We open with Fearless and Joel in their car. Fearless hangs up the phone and says they got their warrant. They get out of the car. As they're walking, Fearless calmly asks, "What the hell is that?" That is a semi, which goes barreling through the front of a house. We see it crash into a chair. From the interior shot, it looks like the house is pretty empty. "Why did that happen?" my boyfriend asks groggily, mistakenly thinking he fell asleep through most of the episode. "We're about to spend fifty-four minutes finding out," I answer. "Couldn't they tell us faster?" he asks. I reply: "Welcome to Boomtown."
Teresa. She's napping in her ambulance, which is fitting, since I'm pretty sure Teresa must be homeless in order to be in all places at once the way she always is. Randy opens the door and wakes her up in a shot we already saw in an earlier episode. "Come on," he says. "Just got a big one." Quit your bragging, Randy.
Someone in this episode is unfortunately named Alex Meneses. How much teasing did poor Alex suffer in high school, huh? The ambulance "rushes" to the "scene." It's the same semi, now in a street accident. Teresa opens the door and asks the driver's name. It's Sean Dornan. He's pretty pissed off that he got in a wreck, and makes a lot of noise, slamming things and grouching. Teresa flirts him into submission.
Teresa jumps out of the semi in time to hear one man off-camera shout, "Get in the car!" Teresa calls out and asks if the men ducking into their green getaway vehicle are hurt. They drive off in response. Randy calls Teresa over, saying he's got two people hurt. There's a car crammed underneath the rig. Randy says that the driver is DOA; Randy's currently checking the passenger. He asks for the fire engine, since the car is filled with smoke. Teresa waves her hand casually in front of her face and says it should be there "any minute," since you can hear its siren wailing. Pan up to see the empty, onlooker-less, media-less street, where the fire engine is slowly approaching. Teresa looks back inside the car and notices that there's a passenger in the back seat. It's hard to see through the fog machine cranked up to 11 in the trunk, but Teresa bats the smoke away enough for one clichéd hand to rise up. A child's voice is ominously heard off-camera: "Help." Teresa leans into the window -- which is somehow open, not broken, even though it wasn't earlier. There's a small boy with the required blotch of blood on his temple, signifying "Hurt." He moans with half-shut eyes so we know he's indeed "Hurt." We watch him slip into a coma as Teresa stands there staring, not bothering to try to talk to him, find out his name, keep him conscious, check his pulse, climb in and administer help, try to free him from the car filled with dry ice and fog machine chemicals, or call for someone to help her. Randy? He's off drinking a beer, I guess. Sorry, kid. There's only the one paramedic here in L.A., and she's pretty damn tired these days.