Wyatt and Morgan are still at the Bella Union, living it up gambling and pinching the whores' asses. "That is my big brother, who I'm going to be assisting on some very important business for the man you work for," Morgan tells the girls, "and for whom I may put in a good word for you depending on how good you are to me." Shut up, ugly one.

Brian Cox must have been freaking exhausted after this episode, for now he is back in Al's office, killing me softly once again in conjunction with a sympathetic Ian McShane. "You seem blue, Jack," Al tells him. "That old actor I spoke of...passed," Langrishe explains. Al gives him about as heartfelt a "sorry" as he could ever give anyone, and takes a swig of whiskey. Langrishe moves on from this sad topic. "Perhaps, Al, given the sleigh ride which ensues," he says, "the best connection to leviathan may not be by harpoon." Al squints. "Explain yourself," he says. So Jack does explain, telling him all about his back adjustment flim flam of earlier in the day, and how this may be of use in the future to occupy Hearst. Al asks how. "Campaign towards relief protracted, punctuated by Pentecostal whoops and manual pushes and prods while invoking arcane authorities," Langrishe explains, "the host's unhealthy soul reliable to sustain his symptoms."