A door opens a crack to reveal Deb and Angel, and I'm assuming we're at Lenny's house now. "Who the hell are you?" asks Lenny. Angel introduces himself, and Deb, holding up her badge, and asks if they can come in for a couple of questions. Lenny opens up, revealing a kitchen filled with cardboard boxes. Nice packrat. God, I hope I never end up like this guy. "Who's dead?" Lenny asks, and Angel tells him that they're there about Rodrigo. "I know," says Lenny. "They found him in the ocean. I hope a whale ate him and shat him out and then ate him again." You know, that's how I feel about Lila. Thanks for articulating that so well, Mr. Asher. "You weren't too close to him, were you?" asks Deb. "He was scum," says Lenny as he walks over to his window. Angel reminds him about his numerous calls to police when Rodrigo still lived next door. "He was a drug dealer!" says Lenny. "He played loud music, urinated on my lilies." Angel: "You actually saw that?" "They were dead, that's all I needed to know," sniffs Lenny. Deb asks whether Lenny has any thoughts on who killed him, and he replies, "How the hell should I know?" He goes back to the window and bitches about the car parked right in front of the fire hydrant. Deb tells him it's their cruiser, and Lenny puts away the notepad he procured from his pants to write down the license number. "You take a lot of notes?" asks Angel. "Anything hinky happens outside this window, I make a note of it," says Lenny. "How long you been doin' that?" asks Deb. "Since someone stuck a nail in my tire, March, 1998," Lenny replies. Deb says that Rodrigo was last seen after his trial in April 2002, and wonders whether Lenny took any notes that day. "If something happened, I did," says Lenny. Angel asks whether he keeps his notes, and Lenny proudly motions to the boxes populating the kitchen: "Here, 2002." "What kind of order did you keep them in?" asks Angel. "I told you, 2002," says Lenny. Heh, have fun sorting that shit out, Detective. Sucker!
"I have no idea if Lundy bought my excuse," VOs Dex as he stands in his lab, looking nervous. Looking out into the main office, he adds, "Either way, it makes me a little anxious to see my sister looking through the Rodrigo files. Looking for me." He goes over to Deb's desk, and she says, "You're never going to guess what I found." "What'd you find?" he asks apprehensively. "An apartment!" she says proudly. Relieved, Dexter says, "Oh! Great. Wow, big change." "Well, it's time, you know?" says Deb. "Good for you," says Dexter. "When do you move?" "As soon as possible," says Deb. "But not tonight, I have a date." Dexter says he thought she and Gabriel broke up, and she tells him it's with Lundy. "'Lundy,' Special Agent Lundy?" asks Dexter, stammering. "So he's twenty years older than me, what do you care?" says Deb. Shaking his head, Dexter says, "I don't! I mean, I'm sure you wouldn't do anything like that," implying that others would. Deb: "Like what?" Dexter: "Like, trying to sleep your way to the top." "You douche!" says Deb. "That is so not true." "Of course not!" Dexter agrees. "I shouldn't have even said anything, and I'm sure that thought would never occur to anyone else." Deb: "Double douche!" Is that like double-dutch? No? Okay, sorry. Deb: "You are not allowed to talk about anyone I date as long as you're seeing Little Miss Pardon My Tits. I'm sorry, Dex, but she is gross. And pale, and nobody is pale in Miami. She is obviously a vampire. A gross, English, titty vampire." Debra, I love you. I know we've had some rough times in the past, what with my unforgiving attitude toward your self-involved attitude, but you've just redeemed yourself for all previous wrongs. Please don't fuck it up. Dexter just smiles vaguely at this, and says, "You just described the perfect woman." He leaves Deb looking like she just ate a block of salt.