So anyhow, the priest is named Father Tim -- though I hope you'll indulge me in calling him Father Sobotka. And judging by the wide berth that both Carling and Skelton are giving him, he's just as likely to absolve your sins with a good right cross to the jaw as he is a couple dozen rosaries. Carling attempts to reason with the good father: "Angel Ramirez chucked a little girl off a roof. Now, the last thing he deserves is mercy. Kill my dog, I'll slay your cat -- now that has a Biblical charm even you penguinis can appreciate." Yes, I believe that was in Paul's letter to the Meatheads, chapter five, right after the passage on "Yo... how you doin'?" Sam tries a less stupid line of reasoning -- if Angel's innocent, he's got nothing to worry about, and if he's guilty, "then he should make peace with your God." Father Sobotka finds that a curious choice of pronouns -- yes, it turns out that Sam checked the Unsubscribe box on the Major World Religions form. So how's about handing Angel over? We promise to treat him nice if you do. Well, Father Sobotka reasons, so long as they're promising to be nice... "Be fair," Father Sobotka says, pointedly, while pointing. "Or I'll hit you with so many rights, you'll beg me for the left." Ah, the words of the prophet Leon Spinks -- as true today, as they were in his time.
Angel is brought out, and the subsequent pat down uncovers a swatch from a dress -- the very same kind of dress that Keisha Davies was wearing just before learning an important lesson about gravity. Angel protests that they don't understand what happened. And Carling would like to keep it that way: "You've got 32 teeth. Would you like to try for none?" As they lead Angel off, Father Sobotka reminds them to be fair, as a man's soul is at stake. "Maybe two," the priest says to Sam, "if you judge him." Sam's got more pressing concerns than the state of his soul, however: while Carling is busy slamming Angel against the car and giving him the if-the-priest-didn't-ask-me-to-be-nice-I'd-have-slammed-you-much-harder routine, an African-American gentlemen throws what looks to be an improvised explosive device under the car. Sam, Carling, and Angel hit the pavement, boom goes the dynamite, and in the ensuing chaos, Angel runs away. But don't take my word for it -- listen to the omnipresent voice-over of Brother Love Butter: "The word from you people on the street is that the Po-lice have lost Angel. And since Angel's spread his wings, if you can hear me, Angel, you can hear the people talking. This city will burn until it finds you." That doesn't sound like a segue into a kicky Jerome Robbins-choreographed dance number at all.