TV-Serie: Bones - 6x3
(metal detector beeping slowly) Come on.
Come on.
(beeping rapidly) Oh.
Oh.
All right.
Oh, yeah.
Oh, yeah.
That's the stuff.
(grunts) (beeping slowly) (beeping rapidly) Oh.
(panting) Oh.
(straining): Oh...
Oh, no!
What is...
(necklace clinking) (seagulls crying) (chuckling) (both sighing contentedly) Wow.
(laughing): Oh...
(both panting) Is it me, or are we louder stateside?
There are no bombs to drown us out.
Right?
Right.
(moaning) (cell phone beeping) Are you serious?
It's 3:00 a.m.
(groans) (sighs) It's my boss.
Your boss?
(groans) Hannah here and annoyed it's the middle of the night.
At 7:00?
That's only a few hours away.
(groans) Do they have my name at the gate?
Okay.
Thanks.
All right.
What's going on?
Oh, breakfast at the White House.
Hmm.
Only five of us were invited, so maybe I can get some real questions answered.
Breakfast at 4:00 a.m.?
7:00.
7:00?
But I have to change.
These are the only clothes that I have here.
Okay.
I got to go.
You got to go?
Yes.
Right this second?
Yes.
(groaning) Bye.
See you tonight.
(sighs) (phone ringing) (sighs, door closes) Seriously?
You got to be kidding me.
BOOTH: Look.
Why can't they find these victims at a reasonable time of the day, huh?
Oh, just look at that.
Look how beautiful that is, Bones.
Wouldn't it be great to come to work every day at the beach?
No.
The sand and the salty air would make research and accurate forensic analysis impossible.
The victim's decomposing at an accelerated rate.
Could the acceleration be a result of something chemical or radiological?
No sign of radioactivity and no chemical that I'm aware of that would cause catastrophic cellular necrosis.
BOOTH: Whoa-ho!
What's going on with the maggots?
They're, like, freaky happy.
Yeah, and they're everywhere.
Oh, whoa!
Okay!
Maggot!
Right on the leg.
Right there.
Can I squash him, or does Hodgins have to interrogate him?
I'll get him.
Dr.
Brennan, can you help me lift the victim?
Gently.
Where are you going?
Uh, you know, ID'ing the victim takes forever.
I'm going to go get a cup of coffee.
Richard Dominick Genaro.
Born September 25, 1986.
Six-two.
195 pounds.
Or you could just check to see if he has a wallet.
Decomposition is accelerating, perhaps because of the sunlight.
Okay, so what do we got here, huh?
Vampire from New Jersey?
Before we answer that, I'd like to get him back to the lab.
And we'd better do it quickly.
♪ ♪ SAROYAN: On three.
One, two, three.
(grunting) You're stronger than you look.
Why, thank you, Dr.
Saroyan, and I appreciate your effort to help me feel comfortable at work after my stint at the loony bin.
Are you being sarcastic?
No.
It's hard to tell, isn't it?
Are you being sarcastic now?
My-my shrink told me that sarcasm is not earnest communication and that I should try to live joyously and genuinely in every moment.
Whoa, okay, okay.
Everybody, move.
Or just-just freeze.
(maggots popping) Wow.
Piophila casei.
More commonly known as " cheese skippers."
Under certain circumstances, they jump up and they grab their butts with their mouths.
I met a guy at the hospital that could do that.
Yeah?
They have him hopped up on stimulants?
'Cause that's what's causing this.
We'll screen for amphetamines, ecstasy, cocaine...
FISHER & HODGINS: Ooh.
That might account for the rapid decomposition.
This was one big, muscly guy.
He had only four-percent body fat.
Really?
Jeez.
How much did he weigh?
89 kilos.
Really?
This dude was shredded.
Tooth veneers over the central and lateral incisors.
This guy must have had a brilliant, engaging smile.
Yeah, I'm sure he lived joyously in the moment.
Um...
No, we're really, really happy that you-you didn't kill yourself.
Oh, I was never suicidal.
What happened was, I slept 20 hours a day for two months.
My shrink said it was a warning sign.
Sounds great to me.
There's a depression fracture at the cranial vertex.
No sign of remodeling.
Smashed on top of the head?
I guess I'd better map these microfractures, which will be a satisfying and productive use of my training and abilities.
(loud dance music plays) Okay, this one here is our victim, Ritchie the V.
I assume he's called "Ritchie the V" due to his body shape.
What up?
This is Ritchie the V.
Today, you're going to learn how to get my signature V, baby.
Boom.
Boom.
Oh, Ritchie the V.
What's going on?
Hello, ladies.
Okay, so this one is Li'l Frankie Costello.
He's in most of these videos.
These are what are known as "Guidos."
(chuckles) Yeah, Sweetie, I don't think they actually like to be called that.
But they do.
That's what they call themselves, although interestingly, not all Guidos are of Italian descent.
Really?
While the styles and mannerisms are based on Italian-American tropes, the Guidos can be of any ethnic background.
They gather at the Jersey Shore.
The male bonding is near homoerotic.
The friends or "bros" are more important to them than family.
Right.
And how do you know all of this?
I stumbled across a compelling documentary about them.
The anthropologist in me was fascinated.
I've been studying their language and customs.
A documentary?
Yes.
On television.
(laughs) Sweetie, just because it's called "reality television" doesn't mean that it's a documentary.
I-I'm quite certain you are incorrect about that.
(chuckles) Okay.
You sure it's my Ritchie?
Yes, ma'am.
Madonna mia.
Um, the autopsy also shows that he may have been assaulted, knocked in the head.
Who did this to my Ritchie?
You tell me that right now.
Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt your son?
No, Agent Booth.
I cannot think of anyone who would want to hurt my Ritchie.
Not anyone.
And if I cld think of such an anyone, I would go out there and I would kill them myself, before they ever got anywhere near my kid!
Any reason for him to be in trouble?
What kind of trouble?
Girlfriends...
Um, fighting?
No.
Gambling.
No.
Booze?
No, nothing like that.
And any trouble he ever did get into was at the urging of that Li'l Frankie, three to one.
Li'l Frankie, three to one.
Does he have a last name?
Yeah.
Costello.
Costello.
Ralphy's boy.
Any trouble my Ritchie ever got into, it was because of that Li'l Frankie.
What kind of trouble?
Oh, they both got kicked off the high school football team for using steroids.
The urging of that Li'l Frankie, just like I said.
But I tell you what.
I put the fear of God into my kid, and he stopped.
I didn't go through 44 hours of labor so my kid could grow up and stick poison in his body.
And you sure he stopped?
Yes, I am.
How is that?
Because he told me.
Ritchie never lied to me.
Not twice, anyway.
When was the last time you saw your little Ritchie?
About a month ago, with Li'l Frankie.
Uh, down at the Shore.
They were sharing a house.
Ritchie was very serious about school, and he said this was going to be his last summer to party.
And I guess he was right.
Agent Booth, it turns out it was that Li'l Frankie that did this...
(smashes fist on table) (sniffles) ...you bring him here, to me.
(phone rings) This is Dr.
Brennan.
Listen, I got a lead on a suspect.
It's a guy by the name of Frances Costello.
Li'l Frankie ?
Little Frankie.
Wait.
How do you know?
Oh, he's featured in the Guido video Angela found.
Oh.
Well, the victim's mother fingered Little Frankie.
Li'l.
Li'l Frankie.
Like Li'l Red Riding Hood, Li'l Abner, Li'l John...
Whatever.
Okay, you know what?
We should be at the Jersey Shore.
Okay?
I'm going to come pick you up.
Oh, excellent.
I can compare the field experience with the documentary series.
Okay.
See you in a bit.
(brief high-pitched tone) Ah, Dr.
Brennan.
How are you?
I'm well, Mr.
Fisher.
Have you fully recovered from your mental breakdown?
It's an ongoing process.
It's very often those with the highest intelligence who suffer from- the vernacular is "meltdown."
Well, thank you, Dr.
Brennan.
No, I'm not being kind; I'm being factual.
I know.
That's what makes it awesome.
There was extensive damage to the C1 and C2 vertebrae.
It's like the spinous and tranerse processes cracked off internally.
That's exactly what happened.
These processes were broken off by the foramen magnum here.
The cervical column was forced into the victim's skull and then penetrated the base of the brain.
Which caused tearing to the major vessels of the brain pan.
The brain would have bled out, thus releasing him into sweet oblivion.
Which is death, which is sad...
not happy.
Yes, death would have occurred near instantaneously.
I also found a sliver of concrete embedded in the skull wound.
I gave it to Hodgins.
Very good, Mr.
Fisher.
(clears throat) What's got you so interested?
I've been studying their culture, language and customs.
The Guido tribe is fascinating.
What, is it all right to call them that?
A tribe?
Yes.
No, I mean, I don't think it's all right to call them Guidos.
Oh, the Guidos' dance rituals, tattoos, speech patterns, secret lexicons and...
ornate costumes are obvious markers.
They're dumb-ass kids.
Yes.
The avid focus on mating suggests a kind of protracted adolescence. "
Kids" and "dumb-ass" refer to their...
(phone rings) determined resistance to maturity.
This is Dr.
Brennan.
We know why the cheese skippers were literally flipping out.
Ephedra.
Probably from energy drinks.
Synthetic adrenaline.
Yeah, the maggots ingested it from the tissue, and it made them ravenous.
Which explains why his remains decomposed so quickly.
Now, extrapolating the time it took for a one-gram sample of flesh to be devoured, the victim died between 40 and 52 hours ago.
There's more.
Glycerin, surfactants, lanolin, petrolatum, vegetable oil, coconut oil, and copious amounts of artificial fragrance.
Basically, he looked and smelled great when he died.
Okay.
The tox screen showed high levels of alcohol, over-the-counter stimulants and men's beauty products.
I'm sorry, men's what now?
Hairspray, hair gel, tanning spray and some sort of aerosolized perfume.
Cologne.
Men wear cologne.
You don't.
That's because it smells like perfume.
This is the perfect environment for the tribe to preen and mate.
(phone ringing) It's like trying to find a Guido in a haystack.
Booth.
Hey, Hannah.
Uh, yeah, just...
You know what, hey, hell, move all your stuff in.
Thank you.
Say hi for me.
Uh...
(clears throat) No, I'm serious.
Listen, uh, Bones says hi.
Hannah says hi.
Hi.
Hi.
Everybody says hi.
Okay.
Uh, listen, mi casa es su casa.
Right.
Talk to you later.
Bye.
That was, uh...
that was very casual.
What?
You inviting Hannah to move in with you.
I mean, usually there's more ceremony.
I hope she didn't feel cheated.
It's not like we haven't talked about it before, Bones.
Eureka!
A gathering of Guidos!
I believe that's Little Frankie.
ALL (chanting): Go!
Go!
Go!
Given the excessive amounts of stimulants and alcohol, it's possible that Ritchie the V simply fell down, fracturing his cerebellum on the concrete.
PARTIERS: One!
Two!
Three!
(cheering, shouting) Either that, or he was just tossed head first straight into the concrete by a bunch of drunken idiots.
That certainly would fit in to their tribal customs.
(cheering, whooping) (lively music playing) Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa.
FBI.
(thud) WOMAN: Ow!
Watch yourself there.
FBI Agent Booth.
Hey!
What's your name, pretty lady?
Oh, I'm Dr.
Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian.
'Sup?
Yo, 'sup?
'Sup?
'Sup?
Well, Dr.
Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian, how about when you finish with all your policing or whatnot, you and your hot-for-teacher friends come and meet me down at Club Elegante tonight?
Know what I'm saying?
Okay, why don't we all just take one swollen step back.
You, Muscles Marinara, when was the last time you saw Ritchie Genaro.
Thursday-- him and Pepe Dio went creeping.
Oh, creeping is when males go in search of females for the purpose of having sex.
BOOTH: Right.
Thanks, Bones.
Got that.
So, uh, was Pepe the last person who saw Ritchie?
Is Pepe in some sort of trouble?
Well, that's what we're here to find out.
So, where's Pepe now?
He's doing a GTL.
What's a GTL?
Gym, tan, laundry.
Wha...
All right, Ritchie and Pepe, Thursday night-- what happened?
I don't know, the V hasn't been back since.
We just thought he pulled some ho-bag or skank or something, you know?
I mean, that's the V's weakness.
Ho-bags and skanks...
Got it.
Thank you.
All right, so Pepe and Ritchie, they have any arguments, they fight?
They fought over a stupid T-shirt.
Oh!
Shut the hole, Jo!
Whatever.
BOOTH: Okay, wha...
They fought over a T-shirt?
Pepe got his drink on before going to the club.
He went to pick up Ritchie, who was wearing the exact same Fred McCarty T-shirt.
Pepe didn't want to be twinsies, so they got into it.
So the bro's were mixing it up, yo.
Yeah, but they made up and wore the same shirt anyway.
Well, the victim was wearing a Fred McCarty shirt.
That's true.
Victim?
Is Ritchie all right?
No.
No, he's dead.
Ritchie...!
Frankie!
Frankie, baby, what is it?
Ritchie's dead!
The V?
What?!
The V!
The V's dead!
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh...
M.G.!
Loretta!
Loretta, someone killed Ritchie!
Which Ritchie!
Tan Ritchie?
No, Ritchie the V!
Oh, my God!
Francine!
Someone killed Ritchie the V!
(overlapping chatter, women wailing) WOMAN: No!
Not Ritchie!
Well, cat's out of the bag now.
What these guys do is combine the alcohol with highly caffeinated energy drinks containing pseudoephedrine.
Yeah, lots of posturing, muscles and fighting over girls.
BRENNAN: Like many tribes, the markers that define a man involve sex and violence.
Look, Ritchie was hooking up with someone who was hooking up with someone else.
Bottom line there.
The answer could be right in here.
BRENNAN: These copies of his text messages just seem to be random letters.
Some kind of code?
Wait, like "TTFN."
Ta-ta For Now.
I'm pretty good at these.
Great.
Here you go.
All yours.
Call when you're done.
Okay.
TTFN.
(knocking) Hey, Temperance.
Hello.
Is this a bad time?
Um, for what?
For us to talk?
No.
No, this is a fine time for that.
Come in.
This place is totally cool.
It's like working in a spaceship.
I wouldn't know.
I-I trained for a shuttle mission once but never got to go.
You're quite literal, aren't you?
Yes.
I find I avoid a lot of misunderstandings if I merely deal with facts.
Well, the reason I'm here, um...
Seeley asked me to move in with him.
I...
can't really give you advice about that.
I don't know you that well, and there are so many factors: sexual compatibility...
No.
I'm doing it.
I came back from Afghanistan to be with him.
Oh Then...
congratulations.
You must be happy.
You and Booth.
Yeah.
We are.
But I was thinking, I wanted to get him something when I moved in-- a present-- and since you know him so well...
A telephone.
Get him a telephone.
I was thinking something a little more personal.
A vintage rotary phone.
Booth loves them and hasn't been able to find the right one.
Really?
Yes.
He's been looking.
He says that's what a phone is supposed to be-- indestructible and heavy enough to knock someone out.
(laughs) Yeah, that-that sounds like Seeley.
His grandfather kept his rotary phone until it fell apart.
Booth loved the feel of the Bakelite, the tick-tick-tick of the dial as it turned.
He says the mechanics make it human.
And lucky for me, he has a partner who knows him so well.
Booth and I have become very close.
By necessity.
Congratulations again.
I'm happy for you both.
Thanks.
One thing, Hannah.
I want you to be sure about this.
The phone?
No.
Although I understand the misunderstanding.
No.
About you and Booth moving in together.
Booth will give himself to you completely...
and it would be very painful for him if you aren't as serious about the relationship as he is.
I am.
But thanks, though.
You're a good friend, Temperance.
Seeley is very lucky.
My shrink thought I should get out of the forensic anthropology business.
I tried to explain, it's not violent death that makes me morbidly depressed.
It was life.
And he thinks that explanation shows a positive attitude?
Oh, I'm quite positive about my job.
For example, these injuries, how cool are they?
There's a perimortem bruise near the depression fracture.
That must've hurt.
Another cheery thought- once I remove the scalp, subscalpular hemorrhaging was apparent.
That means there were two injuries to the head.
Which means for the victim to have taken a swan dive onto the pavement, he would've had to do it twice.
Is there enough Red Bull and vodka in the world to explain that?
Most likely, he was struck in the head twice by the same weapon.
What did Hodgins say about the concrete sample?
It's called minute-crete, and it's not a match of the sample taken from the Shore house.
We should do a search for any weapons that could be made of minute-crete.
Don't look at me that way, dude.
You don't know how good you got it.
Angela, can you run a search on possible weapons made from minute-crete?
Yeah, sure.
Something that could cause fractures and subscalpular hemorrhaging...
Oh, my God!
What?
You're...
Oh, I'm-- yeah, I'm messy.
I know I shouldn't eat lying down.
Pregnant.
You're pregnant.
What?
Pregnant?
Me?
No-no.
No.
You've got that whole glowy thing, and the crackers...
Nobody eats crackers for pleasure.
Okay, listen, I've been feeling a little bit queasy, but you cannot tell anybody about this.
I was right!
I knew it!
Are you happy about this?
Yes, we're-we're thrilled.
I mean, I could be having a little Hodgins.
How cute would that be?
Oh, maybe you should lie down.
Uh, no.
I'm...
I'm okay actually.
I'm feeling pretty good.
I can do anything, you know?
I would hope that you could keep this between us, because nobody else knows.
Oh, of course.
Just you and me.
Okay, I mean, you can't even tell Hodgins that you know, um, because he wants to make some sort of big announcement at the right time.
I won't breathe a word.
Okay.
I'm just so happy!
This is so great, Angela!
I...
Oh...
What is?
That...
she is...
MONTENEGRO: That I...
I have a, um...
I have a database of concrete items that can kill someone, and today is the first day that I can use it, so I am over the moon.
SAROYAN: Yes.
And you shouldn't disturb her, Mr.
Fisher.
I wanted to give you the measurements of the injuries, the dispersal of fracturing.
Great.
Great.
Fantastic.
And I'll go.
Away now.
I just can't get as stoked about work as you guys can.
Right.
Here's some already.
Okay, okay.
(Booth muttering) Hey, yo, put on the brakes.
You two on the list?
Look, let me handle this.
Yo.
'Sup.
Yeah.
Bones, Bones.
Whoa, whoa.
Hey, hey.
The list.
FBI, okay?
We're here about a murder.
Listen, the victim was here at this establishment with this guy.
Uh, is here tonight?
Oh, yeah, he's right there, see?
Him.
No, no, no.
Him.
Him?
Okay, you know what?
I'll tell you want.
We'll go scope the place out ourselves, all right?
Do your thing.
Yeah.
Whatever.
(loud dance music playing, clubbers screaming) (whistling) (woman yelling) Notice the two unpaired females.
Their body movements and attire suggest they are available for mating.
Bones, we're looking for Peppy.
Oh, over there.
Where?
Peppy?
No, no.
Two males have spotted the available females and will approach and begin the exhibition.
Fascinating.
Fascinating?
More like pitiful.
Now the males are displaying their musculature, indicating they're good breeders.
This activity shows that these two will soon mate, and the other suitors will continue their search elsewhere.
Okay, just remember, we're here looking for Peppy.
Excuse me.
FBI.
You ladies recognize this guy?
No.
Uh-uh.
(glass shattering) Get back here!
Stop that guy!
Whoa!
You're toast, man!
You're toast!
(laughing) Look.
It's him.
(laughing) Hey!
Hey, you.
FBI!
Hold it right there.
Yeah, right.
(laughs) Hey, cool it.
(yelling and screaming) Yeah, you gonna pay for that.
Come on!
(grunting) MAN: Fight!
Fight!
(man grunts, woman screams) Hey, hey, hey!
(grunting) No.
Get off me!
Get off me!
(woman screams) (grunting) This posturing is called throwing the crab.
It will intimidate him into compliance.
Yeah, what was that about?
These idiots think ice is free, and it's not.
They're always in my way.
They never let me do my job.
Look, I got to account for every single cube.
Ice is frozen water, yo.
Water's free.
Do the math, dipstick.
Put on some lip gloss, Mary.
I will 'cause your mother likes my lips soft.
Oh, he's suggesting that he had sex with his mother.
Right, got that, Bones.
Steroid freak.
Who's the one who goes ballistic over water?
Yeah, like you even know what ballistic means.
You can go home now.
Come on, go.
Ballistic, as in referring to from the balls.
No, that's not even close to an accurate definition.
Ballistic refers to projectile in flight.
So can I make like a ballistic now?
No, you cannot make like a ballistic now, because you were the last person who saw Ritchie Genaro alive.
Seriously, yo, Ritchie was my boy.
How am I gonna kill my boy?
Knocking him over the head.
You don't seem very upset.
It's killing me, but I got to keep on for Ritchie.
He would have wanted me to keep on.
You feel me?
He's asking if we understand.
So, his mother says you guys were doing steroids.
One cycle-- that was all for Ritchie.
And I don't use roids.
Not anymore.
Ritchie got me off 'em.
Proved they would shrink my ballistics.
So Ritchie only did anabolic steroids once?
His mother would kill him, like, for real.
All right, look, can you think of anyone who'd want to kill Ritchie, besides his mother?
His stalker?
His stalker have a name?
I don't know her name.
(whooping) I didn't see her there tonight.
I could describe her.
Okay.
She got dark hair, dark skin, big hair.
Ah, like everybody in this club.
Well, would Ritchie's stalker be aggressive enough to strike him over the head hard enough to force his skull down over his spine?
WOMAN: Shut your mouth!
WOMAN 2: Skank!
Ho!
(grunting, glass breaking) MAN: Cat fight!
(grunting, slapping face) (shrieking) (grunting) (glass breaking) I withdraw the question, mm-hmm.
(woman shrieks, brawling continues) Okay, comparing the concrete sample to the injuries on the victim's skull, the weapon appears to have a curved edge.
Okay, completing the arc.
SAROYAN: The murder weapon was some sort of concrete cylinder?
With a 3.175 centimeter diameter.
Like a plumbing pipe.
Yeah, or a tetherball pole.
This is so random, yo.
In the vernacular.
SWEETS: While I was studying all the text messages, I created this overview of what Dr.
Brennan calls the tribe, seen through digital lines of communication.
This is our victim.
Ritchie the V?
He texted all these women?
Yeah, and these are women who texted other men.
Oh, it's like a jealousy map.
Yeah.
Good work.
Thank you.
So look at what I stumbled across.
A week before the victim was murdered, over 200 texts were exchanged between the victim and a woman named Marie Galasso.
Hmm.
Arrow slash three?
Oh, that means a broken heart.
M-I-2-M-2-H-6-Y?
Am I too much to handle, sexy?
So they were together once, and she expected more?
Y-R-N-T-U-D-4-6?
Why aren't you down for sex?
And then there's this one 2-G-2-B-4-G.
Too good to be forgotten.
So this is where it gets really ugly.
Ritchie texts Marie that she was just a grenade.
A grenade?
Yeah, a grenade is an overweight, undesirable woman that one must jump on so a friend can get with a prettier girl.
Oh.
And this really set Marie off.
She calls him a bunch of curse words, some of which I had to look up.
Sounds like motive to me.
Yeah, and after that, Ritchie texts his friends wherever he's headed to find out if she's gonna be there.
So, she was stalking him.
Check this out.
U-L-B-S-R-Y.
You'll be sorry.
Hmm.
Followed by U-R-GNG-2-DI.
You are going...
You are going to die.
4-Q?
Think that's pretty self-explanatory.
Why don't you just sit down, Marie?
No.
I ain't tired.
How is it that a little thing like you could kidnap a strong guy like Ritchie?
What happened?
Did you find him with another woman?
I ain't sayin' nothin'!
Okay. "
I ain't sayin' nothin'" means you're guilty.
No, I ain't saying nothin' not 'cause I'm guilty.
I ain't not saying nothin' because I loved him.
I loved Ritchie, and he loved me, okay?
I'm not just some Shore whore.
We had plans, and Ritchie-- he wasn't just some Guido, okay?
He was going to school to be a therapist.
He was gonna do stuff and be somebody and like that.
Okay?
I knew him on a very deep level.
He wasn't no juice head or no knucklehead.
He was a gentleman.
Okay, I get it.
He was a gentleman.
Why don't you just sit down and just relax?
There.
(sighs) Now, let's say you didn't kill him.
I didn't kill him!
I loved him.
You know what?
You want to put me in prison for love, go ahead, okay?
I'm guilty as charged, sweetheart.
You said you knew him on a deep level?
Yes, I did.
Okay, then, why is he dead?
Was he afraid of someone?
(laughs) That's funny.
Ritchie the V feared no man, but there was somebody scared of him, maybe wanted him quiet.
Who?
The trainer at the gym who was selling roids.
Okay?
Ritchie busted the guy.
This guy have a name?
They call him Terror.
He works the door at Club Elegante.
Right.
Hey, Sweets.
Turns out our victim, Ritchie, ratted out a steroid dealer.
That same dealer works as a bouncer in Club Elegante.
Why did you shut the door?
(sighs) Well, I have to speak to you, Agent Booth.
Okay, that tone of voice sounds like you want to speak at me.
I hear that you asked Hannah to move in with you?
So?
As your friend...
This isn't a shrinky visit?
No.
So, then, from one friend to another, I'm fine.
Everything's great.
Nothing to worry about.
Okay, there might be a little shrinky stuff, because that's who I am.
Okay, thanks, friend.
You know, the relationship that you and Hannah have-- it was forged in a highly adrenalized environment.
Well, yeah, we were in war together.
I mean, our relationship is literally battle tested.
Right, but a new environment, you know, a calmer one with fewer distractions- it alters your dynamic.
Ugh!
I just don't want you to jump into anything too soon.
It's great.
You know, I really appreciate that, Sweets.
But Hannah is bringing all of her stuff over tonight.
I even went, and I got her some bathroom stuff, a set of new of new sheets.
I mean, what kind of guy does something that crazy if he isn't sure?
Hard to argue with that.
Right.
I just had to say something, you know?
Yeah, you're a good kid.
Oh, boy.
I was looking at bone fragments from the top of the skull, and I found these.
I'm taking out the remaining sliver that were buried in the fractures.
Well, it's not bone.
Oh.
Some kind of yellow polymer.
It's possibly polyvinyl chloride or polytetrafluoroethylene.
So he had concrete and plastic in his head?
(yawning) Oh, no.
Uh, you okay?
Are you gonna ask me that every time I yawn?
Possibly.
I don't want you to fall asleep again for another two months, Van Winkle.
All right.
Gonna figure out what this plastic is from.
It might help Angela narrow down the murder weapon.
(stifled yawn): Okay.
(exhales) So, when Ritchie ratted out Terror for selling drugs, he lost his job at the gym, all of his clients.
It was a mess.
Can I help you?
Yeah.
Why don't you tell us what happened between you and your buddy Ritchie.
I'm guessing it didn't go very well since he's dead.
I don't have to say nothing.
I'm the doorman of this establishment, so I'm going to ask you guys to leave.
I wouldn't be acting like a bouncer right now.
Booth, the storage room.
Hey, hey, hey.
No.
Did you just shove my partner?
Oh, you're real bad, with a gun and a badge.
But you won't always be on duty.
You know what I'm saying?
No, I don't know what you're saying; I want you to spell it out for me.
I mean, watch your back.
Oh, no.
You shouldn't threaten Agent Booth.
He can be very male.
I don't like walking around, looking over my shoulder, huh?
So what do you say we do this right now?
Hmm?
(sighs) All right, listen.
My boss holds me responsible for everything in that storage room.
I wasn't looking for trouble.
You're not looking for trouble?
He's not looking for trouble, which means you are giving Bones permission to look in the storage room.
Bones?
Booth?
Yeah?
Look.
Yellow plastic and concrete.
Fine, whatever.
Yeah, Ritchie ratted on me, and I was pissed.
But I didn't kill him.
Is this really necessary?
Then where were you last Thursday night?
At work.
No, you weren't at work.
I didn't kill Ritchie the V.
Where were you?
You know, if I were you, I'd plead "'roid rage."
I got an alibi.
You can't just have an alibi.
You got to share it with the world.
I took my ma up to New York to see Billy Elliot.
Billy Elliot?
Yeah, the boy that dances.
Yeah.
You like musicals?
That's why I wasn't forthcoming about my alibi.
There's some joys in life you want to keep to yourself.
Billy Elliot is a joy?
It's beautiful, dude.
The boy is an angel.
Right.
I'll tell you what.
I'm going to find somebody who knows the show and you're going to tell it to them, the whole story, and then we'll see if you really saw Billy Elliot with your mother.
Oh, I can perform the whole thing.
Word for word.
Come on.
(beeping rapidly) Oh.
Oh.
All right.
Oh, yeah.
Oh, yeah.
That's the stuff.
(grunts) (beeping slowly) (beeping rapidly) Oh.
(panting) Oh.
(straining): Oh...
Oh, no!
What is...
(necklace clinking) (seagulls crying) (chuckling) (both sighing contentedly) Wow.
(laughing): Oh...
(both panting) Is it me, or are we louder stateside?
There are no bombs to drown us out.
Right?
Right.
(moaning) (cell phone beeping) Are you serious?
It's 3:00 a.m.
(groans) (sighs) It's my boss.
Your boss?
(groans) Hannah here and annoyed it's the middle of the night.
At 7:00?
That's only a few hours away.
(groans) Do they have my name at the gate?
Okay.
Thanks.
All right.
What's going on?
Oh, breakfast at the White House.
Hmm.
Only five of us were invited, so maybe I can get some real questions answered.
Breakfast at 4:00 a.m.?
7:00.
7:00?
But I have to change.
These are the only clothes that I have here.
Okay.
I got to go.
You got to go?
Yes.
Right this second?
Yes.
(groaning) Bye.
See you tonight.
(sighs) (phone ringing) (sighs, door closes) Seriously?
You got to be kidding me.
BOOTH: Look.
Why can't they find these victims at a reasonable time of the day, huh?
Oh, just look at that.
Look how beautiful that is, Bones.
Wouldn't it be great to come to work every day at the beach?
No.
The sand and the salty air would make research and accurate forensic analysis impossible.
The victim's decomposing at an accelerated rate.
Could the acceleration be a result of something chemical or radiological?
No sign of radioactivity and no chemical that I'm aware of that would cause catastrophic cellular necrosis.
BOOTH: Whoa-ho!
What's going on with the maggots?
They're, like, freaky happy.
Yeah, and they're everywhere.
Oh, whoa!
Okay!
Maggot!
Right on the leg.
Right there.
Can I squash him, or does Hodgins have to interrogate him?
I'll get him.
Dr.
Brennan, can you help me lift the victim?
Gently.
Where are you going?
Uh, you know, ID'ing the victim takes forever.
I'm going to go get a cup of coffee.
Richard Dominick Genaro.
Born September 25, 1986.
Six-two.
195 pounds.
Or you could just check to see if he has a wallet.
Decomposition is accelerating, perhaps because of the sunlight.
Okay, so what do we got here, huh?
Vampire from New Jersey?
Before we answer that, I'd like to get him back to the lab.
And we'd better do it quickly.
♪ ♪ SAROYAN: On three.
One, two, three.
(grunting) You're stronger than you look.
Why, thank you, Dr.
Saroyan, and I appreciate your effort to help me feel comfortable at work after my stint at the loony bin.
Are you being sarcastic?
No.
It's hard to tell, isn't it?
Are you being sarcastic now?
My-my shrink told me that sarcasm is not earnest communication and that I should try to live joyously and genuinely in every moment.
Whoa, okay, okay.
Everybody, move.
Or just-just freeze.
(maggots popping) Wow.
Piophila casei.
More commonly known as " cheese skippers."
Under certain circumstances, they jump up and they grab their butts with their mouths.
I met a guy at the hospital that could do that.
Yeah?
They have him hopped up on stimulants?
'Cause that's what's causing this.
We'll screen for amphetamines, ecstasy, cocaine...
FISHER & HODGINS: Ooh.
That might account for the rapid decomposition.
This was one big, muscly guy.
He had only four-percent body fat.
Really?
Jeez.
How much did he weigh?
89 kilos.
Really?
This dude was shredded.
Tooth veneers over the central and lateral incisors.
This guy must have had a brilliant, engaging smile.
Yeah, I'm sure he lived joyously in the moment.
Um...
No, we're really, really happy that you-you didn't kill yourself.
Oh, I was never suicidal.
What happened was, I slept 20 hours a day for two months.
My shrink said it was a warning sign.
Sounds great to me.
There's a depression fracture at the cranial vertex.
No sign of remodeling.
Smashed on top of the head?
I guess I'd better map these microfractures, which will be a satisfying and productive use of my training and abilities.
(loud dance music plays) Okay, this one here is our victim, Ritchie the V.
I assume he's called "Ritchie the V" due to his body shape.
What up?
This is Ritchie the V.
Today, you're going to learn how to get my signature V, baby.
Boom.
Boom.
Oh, Ritchie the V.
What's going on?
Hello, ladies.
Okay, so this one is Li'l Frankie Costello.
He's in most of these videos.
These are what are known as "Guidos."
(chuckles) Yeah, Sweetie, I don't think they actually like to be called that.
But they do.
That's what they call themselves, although interestingly, not all Guidos are of Italian descent.
Really?
While the styles and mannerisms are based on Italian-American tropes, the Guidos can be of any ethnic background.
They gather at the Jersey Shore.
The male bonding is near homoerotic.
The friends or "bros" are more important to them than family.
Right.
And how do you know all of this?
I stumbled across a compelling documentary about them.
The anthropologist in me was fascinated.
I've been studying their language and customs.
A documentary?
Yes.
On television.
(laughs) Sweetie, just because it's called "reality television" doesn't mean that it's a documentary.
I-I'm quite certain you are incorrect about that.
(chuckles) Okay.
You sure it's my Ritchie?
Yes, ma'am.
Madonna mia.
Um, the autopsy also shows that he may have been assaulted, knocked in the head.
Who did this to my Ritchie?
You tell me that right now.
Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt your son?
No, Agent Booth.
I cannot think of anyone who would want to hurt my Ritchie.
Not anyone.
And if I cld think of such an anyone, I would go out there and I would kill them myself, before they ever got anywhere near my kid!
Any reason for him to be in trouble?
What kind of trouble?
Girlfriends...
Um, fighting?
No.
Gambling.
No.
Booze?
No, nothing like that.
And any trouble he ever did get into was at the urging of that Li'l Frankie, three to one.
Li'l Frankie, three to one.
Does he have a last name?
Yeah.
Costello.
Costello.
Ralphy's boy.
Any trouble my Ritchie ever got into, it was because of that Li'l Frankie.
What kind of trouble?
Oh, they both got kicked off the high school football team for using steroids.
The urging of that Li'l Frankie, just like I said.
But I tell you what.
I put the fear of God into my kid, and he stopped.
I didn't go through 44 hours of labor so my kid could grow up and stick poison in his body.
And you sure he stopped?
Yes, I am.
How is that?
Because he told me.
Ritchie never lied to me.
Not twice, anyway.
When was the last time you saw your little Ritchie?
About a month ago, with Li'l Frankie.
Uh, down at the Shore.
They were sharing a house.
Ritchie was very serious about school, and he said this was going to be his last summer to party.
And I guess he was right.
Agent Booth, it turns out it was that Li'l Frankie that did this...
(smashes fist on table) (sniffles) ...you bring him here, to me.
(phone rings) This is Dr.
Brennan.
Listen, I got a lead on a suspect.
It's a guy by the name of Frances Costello.
Li'l Frankie ?
Little Frankie.
Wait.
How do you know?
Oh, he's featured in the Guido video Angela found.
Oh.
Well, the victim's mother fingered Little Frankie.
Li'l.
Li'l Frankie.
Like Li'l Red Riding Hood, Li'l Abner, Li'l John...
Whatever.
Okay, you know what?
We should be at the Jersey Shore.
Okay?
I'm going to come pick you up.
Oh, excellent.
I can compare the field experience with the documentary series.
Okay.
See you in a bit.
(brief high-pitched tone) Ah, Dr.
Brennan.
How are you?
I'm well, Mr.
Fisher.
Have you fully recovered from your mental breakdown?
It's an ongoing process.
It's very often those with the highest intelligence who suffer from- the vernacular is "meltdown."
Well, thank you, Dr.
Brennan.
No, I'm not being kind; I'm being factual.
I know.
That's what makes it awesome.
There was extensive damage to the C1 and C2 vertebrae.
It's like the spinous and tranerse processes cracked off internally.
That's exactly what happened.
These processes were broken off by the foramen magnum here.
The cervical column was forced into the victim's skull and then penetrated the base of the brain.
Which caused tearing to the major vessels of the brain pan.
The brain would have bled out, thus releasing him into sweet oblivion.
Which is death, which is sad...
not happy.
Yes, death would have occurred near instantaneously.
I also found a sliver of concrete embedded in the skull wound.
I gave it to Hodgins.
Very good, Mr.
Fisher.
(clears throat) What's got you so interested?
I've been studying their culture, language and customs.
The Guido tribe is fascinating.
What, is it all right to call them that?
A tribe?
Yes.
No, I mean, I don't think it's all right to call them Guidos.
Oh, the Guidos' dance rituals, tattoos, speech patterns, secret lexicons and...
ornate costumes are obvious markers.
They're dumb-ass kids.
Yes.
The avid focus on mating suggests a kind of protracted adolescence. "
Kids" and "dumb-ass" refer to their...
(phone rings) determined resistance to maturity.
This is Dr.
Brennan.
We know why the cheese skippers were literally flipping out.
Ephedra.
Probably from energy drinks.
Synthetic adrenaline.
Yeah, the maggots ingested it from the tissue, and it made them ravenous.
Which explains why his remains decomposed so quickly.
Now, extrapolating the time it took for a one-gram sample of flesh to be devoured, the victim died between 40 and 52 hours ago.
There's more.
Glycerin, surfactants, lanolin, petrolatum, vegetable oil, coconut oil, and copious amounts of artificial fragrance.
Basically, he looked and smelled great when he died.
Okay.
The tox screen showed high levels of alcohol, over-the-counter stimulants and men's beauty products.
I'm sorry, men's what now?
Hairspray, hair gel, tanning spray and some sort of aerosolized perfume.
Cologne.
Men wear cologne.
You don't.
That's because it smells like perfume.
This is the perfect environment for the tribe to preen and mate.
(phone ringing) It's like trying to find a Guido in a haystack.
Booth.
Hey, Hannah.
Uh, yeah, just...
You know what, hey, hell, move all your stuff in.
Thank you.
Say hi for me.
Uh...
(clears throat) No, I'm serious.
Listen, uh, Bones says hi.
Hannah says hi.
Hi.
Hi.
Everybody says hi.
Okay.
Uh, listen, mi casa es su casa.
Right.
Talk to you later.
Bye.
That was, uh...
that was very casual.
What?
You inviting Hannah to move in with you.
I mean, usually there's more ceremony.
I hope she didn't feel cheated.
It's not like we haven't talked about it before, Bones.
Eureka!
A gathering of Guidos!
I believe that's Little Frankie.
ALL (chanting): Go!
Go!
Go!
Given the excessive amounts of stimulants and alcohol, it's possible that Ritchie the V simply fell down, fracturing his cerebellum on the concrete.
PARTIERS: One!
Two!
Three!
(cheering, shouting) Either that, or he was just tossed head first straight into the concrete by a bunch of drunken idiots.
That certainly would fit in to their tribal customs.
(cheering, whooping) (lively music playing) Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa.
FBI.
(thud) WOMAN: Ow!
Watch yourself there.
FBI Agent Booth.
Hey!
What's your name, pretty lady?
Oh, I'm Dr.
Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian.
'Sup?
Yo, 'sup?
'Sup?
'Sup?
Well, Dr.
Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian, how about when you finish with all your policing or whatnot, you and your hot-for-teacher friends come and meet me down at Club Elegante tonight?
Know what I'm saying?
Okay, why don't we all just take one swollen step back.
You, Muscles Marinara, when was the last time you saw Ritchie Genaro.
Thursday-- him and Pepe Dio went creeping.
Oh, creeping is when males go in search of females for the purpose of having sex.
BOOTH: Right.
Thanks, Bones.
Got that.
So, uh, was Pepe the last person who saw Ritchie?
Is Pepe in some sort of trouble?
Well, that's what we're here to find out.
So, where's Pepe now?
He's doing a GTL.
What's a GTL?
Gym, tan, laundry.
Wha...
All right, Ritchie and Pepe, Thursday night-- what happened?
I don't know, the V hasn't been back since.
We just thought he pulled some ho-bag or skank or something, you know?
I mean, that's the V's weakness.
Ho-bags and skanks...
Got it.
Thank you.
All right, so Pepe and Ritchie, they have any arguments, they fight?
They fought over a stupid T-shirt.
Oh!
Shut the hole, Jo!
Whatever.
BOOTH: Okay, wha...
They fought over a T-shirt?
Pepe got his drink on before going to the club.
He went to pick up Ritchie, who was wearing the exact same Fred McCarty T-shirt.
Pepe didn't want to be twinsies, so they got into it.
So the bro's were mixing it up, yo.
Yeah, but they made up and wore the same shirt anyway.
Well, the victim was wearing a Fred McCarty shirt.
That's true.
Victim?
Is Ritchie all right?
No.
No, he's dead.
Ritchie...!
Frankie!
Frankie, baby, what is it?
Ritchie's dead!
The V?
What?!
The V!
The V's dead!
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh...
M.G.!
Loretta!
Loretta, someone killed Ritchie!
Which Ritchie!
Tan Ritchie?
No, Ritchie the V!
Oh, my God!
Francine!
Someone killed Ritchie the V!
(overlapping chatter, women wailing) WOMAN: No!
Not Ritchie!
Well, cat's out of the bag now.
What these guys do is combine the alcohol with highly caffeinated energy drinks containing pseudoephedrine.
Yeah, lots of posturing, muscles and fighting over girls.
BRENNAN: Like many tribes, the markers that define a man involve sex and violence.
Look, Ritchie was hooking up with someone who was hooking up with someone else.
Bottom line there.
The answer could be right in here.
BRENNAN: These copies of his text messages just seem to be random letters.
Some kind of code?
Wait, like "TTFN."
Ta-ta For Now.
I'm pretty good at these.
Great.
Here you go.
All yours.
Call when you're done.
Okay.
TTFN.
(knocking) Hey, Temperance.
Hello.
Is this a bad time?
Um, for what?
For us to talk?
No.
No, this is a fine time for that.
Come in.
This place is totally cool.
It's like working in a spaceship.
I wouldn't know.
I-I trained for a shuttle mission once but never got to go.
You're quite literal, aren't you?
Yes.
I find I avoid a lot of misunderstandings if I merely deal with facts.
Well, the reason I'm here, um...
Seeley asked me to move in with him.
I...
can't really give you advice about that.
I don't know you that well, and there are so many factors: sexual compatibility...
No.
I'm doing it.
I came back from Afghanistan to be with him.
Oh Then...
congratulations.
You must be happy.
You and Booth.
Yeah.
We are.
But I was thinking, I wanted to get him something when I moved in-- a present-- and since you know him so well...
A telephone.
Get him a telephone.
I was thinking something a little more personal.
A vintage rotary phone.
Booth loves them and hasn't been able to find the right one.
Really?
Yes.
He's been looking.
He says that's what a phone is supposed to be-- indestructible and heavy enough to knock someone out.
(laughs) Yeah, that-that sounds like Seeley.
His grandfather kept his rotary phone until it fell apart.
Booth loved the feel of the Bakelite, the tick-tick-tick of the dial as it turned.
He says the mechanics make it human.
And lucky for me, he has a partner who knows him so well.
Booth and I have become very close.
By necessity.
Congratulations again.
I'm happy for you both.
Thanks.
One thing, Hannah.
I want you to be sure about this.
The phone?
No.
Although I understand the misunderstanding.
No.
About you and Booth moving in together.
Booth will give himself to you completely...
and it would be very painful for him if you aren't as serious about the relationship as he is.
I am.
But thanks, though.
You're a good friend, Temperance.
Seeley is very lucky.
My shrink thought I should get out of the forensic anthropology business.
I tried to explain, it's not violent death that makes me morbidly depressed.
It was life.
And he thinks that explanation shows a positive attitude?
Oh, I'm quite positive about my job.
For example, these injuries, how cool are they?
There's a perimortem bruise near the depression fracture.
That must've hurt.
Another cheery thought- once I remove the scalp, subscalpular hemorrhaging was apparent.
That means there were two injuries to the head.
Which means for the victim to have taken a swan dive onto the pavement, he would've had to do it twice.
Is there enough Red Bull and vodka in the world to explain that?
Most likely, he was struck in the head twice by the same weapon.
What did Hodgins say about the concrete sample?
It's called minute-crete, and it's not a match of the sample taken from the Shore house.
We should do a search for any weapons that could be made of minute-crete.
Don't look at me that way, dude.
You don't know how good you got it.
Angela, can you run a search on possible weapons made from minute-crete?
Yeah, sure.
Something that could cause fractures and subscalpular hemorrhaging...
Oh, my God!
What?
You're...
Oh, I'm-- yeah, I'm messy.
I know I shouldn't eat lying down.
Pregnant.
You're pregnant.
What?
Pregnant?
Me?
No-no.
No.
You've got that whole glowy thing, and the crackers...
Nobody eats crackers for pleasure.
Okay, listen, I've been feeling a little bit queasy, but you cannot tell anybody about this.
I was right!
I knew it!
Are you happy about this?
Yes, we're-we're thrilled.
I mean, I could be having a little Hodgins.
How cute would that be?
Oh, maybe you should lie down.
Uh, no.
I'm...
I'm okay actually.
I'm feeling pretty good.
I can do anything, you know?
I would hope that you could keep this between us, because nobody else knows.
Oh, of course.
Just you and me.
Okay, I mean, you can't even tell Hodgins that you know, um, because he wants to make some sort of big announcement at the right time.
I won't breathe a word.
Okay.
I'm just so happy!
This is so great, Angela!
I...
Oh...
What is?
That...
she is...
MONTENEGRO: That I...
I have a, um...
I have a database of concrete items that can kill someone, and today is the first day that I can use it, so I am over the moon.
SAROYAN: Yes.
And you shouldn't disturb her, Mr.
Fisher.
I wanted to give you the measurements of the injuries, the dispersal of fracturing.
Great.
Great.
Fantastic.
And I'll go.
Away now.
I just can't get as stoked about work as you guys can.
Right.
Here's some already.
Okay, okay.
(Booth muttering) Hey, yo, put on the brakes.
You two on the list?
Look, let me handle this.
Yo.
'Sup.
Yeah.
Bones, Bones.
Whoa, whoa.
Hey, hey.
The list.
FBI, okay?
We're here about a murder.
Listen, the victim was here at this establishment with this guy.
Uh, is here tonight?
Oh, yeah, he's right there, see?
Him.
No, no, no.
Him.
Him?
Okay, you know what?
I'll tell you want.
We'll go scope the place out ourselves, all right?
Do your thing.
Yeah.
Whatever.
(loud dance music playing, clubbers screaming) (whistling) (woman yelling) Notice the two unpaired females.
Their body movements and attire suggest they are available for mating.
Bones, we're looking for Peppy.
Oh, over there.
Where?
Peppy?
No, no.
Two males have spotted the available females and will approach and begin the exhibition.
Fascinating.
Fascinating?
More like pitiful.
Now the males are displaying their musculature, indicating they're good breeders.
This activity shows that these two will soon mate, and the other suitors will continue their search elsewhere.
Okay, just remember, we're here looking for Peppy.
Excuse me.
FBI.
You ladies recognize this guy?
No.
Uh-uh.
(glass shattering) Get back here!
Stop that guy!
Whoa!
You're toast, man!
You're toast!
(laughing) Look.
It's him.
(laughing) Hey!
Hey, you.
FBI!
Hold it right there.
Yeah, right.
(laughs) Hey, cool it.
(yelling and screaming) Yeah, you gonna pay for that.
Come on!
(grunting) MAN: Fight!
Fight!
(man grunts, woman screams) Hey, hey, hey!
(grunting) No.
Get off me!
Get off me!
(woman screams) (grunting) This posturing is called throwing the crab.
It will intimidate him into compliance.
Yeah, what was that about?
These idiots think ice is free, and it's not.
They're always in my way.
They never let me do my job.
Look, I got to account for every single cube.
Ice is frozen water, yo.
Water's free.
Do the math, dipstick.
Put on some lip gloss, Mary.
I will 'cause your mother likes my lips soft.
Oh, he's suggesting that he had sex with his mother.
Right, got that, Bones.
Steroid freak.
Who's the one who goes ballistic over water?
Yeah, like you even know what ballistic means.
You can go home now.
Come on, go.
Ballistic, as in referring to from the balls.
No, that's not even close to an accurate definition.
Ballistic refers to projectile in flight.
So can I make like a ballistic now?
No, you cannot make like a ballistic now, because you were the last person who saw Ritchie Genaro alive.
Seriously, yo, Ritchie was my boy.
How am I gonna kill my boy?
Knocking him over the head.
You don't seem very upset.
It's killing me, but I got to keep on for Ritchie.
He would have wanted me to keep on.
You feel me?
He's asking if we understand.
So, his mother says you guys were doing steroids.
One cycle-- that was all for Ritchie.
And I don't use roids.
Not anymore.
Ritchie got me off 'em.
Proved they would shrink my ballistics.
So Ritchie only did anabolic steroids once?
His mother would kill him, like, for real.
All right, look, can you think of anyone who'd want to kill Ritchie, besides his mother?
His stalker?
His stalker have a name?
I don't know her name.
(whooping) I didn't see her there tonight.
I could describe her.
Okay.
She got dark hair, dark skin, big hair.
Ah, like everybody in this club.
Well, would Ritchie's stalker be aggressive enough to strike him over the head hard enough to force his skull down over his spine?
WOMAN: Shut your mouth!
WOMAN 2: Skank!
Ho!
(grunting, glass breaking) MAN: Cat fight!
(grunting, slapping face) (shrieking) (grunting) (glass breaking) I withdraw the question, mm-hmm.
(woman shrieks, brawling continues) Okay, comparing the concrete sample to the injuries on the victim's skull, the weapon appears to have a curved edge.
Okay, completing the arc.
SAROYAN: The murder weapon was some sort of concrete cylinder?
With a 3.175 centimeter diameter.
Like a plumbing pipe.
Yeah, or a tetherball pole.
This is so random, yo.
In the vernacular.
SWEETS: While I was studying all the text messages, I created this overview of what Dr.
Brennan calls the tribe, seen through digital lines of communication.
This is our victim.
Ritchie the V?
He texted all these women?
Yeah, and these are women who texted other men.
Oh, it's like a jealousy map.
Yeah.
Good work.
Thank you.
So look at what I stumbled across.
A week before the victim was murdered, over 200 texts were exchanged between the victim and a woman named Marie Galasso.
Hmm.
Arrow slash three?
Oh, that means a broken heart.
M-I-2-M-2-H-6-Y?
Am I too much to handle, sexy?
So they were together once, and she expected more?
Y-R-N-T-U-D-4-6?
Why aren't you down for sex?
And then there's this one 2-G-2-B-4-G.
Too good to be forgotten.
So this is where it gets really ugly.
Ritchie texts Marie that she was just a grenade.
A grenade?
Yeah, a grenade is an overweight, undesirable woman that one must jump on so a friend can get with a prettier girl.
Oh.
And this really set Marie off.
She calls him a bunch of curse words, some of which I had to look up.
Sounds like motive to me.
Yeah, and after that, Ritchie texts his friends wherever he's headed to find out if she's gonna be there.
So, she was stalking him.
Check this out.
U-L-B-S-R-Y.
You'll be sorry.
Hmm.
Followed by U-R-GNG-2-DI.
You are going...
You are going to die.
4-Q?
Think that's pretty self-explanatory.
Why don't you just sit down, Marie?
No.
I ain't tired.
How is it that a little thing like you could kidnap a strong guy like Ritchie?
What happened?
Did you find him with another woman?
I ain't sayin' nothin'!
Okay. "
I ain't sayin' nothin'" means you're guilty.
No, I ain't saying nothin' not 'cause I'm guilty.
I ain't not saying nothin' because I loved him.
I loved Ritchie, and he loved me, okay?
I'm not just some Shore whore.
We had plans, and Ritchie-- he wasn't just some Guido, okay?
He was going to school to be a therapist.
He was gonna do stuff and be somebody and like that.
Okay?
I knew him on a very deep level.
He wasn't no juice head or no knucklehead.
He was a gentleman.
Okay, I get it.
He was a gentleman.
Why don't you just sit down and just relax?
There.
(sighs) Now, let's say you didn't kill him.
I didn't kill him!
I loved him.
You know what?
You want to put me in prison for love, go ahead, okay?
I'm guilty as charged, sweetheart.
You said you knew him on a deep level?
Yes, I did.
Okay, then, why is he dead?
Was he afraid of someone?
(laughs) That's funny.
Ritchie the V feared no man, but there was somebody scared of him, maybe wanted him quiet.
Who?
The trainer at the gym who was selling roids.
Okay?
Ritchie busted the guy.
This guy have a name?
They call him Terror.
He works the door at Club Elegante.
Right.
Hey, Sweets.
Turns out our victim, Ritchie, ratted out a steroid dealer.
That same dealer works as a bouncer in Club Elegante.
Why did you shut the door?
(sighs) Well, I have to speak to you, Agent Booth.
Okay, that tone of voice sounds like you want to speak at me.
I hear that you asked Hannah to move in with you?
So?
As your friend...
This isn't a shrinky visit?
No.
So, then, from one friend to another, I'm fine.
Everything's great.
Nothing to worry about.
Okay, there might be a little shrinky stuff, because that's who I am.
Okay, thanks, friend.
You know, the relationship that you and Hannah have-- it was forged in a highly adrenalized environment.
Well, yeah, we were in war together.
I mean, our relationship is literally battle tested.
Right, but a new environment, you know, a calmer one with fewer distractions- it alters your dynamic.
Ugh!
I just don't want you to jump into anything too soon.
It's great.
You know, I really appreciate that, Sweets.
But Hannah is bringing all of her stuff over tonight.
I even went, and I got her some bathroom stuff, a set of new of new sheets.
I mean, what kind of guy does something that crazy if he isn't sure?
Hard to argue with that.
Right.
I just had to say something, you know?
Yeah, you're a good kid.
Oh, boy.
I was looking at bone fragments from the top of the skull, and I found these.
I'm taking out the remaining sliver that were buried in the fractures.
Well, it's not bone.
Oh.
Some kind of yellow polymer.
It's possibly polyvinyl chloride or polytetrafluoroethylene.
So he had concrete and plastic in his head?
(yawning) Oh, no.
Uh, you okay?
Are you gonna ask me that every time I yawn?
Possibly.
I don't want you to fall asleep again for another two months, Van Winkle.
All right.
Gonna figure out what this plastic is from.
It might help Angela narrow down the murder weapon.
(stifled yawn): Okay.
(exhales) So, when Ritchie ratted out Terror for selling drugs, he lost his job at the gym, all of his clients.
It was a mess.
Can I help you?
Yeah.
Why don't you tell us what happened between you and your buddy Ritchie.
I'm guessing it didn't go very well since he's dead.
I don't have to say nothing.
I'm the doorman of this establishment, so I'm going to ask you guys to leave.
I wouldn't be acting like a bouncer right now.
Booth, the storage room.
Hey, hey, hey.
No.
Did you just shove my partner?
Oh, you're real bad, with a gun and a badge.
But you won't always be on duty.
You know what I'm saying?
No, I don't know what you're saying; I want you to spell it out for me.
I mean, watch your back.
Oh, no.
You shouldn't threaten Agent Booth.
He can be very male.
I don't like walking around, looking over my shoulder, huh?
So what do you say we do this right now?
Hmm?
(sighs) All right, listen.
My boss holds me responsible for everything in that storage room.
I wasn't looking for trouble.
You're not looking for trouble?
He's not looking for trouble, which means you are giving Bones permission to look in the storage room.
Bones?
Booth?
Yeah?
Look.
Yellow plastic and concrete.
Fine, whatever.
Yeah, Ritchie ratted on me, and I was pissed.
But I didn't kill him.
Is this really necessary?
Then where were you last Thursday night?
At work.
No, you weren't at work.
I didn't kill Ritchie the V.
Where were you?
You know, if I were you, I'd plead "'roid rage."
I got an alibi.
You can't just have an alibi.
You got to share it with the world.
I took my ma up to New York to see Billy Elliot.
Billy Elliot?
Yeah, the boy that dances.
Yeah.
You like musicals?
That's why I wasn't forthcoming about my alibi.
There's some joys in life you want to keep to yourself.
Billy Elliot is a joy?
It's beautiful, dude.
The boy is an angel.
Right.
I'll tell you what.
I'm going to find somebody who knows the show and you're going to tell it to them, the whole story, and then we'll see if you really saw Billy Elliot with your mother.
Oh, I can perform the whole thing.
Word for word.