Detail office. Herc and Dozerman are looking over a catalogue or something when Marimow comes in, loaded for bear (which is fortunate, since that's how the gay dudes I know would describe Herc) because a Jamaican woman Herc had stopped at the train station has filed a harassment complaint over it. Herc says that, as Marimow saw in Herc's report, they had what they thought was reliable information that she was working as a drug courier for Marlo; that they even saw Marlo with her. Marimow asks what the info was, and Herc looks at Dozerman before claiming that his CI has been reliable. He goes on embellishing -- "great track record...long history" -- as Dozerman casually turns around, the better to dissociate himself from whatever mendacity is about to unspool. "CI 238," barks Marimow. "Give me his name." Marimow starts stomping away, and Herc follows, stammering that he isn't comfortable throwing CIs' names around in squad rooms. Marimow's like, "Don't care," and Herc gives it up: "Fuzzy Dunlop, sir." Marimow is smart enough (just) to be suspicious of this moniker, and says he might have to set up a meeting with the guy. Herc says that he's "kind of leery of meets," but promises that Dunlop has been reliable. "You jumped out on bad information," says Marimow. Oh, like...you did with the raids a few weeks back, Douchington? Thought so. But Herc doesn't mention this as Marimow goes on: "You brought in another agency, and you brought discredit to this unit. My unit." Herc says that he did it in good faith, but Marimow doesn't care: "Anything comes of this, I have your report, and I will bury you with it." He goes into his office, but comes back -- dramatically -- to add, "In case you haven't been paying attention to the election results" (safe bet, unless they're being broadcast on ESPN and strange ladies' boobs), "your rabbi has left the building." Herc looks like he's ready to convert.
Duquette's class. Duquette notes that there haven't been any tantrums today, and Zenobia says that there isn't any point, since it won't get them suspended anyway. Duquette tells the students that, if it makes them feel better, the word around the rest of the school is that they figured out a way to beat the system: they didn't want to be in class, they made it impossible for their old classes to function, and now, here they are: "You won." Namond laughs and pulls a snap off the guy next to him. "You feel like winners?" asks Duquette neutrally. "Always," says Namond smugly. "That's how we did," says someone whose face we don't see. "Who's 'we'?" asks Duquette immediately. "Who are you?" Namond says that they're players. "Kingpins?" asks Duquette dubiously. Namond tells her that comes later: "Right now, we're just corner boys." She asks how long it will take before they're kingpins, and Albert confidently says it'll be two or three years. Which is pretty ambitious coming from a kid whose balls haven't even dropped yet. I mean, seriously, he's like two foot three and a soprano.