We open in Marlene's darkroom. She leans over a table in her nightgown and snorts a long line of cocaine. She throws her head back after a moment and sniffs in ecstasy. There's a knock at the door. "Marlene?" Miguel calls. Her eyes fly open. "Just a minute," she calls, then hides the coke under a few prints. Her nightgown is lovely, by the way -- all lace-trimmed and Agent Provocateur-y. Marlene answers the door. Miguel leans in and kisses her. "Just wanted to tell you that I probably won't be home for dinner," he says, running a hand down her neck. He notices a white splotch underneath her nose. He wipes it off, and tastes it. Marlene touches the spot absently and then looks down at the ground. "What are you doing?" Miguel asks angrily. "Nothing," Marlene breathes. Miguel starts tearing the darkroom apart, looking for the cocaine. He finds it fairly easily. "Are you out of your mind?" he hisses. Marlene twists her hands and explains that she just needed some help "getting started" today. I need help getting started every morning. Why didn't I think about trying cocaine? That way, I could also cut down on my caffeine consumption! This show is so educational!
Miguel is simultaneously horrified and disappointed. "How long have you been doing this?" he asks. "It's not a problem, Mickey," Marlene insists, likening her cocaine use to the way he uses sleeping pills every now and then. Miguel sweeps everything off the table. He is steamed, man. "Who gave this to you?" he asks, angrily. "Does it matter?" Marlene stammers. "Who gave it to you?" he yells. "Tomas," Marlene whispers. At this, Miguel goes racing out of the darkroom, his shirt only half-buttoned. Bless his little heart. And his smooth, freshly waxed chest. "Don't blame him, Mickey," Marlene says, chasing after him. "I thought you put this behind you in law school," Miguel yells, storming into their bedroom. He yanks a suitcase from a shelf in the closet and starts throwing Marlene's clothes in it, still on their hangers. She just watches, looking helpless. Miguel grabs the phone and dials. "I'm making a call," he announces. "You're going into rehab." Marlene's hands go to her throat. "Rehab?" she squeaks, sounding offended and scared. "I won't tolerate this, Marlene," Miguel grits. "I can't let you do this in front of our child." Marlene reaches her hands out to him in a kind of supplication. "But rehab?" she asks. "I want you out of this house," Miguel yells. Wow, Yancey Arias does controlled fury really well. And his anger at Marlene's drug habit is an interesting turn of events, considering his line of work. Miguel goes back to throwing Marlene's clothes in the suitcase as she yelps that she simply can't leave Joey for a month. He ignores her until she grabs him by the shoulders and forces him to look at her. "Talk to me," she pleads. Miguel grabs her arms roughly and shakes her. "How can I trust you now? Pack. Your. Bag," he hisses, running a threatening hand down the side of her face. Behind them, poor little Joey peeps into the room. "Why are you guys fighting?" he asks. Marlene closes her eyes. "Joey," Miguel says, getting his anger under control. "We're not fighting." He pulls Marlene into a hug and tells the kid that she has to go to Chicago. "Her father -- your abuelo -- is very sick. And she needs to go take care of him," he explains. Marlene looks up at him and says nothing. Joey asks if he can go along with her. "No," Miguel says, "you need to stay home with me." Marlene finally turns, and tells Joey that it's "okay." She kneels down and hugs him. She gives Miguel a dirty look over the boy's shoulder. Huh. This is very interesting. I find Miguel and Marlene's relationship really rather compelling. Part of that is due to Yancey Arias's and Sheryl Lee's performances, but I also think the writers have set up a fairly complicated dynamic between the two of them, and it's interesting.
So, Miguel and his main henchman storm out of the house and toward the family SUV, where poor doomed Tomas the Drug Dealer is sitting. Miguel pulls the man out of the car. "Who else knows?" Miguel asks, as the henchman swiftly disarms the driver. "Tomas, who else knows that she's using?" Tomas promises that no one else knows. "Chato?" Miguel asks. Tomas shakes his head. Miguel pats the driver on both cheeks and then nods at his henchman. The henchman punches Tomas, hard enough to knock him out. He draws his gun. "Hector! Don't do it here. Take him someplace else," Miguel instructs. And thank you for the name, Miguel! Hector loads Tomas's body into the back of the car, and Miguel trots back into the house. Whacking someone right before breakfast can't be good for the digestion.
Later -- the day, maybe -- a limo pulls up in front of Miguel's house. Out spills a very pretty, wholesome-looking woman and two kids. "Thanks for coming, sis," Miguel tells the woman. She smiles up at him and promises to help him as long as he needs her. Miguel assures her that it ought to only be a couple of weeks. "Hola, Joey," Miguel's sister calls to her nephew, who's standing on the steps of the house, looking pitiful. Miguel tells his son to come on over and say hello to his Tia Inez. But sad little Joey pouts and walks inside. Miguel just shakes his head. Inez makes a sympathetic face.
Ann Arbor, Michigan. Marlene, looking like hell, scrubs an industrial-size stove. Another woman -- who's scrubbing with considerably less enthusiasm -- bitches that this is disgusting. "Is this supposed to make me a better person?" she whines, complaining that it's "humiliating." In a nice, subtle touch from the wardrobe folks, she's wearing a cardigan tied preppy-style over her shoulders. "You've never cleaned an oven in your life?" Marlene asks, scrubbing. Preppy wrinkles her nose. "Is that a joke? Of course I haven't. Have you?" she spits. Marlene just gives her an exasperated look and gets down on her knees to attack the inside of the oven. Preppy complains that it's costing her thirty grand to "get on [her] knees like a maid." Marlene wisely says nothing, but just scrubs in silence.
Back at Miguel's office, Miguel and Chato are meeting with a man who's trying to sell them a bunch of old guns. Chato looks both bored and vaguely offended by this transaction, but Miguel accepts the man's offer graciously, if somewhat distractedly. "Here -- fit it in your hand," the man says, offering Miguel a small handgun. "I appreciate you thinking of us, Chief [Name I Can't Quite Catch Because My Closed Captioning Is On the Fritz]," Miguel says. He doesn't touch the weapon, but instead stands up as if to announce that the meeting is over. The chief promises that he'll have the weapons delivered that afternoon. "I'll let you get back to work," he says. Miguel nods and escorts the chief to the door.
"How do you put up with that pinche police chief?" Chato asks when Miguel gets back to his desk. "We don't need his old guns," he says, taking out his own rather large gun and caressing it lovingly. Take your mind out of the gutter. It's actually a firearm. Miguel wearily points out that they need "keep [the chief] happy," since his brother is "a heavy hitter in the Senate." Chato shrugs and starts polishing the barrel of his gun. That's still not a euphemism. "You need to get laid, Miguel," Chato drawls. "You haven't been the same since Marlene went to see her family. I'm going to get you a girl."
Miguel is mid-eye-roll when his assistant buzzes the intercom and announces that Joaquin is there to see him. Remember Joaquin? The handsome and muscled young man who watches Joey? Joey's man-nanny? (His manny?) Anyway: enter Joaquin. Miguel asks if everything is okay with Joey, and Joaquin immediately swears that everything is fine. "What's on your mind?" Miguel asks. Joaquin explains, a bit hesitantly, that he loves watching Joey, but that he feels ready for more responsibility in La Corporacion. Chato continues cleaning his gun and looks quite interested by this turn of events. Miguel gets all in Joaquin's face and reminds him that nothing is more important than watching Joey. "I know," Joaquin assures Miguel, explaining that he just wants to "contribute more" to the family's success. "He wants to be a part of the action," Chato translates, loading his gun. "I just want to learn from you," Joaquin tells Miguel. "Whatever you want to teach." Miguel smiles. "You know you're my favorite cousin, right?" he asks. "Yeah," Joaquin says, with an embarrassed little grin. Miguel affectionately grabs Joaquin's neck and laughs. He tells the boy that he's welcome to sit in on a meeting this afternoon, as long as he doesn't say anything. "Just observe and learn," he says. "Thank you, Miguel!" Joaquin chirps. Miguel smiles.
Across the border to Houston. "Yeah! That's what I'm talking about," Romulo says, admiring his reflection in a mirror. He's being fitted for a custom suit. Dr. Benben comes strolling up behind him. Romulo turns, and the men shake hands. "Thanks for seeing me, Romulo," Dr. Benben says. "Have you ever had a suit made? You should try it!" Romulo chirps. He is one cheerful drug dealer. Dr. Benben asks if they can talk privately. "They don't speak any English," Romulo says, looking down at the Asian women fitting his suit. One of them measures his inseam. "Oooh! Hello!" Romulo giggles, looking down at her. Dr. Benben chuckles indulgently, then cuts right to the chase. He's "wondering about the possibility of [their] resuming [their] relationship." Romulo's smile fades for a moment. "Well, I'm not surprised. But I thought it would take longer than a couple of weeks," he sniffs, sounding like nothing so much as a scorned lover. "Do you have someone else?" Dr. Benben asks. "Of course I have somebody else," Romulo tells him quietly. The seamstresses exchange glances. "So, you need money, eh, doctor?" Romulo asks, turning to look at himself in the mirror. "I have to pay off my wife in order for her sign the divorce papers," Dr. Benben grits, irritated. Romulo tilts his head and examines his suit. "How do I look?" he asks. "Excuse me?" Dr. Benben asks. "The suit, what do you think?" Romulo asks. "You look great, Romulo. Now, will you just take me back?" Dr. Benben asks, sounding a little put-out. Romulo bites his lip like he's trying really, really hard not to laugh. "You know I'm someone you can rely on," Dr. Benben pleads. Romulo shakes his head. "Before, I knew. But now?" he shrugs, then turns and faces Dr. Benben. "Do one thing for me, and I'll think about taking you back," he says. "Say my name the right way." Dr. Benben furrows his brow. "Have I been saying it the wrong way?" he asks. "Yes! It's like a nail in my head everything you say it!" Romulo yelps. "It's 'Row-moo-low' [rolling the "r"], not 'Rom-you-low.'" Dr. Benben whines that he can't roll his "r"s. "Yes, you can, you can," Romulo assures him. "Try it again." Dr. Benben purses his lips. "Rrrrromulo," he offers. Romulo grins. "That's it! That's it! Okay," he says. And, just like that, Dr. Benben is back in. "Okay?" Dr. Benben asks. "Okay!" Romulo chirps, happily. "Okay!" Dr. Benben smiles, and points at the suit. "I like it," he says. Romulo laughs good-naturedly and just waves him off.
Mexico. Miguel, Chato, and Joaquin are dining with a prim little British man who has the funniest, primmest, most clipped British accent ever. He's trying to educate the three of them about a particular vintage of wine. "Please, taste the pahst," he says. "Then, I shall shew you...the future!" Chato slurps down his entire glass of wine in one gulp. Miguel rolls his eyes. "Don't drink it like that, Mr. Cadena!" the Brit gasps, horrified. "Savor it! The smell of the wine is like the smell of a woman. You can smell the soil, and the sweat," he says. Dude, I don't know what kind of women he's been smelling, but I try not to smell like either soil or sweat, generally speaking. Although, today...well, never mind. Let's just say that recapping is hard work. Joaquin takes a little sip of the wine. "Do it like him," the Brit instructs, pointing at Joaquin. "Do you like it?" he asks. "It's good," Joaquin says. "A man of few woooooords," the Brit drawls. "I'm very curious, Dr. French. Let's see what you've brought us," Miguel says, getting this show on the road. Dr. French removes a small vial of colorless liquid from the inside pocket of his blazer. "This my friends, is heroin. The future of heroin," he announces. Miguel looks thrilled, but manages to cover it up, reminding Dr. French that it's not easy to smuggle liquid heroin because of the odor. "Smell it. Odor is not the problem," Dr. French tells him, and explains that the real issue is finding a way to mass-produce the heroin. But he can probably figure this out -- and can set up the mass-production in Mexico -- if Miguel bankrolls him. Miguel just nods and asks if he can have his own chemists examine the heroin before he commits to anything. "Of course," Dr. French tells him. Miguel smiles and excuses himself, taking Joaquin inside with him. Out on the terrace, Chato slurps more wine.
Inside, Miguel asks Joaquin if he can "babysit" Dr. French and "keep him entertained" while he investigates this whole liquid-heroin thing. Joaquin, thrilled to be given new responsibilities, agrees happily. "We can make billions with this man," Miguel tells him.
Back that hotel, Chato is having sex with some woman. He's all...naked and groaning. He rolls off the woman, and they both heave a huge sigh. She asks if he wants anything to eat. Chato mutters that he doesn't want anything to eat, but that she should call room service if she does. He rolls over to pass out. But she keeps talking. About eating after sex. And eggs. Scrambled eggs! But she hates cold eggs. But she does like eggs! Because eggs are good. And she likes them. But room service can't ever get them hot enough for her. And cold eggs make her want to barf. She really just won't shut up. Chato blinks, in pain. He tries gamely to ignore her, but she really, really wants to chat. Chato yawns hugely and then groans. He looks at his watch. "Call room service; I bet you the eggs won't come cold," he says, rolls over, and snuggles into the pillow. But now she's talking about Jell-O, her head resting on his shoulder. Yap yap yap. Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada. Chato looks intensely pained, and then sits up. "Okay. I think it's time for you to go," he says, and gets out of bed. Whoo! Almost nudity! Bring it on! She whines that she thought they were going to spend the whole night having sex. "Maybe some other time," Chato says dismissively, wrapping a towel around his waist. Those are some fine abdominal muscles. I'd like to write Bobby Cannavale's personal trainer a thank-you note. "Don't you even want to know my name?" she purrs. "Or does it make it more exciting not to know?" Chato rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he says, and claps his hands. "Let's go!" he says. Heh. Chato stumbles into the other room. "Ariella Serrano," she calls after him. He turns around. "You aren't married to..." his voice trails off. "The chief of police," she confirms. Chato walks back over to her, and she lifts her leg up to caress his nipple with her toes. "You don't have to tell me your name. I know who you are," she says. He looks down at her, and rubs her foot. "Please let me call room service. I can get you your hot scrambled eggs," he coos. Wow, the way he said that was like that episode of Friends where Joey makes "grandma's chicken salad" sound hot. I've never wanted scrambled eggs more than I do right now. And then Chato takes Ariella's bare foot and sticks it right on his crotch. I don't even know what to say about that. I mean, what about the eggs?
Back in Michigan, Marlene is in group therapy. This is the second show in two weeks where I've recapped group therapy. Is that a karmic suggestion? At any rate, she slumps down in her folding chair and looks bored out of her skull. "It's been really hard since Randy and I separated. I'm the president of the PTA and that's a lot of responsibility on me," a woman yelps. Marlene rolls her eyes, clearing wishing she could invite this woman to try being the legal counsel for a drug kingpin. Instead, she just glares at Madame President, as the psychiatrist asks her what she would do if someone told her she had to choose between booze and her kids. "I don't know!" the woman sobs. "You would choose alcohol over your kids?" Marlene asks icily. "I can't even comprehend that." The doctor leans in and tells Marlene that Madame President has no free will. "She's an alcoholic," he says. Marlene leans in, her eyes blazing. "Everything we do in this life is a choice," she says. "You think you're so much better than me? What the hell are you doing here, then?" Madame President asks, sobbily. "It's got nothing to do with being like you," Marlene retorts. A crazy-looking guy sitting on the edges of the group mutters that Marlene's a "judgmental bitch." The doctor reminds them not to call each other names, but Marlene ignores them both. "Your children didn't ask to be born," she tells Madame President, standing up. "You are responsible to your kids. That means you stop whining about how hard life is and start to think about them and what they need." Crazy Guy rolls his eyes. "Sit down and shut up," he tells her. "You make me sit down and shut up," Marlene snaps. And then this woman throws a spiral notebook at her! And Marlene tackles her! And then they wrestle on the floor until the doctor pulls them apart! Catfight!
We cut to a strip club. Let's call it the Nota Bada Bing. Truck and Junie and this other guy we've never seen before watch a stripper in a bikini work her way around a pole. Junie idly shoves a French fry into his mouth. Another man -- bald, in a suit -- enters the club and comes over to their table. Truck greets him enthusiastically and offers him a seat. I think the bald guy's character is named Eddie? Let's call him that, anyway. There are really a lot of people to keep track of on this show. Especially since it's only six episodes. And my short-term memory isn't what it once was. Anyway, Eddie and Truck start chit-chatting about this singer that Truck is grooming to join his label. Behind them, the newest member of Truck's posse watches them talk and picks his nose. Truck tells Eddie that he gave this singer twenty CDs to listen to. "Top-notch stuff, told her to study some Dusty Springfield, Carole King," he says. "And she said to me, 'Why do I got to listen to all these white singers?' And I said "'Cause Carole King is a bad bitch.'" He chuckles with appreciation for Ms. King. And that is quite possibly the best line ever uttered on this show. Eddie nods and says that it's funny that Truck mentioned CDs, because he's got 100,000 sealed, factory-fresh CDs in the back of his van. He snorts a line of coke and tells Truck that he's willing to trade the CDs for ten kilos of cocaine. The nose-picker -- who, we find out, is named Tony -- is all, "What are we going to do with those CDs?" Eddie shrugs. "I don't know. Sell them out of the trunk of you car," he says. Yeah, that's going to be as lucrative as selling drugs. At this point, Junie looks up and sees a pregnant woman standing by the front door. He gets Truck's attention, and nods toward her. That must be Trunk's baby mama.
So Truck heads over to talk to this woman. Eddie watches him walk over there. Junie watches Eddie watch Truck. That will be important, so make a note.
Anyway, Truck's baby mama is pissed! Apparently, Truck was supposed to go to the doctor with her. "Something came up. Something important," he says. "This baby ain't important?" she squeals. Truck makes a "crap!" face, and calls Junie over. "I don't want to go with him! I want somebody I can have a conversation with!" she continues. Truck tells her to "chill out," and asks Junie to take "Sharonda" to the doctor's office. Sharonda! Thank you, Truck. I really didn't want to have to call her "Truck's Baby Mama" for the rest of the show's run. "Baby, everything is going to be fine. Give me some sugar," Truck says. Sharonda reluctantly lets him kiss her check, and sets off, Junie in tow. Junie heads back to Truck for a moment, though, and tells him to keep an eye on Eddie. "He don't never take his eyes off you," Junie adds. Truck laughs. "Well, maybe he a sissy, or something," he suggests good-naturedly. "I mean, fags have always been into me." He doesn't care, he says, as long as he gets some cash out of the deal. That is so progressive of him! Junie turns to look at Sharonda, who rolls her eyes. Junie makes a put-upon face and follows her out of the club.
Back in Mexico, Joaquin and Dr. French have lunch at a truly beautiful outdoor restaurant. I wonder where this was all filmed. It makes me want to go on vacation in Mexico. Without getting caught up in all the murderous shenanigans of a drug cartel, of course. Dr. French prissily drawls that he simply must see some Mexican murals while he's there. "There's nothing like them in the world," Joaquin agrees. "You should see more of the world before you begin to talk about the world," French tells him, before waxing boringly rhapsodic about the Sistine Chapel. Behind them, a man on a crutch comes up the row of tables, panhandling. Joaquin points out that the Renaissance artists were painting for the church or for their wealthy patrons, whereas the Mexican artists were painting "for the people." Señor Crutch finally gets up to their table and asks for some spare change. Joaquin subtly shakes his head and French looks pained. The poor guy repeats his plea. "I guess there's only one way for you to leave us alone," French says and kicks the guy's crutch out from under him! Señor Crutch drops to the ground with a thud. I actually gasped aloud at that. So did Joaquin, who proceeds to then look horrified, and leap out of his chair. French looks pleased with himself, as Joaquin gently helps the panhandler to his feet. "Are you all right?" French asks the poor guy, and then kicks the crutch out from underneath him again! "What'd you do that for?" Joaquin asks. From the ground, the panhandler smacks French across the shins with his crutch! French screams in agony, and reaches for a wine bottle. He breaks the bottle on the edge of the table, and then bashes it into the panhandler's face! Some anonymous flunkies -- bodyguards, I assume -- rush French away from the scene, as Joaquin holds a napkin to the poor panhandler's head wound. "I loooove Mexico," French trills, as he's marched out of the restaurant.
Back at the hotel, Joaquin explains to Miguel that French's bad behavior caught him totally off-guard. Miguel waves it off. "You want someone else to keep an eye on him?" Joaquin asks. I think he'd be happy with either a "yes" or a "no" answer, here, but really, the poor kid should make a run for it. Miguel shakes his head, and just tells Joaquin that he needs to remember that the people they do business with are, by nature, cold-hearted. "That's the first lesson for you to learn," he says. Joaquin looks sad, and leaves the office, as Miguel blinks thoughtfully. Poor Joaquin. Go back to watching Joey!
Upstairs, Chato is having sex with Ariella. Still. Or again. I don't really know. At any rate, he seems to be...er...reaching the height of his enjoyment, when Ariella starts yapping again, this time about how much she enjoys having sex with her shoes on and how much it makes her feel like a porn star and blah blah blah. Chato rolls his eyes, and pushes away from her. So she sits up and keeps talking. And talks and talks and talks and talks. About nothing. It's like white noise. But much, much more irritating. Chato lights a cigarette. And she keeps yapping. "Will you shut up?" he finally snaps. "Will you please just shut up? I want you to get out of here! I can't take it anymore You're driving me crazy with the talk, talk, talk, talk. Get out!" Ariella looks stunned, and then mad, and then says something about the devil and leaves in a huff. Chato looks pleased with himself and smokes contentedly.
"That question about family really seemed to strike a nerve with you," Marlene's therapist comments in a one-on-one session. "What about your own family? Tell me about your husband. He didn't attend Family Day. Is he unsupportive of you generally?" Marlene sits there and is silent for a moment. "He's the only friend I have," she finally says. The therapist nods and asks why Miguel didn't make it to Family Day, in that case. Marlene blinks and shakes her head and is silent. And, really, what is she supposed to say? "He's very busy bringing massive shipments of liquid heroin into the country"? Her therapist tries a different tack: "Marlene? What will you do the time you want to use drugs?" Marlene tells him, very firmly, that she will never do coke again. But her therapist wants her to admit that she's powerless over her addiction. "My marriage means everything to me. My mother and father...no matter what I did...or tried to do...but with Mickey?" Marlene responds haltingly. "He's my partner in life. He made sacrifices to be with him. And I make sacrifices...I'm very...I'm very alone down there. Except for him. And our beautiful son." Her voice breaks on this last bit. Her therapist really thinks that she needs to do the twelve-step thing. "I promise you it works," he says. Marlene looks down at the table. A lone tear runs down her face. Very good work in this scene by Sheryl Lee.
Miguel's office. The chief of police is not really happy about how Chato is boning his wife. Miguel isn't really thrilled by this turn of events, either. The chief tells Miguel to get his brother to stop, or the chief will. "Why don't you tell me what you mean?" Miguel responds, carefully. "You tell Chato to leave Ariella alone or I can not guarantee his safety," the chief retorts. Miguel looks him up and down, then leans in real close "If you have a problem with your wife, chief, straighten it out with her," he says. "I can see you're drunk, so I'm ignoring your threat on my brother. Just walk out now." The chief stares up at him. And then chuckles. And then starts to sob hysterically. "What can I do? I can't stop her! I appeal to you as a man of honor," he sniffles. "Talk to your brother." The chief rubs his forehead, and sniffles. That's not very manly of him.
Chato sits opposite Miguel in the lobby of the hotel. "Let me get this right," he begins. "He asked you. To tell me. To stop screwing his wife?" Miguel rolls his eyes, like he knows that this is ridiculous. "Chato, please. Think with your head. Just leave Ariella alone," he says. Chato shakes his head. "No. No way. I was going to stop screwing her, but now the only way I'll stop screwing her is if you screw her, Miguel." Miguel makes an exasperated face. "Let me put it to you this way," he says. "Stop seeing her because I asked you to stop seeing her." Chato leans back in his chair, and looks pleased by Miguel's newly apparent balls. "Okay, Miguel. I'll stop seeing her," he smiles. Enter Dr. French and poor, downtrodden Joaquin. Dudes, French is wearing spats! "Mr. Cadena. The other Mr. Cadena," he says, looking from Chato to Miguel. "Have you made your decision about the fuuuuuuture?" he asks. Miguel says he hasn't, and asks French if he's been staying out of trouble. French chirps that he's been behaving himself. But he has to ask a favor. "Joaquin tells me it shouldn't be a problem," he adds. "What is it?" Miguel asks, wearily. "I would like the company of young lady tonight. Young. Very beautiful. With a proud arse," he says. "Okkkkkkay," Miguel says, slightly hesitantly. "You want a Mexican girl?" Chato asks, without batting an eye. "Yes, but a very special one. She must be able to withstand a severe caning. One hundred strokes with cane, across the ass and legs," French says, smiling. Dude! Caning! This show has everything! Joaquin steps up, and tells Miguel that French never said anything about beating anyone with anything. Miguel nods, and tells him that it's okay. "I know the girl for you," Chato purrs. "Thank you so much! I cahn't wait! It will a work of ahhhhrt!" French trills. Chato rolls his eyes as French strolls off. Joaquin heaves an enormous sigh and follows him.
Finally, we head over to the DEA. I forgot that there even was a DEA plot in this show. Doug Duffy, Crabby DEA Boss, charmingly informs his employees that it's "piss test time." He starts handing out vials for urine. And who waltzes in? Eddie! Truck's friend! With the coke! And the CDs! He sees Delia and comes over to interrogate her. "Who are you?" he asks. "Delia Flores," she tells him. He wonders if she remembers him. "I never met you," she says. He tells her he was at Truck's after-hours club "on Jefferson." Delia explains that she went out to investigate the noise...and sort of ended up all tarting herself up and infiltrating the place. "I was working a case, okay?" Eddie kind of yells at her. I'm sure he's just concerned that she saw him snorting coke. Or he's an asshole. Or both. Delia repeats that she didn't see him, and then tells him that she doesn't want to hear any guff from him about her freelance work, because she already got enough fron Doug Duffy, and then she turns to the rest of the office and yells that they can all go to hell! Man, she's on edge. Clearly, she's missing her horse horribly. The rest of her co-workers exchange looks, like, who is this nutball? Eddie tells her that she was talking to his target, and when they're both done peeing, he needs to talk to her about horning in on his case.
Nota Bada Bing. The good doctor and Truck sit in front of the strippers and shoot the shit. Truck is trying to unload the CDs on him. Dr. Benben really doesn't want them. Truck is all, "I am trying to hook you up!" Dr. Benben twists his mouth up and turns to Junie. "What do you think?" he asks. "What you asking him for?" Truck asks. "I want to know what he thinks," Dr. Benben yelps. "He don't think!" Truck tells him. Junie makes a face at this, understandably. Dr. Benben reiterates that he really doesn't want to sell CDs out of the trunk of his Ferrari. He gets up and leaves, telling Junie to "take it easy." Truck gives Junie a searching look, but Junie just looks back at him really, really blankly.
So, Chato chats up the aforementioned Proud-Arsed Whore at the hotel bar. He tells her about Dr. French. She nods. "So, this guy, he knows how to handle a cane?" she asks. "I don't want him hitting me in the wrong places." Chato shrugs. "He looks like he knows what he's doing. He's English," he says. The hooker nods and sighs that it might actually be fun. "Who knows? I might even have an orgasm," she overshares. "Glad to hear it," Chato retorts uninterestedly, shoving a tortilla chip in his mouth. The whore is rubbing his thighs flirtatiously when he looks up and sees Ariella strolling into the bar. Chato almost chokes on his chip. Then he leans in and turns up the heat with the whore. Ariella strolls right up to him and starts cooing sweet, dirty nothings into his ear. She then sniffs her own fingers and starts running her hand under Chato's nose. He makes a face like he recognizes the odor. Is he smelling what I think he's smelling? Because if he is, I'm speechless again. I guess I'm just a delicate flower after all. Who knew? In fact, I think I need to move on, now.
The thing you know, there they are in bed. Chato lies on top of Ariella, looking totally blissed out. They both breathe hard. He sort of kisses her neck and snuggles into the crook of her neck to go to sleep. And she starts talking, again. Jesus, sister! Just shut your yap! Chato makes this utterly hysterical miserable face, as she yaps and yaps and yaps and yaps. "Am I talking too much?" she asks, and kisses him. "Say whatever you want," Chato groans, and snuggles down between her breasts to go to sleep. Ariella yaps and chats some more, and Chato sighs and closes his eyes.
Elsewhere in the hotel, Joaquin waits outside Dr. French's room and listens to him cane the prostitute. It doesn't sound like it's going that well, because he's yelling angrily and she is screaming bloody murder. Joaquin looks uncomfortable. He shifts his weight and listens to them holler and scream and cry, and then knocks on the door and goes inside. And it is a bad scene. The hooker's ass is all marked up, and Dr. French is choking her. Joaquin pulls them apart, revealing that French has a knife stuck right there in the chest! The whore screams and screams as French falls over dead. Joaquin takes out his cell phone and makes a call.
Downstairs, Miguel looks down at the hooker angrily. He paces and she stares at the floor and cries. "Look at me," he orders. She does, and sobs and sobs. "You know what you've cost me?" he spits. She wails that she did everything French wanted. Chato leans against Miguel's desk and asks why she stabbed the guy. "He did more than beat me," she weeps and then drops to her knees and starts begging Miguel for her life. "What did he do to you, Jisela?" Chato asks. Jisela sobs that French put his cigarette out in her mouth, and he laughed about it! Not to be insensitive, or anything -- and not that I think it's okay to extinguish cigarettes on people -- but that doesn't seem all that bad to me. I mean, she knew he was a sadist. He was caning her. It's not like he made her have sex with a python. Miguel makes her show him the burn mark, which she does. And I'm sure that hurt and all, but...you know, she really isn't much of a masochist if that pushed her over the edge. Miguel touches her face gently and sets her back on her chair. He pushes her hair back and tells her to wait for a second.
Miguel and Chato go into the other room. "I'll get rid of both bodies," Chato says. "Not her," Miguel says. "What?" Chato asks. says. Miguel doesn't think Jisela deserves to get wacked for this. "She's supposed to be a professional, no matter what he did to her," Chato points out. And I feel really weird about agreeing with crazy murderous (hot) Chato, but...I kind of think he's right. I mean, French is weird and creepy and stuff and he shouldn't go around burning people, but I think that stabbing him was a little overboard, especially when Joaquin was right outside and she could have had him come in and break up the party -- which he ended up doing anyway. I don't know. I think Jisela sort of overreacted. Am I wrong here? Has recapping this show completely destroyed my sense of right and wrong? Anyway, Chato shakes his head. "Now, you're not thinking with your head, Miguel," he says. He points out that the British government is going to wonder what happened to French. "We need to remove any connection between him and us," Chato tell him. "She's got to go, Miguel." Miguel thinks about this. "You're right," he finally says. "I know I'm right," Chato smiles. "Take care of it," Miguel directs.
So, Miguel goes back into the office and tells Jisela hat he's putting her on a plane and sending her to Cuba. She's thrilled until she realizes that Chato's driving her to the airport. Since "driving her to the airport" clearly means "shooting her in the head." Chato smiles at her sweetly and poor innocent Joaquin looks intensely horrified. Jisela screams and screams and sobs and screams. And then Chato picks her up like a bag of potatoes and hauls her away. "I'm sorry, Miguel," Joaquin sniffs. Miguel says something about how sometimes you need to bury your mistakes and then move on. And he means that literally. "You understand," he says. Joaquin nods. "You want to live this life, you have to ask yourself, every day, 'What am I willing to live with?'" Joaquin makes a sobby face and leaves.
Miguel stands in his office and looks thoughtful. We go into flashback mode: he's wearing glasses, and his hair is all slicked back and he's digging a ditch. He looks rotten, but at least his shirt is open. "Get your hands dirty, college boy! Dig!" someone yells at him. It appears that his elders are making him dig a grave for some poor sot. Eventually, the gang tosses a trussed-up guy into the hole. "You ready?" an old man asks Miguel, handing him a gun. Chato leans in and says something incoherent. Then he calls Miguel "little brother," and hands over a bottle of tequila. Miguel takes a swig. Chato gently pushes Miguel's glasses up. Miguel points the gun at the poor dude in the hole. A tear runs down Miguel's cheek, and he can't make the shot. "Hey, aim for his forehead," Chato advises. "What are you waiting for, Christmas?" the old man asks. Miguel lowers the gun. "You can't do it? You can't do this?" the old man asks, and plugs the trussed-up guy. "It's easy," he says, and starts to sing a mariachi song. Oy. These people have some issues. On the other hand, I guess when you're in a crime family, these things just happen.
And...back to the present! Miguel stands in his office and thinks about all of his sins. He walks through the hotel alone, as a woman sings sadly in Spanish.
Finally, Miguel gets home and trudges into his bedroom. The phone rings: it's Marlene. She sniffles. "How you feeling?" he asks her. "Okay. I want to come home, Mickey," she tells him. He sits down. "I know," he says. She looks miserably at the pay phone, there in the middle of rehab. "You were the only person I could trust," Miguel tells her. "You can trust me," Marlene pleads. Miguel sighs. "I'll never give you another reason not to," Marlene tells him. "I wish you were here with me tonight," he says. "Please, just let me come home." Miguel thinks for a moment. "I'll send a plane for you tomorrow," he says. "Thank you," Marlene sobs. Joey tiptoes into his room in his pajamas. "Is that Mom?" he asks. Miguel pulls the kid onto his lap and hands him the phone with a kiss. "I miss you so much," Joey says, into the phone. "Are you going to be back soon?" Miguel slides off the chair and sits on the floor, as Joey prattles happily to his mother. He runs his hands over his face and gazes thoughtfully off into the distance. Oh, the angst!