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Shortly after Knapp gets a prison-based phone call from someone who knows just a little too much about the Cain case, the Cains themselves receive a package. How thoughtful! It's a severed human ear. Howâ¦not very thoughtful at all. And kind of gross.
Tests indicate that the ear is not Leopold's, though both Knapp and King reach the joint conclusion that it may be Aubrey Cain's, since she hasn't returned Daddy's calls. That's because she left a Providence bar with a mysterious stranger, who just happens to be under the employ of the racquetball-wielding mastermind of this entire kidnapping operation. Eventually, Aubrey figures out that her one-night stand is not such a catch after all, and Knapp and King figure out where Aubrey's disappeared to. The ensuing stand-off between Aubrey's would-be lothario and the authorities ends when fresh-faced Agent Atkins puts one right between the lothario's eyes. That this kill shot came immediately after Racquetball assured Aubrey's one-night stand/abductor that a contingency plan was in place should the feds come a-callin' is not the least bit suspicious.
And what of Leo, kidnapped in Episode 1? He's been stashed in Mexico, which, the last time I checked, is not one of the five boroughs, nor is it accessible from the LIE. Meanwhile, Conrad goes looking into his own past and finds a bunch of stereotypical Irishmen who resent him for putting on fancy airs. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously on Kidnapped: There was a kidnapping. You'd think that would be fairly obvious from the show's title.
We begin this week, where we left off last week, with a ringing phone interrupting Knapp's morose introspection, while a title card informs us that it's "Day 3," presumably since Leo's abduction, though from the looks of it, maybe that's how long it's been since Knapp has changed his shirt. The phone rings again -- if you're thinking it's the kidnapper calling back, you're thinking wrong. When Knapp answers, the decidedly non-distorted voice on the other end of the line asks, "Knapp, is that you? Can we talk?" Knapp looks seriously troubled by this, like I imagine the person in all those "The call is coming from inside the house!" stories looks, only Knapp appears distressed because he recognizes the voice and not because he's the protagonist in a clichéd summer campfire story. "How'd you get this number?" Knapp asks, not unreasonably, since it's not like it's common knowledge that he's holed up at the Cains' place. Playing with a cigarette lighter, Mystery Caller makes some crack about letting his fingers do the walking and then launches into the taunting-about-a-shared-past portion of the phone call -- how he heard Knapp had to seek psychological counseling after their last encounter and whether Knapp ever "wonders about her... do you wonder if she's still alive? Maybe having her braces off first thing in the morning? Or did I put her in a box?" So I think we can safely make the assumption that our Mystery Caller here matched wits with Knapp in the past and came out ahead. Turns out Mystery Caller is also extremely well-versed in the ins and outs of Knapp's current assignment -- he gives a fairly accurate description of the Cains' go-go lifestyle, wonders about the bust-gone-bad in Brooklyn, and several other things that you can only know about if you're intimately involved in the case. (Or by scouring over the painstakingly detailed recaps available for your reading pleasure at televisionwithoutpity.com.) Mystery caller continues with some more details that probably sound like nonsensical prattle, unless you've already skipped ahead in this episode. "Tell me about Zurich," Mystery caller says. "It's cold there. My parents used to take us to Switzerland when we were children. Verbier. So, any leads on the boy?" Knapp wants to know where Mystery Caller has been getting his information. "From the back of a baby's ear," he says, adding a request to stay in touch as he hangs up. And with that, Mystery Caller is led back to what appears to be a prison cell, flicking his Bic the whole way. As arch-enemies go, that's a fairly creepy one to have. Also annoying.
Over at the hospital, where King is keeping a bedside vigil over Virgil, King's cell phone starts ringing. If it's a creepy, cigarette-lighter-flicking no-goodnik from King's past, I'm giving up for tonight. Fortunately, it's Andy, the fidgety FBI weasel, who's calling to inform King that the FBI is nearly pulling a Trading Spaces-style renovation on the apartment across the way from the Cains' place to observe all the comings and goings. Andy also wants to know how Virgil is doing. "You asking how he's doing, or are you asking if I had a chance to question him yet?" King demands. It's the former, insists Andy, who's probably thinking, "Boy, you botch one raid on a kidnapper's lair, and all of a sudden, everyone jumps all over your ass." The diagnosis on Virgil is that he's still got a bullet in him. He's faring much better than one of the FBI agents from the ill-fated raid, however, as Andy informs King that the agent didn't make it. Now it's Andy's turn to jump all over his own ass: "He died in the night. What a thing to say, huh? It takes this ugly thing and turns it into damn poetry." Yes, but not very good poetry, if that's any consolation. Anyhow, Andy wants King to know that he realizes he made a mistake and now he has to live with the fact that two agents died because of it. King does not appear particularly moved. Perhaps he's a forgiving-on-the-inside kind of guy.
The morning begins with Conrad in the bathroom amid the sounds of rushing water and a knock on the door -- it's Ellie. "I'm in the shower," he says, as the camera pulls back to reveal that he's fully clothed and standing in front of the sink. That trick may not have worked on my mother back in high school, but it sure manages to fool Ellie. She mentions how they still haven't heard from Aubrey, their oldest daughter at Brown. Conrad says that he'll be out in a moment, and, after Ellie walks off, he resumes his "shower" -- that is to say, he dials a phone number and asks the Irish brogue on the other end of the line if Sully is there. "Who's askin'?" the Irish brogue wants to know. "Conrad," says Conrad. "Don't know any Conrad," the Irish brogue says abruptly, and I realize we've never really met the person speaking in that Irish brogue, so it's very hard to judge his moral fiber at this point, but I kind of got the impression he was fibbing about not knowing any Conrad.
In Times Square, Knapp is talking to some guy in a brown jacket and orange shirt who's wolfing down a hot dog for breakfast, while Atkins, the baby-faced FBI agent, watches them surreptitiously from his car. Ah, street vendor hotdogs -- the breakfast of champions. Also, the breakfast of reporters, which is what this nattily-dressed fellow apparently is. And, having spent a considerable amount of time among reporters as they chow down, I'd like to offer this piece of advice to Knapp -- make sure your fingers aren't anywhere near the food. Knapp, however, is too busy talking to his rumpled reporter friend about the Cains -- this would-be Bob Woodward has very little dirt to report, save for an incident a few years ago when a confidential source vowed to expose Conrad Cain in exchange for a handsome fee but never showed up at the appointed meeting to deliver the goods. The reporter muses that Conrad probably bought the whistle-blower off. What he does offer Knapp is a CD-ROM labeled "Cains," which presumably has all the collected wisdom of the Western Canon about Conrad and company. "Modern technology," the reporter snorts. "In the old days, I would have had to pass you a briefcase or something." Sure, a CD-ROM is modern technology... in 1998. These days, anyone who's anyone uses a flash drive to pass along confidential information at clandestine meetings in Times Square. Get with the times, tubby!
While this is happening, Atkins is furiously snapping photos of Knapp talking to the reporter, pocketing the CD-ROM, and strolling down the street... until a car comes along and Knapp disappears from view. Atkins looks panicked for a moment -- "Great. I gotta open up another missing person case?" -- until Knapp slides into the passenger seat. "Who you looking for?" he asks Atkins. "Anyone I know? Is he handsome?" The corners of Knapp's mouth are turned upward in this very strange, unnatural way -- if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was smiling. We cut to Atkins dropping Knapp off in front of the Cain apartment under the watchful eye of King from the FBI's observation post; I'd describe his expression to be of the "It's so hard to find good help these days" variety.
In the Cain household proper, Ellie walks in to discover someone eating pancakes -- much to her shock, it's not a member of her immediately family, but rather, a particularly grim-looking fellow with steely eyes and approximately as wide as the Chicago Bears' starting defensive line. Meet Jimbo -- he's an independent contractor brought in by Knapp to look after Alice and, judging by that second stack of pancakes Knapp is serving him, he enjoys hearty breakfasts nearly as much as he likes not talking. "Did you think to run this by me first?" Ellie demands of Knapp, who allows that he did not. But before Ellie has the chance to gripe further to the guy who's busy protecting her family from further harm, Alice comes in, jabbering away about her plans for show-and-tell. Ellie informs her daughter that those show-and-tell plans should be tabled, as she'll be staying home from school. Before Alice can register her disappointment, she spots Jimbo: "Who's that?" "Jimbo," says Ellie. "He's going to look after you for a while. And with that, Alice beings a filibuster, the likes of which usually aren't seen outside of Senate chambers or West Wing reruns: "I'm Alice. My brother Leo has a bodyguard. His name is Virgil. You're way bigger than he is. Leo's at static apnea camp. It's where they teach you how to hold your breath for a really long time. Can I bring you to show-and-tell week? Jennie Akron wouldn't believe her eyes." Yes, Jimbo's propensity for not talking will serve him well on this assignment.
When Conrad enters to announce that he's pushed back his board meeting and cleared his calendar of all commitments, Knapp requests a moment of the elder Cains' time in the other room. The reason for this sidebar: the importance of maintaining appearances for appearance's sake. "When your son's picture's on the front page of the New York Times, that phone is going to start ringing, and every crackpot in America is going to be on the other end of the line, which is going to make my job a lot tougher," Knapp says. "But sooner or later it's going to get out that Leopold's been abducted. The longer we can push that off, the better." So the first rule of Parents of Kidnapped Children Club: do not talk about Parents of Kidnapped Children Club. Ellie is instructed to call Leo's school and tell them he's sick. Conrad is told to go into the office and go about his business. "I need you to give the impression that everything is OK," Knapp concludes. For people who seem to be pretty comfortable pretending that they're happily married, the Cains appear daunted by this request to play make-believe; Knapp assures them that it's what's best for Leopold.
Having given the Cains their marching orders, Knapp retreats into the surveillance room to shoot some orders Turner's way. He wants her to cross-reference the Cains with Zurich, per the phone conversation he had with the lighter-flicking freak from last night. Speaking of that conversation, Turner says someone erased a DAT file of a call that came in; Knapp cops to pulling a Rosemary Woods on the tape in question. "Why? Who called?" Turner asks. "Should I be concerned?" she asks again when Knapp doesn't answer. Knapp gets up from the couch and walks away, cutting off a third round of questioning at the pass.
This little employer-employee tiff is interrupted by a phone call from King, who's been watching from across the way via binoculars. It is revealed through the course of their playful banter that King is doing his best to recreate a cut off the Police's Synchronicity album: Every breath Knapp takes, every move he makes, every CD-ROM from rumpled reporters that he takes, King is watching him. In fact... he's watching him right now!
While those two agree to have a summit on Central Park West to reach a common understanding about the investigation, the doorman who does not know the difference between roses and hydrangeas is making a delivery, a box that's addressed to Alice. For his troubles, he gets an earful from Alice from how these are the seeds she's ordered for planting a garden on the roof and a glare from Jimbo, who continues not to speak. Jimbo is rapidly growing on me -- I hope that if this Kidnapped thing manages to take off, he winds up with his own spinoff, featuring him glowering his way through a host of different cases. Out on the busy New York sidewalks, we see the accountant who spent the first episode systematically slaughtering anyone involved in carrying out the kidnapping plot. "The package has been delivered," he says. Oh man -- ALICE, DON'T OPEN THAT PACKAGE! Just talk at it for a while; that's what you're good at.
But, of course, Alice is opening the package. And she's doing it using particularly unsafe knife techniques to boot. Maria the maid comes in right at that moment and begins bawling Alice out for using a santoku knife to open up a package. That's right, young lady -- a boning knife would be a far more appropriate choice. Maria shoos Alice away, presumably so that she can study up on cutlery, and goes to open the package for her. Hey -- those seeds Alice ordered look a lot like a recently severed human ear! Oh. Uh. Yuck. I think I'm going to need some commercials here to cleanse the palate.
When we return, Atkins is walking very rapidly out of the Cain residence, carrying a cooler wrapped with evidence tape -- either that cooler contains the severed ear, or someone is very protective of his post-work Miller Lite. And boy howdy, does Atkins strike me as the kind of guy who would enjoy a post-work Miller Lite. (The post-work drink at Mr. Sobell's place of employment is straight whiskey chased by pangs of regret.) Meanwhile, Knapp is pointing out to King that, traditionally in these matters, the kidnapper sends the ear to get everyone's attention -- so why hasn't the phone rung yet with a list of demands? Or at least a smattering of ear-related puns? You know -- I'm all ears, my what nice ears you have, could you say that again but this time into my good ear. Anyhow, this departure from kidnapper protocol has Knapp driven to distraction. Meanwhile, his stash of light beers secured, Atkins returns to the apartment to tell King and Knapp that the courier service has no record of a package being delivered, and the idiot doorman recalls nothing of the delivery man's appearance. C'mon -- glasses, oozed evil, might have appeared in an X-Files episode back in the day?
While all this is going on, Ellie's in the bathroom, sipping water from the sink in order to calm herself down. Conrad enters -- to her credit, Ellie doesn't try the "I'm in the shower" ruse. They hug -- this time without the pounding on Conrad's chest -- and Ellie asks a perfectly reasonable question: "Why are they doing this to us?" Before Conrad can think of a suitable answer -- "Karmic payback for a life misspent?" "Because of my shady past?" "Just 'cause?" -- Alice appears in the doorway to do what she does best: talk about insignificant matters until everyone is too annoyed to remember why they were feeling sad and anxious. "I want my seeds," she says. "The package -- it was addressed to me. I'm planting a garden." Conrad and Ellie look at Alice like they don't know whether to envy her innocence or wonder how they raised someone so lacking in perception of the world around her.
Turner is giving Knapp a rundown of all of Cain's possible connections to Zurich -- bank deals, where he stays when visiting Switzerland, perhaps even his favorite type of Swiss cheese. The report is about as interesting as you would expect these things to be. Put it this way: Knapp never breaks stride, as he turns around and tells Turner to keep looking. "Where are you going?" she asks. "Lunch," he says. Because nothing works up the ol' appetite quite like a human ear that's not attached to any human.
At FBI headquarters, they're recapping things with an alacrity that puts me to shame. The Faux Cop that Knapp found with his throat slit in last week's episode called his ex-wife out of the blue a week ago, offering to make good on back child support payments. Sadly, the room was swept clean, so there's little evidence as to who cut Faux Cop a new smile several inches below his old one. Also, the FBI is having trouble getting the FBI's phone records. "Call Terry Patrick down at DOJ," King tells Atkins. "Tell him that King is calling in that chit on that thing with that guy. He'll understand." Strangely, I do, too. My friends and I always talk like this -- "Did you call that guy about that thing?" one of us will say. "Which guy?" another will respond. "The blond guy?" "No," we'll say. "The other guy." And all of this is our clever, one-too-many-viewings-of-Goodfellas way of confirming that we're going to meet for drinks after work some day. It sounds much cooler when Delroy Lindo says it. The point of this whole scene, I think: it means Latimer King gets results, you stupid chief! Also, we learn in rapid succession that Alfred can't make a positive ID on anyone else because he was crouching in the back seat of the SUV (yeah, sure); that Virgil is fading in and out of consciousness; and that the DNA results are back on the ear. Everyone looks expectantly at King as he leafs through the report...
And they're going to keep on looking, because now King's out on a helipad on the New York waterfront. Atkins is telling him that agents from the Rhode Island field office will be waiting for them, so I guess it's road trip time. Before we depart for the Ocean State, King has to place a phone call to Ellie Cain. "It's not Leopold," he shouts into the cell phone. "It wasn't his ear." Ellie is about as relieved to hear this as you might imagine, which is to say "very." Back at the helipad, Atkins wants to know why King didn't tell her the second part of what the report found. "And say what?" King asks him. "The good news is, it's not your son's ear. The bad news is, we think it may be your daughter's?" You have to admit, that's a hell of a variation on the Geico ad.
Hey speaking of Leo -- remember him? Mop-topped kid? Likes to hold his breath for prolonged periods of time? Got kidnapped in the season premier? -- he's still cooling his heels in the kidnappers' sparsely-appointed lair. Latino Cohort -- still without a proper name -- lets himself in, which is when Leo decides now's the perfect time to make introductions. "My name's Leopold. People call me Leo," he says, to which Latino Cohort responds by going about his business. "I heard the other guy call you Otto. Is that your name?" See, Kidnapped producers? See how easy it is to introduce everyone so I don't have to come up with dumb nicknames like Latino Cohort or Mystery Caller or Faux Cop? So from now until the ending of time, we'll call this guy Otto, even if his only confirmation of Leo's guess was to close the door behind him. A pity, too, since that means Latino Co... er... Otto (old habits die hard) does not see the plastic knife Leo has thoughtfully stashed underneath his pillow.
Instead, Otto is back in the kitchen with the other kidnapper, who remains nameless and would very much like to keep it that way, even when pressed by Otto to talk about where he's from. "Just do your job," Kidnapper No. 2 says. "Don't worry about where I'm from, what my favorite color is, what's my sign. I'm not in this to make new friends." With an attitude like that, Kidnapper No. 2 is going to find himself shut out of all those Cain Kidnapping '06 Reunion dinners.
Over in beautiful Providence, Rhode Island, King and Atkins are asking an eager-to-help security guard for a list of anyone with access to Aubrey Cain's dorm. Already taken care of, eager-to-help security guard says -- the list is in the hands of King's partner, who arrived some 15 minutes before King and Atkins. That'd be Knapp, in case you were wondering; apparently, when he said he was headed out for lunch, he had a restaurant near the Brown campus in mind because he's already sitting at Aubrey Cain's computer. "The ear was pierced," says Knapp by way of explanation. "I was playing worst-case scenario." King smiles an "Oh when will I ever be one step ahead of this nuisance?" smile, and we get down to business: Knapp has found Aubrey's recent emails and invites King to take a look. King looks at the teenage-wasteland mumbo-jumbo gibberish peppered throughout Aubrey's email and wonders if it's some sort of code. No, just the kind of grammatically slapdash stuff that will earn a stern talking-to should you ever post any of it in our forums. It's time for Knapp to give King a crash course in the crazy way the kids talk these days: BRT for be right there, OTOH for on the other hand, and so on. King wants to know why Aubrey is signing her e-mails 1337. Because she's an out-of-touch poser? Or more accurately, Knapp explains, it's because it stands for Leet -- "It's a cipher. One's are Ls, threes are Es, sevens are Ts. is the UDP port used by Dead Cow Cult to access Windows 95 using Back Orifice." King looks as befuddled listening to that as I am typing it. By way of demonstration, Knapp calls for Atkins: "1337." "Thanks, dude," an appreciative Atkins replies. "See," Knapp says to King. "It's a compliment." More information on "Leet" can be found on the Internet.
But we are not just having to endure all this to learn about all the koo-koo-crazy ways the kids talk to each other nowadays -- rather, Knapp wants King to pay attention to Aubrey's last e-mail from two nights ago: "LZ SCNR." Knapp, the hip young crime-fighter who can talk to the young, confesses that he has no idea what LZ means, but that SCNR stands for "Sorry, Could Not Resist. All that's left now is to leave, figure out what on earth LZ stands for, carry boxes upon boxes of stuff from Aubrey's dorm room back to the lab, and fend off advances from the eager-to-help security guy, who's just as eager to join up with the FBI. In an awkward snippet of dialogue, the security guard talks about how he can help them track down Aubrey and her roommate Diane, because he's always talking to them even if they do constantly get his name wrong, and nobody's really paying much attention to this sadsack until he mentions, almost in passing, how the two of them are always partying at a local bar called Zurich. Well, that gets Knapp's attention, and we don't even need a flashback to the conversation he had with Creepy McLighterFlicker earlier in the episode to drive the point home for the rest of us. "LZ," King muses. "Leaving Zurich?" Sounds like it's time to head down to that bar to see just how neutral its drinks really are.
Meanwhile, back at stately Cain Manor, Conrad is headed out the door. "I'm not just going to sit around and wait for something to happen," explains Conrad Cain, man of action. "I want to know where our daughter is." As he strides out the door, Ellie says, "I'll call her friends again," which makes Conrad give her a look that seems to say "Call whose friends now? Oh right -- the daughter who I'm ostensibly going out to track down. Yeah you do that."
At Zurich -- "You don't need a stash of secret Nazi loot to afford our drinks, but it sure does help!" -- King and Atkins are quizzing the bartender, who certainly remembers Diane and Aubrey. "You tend to remember the ones with platinum cards," he says. Yes, there's something about a couple of college-aged girls with huge... lines of credit. Less happily, Diane skipped out without paying her tab on the night in question. Also of note: while the girls arrived alone, they didn't stay that way for long -- Aubrey met herself a fella, which, the barkeep notes, happens with greater frequency than her parents probably wish to realize. Knapp decides to take a look around and invites his new buddy-in-hipster-lingo Atkins along for the search. They proceed down the stairs and into Zurich's ladies room, where the mirror happens to be cracked and stained with what Knapp immediately deduces to be blood. Further investigation takes the dynamic duo to Zurich's freezer -- inside is a young lady missing several pints of blood, as well as her left ear. "It's not Aubrey," Knapp says, and we're just going to have to take his word for it into the commercial break.
Speaking of which, do you think Sarah Michelle Gellar keeps getting scripts for all these Japanese horror-movie remakes and feels progressively sadder with each one? Probably... .but I suppose seeing the scripts that Freddie Prinze is getting probably cheers her up immediately.
When we return, the medical examiner is spitting out a lot of physiological argle-bargle at King, which you'll be able to follow provided you skimmed through your dog-eared copy of Gray's Anatomy sometime during the commercial break. In case you didn't, allow me to translate: someone strangled Diane with his-or-her bare hands. As for the items found on Diane's person, Atkins gives us the rundown: purse, keys, lip gloss, cell phone, and an 8-ball of cocaine. College students are much different than they were in my undergraduate days -- back then, cell phones weren't nearly so prevalent. After asking for a full work-up on the cell phone -- call logs, text message records, any photos that may be stored therein -- King wonders what possessed Knapp to look in Zurich's freezer. You might say a little bird told him -- a little, creepy, cigarette-lighter-flicking bird. "It was cold," Knapp says. Well, that too. While these two speak in vague terms to one another, the unpleasant task of informing Ellie that her daughter's pal has been found horribly murdered falls to Turner.
In New York's thriving Irish Cliché District, Conrad's car pulls up, and he heads into a bar called The Shannon Pot -- you know, it's near the corner of Darby O'Gill Boulevard to Mick McPaddy's Brew Pub and Shillelaghs 'R' Us. Once inside, he tries in vain to get the attention of Terry the barkeep, who doesn't even bother turning to face Connie: "Nothing personal, Connie, but Jack said you were dead." Conrad wonders if he looks like a ghost. "'Fraid I gotta take Jack's word over yours in this one," Terry the Barkeep counters. "Just tell Jack when you see him that I'm looking for him," says Conrad, and wouldn't you like to get that While You Were Out memo?
To: Jack
Visitor: Dead Man
Nature of Business: Unresolved issues from the past; possible haunting.
He said he'd call again.
His awkward exchange with the barkeep now completed, Conrad hightails it out of the bar. A grizzled-looking old man who's been staring at Conrad with more than a casual interest watches him leave before polishing off his noontime aperitif. Because the Irish love their booze, you see. One exterior shot later, we're at a nearby park where Conrad has taken a seat on a bench, only to be approached by the grizzled-looking old man. After the requisite "Mind if I join you/It's a free country" banter, we discover that the grizzled-looking old man is the elder Cain, and that he and Conrad appear to be on the outs. Asked by his old man what brings him back to the old neighborhood, Conrad alludes to Leopold being in some sort of non-descript trouble. "Anything I can do to help?" Cain Sr. asks. After a pregnant pause, Conrad fires back, "What do you know about being a father, Dad?" Ah -- so this is that kind of a scene. Look, I don't mean to give this father-and-child reunion short shrift, but I find the ol' I'm-estranged-from-me-working-class-pa storyline to be as pat and tired as... well, a barroom full of blarney-spewing Irishmen, actually. It's not that Timothy Hutton and Peter Gerety aren't doing the best with what they've been handed -- it's just that they've not been handed very much. The scene ends with Conrad striding off, leaving his father behind on the park bench. Presumably, the tearful father-son duet of "Toora Loora Loora" will have to wait until another episode.
While Knapp and King are puttering around Providence and Conrad is getting in touch with his Irish roots, Leopold -- who started all this business in the first place by getting himself kidnapped -- is busy tunneling his way to freedom with that plastic knife of his. That is, he was busy doing that, until he hears the sound of Otto bringing him his afternoon serving of milk and lewd mind-altering drugs. Leo pops the pill, downs the glass of milk... and spits out the pill the minute Otto leaves the room. If you were a fan of this scene when the exact same thing happened last week, you must be in heaven right now.
Speaking of people who may or may not be in heaven right now, let's turn our attention back to Diane and the ongoing investigation into her gruesome murder. The FBI has unearthed some videos from Diane's picture phone. One clip is of Aubrey enthusing about the cuteness of a dude sitting over at the bar; the other is of Aubrey shooting billiards with said cute dude now draped over her like a shawl. The FBI is then able to use the same kind of enlarge-pan-zoom technology employed by Harrison Ford in Blade Runner to produce a near-pristine image of the mysterious cute guy -- all off of footage shot from a camera phone. I'm not saying this technology doesn't exist -- I am saying that, in an era where NFL referees have to review footage shot from 15 different angles for 20 minutes and still can't say decisively whether Tom Brady fumbled or not, this scene requires you to willingly suspend your disbelief just a scosch. Also, that dude Aubrey is so smitten with? Not all that cute, at least not from my perspective, though I readily admit that I am not the target demographic for his supposed wiles.
We're in the land of flashbacks now, two days earlier, when a real-live Aubrey is telling a still-live Diane how cute that mysterious stranger at the bar is. Diane also wants a bit of that action -- again, not cute enough to inspire internecine feuds -- and they decide to shoot pool for the pleasure of his company. One break shot later, and Mr. Not Nearly As Cute As We're Asked to Believe is standing table-side flirting with the girls; he claims to be a freshman at Brown, which would seem perfectly plausible if Brown were admitting 30-year-olds. Aubrey asks for help with a particularly tricky shot, and Not So Cute is soon draped over her -- hence the footage the FBI will be finding two days from now. Diane excuses herself to go powder her nose -- literally, I guess, what with that cocaine we heard about earlier -- leaving Aubrey to the tender mercies of Not So Cute, who suggests that the two of them split. "What about Diane?" Aubrey asks coyly. "You're more my type," says Not So Cute, who really shouldn't be in a position to pick and choose, if you ask me. "You don't have to choose, you know," Aubrey purrs back, and if you happened to hear a muffled sob during this scene, it certainly wasn't me bemoaning the fact that these sorts of things never ever remotely happened to me during my college days -- damn you, public universities! Anyhow, while Diane is down in the restroom enjoying her blow, she's rudely interrupted by the "Leaving Zurcih -- Sorry, Could Not Resist" text message Knapp will unearth later. But before Diane can return to the bar to pick up other not very cute guys, the accountant who goes around killing people bursts in and, without so much as an "Excuse me, I thought this was the gent's room," smashes Diane's head into the mirror and prepares to put her in the unfortunate state she'll be discovered in later. I think this is where we came in...
Back in the present day, King suggests his merry band of crime fighters look through old mug shots to get a positive ID on the fellow who left with Aubrey -- I would suggest concentrating your efforts on the Not Very Cute file. After suggesting they also dust the pool sticks for fingerprints, King turns to give an order to Knapp... who's nowhere to be found. He's back in the room with Blade Runner-esque video enhancement equipment zooming in on footage of the mysterious gentleman caller's hand -- naturally, he gets a picture-perfect rendition of the tattoo on the guy's left hand. (Again, FBI, a nation that wearily awaits word on whether Hines Ward got two feet in bounds or not turns its lonely eyes to you.)
We cut to an even-better close-up of that tattoo -- not too difficult since it's the actual tattoo of the actual hand of Not So Cute opening an actual door to an actual bathroom. In the tub, Aubrey's body is below the surface. On the bright side, at least she's not a witch; on the down side, it looks like she's gone to join Diane in the Great Singles Bar in Sk... Oh, she just opened her eyes and popped up! Not unsettling. Not in the least. Not So Cute speaks for all of us when he wonders what that was about -- her brother, static apnea, holding your breath, remember? Of course, you do. Not So Cute proposes they go get chocolate chip pancakes. Aubrey is amenable but wonders where her cell phone could have wandered off to. Not So Cute is like, "Well, you probably left it somewhere, but it's not like you need it, since you certainly haven't been abducted, no sir-ree," to which Aubrey is like, "Yeah, I probably lost it. Thanks, complete stranger who I've had relations with!" I'm not down with her survival instincts, in case you haven't caught on.
Back at the Casa de Cain, Alice is reading a book and asking Jimbo the meaning of words she doesn't understand. Like the consummate professional he is, he's answering. "For a guy that knows so many words, you don't say a lot," Alice observes. Jimbo arches his unibrow. And while this scene doesn't do much to advance the plot, it's really just there to underscore that Alice misses her brother. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I have to draft a very important letter.
To: The Producers of Kidnapped
From: Mr. Sobell
Subject: How to make your show insanely popular in four words or less
More Jimbo scenes please.
There.
The FBI managed to match Not So Cute's face with a mugshot -- his name is Kenneth Cantrell, though I believe I will continue to call him Not So Cute since I find that to be a much more accurate moniker than Kenneth. Not So Cute has quite the record: five arrests and two stints in a federal penitentiary. But he also knows where to get some chocolate chip pancakes, so I guess he has his strong points. King notes with interest that he's got an ex-wife -- nobody spills the beans on not-so-cute jailbirds like embittered ex-wives.
Commercials. Hey, you know what will snap ER out of its death spiral? More Sally Field. Oh wait -- did I say "snap out of?" I meant "hasten." ["On the bright side, I find her to be fuckin' awesome on Brothers and Sisters." -- Joe R]
At the diner, Aubrey and Not So Cute are chowing down on those chocolate chip pancakes made famous in legend and song. "Slow down," says Not So Cute. "Nobody's going to take them from you." "You can never be too careful with a chocolate chip pancake," Aubrey says. And ain't that the truth -- you have to be very careful about who share your chocolate chip pancakes with. I mean, give someone a bite and it's like you're eating pancakes with every person they've ever had chocolate chip pancakes with. It is possible that these last couple of sentences came out more judgey and moralistic than I intended them to sound -- ah well, I'm sure the fictional characters will get over it. At this point in their nascent relationship, Aubrey decides to pepper Not So Cute with questions about his background. Like, where you from? Queens, Not So Cute says. What part of Queens? The Sunnyside part, Not So Cute replies. Well, ain't that a cowinkiedink -- that's the same neighborhood Aubrey's dad comes from. Not So Cute professes not to know who Conrad Cain is, which Aubrey doesn't find particularly odd. "His dad still lives there," she continues, "but they don't talk." Not So Cute is curious as to why. Beats Aubrey: "My dad won't talk to me about why his dad won't talk to him." Yes, yes, we know. We saw the scene. It was very tedious.
The pancakes having been consumed, Aubrey and Not So Cute get ready to hit the road. But first, Not So Cute's got to make a phone call, and if you had any lingering doubts as to this young man's trustworthiness, prepare for disappointment: he calls the racquetball-wielding mastermind behind this whole kidnapping plot. While Not So Cute and Racquetball chortle over how oblivious Aubrey is to the cruel machinations whirling around her, Aubrey is helping herself to Not So Cute's cigarettes; fumbling for a match, she uncovers some disturbing things in his glove compartment. Like her missing cell phone. And a whole stack of photos entirely of her. And that's when the alarm bells start going off. Go home with a not-as-cute-as-you're-pretending-he-is guy you've met seconds ago? Fine. Clumsily propose a threeway between said guy, you, and your cocaine-addled roomie? That's fine, too. But carry around a stack of surreptitiously-taken snapshots? That's where Aubrey Cain draws the line, mister. So she's off and running. Sadly, she doesn't run very far before Not So Cute, cutting his phone call short, manages to chase her down, grab her, and silence her cries for help with a right cross. As with Leopold's kidnapping in the pilot, the passing motorists are unmoved to help.
Back at the FBI, King gets a cell phone call from Knapp, who reports that the tattoo on Not So Cute's hand is the marking of a Sunnyside gang. Since Knapp is so forthcoming with this information, King shares the name of the culprit. This will come in handy, as Knapp is in Queens right at this moment and walking into a bar -- the very same bar that Conrad was in earlier, for those of you who appreciate it when the recapper notes these sorts of details. "Can I have everyone's attention for a moment, please?" Knapp bellows. "How many Sunnysiders does it take to screw in a lightbulb?" This pedestrian jape raises the ire of a particularly meaty bar patron -- we'll call him Pudgy O'Sweats -- and he begins rapidly walking over to Knapp to defend his proud Sunnysider heritage. For his troubles, Pudgy O'Sweats receives a knee to the groin and a face full of mahogany. Just for good measure, Knapp twists his arm around to reveal that Pudgy has the same tattoo as Not So Cute. "I'm looking for a friend of yours," Knapp says. "Kenneth Cantrell." Pudgy O'Sweats claims ignorance, so Knapp repeats the question by yanking Pudgy's arm half out of its socket. Pudgy folds like a card table: "I know him but I haven't seen him," he says between howls of agony. Knapp threatens him with further bodily harm and leaves. And I think my biggest question coming out of this scene is: This gang really doesn't call itself the Sunnysiders, does it? Because I know it's the name of their neighborhood and all, but on the intimidation scale, "Sunnysiders" barely makes the needle move. What, do they menace citizens with their cheerful whistling and optimistic outlook on life? Say what you will about the Crips and the Bloods, but at least they understood the value of marketing.
At the FBI, a woman I can only assume is the ex-Mrs. Not So Cute is yowling about her rights, while King, Atkins, and Andy watch from the business side of a one-way mirror. Since she's the FBI's only link to finding Aubrey via Not So Cute, King enters the room to confront this spitfire. "Look, I ain't seen him, OK?" Mrs. Not So Cute says before King can get in a word edgewise. Gooooooood poker face. Doesn't raise suspicions at all. Certainly not King's, who says, "You ain't seen who?" "Kenny!" the missus spits back. King suggests that maybe she should wait until he asks questions before volunteering answers. After establishing that she hasn't seen Not So Cute, King notes that she once had him arrested on a domestic battery charge and supposes that the incident in question wasn't the first or last time that he hit her. "I can make it so he never comes around any more," King says firmly; the ex-Mrs. Not So Cute is intrigued by where this is headed.
In a scene of festering urban squalor, Not So Cute unlocks the bolt to the abandoned loft where he's stashed Aubrey. Before she can comment on the downward spiral their relationship has taken, his cell phone rings -- it's his ex, dutifully reporting that the Feds paid her a visit and that they're looking for him. "What did you tell them?" Not So Cute wants to know. "That I would agree to cooperate with their investigation if it means landing your ass behind bars, and even now, they're listening in on this conversation" -- she doesn't actually say this, but she really should, since it's much more accurate than the cock-and-bull story she feeds him.
Commercials: To the makers of Rozerem -- I'm not sure you want to suggest that if I take your pill, I'll be haunted by visions of Abraham Lincoln and talking groundhogs. That would seem to be a more severe side effect than, say, abdominal cramping.
When we return, Not So Cute is still working the phone lines, only he's no longer talking to his vengeful ex-wife -- this time it's Racquetball on the other end of the line. Racquetball wants to know if Not So Cute's ex-wife can pinpoint his locale. She can't, Not So Cute says, but if the Feds have made him, which they have, "I'm screwed." Racquetball says there's a contingency plan, and he'll begin making the arrangements as soon as this phone call ends. Sounds like someone's about to get a visit from their not-so-friendly neighborhood accountant. Now you really are screwed, my man.
Knapp is sitting in a car outside the Irish bar, awaiting the inevitable exit of Pudgy O'Sweats. As if on cue, Pudgy waddles out of the bar and drives off. The only way it would have been easier for Knapp to find Not So Cute at this point is if Pudgy had just dropped all pretense and emailed Knapp the driving directions directly from Google Earth. Clearly, Pudgy O'Sweats is not the brains of the Sunnysiders operation. More tragically, what if he is the brains?
Back at the festering craphole, Not So Cute invites Aubrey to have a piece of pizza. "Screw you," she says. Must still be full from the pancakes. Nevertheless, Not So Cute does not take this rebuff with much grace. "Screw me?" he says. "Screw you! You ruin the easiest job of my life, getting paid to nail some little rich girl, okay? 'Keep her under wraps for a few days, and let her go.' And you would have been none the wiser. But for all your upbringing, what nobody ever taught you was you keep your nose out of other people's personal articles." Well, that's one way of looking at things, I suppose. Another, more self-critical way would be to think that maybe you shouldn't have left those candid shots of your abduction victim lying around where she might could find them. But really, that's armchair quarterbacking at this point in the operation. Speaking of operations, Aubrey demands to know what kind of monster would come up with so brazen a scheme. "You find money on the street, you don't concern yourself with where it came from," Not So Cute says. Boy, this guy is a veritable Bizarro "The More You Know" Campaign. And just to twist the knife a little more, he adds this insight: "The reason why your father and your grandfather don't talk no more is Connie forgot where he came from. And your grandfather? He's still from there." Wait, so at the root of all this fussin' and a-feudin' is the fact that Conrad forgot to keep it real? That's... a potentially disappointing plot point.
Not So Cute's soliloquy is interrupted by the arrival of Pudgy O'Sweats, who arrives to dutifully inform him that there's a guy looking for him? A cop? Not So Cute wonders. Pudgy reckons not and begins to outline his reasons why when Not So Cute screams at him to just go. Sheesh, you lead a non-cop to the front door of someone's secret hideout and this is the kind of thanks you get? Just because Pudgy's in a vicious, no-good gang like the... ahem... Sunnysiders doesn't mean he has no feelings to hurt, jerk.
By this time, darkness has fallen over the urban squalor, giving Not So Cute a chance to hustle Aubrey out the door and toward his car. That's when Knapp appears. "You want a way out of this?" Knapp asks, and judging by the way Not So Cute is waving around that pistol, it seems like he does. "Listen to me. I'm not a cop. I just want the girl. Just give me the girl, and you can take a walk." Unfortunately, Not So Cute takes so long weighing the merits of that offer that the actual cops do arrive -- a whole squadron of them to surround Not So Cute, who becomes decidedly more agitated. "You come near me, I shoot her," he shouts at King, who replies that not his intention. "I need you to make a really smart play here," King pleads. "C'mon, we can work this out." Not So Cute cocks his pistol: "We ain't working nothing out." Someone apparently begs to differ, as a shot rings out and Not So Cute drops like the sack of potatoes he doubtlessly had for dinner the other night. The shot was fired by Atkins, and before we begin to congratulate him for his excellent marksmanship, due diligence requires me to point out that Racquetball spoke of a contingency plan earlier and that there's no better contingency than to make sure that the guy who can finger you is shot dead before he can answer any questions from the police. So... chew on that for a while. On the bright side, Not So Cute has never looked better to me.
Wow. How many commercial breaks are there on this show? Not that I'm complaining, if these ads are going to keep bring me the news of free warm brownie squares from Domino's. Mmmmmm... processed snack food from chain restaurants.
Back on the show, King and Knapp are delivering Aubrey into the warm embrace of her relieved parents while some backup singer undulates in the background. We then cut to a bar where King is re-assuring a still-shaken Atkins about his kill-shot: "A shot like that takes life from one person, but gives life to somebody else." Then King recounts the time he found himself on the other side of the equation: "I had a gun to my head. Some tweaker. This guy... my head's bleeding because he's pushing the barrel of the gun so hard on my head, and his hand's shaking. So I make my peace with God, because there are 10 cops all around. They're trying to talk to this guy, and I seem to be the only person who realizes this guy is past talking. And all of a sudden: bam! This tweaker just falls like a raindrop. So I started searching the crowd of cops. And there's this rookie, first day on the job, I mean fresh out of the academy. But that rookie understood that my guy flipped a switch. Just like you with Cantrell today." As this speech finishes, King looks over to the other end of the bar, where Knapp has ordered himself a straight whiskey. "To our ships at sea," Knapp says, as the three of them drink. Then Knapp wonders if anything about today's happenings struck King as odd. "You mean the fact that they send this highly trained team after the boy, and then they hire some low-rent thug to go after his sister?" King asks rhetorically. "It never crossed my mind." After some back-and-forth about King putting off his retirement, he excuses himself for the evening, and Atkins and Knapp are left to bond. Atkins wants to know if Knapp ever shot someone in the line of duty. Knapp has: "First day on the job." Hey! That's almost exactly like the tail end of King's story. You don't suppose...
Back at the Cain house, Ellie is putting Alice to bed. ("I'm happy Aubrey's home," she says. "When do you think Leo will come home?" I keep telling you, kid: 21 episodes and counting.) On the porch, Aubrey is having a smoke -- which comes as quite a shock to her father. "I'm really happy you're home," he says. "Me too," she agrees. And that inspires Conrad to share a sweet story about how he lost Aubrey in a department store when she was three: "I never told anyone about it, not even your mother. Not because I thought she'd be mad. I guess I just wanted to pretend it didn't happen." "He's a really smart kid, dad," Aubrey says after a silence. "He'll think of something." This scene? Much better than Dana Delaney's "The world, she keeps on a-spinnin'" speech from last week. Infinitely better.
But we were talking about Leo and how he'd think of something. Indeed, that seems to be the case, as he's managed to use his plastic knife to remove the last bit of wall standing between him in freedom. If you're surprised by his ingenuity, imagine how poor Otto feels when he walks in to discover that the abductee in his care has gone missing. We are then treated to an extended montage of Leo running across rooftops and down streets that don't look like they're anywhere near one of the No. 4 train's stations. Finally, he happens upon a group of young toughs and begs for their help. "My name's Leopold Cain," Leo frantically begins. "I've been kidna... " And he doesn't get another syllable out of his mouth before one of the toughs slaps him sideways. Either he's not a fan of the Cain clan, or he didn't understand a word of what Leo just said. Bet on the latter, as the tough snarls in Spanish, "I'm going to cut you, ass." And he probably would do it, too -- these guys look much tougher than the Sunnysiders -- except Otto suddenly appears and fires off a couple of shots into the air. The toughs decide to vamoose. "Maybe it's better if you stick with me," Otto says to Leo. "Mexico can be very dangerous." Mexico? Leo seems to be thinking. Well, so much for finding a cabbie who will take you back to midtown from there. week on Kidnapped: The Cains have a dinner party, and the only thing on the menu is suspicion. Also, crab cakes. Delicious crab cakes.