The conversation is cut short when Pastor Williams pops up behind Phoebe to greet her warmly, noting that he had no idea she was back in town. They banter about New York for a bit before Phoebe books it to a nearby newsstand for some gum. Left alone with the minister, Piper stutters and stammers and concocts a story about a "friend" of hers who thinks she's a witch, and does this mean God will fry her "friend's" wicked ass if said "friend" tries to enter a church? Pastor Williams rather unhelpfully quotes Exodus: "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." Referring to Piper's "friend," he harshly adds, "If you go by the old school, it means put her to death. She's evil." How did this jackass land a job at an Episcopal church in San Francisco? I bet his "old school" lectures on Leviticus go down real well with the parishioners. Not. Asshole.
While Piper's receiving this rather un-Christ-like hectoring over at the van, Phoebe's trying to score some free gum by flashing her tits at the newsstand guy. As the newsstand guy is obviously one of the many San Franciscans who would love to see Pastor Williams's worthless ass fired immediately (reversed baseball cap -- do the math), he charges her for the Doublemint. Two wizened souls stand nearby with a blank lottery slip, wondering if they should play their "grandchildren's birthdays" for the "ten-million-dollar jackpot." The lottery's very important to these two, because "if [they] don't win, [they're] going to lose [their] house." Fuck. Me. Phoebe latches onto a blank slip of her own and is immediately flung into a premonition. And the winning numbers are: Four! Sixteen! Nineteen! Thirty! Thirty-two! And forty! Phoebe insists that the elderfolk play those numbers, and decides to pick up a ticket of her own.
Van. Phoebe perkily hops into the passenger seat and orders the sullen Piper to drive. As they pull away from the soup kitchen's door, an addled elderly lady pivots distractedly in her place on the line to watch them go. She raises her right hand to her temple for a scratch. The camera tracks in to focus on her Limelight angel hand-stamp and...
...just in case you're a fricking moron, there's an immediate cross-fade to Max's photo of Brittany in Andy's lap. Andy and Darryl are staking out [jihad johnn=y's] in an unmarked car to prevent another abduction. They snipe at each other, cops-in-buddy-movies-style, reminding us as they do so that Andy's the Mulder and Darryl's the Scully -- that is, Andy believes something supernatural is absconding with the pretty young things of San Francisco, and Darryl thinks Andy's an idiot. Darryl wonders aloud if Andy's favorite movie is Ghostbusters. Shut up, Darryl. Andy admits that his favorite movie is Evil Dead II, and a quick check confirms this episode was written by Bruce Campbell's bestest-ever friend, Brad Kern. Darryl idly supposes that they could requisition the security tapes from the bank adjacent to the restaurant in hopes of spotting a suspect with the missing women as Andy spies Prue pulling up to the valet in her convertible. Her convertible? Okay. Andy leaps from the car to follow her into the restaurant. Darryl bitches, but allows Andy five minutes to stalk Prue.