A fatigue-green armored truck that could really do with a windshield wash barrels down the streets of L.A. Colby and Carter sit in the back with the MPs. One of them speaks Spanish into a cell, while the car radio blares Spanish rap. Would an MP really be so undisciplined as to be making what probably isn't a prisoner-transfer related call during a prisoner transfer? Carter, nice guy that he is, bellows if there's any chance they can listen to Johnny Cash: "Seriously -- I might be a traitor but at least I'm an American." Yeah, I sort of think that being a traitor to America rather negates your Americanness, dude. "Any of you guys even got green cards?" Carter demands. "Dwayne, do you ever shut up?" Colby bitches. "Solitary for three weeks -- conversation's been a little thin," Carter quips back readily. "Excuse me for being social!" Carter adds, which makes me giggle as I have a sudden image of him wearing white gloves and pouring out tea, while commenting on the state of the early begonias. I'll bet he even has engraved calling cards. A yellow Hummer speeds out of an alley alongside the armored truck, and a Mack chassis cuts the armored truck off in front. Men with guns get off the truck, as Colby spits out the key and works on his cuffs. A guy with a rocket launcher fires at the armored truck, blowing the cab to high heaven. Carter smacks his head and falls to the ground as the armored truck blows up some more. How are they not all dead? Colby grabs a guard's gun and holds it to his head, "Don't move or I'll blow your brains out." He orders Carter to grab another gun. Carter, dabbing at the cut on his head, is slow to react. Outside, the Asian guys in the yellow Hummer scramble as black-and-whites scream up to the scene. There's a shootout, and Colby and Carter prepare to jump out of the truck. Colby -- unseen by Carter -- grabs the guard's cell phone and follows Carter out. The guys in the Hummer provide covering fire as Colby and Carter -- ankle-chained -- three-leg-race it out of there.
The gun battle is broadcast on the television news as Amita trips barefoot down the stairs at Chez Eppes. No one notes the television. She kisses Charlie, who comments that Millie's been bugging him to publish, so he thought he'd "dust off some of [his] insights into Groebner…basis calculations." "I taught that course for two years," The Evil Dr. Mathra comments calmly. Amita picks up a folder and reads, "A mathematical analysis of friendship dynamics." "Yeah, I figured I could navigate through the eleventh grade using the minimax theorem and n-person games," Charlie explains. "That's believable. I didn't get into Groebner bases until twelfth grade. I was a late bloomer," the Evil Dr. Mathra observes. EYE-ROLLS FOR EVERYBODY! Charlie then blathers on about his "insights" on "network externalities of school elections" and the payoff strategies of doing other people's homework, but thankfully Don and Alan come in and interrupt the math flow with their arguing. I don't even care what they're arguing about, just that they shut Charlie up so I don't have to. Alan and Don are on their way to play golf, and ask Charlie to join them. As Charlie makes his stuttering excuses, Don picks up the green folder Amita was reading and says he remembers "the friendship math." He tried to read it. "Really?" Charlie boggles. "Why?" "You know, I thought I could pick up girls," Don mutter-laughs. He and Alan are about to head out when Don has to take a call. After a few "What?!"s, he hangs up and announces, frowning mightily, that Carter and Colby escaped.
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