Original subtitles

Who's Eddie? Boyfriend.

He's moving in.

No. Wait, no, they're fine.

Get out of the car!

Get out of the car now!

Gibbs!

Lower your weapon now!

What I don't like are workplace distractions.

Workplace distractions.

They were great.

You grab a drink,

tell a joke,

play a game.

And somehow, all the awful things

you saw and heard that day

seem less awful.

Franks called her a workplace distraction.

He didn't mean it as a compliment.

I didn't know he said it until later.

She usually didn't repeat things like that.

Ah!

Thought I had you.

Maybe next time.

Hmm.

Hey, when Franks gets done with his paperwork,

we're gonna grab a drink.

I can't.

I'm going out with the girls

to celebrate Vera's profiling thing.

Well, that's later, right?

Should grab a drink with us first.

Randy's coming, too.

Nah, it's been a long week.

I need to get out.

She said she needed to get out.

Back then, I didn't know what she meant.

Later, she told me she felt like she was in a box.

We're getting too old for this crap.

Come on.

You're off the clock.

Live a little. Mm-hmm.

Mm? Mm?

Sexy.

She told me she felt like

the box was getting smaller and smaller.

♪ When it comes to hip-hop ♪

♪ All night long, the party don't stop ♪

♪ On and on and... ♪

Thank you.

To the brand-new

NIS Profile Criminal--

Oh, so... Damn it, what do you call it?

Criminal Profiling Program!

Trailblazer right here!

Yeah, Strickland!

Oh!

♪ Baby, baby ♪

♪ I'm giving up, I'm giving up on love ♪

♪ On love ♪

♪ I'm giving up, I'm giving up on love ♪

♪ I'm giving up, I'm giving up on love ♪

♪ On love ♪

♪ I'm giving up, I'm giving up ♪

♪ On love. ♪

Oh! I have this record!

Oh!

My favorite song.

What the hell are you doing?

Hey.

Where are we going?

Get out of my car, dude.

Oh, you didn't ask me to come with you?

It was loud in there.

I gotta go to work.

You a drug dealer?

Come on, man, get the hell out of here.

I got a boyfriend.

Too bad.

Come and find me when you don't.

She told me she felt trapped.

And she hated herself

for getting that way.

Damn it.

We were just about

to send a search party out for you.

Suicide?

Petty Officer Second Class Greg Piccolo.

28 years old. Fire controlman.

A neighbor heard loud music playing for hours,

called the cops.

Family been notified?

What the hell's wrong with your lips?

Hey, Dominguez.

Great to see you.

I mean, horrible circumstances,

as always, I'm guessing?

Mm-hmm. I know nothing.

The asshat that called me,

he just said show up here, so...

The...

the victim is a 26-- 28-year-old male.

Gunshot wound to the head.

Appears to be self-inflicted.

There's a .38 in his left hand.

Great, thanks.

Oh, I told my grunts

to bring the gurney in through the back.

They're not grunts, they're good kids.

O'Malley said they're reading them

out loud in there.

"But I won't be able to stop myself

from nearly ripping it."

Yeah.

"Then, I'll slip off my skirt,

and I'll slip my tongue in your--"

Hey.

Box under the bed had letters

and photos from a pen pal.

Yeah, uh, forensics already

snapped pics of 'em, so we were just...

Um...

This one says her and the victim

were supposed to meet for the first time tonight.

Guy sets up a romantic dinner,

goes the whole nine,

lady pen pal never shows,

guy's so broke up about it,

he offs himself.

You sure about that cause of death?

Could've been blue balls.

Hey, Randy,

keep reading, I could use a couple pointers.

Okay.

Um...

"I can't wait to,"

uh, redacted,

um, "your,"

uh, redacted,

"until it," you know,

uh, yeah, redacted.

Oof.

She goes on to say how excited she is

to finally get what Greg's gonna give her.

In reference to his johnson?

Hey, Franks,

I need you out here.

I found a series of broken blood vessels

on the victim's left thumb and forefinger.

They fresh? Yup.

They match the positioning of the weapon.

Somebody forcibly made him pull that trigger.

This isn't a suicide.

Excuse me, miss?

You all missed something. It could be blood.

No. No, no, no.

It was sitting right here. It could be blood.

No, I dropped it. It's mine.

My lieutenant told me not to-- What?

My lieutenant said not to--

I don't care what your lieutenant said, dude.

This is my scene.

I'm telling you I dropped it. I'm telling you it's mine.

Hey.

Hey, the hell's your head at tonight, huh?

Those of you who haven't heard,

we're looking at a homicide.

I need a sweep for evidence

and transport to forensics.

Someone grab those letters from the bedroom.

Let's get this place bagged and tagged.

Hey, I thought you were staying at Vera's.

Oh, we had a call last night. Homicide.

The woman that wrote these letters is our best suspect.

I'm trying to read them, but...

Pictures of letters, huh? Mm-hmm.

It's too blurry. You don't have the originals?

They're at the lab.

They're from the crime scene?

Why didn't you look at them there?

The guys bagged them before I could.

How'd that happen?

You're always first on the scene.

Hey, why'd you, uh,

why'd you stay here last night

when you knew I would be at Vera's?

I thought I could make you coffee when you got home.

But now you beat me to it.

You know what? I'm gonna go hop in the shower.

Oh, my deadline got pushed.

I mean, for the Tribune, not the long-form.

I still have maybe 300 words to go,

but tomorrow really cleared up.

I thought maybe I could start moving some stuff over early.

I, um,

I haven't made space in the closet yet.

That's-that's fine.

I can just keep it in boxes until you do.

It's okay.

Okay.

Morning, Woody.

Hey, buddy. You lost?

I was hoping to read those letters

they dropped off last night.

Yeah, I was gonna give you a call about these

once I had a second to drop off my bag

and do my morning meditation.

Phil!

I forgot my keys at home.

Phil, open the door!

Yeah, I don't see his car.

I don't even think he's here yet.

It can wait.

Okay, well, if you want

to read those letters,

I copied 'em,

brought 'em home last night.

Read through. Real spicy stuff,

but nothing relevant I could see.

No prints except for the victim's.

Thanks, Woody. No sweat.

I wasn't finished talking, though.

I showed some copies

to our handwriting guy,

and after about ten minutes of insane psychobabble,

he finally said that it was definitely written

by the same person. Definitely a man.

And that's something they can be definite on?

Graphology's not an exact science,

but when it comes to gender,

they're right more often than not.

All right then.

Yeah, it's like the spaces between the letters,

and the way the slant of the letters,

you can tell there's a firmer grip on that pen.

It's a man-grip!

No one ever lets me finish talking.

The pen pal was a man posing as a woman.

So, who were the pictures of then?

They were body parts, not even a face.

Could've been anyone, right?

Multiple women, even.

So, the killer sends a targeted letter to Piccolo,

writes him letters for weeks

and then sets up a meeting to kill him?

There was a targeted letter?

Yeah, the first one.

It said that she...

Well, he found Piccolo through a pen pal database,

"Penpal Picks."

Did you read the letters?

Not yet, but I have copies.

I'm good.

You sure?

Did we look into the database?

Yeah. Wasn't real.

Killer must've wanted something.

What do you mean?

You want a guy dead,

and you've got his address,

you just go over there and take him out, easy-peasy.

Why write fake letters beforehand for weeks?

The killer must've wanted something from him.

I am telling you, you just keep interrupting me.

I ain't interrupting you, I just want to know

what the words were exactly.

What's going on?

You're just getting here now?

Mary Jo got an anonymous call on the case,

Franks is making her repeat it exactly.

It was a man who called.

He had a small, quiet voice, and he said,

"Greg Piccolo did some bad deeds."

Come on, Mary Jo, he used the word "deeds"?

I mean, if he was going for drama, it makes sense.

He said deeds!

And then he said...

"Check out where he worked."

Maybe not those exact words,

but that was the gist of it, all right?

Can I go about my life now?

What'd Piccolo do?

He was a fire controlman.

Worked at the Naval Weapons Station.

Petty Officer Piccolo's job

was to oversee the classifiers.

He spend all his time in the SCIF?

Um, not all.

I can show you his desk after you take a look in here.

Piccolo didn't say much, but...

he was a good man.

Petty Officer Piccolo oversaw the operations of this room.

Personnel can remove files based on clearance level.

Files can be reviewed at a table just outside the room,

then they're logged back in.

What's in the files?

Weapons construction orders, design schematics.

I can get you a generalized list.

You worked with Petty Officer Piccolo?

Yes, sir.

He was your supervisor?

Yes, sir.

He ever have any problems here?

Not... that I know of, sir.

You ever have any problem with him?

No, sir.

What's your name, boy?

Walt.

Petty Officer Lewis, sir.

Petty Officer Lewis,

you been known to use phrases like "bad deeds"?

Why'd you call in the tip?

What was Piccolo doing?

Permission to stand, sir?

There ain't nothing on it.

He took the real one, replaced it with that.

What's on the real one?

The latest schematics for the Tomahawk missile, sir.

Hey. I've been looking for you. Hi.

Are those those dirty letters everybody's talking about?

Yeah...

All right, so what gives?

I thought you guys moved on to government secrets now.

Yeah, I just need to finish reading these.

For what, the 18th time?

No, the first.

I am behind.

Oh...

Okay. Well, I, um...

I saw that guy leave the club right after you.

I went out to, uh, make sure you were okay.

There's nobody out there.

You want to talk about it?

Okay.

Catch you later.

Kid's never heard of flowers? Chocolate?

You know what I gave Shelly on our first date?

A firm handshake.

This kid is forking over Navy Tomahawk intel.

And took one to the head for his efforts.

There was nothing in the letters

directly asking Piccolo to steal the intel.

And he probably destroyed the ones that mentioned it

to cover his tracks.

What's the matter, Cliff? You're looking paler than usual.

Yesterday it's "oh, we've got a pen pal killer,"

now the guy's a national security threat.

Well?

What?

You already know what I'm gonna say.

What?

Three months ago, the DOD partnered with the FBI...

No. No. Mm-mm.

DOD and FBI had an op on Tomahawk intel.

Now, I don't remember the name of it,

but you know what I'm talking about, Cliff.

I don't know anything about it.

You're the one who told me about it, for God sakes!

Look, we go to your guy at the FBI,

we ask him what the chatter is.

They got to still be monitoring

anyone in the market for Tomahawk intel.

I imagine that list is pretty short.

I just went to my guy. For your thing, Mike, for you.

Off the books, no less.

Okay, we don't got to get into all that.

I cannot keep ringing that bell.

The FBI is not gonna want to hand over their intel.

They're gonna want to take the investigation from us.

And they should! Yeah, they're gonna take it

and move like molasses with it.

Call your guy, Cliff.

Come on, ol' pal.

Let's dance.

Wheeler.

They shouldn't let you out of your cage

wearing a suit that sad.

You mind if we-- We're sitting down.

Okay.

You must be Franks. Good to meet you.

Thought I was here to meet one G-man,

not the whole damn alphabet.

Place is walking distance from the office,

plus it's got the best enchiladas

this side of the border.

You want to try?

Not a fan of Mexican.

Ooh. Then you haven't spent enough time in México.

Look. We need to know who's in the market for Tomahawk intel.

Yeah. I heard you on the phone the first time.

Noah, you're gonna give us what you've got,

or I'm going to have a whole lot to say

about what happened in '86.

The hell happened in '86?

That card's only good for so long, Wheeler.

I was gonna give you your thing anyway.

Tobias.

Yeah, boss?

Give 'em the stats I asked you for on Samuel Rhodes.

Mm.

Swallow first.

Rhodes is a high roller, gets his rocks off

selling intel to the highest bidder.

He put out feelers on the black market

three months back for Tomahawk intel.

Flew into town two days ago,

but we got him on a yacht in Newport Beach

at the time of your murder.

Where can we find him now?

Did you hear what I said?

He's got an alibi. He's not your killer.

But he could be buying intel from our killer.

You do see where I'm going with that, right?

Ah, forget it, get your tacos out of my face.

His name is Rhodes, this guy?

Where can we find him?

I took the liberty of having him couriered over to NIS.

I just wanted you to stop in here and spring for my lunch.

Franks just got back.

He's sending Randy in the box.

I thought you were going in.

I told him to send Randy.

Why?

Mr. Rhodes. I'm Special Agent Randolf.

Nice to meet you.

Can I offer you some coffee, tea, soda?

Cigarette, if you've got it.

Actually, I don't. But...

...I'm trying to quit.

Cheers.

You're right,

it's awful, but what are you gonna do?

I just had a kid not too long ago.

Well, my wife had the kid, I just stood there.

Bernard, Jr. God, he's the absolute best.

But he's got a touch of the colic, you know?

So it's been tough.

You have kids? No.

Yeah. I remember life before kids.

He doing the Chatty Cathy?

Yep. I could smoke like we were picking

the new pope and not think twice about it.

Agent Randolf, I have a commitment this evening.

If we could get to your questions.

Yeah. Yeah. We can jump to the questions.

Um, what was your thing for tonight?

You said you had a commitment.

That's really my question. What's your commitment?

I'm meeting a friend.

Is it the friend who you're planning to buy

U.S. government intel from?

And before you say "lawyer,"

could you just humor me for a second?

Because you could say it,

and then we could splash your super handsome face

all over every newspaper from here to Bombay.

But it kind of seems like someone

who likes selling intel to the highest bidder

would want to stay out of the limelight.

Am I right?

Make me an offer.

Name and location of the friend you're buying from,

you get a bulletproof immunity rec

and zero press.

He calls himself Baker.

That's all I know.

Never met him in person.

I was supposed to meet him tonight.

Where?

Members-only club in San Diego.

I was supposed to wear a yellow flower so he could find me.

Like, on your lapel?

People really do that? I'm stunned.

Name and address of the club, please.

What?

You're about his height.

You got the hair.

Slap a yellow daisy on you, you'll pass fine.

You're sending him in undercover?

He has zero experience, Franks.

Yeah, so you'll be his arm candy.

Get yourselves dressed and ready to go.

If you want me to talk to him, I will.

About what?

Arm candy? The letters at the crime scene?

What?

That stuff isn't me.

No, it's not.

You offer me a bowl of cereal, and that makes you different.

Last week, out in that desert,

if it were Franks or Randy standing next to you,

would you have gone off on those guys?

I don't need you to talk to Franks for me.

I'm good.

You are lucky we got these new wires.

Old wires were complete crap.

All right.

So, that's done. Now let's, uh...

Yeah, let's do your hair first.

Yeah, the old wires, you'd get an hour, tops.

Those things would heat up like nobody's business.

I did this one op,

target was this mouth-breathing swine.

Parks his ass right in front of the door.

He will not let me out of the room.

Wire starts heating up...

What I don't like

are workplace distractions. Redacted.

He had his hands on you!

I said I had it!

He's moving in. Boys' club is over there.

Franks will promote him over you. Lower your weapon, now!

Got the guy, though.

That dumb swine did not stand a chance against all this.

You know?

That guy who got in my car?

Hmm?

I don't even know why I did it.

All right.

At work, you put yourself in a box.

You know, you speak up enough to show you're not a pushover

but not enough to be a bitch.

They tell a joke, you tell an even racier one.

You figure out which pants hug your ass a little too tight,

and you save those for your days off.

A person like you...

Lala,

if you put yourself in a box at home, too,

something's got to give.

FBI's officially playing ball with us here.

Their SWAT team's already posted.

They'll advance inside on my go.

All right, now, probie, I want you to repeat it all back to me,

show me you know it.

Which part?

All of it.

Target goes by "Baker."

I check in as Samuel Rhodes, my date is Rebecca.

Weapons stay in here.

We'll likely be frisked before seeing Baker.

Lala's got the wire.

And don't be walking away from me.

I'm not gonna chase you down

just so they can hear you.

Once Baker hands over the microfiche,

I confirm that the Tomahawk schematics are on it.

I give him the money, the alert word

is "congratulations," that's your cue

to call in SWAT and arrest.

That was super solid,

you just skipped the part about the briefcase.

Right. Combination is 209.

Let me see you do it.

Money's $20K short. $30K.

Money's $30K short because the FBI

"is a bunch of molasses-moving SOBs."

Your words, not mine.

Okay, Mike, we don't need him quoting you.

If they start counting the money,

we call "congratulations." He knows it, let's go.

You keep your head in the game, you hear me?

Dominguez, you run point on this.

You do what she says.

What?

Nothing. We're good.

We're good.

Okay, people, let's get swanky.

Good evening, sir.

Samuel Rhodes. I'm a guest of Mr. Baker.

Hmm.

Ah.

Enjoy your night, Mr. Rhodes.

Thank you.

Welcome.

May I take your briefcase?

No, I'll keep it, thank you.

Your coat, miss? Yes, thank you.

We're in.

Looking out for Baker's approach.

Should we order something?

We should order something.

Kid needs to calm down.

Take it easy.

Get us some bourbons.

Can we get two bourbons, please?

Guy approaching.

Six feet, white, 40s, blond.

Could be Baker. Where?

Your six o' clock. Eyes on me.

Two bourbons.

Cosmo and a bourbon, neat.

False alarm.

What?

I think that's my dentist.

His dentist? What're the odds?

He could blow your cover, get out of there!

They can't hear you, boss. Wires, they only work one-way--

And I'm saying stuff you already know.

My pits are so sweaty right now.

Let's move.

No. He ordered two drinks.

He's gonna head out.

Would you like an orange twist?

Uh, I'm not sure.

Honey?

Would you like an orange twist?

Yes, please. Yeah?

Okay. You got it.

Thank you.

He's gone.

You sure? Mm-hmm.

We're in the clear.

Cover intact.

Waiting for Baker's approach.

Relax.

Dr. Teeth is across the room, I got eyes on him.

Hey.

We got this.

Mr. Rhodes.

Mr. Baker's ready. Follow me.

Oh!

These shoes are a bitch to walk in.

She's playing drunk?

She's making herself a zero-threat.

You hear that?

Damn it.

Oh.

Oh! Sorry. I'm ticklish.

We're mid-op.

I'm requesting a "hold in place."

Yes, sir.

SWAT's moving out. What?

There's an active terrorist threat, Downtown San Diego.

You need to move your guys out now.

How the hell am I supposed to do that?

Baker already tapped them to go in.

They're clean.

Rhodes, come in.

Either of you two want a drink?

You look thirsty.

I'm good at pouring. Have a seat.

What about the guys outside? They looked parched.

Are they twins? She's a talker, huh?

Boss.

Lala's count, we got four armed guys.

Two inside the room, two out.

There could be more that she hasn't seen yet.

I need more bodies in here now.

I'm trying. Didn't you hear what he said?

That room is stacked, and I got two unarmed agents in there,

you molasses-moving son of a bitch.

Samuel Robert Rhodes.

I read up on you.

Not in a creepy way.

I always do my due diligence on people I'm in bed with.

Originally from Wisconsin, eh?

My mother was born in Milwaukee.

Go Brewers.

I think you'll be very happy.

Williams.

It's not turned on.

You're right.

I am happy.

The money.

Baby, this is the thing.

This is the deal you've been talking about.

Congratulations.

Let her be.

What's the combination?

Two, zero, nine.

Let's do this again sometime.

Uh, you don't mind hanging out while

Williams counts it, do you?

I'm big on due diligence.

That is a lot more money

than the last thing you bought.

I need to cheers to that.

And congratulations

to me for dating you.

Boss, she called it again.

I think they're gonna count the money.

I got a team of six. They're five minutes out.

Congrats. Congrats. Congrats.

Going in.

Randy, you can jump out if you want.

Nope, I'm going in with you, boss.

Hey.

There are four armed guys in there, at least.

Best bet, let this play till the team gets here.

My people are in there $30K short 'cause of you.

I ain't letting nothing play out.

You know, the drinks are tasty.

They are, but

I'm kind of wondering,

you know how long this is all gonna take

because we have...

Well, we have things to do, right? Mm-hmm.

Unless you want to do them with us?

Do you have friends?

Yeah, I have friends.

What kind of friends do you like?

Members only.

Federal agents.

NIS? The hell is that?

It's the Naval Investigative Service.

You best step aside.

FBI. Let us through.

Team's still three minutes out.

Glad you found your balls. The hell are they?

What about Holly and Christine?

Oh, he would like Holly, don't you think?

Oh, yeah. Hmm.

I'm gonna call them. They're good girls.

Can I...?

Oh.

Where did you find her?

I always say,

"Dirty but not trashy,"

and nobody ever understands what I mean.

Boss, count's not coming out.

What?

He's shorting you.

Gibbs.

Ah.

Drop the weapon. Williams, no.

Take the shot.

Take the shot.

Drop it. Ah, no.

Williams, take the shot.

Drop it.

NIS!

Three, one down.

Oakley, call an ambulance.

You, call 911.

Turn around.

Okay, probie.

I got him.

I got him.

I got him.

78 minutes for a confession. Not bad.

Just played them against each other.

Baker gave up Williams as the trigger man.

He say whether he made any copies of this?

Claims he didn't.

Dominguez will get you her after action report tomorrow.

Williams is still in the hospital. Critical,

but he'll probably make it. Okay.

Mike. Dominguez--

How's she taking it?

♪ Son of a gun... ♪

Seemed fine to me.

Hey.

I thought I'd be productive till you got home.

♪ You walked into the party... ♪

What's the dress for?

♪ Like you were walking onto a yacht ♪

♪ Your hat strategically dipped... ♪

Something happened.

At work?

♪ Your scarf, it was apricot... ♪

Someone got hurt?

♪ You had one eye in the mirror... ♪

No.

♪ As you watched yourself gavotte... ♪

Last night.

When I went dancing.

Later, she told me she felt like she was in a box.

She told me it felt like the box was getting smaller and smaller.

Yeah, it was the first undercover for the new guy.

I heard he did good. Oh, yeah?

That's what Wheeler said.

Hey, did you guys see what Dominguez

was wearing last night?

I saw her walking out. Damn.

Cleans up nice, huh?

She told me she felt trapped,

and she hated herself for getting that way.

Yeah, it's like, uh,

tight little number, strippers' heels, the works.

Think Franks took pictures?

I'd give you guys a lap dance,

but your broke ass can't afford me.

She's over there.

Dominguez, we didn't know you were back there.

Oh, yeah, sorry. JJ's an awful human being.

But I never saw her as trapped.

I only saw her as always,

always busting out of the box.

Captioning sponsored by CBS

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Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org