04x04 - Ring Around the Rosie

[bunniefuu]

You take the south side of the street.

I'll take the north.

Hey, you met the new boss yet?

I heard he's young.

Watch for any potential threats to the mayor.

He'll be leading the march.

Younger than us, and he's got limited field experience.

Mayor just left the building.

The march is underway.

Copy that. Moving into position.

Doesn't it bother you, working with a guy who's barely qualified?

You get used to it.

I've got an unknown disturbance in the northeast alley.

Excuse me. Police. CBI.

Coming through. Excuse me.

Did you see what happened?

No. Lo vi en el suelo.

Anybody see what happened?

¿lguien vio lo que Paso?

Okay, I need for you to secure the alley.

Get some backup in here now.

Contact the mayor's security detail.

Clear these people out now.

He's dead.

Excuse me.

Excuse me. Excuse me. Watch out.

What do we got?

Homicide. Multiple s*ab wounds.

Any ID?

No wallet, nothing I can see.

Got a large transient population here.

Could be a robbery gone wrong.

Let the office know what's going on.

Sure.

Jane.

You're gonna have to speak up, Lisbon.

It's a little loud here.

Are you close to us?

Well, that depends. Are you still on crowd patrol?

No. We got a homicide now.

Then I'm close.

Hey, Jane!

Strange time for a m*rder, isn't it— in the middle of a protest march?

Leave it to a k*ller to do something crazy.

Or calculated.

You notice how this alleyway is starting to look like a policeman's ball?

If I wanted to use a b*llet to express my displeasure with the mayor's politics, the first thing I'd do is clear out the heat.

You think this m*rder is a decoy?

No clue, but there's a suspicious-looking man on "J" Street and 56th— haunted eyes, nervous energy, an overcoat on a hot day.

That's thin, even for you.

Yeah, you're probably right.

It's only the mayor's life at stake.

Forget I spoke.

Cho.

We got him. Southeast corner.

Excuse me. CBI. Put your hands where I can see 'em.

Do me a favor and step over here with me.

What's the problem, ma'am?

I didn't do anything.

Then you won't mind if we search you, for our peace of mind and your safety.

Put your hands on your head and interlace your fingers.

Turn around and face the wall.

g*n.

A semiautomatic .45.

Fully loaded.

Chambered round.

I can explain that.

The station's right around the corner.

Turn around.

Come on.

That's a concealed carry license, and that's my name right there—Henry Tibbs.

It gives me authority to carry my sidearm anywhere in California.

These aren't easy to come by.

You had to demonstrate a need to carry.

I'm a Texas man.

That's my need.

Met a local sheriff who sympathized.

Hook 'em horns.

Why were you standing in front of the mayor with your legal concealed sidearm?

I was, uh, downtown dropping off resumes.

I'm, uh, an insurance salesman.

I've been out of work.

The economy's tighter than bark on a tree.

Mm-hmm. You always go job hunting with a loaded g*n?

There were several hundred angry protesters on that street.

And you put yourself right in the middle of 'em.

Sure. It's not every day you get to see a big-city mayor.

Or sh**t him.

Henry Tibbs—clean record, no priors. g*n permit checks out.

Says here he's on unemployment, owns a home with his wife Linda, but they're behind on the payments.

And the sun came up just to hear him crow, as they say in Texas.

Do we have anything that connects Tibbs to our John Doe in the alley?

Not yet. Forensics swabbed him for bloodstains. Couldn't find anything.

I don't like what I'm hearing.

Police put out an alert for a hate crime, so we rounded up the nearest white guy.

And while that's a refreshing twist on racial profiling, I think Mr. Tibbs has himself grounds for a lawsuit, so I think we should let him go and send his wife some flowers.

Special agent Luther Wainright. I'm your new boss.

Welcome aboard. I'm agent Lisbon.

Agent Lisbon, nice to meet you.

And—yes.

This is agent rig—

Agent Rigsby.

Hi.

A pleasure to meet you.

Van Pelt.

Hi.

Hi. I've read everyone's file, so I kind of know—

Patrick Jane.

Still making my way through yours.

It's a little bit heavier reading.

Yeah, do me a favor.

Don't tell me how it ends.

Uh, hard times, everyone, um, for the entire unit.

But, uh, things are about to get a whole lot easier.

I pride myself on two things— trust and transparency.

Excellent, so you'll tell us how old you are?

Because, uh, Rigsby here is running an office pool.

I'm not running a pool.

Henry Tibbs— what's the plan?

I suggest that we release him and keep him under surveillance.

Yeah, that sounds reasonable. Keep me posted.

Oh, um, your John Doe— he may be a photographer.

On long sh**t days, that bandage on the bridge of his nose— that would keep the nose pads on his eyeglasses from digging into his skin.

Okay. We'll check it out.

Excellent. Thank you.

Sharp.

This is the surveillance car you chose?

Well, we can't take an official vehicle.

We need to blend in.

Okay, and, uh, this blends in?

Nobody's forcing you to go on this surveillance.

You're right. Good point, but I'm coming anyway.

Did you bring a disguise?

"Did I bring a disguise? "

So Wainright was spot-on.

I checked a professional directory for local photographers, and there he was—Scott Gibson.

Spoke to the magazine he works for.

Says he was downtown sh**ting a photo essay of the homeless.

Do we know anything else about him?

Clean record, lives alone, no family to speak of, always carries a cell phone on assignment.

There was no phone at the crime scene or a camera.

Your robbery theory is looking better and better.

Let's hope so. Got a GPS track on Gibson's phone.

It's in a residential neighborhood just south of here.

Way to bury the lead. Let's go.

Okay.

Okay.

So what now?

Now we wait.

Wait for what?

For Tibbs to come back out.

That's no fun.

I thought the point of surveillance was to, uh, surveil.

It's hard to do that from inside a car.

Well, I can't go in there. Tibbs might recognize me.

Mm. That is a problem.

Well, he's never met me. Problem solved.

I'm gonna need these.

Hey.

Jane.

Ah. Bourbon. Big one.

Bigger than all hell and half of Texas.

A Lone Star man, huh?

Yeah, what's it to ya, hoss?

I seen you before.

Yeah?

Yeah. Let me think.

Uh... "Soldier Of Fortune" weaponry convention, Vegas, 2004.

Nope.

No? Well, that's too bad.

That was full-auto rock 'n' roll mayhem in the desert, my friend—

Uzis, floozies, and jacuzzis.

Weaponry convention, huh?

One of the greatest weekends of my life, and I've had some weekends.

No offense, pal.

You don't look like a weapons enthusiast.

You want to catch chickens, you don't look like a fox, am I right?

Damn straight, I'm right.

What's your w*apon of choice?

A loaded one.

Can I get another and one here for my friend?

The cell phone signal came from this house.

Foreclosure property. Door's ajar.

You ready?

Hey, back here. Hey, wake up.

Wake up!

Hands. Raise 'em high! You have any weapons?

Uh, uh, no, sir. I don't believe so.

What about a cell phone?

Uh, I-I believe I got one of 'em in my bag.

Keep your hands up. I'll find them.

You look familiar. What's your name?

Willie.

Not Willie Shubert.

You know this guy?

He's a bay area legend. I had a bootleg of his first CD.

It was all I listened to in college.

I always wondered what happened to you.

Listen up here, Willie.

Some of the stuff you're carrying came off a dead man.

Well, that's not good.

Neither is the dried blood on your shirt.

How'd that get there?

Well, let's see. Uh...

I got the blood on me when I was stabbing that fella in the alley.

A true man, a realman has but one purpose in this world.

He lives to fight.

Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talking about.

It doesn't matter who he is, what status the world puts on him.

It's what's in here that counts.

Fighting the enemy, combating evil...

That's nobility.

That's what makes a man a hero!

Amen, brother.

I'm pretty much done here.

What kinda evil are you fighting, mostly?

Why do you care?

I don't even know you.

I don't know you either, but I like you.

Come here. I want to show you somethin'.

Check that out.

Remington 700. That is nice.

You carry this around in your car?

Never know when a grizzly bear might appear.

Go on. Feel the weight of that honey.

That's nice.

Yeah, makes you wonder, doesn't it, what it'd feel like to take that sh*t?

What, on a human being?

We live in a target-rich environment, my friend.

It'd be so easy.

Yes, it would, and you are a full-on psycho, my friend.

I'm hammered. I'm gonna, um...

Give me that here.

I'm gonna walk home tonight.

Get outta here.

Stay... frosty.

Let's go.

Lisbon's called off the surveillance on Tibbs.

They think they've found their k*ller.

I know I found mine.

I thought I saw something in Tibbs' eyes yesterday, but I wanted to make sure, so last night I did.

What'd you see?

He's a man on autopilot.

Set to k*ll.

If we weren't there to stop him yesterday, I'm confident he would have pulled the trigger.

And you got all that from his eyes?

Pretty much.

I'm not doubting you. I'm just... fascinated.

Well, there was the tension in his body as well, and the overcoat, but, uh... the eyes were enough.

Well, the trouble is, I mean, even if you are right, we can't arrest an offender before he's offended.

It's better than after, don't you think?

See, here's the problem with working homicide.

There's so much death.

Tibbs is a man on the verge.

He is a man on the threshold of m*rder, possibly even mass m*rder.

Now who wouldn't want to try and stop that kind of nightmare?

Theoretical criminology.

I took that class. I think it's fascinating.

Uh, it just has no practical value.

No practical value?

I guess the same could be said for middle management bureaucrats.

Chafe as you may against the bridle of responsibility, we can't shortchange due process.

Now following a potential offender around is a waste of resources.

Yeah, you're right.

What we need here is a confidence trick.

A what?

A scam. A hustle. Bunco. Flimflam.

If we can get inside the world of Henry Tibbs, then I can predict when and where he will blow.

Then all we have to do is pop out and arrest him for attempted m*rder.

Now before we go too far down this path, I'm not ready to rule out Tibbs as an actual m*rder suspect.

Didn't Willie Shubert confess?

Yes, he did, but I don't believe him.

Look at his history— mental illness, substance abuse, vagrancy.

Exactly, and he was covered in the victim's blood and in possession of his belongings.

Yes, b-but there's no record of v*olence.

I think that his confession was a cry for help.

Willie didn't hurt anyone.

How do you know that?

Well, you kind of have to hear him play the saxophone.

I love it, Lisbon.

The beautiful soul defense.

You two want me believe that a man who confessed to m*rder did nothing, and a man who did nothing is a m*rder*r?

You may even be smarter than you look.

I think Tibbs is a dead end, but I like to reward passion, so... go prove me wrong.

You have 24 hours to demonstrate that Tibbs poses an imminent danger, and I'm sending the Shubert case to the DA.

What about my passion?

I called my sh*t.

Excuse me.

Okay, the goal is to get close to Tibbs, to figure out when he will snap.

We're gonna play this... like a long con.

Rigsby, your objective is to exploit the mark's dreams and desires.

Uh, the one thing we do know about Tibbs— he desires a job.

Now according to Van Pelt's research, he's already gone downtown and applied for one at the Goldwyn Insurance Group.

They've rejected his application, but Tibbs doesn't know that yet, so we need the Goldwyn Group to lend us a meeting room, so we can conduct a fake job interview.

We also need to know about his family life or lack thereof.

It seems the lady of the house, Linda Tibbs, has filed for a divorce.

We need to know why.

So, Van Pelt, you'll find out where she works, and you will make contact.

Cho, I think it's best you ditch the race car and find something a little more modest to keep the mark under surveillance.

Let's have fun.

Good luck to all.

Your first CD.

Only CD.

I still have it.

Back in college, whenever I missed my family in Chicago, I would listen to it.

It helped.

I've been doing some research on you, Willie.

Not long after you made this album, you lost your wife.

Car accident, right?

You were driving?

Is that why you stopped playing?

What do you want?

I want to know why you confessed to a m*rder you didn't commit.

Look, I don't know what you're talking about.

I stuck that boy!

Ready to get what I got coming.

You need to understand the reality of what's going on, Willie.

The DA will put you in prison.

I'm old, tired of sleeping in alleys.

I ain't got no place to go. Prison's someplace.

And a lethal injection is part of the vacation package.

You'll get three hots and a cot just for stealing off a dead body.

What do you say we come clean on this, so we can keep you alive?

Okay, yeah.

Tell me what happened yesterday.

That fellow that took my photo earlier in the day had... gave me $20 for my photo rights, but when I found him dead, his wallet was laying on the ground, empty.

Why did you take it?

It's real leather.

And what about the camera?

What happened to that?

I found the cell phone in his Jacket pocket.

I didn't see no camera.

I'm going to get you out of this, Willie, whether you like it or not.

Thank you.

You ready? He's here.

Not really.

Have a seat, please. Mr. Rigsby will be right in.

He's one of our senior executives.

So what do you want me to ask him?

Well, ask him whatever you want.

I mean, you're— you're charming.

Just, uh, get him to open up.

Okay.

Should I ask the questions that agent Wainright gave me?

Wainright gave you questions?

Yeah, he says they're designed to elicit a patterned response to determine antisocial personality disorder.

Well, maybe they'll make you sound extra-smart, just like him.

Okay. Wish me luck.

You'll be fine. Just don't be yourself.

Whoa. Hang on. What is that?

That is a large pimple forming above your brow there.

I don't know. Is there?

Actually, no. It looks more like a melanoma.

What? Are you sure?

No, I'm not.

You should get that checked out as soon as you can.

Now run along.

Mm-hmm.

Hello, Mr. Tibbs.

Wayne Rigsby.

Named after the Duke himself.

Yeah, my dad liked his Westerns.

A man after my own heart.

My family's been raising crops, cattle, and children in Texas for two centuries.

So, Mr. Tibbs, uh, what kind of, uh, what kind of an employee would you describe yourself as?

Hey. Can I get you something to drink?

No, thank you.

I'm here to talk about your husband Henry.

Grace Van Pelt with the CBI.

What'd he do?

Nothing yet, but we have reason to believe that he might be dangerous.

"Might be"? That's a good one.

Talk to me.

No, ma'am.

I have been talking for a long time, and I am tired of nobody listening.

Look, I don't know who you've been talking to, but I'll take you seriously.

No.

I am not getting lured back into this again.

I even had a judge turn me away for being the unstable one.

I'm taking care of myself from now on.

Rachel, can you cover this table for me, please?

I have a master's in forensic psych.

The questions I gave Rigsby came from a standardized test to diagnose psychopathy.

Tricking our mark into taking a mental health test.

Nice touch.

Just embracing your spirit of the con.

I cross-referenced Tibbs' answers with his background.

Do you have any idea what the test revealed?

No, but I can't wait to find out.

Nothing.

No evidence of criminal psychopathy whatsoever.

Tibbs is just an out-of-work insurance broker.

A monster without conscience, void of any human empathy.

Jane.

Hey, tests can be fooled.

Human behavior never lies.

Normal people— they can't help but imitate what happens in their social world.

One of the most mimicked behaviors— face-touching.

Observe agent Rigsby, as neurotic as a border collie.

He can't stop touching his face.

Now Tibbs—his hands never leave the table, not once.

That's, uh, quite a leap.

Is it?

Look how you're sitting right now.

You're leaning back with your legs crossed, just like me.

Oh, please, but I always sit this way.

You do? Oh.

Hmm. Maybe you're right.

Of course I'm right.

See? You're normal.

That man has the conscience of a mollusk.

Hey, Tibbs.

I'm with Tibbs.

All right. Go ahead.

Hey. Bad year for Merlot.

That's my case. You can, uh... you can try to hit one, if you want.

Okay.

Thanks.

No problem.

That's it! Oh, yeah!

Suspect was sh**ting zombies with an illegal M240 Bravo, belt-fed, gas-operated.

Zombies?

Lifelike targets. Mannequins.

No wonder Tibbs' wife left him.

What did you learn from her?

She wouldn't talk, but according to a protective order she filed in may, they got into a fight, and he took a hammer to their bedroom.

Blamed her for all his failures.

I'm sorry. I don't remember a protective order in Tibbs' file.

The judge denied it, said Linda's request wasn't specific enough to constitute an emergency.

She's scared of him but can't get anyone to take her seriously.

One, Tibbs is living a life of failure, two, he's socially isolated, three, he owns firearms, and four, his wife just left him.

Classic 4-pointed profile of a mass sh**t.

We'll arrest Henry Tibbs on a felony weapons charge, then we can insist on counseling.

And what happens in a couple months, when he hits the streets?

He reports to parole.

We all know how effective that is.

Okay, look, there is no ideal system.

Sure, there is.

We follow Tibbs, and we catch him in the act of attempted mass m*rder.

Jury puts him away for life. It's that simple.

You are quite the Pied Piper, Mr. Jane. Quite the salesman.

I happen to think counseling is our best option right now.

All due respect, chief, but isn't it worth a sh*t?

I will not follow around an almost-bad guy, just waiting for him to snap.

I vowed to make a prediction, so predict I shall.

Before the sun sets today, Henry Tibbs will make his move.

Give us that long.

You have until the end of the day.

Is Lisbon always this late?

She had some personal business.

Good morning. I'm with the CBI.

I need to know if somebody pawned a camera here in the past 24 hours.

Take a look.

This would have been a high-end DSLR in a case with multiple lenses.

Oh, yeah. That one came in last night.

A mangy guy brought it in— rotten teeth, dog breath.

That camera is evidence in a homicide investigation.

Where is it at now?

Sold it.

Do you have a record of the purchase?

All right. How about the memory card?

Did you sell that, too?

I sell those separately.

More money for me.

That one had a 32 gig card.

I need a working digital camera.

Sure.

30 bucks.

I'll give you $5 for a 2-minute rental.

Do you know this man?

Mike Flynn.

Anger management issues.

And I know where he keeps his bedroll, too.

Mike Flynn?

Get the hell out of my house!

You are Mike Flynn, right?

And y-you're in a man's house, and I...

I'll call the police if you don't go.

Just calm down. Now!

Calm down. We are the police.

Sushi for lunch?

Expensive goose-down sleeping bag?

How did you pay for this stuff?

The streets have been kind lately.

We need to check your backpack, okay?

Drop it.

Put it down.

Hey, take it easy. Drop it.

Put it down.

I have a photo of you coming after a m*rder victim with that Kn*fe.

You want to explain that, Mr. Flynn?

I-I don't like having my photo taken.

Get your hands behind your back.

Now.

Lisbon.

It's Cho. I just lost Tibbs on the freeway.

He's off the grid.

Should we be worried?

What was Tibbs doing before Cho lost sight of him?

Driving around the city, aimless.

As predicted, he's trying to work up the courage.

We can't even put out a BOLO to find him.

Sure we can. We can pick him up on a weapons charge for the machine g*n.

Oh. Whoa.

You promised. Sunset.

If I can get inside his house, I know I can figure out where Tibbs will go.

You'll never get a judge to grant you a warrant.

Wait a minute. We don't need one.

All we need is permission from a homeowner.

I already told you, I am not getting involved.

But we're not asking you to, ma'am.

We just need for you to cooperate—

You know, it doesn't matter what you need.

I don't trust you, and I am not gonna help.

If you quit now, you're gonna Miss the best part— payback.

What are you talking about?

A few months ago, I had a fiance who... well, he tried to k*ll me.

You're lying.

Look, everybody thought he was the greatest guy, including me, until he pulled a g*n.

What did you do?

I sh*t him.

Dead.

What can I do to help?

We need to search your house.

Nice.

Well, it's a choice.

Lacks a woman's touch.

Got something.

Wow.

The imagination station.

"All that's necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing."

That's, uh, Edmund Burke, I believe.

Wherever Tibbs is, at least he doesn't have these with him.

Well, he may have other weapons.

Check this out.

The mayor's public appearance schedule.

I wonder what he did for Tibbs to target him.

Doesn't matter.

All Tibbs cares about is the rush that comes from k*lling an important man.

The mayor's power becomes his power.

Where is Tibbs now?

Who else do you think would be a target for his rage?

I don't know, but he hasn't signed his divorce papers yet.

Do we have someone at the diner where Tibbs' wife works?

Where is she? Where's my wife? !

Duffel bag could be a w*apon.

Where's my wife? !

We need to hold back.

We move too soon, we blow our whole cover with Tibbs.

Can I help you?

I don't know, man.

You helping my wife hide from me?

Oh, no. Linda went home early today.

She didn't go home.

She hasn't been home in weeks.

She staying with you?

You can tell me.

You hot for my wife?

You bangin' my wife?

I need you to go now.

Please?

You're scaring my customers.

Okay, I'll go.

Next time you see Linda, give her something from me.

Tell her to choke on these.

All right.

Well, at least you didn't sh**t this one.

If I understand this correctly, two of my agents almost sh*t a man in a crowded diner for bringing his wife flowers.

"Almost" is the key word there.

I've listened. I've empathized.

I've heard enough.

This case is too dangerous. We need a new approach.

Agreed. No more sitting around and waiting for something to push Tibbs over the edge.

We need to create our own stressor.

Are you saying, incite the suspect to v*olence?

It wouldn't take much.

Cut off the power to his house, a couple of eggs on his truck.

Just enough to make him go berserk, do something violent.

You're off the case, Jane.

Actually, as a matter of fact, there is no case.

Henry Tibbs is a sick man, and he needs psychological help.

What if he can't be helped?

We are the criminals then, if we don't at least try.

I'm taking Rigsby and Cho.

Where?

I'm arresting Henry Tibbs on felony weapons charges.

I wonder if our new boss is in a little over his head.

Really? I don't.

Tibbs could k*ll him.

Or he could save Tibbs.

All right.

Okay, you two... cover the back.

I'm sick of watching everyone play with this man's life.

Yeah.

You're with the Goldwyn Group, right?

Is this about the job interview?

No, sir. I'm afraid it's not.

Hi, Henry. My name is Luther Wainright.

Hold on. You—you were at CBI.

That's right. We are with the government.

We've been watching you.

You... what?

We spoke with your wife, Henry.

We know that you're in a lot of pain, and we're worried about you.

The government would like to provide you with some help.

Wait. Wait, wait. What the hell is going on?

Look, I know this is all pretty confusing, and we're going to explain everything.

First, however, we need to search your house.

I have a warrant right here.

You don't need a warrant.

You can come inside my house.

I got nothing to hide from nobody.

Thank you.

Ohh. Excuse me, sir.

We're busting in.

Cover the rear exit.

Hold the door.

Hey. This is Wainright. Tibbs is on the run.

Get us a bird in the air.

Hey, Jane. Tibbs evaded arrest. He's on the move.

Okay.

You.

Hey, Henry.

Okay. Stay calm. Don't move.

Do not draw your weapons. This man will not hurt you.

He cannot hurt you.

No.

Isn't that right, Henry?

What the hell are you talking about?

You don't want to pull that trigger.

You think you do.

You think it will switch off that vacancy sign in your soul, but the truth is, taking a life's just gonna make things a whole lot more complicated.

Believe me.

I don't expect to live past today.

But you can. You haven't hurt anyone yet.

You put that g*n away now, and we will get you the help that you need.

I think...

I think it's too late for me... and everyone here.

Hold on, boss.

Whew.

Loud.

Hey. How ya doin'?

You're under arrest for the attempted m*rder of... everybody.

Turn around. Put your hands on your head.

What's going on?

How come no one's hurt?

When we searched Tibbs' house, we replaced all of his live rounds with blanks, in case we lost him again.

So long, partner.

Let's go.

The DA is offering you 90 days in county jail if you plead no contest to two counts of theft from a body.

You'll have a warm bed for the winter and shelter waiting for you when you get out.

Sounds good.

Thanks.

Oh, um, I was in the pawnshop today, and I picked something up I thought maybe you could use when you get out.

I haven't played one of these in years.

I didn't think so.

Your lawyer's gonna be here in a couple of minutes.

You take of yourself, Willie.

That's, uh, that's kind of... my spot.

Oh.

Right. Sorry.

Yeah.

Thank you.

Mm-hmm.

You, uh, set me up today.

You knew I would be the stressor that pushed Tibbs over the edge.

Well, one can never really know these things.

To be honest, I was rooting for you.

Really?

Yes, I find your, uh, youthful brand of earnestness quite refreshing.

How did you know Tibbs was gonna go to that garden?

Educated guess.

He had it circled in his calendar.

Well, then why on earth wouldn't you clear the area first?

The plan that was approved by, uh... you was to catch Tibbs in the act, I believe.

You know that psychopathy test I gave Tibbs?

I figured out why it didn't work.

See, it's a rating scale based on observation, so the more time you spend with the subject, the more accurately you can then observe their behavioral traits, and, uh, guess what I've been doing?

Oh, you haven't.

Glibness and superficial charm?

Check.

You flatter me.

Grandiose sense of self-worth?

You betcha.

Cunning and manipulative, poor behavioral controls, failure to accept responsibility for own actions.

So I, uh, I cross-referenced all of my observations with your history as a thief and a con artist, and, uh, congratulations, Jane.

According to the score, you are a clinical psychopath.

Wow.

Well... certainly explains a lot.

Now I know what I'm dealing with, so I'll adjust accordingly.

As you should.

Lisbon.

Everything all right?

Uh, yeah. Yeah.

I like our new boss.

I think we'll work very well together.

Would you like some tea?

I'm tired. I'm gonna go home.

I made a pot.

All right. I'll take one to go.

I heard you got your man.

As did you. Nice work.

You think I'm an antisocial personality?

Yeah. Sure. Who isn't?