Later, at Madeline's house over morning beers with the team, Sam remarks, "You're been swimming away from bad guys a little too often these days." Michael doesn't dispute it. Madeline comes in fretting about his wrist (now wrapped in gauze). He assures her the cuts are shallow. "I know. I made them." Madeline claims to have never liked Harlan, but when Michael calls her on that, she drops it and says, "You three need to stick together." As though that's a new thing for them. They seem to take her seriously, though, and they start taking her advice right away, by all taking a swig from their beer bottles in sync. And you know the three of them now have a bond that's stronger than ever, because Michael never drinks beer.
Walking along the beach with Marta, Michael learns that everything "down south" is being fixed: Marta's going home tonight, the land is all being returned, and her father is about to be sprung from jail. Dude, Rufino must have been a busy guy if his entire situation falls apart the minute he turns up dead. She's a little sadder about how that whole thing with Harlan worked out as she remarks that she thought Harlan was a good man. "He was a good man...once," Michael assures her. Yes, right up until the end of the third act. She gives him a good-luck kiss on the cheek and goes on her way. "How you doin' there, brother?" Sam calls over, from where he's leaning against the parked Buick. Michael says he could have managed this alone, while Sam babbles some unconvincing reasons about why he wanted to come along. Finally he drops the pretense and says Michael has a target on his back. Michael sighs, "I don't need a bodyguard, Sam, I need an agency." Well, with Michael's looks, how hard could that be? Oh, he means another kind of agency. "It's time for me to get my old job back. My real job." Sam reminds him that he's still burned, but Michael is determined. "All right," Sam says as they get in the car. "Then you're buying the mojitos." On a government salary? Be serious, Sam.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.