Over at Michael's mom's house, she's enlisted him to help her move some boxes into the garage. She claims it's just spring cleaning, not fooling anyone, especially when she then asks if he's heard from Virgil. Michael feigns ignorance, poorly. "You know Virgil... just bein' Virgil," he chuckles while avoiding eye contact. Worst spy ever. Fortunately he's rescued by a call on his cell phone: it's Sam, calling from the loft to notify him that he and Virgil have tracked down a guy in Boca Raton who's into black-market medicine and the two of them should go check it out. Sensing a pretext to get him out of town so Virgil can go sniffing around Madeline, Michael suggests that he go with Virgil instead. Of course he's careful to say "he and I," since Madeline is listening. That sounds like a long drive, whatever Google Maps might try to tell me. Sam okays that, just as Virgil comes down the steps of the loft to borrow the phone so he can hit Michael where he lives: "I didn't pack enough underwear, so I borrowed a set of your boxers. The blue ones with the stripes." Michael's rage turns him into a human guitar string as he growls through his teeth, "They will never fit. You stay out of my closets." Virgil replies, "They're a little snug down under but I got it all packed in." Yow. As if Michael doesn't already have a complex about the places Virgil's junk has been. Speaking of whom, after Michael hangs up, Madeline asks with fake casualness who's staying at the loft. Michael pretends it's just Sam, and gets out of there. She knows. He knows she knows, and she knows that he knows she knows he knows she knows.
In what I assume is Boca Raton (or more likely some part of Miami that's standing in for Boca Raton for this scene), Michael and Virgil sit at a table at a sidewalk ice cream shop. I'm sure that's just frozen yogurt in the paper Coldstone Creamery cup Michael's spooning from, which is such a waste of a trip. Meanwhile Virgil fiddles indiscreetly with a digital camera on the table and provides more exposition: apparently there's a gang of hit-and-run pirates roaming the high seas, boarding boats, snatching pharmaceuticals, and then fencing them through people like the guy who runs the golf shop down the sidewalk. After snapping a few pictures of an unwitting graybeard walking out of said shop with a small paper sack, Virgil broaches the subject of Madeline, and Michael's discomfort with Virgil seeing her. "I'm not uncomfortable," Michael protests. "You attract bullets. It's too risky." Virgil scoffs, "What's a few bullets?" Off Michael's alarmed look, he decides to let it go so they can move on to the next phase of their plan.