Brass, meanwhile, has wandered out to hang with Warrick and Nicky, who apparently have the job of searching the great outdoors. They're at Ashleigh's car now -- it's a frightening cache of food wrappers. Nicky takes in the mounds of junk food wrappers and comments, "You sure this is the vic's?" "You are what you eat," Brass replies. If Jerry Stahl was trying to make a point about how judgmental even casual comments about food and diet can be, he's succeeded.
Gil is still focusing on what he found on the table; he's scraping up a caked brown substance now. Catherine is wandering around the spacious bathroom we saw at the beginning of the episode. She notes blood in the sink, but none on the floor, then finds a Costco-style pallet of enemas. Gil comes in, picks up an enema, and says dryly, "The secret life of women." "Don't generalize. It's not very scientific of you," Catherine chides. Gil repents. As she continues to go through Ashleigh's bathroom cabinet, Gil continues to inspect the trash. He then pulls out a bag filled with a thick and murky reddish-brown fluid. "Catherine..." he says. She registers the bag, quickly deduces the contents, and looks away, shaken.
At the car, Nicky and Warrick are still sifting through wrappers for clues. Warrick extracts a magazine from the backseat -- it's another Ashleigh James cover, this time for the August 2001 issue of Pout magazine. Pardon me for the nitpick here, but I was always under the impression that most consumer magazines with a nationwide circulation do their edit and artwork out of New York, especially since the big newsstand publishers (Gruner+Jahr, Hearst, Condé Nast, AOL/Time Warner, Hachette) are based out of there. Therefore, since the print work tends to be in NYC, so do modeling agencies. What's this model -- who was apparently the flavor of the month in August 2001 -- doing working out of Vegas? I realize that Las Vegas is a beauty market unto itself and has some regional publishing, but really, it doesn't make sense. This is what I get for working in media. Anyway, Warrick flags Nicky, who looks at the cover and squeals, "Oooooooh! Pretty girl!" Og want female! Og want female badly! Og want rock! Smashing rock impress female greatly, make up for size of Og's club! Warrick declines to dignify that with a response, and continues to photograph what might have been the entire inventory of an AM/PM at one time. He does note, however, that being a pretty girl in Las Vegas is dangerous. Warrick declines to elaborate, though; perhaps the pretty girls are at risk of having Nicky chase after them. Then again, it's not so safe to be Nicky in this town either. Speaking of which, the man's made himself useful, finding a note that reads, "Babe -- he's not good enough for you. He doesn't have the history we do. You mean the world to me. I know you'll live to regret this decision." What -- dumping a melodramatic semiliterate? Warrick and Nicky stare at each other, the gears grinding.