Rudy and Deb are in some garage with black garbage bags taped up on the walls and blue athletic mats on the floor. "Down on the floor, please," Rudy says, but Deb, who's blindfolded with her arms bound, breaks free and runs into a wall. It kind of reminds me of Jean Lundegaard when Carl and Gaear get to their wintry hideout. "This is kind of foolish, Deb," Rudy says calmly as Deb continues to bounce off the walls. He grabs her and sweeps her legs, making her fall to the ground. Rudy takes out a syringe, saying, "I don't usually work this way. Call it an homage to a fellow traveller I greatly admire." He plunges the M99 into her neck, and she passes out.

"Laura Moser," VOs Dex as he looks at his mother's mugshot on his laptop at the station. "Addict, dealer. My mother. Arrested in '69 and again in '71, same address listed both times. 1235 Mangrove Drive. They say home is where the heart is. Maybe this is where I left mine." He writes the address down and stands up to leave when Rita comes in carrying coffees and says, "Surprise!" "What are you doing here?" asks Dex, agitated. "White chocolate mocha, your favorite." "I'm going to have to drink it on the road," he says, and books past her. She tries to get his attention, asking him for a tour of the place since she's never been there, and he tells her it'll have to wait. "What's going on?" "It's Deb, she's in trouble." "Oh, God, is it serious?" Dude, Rita? Honey? I love you, but you really need to learn how to read body language. It's pretty clear Dex can't be shagged to deal with your needy bullshit right now, so lay the fuck off. Thanks, babe. You're a sweetheart. Dexter tells her that, yes, it's fucking serious. "I just can't worry about you, too, right now." She looks crestfallen, which I'm getting used to from her. She gets upset pretty easily. She should probably learn to expect less from life, because then she'll never be disappointed.

"She knows. She knows. She knows!" Oh, Christ, not this asshole again. Poor Angel is trying to hear the TV, but can't over this guy's constant whining. "If she knows, then you yappin' about it isn't going to change it, so shut the fuck up," says Angel, as Pascal starts a press conference. She reveals that Rudy's been operating under an alias, and his real identity is still unclear. An orderly comes in and apologizes for the asshole in the other bed, but he's overflow from the county psych ward. "This one's harmless. We never take the violent ones. They have the arsonists, rapists, the psycho killers over there." A stunned look crosses Angel's face, and he asks the woman if they fingerprint psych patients over at County. She answers affirmatively. "Half of them don't know their own names. Gotta ID them somehow." Once she's done drugging She Knows and leaves, Angel sits up and makes a call. He tells whoever answers that he needs them to run Rudy's print against psych institution records. I would have thought that was a no-brainer, but hey, I'm no cop. Whatever. Good work, Angel.