Excellent! Viewer discretion is advised! I love that!
Previously: drugs and stuff.
We open in a lovely formal restaurant, where Marlene and Miguel are having a romantic "Thanks For Letting Me Come Home From Rehab/Sorry I Got So Mad About Your Drug Habit" dinner. Marlene tells Miguel that she's had a lot of time to think and she really, really, really wants to put the past behind them. "I know I have to stay clean, Mickey. I won't be a problem," she tells him earnestly. Miguel smiles at her. "I had a crazy thought," he says. "Let's have another baby." Marlene tilts her head and looks at him, and then starts laughing. That is a crazy thought, seeing as I suspect they're all about to be blown to kingdom come. Besides, who knows what crazy voodoo Wacky Lupita would work on an infant? And speaking of Lupita, what ever happened with that Blood Painting she was making of Miguel? Perhaps we will find out on Tuesday. Anyway.
Behind Miguel, Hector the Head Bodyguard spies the Chief of Police (whose name, I now know, thanks to the miracle of properly working closed captioning, is Lazareno, not Serrano. Sorry about that) and his wife, the overly chatty Ariella. "It's the perfect time for us now. We've always kept that possibility open," Miguel is telling Marlene as Lazareno and Ariella arrive at the table. Miguel shakes hands politely, but doesn't seem particularly enthused to see either of them. Ariella tries to hustle her already drunk husband to their table, but has no luck. Instead, Lazareno takes a seat with Miguel and Marlene and asks his wife what the harm is in having a glass of wine. "I'm sorry. My husband's already had too much to drink," Ariella tells Miguel, who shrugs. Lazareno just pushes Ariella into a chair. "What's the harm in having one glass of wine with our friends?" he asks. "My uncle sends his regards," he adds, sneering at Miguel. Marlene shoots her husband a cautionary look. "Give the senator my best," Miguel says evenly. "My uncle can remember when your family was nothing but a bunch of small-time criminals," Lazareno snipes. Miguel says nothing, but sets his jaw. "Smuggling tequila into the United States," Lazareno says, continuing his jaunt down memory lane. "Your family -- they were simple, ignorant people. They didn't wear Armani suits, like you," he says. Because accusations of boot-legging are one thing, but impugning someone's sartorial tastes is entirely another, Ariella steps in yet again and tells her husband to cut it out. "Marlene, we have to go," Miguel announces, standing up. "We do?" she asks. He raises his brows at her. "Oh, yeah." Marlene stands and slides out of their booth. "So soon?" Lazareno drawls, as the Cadenas leave the restaurant. He removes a flask out of his vest pocket and takes a swig. Ariella just sighs. Poor Ariella. To go from incommunicative but dreamy Chato to incommunicative and greasy Lazareno is a horrific step down.
After the credits, we open in Truck's studio. Junie strolls in the door bearing coffee and lunch. Sharonda sits on the sofa and bobs her head along to the music. In the inner studio, Truck snorts a line of coke and points to a greasy guy working the board. "This track still ain't hitting, man," Truck tells Greasy. "You want to hear it without the vocals again?" Greasy asks wearily. Truck shrugs that he really wants to eat, and he gets up and goes into the exterior room. "It sounds good to me," Sharonda offers. "Did I ask your opinion?" Truck asks snippily. "If you wanna produce this session, you take it to some other studio." Sharonda snaps that Truck needs to go to bed. Apparently, he hasn't slept in three days. Truck flings himself onto the sofa and tells her that what he needs is lunch. Inside the studio, Greasy steals a line. While Greasy snorts the boss's smack, Truck yells at Junie for bringing him a steak sandwich sans peppers. Man, Truck. You used to be so cheerful, and now you're so unpleasant. You really need to can the coke. Many, many years ago, I worked for a man who was a total coke fiend and it was hellacious. He acted just like Truck, actually. I really don't recommend taking up cocaine as a way to better connect with your employees. "Hey, I told 'em," Junie remarks calmly. "I said, 'Hey, put peppers on there.'" Truck yelps that Junie is supposed to check! He is not supposed to leave the steak sandwich joint without making sure that the sandwiches have peppers on them! Peppers! Peppers! "Don't blame nobody else, dog!" Truck screams. Junie doesn't bat an eye, but just placidly offers to get him another sandwich. All this talk about steak sandwiches is making me hungry.
"This ain't about no damn sandwich!" Truck yells, slamming the offending meal onto the table. "It's about being reliable! What you been telling [Dr. Benben] behind my back?" Junie looks offended by this accusation. "Nothing!" he retorts. "Then why won't he do this deal with me, with these CDs?" Truck asks. Um, because no one wants to sell CDs out of the trunk of his car? Junie shrugs that he doesn't know. "Git your ass out of here, Junie," Truck yelps, pointing at the door. "You fired!" Junie's eyebrows shoot almost to his hairline. "Don't let me catch you 'round here, or the strip club! I'm sick of your ass! Get on!" Truck screams. Junie frowns and starts to go. "Wait a minute. Come here," Truck yells. So Junie trudges back over and Truck roughly removes Junie's gun from his waistband. "Now, get the hell out," he says. Junie looks sort of hurt, but shakes his head and leaves. "Doing too much of that crap," he mutters. "What?" Truck yells after him. Sharonda stares at the table and wonders if it would be a faux pas to start eating her sandwich while the boys duke it out. "What did you say to me?" Truck calls. "I said you're snorting too much of that powder," Junie says, turning to face him. "Oh, I'm snorting too much damn powder, huh?" Truck asks, pointing the gun at him. "Stop swinging the gun around," Sharonda tells him. Greasy peers out of the recording studio and wipes cocaine residue from under his nose. Truck, by the way, is totally gesturing with the gun. He's waving it all over the place. "Come back and say that to my face," he yells at Junie. Junie turns around and Truck fires the gun! He totally misses -- hitting a bass near the door -- but the impressive thing is that Junie doesn't even flinch. Hell, he doesn't even blink. What a bad-ass. Sharonda leaps up and starts smacking Truck around. In the studio, Greasy cowers behind the captain's chair. Junie just pops a stick of gum in his mouth and goes.
Over at Dr. Benben's apartment, the man himself cleans a CD very carefully and pops it into the stereo. He turns to a blonde in a wrap dress. "I have an excellent '97 Brunello I think you'll enjoy," he tells her. The Blonde sniffs and wonders if he has any Zinfandel. Dr. Benben raises a wine snob's eyebrow and wonders if she'd take a nice Chardonnay. "Okay," the Blonde chirps, as she examines the apartment. "So funny," she giggles. "When you called, I was like, [Dr. Benben]? From high school? How did you even find me?" she asks. Dr. Benben hands her the wine. "One of those classmate websites," he says. "Not that I normally look for dates on the internet." Not that there's anything wrong with that. Try TWoP Personals today! The Blonde waves a hand airily and twitters that when she first got a divorce, she used "all those sites." The two of them sink into the sofa. "I mean, who has time to meet people?" she asks. Dr. Benben agrees, taking a long look at her cleavage. The Blonde not-so-discreetly adjusts her neckline and he manages to tear his attention away from her breasts and toward her face.
"Look at you now. Successful plastic surgeon. Living in this beautiful apartment," the Blonde continues. Dr. Benben grins proudly, and the Blonde wonders why he's renting. Dr. Benben's pleased expression immediately reverts to barely concealed fury. "My ex-wife got the house," he grits. And speaking of, where is Sean Young? Please tell me that wasn't it for her. Because I feel like, when you hire Sean Young, you really ought to use her nationally recognized brand of Crazy to your full advantage. The Blonde yips that property is a really good investment. Dr. Benben looks down at his watch. "I'm not boring you already, am I?" the Blonde asks. Dr. Benben assures her that he just doesn't want to miss their reservations. Also, he's beginning to wonder how long he can politely wait before he kills himself with a penknife. "Did I happen to mention I sell time shares?" the Blonde responds. "No," Dr. Benben says, with the tone of someone who's just been asked if he'd like to spend a holiday weekend locked in a windowless closet, reading instruction manuals written entirely in Pakistani. He then plasters an extremely phony smile across his face. Poor Dr. Benben. He simply cannot win. "Well, a person in your income bracket should definitely consider a time share," the Blonde hypothesizes. "Maybe we should get going!" Dr. Benben chirps with false cheer, and pulls her off the sofa. "Okay, great! You know what, I'll just grab some brochures out of my car, okay?" the Blonde tells him. "You do that," Dr. Benben groans, and gulps down an entirely full, very large goblet of wine. Dude, I have been getting so many telemarketing phone calls about time shares lately. I don't know what kind of crazy list I'm on, but come on, people. I am unemployed! The last thing I can afford right now is two weeks in the Poconos. Also, stop calling at 11 in the morning. I need my beauty sleep.
Cut to a graveyard in Ciudad Juarez. Chato and his daughter, Maribel, pull up on his motorcycle. They slide off and approach a grave, as slow Flamenco music plays in the background. I think this tune is called, "The Ballad of the Schoolgirl With the Hot, Evil, Somewhat Unbalanced, Possibly In Love With His Own Brother Father." She's a cute little girl, about twelve, in a Catholic school uniform. They talk in (subtitled) Spanish. "You think I'm buying you high heels?" he asks her. "You're too young for high heels." Maribel rolls her eyes. "Papi, all the other girls wear them," she whines. Chato thinks about this and wonder what Maribel's grandmother has to say about this. I'm sure she's told Maribel that high heels are very tacky with a uniform and appropriate only for Halloween or Tarts and Vicars parties. "She doesn't let me do anything. She's an old lady," Maribel tells him, disgruntled. Chato chuckles and explains that her grandmother is strict because she loves Maribel. They finally arrive at the grave and begin replacing the flowers. "Did I tell you about the time your grandmother caught me climbing through the window to visit your mother?" Chato asks, as they work. "She beat me with a wooden spoon." Didn't that just happen on Oz? Maribel giggles. "She was going to beat your mom, too, but she told her she was pregnant. And that's how I found out you were going to be born," he says, touching his daughter's face gently. Maribel smiles at him, and he tugs on her sleeve and pulls her down and they pray. Aw, I love the Softer Side of Chato. (That's like the Softer Side of Sears, but with more brutal beatings.) Behind them, the police pull up. "Papi, can I come live with you?" Maribel asks after a moment. Chato looks sad and tells her that it would never work. He spies the police over her shoulder, and reiterates that it really, really wouldn't be a good idea. Maribel climbs to her feet and sniffs sadly. "Don't you like being with me?" she asks. "I love being with you," Chato assures her. "But your grandmother can do a better job of raising you than I can." Poor little Maribel's face cracks. "No, she can't! I hate her," she sniffs, and adds that her grandmother doesn't care what she wants and neither does Chato! She begins to stomp off. The police take their chance and tackle Chato, throwing him to the ground and handcuffing him. "Take your hands off me! I know what this is really about!" Chato yells at them. Hearing the ruckus, Maribel turns and sees the struggle. She screams for her father. "Maribel, call your Uncle Miguel," Chato calls to her. "Call your Uncle Miguel!"
We head over to the prison. I have a feeling that this really isn't going to end well. Chato leans against the bars of his cell and looks depressed, as Lazareno skips over to him, whistling. "You had your fun. Now open the cell," Chato says. "No, my fun comes later," Lazareno tells him. Oh, I told you this wasn't going to go well. "How long do you think you can keep me in here, Lazareno?" Chato asks, rather mildly considering the situation. Lazareno shrugs. "You're being charged with murder. You will be locked up for a very long time," he chirps. "Murder? Who did I kill?" Chato asks. "We'll find somebody," Lazareno chuckles, and starts to walk away. "You drink too much," Chato calls after him. "It's no good." Lazareno turns back and cocks a brow. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever," he says, and strolls away. Chato looks vaguely perturbed by this turn of events. Dude, you so don't want to end up in a Mexican jail on the outs with the chief of police. About ten years ago, two of my cousins got in a horrible car accident in Mexico (they were run off the road). One of them went to the hospital, and the other went to jail. And my uncle had to go down there and rescue him and it cost him something like $10,000 to spring him. What I took from that experience is: don't get thrown into jail in Mexico. Anyway.
Our Lady of Aaron Spelling. Still kitted out in his altar boy ensemble, Joey looks around, snags the communion wine, and takes a big swig. Sadly for Joey, a priest walks in and catches with his nose in the sauce. Whoops! This so isn't the first time that's ever happened.
Lazareno's office. Miguel informs Lazareno that, whatever he's trying to accomplish, he's going about it very poorly. Lazareno lights a cigarette. "Your name came up yesterday in a conversation with a newspaper publisher," he says. "This newspaper publisher believes that you are the most powerful man in Ciudad Juarez." Miguel says nothing. "Not the mayor. Not the chief of police. You." Miguel just watches Lazareno smoke his skinny little cigarette, before saying that he's "just a businessman." They stare at each other for a moment. "But I will do whatever it takes to get what I want," Miguel adds, calmly. "Release my brother. I want to walk out of here with him right now." Lazareno takes a giant, unprofessional swing from his ever-present flask. "No," he says, leaning in to make his point. "Do you want to know what power is, Miguel? Strike against me. Go to war with me. I'm gonna show you what power is." Miguel barely manages not to roll his eyes. Instead he stands up, sighs, and lights a truly massive cigar. "Ha, ha! Look how big my cigar is! Especially compared to your tiny little cigarette!" his Mole chirps. "Do you get the symbolism? Do you? Do you get it?" Miguel says nothing, but simply smiles and leaves. Lazareno looks at his own emasculated smoking implement and stubs it out with a sigh.
Over at the hotel, Miguel and Marlene confab. "Lazareno doesn't have the balls to make a move like this on his own," Miguel tells her, pacing before the fireplace. "His uncle must be backing it." Marlene rustles through some papers. "Well, if he is, he must be ready to cut his ties with La Corporacion," she says. Miguel makes his thoughtful face "Something's going on that we don't know about," he muses. "I may have to go to Mexico City." Marlene is about to respond to this then the intercom buzzes: the Bishop is there to see him. Marlene and Miguel exchange looks, and Miguel tells his secretary to send him in
Enter Father Melfi, whom we last saw in the pilot. Miguel greets him politely, and the man sits. "Is everything all right?" Miguel asks. "No," the Bishop says, not pulling any punches. "It's about Joey. He was caught drinking sacramental wine from the holy chalice," he tells them. "He what?" Miguel asks, sounding quite shocked. And, while goodness knows, I don't recommend this course of action, every church in the world has a kid or two who's stolen a swig from the communion wine. I mean, it's clearly not allowed, nor is it a sign of pure evil. It's not like Joey's little head is spinning 360 degrees. "I'm concerned, Miguel, as to the reasons why he's acting out," the Bishop continues. Miguel nods and promises that they'll talk to Joey. "Children are very perceptive about the world around them," Father Melfi says. "Even if they can't put their feelings into words." Miguel nods. "I'll talk to him," he repeats.
Across the border at the DEA, Doug Duffy and Delia walk down a hallway. He needs her to run a background check on a prospective agent, a Houston PD detective who's applied for a gig with the DEA. Delia looks peeved. "Background investigation?" she snaps. Doug Duffy points out that it's better than digging ditches. She stops him. "Doug, be straight with me," Delia says. "You ever going to let me work a real case?" Doug Duffy mutters something noncommittal, as Delia badgers him, asking him if she's under investigation, or something. Finally, Doug Duffy tells her that plenty of people are blaming her for Agent Patterson's death. "Listen, you're like a lightning rod," he tells her. "And I'm not taking chances." At long last, Delia agrees to handle the background check.
The first place Delia's investigation takes her is a very amusingly decorated apartment, which resembles nothing so much as Greg Brady's attic bedroom. An entirely bald man in a dressing gown strokes a fluffy white cat. In honor of the cat -- and his bald head -- I shall call the man Dr. Evil. "I'm so glad you're investigating that man," he sniffs. "He is a killer." Delia raises her brows. "Rolando Porter?" she asks. "He killed Mr. Blandings and laid him on my doorstep," Dr. Evil snits, walking into his living room, which is quite entirely full of cats. My allergies are acting up, just looking at it. "Mr. Blandings was a cat?" Delia asks. "That man, whose name I don't care to speak, was always clomping and tromping around up there," Dr. Evil complains, setting down the white cat and petting a tabby. "It upset the kitties." Delia tells him that the landlord told her he'd had no complaints. "Oh, I complained. And I was ignored. Then that man tried to bribe me. He moonlights as a bouncer at some tawdry gentlemen's club. At least, that's the excuse he gave me for coming home at all hours." Delia asks for the name of the club, but Dr. Evil instead snits that he didn't want to go to the club, and that he continued to complain, and that that was when poor Mr. Blandings met with his untimely demise.
Eventually, Delia must have wrestled the name of the club out of Dr. Evil, because she shortly arrives at the Nota Bada Bing. In the background, a woman in thigh-high patent leather boots really works the pole. I must admit, those are some impressive skills. How does she manage not to slide down the pole? I think I would hit my head on the stage. On the other hand, concussions are hot!
In the back room of the Nota Bada Bing, the DEA Agent I called Eddie in the last recap (who it turns out is ACTUALLY named Bobby. Who knew?) and Truck continue to sample their wares.
Out front, Delia approaches a man who's signing for a shipment of soda and flashes her badge. She explains that she's there doing a routine background check of one Mr. Rolando Porter. The manager -- who gives his name as Shawn Williams -- plays dumb.
In the back of the club, Bobby is still trying to sell Truck on his ridiculous van-load of CDs. Mid-spiel, he glances up and sees Delia on the security monitor. He blanches. Meanwhile, Truck is pretty high and thinking very, very slowly about the stupid CDs. "I don't know," he says. Bobby looks thoughtful and leaps in front of the security monitor. "There's a whole other world of hustling out there, if you'd just open is eyes and see it," he tells Truck, who simply sniffs.
Outside, Delia apologizes for bothering Shawn and goes. Shawn looks very perturbed and runs toward the back.
In the security room, Bobby is still talking a mile a minute. "I got these cats that wanna pay me quarter-million cash for this truckload, sight unseen. Now, you gotta decide if you wanna do business," he says rapidly. Shawn bursts in and tells Truck that he needs to talk to him right now. Outside. "I'm busy," Truck drools. Shawn insists that it's very important. The two of them go into the hallway. Left alone in the security room, Bobby whips out his cell phone.
The hallway. "What's UP?" Truck yelps. "The DEA just left up out there, that's what's up," Shawn says. Truck almost screams. "DEA?" he says, and then tries to run into the other room. Shawn grabs him and tells Truck the DEA agent was doing a background check on Rolando. "Damn, Shawn," Truck breathes, and rests his head against Shawn's shoulder. "Man, you about gave me a heart attack, a'ight?"
In the security room, Bobby asks someone to put Doug Duffy on the line.
Outside, Truck tells Shawn that Rolando just applied for a job with the DEA. Shawn finds this entire concept hard to comprehend. "Yeah, man. Nothing to worry about," Truck assures him. Shawn's all, why didn't you tell me? "Why would I tell you before he got the job, man?" Truck drawls. Man, he has got to lay off the sauce. "Because I just told that woman a lie, man," Shawn reminds him.
Inside, Bobby tells Doug Duffy to get Delia off the street and keep her in the office, because she may have just compromised his position.
Truck strolls back into the security room and Bobby jumps all over him. "You got the Feds on you?" he asks, stridently. "Is this place hot?" Truck furrows his already confused brow and swears that they're clean. "Then who was that bitch?" Bobby asks. "The one I saw talking to Shawn. I saw her flash a badge." Truck shakes his head stupidly. "She's DEA," Truck says, like this makes it all okay. "DEA?" Bobby yelps. He runs for the door. Truck grabs him and they tussle briefly. "You got the DEA on you?" Bobby yells. "Hold up. They doing a background check on my cousin," Truck explains. "I got a cousin that works with Houston PD." Bobby shakes Truck's hands off him. "You got a cousin that's a cop?" he asks. Truck tells him to dial it down. "You have got to stop yelling, man. You're killing my high," he says. At last, he explains that His Cousin the Cop does "all [his] security and...and other things." Bobby waves a finger in the air. "I don't like this crap, okay?" he announces. "This place could be wired." Truck insists that there's no way. "This is my spot," he says, slapping himself in the chest for emphasis. Shawn watches coolly as Truck tells Bobby to settle down, and promises that they'll figure this all out. "All right. Who's your cousin?" Bobby asks. "Cause I want to meet his ass." Truck almost yawns. "It's coooool," he promises. "You can meet him, baby. Ain't no thang." He and Bobby exchange a long look. "If you're trying to set me up, I'm gonna kill you," Bobby finally says, and stomps out. Once he's safely in the hallway, he exhales a giant sigh.
Back at the jail, several uniformed officers break into Chato's cell. They beat him, hitting him first, hard, in the stomach. Chato groans and they drag him out of the cell and into...
...the bathroom. Where they continue to beat the shit out of him. Blood flies out of Chato's mouth and onto the floor. One of the officers whacks Chato across the face with a billy stick, slicing open the bridge of his nose. Lazareno watches through a barred window as the officers pause in the beating to bend Chato over a urinal. Oh, dear. Well, there's no way this is going to work out for the best. Unless they're just asking him to examine the grout. One of the cops loosens his belt buckle and drops his pants. Lazareno smokes and languidly smiles as his men tear down Chato's pants. Lazareno takes a swig from his flask. Chato screams and looks right at Lazareno as the police rape him. Yikes. What an unfortunate turn of event for the old Sex Eye.
Across the country in Mexico City, Miguel enters a luxurious office. A well-groomed secretary leaps from behind her desk and tells him that the senator is "occupado. " "Tranquilizate," Miguel sneers, and walks right on in.
"Is this a bad time?" Miguel asks the senator, who is occupied misting several hothouse orchids. "I expected better from you than to barge in unannounced," the senator responds. Miguel snits that he expected the senator to return his phone calls. The senator shrugs that if this is about Chato, he's sorry, but it was a decision of the Supreme Court. "Senador, the case against Chato was opened at your request," Miguel points out. "I know this." The senator shrugs. "After my family has given you our support for decades" Miguel says, sitting down. The senator sighs. "Your family does not own me," he says. "There was a time when your family didn't own the roof over their heads." Miguel glances down at the carpet and then up at the older man. "If I had known then what you criminals would do to my country..." the senator trails off. "You wouldn't have taken our money?" Miguel asks calmly. Ooh, burn. The men stare at each other for quite a bit, before the senator turns back to his orchids and tells Miguel that the President wants to "strike a blow against the narcotraficantes," and that it's certainly fine with him. "There is nothing I can do for your brother," he says, firmly. Miguel shrugs and opens a manila envelope, from which he removes a videotape. "Let's talk about your family," he offers, standing and putting the tape into a nearby VCR. "You should watch this," he says. The tape contains security footage of Lazareno selling Miguel his old guns, which we all saw last week. "I'm hearing rumors that you have hopes to be Mexico's ambassador to the United Nations," Miguel says conversationally. "I can't imagine that happening once the whole world sees your nephew selling guns to a narco." The senator knows he's been bested and sighs loudly. "I have those guns. With serial numbers that can be traced to the Ciudad Juarez municipal police," Miguel continues. "Would you like to see them?"
Bobby storms into the DEA with a real bee in his bonnet, and stomps over to unleash it on Delia. She's not particularly happy to see him, either. "What do you want? Why did you have me pulled off the street?" she asks. Bobby wonders if she was doing a background check in the club, or what. "What does it have to do with you?" she asks. Bobby tells her that the man she was running a check on is Truck Thomas's cousin, and that Truck Thomas is his mark. Delia manages to convince him that she didn't know the Nota Bada Bing was part of his undercover. "I'm sorry, Bobby. Really," she tells him. He finally nods. "I was able to make it work for me," he says. "We're taking down Truck Thomas tonight." Bobby pours himself a cup of coffee. "I'll throw in his cousin as a bonus," he says. "So, Rolando Porter's dirty?" Delia asks. Bobby shrugs that it sure looks that way, and tells her that he's arranged a meeting. "What if he knows you?" Delia points out. Bobby furrows his brow, so Delia has to spell it out for him: "He's a cop. He could have seen you in court. Could be anything." Bobby makes a face like he can't believe he never thought of this himself. "Wow," he breathes. "Why did I [ask to meet him]?" he asks himself. At this, Delia offers to be there when the deal goes down. She points out that the manager knows she's doing a background check, and so she has a reason to be on the premises. "And you're gonna have an agent on the inside," she finishes. And you, Delia, are going to get killed, because you don't seem to remember that Truck Thomas thinks you're some little chippy who wants to have sex with him to get a recording deal. And then who will take care of your horse? Bobby thinks about it. "Let me do this," Delia pleads.
Roll X Records. Truck takes another toot. He's going to blow out the inside of his nasal cavity. And this show would totally go down the Stevie Nicks Makes Her Roadie Blow Coke Up Her Ass-type road, so, for all of our sakes, I hope he lays off the coke right quick. "I'm telling you, you better slow down," Shawn laughs. "I told you, I'm going for Scarface," Truck tells him. Yeah, because that was a happy ending, right there. At this moment, the infamous Rolando swaggers inside. Truck explains to his cousin that that he's doing this deal with this guy who has these CDs, and this guy wants to meet Rolando and blah blah blah. Rolando furrows his brow and wonders how, exactly, he got involved in any of this. Truck explains the entire background-check folderol. "Dude saw a badge and was fixing to run out on the deal," Truck giggles. Rolando is so not amused. "So, he wants to meet me," he says, shaking his bald head. "You're dealing with the man, fool." "What?" Truck squeaks. "Look, if a man doing a dope deal, he don't want meet somebody he don't already know! Unless he a Fed, trying to lock up some extra bodies!" Rolando is six hundred times smarter than Truck. Speaking of Truck, he and Shawn take this moment to look utterly stricken. "How much you trading for them CDs?" Rolando asks. "Ten keys," Truck murmurs. "And you sold him a sample already?" Rolando asks. Truck mutters something in the affirmative. "He got you. If he's undercover, he's busting your dumb asses for conspiracy," Rolando says. Truck and Shawn sit, frozen and horrified. "You know you're talking about thirty-six years to life," he says. "Federal time. No parole." Shawn works his mouth for twenty minutes, and finally says that he doesn't think Bobby can be a Fed. "Not the way he was snorting powder the other day." Rolando cocks an interested brow. "What?" he asks. "This cat is a Hoover, man! He was just getting keyed yesterday. Tore up!" Truck explains. Rolando thinks and finally says that if Bobby wants to meet him, he'll do it. But they've only got one way out of this. "Make sure he's not alive to testify," Rolando instructs.
Cut to Sharonda's house. Truck is strung out and ultra-paranoid. He creeps around the house, hearing the cops in everything: the children's games, the radio, the neighbors talking. The way this has been filmed makes this scene almost look like a dream, but I think it's just the Truck's Totally High-O-Cam. Finally, Truck can't take it anymore. He grabs his stash and starts flushing it down the toilet. He's not going a very meticulous job, however -- you have to be careful destroying your stash, people -- and he's plugging the toilet. Eventually, Sharonda swings by and wonders what the hell he's doing. Water laps at Truck's feet as he yells at her to take the kids and her mother and go to a movie. "Oh my God. You think the police are coming?" she asks. The toilet continues to overflow. Dude, take the lid off and fiddle with the thingie inside! How Truck got this far in the drug-dealing world, I'll never know. "It ain't going down," Sharonda deadpans." "I can see that, Sharonda!" Truck yelps. "It's getting lumpy," she tells him, but he just yells at her to go get him a plunger. She wanders off to find one, the children in tow. Truck keeps pouring cocaine into the water. Eventually, an older woman -- who must be Sharonda's mother -- decides to investigate what the fuss is all about. "Dammit, boy, what are you doing to my pipes?" she asks. Truck assures her that everything is going to be fine. "Fine? And you dumping all that money down my toilet? You musta lost your mind," she snaps. Truck looks up at her, helplessly. "Gimme that. Give it here! " she asks, and snatches the knapsack holding the cocaine. "I'll put this away, you damn fool," she snaps.
Over at the DEA, Bobby somehow manages to convince Doug Duffy to let him bring Delia along on the raid.
Back in Mexico, a shiny Escalade pulls up in front of the police station. Several of Miguel's men -- including Head Henchman Hector -- spill out and storm inside. They march right back to Chato's cell. Hector takes out his phone and makes a call. Lazareno comes running up, waving his pistol, but Hector calmly hands him the phone. "It's for you. It's your uncle. The senator," he says. Lazareno furrows his brow. "Tio?" he asks, and puts the phone to his ear. "No, I won't let him out....Because he's a killer!" he says into the phone, making a very appalled face. He sighs. He flares his nostrils. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Don't ask me to do this. Please," he says. More heaving. Flare. Flare. Heave. I think this actor took a correspondence course from the James Van Der Beek School of Acting. Finally, Lazareno hangs up, looking beaten. Well, theoretically beaten. I'm sure the actual beating is yet to come. He puts his gun away. "Open the gate," he whispers.
So, Hector and the men go in to fetch poor Chato, who's spent this entire scene staring at the floor. Hector touches his shoulder gently, and Chato flinches as though he'd been burned. He looks up and, man, he looks like hell. Hector gives Lazareno a supremely dirty look as Chato painfully rises to his feet. He really doesn't even look at happy to be sprung. He walks out into the hallway -- painfully, which I suppose is fairly accurate -- and stops right in front of Lazareno. The men exchange a long look. Dude, Lazareno is so very dead. Finally, Chato just shuffles away.
In Houston, Dr. Benben arrives home to find his apartment ransacked. "Son of a bitch!" he mutters.
The Hotel de Queso. This location is fabulously gorgeous. I wonder where it is. Inside, Chato stands in Miguel's office and stares wistfully out the window. "Coward. He'll be begging me to die," he mutters. Miguel stands and comes over. "Chato, listen to me," he says. "This is over. If we kill Lazareno now, we'll lose our leverage with the senator. We'll bring the entire government down on us. Forget about this." Chato blinks back tears. "You don't know what happened in that jail," he says. "What do you mean?" Miguel asks. Chato turns and faces him and stares at him for a full minute. "You don't know what happened," he repeats. Miguel reaches to touch him, but Chato pushes his brother's hands away roughly. "Don't tell me not to kill Lazareno," he cries. "I'd rather die than go through this." Miguel shrugs. "You shouldn't have screwed his wife," he points out. Dude! That is cold! "Wow. I'm really kind of mean," Miguel's Mole whispers. "What?" Chato asks, somewhat incredulously. "I told you to leave her alone and you defied me," Miguel continues. "What did you think the consequences of that would be? Hmm?" Well, I doubt he thought the consequences would involve his ass in a deeply personal way, Miguel. "You are not killing Lazareno," Miguel repeats, firmly. Chato looks...bad. Hurt and furious and sort of insane. "Not now. That would destroy La Corporacion," Miguel says. Chato swallows. "Business comes first, huh?" he asks. Miguel has no visible response to this. "The family comes first. The whole family," he says. La Familia count: I have totally lost count. Let's just say...73. The brothers stare at each other. "Either you live with this, or we'll all end up paying for your mistake," Miguel advises coolly. At this, Chato grabs Miguel by the lapel and pulls him in. "What if they had raped Marlene?" he forces through gritted teeth. "Would you be talking to me like that?" Miguel says nothing. "Try and stop me from doing what I have to do...You're dead to me. Entiendes? Nothing," Chato snaps, and releases his brother after one final long look. Chato storms away. Miguel looks slightly out of sorts, but I'm not entirely sure why. For all we know, he could be planning Chato's death, to keep them all out of hot water with the Senator. He certainly doesn't seem all that pissed about the fact that someone raped his brother. At the very least, he could offer poor Chato a drink!
DEA! Doug Duffy is briefing his troops on that evening's raid. They plan to hit the club, the recording studio, and Sharonda's house simultaneously. "Now, the target is going to be inside the strip club with the undercover," Doug Duffy continues, and tells the group to get a good look at Bobby, so that no one accidentally plugs him. Doug Duffy explains that Bobby is going to be carrying a pen with an alert button. When they hear it, Delia will be sent in to cover the door. Thirty seconds later, the rest of them hit the front door. "Okay, and remember, we are the good guys. Good luck!" Doug Duffy concludes.
In Houston, Dr. Benben rushes Junie -- who's carrying knapsack as though he's moving in -- into the apartment. "I want to show you this," he says, waving around at his supremely messy apartment. He picks up a destroyed vase. "I feel so violated." Junie makes himself comfortable on a recliner, as Dr. Benben asks him to stay at the apartment and ferret out who ripped it apart. "Man, you don't need me protecting your crib. You need me watching your back, 24/7," Junie opines, then points out that it's not like the burglars even took anything. "I don't keep anything here!" Dr. Benben says. "No cash, no information, no nothing." Junie nods and looks around. "I'm-a need a gun. I'm-a need a few guns," he says, thoughtfully. After a bit of a back and forth about firearms, Junie convinces Dr. Benben to come with him to pick up some weaponry.
Apparently, the best place to get some guns in Houston is the neighborhood's upscale mortuary. I can't wait for the Fishers to run out of cash and be forced to start selling guns on the black market on the season of Six Feet Under. The manager shows them to a casket that's been filled with guns. "We have whatever you may need," he tells them, with a Vanna White-esque wave of his arm. It's very funny. He shows them a few pistols, and then removes a particularly deadly one. "If you want to go, 'down and dirty,'" he says -- complete with air quotes -- "we have this weapon. It's very nice. It will only cost you five." Dr. Benben immediately hands the firearm to Junie. "Lovely," he chokes. June wonders, conversationally, if he has any 15-shot mags. The mortician sniffs that those are hard to come by, but then slides open a drawer, revealing several deadly-looking weapons. "Might I interest you gentlemen in the sawed-off?" he asks delicately, removing a shotgun. "No, but you can interest me in this right here," Junie says, taking out a semi-automatic. "Oh, my goodness, that will get your point across," the mortician smiles. At this, Dr. Benben drags Junie over to a corner and wonders pointedly if they really need all that firepower. "It's better to have and not need, than need and not have," Junie tells him serenely. He's very Zen, no?
Casa de Queso. Joey plays videogames in his room. Miguel and Marlene come inside and very nicely interrogate him about his recent communion wine/chalice shenanigans. "Sweetie, only the priest can do that," Marlene tells him. "What you did was a sin," Miguel explains. Joey sniffles that he knows that, and Miguel asks why he did it, then. "I wanted to know what a sin felt like," Joey offers. Well, that was a stupid reason. Try "Because I wanted to drink some wine, because I'm twelve." Marlene and Miguel just exchange looks. Whoever could be teaching Joey bad behavior? Not his drug-kingpin father, surely!
We cut to a steam room, where two policemen and a guy with a towel over his face sit and shoot the shit. Chato looking evil, mad, bruised, and pretty hot, stalks down the hall with a knife in each hand. He slits the guard's throat and then kicks his way into the steam room. He takes out Policeman #1 by throwing a knife right into his chest. That rocked. He threw a knife! Into a guy's chest! He takes out the Policeman #2 by flinging him against the wall and stabbing him several times in the gut. The other guy? With the towel over his face? It's Lazareno, who knows that his time on this earth is very nearly up. Chato struts over to him and backs him into a corner. Lazareno screams as Chato bears down on him with the knife, and we cut to black.
Tuesday: the finale! Guns! Torture! Blow-torches! Shooting! Running! Screaming! Nudity? Keep your fingers crossed.