"Sam and Dean Winchester," Evil Gordon admiringly repeats some time later out on the street, where the three have gathered around Evil Gordon's Evil El Camino for the conversation that follows. As Gordon slides his weapons stash -- including that hand scythe from the top of the hour, natch -- out from behind, uh, the back seat, I guess, Gordon speaks of the boys' late father in admiring tones, adding his condolences along with his assurances that the boys will fill Daddy Shut Up's shoes quite well, if what he's heard of their superior hunting skills is anything to go by. Sam and Dean, still not getting the whole concept of "a hunter's grapevine," make suspicious noises about how Gordon could know so much about their family before Sam changes the subject to inquire about the two recently deceased vampires. Evil Gordon confirms the kills were his. "You check out that Barker farm?" Dean wonders. "It's a bust," comes the reply. "Just a bunch of hippie freaks, though they could kill you with that patchouli smell alone." I hate it when I wholeheartedly agree with characters I don't like. Not that Gordon, through his actions thus far, has given us any particular reason to dislike the guy, but come on. He smokes. That very fact alone makes him so irreparably, so irredeemably wicked by today's television standards, I don't know why I'm bothering to deal with him at all. Well, you know, aside from the fact that he's an integral part of tonight's main plot. Stupid TV.
ANY-way. Dean would very much like to join Gordon on the latter's current vampire hunt, but Gordon's "kind of a go-it-alone type of guy," and so he demurs. "But, hey," he offers affably enough. "I hear there's a chupacabra two states over. Go ahead and knock yourselves out." And with that, he crawls into his Evil El Camino and tools away. Sam and Dean, artfully bathed in the streetlight-illuminated mist that surrounds them, shoot "That motherfucker's got to be kidding with that shit" side-eyes at each other.
Establishing shot of a silent and ramshackle lumberyard, a run-down conveyor belt loaded with logs taking up the foreground. Inside, Conrad the night watchman hears ferrety noises coming from outdoors. Conrad grabs a nightstick as he rises to his feet to investigate. He crosses the yard, climbs up the stairs to the conveyor's level, and, in the bluish gloom of the widely spaced fluorescents above his head, picks his way towards what sounds like the yard's dock area. I know nothing about logging. Leave me alone. Just as Conrad slides his nightstick into attack position, an angry crow bursts into the frame from above, and I have to admit that that cheap horror movie stunt made me jump a little bit. Conrad shakes his head and rolls his eyes at his own stupidity and baseless paranoia, then turns to...almost get a faceful of scythe, courtesy of Evil Gordon! The infernal orchestra ramps up as Conrad vamps out to begin Evil Gordon's almighty smackdown. Seriously. Conrad whales the crap out of Gordon with the nightstick and bangs him against a couple of walls before hoisting him bodily into the air and slamming him down on the conveyor belt right beneath an industrial-sized chainsaw. So much for going it alone. Hooray! Conrad lands a couple of meaty punches to Gordon's face -- the better to beat him into unconsciousness, you see -- before reaching up to yank the saw down towards Gordon's neck. Unfortunately, at the last instant, Sam drags Gordon away by the latter's feet while Dean snatches up a conveniently placed logging pike, with which he whacks at Conrad until the vampire himself is flat on the conveyor. Dean then most awesomely rams the pike through Conrad's chest to pin him to the log below, and then reaches up to pull down the industrial chainsaw on Conrad's neck. The doomed vampire remains just below the bottom of the frame for this, but his gurgling howls of torment combined with the nifty sound effect of chainsaw-through-meat plus the impressive spray of arterial blood now painting Dean's pretty face red all make for a most delicious moment of televised gore, indeed. The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, in fact, is practically peeing himself with delight. "Whee!"