"The chair?" says one of the FBI techs behind Dexter's back. Dexter wordlessly gives up the seat and looks on helplessly as they tuck into his files.
Back outside, Deb approaches Lundy, who's on the phone telling someone to "cross-check with Interpol, see where it leads." He hangs up, and they say hi to one another. "So, bats out of hell move slower than you did this morning," says Deb. "I know, I'm sorry. But as you can see --" "Something's up." "Something's up," he confirms. "I wondered if you were also cheesed about my whole 'not disclosing' thing. I don't want you to think I'm unsure or...embarrassed, or anything." "Why would you be embarrassed? I'm hot!" Hee! Deb giggles, and says, "You got that right!" Lundy explains that it had nothing to do with her, and if it made her feel bad, that wasn't his intention. "It's just --" "Something's up." "Something's up." "What?" she asks. He can't tell her, naturally, and she wants to know why not. "Honestly? You don't want to know." Some doom-y music creeps into the score, and Deb leaves without another word. Man, what the hell is going on?
Suddenly, we're in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, and this is where Doakes was headed. How do I know? Because I have eyes, and there he is. He makes his way to a small house that's dimly lit, and some old man is yelling something that I don't understand, because I don't speak Creole. Another man inside the house yells something back from behind a beaded curtain as Doakes continues inside. The man, who looks like Seal if Seal played football, turns around and sees Doakes, and stops in his tracks. "It's a ghost from my past," he says. "I wasn't sure I'd be able to find you," says Doakes. "I'm in the phone book now. Last place you'd look, right?" "It's good to see you, Leonis," says Doakes, and they shake hands. "My father-in-law will be happy we have a customer with American dollars!" "Looks like you're in the travel business, now, huh?" The guy groans, and explains that despite Haiti's reputation as a war-torn country, they still do a decent business arranging tours between the islands. Doakes wonders aloud if he's not still sneaking people over the border under the cover of night, and Leonis says contemptuously that his wife would castrate him if that were the case: "I work only for her father, now. I hope his dog will bite him." He waves to the old man with a fake smile to keep up appearances. "So, what can I arrange for you?" He suggests a resort, but Doakes was "thinkin' more like, the hospital in Dom. Rep." The guy's face falls a bit, and he says, "You are sick?" "No, but I need a discreet lab." "A relaxing cruise is better. There's a shuffleboard tournament on the Jewel of the Seas. Big stakes." "Leonis, you were always the one to say 'no questions asked' whenever we needed shit." "I am not a fixer anymore, and you are not in Black Operations. I'm a travel agent, and I like it! No one tries to kill me or torture me." "Listen, this isn't dangerous, man. I just need some blood slides analyzed. Leonis, I need your help." "This is all you want? The slides analyzed?" "And your most expensive tour package of the islands!" Leonis agrees to do it: "Give me the slides, I'll see what I can do." Doakes shakes his head: "Make the arrangements first. I'll bring them over by boat." "Avoiding customs?" "Don't want to risk it. Biological materials." Leonis wants to know if Doakes is in trouble. "No," he says. "But someone else is gonna be." Oh, shit, dude. I'm sorry, but I still feel like this is fishy. Even if Doakes can secure DNA matches, will any of it be admissible in court?
Back at the lab, Dexter is wearing a tortured expression, clearly displeased with how slowly the FBI techs are working. The main tech announces that they've cleared 1995's notes, and Dex says, "How far back are you looking?" Ignoring him, the tech says, "Let's start with knife wounds." Dexter sighs, and stands up, hoping to lend a hand to make this go faster. He approaches the computer, and the tech says, "It's okay, I'm good." "They're wasting their time, here," he VOs as he sits back down. "Now, if they had a warrant for my apartment, they'd find blood-slides and killing tools. Gotta move those. Gotta dispose of Jimenez, instead I'm waiting for the fat man to sing." He stands up again and tries once more to help the guy navigate the computer, but the tech gets irritated, telling him once again that he's "got it! In fact, I think we can get along on our own from here." "And he sings." Dexter leaves the lab, having gotten the message loud and clear.