Agents Clarkson and Sawicky drive up to the place where Clarkson saw Van Alden meet with that shady bootlegger: Mickey's warehouse. Oh dear. Sawicky still has cold feet about this whole thing, but Clarkson is gung-ho to barge in and make an arrest. Sawicky worries how Van Alden could react negatively. "Then we'll arrest him too," Clarkson reasons. They split up and approach the warehouse. When they're about 10 feet from the place, the building explodes into a giant fireball. Clarkson starts screaming immediately, likely because most of him is now on fire. Sawicky, fortunately not on fire, runs to his partner's aid, throws his coat over him, and tries to extinguish the flames. It takes a discomfortingly long time. Sawicky turns him over to see Clarkson's right side is all sorts of burned. I guess this is the TV season for half of people's faces to be maimed, huh? Sawicky picks him up and carries him to the car. Poor prohie.
At home, Margaret stashes away the $100 into a big envelope of money she's keeping in her jewelry box. Call it her Go Bag.
At the White home, Lester plays piano for his assembled family (and Samuel), while outside, in the garage, Chalky whittles his rage away. ...Well, "away" might be pushing it.
Gillian is feeding the Commodore pureed grossness as the poor bastard lies paralyzed on his right side, unable to communicate. And now Gillian doesn't seem to be speaking to him in those placating tones anymore. Once again, the old man is useless to her when it comes to benefitting Jimmy (and by extension herself). You can already see the flecks of rage in her when she sees that, once again, this old man has fucked her over. He couldn't even keep his body together long enough to lay that golden egg for her. She starts to talk to him about the old days, though her tone is so far different from the beginning of this episode she's almost a different person. She reminisces about the day they met. "How you plied me with wine." She obviously had never imbibed wine before and she describes it as "quite the sensation." He carried her to the bedroom. Just earlier that day, she was a girl out on the beach. Suddenly, she was in this man's bed, with his crushing weight on top of her, his breath smelling of whiskey and tobacco, one hand covering her mouth, the other groping at her. All the Commodore can do is wordlessly, helplessly flap his mouth around, making gurgling sounds. Not sure he'd sound any different if he could fully speak anyway. Oh, he'd use his words, but how would they sound to Gillian? So much gurgling uselessness. His paralysis has the added benefit of making him look frightened, which must seem gratifying to her. At last, frightened as she was. She tells him it sometimes wakes her in the night. She asks again: "Do you remember that night?" Not sure what's worse, if he does or he doesn't. We may never know, and it doesn't really matter. She slaps him across the face. Taunting him now: "I asked you a question." Slaps again. And again. The left side of his face, so he can feel it. Again and again. He's crying like she is. Not sure if she notices.