Warehouse-Type Place. In the twenty-seven seconds that Phoebe's been gone, Mr. Rick's managed to truss up Todd and hide Ramona somewhere complicated and veddy, veddy secret, because this show is ass, and also: Whatever. Long story short, Mr. Rick intends to hold Ramona hostage until after Phoebe's aided and abetted in that whole armored-car-robbery thing. And then they cut to another commercial. Wow. I'd be surprised if this entire episode clocked in at forty minutes without the commercials. Why'd they bother? Oh, that's right: Some skeevy jackhole in the WB executive suite promised Brad Kern a dozen teenaged hookers and a mountain of blow if he'd whip up something synergistic for this evening's High School Reunion: Round Rock premiere. I hate this stupid fucking show.
The next morning, Phoebe eases the stolen police cruiser through an alleyway with Mr. Rick riding shotgun -- natch -- while issuing instructions regarding the impending Not-So-Great Not-So-Much-A-Train-As-It-Is-A-Brink's-Armored-Van Robbery. Phoebe attempts to talk Mr. Rick out of it, to no avail. If Mr. Rick surrenders and is subsequently convicted of that liquor store heist, it'll be his third felony. Under California law, that would result in a mandatory sentence of at least forty years, so there'll be no heading back to County for Mr. Rick this evening. Also, I think Phoebe realizes at some point that she really has changed since high school, but I wasn't really paying attention, because this subplot is boring and this show is ass. Eventually, the armored van pulls around a nearby corner, and Mr. Rick orders Phoebe to slide the cruiser out in front of it. As the two vehicles slowly motor down the street, Mr. Rick goes to great lengths to insure that we, the viewing audience, understand that Phoebe's also agreed to "give [him] a new face" after the robbery, or Ramona gets it. After some more driving and some more nattering, Mr. Rick lifts his foot and stomps on the squad car's brake, forcing the armored van into a collision. Mr. Rick shouts for Phoebe to make with the magic, so she wings the following spell:
Make them see what cannot be:
Flames that leap to make them flee.
The armored van's dashboard erupts, and the panicked guards abandon the cab. Unfortunately, the spell didn't work quite as it should have, and sleeve of the driver's jacket is on fire. Instead of, oh, say, racing to his side to smother the flames with a blanket from the police cruiser, Phoebe chats with Mr. Rick for about three hours regarding the unpredictability of hastily-composed spells as the guard screams and howls in agony on the street not five feet from where she's standing. Mr. Rick finally hustles past the driver to deal with the other guard while Phoebe retrieves a policeman's coat from the squad car, with which she beats out the driver's flaming arm. Mr. Rick knocks the crap out of the other guard with the butt of the shotgun, then makes to blow his brains out all over the asphalt, but Phoebe tackles him to the ground. They tussle for a bit until Mr. Rick points the shotgun in her face, threatening to kill her. Promises, promises, you bastard. Instead, Mr. Rick hops up into the van to retrieve the cash. Phoebe, thinking as quickly as her puny brain allows, ad-libs the following: