Aw, man. She's actually making him pick up trash. As Jim grabs refuse with a surgically-gloved hand and places in the bag candy wrappers, empty bags, scripts for the first five episodes of this show, and a single piece of paper reading "Résumé Of Lloyd Braun," Pawn sheds wasteful bits of backstory all over the highway Jim is trying so hard to keep clean. She lets him know, "New plan. Sloman wants me to take you along on the buy." Jim thinks he knows why he's become a part of the plan: "The man kills for sport and I'm next?" She promises him she has the whole sting completely under control, but Prufrock shows all of his cards for a change and lands the only negative payout in town when he snipes, "You have a reputation that doesn't inspire confidence, Agent Mitchell." She asks with vengeance if he did a background check on her, and he responds, "Of course I did," failing to add the painfully obvious, "I do background checks on everyone. I do background checks on blind dates and tollbooth collectors and houseplants and cats. And then I whore out my assistant to do a couple more. How do you think I landed here in the first place? The bizarre bureaucratic perk of almost-legal invasion of privacy. Jeez, where have you been, locked in a trunk? Oh wait, that was me." He tells her that her inability to adhere to departmental protocol "doesn't exactly make me eager to accompany you out to the desert and serve myself up to Dwight Sloman on a platter." Pawn defends her dossier, reminding him that "if you want to catch criminals, you have to act like one," but Jim's armed with the rejoinder, "You act the part a little too well." Well, she's no Scarlett Chorvat, but let's not get crazy here.
Jim tries to play the "my powerful lawyer" card, but Pawn all but reaches into Jim's trash bag and pulls out a tossed-away bag of "Cliché-i-os," reminding us with a message from the nutrition facts box that "Cliché-i-os contain less than two percent of the USDA daily recommended dose of intriguing and/or non-repetitive dialogue." She reminds Jim that Sloman is a very powerful member of the AARP, and puts too fine a point on it with the threat, "Don't be surprised if your videotaped confession shows up on the six o'clock news." Jim Walkens his way through the grinds of an empty canister of "Chock Full o' Ellipses," stopping and stalling like a gas guzzling Model T with a kid in the trunk: "And you…think you…can bring him down. This psychotic…criminal…this gun-toting maniac." Choose your words with care, Prufrock; you're running out of clever ways to audition for other shows with them. We learn that the deal goes down at 2 PM, and Pawn indicates that Prufrock's presence will be beneficial for the sting because Sloman "will be going in with his guard down" (wha?). But Prufrock cocks the gun in the first act to go off in the third (except for the part where it's not Sloman's gun that goes off and technically it's the fourth act and oh god why can't I just stop talking already?) with the reminder that Sloman will be going in "fully loaded." "So will I," comforts Pawn. "So will my partner," she adds, cashing in the five-cent bottle deposit on an empty case of Continuity Cola. Unless her "partner" shows up in the form of a six-foot-tall rabbit that only she can see, I'd like to know where this guy has been hiding while she's been fronting at the sheriff's station for who knows how long. Maybe he could fill in for a while. His southern accent's gotta be better than hers.