In Madeline's tiny back courtyard, Sam's complaining about how much harder rebuilding is than blowing up. "You have no one to blame but yourself," Fi points out. "If you blow something up correctly you have nothing left to fix." Because she would have done sooo much better with Christmas lights and Coffee Mate. This is how Michael finds them. He and Fi are about to have a mushy reunion, but Sam, like me, would rather keep things moving. He says that Carla's people were the only thing keeping the police and the intelligence agencies of twelve countries out of Michael's grill. Fi makes a stupid analogy about third-degree burns and acne, and while Sam tries vainly to keep this on track, suddenly Harlan comes out asking if they're talking about "the gig." "The gig?" Michael repeats, as though there isn't always a gig, and in fact this one isn't suspiciously late in showing up. Seems Harlan met a girl "down south" and she needs their help. "No worries," Sam assures Harlan. "He does this for fun." I'm not entirely clear what exactly "down south" means in Miami. Key West? South America? Antarctica? Of course, I'm writing this from Minneapolis, where our definition of "down south" includes, among other localities, the entire state of Iowa. Slightly different frame of reference.

And suddenly we're at Carlito's, where the soon-to-be-client, a pretty (of course) Latina woman named Marta, is telling Michael her sob story, while Sam and Harlan provide moral support. Apparently she and her family were evicted from their farm, at the behest of some American corporations who are bribing officials to steal land "down south." Marta adds that her father's in prison thanks to some judicial briery, and is likely to die there. Apparently her father is Maurice from Beauty and the Beast. Sam whips out a State Department dossier on the Miami boss behind the whole operation: one Rufino Cortez, who just happens to be wanted in Venezuela. All they need to do is nab him, and everyone gets their land back. If only all geopolitical problems in South America were so easily solved. Michael gives Sam a look, and he invites Marta up to the bar to get a drink with him, leaving Michael to chew out Harlan alone. "Don't tell me it was coincidence that you bailed me out of jail and then you just happened to have a job for me," Michael accuses. After some stammering, Harlan succumbs to Michael's Blue Steel and comes clean. He says Rufino is pretty paranoid after a few past attempts at getting to him, but Harlan's already got a plan; he just needs Michael's help to pull it off. "You always were the smart one and I was the pretty one, right?" he chuckles, and begs Michael for his help. Michael gives in, and utters the words that are his contract: "I'll see what I can do." "Marta -- The Client," the subtitles confirm from where she's standing with Sam. They certainly know their cue.