Rothstein, in New York, is on the phone with his lawyer, in Chicago. Things are going really badly with the Black Sox scandal, with half the team now indicted. Arnold is airing out his usual line of excuses about why this litany of rapidly falling dominos aren't to be believed, and the lawyer's like, "Hey, don't tell me, I'm paid to believe you." For the first time, Rothstein looks genuinely nervous. The lawyer tells him he should come down to Chicago and fight these charges in person. But first, he should figure out who in Chicago might be willing to do him a favor.
Over at the Commodore's mansion, his once-ailing dog now lies dead in a silk-lined coffin. Open-casket, so I guess the mutt was at least part Irish. Louanne has to check and see if the 'Dore is dead himself yet (he's not) before she tells him he's got company. If you haven't yet put two and two together in your head (which ... um ... I hadn't), Jimmy walks in to see his dad. The Commodore. Who is Jimmy's dad. And their relationship, such as it is, is pretty tense. At least from Jimmy's perspective. He sneers at the Commodore's puppy-casket, and Commodore remarks that Jimmy has hardened. "I'm what time and circumstance have made me," Jimmy fires back. Dad notes that he and Gillian keep in contact, which earns another sneer from Jimmy. "You have no concept of the ways that people can be close," Commodore huffs. Jimmy says he's got an idea in this case: 54-year old robber baron; 13-year-old dancing girl. Dad says Jimmy would have done the same thing, as well as he knows him. "You want everything you can get your hands on," Dad coughs. "And nothing's gonna stop you from getting it." Jimmy has no comeback for this, other than to look un-thrilled at the similarities between him and his father being pointed out. He goes to leave, and Dad tries to get him to stop by reminding him he's dying. Jimmy says he'll call a priest then. The Commodore then changes tactics: he talks about bringing Atlantic City out of the swamps, building a thriving burg with his bare hands. "You and your giant blue ox," Jimmy scoffs. But Commodore has a larger point: "The wrong man is running this town." Jimmy, perhaps unhappy at dealing with another point on the Venn diagram where he and his father intersect, bolts out, saying he doesn't feel well. He ducks out to the bathroom, splashes some water on his face, and promptly pukes in the sink. It really must smell like death in that house, huh?