Autopsy, Part Deux. Scully looks both weary and peeved. She stares at the body. "Heart." Plop. "Lung." Thunk. "Large intestine." Scully watches three-quarters of the large intestine snake out of the scale and onto the ground. Later, she stands over the body and mutters something about chloral hydrate; apparently they've got another victim. Her cell phone starts to ring. Scully weakly tries to tug off her gloves, with little success. She continues taking into her tape recorder, muttering that the drug was either injected or ingested -- she's not sure which. She finally manages to answer the phone. "Hello? Hello?" There's nothing but heaving breaths and grunting on the other end. Scully makes an "ew" face and hangs up. Man, nothing's more off-putting than an obscene phone call. I got one the other night, and I thought the guy on the other end was my friend Pete at first and so I was all cheerful and conversational and I didn't even know it wasn't Pete when the guy asked me what I was wearing, because Pete's silly like that and it was only after this guy asked me what I would wear if I was trying to seduce him that I knew it wasn't Pete, and in retrospect, I can't believe people are still doing the "what are you wearing" schtick. Anyway. Where was I? Ah, yes. Scully grabs a new set of gloves and snaps them on. "Where was I?" she asks. "Ah, stomach content." She digs in with sigh. "Stomach contents include...pizza. Ah! The chloral hydrate's in the pizza! The pizza guy! MULDER!"
Next thing you know, Scully's kicking in the door at the Sam Houston Motor Lodge. The last of her pizza shakes off the bed, courtesy of the still-going-strong Magic Fingers. A lone pair of socks pokes out from behind the bed. Scully walks in just as Ronnie Strickland leaps from behind the bed and growls at her fiercely, all glow-in-the-dark eyes and sharp, pointy teeth. She gets off a shot before he pushes her to the ground and makes for the door. Scully squeezes two more rounds from her weapon before he disappears.
LBO. Mulder is resting his head on the desk like he and Scully are in the midst of a spirited round of Heads Up, Seven-Up. "That's it?" he asks. Scully shrugs and explains that, luckily, she'd gotten there in time and that although he was "drugged," he was "more or less unharmed."
Best scene ever. Scully Vision: she kneels beside Mulder, who's prone on the motel floor. His eyes aren't focusing properly. Basically, he looks stoned out of his mind. "Mulder, are you are okay?" she asks, patting his face, then shaking his chin. He finally looks up, his eyes drugged and dull. "Who's the black private dick who's a sex machine with all the chicks?" he sings, matter-of-factly. Then, in a quiet falsetto: "Shaft!" Scully looks...um, concerned. "Can you dig it?" Mulder asks. It's hard to make a call, but if I had a gun to my head, I'd have to say that the best part of this particular musical interlude is the way Mulder keeps looking around the room, as though he's serenading a wide audience, perhaps at dinner theatre. "They say this cat's a bad mother -- shut yo' mouth!" he sings. "I'm just talkin' 'bout Shaft," he finishes.