The Dreary Motel. Posh Bela's heels click-click-click down the hall until she reaches Our Intrepid Heroes' room. She picks the lock, draws a silenced automatic from inside her jacket, opens the door, and...blasts holes through the lumps on each bed! "DEATH! DEATH TO HER WHO WOULD...oh, wait a minute! I am such a silly sometimes! They're not actually in the beds, are they?!" Indeed they are not, my impressively perspicacious companion. "Oh, those darling boys! So tricky sometimes! Hee!" Yep, Posh Bela just blew holes through a pair of blow-up sex dolls Our Intrepid Trickies left in their places on the beds, and the room's phone now rings as the clock on the bedside table hits 11:56 PM. Of course, it's Dean, dialing to gloat, and gloat he does. Pity I don't give a rat's ass about Posh Bela, or I'd care that he felt her hand swiping the motel receipt from his jacket pocket back in Vermont. And pity I don't give a rat's ass about Posh Bela, or I'd care that he correctly identified the hoodoo above her door as "devil's shoestring," which is an excellent herb to use if one wishes to ward off hellhounds. And pity I don't give a rat's ass about Posh Bela, or I'd care that he then rechecked her parents' obituary to discover they died "ten years ago today." And pity I don't give a rat's ass about Posh Bela, or I'd of course care that he put it all together to realize she made her very own deal with a Crossroads Demonette back in Merrie Olde England, and that said deal is coming due in about three minutes.

Ooops! Sorry! I totally care about that last part, because it means we get to watch hellhounds rip Posh Bela to shreds! "VIOLENCE! WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" I know! It's so exciting, I won't even wonder why a deal made in Greenwich Time would still come due at midnight Eastern. "Except that you just did!" Oh, leave me alone. I'm trying to ignore the flashback they just barfed up onto the screen, in which we watch Posh Bela seal the original deal with a preadolescent moppet who's sporting a ludicrously false pair of red eyes. And I'm also trying to ignore the tears and the weeping that follow, in which Posh Bela explains that "They" first told her she'd be off the hellhound hook if she swiped The Fucking Colt, only to renege on the revised deal by informing her she'd have to kill Darling Sammy as well. Dean, thank God, is having none of it, and announces, "You know what the bitch of the bunch is? If you would have just come to us sooner and asked for help, we probably could have taken The [Fucking] Colt and saved you!" "And saved yourself, I know," she babbles, snot trickling from her leaky nose onto the telephone. Ew. You see, Posh Bela knows all about Dean's deal because the demonette who holds his and all similar contracts -- yes, including hers -- told her about it. And that demonette would be? Lilith, of course, but that won't become important until next week at the earliest, for it's time for Dean to sign off on the aggravating bint with a seething, "I'll see you in Hell."