It is the middle of the night and our girl Max is climbing out of the water onto a boat. She's wearing a leather outfit. Which isn't exactly what I would choose to swim in, but hey, whatever turns you on. There are a bunch of Bad Men walking around. You can tell they are Bad Men because they are smoking and talking about money and hanging out on a boat that is docked! Max sees one of the Bad Men leave a briefcase of money sitting out in the open. So she swipes the cash. 'Cause she's a bad, bad girl, but not as bad as the Bad Men, because she doesn't smoke. One of the Bad Men notices that the money is gone and demands of the other Bad Man where it is; he claims he left it right there.
We cut back to Max getting busted mid-heist by two Bad Men henchmen. And, you know, she's kind of a shitty thief. I mean, this is the second time in as many episodes that she has gotten caught halfway through a robbery. Good thing she's bionic and can take out anyone who catches her. So she, of course, swabs the deck with their butts, but not before mentioning that one of them is "kinda cute." Then she puts her leather backpack on both shoulders and dives off the side of the boat. In her leather outfit. As she looks back toward the boat, she sees that the Bad Men are fighting about the missing loot, and then they kill each other. Because that's what Bad Men do. By the way, this scene purportedly takes place in Seattle Harbor. Being from Seattle, I can tell you that no one calls anything the Seattle Harbor. The Sound? Sure. Lake Union? Fine. The Seattle Harbor? No.
Now we see the intro to Dark Angel, which I swear we did not see last time, because I would have remembered all those pictures of a Jessica Alba as a fetus. Oy.
The Private Dick is talking on the phone to some hapless halfwit whose wife is cheating on him with his mistress, or something, when he notices that Lydecker is standing in the room. Turns out the Private Dick is being blackmailed by Lydecker, a.k.a. Mr. Bad Guy. It seems their deal is that Lydecker will not rip out the Private Dick's fingernails anymore if he fills him in on Max's comings and goings. Which sounds like a fine deal to me. Mr. Bad Guy wants the Private Dick to be very clear about how important this girl is to him: he would peel every inch of skin from Private Dick's body if it would bring him one heartbeat closer to Max. He knows she's out there and eventually she's going to have to come up for air, and when she does, he wants to be there. Hey, Mr. Bad Guy? You were right to her last week, and you didn't even recognize her. You may want to re-think your little plan while you try to get a clue.
We then cut to Max popping a wheelie on her motorcycle. She likes to ride real fast on her motorcycle. And if you didn't know that before, you will now, because there are about eight different shots of it.
On to the bar, where all the bike messengers and their friends are gathered around watching some bike messenger chick do tricks on the bar. Which is something the Health department might want to look into. Original Cindy, Max, and her roomie check out the so-called scenery. OC really likes the chick doing the tricks, and Max announces trick chick "is all" Cindy's. Because she is generous like that. Or not, because she seems to want every other person in the room: "Bring me the hot boy over there. His friend's kind of working for me, too. And that brother over there in the corner is breaking my heart!" Hey, Max! Shut! Up! Yep, that works for me. The roomie asks Max whether she is running a fever, since she looks flushed. And then OC calls her out for "eyeing over every pair of pants that walks in." Word. Some random guy walks by without even looking at Max, who is all "Hey!" Max justifies this action to her friends by saying, "I'm just being friendly 'cause he's cute." OC calls her out again: "Will somebody correct my eyes? You've been laying out for the boys all night long." The roomie jumps in to add, "It's like you're in heat or something." Max looks startled by this assessment. Which is to say, she modified her pouty face to resemble the expression that we humans call "startled." OC tells her not to worry about it; if Max has an itch, she should go scratch. Then some scrawny pseudo-indie pop guy walks up to hit on Max. OC, in all her glory, informs him, "We're talking, bitch." I love her. The grungy guy (I'll call him Scrappy) asks Max if she comes here often. 'Cause that line is really original and always works on girls who are way out of your league. Max asks him what he wants to drink. OC ask , "You're heterosexual. Can you explain that to me?" Which, of course, she can't. Because only the casting director can. Max and Scrappy get their beers. And, wait. Wait. They're drinking Heineken in Seattle? What, all the microbreweries got toasted in the pulse? No Redhook? No Pyramid? Not even a Rainier? Huh. Before Max can drink her...um, Heineken, she gets paged. And runs off to jump on her motorcycle. She likes to ride real fast on her motorcycle. OC relieves Scrappy of the beers, while she fills him in on the fact that his date just bolted from the room.
As Max rides, the voice-over tells us that her roomie was right, and that she is in heat. Because they spiced up the genetic cocktail that is Max with some feline DNA. She's part cat? Oh, that makes a hell of a lot of sense. Right, right, suspend my disbelief. Max says that the addition of feline DNA explains why she can jump over a fifteen-foot fence and take out a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker with her thumb and index finger, but it also means that three times a year she is climbing the walls looking for some action. If just a dash of feline DNA can do all that, I'm sure glad cats don't have thumbs and index fingers. That would be scary. Anyway, Max is glad that the worst of it is over, and that now she just has to get through the twelve hours without doing something she'll regret. I hope she can just make it through the forty-five minutes, because I really don't want to watch that.