Sam's on his date with the beer lady, who's talking as though she walked out of his fantasies. Or cantered out, as the case may be. I'm just saying. She's in mid-soliloquy, saying she decided, "No more stress, no more work, no more getting married. How many beach houses do I even need?" Sam tries to ignore his cell phone when it rings, but apparently Michael's Ethernet-boosted signal is so powerful it won't even go into Sam's voice mail. "This better be good, Mikey," he says when he finally answers. Michael tells Sam what's going on, and adds, "Any cops, any resistance, and it gets bloody." Sam's beer lady can't compete with his real love, so Sam briskly asks Michael what he needs. Michael whispers, "I need you and Fi to blast a door to the outside. Alley side wall, twenty feet in from the north." Sam says he's on his way, and hangs up. Beer Lady asks if everything is okay. Sam breezes that it is, but then cheerfully corrects himself. "Not really, no. My buddy's being held hostage at a bank, and I gotta bust him out." Beer Lady: "..." Sam assures her it's true, there's nothing to worry about, and he'll call her later. The hostages will be thirsty, after all.
Back at the bank, a couple of the robbers have noticed that Michael isn't around. While they're looking for him, Michael sneaks up to one of their equipment bags and grabs the air hammer, which he fiddles with while VOing about how dangerous they can be. "Tamper in any way with the locking collar that holds the bit in place, and the air hammer becomes a very inaccurate gun with a single bullet." Michael has done just that, sticking a match in the socket before putting it back in the bag like he found it. You know, with twenty hostages and six robbers, I don't love the odds on Michael's "very inaccurate gun." But with that done, Michael stays hidden while the robbers continue to search for him nearby, and messes with one of those pill bottles he's collected. "Mixing medications is always a bad idea," he PSAs. "Especially when one's an upper and one's a downer. Anxiety and allergy meds together are a scary combination. And that's before you add the caffeine of an energy drink." As Michael returns to the conference room, he drops the pills into an open can of something that's not quite Red Bull. Let's call it Coral Steer. When he comes into the conference room, Robber #2 pistol-whips him to the floor (practically onto Bly's blood-spatter from earlier) for taking so long, and walks out. Michael goes over to Bly, whose arm-holding duties have been taken over by Paula, which is good because Michael's been taking his time while Bly's been bleeding to death. Michael finally rips open Bly's bloody sleeve, gives him some pain meds, and says, "By the way, that green chair in my loft? It was my favorite." And a splash of strong booze goes painfully over Bly's arm. Cross Michael Westen and he will disinfect you so hard.