Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

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