Graveyard. Darling Sammy, more than a little worse for the wear after his hours in the motel room with Krazy Kubrick, sprinkles some bone ash and cayenne pepper onto the tiny pyre of glowing coals they've constructed for the cleansing ritual while Dean hastily scratches away at one last fistful of lottery tickets. Once Dean deposits the winners -- and they're all winners, of course -- in his jacket pocket over on a nearby headstone, he returns to Sam's side to commence with the fetish immolation. One problem: Bela's just completed her two-hour jaunt up from Queens and now levels a gun at their heads. "I think you'll find that belongs to me," she unbearably smirks. "Or, you know," she adds with unbearable nonchalance, "whatever." "Put the foot down, honey," she unbearably continues, and is entirely and unbearably unperturbed when Dean flat-out refuses to do so. "You're not gonna shoot anybody," Dean asserts, ramping himself up into a word-for-word repeat recitation of the heartfelt little speech he offered the grieving Grossman oh, so many scenes ago. "See, I happen to be able to read people," he begins. "Okay, you're a thief -- that's fine." Bela cuts through the crap by shooting Darling Sammy in one of his remarkably broad shoulders. "KILL HER!" shrieks Raoul, temporarily awoken from his Coma Of Boredom by this most disgusting turn of events. "KILL THE ONE WHO WOULD HARM THE SHOULDERS!" I could not possibly agree with you more, my scaly friend, so let's get this despicable woman off the television screen as quickly as possible. Dean bellows something outraged, but Bela -- unbearably composed -- simply remarks that while she can't shoot Dean, given his current run of good luck, she also can't miss Sam, given the latter's current run of the opposite, so Dean had best place the mangy fetish on the ground, now. Sly El Deano moves to comply, but at the last minute hurls the thing at her, blurting, "Think fast!" Hateful Bela, Destroyer Of Shoulders, reflexively snaps up a hand to grab it, and immediately gets this "Oh, shit!" look on her face. Thus busted, she finally caves, and the next thing we know, she's dropping the mangy fetish onto the tiny pyre of glowing coals herself. The three make with the snippy remarks at each other as she heads off towards her car -- with Bela taking a lengthy moment to lean against Dean's jacket on the headstone, I should note -- before she vanishes, at long last, into the night.