It's a night for dead ladies. Let us count the ways:
RIP, Rita: She's dead before the credits roll. This is devastating to Sheriff Roosevelt, of course, and by the end of the episode, he's vowed to destroy SAMCRO. And given what the club gets up to, it's hard not to root for him. The significant side effect of the Roosevelt plotline: We confirm that the falsely-infirm Clay is indeed masterminding the home invasions. He is shocked -- shocked! -- to discover that his plans have gone gaft agley. But I challenge you, the reader, to tell me: When do any of Clay's plans ever work out? I mean, none of them are ever labeled "Let's shoot some innocent people then pretend to feel bad while we feel sorry for ourselves because nothing ever breaks our way." (Also: Unser lets Clay know that he totally knows what's going on. It is a wonderful scene and I can't wait to recap it.)
RIP, Carla: Some of you may have been privy to my horrified capslock tweet about the Flowers in the Attic turn this plot took. If not, get your eyeball bleach prepped and lock in. It turns out Carla is Nero's half-sister, crazy in love with him, and ready to introduce some gunplay into their (one-sided) relationship. She ambushes Gemma at gunpoint and calls Nero over to Gemma's place, persuades the two to undress -- a gun can be very persuasive -- then orders Gemma to perform oral sex on Nero. Gemma flashes back to her rape in Season Two and loses it, which spurs Nero on to new heights of companionator gallantry; he refuses to continue these sordid naked monkeyshines, and when he demands that Carla just shoot him already, she turns the gun on herself. Gemma promises Nero she'll handle the cleanup, and her idea of handling it turns out to be "let's have Clay clean this up." Clay is on it like a sunbonnet because he can use this as an excuse to check up on Gemma constantly, and keep Carla's body around for Nero-framing purposes later, no doubt. (Also: Unser goes two for two in ass-kicking scenes tonight when he tells Gemma he's really sick of her playing the damsel in distress to get him to do things for her.)
RIP, woman who had the misfortune to be married to a jackball of the first water: So Jax and Damon have a little tête-à-tête in the interests of fraternity, business transactions and wringing as much juice out of Harold Perrineau's marvelous banked-coals-of -evil performance. Pope makes Jax an offer he doesn't want to refuse: Since the club is already ferrying massive amounts of cocaine for the cartel, what's another 30 keys or so on top of that? It's $100K worth of business per run, is what it is. Jax decides this is a smart play, (barely) gets the club to sign off on it, gets his veritable United Nations of criminal compadres in Oakland in line, then tells Pope the good news. So Pope's lieutenant tosses him the address of the guard that set up Opie's death. It's not unlike going to a sales meeting and getting a free pen, right? ANYWAY. Jax heads over to the house with Chibs, Tig and Bobby to kill Captain Jackball while his wife's at work. Unfortunately, she happens to be home, so guess who Tig kills? Jax calls it "collateral damage," then beats the guard to death with a snow globe.
At least Tara maintained some small shred of dignity: To the surprise of approximately zero viewers, it turns out that Tara's volunteer gig at the pen -- which apparently was not vetted in the slightest, or else someone would have noticed that notorious criminal Jax Teller's old lady was suddenly trying to get into the joint -- was a ploy to get to Otto and plead with him to recant his testimony. Otto tells Tara to blow him. Tara, thank God, refuses. But she lies like a rug about the whole thing to Jax, a move that will doubtlessly not come back to haunt her at all.
Morning has broken, like Tara's ulna. Gemma stumbles into the Teller-Knowles kitchen and sheepishly smiles at Tara, who's already up and feeding Thomas. Gemma and Tara exchange some chit-chat about how Jax put them all to bed, and Tara exposits that Jax is already up and out the door; he's in Oakland on club business. As Gemma sits down at the table with a cup of coffee, Tara says casually, "I have some meetings off-site today. Want to stop by and check on them?" Gemma looks at Tara over the coffee cup all, If I had known all it would take to earn your trust was giving you the opportunity to pimp-slap a madam around your husband's garage, I'd have pulled that out four episodes ago.
Then she sees the paper. Somehow, Rita's assault in the home invasion has already made the front page of the daily, but in a move that demonstrates why print is a dying medium, the editor of the Charming Chump Change has stuck the story below the fold. If you'll forgive me my indulging in one of the media industry's worst habits -- i.e. its workers gassing on about how the media operates -- let me tell you this: If Charming really is that small and there really is a pattern of home invasions, the sheriff's wife getting gut-shot is going to lead the front page. Probably in bold, Christ-is-risen-sized type. The lower left hand corner is where you stick meat-and-potatoes crap like "Realtor commissions being used to fund correctional facility for home flippers."
ANYWAY. Gemma's horrified by this happening to Rita, and asks, "What is happening to us?" (I love how Rita is an "us" to Gemma.) We zip to Oakland, where Jax is showing the same paper to Pope and outlining why this is now a very big problem, and Pope points out that nobody in his employ -- direct or otherwise -- is linked to these. Jax asks for his help in finding out about these attacks, because he needs to shut them down before the sheriff decides to appoint a gang task force (location: the Teller-Knowles living room), and Pope promises to see what he can find out.
Jax then pulls out a big wad of cash and hands over the $50,000 from the last drug-muling job. Pope picks up the bag, casually tucks it away, then says, "You're an impressive young man." "Yeah, I get that a lot," Jax deadpans. Pope says, "I got a proposal for you and SAMCRO." Jax replies, "Does it involve children and bonfires?" Pope takes a moment to collect himself -- after all, he can afford to be patient with this idiot, since he is the one with the vast network of authority figures on his payroll and SAMCRO has ... a companionator -- and then says, "You are currently hauling back 20, 30 keys, yes? If you were to double your haul-back, say, 60 keys, I could move that in a day." Jax would like to know where, and Pope assures him that the cocaine would go to Reno and Vegas, courtesy of the Niners. Pope shrugs, "No bigger risk for you. Thirty, 40, 100 keys, it's all the same trafficking charge." Pope has a point. If you're going to go to jail for distribution, why not go big before you go inside?
Jax wants to know what's in it for his crew. The answer? Pope suspends the 50 percent cut and adds another $100,000 to each run. So in one conversation, Jax could turn his club's $50,000 net into a $200,000 net. Except... "My crew wants out of the drug game," he says. Pope replies quietly, "What do you want?"
And here goes Pope, offering all sorts of valuable leadership advice via one-liners. He tells Jax to talk it over with the rest of the unwashed heathens in his crew while he does the heavy lifting with the Mayans, the Niners and Lin the weapons guy. If Jax decides it makes sense for SAMCRO to quadruple their earnings on the same amount of risk, then take the meeting. If not, feel free to keep making these runs for $50,000 while the club fumes over the set-up. Jax nods. Then Pope throws in one more tiny incentive: "I'll also kick back two percent of my profits on the 30 keys -- to you. Gentlemen's agreement, just between us." (Oh, he's goooooood.) Jax is boggled by this: "You make millions in real estate and other legit trade. Why are you still in this? Is it the rush?" Pope smiles, "I'm just a businessman, son. And my most profitable and most reliable business is narcotics. It always has been. I've learned how to do it the right way. With the right people, there is no risk." Jax looks very thoughtful upon hearing this. Perhaps he's mentally reviewing his people and realizing how very few of them are equipped to successfully order a meal from McDonald's drive-thru, much less build a consequences-free crime empire.
And let me interject again: Pope is gooooooood at taking people down. Because what are the two biggest threats SAMCRO can bring to the criminal ecosystem? A fanatical sense of brotherhood and a very smart president. But the president is due to overthinking, so get him musing on how useless his "brothers" are -- and further divide him by giving him a secret profit pipeline that he knows will displease the rest of the club if they learn of its existence -- and it's only a matter of time before the club's falling apart and there's a smart gangster in need of a new organization to serve. I'm going to enjoy seeing how Pope continues to manipulate Jax into destroying his own club.
Back at the hospital, Unser approaches Roosevelt in the waiting room. We learn that Rita's got some of the skin from her attackers under her fingernails, and that Roosevelt's on mandatory leave for ten days. Unser asks, "Anything I can do? I'm here -- sounding board, whatever." Roosevelt is convinced that this is the East Dub crew hitting him in retaliation for the scene in the police office last week. Unser's not too sure: "They answer to Damon Pope. Doubt he'd sign off on hitting a sheriff." But he does agree with Roosevelt that the attack's tied to SAMCRO. The conversation's interrupted by a grim-faced doctor...
And the scene is Roosevelt silently approaching Rita as a nurse takes off her pulse monitor. The nurse says, "I'm very sorry," then leaves Roosevelt to stand at the foot of his dead wife's bed alone.
In another part of the hospital, we find out that Clay is the picture of health. OF COURSE. He doesn't need the oxygen any more -- but that's not stopping him from using it as a prop to convince poor dumb Juicy that he's still an enfeebled old man. As the two are walking down the hall, Clay catches sight of Unser getting coffee at a hospital vending machine and tells Juice, "I'll meet you at the van." Like the well-trained puppy he is, Juice goes where he's told, and the old men sit down for a confab. Unser informs Clay that Rita's dead (Clay: "Jesus Christ.") and Clay is all, "MY HOW AWFUL IT IS THAT THE EAST DUB CREW WROUGHT SUCH TERRIBLE VENGEANCE UPON AN INNOCENT WOMAN." Unser deadpans, "They'd be the obvious suspect." "And Pope runs them," Clay says, and the only reason he doesn't twirl his mustache is because his prop oxygen cannula is in the way.
"That's what don't make sense to me," Unser says thoughtfully. "Everybody knows that Pope is tied to the streets, but nobody can touch him because he's too smart. Attacking a cop's wife? That ain't smart." Clay leans back and asks, "You got another theory?" Unser does: "It feels local to me, you know. Like someone in Charming maybe working out a personal beef. Somebody stirring the pot, getting folks all scared." Then Unser looks at Clay directly and delivers the stinger: "Trying to tear shit up from the inside." Clay asks Unser if he's got any proof. Not yet, says the man who has just had his worst suspicions confirmed. Unser sounds almost satisfied as he adds that Rita clawed at one of the guys and the skin sample's already on its way to the lab. The two men sit there for a moment, neither saying anything, and I am reminded of one of my favorite lines from The Lion in Winter: "I know. You know I know. I know you know I know." Both Unser and Clay know that the other knows. (And oh my gosh, do I love how Unser just put Clay's crap in the street without saying anything directly.)
Gemma has made it home, showered, and is now puttering around her house, picking up a wine glass off the dining room table, walking into the kitchen past the erect form of Carla -- wait, what? Yes. Carla is still and silent as the grave, just watching, and Gemma's reaction when she turns around and finally sees Carla at the table -- "OH! Oh, sh -- shit!" -- is, all things considered, quite restrained. Also, that she's still standing after that fright is a testament to what a great job the surgeons did on her heart back in the day. Carla trains a gun on Gemma and orders her to the bedroom. She also calls Nero and asks him to swing by. (And on a totally superficial note: When Gemma's barefaced with her hair down and wet? She looks really good. I've said it before and I will say it again: Girlfriend needs a makeunder.)
While all that is going on, SAMCRO's in church and Jax is giving a rundown of his morning meeting with Pope. He and Bobby are selling the Pope deal hard, but Clay's running it down: "They're giving you easy money, too good to pass up, but before you know it, you're in shackles calling them, 'Massa.'" Oooh, nice callback to SAMCRO's racist roots. Jax says pointedly, "My club is never gonna be anyone's boy." And ooh, nice callback to the Real IRA. He calls a vote. It's a narrow one: the nomads, Juice and Clay vote against, but all the other regulars vote for it. (Tig and Chibs are obviously reluctant, but they appear to be backing Jax rather than the deal.) As one of the nomads heads out, we see that he's got a huge gouge on his neck. We'll see you as corpse-of-the-week week, no doubt!
After the meeting ends, Bobby notes to Jax that the vote was uncomfortably close, but does not add, "What the hell, Juice?" Maybe he's going to outsource that query to Chibs.
And now, we see that Tara's volunteering at the prison clinic, because apparently nobody in the California penal system thinks it's a good idea to vet any volunteers and see who their known associates are. Also, so long as we're suspending disbelief, Tara's managed to scrub the patina of Old Lady off her face and hair and looks like an actual reputable professional. Will it surprise anyone to know she's making an appointment for Otto to have a checkup?
So Unser was swinging by to check in on Gemma -- he and Clay had agreed that the Rita news would have her rattled -- but right as he pulls up, he sees Nero sprinting inside. Clearing confusing "panic" for "insane, middle-aged lust," he mutters, "You've got to be shitting me," and drives off, thereby reducing the odds that Gemma will be rescued from this foolishness.
And indeed, we're now in full-on batshit crazy plot development mode. Carla's got both Nero and Gemma in the bedroom and she orders them to strip naked and get in bed. There are the usual protests and Carla puts the gun to Gemma's temple and purrs, "Do it, sweet brother, or I'm going to kill you." As I tweeted last week: "OH HOLY CATS, WE HAVE HIT FLOWERS IN THE ATTIC PLOTLINE. REPEAT: WE HAVE HIT FLOWERS IN THE ATTIC PLOTLINE."
So, because Jimmy Smits doesn't need much of an excuse to show America his rear end, everyone ends up doing as Carla wants.
Jax is back in Oakland -- and let me tell you, as someone living in the 510, I personally find it hilarious that going from this isolated foothill town in San Joaquin county to the docks of Oakland is apparently no more trouble than heading down to Starbucks -- and meeting up with Alvarez, Lin, and whichever poor sucker is now heading the One-Niners. Jax sells the new deal with, "We got to think outside the hood, boys. Staying in Pope's sunshine is good for all of us." And since the cartel is down with this, Alvarez's fears have been put to rest. Everyone is, in the deathless words of Fred Durst, in agreement that this is going to go down. Jax ends with a quip: "Let's do this more often. I miss you guys." The feeling may not be mutual.
Pope's second-in-command, August, drives up and hands Jax a name and address. It's not linked to the home invasions, but "Mr. Pope thought this might be some goodwill. Prove his intentoons are above board and looking forward." Jax looks down at the paper, then looks up at August with a grim satisfaction.
The shot is of August and Bobby, Chibs and Jax rolling by the house. Look! It's Sergeant Jerkstore, who ran the betting pool on Opie's death! He's got a John Deere motor and white picket fence and approximately twenty minutes left to live if the look on Jax's face is any indication. August helpfully points out that Mrs. Jerkstore works at a chicken place down the street, and she'll be at work until six. (And really, after a long day of wrassling poultry, who wouldn't be thrilled to walk into the door to a dead husband? This might just make her night.)
Meanwhile, back at the Morrow ranch, Gemma and Nero are in bed per Carla's request. Unsurprisingly, Nero is having difficulty maintaining an erection. Carla casually waves her gun at Gemma and orders her, "Get him hard. Suck his dick." Then she surges forward with the gun, and Gemma just loses it, which is totally understandable for someone who's what, maybe two and a half years past a brutal gang rape? Gemma's breakdown galvanizes Nero to get out of bed, turns around and slaps his back, challenging Carla to shoot him. Then he turns around and shouts at her to shoot him. Carla, tearing up for the first time, gives him a small smile and says, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to go out watching you do your thing." Then she shoots herself in the head, much to Gemma and Nero's horror. On the bright side, Gemma, you and Tara can now bond over the challenges of getting a nutbar's corpse out of your bedroom and scrubbing the bloodstains out of the carpet!
In the scene, Nero is praying softly in Spanish while Gemma ineffectually pats his back. Then she fishes for the 411 on Carla: she was Nero's half-sister: "I found her down in San Berdoo. Got her into rehab, put her on the right meds. She was the one who helped me turn legit." "Guess she was in love with you," Gemma adds unnecessarily. Nero shrugs all, Such is my lot. I makes the ladies mad with the love. Then he laughs, "Yeah. And the sister thing made that a little messy." "Yeah. Yeah, I can see that," Gemma dryly replies. Anyway, after Gemma came along, it was a short trip to Faye-Dunaway-in-Chinatown "She's my sister! And my daughter!"-style lunacy for poor Carla, who went off her meds. Gemma is genuinely sorry, and tells Nero she'll handle disposing of the remains. Nero is happy to be told what to do here -- it makes things less confusing, no doubt -- and Gemma is happy to be back to mothering big strong gangster men.
In a sign that the times, they are a-changin', her call to Unser goes unanswered because he's too busy checking out the scene at the Roosevelts' like he's legitimate police or something. Unser is taking this home invasion business really personally.
Following his last ever lawn-mowing, Sergeant Jerkstore is enjoying a beer in his kitchen when Chibs comes in and says coldly, "Hey, shitbag." (Do I need to mention that he's armed? He's armed. Also, his hoodie is up which, combined with his Louise Brooks Bob, is making him look disturbingly like the Morton's Salt Girl.) The sergeant goes for whatever firearm he's got stashed in his drawer, but a well-aimed bullet deters him. Then Jax rolls up and asks, "Remember me? I keep my promises." Just then, Mrs. Jerkstore comes out in her bathroom, brandishing a shotgun and telling Jax, Chibs, Tig and Bobby to leave. Guess she called in sick. This is a hell of a way to come out of the Nyquil coma. Anyway, her initial shotgun blast startles the boys, and Sergeant Jerkstore exercises the little-used "In the event of a home invasion, 'for better or for worse' totally does not apply" clause in the marital vows and breaks for the back yard. Bobby and Tig proceed to disarm the missus -- she gets in a good swipe at Tig, which gives him scratches that match the ones Rita left on whichever worthless nomad whose name I refuse to remember -- while Jax and Chibs pull Sergeant Jerkstore off the back fence. And honestly, this was about the time I expected to hear sirens, because we've had multiple gunshots ringing out and surely some neighbor's called 911?
Evidently the Jerkstores lived in a neighborhood devoid of any stay-at-home parents, the underemployed or retired, as nobody's called. This allows the horror show to proceed unimpeded. The Jerkstores are bound and their mouths covered in duct tape. Mr. Jerkstore's on his knees, execution-style. Mrs. Jerkstore's on a chair. Bobby jerks his chin at her and says, "This one's a problem." Tig shrugs, "No, she's not," then puts a bullet through her head. Which... whoa. I suppose Tig's done with accidentally killing people's wives now. Both Chibs and Bobby are disgusted by it, but Jax seems to be suppressing a grin as he says, "She's collateral damage for Ope's murder." Bobby points to the Widower Jerkstore and says, "What about him?" Jax says, "Find a pipe." Oh, shit just got literary.
Meanwhile, it's a busy day for Jax's missus. She's meeting with Otto, who is d-o-n-e with club life. So done. So very done, in fact, that he doesn't bother to show the MC president's old lady any of the respect due to her office and cordially invites her to blow him. Fighting back tears, Tara's all, "I won't do that." Then Otto won't be recanting his testimony against Bobby. He asks the guard to take him away and leaves Tara to marinate in the sewage of her life choices, because she's just realized that at the end of the day, any legitimate respect she may have had as a gifted medical professional is being eroded by the mirage of courtesy that a handful of bikers give her when it's expedient.
So while I do not love that Gemma has called CLAY to deal with her little corpse-on-the-floor problem, I do love that she got fully kitted out in her power drag (skin-tight jeans, skyscraper heels) and put on her face and did her hair before calling her ex. Gemma has clearly delineated priorities. That being said, she also has a case of the stupids, because what is the last thing you'd want to give an ex who has a proven track record of manipulating people based on the secrets he holds over them? LEVERAGE IN THE FORM OF A CORPSE. Forum posters, start your pool on how long it takes before Carla's body surfaces, it looks like a Nero hit, and Clay brings it up at church all, "How can we go into business with this guy? I'm so concerned for the club!"
Sergeant Jerkstore still isn't dead yet, mostly because Tig couldn't find a length of pipe lying around and mysteriously lacks the wrench skills to just detach a length from the plumbing. This does not speak well of his work as a mechanic. Hey... remember how in Season One, these guys would nominally pretend to work as mechanics in between criminal capers? Who do you suppose is running the shop now? Or have the people of Charming finally accepted that Teller Morrow Motors is pretty much the most erratic repair shop in town? Anyway, I am blathering on about things utterly unrelated to this scene because really, there are only so many ways you can beat a man to death with a snowglobe and Jax has exhausted them all in the first two minutes of his bludgeoning. When he's done, he does look strangely at peace.
The scene has Tig sharing his plans to bury the bodies, with some extra strategery thrown in by Bobby, who would prefer that the two corpses not be discovered by hikers any time soon. Bobby wanders off and Chibs calls to Tig, "Hey!" He slings an arm around him and asks, "You okay?" Tig takes a drag on his cigarette and says, "Yeah. I am. That was really good for me." Chibs pauses for a moment, then gives Tig an affectionate smooch. It is both adorable and deeply disturbing.
Jax takes the time to call the missus, but she's decided not to answer. She's off to check in on her kids at the day care. Gemma is there, happily high-fiving with Abel, and it is the sweetest thing ever. I totally buy it: toddlers are live-in-the-moment creatures, and it is infinitely preferable to live in a moment dominated by someone who loves giving low-fives as opposed to dwelling on a past filled with crazy gun-wielding madams, no?
Gemma and Tara share a moment of genuine happiness over how much they dig Abel, then promptly lie to one another about how boring their mornings were. Gemma says too-casually, "Well, I got someone cleaning rugs at the house. Good to see you." She gives Tara a kiss on the cheek, noms on Abel some more, then takes off.
Jax has an afternoon meeting with Pope, who's all, "Settled your score?" He did. Pope asks testily, "And you still think I'm responsible for the attacks in Charming?" Jax admits, "I'm trying to put together another scenario that makes sense." But on the bright side: the distribution deal's a go. Pope says dismissively, "Good. Glad it all worked out." He is p-i-s-s-e-d that Jax has not wholly let him off the hook on suspicion of the home invasions, and he's doing his best to master it. As Jax goes to get out of the car, Pope says, "Look inside. These attacks ... friends, family, now cops. All that blowback lands in your lap. Somebody's trying to compromise you." "So trust no-one," Jax mutters sullenly. "Loyalty has contingencies," Pope points out. "Look. You know what happens if I take a bullet? Independent security contractors: first one who kills my killer get $5 million dollars. Fear protects me; greed insures me." Jax snots about what a very valuable $5 million lesson he's learned and Pope -- who is born educator, going by how he warms to the challenge of pounding wisdom into Jax's pomaded skull -- says brightly, "You don't need money, Jackson. Just the ability to see the inevitable. Have a good night." And that's one to grow on, Jax.
Gemma is still stalking through the hospital and she runs into Unser. "Hey, I tried calling you," she starts, and Unser grunts, "Oh, yeah? What did you need now?" Coming from Unser? That's like being savaged by a hamster -- surprising and surprisingly painful if the bite lands in the right place. Unser tries to escape with, "I gotta check on Eli," and Gemma immediately asks, "Where's he land on this?" Unser is all, you are UNBELIEVABLE and rolls his eyes as he says, "He lands with a dead wife." Gemma tartly asks what's up with Unser, and he awkwardly asks what's up with Nero. Gemma pulls a Biz Markie and says he's just a friend, he's just a friend, oh baby, yoooou -- I'm sorry. You're going to have that earworm in your head all day now. Anyway, Unser says, "Am I a friend, Gemma? Same kind of friend? When should we [talk about this]? time you kiss me?" Gemma tries to bat her eyes and coo that she's too damaged to be in a real relationship and Unser bites off, "There ain't no 'us' and you don't got friends. You just got people that would do shit for you. And then you throw the poor suckers a smile and a promise to keep 'em coming back." Holy cats, Unser is two-for-two on telling the Morrows what's what this week. Start the pool on which one is more likely to kill him first.
That said, Unser does have a point. What Gemma needs now is not more men in her life. What she needs is a good group of girlfriends who can, like, read Gone Girl with her in book club and have drunken Miss America viewing parties and drag her out for some retail therapy on a regular basis. It's really telling that her old lady contemporaries are mostly either dead (LuAnn) or out of the life (Bobby Elvis's ex, Tig's ex, Piney's ex).
So Tig, Bobby and Chibs are rolling along a back road after their busy day of double homicide when Roosevelt comes roaring up in a wood-paneled station wagon and runs the three of them off the road. Bobby wipes out in a particularly spectacular fashion and the other two bikers rush to his aid first. Once we've established that Bobby Elvis is still in one big, hairy piece, Roosevelt runs over and Chibs rushes him, screaming, "What is your problem, you big, doony bastard?" Roosevelt lets his right hook answer for him. And then, darkness fall with a thud. Chibs and Bobby are off fixing Bobby's bike -- good lord, nobody in this BIKE CLUB can actually keep a bike from being mangled this season -- and Jax walks over. He opens with a compliment ("That was some outlaw shit there"), then moves into condolences. Roosevelt says, "It's tied to your club. I know it is." Jax says, "No-one wants these attacks to end more than me. If SAMCRO takes the heat, all this shit lands in my lap." Roosevelt says quietly, "Well, you reap what you sow. I'm going to crush your club." As he walks away, Jax calls out, "I just had a conversation with Damon Pope. He assures me these attacks aren't him, which means we ain't the cause... why don't we help each other find the scumbags who are shitting on this town?" Eli says, "First Unser, then the MC. Just s few brothers working together, huh?" Jax pours out all the sincerity he can muster and says, "I can't imagine the pain you're in right now. But we ain't the cause. Please let me know if I can help. And don't do this again." Jax melts into the darkness, leaving the widower alone.
And now, a fun little scene between Nero and Clay in the Morrow household. Clay basically asks Nero what his intentions with Gemma are, and Nero is all, "Look, I've really had a day, here ..." Clay drops it.
And why is Gemma not there? Because the morning's adventure failed to impress upon her that this is what happens when she goes trawling for strange men in bars and so she is back on the prowl.
Jax finally makes it home, asks Tara about her day, and she's all, "I totally did not talk to Otto! So... um. There is that." Jax tells her that she doesn't have to get to Otto, but Tara insists she's the only way to get to Otto, so she's in. Bobby nods approvingly and Tara eats up that ersatz approval. She asks how Oakland went, and Jax is all, "I totally did not beat a man to death with a snowglobe today! So, you know, booooooring." Married people! They never talk anymore.
Oh, wait. Jax wants to go up to the cabin for a few days and decompress. There is that pesky matter of who's going to watch them ... and if Gemma has recovered sufficiently from The Jeff Winger Experience, perhaps it will be her. We shall see in the episode.
And for the final scene of the night ... Juice drops Clay off and gets a, "You did good today, Juicy," to which Juice replies, "Thanks, Father Figure! I'm totally not half-black!" -- well, nonverbally -- and zooms off. Clay goes inside and the Feeble Old Man act is completely gone as he greets Greg the Peg with a vicious punch, then shouts angrily at the nomads, "Idiots! You weren't supposed to kill her!" And thus the five viewers who were in doubt that Clay was in charge of these home invasions are now disabused of their ambivalence.
Lisa Schmeiser is an Oakland-adjacent reporter and blogger. She'll always talk with you about this show on Twitter and she blogs at Penny Wiseacre.