Cut to some random redhead futzing with an encrypted external hard drive.
Cut back to the kitchen of Dead Rufus's ridiculously scenic rustic homestead, where Darling Sammy's laptop chimes to indicate he's got mail. "It's an e-mail from Frank!" Darling Sammy gasps and when the camera leaps around to give us all a glimpse of the computer's inbox, it becomes clear that Super-Smart Sammy has yet to master the intricacies of Spam filters, for the thing's positively clogged with messages sporting subject lines like "Send her orbit station giant times," "Do not weep for mouse man distance any longer," and "Make the crazy girthing!! Cheapest Price$!!" Like Slutty Sam really needs to kill another couple hundred women like that. In any event, Frank's notification reads simply, "I'm probably dead," and when Darling Sammy opens the thing, he finds the following: "If you're reading this, I'm dead -- or worse. This e-mail was sent because some prince is trying to hack into my hard drive right this second, so unless it's you, you got trouble."
Meanwhile, that random redhead is still futzing with Presumably-Dead Frank's external hard drive. The close-ups of her fingertips tapping madly away at her ergonomically-designed keyboard are enthralling.
"'My drive is full of compromising info,'" Sam continues reading back at the cabin, "'like your new aliases and hangouts and where you stored your car.'" This mention of the much-missed Impala nearly sends tears to Dashing El Deano's exceptionally pretty eyes, but we haven't time to linger on that at the moment for Darling Sammy's now explaining, "Even though he encrypted the crap out of his drive, he says we should assume that someone can hack into it eventually." Fortunately, Probably-Dead Frank loaded the thing with some sort of high-tech GPS tracking hoo-hah and a handy link from the e-mail opens a little window on Darling Sammy's screen that places the purloined hard drive in the general vicinity of Mount Prospect, Illinois -- which also happens to be the worldwide headquarters of Richard Roman Enterprises. DUN! "It's in the middle of the Death Star," Dean bleats and you'll pardon me for veering off on a tangent here at so early and crucial a juncture in tonight's presentation, I'm sure, but given the information they received in this e-mail, why the hell do Our Idiot Morons give a shit about Probably-Dead Frank's hard drive in the first place? They haven't exactly been hiding themselves from The Leviathans' prying eyes since Probably-Dead Frank constructed those new identities for them all the way back in October, so big deal about the aliases and hangouts and Probably-Dead Frank went missing far too long ago to have left behind anything currently relevant to the case at hand on his numerous computers, so why are they about to drop everything and tear ass halfway across the country to Chicago? GOD, I hate this show.