Nicky continues to explain how the shells would have affected Gabe Miller, and David's amused. Nicky's all, "I'm glad to see you find his name so funny. I personally thought it was charmingly old-fashioned." Noooooo. It turns out that David happens to recognize him as "the new councilman from Ward 7. Interesting story -- he played pro football --" "Yeah, wide receiver for the Vegas Greenbacks, right?" Nicky asks. Why, yes. Well, Gabe's ring is on the dead guy's finger. So unless Las Vegans are in the habit of electing the deteriorating to public office -- as opposed to the merely prevaricating, obfuscating, and occasionally grating --- then a new question's been tossed into this case. How did the dead guy end up with Gabe Miller's ring?
Cut to Brass talking to Gabe Miller, who is radiating the squeaky-clean and generally intact complexion of the not-at-all dead. Miller remarks lightly yet ruefully that he hasn't seen that ring in a long time. Brass is all, "Why is that?" Miller says, "Every cent I made playing ball went up my nose or on some dog at Las Vegas Downs. I was a real mess until I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior." Brass can't keep the smirk off his face, and Miller asks, "You got a problem with that, Captain?" Brass slyly says he's merely being a good listener, and Miller's all, "All right. Out with it." I like this guy. Brass says, "Okay. Councilman. Say you're an alcoholic. One day you decide to give up the bottle. More often than not, you're going to trade in the shot glass for a dozen Krispy Kremes and start pounding them with both hands --" "So you think I'm an addictive personality, only now I'm into God and not greyhounds," Miller says, not at all upset. Brass says, "I'm really not making judgments." Brass is lying through his teeth. He's judging every minute of the day; you don't get to be that hard-boiled by waltzing through life with a mind as open as Tara Reid's neckline.