02x12 - Physician, Heal Thy Selfie

Liv: Previously on iZombie...

You're really plowing through your list.

Man: The media's calling you the Chaos Killer.

It says here you were slinging for Stacey Boss.

Peyton: He's my star witness against Mr. Boss.

He's pretty much the whole case.

Liv: He's dangerous, stay away from him!

He tried to kill Major. He turned me into a zombie.

I slept with him.

Peyton: You know, you sleep with someone, you think you know.

But they could be anybody.

Everything okay?


Just helping a friend.

Sorry I took so long.

Don't be sorry.

Watching you crawl back into bed is not a bad thing.


You never told me how you got this.

That's a story for another day.

Sorry. I lost track of time.

Let me get off your bed.

Just a few more days until my new place is ready, and then I'll be out of your way.

Don't be silly, we love having you here.

Although, you do have a habit of picking the marshmallows out of my cereal, leaving me with a less-than-ideal ratio of marshmallow to crunchy bits, but, you know, I'll let that slide...

Oh, no, Peyton.

What is it?

I screwed up at work.

Can I do anything?

I mean, because if you want me to pick every last marshmallow bear out of that box for you... [KNOCKS]

I'll do it.

I think I need something stronger.

When I was in college, I had this professor, and when he'd hand out the Friday quiz, he'd say, "Duck soup for you, schweetheart."

I think he thought it was easier for me than everyone else.

But I was probably working twice as hard.

Yeah, before you moved in, I just assumed you were a femmebot that plugged into a charging station at night.

Ah, I bust ass to make it look like that.


It turns out, I fail just as epically as I succeed.

I don't know what happened at work, but I promise, the only opinion you need to worry about is your own.

That's a pretty low opinion right now.

Well, it shouldn't be. You are formidable.

I mean, you're clever and disciplined.


Those are just the top tier qualities.

All right? You're also clearly blessed with a hollow leg.


On that note...

No, no. Don't go.

I must.

I know how this turns out.

It's like the shots contest in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

You're Karen Allen and I'm the fat Nepalese guy that ends up under the table.

Come on. You can handle it.

I ever tell you about my first case?

Any chance you can put a little pep in your step?

The violent soundscape of nature is making my ears bleed.

Birds chirping, leaves rustling, gnats laying eggs.

Never start a land war in Asia.

Don't go toe-to-toe with Peyton Charles when drinking is involved.

Why are we sprinting?

Because I'm hungry.

I haven't eaten anything lately.

I was afraid that horny-librarian-brain would lead to poor life choices.

And did it?

Did it what?

Lead to any poor life choices?

Liv, we're really going to need your help with this one.

Nasty triple homicide.

Triple, you say?

Detective Babineaux! Any comment?

Come on, Detective. Give me something.

Press is going to have a field day with this case.

Three unidentified males.

Most likely killed on a boat, then washed up here.

Um, where are their heads?

I was hoping you could tell me.


Cause of death might take a while.

Cause of death appears obvious.

The three victims were decapitated post-mortem.


The driver's licenses we found on the bodies were fake.

We can probably assume the photos are real, but the names are not.

Hoping you can work your magic, Liv, help ID these guys.


Looks like a no-brainer to me, Liv.

I'll let you know when I get something.

All right, the sooner the better.


Uh, what are you planning to do about your little vision predicament?

I don't know. I can't think when I'm hungry.

Everything looks like a cartoon sandwich.

Olivia Moore!

Let's see what's inside drawer number one.

Today we're sending you home with Madison Brenneck, 25 years old.

The victim of an ill-fated rendezvous with a Seattle cross-town.

Bus driver said she never even looked up from her phone.

She's only in our morgue because she was killed on city property.

So, Madison comes complete with wonderfully unremarkable, non-murdery visions.

All the great taste, none of the foul play.


Did you just post a picture of what I assume is Madison Brenneck wrapped in sushi rice on your Instagram account?

Hashtag "brain food"?

'Course I 'grammed it, that fish was on fleek.

Oh, my God! Why did I post that?

Why does anyone post pictures of food?

[SIGHS] I think it's okay.

It just looks like raw tuna.

Look, so, I did some digging.

Turns out our Madison was quite the millennial social media maven.

Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr.

She had over 600 Yelp reviews.

The day she died, she tweeted 27 times.


Liv, Liv.

"Devoured tuna roll." Hashtag "Sushi obsessed."

Hashtag "Covering my ass."

You need to be careful not to overshare on social media.

Anything zombie-related is TMI.

Don't worry. I'm on my chill hustle hundo-p.

My annoying millennial speak knowledge ended with TMI, so I have no idea what you just said.

Liv, I'm serious. Be careful.


"The struggle is real. Props for the good looks. Boom."


Jane: Ms. Charles?

Mr. Deaux is still waiting to see you.

Thanks Jane. You can send him in.


You had me out there a long time.

Jane and I really bonded.

I think she's handling the change with grace.

What do you want?

Look, I don't know what those cops told you, but I had nothing to do with those missing Seattleites.

A couple of the Chaos Killer's victims called my business?

It doesn't mean anything.

Yeah, it's true, I didn't mention my dad was a victim.

We haven't spoken in years.

I try to keep my info dumps to the useful variety, stay away from the irrelevant "daddy never loved me" stories, you know?

That's quite a drink you're making there.

It's for a friend.

She's dropping by to celebrate my big decision.

I'm telling Baracus everything.

And since they don't hand out gold stars for sleeping with the CI's, I think I'm done here.

Don't tank your career because of me.

You're too smart for that. Come on.

We're doing important work.

I'm trying to wash away some sins here.

What happened the other night, it meant something.

It made me think that...

Oh, hello, Liv. You know my guest.

He's the man who made you what you are today.

Worlds collide.

I take it Peyton knows all about Team Z.

Nobody calls it that.

Stop trying to make Team Z a thing.

Blaine thinks he and I could have something special.

Aww, he swiped right.

I'm sure that your Tinder photo is hair-centric and flattering, but how do you spin that bio?

"I'm a humble guy, always down for a hike, or we could just murder and chill. My fave slays are astronauts, homeless teens and boyfriends."

For the record, all you are to me is a giant mistake.



Oh. Celebratory selfie!

Oh, uh, okay.


Still no word from Mr. Baracus.

I've been calling him all day, but you know how he likes to work with the music cranked up.

I'll swing by his house on the way home.

Did you just tweet that photo of us?

Hashtag "friendship goals."

Hashtag "booty had me like what"?

Not cool?

Uh, little weird.


[SIGHS] Good thing you didn't get my crime board in the shot.

Hashtag "go into hiding because we are onto you."

You're going to have to update your board, Peyton.

Hal Connolly, Kareem Jackson and Willy Fisher washed up on the shore of Lake Washington this morning.

Without their heads.



I know, Ma. I'm listening and you're absolutely right.

If you're gonna host mahjong, the other ladies should step up and bring refreshments.

Ma, I'm gonna have to call you back.

Gotta hand it to Mr. Boss.

According to Yelp, he's a very committed CPA.

Can I offer you a vatrushka?

Come on.

You've got a second shot at life.


I'm good.

Well, there's your problem.

We wanted to know if you recognized any of these men.

You love showing me pictures.

No. I can't say that I do.

Isn't that you?

Standing with those three guys?

At the funeral of Louis Brandt, AKA "Cock-Eyed Lou?"

Oh, yeah, those guys.

You run into so many people at funerals.

But isn't that guy with the machete your nephew?

Ah, so it is!

He's an odd duck traipsing around with that thing.

The mustache is new. Yeah. Have these boys done something wrong?

Probably, but we didn't get a chance to ask.

They washed up on the shore of Lake Washington yesterday, missing their heads.

I think we're done.

I have to call my sister.

Would you please see yourselves out?

I'm sorry for your loss.

I don't think he's our guy.

He did seem pretty rattled about his nephew.

Could be someone with a death wish wanted to send Mr. Boss a serious message.

And we just delivered it.

You know, I know a guy.

When I was in Vice, I helped him out of a couple of jams.

Let's track him down, have a little chat.


What does it mean if a guy you're dating isn't on Facebook?

I don't use Facebook. So, nothing?


Or maybe he's married with a bunch of kids.


How you been, Tanner?

Got bedbugs.

So that sucks.

You look just like this doll my little sister used to have.

We just found a trio of Mr. Boss's guys, all decapitated.

Got us wondering if there was a new player out there moving in on Boss.

Above my pay grade, man.


What's your Twitter handle, Tanner?

Hashtag "real CI's of Seattle," hashtag "riding the U-boat."

Sally Tiny Tears is freaking me out, man.

I can't have people thinking I'm tight with cops.

Then make it worth her while not to post that.

I believe she is what they call "a taste stker".

More of an online influencer.

Okay, yeah, there's a new player.

A mystery man with a new product.

Lucky U.

It's the sickest Utopium out there.

Totally uncut, insane high.



The bunk I'm slinging's got more steps than Helen Keller in a corn maze.


Tell me more about this mystery man.

It's like you don't know what the word "mystery" means.

Hey, guys, Liv here.

So, today I am beyond excited to do an unboxing video of our latest haul from MorgueTech.

Lots of fun stuff in here, brain pans, wrap-around cadaver covers.

These are awesome because they come with a super-cute document pouch.

A hundred and fifty-three people watched you unpack a box?

How? Why?

Please tell me you're not watching your own vlog.

What are you doing on Seattle PD database?

Looking for background info on Drake.

I feel like he might be hiding something.

What kind of person doesn't use Twitter or Facebook?

Only a lunatic.

How else would he disseminate inspirational quotes and latte art?

Never mind. Figured it out.

It's the kind of person sentenced to 22 months in Monroe Correctional for felony aggravated assault.

"Victim suffered an ocular fracture, broken ribs, shattered femur."

Oh, my God.


It's him. What do I do?

Well, he's a zombie with anger issues and a prison record.

As far as millennial breakup options go, ghosting him gets my vote.

It's the smart move.

But I like him, Ravi.

You should eat.

And sleep.


Look at this.

That is from the crime scene at the McDonough estate, one of the Chaos Killer's most recent victims.

Pay attention to the graffiti.

Now, look at this.

It's from the Baracus home.

The graffiti is different.

A lot about this crime scene is different.

Including the fact that Baracus doesn't fit the Chaos Killer's usual "one-percenter demo."

I don't think it's the same perp.

Which makes sense because we've had our friend Blaine under surveillance, so it wasn't him.

Detective Babineaux?

What you got on the triple decapitation?

People have a right to know, et cetera, et cetera.

[SIGHS] No comment.

You're killing me.

A triple beheading, and the afternoon edition still puts me below the fold?

What's a guy gotta do to get a lead story?

Giving the killer a catchy nickname probably helps.

Du Clark: "Vaughn Douche Clark."

So original.

Here he comes.

Major. Come on in.

I was summoned.

Okay, here we go. Watch this.

"Max Rager tastes like the ass of a turtle swimming in a dirty river."

I don't know why he does this to himself.

Thank you, Sambulo21, from Swaziland.

Boy, I just love this guy's comprehensive knowledge of how turtle ass tastes.

Thanks for dropping by, Major.

You know our Security Consultant, Janko?

Haven't had the pleasure.

Six years in Iraq.

Oh. Thanks for your service.

Well, he's a private military contractor.


He was in charge of ass-kicking and name-taking, and really doesn't like it when I brag about him, but he's such a good egg.

Unlike these haters here.

Max Rager has over three million Twitter followers.

Why obsess over the trolls?

No troll left behind, Rita, my dear.

Nobody should slip through the cracks.

Isn't that right, Major?

Yeah, I guess.

So, why is it a man you told me is not a zombie gets taken out by the Chaos Killer?

We're... [SIGHS] What's the word?


Okay, I mean, you're really underselling it, but whatevs.

So, the question is, what the hell is going on here, Major?

I'm as confused as anyone.

I mean, it looks like someone else wanted Baracus gone, and they stole my MO to do it.

But I checked Baracus, he wasn't a zombie.


Because his credit report tells us otherwise.

$700 at Spice Mountain, ghost pepper hot sauce from India, weekly spray tans and salon dye jobs.

Suspicious, don't you think?

Sounds pretty undead to me.

Or just as likely metrosexual foodie.

I'm going to be so upset if you're not telling me the truth.

And I don't get mad, Major.

You get even?

Oh, God, no. No, no, no. Where's the fun there? No.

I get even with interest.

I embrace the Chicago way.

Someone pulls a knife, I pull a gun.

Someone sends one of mine to the hospital, I send...

I got it.

Do you got it, Major? Do you?

Don't just say the words. Reflect on their meanings.

Take these Internet trolls, for instance, who say the most hurtful things about this company, which I built from the ground up.

So, someone sends a mean tweet, you...

Don't know, yet.

But there's definitely gonna be some escalation.

Hey, why don't we send him some really embarrassing magazine subscriptions, huh?

Chub Hub. Or Bathhouse Monthly.

Or, wait. What's that really freaky one you like?

Slow Torture and Gardens?

So, which one should we go after first, Major? Huh?

Which one of these rat bastards gets his?



Trickster107, from Bangkok, who tweeted to his 14 followers that he thinks our product caused his father's heart attack.

Oh, game on, pal. [CLAPS]

Your shift is over. Go.

Be free!

Just one last thing.

"Real talk? Your sandwich artist was chugging some serious haterade today."

"No eye contact? Am I a leper?"

"Also, where's the made-from-scratch sriracha?"

"The artisanal pickles?" One star.

A bit harsh for Bernie's Sub Shack, don't you think?

We eat there twice a week.

Hashtag "sorry, not sorry."

Oh, hello there.

What's up, Ravi? Liv.

Uh, I'll just wander off or something...

Haven't heard from you. What happened?

Sex-starved-librarian brain wear off and you've lost interest?

Oh, no, I've just had a crazy day at work, lots of murders.

Yet you had time to tweet 17 times today.

"Pumpkin spice latte, yay!"

"Stop lights, boo!" "Wow, Seattle, cloudy much?"

That's a lot of time reading tweets for a guy who claims he doesn't use Twitter, or who spent two years in prison.

[SIGHS] That...

Doing a little digging, huh?

Do I get to explain myself, or do you think you know everything you need to know about me?

I don't know anything.

My dad split, my mom had a string of loser boyfriends.

The worst was this mean drunk named Frank.

So, I'm 19.

I come home and my mom's eye is swollen shut.

Blood down the front of her shirt.

Frank's just sitting in front of the TV with his hands in his shorts, calling out for another beer like nothing happened.

And I just snapped. Went after him.

He pulled a knife, that's how I got this.

The prosecutor said I went a bit overboard, because Frank still can't walk.

Or feed himself.

I'm glad you told me.

Well, I usually wait until date five or six to spring the whole ex-con thing on a girl.

So, give me another shot?

Let me take you to dinner.

I'd like that.


Hold on.

[SIGHS] I am so sorry, can we reschedule? My mom's kitchen sink is leaking. Which I know doesn't sound like an emergency, but if I don't handle it, she'll call 911.

BuzzFeed teaches us that when a man abruptly change his plans, it means he's up to no good.

I'm happy for you to join me, but my mom, she's a bit of a trip.

I can handle it.

What's going on with your skin there?

Anemia or some kind of sun allergy?

Ma! What did we talk about?

Roll it around inside your head first, test it out.

I'm fine.


She's got the coloring of a paper towel, but I'm not supposed to say anything.

[SIGHS] I'm sorry.

She tends to say the first thing that pops into her head.

Hey, you know what?

I took a couple of cosmetology classes at the community college.

I could give you a little makeover!

She's beautiful, Ma!

Yeah, so is the sun, but you can't stare directly at it.

What do you say?

Why not?

Oh, good!

Listen, let me go get my makeup caboodle, and I'll be back in a jiffy!

If I were you, I'd make a run for it.

We'll be starting the service in just a few minutes.

I'd like to invite you to make your way into the chapel.

Excuse me, we'll be starting...

The, uh...

We'll be doing the, um...


Yes, thank you.

The service. In the chapel.

Thank you.

Okay, press your tongues to the roof of your mouths.

You know, we don't want any waddles.

And smile.


If you post that, you have to tag me in it.

I don't know what that means, honey.

Uh, let me see if I can find Nutterbutter, get a pic with him, too, for next year's Christmas card.

Ma, we're not taking a picture with the cat. We gotta get going.

But thank you again for the sweater. I love it.

Well, listen, before you go, I want to give you those vouchers for the Wicked Winter Renaissance Faire! Huh?

All right, where to for dinner?

Somewhere dark.



Mr. Boss: Mozart?


[SIGHS] So close.

Come on, Blaine.

Don't look so surprised.

I never forget a face.

I'm surprised you remember me.

The owner of a major league team usually doesn't remember the batboy.

The good owners do.

And you were more than a batboy.

You were an intriguing AA prospect likely to play in the bigs.

Had I known.

But it looks like you've done well for yourself here.

This place must've cost a pretty penny.

Who prepares your taxes?

I've got a guy.

Oh, a guy.

I hear he's good.

You know, as a small business owner yourself, you probably know when an employee leaves his job, two weeks' notice is standard.

About that, um...

I saw things at that boat party.

Things that still haunt me.

I spent a couple weeks shivering in a dark room, and I decided it was a sign that I needed a change.

A sign, huh?

You think God was so desperate for you to change your ways that he slaughtered all those innocent people to make a point?

Well, we're talking about the same guy that thought Noah's Ark was a solid plan, so...

Given the circumstances, I'm inclined to let the lack of proper notice slide.

Thank you?

But when you left my employ, you had in your possession $4,000 worth of product.

That sounds about right.

Let me get my checkbook.

Hold on.

The, uh, calculator app on this thing...

How did we function before?

Uh, 4K, plus the vig, calculated weekly.

We'll round to 100 weeks.

Which means you owe me just north of 80 grand.

But let's say 5K every two weeks?

I'll send my boys over to collect.

That sounds fair.

I should be getting back to my nephew's service.

You done good, kid.


Is your breakfast not using its indoor voice?

Snap, crackle, pop.

So loud.

Drinking on a school night again with Peyton.

You're a disgrace to your country's proud history of functional lushes.

Break in the case.

Got a call from the owner of a local marina.

A strange boat was docked there.

He pulled up the cover, and the inside of the boat was drenched in blood.

I'm guessing that's where our vics and their heads parted ways.

Lucky them.

Dope. Let's dip up out of here.


Man: Customer that rents this slip was having his boat repaired.

Showed up today to dock it, and found this one in his space.

Me and my son pulled the tarp off, and yowzah.

But you didn't see who docked the boat?

No, my son was working that day.


Hey! I'm about to dump that thing in the lake.


Kids and their phones.

You'll understand what I mean some day.

No, I think I get it now.

Charlie, you remember anything about the guy who docked this boat?

I didn't get a good look at him, but I saw him get in a taxi.

You know which taxi company?


Charlie! Answer the man!

Dad, God! It was green and white.

I was googling "green and white Seattle taxis" to see which...

That's Supreme Taxi.

I'll get ahold of the dispatcher.

No way.

Guess whose cabin this is.

District Attorney Floyd Baracus.

Still warm.

Baracus was here recently.

Dale was right.

The Baracus abduction wasn't the Chaos Killer.

It was Boss's goons trying to make it look like the Chaos Killer.

I'm assuming Boss sent them to thank Baracus in person for all those indictments.

But I just don't get it.

How does a middle-aged lawyer take out three armed hitmen?

What do you see?


You were having a vision, right?

No, God, sorry. I, uh, spaced out.

No visions?

I think the radiation from your cell phone is giving your third eye cataracts.

Don't hate 'cause you can't relate.


How's this for a vision?

I guess the man of the hour didn't stick around to explain himself.

Searched the property. No sign of Baracus.

But a neighbor told us the motorcycle that's usually parked out front is gone.

Run down the plate and put out an APB.

Yes, sir.

Liv: A zombie wouldn't leave behind his only food supply.

Those brains are the DA's incentive to find a very good hiding spot.

[WHISPERS] Baracus?

Hey! Everything okay?

Seattle's missing district attorney is a zombie, and he's currently hiding out in the crawlspace under his cabin.

Can I take this?

I believe you just did.

Oh, wait. I thought he was abducted by the Chaos Killer.

No. Three of Mr. Boss' hitmen.

They did up his place Chaos Killer-style.

Big mistake abducting a zombie.

We just found their heads in Baracus' fridge.

I'm going to take the poor guy some brains.

See if I can figure out a way to help him out of this mess.

I'll go with you.

Thanks, but I got this.

Liv. Think about it.

You're going to a cabin where there's a desperate zombie who just decapitated three men?

It's not safe.

It's not safe for a non-zombie.


I brought brains.

Hi. I'm Olivia Moore.

We've actually met before, I'm Peyton Charles' best friend.

How did you know?

About me. What I am.

You have 40 varieties of hot sauce and three heads in the fridge.

I snapped their necks like it was nothing.

I knew I was going to need those brains, and one of them had a machete, so...

Three heads in the refrigerator.

I can't resurface after this.

I'm an undead man walking.

Either Mr. Boss or the police will find me.

And I don't see any scenarioare my son again.

We'll figure something out.

Man, you work up the nerve to resign, and your boss gets abducted.

Bananas! I'm... I'm still quitting though.

Well, no sense in moving until your employment's sorted.

You don't mind staying me in your hair a little longer?

I do mind. Yeah, you know... But Nietzsche taught us that to live is to suffer.


Mmm. Drink!

We're drinking every time one of the Zombie High kids screams.

Oh, I've seen the show. I'm not sure that's the best...

Look, I know one thing.

If I ever was turned into a zombie, my first order of business would be to scratch you.

I'd be like, "Oh, man! I'm a zombie."


Seems a little self-serving, but okay.

No way am I doing this whole zombie thing without you.





Liv: Like I told you, when you're playing drinking games with Peyton, all you'll walk away with is a "thanks for participating" ribbon.

A tiny man with a jackhammer has taken up residence in my skull.

And yet, I'll bet Peyton still made it to 6:00 a.m. spin class, didn't she?

Big deal. I've been spinning since 4:30.

After seeing Baracus, I'm worried Mr. Boss'll come after Peyton next.

No, that's problem solved.

Peyton emailed a letter of resignation to the Mayor last night.

I feel so bad for her.

This is everything she's worked for, but it's probably best.

If you saw Baracus, that is one zombie with no good options.

Whoa! Morning, stranger.

Yeah, guess I'm the one who hasn't been around much lately.

New guy.

Rent check's on the table.

I'll see you when I need more clothes.

Oh, I'm going to need more of these boxes, a couple more at least, thanks.

[SIGHS] Mayor Davis.


No, what?

No, I do not accept your resignation.

You see the front page of the Observer today?

This. This headline means you can't resign.

This headline means we have to take down Mr. Boss.

If we don't, it means he owns Seattle.

It means the bad guys win.

Now, never mind that it says that a young woman of talent got out when things went south.

Are you the woman I think you are, Peyton Charles?


♪ Nice girls not one with a defect, ♪
♪ cellophane shrink-wrapped, so correct. ♪

Nice hearse. It's real inconspicuous.

It was either this or the Zamboni.

For services rendered.

You catch the Mayor's press conference?

She's going hard at Mr. Boss.

You got exactly what you wanted.

Thus the brains.

I risked a 20-year career running that story.

I invented sources, I pulled quotes out of my ass.

If it helps you sleep, every word was true.

So, a doughy 40-something man gets abducted by a trio of experienced killers.

He's taken aboard a boat where he's supposed to meet his fate.

What should happen in this situation?

Hmm? Nothing?

I know!

Doughy 40-something man is supposed to end up dead.

The three experienced killers do not get beheaded.


I know this one, too!

He's a zombie.


But that should not be possible, because our zombie hunter swore to me that the District Attorney walked among the living.

And now I don't know what to believe.

How many zombies have slipped through the cracks?

Should I have Janko here go through the list with much less discretion?

The night I zombie-checked Baracus, his kid came running up to him, this five-year-old boy throwing his arms around his dad.

And I couldn't. I couldn't take him from his kid.

But that is the only time I have ever skipped a zombie.

You have my word.

You do respect me, Major, don't you?

Of course.

And you are aware that when I want something to happen, it...

It generally happens.

I don't doubt that.

Well, why don't we check in on your friend in Bangkok?

Trickster107. The one you hand-picked.

Let's see what he's been up to.


Okay, what file am I looking at here?

YouTube, watch history.

Okay, here we are.


Oh... Ah! Oh. Oh.

Looks like he's had something of a bad day.

Yeah, that's Thai for "pool of his own blood."

Yeah. I don't think he's going to be thumbing through any of those magazine subscriptions.

Wonder if he had any adorable rugrats.

Max Rager is a global brand, Major.

We are everywhere.

Like Starbucks.

Or the Eye of Sauron.

Tell you what, I can tell you're not comfortable with taking lives, so I'm going to make things easier for you.

You can save them instead.

Each day, one of those rat bastards trolling us is going to have a similar accident until I get proof that you've sent Floyd Baracus to his watery grave.

Oh, yeah. We know.

So, it's time to play whack-a-zombie.

But if you're not sure which hole Baracus is in, ask Liv Moore.

We know she knows.


♪ ♪

Hey! What have you got for us?

Twenty-two-year-old male corner boy.

Executed for selling on the wrong corner.

Throat slip. A Mr. Boss special.

Pocketful of Utopium.

This must be Lucky U.

Sold by Mr. Boss' competition.

What dumb-ass thought that moving in on Mr. Boss would be a good idea?


Something wrong?

Last night, Floyd Baracus took his own life.

Jumped off the Aurora Bridge.

Left his shoes, wallet and a suicide note. I thought you'd want to know.

What did the note say?

Mainly a bunch of sweet stuff to his son.

"I'll see you again someday." That sort of thing.

We're gonna drag the lake, but as of now, the case is officially closed.

Uh... You're packed up.

Yeah, I decided not to quit my job.

[SIGHS] I wish you would.


I just stood next to parents who came in to identify their 22-year-old son.

All right? Stacey Boss didn't slit the kid's throat, but he might as well have.

He's already gone after one district attorney.

Let somebody I'm less fond of risk his life.

And if I do that, what does it make me?

All right, fine.

You've got the right stuff.

But stay here.

You know, you'll have two men living with you, one's practically a Greek god, who's turned his body into a finely-tuned weapon, and, of course, Major.

And either of us would do anything for you.

My new place has a 24-hour doorman and a hot tub.

The Major will serve as our doorman.

All right? He's great with doors.

The opening. The closing.

And I will make sure that your tub time's hot as hell.


You're the best.

You know, for the record, I'd be very sad to see you go.

My liver, on the other hand, is like, "Good riddance."

Uh, do you need help with the...

No. No.

Thanks, Ravi.

For everything.



Aw, crap.

Flip it, flip it, flip it!



You expecting someone?


Yo, my boy here?

Woman: This is the Lucky U?

That's all we carry, honey.


Don E. You don't show up here.

Then don't ignore my texts.

Some people don't have the common courtesy to die during business hours.

We gotta roll.

I'm sorry.

I'll be back as soon as I can.


Blaine is the new player.