Over at the Western District station, Carver rolls into the briefing room with two bright yellow epaulets on his shoulders. This means that he's the sergeant-in-charge, and don't the other officers hoot and holler about his career-minded ambitions. "If I was minding my career, would I be in the Western and commanding you useless fucking humps?" Carver fires back, somewhat good-naturedly. Anyhow, to business: the cops in the Western aren't getting overtime pay, either, but in contrast to Dozerman's gallows humor in the previous scene, they're not the least bit pleased about it -- an officer named Bob Brown is particularly belligerent about it. And since Carver is the only person on hand of any sort of rank, guess who bears the brunt of the other officers' frustration? Indeed. Carver puts down the first uprising with a well-timed "Shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down" -- all those years riding with Herc apparently taught him how to deal with a mob of testosterone-fueled lunkheads -- and launches into a speech about pride and professionalism and how promises made from on high will be kept. Sadly, it falls on deaf, belligerent ears, especially after Carver passes along word that patrol cars will no longer be serviced by maintenance. That sparks another Officer Brown-led uprising with the shouting and the cursing and the storming out by aggrieved parties. "I don't know how long we go before the wheels fall off the cart," Carver remarks later to Major (!) Mello. "A year ago, they were promised pay raises, pension bumps, better equipment, better cars. Now we can't even pay the O.T." "You gave 'em the professionalism bit, right?" Mello asks, like he knows it didn't do any good. "In the real world, they pay professionals," Carver shoots back. "That's why they call them pros." That, and because professionals are very sensitive about titles.