Bones

Bones S05E01 "The Dwarf in the Dirt" Original Air Date on November 12, 2009

Huh? You're a legendary shot, man.

I'm Carson. I'm concentrating.

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

Excuse me.

Obviously got the wrong guy.

Aw, great. I was worried you'd be gone.

- Uh, almost gone. - Well, almost is almost.

If I ask you a question, can you answer it in plain language?

Yeah, I'll do my best.

Great. So, um-

Okay, what's our deal?

- Our deal? - Yeah, yeah. W-W-What are you?

FB.I. shrink? Friend? Objective observer?

Oh-Oh-Oh. You wanna know my primary role.

Okay, well, that depends upon a number of factors.

Sweets. Plain language.

The F. B. I. hires me to evaluate agents. You're an agent.

- So F. B. I. first, me second? - No, Agent Booth, that's not what I meant.

It's okay. I get it.

Please. Let me finish. You just called me Agent Booth.

That says it all, Dr. Sweets. I learned the importance of vocabulary choices from you.

- I gotta go catch a murderer. - Booth.

Why aren't you cracking wise? Why? Because it's not 1945.

Well, shall I start making jokes?

Just let it flow naturally, okay, Bones?

I've noticed in the past when you're grumpy,

your mood tends to elevate when you tell me about it.

Just had a bad day on the range. Is that a cowboy metaphor?

No. I just- Look, next week, I have to recertify as a marksman ...

and I- I don't know if I'm gonna make the grade.

Well, obviously you need more practice.

Maybe this is all because of my brain tumor.

Highly unlikely, given that aiming a firearm involves your cerebellum and occipital lobe,

while your brain tumor is temporoparietal.

Perhaps you should speak to Sweets.

Meaning what- this is psychological?

- No. I can't talk to Sweets. - Why not?

Why? Because he works for the F. B. I.

He's gonna go tell the Bureau I'm all loopety-doopety-doopy. I can't have that.

Sinkhole? No, thanks. I already got one. That's it there. Big sucker.

Let's not do that right now, Officer Navarro.

All business. F. B. I. Gotcha.

Road collapsed about 4:00 a.m. Broken water main.

Took a car down with it, but nobody got hurt. It's mostly pumped out now.

Then why are we here?

Because you're the bones people, right? We've got bones.

Oh, they're... green.

- That is very interesting. - Be careful, Bones.

- They don 't look right, you ask me. - Why? Because they look green?

Get closer. That's not all that's wrong with 'em.

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

- Is it a kid? - You mean because of the small stature? No.

Dentition indicates late 20s, male.

- Why is he green? - Well, that's not really our highest priority.

W-Wait. How can being green not be a priority, Bones?

Oh. Gold coin.

- Look at that, Bones. Hey! - Oh. What happened?

Water main break. Got another water main break down here.

Well, look at that, Bones. You are at the end of a beautiful rainbow.

Where I am is at the bottom of a muddy pit. Okay, think about it.

End of a rainbow, little green guy, gold coins.

What does that tell you?

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

Tells me leprechaun.

Are you praying?

- I'm making a wish. - Same thing really.

Rather than counting on superstition to make you shoot more accurately,

you should just practice more.

Thanks. Okay.

Why don't we just get Darby O'Gill there out of the pit...

and back to the lab, all right?

Somebody shut the water off!

Let's go! Shut it off!

Leprechauns are thought to explode...

if you touch them with a broom handle.

"A": These remains show no signs of being exploded.

And "B"- I think you can guess "B."

There are no such things as leprechauns.

This is good. We're developing a shorthand.

The large skull and torso...

combined with short limbs and evidence of hypotonia...

points to achondroplasia.

- Dwarfism. - Indeed.

I think I know why our victim's bones are green.

The soil is lousy with iron oxides.

That, combined with the acidic groundwater, turned the calcium in the bones green.

- How long would that take? - It depends.

- How far down into the bone does the green color extend? - Two to three millimeters.

I'm gonna go with two to five months.

So we have time of death, if not cause.

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

Well, a car fell on the remains last night. That's gonna be a factor.

The question is, how did our leprechaun ...

end up buried 20 feet under the street...

wearing only his knickers?

Most likely scenario is that he was murdered and tossed in a storm drain,

service tunnel or sewer.

A 60% subluxation between the scapula and the humerus...

indicates that his right shoulder was dislocated.

Congruent with having been dragged?

As a literal dead weight, yes.

Firing! Two branzino, one duck, one rib eye rare!

Oh, and one of the branzinos is without potato.

It's the customer's loss, the vile bag of gob slobber.

- You prefer this to psychiatry? - Agent Booth!

Yes! Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. Yes. Well, it's the smell.

Plus, let's face it, Chef Gordon Gordon Wyatt has more of a ring to it...

than Dr. Gordon Gordon Wyatt.

- What do you think? -

- Wow! That's amazing. - Isn't it? Isn't it?

-What do I owe this pleasure to? -Well, listen, I-

Be careful with those morels, Edith. They're $60 a pound!

Sorry, Chef Chef, I need some advice.

I can advise you on how to cook an omelet...

or how to sous vide a pork chop if you want. Can I go, Chef?

Yeah, go with those. No, I need some shrinky advice.

I stopped being a psychiatrist some time ago, as you know.

Firing! Three halibut, two shepherd's pie, one rack of lamb!

Is it something to do with the jumbling your poor boggled noggin got last year?

That's what I'd like to know.

My brain expertise these days is confined to preparing ...

a superb sautėed cerveaux au beurre noir, I'm afraid.

Maybe you could just pretend I'm a recipe that needs fixing. Go!

Tell you what. Wow. Okay.

Take that and that. Go over to that table. Yeah.

Chef's table, somebody, please.

Prepare. Thank you. What about this?

- If I eat this, it's gonna cure me? - Heavens, no.

But it'll give you something to do until my break. Right.

Somebody, service over here. Thank you.

The victim was struck in his face.

At the nasal and the zygomatic.

At worst, a blow like this would knock the victim unconscious.

Good find, Mr. Nigel-Murray, but not cause of death.

I've cataloged a large number of remodeled fractures...

along the ribs,

plus bilateral flattening of the proximal radii.

Enhanced muscle attachments here and here...

indicate the victim was very strong.

I'd assume that was to compensate for his condition.

What if his strength wasn't compensation for his condition,

but led to all of these injuries?

A super-strong dwarf,

such as might be found in The Lord of the Rings.

The victim has all of the occupational markers of a wrestler.

Oh, a midget wrestler.

"Midget" is not the proper term. As a scientist, you should be aware.

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.

I'm trying to match the physical characteristics of our leprechaun ...

to any professional wrestlers on the wrestling circuit.

Wrestling is popular in many cultures.

It was the supreme contest in ancient Greek games.

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

That could be our victim.

The muscle development appears consistent.

The distinct curvature of the femur is undeniable.

Then it seems our leading contender...

is the Iron Leprechaun.

So it was a leprechaun after all. Well, that's him.

But I'm fairly certain that Iron Leprechaun is not his actual name,

but only his wrestling moniker.

Thank you.

Oh, no. This says that he's wrestling tonight.

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

Believe me, I'm as surprised about it as you are.

But perhaps this Iron Leprechaun will be aware of someone else...

who looked exactly like him disappearing.

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

Yeah, let's not do that. Start with the coins.

All 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.

Worth a lot? Well, the Rooster alone-

Hey, thank you, Sandy- is worth about 400 bucks.

Are any of these coins traceable? 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.

What about the gun? It's a .22-caliber Ruger Mark I I I.

Rusted beyond all belief. It's loaded and unfired.

It could belong to our victim, or it could've been tossed in the sewer 20 years ago.

Let me know if you find something special.

So you failed to execute a simple plumbing repair. Big whoop.

I had to get one of those "Dummy" books.

This is delicious. I mean, it was- it was great. You're- You're a good cook.

You say you forgot about your rather distinctive belt buckle? Yeah. Bones had to remind me.

Well, none of these adjustments strike me as being particularly earth-shattering.

Ah, you haven't gotten to the juicy bit yet, have you?

Oh, I see. You've suddenly become an indiscriminate homicidal maniac.

Well, that is a cause for concern.

What it means is that I'm a lousy shot, and I have to recertify next week.

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.

I just need you to help me fire my gun.

That sounds desperately phallic.

Is this maybe a sexual problem?