Say, didn't someone say something about knowing who threw that bomb? Yeah, that was Fletcher. And the two handcuffed individuals are ID'ed as "the two mutts responsible for firebombing your car." Or so says the stool-pigeon that these two guys bragged to about doing the deed. Carling leads the two suspects off, while firing a couple of race-tinged jokes that aren't really funny even taking 1973 sensibilities into account, though the detectives of the 125 enjoy a hearty chuckle. Fletcher responds with a few racial jokes of his own, providing us with some immediate insight into his survival instincts. Baby, you are so talented. And they are so dumb.
Anyhow, while Fletcher was able to determine that the two suspects bombed the car, he doesn't yet know if they've gotten their mitts on Angel. He asks Hunt if he can join in on the interrogation, and Hunt agrees. But first, Fletcher has to deal with the gobsmacked Sam which, in its own, must be infinitely more unsettling than listening to Carling read selections from the Blacks & Whites section of Truly Tasteless Jokes, Volume II. "Hey," Sam says, patting Fletcher on the back. "How are you doing? It's good to see you." Fletcher looks around for the hidden camera and Allen Funt crouching behind the filing cabinet. "It's good to meet you, too, man," Fletcher says in a manner that suggests that it is really not all that good to meet Sam at all. "Maybe a little later, we make s'mores. Sing some 'Kum-by-yah.'" He walks off, leaving Sam grinning dopily at him in his wake.
To the interrogation room/storage locker, where we learn that the mad bombers are, in fact, members of the BLA? What's the BLA? The Black Liberation Army, otherwise known as The Organization We Invented So We Would Not Have to Pay Bobby Seale and the estate Huey Newton any royalties. Fletcher demands to know if the BLA is holding Angel, and when they answer him with stony silence, he slams the table. Curiously that doesn't loosen their tongues any. Hunt figures that the two of them must know something, and he begins pointedly sniffing: "The nose knows." Carling threatens to go after them with a pair of pliers and a hammer. Skelton just grins stupidly. After this interrogation session, maybe someone needs to have a word with Chris about his game face. Unless this is all part of some good cop-bad cop-horribly ineffectual cop exercise they've got down to a system in the 125. Whether it's the threat of pliers or Skelton's unnerving grin, one of the suspects finally cracks: Ramirez got away. Also, the BLA would prefer it if Angel were to follow Keisha into the Great Beyond, and there's a price on Angel's head to make sure that this comes to pass.