Judy sighed, looking genuinely hurt. "That’s cold, Peralta. Truly cold. But look behind you." Jake didn't blink. "I’m not falling for that."

"Mini quiches, man! From that bakery you like on 4th Street," Judy shouted, holding up a white box. "Come on, let’s talk. Just two brothers from different mothers, hanging out by the sea."

In the chaos, Judy hopped into his car. "Great set, Jake! We should tour! Catch you on the flip side!"

Back at the precinct, Holt looked at the arrest reports for the smuggling ring. "An impressive haul, Detective. But the Bandit remains at large."

Judy leaned against his stolen car. "Look, Jake. I’ll give you the fence. Big-time guy. Moves cars to Jersey. But you gotta let me walk. One time only. For the friendship?"

He stopped. On the ground where the quiche box had been, there was a small GPS tracker and a note: The fence’s warehouse address. Check the basement. See you soon, brother.

Charles Boyle scrambled to keep up, clutching a lukewarm bag of artisanal meat sticks. "Jake, you've been obsessed with the Pontiac Bandit for months. What makes today different?"

Jake stood up, gun drawn but his face betraying a grin. "Judy! You’re under- wait, what kind of snacks?"