Back in the world of red tape and blue suits, Lt. Bubba approaches Capt. Pushover. "Hey, Cap! I think I got something. Bank statements from Kimble's father, sister, former associates, close friends, right? Now on the original warrant I got a flag on anything that's out of the ordinary." "Philip," pleads Capt. Pushover, "I'm begging you, get a hobby." Lt. Bubba ignores him, saying, "Now look here, Maggie Kimble Hume, divorced, two kids, a teacher with a deadbeat ex is pretty much living from paycheck to paycheck, right?" Capt. Pushover mutters in agreement, and Lt. Bubba continues that yesterday Kimble's sis pulled one thousand dollars out of her IRA and had to pay a $150 penalty for it. Capt. Pushover asks if Lt. Bubba knows what she did with the money. "I got a pretty good idea," Lt. Bubba says authoritatively. You go, Bubba!
A phone rings in Miami, and our slow-talking Cuban landlord is back. Kimble feeds him some cock-and-bull story about being with Social Security and needing to get in touch with Fred Johnson regarding a claim about his lost arm. The landlord asks if the money is for when you get hurt on the job. Kimble says, "That's right," and gives the landlord his new cell phone number. "Hey, about these benefits, I think I'm due." Kimble tells him that he's got the number now so he can call back. "You did write down the number, right?" The landlord says he'll pass along the message to Fred Johnson, "and then we can discuss my claim?" which, strangely enough, sounds vaguely threatening. Maybe he's just a weirdo. "Call anytime," Kimble says professionally, then hangs up, muttering, "Bastard." He walks into the kitchen and startles Bree, who's attempting to cook. She ends up spilling something from a box all over the floor. Kimble apologizes, "I came in off the porch." "That's all right," she assures him. Kimble asks where Gary is, and Bree tells him that he's working late. Kimble starts to tell Bree that he can go out and leave her alone, but Bree's excessive shaking makes her collapse. Kimble catches her and helps her into a chair. He asks if he can get her medication. Bree tells him that it just takes awhile for the medication to kick in, and tells Kimble she won a dance contest once. "Do you believe that? Three years ago, me and Gary. I can't remember what my body used to feel like. It's like I'm inside this thing and I wake up every morning and it's just not me anymore, you know?" Kimble looks off into the distance at the wall behind the stove. "I do, sorta," he says softy. Bree tells Kimble he reminds her of her husband, both kind and trying to help. "It's hard when there's nothing you can do, you know?" Bree starts to sob and tells Kimble she'd like to be alone. Kimble leaves, and Bree goes back to the stove.