Gil's reading files at his desk when Fromansky appears and says, "Before this goes any deeper, I want to hear it from you. Are you going to try to screw me on this?" What is this, the pre-nightcap dialogue in a David Finch movie? Gil doesn't even deign to reply. Fromansky presses him, and Gil snipes, "I guess it depends whether I get stuck in traffic on my way to the hearing." Fromansky actually looks insulted at what Gil is insinuating, and realizing that there's no possibility of a productive conversation with Gil, he heads out the door. Nice of Gil to, you know, not mention that they're actually investigating the possibility of a third thief. I'm sure sharing that information about exploring all possible avenues of inquiry wouldn't have done anything to show that Gil's conducting a thorough investigation and that he's too big to let a personal beef get in the way of doing his job.
Meanwhile, on one of Las Vegas's leafy, tree-lined streets, Brass and Warrick are gazing in wonder at a teal Honda and engaging in a private 1980s reverie: Brass is wondering what happened to that dusky rose unstructured linen jacket he wore, and Warrick's remembering how he used to wear parachute pants in school until he ripped them break-dancing during lunch period. And how dreadfully dull does the plotline for an episode have to be when I'm making up elaborate backstories over how the characters dressed twenty years ago? Brass offers to work the back of the car if Warrick takes the front. Brass may have gotten the better end of that deal: Warrick's looking at a seat full of fast food wrappers that may actually date back to the 1980s. He directs his attention to the headrests, which have bleached patches on them. Warrick tests the patch with some pH paper and discovers it's extremely caustic, with a pH of 13. "Sodium hydroxide," he comments. Now where have we seen that before? Don't remember? Here's a handy flashback: a bottle of drain-unclogging solution gets blasted, spewing its contents all over the third gunman as he hightails it out there.
Warrick eyes the ignition while Brass unearths a cell phone from somewhere between the Frito Layer of 1985 and the Snickers wrapper layer of 1987. Brass comments "there's a lot of scunge [on the phone]." I mention this because "scunge" needs to be worked into general circulation; it's a marvelously descriptive word for "dirty." Brass says ruefully, "Won't be too good for prints, but let me check the call history." There's a lot of calls from one specific number -- 702-555-0176. Brass goes to dial the number as Warrick dusts the ignition for prints. The phone picks up -- it's the grocery store. Score one for the "this was an inside job" theory. Brass comments, "This is interesting. Before the robbery went down, someone at the store was very eager to talk to our suspects." Warrick waves around the picture-perfect print he just took and says, "Yeah? Maybe he can tell us who."