Sitting on some kind of commuter train, Paige fondles her badge and dreams of revenge. Todd takes a seat across from her and, of course, starts yapping, this time about how nervous he gets on public transport. "Talking relaxes me," he tells her. "By the time we get there, you're gonna think you've been on the train to Bolivia." Paige asks Todd what he's doing there. Um getting from Point A to Point B? I dunno. He explains that he was assigned to the Richmond District. Just like her. He looks pleased. "I think I'm just gonna listen to my music," Paige says, not that unkindly considering the source. Todd cheerfully suggests they go to dinner. "There are some great places in Richmond. I looked them up on Zagat," he says. Paige, just tell him you're a widow, for Christ's sake, and he'll back off. Instead, she just tells him to back off. "I'll let you pay," he grins. "You're a piece of work," she snarls, like he told her he'd let her unbutton her own blouse or something. Loosen up, Paige, or be honest with this guy who, may I remind you, just saved your goddamned life in that pool.
Richmond FBI. Paige checks in with the receptionist, asking for "Mrs. Cohen," whom she finds on the roof, letting her femullet out for some air. "Excuse me. Are you Special Agent in Charge Cohen?" Paige asks. "Uh huh," Lisa says with the tone of someone who really wishes she was not Special Agent in Charge Cohen at that moment. Paige introduces herself, and it turns out that she's a week early. Lisa wonders if Paige couldn't stomach the idea of some time off. "No, vendetta to get to," Paige says. "Rookie-itis," Lisa says, and suggests Paige come back on the 13th, as planned. Paige starts yammering about something, and Lisa interrupts. "Your orders are a week from now. I pushed them as a matter of good taste." But Paige wants to start nooooow. Lisa repeats that her timing is really bad and suggests she do some sight-seeing. "Honestly," Paige begins. "Honestly? We just buried the agent you're replacing. Go get yourself settled. I don't want to see you until next Tuesday," Lisa repeats. Paige. Jesus. Listen to your boss. Instead, she just pouts. "Yes, ma'am. Next Tuesday," Paige finally says, and stomps away. Lisa sighs and shakes her head.
Across town, Roy is hanging out with Mr. Malloy and Donovan, and some other random guys who are watching three different college football games on three separate TVs, and if that's Mafia behavior, Heathen and I are running our own little crime family here in Los Angeles. Thanks to my awesome new TiVo, I can tell that one of the games is UCLA -- our blue and gold uniforms are quite distinctive. Go Bruins! If only we didn't suck so very hard this year. Malloy is really more interested in the game than he is in talking to Roy and Donovan about Crazy Jazz, and in fact, he and Roy talk football briefly, Roy making some small talk about "State's secondary," like, what State are we talking here? Richmond is in Virginia, and I assume that Malloy is running around in Virginia, too, right? Anyway, Virginia State doesn't have a good football team. Virginia TECH is good, but they'd call it "Tech," not "State." Anyway. I just like a little accuracy in my fake football talk, and this is something that would be easy for someone to check, I would think. Unless Malloy is not in Virginia, but he'd have to be to be in the Richmond district's jurisdiction. My head hurts. Anyway, after talking sports, the boys talk about how Roy shot that old lady. "Not that old," Roy drawls, sort of charmingly. Malloy "appreciates what [Roy] did," but he's lucky he "hasn't gotten pinched." Roy is all, yeah, whatever, sorry. I just love shooting shit. Malloy quickly gets distracted by the game -- the monitor he's looking at is the UCLA game -- and screams, "Oh, crap! Crap! Friggin State!" This is where network TV loses the realism battle to cable, because the phrase he is looking for is "cocksucking motherfucking offensive line can't block for shit." Malloy turns, and decides to hire Roy, giving him $500 a week and "fridge privileges," but docks him a week's pay for plugging the old broad. "See, we're businesspeople here. Some business is bad business, no matter what," he announces, and blah blah blah, I guess we're not supposed to shot civilians. Roy swears that he understands. "Okay. That's that with that," Malloy says. DUDE. What did I say about that phrase? Can we hold it to once an episode?