All language subtitles for ncis.s04e15.1080p.bluray.x264-rovers

When you Said we had reservations,
David,

I was picturing something
a little more upscale.

- You don't recognise it?
- Should I?

Think back.

Uh...

I cannot believe you forgot.

Oh, my God.

This is where your grandmother
choked to death on veal.

No.

Okay, picture this.
A small water fountain right there.

We sat right here.

- You do remember.
- That we met here?

Oh, I remember.

I also remember
it was over ten years ago, David.

Yeah, I guess that's kind of
a long time to date.

- Ha-ha. Four's long. Twelve?
- Pathetic, I know.

I should have done this
a long time ago, so...

Mary Elizabeth Donahue,

will you--?

- Wha--?
- You can do it, baby.

It's only four simple words.

[SCREAMING]

ZIVA:
Every knife has its own balance.

The trick is to find it. When you do,

you get this. Any questions?

Gibbs really approved this?

Yes, McGee.
Why do you keep on asking that?

Well, because they give us SIGs
for a reason.

In Mossad, we have a saying:
Knives don't run out of bullets.

Now, any questions pertaining
this particular class?

Yeah, I got one for you.

You ever kill anyone with a spoon?

No, but I am seriously considering it.

All right, grab your knives.

So you come right past your ear,

once your arm is fully extended,
you release.

Tony.

All right, watch and learn,
probie-sans.

[CLEARS THROAT]

Five summers
at Camp Poke-a-quatic.

I was also a pretty mean clogger.

LEE: Ha-ha.
- That doesn't leave this room.

Nobody cares that you spent
your summers

prancing around
in little wooden shoes.

The term is dancing.

McGee.

TONY:
Ha-ha-ha. Math camp?

Chess.

But at least I didn't wear man-clogs.

[CHUCKLING]

Lee.

Okay. Right by my ear.

I thought you said
you grew up around weapons.

I did. I didn't say my father actually
let me touch any of them.

Okay.

- Uh, it's my fault, Gibbs. I was--
- Save it.

Got a dead sailor in Georgetown.
Grab your gear.

Thank you.

MORRIS:
Pulled his ID,

found our victim was a sailor,
called you.

Couple found him here last night.

Supposedly, this is where
they had their first date.

Guy got the keys from the landlord
and wanted to propose.

Well, nothing says I love you
like a rotting corpse

in an abandoned crap hole.
What did she say?

She, um, says she wants this back
before he changes his mind.

Yeesh.
And they say romance is dead.

MORRIS:
Wallet was found next to the body.

No money, no credit cards.
Just a military ID and a driver's licence.

- Robbed.
- I'd be curious to know how he died,

- Agent Gibbs.
- When I know, Detective Morris,

you will know.

I appreciate it.

Got the statements
we took from the couple in my car.

All right.

You're on sketch details there,
probie.

I'll tell you,
this thing's making me nervous.

DUCKY: The larval stage
of the Musca domestica,

a common housefly.

A nuisance to most, but invaluable
to the trained investigator.

Not to mention
a great source of protein.

I saw it on the Discovery Channel.
A documentary on survival training.

Ah. As I was saying,
they should prove helpful

in determining the time of death.

Unless, of course,
my assistant decides to eat them first.

Temperature and current size,
Duck?

Eggs couldn't have been laid
in his mouth more than a week ago.

Very good, Jethro.

It's surprisingly warm in here.

I'd estimate he's been dead

somewhere between, mm,
four and five days.

- Any idea how?
- Many.

But with no obvious signs
of trauma or injury,

that will have to wait
till we get him home.

Let's get the gurney, Mr. Palmer.

McGee, what do you make of this?

The word "disgusting"
comes to mind.

I think he was talking about the card.

Oh. Uh...

Maybe some kind of ticket.

Find out for what.

Ziva, photos.

McGee, you find any more maggots
walking around, you bag them.

They're evidence.

Ziva, I will give you a hundred dollars
to trade with me.

Ha-ha-ha.
You're afraid of bugs, McGee?

Bugs, no. Uh...

Wriggling, faceless blob-creatures
crawling inside human flesh, yes.

Believe it or not,
I used to feel the same way.

How'd you get over it?

I found that if you're hungry enough,
they actually don't taste that bad.

Our dead sailor
is Petty Officer Evan Davidson,

a corpsman stationed
at The Basic School at Quantico.

Reported UA four days ago.

Last seen Thursday night
at a Georgetown bar.

His Marine buds said he hooked up
with a girl, left before closing.

Marines ever leave before closing?

I'm gonna head down to Quantico,
get her description.

McGee, tell me about the card
we found on the body.

Where is he?

Apparently not here.

I'll find him.

Gibbs is looking for you.

Um... Ziva, this is a men's room.
You can't be in here.

He wants to know what you found out
about the pink ticket.

Hi.

Trying to wash the bug germs off,
yes?

Will you please leave?

He didn't wash his hands. Ugh.

You need to learn
to face your fears, McGee.

- I can help you with that.
- I do not need help, okay?

- I just don't like maggots.
- Why?

Much like the concept
of a men's room, it's personal.

Have you ever wondered
why perfectly healthy individuals

suddenly and occasionally
keel over and die, Mr. Palmer?

- Yeah, now that you mention it--
- No, no, no. It's a trick question.

They don't.
There is always a reason.

Here, take our petty officer,
for example.

On the outside, he appears young,
virile, perfect physical condition.

Yet inside, we find the liver
of a 75-year-old man.

It is swollen, scarred and well
on its way to full-blown cirrhosis.

- He's an alcoholic?
- Was, Mr. Palmer.

That what killed him, Duck?

No, but it was certainly
a contributing factor.

His blood-alcohol level
was five times the legal limit.

I'm surprised he could stand,

never mind break into
an abandoned restaurant.

And his preliminary tox screen
also shows traces of ecstasy

and other chemicals in his blood.

Quite a volatile cocktail.

- What kind of other chemicals?
- Abby's running them right now.

It appears our young man
went on a bender on Thursday night.

One from which
he could not recover.

He OD'd.

That would explain
the multiple organ failures we found.

We won't know more
till we finish the autopsy.

Very good, Mr. Palmer.

Anything else you'd care to add?

Well, there's a very good chance that
this was an accidental death, doctor.

Nothing accidental about it, Palmer.

People who choose to live their lives
this way

have nobody to blame
but themselves.

I hereby accept your challenge.
We will meet on the field at dawn.

Weapons: caffeine-fuelled intellect
versus cold silicate-based intelligence.

Until then, I bid you a good day, sir.

- Hi.
- Hi.

You talk to your mass spectrometer?

Yeah, sometimes. Why?

You challenged it to a duel.

Well, it spit out a chemical composition
that I'm not familiar with.

There has to be some sense
of decorum around here.

- I'm running it through the computer.
- Gibbs is more interested in this.

- Did you find anything yet?
- When, McGee?

If you haven't noticed,
I'm the only one here.

Which may be why I started talking
to my machines in the first place.

Well, Abs, I gotta tell him something.

Tell him you love him, McGee.
It works for me.

- Not all the time.
- Hi, Gibbs.

Just in time.

This is the mass spec
on the mystery compounds

in Petty Officer Davidson's blood.

It's organic,
and it's definitely what killed him.

Meet neriin, oleandrin,
and oleandroside.

Friends of yours, elf lord?

No, Gibbs, they're not characters
from Lord of the Rings.

They're compounds
found in the oleander plant.

What drug is made from that?

None. It's pure poison.

Our petty officer didn't OD.

He was murdered.

What language
do I have to say it in?

You obviously
don't understand English.

I said no.

- Travis.
- Yeah, Tony?

Can I get two Belvedere martinis,
straight up?

- Very dry, very cold, twist of lemon.
- You are becoming a stalker.

No. What else do you wanna call it?

Over is over. Forever over.

No "ciao," no "we'll meet again,"
because we won't.

Hey.

Hey.

[CHUCKLES]

- Cheers.
- Sorry.

[SPEAKS IN FRENCH]

Yes. That was him.

And no, I won't tell you his name.

- Did I ask?
- Your eyes did.

What are they asking now?

- To skip dinner.
- You are amazing.

I don't know how you do it.

- You always wanna skip dinner, Tony.
- Oh.

But not tonight. I'm famished.

- Me too.
- Mm.

- Food first.
- All right.

Ahem. Our reservations aren't till 8.

How about, uh, some oysters
to tide us over?

Oh, the last thing you need
is an increased libido.

You don't believe that old wives' tale,
do you?

It's true.
Oysters are rich in rare amino acids

that trigger increased levels
of sex hormones.

Two dozen Malpeques, please.
We'll be at that table.

- And more alcohol.
TRAVIS: Yeah, two more coming up.

Mademoiselle.

[SPEAKS IN FRENCH]

You look incredible.

I'm glad you like it. It's my favourite.

Wasn't talking about the dress.

I meant you, Jeanne.

Thank you.

Hmm. What's that?

I'm working Wednesday.

Wednesday?

Valentine's Day.

Ha. Oh, yeah. Yeah.

It comes around fast every year,
doesn't it? Yeah.

Uh...

Well, your gift...

...is still at the store
because I never bought it.

Sorry.

You know how wonderful it is
to be with someone

who doesn't even lie
about the little things?

Go on. Open it.

- Oh, it's not just the box?
- No.

I was gonna say,
it's the nicest box I've ever...

Isn't it?

Ha-ha-ha. Oh, come on.

It's more permanent
than the last one I tagged you with.

This is, uh-- This is platinum.
It's expensive, Jeanne.

I'm a doctor, I can afford it.

[LAUGHS]

"Mental ward"?

- Are you trying to tell me something?
- It worked last time.

Yes, it did.

- I've never had a gift this unique.
- Mm.

Or a woman.

Thank you.

[PHONE VIBRATING]

- He doesn't give up, does he?
- I'm going to change my number.

Okay. Don't be ridiculous.
Let me talk to him.

- No.
- I'll talk a little sense to him.

I don't want you to get involved
in my problem. I can handle it.

If it doesn't go away?

It will.

I promise.

Saved by the mollusc.

Ahem. Thanks.

Here you go.

I changed my mind.

Let's skip dinner.

Okay.

ZIVA:
Shakira.

That's who this police sketch
reminds me of.

Shakira, yes?

You know, the singer?

The one who dances like this:

[GRUNTING]

You're not even listening to me,

- are you?
- Uh-huh.

Look at this police sketch.

The Marines said this woman left
the bar with Petty Officer Davidson.

She could be the killer.

Hey.

- Where are we going?
- We're not going anywhere.

- Who are you taking, McGee?
- Agent Gibbs around?

Brought him an early
Valentine's Day present.

He's a junkie.

Hangs out in the area
where we found your dead sailor.

Morris thinks he saw something.

What do you think,
Detective Carson?

It's, um-- It's John.

Um... Love the accent, by the way.

- It's Israeli, right?
- Ha-ha.

Not bad.
Most people don't recognise it.

I took a vacation there
a couple years ago.

Back to the question.

What makes you think
he knows anything, John?

Well, um...

...mostly this, Tony.

He had one of your petty officer's
credit cards on him.

Hmm.

[DOOR OPENS]

I got somebody
that I want you to meet, Frankie.

This is Special Agent Gibbs.

He wants to ask you
a few questions.

Look, I didn't do nothing wrong.

I mean, I didn't even use the card.

No problem.
I just wanna know how you got it.

Oh, I found it, you know,
in the street.

Where do you keep your credit cards,
Detective Morris?

Oh, like 99 percent of the people
on this planet, uh, a wallet.

- You?
- Yeah, same. Same.

You see, we got a problem here,
Frank,

because Petty Officer Davidson's
wallet was found lying next to his body.

And his body wasn't out in the street.

Well, you ever stop to think, uh,
the guy could have dropped it?

MORRIS:
Hmm.

Man does raise a valid point.

- Uh-huh
- Yeah.

Yeah, works for me.

Yeah. So I can-- I can go?

Uh, no, I think I'm gonna charge you
with murder instead.

Wait, I didn't murder nobody.
Look, he was still breathing--

- Okay, maybe I...
- It's unfair interrogating junkies.

- It's like shooting fish in a pond.
- Ha-ha.

I, um-- I think you mean a barrel.

- Why would a fish be in a barrel?
- Um...

I, um-- It's a good point.
I never really thought about it before.

Mm-hm.

FRANKIE:
All right.

Frankie, Frankie, Frankie.

When I found your guy,

he was pretty wasted.

- Where?
- In an alley, behind One Club.

You saw him coming out of there?

No. No, he was lying over
by some Dumpsters.

Right? So I decided--
I decided to keep an eye on him.

You know, and make sure
that he don't hurt himself.

I think you need to find
a new line of work.

He's dead, you retread.

Well, not when I saw him.

I mean, all I did, right,
was help him into that restaurant

and I just waited for him to pass out.

So you could rob him?

Well, yeah. Well, man, but I didn't--

I didn't kill him.

No, but you just left him there to die.

ABBY: This is really
starting to vex me, McGee.

Normally, I love lamination

because it collects fingerprints
like you collect royalty cheques.

But this is completely sterile.

Are you sure
it was in the petty officer's pocket?

- Yup.
- Well, then how did it get there?

Either he put it in there
or someone else did.

Then there would be fingerprints.

There would be oil from skin contacts,
residue from the environment it's in.

They wiped it down.

Why would they go
to all that trouble?

They could have just taken it.

And believe me,
they went to all that trouble.

Maybe they wanted us to find it.

Question is, why?

ABBY:
What does that look like to you?

It's on the paper,
but it's under the lamination.

- Ink?
- Possibly.

I'm thinking it's a message for us.

One Club's been on our radar
for the last year.

Drugs, illegal gambling, prostitution.

Why haven't you breasted them?

- She means busted.
ZIVA: Oh, yes.

- Yes, busted. Sorry.
MORRIS: It's a private club.

We can't get in
to get enough evidence for a warrant.

Why not raid it? If they're doing
half of what you think they are,

- you'll find evidence.
- Not without a warrant.

Last time,
I damn near lost my badge.

Club's lawyers ripped
into the department bigtime.

Owner's a smart guy.

His name's Scott Pell.
He knows how to protect his clients.

If you're a member of One Club,

you can get away
with just about anything.

It's not the kind of club
you'd expect to find a sailor.

You gotta be rich or famous

- to step through that door.
- Yeah, or have something they want.

You two waiting
for an engraved invite?

On the surface, it's a
moderately priced Italian knockoff.

But on the inside of the heel,
a portable pharmacy.

Twenty-four tablets of ecstasy.

That could have gotten him
through the door.

That's a good job, Abby.

Oh, that was just the warm-up act,
Gibbs.

The real show is in here
with McGee.

Boss, this card was definitely planted
at the crime scene.

- They wanted us to find it.
- Well, how do you figure that?

Well, the bloodstain
was intentionally put

- underneath the lamination.
- A human bloodstain.

Well, that doesn't prove
that it was planted.

They wanted us to take the card
out of the plastic.

- And who's they?
- Stop interrupting and listen.

They being the person or persons
who killed Petty Officer Davidson.

Okay, here's where it gets weird.
And when I say weird, I mean,

like, the sick and creepy kind of weird.
Not the good weird.

- I'm a big fan of that.
- Abby.

Um... All right,
you're gonna need these.

All right, McGee, hit the lights.

We sprayed the card with luminal
to look for more blood splatter,

and instead, we found this.

It's written in blood.

TONY: I'd say that's creepy.
- You think, DiNozzo?

DUCKY: Abby analyzed the contents
of our petty officer's stomach.

We now know how the poison
was administered.

The oleander plant leaves
were first reduced to a fine powder

and then ingested.

Judging by the absorption rate,
it had to be in the form of a liquid.

- What's this stuff taste like, Ducky?
- Oh, extremely bitter.

In order to disguise it, you'd have to
use something equally strong

- such as--
- Booze?

- Yeah.
- They spiked his drink?

Well, considering
his blood-alcohol level,

I'd say more than one.

How many shots of this
before you end up like he did?

From that concentration?
No more than three or four.

Which brings me to the real reason
for this visit.

The note found on the body--

- "Expect more"?
- Yeah.

An average bottle contains 25 shots,
enough to kill seven people.

But an entire case?

More than 60. A few cases,
you wipe out the entire nightclub.

Well, bars and discotheques
have been terrorist targets overseas.

It's only a matter of time
before they try it here.

Terrorists don't leave
shiny pink clue cards for us, Duck.

No, they don't,
nor do they leave threats

that can only be read
in a forensic lab.

I believe the killer is trying to show us
how clever they are.

"Expect more."
He's planning to do it again.

Or she.

Poison has been the weapon of choice
for women for centuries.

Except they tend to hide it in food
rather than drink.

That would explain why my last ex-wife
spent so much time in the kitchen.

[CHUCKLING]

[SIGHS]

[CHUCKLES]

TONY: If Petty Officer Davidson
was drinking

in this neighbourhood Thursday night,
it had to be here.

It doesn't exactly look like
a celebrity hangout.

That's why celebrities like it, probie.

MORRIS: Ordinary people
don't even know One Club exists.

DiNozzo,
find me the woman he was with,

and, McGee, get a warrant.

- On it, boss.
- On what grounds?

- A dead sailor's good for me.
- Metro doesn't work like that.

- Eh, then don't.
- Too late, we're involved.

I need grounds, Agent Gibbs.

Your witness places the victim
at the club at the time of his murder.

Outside the club.

And he wasn't exactly a witness.
He let him die so he could rob him.

[INTERCOM BEEPS]

C YNTHIA: Agent Gibbs
and Lee to see you, director.

Let them in, Cynthia.

- What's the problem?
- Jurisdiction issues with Metro Police.

They're insisting on a warrant.

And this...

...legal person won't get me one.

I've tried, director.
We don't have probable cause.

- I can't get a judge to sign off on it.
- We have a dead sailor.

We've got a killer
leaving us messages in human blood.

But we need to get a warrant, sir.
Not sir, Gibbs.

- Special-- Special Agent Gibbs.
- Where did you find her?

Harvard Law School.

We need a witness who saw
the petty officer inside of the club.

We've got one.

- Is there a witness?
- Yes.

Metro Detective Morris informs me
that he's a drug addict

that no judge would find reliable,
director.

Who's running this agency?
Metro Police?

You know damn well who.

Find me a witness
and I will get you that warrant, sir--

Special Agent Gibbs.

All right.

Don't take it personally, Michelle.

He's right, director.

He usually is.

That's what makes him
so damn irritating.

- Thanks.
- Mm-hm.

Excuse me, I need a prescription
for this burning sensation in my loins.

Are you trying to outspend me?

A Bermuda weekend?

[CHUCKLES]

What could be
a more perfect Valentine?

A weekend in the Bahamas?

It's interesting, though.

He and I must be a lot alike.

You are...

You are night and day.

How does that work exactly?

Am I day and he's night,
or you switch us out?

That was totally uncalled for, Tony.

- That was totally uncalled for.
- Was it, Jeanne?

He still calls,

plans a Valentine's weekend
in Bermuda with you.

I'd say that's not a man
who understands it's over.

It's over for me.

I'm not so sure.

If you can't sell him
and you won't let me handle it,

maybe it's not over for you.

Don't do this, Tony.

Okay, what if I had an ex-girlfriend
who was always calling me

and planning little romantic getaways
for the two of us?

- How would you feel?
- I wouldn't like it.

- Well.
- But I would trust you to handle it.

And if I didn't handle it?

Then it would be your problem.

Just as this is mine.

Exactly...

...wrong.

This is our problem, Jeanne.

We need to talk, Gibbs.

- Should we call the paramedics?
- No need.

If they fight, it will be to the death.

- Talk.
- I used to be like you, Gibbs.

You were never like me.

I got the dirtbags any way I could,
let the lawyers sweat the paperwork.

About a year ago,
I went into a hole down on Eighth.

The bastard in there was a badass.
Rapist, pedophile.

Scum you gotta take off the street
to get sleep at night.

I didn't have a warrant
or probable cause.

But I knew.

Here.

So I took him down, hard.

That it, or should I get a refill?

His lawyer said it was a bad bust.

No warrant.
Judge agreed, badass walked.

A month later,

he raped and strangled
a 6-year-old girl.

I'm never gonna
make that mistake again.

Not getting a warrant?

Or not killing the bastard?

Boss using the elevator
as an office again?

Had to take the stairs.

All right, lookie what I found.

Marines gave a pretty good description
of Davidson's last date.

Lisa Delgado, age 23.

Where'd you find her?

There's only two parking lots
within stumbling distance of the club.

So you showed the police sketch
to parking attendants?

Yeah. And they ID'd her.
She's a regular at the One Club.

Arrives alone
and usually leaves with a Porsche

or Ferrari or Mercedes SLR.

- Good thinking, DiNozzo.
GIBBS: Did you think to pick her up?

Uh, I did. Roommate hasn't seen her
since Thursday, not unusual.

She can be gone for days.
She is, after all, in the escort business.

The club owner, Pell, lets some
of the escorts stay overnight.

- So she could be there now.
- If she is,

we'll be there when she comes out.

And if she's not?

We'll be there when she goes in.

That, uh, Feb's?

Pro cheerleaders in the off-season.

Yeah, a buddy in Vice told me
one of them's a man.

- No.
- Mm-hm.

Well, I probably shouldn't be
looking at it anyway.

I'm trying to wrap my head
around the idea

of a monogamous relationship.

- That takes serious retraining.
- Tell me about it.

Ugh... You're not in love, are you?

- Could be.
- "Could be," my friend, isn't love.

Isn't love. I know, I know.

It's complicated, John.

- Aren't they all?
- No, usually, they're pretty simple.

Fall in love, three weeks later,
fall out of love.

That's been my life. Except for once.

I got engaged.

- What happened?
- What do you think? I screwed it up.

I, um...

I slept with her best friend.

[CHUCKLES]
[COUGHS]

- That's not nice, John.
- Yeah, I know.

She was the one too.

She was smart, beautiful,

funny.

The whole marriage package.

Oh, well. I'll always have April 2005
to keep me company.

- Hooter Girls of D.C.
- Yeah.

- Collector's edition.
- Yeah.

Baby steps.

ABBY:
This is really weird.

I would agree. What exactly is this?

It's a chick-e-baby.
My friend makes them.

- Why?
- For Valentine's Day.

I think I may be confusing this holiday
with another.

- What do you got, Abs?
- Oh, I'm not sure yet.

I got a partial match on the blood
the killer used to write his calling card.

- Who is he?
ABBY: He's a she.

Our petty officer's murderer
is a woman.

I don't think so.

You don't think a woman can kill
and leave a calling card?

Not this one.
She was murdered two months ago.

MORRIS:
Sandra Thompson, age 24.

Arrested seven times for prostitution.

Found murdered in Canal Park
December 24th.

Ugh. Christmas Eve. Sad.

Well, no day is a good day
to be stabbed 22 times, Miss Sciuto.

At least she didn't feel anything.
All the wounds were postmortem.

- What killed her?
- She OD'd on something called neriin.

Neriin and oleandroside.

That's the same thing
that killed the petty officer.

That would have been nice to know
two days ago, detective.

Hey, don't bite my ass.
This isn't my case.

Did you ask whoever's case it was
if they found a pink card on the body?

I did. They didn't.

The only clue here
is a bloody shoe print.

There a photo in the file?

It is the case file, Gibbs.

- McGee.
- Excuse me, detective.

All that blood and just one print?

- It was his only mistake.
- McGee.

It wasn't a mistake.

You were right, Tony.

Maybe it wasn't over for me.

If it was,
I would have told him about you.

- He doesn't know?
- He does now.

Why didn't you tell him?

I didn't wanna answer
all those stupid questions

that men ask when it's over

and they know there's another man
in your life.

Like, uh, "Is he
better-looking than me?"

Or, "Is he better in bed?"

- Exactly like that.
- Is he?

That was a joke. Sort of.

You're better in almost all categories,
Tony.

- Almost?
- That was a joke. Sort of.

I gotta go.

I love you, Tony.

I love you too, Jeanne.

- Well, I know that look.
- What look?

That cold-feet look.

You asked her to marry you
and now you wonder if your life is over.

- I didn't ask her to marry me.
- Are you gonna?

Um...

No, I can't live a lie.

Well, what the hell's that
supposed to mean?

Ha-ha. I don't wanna end up like you.

- Oh, hell, that's easy.
- Don't sleep with her best friend?

Don't drink.

Think I'd have blown the best thing that
ever happened to me if I was sober?

I'm sorry, John.

Mm, don't be.

Because of her, I quit drinking.

[PRINTER WHIRRING]

Here. Look at the outside edges.

- Did you ever read MAD magazine?
BOTH: No.

Till my mother found them
and burned them in the yard.

Oh, my God.

It's exactly like the back cover
of MAD magazine.

"Dead whore"?

Shoe print's not a mistake, J.D.,
it's a message.

Like "expect more"
written on the pink card.

Which was also written
in Sandra Thompson's blood.

We're dealing with a serial killer.

If it's a serial killing,
shouldn't your dead sailor be a whore?

[CHATTERING]

- Hey, Matt.
- Have a good time.

TONY: Why couldn't you guys
get a hot female cop inside?

Tried.
Got stopped at the door every time.

Not hot enough.

- Do you believe that?
- No.

Hate to say it, but I think
someone in Metro tips the owner.

And there he is at the door.

- Any problems, Matt?
- None so far, Mr. Pell.

Thought Metro might hit us
with a warrant

after what happened
Thursday night.

[PHONE RINGS]

Yeah?

- Hey, boss. What's up?
- We're going in.

- You got a warrant?
- No.

No, we've got somebody
rich and famous.

MAN 1 :
Nice. Nice legs.

Quick, quick, quick.
Where's the camera?

MAN 2: Hey, over here.
MAN 3: Who is it?

- McGeek?
- No.

A very famous novelist.

Thom E. Gemcity.

- Who?
- Don't ask, John.

I'd vomit explaining.

McGee, if Delgado's inside,
you get her out quietly.

- How?
- Well, she's a hooker, Tim.

Use your imagination.

Lee, can you please pretend you want
to be here with us?

I'm trying.

P.S., I don't know where your SIG is,
but I'm having trouble walking.

Snuggle up, Lee. It's fun.

- Names, please.
- Thom E. Gemcity.

I thought I recognised you.
Deep Six, right?

That's the one.

I'm a big fan. Ha-ha.

- Go right in.
- Thank you.

- I gotta write a book.
- You should read one first.

Hey, woman in the alley. Camera 3.

Tighter on her face.

TONY:
It could be Delgado. Right size.

- That's the best I can do.
- Check her out, Tony.

- John, you go with him.
- All right.

I thought we agreed you weren't gonna
come around here for a few days.

That's Delgado.
Tony, that's Delgado in the alley.

She's got company.
Move, now, move.

Cops are after me.
I gotta get out of town.

I'm not stopping you.

I need money.

Why don't you use the thousand
dollars that sailor gave you

to leave the back door of my club open
last Thursday night?

I'll tell them what happened.

Excuse me?

You forced a spiked drink
down his throat and killed him.

Matt caught that guy
trying to slip you a roofie.

You should be grateful he saw it.

- That was no roofie.
- Then what was it?

I don't know. Whatever it was,
that freak was trying to kill me.

I guess that means I saved your life.

Come inside, we'll talk about it there.

No. You just--

Just give me 5 grand
and I am gone.

I'll give it to you inside.

I'll never come out of there alive.

Lisa, you're probably right.

[WHIMPERING]

Forget about the money.
I won't say a word, I swear.

Yeah, you will. First time
a cop pulls you over for tricking,

Lisa, you'll deal.

And I'll be the card.

[BONES CRACK]

Freeze, federal agents.

Damn cops.

[GRUNTING]

Did we hit her?

No, looks like he broke her neck.

John? John.

[JOHN GASPING]

MORRIS:Officer down.
6618 Chillum Road Northwest.

You're gonna be okay, buddy.
Try not to move.

TONY:
Hang on.

Oh, God. Okay, all right.
You're gonna be fine.

[COUGHING]

Liar.

MORRIS: Stay with us, Carson.
You gotta stay with us, okay?

ABBY:
I should have caught this, guys.

McGEE: Metro had the bloody print
for two months, they didn't catch it.

Yeah, but I had Petty Officer
Davidson's boot the whole time.

You thought the petty officer
was the victim, not the killer, Abby.

There's no excuse.

McGEE:
It's ironic, isn't it?

A serial killer
forced to drink his own poison.

Could make a good book.

[ZIVA CHUCKLING]