Brass comes over and tenderly inquires of the invalid, "Hey, Lou! Lou! Lou! You wanna tell us who filled you full of lead?" By the way, "tenderly" is another way of saying "at the top of his lungs." Unfortunately, Lou has recovered enough of his mental faculties to gasp, "I want a lawyer."
Back at the Labitrail, a group of women from the Hogs and Heifers convention is waiting in the receiving room. They look less than thrilled to be there -- understandable, since a lot of guys in uniform are walking by, laughing and pointing. You know, given the grand circus of humanity available in that city, I find it hard to believe that Las Vegas cops would be so provincial as to act as if a group of obese women were some exotic novelty. That kind of behavior went out with the Hottentot Venus. Some uniform stops Sara on her way in there and snickers, "Walk softly. You don't want to start a stampede." Sara opens her can of whup-ass and sprays some in the guy's general direction: "I am going to remember that you said that, Metcalf, especially after these ladies sue you and the police for discrimination, you genius. Could you clear the halls for me, please?"
Sara then walks in and apologizes because the guys were out of line. Our Lady of the Message Board shoots back, "They all were. And so were you -- unless you've got a really good explanation for why we're all down here." Regina looks skeptical that such a thing is possible; Sara explains that she's working a homicide investigation, she's working evidence consistent with Regina's custom-made lingerie, and all of the women in the room own that lingerie. Our Lady of the Message Board makes a nice pun with, "I'm no lawyer, but that sounds flimsy even to me." LOVE HER. Sara adds, "We also found DNA evidence at the crime scene that proves that two women had sex with the victim prior to his death. I would like to rule you out as suspects, so I'm asking for a voluntary DNA sample." "You think one of us killed Maurice?" Regina bristles. "Who's Maurice?" a streaky blonde asks. Our Lady of the Message Board drawls contemptuously, "Maurice Hudson. Big ego, little scab." That delivery is so awesome, it's moved me to testify PTC-style: LOVE HER. O, GREAT TV GODS, PLEASE KEEP TARA KARSIAN ON MY TV SOMEHOW. Sara asks if she can swab the inside of everyone's cheek, and the redhead whom Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three had been chatting with emphatically denies permission. Sara points out that she can get a court order. Regina shrugs, "So get one," and makes motions to get the Purple Reign Posse to roll. But Our Lady of the Message Board -- a.k.a. "Jill" -- steps forward, because "I don't want this humiliation made more public than it already is, and I definitely don't want to come back here. So you do what you want. This ends for me right here."