Over the strains of some poor man's Dropkick Murphys music on the soundtrack, they start making a bomb. Sean mixes the explosive material, some kind of blue stuff that will soon get poured into a mold to shape the charge and fit just right into the small wooden crate that'll be used as the case. "Bomb makers, like master chefs," Michael VOs, "tend to have a signature dish. If you can duplicate it, you can leave their fingerprints wherever you want." The delivery system seems to involve glass Mason jars and very large ball bearings. Nasty. "Some bombs are designed to remove an obstacle. Some bombs are designed to be loud and scary. While other bombs are just designed to kill and maim." With everything arranged into the crate, Michael and Fi put the finishing touch on the bomb, which is a hefty dose of rat poison into each of the six mason jars containing the ball bearings. "It contains an anticoagulant," Fi explains. "He likes his victims to hemorrhage and bleed out. He wants them to suffer." Wouldn't this be an awesome time for Detective Paxson to wander in? Instead of that happening, Michael gets a cell phone call from his mom, and Fi tells him to head on over there instead of answering. "Pick up some screws while you're there." Michael takes off, after exchanging snarky Irish-accented remarks with Sean. One of them is going to take a shillelagh to the other soon.

Madeline catches Michael in her garage, stealing a couple of boxes of screws. He pretends he's there to see if she needs anything, but as she puts down a big box of old crap, she isn't any more fooled by this master spy than she ever is: "Sure you did. That's why you're stealing all my screws. It's all right, I don't need to know. Let's just pretend that you're helping me clean my garage for my open house." Michael agrees, but not enough to actually start doing that. "Any other big life changes you want to tell your son about?" he snots instead. They have kind of a low-grade argument about her moving, but then she says she didn't want to throw out a box of Michael's old stuff without his getting a chance to go through it first. "My model airplanes," Michael says softly, and seems surprised she doesn't want them any more. "I was hoping that you would, Michael," she duhs. Michael makes a whatever face, so Madeline explains: "This isn't going to make any sense to you, but most people -- normal people -- go through their life collecting boxes like this." She's right: he doesn't understand. He just makes this face like, What the fuck is wrong with normal people? She offers to throw it away for him right now, and he stops her by quickly agreeing to take a look. She, in turn, agrees to go get the other box just like this one. Michael pulls out a toy pistol and smiles at it. Maybe he should try giving that one back to Fi and keeping her real one. This one is more her size anyway.