Speak of the devil: Fred approaches as Groo goes to dump out a bucket of water. Cordy gushes about the wonderfulness of Groo, describing him as "a puppy dog. A sexy, well-built, go-all-night puppy dog." Yipes. Fred somehow isn't traumatized to death by that, and keeps trying to ask something. Cordy's mind-reading powers are activated, and she interrupts to say, "You want me to say something to Angel about Wesley. Sorry. Can't. Won't." Based on Fred's reaction, I'm shocked to realize that for once, Cordelia has accurately read someone's mind. That practically never happens. Anyway, Fred whines, "Can you imagine how much pain [Wesley's] in? How horrible he must be feeling?" Hi, Fred? If you're so worried about Wesley, maybe you should go visit him or something. With less self-righteous yelling than on your last visit. Why is she acting as if she can't talk to Wesley unless Angel forgives him? Sheesh. If I wanted to yell at people for meddling in each other's business instead of tending to their own, I'd watch The Real World. Cordy snaps, "Angel's feelings are the only ones I care about. He's my priority." Naturally, that's when Groo comes back in and stops dead to listen. Great, now it's Three's Company. Cordy goes on to remind us that she's part demon, because, once again, it's been two scenes since that was mentioned. Groo turns to leave because he knows about this already, and I wish I could follow him. Dear David Fury, I realize us kids are famed for short attention spans, but we can actually remember basic plot elements without this constant repetition. Love, Strega. P.S. See how annoying that is? I think I've made my point. Mid-exposition, Cordy suddenly has a vision of Angel getting tossed across the lobby. Actually, it looks like he's just attempting some kind of Gotta Dance spin away from the camera, and then tumbling to the floor. It's a lot more amusing if you think Cordy's having a vision warning her that Angel is going to try to dance. Cordy says, "Angel?" and he wanders out to see what's going on. Before Cordy can warn Angel against tap-dancing, Cary enters, wearing an overcoat and a trilby, and looking quite dashing in a Humphrey Bogart way, if I do say so myself. I like hats, okay? Cary says there's a "big brouhaha at the juice bar across the street."
Phil's face is starting to look like an ad for moisturizer. The other customers flee as he tosses the worker around and gulps down juice straight from the blender. As Angel and the MoG stroll inside, Cordy is gibbering about the vision she had, and Angel's trying to get her to focus on the problem at hand. On his way out, the worker warns them that Phil has "Ebola or something." Groo asks if that's "a weapon forged in magic," and Cary says, "No, forged in monkey poo." Long way for that punchline, but on the other hand who am I to judge? Angel goes toward the counter and tells Phil, "Okay, sir, you wanna just put down the super size?" Heh. Phil turns, and Angel recognizes him as the not-quite-client from that morning. Fred looks inside Phil's wallet and identifies him as "Phillip J. Spivey, from Inglewood." Angel edges closer to Phil and tries his customer service mannerisms again as he suggests that they go back to his office. It works about as well as it did before: Phil growls, "We're thirsty!" and tries to throw an appliance at Angel. Angel quickly punches Phil in the face, knocking him unconscious. And then he turns to the MoG and chirps, "Looks like we got a case!" Oh dear. He's getting gleeful again. Cordelia, why'd you tell him to focus on something besides Connor? Let him brood all he wants. It's better than the alternative.