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It's 1973 -- do you know where your detective is? If it's Sam Tyler, the answer is still hopelessly stuck in the past, with no idea as to why he's there and even less of an idea as to how to get back to his own time. Still, he's got a hot -door neighbor with a habit of wandering the halls in the buff and baking marijuana-laced pasta dishes. So you take your victories where you can find them.
And Sam has to, because Lord knows that the whole fighting-1970s-crime-with-aughties-sensibilities isn't working out too well for him. In this episode, someone is robbing the check-cashing stores of New York -- and leaving a string of dead bodies in their wake -- and Gene Hunt figures he has a pretty good idea as to who. What he doesn't have, however, is enough evidence to secure a conviction, though he's certainly willing to plant some on the suspect. Sam has a better, less-ethically-awful idea though -- why not release the suspect and then plant a tail on him? And it all works out perfectly, too, until there's a gun battle and the 125th Precinct's receptionist is caught in the crossfire. This serves to make Sam more popular than ever in the squad room.
Of course, Sam's a virtual prom king then, compared to how the other cops feel about him when his subsequent investigation suggests that uniformed cops are assisting in the robberies of the check-cashing joints. At the suggestion of Ray Carling, Sam goes behind Hunt's back to seek an assistant district attorney's help. But it all gets back to Hunt, Sam is ostracized even further, and Ray and his mustache have a good laugh at setting Sam up like that.
As it turns out, the receptionist was actually the inside woman on the robberies, feeding the crooks information and giving them police uniforms to aid in their stick-ups. Sam and company thwart the robberies, which were being committed to raise cash in order to fund a big heroin operation, and everything turns out to be hunky dory, to quote another David Bowie project.
Everything, that is, except for Sam's mental state. The poor guy is beginning to forget what Maya even looks like, and every now and again, he notices that he's being followed by something that looks like the Mars Rover. But by episode's end, he looks up at the stars and is able to hear Maya's voice, prattling on about how she misses him. So I guess that's good. Me, I'd wonder what's so bad about the coma if the alternative is having to listen to Lisa Bonet for long stretches of time.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Previously on Space Oddity, Sam Tyler was a police detective in present-day New York until the precise moment that he wasn't. Now he's a police detective in the New York of 1973 and he'd sort of like to figure out what the hell he's doing there...
... and he clearly hasn't figured it out by the start of episode two, as he's furiously scribbling possibilities on a chalkboard in the middle of the 125th Precinct. These chalk-encapsulated musings, he explains to a curious Annie, are the possible explanations for what he's doing in this, the One Thousand Nine Hundred and Seventy-Third year of Our Lord. If you're scoring along at home the options are: Coma, Drug-Trip, Time Travel, Different Planet, Extra-Terrestrial, Mind Experiment, Heaven, Insanity, Brain Tumor, Virtual Reality, and Multi-Dimensional Travel. You forgot "TV Show Premise We 'Borrowed' From the British" -- though perhaps that's what the question mark on the right side of the chalkboard is supposed to represent. Actually, Sam explains, the question mark represents the unknown -- "All the things I haven't thought of yet," he says. "And it's the one out of all this that scares me the most." Really? Even more than "Contestant on a Japanese Game Show?" You're made of sterner stuff than me, Tyler.
Annie decides that there's far too much introspection going on in here and erases the chalkboard -- well, all except for that troubling question mark. "If the lieutenant sees this," Annie says, referring to the charming Gene Hunt, "you'll wish you could go back in time." It's true -- as far as Gene is concerned, Contemplating the Reason for Your Existence is a punchable offense, right up there with Mouthing Off, Looking at Me Cross-Eyed, and Breathing Too Loud. But Sam is less concerned about Hunt's censure -- and his fists -- than he is with a more personal matter: he can no longer remember Maya's face. Well, win some, lose some, I say, though it's possible I'm letting my feelings toward Lisa Bonet skew my attitude. Sam seems genuinely broke up by this development. Perhaps he never had to sit through Angel Heart.
Annie suggests that maybe Sam drop all the crazy talk about 2008, and Sam agrees that maybe she has a point. "What I'm doing in 1973 and how to get back, I'll figure it out on my own," he says. "But until then, I guess I'm left with only one option... to spend my time here doing what it is I do best." Moping? Rocking those wide-collar shirts? The New York Times Crossword Puzzle? "Catching bad guys," Sam concludes. Oh, right. That.
And as if to demonstrate, we immediately cut to a Speedo-clad gentleman dashing out of the Central Park Pool, with Sam, Hunt, Carling, and Skelton in hot pursuit. I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Sam is dressed as a life-guard, Skelton is wearing water-wings, and Carling is in a bathing suit himself. Clearly, this was either an undercover investigation or some sort of role-playing thing gone horribly, horribly wrong. Hunt also has on a pair of swim trunks with his shirt unbuttoned -- frankly, I think his cover should have been as the bikini-clad girl from the Coppertone ads. Anyhow, they're running through Central Park after this guy, and given the amount of foot chases they've had on this show to date, I think I need to come up with some clever shorthand to designate such a chase scene. Run-tage? Chase-Fu? Yet another goddamn chase scene? Anyhow, I'm tinkering with it -- if you've got a suggestion, drop me a line.
Our chase-o-rama -- nah, still working on it -- ends as so many chases often do on this program: with Sam tackling the perp. And just to remind us of their very different approaches to law enforcement, Hunt runs up and shoves the suspect right into Central Park Lake. Glug glug, goes the suspect, who, as it turns out, cannot swim. So you were at the pool... why exactly? For your health? Because you love the smell of chlorine? Because when you wear your Speedo to the Guggenheim, the other patrons just stare? Anyhow, the non-Sam detectives are quite amused by the sight of the guy drowning, figuring that, if nothing else, it will at least make him more talkative. Then again, it's hard to talk when your lungs are rapidly filling with water. Anyhow, when the suspect sinks below the surface without bobbing up again, Hunt figures that yeah, maybe it's time to fish him out after all, ordering Skelton to dive in and get him. Only problem with that: Skelton can't swim. Neither can Carling, apparently. "Jesus, was swimming not invented until after 1973?" I ask. "Actually," my wife says, "given that all these guys grew up during the era that polio was a possibility, it's likely that they didn't learn to swim at an early age." "Well, don't I feel like an asshole," I respond after a lengthy pause.
At any rate, an exasperated Sam dives into the lake and uses a rather impressive sidestroke to drag our sinks-like-a-stone-and-therefore-is-not-a-witch suspect to dry land. For this kindness, the gasping suspect repays Sam by sucker punching him square in the jaw. And that commences the police-mandated beatdown, which, really, runs a close second to footchases as this show's most frequent occurrence. Eventually, the uniforms arrive to take the properly tenderized Speedo-clad suspect away -- "What's your hurry, Mark Spitz?" Hunt sneers at SpeedoMan while kicking him in the ribs -- and the other detectives tend to a still groggy Sam. And by "tend to," I mean "laugh at his pitiable mental condition" since Sam is starring up dreamily at the clouds and saying, "I miss you, Maya." "He looks like one of them cartoon characters who got hit over the head with a frying pan," Carling observes. "Yeah, he does," a chuckling Hunt agrees. "Like in the funny papers." "Like in the funny papers," a still off-kilter Sam agrees. Yes, brain trauma was apparently quite the knee-slapper in 1973. Now, help him up, fellas, and be sure to jiggle his spine around as much as possible.
New opening credits in which Sam explains his mysterious time-travel predicament to any viewers just tuning in. If you're going to give the viewing public that little credit for following along, ABC, why not just compose a Beverly Hillbillies-esque theme song that painstakingly spells out all the major plot points?
We're back at the storage closet that doubles as an interrogation room at the 125th. The suspect -- let's just call him Kim Trent -- is still wearing nothing but a Speedo, a mustache, and a churlish attitude. I realize keeping Trent in a state of undress is supposed to ramp up his discomfort level... but what about my comfort level? I haven't broken any laws -- or at least, nothing as flagrant as committing a series of robberies at check-cashing joints around the city and leaving a body at each of the three knocked-over stores, which Mr. Trent stands accused of. What's more the three dead people wound up shot even though they were ensconced behind bullet-proof glass with no apparent signs of struggle. Trent is as sympathetic to the news of their demise as he is clothed, which is to say not very much at all. "Any chance I'm gonna get sprung any time soon?" Trent demands. "Laugh-In is on tonight, and I got it bad for that Goldie Hawn." Which is a shame as she left the show in 1970. Anyhow, Hunt must be more a Judy Carne fan, because after some back-and-forth about what Trent was doing at the pool, Hunt is twisting his nose and making him scream "Uncle." Sam looks on disapprovingly and then asks Trent what someone who can't swim is doing hanging out the pool. Learning by osmosis? "Learning the backstroke ain't a crime, is it?" Trent says, feigning innocence. Well, it is Nixon's America, so you never know. Hunt produces a stack of bills and waves them under Trent's nose -- found this wad on you when you were arrested, sport. Care to explain that? Sadly, Trent has a grasp on deductive reasoning: "That isn't my scratch," he protests. "If it was, wouldn't it be wet?" Valid point -- so valid that Hunt takes a pitcher of water and pours it over the stack of bills, tossing the remainder of the liquid in Trent's face. Check and mate, jerk.
Just then, Heather Matarazzo appears at the door, and I couldn't be happier to see her. I've found her to be a delightful actress since Now and Again, and when she appeared on this episode when I was watching it through the first time, I let out a delighted little "Hey!" and I said to the wife, "Man, I hope she gets a recurring gig on this show." If you've skipped ahead to the end of this episode, you surely realize that, once again, I am a dunce. Anyhow, Heather Matarazzo plays June, the precinct's secretary, and she plays her in that mousy Heather Matarazzo way. It is clear from their interactions with her that the detectives just adore June -- their patronizing sexism is much more gentle than it is with Annie, for example. Anyhow, June's here to announce that the assistant district attorney has arrived. Hunt orders Trent to be taken back to a holding cell, which Trent protests smells like vomit. Perhaps the other prisoners got a glimpse of you in that Speedo, man. I know it's not really doing wonders for me.
As they leave the interrogation room, Sam catches up to Hunt and protests that everyone knows that money wasn't part of the check-cashing robberies. "Yeah," snorts Carling. "And Row vs. Wade ain't really two options when you find yourself in a river." "What does that even mean?" a confused Sam asks, speaking for all of us. "That's an analogy," Carling says. It is many things, friend, but an analogy it is not. Sam has another phrase for it: tampering with evidence, and he's not going to stand for it, by gum. June, who has been tagging after this trio, suddenly pipes up and asks if there's any physical evidence linking Trent to the robberies. "Aren't you the eager beaver?" Hunt tells her, just a shade too patronizingly. "Now that was an analogy," Carling says. No. No, it really wasn't. June persists, however, asking if there's evidence then wouldn't Trent be charged? Carling is all kinds of hey-it's-so-nice-of-you-to-try-and-think-about-this-sort-of-thing dismissive.
And so we meet Assistant District Attorney Lee Crocker, who has cleaned up quite nicely since his days on Oz. Hunt introduces the two of them, and Crocker welcomes him warmly. "Like two peas in a pansy pod," Carling sniffs. "Detective," Crocker says, regarding Carling with visible disdain, "if ignorance were a drug, you'd be high all the time." "Now that was an analogy," Sam smirks. Carling will ace those SAT Verbals just yet, you wait and see.
In Hunt's office, Crocker is telling the lieutenant that he's failed to make the case against Trent on the check-cashing capers. Sam agrees, quite possibly a bit too audibly for Hunt's taste. The lieutenant asks Crocker to give the two of them a moment. After Crocker departs, Hunt unlocks a safe in his office -- inside he's got enough drug paraphernalia to stock the concession stand for the six months of the Dead tour. "Aladdin's cave," Hunt calls it. His idea is to plant some drugs on Kim Trent -- presumably, inside the Speedo, since it's not like it has a surplus of pockets -- and keep him under lock and key that way. Sam is flabbergasted and appalled, which is rapidly becoming his default state on this show. Sam's got a better idea -- a constitutionally permissible idea: Give Trent a bench appearance ticket and then let him go, only with a tail following his every move to get some real evidence on the guy. Hunt agrees, his reluctance for Sam's plan tempered only by the possibility of having another chance to bang Trent's skull around. Plus, there's the added bonus of getting to blame Sam if anything goes wrong.
Later, Sam is giving Skelton his marching orders on the stakeout. Skelton's only reservations about the plan seem to be what Carling will think of it. Not very highly seems to be the verdict. And so we are granted some insight into Carling's very obvious animus toward Sam -- he was in line for a promotion until Sam came along. Also, he hates it when people point out his failure to master literary devices like analogies and metaphors. Drives him right up a tree. Anyway, Sam hands Trent his walking papers and Trent snippily says his goodbyes. "All hail the Nixon administration," he sneers. "Don't get too attached," Sam mutters. Indeed. Now go put on some pants, mister.
Before Sam can flee the holding area, though, a series of beeps and blips catches his attention. He turns around just in time to see a miniature robot scuttling across the floor and into a cell, but when he chases after it -- it's no longer there. More fodder for the chalkboard, my man. Sam's awoken from his latest mental episode when June taps on his shoulder. Say, June, you didn't happen to see something dart across the floor, did you? June supposes it was a rat. Maybe -- if they produced mechanical rats in 1973, which they very well might have. June was down here cleaning out the cell, as Trent did correctly peg that vomit odor he mentioned earlier. Sam says that he's sure the prisoner will thank her for her efforts. Throughout this entire scene, June calls him "Sir" -- it gives their relationship a real Peppermint Patty-Marcy vibe. (Kids, ask your parents.)
We cut to the day, with a shot of the World Trade Center -- never ceases to be exploitative, so you keep on keeping on, Life on Mars producers. Sam is at his apartment floor's communal bathroom, getting ready to relieve Skelton and Carling on the stakeout and staring at his dual reflections in the cracked mirror -- because he's through the looking glass, people! -- when what to his wondering eyes should appear but a naked chick... I'm sorry. I can't complete the rhyme. I'm too busy staring at the naked chick. Sam, to his credit, is trying to gallantly avert his eyes from any naughty bits that might incur an FCC fine. Anyhow, the naked chick's name is Windy, from Iowa, and she's what you might call a free spirit. Or a walking train wreck. Or a bad idea waiting to happen. Your pick. I'm going with Windy. It's easier to type. She talks about how she sends messages to loved ones that she misses through the clouds -- which sort of intrigues Sam -- and asks if he's into dancing -- which doesn't intrigue Sam a bit. Anyhow, Windy tells Sam she'll see him around. Not if he sees you first -- all of you. Because you are naked. And about 100 times more interesting than that guy in the Speedo.
Hey, let's move on to the comparatively unattractive mug of Harvey Keitel -- Sam and Hunt are pulling up in front of Trent's apartment to relieve Skelton and Carling, only there's no Skelton and Carling to be relieved. "So is this how you do things in Hyde?" a clearly unimpressed Hunt asks Sam as they wait for the police radio to pinpoint the whereabouts of Skelton and Carling. "You sit on your ass and watch known criminals pick their noses?" "Actually, in Hyde, we sit on our noses and watch known criminals pick their asses," Sam counters. Ah, a regular Burns & Allen, these two. (Kids, ask your grandparents.) However, this witty wordplay is soon interrupted by a call on the radio about a robbery in progress at a AAA Check Cashing establishment. Say, do you think that could, in any way, be connected to the case Sam and Hunt are investigating? Judging by the skid marks they leave in front of Trent's apartment, it's a safe bet they've reached that conclusion.
They arrive at the check-cashing joint at the same time that Trent -- full clothed in this scene, thank Christ -- is walking out. Hunt hollers at him to stop. Trent must not be happy to see them, as it turns out that is a gun in his pocket... and he starts unloading in the general direction of Sam and Hunt. As the bullets fly, Sam and Hunt take refuge in the backseat of their car. But fortunately, this is a case of the Law of the Hero's Steady Gun Hand -- in which the Bad Guy can fire off bullet after bullet without so much as winging our hero, whereas all the Good Guy needs to do is squeeze off one shot and the villain is felled -- and Hunt takes down Trent with a single, well-placed shot to his chest. Sadly, that's not the only person who's been taken out -- June collapses in the front seat of the car, an apparent victim of the crossfire. So much for that recurring role I talked about earlier.
When we return from commercial -- and really, shouldn't ABC mix in ads from 1973 during some of these breaks, just to keep the mood consistent? I would totally stop fast-forwarding through these breaks, and I'm pretty sure you would, too -- the black-and-whites have arrived on the scene to fit Kim Trent with a mortal wound-concealing bedsheet. June, in the meantime, is being carted off in an ambulance. Sam proclaims that she's going to be OK, not that that's going to improve his rep among the other detectives who are now fixing him with a look of distinct contempt -- even Annie can't hide her disdain. The MIA Skelton and Carling have now appeared -- they had a radio message to call into Command, according to Carling, who, thankfully, does not use an analogy to drive home his point this time. Carling reports that they found a police radio in June's car: "She must have heard the call go out and wanted to be Batgirl or something." Well, that's one plausible explanation. The other -- which both my wife and I arrived at, and we hope you did, too -- is that June was the Inside Man... er... Woman on this operation. Anyhow, there'll be time for that later. Right now, it's more important to blame Sam for everything that's gone pear-shaped. "I want this mess cleaned up," Hunt mutters at Sam. He does not just mean a resolution to the investigation -- he is literally referring to June's blood, which is currently staining the pavement outside the check-cashing joint. Sam suggests that maybe it would be a good idea to wait for Grissom or Caine or whoever the hell Gary Sinise plays to show up and process the crime scene, but that only makes Hunt more irritable. He grabs Sam by the neck and forces him face first into the pool of blood, the way you'd discipline a dog who just crapped on your throw rug. An angry Sam pushes Hunt off him and protests that this is Trent's fault -- "He pulled the trigger." "You made sure there was a trigger to pull," Hunt counters. Some more yelling, and Sam protests that he gives up -- he is not referring to Hunt's finger-pointing. "I'm sick of this cosmic joke that everyone seems to be in on but me," he protests. Hey, buddy -- all this griping about your unfortunate state of affairs ain't making that patch of roadway any less bloody. A visibly angry Sam rips off his coat and starts using it to sop up the blood. I would have opted for a two-liter bottle of club soda personally, but to each his own.
Later that evening, Sam is back at the communal bathroom, trying to wash off the stink of the day. The mirror is still cracked and, unfortunately, at this point, so is Sam. "Real," he says, looking at his unmarred reflection in the mirror. "Unreal," he says, after shifting his face to the distorted, cracked portion of the glass. And no, Carling, this is not an analogy, but it's pretty solid so far as symbols go. Sam is eventually shook out of his contemplative state when he accidentally cuts himself. Real or unreal, the dude still bleeds.
Sam heads out to the scene of the crime, looking to see if there's any possible lead the cops missed. There is -- and she's sitting in a window across the street, watching Sam's every move. Turns out the lady -- whom we'll call Ol' Missus Eyewitness -- likes to sit and smoke by the window using the ashtray her granddaughter gave her. ("She loves to come over and see all the butts in there," Ol' Missus Eyewitness brags. "She says, 'Nana uses it.'" "Beautiful story," Sam sighs. "You should write a letter to the Surgeon General.") That gives her an unobstructed vantage point of the AAA Check Cashing office, and oh, the things Ol' Missus Eyewitness has seen -- namely, two uniformed officers escorting the late Mr. Trent into the check-cashing office. Guess that explains why the bulletproof glass was so ineffective at keeping the store's employees from getting shot.
At the hospital, Hunt is sitting at June's bedside, reading a news story about Skylab to her, as she lies there unconscious. Presumably, reading her a report from last night's Mets game would prove to be too depressing -- 1973 and 2008 have more in common than we might have thought. Sam appears to tell Hunt his latest discovery about the uniforms who accompanied Trent to the scene of the crime. But first he asks how June is doing. "The same," Hunt says grimly, before nailing Sam with a solid right cross. Let the Manly Display of Brawling begin! Sam punches Gene and Gene kicks Sam, and soon they're rolling about the hospital room like a couple of guys in a WWE main event. Soon, both are bloodied and sitting at the foot of June's bed having a heart to heart. In some countries, this constitutes a marriage.
"I always liked June," Hunt says as he dabs at his swollen lip. "Truth be told, she'd probably make a good cop." That's probably the highest form of compliment Hunt can give. One might note that he didn't pay it to Sam. "I only know one way to police," Sam says, perhaps a bit defensively. "So do I, " replies Hunt, passing his flask over to Sam. Aw, they're bonding -- but not for long, after Sam suggests two uniformed officers are involved in this particular caper. "How can you, the keeper of Aladdin's cave, question the existence of dirty cops just because, you know, you don't like it?" Sam demands, after Hunt protests this line of investigation. "I'm not turning the spotlight on my own department," Hunt declares, adding a slap to the back of Sam's skull for emphasis. "No," Sam replies. "You're just going to coerce testimony and set up suspects just to close the case." He pops Hunt in the jaw to drive home his point. Let the Manly Display of Brawling resume! At least until a nurse wanders by and wants to know what two bloodied gentlemen are doing wrestling in the Greco-Roman fashion on her hospital floor. "Police," Hunt and Sam says, simultaneously flashing their badges. Oh, in that case, gentlemen, carry on.
Say, here's a thought: if June is in a coma from her injuries does that mean she's traveled back in time 35 years, and that she's now running around 1938 New York getting into scrapes and joining the WPA and trying to warn Roosevelt about Hitler? Because that would be a terrible spin-off.
The morning at the 125th Precinct, Carling greets Sam by happily noting the pummeling he received by Hunt's hand the other night. Hey, speaking of giving people a going-over, Sam would like to do just that to Carling right now -- specifically, addressing the issue of Carling's moonlighting. It appears that in his off-hours Carling has been working security for the AAA Check-Cashing agency. In light of those two mysterious boys in blue that accompanied Trent to the crime scene, Sam finds this detail just a teensy-bit interesting -- even more so when you consider that Carling disappeared from the stakeout. Carling doesn't care for the direction of this line of inquiry. "First I'm hearing about cops being involved," he says coolly. That'd be because Hunt isn't going along with that particular facet of the investigation. In that case, Carling suggests, maybe Sam should go to Crocker the ADA. "If Hunt's stonewalling you," Carling observes, as he fluffs his mustache, "you're gonna need a friend on the outside." And what has Sam done to earn this sudden display of camaraderie from Carling? Nothing -- this is just Carling's way of getting back at Hunt for that promotion which never materialized. "Crocker's a little too bucking for sainthood for my liking, but he's a straight-shooter," Carling concludes. "He'll know what to do." This is one of those moments I wish I had an Admiral Akbar-in-picture feature on my TV, so that he could pop up and scream It's a trap!" at appropriate moments in the narrative.
We jump to Sam spilling his guts to Crocker at a location far away from the prying ears of Gene Hunt. Yes, Crocker is intrigued to hear about this possibility of rogue cops involved in the robberies -- very intrigued. Sam thanks him for his help and his discretion. At this point, Admiral Akbar would have shouted himself hoarse before shrugging and taking a shot of whatever Rebel fleet commanders drink to dull the pain of another botched mission.
Speaking of spacemen, though, our little metallic friend from earlier is back -- it's the robot from the jail cell, and it bears more than a striking resemblance to the Mars rover. And it's managed to track him down here in the mean streets of New York City where it flashes a light on his face. Cue the Bowie music and the attendant flashback -- first we get the shot of Sam chasing after a red dress in a field, which we first saw when Sam got whacked by that SUV. Then he's carrying a flashlight and calling out for Maya in what appears to be a spooky old house from the Scooby Doo Collection. That's when Maya pops out and goes "Boo!" and they both have a good laugh. "Who says "boo" in this day and age?" the flashback version of Sam teases. "You're like a cartoon character out of the funny papers." "Who says funny papers in this day and age?" Maya playfully counters. Well, Hunt and the gang in that earlier scene, but it's rapidly becoming clear that those guys are all part of Sam's fragile eggshell mind. Anyhow, I guess Sam does remember what Maya looks like after all. To his credit, he's not disappointed that she turns out to be Lisa Bonet, though the whole flashback thing has left him a bit shaken. As would you be if a Mars rover suddenly appeared and showed you scenes from your life before scurrying off into the darkness of a commercial break.
When we return, Sam's back at his apartment having Chinese food and scribbling notes on a piece of paper -- either he's sussing out the AAA Check Cashing case or his run-in with the Mars rover is going on his Dead, Unconscious or Crazy List. But who's peeking out from inside the doorway, calling a name that's lighter than air? Who's popping round to bring Sam lasagna? Everyone knows it's Windy. She is, disappointingly, clothed this time around, taking away her most compelling character trait. Anyhow, it's your typical lasagna -- pasta, tomatoes, ricotta cheese, some zucchini, a little marijuana, other herbs and vegetables. Sam would like very much to back up to the part about the marijuana-laced pasta dish. "You know I'm a cop," Sam tells Windy cautiously. "Then you must get the really good stuff," she replies. No generic, off-brand grass for our man Sam. Anyhow, Sam would like to spend less time ingesting marijuana and more time picking what's left of Windy's brain in regards to that thing she mentioned about sending messages to loved ones through the clouds. "Do the clouds ever respond?" he asked. They do not, Windy tells him. "I never hear from the clouds," she says, "but the stars -- they won't shut up." Uh... huh. How much marijuana did you say was in that lasagna again? "Because the stars speak for the lonely blue hearts," she continues. "And the lonely blue hearts tell the truth." And with that Windy is off -- off to flit and float through this great big wide world of ours. Or possibly to go and get high. Well, high-er to be entirely accurate.
Things are decidedly less quirky and free-spirited the morning at the 125th Precinct where Sam's arrival is greeted by the other detectives about as warmly as Joe Lieberman at the Senate Democrats get-together. I believe the words Carling uses include "sneaky little rat tail." Sam wants to know what's going on. "Look at him play possum," Carling snorts derisively. "Rats, possums," Sam mutters. "What did I tell you about analogies, Ray?" Technically, he's mixing metaphors, but even more to the point, it seems that someone's secret conversation with Lee Crocker is no longer a secret. At that moment, Hunt emerges from his office, his moobs barely constrained by his wife-beater undershirt. "Did you really think it wouldn't get back to me?" Hunt sneers, shutting the door in Sam's face. Carling looks like a kid on Christmas morning. And the gift he's just received is the abject humiliation of his enemy. Try giving it to your loved one this holiday season.
Sam is less concerned by his renewed lack of standing in the 125th Precinct than he is fascinated with the reflection on the glass door to Hunt's office -- it's the modern-day 125 staring back at him. When Sam turns around though, he's still staring at the yellow-hued 1973 era squad room. "Real," he says, after turning his attention back to the 2008 reflection. "Unreal," he responds when looking at the 1973 version. Too bad you're stuck in the latter, huh? Oh, and Maya's looking back at him from the 2008 reflection, which is not unsettling for Sam in the least. But at least it's given Sam the breakthrough he needs on the robbery case, once Annie interrupts his musings on reality to tell him that June's out of her coma. "You're not real," he says to Annie, who takes this pronouncement in relative stride. "The reason why I can't track down the cops working with Trent isn't because Hunt's been stonewalling. It's because they don't exist." Don't tell me they've gone back in time too? No, what Sam means is that the cops from the robberies are only guys impersonating cops. But that doesn't mean they don't have a little help inside. Whoever could be providing it?
By way of answer, we're now in June's hospital room, where Hunt is happily telling June that she'll back up to snuff in no time and that the guy responsible for her injuries has been sent on a permanent dirt nap by none other than Gene Hunt. And who would this unlucky soul be, June wonders. Kim Trent, Hunt proudly declares. June is not nearly as grateful as you might think -- a fact that immediately catches Sam's attention. "Did you know Kim Trent?" Sam asks. June says she did not. Sam helpfully reminds her that she cleaned the vomit stench out of his cell and then pointedly asks what she was doing outside the check-cashing store. Hunt doesn't care for this line of inquiry, not one bit, but Sam is quite persistent -- so much so that while he and Hunt are arguing that poor June breaks down sobbing. "I can't believe he's dead," she wails. Hunt is suddenly less resistant to interrogating June. Sam quickly surmises that she was on the scene with a police radio because she was part of the heist as the lookout and the getaway driver. "Kim loves me," June protests. To Sam's credit, he does not correct her on her choice of verb tense. Anyhow, they grew up together in Yonkers and then one day, he looked her up at the precinct, and they hit it off, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was feeding him information about the comings and goings of the police. And oh yeah, she was the one who scored those uniforms for the use in the robberies. "No one noticed," June sobs. "No one ever noticed. Nobody noticed me except Kim." And it was also June who sent the radio message that diverted Skelton and Carling on the morning of the robbery. Annie looks disappointed. Hunt looks stricken. "I thought you always wanted to join me on the Bureau," says Annie, shaking her head. The Police Women's Bureau? Don't make June laugh, sister. "You're fooling yourself if you think they'll ever accept you as one of them," she practically spits. Well, it's never an uplifting moment to have your life decisions questioned by an accomplice to robbery and murder, so kudos to Annie for not running from the room crying. Besides, there's the small matter of getting June to 'fess up as to what else she knows. Time for a little heart-to-heart from Sam Tyler: "I know what it feels like to be alone. It's like someone's stolen away the one thing in the world you cared most about. Well, it happened to me, too -- the universe knocked me sideways and took away everything and everyone I ever cared about. You and me? We've the same lonely blue heart, June." The words of Windy are as true today as they were several scenes ago, and soon June is singing like Beverly Sills at the Met.
Based on her information, the detectives are soon speeding toward a warehouse-heavy district of New York, where the remnants of the Kim Trent Gang are busy loading crates off a truck. It's worth noting that the Faux Cops who pulled off the heists with Trent are still wearing their purloined uniforms. You have to admire their commitment to staying in character -- well, at least until Hunt & Company roll up onto the scene. Then, they go positively jelly-legged. As would you if you had Harvey Keitel growling, "You are surrounded by armed bastards" as he pointed the business end of a service revolver in your general direction.
Of course, after a brief pause for these commercial announcements, two of the goons holding up a crate begin to loose their grip -- hey, you try holding cargo for a series of 30-second ad spots -- and in the ensuing confusion, one of the Faux Cops takes off running. Grab your track shoes, grandma, 'cause we got ourselves a footchase. A chase-a-roo. Yo, chase scene... you know what? I think I'll drop it for now. Anyhow, Sam takes off after him while "All the Way to Memphis" cranks up on the soundtrack. Run, pant, climb, catch -- Sam manages to trap the Faux Cop as he's trying to scale his way up a fence. My goodness -- could this be the first time in recorded history where a Sam Tyler Footchase (trademark pending) doesn't end with our favorite detective being manhandled in some way? Alas, no. Because as he's got the Faux Cop cornered, a bunch of squad cars full of Real Cops pull up and, seeing a man in a uniform cornered by a guy with a gun, naturally conclude that Sam is the baddie in this particular relationship. Pummel-Fu! Pummel-rama! Pumm... you know, I'll work this out on my own time. Faux Cop, not believing his good fortune begins to casually make his getaway, while Sam continues the leitmotif of tonight's episode by screaming, "I'm real, he's not." You know what I've often found can easily solve these existential crises? Gene Hunt's Fist o' Justice, which is presently knocking Faux Cop cross-eyed. "Real cops don't run away," Hunt explains. They just keep running. Hunt shouts out his name and his precinct while flashing his badge at the confused squadron of real cops. "Kindly get off of my man," he orders. Aw, but we were having such fun pounding on him.
Back at the warehouse, Trent's henchmen have been subdued, kidney-punched, and loaded into a van for more discrete beatings elsewhere, and the detectives are busy putting the final pieces of this caper into place. "This is why Trent's crew hit so many check-cashing stores so quick," Sam explains to Hunt. "He needed cash because there was a shipment on the way." Sounds lucrative -- has anyone suggested this plan to Henry Paulson? It could fix our credit crunch problems lickety split. But Trent had a vastly different need for instant liquidity -- he was importing heroin, if the contents of the crates are anything to go by. But Sam notices something else in the crate -- toy Mars rover not unlike the one that's been shadowing him for large swaths of this episode. Let's chew on that one together while the sound of a respirator dominates the soundtrack.
"You did good, Tyler," Hunt says, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam doesn't immediately flinch, screaming, "Bad touch!" so I guess these two are going to work things out. I'm less confident in the solidity of Sam's long-term relationship with Carling, however. And Sam gets that same impression: "You and I are not going to get along, are we?" Carling agrees that they are not: "Eventually, I will burn you down. And I will bag your ashes. And I will bury your ashes in the yard where my big dog craps big crap." So what you're saying is... there's a chance the two of you could be friends?
But there is one more score for Sam to settle, and it is with you, Assistant District Attorney Lee Crocker, who happens to be back at the 125th Precinct chatting up Annie. He's gotten her tickets for Grease, and this may even surpass selling out Sam to Hunt as Crocker's greatest sin in this episode. After all, as Crocker explains patiently to Sam, he's gotta do what he's gotta do to work with Hunt, and if Sam happens to get caught the crossfire, well, it's nothing personal. But Grease? That's easily the greatest atrocity to the Broadway stage that does not involve Michael Crawford wearing a mask. I will countenance no counter-argument on this! So beat it, Crocker -- you are most definitely not the one that I want... woo, woo, woo, honey. And by the grim expression on Sam's face, he feels the same way -- though it's hard to say if more of that irritation is aimed at Crocker or Annie.
Back at his apartment, Sam stands on his fire escape and contemplates the toy Mars rover he pinched from the crime scene with a bemused expression. Then he stares up at the stars -- "I miss you too, baby," the stars say back drippily in a voice that sounds a lot like Lisa Bonet's. "I miss you, too, from the bottom of my lonely blue heart." I know I say this a lot, but you're in a hurry to get back to 2008... why again? I mean, here in 1973, you've got a -door neighbor with a propensity toward nudity and a desire to dance with you -- even if it is to Simon & Garfunkel's "I am a Rock," which, while thematically appropriate, is not known as a song you typically bust a move too. (Then again, I get the impression Windy would dance to commercial jingles if only they lasted long enough.) So why not give 1973 a try, Sam? It's not like you have any choice in the matter. Besides, a rock feels no pain. And an island never has to listen to Lisa Bonet say things like "my lonely blue heart."