All language subtitles for CSI.Crime.Scene.Investigation.S09E12.Disarmed.And.Dangerous.720p.BluRay.x264-SiNNERS

Open the door, please.

Come on, open up.

Come on, man, please!

Open the door!

Oh...

Whoa.

You seen The Incredible Hulk?

This dude was this big, man.

And he comes out like that,

but he was all red.

And he comes out, and he gets in his car...

Three detectives for one homicide?

Callout was for an officer down.

Usually brings in more help than we need.

Don't believe they're LVPD.

He was kicking this door,
and he was pounding...

David? Hey.

Um, there's not much room in there.

I'm more than happy to wait.

Catherine, this man's arm is gone.

No, it isn't.

Tissue is ragged.

It's not dismembered, it's disarticulated.

Takes an awful lot of rage
to tear a man's arm off.

Or an awful lot of PCP.

Try not to get too far
ahead of the evidence.

Department of Justice.

Actually, he's FBI.

Meet Agent William Ray Hatford.

So those suits you were talking to...?

Yeah, they're all in from D.C. on a case.

They stopped here to get gas,

Agent Hatford came in to take a leak,
never came out.

They found him like this.

They notified their field office,

and then they called us.

They acknowledged our jurisdiction.

That's refreshing.

Yeah, whoever did this took his gun,

his badge and his wallet.

I mean, this doesn't feel
like a simple robbery.

He's supposed to get ahead of the evidence.

So I'm gonna take

the agents down to the station,
get their statements.

They're kind of shook up.

Feds are human, too, I guess.

Ray, I know you're not doing

what it looks like you're doing,

so what are you doing?

This man lost more than an arm.

The stoner outside

said a big red hulk did this.

Maybe he was right.

* Who... are you? *

* Who, who, who, who? *

* Who... are you? *

* Who, who, who, who? *

* I really wanna know *

* Who... are you? *

* Oh-oh-oh Who... *

* Come on, tell me who are you, you, you *

* Are you! *

I don't think this hunk
of flesh came from him.

Maybe it came from the killer.

There are no defensive
wounds on the victim's body

suggesting a sign of struggle.

Maybe it came from another victim.

Witness on the scene
didn't mention anyone else.

Another argument for DNA.

All right, I'll call PD

and have them check all the hospitals.

I'll get his prints.

Actually, would you mind if I did that?

Not at all.

Um, is-is there a problem?

Actually, there is a problem.

There's no ridge detail on
any of his fingertips. See?

This looks surgical.

Maybe microdermabrasion.

What kind of FBI agent
doesn't have fingerprints?

Agent Hatford had been working
undercover for several years.

His fingerprints were removed
as a security measure.

See, these days,
the bad guys can run prints, too.

They've seen Donnie Brasco.

They know how we work.

Well, I presume the Bureau
requires a confirmed ID.

That's the procedure.

Since we don't have fingerprints,

we'll have to run DNA.

I'll get an STR profile to Quantico

for verification as soon as possible.

Fine.

Where are you on a suspect?

Oh, well, right now all we have

is the eyewitness report
of a guy who looked like

the Incredible Red Hulk.

But CSI's got some surveillance video

from the gas station,
and they're analyzing it now.

Is it possible that this
case is somehow connected

to the case you're working on?

Of course it's possible.

We work with scumbags every day.

Like who?

If I had a name,

I wouldn't be standing here.

Agent Stanley,

would you give us a moment alone?

Please?

How long have you two been working together?

It feels like forever.

All of our active files
are at our command post.

I can assure you, Captain,

you will have the full
cooperation of the FBI.

Great.

All right, that is Agent Hatford

making his last trip to the can.

And that is a class two misdemeanor.

Well, the FBI does not
concern itself with state

fire codes, Greggo.

Okay...

almost there...

Now.

Take a look at the mirror.

Looks like a vintage muscle car.

And that face...

It's a bloody mess.

Yeah, you should've seen the bathroom.

I'll have Brass put out a broadcast.

Investigation's been focused
on human trafficking.

Underage women in the Vegas sex trade,

smuggled in from South America,

Brazil, primarily.

Yeah, there's been a little chatter

about that on the streets.

But, uh, nothing really concrete.

They've only been operating
for a few months.

Low key, select clientele,

contacted directly by email only.

Agent Hatford was on source-targeting

and recruitment.

He did most of our field interviews.

Hookers, pimps, mid-level scumbags.

We're just starting to
put the network together.

Who'd you piss off to pull this duty?

This is important work. We requested this.

Homeland Security gets lion's share

of the Bureau's resources these days.

What do you think, we just run
around and chase terrorists,

spy on Americans, and investigate

paranormal activity, is that it?

Sorry.

No offense intended.

I hope your taxes are in order.

I think you just bought yourself an audit.

Our case files and suspect interviews.

Anybody in there with the physical

strength to do what was
done to Agent Hatford?

I doubt it.

Did Agent Hatford wear a wire?

Sometimes.

I don't know if those tapes
were transcribed yet.

We haven't been able to ID
the head of the operation.

He's referred to on the
street as "Os Punho,"

which is Portuguese for "The Fist."

Anybody look familiar?

I don't know.

Gradual application of dry heat

is generally the best way

to bring a muscle out of rigor.

And the man can cook.

The question is:
What are we having for dinner?

This muscle has two heads

and a shared, single point of insertion.

Judging from size and weight,

uh, we can rule out Biceps femoris.

Biceps brachii, then.

The tissue is clearly infected.

In fact, it looks necrotic.

What do you make

of these, uh, linear streaks?

Well, I think

they're hemorrhage lines.

I bet this guy was shooting steroids.

With a dirty needle?

That seems pretty stupid,

even for somebody stupid
enough to kill an FBI agent.

I guess he neglected to swab his skin.

Contaminants could've been

pushed in with the injection.

The muscle looks like it
fell right off the bone.

Like a piece of well-cooked chicken.

You know, I found some pieces

of mirror glass inside the muscle.

Maybe this guy was in so much pain

that he had to rip it out
right then and there.

You listening to me,
Vinnie? I asked you a question.

What are you doing on Hill Street?

Agent Hatford taped this interview

the night before he was killed.

I guess those muscles make
you deaf and dumb, huh?

The suspect at the gas
station was heavily muscled.

Which is why I figured
this could be the guy.

Oh, don't eyeball me like that, Vinnie.

I am the F-B-friggin'-I, are you feelin' me?

Now put your hands on the hood.

We know about all those little sweet ass

Brazilian hos you be running.

And we don't like it.

But you know who bothers us more?

That armpit you work for.

That sewer rat.

Where is he?

How would I know?

I don't work for no one.

"Os Punho."

You don't know who I'm
talking about? "The Fist"?

You tellin' me you know
nothin' about "The Fist"?

How would you like a fist up your...

Unfortunately,

Vinnie was only referred to as "Vinnie."

No last name.

And Agent Hatford never had a chance

to write up a full report.

Tox on your orphaned biceps.

Nandrolone decanoate, methenolone enanthate,

oxymetholone, and HCG.

That's quite a cocktail.

Maybe

this "Vinnie" is a bodybuilder.

It could be.

This specific mix was very popular

with the local weigh t-
lifting community a while back.

The VELCORE Lab was supplying it

to all sorts of athletes.

Before we shut them down.

You know, there is someone who's
very familiar with this case.

And he's real easy to get to.

He's a murder suspect,
he's using your juice.

His name is Vinnie.

If you know his last name,

we'd appreciate the information.

Let me get this straight.

You guys bust my company for selling roids,

give everybody else a chance
to plead out for easy time

so the D.A. can make an example out of me,

because I'm-- me personally--

I'm corrupting the very
fabric of American sports.

You ruin my life.

And now you want me to help you?

That pretty much sums it up, yeah.

Screw you.

Yeah, I figured you'd have
an adverse reaction to that.

I've only got 22 days
left of a 16-month rap,

which means there is nothing
you can do for me or to me.

Yeah, that's why I decided

to bring in an associate.

Agent Bechman, would you
come in here, please?

You work much with federal agents?

Actually, this is my first time.

I'm a CSI-1.

Were you held back?

Career change.

I was a physician.

And screw you, too, Fed.

I... would prefer to just educate you.

For instance, did you know

that many people

convicted of drug offenses

continue to engage in some form
of drug trade while in prison?

Now, United States v. Delgado held

that if you so much

as speak to someone for the
purpose of dealing drugs,

even while incarcerated,

that's Conspiracy to Conduct
a Racketeering Enterprise.

Doesn't matter whether or not
you handed out the drugs.

Your business activities from prison

violate the RICO statute.

Even if I did something like that--

and I am not saying that I did--

I already got busted for it.

That is double jeopardy.

Not according to Garrett v. United States.

The double jeopardy clause

does not bar cumulative punishments

for continuing criminal enterprises

and underlying predicate offenses.

Your man knows the law.

That's our Miles.

If we determine that you do have

some information regarding this suspect

which you choose not to share,

then I can promise that the full weight

of the Department of Justice
and RICO section 1963

will be brought to bear upon you,

and your 22 days in Clark County Prison

will become 20 years in
a federal penitentiary.

Oh, and we get to take everything you own.

His name's Vinnie Mingus.

He's one of those Supreme Force Fighters.

He's supposed to be fighting today.

Yeah!

Well, it sure ain't the Mandalay Bay.

Welcome to human cockfighting.

Man, this is as real as it gets.

It's like a bar fight

spilled out into the alleyway.
Like the Marquis

of Queensberry, I prefer boxing--

the sweet science.

There's Mingus.

Somebody around here must have seen him.

Let's take a look around.

Yeah.

Scotch, rocks.

Vinnie, please.

You've got to sit down.

Get out of my way!

Hey, Brass, I got him.

Didn't I get the message
across with the last guy?

I'm sorry, you can't come in here.

LVPD, clear everybody out of here.

I want to have a word
with Mr. Mingus. Please,

I'm his doctor.

What kind of getup is that?

Don't touch me.

We both know that gun's not loaded.

Las Vegas Police.

Mr. Mingus, you're under arrest.

You're gonna have to shoot
me before you arrest me.

Come on, go ahead.

Shoot me.

I've got backup coming.
He's not going anywhere.

Don't make it

harder on yourself!

They're all fake!

They're fake!

They're all fake!

They're fake!

Vinnie, you're making a fool of yourself!

I'm making a fool out of myself?!

Whoa!

Hold your fire!

Put the gun down!

These guns are not even loaded.

You see?

Chaos erupted today at
the Delos Auditorium--

home to the Supreme Force
Fighting Championship--

after a police chase
through the crowded theater

ended in the bizarre apparent
suicide of Vinnie Mingus...

Thanks for your cooperation, Doctor.

Thank you.

Okay, so the fight doctor says

that Mingus came to him
with his arm all torn up.

He's infected and feverish.

So, the doctor wraps up his arm,

tells him to go to a hospital,
Mingus refuses.

So he gives him a bunch of antibiotics,
hopes for the best.

Clearly, Mingus was involved
in some kind of assault.

Why didn't the doctor
inform the authorities?

He says he knows Mingus
and he's afraid of him.

Says Mingus is half psychotic on a good day.

You know, maybe the Agent Hatford interview

spooked him-- Mingus goes nuts, follows him,

takes him out.

Well, thank you, Captain,

for all your hard work.

Sure. So what's next?

"Os Punho"?

We're going to finish what we started.

Keep me in the loop. All right?

All right. We will.

In Mingus's gym bag,

we found Agent Hatford's notebook, his badge

and his gun.

It's empty.

A Davis P-380.

It's a weird gun for a fed to carry.

Oh, my bad.

It's a street piece. Uh-huh.

Must be Mingus's.

Which means Agent Hatford's
weapon is still unaccounted for.

Hmm.

Roid Boy was sending out a lot of pictures.

They're all of the Feebs.

Looks like he was conducting

an investigation of his own.

Track down that number.

Run fingerprints, DNA.

Swab last for trace.

We always save the best for last.

Yes, David, that's already getting old.

Hey, Catherine. Yeah?

Do you remember a Jane Doe we
found off of Spencer Street

about three months ago?

Sadly, you're gonna have to be

more specific than that.

Pretty brunette,

caught up in prostitution, underage.

Gunshot wound to the head.

Okay, yes, I do remember her.
I saw a picture of her

on a board in the FBI command post.

She's mixed up in this
human trafficking ring.

Did the feds talk to her?

Yeah.

And they got it on video.

That's quite an assembly line.

Out with the old, in with the new.

Yeah.

Watch this.

Everything that you say

in this room is confidential.

Now, do you know what "confidential" means?

My speak is not good,

but...

I understand good.

Okay, how old are you, sweetheart?

Twenty-one.

No, I know that that's
what they told you to say.

Sweetie, how old are you really?

Sixteen.

It's okay.

You know, we've seen

a lot of young girls like you on Hill Street

being shoved into limos

and forced to do God-knows-what

with dirty, old men.

Who brought you here, Rio?

I can't.

He will kill me.

I will be dead, you understand?

You won't be dead,
because we will protect you.

But you need to help us.

Who is he?

Who is he?

Look, we're trying to help you out here.

We're giving you the benefit of the doubt.

But you're a prostitute, a criminal.

Unless you help us, you're gonna go to jail.

No more talk, no more.

I go to jail, okay?

Please take me to jail.

Please take me to jail.

Let her go.

Their files indicate that
they never reinterviewed her.

Three days later, she was dead.

Maybe Os Punho

found out that she was
picked up and questioned.

Had her killed on the street as
a warning to the other girls.

What's happening, Professor?

I just printed Vinnie Mingus's gun.

At least, I thought it was his gun.

What do you mean?

It appears to have

Agent Hatford's prints all over it.

Now, why would an FBI agent
be carrying a street gun

with a filed-down serial number on it?

He wouldn't-- maybe it's a drop gun.

Are you saying Agent Hatford was dirty?

It happens.

Maybe Agent Hatford was mixed up
with Mingus or Os Punho somehow.

- Yeah, it happens.
- Excuse me, sir.

Hold on. Captain Brass,

you have a 420 on Hill Street.

Hooker or pimp?

Agent Bechman,
I was actually gonna call you.

What are you doing here?

The operation was undercover.

Okay, David, what have
you got for me tonight?

Oh, man.

It's Agent Stanley.

Yeah, Wendy?

Captain, I just got this
e-mail from FBI Quantico,

and there is no record of any agent

by the name of William Ray Hatford.

They're saying this guy was a fake.

Okay, thanks.

There's stippling and powder
burns around the wound.

It was a close-range shot.

Somebody probably walked

right up behind her on the street.

Looks like Emma was suicidal.

Those are old scars.

Yes, but vertical,
which means she was serious.

Guess she finally got her wish.

Hey, Live Scan

got a hit on her prints.

Her real name is Emma Mosler.

She's got a record.

She did two years for prostitution.

So, she was a prostitute
posing as an FBI agent

posing... as a prostitute?

To bust a prostitution ring?

Okay, take everything, and we'll figure out

what's real and what's not real later.

There was this trucker

in Gerald, Missouri,

who rolled into town and told everybody

he was a DEA agent.

Started busting every meth head in town.

It was months before
somebody finally caught on.

Don't try to make me feel better.

Can I give it a try, Jim?

I've been with the Bureau

15 years.

This would have fooled me.

Well, it didn't fool Vinnie Mingus.

He knew they were fakes.

He thought we were fakes, too.

Blew his brains out trying to prove it.

Be nice to find Agent Bechman

before Os Punho does-- we anywhere on that?

No.

All we have is a lease made out to...

I Can See For Miles, Incorporated.

All right, Nevada tags.

Alpha, Charlie,

David, Foxtrot,

three, four, eight.

Registered owner is I
Can See For Miles, Inc.

Same address as their command post.

It looks like Miles covered all his bases.

Yeah, well, maybe Emma didn't cover hers.

We know when and where

she swiped her card.

The bill's got to get sent somewhere.

A halfway house?

Yeah... well, we think

she was stealing identities
from the residents.

How hard could that be?

I'm Detective Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police.

This is Ray Langston from the crime lab.

Is there someone in charge
here that I can talk to?

That would be me.

Until 4:00.

Do you know this woman?

Yeah, sure, I know her.

Emma.

You know, most of the ladies here

are pretty nasty, but man,
oh, man, she is sweet.

I seen her in the shower once

shaving her pits.

High point of my life.

Is she a resident? Uh-huh.

Okay.

Let's see.

Says here that Emma signed out two days ago.

Never signed back in.

And nobody noticed?

Look, this isn't a lockup facility.

Everybody here is free

to come and go.

They're just supposed to sign in and out.

How about this guy?

You seen him?

Yeah, sure, um, Miles Gelson.

Uh, he came to us courtesy of CNPH.

Central Nevada Psychiatric Hospital.

Very good.

What about this man?

Hmm.

Billy Ray Salvy,

another resident.

He's been MIA for three days.

Another resident.

So, we've been working a
case with a couple of...

Crazy people?

It's okay to call them that.

That's what I call them.

Look, um, you're welcome

to talk to Miles if you'd like.

He's here?

According to this.

Here we go.

No, no, no, hold on.

We'll take it from here.

Thanks.

Hello, Miles.

We have some questions

that need to be answered.

I'm undercover here.

All the people, they think

I'm with them.

So... if you want to talk...

...put handcuffs on me, and take me outside.

Got to be careful, very careful,

'cause I can't,

I can't blow this cover.

I understand.

Just one second.

Captain, the man is clearly

a fantasy-prone personality type.

I think it's best if we...

go along with it.

You're the doctor.

Miles Gelson,

we have a warrant for your arrest.

Stand up.

Put your hands behind your back!

Let's go.

You're probably wondering

where I was when Agent Stanley was...

uh, was, uh...

I, uh, I received a call from...

Gun!

Dispatch, this is Brass.

Shots fired, my location.

Suspect down.

He's dead. Dead?

Yes, sir.

Code four.

Good work, Detective.

I'm putting you in for commendation.

Shut up!

Shut up, you whack job! You see this?!

Captain... You see this?
This is real. You see this?

People are dead here
because of you! Stop it.

Jim, I've got it! Because of you!

You're a fraud! I got it!

Get him out of here.

The driver's cell phone was
recovered at the scene.

Clearly, Mingus was spreading
the word about the phony feds.

I figure the shooter was one of Os Punho's

lower level punks,

finishing what Mingus started.

How much time is he looking at?

Let's see-- impersonating a federal officer,

at least two counts of accessory murder,

and every person he hauled
off the street to "interview"

would be an additional count of kidnapping.

15 to 20, minimum.

His best bet would be to plead

diminished capacity.

He's got that covered.

This is all from the fake command post?

Huh.

Uh-huh.

What are you doing?

That is a good question.

This is the evidence ledger

from the fake feds' locker.

It's filled with dates

and corresponding alphabetic codes.

This is the date that that girl,
Rio, was killed.

So it stands

to reason that...

This code could identify the murder weapon.

That is a perfectly logical conclusion.

It's also wrong.

That code isn't on any of these weapons.

In fact, none of the
codes on the ledger are.

I've tried to decipher it using

simple shift and
substitution codes, no luck.

Unless we find a cipher key,
we may never figure it out.

Maybe Miles is the key.

Hello, Miles.

I'm truly sorry about your friends.

I'm here because I need your help.

This, uh, entry in your evidence ledger

corresponds to the day that girl,
Rio, was killed.

What does it mean?

All right...

Miles, um...

I think I know what happened, Miles.

I think you and Emma and Billy Ray...

were trying to clean up
your corner of the world,

do some good.

To do that, you had to reinvent yourselves.

All I did was get them killed.

Look, they died fighting.

Trying to help people who
couldn't help themselves.

Now let me help you finish what you started.

L-G-D-G-D-S

dash U-A-P

means "Little guy dropped gun down sewer."

"Unable to apprehend perp."

Corresponding evidence tagged with

G-T-L-B-D

"Gun little

"bastard dropped.

Gonna nail his ass someday."

Now, have you tried this before?

Have you screened a weapon?

No.

Want to try?

All right. All right.

Okay, you take the gun,

and I want you to swab the grip.

Right in here.

Perfect.

I'll hit it with phenol.

Nothing.

All right.

Now, we're going to swab the magazine.

'Cause that gets a lot of handling action.

Okay.

No.

So now, we're going to try the opening.

And I want you to swab

right here underneath the lip.

Great.

Looks like our killer caught his thumb

when he was loading the weapon.

The fight doctor is wanted on a long list

of open trafficking indictments.

And Interpol's been after him for years.

We believe he's the one who shot Rio.

It's over, Miles.

It was the doctor posing as Os Punho.

He was running the operation the whole time.

A fake cop taking down an imaginary villain.

Not imaginary.

The suffering,
the death he caused, was real.

And you put a stop to it.

I did?

He's in jail.

I don't believe he'll ever get out.

That's good.

I brought you something to pass the time.

As I recall...

Quixote regained his sanity in the end.

But his melancholia persisted.

He died emotionally broken and alone.

Well, they didn't have antidepressants

back in those days.

Chapter one.

"At a village of La Mancha,

"whose name I do not wish to remember,

"there lived a little while ago,

"one of those gentlemen

"who are wont to keep a lance in the rack,

"an old buckler, a lean horse

and a swift greyhound."

Those windmills you tilted at,

they really were giants.