Bck at the laundromat, Kimble takes his clothes out and finds Mia's wallet conveniently mixed in with his stuff. He calls information for the number in Monk's Corner. In Monk's Corner, a thick-necked, plug-ugly dude who could pass for a squatter, puffier version of Aidan Quinn is lifting weights. And coincidentally, he's wearing a wife-beater. The phone's ringing interrupts his reps. "Where are you?" he rasps into the phone. Kimble explains that he found his wife's wallet at the laundromat and that he can pick it up at the desk of the Charles View hotel. At the hotel, Kimble drops off the wallet and grabs the bell-boy. "Hey, Serious," Warren the bell-boy greets him. "Listen, I'm getting a hold of some decent weed. Any interest in going in on half?" Kimble thanks-no-thankses him and asks if he got his friend's friend's address. Did you follow that? Tricky thing, this Fugitive. Warren tells him he has and says, "Lemme ask you, what do you need fake ID for? You're over twenty-one." Kimble tells him he doesn't need an ID; he just needs to talk to someone who makes them. "And not just IDs," Kimble says, "passports." Warren looks worried and asks if he's with the Feds. Kimble answers in the negative. Assured that Kimble's not with law enforcement, Warren tries to interest him in some girls. "I know a couple of real --" "I'm good," Kimble interrupts him. Warren's crests have majorly fallen (tm manimal), and he says, "Man, you just walk around looking so depressed all the time, it's bumming me out!" Kimble tells him just to get him that address and he'll be satisfied. Warren assures him he'll get it and says to Kimble's retreating back, "You're sure about that girl?"
In one of the hotel rooms, Kimble pockets some cash from the bedside table as he plumps the pillows.