We open on handfuls of pistachio shells raining from the driver's side window of a white PT Cruiser as Michael VOs about how surveillance is done in teams because it's so exhausting. They've still got the place that contains Carla's P.O. box staked out, but it's clear that they've left and come back since the end of last week's episode from the fact that they're in different clothes and an even more conspicuous car. Michael is dozing with the driver's seat leaned back, while Fi sits in the shotgun seat with one hand holding the opera glasses trained on the storefront and the other hand firing spent shells over Michael's inert form. Don't ask me what she's doing with the contents of the shells; presumably she's hiding them in the ashtray. Presently she nudges him awake for his shift, and after sniffing and snorting himself alert like he's been out for hours, he checks his watch to see that it's only been five minutes. So clearly "team" is pushing it here. A little exposition ensues as Fi complains about sitting for four hours in a hot car in case Carla shows up at an alleged P.O. box. Michael says it's all he's got, and confirms with her that the manager told her the mail is picked up from Carla's box every Wednesday. She bitches about how much she hates surveillance, getting pretty careless about actually getting those shells out Michael's window at this point. Assuming he stole this car for the day, she's making it difficult for him to stick to his previously stated rule of returning it clean.

Finally, a dumpy woman in a gray suit enters the "Mail N More," and Michael watches through binoculars that are apparently so powerful they can read the number plates on the boxes through the front window from across the street. "If that's Carla, that's one hell of a disguise," Fi cracks, when it would have been so much easier to just say, "There's your girlfriend." Getting ready to move out in pursuit, Michael says Carla's not the getting-her-own-mail type. As he starts the car, he VOs about all of the time-consuming preparations you need to make in order to tail a trained operative, like "acquiring" a car they can't trace or recognize (even if it does stick out like a glowing, sawed-off hearse) and studying traffic patterns. Which was kind of a waste in this case, as the person he's tailing can barely even get her car out of its parking spot without some remote coaching from Michael.

They eventually follow the woman to a low-slung office building that looks like it might have been fairly nice back in the early eighties when it was built. Maybe it even cameoed in a Miami Vice or two. The first thing Fi notices is the lack of any visible guards or cameras outside, but Michael, observing all the maintenance types puttering around, reminds her that security comes in many forms. "Hungry?" he asks Fi, whipping out his latest cell phone. He VOs, "Covert security is designed to blend in. People you never notice until you see them in action." Which is what Michael is arranging now. Soon a pizza delivery car rolls into the neighborhood, and the driver calls Michael's cell to have him meet him in the lobby. But Michael messes with the poor guy, telling him not to park at every spot he pulls over to, engaging him in a vehicular game of Warm/Cold. All this hinky driving on the pizza guy's part naturally attracts the attention of the covert security guys, one of whom quietly pulls a gun out of his cart to follow the pizza wagon down the alley behind the building. "I think we just found Carla," Michael grins, closing his phone. But he also owes the gods of delivery karma one hell of a tip next time. On the bright side, at least Fi still got to enjoy her usual lunch.