Épisode Iron Leprechaun S05E07

THE DWARF IN THE DIRT

(Open: Shooting range, several people firing at targets. Pan across to Booth firing shots in quick succession. He pauses. A man nearby spots him and lifts his protective head gear.)

CARSON: Hey, Booth, right?

BOOTH: Huh?

CARSON: You’re a legendary shot, man! I’m Carson.

BOOTH: I’m concentrating.

CARSON: Heard you could shoot a hole through the middle of a dime on the run.

(Booth puts his earpiece back in, clearly not in the mood to converse. He fires more shots, and then presses the button to bring the target towards him. The shots are haphazard; inaccurate. Not what he had been hoping for.)

CARSON: ‘Scuse me. Obviously got the wrong guy.

(Booth looks shocked and confused.)

(Cut to: Sweets’ office. Sweets is packing away his paperwork. Booth enters.)

BOOTH: Aw, great, I was worried you’d be gone.

SWEETS: Uh, almost gone.

BOOTH: Well, almost is almost, so - if I ask you a question, can you answer it in plain language?

SWEETS: Yeah, I’ll do my best.

(They sit down.)

BOOTH: Great. So, uh… (Sweets picks up a notepad and pen, preparing to take notes. Booth laughs somewhat frustratedly.)… okay, what’s our deal?

SWEETS: Our deal?

BOOTH: Yeah, yeah, what… what are you? FBI shrink, friend, objective observer?

SWEETS: Oh oh oh, you wanna know my primary role, okay. Well, that depends upon a number of factors.

BOOTH: Sweets! Plain language.

SWEETS: The FBI hires me to evaluate agents – you’re an agent.

BOOTH: So, FBI first, me second.

SWEETS: No! No no no, Agent Booth, that’s not what I meant.

BOOTH: (his phone rings) It’s okay, Sweets, I get it.

SWEETS: Please, let me finish!

BOOTH: You just called me ‘Agent Booth’, that says it all, ‘Dr Sweets’. Y’know, I learned the importance of vocabulary choices from you, and I gotta go catch a murderer.

(Booth exits.)

SWEETS: …Booth. (He throws his pad down in frustration.)

(Cut to: Crime scene, road collapse. Booth and Brennan exit Booth’s car, Brennan putting on her gear.)

BRENNAN: Why aren’t you cracking wise?

BOOTH: Why? Because it’s not 1945.

BRENNAN: Shall I start making jokes?

BOOTH: Just let it flow naturally, okay Bones?

BRENNAN: Well I’ve noticed in the past when you’re grumpy, your mood tends to elevate when you tell me about it.

BOOTH: Just had a bad day on the range.

BRENNAN: Is that a cowboy metaphor?

BOOTH: No, it’s… this week I have to re-certify as a marksmen, and I – I don’t know if I’m gonna make the grade!

BRENNAN: Well, obviously you need more practice.

BOOTH: Maybe this is all because of my brain tumor.

BRENNAN: Highly unlikely, given aiming a firearm involves your cerebellum and occipital lobe, while your brain tumor is temporal parietal. Perhaps you should speak to Sweets.

BOOTH: Meaning what, that this is psychological?

(Brennan tilts her head and her expression indicates that this is a possibility.)

BOOTH: No, I-I can’t talk to Sweets!

BRENNAN: Why not?

BOOTH: Why? Because he works for the FBI, he’s gonna be along telling the Bureau that I’m all loopy doopy doopy, I can’t have that – (They meet Officer Novarro on the street.) - sinkhole?

NOVARRO: Oh, no thanks, I already got one. That’s it over there, big sucker.

(Brennan is amused; Booth, not so much.)

BOOTH: Now let’s not do that right now, Officer Novarro.

NOVARRO: All business FBI, gotcha. Road collapsed about four am, broken water main. Took a car down with it, nobody got hurt. Mostly pumped out now.

BRENNAN: Then why are we here?

(The road collapse becomes apparent, with a ladder leading down to where the body was found.)

NOVARRO: Because you’re the bones people, right? We’ve got bones!

BRENNAN: Woah, they’re green! That is very interesting. (She begins to climb down the ladder.)

BOOTH: Be careful, Bones.

NOVARRO: They don’t look right, if you ask me.

BOOTH: Why, because they look so green?

NOVARRO: Get closer. That’s not all that’s wrong with ‘em.

(Booth climbs down the ladder, but doesn’t join Brennan at the bottom.)

BRENNAN: Definitely human. The evidence down here has been totally compromised by water.

BOOTH: Is it a kid?

BRENNAN: Uh, you mean because of the small stature? No. Dentition indicates late twenties. Male.

BOOTH: Why is he green?

BRENNAN: Well, that’s not really our highest priority.

BOOTH: Wait wait – how can being green not be a priority, Bones?

BRENNAN: (She finds something.) Ah, gold coin! (She throws it to Booth, who catches it.)

BOOTH: Look at that, Bones! Heeey!

(The water main breaks, creating a rainbow illusion over Brennan.)

BRENNAN: Oh, what happened?

BOOTH: Water main break. Alright, you got another water main break down here – but look at that, Bones! You are at the end of a beautiful rainbow!

BRENNAN: Where I am is at the bottom of a muddy pit!

BOOTH: Okay, think about it. End of a rainbow, little green guy, gold coins, what does that tell you?

BRENNAN: That I need an umbrella, and that the remains are horribly compromised.

BOOTH: Tells me leprechaun. (He closes his eyes.)

BRENNAN: Are you praying?

BOOTH: I’m making a wish.

BRENNAN: Same thing, really. Rather than counting on superstition to make you shoot more accurately, you should just practice more.

BOOTH: (peeved) Thanks. Okay, why don’t we just get Darby O'Gill there out of the pit, and back to the lab, alright? Somebody shut the water off!

(Booth walks away. Brennan looks back up to him, smiling affectionately.)

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(Opening Credits)

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(Open - Jeffersonian - Medico-Legal Lab – Platform. Vincent is examining the victim’s body.)

VINCENT: Leprechauns are thought to explode if you touch them with a broom handle.

CAM: A: These remains show no signs of being exploded, and B: … I think you can guess B.

VINCENT: There are no such things as leprechauns.

CAM: This is good; we’re developing a short hand.

VINCENT: The large skull and torso, combined with short limbs and evidence of hypotonia points to achondroplasia.

CAM: Dwarfism.

VINCENT: Indeed.

(Hodgins appears on the screen. He is at the crime scene.)

HODGINS: Think I know why our victim’s bones are green. The soil is lousy with iron oxides. That combined with the acidic ground water turned the calcium in the bones green.

CAM: How long would that take?

HODGINS: Depends. How far down in the bone does the green color extend?

VINCENT: Two to three millimeters.

HODGINS: I’m gonna go with two to five months.

CAM: So, we have time of death, if not cause.

VINCENT: Most of the abrasions to these bones were caused very recently.

CAM: Well, a car fell on the remains last night, that’s gonna be a factor.

VINCENT: The question is how did our leprechaun end up buried twenty feet under the street… wearing only his knickers?

CAM: Most likely scenario is that he was murdered, and tossed in a storm drain, service tunnel, or sewer.

VINCENT: A sixty percent subluxation between the scapula and the humerus indicates that his right shoulder was dislocated.

CAM: Congruent with having being dragged?

VINCENT: As a literal dead weight, yes.

(Cut to: Chef’s kitchen. Gordon Wyatt Wyatt is cooking something on the stove.)

GORDON WYATT: Firing two branzino, one duck, one rib eye rare!

(Booth enters.)

GORDON WYATT: Oh and one of the branzinos is without potato, well it’s the customer’s loss, the vile bag of gobslobber.

BOOTH: So you prefer this to psychiatry?

GORDON WYATT: Agent Booth! Yes, yes I do as a matter of fact, yes. Well, it’s the smell, plus let’s face it – Chef Gordon Wyatt Wyatt has more of a ring to it than Doctor Gordon Wyatt Wyatt. What do you think? (He offers Booth a pan. Booth takes a sniff.)

BOOTH: Wow, that’s amazing.

GORDON WYATT: Isn’t it? Isn’t it? What do I owe this pleasure to?

BOOTH: Well listen, I –

GORDON WYATT: Oh, careful with those morels, Elan, they’re sixty dollars a pound!

ELAN: Sorry, chef!

BOOTH: Chef, I need some advice.

GORDON WYATT: Well, I can advise you on how to cook an omelet, or how to sous-vide a pork chop if you want to – yep, go, go with those.

BOOTH: No I need um, some… “shrinky” advice.

GORDON WYATT: Well, I stopped being a psychiatrist some time ago, as you know. Firing three out of a two shepherd’s pie, one rack of lamb. Is this something to do with the jumbling your poor boggled noggin got last year?

BOOTH: That’s what I’d like to know.

GORDON WYATT: Well, my brain expertise these days is confined to preparing a superb sautéed cervelles au beurre noir, I’m afraid.

BOOTH: Um, maybe you could just pretend like I’m a recipe that needs fixing.

GORDON WYATT: Tell you what, take that. (He hands Booth a plate with food.)

BOOTH: Okay.

GORDON WYATT: And that. (He hands Booth a fork.)

BOOTH: Yep.

GORDON WYATT: Go over to that table. Chef’s table, somebody, please! Prepare, thank you!

BOOTH: If I eat this, it’s gonna cure me?

GORDON WYATT: Heavens no, but it’ll give you something to do until my break. Right, somebody, service over here, thank you!

(Booth picks up an odd looking piece of food, looking slightly bemused.)

(Cut to: Jeffersonian - Medico-Legal Lab – Platform. Brennan leans in slightly too close to Vincent as they examine the victim’s body.)

BRENNAN: The victim was struck, in his face.

VINCENT: At the nasal and the zygomatic.

BRENNAN: At worst, a blow like this would knock the victim unconscious. Good find, Mr. Nigel Murray, but not cause of death.

VINCENT: I’ve catalogued a large number of remodeled fractures along the ribs, plus bilateral flattening of the proximal radii.

BRENNAN: Enhanced muscle attachment here and here indicate the victim was very strong.

VINCENT: Well, I’d assume that was to compensate for his condition.

BRENNAN: What if his strength wasn’t compensation for his condition, but lead to all of these injuries.

VINCENT: A super strong dwarf, such as might be found in the Lord of the Rings.

BRENNAN: (She frowns at Vincent, not understanding the reference.) The victim has all of the occupational markers of a wrestler.

VINCENT: Oh! A midget wrestler.

BRENNAN: No, midget is not the proper term, as a scientist you should be aware.

VINCENT: It may not be the proper term, Dr Brennan, but I can assure you, correct or not, midget wrestling is an American pastime. As wrong as that may be.

(Cut to: Jeffersonian – Angela’s office. Brennan and Angela are looking at images on the large screen.)

ANGELA: I’m trying to match the physical characteristics of our leprechaun to any professional wrestlers on the wrestling circuit.

BRENNAN: Wrestling is popular in many cultures. It was the supreme contest in Ancient Greek games.

ANGELA: Well, those were mostly beautiful boys wrestling around, all oiled up and naked.

BRENNAN: That could be our victim. The muscle development appears consistent, the distinct curvature of the femur is undeniable.

ANGELA: Then it seems our leading contender is the iron leprechaun. So it was a leprechaun after all.

BRENNAN: Well, that’s him. I’m fairly certain that iron leprechaun is not his actual name, only his wrestling moniker.

ANGELA: (smirks) Thank you. Oh no, well this says that he’s wrestling tonight.

BRENNAN: That would mean that I was wrong about him being the victim.

ANGELA: Yeah believe me, I’m as surprised about it as you are.

BRENNAN: Well, perhaps this iron leprechaun will be aware of someone else who looked exactly like him disappearing.

(Cut to: Jeffersonian – Hodgins’ Work Area. Hodgins and Cam enter.)

HODGINS: I could spend the rest of my life analyzing the contents of that sinkhole.

CAM: Yeah, let’s not do that. Start with the coins.

HODGINS: Right, well uh, Brennan found a Chinese panda right beside the body. Now within three meters, I found four Krugerrands, a French Rooster franc, a gold Indian Head and a Canadian Maple Leaf.

CAM: Worth a lot?

(Sandy enters, carrying a clipboard and science equipment.)

HODGINS: Oh, the rooster alone – (Sandy gives the clipboard to Hodgins) - hey, thank you Sandy – was worth about four hundred bucks. (He signs it and hands it back to Sandy, before taking the science equipment. Sandy exits.)

CAM: Are any of these coins traceable?

HODGINS: No, they’re all common gold coins. There’s a hefty market in it for people who are afraid the economy will crash, but it’s not like they carry serial numbers.

CAM: What about the gun?

HODGINS: It’s a twenty two caliber rougar mark three, rusted beyond all belief. It’s loaded, and unfired. It could belong to our victim, or it could’ve been tossed in the sewer twenty years ago.

CAM: Let me know if you find something special.

(Cam exits.)

(Cut to: Gordon Wyatt’s kitchen. Booth and Gordon Wyatt sit at the chef’s table.)

GORDON WYATT: So you failed to execute a simple plumbing repair, big woo.

BOOTH: Had to get one of those dummy books. This is delicious, I mean it was great, you’re a good cook.

GORDON WYATT: And you say you forgot about your rather distinctive belt buckle.

BOOTH: Yeah, Bones had to remind me.

GORDON WYATT: Well, none of these adjustments strike me as being particularly earth-shattering. Ah. You haven’t got to the juicy bit yet, have you?

(Booth pulls out his target sheet, handing it to Gordon Wyatt. He looks confused, unfolding it. Realization hits.)

GORDON WYATT: Oh I see, you’ve suddenly become an indiscriminate homicidal maniac, well that is a cause for concern.

BOOTH: No, what it means is that I’m a lousy shot, alright, and I have to re-certify next week!

GORDON WYATT: Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do about it, the only time I’ve ever fired a weapon, it reared up and struck me on the forehead.

BOOTH: I just need you to help me fire my gun.

GORDON WYATT: That sounds desperately phallic. Is this maybe a sexual problem?

BOOTH: Don’t say that. Don’t even put that out in the air!

GORDON WYATT: It would explain your reticence. Why haven’t you gone to see the estimable Dr Sweets for help?

BOOTH: ‘Cause I can’t go to him, he works for the FBI, right. You’re Gordon Wyatt, come on, help me out.

GORDON WYATT: Alright. I’ll tag along, and I’ll see what I think.

BOOTH: Oh no no, I thought maybe you just, y’know, hypnotize me and give me one of those blue pills.

GORDON WYATT: One quibble. It’s chef, not cook, chef, alright? May seem rather a picayune detail to you, but it’s quite meaningful to me.

BOOTH: (smiles) Okay.

(Cut to: A noisy venue in which midget wrestling takes place. Brennan, Booth and Gordon Wyatt walk in together.)

BRENNAN: So, did Booth tell you about the plumbing?

GORDON WYATT: And the socks, and the belt buckle, the shooting, anything else you noticed?

BOOTH: Why are you asking Bones?

GORDON WYATT: Well, she spends more time with you than anyone else.

BRENNAN: I think that if Booth wants to be a better shot, he should just practice more.

(General ugliness ensues in the fighting ring between the iron leprechaun and bumblebee man.)

BOOTH: Ooh!

BRENNAN: I’m nearly certain that is our victim.

GORDON WYATT: What, the bumble fellow or the elf?

BOOTH: Leprechaun, it’s obviously a leprechaun. Hey Bones, you want to go up and tell the poor guy he’s dead, or shall I?

GORDON WYATT: Well, he does look a bit vigorous for a dead leprechaun, doesn’t he?

BRENNAN: No, that’s not him.

BOOTH: What do you mean that’s not him, you said that was him.

BRENNAN: No, that’s him, in the poster. (She points.)

BOOTH: Oh.

BRENNAN: His forehead, the frontal bossing is far too prominent. (suddenly raises her voice above the crowd.) Boo, that man is not the iron leprechaun! Boo, fake, fake.

BOOTH: What are you doing?

BRENNAN: Well, booing is the appropriate way to show displeasure at a sporting event. (raises her voice again) Fraud, look at his femurs!

GORDON WYATT: One cannot deny the femurs!

BOOTH: Yeah, you can’t.

(Suddenly bumblebee man is on top of the iron leprechaun, holding him down.)

REFEREE: One, two, three, bumblebee winner!

ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s winner at four foot four, a hundred and twenty two pounds, bumblebee man!

(Cheering and boos.)

BOOTH: Let me handle this. (He produces his badge.) Excuse me pal, FBI, wanna have a word with you.

LEPRECHAUN: Up yours. Oh no! (He runs to the other side of the ring.)

BOOTH: Oh, now I gotta get this guy? (He climbs through the rope and into the ring.) There we go. (The iron leprechaun begins building up momentum.) No no no no, whoa, you really don’t wanna be doing – (The iron leprechaun launches himself into Booth’s chest. He bounces off as if Booth is made of rock.) - that.

BRENNAN: (concerned) Booth?

BOOTH: What?

BRENNAN: Are you okay?

BOOTH: Fine, okay, I’ll get the guy out of the ring, and I’ll talk to him. (The iron leprechaun leaps on his back, covering his eyes.) What are you jo – are you kidding me?

BRENNAN: Booth? Are you okay, do you need help?

BOOTH: I don’t need help, I’m fine, Bones, alright? Will you just get off my back, alright, I’m really starting to lose my patience. (He slams the iron leprechaun onto the floor in a swift move. Nobody seems very impressed.) Sorry, I just – (The iron leprechaun makes one last attempt, but Booth whacks him on the head, leaving him unconscious.) What do you expect me to do? He came at me like a rabid ferret.

(Brennan blows a raspberry and gives him a thumbs down.)

BOOTH: What was I supposed to do?

(Cut to: Jeffersonian – Interrogation room, behind the glass. Gordon Wyatt enters.)

GORDON WYATT: Dr Sweets.

SWEETS: Dr Gordon Wyatt Wyatt.

GORDON WYATT: Well, Chef Gordon Wyatt Wyatt as a matter of fact. So, observing your prey before heading on in to interrogate him, are you?

SWEETS: Yeah, Agent Booth has had me conduct more interrogations lately. (He starts to walk away.)

GORDON WYATT: That’s, uh, quite the vote of confidence.

SWEETS: I know why you’re here. Agent Booth left my office and immediately went to you, didn’t he? No, I’m alright with it. (He’s clearly not alright with it. They exit, and begin walking along a corridor.) There have been a few changes in Booth.

GORDON WYATT: Since the brain tumor?

SWEETS: Yeah, is that why he came to you? He doesn’t trust me? Oh right, how could I forget about cook/client privileges.

GORDON WYATT: Chef/client privileges.

SWEETS: Has he also told you about how now when he climbs stairs he leads with his right foot rather than his left, he holds his phone to a different ear, coffee in his left hand?

GORDON WYATT: (surprised) How wretchedly observant of you.

SWEETS: Not me, Dr Brennan. Would you like to accompany me?

GORDON WYATT: To what end?

SWEETS: Double team by psychologist and a chef? It’ll be epic.

(They exchange a smile, before making their way into the interrogation room.)

(Cut to: Jeffersonian – Interrogation room.)

TODD: My name’s Todd Moore.

SWEETS: (He produces a poster.) Then who’s this?

TODD: The iron leprechaun.

GORDON WYATT: How many iron leprechauns are there?

TODD: Just one. Well at a time, I mean. I took over when the last round leprechaun took a powder.

SWEETS: When was that?

TODD: About three months ago.

SWEETS: What’s this one’s name?

TODD: That’s Bryce DaFonte.

GORDON WYATT: Well, I’m sorry to say your predecessor is now deceased.

SWEETS: We found his body at the bottom of a sinkhole.

TODD: Bryce is dead? Oh man! Well, that totally explains why he’d bail on a sweet gig.

GORDON WYATT: Being the iron leprechaun is a “sweet gig”, is it?

TODD: Yeah! It’s a very popular character. Ah… you two think I killed Bryce, tossed him into a sinkhole, so I could take over the franchise?

GORDON WYATT: Well, I was there when Agent Booth identified himself as FBI, and you ran.

SWEETS: Running away from the FBI is always suspicious.

TODD: (He stands up, leaning forward.) I’m Canadian. My work visa expired a week ago. I thought you were gonna ship me back to Sudbury. Have you ever been to Sudbury? You woulda ran too.

SWEETS: Do you know anyone who would benefit from Bryce’s death?

TODD: Gidget, I guess. She’s like the Vince McMahon man of our world.

GORDON WYATT: Well, how would this Gidget benefit from losing her biggest star?

TODD: Well, when Bryce was the iron leprechaun, she used to have to pay him a piece of the gate. Me? Flat rate. Three hundred bucks a pot. I’ll tell you something else, too. They used to bump uglies, and it didn’t end so great.

(Cut to: Midget wrestling arena.)

GIDGET: Somebody murdered Bryce?

BOOTH: Well, y’know, your number one draw disappears; you had to have had a theory?

GIDGET: I just figured he couldn’t handle what happened between us anymore. Murdered how?

BRENNAN: Well, what happened between you two?

GIDGET: Come on, we had a thing. Got old, I moved on. Thought at first Bryce did too but it ate at him. Guys are like that, you know. On the outside it looks like they don’t care, but on the inside they’re chewing themselves up like cancer. I gotta be a suspect, right?

BRENNAN: We don’t like to come right out and say that.

GIDGET: Well I know I am ‘cause Bryce was suing me.

BOOTH: Oh really, what was he suing you for?

GIDGET: Bigger cut of the gate. I didn’t take it personal, maybe he did. You know men – something goes wrong in the heart department, it always shows itself in another way.

(This means something to Booth and Brennan.)

GIDGET: You know Bryce had a criminal past, right?

BOOTH: Yeah, he went to prison for assault or a robbery.

GIDGET: (laughs) What can I say, got a thing for the bad boys. Don’t you?

BRENNAN: No, I prefer good boys.

BOOTH: (ears prick up) Really?

BRENNAN: Yes.

BOOTH: (flustered) Yeah, so you uh – do you know if Bryce DaFonte owned a gun?

GIDGET: Course not, he was on parole. Tell you something though, I had a sweet little pistol come up missing right about the same time.

(Cut to: The Diner. Someone hands Gordon Wyatt a meal.)

GORDON WYATT: Ah, thank you. D’you know, there is something about an American diner griddle that turns out eggs that rival even the greatest boite du dejeuner in all of Paris.

SWEETS: So, you’ve really done it, huh? Turned your back on psychiatry to cook?

GORDON WYATT: Well, there’s more than one way to feed people, you know?

(Sweets says nothing, simply carries on eating.)

GORDON WYATT: You’re irked, aren’t you?

SWEETS: Oh no, it’s just … you gotta admit. All that experience, and knowledge, and wisdom, trapped in a kitchen? It’s crazy!

GORDON WYATT: I would suggest that what really chuffs your eggs is that in his hour of need, Booth turned to me for advice instead of you. But Booth couldn’t go to see you, because your first duty is to the FBI.

SWEETS: Well, he should trust me.

GORDON WYATT: He does trust you, implicitly!

SWEETS: (upset) Obviously not, he came to you, right? A chef.

GORDON WYATT: But the point is, he would never do anything that would compromise your professional obligations. He’s too fond of you for that.

SWEETS: (extremely skeptical) Did he say that? Out loud?

GORDON WYATT: He came to me knowing that I would consult with you – which is what I’d like to do now, please. In short, he believes that his brain condition has rendered him incapable of hitting the broad side of a barn with his firearm.

SWEETS: That must really drive him up the wall.

GORDON WYATT: Exactly. So, I looked forward to consulting with you on the strange case of the man hereinafter referred to as Agent B.

(Sweets smiles. Gordon Wyatt takes a mouthful.)

GORDON WYATT: Yes, you know what I said about the eggs? Doesn’t extend to the potatoes. (He spits some back out onto his plate. Sweets groans, slightly disgusted.) Frozen.

(Cut to: The Jeffersonian – The Bone Room. Cam enters.)

CAM: Positive identification on the victim. Bryce DaFonte. (She presses a button and pictures of the victim appear on the screen.)

VINCENT: That’s a mug shot.

CAM: (She signs a clipboard for someone, who then exits.) There you go. Apparently Mr. DaFonte was somewhat violent before channeling his aggression more productively.

VINCENT: By pretending to be a vicious head-cracking leprechaun.

CAM: Indeed. (Another person enters, with yet another thing for her to sign.) Thanks. What are you doing?

VINCENT: In searching for cause of death, I found three small grooves along the margin on three separate ribs. Number two on the right, five and six on the left.

CAM: Not caused by being crushed by two million pounds of gravel and asphalt?

VINCENT: The nicks are deeper than the extent of the green patina.

CAM: Telling us that they pre-existed the green, very good. (Another person enters to have something signed. It is clearly Cam’s lucky day.) Okay, what else do these nicks tell us?

VINCENT: I haven’t the foggiest. Were you aware that Marilyn Monroe had six toes on one foot?

CAM: (She closes her eyes, trying to keep her calm.) Keep looking, Mr. Nigel Murray.

(Cut to: FBI building. Booth is coming out of a lift, Sweets is waiting for him.)

SWEETS: Morning, Agent B.

BOOTH: Hiya Sweets. Okay, about the other night when I came to your office.

SWEETS: Enough said, enough said - (Booth hands him his coffee) - said the blind man to the deaf man, and in this case I am totally the deaf man. Not just deaf, mute.

(Booth gives him an odd look.)

SWEETS: You wanted me to talk to the victim’s family with you?

BOOTH: Yeah, I got the twin brother and the sister in law, they’re in the conference room.

SWEETS: What are we looking for?

BOOTH: Lies and guilt, Sweets, what else is there?

(Booth exits. Sweets smiles as he joins him. His mind has been put at ease.)

(Cut to: FBI - Conference Room. Booth & Sweets are interrogating Derek DaFonte)

DEREK DAFONTE: I was always worried something bad was gonna happen to Bryce, and then I stopped worrying when he started wrestling professionally.

BOOTH: Right, so as far as you know your brother put his criminal past behind him?

DEREK DAFONTE: Yeah, he um, loved the whole leprechaun wrestling thing. Quit drinking, made a living.

SWEETS: You were close?

DEREK DAFONTE: We were twins, but no. No, we weren’t close.

NICOLE DAFONTE: Bryce was always a little jealous of Derek, ‘cause Derek was average sized.

DEREK DAFONTE: Yeah, I’d have been jealous too if it worked out the other way and I got the short stick.

BOOTH: No pun intended.

NICOLE DAFONTE: (annoyed) That’s not funny, Agent Booth.

DEREK DAFONTE: I tried helping Bryce out, you know, got him jobs.

BOOTH: When did you last talk?

NICOLE DAFONTE: Well, Derek offered to testify his parole hearing.

SWEETS: Offered?

NICOLE DAFONTE: Bryce said he didn’t need the help.

DEREK DAFONTE: It wasn’t like that at all, the whole parole thing was a lock, with or without me.

BOOTH: A lock?

DEREK DAFONTE: Bryce testified against his cellmate in return for parole.

NICOLE DAFONTE: I think he was brave.

DEREK DAFONTE: It was stupid, Nicole. Probably got him killed.

(Cut to: Interrogation room. Gordon Wyatt and Sweets are interrogating this time.)

GEORGE ALANO: If you don’t mind me saying, neither one of you guys looks like a cop. Look like a substitute teacher and a fry cook.

GORDON WYATT: (instantly on edge) A fry cook?

SWEETS: We’re not cops, we’re professional interrogation.

GORDON WYATT: (furious) Nobody’s a fry cook!

SWEETS: (taken aback) The cops are in there.

GORDON WYATT: Yes, in case you annoy us, and we want an arrest made! Any more cracks about fry cooks, I’ll have them come in here to rough you up!

SWEETS: (trying to continue, and calm Gordon Wyatt down) Okay, uh… so you and Bryce DaFonte were cellmates for what, sixteen months?

GEORGE ALANO: I’m sorry for Bryce, I liked him. Made the cell feel roomier.

SWEETS: We have information that Bryce ratted you out so he would look good for the parole board.

GEORGE ALANO: I never took that personally. Little guy like that, you gotta hold him to a different standard.

GORDON WYATT: You were released, what, three months ago?

GEORGE ALANO: Paid my debt to society, got a job.

SWEETS: Road construction.

GEORGE ALANO: Yep.

SWEETS: Did you ever work in the Cleveland Park area?

GEORGE ALANO: Why?

GORDON WYATT: Because that’s where your former cellmate was discovered, twenty feet under the roadway.

GEORGE ALANO: Well, I didn’t put him there! Right, look, Bryce told them where to find my pruno and dope stash, okay, that’s small beans. Three days in solitary, I’m gonna kill him for that? Alright, alright, me and Bryce cooked that dodge up together, okay? There was no chance I was getting out a day earlier than my full sentence, due to a spitting incident involving the warden. I figured why not do my cellmate a solid and get him out? And believe me, DaFonte wanted out.

GORDON WYATT: Well, everyone in prison wants out.

GEORGE ALANO: Not like Bryce. He was talking about escape, you know, he was highly motivated.

SWEETS: So what was the big rush?

GEORGE ALANO: What you think?

GORDON WYATT: (speaking in an aside to Sweets) I think perhaps a crisis of the heart and loins.

GEORGE ALANO: He got a ‘Dear John’ letter from his lady love saying that she was thinking about calling it quits on him. The least I could do for my buddy, ain't nobody waiting on me on the outside.

(Cut to: The Diner. Gordon Wyatt is attempting to eat a very large sandwich.)

ANGELA: So my psychic says that Brennan and Booth are linked in a very profound way. In order to eat that thing you’re gonna have to dislocate your jaw, like an articulated python.

GORDON WYATT: Yeah. Tell me though, have you noticed any behavioral changes in Booth since he woke up from the coma?

ANGELA: He’s not as happy-go-lucky as he used to be. It’s like he’s sort of sad.

GORDON WYATT: Hmm. Well, perhaps the brain tumor forced him to confront his own mortality.

ANGELA: Booth confronted his mortality plenty of times. I think that that dream he had, about him and Brennan being married, I think that he sort of misses that dream. It’s like he’s homesick for that place and those people.

GORDON WYATT: You think Booth fell in love with Dr Brennan during a dream?

ANGELA: So do you, right?

GORDON WYATT: (suddenly coy) Well, I’m a psychiatrist, I’m not comfortable with answering.

ANGELA: No, you’re a chef.

GORDON WYATT: I am. As usual, you – you see the truth of things. (noise of frustration) I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, it’s the most ill-conceived sapless vomitous gargoyle of gastronimity I’ve ever encountered, it’s preposterous, you can’t –

ANGELA: (She laughs and begins to put Gordon Wyatt’s sandwich back together.) You know, you’re really gonna have to learn to enjoy things the way that they are.

GORDON WYATT: Mmm, well, perhaps you’re right.

(Cut to: Crime scene, road collapse. Booth sits above Hodgins.)

HODGINS: The remains were covered with one hundred and fifty years worth of rubble. That’s a word I love.

BOOTH: Half naked dwarf wrestler gets killed and his body gets dumped in some old hole in the ground?

HODGINS: Well, most of what he was buried in and what I found around the remains was tile. Translucent, ceramic, vitreous, dating back to the 1920s.

BOOTH: What was that, some kind of Turkish bath?

HODGINS: Nah, it’s a pedestrian underpass. Here. It collapsed in the 30's, they just threw some rocks into it and paved it over.

BOOTH: Wait a second, so what you’re saying is, you think the leprechaun’s body was in that pedestrian underpass when the sinkhole happened?

HODGINS: Yeah, yeah, I mean the guy his size, there could’ve been a way through it, especially with some digging. That would’ve stretched from here underground to approximately the other side of the street, and then maybe another twenty feet east.

(Booth looks in the direction Hodgins is describing, and suddenly realization strikes.)

BOOTH: Cash for gold.

(Cut to: Basement of Republic Gold Exchange. Booth and Brennan are lead down by Novarro.)

NOVARRO: Three months ago this place got robbed. No sign of forced entry to the doors or windows, alarm was cut from the inside. Bad guys got off with bags of gold coins.

BOOTH: We think the robber may have been the victim in your sinkhole.

NOVARRO: Well, I’ll be damned. The owners of this place will be glad to hear that. Fraud unit suspected it was an inside job.

BOOTH: How much did they lose?

NOVARRO: Uh… a hundred and twenty grand worth.

BRENNAN: I think I found the point of ingress. (She indicates a small grate in the floor.)

NOVARRO: Woah! You gotta be kidding? Just thinking about it, I can’t breathe.

BOOTH: (He opens a large piece of paper.) Angela’s sketch shows the collapsed pedestrian walkway comes five feet from this drain.

BRENNAN: The victim was small and strong, he could have dug his way through.

NOVARRO: That’s gotta be what, sixteen/eighteen inches? Honestly I can’t breathe, I got anxiety thinking about a guy down there.

BOOTH: Come on Bones, there’s no way the victim could get his shoulders through there.

BRENNAN: He could’ve made it! Mostly naked, in his lycra shorts. We may even find a container of lubricant down there.

BOOTH: Well, all we found were eight gold coins.

NOVARRO: Oh yeah, classic accomplice rip off scenario. No honor between thieves. (Booth and Brennan give him a look.) What, I’m not allowed to chime in? I’m a law enforcement professional.

(Cut to: The Jeffersonian – The Bone Room.)

BRENNAN: The only markings we know for sure came from before the sinkhole are these three little nicks on his ribs.

VINCENT: Could he have been stabbed?

BRENNAN: Well, with what?

VINCENT: The world’s dullest knife.

BRENNAN: Perhaps something along the lines of a very dull hatchet.

VINCENT: To a little person, a hatchet would be the equivalent of an axe. Assuming the accomplice was already lying in wait, surely he would have had the aforethought to bring a more suitable weapon.

BRENNAN: Like a gun.

VINCENT: Or a giant sword. Or a gun. (He walks around to a part of a skeleton nearby.) But the killer would have had to have been an incredibly bad shot to merely graze his or her victim, three times in such tight quarters.

BRENNAN: (She lifts the skeleton up to a different angle.) Mmm.

VINCENT: Oh, oh I see! If he was reaching forward.

BRENNAN: More wrenched.

VINCENT: Or if he was actually hanging from his arm, and the killer shot down from this angle.

BRENNAN: One bullet fired from above, grazing these three ribs, deflecting, piercing the diaphragm.

VINCENT: And of course as an achondroplastic dwarf, his organs would be more tightly jammed together than an average person.

BRENNAN: This would be his liver.

VINCENT: He’d have bled to death in minutes.

BRENNAN: (pleased) We found cause of death. (They both look accomplished.)

(Cut to: The Founding Fathers. Gordon Wyatt is looking at brain scans of Booth’s brain.)

GORDON WYATT: Yeah, there’s some collateral damage to Booth’s brain here.

SWEETS: It would result in the memory lapses, yeah, but it doesn’t explain any of his other symptoms.

GORDON WYATT: Ah, but I don’t think Booth has brain damage.

SWEETS: Then what’s his problem?

GORDON WYATT: May I ask why you didn’t publish your book on Booth and Brennan?

SWEETS: What, is there a connection between my book and Booth’s marksmanship?

GORDON WYATT: I believe you didn’t publish it because you’re afraid of how Brennan and Booth would react to its conclusion.

SWEETS: My book concludes that Brennan and Booth are in love with each other.

GORDON WYATT: It’s a scrummy conundrum, isn’t it?

SWEETS: I believe that as a reaction to the childhood traumas of abuse and abandonment, Dr Brennan utilizes her intellect to armor herself from intense levels of emotion, like love.

GORDON WYATT: And Booth?

SWEETS: Well, subconsciously, he’s sensitive to her vulnerability. He knows that acting upon his feelings for her would amount to a kind of assault.

GORDON WYATT: I couldn’t agree with you more.

SWEETS: So Booth not shooting straight is simply, what, a manifestation of his phallic frustration?

GORDON WYATT: Yeah, he quite literally can’t bring his weapon to bear.

SWEETS: Do I even have the right to publish my book and make public what these two can’t even admit to themselves?

GORDON WYATT: Good Lord, don’t ask me. I’m just a chef.

SWEETS: (frustrated) Ah!

GORDON WYATT: Not a psychiatrist. I gave up that game precisely so I don’t have to face that kind of dilemma.

SWEETS: (gives in) Okay.

(Cut to: Brennan and Booth entering Booth’s car.)

BOOTH: Okay look, we do know that Hodgins found a twenty two pistol near the body, it was fully loaded.

BRENNAN: And had been discharged.

BOOTH: Yeah I know that Bones, okay, I do work for the FBI.

BRENNAN: So has Gordon Wyatt helped you at all with your shooting problem?

BOOTH: He doesn’t see it as a problem.

BRENNAN: Then maybe you don’t have one. Have you ever considered the possibility that you might simply be getting older? I – men do tend to decline physically past the age of thirty-five.

BOOTH: (sarcastically) Remind me again how great I feel after talking to you.

BRENNAN: Well, who else would always tell you the truth.

BOOTH: Yeah you know, it does make me feel better. It makes no rational sense but, it does.

BRENNAN: (smiles) Mmm. Maybe I should start packing heat again?

BOOTH: Packing heat?

BRENNAN: Yes, it’s a colloquialism. I- I’m quite a good shot.

BOOTH: Hey, if the leprechaun was shot, then where would the bullet be?

BRENNAN: Well I assume somewhere in the six tones of crap Hodgins hasn’t sifted through yet.

BOOTH: Wait a second; did you just call forensic evidence “crap”?

BRENNAN: It’s colloquial again, what do you think?

BOOTH: This is very nice, I like it, it shows that you’re adapting. (He starts the engine.)

BRENNAN: Well, I’m working on it – and joshing around, too. (She laughs.)

BOOTH: (looks awkward) Yeah.

(Cut to: Interrogation room.)

GIDGET: I already admitted that Bryce and I had a thing. Hey, where’s that hot FBI agent guy? If I’m gonna be interrogated, I want it to be from him.

SWEETS: That sweet little pistol you owned that went missing. Was this it?

GIDGET: Is that the gun that was used to kill Bryce?

SWEETS: Uh, no, but it was nearby.

GIDGET: Then yeah, that’s my pistol.

SWEETS: He didn’t steal the gun from you, you gave it to him because you were worried about his safety.

GIDGET: I’m not exactly the worrying type. Hey, you wanna make out a little bit? People watching from behind that mirror kinda turns me on.

(Camera draws back and we see Gordon Wyatt and Brennan behind the glass.)

GORDON WYATT: This – this persona she’s projecting, this little person cougar, she’s either masking emotional pain or overcompensating for guilt.

BRENNAN: Maybe you should tell Sweets.

GORDON WYATT: Oh believe me, if a chef can figure it out then, a prodigy like Sweets will have got there long before. (He turns the sound of the interrogation room off.) Tell me. What’s your theory on why Agent Booth can no longer shoot straight?

BRENNAN: He should practice more.

GORDON WYATT: Perhaps in conjunction with his using the wrong foot to climb the stairs and his wrong hand to drink coffee, he’s closing the wrong eye when he aims.

BRENNAN: Real marksmen keep both eyes open when they shoot.

GORDON WYATT: Oh. Well, that’s what I get for using ‘Quickly Down Under’ as a reference, isn’t it?

BRENNAN: (uncomfortable) So Sweets told you about the hands and the feet?

GORDON WYATT: Mmm, we’re consulting. Patient confidentiality is being maintained, and I won’t tell Booth that you’ve been ratting him out to the FBI behind his back.

BRENNAN: Ratting out is an accurate phrase, but somehow it doesn’t seem true.

GORDON WYATT: You’ve come quite a long distance since we last met, if you can now see a distinction between accuracy and the truth.

BRENNAN: I’m trying to help Booth. I can be objective about his brain and he can’t.

GORDON WYATT: Sometimes you have to help people against their wishes.

BRENNAN: I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do to help him. (She suddenly seems to realize what she’s said.) Can we listen, please?

GORDON WYATT: Yes. (He switches the audio back on to the interrogation room. An awkward look is shared between Brennan and him.)

SWEETS: Did you give Bryce the gun because you knew he was planning a robbery?

GIDGET: All I knew is Bryce told me he’d found a way to make a ton of money fast.

SWEETS: Who was in it with him?

GIDGET: I don’t know.

SWEETS: I think the reason you feel responsible is that if you’d paid Bryce his fair share, he wouldn’t have got himself killed.

GORDON WYATT: Bullseye. Well done.

GIDGET: Bryce didn’t need money to impress me. And it wasn’t me that he was worried about when he was in prison?

SWEETS: Who was it?

GIDGET: All I know is that Bryce broke it off with me. Said he had to get serious with somebody else. He said I wasn’t enough woman for him.

(Sweets looks at the glass, suddenly realizing something.)

BRENNAN: Why is he looking at us?

(Cut to: Outside the interrogation room. Booth jumps up when they emerge.)

BOOTH: Jesus, it’s about time Sweets, what took you so long? Don’t answer that, okay – what did he get out of her?

BRENNAN: I have no idea but the two of them are very excited.

SWEETS: You wanna –

GORDON WYATT: I wouldn’t dream of it! Please.

SWEETS: Okay. Murder victim told Gidget that she wasn’t enough woman for him.

BOOTH: So?

GORDON WYATT: Well, so it suggests that while in jail, your victim was pining for an average sized woman.

BRENNAN: Vocabulary? That is your evidence?

BOOTH: We subpoenaed the victim’s cell phone records, the only people he ever talked to were Gidget and his brother.

SWEETS: The victim’s brother said that they were estranged, right?

GORDON WYATT: And the victim’s brother’s wife is an average sized woman, isn’t she?

SWEETS: You want us to handle this?

BOOTH: Nah nah, I’ll handle this one, boys. (He walks away.)

(Cut to: The crime scene.)

NICOLE DAFONTE: (upset) Why did you bring me here?

BOOTH: We found Bryce right there. See, he was crawling all the way over there, lugging his own weight in gold coins through a tunnel probably about, uh, about that wide. He got out on the other end, he was shot and killed. Now why is it that somebody would do something like that? Greed, bravery? He was doing it for you, wasn’t he, Nicole? How long were you and Bryce seeing each other behind your husband’s back?

NICOLE DAFONTE: (is now in tears) Since always. Since high school. I wrote Bryce in prison, and I told him that we had to stop, but when he got out on parole he begged me to choose him. Got it in his head that to get me to himself he had to be a better provider than his brother. Are you gonna tell Derek about us?

BOOTH: No. No, I’m not gonna say anything to him. But I will tell you that if you’ve been in love with another man for ten years – your husband knows. What I need to know is who was helping Bryce out with his burglary?

NICOLE DAFONTE: I don’t know. I don’t know, probably somebody he met in prison. He said that he would buy me anything that I ever wanted, if I knew Bryce was stealing I would’ve begged him to stop.

BOOTH: You see, Miss DaFonte, when a man can’t have the woman that he loves, he gets a bit crazy. One brother, he died for you, right there. The other one, your husband, you put him through hell.

(Cut to: Jeffersonian - Hodgins Work Area. Brennan enters.)

HODGINS: I still can’t find a bullet.

BRENNAN: Well, keep trying.

HODGINS: Could’ve been washed anywhere by the water. The guy’s ring was nearly thirty meters away. High school wrestling, that has got to be the victim’s, right? Oh I am back! I mean, King of the Lab, right?

BRENNAN: No, not King of the Lab. This is not the victim’s ring. Achondroplasia causes metaphyseal cupping at the joints, resulting in large knuckles – too big for this ring. (She takes her phone out of her pocket, making a call.)

HODGINS: Well then, whose ring is this?

BRENNAN: Someone who went to the same high school at the same time, played the same sport, but had average sized fingers. (They exchange a meaningful look.)

(Cut to: FBI, corridor.)

BRENNAN: We’re good at this.

BOOTH: Yeah Bones, this is what we do, we’re the best.

(Mr. and Mrs. DaFonte walk out of lift.)

BOOTH: Mr. DaFonte, thank you for coming in.

DEREK DAFONTE: Yeah, uh, so you got any news on my brother?

BOOTH: Do me a favor and just put your hand out like this, please?

NICOLE DAFONTE: What’s going on?

BOOTH: Mr. DaFonte, please, your hand, just like this.

(Mr. DaFonte does so. Brennan grabs his hand, forcing the ring onto it.)

BRENNAN: When your brother came out of the tunnel, you reached out, took his hand.

BOOTH: He thought the two of you were working together, but you knew why he wanted the money.

BRENNAN: When you shot your brother, the force partially dislocated his shoulder, while the bullet travelled to the torso in a fatal trajectory, grazing three ribs.

BOOTH: Then you pushed him back into the tunnel, foot to face.

BRENNAN: But he pulled off your ring.

BOOTH: You’re under arrest. (He cuffs Mr. DaFonte.)

NICOLE DAFONTE: Derek? Why?

DEREK DAFONTE: Come on Nicky, you know why. You know exactly why.

(Cut to: Gordon Wyatt’s kitchen.)

BOOTH: (He spins an object.) So we found most of the gold coins in the victim’s brother’s crawl space, I mean most of them, not all of them.

GORDON WYATT: Ah, so the oldest murder of them all, eh? Brother slays brother, Cain and Abel.

BOOTH: Doc, tomorrow morning I gotta be on the firing line at seven am sharp, so you have to fix my brain damage.

GORDON WYATT: You haven’t got brain damage!

BOOTH: Ah, Gordon Wyatt okay, they took out a brain tumor the size of a melon ball out of my head; I can’t shoot straight; I can’t tell if people are lying; I have to get dummy books just to do things. I’m at a complete loss with stuff.

GORDON WYATT: (He uncorks a bottle.) But not as a result of brain damage. When you were in a coma, you got a glimpse of another world.

BOOTH: Right, and how does that help me aim my gun?

(They sit down.)

GORDON WYATT: Temperance Brennan. You’re in love with her. (Booth looks up in surprise.) You’re building a world around her, a family.

BOOTH: (He pauses, looking torn.) We’re not compatible. She sees the world one way, I see it the other way.

GORDON WYATT: No of course, it’s absolutely ludicrous the idea of you together, but the heart chooses what it chooses, doesn’t it? We don’t really have any say in the matter.

BOOTH: (insistently) She doesn’t love me. I would know if she loved me.

GORDON WYATT: May I counsel patience on this front. Hope and patience.

BOOTH: (He smiles slightly.) Right so, about my marksmanship certification – any advice?

GORDON WYATT: Grow a set! Be a man, step up! She’s your partner, for heaven’s sake. The job you do together is highly dangerous, she counts on you for protection. So you’d damn well better protect her!

BOOTH: So that’s your big psychiatric advice, just “grow a set”?

GORDON WYATT: Indeed. When it comes to a man and his gun, a woman is the natural cure. Take Dr Brennan to this um, this shooting event of yours.

(Brennan enters.)

GORDON WYATT: You won’t fail in front of her, trust me. Dr Brennan! (He stands to greet her.)

BRENNAN: Hello. (They exchange kisses on the cheek.)

GORDON WYATT: Please, take a seat.

BRENNAN: Oh, well, why can’t we sit out in the restaurant?

BOOTH: Oh no, Bones, this is a great honor to sit at the chef’s table. Huge.

BRENNAN: (She sits regardless.) But it’s in the kitchen, it’s hot and noisy.

BOOTH: It’s a thing, alright, we just go with it. (Gordon Wyatt looks at him and indicates that he should ask that favor. Booth becomes nervous.) So! Bones um, would you do me a favor?

BRENNAN: Yes, as long as it does not involve me shaving my head. (She looks extremely proud of herself.)

BOOTH: (laughs after a moment) You are making a joke.

BRENNAN: I’m becoming quite amusing.

BOOTH: You are, it’s very funny. Honestly, will you do me a favor?

BRENNAN: Yes, as long as I don’t have to shave my head.

BOOTH: (snorts) Little advice on the humor; once the joke happens, don’t dog pile on it, just let it go.

GORDON WYATT: (He hands Booth and Brennan food.) Do try these amuse bouche, they may look like sperm on corn smut, but I assure you they are magically scrumptious. (Brennan looks at her food, trying to hide her displeasure.) Be brave my children, make a foray, cast off your shackles etcetera etcetera, abide by my exhortations to joie de vivre – (Booth looks at Brennan, who is smiling back) - that you may be born aloft on the trembling wings of giggling angels. (He exits. Booth and Brennan exchange a look of amusement.)

(Music: My Ghost by Glass Pear.)

(Cut to: FBI Shooting range. Booth is back again, with Brennan in the background. Booth fires two rounds of shots. The targets are brought closer, and we see that they are bang on target.

RANGE MASTER: Excellent, Agent Booth.

(Booth turns to Brennan, who gives him a thumbs up. He turns back to examine his targets, a small content smile upon his face.)

END.