You bought a foreign car, Font?
This car was manufactured in Ohio.
You know Ford hybrids are made in Mexico?
Yeah, well, listening to hip-hop doesn't make you hip.
Makes you pathetic.
Like an old fart wearing skinny jeans.
Everything I do makes me look hip
because I am hip.
Yeah, right.
You're just jealous.
Yeah, that's me.
If you were really that concerned
about the environment, you wouldn't
have bought a new car.
You'd drive the old one
until the wheels fell off.
- Oh! - It was him!
Damn it! What are you stopping the car for?
At the last stoplight. He-he looked familiar.
I couldn't put my finger on it.
It was Barclay Spades.
It was a brown Buick Regal.
Who the hell is Barclay Spades?
He's an insider trading commodities market rigger
out of Detroit who's on the FBI's Most Wanted List.
Well, would you be careful?
This coffee's hot enough to smelt steel.
Hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa!
What the hell are you doing?
We're gonna make it. The lights just went on.
Yeah, the lights came on for a reason.
We're gonna make it. Don't worry about it.
Stop the damn car!
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Aah!
I told you we could've made it.
Son of a...
♪ I have fallen from the steepest mountain ♪
Barclay Spades is in Battle Creek.
Russ and I just saw him on the way to work.
We tried to pull him over, but we got cut off by a train.
Don't worry, there's no way he made us; we were too far back.
Looks like we're gonna be able to help you on a case,
for a change.
Wow. Uh...
Thank you, Font.
I really do appreciate it,
but I'm afraid you're mistaken.
Not a chance.
Look, there are relatively few things I excel at,
but when it comes to faces, I'm never wrong.
I, uh, I once spotted Alan Trammell
driving the opposite way on I-94 in the pouring rain.
I still have the autographed baseball I got
when I pulled him over to prove to Russ that I was right.
Barclay Spades is dead.
He jumped off a bridge
and into the Detroit River six months ago.
Your flyer is a little out of date.
He must have faked it.
Well, the FBI excels at a few things, too.
One of which is identifying dead bodies.
The FBI put a Spanish politician's photo
on Bin Laden's wanted poster.
I'm just saying, mistakes do happen.
Multiple witnesses saw him jump,
including a Detroit police officer who knew him.
And the FBI medical examiner
used not only physical description and tattoos,
but also DNA to identify the body.
It was Barclay Spades, Font.
He's definitely dead.
Uh, Russ, I think your fly is down.
It's a miracle my pants still need a fly.
Ow! What happened?
Uh... Font was testing out the brakes
in his new car, and I had a coffee cup
full of molten lava, and...
Ow.
Hey, um... aren't you supposed to be on a cruise with that guy?
Did he cancel?
We leave on Saturday.
Oh.
Hey.
I told you
Milt wouldn't want our help. He's definitely a, uh,
"dish it out but can't take it" type of a guy.
I was wrong.
It wasn't Barclay Spades.
He committed suicide six months ago.
Well, he obviously faked it.
My thoughts exactly, till Milt gave me this.
A Detroit cop
saw him jump off a bridge.
FBI confirmed the I.D. with DNA.
It was an old picture. I never met the guy in person.
Yeah, but you'd never met Alan Trammell, either.
You told Milt about Trammell, didn't you?
- Yeah, of course. - I don't know, Font.
You never forget a face.
That's exactly what I said.
Come back in there.
Help me convince him to reopen the case.
I got a better idea.
How about I don't go back into Milt's office with you,
but I help you reopen the case?
And then after we catch the guy
that Milt said "didn't need to be caught..."
We don't need to rub his nose in it.
Milt's been nothing but helpful since he got here.
Are you kidding me?
Milt's only interested in himself.
It's no accident that his picture
is always in the papers.
Let's do this together.
You and me.
All right.
I'm not the only one
we have to convince.
Hey, Commander,
Russ and I need to head to Detroit for a bit.
DPD pinched a dealer who says
he's got info on a Battle Creek doc dealing Oxy.
You sure?
Wouldn't you rather be looking into
Barclay Spades' supposed suicide?
- How did you... - Ooh.
A magician never reveals her secrets.
Wait, you said "supposed suicide."
So you think it's fake, too?
I don't know.
But I do know that you once spotted my cousin's cousin
on the opposite side of Joe Louis Arena at a Kiss concert.
And she was wearing Starchild makeup.
You have a gift, Font.
So if you think you saw Spades,
then I don't care what the FBI says.
It's worth at least spending one day checking it out.
Thank you.
Okay.
But you haven't even read the report.
I don't have to.
I read the newspaper, and I trust Milt.
What?
You don't trust anybody.
You're just blinded by his charm,
which is completely phony, by the way.
Milt's charm, phony or not, has no effect on me.
His ass, on the other hand,
has recently made my bubble baths a bit easier to finish.
Oh, God.
Please, just... would you just read the report and tell me
if the FBI made a mistake in identifying the body?
I have enough problems with my own cases.
I don't need to start reinvestigating the FBI's.
What do you want?
Like you'd have anything I'd want.
You-You're doing inventory,
which means that you're not busy.
And I know that you're not lazy.
I also know that you love doing
all this disgusting stuff that you do around here,
which means that there's no reason
why you wouldn't want to review an autopsy from the FBI,
which also means
that you're negotiating.
So...
what do you want?
Your car.
Excuse me?
Your car.
You want... you want my car?
You have a car.
I mean, I don't know how you're able to drive the thing, but...
Again, you're an idiot.
It's not for me; it's for my nephew.
My brother bought him a Camaro for his college graduation.
But what Johnny's gonna wake up and see,
parked in the driveway, wrapped in a big red bow,
is... your car.
It's gonna be hilarious; we're gonna record it.
You still have that tiny little
primer-gray piece of crap, right?
You think my car's a piece of crap 'cause it's little?
No, I think your car is a piece of crap
'cause it's a piece of crap.
I need it next Wednesday.
Look, is it a deal or not?
FBI report said you knew him.
Kind of.
Uh, I moonlight security
at a lot of big charity functions.
Spades was at every one.
He donated to hospitals, homeless shelters...
everyone but politicians.
He said they already had
a license to steal,
so they don't need help from him.
Kind of ironic,
how all the money that he donated was stolen.
At least he stole from people who could afford it.
He hacked into a bunch of the big banks' trading desks.
Every time they bid a stock, his computer bought it first,
sold it back to them for a penny more.
It all happened in a microsecond,
but it made him millions, completely risk-free.
Yeah, and completely illegal.
You're certain it was him?
Absolutely.
We talked for 20 minutes.
I kept trying to get close enough to grab him, but...
but every time I'd take a step forward, he'd freak out,
say he was gonna jump.
So, then, you weren't close to him.
It was him.
Can you show us where you were standing?
I want to see something.
Uh, I-I got out of my car
and stood with a crowd of looky-loos over here,
people who had gotten out of their cars to get a better view.
People are sick.
Hey, if your view was blocked
by, let's say, a truck going past,
he could've easily climbed back over the railing,
jumped onto the truck.
I mean, maybe you assumed that he jumped
because he just suddenly disappeared.
No, there was no truck.
I'd blocked off traffic.
And I didn't assume anything.
In fact, right before he jumped, we locked eyes.
He had this look.
It was utter hopelessness.
I'll never forget it.
Then he must have survived the jump.
They found his body.
I saw them pull it out of the water.
No, you saw a body.
Okay?
But, I mean... if he had just
positioned himself differently...
Hey, Russ!
What are you doing?
I got faith in you, Font.
Russ!
Call an ambulance!
I'm fine.
So was Spades.
That wasn't hopelessness you saw on his face.
It was hope.
Hope that his crazy plan might just work.
What's with the grin?
You look like mommy just bought you a puppy.
I figured out how he faked his suicide.
Which would be completely useless information
if I hadn't figured out how the FBI misidentified the body.
Oh, are you serious?
Boom.
If I had a mic, I'd drop it.
This is amazing.
I assume it's amazing. Is it amazing?
Well, I don't usually like to brag, but...
Just tell us what you found, yeah?
The face on the body was completely caved in.
Which wasn't surprising,
since hitting the water from 100 feet up
is pretty much the same as hitting cement.
I thought that was a myth.
No, the kinetic energy is actually...
Who cares about the face?
All right? The DNA is all that matters.
How'd they screw this one up?
They didn't.
The DNA was a perfect match.
I thought you said it wasn't.
No, I said they misidentified the body.
Which they did because they had the wrong DNA.
Spades was never arrested.
He skipped town when the FBI raided his office.
So they never got a DNA sample directly from him.
They got it from hair and toothbrushes they found
in his apartment... items he clearly wanted them to find
because they weren't his.
That is amazing. How could you possibly
- know all of this? - Because while
the body had the same height, weight, hair
and eye color, it didn't have the same blood type.
What... the FBI didn't check
- the blood type? - Why bother?
- They had DNA. - Wait, if you didn't know who the body is,
then you obviously don't have the body's medical records.
So, how do you know the blood type?
- You already exhumed it. - Can't. It was cremated.
But I was able to exhume the clothes that were on the body
because the FBI kept them as evidence.
I got a blood sample off the shirt,
which was A-positive.
Barclay Spades' blood type was...
Wait, hold on a second.
- How did you get the clothes? - From me.
Actually, uh,
from the FBI evidence locker in Detroit.
But I put in the request.
Sorry.
I know you really wanted
to catch the guy yourself, but...
I wanted an excuse to ask Milt out to lunch.
And I also really didn't care what you wanted.
We got an APB out on all 1998-2000
brown Buick Regal sedans.
Which was last spotted about three hours ago
on Washington Ave., just north of the tracks.
How do you know he wasn't just passing through town?
It's a residential street.
It doesn't connect to any major highways.
He could've just got off the highway
to get something to eat, then decide to drive
through town and check it out.
I mean, Shaylene and I do it all the time.
You're right. And he also could've
hopped on a plane right after I spotted him
and be anywhere in North America.
But since North America is so big,
and Battle Creek is so small, maybe we should start
by focusing on where he was last seen.
Makes sense. Would've made the same amount
of sense without the attitude.
- You two done? - Yes.
Okay. Uh, Jacocks,
you and Funkhauser just check out all the missing persons
from around the time of the fake suicide.
My guess is
that Spades' new I.D. is the old I.D.
of the guy that he killed, dressed up in his clothes
and dumped in the water.
- I'm on it. - I'll check
the Treasury Department's FinCEN database,
see if there's anyone in the area
who's made any unusual cash transactions.
Look, this guy figured out how to fool the FBI
and then front-run Goldman-Sachs.
I doubt he's stupid enough to make
any cash transactions over ten grand.
FinCEN monitors more than just those.
Really? I thought that was the threshold.
What else is reported?
Uh, that's not something we share.
But, you know, if I find
anything relevant to this specific case...
You won't.
Even the smartest criminals slip up, Russ.
The hardest part of being a fugitive
wouldn't be figuring out how to pay your bills.
It would be cutting off all contact with your family.
Not for Spades. He was, uh,
an only child whose parents died years ago.
He never got married or had kids.
Well, the FBI profile said
he was really close with his mom before she died.
If she's already dead, he's not gonna spend time
looking for her; at least not in a way that's helpful to us.
No, but he might. Uh, Milt?
I hate to bring up something you told me in private,
but...
No, no. No, no.
Go ahead, Milt. I mean, don't be shy.
We're investigating a murder.
I'm not really sure what you're referring to, but... sure.
Uh, you told me that you and your mom don't
really speak anymore and the only real connection
you have with her now is when you eat lasagna, which was
your favorite meal she made when you were growing up.
Uh, I'm sorry. Um... when did this little personal revelation
take place between you two?
More importantly, how does this help us find Spades?
The FBI profile also said Spades' parents
were German immigrants.
Are there any German restaurants in Battle Creek?
Definitely. Let's go.
This place is a restaurant?
No, it's some sort of hipster butcher shop.
Funk told me about it.
Said the guy specializes in sausage.
We've already been to every restaurant in town
that serves anything close to German food.
: Oh, my God.
Yeah, man. Totally.
That's, uh, Oscar.
Comes in here all the time.
You got a last name?
No, sorry.
You got a credit card receipt?
Nope, I prefer not to support
the loan-sharking industry.
Debit cards?
They still charge a fee.
And they track everything you buy
so they can sell that info to some other big corp.
Are you sure you got a problem with the corporations
- and not the IRS? - Are you kidding me?
You know who has a problem with the IRS?
Exxon, General Electric.
Okay? I pay my taxes.
Of course you do. It is...
small businesses just like this that are
the backbone of this country.
You wouldn't happen to know, uh, how we might be able
to get in touch with Oscar, would you?
His real name is Barclay Spades.
He is a federal fugitive wanted for insider trading and murder.
- Damn. - Yeah.
I mean, he always seemed pretty chill to me. I don't...
I don't know
how to get in touch with him, but...
There's actually a pretty good chance I'll see him tomorrow.
It's panhas day.
I only make it about once a month.
He almost always comes in to get some.
I certainly hope Spades likes
to do his sausage shopping early in the morning.
Mm.
You ever think about iced coffee?
Yeah, I'll do that right at the same time
I spend $50 on a $20 steak
from some hipster doofus with braids.
Hey, Font, how's the back looking?
All clear.
Funk, you in position?
Yeah.
And seriously considering becoming a vegetarian.
Have you never had blood sausage before?
Oh, it's awesome.
So... it looks like you and Holly
had some nice quality time together.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah, we had a friendly lunch.
If I were you, I'd be more concerned about the guy
who's about to take her on a five-day cruise.
Yeah, well... I don't have to work alongside that guy.
Yeah, well, this guy says that you should
make your move before she leaves.
It's now or never.
Look, I'm not gonna ask out
another man's girlfriend.
You never asked her out when she was single.
What are you afraid of?
I'm not afraid of anything.
I'm just smart enough to know that it's not a good idea
to date somebody that you work with.
: Oh, really?
Yeah, really.
So, you expect me to believe that you're fine
with lying to prosecutors, harassing suspects
and keeping a flask under your desk,
but dating someone you work with...
That's a line that you'd never cross?
For the record, if it were my business,
I would definitely ask her out before she leaves.
Yeah, well, that's because you're the type of guy
that... Hold on a second.
That's not a Buick, but...
that's definitely him.
Spades just pulled up out front.
Font and Jacocks, prepare to
- move in on my... - No, no, no, no, no.
- Hold you positions. - No, no. We-we got to go in.
What? And risk him taking a pregnant woman hostage?
There could be more people in the back of the store.
Are we moving in or not?
Negative.
Look, let him buy his sausage,
and we'll move in when he comes back out.
We've got both exits covered.
He's not going anywhere.
Fine.
- Hold your positions. - Copy.
Yeah, Funk, Spades is coming in the store right now. Yeah.
Keep your eye on him.
Give us a heads-up when he's about to leave.
So, I'm the type of guy who what?
The type of guy who believes he wants something,
it means he just has the right to take it.
Oh.
'Cause of the way you look...
- Oh! - people let you get away with it.
Oh, so it's your unselfish desire to help your fellow man.
That's why you haven't asked Holly out.
- Yeah. I see. - Yeah.
Funkhauser, you there?
Come in.
Funkhauser, you copy?
Damn it.
Funk? Funk!
Damn radios!
Are you sure it's the radio?
He just went in.
It couldn't have gone bad already.
Hey, Font, do me a favor.
Funkhauser, he's not picking up.
Yeah, go around back, peek in
and see if everything's cool.
Milt and I are gonna do a fly-by out front.
- Yeah. - Come on, come on, come on...
- Ready? - come on, come on. Yeah, let's do this.
I don't see anyone.
What the hell?
Font, Jacocks, move in.
Move in!
Back, back, back, back, back, back, back.
Clear.
It's clear.
Clear.
- There's nobody here. - That's impossible.
We had both entrances covered.
There's no other way out.
- Guys. - Russ.
Now, go ahead.
Go in.
Aw, Funk?
- What the hell happened here? - I don't know what happened, man.
He made me as soon as he walked in.
Told us to get up in here. Hey, did you get him?
No, he never came out.
Where's the pregnant woman?
Right behind you.
Font, you said it was clear.
- It was clear. - We checked everywhere.
Except the basement.
What? There's a basement?
I guess if he wanted the police to know about it,
he wouldn't have gone to the trouble
to camouflage that trap door in the floor.
I get it... you sell weed so your customers
can get high enough to eat this crap.
I think we're getting a little off-topic.
I want you to drop your weapons and kick them towards me.
That's funny. I was just gonna ask you to do the same thing.
Detective, you and I may have absolutely
nothing to lose here, but I'm guessing
that this young lady has at least one person she'd like
to stay alive for.
Please, do what he says.
Now, drop your weapons!
Back up, get in the fridge.
Go.
- How did you find...? - One of the many advantages
of hiding out in a small town with an underfunded
police department is it's fairly easy to learn
what all their detectives look like.
Never know when it might come in handy.
And for the record, while technically I did steal money,
I only stole from crooks.
And nearly every dollar I earned, I donated.
I was never in it for the money. I did it because...
it needed to be done.
Oh, and I didn't murder that body you found.
I bought it from the Anatomical Gift Association of Michigan.
So, I would urge you to forget about me
and concentrate on catching someone
who's actually done some harm
instead of providing for the greater good,
which is all I ever did.
But if you insist on continuing
to pursue me, I assure you
innocent people will get hurt.
What the hell's that supposed to mean?
Seriously? That was confusing to you?
I will do whatever it takes to stay a free man.
Damn.
That dude is...
Getting on my nerves.
Hope you enjoy the mystery meat in jail.
- Let him go. - Commander.
He volunteered to help us.
You guys are the ones who screwed up.
Could you confiscate that marijuana?
I'm assuming that the hidden door means
that you don't have a grower's license.
No, ma'am.
Well, I wonder whose picture is gonna be in the paper this time.
- I'm sorry, it was... - No, it wasn't. I should've...
No. Shh...
I put an APB out on the pickup, ordered checkpoints
on all the main roads out of town and sent in
extra units to patrol the bus station,
train station and Kellogg Airport.
All right, we need to make sure that everybody knows
that that suspect is armed and dangerous.
I have.
Now, you all need to make sure
that it is not my picture.
So I called in the Fugitive Task Force.
We need to debrief.
The tires on his truck were muddy,
but it hasn't rained in weeks,
which means that he must be living outside town on a farm.
Muddy tires don't matter. He's no longer a man in hiding.
He's a man on the run.
Yeah, but before he runs, he's got to go home, right?
He's got to pack his clothes, uh, get money, get his papers.
I mean, we've got time.
I say that we start checking out every single farm
that's been sold or rented within the last six months.
All right, listen, give the rest of the list to the task force
and have them check the north side of town,
north of the tracks.
What?
I think I understand.
Oh, great.
You're betting that a guy that would ask a woman
to go on a cruise after just a few dates is a nut.
And what better way for Holly to figure that out
than to actually go on the cruise?
You see, the only problem with that plan is that...
I don't have a plan. I don't have a plan.
I mean, I do have some class. Huh.
Which apparently they didn't teach you in Monaco Hmm.
Or Iran or wherever the hell it is you're from.
A man does not ask out another man's girlfriend, period.
- Really? - Yeah, really.
Any other rules of manly behavior you'd like to teach me?
You know, I honestly believe
that this Robin Hood stockbroker has
a better understanding of the real world than you do.
Okay, then why don't we just stop?
- Let him get away? - No, I didn't say that.
I'm just saying that anyone who doesn't think
that every big fish on Wall Street isn't using
some sort of inside information is a moron.
: Okay.
Now I understand.
You never asked Holly out
because she came from a wealthy family, which intimidates you.
Or...
you didn't know that she came from a wealthy family,
and now you're upset because I learned
more personal information on one lunch
than you have in years.
You know, there is one way that you can remedy that situation.
Ask her out.
It's not that hard.
No.
It's just wrong.
I appreciate you sticking up for me with Guziewicz,
but, uh, it was really my fault.
- I know. - No, actually, it was my fault.
I'm the one that let him take the hostages.
That's ridiculous.
There's nothing you could have done once he pulled the gun,
and there's no way you could have known
that he'd memorize all of our faces.
That's it.
What the hell are you doing?
That's the Buick,
the one I saw Spades driving yesterday morning.
You really think he would just leave his car
parked out in the driveway?
When he left the house this morning,
he had no idea we were looking for him.
Yeah, but he had plenty of time while we were locked
in the fridge to come back home and move it in.
He could be packing a bag, getting ready to skip town.
This is Detective White. We need backup ASAP
at 600 Willow Drive.
We should wait for the backup.
Definitely.
We should.
But we're not going to.
The pickup's not in the garage.
- Are you sure that's the right Buick? - Yeah.
'Cause that's a Roadmaster; it's not a Regal.
Oh.
Sorry, I'm better with faces than with cars,
but that's definitely it.
I think.
Let's go.
It's unlocked.
"Oscar Strehl."
It's his place.
I told you.
Barclay Spades, this is the Battle Creek Police.
We have your house surrounded.
If you don't want to get shot,
announce yourself and come out
with your hands behind your head.
It's clear.
This doesn't make any sense.
I mean, even if he didn't know we were gonna follow him
when he left this morning,
why wouldn't he lock the front door?
Maybe he's already been back, left in a hurry,
forgot to lock it.
But then why not move the Buick to the garage?
I mean, it's almost like he...
He wanted us to find him.
But why would he want us to...?
Uh-oh. Don't move.
There could be a trip wire or a motion detector.
He's a white-collar criminal.
Presuming he told the truth about buying that body.
There's no way that he had enough time
while we were locked in the fridge to set a booby trap.
He took the time to know what all
the detectives look like in town.
Okay? So he definitely plans ahead.
Probably has a suitcase filled with clothes and a bomb
preparing just for this type of situation.
Then why aren't we dead, yet?
The fact that we're still alive has to mean
there was no trap.
You're right. You're right.
You had me scared for a minute.
On the other hand,
the IRA used to time their bombs to go off
five minutes after the police opened the front door.
They knew that the normal procedure was
for the first officer to go in, check the place out,
which typically took about five minutes,
and then the rest of the detectives would come in...
How long have we been standing here?
Go, go, go, go!
Damn.
You guys all right?
Yeah, I think so.
- I'm fine. - Whew, that was, uh,
smaller than I thought it'd be.
I never thought I'd ever see you run that fast.
What are you talking about? I was a running back
- in high school. - Yeah, high school was a long time ago.
What the hell happened here?
He rigged a bomb. Where's Milt?
What? Uh, he-he's back there with the task force.
- Are you all right? - Yeah, I'm fine. Why?
A little blood on your collar.
Oh, really? Yeah.
Oh, I feel fine.
I, uh, must have gotten cut by a piece of glass or something.
- Yeah. - Is it big?
That don't hurt?
You don't feel that?
Feel what?
Is it really that bad?
No, not at all.
It's like a tiny little splinter.
Are you sure you don't feel that?
It's adrenaline. It's blocking the pain signals to his brain.
Does it make you drowsy, too?
I'm starting to get tired.
Don't close your eyes, Font.
We need you to stay awake.
Okay, I will. I'm just...
I just want to rest.
No, no... no resting. Come on, Milt.
Faster, please. Come on, stay with me.
Keep your eyes open. Can you hear me?
Stay with me. Come on. Come on, Milt, drive!
There's been some post-op cerebral edema.
If we're not able to abate the swelling
in the next few hours...
I-I don't understand.
Are you saying my husband...
he could die?
We're gonna do everything we can,
but in the event we're not able to stabilize him,
do you know what your husband's wishes were
regarding organ donation?
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
Oh, my God.
Katrina, Katrina, just-just, um, sit down, okay?
Come here for a second, please.
What the hell is wrong with you?
- Russ, stop it. - No.
What's wrong with you?
He's barely been here for an hour,
and you're asking his wife what she wants to do with his organs?
Okay, she needs to be prepared.
She's married to a cop.
She is prepared.
But you, on the other hand...
- Hey, Russ... - Back off!
Look...
he was talking.
And-and he was joking.
Right after it happened, right?
So he-he's gonna be okay.
He's not dying.
I'm sorry about him. He's angry.
It's okay.
Hey, how is he?
He's still in the ICU.
They removed the shrapnel, but they're having trouble
getting the cerebral swelling
- under control. - What do we got on Spades?
Russ.
Look, Font's gonna be okay, all right?
So what do we got on Spades?
No sign of him or his pickup at any of the checkpoints
- or transit stations. - Okay, we need to post
an undercover officer at every costume and makeup
supply store in town.
He's gonna need a disguise if he has any chance
of getting on a plane, train or a bus.
Do you really think for a second that a guy
who booby-trapped his own house at a moment's notice
isn't gonna have a bag packed or a disguise ready?
How about we contact the local news stations,
get them to put his picture on the air?
What, and then get overwhelmed
by every single nut job that calls in?
No, n-n-no, Holly's right.
Even with the help of the Fugitive Task Force,
we can't be everywhere and see everything.
The more people who know what he looks like and are on alert,
the better chance we...
You know who knew?
We knew.
And look what that did for us.
Russ, maybe you need to take a break,
- get something to eat. - What, a-are you telling me
that I need a sandwich right now, Jacocks?
Or whatever it takes for you to calm down
and get a grip on yourself.
Because you seem to have a whole lot
of ideas on what not to do,
but so far, no suggestions on what to do.
You're not the only one that feels responsible in this.
We all do.
Together. Us.
You're right. You're right.
There's so many things that...
should've gone wrong with this plan.
There's... there's so many people
that should have been watching.
- What-what plan? - Well, who's watching?
Oh, my God.
Milt, come with me. I have an idea.
Come on, let's go.
You think I helped him?
I think you're a stand-up guy.
I think you're a guy
who's got his head screwed on right.
A guy who wants to do the right thing.
Which might be the reason why you agreed to help Spades.
You've got it wrong.
- I'm telling you... - After...
After all, he only stole from people
who deserved to be ripped off.
Not people; uh, banks.
The big, multinational investment banks.
You guys are way off.
I barely knew him.
I saw him on the job at a couple of parties.
But you admired him.
- Didn't you? - No, I didn't.
Hey, it's okay. I mean, look, I kind of admired the guy
for a little bit, too. I mean, right up until the point
where he tried to kill three detectives
that we work with... you know, one of whom
is still in the ICU
because of a four-inch piece of shrapnel from a pipe bomb
that had to be surgically removed
from the back of his skull.
See, Spades' plan to disappear forever
was brilliant but risky.
It was a one-shot deal.
If bystanders hadn't been kept back,
if every detail hadn't been executed perfectly...
he would've been arrested on that bridge.
But he knew
that there was only one way to make that certain,
and that was to have a partner.
That's insane.
Just because I said I sympathized with the guy
doesn't mean I'd risk my job. Everything.
But maybe you didn't think you were risking your job
because it was the perfect plan.
Maybe you think you deserved
a little extra cash, I don't know.
Did he tell you that he bought the body?
Because we checked that story; no record.
He murdered a homeless man
and let him take his place in the morgue.
This isn't about
aiding and abetting
some computer geek
with a Robin Hood fantasy.
This is about helping a sick,
sadistic son of a bitch
who might be responsible for the killing of a cop.
What do you know?
Hey...
You sure you don't want to lie down?
No, I'm... all right.
I want to be the first thing he sees.
He's a lucky guy.
Hey, he's gonna be okay.
Don't worry.
So, I...
hear you have a new boyfriend.
Uh, yeah.
Brady.
He's...
he's really sweet.
That's great.
I'm happy for you.
Although, I have to say I'm a bit surprised.
I always thought you and Russ would...
What do I know?
And I'm sure Font knows even less.
He thinks Russ
is in love with you.
Really?
That is... surprising.
I mean, I...
I never really...
It's not like I ever turned him down.
Or even had the chance to.
A girl can only wait so long.
Men.
They're idiots.
Who are we talking about?
Oh, my God.
Honey?
Oh, my head hurts.
And you're beautiful.
That'll be $14.
No, I'm sorry, sir, I can't make change for a hundred.
Keep it.
Thanks.
FBI!
Freeze! Don't move!
Nice boat.
Well, looks like
you didn't donate everything
that you earned/stole
to charity.
How'd you find me?
Ah, it wasn't easy.
That is, until your partner saw
what you did to my partner.
Turn around.
Ow! Oh...
Sorry this is a little tight, but...
can't afford to have you slip away
like last time, now, can we?
Hey, let me ask you a question:
You got a speech for us?
You gonna tell us how you were morally justified
in blowing up three cops? Hmm?
I told you to back off.
Hmm.
Short one.
Let's go.
Let's see what we've got.
Here you go.
You confiscated the boat, right?
Please tell me we have a boat now.
Sorry, Font.
As, technically, this was a federal case...
Hey. You said were assisting.
That I would remain the primary.
And you were.
All the way up until we had to call in the Fugitive Task Force,
and they don't like to share.
That's not fair.
Your doctor says you're gonna make a full recovery,
and the guy whose face
you spotted is going to jail.
That's a deal I'm more than happy to live with.
Me, too.
I'm just glad
you're feeling all right, homeboy.
Was there ever any doubt?
I got hit in the head.
How much damage could there be?
So, Holly leaves tomorrow.
: Oh, man.
You're not being a "stand-up guy"; you're being a fool.
She's not property that some guy
takes possession of just because he asked her out first.
You don't respect women.
All right? You're just...
rationalizing your own selfishness.
I'm not trying to rationalize it.
I'm trying to justify it.
For you.
I'm trying to help you.
: Yeah, right.
But it's your life.
That's right, it's my life.
What are you doing?
I can't make a horse drink.
But I can force it to face the water.
Hey, Russ.
Hey, Holly.
Uh, great work.
You and Milt, once again.
Yeah.
Um...
Well, I'm just gonna go
say bye to Font before I leave.
Uh, you know, I'm going on vacation tomorrow.
Yeah. I remember.
I know it's crazy.
I mean, Brady and I have only been out on a few dates, but...
you know, I just figured...
what have I got to lose?
Yeah, sure.
I get it.
Okay. Well, um...
guess I'll see you next week, then.
- All right. Have fun. - Thank you.
Yeah.
Hey, Holly.
Yeah, Russ.
Have a...
have... have a great vacation.
You deserve it.
Thank you.
Shut up.
I got nothing to say.
Ah, we got him.
That's all that matters.
Yep.
- Synced and corrected by VirusKiller - - www.addic7ed.com -