Oh, wait. There's the whole other Russell thing about to happen, we just don't know it's around the corner yet: Lou Pine's is very close to this strip club, so he can run off to do his whole Jesus thing with the Weres and still have a vampire alibi of sorts. I wonder what the strip club will be called? "Pole Position," perhaps. "Camp Save-A-Ho." Those are all very subtle. Or, if it's a vampire-friendly establishment, "Deady Issues."

"Goner Rita's." Well, the Magister is not buying any of Pam's protestations, much less Eric's on her behalf. "Oh, you've got the wrong man! My dog ate my homework! I saw Goody Osburn with the Devil!" (How, how is Željko Ivanek so hot? I have been trying to figure this out for ninety-five years, which is coincidentally how long he's been alive.) In addition to his many other accessories, he's got a silver-tipped cane that hurts as good as it looks. Lots of torture, Pam's incredibly hot body getting all kinds of fucked with, and then it just comes down to this choice, which is not a choice: Is Eric going to admit to desecrating the blood -- huge no-no for the Magister and Authority -- or working against, making treachery for, his regent? The two worst things!

Especially since this is all about the Queen, to whom he is loyal for some reason. Anyway, Pam is just howling a blue streak and it's very hard on old Eric -- in addition, of course, to being hard on Pam -- and she finally screams, "It was Bill Compton!" One look at Eric, and he's in: "He's gone missing. You've seen yourself how easily he betrays our kind for personal gain. I believe he is behind this, and I am gathering evidence to bring him to you." Eric shoos the Madge, but he's not going out without a bit more awesome: "They say the loss of a child is the deepest of despair. Two days, Mr. Northman, or she dies." Two days, that's what. Like an episode and a half.

Debbie is so not interested in Alcide's whole white knight act, especially considering what a strong junkie biker lady she is, but Alcide is more concerned with how she looks like Death's wrung-out sweatrag. She assures him she's never been happier, and he says that when this madness passes she's going to be up shit creek because the old crew, the real pack, won't have her once she's branded. "I don't need your pussy pack! And I was fucking Coot when I was still with you!" (Every time they fucked, she was making a fool of him. Which isn't as bad as the fact that every time they fucked, he was making a fool of himself.)