Previously on Lucifer...
We need to figure out who kidnapped me.
I'm fairly certain that my Father's behind it.
Lucifer, I'm not angry with you,
that you somehow got your wings back,
or even that you cut them off again.
I was tested once, and I failed.
I'm not gonna fail again.
I suppose this won't bother you.
But you cut them off.
The pesky things seem to be
a bit more tenacious this time around.
I'm Lieutenant Marcus Pierce.
Heard a lot about you, Lieutenant,
and I'm really excited to work with you.
Aren't you that corrupt cop that got off easy?
Excuse me?
People come to me to ask for favors,
and more often than not, I'm happy to oblige.
What do you get?
Simply to be repaid at a later date.
A devilish IOU, if you will.
Who's the Sinnerman?
That's who hired me to kidnap you.
He's a scary dude. Huge crime boss.
And where do I find him?
You don't. He finds you.
This way.
Ah...
You're an angel.
Oh, gosh.
Uh, my apologies.
And for the record, I don't usually suffer
from premature unfurling.
Right. Now, where were we?
No, keep them out.
I'm totally into cosplay.
I could dress up as a devil and make it really sexy.
I have no desire to have sex with myself.
Not right now, at least.
Where are you going?
To do some grooming.
I'd recommend you leave. Now.
I'm about to engage in a rather gruesome form
of manscaping.
You cut them off, didn't you?
I did, yes.
But then they grew back, so I cut them off again.
It's like whack-a-mole back there.
I'm worried about you.
What you're describing is self-mutilation.
Doctor, someone is forcing those wings on me.
They took away my devil face.
And I won't stand for someone making me something I'm not.
Are you any closer to finding out who did this?
Yes. Well, a little.
He calls himself "The Sinnerman."
From what I can gather,
he's a criminal mastermind who just moved his operation
to Los Angeles, but no one seems to have ever met him,
which makes punching him in the face frustratingly difficult.
Well, maybe...
Doctor,
are you sure you're all right to be back at work?
I mean, it really hasn't been that long
since Mum flambéed you.
Yes. It certainly was a...
traumatic experience.
Fortunately, I'm trained to deal with that sort of thing,
and I'm doing just that.
And there's nothing I can do to help?
Yes. You can let me get back to you.
Oh, if you insist.
Oh, I haven't even told you the worst part, have I?
Not only did he stick my wings back on
and take my face, he's stolen my shtick as well.
He gives out favors to people
for a price to be named later.
Sound familiar?
Lucifer, you didn't invent the idea of giving out favors.
Yep, forgot who I was talking to.
I suppose you did.
But you haven't given out favors in a while.
And the Sinnerman knows it.
I think he's taunting me.
Do you think he's human?
Or something else?
I don't know.
But whatever he is, I'm gonna stop at nothing to find him.
We found him.
Who? The missing link?
Proof of human-rodent copulation.
It's Mike Alonso.
The guy that skewered your kidnapper under the pier.
This is clearly not the Sinnerman.
Clearly not, since I'm pretty sure
that no one with that name actually exists.
He had motive, no alibi,
and, oh, yeah, he confessed
under interrogation. He's our guy.
Well, then he must be working for the Sinnerman.
You're not gonna drag me
into whatever new weird drama this is.
And could you please
stop saying "Sinnerman"?
Sinnerman.
Big Nina Simone fan?
- Well, actually, I am. But I was just saying - What? Nothing.
- to the detective... - Nothing. It's nothing.
Are you hiding something from me, Detective?
No.
I don't care, I was just asking.
New case came in, you're up.
Thank you.
Okay. Why did you just stop me telling the new lieutenant
we're on the cusp of the greatest case of our lives?
Because the Sinnerman is an urban myth, he doesn't exist.
He's a boogeyman that criminals use
to hide their bad behavior.
"Oh, the Sinnerman made me do it."
Yet another thing he's stolen from me,
being blamed for the bad deeds of men.
- He can keep that one, actually. - So the idea
of telling our new boss...
Who I'm just starting to get a rhythm with...
That you want to arrest the Easter Bunny
doesn't really thrill me.
I have no intention of arresting anyone.
I want to grab him by his neck and see what happens
when I squeeze hard enough.
If you can bring me any tiny bit of evidence
that the Sinnerman actually exists,
I will be the first to look into it.
But...
until then, consider this case closed.
And let's focus on this case, please.
Okay.
Daniel?
Guy's name is JD Woodstock.
He lived right around the corner.
Neighbors said he was pretty quiet.
Unemployed, but we found this on him.
Huh.
So what are these? Jokes?
A charitable description, Detective.
"Avocado?
How about avoca-don't?"
Would it be rude to throw tomatoes at a corpse?
Looks like he was a struggling comedian.
We're trying to figure out if he performed anywhere.
What'd he do? Make fun of the wrong person?
Get in a fight with an audience member?
It's worth exploring, at least.
You know, there are a lot of insult comics out there,
and not everybody enjoys being mocked.
Hmm. We should listen to Daniel, actually.
He's got a unique insight into this case.
What's he talking about?
Well, they're kindred spirits.
A fellow broken soul who puts
the most embarrassing parts of his life on display
for his audience for an easy laugh.
He does stand-up, I do improv.
They're completely different things.
- Oh. - Improv
is all about "yes, and."
Stand-up, well, that's about telling jokes...
I-I regret starting this entire conversation.
Wait. Excuse me, Dan.
You do improv?
How did I not know that? And how did he?
- Well, it's a funny story, actually. - Actually,
it's because I-I don't tell a lot of people.
Why?
Yeah... hey, Ella.
How's it going? What'd you find?
Well, no murder weapon, but I did find three shell casings.
Running ballistics on them now.
But, based on the firing pattern,
I think this dude was tortured before he finally died.
Oh, well congratulations, Mr. Woodstock.
At least someone cared enough about your jokes to...
Did you just say Woodstock?
As in, JD Woodstock?
Yeah. Why? You know him?
Yeah. He made big news a couple days ago,
claiming Bobby Lowe stole his jokes.
And who is Bobby Lowe? A rival comedian
who hates himself so much he stole this drivel?
Uh, no.
Open your eyes, pal.
Yeah. JD claimed that Bobby's show
was based on his own material.
And that he could prove it.
Which is impossible,
because Bobby Lowe's show is all about his life.
Wait, so you're saying that this giant-headed buffoon
stole our poor victim's ideas?
His life's work and built a business out of it?
Mm. So now he's a "poor victim."
Look, I know you don't believe me, Detective,
but I happen to be going through something quite similar,
so if I can't get my own justice,
I'm gonna get it for this poor unfunny soul.
Well, I certainly did want you to focus on this case,
but be careful what you wish for.
At least the lieutenant isn't here.
You know, if you keep saying crazy things around him,
who knows what he might do.
Right. When have I ever cared about that, Detective?
Ah, that's true.
- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans - -- www.Addic7ed.com --
I sweated over every joke.
Worked my ass off for months.
And Bobby stole it all like it was nothing.
Created a show based on my jokes!
Well Bobby, guess what?
I finally found it.
Proof you're a fraud.
And I'm going to show it to the world.
Well? Which of these boxes do I click on for the proof?
None. He posted this video the day before he died.
And we can't find whatever proof he claimed to have had.
So that's why JD was tortured,
so the killer could find and destroy it?
Or he's a liar.
Huh?
I'm not sure who said that,
but I totally agree with them.
Bobby Lowe would never do something like that.
- Why do you say that? - Because,
Bobby's show is so personal.
It's so authentic.
There's no way that you could fake it.
Right. Don't listen to her.
The man is clearly a thief.
Let's go give him a good throttling.
I'm leaning towards just talking to him.
And then throttling. I suppose a little foreplay
never hurt anyone.
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait, wait. You guys are gonna
go talk to him, like, right now this second?
Yeah. Why?
Maybe I should go with.
You know, to collect the evidence.
- Right. Well, if he's innocent... - He's not innocent.
If he's innocent, then there won't
be any evidence to collect,
so probably better if you hang here.
Yeah. I-I see what you're saying there,
but...
I just think, to be safe,
I should collect as much stuff as possible.
You know, fingerprints, a lock of hair, an autograph.
Right.
To be safe.
Okay.
To be safe.
Yeah!
Hey.
Yeah.
Thanks for meeting me, Amenadiel.
Is there a shorter version of that?
Does anyone ever call you "Amen"?
Probably not.
Oh, you would be the first.
So, Linda, what's going on?
Um, I just wanted to say thank you.
For saving my life.
Maze is the one who saved your life.
And I thanked her so much,
I think she's avoiding me now.
But I wouldn't be here without you, too.
I didn't do anything.
Other than miraculously slowing down time
so that I didn't bleed to death?
Well, other than that.
How are you really doing, by the way?
I'm fine.
You have your powers back.
That must be exciting.
Mm. Um, not exactly.
They haven't worked since that day.
I'm sorry to hear that.
Ah, don't be.
I think it's just my Father testing me again.
But this time, Linda, I'm ready.
How is He testing you?
Do you have to fight someone?
Solve advanced math problems?
Well, if I'm right, there's something I need to do
in the penthouse and, uh...
I've been avoiding it.
Well, you helped me.
Why don't you let me help you with...
whatever this is?
Unless it's math.
Oh, it's not math.
Then I'm sure I can handle it.
Oh. Severed angel wings in a closet.
Of course.
Totally handleable.
My irresponsible brother left them here
for any half-drunk human to stumble onto.
Proof of the divine just left on the floor like...
like used laundry.
For some reason, I imagined they just
magically disappeared when he cut them off.
But this...
yeah, this is gruesome.
Mm-hmm.
You know where the garbage bags are?
Hi, Lieutenant.
I just wanted to come by and talk.
Kind of feel like we got off on the wrong foot.
Pretty sure we're on exactly the foot I want to be on.
I'm not a bad guy.
And I'm not a dirty cop.
So, you didn't check a gun out of evidence
that was used to commit a crime?
I mean, yes.
At least it wasn't a homicide, right?
Well, it, um...
- I-I was... I just... - Stop.
I was gonna string this along,
but it's already a little too sad for me.
I'm actually glad you came in.
Really?
I want all the intel that you gathered on Lucifer.
Why would I have any intel on Lucifer?
Because when he first started working with Decker,
you were still married to her.
And I'm guessing you broke the rules
and dug up everything you could on him.
I didn't. I mean...
Yeah. I did.
I'd like it all on my desk in an hour.
That's the biggest cock I've ever seen.
Oh, whoa, whoa, excuse me, guys.
- You guys can't be back here. - We're looking for...
Bobby Lowe!
Uh, right.
Oh, my God, please, no.
He doesn't like visitors.
Damn, I can't get fired.
Oh, my God, it's really Bobby Lowe.
What did I say?
- I'm sorry. - No eye contact,
no green Skittles in my candy jar
and no guests!
I'm Detective Chloe Decker, LAPD.
We want to talk to you about the murder of JD Woodstock.
Why are you stopping?
Show starts in five minutes, honey. Chop-chop.
God, he just called her honey. So sweet.
Is this about that stupid podcast?
You really think I stole jokes? Me?
- Very much so, yes. - Of course not.
What I think is I'd like
to explore his accusations,
starting with where you were when he died.
You know why people
accuse others of stealing material?
Because the others are thieves?
Because they're failures.
And instead of facing that,
they blame successful people like me.
- How dare you... - Uh...
They're ready for you, Bobby.
Look, some of us have important work to do,
like entertaining America.
If you'd like to see how it's done,
take a seat.
Charming.
I can't believe it.
He invited us to a taping.
Are you ready to laugh?
Wait, what, what?
No, I can't hear you guys.
Come on.
I bribed you with T-shirts.
I phoned in all my best jokes.
What more do you want?
Oh, yeah.
More T-shirts!
- Yeah! - Let's try that again.
Look what I got.
Are you ready to laugh?
- Yeah! - All right, guys.
Let's start the show.
Yeah!
Oh, there he is, there he is.
Well, that was the worst date of my entire life.
Oh, come on now, Bobby.
I'm sure it wasn't that bad.
She left before we got dessert.
But dessert's the best part of the meal, Bobby.
Well, on the upside, you have been trying to lose weight.
I didn't say I left before dessert.
This is what that arrogant fraud is so proud of?
Wait, what's this show about?
Oh. Those are his
imaginary friends.
They help him deal with his insecurities.
- Oh. - We've all been there, right?
- I'll just impress her at the party. - Right.
Excuse me.
Time out.
Excuse me.
Sorry.
You stole a dead man's work
and turned it into this?
Get lost, Fraggle Rock.
What do you think you're doing, man?
Stealing your show,
which only seems fair as you stole it first.
Hey, mind your own business, Dr. Who.
Pip pip out of here.
Dr. Who?
Don't laugh.
Oh, geez.
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.
Right, what have you got to say for yourself?
Beat it, handy.
I'm not talking to you. Get the hell out of my set, man.
Okay. Okay, fine. Don't talk to me.
Let's have a chat with one of your old friends, shall we?
- What have we got in here? - You can't touch those puppets.
Does anyone work here?!
Ah, here we go. All right, this one looks good.
No, no, n-no, put-put that...
- put that down. - What? What?
Jealous someone else has their hand up my butt?
Actually, this apparatus is more difficult than...
- Seriously, put it down. - Ah, there's the trigger.
Right. Where was I? You...
I'm telling you, just get down, get down.
Oh, don't worry, everyone.
There's just a gun stashed inside the puppet.
- Lucifer, put the gun down. - Right.
Right. Yes.
Well, at least no one was hurt.
Uh... he did it.
Are you insane? You could've killed him.
Me? I'm not the one who hid a gun up a puppet's backside.
Or have all the puppets got guns in them?
If so, I'll set my DVR.
No. We never used that puppet.
It was my imaginary friend's imaginary friend.
The character didn't land.
- I wonder why. - So you hid a gun in it?
I didn't think some lunatic
was gonna try to kill me with it.
It's just a flesh wound.
And you admit that it's your gun?
Yeah.
Ah, I see.
So you killed our poor victim, ran back to work
and keistered it in an old puppet.
Not the murder weapon.
This is a 380, and the murderer used a 9mm.
All that means is that he hid his other gun somewhere else.
So come on. Prostate exams for all the puppets.
- Lucifer... - I don't have another gun.
I didn't kill JD.
I don't believe you. You're a thief.
You took everything JD had, even his life.
So come on, what more could you possibly desire?
I want out of this hell.
Every day I come to work, and I tell stupid jokes with puppets.
Puppets!
Bobby.
What are you saying?
This is a dream gig.
It's a nightmare!
You know what the biggest joke is?
- You? - Me!
It's no fun when they talk to themselves.
And now that JD's dead, I'm never getting out of here.
What do you mean?
He was telling the truth.
I stole his act.
I based the show on it.
But I defended you!
J'accuse, Bobby Lowe!
J'accuse!
If you wanted out of the job so bad,
why didn't you just admit it and quit?
Golden handcuffs.
If I quit, I lose all the money.
And I really like the money.
And if JD revealed that you were stealing
his act, and they fire you...
I get a golden parachute instead.
Which is why I had to keep up appearances,
not let anyone know the truth.
- But why hide the gun on set? - Yeah.
Because I was getting death threats.
Someone's pissed, claiming all my jokes are about him.
The jokes that you stole like the thief which you are?
That's a big strong, Miss Lopez.
Yeah.
Any idea who was making these threats?
They came from an anonymous e-mail.
But like I said, I stole the jokes.
The only person who knows who they're about...
Is the dead guy. Great.
I'm gonna need those e-mails.
All right.
God.
This must be so painful.
Cutting off a piece of yourself over and over.
Lucifer made it seem like no big deal, but...
ouch.
We all have pain that we hide, Linda,
that we're just not ready to share with the world.
That's very true.
How do you know it's a test?
Because I'm faced with having to dispose of the one thing
that I so desperately want back.
Could just be really bad luck. No.
My Father always has a plan.
I don't doubt that anymore.
Seems awfully cruel.
Well, if it were easy, it wouldn't be much of a test.
Would it?
"I know what you're doing. Stop making fun of me,
or else I'm going to stab you."
"I know you're making fun of me.
Stop or I'll kill you."
Dreadfully unoriginal, aren't they?
Looks like the threats stopped last week
after JD posted his video.
So you think the killer saw it and then realized
he'd been threatening the wrong comedian the entire time?
And then killed JD after he realized
he was the guy actually making fun of him.
Seems possible.
So...
what's the joke that he's so angry about?
Did our killer have unfunny imaginary friends?
No, that happened later.
I did some research, and originally,
- the show was much edgier. - Hmm?
About a guy dealing with his insecurities about his, um...
W-Well, I really don't want to tell you.
Ooh. Well, now I need to know.
Dealing with his insecurities about his, um, micropenis.
All right, well.
Hold me closer, tiny donger.
So you're saying we're looking for a needle in a penis stack.
See, this is why I didn't want to tell you.
- Anyhow, after it became a family show... - Mm.
The micropenis got removed.
Did anyone even notice?
Okay.
Just go to town.
Get them all out of your system.
What?
Well, perhaps...
perhaps we should consider this case closed.
Excuse me?
Well, we thought Bobby stole a joke,
but in actual fact, our deceased stole this man's very essence.
I mean, his tiny, microscopic essence, sure,
but his essence nonetheless.
So, uh, in actual fact,
I think our killer is the victim here.
Yeah, that's actually not how it works.
We still need to find our killer.
I'll get these to cyber, see if they can trace an I.P.
What? No.
Not "cinnamon," "Sinnerman."
He's not a spice, Maze.
Well, yes, I know you have a hectic schedule,
but surely you can find time to track him down for me.
Right. Stop pretending the call is cutting out, Maze.
I taught you that trick.
Maze.
Mazikeen!
Lucifer Morningstar.
I've figured out what you really are.
So, it's come to this, has it?
Finally, someone in the police department realized that I am
exactly what I say I am: the Devil himself.
Well, I'm surprised it's taken you this long.
I have no idea why you prance around
and call yourself the Devil.
"Prance"?
This is about the Sinnerman.
Right.
I see what's happening here.
A mysterious figure handing out favors,
probably dashing and handsome.
You think I'm the Sinnerman.
Well, truth is...
You're not the Sinnerman... He's smart and calculated.
You don't know me.
Maybe I am the Sinnerman. Surprise!
No, I followed you and looked into your history.
You're impulsive and short-fused.
I am not.
Very well.
What is it that you think I am?
An idiot.
So what, you broke into my apartment just to insult me?
You could've just waited till I was in the office.
No, I came here to warn you.
I know you're looking into him,
but you have no idea what you're doing.
The Sinnerman is not a myth.
Very aware of that already, thank you.
It's not a name to throw around.
Not even at the precinct.
That's why I came here to talk.
He's that dangerous.
So am I.
Maybe so.
Either way, you need to know who you're dealing with.
I've butted heads with him in Chicago.
Did not end well.
Then, what? You ran here with your tail between your legs?
I did, yeah.
Oh.
He killed someone... close to me.
Really damn close.
I don't want what happened to me to happen to anyone else.
Even you.
You need to be careful.
He stole from me, Lieutenant, and I won't stand for it.
- You're not listening. - Yes, I am.
Now you listen to me.
You can keep your head buried in the sand if you want to,
while I go mano a Sinnermano, all right?
I've got this.
So...
Compost?
Recycling?
I've never had to dispose of pieces of divinity before.
Waste.
I thought this would be a little more... reverential?
Less angel wing dumpster fire.
Should we say something?
I feel like we should say something...
What do you want me to say here, Linda?
I didn't choose this test.
I don't even know if this really is a test.
I mean, maybe I'm just torturing myself here.
But if Lucifer wants to treat his wings like trash,
then trash they shall be. Even if it pains me
in my very soul.
I don't think Lucifer knows how much this hurts you.
He never does.
And even though he doesn't realize it,
everything he does seems designed to hurt me.
To test you?
Huh. Wow.
You're right.
It's been right in front of my face all along.
My test is Lucifer.
It's always been Lucifer.
You're very wise, Linda.
Thanks, Amen.
- Mm... - Yeah, it doesn't work, does it?
I, uh, had a rather illuminating conversation
with our new lieutenant last night.
- What did you do? - Nothing.
Yet. He warned me not to talk about the Sinnerman.
Yeah, he's right.
You sound crazy... er.
No. He actually knows...
Cyber tracked all the e-mails to the same I.P. address.
A comedy club on Sunset called The Laughmaker.
So do we think he works there?
Maybe. The e-mails were always sent
- Thursday nights at 8:00 p.m. - And that's when
Bobby's show aired. So it makes sense
that that could set him off.
Yeah, it's also when they have open mic night,
so it could be any one of the comedians performing, too.
Or a diehard fan.
Either way, they're consistent.
It would make sense that the killer
could be at the next open mic night.
Which is tonight.
- So how do we draw him out? - Easy.
Arrest everyone in the club and pull their pants down.
Tiniest weenie wins, for once.
Or, our guy is clearly sensitive, right?
Why don't we use that to flush him out?
What, get someone on stage that'll really piss him off?
Yeah. Yeah, that could work.
And I think we all know the perfect man for that job.
All right,
please welcome to the stage, for the first time,
the devilishly handsome...
Dan Espinoza.
Remember "yes, and," Daniel.
Hi, everybody.
- Hey. - Hi.
So, uh...
Um...
Oh...
Uh, I have a friend.
And... he's got a tiny penis.
- What? - Uh...
a micropenis.
Uh, in fact,
his penis is so tiny,
it's not even a micropenis.
It's an atomic penis.
Because atoms are small.
Not because it ex... plodes.
- His, uh, penis is so small... - Boo!
It's a medical condition, you monster.
- Lucifer... What? - Can't stop, won't stop.
This is much too fun, Detective.
No, no, no, keep going. I want you to keep going.
Copy that.
Anyways... So what?
Next you're gonna tell us that his willy's
so small that when he wants to have sex,
he needs to call out a search party?
Or that his weenis is so small,
it looks like his testicles are giving
the tiniest thumbs up?
Huh?
Shame on you
for mocking the poorly-endowed.
- Yeah! - Oh, hold on.
Maybe there's no friend at all,
and you're the one with the baby carrot.
What? No.
No, I-I... I-I don't have a micropenis.
I mean, not that there's anything wrong with having one.
Come on. Now's your chance.
Show the world your teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy baby arm.
I-I... I don't have a tiny, teeny...
It's okay!
We accept you for your miniscule manhood.
I don't have a tiny...
- Oh, my... - Lucifer.
What, you didn't bring any?
Get off.
Or show us your nubbin. Hmm?
- Yeah! - Yeah. Boo!
There you go!
Oh, lovely.
What the hell was that, man?
You undermined the entire sting.
Well, I'd argue you undermined it
with your botched attempt at humor.
All I did was throw a drowning man a tomato.
Oh, what are the chances?
I didn't even want to do this to begin with.
And I told you stand-up and improv are completely different.
And why didn't you stop him?
Because I realized the killer
might seek out a sympathetic voice.
He wasn't sympathetic.
He just used it as an excuse
to tell even more micropenis jokes.
There is no way anyone's gonna appreciate that.
Hey, man.
I just, uh, wanted to say...
really appreciate you saying what you did.
- Huh. - Ah.
Absolutely. No problem at all.
I mean, someone has to stand up for the little guy, am I right?
Yeah.
Hearing stuff like that just...
makes you want to murder someone,
doesn't it?
- Sure does. - Hmm.
Well done, Detective. Right, just to be sure,
shall I pull his pants down, or do you want the honors?
You're gonna do what?
- Follow me. - What?
- Come on. - I...
I don't understand.
Having a micropenis isn't a crime.
So you didn't send threatening e-mails to Bobby Lowe?
No, I did.
Back when Bobby was nobody, I toured with him.
And that's when I figured he heard about my...
condition.
Um, how would he have heard about that?
All the chuckle bunnies talk.
The what?
Uh... chicks who like to have sex with comedians.
Oh, there's a term for that?
Oh, I should get a term.
- Oh. - Devil bunnies.
Oh, no. Lucifans.
- Can you please...? - Or not.
One in particular, I told some stories,
and then, I heard them as part of Bobby's set.
So then, you started threatening him.
I was blowing off steam, okay?
Every time that stupid show aired,
it was like a punch in the gut.
And then you found out that JD was writing the jokes.
And justifiably murdered him.
I forgave him.
What?
But he stole your life story and profited from it.
Why would you forgive him?
I don't mind a fellow struggling comic busting balls.
It's when a millionaire starts punching down that I get pissed.
Or that good-looking jerk from the club.
- What? Who's he talking about? - Oh.
- Dan. - Oh. Right.
Are you sure?
Besides, JD's life was pretty sad.
I mean, I think his last gig was a barbecue.
He even made up this sad story about a warm-up comic wanting
to meet with him about a gig.
- As if that'd happen. - Why?
Is telling bad jokes before even worse jokes a coveted gig?
Are you kidding?
You work an hour a day and clear six figures.
Not to mention, you probably get a role
in the show at some point.
- Oh. - Really?
Do you remember the name of the, uh, warm-up comedian?
Uh, Shelly maybe, or...?
- Sheila? - Yeah, that was it.
Do you know her?
We're done here.
What? Detective, what did I miss? Who's Sheila?
Sheila's the name of Bobby Lowe's warm-up comedian.
Right.
Detective, are you sure that Sheila's here?
Her roommate said that she'd be here working on new jokes, so...
Well, I still don't understand.
She seemed devastated when Bobby said he was a joke thief.
Well, maybe she's not pissed off about the theft.
What? Well, then, what else would she be angry about?
Let's find out.
Okay.
As if these puppets weren't creepy enough.
Hello?
Anyone here?
Hello?
Lucifer?
Hello, Detective.
Sorry.
Well, don't worry. At least I don't have a gun up my bum.
If you're not gonna take this seriously,
then you wait here for me.
Okay.
Hello?
Anyone here?
What, what's going on?
- Is she still here? - Who? She? Sheila?
Did she do this to you?
I told her I was gonna quit,
and-and she freaked out on me, started screaming
about everything she-she'd done for me.
But I-I can't take it any-anymore. My craft...
Okay, midlife crisis later. How long ago?
Uh, a few minutes maybe.
We-we heard you come in, and then she hit me
with the butt of her, of her gun... in the face!
- She has a gun? - Did-did you hear me?!
I said, in-in the face! This is my moneymaker!
- Am I okay? - Lucifer, she's here!
- No. - She's armed!
Why did you do it, Sheila?
Get out of the way!
I'm getting out of here.
Well, once you answer my question,
I'll gladly let you past.
Why kill and torture a man for this pretentious hack?
Do you know how hard it is to crawl out of the stand-up world
and get a gig like this?
But he's a fellow comedian.
Why would you kill for someone
who stole jokes from one of your own?
So he stole material.
Hell, he stole half my set, too. Who cares?!
You should!
It's yours!
One might say your very identity.
Jokes don't make a comedian.
Everyone has an itchy butt joke.
It's all about what you do with it.
What you do with your itchy butt?
- With the joke! - Oh.
So, what you're saying is,
it's okay to steal someone's work as long
as you do it better?
And take me with you? Hell yeah, it is.
- Oh... - Now, if you don't get out of my way...
I swear...
Excellent work, Detective.
Okay, so... how do we get her down from here?
Daniel?
You're not gonna throw atomato at me, are you?
Come now, Daniel.
I only did that for the good of the case.
Also, I ran out, but more importantly,
did you text me to come here?
I didn't recognize the number, so I assumed it was you.
You didn't save my number?
It was me.
Too much hard work to break into my penthouse again
for a heart-to-heart?
I did some digging, and you were right.
The Sinnerman is here in L.A.
Oh, right.
Are you not gonna take my advice
- from last night? - Most definitely not.
I thought so.
You brought the Sinnerman's murderous thug in.
He's all yours.
I couldn't get anything out of him. Maybe you can.
Oh. Right.
So, what, is this you passing the baton?
- Where are you running off to next? - Nowhere.
I'm seeing this through.
But you need to shut your damn mouth about the Sinnerman.
We need to play this carefully.
Let's keep it between us.
The less people who know about it,
the less chance anyone gets hurt.
- But the detective... - Has a kid.
She stays out of it.
Very well.
Hello, Alonso.
Let's cut to the chase, shall we?
I know the Sinnerman had you skewer Sam under the pier,
so tell me everything.
Who the hell's the Sinnerman?
Fine.
Fine. Let's play a little game, shall we?
Look at me.
Tell me.
Why did you really desire Sam's death?
I... didn't want my girl to sleep with him anymore.
And?
And... that's it.
I got pissed.
Went medieval on his ass to send a message.
No one touches my girl.
And what about the Sinnerman?
Man, I have no idea what you're talking about.
Oh, you must know. Come on, Alonso.
What about the Sinnerman?
I don't know.
You must know!
I don't know anything... I swear.
I believe you.
He was telling the truth.
I mean, maybe
the Sinnerman manipulated Alonso without him realizing it.
Or perhaps he was just a deranged fellow who felt
impaling a rival lover to death was the way to his girl's heart.
It's a bit old-fashioned, really.
Lucifer, I want to talk about your wings.
Oh, bloody hell. They're not out again?!
So they grew back?
They did... this morning.
Sneaky buggers.
- You can't keep doing this to yourself. - Oh, I agree.
- You do? - Yes.
It's getting exhausting... and quite messy.
No, I need a new solution.
Maybe I should hire someone to do it.
Or maybe your solution is
to accept that, for now, you have wings again.
What, and let Dad win, or whoever it bloody is?
I... I don't think so.
It's easy to let external factors... define us.
Especially the traumatic ones.
But only if we let them.
We all have itchy butts.
Excuse me?
No, it's just something a woman said to me
right before I punched her in the face.
It's not about the idea. It's about the execution.
It's about how I use the wings.
That's... actually...
pretty wise.
Yeah. So I'll just tuck them away
- and pretend they don't exist. - Less good.
Someone else is giving favors. Who cares?
I'm Lucifer bloody Morningstar!
I do favors better than anyone else.
Amongst other things, of course.
Or at least, I used to.
And I think that maybe...
it's about time I got back in the game.
Hello.
So, tell me.
What is it that you truly desire?
- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans - -- www.Addic7ed.com --