Please reconsider gracing the world with the rest of that back-story, would you, Coop? Please? Cooper sits down and looks concerned, and Harry pours him a cup of coffee and tells him, "Y'know, you are the best lawman I have ever seen. But Coop? Sometimes you think too much." Cooper thanks him, and they clink coffee mugs, and Cooper tries to smile in an obligatory fashion that is supposed to signal his swelling inner turmoil but instead forces me to loudly ad-lib the line, "Dude, I could say 'fart' on national television right now. 'Cause ain't nobody watching, anyway."
Over in an Empty Scary Room of the Great Northern, Ben sees Cooper walk in and approaches him fake-nervously: "I got your call. What happened?" Cooper reports that he was able to free Audrey "without the payment," and reports in the most deadpan of ways that "she was being held at a brothel north of the border known as One-Eyed Jacks." Ben fits so well into his too-brief role of "Cooper's worthy adversary," so it's damn amusing to see him ham it up here with a highly dramatic, "No!" Cooper continues that the Madame was partially responsible for the kidnapping, but that she was killed before Cooper had a chance to question her. "Murdered by a man named Jean Renault." Cooper continues that "he escaped," and Ben makes for the cash-stuffed briefcase with a noncommittal "too bad." But wait! There's more: "Your daughter is recovering from a drug overdose." Ben expresses what might actually border on genuine concern, and Cooper tells Ben that he'll call in the morning with further details. And then Ben advances on Cooper and gives him a big, über-sincere hug, because as smarmy-ass villains go, this scene puts him right there in the pantheon.
It's really, really unnerving how many variant shades of red plaid exist in the world. Exhibit A: The Johnson Vegetable Farm, where a glazed and lifeless Leo "Spud Mackenzie" Johnson is swathed in a red plaid blanket as Bobby wheels him clumsily into the room. Standing aside are Shelley and the health insurance provider who came to drop off the check, both looking as if a Burberry sample sale exploded over the house, the latter well-known to audiences as returning to TV Land some years later as Mr. Pitt on Seinfeld. Good for him. Pitt tells Bobby and Shelley that he really respects them for their decision (to commit insurance fraud), and is positively thrilled when Shelley informs him that she and "Cousin Bobby" will be looking out for Leo full-time. She signs the requisite papers, and Leo is officially released into their care. Pitt forks over the check, which Shelley cracks open to discover is for $700, rather than the $5,000 per month they had anticipated from the insurance company. They tell Pitt there must be some kind of mistake, but he assures them that including "state and local taxes, equipment fees, medical and maintenance costs," the cost of health care is "through the roof." But, he's relieved to say, Leo will be more than provided for with his trusty wife and cousin by his side. And so Bobby and Shelley fight for what I believe to be the first time in series history, when Shelley complains that she had to quit her job for the crazy wacky scheme, adding, "It was your bright idea to bring him here in the first place." But just as Shelley pointedly suggests, "Well, you'd better think of something for both of us," the fight reaches an abrupt conclusion when a low growling sound from the wheelchair alerts the couple that there is a third entity in the room, and that this time, a far cry from the imposing "shoes" threat of the distant past, Leo needs a new pair of Pull-Ups. Mommy? Wow.
Back at the police station, Truman sits in a conference room, telling Donna, "We already have Laura Palmer's diary." Donna renders the entire situation as silly and implausible in practice as it probably looked on paper with her assertion, "No. Her secret diary." Truman claims again that he bought the book at Genovese -- er, I mean, "retrieved her diary from her bedroom," and tells Donna, "This is a lot like the boy who cried wolf" (though, if you ask me, the contrived do-gooders-gone-sorta-kinda-evil rings a lot more like the "Three Little Prigs," har har har), adding, "The last time you played this game, Doctor Jacoby ended up in a hospital bed." He warily promises to have someone check it out, but before Lancelot Linka's directorial pacing threatens to shut down production altogether (a three-hour scene with seven actual lines such as this one tends to do that to a show), the script impedes and a black-suited man carrying a briefcase happens past the room screaming -- SCREAMING LIKE THIS -- "EXCUSE ME, I'M LOOKING FOR A SHERIFF HARRY S. TRUMAN." He walks past the room. He turns around. He reenters the room: "I'M LOOKING FOR A SHERIFF HARRY S. TRUMAN. FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION'S REGIONAL BUREAU CHIEF GORDON COLE. THAT'S A REAL MOUTHFUL BUT I CAN'T HEAR MYSELF ANYWAY. I'M AGENT COOPER'S SUPERVISOR." Truman excuses himself from the non-hilarious subplot of the moment and leaves Donna time-lapsing into invisibility into the conference room (seriously, at this point in the series, you can fast-forward through a scene and actually see the girl shedding weight and internal organs. It's gross) to join this GORDON COLE out in the hall. "AND WHO DID YOU SAY YOU WERE?" Truman keeps his voice level in an attempted show of unruffled authority, "I'm Sheriff Truman." But COLE cranks up a hearing aid and warns, "YOU'LL HAVE TO SPEAK UP, SHERIFF, HEARING'S GONE. LONG STORY. GOT THESE THINGS CRANKED UP TO THE MAX." So Harry pipes it up ever so slightly, but I wouldn't say that his response of "Are you looking for Agent Cooper?" warrants the same FULL-CAPITALIZATION that accompanies Cole's every word. Perhaps his volume in this situation would be best rendered by capitalizing every other letter, like this: "ArE yOu LoOkInG fOr AgEnT cOoPeR?" But, considering that this egregious use of language is generally migraine-inducing to look at, as well as too-often found as a User Name like "I_LuV_SeTh_GrEeN" over in the Buffy forums, I will suffice it to say that COLE just can't hear his fellow lawman's speech no matter what volume he attempts. COLE lets Truman know that "ALBERT ROSENFIELD WILL NOT BE COMING BACK" (AWWWW…that is, "awwww"), but wants Truman to know that the fibers found outside of Cooper's room the night of the shooting are from a vicuna coat. "The coat was vicuna?" "SOUNDS REAL GOOD, SHERIFF, BUT I ALREADY ATE." Have you guys spent the same amount of time trying to interpret just what the holy living hell COLE thinks Truman is saying here? "Would you like some tuna?" That's as far as I've gotten. That's why they pay me the phatty bucks. Have I mentioned that COLE is played by David Lynch? C'mon, Lynch. Go take the camera. Glatter don't mind. She's got her nose too buried in the director's primer guide Fire Steal From Me: Harping the Lynchian Style for Dummies, anyway. And apparently she's not too far past the contributors page and dedications. Go ahead, Lynch. Take it. TAKE IT. Oh, never mind.
COLE continues on that the drug in the syringe found in the bathroom after the One-Armed Man ditched the scene was (further COLE capitalizations inferred, okay? My caps lock is audibly whimpering, not to mention that it looks like crap), "Albert's never seen a drug like it. A combo. Really weird stuff." Also, the papers found at the crime were from "a diary." From off-camera a scuffle ensues and the sound of screams escalates, and Hawk drags the One-Armed Man in by his, well, one arm. Gerard whimpers, "Since when is selling shoes against the law?" Truman suggests they all move to his office. COLE doesn't hear a peep. "My OfFiCe!" Oops. Wasn't going to do that anymore, was I? They depart. The conference room door flies open and Donna looks out, her sunken-from-chronic-malnourishment eyes a mixture of fear and realization. Oh, and jaundice.