This week, Our Intrepid Heroes land in Little Rock, Arkansas, where the boys fake a robbery at the local natural history museum in order to get themselves slung into the county jail. Ever since the local authorities reopened the old wing of the place, you see, there's been a rash of grisly murders that have been taking out guards and inmates alike, and El Deano -- thanks to a tip from a mysterious friend of their father's named Deacon -- is certain that something hellish is responsible. Of course he's right, and after he and Darling Sammy get fitted for a pair of absolutely cunning jumpsuits in a winning shade of prison orange, the wacky penitentiary shenanigans begin, with Dean playing poker for cigarettes when he's not getting himself into brawls that incur the wrath of a particularly foul-tempered guard. Oh, sorry -- I meant to say "carefully orchestrated brawls that incur the apparent wrath of what we're meant to believe is a particularly foul-tempered guard," because the guard is actually Deacon himself, and he's already arranged for their escape from the clink once the demonic beastie's been dispatched. And what about that demonic beastie? Well, at first they believe it's the unquiet spirit of an inmate beaten to death about thirty years ago by some rogue guards, but after Dean survives a close encounter with the actual monster thanks to a handy plastic shaker of salt, they learn they're really up against the unquiet spirit of one Nurse Glockner, a notorious Annie Wilkes type whose reign of murderous terror in the prison's infirmary ended only when she got her skull bashed in during a riot. So, after desecrating the miserable wretch's grave and salting and burning her remains, Our Intrepid Heroes motor on off toward their next adventure. One problem: Special Agent Henriksen's back, and he is pissed. Yep, their insane little FBI friend from "Night Shifter" hustled on down to Arkansas as soon as he heard the boys were in jail, and he would have extradited their tantalizing asses to Wisconsin had El Deano not been able to charm his public defender into offering the special agent some very misleading information indeed. Will the once-again thwarted G-man return before the end of the season? God, I hope so, if only so The Ceiling Demon can fry his ass for so badly cocking up the job he'd been sent from Hell to accomplish in the first place. Because you know Henriksen is working for Satan.
Crackle, Crackle THEN! Darling Sammy would like to remind you all that it was not he appearing as a bank robber on the eleven o'clock news, but rather El Deano. Thanks for that, Sam. During the spectacular episode in question, we were introduced to Special Agent Victor Henriksen of the FBI, who was tasked by his superiors with bringing in Our Intrepid Heroes. As you'll recall, capturing the boys alive would have been a bonus for him, but not strictly necessary, as Henriksen was simply brimming with false information regarding Dean's supposed rampage in St. Louis, along with the "disappearing act" the guys pulled in Baltimore, on top of all the many, many grave desecrations and thefts over the years. And at the end of it all, El Deano realized, "We are so screwed." YEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHH!
Crackle, Crackle NOW! We fade up on the barbed-wire-topped chain link surrounding the exercise yard of what the just-arriving location card tells us is the "Green River County Detention Center." We trundle through a brief montage of basketball- and card-playing prisoners overseen by various stone-faced guards before heading indoors to track down a long corridor whose apparent disuse is confirmed by one of the two gentlemen now rounding the far corner. "Oh, this makes a lot of sense," he scoffs. "First they close down the cellblock, and now they open it back up again? There's your tax dollars at work, huh?" The two gentlemen approach an ironworker who's been diligently cutting through a rusted door with an acetylene torch this entire time, and arrive at the masked ironworker's side just as he slices through the last remaining bolt holding the thing shut. After a bit of strenuous grunting and tugging, the lead hardhat pulls the door open, and he and his partner enter the long-abandoned and windowless cell to train their flashlights on the bits of ruin within. "Yikes!" the lead hardhat eyebrows. "Would-a hate to gotten thrown in here." That made more sense coming out of his mouth than it does typed out. Trust me. As some unearthly entity exhales in tones that only those of us in the audience can hear, the lead hardhat suddenly realizes he can see his breath streaming out in front of his face, and he even tilts his flashlight's beam up to capture it. "Do you feel that?" he asks of his companion, referring, one would assume, to the unexpected drop in temperature. His companion, who is being paid at a far lower rate for his participation in this sequence, remains silent. Suddenly, the unearthly and unseen entity swoops past the lead hardhat and shoots down the hallway outside, scattering a few stray sheets of the renovation plans off a work table as it goes. DUN!