In one of Juarez's not-so-fresh streets, a scruffy young fellow with a unique-looking weapon on his dashboard sits in his car, apparently staking out a place called Salon de Estrella. Sorry, but it doesn't exactly look like the salon of the stars to me. He looks at a photo of Eva Guerra on his phone. Or, more accurately, he glowers at it. Finally getting out of his car, he terrifies an old woman sweeping the sidewalk, showing her the photo and demanding to know whether she saw the girl last night. She didn't, and the man seems convinced enough to release her from his grip, if not his threatening glare. He then rousts a homeless man in an alley whose meager possessions include, for some reason, one of the fuck-me shoes that Eva Guerra's kidnapper took off her feet the night before. Recognizing this, the man unslings his weapon from around his wrist. I don't know what it's called, but it's made of a loop of cord, with a sliding handle that allows the user to tighten the loop around something. Probably a victim's neck. The violently curious gentleman puts this loop around the homeless man's neck and orders him to tell him everything. Which the man does, right down to describing the blue car with Texas plates into whose trunk he saw the girl stuffed last night. "And you did nothing?" the man asks. "Asshole." Wow, this guy's tough to please.
Frye's in his editor's office, and it looks like his story is about ready to go. Obviously she's pretty impressed. "What was it like?" she asks. "What do you think it was like?" Frye blusters. "It was awesome." She says the police are going to be watching him, so they'll have to be careful. Frye says they already are, which is giving them a little too much credit. She calls in Mendez, the unfortunate young coworker Frye shit all over in the pilot and assigns her to write the main story, consigning Frye to writing a personal sidebar about what it was like to be in the car. "Did you piss your pants? That sort of a thing." Frye storms out, and the editor gives Mendez 800 words and one hour in which to get it done. That's going to be a short story.
Back at the El Paso station, Cross reports to Wade that the car turned up nothing and they're nowhere on the bridge's power outage. Wade says they have security camera footage of the judge buying gas the night of her death. This is all thrilling, to be sure. Wade asks her how it's going with Ruiz and after making him tease it out of her a bit, Cross reluctantly admits, "He's mad at me." Wade braces himself and asks why and Cross explains, "I ask too many questions." "Yes you do," Wade agrees, seeming relieved that it wasn't something worse. She asks whether Wade's wife ever calls him for no reason, which she does and she tells Wade about how Ruiz's wife did that during work to hear his voice. "Seems like such a waste of time," she says. Maybe, but I don't think that's the reason this show can't seem to come in under an hour. Detective Cooper calls them over, having somehow acquired a change of both shirt and mustache since the pilot. His computer is showing footage of Judge Gates pumping gas and then going into the station, whereupon a hooded figure snuck into the backseat of her car. "He must have followed her," Cross says. Well, yes, it seems unlikely that he was hanging out at different gas stations waiting for her to show up. Factor in how lucky the killer was that Gates didn't pay the pump, and somebody should be picking up some lottery tickets today.