Over here.
Come on, come on.
Let's go.
Move it.
What was that?
This is
a restricted area!
Identify yourself,
or you will be detained!
Get the crate.
Welcome to the Big Easy,
Mr. Desmond.
Hope you enjoy your stay.
♪ Boom, boom, boom, boom
♪ Bang, bang, bang, bang
♪ Boom, boom, boom, boom
♪ How, how, how, how
♪ Hey, hey
♪ You gotta come on.
Good morning,
Christopher.
Not for everyone, it ain't.
COD of both vics
is a single,
close-range GSW to the base
of the skull,
and the placement's identical.
- Multiple sh**t?
- Can't be sure, but the victims
d*ed simultaneously
and without warning.
- They were ambushed.
- Most likely. By people
who were advanced in training.
How do you know that?
The entry wound angles
are precise, almost surgical.
The b*ll*ts had a direct path
to the brain stem.
Like flipping a light switch.
Meet David Anderson
and Ted Loomis.
Found their DIA credentials
in the van. But get this:
they're both administrative
clerks out of DC.
Since when do clerks carry MP5s?
About as often as they conduct
covert field operations. Never.
Hey, guys.
Come check this out.
All right, so riddle me this:
what do you get when you cross
a plain pine box with
a self-contained oxygen system
and reinforced restraints?
The perfect way to transport someone
without anybody knowing.
Yeah.
The jack in this box
was pretty banged up, too.
I found significant blood
and skin cell traces.
This wasn't a hit.
It was a rescue mission.
Anderson and Loomis were
just collateral damage.
Why is the Defense
Intelligence Agency
running ops here
without letting us know?
Don't know. But we got
at least one trained gunman
out there on the loose,
and they're gonna tell us
who was in this crate and why.
Who gets to make that call?
Till Pride comes back,
the privilege is all mine.
Good seeing you.
We'll see you later
on today, all right?
Thank you. Hey.
Okay,
- Mr. Rogers.
- Wha...?
Now that you've
literally said hello
to every person
in your neighborhood,
can we please
keep it moving?
- What's the rush?
- Glad to see you, Dwayne.
Thank you.
The sun is out,
there's not a
cloud in the sky;
it's a perfect day for a walk.
- A short walk
is what we agreed to.
- People want to chat.
- How you doing?
- Hey, Dwayne.
It'd be rude
to ignore them.
You are loving it, Dad.
Ah, maybe a little.
You know I wouldn't have
made it this far without you.
And that is why you
are my favorite child.
I'm your only child.
Mm.
And who are you fooling?
With or without me, you
would've fought your way back.
I'm not so sure
about that.
Tell me something.
How'd you get
to be so smart?
Mm, Mom.
Good-lookin'?
Mom.
Check the monitor.
I'm fine.
Just do it. Please?
Yeah, I've...
145 BPM.
It's time to go
back upstairs.
Just let me catch my breath.
Let's do another loop
around the block.
Dad, it's only been eight weeks.
Your body is still healing.
You need to rest.
Go upstairs.
I'll run to the market,
and if you're good,
maybe I will let you
help me cook dinner later.
Mémé's world-famous étouffée?
If you're good.
I'll be good.
Okay.
- Bye.
- Bye.
Yeah, I understand that, ma'am,
but I've called
and left three messages
for our DIA liaison.
Special Agent
Christopher Lasalle.
Lasalle. L-A-S...
You know what, forget it.
I'll call back later.
- Still no luck with the DIA?
- No.
I don't see how Pride does it.
I mean, sorting through
all this red tape is like
a full-time job in itself.
What about
Deputy Director Sanchez?
Radio silence.
His assistant says
he's in a budget
meeting all day.
Well, maybe that's code
for catching a Nationals game.
What are you
doing here, Pride?
Nice to see you, too, Gregorio.
Hi.
Hi.
You're looking good, King.
One day at a time.
Really happy to see you,
but shouldn't you
be home resting?
I'm taking a break
from taking a break.
Don't worry,
it's just a social call.
Good news: I got a hit on the
blood from the crate. It's a...
Oh, thank God.
Wha...? Seba...
Easy, baby.
He's still recovering.
What? Oh, sorry. I'm sorry.
It's okay, Se...
Sebastian, it's okay.
Look, I know y'all
got work to do.
I'm just gonna drop these
pastries in the kitchen,
and then I'll get
out of your hair.
Thank you, King.
Yeah.
You were saying you got a hit
off the blood from the crate?
Yeah. So,
DNA from the crime scene
matched an Interpol profile
for a particularly bad dude.
- Terrance Desmond?
- Desmond was
a former IRA b*mb maker
behind a 2004 pub expl*si*n
that k*lled 18.
Spent the last ten years
selling his services
to the highest bidder.
Navy was investigating
his involvement
in a bombing attempt
in a forward staging base
off the coast of Yemen.
- Yeah.
About a month ago,
he just... he disappeared.
Considering the
box he was in,
I'd say it was more like taken.
Yeah. Somebody wanted him back.
Probably to build them a b*mb.
- We got to find him now.
- What we need
is more Intel from HQ.
I mean, without it,
we're swinging in the dark
while the clock keeps ticking.
Maybe I can help.
When it comes to getting DC
on the phone,
I can be very persuasive.
Please enter
your challenge word.
Access granted.
Thanks for taking
my call, Dan.
To be honest, Dwayne,
I wasn't expecting
to hear from you
for quite some time.
- I didn't know you were back at work.
- I'm not.
- Just pinch-hitting.
- He's helping us on an important case.
This about the DIA
and the missing prisoner,
Terrance Desmond?
- Kind of hard for us to do our job
when you don't answer
our calls, sir.
Apologies, Agent Lasalle.
Special Agent in Charge McGill
retired a month ago.
We've had issues coordinating
our Southeast field offices.
All the SSAs
formerly under his watch
have unfortunately felt
the void.
When is Director Vance
gonna pick a replacement?
He already has. Look, Dwayne,
I was gonna fly down there
to tell you this in person.
- Tell me what?
You're the new SAC.
That's funny.
I'm not joking.
Yes, your methods
have ruffled a few feathers,
but nobody can argue
with your success rate
or level of commitment.
The choice was
an easy one to make.
Don't say no yet, Dwayne.
Do me a personal favor
and think about it.
Well, if Pride leaves, what
happens to NCIS New Orleans?
Glad you asked.
NCIS. Special Agent Khoury.
We appreciate the support,
Sergeant Rivers.
You'll have a full
suspect dossier in ten minutes.
Sergeant, I cannot stress
enough how extremely dangerous
Terrance Desmond is.
Yeah, hang on a second, please?
Sebastian,
right?
- Mm.
You have impeccable timing.
Thank you.
NOPD needs everything
we've got on Terrance Desmond.
Do you mind sending
those files over?
- Uh, yeah, I-I can do that.
-Great.
While we're at it,
let's circle back with Interpol.
See if you can get
whatever you can
on friends, family,
known associates.
It might shed some light on
some of our sh**t, too.
- Uh, okay, yeah, I'm-I'm all over it.
- Okay, great.
And, Sebastian?
You got a little something
on your...
The other side.
Oh.
Okay.
Who is she?
I don't know.
- Why are you taking orders from her?
- I don't know.
Hey. Is there something
I can help you with, Ms....?
Khoury.
Hannah Khoury.
As a matter of fact, there is.
- Gregorio?
- Yeah.
I could really use
your opinion.
- My opinion?
- Yeah. What if I were to tell you
our dead DIA clerks were
actually security specialists
assigned to transfer high-value
detainees into Navy custody?
- I'd need more details on the operation.
- What if there weren't any?
What if the DIA was
only providing support
for someone else's party?
A very private one,
where the guests don't
officially exist.
CIA ghost prisoners?
Exactly what
I was thinking.
- Hey, what's going on, man?
- Um, the DIA
is helping the CIA move
off-the-record detainees.
- Move them from where?
- Million dollar question,
Patton, one of several.
And since our
associates at Langley
aren't known for their
warm and fuzzy cooperation,
we're gonna have to find
the answers on our own.
Who the hell are you?
She's your new boss.
Hi.
This can't be happening.
He literally just got back.
Why wouldn't Pride tell
us he's being replaced?
He's not being replaced.
I'm sure he didn't say yes.
Well, what if he did?
What if he's really done?
I don't want a new boss.
I like the one we have.
Plus, I'm awful
with change.
Pride'll sort things out.
All right?
He always does.
But no matter what happens,
we still need to track down
who m*rder*d two DIA agents
and find a missing b*mb maker.
Sanchez thinks
very highly of you.
- Well, then he has me
at a disadvantage,
since I've never met the man.
- He offered you my job for a reason.
- So you should know,
I only considered the position
after hearing that you would be
the new regional SAC.
Rumors of my...
promotion have been
greatly exaggerated.
My apologies.
I'll remove my name
from consideration.
- Don't. You've done nothing wrong.
From what I hear,
you're more than qualified
to... fill my shoes.
That's an
impossible assignment,
Special Agent
Pride, but...
I will do my best,
if I still have the job.
You're modest for someone with
such an impressive track record.
- Same could be said of you.
- You've consulted
with four different support
teams in less then two years.
Naples, Bahrain,
Yokosuka, Hong Kong.
Singapore, actually.
What can I say,
I have a flair for the exotic.
Then why take a full-time post
in New Orleans?
I go where I'm needed.
That's your answer
for the bosses.
What's the real one?
First, can I ask you something?
Why did you come to work today?
Nobody would have expected
you to come back so soon,
if at all, but here you are.
My guess is that once upon
a time you made a choice,
you decided to put your job
above all else.
Self-sacrifice
for the greater good.
That what you're doing?
Truth is, I'm tired
of living out of a suitcase.
And I'm tired of saying good-bye
to friends.
And I am tired of pretending
that I don't need consistency
in my life.
It's time to find a home.
That said,
I have no intention of
kicking you out of yours.
And, until you say otherwise...
I'm just a guest.
And I'm just a guy
dropping off pastries.
Understood.
But since you are
already here,
there's no harm in sticking
around for a minute.
Dad?!
I know I should have
left you a note.
- Yeah, or called or texted,
or just gone home like
you were supposed to.
Look, Laurel...
I missed my team.
- I needed to know they're all right.
- They're adults, Dad.
I'm pretty sure they can be
trusted to survive a few months.
You, on the other hand...
I'm fine.
You keep saying that,
but less than two months ago
you were dying on
an operating table.
And the first chance you get,
you race back into the chaos.
- I don't know what to say.
- Then just...
listen.
When they first told me
you'd been sh*t,
all I could think about was
never seeing you again.
About never playing the piano
with you, or never laughing
at your corny dad jokes.
And, in that moment, I've never
felt more alone or afraid.
But you're not alone.
I'm right here.
Yeah, but for how long?
I'm asking you to
really start looking
at the priorities
in your life.
You will always be what's
most important to me.
But I have responsibilities.
Your responsibility
is to get better.
The new agent just asked for
my help with some paperwork,
a little research,
that's all.
The team needs me.
I just wish you'd
let someone else
wear the cape every
once in a while.
Look...
No capes for me right now,
sweetie. I promise.
But I just want you
to know that...
I don't think I'm ever
gonna give up the tights.
No, I'm serious.
Hey, just had a chat
with an old friend
from CIA m*llitary Affairs.
Let me guess, there's no
official record of any joint
CIA/DoD op involving
ghost detainees.
Well, according to the Agency,
there's no such thing
as ghosts, period.
I'm hoping your "old friend" has
a differing opinion.
On the record, no,
on the DL, undocumented
prisoners might just exist.
And if they did,
the most valuable ones
might be trackable through
an RF microchip.
I've heard rumors of GPS
trackers being implanted
without detainees' consent
or even knowledge.
Hey, if we could get
the chip RFID,
Patton might be able to pinpoint
his exact location.
I'm gonna try Sanchez.
Great job, Gregorio.
Thanks.
All right, well,
according to the GPS, Desmond's
somewhere in that barn.
I got four additional targets.
Yeah, could be more inside. I'll call
backup, they should be here in 10 minutes.
That chopper could be airborne
before they arrive.
We take them now.
Desmond.
Gregorio, move!
NCIS! Drop your weapons!
Let's go!
Check the barn!
Desmond.
Show us your hands.
Damn it.
Why rescue a b*mb maker,
only to k*ll him before
he even makes one?
It was never gonna happen.
At least not with the supplies
that we found in that barn.
Well, I see a lot of parts
on that table.
Yeah, except there's no rhyme
or reason for any of them.
Robert Oppenheimer
couldn't have made a b*mb
from that pile of crap.
Something's not making sense.
What are we missing here?
What else do we know about
the men in black?
Only that they're great at
covering their tracks.
There was no bio-trace
at that crime scene.
No hair. No fingerprints.
Nothing.
Fortunately for us,
they did leave something behind.
We struck out on print and DNA.
Still no positive I.D.
Rules him out as
former m*llitary.
At least not American.
I think this one's gonna
be a tough nut to cr*ck.
Well, it's a good thing we've
got an interrogation expert
to get the job done.
Want to tell me your name?
Okay, I will, uh,
I'll tell you mine.
It's Hannah.
Today's my first day
on a new job, and, the truth is,
I am kind of nervous.
There is a quick and painless
way to do this.
Oh, yeah?
You mean the one that
makes you look good,
look good in front
of your boss.
He's literally watching
every move I make.
We already know...
you didn't rescue
Terrance Desmond
to build a b*mb.
So why'd you take him?
If your mission
was to k*ll him,
why did you wait
till we arrived?
Why stick around
and risk being caught?
I think the mission
was poorly planned.
I think it was
badly ex*cuted.
Maybe your boss isn't
as good as you thought.
Because when
the crap hit the fan,
you were the one left
holding the bag.
On the hook for not one,
but three murders.
You were abandoned.
You were betrayed.
And I'm not surprised
because I've seen it before.
The weakest link,
the runt of the litter,
is always thrown
to the wolves.
First of all, I'm not a runt.
And second,
I didn't k*ll anybody.
I was hired last second
for this job to replace a no-show.
- Hired by whom?
Look, you don't
know these people.
The things that
they would do to me
if they, if they
even thought...
They already think
you are talking.
Right now, we're
your only protection
from the things
that they would do.
S... Smith.
That's the name
of the team leader.
- And the mission?
- I don't ask questions.
In hindsight, that probably
wasn't the best policy.
Wait.
The helicopter was supposed to
take us to a private airstrip,
and there was supposed to be
a jet that met us there.
And that is all that I know.
I swear.
You believe him?
Not a word.
Me neither. But...
But what?
Due diligence,
with an abundance of caution.
We roll the dice, check out
every private airstrip
in a hundred-mile radius.
It's the only play we got.
Smith and his men have
a huge head start.
We need to move fast.
Tammy, Sebastian
and I will split up.
Cover more ground that way.
Have Patton coordinate backup in
each location. Just in case.
You got it.
I'm gonna do another round
with our mystery guest.
He knows more
than he's saying.
I'm right behind you.
Dwayne.
Loretta.
I brought my report
on Terrance Desmond.
Came all this way just to
deliver autopsy results?
That's not a
"happy to see me" face.
Nothing could be further
from the truth.
I'm just wondering what
your ulterior motive is.
Okay. You got me. Somebody told
me that you were back at work.
- Don't bother asking who.
- Laurel.
You're damn right, Laurel.
Loretta, I'm riding a desk
helping the team.
With all due respect, last thing
I need is another lecture
on how I'm pushing myself
too hard.
I knew you wouldn't
listen anyway.
You know you can't teach
an old dog.
Even an old dog can see miracles
don't happen every day.
I know how blessed I am.
Do you, Dwayne?
The things you saw when you
were in the other place--
they weren't random.
Everything happens
for a reason.
What do you think
that reason is?
Doesn't matter
what I think.
You have to find the
answer for yourself.
There's no other way.
Now, do you want
to hear my report
on Terrance Desmond or not?
Please.
Okay. Cause of death is
a GSW to the neurocranium.
There's no surprise there,
but the time of death-- now
that is rather unexpected.
Based on body temp
and lividity, I'd say
he'd already been dead
at least 18 hours.
18. Excuse me, Loretta.
Oh.
I'm okay.
- We've got a problem.
- He isn't talking?
I'm not seeing any
of the vulnerability
I'd expect
from a frightened subordinate.
Desmond wasn't
k*lled in that barn.
He was sh*t right after
they took him from the dock.
Why make an assassination look
like a rescue?
Maybe they knew we'd use the
GPS chip to track Desmond.
- Maybe they wanted us to find him.
- Why?
So we could arrest one of
their own and bring him here.
He only told us
about the airstrip
so we'd send everyone away.
- They're gonna att*ck NCIS.
- Yeah.
We need to call NOPD now.
Go, go, go, go, go!
Come on! Run!
You're three minutes late.
Apologies, sir.
We were waiting
for Lasalle, Gregorio and Lund
to clear the neighborhood.
What about Pride,
Plame and the cop?
I'm securing them as we speak.
There's another agent
in the building-- Hannah.
Find her.
On it.
Okay.
- You all right?
- Yeah.
There's no signal.
Landlines and computer
communications are down, too.
They must be using a jammer.
Yeah, we're on our own.
My g*n's locked
in observation.
Yeah, mine's at home.
- Weapons locker?
- Squad room.
We'll never make it
without getting spotted.
- I got something.
- What?
I keep this in case somebody
want to start something.
It's impressive,
but I don't think
it's gonna do much
against submachine g*ns.
So what you're saying is
we're screwed?
- Not just us, P.
Move it!
Take the cop
to see Smith.
Let's go.
All right, listen up.
Hide and seek is over,
boys and girls.
So, do yourself a favor
and come out now.
Oh, man,
they got Roy.
But not Loretta.
Maybe she got out
of the building.
No.
She's still inside.
- How can you be sure?
- I...
I just am.
Now, I'm gonna count
to three.
And then, if you
don't show yourselves,
I'm gonna sh**t Officer
Friendly right in the face.
- I got a plan.
- We're all ears.
- We surrender.
- That's not funny.
It's the only way.
He's right.
One.
Two.
Hey, if we get k*lled,
I'm gonna be pissed.
Okay.
We're coming out!
We're unarmed!
Well, hey there, friends.
You're the leader.
You're Smith.
Surprise.
- What do you want?
- Well, for starters,
I'm, uh, I'm gonna need the
key fob to your SCIF room.
You can have mine...
but first you need
to let everyone else go.
Give me the damn key fob.
After... you let
everyone else go.
Okay.
Stop it!
Take mine.
Come on.
I'm gonna need your
challenge word, too, please?
You know, this time,
I'm not even gonna count.
I'll just k*ll him.
Athena.
The challenge word is "Athena."
Too late.
It's your lucky day.
Shut that damn thing off.
Take the cop, lock
him in the bathroom.
If they try
anything, sh**t them all.
Slow, deep breaths.
In through the nose.
Out through the mouth.
I've never seen him like this.
He's gonna be okay.
We all will.
You know something I don't?
Just be ready.
Hey, sit down!
It's a trap.
I told you, sit down.
The challenge word I gave
Smith is a panic code.
Within minutes of using it,
this place is gonna be
swarming with feds.
You're full of it.
You really think Smith would be
willing to take that chance?
Cover them.
I'll talk to Smith.
Damn it!
k*ll 'em all.
Move! Move! Move!
Get down!
Well, every cop in New Orleans
is out looking
for Smith and his team.
No surprise, we didn't find a
jet waiting to whisk them away.
It was a wild-goose
chase to split us up.
SCIF was always
the target.
So these psychos
k*lled two DIA agents
and staged an elaborate rescue
of Desmond
just to access
our secure network?
Yeah. Question is why?
Smith blew up the SCIF terminal.
But network activity is recorded
on off-site servers.
I'll see every file he
accessed. It'll take time.
Time is what he was buying
himself to complete his mission.
We don't even know
what that mission is
or who these guys really are.
Yeah, but thanks to Pride,
we got something
that might help us find out.
- What? Fingerprints?
- Close enough.
Hey, Rita, it's me.
Nothing's wrong.
I just want to hear your voice.
Call me when you get this.
Heard we missed quite a party.
Food was good.
Band sucked.
King, we need to talk
about what happened.
Everybody's safe.
That's all that matters.
You had a loaded g*n
pointed to your face.
Yeah.
I knew it was gonna misfire.
How could you have
possibly known that?
I can't explain it.
But in the moment before
he pulled the trigger,
I saw I was gonna
be all right.
What I didn't see
was how we were being
manipulated from the start.
We all missed that.
Pieces were there.
Just didn't put 'em together,
and we all paid a price.
No, we're gonna make this right.
All right, we're gonna
find these guys.
Yeah.
Then I need to make things
right with my daughter.
Need to call her?
I already did.
Of course I couldn't tell
her what happened here.
Not yet anyway.
No need to make her worry
any more than she already has.
Long as I'm doing this job,
she's gonna worry.
Just like her mom.
Especially when riding a desk
almost bought me a b*llet.
Maybe that regional SAC
promotion isn't the worst idea.
Plus...
you'd do a hell of a job at it.
Just focus on Smith
and his team for now, huh?
Hey, you guys
need to see this.
I got an I.D.
off those fingers.
Roger Beeg.
Washed out of the Air Force
before moving overseas
to fly for a handful of
private m*llitary outfits.
Interpol's latest Intel has him
linked to another mercenary,
Avery Walker.
- Smith.
- Yeah, one and the same.
Walker was an independent
security contractor
in the Middle East.
Then he started working
for a Russian oligarch
named Sergei Leonid.
Runs an international
crime syndicate with ties
to at least three foreign
t*rror1st organizations.
Yeah, CIA's been trying
to get this guy
for years,
but he's always managed
to stay one step ahead
until recently.
Unidentified gunmen abducted
Leonid from a Moscow hotel
- about a month ago.
- Get this.
Smith used SCIF to access Intel
on the CIA's
interrogation program
that uses floating
black sites
on international waters.
Away from American soil.
And all civil rights.
What exactly
was Smith looking for?
Classified coordinates
of the CIA's ship
anchored 30 nautical miles
south of the Louisiana
coastline.
I'm guessing
the same one
Terrance Desmond departed from
in a crate.
Desmond's not the only
familiar name
on that ship's guest list.
Sergei Leonid.
Smith knew Desmond
was coming in at that dock,
but he didn't know
where he was coming from.
He needed those coordinates
from SCIF
so he could rescue his boss.
All right, look,
we need to contact that ship
right away.
I don't know
who authorized this call,
but you've violated
at least six
different DoD protocols
by even making it.
Captain, you are facing
an imminent att*ck.
You need to get your vessel
underway immediately.
I can't do that
without direct orders
from Langley.
And while I appreciate
your concern,
I assure you
we can handle any thr*at
that comes our way.
Captain, wait.
Four-man crew is dead
along with two
CIA interrogators.
- And Leonid?
- Gone.
Navy and Coast Guard
are searching for him.
Looking for a needle
in a haystack.
Yeah. Like,
500 square miles worth.
Maybe Leonid was implanted
with a tracking chip
like Desmond's.
He was... until it got cut out.
Damn.
Smith has anticipated
every one of our moves so far.
Well, then he also knows
we'll be searching
for him in the open water.
He must have another
exit strategy.
Pride, I got something.
H-Hang on.
- Go.
- Ghost ship coordinates
weren't the only thing
that Smith was after.
He also accessed
a classified joint DoD/FAA file.
Why would he be interested
in the FAA?
Government transponder codes.
Every aircraft has one,
even m*llitary
and classified ones.
DoD provides the codes
of their planes to the FAA
so they won't have to interact
with any civilian air traffic control.
- Yeah.
It makes flying the friendly
skies even friendlier.
Smith could spoof
a classified DoD transponder
and fly anywhere
without being stopped or tracked.
- Yeah, all he needs
is a plane and a trained pilot.
Roger Beeg.
Pride, what do we got?
The answer.
Turns out Smith wasn't lying
about everything.
Our chariot awaits.
What did I tell you?
Didn't I tell you?
All right,
everybody, load up!
We're gonna be
there in no time.
Federal agents,
stay where you are.
Do not move
or we will open fire!
Keep your hands above your head.
Do not move
or we will open fire.
Keep your hands above your head.
Down on your knees!
Get down!
Let's go.
- Don't move.
- Aah!
Walker, stop!
Get your hands
where I can see them.
Now.
You won't make it.
You're sweating.
Your hand is shaking, too.
I assume your heart's going
a million miles a minute.
Adrenaline overloading
your nervous system.
You know what
that's called?
Post-traumatic stress disorder.
So I think it's you
who's not gonna make it.
Only one way to find out.
But if you go
for that w*apon,
I will sh**t you.
Chances are good that my...
my g*n won't misfire.
So what do you think, Walker?
Are you a gambling man?
Huh?
Down on the ground!
Don't move!
I guess you were right.
Today is my lucky day.
You all right, boss?
Yeah. Yeah.
Never been better.
Yeah!
Well, it is not the first
day that I expected,
but a win is a win, even if I am
covered in scrapes and bruises.
Fun never stops around here.
- Yeah, keeps things interesting.
- Ooh.
Sounds like the best job
in the world.
Oh, it is.
Long as you survive.
You ain't got to worry
about this woman. I seen her
kick some commando ass.
- Welcome to the family.
- Thank you.
Welcome to the dysfunction.
Bi salamati.
It means "to your health."
- Amen.
- I'll second that.
- Cheers. - All right.
- Uh-oh.
Roll Tide.
I feel like this
is sort of a lighter pour.
Hoo-rah!
- Where you get this from?
- It's all we need.
Hmm-hmm.
Yeah, yeah,
that smells delicious.
Your mémé would be
so proud.
She always said,
"fat equals flavor."
Yes, she did.
And butter equals better.
Let's see.
Mm-hmm.
That works.
Yeah?
Yeah, you've done it right.
Good.
Hey, Laurel...
about yesterday.
Sometimes it, uh...
it's hard for me
to get out of my own way.
I'm not asking you
to change your spots, Dad,
just to slow down a little.
Yeah, well,
I'm-I'm never gonna be
the rocking chair type,
sweetie, I...
Yeah, but there has to be
some sort of middle ground.
A place where the bad guys
aren't always gunning for you,
even if all you're doing
is paperwork.
How'd you get to
be so smart?
I already told you. Mom.
But you may have
helped a little.
Now, get out of this kitchen
and set the table
so I can finish dinner.
Yes, ma'am.
Yeah, go on. Get!
♪ Lord, I'm drifting,
Lord, I'm drifting... ♪
We have a 1055.
Multiple g*nshots to the chest.
Dwayne, can you hear me?
We need to know
where that damn ambulance is.
He's still bleeding.
I don't know where
it's coming from.
♪ If I had listened
♪ To what my dead
old mother said... ♪
Deputy Director Sanchez,
thank you for calling me back.
Tell me about this new job.