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So the nice thing about going back in time 35 years is that you can look up your mom and see how she's doing. The not-so-nice, kinda-creepy thing? You and your mom are now contemporaries. And I have to say, Detective Tyler, your mom is looking hot.
But Sam has other problems, other than the Oedipal ones that this episode introduces. Like that he runs into his mom when she's being manhandled by a low-grade goombah. And that low-grade goombah is manhandling her because she's into the mob for a sizeable payday advance. And the mobster for whom the low-grade goombah works? Well, he just happens to have most of the 125th Precinct in his back pocket. All told, that's some very awkward work-life issues colliding for our boy Sam. It's especially uncomfortable since some mobster -- I don't want to name any names here -- keeps bumping off women in his employ/debt and dumping their bodies into the East River, and the 125th appears to have turned a blind eye to all this twirl-offing.
But not Sam -- no, he tells the low-grade goombah where he can stick that hush money. (Note: It does not sound like a very comfortable place.) And after the aforementioned mobster tries to frame him by sending a scantily-clad temptress to his apartment armed with only a few disarming words and a Nikon, well, that's just a bump in the road for our Sam. After said temptress shows up dead, allowing the mobster to pick up the hat trick, a few pointed words from Sam plucks at the three-sizes-too-small heart of Gene Hunt, and soon, the two of them are arresting mobsters and their low-level goombahs and saving Sam's mom from a sordid life of working off mob debts.
Thank Christ Sam's mom doesn't repay his kindness with a kiss. Because, you know, my eyes.
Come back Wednesday for the full detailed recap. Until then, talk about this episode in our forums.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Previously on Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud, Sam got a brief glimpse of the 1973 versions of both his deadbeat old man and himself, and, miraculously, the universe did not collapse upon itself. Also, my computer was a smoking, burnt-out husk, but that's of little concern to you.
We begin this week with a woman in a red dress, sniffling and dabbing at her eyes and generally looking sad. "Are you crying, mommy?" her tousle-haired moppet asks. It is powers of observation like that, kiddo, that will lead to a career in law enforcement. The lady pulls herself together, tucks the little tyke into bed for the night, and coos, "Do you know how much mommy loves you, Sammy?" Ah, so this would be the 1973 edition of Sam's mother then -- either that, or it's a totally different woman who also has a kid named Sam and we've just wasted 30 seconds of our lives. I'm going to go with the Mama Tyler theory. Anyhow, Li'l Sam asks his mom to sing the Sandman song. Well, it's an odd request for a lullaby, but here goes: Exit light... enter night... take my haaaaaaaaand... off to Never Never La..... Oh, it's a totally different song that Sam's mom is singing, then? Well, my Sandman song is much more ass-kicky.
As Sam's mother sings her sweet little Sandman song, we see Li'l Sam's hand clutching a Mars Rover toy -- not unlike the robot that was stalking Sam a few episodes back. That shot transitions to a mini-Mars Rover tear-assing across some unforgiving landscape... which turns out to be Grown-up Sam's chest, neck and face. Freaky. The Mars Rover continues its magical journey up a sleeping Sam's cheek and directly into his ear. Sam's eyes pop open, as would yours if a semi-imaginary creepy-crawly just rolled its way into your earhole. Richard Nixon is on Sam's TV set, prattling on about U.S. dependence on foreign oil. "Just resign already," Sam mutters at the TV. "You know you're going to. I know you're going to." Suddenly, the TV goes all staticy, and suddenly Richard Nixon's horrifying mug is replaced by the equally grim visage of George W. Bush, who is also prattling on about U.S. dependence on foreign oil. Because we sure did lick that oil problem in the ensuing 35 years. Sam does a double-take, and Nixon returns to the TV screen. "Suddenly, I don't seem like such a shitty president, huh?" Tricky Dick seems to say.
That little mind-tweak out of the way, Sam begins the long walk to the 125th Precinct passing a gaggle of children playing on the sidewalk. One little girl comes up behind Sam on a bicycle, singing the Sandman song -- again, not the Metallica version, but rather the one Sam's mother was singing just a little while ago. "Hey!" Sam shouts and he chases after the little girl. Remind me to have a talk later, Tyler, about "Proportional Responses" and how to use them not to freak the hell out of passersby. Sam is unable to catch up to the little girl... conveniently, however, his only-a-wee-bit-unsettling pursuit takes him right past the woman in the red dress from earlier. Any doubt that she's Sam mother is immediately removed by the soundtrack which helpful kicks into Paul Simon's "Mother and Child Reunion." Your subtlety is admirable, Life on Mars music supervisor. Anyhow, Sam's mom is arguing with a guy who looks like a younger, slightly thinner, more mobbed-up version of Nathan Lane. Goodfellas Nathan Lane decides that further discussion will prove pointless and begins to shove his debate opponent into a waiting sedan. That captures Sam's attention -- he identifies himself as a cop and suggests that Goodfellas Nathan Lane unhand that lady. Goodfellas Nathan Lane smarts back, and Sam shows that he's learned a trick or two about 1973 police tactics by spinning Goodfellas Nathan Lane around, slamming him onto the sedan and cuffing him. Goodfellas Nathan Lane seethes -- now he's going to be late for that revival cast performance of Guys and Dolls! Sam goes to attend to the quivering damsel and distress, only to notice for the first time that he's staring back at his mother with 35 fewer years on the odometer. "Mom?" he says, shocked. To her credit, Sam's mom doesn't responded with an equally disbelieving "Weirdo?"
Off to the 125, where Sam leads the still-handcuffed Goodfellas Nathan Lane past the other detectives who seem shocked at who Sam's got collared and not just because they loved his work in The Birdcage. Turns out Goodfellas Nathan Lane is actually named Nick Profaci, and he's a familiar face to many of the detectives in the 125th Precinct. But Sam is just a little bit to thick to notice Skelton's attempts to get is attention; instead, he whisks 1973 Mom off to a hallway to try and convince her to press charges against Profaci. 1973 Mom -- we'll call her Rose, since that's her name -- protests that there wasn't anything untoward going on: heated arguments and shoving are signs of vigorous and healthy debate in our time, detective. "I don't want to be here," Rose protests. "I don't want to be here either," Sam says with just a touch too much desperation. "That's why I really need to talk to you." After his piercing stare merely serves to further unnerve her, Sam excuses himself to go check on Profaci, who has been uncuffed and relocated to Hunt's office, where he, Hunt, and Carling are enjoying a good laugh over a ribald story and a stiff belt of scotch. Sam looks around the room in disbelief -- so, uh, you guys all know each other then? "He's my prisoner," Sam says. "When he's done with his drink," Hunt says. A complementary cocktail... is that part of your Miranda rights? Anyhow, Hunt and Carling go back to kibitzing with Profaci, while Annie pokes her head into the office to inform Sam that Rose has flown the coop. Can't anyone stay where they're suppose to in this precinct? Sam runs out of the station house, alternately calling "Rose!" and "Mom!" as Paul Simon plays us out to the opening credits. I guess that mother-and-child reunion will have to wait until after the break.
When we return, Carling is escorting Profaci out of the precinct house and taking advantage of this valuable face time to lay down some bets. Just think -- by the time 2008 rolls around, Internet-based gambling sites will have rendered the need for low-level street bookies obsolete and guys like Profaci will have to develop skills for a new century of villainy, like human trafficking and meth dealing. So... that's progress, right? Sam, returning from his abortive face time with Mom, charges up and demands to know what's going on here. Well, Carling explains, seeing as how the victim has left the building and there are no witnesses to the incident in question, Profaci is free to go. "Listen, take care of yourself, huh?" Profaci says to Sam, perhaps a bit too smugly for the latter's liking, as Sam grabs him by the lapels of his leather coat and shakes him like a British au pair putting the kids down for a nap. Sam requests that Mr. Profaci kindly maintain a respectable distance from Mrs. Tyler, though perhaps a bit more bluntly than that. Hunt quickly pops into view, intervening and sending Profaci on his way. "So this is the way it works around here," Sam sneers, as a chuckling Profaci heads out of view. "Look, it ain't news he's an unpleasant little scrotum," Hunt concedes. "But the man is a necessary evil, a devil-I-know." In other words, cops in the 125 allow Profaci to do his little gangster business unimpeded because he happens to be employed by Elliot Casso? Who's that, you wonder aloud at the same time that Sam does? "A local businessman with remarkable insight into the criminal mind," Hunt explains. A crime boss, then -- and one who's not above tipping off the cops to robbery crews, at-large killers, and other assorted n'er-do-wells in exchange for the police looking the other way as it pertains to his business dealings. Sam is horrified -- perhaps unrealistically so. Surely, one hand continues to wash the other in 2008, no?
Back inside the squad room, Sam is stewing at his desk when Annie drops by his desk with some files of cases related to Nick Profaci. The cases involve a pair of women who were pulled out of the East River within a month of each other. And Profaci, Annie explains, was the last person seen with the two victims. Why, that's sure to pep Sam right the heck up! More good news: Carling was your investigator on both cases and was unable to solve either, citing lack of evidence -- Annie does not believe that explanation, citing abundance of bullshit. "They never try too hard when it comes to Casso, Profaci, and that crew," Annie says. One victim was a dancer at a club owned by Casso; the other was a waitress with a kid. If it didn't before, this investigation is now hitting Sam extremely close to home. Time to go track down Ma Tyler.
Which Sam manages to do, much to Rose's surprise and mild alarm. "I told you nothing happen," she stammers with an increasingly degree of panic, closing the door in Sam's face like he's selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door at a ridiculous markup. "I don't need any help." Even with Profaci released and out on the street? Well, that opens the door right the heck up. Rose invites Sam in, apologizing for the mess her young son has made of the place. Perhaps, Detective Tyler, it is you who should be apologizing to her. Sam nervously wonders where the younger him is right now. And for good reason -- I know the missus gave us all some valuable lessons about time-travel paradoxes last week, but I think we all know that if you travel back in time and run into a younger version of you, one of you will cease to exist likely by the other's hand. THIS IS A MEDICALLY PROVEN FACT! What do you think happened to Neve Campbell? Anyhow, Li'l Sam is asleep right now, sparing us all the sight of him and Sam trying to stab each other in the heart with a tinker toy since there can be only one.
That potentially awkward scene avoided, we move on to another area where Sam must tread lightly -- Rose thanks him for his help early and asks what his name is. "Sky," Sam stammers. "Walker. Luke Skywalker." Judging by his eye roll, Sam agrees with me that his alias-conjuring abilities are wanting. Me, if I had to come up with a name on the fly based on popular culture, I'd go with Richard Blaine. Either that, or I'd just use Edward Tunbridge, which also doubles as my porn name. Rose comments that Luke Skywalker is an unusual name. "My family has Navajo roots," Sam offers lamely. That'd be Tatooine-based Navajos, I guess. Anyhow, Rose comments on how her son will be disappointed that he missed meeting an actual police officer since that's what he wants to be when he grows up. "He will be," Sam says with uncommon assurance. Anyhow, here's the skinny on Rose Tyler -- she's only lived at this address for a few months, what on account of the man of the house's erratic work history. And she's got Profaci breathing down her neck because money was a little tight a while back, so she went to a loan shark. And now that loan shark -- who works for Profaci -- would like that debt repaid in full. If you're shaking your head at Rose's poor judgment, know that she did it only because her husband spends so much time on the road, and she thought that if they had a little extra cash on hand, maybe he could stay around more and be a father to Li'l Sam. Hearing this, Sam tries not to look guilty. He fails. "So how are you?" Sam asks plaintively. "How is everything?" Sam's questions puzzle and confuse Rose, who doesn't quite see what this has to do with the matter at hand. "That's a very odd question, Detective Skywalker," she says. Sam apologizes: "It's been a very odd day." Li'l Sam calls out from the other room, causing our detective to beat a hasty retreat. Let's not make this day any odder.
The day may not be getting odder for Sam, but it is about to get more awkward: Hunt tells him that he'll be joining the rest of the 125th Precinct down at Elliot Casso's club to apologize personalize for properly arresting one of Casso's goons. Sam's not in the mood to kiss and make-up: "If I see Profaci, I'm gonna beat him soft, then we're gonna have a long talk about the two women he dumped in the East River." Hunt points out that there's no evidence Profaci killed either woman; Sam responds with the international expression for "What, are you kidding me?" Hunt continues to cling to Profaci's presumed innocence, noting that the victims went home with different men on many occasions. Oh, they were promiscuous? Well, in that case, let the case molder then. But Sam now has his marching orders, direct from Gene Hunt: "I don't want a war in my precinct, Tyler. So make love--" here, Gene flashes the peace symbol, "--not war."
Well, off to the love-making, then. At Casso's club, Hunt and Sam make their way through a crowd of young people of every race and creed, dancing to the music of The Velvet Underground. Doesn't that seem a little... highbrow... for the mob-run nightclub set? I mean, it's not like we're crashing Andy Warhol's pad here. Well, no matter -- everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. Carling and Skelton are having a drink at the bar. Annie is here -- apparently at the behest of Assistant District Attorney Lee Crocker -- and she's shed her Policewomen's Bureau garb for a much more flattering blue dress. If Sam wasn't irritated about having to go upstairs to kiss some mobster's signet ring before, he sure is now.
Up we go into Casso's office, which is designed with a Neo-Classical Hoodlum touch -- ornate doors, red carpets, wallpaper that looks like it was rejected from a lounge at The Flamingo for being too "showy." Casso greets Gene warmly -- "Gene Hunt, the Jean Genie, lives on his back!" (Yet another Bowie reference for those of you playing the Ziggy Stardust Drinking Game at home.) Casso, incidentally, is played by Robert Klein, so I imagine he punctuates his crime sprees with punchy, observation stand-up routines about the New York Yankees of the 1950s and things he notices at delis. Hunt introduces Sam to Casso, who extends his hand. Sam takes just a little bit too long before shaking hands with Casso. "Mr. Casso," Sam mutters. "Please, Mr. Casso is my father who's currently serving eight consecutive life sentences at Attica," Casso jokes. Well, not exactly, but he does insist that Sam call him Elliot since they're going to be friends from now on. Enough of these pleasantries -- Hunt tells Sam it's time to apologize. Sam gives a sideways glance at Profaci, who is sitting in the corner grinning. "I saw a man," Sam says, pointing at Profaci, "physically and verbally abusing a woman. I did my job." That... is a funny way to phrase an apology. Ah, well, bygones. "The whole incident was regrettable," Casso says with an air of over-emphasized magnanimity. "C'mon, we're party people! Let's go to Paris and sleep with models!" Can... can they show that on ABC these days? Because that would be all right. Alas, no -- instead, Profaci would like to have a word with Sam... or so Casso says. For his part, Profaci seems as reluctant to spit out an apology in Sam's direction as Sam was to give his mandated mea culpa. "Good enough for me," Hunt says brightly. But Casso persists, and Profaci is eventually moved to tell Sam that he's willing to forget the whole thing if Sam is. "That woman you were hassling," Sam says. "Hands off her and her kid." That... doesn't sound like Sam is willing to forget the whole thing. "You leave them alone," Sam says, pointing his finger at Profaci before Hunt intercepts it. Casso declares the situation left alone and invites everyone downstairs to dance to the music of the Velvet Underground. Or whatever it is the kids are listening to these days.
Having ditched both Hunt and the pair of floozies Casso assigned to attend to their every whim, Sam is downstairs skulking his way off the dance floor when a gyrating Annie calls him over. She wants to dance; he just wants to go home. And go home he would, if he didn't notice the sullen-eyed hipster standing across the dance floor wearing a Nirvana Nevermind t-shirt that's about two decades out of place. (Intentional and symbolic, I know, but man, does this ever give the producers an out for any inadvertent continuity error. "Why was someone using an iPhone in that scene? Uh... it's time travel! Yeah!") Anyhow, we hear the Machine That Goes Ping again, as Sam zooms in on the Nirvana groupie before snapping back to what currently passes for reality. "That guy," Sam sputters. "Smells like Teen Spirit." "He smells?" asks Annie, who is understandably not up on her grunge. Sam finally managers to spit out that the kid was wearing a Nirvana t-shirt. "He was probably a Buddhist," Annie says. And -- rimshot! Tip your waiters and waitresses, everyone. Then Sam sees something else that freaks him out -- Joe Namath! It's the 1973 version of Broadway Joe, sadly, and not the one trying to kiss Suzy Kolber. On his way to go gawk at Joe Namath, Sam bumps into Jim Croce. Or at least, an actor portraying Jim Croce since, you know -- dead. And it's not like they're giving zombies SAG cards these days. "Whatever you do, Jim," Sam says, "you stay away from small airplanes." Jim Croce does not look like he's incline to take that advice -- boy, he's going to feel like a jerk for dismissing Sam come September.
Before a dazed Sam can leave the club to track down Thurman Munson and deliver his important safety message, Profaci walks up and shoves a wad of bills in his hand. "Elliot wants you to have it," Profaci explains. "You know, bygones and such." Sam hands the money back to Profaci -- no cops for sale here, my Nathan Lane look-a-like friend. Now scamper, or Sam will arrest you for trying to bribe a police officer. While Profaci heads off with his bribing tail between his legs, Hunt sidles over to ask what the matter is. "Your friend just tried to pay me off," Sam complains. "They can't help themselves," Hunt replies, with a these-mobsters-today-what-can-you-do-about-it chuckle. Sam is not amused: "I'd rather burn that money than spend it." "So burn it," Hunt says three times, thanks to the miracle of jump cuts. Anything to avoid offending the mob. And if you do burn it, Sam, make sure it's to the rhythm of "Get It On" since that's what's blasting on the soundtrack now. Well, at least he gets to dance with Annie.
As the cops dance merrily to the sound of old T.Rex, Profaci is reporting to Casso that Sam thinks he's too good for their money. In that case, Casso says, maybe they should go lean on Rose Tyler, since that's precisely what Sam doesn't want them to do. See? That's why you don't throw money back in the face of mobsters, kids. It hurts their feelings. I read it in a Miss Manners column once.
When we return from commercial, Sam is crumpled in a heap on his furniture, still wearing his clothes from the night before. Windy is helping herself to some dairy from the refrigerator. (State of nudity: Partial.) "Rough night?" Windy asks when Sam finally comes to. Sam recounts his no-good-terrible day: saving his mother from a loan shark, crossing paths with Joe Namath and Jim Croce and "some dude in a Nirvana t-shirt," turned down a bribe from the aforementioned loan shark acting on behalf of the local ganglord, and there was that bit about the tiny robot climbing into his ear. Windy focuses on the bit of that recap that you or I might: "Jim Croce?" she says. "Far out!" Don't ever change, Windy. "I mean, what the hell is going on?" Sam continues. "I've got my past, present, and future all dropping in on me this week." Windy nonchalantly notes that this is the sort of thing that happens to her all the time: "You wires got crossed, that's all... different planes of existence between parallel dimensions -- the you now, the you then, the you coming down the pike. Sometimes, your wires get crossed, and your worlds... mix and things don't feel right. Like that time Deep Purple went on The Dating Game." Yeah, no offense, Dr. Windy, but I'm going to stick with the brain trauma-plus-coma diagnosis. Still, I look forward to reading more about your theory in this month's issue of Nature. At any rate, Windy suggests the universe is simply trying to tell Sam that he needs to something -- "help yourself or help someone else or go tell it on the mountain. All three or none of the above. I don't know." I see we've entered into the word salad portion of this conversation. Time, perhaps, to move on.
Sam has apparently settled on the "help someone else" part of Windy's solution, because we cut to him surreptitiously tailing Rose. And a dubious Skelton is along for the ride. "So are we going to follow her around all day?" Skelton wonders from the safety of Sam's orange muscle car. "Because the lieut would be pretty upset if he found out." Sam begs for Skelton's forbearance; after all, how many crimes are probably being committed in New York City at this moment? 5? 10? 20? Eleventy Hundred? Skelton pouts that this all could have been avoided if Sam hadn't thrown the money back in Casso's face. Sam reminds him that it was a bribe, but Skelton has moved on to more pressing matters. "She's kind of foxy," Skelton remarks of Rose. "Take it back, take it back! My mother is a saint!" Sam screams. Well, no. He just gets out of the car to avoid any more awkwardness involving his mom as the subject of the Hot Or Not game.
After popping out of the car, Sam flags down Rose, who is understandably concerned that this pop-eyed weirdo seems to be following her. Rose has other reasons to be suspicious -- a call to the 125th precinct revealed that there is no Detective Skywalker employed there. Sam suggests that perhaps his employment record has not yet been transferred from the ice planet of Hoth. Anyhow, we have more pressing concerns than Sam's true identity -- Profaci, who was going to give Rose three weeks to settle her accounts, is now giving her three days. "How am I going to come up with $1,000 in three days?" she demands. Well, are you handy with a deck of cards? No? Then, I have some bad news about how you're going to be spending the three days. Sam assures her that everything's going to be all right. Rose responds by repeating that all she wanted to do was to give her son a normal life, with a dad who's home all the time. Sam notes that his mother raised him all by herself after his dad split, and the fact that he turned out OK is a tribute to his mother and all the sacrifices he made. Is it just me, or is it getting a little dusty in here? Anyhow, Sam reassures Rose that he's going to take care of this. When she turns to take her leave, we notice that her dry cleaning includes a red dress -- not unlike the red dress that we keep seeing in Sam's flashbacks, I would like to remind you.
But don't take my word for it -- Sam has a few things he'd like to say about that red dress: "I remember that red dress. I was asleep when she came home one night," he's telling Annie back at the 125. "She woke me up to say good night, and she hugged me for a long time. I think she had been crying." Attentive viewers may remember this as the scene that opened this episode. Annie, however, isn't buying any of this -- Sam feels the way he does because he's trying to play Sir Lancelot and Rose opens up a lot of unresolved feelings he has about his own mother. "She is my own mother," Sam insists. Whatever, dude -- all Annie knows is that the Freudians have a name for this and it's called an Oedipal complex. The red dress symbolizes desire -- namely Sam's desire to get it on with mom. "Ewww," says Sam. On that, we can agree.
But enough probing of the Greco-Roman wrestling match going on between Sam's inner demons. Annie's free tonight because Assistant District Attorney Lee Crocker is flaking out on a date to go see that new Woody Allen flick Sleeper. "It's a classic," Sam agrees. But it just opened, Annie points out. Because what's old to him is new to you, you see. Anyhow, Sam agrees to see the motion picture -- and he won't even spoil the ending this time around. Hey, Sam just had a thought -- maybe he's been sent back in time to fix this business with his mother and the loan shark. Well, if that's the case -- and Annie severely doubts that it is -- he's doing a crappy job of it. "If you want to get Casso and Profaci," Annie says, "you go after the open homicides." Getting loan sharks on a murder rap -- it's like the Reverse Al Capone strategy.
If you're a fan of passive policework, Annie's "solve-the-murders" theory is already paying dividends. Sam is just sitting idly around his apartment when there's a knock on the door -- it's Adrienne, one of the floozies we met earlier , and she's got a suitcase in her hand and a mouse on her eye courtesy of the ever-charming Mr. Profaci. "Nicky was drunk," Adrienne explains. "I wasn't interested. Apparently, I'm supposed to always be interested." And so here she is at Sam's door, since he's the only cop not on the Casso payroll. Speaking of that, how does Adrienne happen to know where Sam lived? Because his address is on a notepad on Casso's desk, she explains. And she just needs a place to crash for the night, and the apartment of the guy who actually stood up to Elliot Casso seems as good a place as any. Well, in that case, come on in, little lady. You know we have a clothing-optional policy in this apartment building, right?
And so begins the sexiest episode of The Odd Couple ever. Adrienne is flitting about the apartment trying to act all flirty with Sam; he is making her a grilled cheese sandwich with an iron. He asks how a nice girl like her got mixed up with a creep like Casso; she explains, after protesting that Sam is getting too "heavy," that her dad was into Casso for a large sum of dosch, and that debt wound up erased once she started hanging around the club. So by that logic, Rose's problems with Profaci would disappear if Li'l Sam started... you know, even I'm not a big enough bastard to go there. Anyhow, Adrienne would like to know if Sam's interested in a little throw-down -- he is not, or at least, he's too much of a gentleman to take her up on the offer. It is worth noting that Adrienne is now observing the clothing-optional policy I mentioned earlier.
This is the precise moment that the phone rings. It's Annie, wondering why Sam has stood her up. To his credit, Sam manages to dance around the "Why didn't you show tonight?" questions without resorting to the accurate-if-awkward response of "Because there's a topless woman cavorting around my apartment right now." Instead, there's a bunch of working-the-case blah-de-blah and an abrupt farewell. Sam tells Adrienne that he's just going to sleep in his easy chair tonight. Adrienne finds that hard to believe. Sam concedes that it's not his immediate preference. "But I'm sort of involved with someone at the moment," he says, almost apologetically. "Have her join us then," Adrienne offers brightly. That might prove to be physically difficult, dear. To bed then, with this thought from Sam to usher in the night terrors: "It's a beautiful, wonderful life, Adrienne. Too beautiful to waste in a rusty cage working for a man like that."
Hey, speaking of night terrors, let's jump to a dream sequence -- one that Sam has to suffer through. It starts with Sam sitting in his chair, burping up little toy Mars rovers, which looks even less appealing than I just described it. Sam's mother appears -- in a red dress, natch -- calling out for Sam. "Adrienne," a panicked Sam says, "wake up. Something's happening?" That something turns out to be a naked Adrienne gyrating on top of an equally naked Sam. "Sammy, where are you?" Rose demands. But soon she's being taken in hand by Gene Hunt, dressed like an extra from The Mambo Kings. "Forget about Sammy," Hunt hisses. Would that we could -- the gyrating form of Adrienne has been replaced by a gyrating Annie with her Policewoman's Bureau garb unbuttoned in the most interesting way. "It only takes two to tango," the mustachioed Hunt says to Mrs. Tyler, and they proceed to do exactly that, in front of the erection-stifling visage of Richard Nixon. And on it continues -- tangoing and gyrating and Windy giggling and Sam freaking right the hell out. Oh, what does it all mean?
It means that Sam has been drugged. That's the prognosis anyhow, after he wakes up the morning naked and handcuffed to the bed, with Carling pounding on his apartment door before kicking it in. "Holy hell," Carling says, which seems an appropriate response under the circumstances. "I had a feeling it was going to be bad," Carling continues, clearly amused by the giggle Fate has thrown his way, "but not-having-to-see-you-in-the-nude bad." After asking Carling if he would be so kind as to unlock the handcuffs, Sam struggles to figure out what happened. "Adrienne was here," Sam says, "And then she..." "Blasted you into outer space to explore the vast reaches of her crab nebula," Carling concludes. First off: Ha! Second off: Ew. Carling floats that Sam-was-drugged theory -- Adrienne doped him and photographed him in assorted compromising positions for blackmail at a later date. Could this be any more humiliating for Sam? Why, yes, actually -- Carling has brought Annie along, and she's walking in at this precise moment to find Sam... greeting the morning, as it were. "Working the case, huh?" she says dismissively. Sam protests his innocence. Carling suggests that he leave her be -- "at least until you get some pants on," he helpfully adds.
Time for a now-clad Sam to head over to Casso's club to confront Adrienne. Hey, man -- she was just doing a job. That's her story, at least, and she's sticking to it. Well, then maybe she can hand over the negatives of any photos she took. No can do, Sammy -- Casso's got them now. The good news, though, is that no one's going to invent Photoshop for another 17 years or so, so it's not like he can doctor the photos so that Sam's having sex with a gaggle of clowns. Sam decides to change his approach: "You know, as merchandise goes, you're worth every penny. Casso'd be an idiot to ever let you go. Then again, what's another dead hooker to him, right?" Before Sam can leave to allow Adrienne to contemplate the high mortality rate of her co-workers, Casso walks in with Hunt and Profaci in tow. No need to exchange pleasantries here: Sam tells Casso he's going down, Casso suggests that he bring it unless he doesn't want those photos of him and Adrienne falling into the wrong hands, and Hunt is dragging Sam to a friendlier part of the world.
Once outside, Hunt would like to know what's eating Sam Tyler. Or as he puts it: "What the hell are you thinking?" Sam is thinking that Hunt's a crooked cop and that Casso basically runs the 125. Hunt snorts at Sam to knock off "the self-righteous crap" -- any money he gets from Casso goes back into the street to pay off informants. It's called circulating cash flow, and it's the hallmark of a strong economy. Sam reminds Hunt that his sometimes-you-gotta-get-your-hands-dirty philosophy is of little consolation to the dead women fished out of the East River. Perhaps, Hunt counters, Sam would care to dig up some evidence to support these unsubstantiated accusations. In the meantime, Hunt will merely content himself with the 8-by-10 glossies of Sam's close encounters with Adrienne -- Casso handed over the duplicates just now. Sam protests that he's been set up. Well, it will certainly look real enough to Internal Affairs, Hunt helpfully notes, should Casso ever decide to pass those photos along. "I came here to clean up your bad mess, Tyler," Hunt gripes. "Show some gratitude." I sense a lucrative line of Hallmark cards coming out of this -- the "Thanks for convincing the local mob boss not to blackmail me" collection. It'll be bigger than the Administrative Assistant Day!
His options for protecting Ma Tyler becoming increasing limited, Sam pays Rose yet another visit. He knocks on the door and when she opens, he hands her over an envelope containing his savings. Now, wait a minute -- does that mean that Sam has a 1973 bank account? If so, why isn't he investing that money in stocks that he knows are going to take off in the few years? Or perhaps he rounded up the money in other, more unsavory ways? Maybe he's now turning tricks for Casso. Or perhaps he went to a loan shark himself. The mind reels at all the delicious possibilities. Anyhow, the idea is that Rose take the money and get out of town. (Or use it to pay off Profaci? This is not an option?) But Rose declines Sam's generous offer -- Pa Tyler called, and he's got the money to pay off the loan. Sam frets that money may not be what Profaci and Casso are after at this point -- think Merchant of Venice and flesh, pound of.
When Sam returns to his apartment, there's a note waiting for him. From the sound of the voice-over and the helpful flashback to her lounging around the apartment topless, we soon learn that it's a note from Adrienne. She's been doing some thinking in regards to the horrible direction her life has gone in and decided that Sam's right -- she's gonna go home to Mom. Oh, and if that's not enough to put a smile on Sam's face, let's try this -- Casso keeps "a serious stash of drugs in his credenza" so maybe he can arrest Casso for that. Because as we all know, serious stashes of drugs should always be kept in the buffet. P.S. -- here are some negatives of Sam and Adrienne exploring their sexuality. Please burn after gawking.
Later that evening, the TV is on with a "Please Stand By" test pattern and Sam is passed out with a beer and an open copy of Chariots of the Gods? within reach. A knock at the door wakes Sam up -- it's Skelton who's been dispatched by Hunt to retrieve Sam. "They pulled a body out of the river," Skelton explains. "A female." Naturally, Sam concludes that the body in question is Rose, and perhaps you thought that too. But by the time we get down to the East River, and Carling dramatically pulls back the bedsheet covering the body, we see that the unlucky stiff is, in fact, Adrienne. Poor girl -- you descended onto the scene, handed over the evidence Sam needs to easily solve the crime, and then shuffled off this mortal coil. You have played your part well, Deus Ex Hooker.
"That's what happens when you don't play the game," Carling sneers at Sam, who is no mood to be lectured right now, least of all by Ray Carling. "If you had done your job," he shouts back at Carling, "she'd still be alive." Fight! Fight! The other detectives eventually manage to pull them apart, presumably saving the fight until after school in the playground. Hunt, meanwhile, looks pissed -- I believe we have achieved the Gene Hunt Unleashes Merciless Justice portion of our program.
Indeed, when we return from commercials, Hunt is swilling from a hip flask and guiltily recounting to Sam the tale of his first job on the force -- pounding a beat with an officer named Edwin Brooks. In those days, Hunt explains, there were some bad apples on the force, and Edwin ratted one of them out. For his heroic efforts, he was shunned by his fellow officers and eventually committed suicide. Hunt, on the other hand, kept his mouth shut and became the fine paragon of moral virtue you see before you today. There's an important lesson there -- snitches get stitches. No, wait... that's a horrible lesson. Let's go with "It's never too late to set things right." That's far less depressing. Anyhow, Hunt tries not to think about poor Eddie Brooks. And when he does, it's "like there's an animal eating away at my insides." Sam wonders if Hunt would like to do something about that feeling. "Thought you'd never ask," Hunt replies. Merciless Justice, away!
And so as The Hollies sing about the relative merits of long cool women in black dresses, Hunt and Sam show up at Casso's club and kick in the ornate door to his private office. Once inside, they find the drugs in the credenza, just as the Deus Ex Hooker promised. "You think there aren't going to be consequences for this, Hunt?" Casso fumes. Let's just say that Hunt is unconcerned -- especially since he can always make sure that Casso's future cellmates can find out about the mobster's police-informant moonlighting. "Rikers is going to be crawling with some very pissed off people that [Casso and Profaci] that these two snitched off to you, Lieutenant Hunt," Sam says a bit smugly. Then he notices something that makes him feel decidedly less smug -- among the herd of floozies rapidly dispersing from Casso's office is Rose. Moooooooooom? Well, how do you think she was planning on settling her debt, genius? Rose protests to a shocked Sam that she's never done anything like this before and nothing happened anyway. "I was scared for Sammy," she sobs. Oh sure -- twist that knife, why don't you? Sam tells her to go home and kiss her son goodnight. He does not add, "with your filthy, filthy mouth!" which I think is a sign of his remarkable restraint. "Your mother must be very proud," a grateful Rose says. Sam gets all teary-eyed.
Casso having been perp-walked out of his own club, Hunt and Sam return to the 125th Precinct to cheers and slaps on the back from the other grateful detectives. Hooray! We're not on the take any more! And all it took was three dead bodies to convince us to be sort of on the up-and-up. Cynical? Perhaps, but this whole now-we-can-hold-our-heads-up-high-again wrap-up seems a little pat to your recapper. Anyhow, while the other detectives head off to drink a toast to their newfound reputability, Sam pulls Annie aside to apologize for that thing with the nudity and the handcuffs and the frisky hooker. No worries, pal -- Annie's learned that it was all a set-up. "You did good tonight, Tyler," Annie tells him. "Every cop in this house is gonna walk a little taller tomorrow." Of course, they can. "You know," Annie continues, "I thought if I ever saw you naked, it would be under very different circumstances." That's a much better line to end this scene on.
But not the episode just yet -- we get a musical montage set to one of the Beach Boys' non-fun!-fun!-fun! songs in which we see some of the key players in this drama reacting to recent events. Hunt is swilling from a hip flask out under a bridge, with his drinking companion -- a paper bag full of rolled-up money, not unlike the wad Profaci tried to shove in Sam's hand. And he's burning the money, ladies and gentlemen. That's going to disappoint a lot of police informants. Hunt's monetary sacrifice is intercut with shots of Ma Tyler pacing about in her red dress looking weepy. She snaps out of her sad reverie when Li'l Sam calls for her. She puts Sam to bed and tells him that he's going to grow up to be a good man. We then cut to shots of the fully grown Sam walking down the streets of 1973 New York as if to say, "Damn right I am, ladies."
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