Nucky, however, is still in New York, back at Billie's apartment, cooking her a one-pan dinner. She's impressed and a little surprised that he can cook so well, but he tells her he used to do it all the time for his siblings and his poor sainted Ma. He'd make sure they finished every scrap. Billie asks what about him, and he says he'd only steal enough for three. "Wasn't Chaplin in that one?" Billie asks wryly. Oh, I kind of like her. She doesn't buy that self-mythologizing he always likes to do. The phone rings, and Nucky gets a pained look on his face. He puts his hand on Billie's wrist and asks her not to answer. He says what he'd like most in the world is for people to be honest about what they want. "Sounds a little dangerous," she smirks. What does Nucky want? "I want everything to run all by itself," he says. And then he'd stay in Billie's dumpy apartment forever. She laughs at this, though not cruelly, saying, "You know you can't." He asks who's calling, and she reminds him that he said he'd never ask. The phone rings again but neither of them answer.
Too bad, too, because it's not any of Billie's paramours, but instead Owen Sleater ringing from a random house in Tabor Heights. With no instruction from the top, he returns to Eli and -- ignoring Mickey -- asks if he'd trust the men they have with them in a gun battle with the dozen or so guys Rosetti had lined up. Eli says not for a second. Mickey yaps that Arnold Rothstein expects to get what he paid for, but unless Mickey plans to blast his way through Gyp Rosetti all by himself, Rothstein won't be getting his liquor tonight. Defeated (and pissed), Sleater turns the convoy around -- back to Atlantic City. Where Nucky will hopefully return one day, as things are most assuredly not running all by themselves.
Joe R is being verrrry cautious about his newfound fondness for Eli Thompson. He can be reached for lavish praise and nothing but at email@example.com, and you can listen to him yammer on to his heart's content on the Extra Hot Great podcast.