A Little Cathouse Fight
February 4, 2018
Running time
Production code
Flash sideways
Written by
Directed by

"A Little Cathouse Fight" is the 3rd episode of A Little Devious.


As it turns out, there's still Kappelletti money somewhere out there that Kathryn doesn't have access to... but the solution is simple: she's got to become a legitimate Kappelletti again, the same way she did the first time. Meanwhile, Aliza proceeds with her plan to go undercover within Celeste's fake agency, intent on retrieving Henry's missing body, and tensions rise between her and Michael as the time comes to prove which of their investigative methods truly is the most effective - although all could soon be unraveled anyway by the likes of a blundering Antwon. And Silvia, when not busy making potpourri, has her affair outed to the cops following a confrontation with Michelle, and her more than shady past makes her seem a likely culprit. Also, Huberd had a gay prison wedding, so that's nice.



"I'm sorry, Mr. Shapiro, but I simply cannot do for you what I do for my other... distributors," Celeste Grier is saying over one of her own burner phones while sitting in her fancy office, fancy lettering in the windows letting us know that this is the Grier Modelling Agency. "Because," she continues, turning more serious, "that kind of coverage goes towards the crimes I actually pay them to commit, and you were stupid enough to kill a girl and get caught. I mean, honestly, a murder charge? Don't you realize that fixing that is a little beyond even my powers?" She grows bored listening to whatever pleas she hears in response, and eventually cuts him off with, "That being said, you breathe a word of me and what I do to anyone, and I'll have you hanged in your jail cell, make no mistake. Goodbye, now." And she snaps the phone and tosses it into the trashcan beneath her desk, ensuring that Ryan will never be able to contact her again. She then sighs, deciding she needs a cigarette, and so she loads one into one of those long cigarette holders that women from the 1920s use in duh movies. And then, "Houseboy!" at which point a black man in a butler's uniform enters her office, without speaking, and she orders him to, "Light this for me, if you please." He nods, taking the lighter which was a mere few feet away from her on her desk, and moves over in order to light the cigarette for her. "That'll be all, thank you," she then assures him, taking in and expelling a much-needed puff. He remains there, though, while she continues to smoke, "If the fire alarms go off, make sure none of the Winter collection is affected by the sprinklers. And by 'Winter collection' I mean the albino girls. They also mustn't be fed after midnight, so keep an eye on any who try to sneak in carbs again. I'll know." He still remains there, and she adds, "They say these things give you cancer, but if Hillary and Jennifer can pull off bald then..." she sighs, "I'm actually bored of my own voice. Can you believe that? The fact that you're still hovering around even though I've told you that'll be all tells me there's something you wish to share, so for God's sake, houseboy, speak up! This may be a cathouse, by vague definition, but none of my girls 'got your tongue'. Unless..." "You hadn't given me permission to speak, ma'am. Is all," the butler points out, and Celeste nods, "Right, right. Well, good boy. Permission granted. What is it?" "There's someone here to see you, ma'am," he shares, "A woman. Says she's here for an interview." "Ah, yes," Celeste nods, "I forgot I had that scheduled. One of your lot must have forgot to remind me." The houseboy looks indignant at this, for he's certain one of his fellow staff-members would have reminded her had they also been given permission to speak, but he quickly wipes the look off his face before she's able to take notice (not that she'd bother, tbh) and returns to purveying pure passiveness. "Well, send her on in then," Celeste rolls her eyes, and the butler nods, exiting the room while she gets to the end of her cigarette, dumping the ashes into the trashcan under her desk in order to further bury the snapped phone. "Burner indeed," she chuckles to herself, finally stubbing the whole thing out on one of her many antique ashtrays. There's then a knock at the door, and Celeste cries out, "Come in!" as the last of the smoke exits her mouth, giving her the distinct impression of a dragon lady. Aliza Little clocks onto this as she enters the room, not that she looks all that much like herself as it is - she's currently sporting a classy-yet-incredibly-slutty dress, has a full face of rather out-there makeup (at least compared to what we've seen since she became Chief of Police), and has gotten rid of her usual cornrows in exchange for a new blowout. It seems she's made good on her plan, and gone undercover as a classy li'l whore. "Hi there," she greets, raising her voice to be a tad more girlish than usual. "You must be..." Celeste tries to remember, and Aliza introduces herself as, "Annalise. Annalise, uh... Pope." "Hm," Celeste nods, "Well then, have a seat, Miss Pope." Her stripper heels clip-clop their way to the chair on the other side of Celeste's desk, and she nearly trips, cursing under her breath that this is what she gets for raiding Emilie de Ravin's costume trailer. "So," Celeste begins, "let's waste no time. You want to be a model, I take it? Well, you've got a certain... natural beauty, buried as it may be right now, and I can work with that. You'd make a great cover girl for National Geographic at any rate." "As long as we're not wastin' no time, Miss Grier--" "I prefer Madame Grier," Celeste corrects, and Aliza points out, "Daz exactly my point. You're a madame. I know it. You know it. The ten tonnes of black butlers out there know it." "They're my houseboys," Celeste again corrects, and Aliza coughs, "Of course they are. But still. I want a job. Doin' what you really do." Celeste considers the girl sitting opposite her, scrutinizing every detail of her with her eyes, which makes Aliza nervous some. After all, these two women have attended the same party in the past. "You look familiar," Celeste soon realizes, "Have we met before?" "Nope," Aliza assures, "I just have one of them faces." "Yes, well," Celeste nods, grabbing another cigarette and placing it into her holder, "You do all look the same, I suppose. Light this for me?" "Excuse me?" "You'd like to work for me, wouldn't you, Miss Pope?" "Why, ye--" "Light this for me," Celeste again demands, "I shan't ask you a third time." Using all her energy to avoid jumping across the desk and throwin' down with this cracker ho, Aliza picks up Celeste's lighter, leans over, and flicks the fire onto the cigarette tip, then tossing the lighter to one side before the urge to set her blonde hair on fire overwhelms her. "Obedient," Celeste nods after a puff, "I like that. Now let's see if you're loyal, as well. What do you know of my business?" "Only what I hear on duh street," Aliza tells her, "I heard there's a slot missin' since you tossed some other black girl out on her ass." "Indeed," Celeste nods, "I am in need of a girl of your... origins. Some of the high-fliers we influence have a particular proclivity for that sort of thing." "I should hope so," Aliza nods, "So you'll bring me on? 'Cause I can whip out ma credentials if you want." "No need, I can see them spilling out of your dress from here," Celeste smiles, "You'll do perfectly, I'm sure." "Great," Aliza exclaims, standing up and reaching her hand out to shake Celeste's, whose hand doesn't move; just moves the cigarette to her mouth yet again. Aliza awkwardly retracts her own, and asks, "So when do I get the tour of this place? I take it this whole 'modelling' office ain't it, right?" "In due time," Celeste tells her, "As I said, I first need to see if you're loyal. Not to mention capable." "How do I do that?" Aliza wonders, and Celeste says, "I'd have thought it's be obvious. You need to perform a job, Miss Pope." "Well yeah daz one of ma' credentials," she counters, but Celeste shakes her head, "I mean, you'll have to service a client. So, in a way, the same thing, but not entirely." Aliza appears nervous at the thought, but soon shakes it off, her inner-cogs working, "Just tell me their name." "Return to me tomorrow, and I'll give you all the details you need," Celeste promises, stubbing out this cigarette as well in yet another ashtray. "And then I'll get the tour?" Aliza makes sure, because of course the whole reason she's doing this is to retrieve Henry's body from somewhere in this facility. "In due time," Celeste repeats herself, "In due time." Aliza nods.
We soon see Aliza exiting the office, walking past a dozen houseboys who are busy cleaning the lobby. As she exits and makes her way around the corner, beginning to wipe the makeup off her face and cover herself up with a jacket, she whips her diary out of said jacket's pocket and takes a pen from her cleavage, beginning to write in it, "I'm in..."


Act IEdit

"Re, hookas," Aliza calls out when re-entering the precinct. "Re?" Mike questions, chatting with Huberd by the donuts, to which Aliza shrugs her shoulders. "Ain't that what the French say? If Justine Dussault didn't then what a missed opportunity that was." "And yet again, I don't know who you're talking about." "And yet again, learn the turf, turd burglar." "That's a new one," Mike comments, and Aliza admits she couldn't decide between that and "shit stabber". "Figured I'd try and be more PG, but fuck it. I'm sure you can relate." "Oooooh, burn!" Huberd calls out, but then realizes it applies to himself as well, "Oh, ouch..." Aliza rolls her eyes, getting to the point of revealing that her meeting with Celeste went off without a hitch. "I'm in, and I go back later to find out my first job assignment." "I still think you're insane for doing this," Mike feels the need to express, pointing out that they could still just rattle through Celeste's personal accounts and dig around the old fashion way. "For someone who actually validates bisexuality, you lack creativity," Aliza shakes her head, and Mike sighs. "Well at least take this," he pleads, digging around his desk for a second before finding a small velvet box. "Boi, take a girl out for a nice ass meal first!" Aliza exclaims upon being handed the box, but Mike shakes his head, opening it for her and revealing a pair of earrings. "This looks like summit Shaniqua would wear on payday," Aliza exclaims, at first sounding offended but then melting into gratitude, "They's beautiful, booboo, thanks! Now what's the catch?" But again, Mike shakes his head. "Aliza, they're not just earrings. They're earpiece gadgets I want you to wear when you get on the inside. It'll help us communicate more discreetly." "Oh," Aliza utters, a bit disappointed, "Well, thanks... You look like an even bigger 'mo today, y'know that?" Mike ignores this comment, telling Aliza to just try on the damn earrings, which she then does. She pulls out her phone to look in the front-facing camera, admiring herself. "Snazzy," she comments, only to then see a second reflection in her camera, "Ooh, slaggy..." She turns around, and Kathryn Kappelletti stands, having just arrived at the precinct. "Son of a trick ass ho, what you doin' showin' yo face 'round here again?!" Aliza questions, having thought they came to an unspoken agreement to stay out of one another's hair and then there'd be no trouble. "Uh, well, here's your mail or whatever," Kathryn says, tossing a sack over to Huberd to dig through, "Sorry for all the torn open packages, I get nosy when I'm bored, and I was instantly bored the moment I got here, sooo..." "Kathryn!" Aliza barks, needing her to get to the point already. "Right, yeah, yeah, anyways... I know there's more Kappelletti money out there, and I wanna know why the hell I don't have it." Aliza puts her hand to her forehead, wondering why she even bothered to question if it was something important. "Yo mama really shoulda learned her way around a coathanger," the Chief of Police says as she goes to get herself a donut over by Huberd, who's now sorting through the mail. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say... maybe it's because you're not a Kappelletti anymore?" Mike suggests, to which Kathryn scoffs. "Of course I am! I'm Kathryn Kappelletti. Why are the cops in this town so damn retarded?" "Bitch, yo divorce was like the second most talked about thing in 2016," Aliza points out. "What was first?" Kathryn wonders, and Aliza answers, to the former heiress' dismay, "Liz and Eli's divorce." "Dammit!" Kathryn whines, while Mike wonders who the hell Liz and Eli are. "What, do fags no watch movies anymore?" Aliza questions her partner, but Huberd speaks up, "They played Star Wars XI in the prison visiting room when I went and saw my husband last week." "Husband?" Aliza exclaims, "Y'all finally got hitched and you didn't tell me?!" "It was a private ceremony," Strange reveals, "In fact, our wedding pictures should be arriving today." Huberd continues to dig through the mail in hopes of finding them while Kathryn grows bored and decides to make it about her again. "So, like, yeah... my money. I need it." "It ain't yo money no more, cracka slag," Aliza reiterates, "Anything in yo father or ex-husband's name is long gone, and whatever's left is in the hands of yo mental ass ex-sister-in-law. You ain't got no right to nothin'." "Ah, found it!" Huberd speaks up, pulling out the envelope from the Wikerly Hills men's prison. Aliza, Kathryn, and Mike gather around as he opens it up, but instead of finding his wedding photos to Dr. Strange, he pulls out pictures of wedding between Rapey Randy and a dead-in-the-eyes Juan Castillo. "Huh, I guess the pictures got mixed up with the couple from before us." "Ooh, his sphincter best be broke now," Aliza smiles in satisfaction at the image depicting Juan. "Ugh, being married to a prisoner blows," Huberd sighs, then asking Aliza, "Any chance you could get him off? Like, it was only his first offense." "Considerin' the fact he played a role in about a dozen or so murders, Imma go with no," Aliza declares, but Huberd figured as such. Kathryn, meanwhile, is looking over the prison wedding photos of Juan and Randy, and she turns to Huberd. "What's it like?" she asks, "Being married to a prisoner, I mean." "Not really much of a marriage," Huberd shrugs, "I mean, legally, yeah... but we still never see each other. We get the occasional conjugal visit now, but we're still separated the rest of the time." "But you get all the spousal benefits and stuff?" Kathryn wants to make sure, and Huberd confirms so. At this point Aliza is busy with Mike, testing out her new spyware earrings, and Kathryn begins to think to herself about all that Huberd has just informed her of. "Interesting..."

Over on Fanon Drive, meanwhile, Silvia is seen pulling up into her driveway, getting out of her car and going to the backseat to pull out some bags. "After that weigh-in this morning, maybe it's best we go for something not edible," Silvia is saying to herself, "Smell is better, and the house sure does stink after that coffee finally kicked in..." We see that, in Silvia's bags, are everything she needs to make homemade potpourri. She takes in a whiff, liking the smell already. She starts making her way to the front door when she happens to turn, looking over at the former Del Barrio place where she sees Michelle exiting. Silvia goes to look away and hurry inside, but it's too late, for the two women make eye contact. There's an awkward stare-off as Silvia's face turns red with embarrassment, and she quickly gets out her keys to unlock the door and go inside. Michelle continues to stare, as we flashback to days before...
Silvia turns around at the sound of Michelle dropping the bouquet of flowers she brought for her late husband and utters a simple "Oh, dear..." "It was you," Michelle growls, "You were the second-rate whore my husband vowed time and time again didn't exist." "You were never supposed to find out," Silvia promises, to which Michelle quickly responds, "Well, I would certainly think not." "He didn't want to hurt you!" "No, he didn't want a scandal! He didn't want to lose access to my money!" She then lets out a small, hurt sigh. "Everyone warned me not to marry a man beneath my paygrade, but I didn't listen to them." "We... we didn't mean to fall in love, Michelle... It just happened." But Michelle looks up, able to put aside her feelings of betrayal to crack a wicked smile. "Oh, honey, don't fool yo-self," she remarks, showing a bit of her blackness, "You were nothin' more than a piece of ass... a good lay, which, quite frankly, I find rather alarming. I figured he had better taste." Silvia is appalled. "I'm not just gonna stand here and be insulted." "Go on, then. Hit up a corner, and maybe you'll spend the night in the company of another wealthy gentleman. Maybe this time he'll pay in cash, help you get them roots taken care of." "Really, Michelle, after all these years you're still threatened by me? I thought you were better than that." But Michelle cracks a laugh. "No, Silvia, this is all you," she deems, "You just never got over it, and you've spent all these years waiting to get your revenge." "I think you'll find I've spent my years preoccupied by other age-old vendettas," Silvia quips, "but that's not the point. We've both lost someone. I'm not saying we need to drop everything, have weekly brunches and tea, but the least we could do is act civil." Michelle disagrees though, for she shakes her head and looks Silvia dead in the eyes. "You have lost nothing," she says, taking a few steps closer to the rival for her late husband's affection, "And if you so much as speak Henry's name again, well... I may not have killed my husband, but there's a first time for everything." "Are you really threatening me right now?" Silvia questions, and Michelle sports another grin as she kneels down to pick up the bouquet of flowers she dropped. "I'm still First Lady of this town, and my husband had some very loyal voters." She looks down into the empty grave as she slides off her wedding ring. "Shame he couldn't be as loyal to me as they were to him." With that, Michelle drops the ring into the pit below, not even hesitating or looking back as she then shoves the bouquet of flowers into Silvia's arms, which Silvia then flings behind her, realizing a couple bees are now circling around it. "I better not find you here again," Michelle calls out, continuing to leave, and Silvia is left alone.
Back in the present day, Michelle watches Silvia's front door close, and we see her head off to her own car, getting inside, for she has some place else to be...

"Okay, time to find out what ma' first job is," Aliza is saying to herself as she walks down the street dressed like... well, a street-walker. "I... know," Michael says over the earring-earpiece, and Aliza suddenly stops to exclaim, "Whatthefuckholyhell!" which frightens the lightbulbs out of some rando she was passing. "Sorry," she tells the pedestrian, "there was a... bee in ma' bra." She then swats her breasts a little, saying, "Got the bugger, gubbye now," and continues walking. "Bee in your bra?" Mike is heard asking her, and she whispers, "Dammit, boy, I forgot you could even hear me. I was just recapping aloud for my own mental convenience, dayum." "Sorry," Mike chuckles, all the way back at the precinct, "so, as you were recapping, time to find out what your first job is." "Right," Aliza nods clip-clopping her way further to the Grier Modelling Agency, and she lets out a sigh, pointing out, "I wish I could just take my damn car. Stupid sirens bein' a dumb giveaway." "I'd have thought the fact that you're near enough a local celebrity would have been a giveaway to be honest," Mike points out, and Aliza tells him, "Never underestimate the power of racism, my brotha. Well, half-brotha." "Indeed," Michael agrees. "Indeed," Aliza repeats, "You sound like Celeste. Haughty-ass bitch." Another pedestrian catches wind of her saying to apparently no one the words "haughty-ass bitch" and so Aliza just nods to them, "Hey, how are ya'?" and they keep on walking. "It's not too late to be rid of Celeste, you know," Mike assures her, and Aliza wonders what she means. "I mean there's still a chance you could get caught. If you wanna retrieve Henry's body sooner rather than later, then maybe the best course of action is the obvious one: to storm her place of business with a squadron of officers and take her down." "With the warrant we'll get from the testimony of a whore on crack?" Aliza questions. "There's your testimony now." "But she hasn't confirmed anything to me," Aliza points out, "I haven't seen drugged. The word 'prostitution' didn't come up in our idle chat. And this is a woman who has the justice system literally rigged in her favor. I ain't takin' a chance on a conviction that might not go through. And even if it works, who's to say that the body's even hidden at her office, assuming she has it? It could be anywhere, and she might never crack behind bars. No, best I go in covertly. We do this my way, Mike. Just like we doin'." "Meh, at least you said 'we'. I'll take that as a win," he tells her. "So you're not tryna crack the murder before me anymore?" she quips, and he admits, "I still don't agree with your methods... but they're a lot more fun to see unfold." "Damn straight. Or damn bi, in yo' case." "Wow, no 'damn queer'," he points out, "We must be getting along or something." Aliza gives a small laugh, promising, "Naw, you's still a toe-pressin' fag." "Bitch, who you callin' a--?" comes a familiar voice, sounding from yet another pedestrian, and then, "Aliza?!" "Oh, snap," Aliza exclaims, for she's just bumped into none other than Antwon Kennedy, still a street away from the agency office. "What the hell are you doin' here?" the Chief of Police demands to know, but Antwon asks in turn, "What the hell are you doin' here? And why the hell you lookin' like... like...?" "Like what?" Aliza presses angrily, and Antwon eventually comes out with, "Like my babymama." "Oh no you di'n't!" Aliza makes a fist, and Mike asks her through the earpiece, "Who's that? What's going on?" "No one relevant," Aliza promises, and Antwon asks, "What now?" "Look, hun, I don't got time for you. On the whole, you're just so damn extra. I'm on my way to--" "Work a corner?" Antwon surmises, based on her attire, and Aliza tries to enforce that it's none of his business what she's doing, as a matter of fact, but he begins to panic, "Oh no have I... have I... Have I turned you into a hooka?!!" "Have you--?!" "By breakin' yo' heart!" Antwon weeps, "Is this... is this what I did to you?!" "Dumbass, for God's sake, I'm undercover!" she yells, then realizing that this was perhaps a very stupid thing to yell, and so immediately looking around to make sure no one else was listening. "Did anyone hear that?" she asks the street. "I heard it," says the guy selling hotdogs outside the bodega, and so Aliza promises, "Repeat it, son, and I'll whoop yo' ass." He believes her, and so does the motion of zipping his mouth shut, while Aliza does the motion of "I'll be watching you" and Antwon snaps his fingers to bring her attention back to him and they interaction they were having. "This has taken a confusing turn on my end," Mike chimes in. "Shut up," Aliza tells him. "I didn't say anything," Antwon points out. "Not you," Aliza rolls her eyes, "Although yeah, you shut up too." "Would you like mustard on that, sir?" the hotdog vendor asks his customer, and Aliza screams, "One word, fatty! ONE WORD!" And so he again "zips" his mouth shut, resorting to asking if said customer would like ketchup on his hotdog by simply pointing to the bottle and then making a familiar shaking motion with his end. The customer just looks repulsed though and begins walking away. "Maybe she'll give you one o' those, she looks like a handjob-givin' whore," they say as they walk away, and Aliza shrugs, "At least ma' costume's convincin'." "But why are you wearin' a costume?" Antwon wants to know, and Aliza mouths him the word "undercover", followed by the outloud, "Remember?" "Right, yeah, you're the Chief of Police," he comes to recall, and Aliza rolls her eyes, saying, "Walk with me, you goddamn hindrance, before that hotdog ho decides to tattle." The hotdog vendor shakes his head, insisting that he would never, but Aliza gives another "watching you" motion and continues to clip-clop down the street, Antwon now rushing along at her helm. "Do you need me to help?" he wonders. "What?" Aliza asks, while Mike questions, "Is this comedy bit still going on? Progress, please." "Shut up," Aliza repeats. "Stop tellin' me to shut up!" Antwon barks, and Mike sighs, "And the bit prevails." "Look," Antwon makes a case for himself, "I wanna prove myself worthy of you. You've changed clearly, and I dig that. You a strong woman now, and daz coo'. But I'm a strong man, you and remember how good I was at diggin' stuff outta people. Findin' shit out. I was a pro." "You... were alright, sure," Aliza shrugs. "And if you're undercover as a hooka," Antwon presses on, "Well, that's my wheelhouse, ain't it?" "I'll say," Aliza scoffs. "Exactly! I'm good in that world, gurl. You know I is. It's how I was able to survive as a solo dealer for so long." "Hmm..." Aliza then stops, "You know anything about Celeste Grier?" "The model lady? I'on't know, not really, why?" "No reason," Aliza sighs, "You're of no help to me." "So let me be!" Antwon begs, "Gimme a chance to win you back!" "You wanna win me back, Antwon? Stop... asking." "And start acting," he nods, a smile coming over his face. "No, dammit," Aliza exclaims, "Just stop. Speaking of stop, this is mine. Bai." With that, she enters Grier Modelling Agency and slams the fancy door in Antwon's face. The houseboys on the inside all stare at him from the window, and he stares back at them, saying to himself, "Damn. Must be one of them hall of mirrors dealies like they have at the fair." Aliza, meanwhile, knocks on Celeste's office door, and she stubs out one of her cigarettes - this time on a houseboy's arm, though he doesn't have permission to cry out in pain - in order to beckon, "Come in!" Aliza does just that, and Celeste greets, "Ah, Mrs. Washington. Did we have an appointment?" "It's... Miss Pope," Aliza reminds, "'Memba? Ya' new slut Annalise?" "Ah, right!" Celeste exclaims, "I couldn't tell the difference. Though I did think it odd the First Lady would be stopping by..." "You know her then? You knew the Mayor that died?" "Houseboy, leave," is all Celeste has to say in response to this, grabbing a folder from her desk and walking around to hand it to Aliza. "Questions aren't accepted here, my dear. Far too pesky." Aliza takes the folder and asks, "What's this?" but Celeste raises her fingers to her lips, asking, "What did I just say?" "Sorry... Madame Grier," Aliza recalls, and the white woman gives a grin. "That," she proceeds to explain, "is your first... task. There's a... distributor of mine, known to the courts as Tiago Vargas. There's a certain soon-to-be-retired judge who shall be overseeing his case as their very last, and they shall be lenient... assuming you can convince them to be so." "How do I--?!" "Miss Pope," Celeste presses, and so Aliza nods, "Right," and makes the same zipping motion as the hotdog vendor. "You will meet this judge at the motel described in that folder, at the time and date which is also disclosed. You will memorize its contents, and then destroy it. Fail to do so and I will find out, and be... displeased," she smiles, while Aliza gulps, for this woman actually does intimidate her some. "You will wait at the bar, where one of my associates will slip you a room key. You will proceed up to the room and... ready yourself. The judge will then arrive and you'll be as persuasive as persuasive can be. Is that clear?" "Crystal," Aliza nods. "Wasn't that your second choice of alias?" Mike remembers over the earpiece, and Aliza does her best to ignore him. "Good," Celeste grins, "very good. You will return to me when the job is complete, and, Miss Pope, if Mr. Vargas is to somehow wind up in a jail cell... then your fate shan't be far better than his." "Noted, ma'am," Aliza nods, and Celeste tells her, "Lovely. In fact," she grabs her lighter from her desk, "commit that folder to memory now. I want to know that your powers of comprehension are superior to the last girl we had of your origins." Aliza nods, opening the folder and giving it a read, assuring, "Got it." "Great," Celeste tells her, using her cigarette lighter to set the thing alight. Shocked, Aliza drops the burning papers to the floor, and Celeste laughs, calling in, "Houseboy! Come beat this fire out of my carpet! No need to bring anything with you, your bear hands should suffice." Aliza gulps again, and Celeste says to her across the flames, "After all, if your skin can survive Africa's heat, what's a little fire going to do?" A houseboy then comes running in, ready to extinguish it, and Celeste takes great pleasure in watching him while telling Aliza to, "Run along, Miss Pope. I expect one-hundred percent client satisfaction. And don't forget to really-- oh, for heaven's sake, houseboy, I didn't give you permission to scream!!"

"No, listen, what I'm trying to say is you sent me the wrong-... Yes, we did get married, but-... Why the hell would I want someone else's wedding photos?!... Hello?!" But no one is on the other line, and Huberd sighs as he hangs up the phone, failing to be able to get the correct wedding photos. He looks down at the ones of Juan and Randy which he's since drawn penises all over. Mike, meanwhile, is more pressed over other matters. "This was a bad idea," he exclaims, to which Huberd asks, in genuine fear, "What, the penises? You think they won't exchange photos now?" But Mike rolls his eyes, stating that he means Aliza. "What if she gets hurt? What if she actually has to go through with sleeping with someone?" "Relax," Huberd assures, "Aliza's a strong woman. She can handle herself." "I know, but still!" Mike exclaims, "That doesn't mean she should have to be doing this... and it's all my fault." "How so?" Huberd wonders, and Mike points out, "If it wasn't for me battling her over tactics and making a competition for who can crack the case, maybe she wouldn't have felt the need to prove a point this way." "Listen, you've not been in this town for long, but you'll soon find that going undercover isn't exactly a foreign method here. Butler, prostitute, you name it and it'll probably get the job done." Mike is unsure about this, but he's unable to debate any further, for Michelle Washington has arrived. "Hello," she greets the two, "I'm looking for Chief Little... I would like to report a crime." "She's not in right now," Huberd says to the black beauty, "but maybe I could help?" Michelle raises a brow at this though, familiar with Officer Huberd and his incompetence. "I think I'll wait for your boss to get back..." Michelle decides, but she then notices Mike is also at the precinct, and she changes her mind. "Wait a second," she exclaims, approaching the biracial man stress eating a donut, "Detective Cage, was it?" "Oh, uh, yeah," Mike says to her, quickly swallowing a bite of donut and putting the rest of it down, outstretching his hand to shake. "How are you, Mrs. Washington?" the detective would like to know, and Michelle feigns a smile. "Not well, dear, not well... but that's besides the point," she tells him, "Since we last spoke, I've come to learn some rather alarming information that pertains to my husband's death." Mike's eyes widen at this as he ushers her to go on, asking what it is. "That no good son of a bitch..." Michelle seethes behind a forced smile, "He was having an affair with Silvia Montgomery."

We now transition to across town, over to the Wikerly Hills women's prison, and there we see Kathryn as she's sat in a visiting room, waiting for a second party to arrive. She has a look of clear disgust on her face, grateful to have managed avoiding ending up here so many times now, and it's not long before Kathryn is finally joined by the person she's there to see. Escorted by two officers, Kristi Kappelletti is brought out and sat down at the table, in the seat across from her ex-sister-in-law. "Kathryn, O-M-G!!" she exclaims with joy, "I can't believe you're here!! I thought you forgot about me!!" Already, Kathryn is regretting her decision, but she decides to muster through it anyway. "Hi, Kristi," she says, "You're looking... about the same as you did when I exiled you to Kevin's basement, so not well." "Kevin..." Kristi utters, heartbroken, "I can't believe he, Killian, and Kerwin exploded into a million pieces!! Stupid terrorism poopyness, ugh!!" She slams her fists on the table, startling Kathryn a bit, and a guard motions the youngest Kappelletti to refrain. "I'm sorry," she says to Kathryn, "they ran out of milk, so I haven't taken my pills yet." "Oh, that reminds me," Kathryn remembers, reaching down under the table and pulling out a clear jug full of a brown substance. "Chocolate milk, straight out of Shaniqua Mae herself," Kathryn reveals, and Kristi looks as if she's about to faint. "I... I've heard about this. About her. I... I just thought she was a myth." But Kathryn shakes her head, handing Kristi the jug who doesn't hesitate in unscrewing the cap, beginning to down it. "You better make that last," Kathryn warns, but Kristi has already emptied the jug, leaving nothing but a chocolate milk mustache on her lips. She lets out a loud belch, and Kathryn nearly throws up at the sight of it. "It means sooo much to me that you're here!!" Kristi says to her former in-law, "I mean, I kinda thought everyone just stopped knowing I existed again. I'm so glad to see that's not the case!" Kathryn looks awkward at this, however, as that really was the case. Kristi doesn't notice this though, for she's too busy trying to lick off her chocolate milk-stache. "Anyways..." Kathryn switches topics, "it's been a while, I just wanted to catch up. How have you been?" "Hmmm, well I just got ten followers on my Elizabeth Davis fan account on Twitter. She's such an icon... Ooh, I want her to do such naughty things to me." Kristi seductively licks her lips, properly wiping off the stache, and Kathryn looks indignant at this. Still though, she manages to continue pressing her ex-sister-in-law. "So you're, like, a lesbian now?" "I would say pansexual, but Liz doesn't believe in anything outside of L-G-B-K, so I guess I identify as bi like her. Ugh, what I'd give to be with her, or at least someone like her. I ship Aliz so hard!" "God, this was a mistake..." Kathryn finds herself mumbling under her breath, suffering from secondhand embarrassment, but she knows what she must do if she ever wishes to have her old life back. "Anyways, Kristi, I gotta be honest about something," Kathryn says, getting to the point already, "I came here with an ulterior motive." "Oh? What's that?" "I... have spent the last few years finding myself," she lies, "I was kinda awful to you when married to your brother. I forced you into exile, made the world think you didn't exist. Hell, even I forgot you existed like 98% of the time." Kristi frowns at this, memories returning of how Kathryn really did make her life a living hell. "But I've grown since then," Kathryn lies, "I've really done some soul-searching, and honestly, the reason I shut you out wasn't because of how repulsed I was by you, but because how in love I was with you. How in love I am with you." "Oh, my goodness!!" Kristi exclaims, jaw dropped, and Kathryn continues, "It took me a long time, but I'm finally able to admit myself that I, Kathryn Von Trump Kappelletti, am a gay woman." "Wow..." Kristi utters, almost, but not quite at a loss for words, "I knew it!" "Yeah... wait, what?!" Kathryn exclaims, disgusted. "Oh, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy. Dear, sweet Kathy. I'm not stupid. I've always sensed the... sexual tension between us." She then puckers her lips, making a kissing motion at her former sister-in-law. Kathryn, meanwhile, is holding back vomit. "I..." she utters, needing to swallow some, "I don't wanna wait anymore," she says to Kristi, "I want you. I need you. To be with you... Do you want to be with me?" "Of course I do!!" Kristi exclaims, with pure joy, and so Kathryn reveals, "Then I have a proposition for you." She gets down on one knee, hesitantly taking Kristi's hand, and she asks the ultimate question: "Kristi Kappelletti, will you marry me?"

Act IIEdit

"I hope you use this information wisely, Detective," Michelle is still busy telling Michael over at the precinct, and he assures her that he will, while she says, "Now, if you excuse me, I'm a tremendously busy widow... it's rather difficult to arrange a funeral when your husband's body is nowhere to be found. I trust you're busy recovering it?" "Aliza's on it right now," Mike promises her.
We cut to Aliza in her bathroom at home, applying eye makeup to make herself look extra whorey. "That judge ain't gon' know what hit 'em!" she exclaims, then layering on copious amounts of red lipstick and kissing the mirror.
"Good," Michelle nods, "good." She then sees fit to leave the station, and Mike sees fit to return to his computer. "Huh, Kathryn and Kristi Kappelletti applied for a marriage license, well I'll be darned," Mike comments while looking over logs and such which are still open, having keeping track of the movements of all possible suspects. "They best not get their pictures before I do," Huberd exclaims, before realizing, "Ooh, is that the mailman?" and setting off to investigate. Mike, meanwhile, opens up the W.H.P.D's database and comments that it's time to educate himself on Silvia Montgomery; however, as he's about to do so, his phone buzzes in his pocket and he takes it out to discover a text from Sebastian back at the FBI office: "How goes things in Wikerly Hills?" Not really knowing what to put, Mike just texts back "Busy" and puts his phone down, beginning to type "Silvia" into the search engine he has up. He gets to "Sil" when Seb sends him something else: "Able to investigate your own YOLO shit yet?" Sighing, Mike texts back "Nope". He then decides to add, "Chief here is pretty demanding. Lots to do." He then neglects the search engine, simply waiting for Seb's three dots to materialize into words. Eventually, he says, "You're not there to investigate some Mayor though. Either look into what you're there to look into or come back to the office. I have no one to pawn my work off on." Mike laughs and texts back, "Too bad.", but then thinks to add, "I didn't think it through. How am I supposed to look into what I want when there's so much to be done?" Another three dots, and finally Seb replies, "Just steer the murder case to your own directive. Find a way to present your shit to the chief as though it's relevant, have her help you even." And then, "Or just fuck it off entirely. Whatever." After a moment, Mike texts back, "Idk." and Seb just responds with a picture of Mike's empty desk chair with a half-eaten box of donuts sitting on it. "Damn," Mike comments aloud, then looking to the search engine he has up and backspacing the "Sil", muttering to himself, "Okay... just need a way to make it relevant... I could... I dunno... suggest the two murderers are the same?" He sighs, "We'll see." And then he begins to type the name, "Nate Ford," into the database, wanting to see if there's any connection between that name and past crime in Wikerly Hills. However, he can't quite bring himself to press enter, because he's far too curious about Silvia Montgomery and her possible connection to Henry's death. And so he backspaces Nate, and types her name in, which is when he's hit with a veritable hailstorm of crime: Silvia's old MISSING reports, the case of the Jorgio Del Barrio kidnappings, the death of Lily DeWar, the attempted murders of Joseph DeWar and Rochelle Little, the time served in a mental institution, witness statements in the death of her husband Jason, fake names, ownership of a sniper rifle, the fact that she's still technically on house arrest... "Oh, my God, this woman is a crazed killer!" he finds himself yelling. "Why do you keep talking to yourself?" Huberd wonders, "And yeah, it wasn't my photos. Just Aliza's new vibrator which, to be honest, I may just keep for myself." "Why do you guys have stuff delivered to the station?" Mike wonders, and Huberd shugs, "Convenience. But hey, I asked the question. Stop bein' all crazy. Aliza was right about you..."
Huberd then flashes back to days earlier, where Aliza told him, "Listen here. Do naht take orders from that crazy faggot - no offense - but ya' hear me? I hate how he sneaked his way on in here tryna piss all over ma' turf... I 'on't care 'bout no jurisdiction, this is my precinct, ya' hear?" "Loud and clear, ma'am," Huberd nods.
Huberd eyes Mike suspiciously in the present, and Mike tells him, "Sorry. Just... I should probably approach this Silvia Montgomery with extreme caution. She's such a likely suspect, I almost can't even." "Meh," Huberd shrugs, "she's a nice lady. Maybe just try talking to her?" This stumps Mike a little, for he doesn't understand how a woman with such a dark past could be considered communally nice, but then he hears Aliza say through her earring earpiece, "Mikey boy? You there? I'm all whored up again; I'm gon' head to the Wikerly Mariot now. Wish me luck." And so he's gonna have to worry about all this later.

Kathryn Kappelletti stands in front of a dusty mirror in a cramped and stuffy room. She twirls around in a long, white gown with a torn veil covering her face. Her goal right now is to look pretty, and she does, should you only give her a quick glance. But Kathryn continues to stare at herself in the mirror of the thrift shop dressing room, and she sighs at what her life has come down to. With that, we flashback to years earlier...
It's 2014, and Kathryn stands waiting for her date in a classy nightclub in Wikerly Hills. She sips champagne as she dons a tight red dress; her hair is done and face is contoured, and she looks at her absolute best. "Kathryn?" a voice calls out, and she turns around to find Kevin Kappelletti standing before her. "I'm Kevin," he formally introduces, and Kathryn raises a brow. "...Kappelletti," he adds, but Kathryn assures him that she knows. "It's just when daddy said I would be going out with a Kappelletti, I thought he meant the hot one." Kevin looks indignant at this, and Kathryn looks down at her half filled champagne glass. "I'm done with this," she shoves it into her date's hand, "Go on, make it disappear." Kevin awkwardly just sits it down on a random table, and he motion that he and Kathryn find a seat. "You hungry?" Kevin asks, but Kathryn shakes her head. "Had an Aspirin for breakfast, I'm good till Tuesday." "Right..." "So your brother, he's not gonna be my date?" Kathryn frowns, but Kevin isn't even sure which of his brothers she's talking about. "I don't know," she shrugs, "just... the other one." "Right, well--" "Come here and pose for a picture," Kathryn demands, pulling Kevin over to her in order to snap a picture to upload to Instagram, "I like to keep my followers informed." Kevin just watches as Kathryn spends the next few minutes not even looking up from her phone, just sitting there and editing her picture before uploading it, trying to decide what and how many hashtags to use. "Hope you don't mind, but I wound up cropping you out altogether," she reveals to him, and Kevin merely blinks. "So what do you like to do?" he asks, attempting to make conversation, and Kathryn, not even looking up, answers, "Charity." "What kind of charity?" "I don't fucking know, ask my publicist." "Do you even want to be here right now?" Kevin asks, becoming fed up, and for the first time Kathryn actually looks up at him, making proper eye contact. "What I want doesn't matter," she answers, "Daddy thinks I'm clueless, but I know this whole date is some kind of business arrangement. I know that, by the end of it all, you and I are gonna be married. Granted, I thought it'd be me and your hotter brother, but I guess I can't have everything." "But you don't actually want this?" Kevin wishes to clarify, only for Kathryn to shake her head. "I think you've misunderstood," she says, "What I want does not matter, not in the long run. This arrangement will secure my success. My fame. My extended fortune. That is what I want, and that is what you're gonna get me." "And if I were to just walk out of here right now?" Kevin wonders, but Kathryn simply laughs. "Oh, baby, I know you won't do that. You're far deeper into something than you care to admit, but that's alright. I really don't care about the going-ons in your life so long as it doesn't interfere with mine. Now, stop talking. Sit back. And look pretty till the night is done." Kathryn shows her teeth, proceeding to look back down at her phone as Kevin sits in absolute misery.
"Wow, he really was a dick to me," Kathryn exclaims, back in the present day. Now back in reality, she's forced to look at herself in the mirror once again, and she lets out a sigh, "Do I look that bad?" She turns and we see are four of Shaniqua Mae's mute children, each chewing and choking on numerous plastic and/or fake jewelry Kathryn is considering taking for her wedding to Kristi. The kids ignore Kathryn's question, one of which chokes and dies on a bead, and Kathryn once again looks in the mirror. "I guess I'll go with this dress. It's the only one without any blood stains. Which veil do you think I should get?" She turns to the little girl who's meant to be holding the second veil she was considering, but the little girl lets out a belch as there's no longer a veil in sight. "Well, that answers that," Kathryn sighs, turning to the rest of the kids she has with her, demanding they hand over the slob-covered jewelry. She's ready to make her purchases now, but she then realizes she has no money on her. "Dammit..." she utters before looking down at Shaniqua's dead child, which she assumes to just be sleeping, but decides she's going to pretend is dead even though it really is dead. "Oh, my God!! Help!!" Kathryn cries pointing to the child, and the thrift shop clerk rushes over in horror. With that, Kathryn and the remaining kids manage to get past him and run out the door, Kathryn still in her trashy wedding dress. "Run, my little panthers! Run!" But as Kathryn keeps going, a seagull soon swoops in and rips the veil as well as one of her hair extensions clean off her head, flying off with them in tow. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"So Silvia was stickin' it to the dead guy the whole time?" Aliza questions. "Well, not literally the dead guy," Mike assures her over the earpiece, for right now she's heading to the address of the motel that the burned folder told her about. "Unless," Mike adds, "do you think she has the body?" "I don't have the time to discuss that right now," Aliza assures, entering the lobby and sighing, for this is the same ratty old place where Kathryn pretended to have had her imaginary sable coat stolen. "I just think it's worth--" "Mike, just... okay?" Aliza tries, "Kepp me gud here." "Right, right. So you're at the Wikerly Marriott?" "The one and only," Aliza sighs, in her whore attire, looking around at the dump, "I thought Celeste's girls were meant to be escorts. Yanno? The classy kinda hooka. Here I am meetin' some old guy fo' sex in a place that looks no better than a street corner." "Wait," Mike interrupts, "I'm still not clear on this. Are you... actually going to sleep with the judge?" he needs to know, and she fires back, "Of course not. I'll just threaten to arrest the bastard if he doesn't bend to my will. Or, I dunno, I can think of summit on the fly, yo." "And if that doesn't work?" "What do you mean?" "If he becomes violent..." "Mike," she again states, "Look, I can handle myself in the field. You just worry about what you do. My man behind the scenes and whatnot." "Right..." he sighs, because of course he'd much rather be doing his own thing, as opposed to helping Aliza with hers. Aliza makes it to the bar and sits down there. The behind-the-bar TV is on, displaying tonight's episode of The Wikerly Report. "And to those writing in to me asking what my first name is," Judge Quinnson is telling her audience, "I say this: boo, you whores! And yes, I am still a Judge. Wrapping up our evening, though, I'd like to give a full two minute's silence to little Becky Miller, who's just been diagnosed with terminal leukemia, and whose parents wrote in to ask me to-- oh shit is that the time? Oh, soz, rest in peace Becky or whatever, ciao for now errybody." With that, she dashes out of the studio, leaving the TV screen vacant of people, and Aliza comments, "Man, what a skank," for of course she lost her own father to cancer. Flashes begin to run through her mind of his war medal sitting on her desk, and then she looks down at her new attire, and appears sad, then asking the bartender, "You serve martinis?" The bartender nods, and begins to whip one up for her. "Shaken," the undercover cop then makes clear, "And... did they switch bartenders?" "They caught the other one moonlighting," she reveals, "Things got dicey." "Damn shame..." Aliza utters, "I know what it's like to be moonlightin' right now." "Who was the bartender before?" Mike asks over the earpiece, and Aliza tells him, "The one from the airport bar where I arrested Ryan Shapiro. And the one from Boi Toys R Us." "Oh, where we met," Mike remembers. "Mhm," Aliza nods, and the bartender asks, "Who you nodding at?" "No one," Aliza insists, "Just... mimin' what I'mma be doin' later. You get a lotta judges in here meetin' girls like me?" The bartender shrugs though: "I'm new." "Right, right," Aliza nods again, and then her martini gets served up. She's barely taken her first sip when someone swooshes past her, and suddenly - sitting on the bar in front of her - there is a room key, for Room 420. "Dayum, that Celeste has some real CIA shit at her disposal," Aliza comes to realize, for whomever dropped it off has promptly vanished from sight. "Ooh, 420," the bartender sees, "That's our love suite." "Glad to hear it," Aliza nods, "Though I can't help but feel there's some kinda irony, considerin' who I'm gettin' off. Well, who I'm gettin' off by gettin' someone off... I should prolly stop sharin' stuff wichu, huh? Gin makes me chatty. You don't associate with any hotdog vendors, do you?" The bartender shakes her head, and Aliza nods, "Good... good," as she sips her drink. It's not long that she freakin' downs it though, grabbing the room key and beginning to head upstairs. "Aw damn," says a certain someone from outside - none other than Antwon Kennedy - "She really gon' do it. I... I can't let this happen," he decides, barging on into the Wikerly Marriott and approaching the bartender. "Excuse me," he says to her, "Could you tell me what room that beautiful woman who was just sitting at the bar was headin' on up to?" "I'm sorry, sir," the bartender tells him, "I'm not at liberty to disclose that kind of information." "Hmmm..." Antwon ponders, "Well, yanno I'm very good at diggin' stuff outta people." The bartender furrows her brow at this.
Meanwhile, Aliza steps out of that creaky lift and onto the fourth floor, finding her way to Room 420. "Here goes nothin'," she decides, opening it on up using her key and heading inside. Compared to what Kathryn's room was like, this one isn't half bad, decorated all pink. "Love suite indeed," Aliza nods, "Naht too shabby." However, two steps into the room and she coughs, "Doesn't half stink o' weed though... I like that." She then shuts the door and kicks off her heels, jumping onto the bed and finding the TV remote in order to catch a rerun of The Passions of Falta before it's time to whore herself out. "Is that The Passions of Falta?" Mike hears over the earpiece. "Sure is," Aliza tells him. "Oh, I love that show," Mike smiles. "Loved," Aliza tells him sadly, and he murmurs, "Yeah... The Millses were always my favorite." "Boy, of course you go for the white folk," Aliza mumbles, and then there's a knock at the door, at which she quickly says, "Gee two gee, be quiet," and sprawls herself out in a sexy manner on the double bed, exclaiming, "Come on in, lovah!" She then realizes the TV is still on and so flicks it off with her toe, meaning her leg is high in the air by the time the judge she's meant to be meeting with enters. "Ooh, is this some kinky black shit?" they ask. "Wait a second," says Mike, "I know that voice. Is that--?" Judge Quinnson has indeed just entered the room, and is now shutting the door behind herself and rubbing her hands together in excitement before she starts to disrobe. Aliza just looks at her in utter shock. The Judge/TV host adds, "I can't wait to find out all about what Madame Grier sent me this time."

Madame Grier, meanwhile, is roaming the backrooms of her modelling agency, where the girls are trying on various designer gowns and outfits. "The judge is being handled as we speak, Mr. Vargas," she says on the phone, "I'm happy to have been of service." With that, she hangs up, ending up at a blank stretch of wall. "Houseboys!" she then summons, clapping her hands together, and two come forth in order to remove the secret panel which hides a door. "Thank you," Celeste nods, and they nod in turn while she opens it on up using a certain key of hers. It appears that this key doubles as a lighter, for she's soon using it to spark up her own cigarettes, which she proceeds to begin smoking as she makes her way down the stairs the door leads onto. She's now filling secret underground hallways with smoke, passing a number of doors. She checks in on a few of them. One is a laboratory, where people in masks are cooking drugs for her to sell, and she gives them all a little wave before shutting the door. Another is full of women, dedicating themselves to being better at the art of lovemaking for their Madame. Celeste too gives them a wave, telling one of the "escorts", "Try licking the nipple a little slower, that's a good girl," before moving on from them too. Finally, she reaches a room which requires a coded lock to open. She lets her cigarette hang out of her mouth for a moment, dangling for her lip while her manicured hands move to punch in the code, and then the door is unlocked. And inside? None other than the dead body of Henry Washington, just lying there on a slab. There's a massive hole in his torso, and dried blood still trickles from his shocked mouth, but at least the ice has fully melted by now. "Not a trace of penis in sight," Celeste comments upon this, stepping forward and continuing to smoke some. She blows some down into the dead man's face, clouding his still-open eyes, as she adds, "You never did have much in the way of balls, Mr. Mayor."
With this, we flash back several years prior, to a pair of disco ball earrings hanging in the budget section of a jewelry store, not much classier than the ones Aliza is having to sport as a communications device in the present. This is because Henry is trolling the nice place for a cheap engagement ring, finally setting his sights on a very modest diamond band. "I just hope Michelle loves you," he whispers to the ring, "like I've come to love her..." Meanwhile, unnoticed by him, Celeste Grier is busy talking business with one of the jewelers, while several goons of hers are seen carrying boxes out of the store. "Thank you for the stock, dear. My models wear only the finest." With that, she takes out a cigarette and reaches for her lighter, only for the jeweler to point to the sign on the wall which reads No Smoking. However, Celeste just smirks and lights it up anyway, proceeding to walk around the store and blow it all around just to mark her territory. The jeweler doesn't stop her - after all, Madame Grier is far too valuable a customer - and Celeste smiles back at her, knowing this all too well. However, in her pursuit of dominance, she hears the choke of a middle-aged man, and Henry says to her, "Excuse me. Do you think you could put that out? I'm asthmatic." He coughs again, and Celeste removes the cigarette from her mouth while she's examining him, looking him up and down and seeing that feeble excuse for an engagement ring cupped in his hand. "Oh, dear, dear," she tuts, "I wouldn't even use that ring box as an ashtray." "Excuse me?" "So you said," Celeste nods, "And... wait. Hold on. I never forget a face. Well, a certain kind of face anyway. I've... seen you somewhere before." "Perhaps you're a criminal," Henry beckons. Celeste raises an eyebrow, "Excuse you indeed." "I'm a public defender," Henry explains, and Celeste realizes, "Ah, yes! Mr. Washington, isn't it? Powerful name... ironic." "What?" "Never mind. But yes... you've defended a Juan Castillo in the past, have you not?" "Um... a couple times for dealing drugs, yeah... once for something far bigger. Which, I'm really not at liberty to discuss, so--" "I remember the former of the crimes," Celeste nods, "He got off, didn't he? For those." "Well," Henry reckons, "I'm good at my job." Celeste smirks, assuring him, "Of course you are, dear. That's the only plausible explanation, after all." "Well... yeah... what?" "It's a shame he's rotting in a cell now, for his grander offenses against the law - that must have been quite the blow to your career?" "Not really..." Henry shrugs, "He pleaded guilty and, well, that was the case where I met my fiancée. Um, soon-to-be fiancée, that is. I hope." "Ah yes! The ring!" Celeste remembers, finally dropping her cigarette to the floor and letting the burnt-out ashes settle there, much to the far-off jeweler's dismay, "Let me get a look at that." "Well now--" But she snatches it away before he has the chance to fully protest, inspecting it with obvious pity. "Dear, dear, dear," she says, "Good at your job, you say? Yet this is the best you can afford for the woman you supposedly love." "I do love Michelle. I--" "Have you been married before, Mr. Washington?" "Yes, I have. I... I'm sorry, who even are you?" "Celeste Grier, model manager extraordinaire, don't change the subject. What happened between you and your first wife?" "She, um, she died... she needed this operation, I..." "You couldn't pay the medical bills," Celeste pieces together, staring him down, "Pity." "Even the best public defender in the world doesn't make all that much, Miss... Grier, was it?" he asks, trying his best to set his emotions over his daughter's mother's death aside and power through this rather awful interaction as best he can. "Madame," Celeste makes clear, "and I'm not here to hurt your feelings, Mr. Washington, I'm really not. I'm here to make you the deal of a lifetime." "You... you are?" "I have friends," Celeste nods, snapping the ring box shut on the meager ring, "Powerful friends. Friends in your field. Friends who would be able to make you into the kind of man who could afford to support his wife. To buy his wife a real diamond. To save his wife's life, should the need arise." "What are you talk--?" "I'm talking about a promotion, you nitwit, now listen. Would you like to be a judge?" "I... well, of course, but--" "Shhhh," she soothes, "I can make it happen. See, I'm beginning to believe our meeting was an act of God." "My niece would have argued Goddess--" "Your niece is dead and your old client is to blame. Ever think about that?" "Oh..." Henry utters, "No, actually, I... how did you know that, though?" "Alright," Celeste shrugs, "maybe not an act of God, then. Perhaps I knew you'd be here. Performed a little research... Perhaps I sought you out." "But... why?" "Because I wanted to enter into a relationship with you, Henry. Can I call you Henry?" "But I'm... getting engaged..." "I don't desire anything extramarital," Celeste promises, "What I'm looking for is more business-inclined. I believe this could be the start of something rather... mutually-beneficial. I need more judges on my side, and you need to be able to support your family." "Michelle is plenty wealthy. She--" "Match her then. You don't want to be second fiddle your whole marriage, do you?" Henry genuinely takes a moment to consider this, and he comes to realize, "No. I don't." "Great. So you'll let me turn you into a judge - who knows? Maybe more one day... - and in return you'll grant me a few favors here and there." "Favors?" "Favors, yes," Celeste nods, "I just need you to agree. Do you agree?" "I really don't understand what's happening here. Is this some sort of set-up? Did my daughter put you up to this? Are there cameras?" "Do you agree?!" Celeste hisses, and Henry, intimidated, soon finds himself answering, "Yes." "Great!" Celeste extends her arm, allowing him to shake it, "Welcome to Team Grier. I look forward to doing business with you. Now," she throws the cheap engagement ring to one side, "you'll be able to do better than that, I'm sure, aaaand," she replaces it in her hand with a new cigarette, shoving the lighter into his, "light this for me. If you please?" Henry stands there, in shock, and just... does as instructed.
We're taken back to the present, where Celeste accidentally spills a few ashes on his corpse. "Let me get that for you," says the doctor standing in the room, wiping the ashes away with his gloved hands. "Thank you, Dr. Nick," Celeste smiles, "Is that your real name, by the way? I never did ask." "No, ma'am," Dr. Nick tells her, "Alias. After all--" "You're the apprentice to the man sitting in jail for redoing the face of Maria Solano. That I recall. I suppose you wouldn't use your real name, no..." "Indeed, ma'am," Dr. Nick nods. "And, is it done?" she asks. "It is, yes," the doctor nods. "Well go on then," Celeste insists, taking another drag, "Turn him over." "Right, of course," Dr. Nick nods, before he proceeds to slowly and carefully rotate Henry's body, revealing his bare buttocks. "My, my... well done, Doctor," Celeste marvels at it, "You'd never know anything had been there..."
We flash back again, to Henry looking nervous in Celeste's office, telling her, "Look, your money's coming, alright! Just... give me what I need... please. Just to get through the rest of this campaign! I'm... I'm dying here. I don't know what I was thinking, running for Mayor..." "You were thinking you could become the most powerful man in town, and I was thinking I could become the most powerful woman by extension - it's not my fault your stress was so great that you found yourself hooked on the merchandise I wheel on out. It's not my fault you're now squandering the judge's salary I worked so hard to procure for you on cocaine. Is it, Henry? Is that my fault?" She stares at him through the smoke of her lit cigarette, while he fights through his panic, slamming his fists down on her desk and yelling, "ENOUGH!! You'll give me what I want, Madame, because you don't own me! I own you! You need me now, to let off your petty dealers, not the other way around! I outrank you!" He is breathing heavily, scratching his arm some now, while Celeste finally rises to her feet, angry beyond measure. "HOUSEBOYS!" she screeches, and two black butlers come bursting into her office. She orders them to secure Mr. Washington, and he demands to know what on earth is going on. He fears the worst when she has them bend him over her desk and pull back the back of his trousers, revealing his behind. "Let me make something quite plain," Celeste hisses, pressing her lit cigarette against his bare ass; he screams. "I own you. That's the way it always has been," she burns him again; he screams again, "and the way it always will be." More burns, more screams. "I have the power to bring you down." Burn. "Your campaign." Burn. "Your career." Burn. "Your family." Burn. "All are playthings at my disposal. I hold all the cards." Burn. "You are dealing with the woman who successfully covered up the fact that Marc Cherry used to beat Nicollette senseless every damn day on that set!" Burn. "I should have been Edie, but instead I'm here!" Burn. "I am the most powerful woman in town!" Burn. "And it would be only too easy to snuff you out, you pathetic drug mule! You are mine. From the moment I first set my sights on you and made it so. Now and forever." Burn. "Do!" Burn. "Not!" Burn. "Mess!" Burn. "With!" Burn. "Me!" More burns, more screams. "So you'll get me my money... or we're gonna have a little problem." The apparently very long cigarette is finally completely stubbed out against his butt, and she lets it drop to the floor, then telling her houseboys to relinquish their grip on the future Mayor. Henry is crying, trying to get a look at his burn wounds, and we now see that the letters CG have been branded into him. "Not my best penmanship," Celeste comments, "But I think it gets the message across." "Please..." Henry whispers through his pathetic tears, "What am I supposed to tell my wife?" "You're a smart man, Mr. Washington, although you seem you have lost your way of late," Celeste nods, "So just... figure it out. Yes?" "Y-yes," he mutters, blubbering.
Celeste gives that now smooth ass of his a little smack in the present, saying, "It's perfect. Now my initials aren't branded onto a murdered corpse, and we can dump the bastard wherever we want. Heck, I suppose we even have our choice of culprit to frame, do we not? Oh I wanna have some fun..." Her cigarette accidentally falls into his buttcrack and she sighs - "Take care of that, will you, Dr. Nick?"

"Crap, crap, crap," Aliza keeps muttering under her breath, still with her leg in the air some while Judge Quinnson continues to take off her clothes. "Oh, I'm sorry," the Judge suddenly halts, "Are you in the middle of a side-hip abduction? 'Cause man you look just like the Lumowell lady." "Um..." is all Aliza can say while she moves her leg back down, "I... don't look... familiar... to you? Like you've maybe seen me in court testifying on like a dozen cases or whatever aidunno rando example??" "Of course you look familiar!" Quinnson exclaims while Aliza sits up on the bed, "All y'all look pretty much the same, right? It's why I always ask Madame Grier to send me girls like you - it's like having one, consistent lover!" "I... cannot, with this world, anymore," Aliza returns to muttering, tapping her earring in order to create some feedback on the other end. "Yeah, yeah, I'm busy," Mike assures her, for right now he is furiously typing away at his computer. "So how we gonna do this?" Quinnson wonders, "'Cause I know it's only for porn, but I always kinda wanted to try scissoring." "Um..." Aliza again says, getting to her feet, "I, uh... guess I'm gon'..." she begins slipping her dress down her shoulder a little, and Quinnson starts licking her lips, exclaiming, "Alright, here comes the dark meat!" Aliza shudders some, and then, lo and behold, the door is burst open by none other than Antwon Kennedy. "Lizee, no!" he exclaims as he bursts on in, and Aliza stomps her heeled foot with a, "Gawddammit, Antwon!" "Uh... we don't need turndown service, thanks?" Quinnson says to the random black gentleman who's just interrupted her sex time, and Mike asks Aliza over the earpiece, "Antwon? Who's that?" "No one relevant," she whispers back. "Wait, what's going on?" Quinnson would like to know. "I couldn't let Lizee go through widdis!" Antwon yells, and Quinnson asks, "Do you two, like, know each other? Oh, are you brother and sister? I don't really do threesomes, but hey, YOLO, right?" "No we ain't brotha and sista! We used to be betroffed!" "Be-what?" "Betrothed," Aliza sighs on her ex's behalf, and Antwon says, "Yeah, that." "How did you even find me, you great black oaf?!" Aliza demands to know, and Antwon says, "I'm good at diggin' things outta people, remember? I just asked that hotdog dude what direction he saw you headed and he pointed me this way." "I knew his whack-wiener-ass was gon' betray me..." Aliza murmurs, "But, why the fuck you needa know where I's goin'?" "Because I couldn't let you go through with this!" "For the last time, idiot, I ain't a real whore!" Aliza screams, and Quinnson grows confused. "You're not?" she asks, and Aliza points out, "I'm the goddamn Chief o' Police, idiot." "Crap." "I know you ain't a whore, Lizee," Antwon presses on, "But I lied earlier. When I said I din't know who Celeste was. I knew she was Shaniqua's boss for a while... I came across her in ma' dealer days... she's dangerous. I 'on't want you crossin' her, a'ight?!" "Then why the hell did you lie?!" Aliza demands to know, and Antwon is silent for a moment, saying, "Because..." "It doesn't even matter," she decides, "You've blown my whole operation!" "Any chance this is all just roleplay?" Quinnson wonders, and Aliza sighs, "I wish, hun. So, you a dyke, huh? What's that like?" "You can't tell anyone!" Quinnson demands, "If you do... I'll tell Celeste you're a spy or whatever! She'll feed you to her houseboys! Chief of Police or not, this ethnic fellow is right, you do not want to cross her." "I could arrest yo' ass," Aliza points out, and Quinnson insists, "You couldn't. We never even did it, so I haven't been using prosties. Ha!" "Didn't Shaniqua bang you?" Antwon seems to recall, and Aliza chuckles, "Damn, girl, you got all the STDs." Quinnson appears frightened at this, while Antwon realizes, "Come to think of it, where are my kids?" "I guess I have nothing to lose then... I should just tell Celeste everything anyway..." Quinnson decides. "If you do--" Aliza starts. "Then what?!" Quinnson demands, at which Antwon gets all up in the lesbian judge's face. "What's yo' secret, huh? Besides bein' a big ol' lez... you don' want that gettin' out... but why, huh? Huh?!" Quinnson is crying now, and she too starts her sentence with, "Because..." and never gets to finish. Aliza looks mildly impressed that Antwon was about to get her to crack some, until the whole thing is subverted by Mike yelling in her ear, "I was able to find birth and marriage certificates - she's got a husband and kid at home!" "Because you got a husband and kid at home," Aliza interrupts, "And I can ruin yo' whole damn family with just a few words." "No..." Quinnson breathes, "They're out of the public eye. You could never find them." "I could ask around, find 'em easy," Antwon snaps his fingers, while Mike tells Aliza, "They live at 4349 Wikingbird Street." "They live at 4349 Wikingbird Street," Aliza repeats, and Quinnson's tears increase. Antwon looks confused at how Aliza is gauging this information faster than he can, and Quinnson exclaims, "Alright! I'll... I'll..." "Keep yo' mouth shut," Aliza nods, "'Cause it seems we at a blackmail impasse." "I'm a black male, I ain't impassed," Antwon pipes up, and Aliza snaps her fingers, "You're irrelevant," which hurts him some. She then remembers, "Oh, I gotta keep this shit up for Celeste, so, um... let off Tiago Vargas, I guess, so she thinks I done a good job. And then... aidunno, I guess I'll just make a mental note to arrest him later?" "Stellar policing," says Mike in her ear. "Shut up," she tells him again. "I 'in't say nuffin'," Antwon insists, and Aliza raises a silencing hand to him, assuring, "That whole thing got old before it was even new." "So..." Judge Quinnson states after an awkward silence, "are we gonna scissor? 'Cause like we've got this room for the whole night." "I think I finally figured out yo' firs' name," Aliza realizes. "Huh?" Quinnson questions. "Bye Antwon," she tells her ex, shoving him out the room, "And bye Felicia." With that she gives Quinnson a shove, and throws her her bundled-up clothes. Once the door to 420 is slammed, the Chief of Police kicks off her whore heels and jumps back onto the bed, turning the TV on. "Now, where were we?" she asks herself, flicking back on The Passions of Falta. "It's the episode where Marie's cover is blown by Rose," Mike reveals, checking the TV guide online, and Aliza decides, "You can fuck off too for a bit," as she removes her earrings and tosses them onto the bedside table, taking some time alone to veg out and de-whore.

Act IIIEdit

It's time. The event of a lifetime. The event we've all been waiting for. The union between Kathryn and Kristi Kappelletti. We see the former, standing at the entrance of the prison visitor's room as an aisle of toilet paper has been made for her to walk down. Kristi is at the end of it with a guard who doubles as a minister, and a handful of Shaniqua's children carry baskets of Silvia's potpourri to spill as Kathryn is meant to walk down the aisle. Kathryn looks at Kristi, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she's about to get her old life back. This then triggers a memory, and we transition into the past...
Kathryn is down on her hands and knees in an unknown house in Burbank, scrubbing the floors with a toothbrush and in full-on tears. Her employers are away, so no one's there to tell her to shut the fuck up, and she just sits back and kicks the bucket of soapy water in absolute misery. When the bucket falls though, it hits an end table and sends a fashion magazine flying off of it. Kathryn, wiping away her tears, crawls over and picks it up. On the cover is a sable coat, reminding her of the one she once had. She looks at the cover and, in a fit of rage, she tears it right off, tossing the rest of the magazine aside and staring at the photo representation of everything she has lost. "No..." she utters, "No more of this. It's time to get my life back!" And with that, she stands up, brushing herself off and leaving with the image of the coat, ready to concoct a plan.
We now return to the present day where Kathryn looks ahead at her prison-bride-to-be. "Come on, we got this," she says to herself, taking a deep breath as she moves forth with marching down the aisle. Music plays, potpourri is flung, and people walk. Kristi giggles with glee, being joined by her future wife, and Kathryn hesitantly takes her hand, the two women facing the guard-minister. "We are gathered today to--" but Kathryn cuts him off. "Can we move things along? I scheduled a facial at 3," she turns to Kristi, "You understand, right, babe?" At first Kristi is taken aback, but she then turns to the minister, a stern look on her face. "You heard the woman! Move it along!" She then turns to Kathryn and whispers, with glee, "Rumor has it the prison is looking to let some inmates go. Overcrowding and all. Anyways, fingers crossed!" She squeals at this, and Kathryn makes a mental note to bribe the person in charge to make sure her future wife never sees the light of day again. "Fingers crossed," Kathryn feigns excitement, and the two turn back to the minister. Meanwhile, Shaniqua's kids are crushing up the potpourri and shoving it up their noses. "Kathryn," the minister goes on, "do you take Kristi Karla Kappelletti to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?" "I do," Kathryn answers, and Kristi jumps up in down with joy. The minister then turns to her and asks, "Kristi, do you take Kathryn Karoline Von Trump Kappelletti to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?" "I--" but the visiting room door swings open and a loud voice calls out, "¡ME OPONGO! ¡ME OPONGO!" Everyone turns and sees that it's none other than Juanita Kwon, having ditched her orange jumpsuit for a black karate gee. Carrying with her two sets of nunchucks, she fights her way through Shaniqua's children and the other prisoners attending the ceremony, approaching Kathryn where she promptly kicks her right in the teeth. "You dance, puta?!" Juanita screams at the fallen Kappelletti who has absolutely no idea what's going on. She falls to the floor, clenching her bleeding nose as she calls out to Kristi for help. "Juanita, what are you doing here?" Kristi needs to know, and Juanita reveals that she heard from her men's prison penpal Rapey Randy who heard from Juan Castillo who heard from his penpal Yas Belich who heard from Fiona Pierce down in max who heard from the minister guard who heard from Kristi that she's getting married. "Now why you marry white bitch hooker skank when you mine and I am yours?! I thought we share true lesbian love?!" Juanita barks, and Kristi apologizes. "You... you kept refusing to make a commitment to me. I'm not getting any younger, Juanita." "I let you sip from my titty. What more commitment you want me from?!" the Mexicasian wonders, and Kristi tells her to look around. "This. This is what I want. I want to be married and have a life with someone." "And you get that from bleached-up hussy who eat Tide Pods for late night snack and waxes pussy instead of shaves?!" "I'll have you know I've not shaved or waxed my vagina in three goddamn years!" Kathryn cries, "And what the hell are you doing?! Get out of my wedding!" She goes to stand up, but Juanita immediately shoves her back down. Shaniqua's children each growl at the convicted serial killer. "Juanita, you should really go," Kristi suggests, but Juanita shakes her head. "Let me prove love to you! You want marriage? I marriage you! I marriage you so fucking hard!" "Juanita..." "I feel real lesbian love for you, and I will prove it for rest of my life! Please, Kristi. Give me chance." Kristi doesn't know what to do. She looks at Juanita and then down at Kathryn, the latter of which begs her not to leave her. "Don't do this," she cries, but Juanita tells her to shut up. "For fucks sake, aren't you the bitch who cut off my black fiancé's head?! I think his name was Elvis, I don't remember anymore, but yeah whoever it was, you killed him! Stop ruining my life!" She stands up, but Juanita slaps Kathryn across the face, causing her to fall face-first onto a table, knock out a couple of teeth, and fall onto the ground nearly unconscious. "Build... The... FUCKING.... Wall..." is the last thing she says before going under, and Juanita turns to Kristi. "What you say? You make honest man out of me?" Juanita asks Kristi, to which she shakes her head with glee. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" She then jumps into Juanita's arms and the two share a long passionate kiss, and with that, the minister proceeds with the ceremony.

Since Aliza told him to fuck off, Michael now finally has the time to go and investigate his own agenda, with Sebastian's words flashing through his mind... but, instead, he finds himself standing outside the home one Ms. Silvia Montgomery, who, right now, is in her living room fixing together bags of potpourri. Mike snaps a few pictures, because that's what he does, but Silvia, who's busy admiring the pleasant scent of her own creation, simply becomes alarmed by camera flashes outside her window, and so she moves to investigate. Seeing Michael on her lawn, she opens the window and exclaims, "Why don't you just come on in, son? There's a week-old lemon square in it for you if you do." Mike doesn't quite know what to do.
"Man, this lemon square is delicious," he's soon heard saying, sitting across from Silvia on her couch, and she nods, apologizing for the staleness. "It's fine," Mike assures, "and it smells terrific in here by the way." "Thanks," the middle-aged woman blushes, picking up one of her potpourri bags and handing it to him, "Here. I don't know if a strapping lad such as yourself likes to have such fragrances parading around his home, but perhaps you could give it as a gift, to your mother or someone?" Mike takes the bag from her, done with his lemon square, but appears sad now. "I'm sorry," Silvia suddenly says, having registered this, "Did you...?" "I lost my mother," Mike reveals, "But it's fine." "No, it's not," Silvia assures, "I lost my mother, also. As did my... well, let's call him my foster son. My actual son, well... he's lost too." Mike appears sadder, but Silvia suddenly smiles very chipperly, pointing out, "No point dwelling though, is there? Us remainers gotta keep on keepin' on, however we manage." "Is this how you manage?" Mike asks, holding up the bag of potpourri, and Silvia shrugs, saying, "That, among other things." "Other things like... your affair with the late Henry Washington?" Silvia's eyes widen at this, and then she realizes, "Michelle paid you a visit. Of course. Well, that does explain why you came here to spy on me. Heck, I'm used to everyone in this town being so darn shady, I didn't really think twice about it." "Yeah, so... obviously... it looks bad... being with the man who ended up murdered." Silvia sighs at this, admitting, "I know it does, Detective Cage. Can I call you Michael?" "Uh, sure." "I know it does, Michael," she repeats, recreating that same sigh, "But you have to understand, I was... incredibly lonely..." And with that, we once again flash back.
To several months previous, where Silvia is sitting all alone in her house, on the phone with the home where Tyson is kept. "I just don't understand why visiting hours are so slim, is all. I--" They hang up on her and she scowls, saying, "I am gonna make sure they receive a strongly-worded note in the morning." She then sighs though, looking around for someone to respond to what she's just said, but no one does, because no one's there. "I need a new Rena," she realizes, standing up and trolling the mantel, which is covered in dust, "He couldn't work for shit, but he sure was chatty. At least I got to be the focus of that sequel." She then comes across Jason's urn, and then a picture of Joe and Joanna taken on their wedding day. A tear comes to her eye but she wipes it away, promising herself, "They're okay. They're alright... Somewhere." The oven then dings, and she realizes her cake is done, and so she heads to the kitchen to fish it out of the stove with her oven mitts. It's risen perfectly, and looks beautiful, but needs to be moved to the window to cool. "And of course there's no one around to actually eat all this crap," she comments, again to herself, and she places the cake on the windowsill along with the trays upon trays of other baked goods which are already resting there, "So, great, I'm gonna get a fat ass on top of everything else and--" there's the honk of a horn nearby, "Hey, is that a moving van next door?" With that, she picks up a random batch of oatmeal raisin cookies and leaves the house to go and investigate. Meanwhile, Michelle and Henry are overseeing their moving men, with Henry giving very strict instructions on the delicacy with which they should handle his and his wife's kingsize bed as they move the parts into the old Del Barrio mansion, which has finally finished its refurb. "Don't see why they need to be careful," Michelle mutters, "It's not like we use the bed much nowadays anyway." "What's that supposed to mean?" Henry asks his wife, and Michelle fires back, "It means we never have sex anymore, Henry. That's what it means. Or sleep, since you started this damn mayoral campaign. We may as well not even have a bed." "Well, I'm sorry if I've been a little stressed. I--" "A little stressed? You're always lazing around. Taking long-ass showers that you never even let me get in you with. It's like you don't even want me to see you naked anymore." At this, Henry automatically moves one hand to his rear, rubbing it a little, and appears ashamed. "I'm sorry," he tells his wife, "I'll make it up to you. I'll... get you a new coat... sable, or something!" "I'll buy my own sable coat," Michelle decides, "You can just... just..." "Hello there!" Silvia Montgomery suddenly exclaims as she appears on the scene, tray of cookies in tow, "Would you like a cookie?" "I'm sorry, madame, but my husband and I are actually in the middle of--" Michelle stops herself, taking a good hard look and then realizing, "Silvia?" "Michelle?" Silvia realizes in turn, "Well blow me down, it's been ages!" "It surely has," Michelle agrees, "Last I heard, you were in a mental institution!" "Yeah, well... it's been a funny old life," Silvia chuckles. Michelle says that she'd love a catch-up, but she's far too busy overseeing the move right now - "Tomorrow brunch?" "It's a date!" Silvia exclaims, and Michelle tells her she's glad to hear it before moving on indoors, instructing the movers on how to hang her antique chandelier. Once she's gone, Silvia's smile fades, having been entirely fake. "I'm Henry, by the way," Henry introduces, "Michelle's husband." "Yes, I've seen you on the news, Mr. Mayor," Silvia greets, and Henry blushes, "Well... not yet..." "You got my vote," she assures, and that makes him happy. "Your wife seems busy," she adds, "Would you... like to come over for some iced tea? It's been ages since I've made it, I... I don't know. I could use the company, I guess." Henry pauses, looking between the woman before him and his bossy wife who's currently at her wit's end with the movers. "Sure," he decides, "iced tea would be lovely. I... could use the relaxation."
We cut to the two of them making out on Silvia's sofa, the pitcher of iced tea not having been touched. "I really shouldn't be doing this," Henry keeps telling himself, and Silvia admits, "I know... me neither..." as she unhooks her bra, "But sometimes you just gotta take control and... do something for yourself, ya know?" "Take control..." Henry murmurs, liking the idea; and, with that, he kisses Silvia with a renewed passion, taking her right there and then on the couch as she giggles like a teenager.
In the present, Michael is sitting on that same couch, and Silvia warns him, "You might wanna just scooch over to the left a little, son. Trust me." He does just that, still clutching his bag of potpourri, and he begins, "I just have to ask..." "No, I didn't kill Henry. That would be the obvious motive, right? The jealous lover, sick of the cheating bastard refusing to leave his wife... but I never wanted Henry to leave Michelle, honestly. I just wanted his company. Because Tyson - that foster son of mine - he's great. But I only get to see him a certain amount of time per week, and he... well, he doesn't exactly fulfill all of my needs, shall we say. He just... fills the void left behind by my son. Joe, my son, he... he's a great man. Was. He... I miss him a lot." "You tried to kill him," Mike points out, "You bought a sniper rifle to--" "I know," Silvia halts him, "I was... in a very dark place. My PTSD went unchecked for over two decades after I escaped the basement next door, and so I... went a little nutso. That's how I met my husband, actually. In the asylum I got sent to. He... Well, he's gone now too. So that affair, it just... gave me excitement my life was lacking. Gave me some extra company. Some extra semblance of actually being a person! So I would never have killed Henry..." "Like you killed Lily DeWar?" At this, Silvia sighs, "Regrettably, yes." "Aren't you on some form of house arrest, or...?" But Silvia just chuckles at this, saying, "My ankle bracelet stopped beeping after I bedazzled it." Indeed, she has a rather lovely silver anklet on, and Mike says, "It's just that... based on your history..." "I look guilty as hell?" Silvia nods, "I know. But there was always method to my rather literal madness... I... I've finally put it behind me. For the last few years, I've been... able to forget about my past deeds and move on. And it's been a lonely road, let me tell you." A tear is rolling down her cheek, and Mike appears incredibly sorry for him. "Some witnesses," he chokes through, "said you left the party early. Did you return at all?" "I did not, no. Aliza herself can attest to that, I believe. I was comforting her on the steps. Then I came back here and... stayed put, for the rest of the night. I didn't know about Henry's death until it was on the news the next day." "Well, Ms. Montgomery, I--" "Please," she smiles warmly, "call me, Silvia." "Well, Silvia," he continues, "I'm sorry. It appears I've been wasting your time." "It's alright, Michael," the middle-aged woman promises, "I'd have probably thought the same. And hey, if it helps your investigation any, Henry had a big CG burned into his left buttock. What do you suppose that meant?" Michael raises an eyebrow at this.

The letters CG are also emblazoned into the window of Celeste's office building, as Aliza is seen approaching. "Branded into his ass?" she's heard whispering, "Joy never mentioned that..." "Apparently the inspection wasn't too thorough," Mike responds, via the earring earpiece, and Aliza murmurs, "Damn... I can't wait to get this bitch thrown behind bars... but do you think she killed him?" "I don't know," Mike admits, "Kill him and her money stops coming. Unless he threatened to stop the payments. But that all assumes that this is the kind of woman who likes to get her hands dirty." "Oh, don't worry. She definitely is," Aliza surmises as she enters the lobby, trying not to garner any attention from the wandering houseboys. "Now let's go retrieve a body," she whispers, and Mike offers, "Good luck." At the precinct, after moving the little bag of potpourri to one side ("What a pleasant smell," Huberd comments, 'cause he's extra), he reenters the name Nate Ford into the W.H.P.D.'s database, deciding that Aliza probably won't need him on full alert for at least a little while. Sure that Huberd isn't watching, he starts digging around on his own investigation. Back at the cathouse, though, Aliza is continuing hers, having just been welcomed back into Celeste's office the morning after her very first job. "Well?" is the first thing Celeste has to ask, having just stubbed out a cigarette in one of her array of ashtrays. "It's done," Aliza promises, "Tiago Vargas should be walking away a free man come trial day." "Good girl," Celeste smiles, "I wasn't sure if you had a touch of the - what's the cool term nowadays? - carpet munchies about you, but if Judge Quinnson was impressed then you must have been good." "Well, we all know what happens when Annalise and Pope get together," Aliza mutters, "What a weird-ass crossover that turned out to be." "Well, I suppose there's nothing left to do but... welcome you aboard to Team Grier." With that, Celeste stands up and outstretches her hand, and Aliza moves to shake it. However, Celeste retracts her hand suddenly, as though realizing what she's about to do, and quickly pulls a white latex glove from her desk drawer. After applying it, she re-outstretches her hand, and a heavily offended Aliza bites her lip to stop herself yelling and shakes it. Afterwards, Celeste removes the latex glove and throws it into the trashcan beneath her desk, applying copious amounts of Purell after the fact. While waiting for her to finish, Aliza makes yet another comment under her breath, deciding, "Welp, this is it. The Big Bad of racism," and coughs to cover it up. "Oh, I do hope you're not coming down with something? I maintain a squeaky clean policy for all my escorts and if I'm to show you the way now to their sleeping quarters then I want to be sure they aren't going to catch anything... It's not malaria, is it?" "No," Aliza promises, "it's just, um... some of Quinny's lady juice stuck in ma pipe." She coughs again, as though merely clearing her throat, and Celeste comments, "My, my... you really did do a good job, didn't you? You'll make a valuable edition to my collection, Miss Pope. A valuable edition, indeed." "So... these whores' quarters?" "Escorts' quarters," Celeste corrects, picking up her lighter which doubles as a key, "and follow me." As Aliza does just that, trailing after the blonde bitch to the door which leads down to that basement hallway we saw earlier, she asks, "Does that mean I'm gunna be sleeping here?" "Sleeping... practicing... Well, we'll see how you fit in with the others." Aliza watches with fascination as Celeste unlocks the door to reveal the stairs, and beckons her on down. "Is this it?" Aliza wonders, passing one door, but Celeste tells her that that's merely the drug laboratory - "The side of the business that you don't need to involve yourself in my dear. This is where you'll be staying." And she opens the door to a room filled with fancy four-poster beds, silk sheets, satin curtains, perfumes and incense and girls, so many girls, all looking classy even when enjoying their leisure time. It's basically the biggest contrast one could imagine from the state of Jorgio Del Barrio's basement dungeon. "As you can see," Celeste grins, "I treat my girls right." Aliza is rather enamored by the beauty of it all, with Celeste assuring her that she can step in and shower herself in one of the ensuites, and the Chief of Police almost steps inside to do just that... until her eye is caught, by the door just down the hall: by the glint of the number panel, which requires a code for entry. "Oh, don't worry about what's in there, dear," Celeste promises, "This room is your home. And I for one--" Celeste has just reached into her pocket and come to a horrible realization - "I appear to have left my carton of cigarettes back on my desk. I'll be back soon. In the meantime, get to know your new... coworkers." She walks away, back down the hall and back up the steps, and Aliza finds herself commenting, "Lady, if I saw all your words written down, there would be so many damn italics." Aliza gives the other whores a wave, but soon says, "Gotta go," and shuts the door, now that she's certain Celeste is gone for the time-being. "Mike," she then exclaims, "Mike, where the hell are you?" "I'm here, I'm here," Mike responds after some initial hesitation, closing the window that he had open on his computer, "What do you need?" "There's a locked door," Aliza reveals as she approaches it, "In the belly of the brothel. Need a code to get in. Three digits by the looks of it. Wanna run some sorta computer shit, figure it out?" "That could take hours," Mike reveals, "The number of combinations alone is--" "Wait a second," Aliza halts, "I have an idea... Lord, don't fail me now..." And, with that, she types in the three digits which logically make the most sense to her: 420. And with that, the door unlocks. "Never let's me down," she smiles, pushing the door open, and inside is a body bag lying on a gurney. "Well?" Mike questions. "I found it..." Aliza utters, moving forward and unzipping the bag to reveal... the back of Henry's head. Seems he's still lying face-down, and the Chief of Police comments, "Well this is awkward. Huh, no CG. Buuuut..." she turns him over, with great difficulty, "Yeah, okay, it's definitely him. And he has not stayed fresh, damn!" she covers her nose. "As you can see," Dr. Nick's voice echoes from down the hall outside the room, along with a second pair of footsteps, and Aliza turns in shock. She begins looking around for a place to hide - anywhere - and then realizes she's in a morgue. "The deceased mayor evacuated his bowels on my floor and I need someone to clear it up. I'm gonna go to the bathroom myself, but you get in there - houseboy, is it? - and mop some." And so the black butler enters the room, mop in tow, but by now Aliza is nowhere to be-- "Aw, nuts!" her distinctive voice soon cries out, because she's actually in plain sight, having got stuck halfway through the act of trying to stuff herself into a morgue drawer, "Damn heel got caught!" She removes the stiletto and climbs on down, now only wearing one shoe, while the houseboy just stares at her, blinking. "Say... is there any chance that this could just stay between the two of us?" However, the shaking houseboy blinks summore... and then he hits a button on the wall, which triggers an alarm throughout the whole building. "I guess not," Aliza sighs, dislodging her shoe from the morgue door and throwing it at his head, causing him to pass out. The alarms are still blaring, and Aliza needs to get that body out of here as fast as she can, which is what she moves to try and do. "What's that sound?" Mike needs to know, "What's going on?" "I've been caught," Aliza exclaims, "I'm down in the basement, and I need to get Henry's body to - oh shit." A whole damn squadron of houseboys has arrived on the scene now, as well as a curious bunch of whores from the room next door, all seeing Aliza standing there, in one shoe, carrying the naked dead body of Henry Washington in a fireman's carry over her shoulder. "It's... not what it looks like?" she tries, but of course that doesn't work. The houseboys look ready to do battle, and so Henry's corpse becomes the next thing she fuckin' throws, knocking three down like bowling pins. Unfortunately, her earring earpiece became attached to his hair, and so that's now been pulled away from her. At the precinct, the transmission goes fuzzy, and Mike finds himself crying out, "Aliza? Are you okay? Aliza, answer me!" But he just hears a stray scream, obviously hers, as another of the houseboys tackles her from behind and pins her to the floor. "Aliza!" Michael calls out, and he dashes to Huberd's desk, explaining to him that the chief urgently needs armed backup over at the Grier Modelling Agency. However, Huberd looks Mike up and down rather skeptically, explaining that the chief also explicitly told them - back when Michael first arrived on the scene - that they were not to take orders from him, because he's a crime leech who's trying to manipulate her power away from her. "So... yeah." "But... but..." Mike tries to argue, but there's no time. Aliza is in danger now. And so, he grabs his gun and a nightstick and begins to run. Another scream comes through on the computer, but Mike's already left, and so can't hear it. This is because, in the morgue room, Aliza has just overexerted her leg, bringing it up behind herself to kick the houseboy in the head with her remaining heel in a very impressive display of flexibility, meaning he falls off of her and she's free. The heel has snapped in the impact, and so she's limping some, but still able to punch a whore right in the face when the dumb bitch tries coming at her. "Who else wants some?!" the Chief of Police demands, watching as that whore fuckin' faceplants Henry's bare ass, and she comments, "Daz what you get, ho!" Another houseboy tries to tackle her, but she grabs him by the shoulders and tosses him over the table where Henry's body used to rest, and another who tries to come at her just goes skidding in the puddle Henry earlier left with his bowels, that the initial houseboy came there to clean up. All this while Mike runs, and runs, and runs - until eventually he's at the agency headquarters, and bursts on through the doors, gun in tow. The alarm is still sounding, and thus none of the houseboys are at their usual place in the entrance because they're all downstairs battling Aliza. Celeste eventually emerges from her office, demanding to know, "Why on earth has no one put a stop to that infernal racket yet?!" and she's met by Michael, who aims his gun at her. However, he doesn't have time to put her under arrest right now, because Aliza is still under attack, and so he just runs to the backrooms of the agency. Celeste breathes heavily at this, turning back to her office and declaring, "Time to pack, I think." Meanwhile, Michael makes it to the basement door, but doesn't have the key. Luckily, one gunshot to the lock sends the thing blasting open, and the houseboys and whores still in the middle of their fight all stop for a moment, startled and confused. This allows Aliza to punch one of the houseboys in the side of the head, but a whore manages to kick the Chief of Police right in the c*nt, which sends her sinking down to the ground in other pain. "That... all... you... got?" Aliza breathes wearily, as two houseboys seize her by either arm. "Take her to Celeste," orders the one who spoke earlier, "She'll know what to do with her." Aliza looks up at him, and he looks down at her, saying, "I'm sorry. We all are. You... don't know what it's like." Aliza tries to contort her legs some, to kick him in the dick maybe, but it's no use. The two houseboys who have her by the arms heave her back up to her feet... and one of them is pistol-whipped upside the face by none other than Michael Cage, there to help Aliza out of the rather sticky jam she's in. "You want some, bro?" Mike asks the other houseboy, aiming his gun at him, but he just puts his hands in the air, thus relinquishing Aliza. The whores are kinda bored now and so they just wander back to their room, while Mike waves the gun around and the other houseboys put their hands up to - apart from the ones Aliza's already knocked out, of course. "Man, you sure did some damage," Mike comments to her. "What can I say," she breathes through her pain, "I had it totally under control." "So," Mike announces to the room, "Me and the Chief of Police here are gonna take the body of Henry Washington into our custody... and y'all are gonna let us unless you want a cap popped in your asses?" "Don't try an' be street, hun," Aliza advises. "Don't undermine me in front of the men I have at gunpoint," Mike advises back. "Whatever," she exclaims, "Look, hoes, we're takin' the naked dead guy, like it or leave it, I 'on't care no more." She kicks off what remains of her other shoe and approaches Henry, asking Mike, "Little help here?" and he nods, still keeping a firm grip on the gun but using his spare hand and burrow under Henry's shoulder, as does Aliza, and so the two of them begin to drag him out as the houseboys watch, still with their hands in the air and not really sure of what to do. While the murder victim is dragged down the hall, Dr. Nick returns to his morgue from the bathroom, rubbing his belly. "Boy, I so should not have ordered seafood from that fast food pl-- what the hell happened in here?" The houseboy who's allowed to speak finally lowers his arms to shrug and says, "We're gonna need an extra mop."

We see a mop leaned against the sofa as Kathryn sits eating a bucket of fried chicken in the living room of the former Del Barrio mansion. Shaniqua's kids lay across the floor, having since overdosed on potpourri. Kathryn struggles to eat, her mouth and nose still hurting from the beating she received from Juanita Kwon, but right now she knows food is the only thing that can possibly fill the void. "Oh, what in God's name is this?!" Michelle exclaims, returning home to find her maid and her maid's posse contaminating her home. Kathryn only glances up, noticing it's an African American woman. "Oh, hey, Shaniqua. Your kids were great, out like a light now." "Who the hell?... Kathryn, get off yo ass and clean this shit up!" Michelle barks, and it only then settles in that Michelle isn't Shaniqua, but in fact the homeowner. "Right, right... White Lindsay, was it?" "You are so fired," Michelle growls, and Kathryn rolls her eyes, "Yeah, you can tell yourself that." Ushering one of the sleeping kids out of the way, Michelle sits down next to Kathryn and notices how beat up she looks. "Do I wanna know what happened?" she asks, and Kathryn shakes her head. Michelle looks over at the bucket of fried chicken and then up at the maid, who holds the bucket out for her to get a piece. "It's been a long day," Kathryn sighs, to which Michelle responds, "For you and me both." The two women sit back and watch the TV, but Michelle then takes the remote and turns up the volume when she sees it's a new report from Judge Quinnson. "This just in: the body of Henry Washington has been found and finally can be put to rest. Officials will be getting in touch with his wife, and..." Michelle lowers the volume back down as she quickly gets him, the sound of her phone ringing alerting her right then in regards to the arrangements for the body. Kathryn, meanwhile, keeps watching the TV, listening to Quinnson despite the lowering of the volume. There's a look of pure fear and panic on her face as she quickly grabs another piece of chicken to eat.

"Freeze, bony white bitch!" Aliza yells as she bursts into Celeste's office with a dozen other officers, all kitted out in riot gear and aiming their guns at the desk where Celeste is usually found sitting. However, this bony white bitch is nowhere to be found, nor are any of her crystal ashtrays. All that's been left in her wake is a cigarette, still burning away atop the desk, meaning it's not been long since she's skipped the scene. "Downstairs?" Michael suggests, having tagged along with his own gun, and Aliza nods.
But the basement has as little luck as the upstairs. That lush escorts' quarters? Now a dank and hollow room. The morgue has been swept away, and all that remains of the laboratory are a few broken beakers, probably smashed in the haste with which everything was packed away. "She's cleared out... I... I should've stopped her," Mike sighs, but Aliza tells him, "Don't blame yourself. You... saved my life." "I thought you were handling it fine without me?" Mike reminds, and Aliza smiles, "Maybe..." but then her voice trails off as a thought occurs to her, and the code lock to the door reminds of her 420 - the room 420, "Maybe there's a lead at the motel. That's where her shady little hookups were hosted." Mike nods.
"Sorry," the bartender is heard telling the pair of them, "Not seen any bony white bitches here for a while, though I hear Kathryn Kappelletti stayed here some time back. Remember when she was relevant?" "No," Aliza insists, turning to Mike and complaining, "It's hopeless." "What room did that altercation with Judge Quinnson occur?" The FBI man asks her.
Room 420 is knocked on, and, when there's no reply, Aliza kicks the door open. "Not bad," Mike commends, and she explains, "Gotta be able to do that kinda thing when you're in the field as much as I am - far more than any regular Chief of Police." "I noticed," Mike nods, "your force seems to rely on you a heck of a lot more than they should. Almost as if you're their support system when it should be the other way round." "They're a good bunch," Aliza shrugs, "The best I could get. I wanna get them into better shape, it's just..." "If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself," Mike vocalizes for her, and she tells him, "Yeah. Sumfin' like that. I'm sorry they hindered your rescue of me or whatever." "Well, I suppose I can't fault them on loyalty," he points out, "You really inspire them." "Inspire them to let me get my ass beat," Aliza reminds, "You were pretty good on yo' feet, Mikey boy. For a salami smoker, yanno." "Of course," Mike rolls his eyes. "You know, it was the both of us trolling that gay club when we met," he reminds, but she points out, "I just wanted to see the pretty butler boys dance. Niche night was my idea, after all." "Oh, right, you mentioned a butler called 'Joe'," Mike recalls, and Aliza nods, going a tad sad, "That another slag who you dunno who they is?" "Actually, no..." Mike reveals, "It only took a minor bit of looking up. I mean, who didn't hear about the butler who gave his life to save the world?" "He was more than a butler," Aliza insists, "He was-- was..." "So I hear," Mike nods, "I mean, that's certainly the vibe I got from his mother. I went to talk to her today. I don't think she did it." "Well duh, she left the party way before Henry went splat, I coulda told you that." "She could've gone back," Mike defends, "Or, I dunno, she was having an affair with the man, that's classic motive, and her history... but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. I spoke to her and I just... don't believe she could be guilty. Not of this." "Good," Aliza nods, "She's a good woman. You get to know that kinda thing when you actually go and talk to people and suss them out in person instead of gettin' bogged down in files and statistics and whatnot." "Alright... maybe your way wins out in that respect." "In the human respect," Aliza maintains, "But... I dunno... you helped me out with Judge Quinnson there... and I'd have been lost some without your little gadget so..." "So we both won out in the end," Mike smiles proudly, "In the field and behind-the-scenes." "Mine's still better though," she says, "You coming to save me... that was no behind-the-scenes thang." "No, it wasn't," Mike nods, "It's been ages since I've used a gun." He looks down to the one in his hand, and tosses it onto the night stand. He then takes out his cell phone and puts it next to it, sitting down on the bed and removing his jacket. "What are you doin'?" Aliza demands, and Michael points out that it looks as though Celeste is a dead end - at least as far as tonight is concerned - and he's exhausted. "Because you actually got up of yo' ass for once?" "Because I helped subdue like a squadron of weird butler slaves earlier." "Pfft," Aliza scoffs, "I was in tons of fights, always rescuin' my brother." "You have a brother?" "Had," Aliza tells him, "He was... well, let's just say he's part of the reason I wanna be the best cop I can be. But that's not what we're talkin' 'bout. We talkin' bout how I'm way tougher than you are 'cause you, ma' foe, didn't grow up on the mean streets of New Chicago." "New Chicago?" Mike questions. "It's a real place," Aliza insists. "No, I know it is," Mike says, "Um... how long have you been here?" "In Wikerly? I 'on't know... must be like four or five years now, why?" "And you're already Chief of Police?" "Well..." Aliza utters, "I guess that's why it didn't click with me. What you noticed, that is." "Hm?" "About Henry, moving up through the ranks so fast. 'Cause I did the same thing in the force. I mean, I earned it, though." "I'd say so," Mike smiles, and Aliza gives out a sigh, sitting down on the bed next to him. "Do you think room service does martinis?" she wonders, "I could really use a drink after a day like today." "Tell me about it," Mike agrees. "I'm just happy to be back in ma comfies," the chief goes on, gesturing her handsome uniform, "Though I might keep the blowout." "I dunno... I kinda liked it before," he admits, "When I saw you at that bar, you..." "Had just arrested a criminal," Aliza recalls, "I was exhausted." "You had a certain air about you," Mike shrugs, "I dunno. I..." "Wanted to dance with me," Aliza suddenly remembers. "But you didn't have the time," Mike remembers in turn. "Does that phone of yours play music?" she asks, gesturing the cell phone next to the gun on the nightstand, and he says, "Sure." "Put something on," she insists. "Like what?" "Anything," she shrugs, "Because I don't think I need a drink after all. After a day like today..." she gets up off the bed, "I just wanna dance." This makes Michael smile, as he picks up his phone and starts going through his playlists. "Just hit the first track what pops up, I'll shake it to anythang," Aliza assures, and Mike shrugs, hitting a song at random. It's then that the intro to "No Scrubs" by TLC starts playing, and Aliza laughs, "Boy, you really is a faggot." "Shut up," he laughs, getting up, and Aliza starts moving to the words, eventually singing along with the chorus - "... tryna holla' at me!" "You have a good voice," Mike points out, but she shushes him, telling him not to comment on it. The song goes on, and he decides to join in dancing with her, singing with her. "... no, I don't wanna give you mine. And no..." They laugh together, him pointing out that it's not too late to get those martinis and soon they're drinking and dancing at the same time more songs having played through the night and circled all the way back to that one, Aliza having shaken her blowout so much by now that her hair has frizzed wildly - in a cute way. She looks free. Happy. For the moment, at least. "... a scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me..." she trails off drunkenly, giggling, and Mike giggles with her, just as - if not more - drunk. His phone buzzes, but he ignores it, wanting the song to continue. Wanting the night to continue. "It's okay," Aliza suddenly exclaims, still moving, "It's okay that Celeste got away today... it's okay because... we still won... we got the body back... we had a victory... together..." "Yeah," Mike agrees, "You're a good cop." "Guess that makes you bad cop," she cackles, and he again says, "Yeah..." as the instrumental kicks up and Aliza gets funky AF. The outer layers of her uniform have long since been stripped away, and looking at this happy girl dancing... the same girl who intrigued him back at that bar before he ever knew who she was... he can't help himself... he goes in, and he kisses her. Aliza is taken aback at first, but soon realizes that she doesn't mind. She likes it. She kisses him back. He lifts her up, and puts her back on the bed. "Shouldn't we," Aliza begins as he lifts up her shirt and begins kissing down her stomach, "shouldn't we get some coffee firs--" but she suddenly shuts the hell up when he travels south, kissing between her legs, and she moans. Moans into what remains of the night. They moan together. Between the sheets. Atop the sheets. Kissing. Making love. Until the Sun rises, and they wake up next to each other, both completely nude. "So... that was..." "Good," Aliza smiles, kissing him for the first time sober, "You mixed races is alright after all. You're all the raw sexuality of a black man with the keen detective mind of a white man." "And you once accused me of being racist," Mike chuckles, only for Aliza to assure him that it's fine - "Us black girls is the best of the best at everything anyway." "I can't disagree," Mike tells her, giving her another kiss, and then, "Do you reckon the shower works in this place?" "You go ahead of me," Aliza insists, "Tell me if it's sewage." "Sure thing," he shrugs, getting up out of bed and heading to the ensuite. At the door, he turns around to point out, "Here I thought the two of us might never get along." "Ha," she chortles, and he heads on inside, turning the shower on. "It's not sewage," Aliza hears him call out, and she says that that's good to hear, and that she'll join him in just a second. However, she is distracted by his phone buzzing yet again, and so she looks at it, seeing a text from one Sebastian Knowles. The text reads, "You manage to bend that chief of police to your agenda yet?" and Aliza is shook. She drops the phone in shock, and begins to question the entirety of last night's events. The sound of the shower hits her like a thunderstorm, and, when her head clears, she digs her own phone from out of her floored uniform and dials a certain number. "Whatchu want?" Antwon Kennedy asks from the other line, as he goes on to wonder, "You finally acceptin' ma' offer and bein' ma' hunni again?" "Antwon," Aliza whispers, not wanting to be heard, "I know I keep tellin' you to fuck off but... do you really think you're still good at diggin' information outta people?" "Why yes," Antwon confirms, a smile in his voice, "I do."

Unanswered QuestionsEdit

  • What about Wikerly Hills does Michael want to investigate, in relation to his father?
  • Why was Henry moving money into Celeste's drug business?
  • Who killed Henry Washington?
  • How did Silvia's affair with Henry begin?
  • Who took Henry's body and why?
  • How did Henry rise through the legal ranks in such a short space of time?
  • Why did Michael stop doing field work?
  • Why is there still Kappelletti money that Kathryn doesn't have access to?
  • Where's Henry's burner phone?
  • What is Silvia's history with Michelle?
  • Who is Nate Ford and why is Michael looking him up?
  • Why did Antwon lie about not knowing who Celeste was?
  • Why is Kathryn nervous about the recovery of Henry's body?


  • The original title of the episode was "A Little Cathouse Drama".
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