After nightfall, Carver has reached the cold rage phase of his anger over the bug, repeating how much it cost. We cut to the inside of their car, as Herc, riding shotgun, says that the bug "just couldn't stand up to the modern urban crime environment." That, and several tons of metal and rubber and a coupla three axles. Carver can't unclench his jaw to answer, but it doesn't matter: Herc tells him, "Slow up. This is it." Carver brakes next to that gigantic new truck, and Herc says that it's listed to Nick, for an address on Reynold Street. Carver parks a few cars up, and then asks Herc, "'Sobotka'?" Herc shrugs that that's what it says. "That mean anything to you?" asks Carver pointedly. It...doesn't. Which is unfortunate. Carver, calling Herc "Beavis" (heh), says that Nick shares a surname with "the guy [they're] supposed to be working. Frank Sobotka." Herc taps his paper: "But we got Nicholas." Carver, losing his patience: "How many fucking Sobotkas can there be, even down here in Polack town?" Herc considers this, and muses, "You know what this means?" Herc holds up the tennis ball: "It means old Fuzzy Dunlop here -- somewhat the worse for wear, I admit -- is really gonna start paying off as a confidential informant." Carver: "No fucking way." "Are you out twelve-fifty?" Herc points out. "Because linking a street-level drug connect to our main target has to be worth a couple hundred, for starters." Carver stares at him, pissed but still kind of wanting to be convinced. Herc explains that if he tries to register "Fuzzy Dunlop" as a CI, "Daniels will smell a rat." He says that Daniels trusts Carver, though: "You got that trustworthy look." So why not piss that away, right?