"So much for our low profile. You've got a warrant in St. Louis, and now you're officially in the Fed's database." Sam said as we sit at a table in a diner and Sam was looking through his computer. "Dude, I'm like Dillinger or something." Dean said, grinning. "Dean, it's not funny. Makes the job harder, we've gotta be more careful now." I said to him and he shrugs.

"Well, what do they got on you two?" He asked Sam looks through the computer. "I'm sure they just haven't posted it yet." He mutters. "No accessory? Nothing?" Dean asked. "Shut up." Sam growls and Dean starts to laugh. "You're jealous." He said. "No, I'm not!" Sam said, angrily. "Uh-huh. All right. What do you got on the case there, you innocent, harmless young man, you?" Dean asked and I roll my eyes and shake my head.

Sam shuts his computer, annoyed, and pulls out several pages of research. "Architect Sean Boyden plummeted to his death from the roof of his home, a condominium he designed." Sam said as Dean and I look through the pages. "Hmm. Build a high-rise and jump off the top of it. That's classy. When did he call animal control?" Dean said. "Two days earlier." Sam replied.

"Did he actually say Black Dog?" I asked him. "Yeah. A vicious, wild, black dog. The authorities couldn't find it, no one else saw it; in fact, the authorities are a little confused as to how a wild dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up and start roaming the halls of the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, two days later he takes a swan dive." Sam replied.

"Do you think we're dealing with an actual Black Dog?" Dean asked. "Well, maybe." Sam said, shrugging. "What's the lore on the Hound of the Baskerville?" I asked and Sam chuckles a bit at this as he passes some pages to us. "It's all pretty vague. I mean, there are spectral black dogs all over the world, but...some say they're animal spirits, others say death omens. But anyways, whatever they are, they're big, nasty..." Sam said as Dean flips to a picture of a large black dog.

"Yeah, I bet they could hump the crap outta your leg, look at that one, huh?" He said as he holds up the picture and smirks. I let out a snort while Sam glares at us, making Dean's smirk slip. "What? They could." Dean said.

In a posh, well-lit room, the boys and I were wearing suits and interviewing a man about Sean Boyden. "So, you and Sean Boyden were business partners for almost ten years, right?" Sam asked him. "That's right. Now one more time, this is for...?" The man said, suspiciously, before I talk over him. "A tribute to Mr. Boyden. Architectural Digest." I said and the man laughs.

"This funny to you?" Dean asked him. "No, it...it's just, a tribute. Yeah. See, Sean always got the tributes. He kills himself, leaves me and his family behind...well, he gets another tribute." He said. "Right. Any idea why he'd do such a thing?" Sam asked. "I, I have no clue, I mean he lived a charmed life." The man replied.

"How so?" I asked him. "He was a flat-out genius. I mean, I'm capable, but next to him, I...and it wasn't always that way, either." The man replied. "No?" We said, questionable. "You wanna know the truth? There was a time where he couldn't even design a pup tent. Hell, ten years ago he's working as a bartender at this place called Lloyds. A complete dive." The man said.

"Right. So what changed?" Sam asked and the man shrugs. "You got me. But overnight, he gets this huge commission, and he starts designing...he starts designing the most ingenious buildings anyone has ever seen. It was like, the level of Van Gogh, and Mozart..." then the man cuts off abruptly.

"What?" Dean asked him. "It's funny. True geniuses, they seem to die young, don't they? To have that kind of talent? Why...why just throw it away?" The man asked us.

Later, Dean exits the Animal Protection Agency, still wearing the suit. Sam and I were waiting in the car and DeN gets in the driver's side. "So." We said. "Secretary's name is Carly. She's twenty three, she, uh, kayaks, and they're real." Dean said and Sam let's out a sigh as I flick Dean's ear. 

"Ow!" He exclaimed and I glare at him. "You didn't happen to ask her if she's seen any black dogs lately, did you?" I asked him and he holds up a page. "Every complaint called in this week about anything big, black, or dog-like. There's nineteen calls in all. And, uh..." he said as he pulls off a Post-it note. "I don't know what this thing is." He said.

Sam takes it, reads it, and laughs then glances at Dean "You mean Carly's MySpace address?" Sam said, smiling, while Dean and I look at him, confused. "What the hell is that?" I asked and Sam laughs again. "Seriously, is that like some sort of porn site?" Dean asked with a smile. "Is everything in your world linked to porn?" I asked him, annoyed. Dean looks up, thinking, then said. "Yeah." I shake my head, annoyed, while Sam chuckles.

Afterwhile, we approach another white suburban door and knock. "I swear, if this is another freakin' Pomeranian barking in the neighbor's yard..." Dean grumbles. "Aw, don't worry, I'll protect you from the big, bad Pomeranian." I said in a mocking voice and Dean glares at me as the door opens to reveal a young woman.

"Afternoon, ma'am." Dean said as we pull out our ID. "Uh, Animal Control." He said. "Oh, someone already came yesterday." She said to us. "Oh, we're just following up. We're looking for Dr. Sylvia Pearlman?" Sam asked and the woman let's us in.

"The Doctor, well, she, I don't know exactly when she'll be back, she left two days ago." The woman said to us. "Okay. And you are...?" I said, curiously. "I'm Ms. Pearlman's maid." She replied. "So where did the Doctor go?" Dean asked. "I'm not sure. She just packed and went, she didn't say where. That stray dog, did you find it finally?" The woman asked.

"Oh, not yet. You know, you didn't ever happen to see the dog yourself, did you?" Sam asked her. "Well, no. I never even heard it." She said as I look around and take a photograph off the wall: it shows a woman, presumably Pearlman, at a bar with two friends. "I was almost starting to think the Doctor was imagining things, but she's not like that, so..." the woman said and I turn to her.

"Hey, you know I read she was, uh chief surgeon at the hospital. She's gotta be what, forty two, forty three? That's pretty young for that job." I pointed out. "Youngest in the history of the place. She got the position...ten years ago?" The woman said and I give a surprised noise.

"Huh. An overnight success. Ten years ago." Sam said as he and Dean come up to me. "Yeah, we know a guy like that." Dean said and I look at the photo closer. "Oh, look at this." I said and I hold up the photo and flip it over to show writing on the back. "Lloyd's Bar." I said.

We pull up outside Lloyd's Bar and get out. As we walk towards the bar, Dean looks to the side and stops in his tracks. "Hey." He said and Sam and I stop. "Yeah?" We said. "That's weird." Dean said as he points at the yellow flowers that are growing on the sides of the road.

"What?" Sam asked Dean. "Think someone planted these?" Dean asked. "Middle of all these weeds?" I said, disbelief. "These are, uh, what do you call 'em." Dean said as he looks at the flowers. "Yarrow flowers?" Sam said and Dean nods. "Yeah. Used for certain rituals, aren't they?" He asked. "Yeah, actually. Summoning rituals." Sam replied.

"Heh. So, two people become sudden successes about ten years ago. Right around the time they were hanging out here at Lloyd's." I said as I look around to see that we were in the middle of a crossroad. "Where there just happens to be a crossroads." Sam said then he turns to us. "You think?" He asked. "Let's find out." Dean said.

Then he walks to the center of the crossroads and looks around, measuring. "This seem about the dead center to you?" Dean asked us and we nod. He digs a few inches into the hard soil and hits something solid. He stops. "Yahtzee." He said and he drops the shovel and digs with his hands, pulling out an old rusted box.

He opens it, revealing that it contains several small bones, a picture and a small stoppered jar that Sam takes out. "I'd be willing to bet that's graveyard dirt. And a black cat bone." Sam said. "That's serious spellwork. I mean, that's Deep South Hoodoo stuff." I said. "Used to summon a demon." Sam said.

"Not just summon one. Crossroads are where pacts are made. These people are actually making deals with the damn thing. You know, 'cause that always ends good." Dean said. "They're seeing dogs, all right. But not Black Dogs, they're seeing Hellhounds. Demonic pit bulls." I said and Dean nods. "Yeah, whoever this demon is, it's back and it's collecting. And that doctor lady? Wherever she's running? She ain't running fast enough." Dean said.

"So it's just like the Robert Johnson legend, right? I mean, selling your soul at the crossroads, kind of deal?" Sam said and we nod. "Yeah, except that wasn't a legend. I mean, you know his music." Dean said to us. I nod but Sam shrugs. "You don't know Robert Johnson's songs?" I asked him and he shakes his head.

"Sam, there's, there's occult references all over his lyrics, I mean, Crossroad Blues? Me and the Devil Blues? Hellhound on My Trail?" Dean said and Sam frowns, then Dean rolls his eyes and I sigh. "The story goes, he died choking on his own blood, he was hallucinating, and muttering about big evil dogs." Dean explains. "And now it's happening all over again." Sam said. "Yeah." Dean and I said.

"We've gotta figure out if anyone else struck any bargains around here." Sam said and Dean scoffs. "Great. So we've gotta clean up these peoples' mess for 'em? I mean, they're not exactly squeaky clean. Nobody put a gun to their head and forced 'em to play Let's Make A Deal." Dean said, annoyed.

"So what, we should just leave them to die?" I asked Dean. "Somebody goes over Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save 'em?" Dean asked me. "Dean." Sam and I said, exasperated. "All right. Fine." Dean grumbles. "Rituals like this, you've got to put your own photo into the mix, right? So this guy probably summoned this thing, let's go and see if anyone inside knows him. If he's still alive." Dean said, holding up the picture, and we head inside.

"What's this guy's name again?" Sam asked as we walk up a set of wide, wooden stairs to the fourth floor of an apartment. "George Darrow. Apparently quite the regular at Lloyd's." I said while Dean looks around. "Though this house probably ain't up next on MTV Cribs, is it?" He said. "Yeah. So whatever kind of deal he made..." Sam trails off. "Wasn't for cash. Oh, who knows. Maybe this place is full of babes in Princess Leia bikinis." Dean said and Sam and I laugh.

"No, I'm just saying, this guy's got one epic bill come due. Hope at least he asked for something fun." Dean said as we reach the landing and stop in front of apartment 4C. The floor is dusted with a fine black powder.

"Look at that." I said and we crouch down, fingering it. "What is that, pepper?" Dean asked when the door opens to reveal a middle-aged man with graying hair, wearing a grimy t-shirt and open button-down. 

"Who the hell are you?" He asked us, in a threatening tone. "George Darrow?" I said. "I'm not buying anything." He said as he starts shut the door. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, looks like you went for the wrong shaker there. Heh. Usually when you want to keep something evil out you go for the salt." Dean said to him as George looks between the three of us.

"I don't know what you talkin' about." He said. "Talkin' about this." Dean said as he holds up the small picture. "Tell me. You seen that Hellhound yet?" He asked and George stares at us. "Look. We want to help. Please. Just five minutes." Sam said to him. George looks at us for a moment then opens the door to let us in.

George shows us in and pours himself a glass of whisky. The studio apartment is filled with paintings, completed and half-finished, and a table holds painting supplies. "So what is that stuff out front?" I asked him. "Goofer Dust." He replied and we look at him, blankly.

"What, you three think you know somethin' about somethin' but not Goofer dust?" George asked us and he tosses Dean a brown sack, tied close with twine. He catches it. "Well, we know a little about a lot of things. Just enough to make us dangerous." Dean said to him.

"What is it?" Sam asked, nodding at the brown sack. "Hoodoo. My grandma taught me. Keeps out demons." George said. "Demons we know." Dean said. "Well, then. Maybe it'll do you some good." George said as he walks over to a chair. "Four minutes left." He said.

Dean glances at us then Sam takes the lead. "Mr. Darrow. We know you're in trouble." Sam said. "Yeah, that you got yourself into." Dean said. "But it's not hopeless, all right?" I said, half-directing that towards Dean. "There's gotta be something we can do." I said as I turn to George. "Listen. I get that you three want to help. But sometimes a person makes their bed, they've just got to lie down in it. I'm the one called that demon in the first place." He said.

"What'd you do it for?" Dean asked. "I was weak. I mean, who don't want to be great? Who don't want their life to mean something? I just...I just never thought about the price." George said. "Was it worth it?" I asked him. "Hell no. 'Course, I asked for talent. Shoulda gone for fame. I'm still broke, and lonely. Just now I got this pile of paintings don't nobody want. But that wasn't the worst." George said, angrily.

"Go on." Sam said. "Demon didn't leave. I never counted on that. After our deal was done the damn thing stayed at Lloyd's for a week. Just chattin'. Makin' more deals. I tried to warn folks, but, I mean who's goin' to listen to an old drunk?" George said. "How many others are there?" I asked him. "Uh, the architect, that doctor lady — I kept up with them, they've been in the papers. Least they got famous." George grumbles.

"Who else, George? Come on, think." Dean said. "One more. Uh, nice guy too. Hudson. Evan, I think. I don't know what he asked for. Don't matter now. We done for." George said. "No. No, there's gotta be a way." Sam said. "You don't get it! I don't want a way!" George yells.

"Look, you don't--" 

"I called that thing! I brought it on myself. I brought it on them. I'm going to hell, one way or another. All I want is to finish my last painting. Day or two, I'm done. I'm just trying to hold them off 'till then. Buy a little time." George said then he starts to get up, interrupting Sam. "Okay, kids. Time you went, go help somebody that wants help." He said.

"We can't just —" 

"Get out! I got work to do." George yelled at me. "You don't really want to die." Sam said, firmly. "I don't? I'm...I'm tired." George said as he turns to his painting. The boys and I share a look before we leave George to his painting.