and nobody would mind. And then Warrick confirms that yes, Ronnie's apartment doubles as a meth lab. We then get a fast-forwarding flashback in which it's confirmed that people like Ronnie are why over-the-counter cold meds are going behind the counter at drugstores nationwide. Thanks, Ronnie! A nation of allergy sufferers will remember you the time we're trying to gasp out a request for Sudafed to an uncaring pharmacy counter clerk. However, Brass and Annie are not nearly so concerned with we who use pseudoephedrine for legitimate purposes as they are with Ronnie and whether he really could have pulled a carjacking scheme.
And as Ronnie shows up, the answer would be, "No." His response upon seeing two policemen and a criminalist romping through his meth-manufacturing lab? To pull out his gun and bark in a scared voice, "Bad guys, go 'way! Bad guys go 'way!!" When Annie and Brass bark for him to drop the gun, Ronnie says in an incredibly outraged tone, "You're trying to rob me? I'm being robbed by cops?" Clearly, this violates his perception of the natural order. Ronnie's got the gun on Warrick, who's sitting there with a wide-eyed expression like, Wait a minute. NICKY is the one who gets guns pulled on him! Brass says, low, calm and deliberate: "Don't. Make. Me. Shoot. You. Put. The. Gun. Down." Ronnie has now burst into tears, and he puts down the gun. Well, at least he's in touch with his emotions. His brain, not so much.
Ronnie's going to be crying a lot more: a team of coroner types has just fished Dakota out of a park's pond. She's looked better; it's too bad that she's one of those women who retains water even after she's dead. Brass puts a comforting arm on Ellie's shoulder; she's still too shocked to shake it away. A uniform tells Annie, "Jogger found her, called her in. She matched your description. Looks like body gas brought her to the top." And we get a TMI-cam shot of how the gas worked. This is not nearly so gross as the People Soup episode, for which I am grateful. The uniform asks if there are any leads, and Annie sighs, "Yeah. He's detoxing in the tank. This is why I don't believe in easy money." I bet Annie's a real kick in Vegas. She calls for Ellie, and Brass tells her, "You have to identify the body." Ellie's not exactly enthusiastic about that prospect. Brass steers her over, and she pulls away, pleading that she's going to be sick. We pull back to watch her try to walk off, only to have Annie collar her. Ellie's wearing her work clothes. That seems wrong somehow -- like, why can't she hang out in jeans like the rest of us do when we're not at work? Anyway, Annie gets Ellie to take one more look; Ellie has to nod her confirmation that we're looking at Dakota because she's trying to keep from spewing.
She runs off past Brass, who watches her go. It's pretty obvious he's hurt she didn't turn to him, but he's not sure if he should follow her. Also, he's distracted by his cell phone. Oh, it's the new sheriff, screaming, "Family business! That is a wedding or a funeral or a bar mitzvah! It is not permission to become a vice cop in another jurisdiction! Get back here now!" And Sheriff Jerkmeyer was tipped off after "the police chief called [me] after Judge Peters called him. I hear they do a nice t-bone at Musso's." Yeah, but it's still overpriced.
Brass protests that his kid is in trouble, and Sheriff Jerkimer spits, "Well, she's not dead. Get your ass back here." Brass tells Sheriff Jerkison to write his ass up for insubordination, then send the notice long-distance, as he has no plans to leave Los Angeles until things are settled. He then heads over to talk to Ellie, who's watching him in mild disbelief.
In the scene, Annie's busy expositing that Ronnie has a prior and, thanks to the wonder of The War On Drugs, he's now facing a mandatory minimum of 10-15 years for manufacturing -- unless he feels like talking about Dakota. In that case, Annie can muster up a bargaining mood. Ronnie gives voice to the deep wellspring of grief he's feeling with, "Dakota? What's that crazy bitch got to do with this?" And then he works around to saying that he's not interested in killing anyone who's as orally skilled as Dakota had been, only not in so many words. Oh, and by the way, Ellie is quite the fine fellatrix herself. Ronnie works in as much salacious detail as he can allow on a network primetime show -- i.e. not much, unless you happen to be Ellie's father, listening in. Which, unfortunately, Brass is. It's clear from his face that he doesn't want to keep listening, but he's trying to solve the case for Ellie. Annie asks casually, "Where were you a few nights ago?" "Out," smirks Ronnie. "BE MORE SPECIFIC," shouts Annie, which scares Ronnie right back into Big Fat Baby mode. He stammers that he was meeting customers. Annie asks, "You like Beamers?" and Ronnie loses it, shouting, "Bitch! What are you talking about? What are you talking about?" Annie cows him by bellowing even louder, "WATCH YOUR MOUTH." Sniffling, Ronnie does. Ronnie has a latent masochistic streak that's been awakened over the course of this conversation.
And Annie has the ability to take us back into flashback: Dakota is busy giving Todd his discount thrills, Ronnie interrupts the proceedings so he can take the car, and then Ronnie decides, "Right now is a fine time to ask my woman about her night at work." One jealousy-fueled killing later, and we're back in the interrogation room. Through an act of supernatural concentration, Ronnie summons the wits to sum things up: "You want me to confess to a murder I didn't commit so you can reduce a drug charge? You're high, right? Y-y-you must be high." Heh. And you know, for all that the actor playing Ronnie is very good, and the character's quite vivid, I cannot believe he's managed to live this long without blowing himself and his meth lab up.
Annie pops into the interrogation room's little spay chamber, where Brass is sitting, looking like he regrets everything that's happened from 1978 on. She lets Brass keep staring ahead, and says sincerely but without a trace of regret, "I'm sorry you had to hear that."
Brass heads out to the lobby, and deliberately walks right past Ellie. She jumps up from her chair and follows him, asking, "What did he say? Dad?" Brass sighs and says in a defeated voice, "You're right. I shouldn't have come." Ah, Brass, you're killing me here. Ellie says, "Dad. It was that guy in the car. I told you, you gotta find him." Brass says, "Don't you understand? We pulled your best friend out of a lake. I mean, it was just luck it wasn't you!" Ellie completely misses the point with, "Well, it wasn't me." And a weary viewership wishes otherwise. Brass shoots back, "Not today. But look at you. You turned yourself into a disposable human being. Don't you get it? You're nothing but plumbing!" Brass is as close to losing it as we've ever seen him. Ellie snots, "What? You're going to send me to my room and ground me? Have a patrol car pick me up at prom? Or spank me?" Brass extends the olive branch: "You're right. You're right. I messed up. But I'm just trying to do the best that I can. I wish you could say the same thing." Aw! Sniff! Curse you, Paul Guilfoyle, for being good enough to make me cry.
Fortunately, the scene cheers me up, because it opens on a sign reading "WANG IMPOUND" and the mental image that name conjured cracked me up. Just imagine auto boots on body parts not meant to be booted. Anyway, Matt Glazer's found gunshot residue, and there was powder on Dakota's clothing, but she wasn't shot. It turns out that the blood in the trunk matched Dakota too. Warrick wonders, "What's with the bullet holes?" Matt opens his mouth to explain, and Warrick realizes, "Clean-up." We flash back to someone shooting the hole in the trunk so blood can drain out, presumably onto another surface. Warrick gets under the car and quickly finds where one bullet exited; the only question now is where the other one went. It went about eight inches above the hole Warrick found, right into the gas tank.
The two drain the tank and it's three-quarters blood, the rest gas. There's paying an arm and a leg to fill up, and then there's draining an arm and a leg to fill up. Matt fishes out the shell and says, "Looks like a .45 -- big, fat and slow. Lucky for us, it didn't have enough power to go through and through the gas tank." Warrick concurs, then checks out the bucket, noting that it's awfully hard to steal a car when its engine doesn't take O-positive. Matt points out, "That tweaker you busted just got bumped off the top of the list. He had a 9MM." Warrick asks, "You think you can run [this bullet] through IBIS?" "We do have that here," Matt deadpans. I like Matt. Can we keep him?
Meanwhile, Brass is on the phone, reaching out and touching David the Consulting Coroner. He asks for help, and David fishes, "Of course. But I thought you were asked to come home?" Brass says, "I'll be home tomorrow." "I hope she was worth it," David replies. Brass freezes a little: "What do you mean?" David says, "I don't know. You put your career on the line, I assume there's a woman involved." "Then you assume wrong! Why do you think I keep asking suspects if they're gay? I'm trying to see if they can fix me up with someone!" Brass shoots back. Or maybe he just ducks the question with, "What, are you a detective now?" David knows a cue when he hears it. Long story short: Dakota was beaten and left to die. Her assailant hit her repeatedly with something, as the L.A. coroner noted a very specific pattern to the marks on Dakota's face and scalp. The other significant item: the coroner's assistant who prepped Dakota's body noticed a green, waxy substance under Dakota's fingernails, and concrete chunks in a bag tied to Dakota's waist. The two men agree that the concrete was probably used in an attempt to weight Dakota's body. Brass checks the photos of the concrete pieces; conveniently, they're doubling as pieces of the puzzle in this case, as they match the concrete squares that Todd has paving his driveway.
We cut immediately to Brass matching the squares in the driveway as Annie crouches to him and asks, "You want to say, 'I told you so.'" "I just want it to be over with. And have a happy ending," Brass sighs.
Todd comes bouncing out of the house in the kind of indignation that usually indicates someone's out of hair product. He asks Annie what's going on, and she apologizes with, "Sorry, Todd. We've got the warrant. We have to search." "You've got to be kidding me," he protests. Kidding about what? There being probable cause for a warrant, or Annie's being able to get one? As the contemptuous CSIs file in after the no-less-contemptuous cops, Matt calls out, "I just had the floors polished. Will you at least take off your shoes, please?" "I sleep in my shoes," Brass shoots back.
Matt's first in the house. He bops up the stairs to a room that looks like it's straight out of West Elm, and asks, "This guy married?" No, he is not. Matt smirks, "Mmm-hmmm. Anyone else's gaydar going off?" Annie rolls her eyes, and Warrick points out that Todd did hire a female hooker. Brass suggests that perhaps Todd swings both ways. Warrick says, "Why? Because he has this nice shag carpet?" Heh. Warrick then learns that mocking someone's decorating chops pays when he observes that the shag carpet's actually wet. He and Matt quickly rip it up. Surprise! "Oh, yeah. That's a lot of blood," Warrick notes. By "lot of blood," we're talking two to three pints. "Nobody loses that much blood and lives," Annie says. Unfortunately, while all the perfumes of Arabia may not be able to wash that little floor, they've done a good job of scrambling any DNA in the blood. Brass reasons, "She was beaten multiple times. There must be some spatter or cast-off." Matt wrecks the rest of Todd's living room by spraying the entertainment center and flat-screen TV with luminol, but he can't get a clean read. Warrick concludes the metal surface is giving a false positive, turning everything blue. Warrick then has Brass turn the TV to a blue screen, and up pops a blood sample. Oh-kay then.
Warrick and Brass continue to poke around the house, ambling around a gorgeous kitchen. It's a little too trendy and modern for my tastes, but it's lovely nonetheless. Brass asks, "Who needs three trash bins?" Brass has apparently never heard of recycling. Todd has -- one bin is devoted to glass bottles. Warrick enumerates them with rising enthusiasm: "Tequila. Whiskey! Gin! Absinthe?" Brass checks the bottle and notes that the coroner found green wax under Dakota's fingernails, so she might have used it as a weapon.
Cut to Todd in the interrogation room, sighing and telling Annie, "Yes, I solicited her." Annie wants to know, "So you admit to having sexual relations with Sasha Reynolds, a.k.a. Dakota?" And that would be a "No." Somewhere, Matt's snickering. Annie gets Todd to admit that yes, money changed hands, because Todd paid Dakota $60 before driving her back to his place so she could meet a friend of his. "And then…" Annie prods. "I have no knowledge of what happened after that," Todd prevaricates. Annie asks, "Does this friend have a name?" "A big one," Todd smirks. Yo, mullethead, Annie asked about his name. Annie leans forward and says, "You know, Todd, I think you're smart enough to recognize the consciousness of guilt. Blood in your house. In your car. All of which was cleaned up. This friend worth going to prison for?" Todd thinks for a moment, then says, "Turn off that mike." Annie does -- and Brass squints in suspicion. Then we see, but do not hear, Todd lean in to tell Annie something. Brass is walking and thinking, Gosh, I wish Gil were here with me! He's a decent lip-reader. Eventually, Annie flips the mike back on, and calls a cop to escort Todd out. We see her face for a moment, and the music gets all dramatic. James Ellroy and Walter Mosley both pause their TiVos and debate whether the episode's just slid into the corrupt-and-conflicted-L.A.-cop territory they know, love, and get royalties from. And then Annie turns around to tell Brass, "He invoked." Brass shakes his head, because he's just figured out how he got screwed by local politics.
Night's fallen, and Brass is walking out to his car. Another car zooms up and very nearly hits him, but then stops. It's Warrick. Clearly, he's unused to piloting anything other than the CSImobiles. Warrick tells Brass, "I wanted to catch you before you left. I got a look at those fingerprint results from the bottles that we collected -- just before I was escorted from the lab." "They say why?" Brass asks. "No, but I think I know why. It's like Chinatown, Jim," Warrick replies. Brass sighs, because his hunch was right: "So visiting hours are over, Doctor. It's time to go." "What about Ellie?" Warrick asks. "What about her?" Brass shoots back. Warrick points out, "She's the only one who can ID Todd as the driver." Brass shrugs, "I couldn't get much out of Annie, but I don't think Todd killed Annie. It wasn't his scene." Warrick insists, "He's involved. It's his car, his house, his party." Brass bitterly asks, "Who's going to believe a tweaker hooker?" "You better hope nobody [does], or else she'll be taking a dirt nap," Warrick says. Ow! Getting in the last word!
We cut to Ellie getting ready for work, taking off clothes, putting on makeup, that sort of thing. Her phone rings, but she decides not to answer it. We hear Brass: "Yeah, uh, Ellie. It's your dad. Listen, you're right about the guy. He's a pretty important person with pretty important friends. So, um, do me a favor and don't go out tonight. Okay?" We see Ellie sniffing through the whole thing, which is shorthand for "she just did enough meth to unstring a rhino," and she rolls her eyes in the general direction of the machine. Oh, Brass. You know Ellie well enough -- instead of asking her to do what you want, you should have told her to do exactly what you didn't want, and then the little she-goblin would have stayed in just because she thought it would spite you.
Warrick and Brass are now solving the case from the comfort of Brass's fleabag motel room. Warrick's theorizing, "If Dakota had wax under her fingernails, I think she was doing more than just pouring." We flash back to Dakota attempting to use the bottle to ward off an attacker, and Brass asks, "Who was she defending against?" Warrick says, "From the prints we got off the bottle, I have a list of six suspects." They are: Silvio Peters (the judge), (Councilman) Joe Cohen, (Comptroller) Daniel Reichmann, (would-be mayor) Vic Patterson, Todd Piccone, and Parker Smythe. Brass recognizes nearly all the names from the lunchtime drop-in. He's surprised the bigwigs are in AFIS, and Warrick mentions, "You can be in AFIS for a lot of reasons. After 9/11, anyone who works in a government building…" Brass realizes this extends to anyone. Warrick continues, "Or anyone who has a permit to carry a concealed weapon." He then has another good idea: call Nicky.
Having agreed to do Warrick the favor of looking up whether or not the suspects have any permits to carry concealed weapons, our man in Vegas is evidently the fastest typist in the Silver State -- and the most psychic, as he correctly spells "Parker Smythe" (it's pronounced "Smith"), Reichmann, and Piccone. Weirdly enough, Cohen's been dropped from the list of names. Why? Anyway, it turns out Vic Patterson has a permit to carry concealed. What's more, Nicky's heard of him: "Are we talking about 'The Eagle'? From the TV show?"
On the other end of the line, Brass rolls his eyes, and Warrick shrugs as if to say, You have no idea, the conversations I suffer through. And then Warrick asks what kind of weapon Patterson's permitted to carry. Nicky replies, "A .45, same kind he uses in all his cheeseball shoot-outs." Nicky then does Warrick a solid and runs the serial number through Automated Firearms Service -- the gun he uses came from the Beverly Hills Gun Club. And Brass flashes to the two instances in which he saw the fancy, scripty letters "BHGC." Brass reasons, "If he shops there, maybe he shoots there."
Cut to the day, with Brass cleverly snowing the guy behind the desk at the Beverly Hills Gun Club with a story about how it's been a dream of his to shoot at the world-famous club. The guy laps it up, so much so that when Brass feigns being a big fan of Vic's, he completely loses all discretion and kvells about Vic's firearms skills like a proud papa. Brass says he'll shoot what Victor shoots. Warrick discreetly checks out the gun rental locker and the many plaques dedicated to Vic. When the clerk asks, "You gonna shoot too?" Warrick replies, "Nah, I'm just going to hold back, blow off some steam." Brass looks over, and Warrick gives him a grin. I like it when these two work together.
Then we're back in the familiar confines of the CSI Labitrail. Nicky's on the phone with Brass, letting us know that Brass somehow managed to hold on to a bullet or two from his morning at the club, and sent a sample on for Nicky to look at via IBIS. As the bullet spins and gets analyzed, Nicky makes small talk with, "So! You meet [Vic]?" Brass is all, "Eh. Yeah." Nicky laughs and asks, "Didya get his autograph for me?" Brass finally snaps: "Actually I did, and if you get me a match, you might be able to meet him at his trial." Our boy Nicky shows that he's growing up and getting as cynical as the rest of us with, "You think that would make his autograph worth more or less?" And then they're back on topic, as IBIS has spit out a match -- to a bullet entered by Matt Glazer, LAPD, recovered from a BMW's gas tank. Coincidence?
Warrick comes back in then and sits on the bed so he can be lit in a suitably dramatic fashion. A single beam of light obliges, focusing on his face and letting the rest of him recede into darkness. Brass tells him they've got a match and they're good to go. Warrick replies, "I've been in Hollywood, thinking. Even if Vic Patterson did shoot up the car with his gun, that doesn't mean he killed Dakota. Just means he helped clean up." Brass recalls that Dakota was beaten to death, not shot. "We need a murder weapon to nail his ass," Warrick says ruefully. Fortunately, it soon occurs to them that they've got one -- the marks on Dakota match the pistol grip, and Vic pistol-whipped her to death.
Cut to Brass and Annie, back at what looks to be Russo's, only much emptier. Annie's telling Brass, "About six months ago, a strung-out hooker came into the PD, beat to crap, screaming that Vic Patterson had done it. Her wounds looked a lot like this. I figured it was her pimp, she was sniffing around for a settlement…I sent her along with an ice bag." Brass says, "Ahhhh, I'm sorry. I knew you thought this guy was a winner." Annie looks away for a moment, then looks back at Brass and says bitterly, "I worked my whole life to sit at the table with the big boys…only to find out that the food is poisoned." Brass is a realist; he tells her, "The only record of this investigation is in that envelope. And half the evidence collection won't stand up in court. It's your call." Neither one of them look at each other through the long silence that stretches between them. Brass makes one more try for the side that insists that impaling yourself on your principles sometimes counts for more than setting them aside until you're in a position to use them for a greater good. He asks, "How many years you got on? …That's 23 combined, that's a lot of innings. The worse thing they can make you do is retire?" Annie gets pissed. "What am I gonna do then, knit? This is it, Jimmy. This is all I got." Brass isn't having it: "If it's all you got, then you gotta do it right." Annie's face is a study in anguish, but when she looks at Brass, you can tell she wouldn't expect him to make any other point. She and Brass stop looking at each other. Brass asks, "Remember Mike O'Toole, from vice?" "Of course I do," Annie snaps. She adds, more softly, "It broke my heart when I found out he was dirty." Brass says, "He was a heartbreaker. He broke up my marriage." Annie whips around in surprise, then recovers enough to say coolly, "I thought I did that." Brass says tiredly, "Nancy used our affair because she was looking for a way out. But for me…I guess I'm old-fashioned. A bad marriage is better than no marriage." "And you thought a kid would help?" Annie asks. From the way she says it, I'm wondering if Ellie was used as a reason Brass didn't leave Nancy. Brass tells her, "See, that's the thing…" He has to stop to compose himself before continuing, "I didn't have a kid." Annie's face softens and she leans in to stroke Brass's face, telling him, "Yeah, you did. I don't see Mike O'Toole out here helping her." Brass manages to compose himself more despite that, and adds, "I spent a good chunk of my life looking the other way. So much so that my neck got tired. So I, you know, got a divorce, and turned Mike and his crew in, and started over in Vegas. Ellie...she's like the unfinished business of all that." Annie adds matter-of-factly, "So it's my neck now." Brass has no reply. He picks up his drink and lets her think.
And…WOW. Donna Murphy and Paul Guilfoyle just knocked this scene out of the park. Watching them on screen -- well, it redeemed her awful Star Trek role and that time he played a lisping racist on Miami Vice. Now go forth, you fine actors, and take cheesy gigs no more!
Brass has gone forth, back to Ellie's apartment building. He walks down the grimy corridor and stops at her door. After some internal debate, he decides against knocking. Instead, Brass sticks a card for a rehab program into the cellophane wrapped around that sad little gift he got for her back in Vegas. The note on the card reads, "Ellie -- When you're ready, I'll make it happen. (Heart) Dad." Brass takes a moment, then quickly leaves.
That's it. Talk about a lack of resolution -- we don't know if either of the women in Brass's life will do the best that he knows they're capable of. And honestly, is there any other way to end an episode in which the whole point is that sometimes, you just have to live with the loose ends? I don't think so. But I look forward to seeing if we'll ever find out what happened.