Well, let's get to it, then, starting with dispatching Poor Dead Xavier as quickly as possible. The LYING LIARS WHO LIE, masquerading as doctors from The Centers For Disease Control, have already arrived in this evening's never-named town by the time we've joined them, and are now getting the particulars from the oddly blasé coroner, who announces that the only thing she can tell them at the moment is that Xavier was 25 years old and "died of old age," even though he clearly suffered a heart attack during the teaser, so add the coroner herself to the ever-expanding list of Things That Suck About This Episode. Out in the hall, Dashing El Deano whips open his cell and quickly connects to Bobby -- who, though still in his wheelchair, has evidently continued to monitor the Internet for strange, possibly Apocalypse-related occurrences from his palatial estate deep within the lush coastal rainforests of central South Dakota, as it becomes clear through the dialogue that follows that Speed Racer himself informed Our Intrepid Heroes of Poor Dead Xavier's most unusual cause of death in the first place. Dean confirms that Poor Dead Xavier is, indeed, the only inappropriately aged corpse in this never-named burg, but adds that there are several outstanding missing persons cases, as well. Bobby, guided by little more than a hunch that the various cases might be connected, orders the boys to investigate further, and Our Intrepid Heroes are about to do so when Dean foolishly thinks to ask how Bobby's adjusting to his life as a cripple, or something like that. Because Bobby is a salty old coot not given to chick-flicky vagina monologues, he snaps back something sarcastic about weeping into his Häagen-Dazs before calling Dean an "idjit" and slamming down his phone in a testosterone-fuelled rage. Or something like that. Of course, we know that Bobby Is Really Having Issues With His Newfangled Paralysis because the camera lingers on him for a very lengthy period of time after he's hung up on Dean, and we get to watch as he slouches down a little into An Attitude Of Abject Sadness And Despair, and we're barely three minutes into this wretched excuse of an episode, and already I want it over with. Uck. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Shut up, Raoul. Of course, he can't hear me, so let's do our best to ignore him and join Our Intrepid Heroes as they...

...leap forward a bit in time to interrogate a missing person's significant other, shall we? We're already past the LIES they presumably told this dear little sixtysomething woman to gain access to her home, and Our Dear Boys have arranged themselves on chairs around her coffee table as she passes them the most recent photograph of her absent husband, who appears to be an avid golfer graced with an enormous navy blue Marine Corps tattoo on his inner right forearm, a character detail which you may wish to note. You know, just in case it becomes important in about thirty-eight seconds when they find a younger version of the guy screwing a pair of barely legal Asian prostitutes. Anywho, Dear Mrs. Whitlow, here, immediately knew something was wrong when her husband, Cliff, failed to return home from the office on Tuesday evening, as he was never, ever in the habit of socializing after work, though he did often have to stay late to take care of his business. This last sets Dashing El Deano's bullshit detector to tingling and, after LYING that he needs to avail himself of the dear lady's facilities, he tippy-toes into Cliff Whitlow's den, where a quick search of the missing veteran's discarded jacket turns up a crumpled, forgotten $250 credit card receipt from a no-doubt tasteful local establishment identified as "Madame Lin's Golden Palace." "Working late, my ass!" Dean grumps, and with that, we...