But he's not. Anywhere, that is. Nope. Back at the hotel, Willage is impatiently awaiting his food. We pass through the spy mirror and see Willage's protective agents strewn around the room, dead as doornails. A man steps over the bodies and makes his way over to the door to Willage's room. He knocks. Willage opens the door, grateful that his pizza's arrived. Sorry, Willage. It's not Domino's. It's Sark. And he's got a different kind of delivery for you.
Wendy Kroy: He is SO not dead.
Regina: Oh, totally.
Wendy Kroy: This is like a hideous dream sequence.
Regina: Yeah. Just like Dallas.
Wendy Kroy: Yeah, like, he's totally just in the shower and this is all going to dissolve into wavy lines or something.
Wendy Kroy: He's dead, isn't he?
Wendy Kroy: Dammit. Why couldn't he have been in his underwear, then? Huh? WHY?
Regina: I don't know, sweetie. Pass the cocktail mix. If it'll make you feel any better, we can make Julio come in here in his underwear and call him "Willage" for the rest of the evening.
Wendy Kroy: Oh, thank you, honey. You're the best.
Regina: I know, babe. Julio! Drop the pants and get your ass in here! And wear that wig that Mommy brought you from Vegas!