Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

- Hey, Freddy, bring over some sandwiches. - Kiss my ass.
Room 706. That's Cal Trask's suite.
And when that didn't work, she's dealing the rest of the table...
That is nice.
DANIEL: He'd seen this tape with Jessica and Cal...
Let's see. Probably a white man, mid-50s.
She doesn't really approve of my gambling.
Is having a good memory illegal?
...sexual transaction took place. - No.
[WHISPERS] Son of a bitch.
Jim was spying on me?
His $ 100,000 poker chip, I assume.
LISBON: Mafia. Great. Thanks.
Here, shuffle these.
Cho, my old friend Cho here...
...upgrading the facilities to improve the customer's experience.
Only someone who knew he'd been killed would.
...that you could accumulate since you were, what, 15?
What is it?
...into the machines and onto the table. So, what's your point?
JANE: Ha, ha. - Come on, ladies.
A thousand to you, sir.
There's a faint tan line on the little finger from a missing pinkie ring...
60 percent on anything under 5 grand, Fifty-fifty on anything above.
- Care to comment on that? - No.
I knew about it, but I didn't like it.
But he does, doesn't he?
Hi, I'm Patrick.
Well, if you'll all follow me.
- Yes? - From what we understand...
LISBON: Here's you arriving at Trask's hotel suite at 1:30 in the morning.
- Good night. - Good night.
You can see how it looks, though.
One hundred percent willing.
That's my boys. Live it up.
Two of diamonds: Duck smoking a cigar. Like that.
Rigsby. Jim Meier was spying on his guests.
We looked into your financial situation. It's bad.
I can't see how that works.
That night, as I was leaving, Jim followed me to the parking lot.
RIGSBY: Pfft. We'd never get that lucky.
Yes. Forensic evidence supports the hand being severed postmortem.
Palms are supple. Nails are professionally maintained.
We're thinking maybe Jim was peeved.
No, no. Rain check for me.
That good. I can't lose.
Every card is a living thing, every position in the deck...
Whatever, man.
Well, maybe the killer wrote it, some kind of message.
Okay. Stop the train. I'll get off here.
Let's go.
- Wow. - Hee, hee.
- She came to your room and then what? - Took what was owed me.
Let's start at 8 p.m., the night Jim Meier was murdered and stuffed in your fridge.
- What's a house player? - Jim pays me to herd the whales...
Stupid son of a bitch went for the two-point conversion.
Cal.
[CHUCKLES]