A few minutes later, Michael and Ryan walk out under the half-open garage door -- along with some rather large clouds of smoke -- and get into the Charger. Ryan says it looks like Michael has a job. "We should celebrate somewhere else," Michael says as the bikers come out with new guns. Michael peels out, and they get away with nothing more than a shot-out taillight. Which, given Michael's love for spending all his spare time keeping the Charger immaculate, is practically a gift.
Staff meeting! Even back at the loft, Michael's still so in character that he's actually drinking a beer as he says he plans to bring Connor some ideas. Fi says Calia and son are doing fine at her place. "You are doing so well on this job, I think we're almost even," she adds to Michael. Whatever, crazy. After she leaves, Michael asks Sam what's eating him: "I've never seen you drink a beer that slowly." Sam reluctantly reports to Michael that he found that phone he was looking for. Wait, isn't that good news? Well, no, because Sam says it's at the abandoned Marine Stadium. Sam complains, "It's such a setup, Mike, it's not even a setup." But of course Michael is going to go look into it, because that's what Michael does, and having his friends tell him not to only makes him want to do it more.
As Michael (having changed into a suit) and Sam walk through the graffiti jungle that is the marine stadium, Michael VOs, "As a covert operative, there's often a fine line between hunter and hunted. Letting someone hunt you is just another way of finding out more about them." Like how they killed you. Because that's going to be invaluable information you can use. They emerge into the dilapidated seating area that faces out into the open bay, because this was presumably a venue for water shows and boat races and such back in the day, when Miami was the Wisconsin Dells of the South (note: I actually have no idea if that's true). Sam says the phone's signal is coming from right nearby, so as to leave Michael fully exposed when he goes out to find it. The VO continues, "Of course there's also a fine line between following up intelligence and walking into a trap." Whatever, Michael -- that line could be an eight-lane freeway and you'd still be on the wrong side of it right now. Michael tells Sam to stay where he is and cover him as well as he can while Michael goes out into the seats alone. Sam pulls out an inadequate-looking handgun as Michael goes on ahead. Walking down the bleacher steps, he hears a cell phone ringing, and follows the sound to where it's taped to the bottom of one of the seats. "Helleew?" he answers jauntily. A voice on the other end with a British accent says, "Sorry we missed each other at the hotel." Michael agrees, and asks who the person is. But the caller isn't telling. "I'm trying to figure out what kind of man you are," the mystery Brit says. "I need to decide if you're someone I should get to know better..." A seat about ten feet to Michael's left suddenly explodes in gunfire. Sam flinches and futilely scans the water for a shooter, but Michael just turns carefully, like you do when a bee lands on you. "Or someone I should kill," the voice on the phone concludes, as another seat ten feet to Michael's right splinters. "Well, let me know when you make up your mind," Michael says. Even though he's probably figured out that if the shooter wanted him dead that's what he'd be, he's still not entirely relaxed. I can't blame him; I don't like talking on the phone either. The caller assures Michael he'll know, and quickly plugs four more seats to emphasize the point. Sam belatedly yells at Michael to get out of there. Slowly, taking his time, and forcing a smile at whoever's out there, Michael does. If this is what shows at the Marine Stadium used to be like, I can see why it's abandoned now.