Peter Boyle strolls out of the convenience store. According to the date stamp, we're in St Paul, on September 16. As he crosses the street, he runs into a putzy-looking little blond dude. They do the "I can't seem to get around you," sidestepping dance. "Sorry," Peter Boyle says "Don't apologize," Putzy replies. "You're a better dancer than my last date."
Putzy goes in to see a fortune teller, next to the liquor store. She takes his hands in hers and asks in a phony accent what has brought him to her. Putzy tells her that he wants to know why he's going to be doing the things he's going to be doing. The fortune teller irritably points out that she's a palm reader, not a psychologist. Putzy knows that. But, he says, the things he's going to be doing are just so out of character! They're things he can't imagine himself being capable of! He tightens his grip on her hands, until she cries out. Putzy calmly tells her that, as a fortune teller, she should have seen this coming. Then he jumps her. And not in the good way.
Crime scene. North Minneapolis, three days later. There's a pair of bloody eyes and some disemboweled entrails clumped on the carpet. Appetizing! The victim must have been a doll collector, since the room is lined with hundred of dolls in glass cabinets. That's as creepy as the eyeballs, but for an entirely different reason. Cops are all over the place. Let's call the ones with lines...oh, Blond Cop and Bald Cop. Because, um, one is bald, and the other is blond. Blond Cop is irritated because Bald Cop has called in what Blond Cop dubs "some unorthodox help." Bald insists that "the guy" is an expert in paranormal phenomena. Mid-argument, Mulder walks into the room, all pretty in spite of his bad, bad hairdo. Everyone looks up. "Who the hell are you?" Bald asks. Get it? We were supposed to think they were talking about Mulder when actually, they were not. The old bait and switch. Actually, is that a bait and switch? Not exactly. Whatever. You know what I mean.