Girardi FridgeCam. Some kid's raiding the fridge -- is that Alfred E. Neumann God? -- but Luke's hassling him, telling him there are plenty of chips in the living room: "This is, like, people food, okay?" The kid -- who's not Alfred E. Neumann God after all -- holds a sausage up at some other kid and says, "Dude, check out my bratwurst." Luke grabs it, saying, "Hey, that is my dad's Italian salami that he has flown in from, like, New Jersey." To Maryland? ["Maybe they shoot it out of a cannon." -- Sars] Well, he's flustered. We'll assume he's exaggerating. Luke stuffs the sausage back in the fridge. Glynis, who's wearing a sweet little tulip-embroidered sweater over a blouse with a Peter Pan collar, comes up and tells him, "Um, if you order a pizza, everyone will calm down." Luke: "Pizza? That works?" Glynis: "Somehow, it soothes the savage breast." Human beings who are very bird-like kind of give me the heebie-jeebies. Her face suddenly contorts with anxiety and nervousness, and then the phone rings. Luke tells her to hold that thought and turns to Grace, a few feet away, asking, "Can you help here?" Grace, indifferently: "Apparently not." Luke answers the phone; it's Kevin, who asks what's going on. Luke: "Oh, you know, man, just raiding the fridge." Kevin: "With who?" Luke says Grace is there. Glynis, meanwhile, dutifully blocks the fridge as some guy tries to get into it. Luke adds that Adam's there somewhere, too. Kevin: "Sounds loud! You guys aren't doing anything stupid, are you?" Luke assures him they're not. Kevin says he'd hate to have to check on them, and he'd hate to find a party going on: "And I'd hate to have to tell Mom and Dad." Luke insists everything's fine: "You know me -- I'm more responsible than Margaret Thatcher." Some kid skateboards past him. Hey! That's gonna wreck the floors, fuckwit. Kevin tells him to keep it that way, or he's coming home. Bratwurst kid hollers, "Dude, champagne!" He's opened a bottle, and it's foaming all over the place. Everyone cheers. Morons. That's not going to do the floor any favours, either. Luke just looks weary.
Back at the spa, Will's phone rings in the quiet room, and he runs off to one side of the room to answer, while Jackhole shakes his head sadly. It's Toni, asking if she's calling at a bad time. She's sitting in a car somewhere with some other cop we've never seen (who's eating some chips or something), and she's calling to tell him they're going to bust the meth lab. Will: "What?" Toni says Roebuck made the call; they got a tip that the meth lab guys are packing up and preparing to move. They have to go in. Will wants to talk to Roy. Toni says he's at the station, and she's there with Carlisle: "Will, he left it up to me. Are you telling me to back off?" Are they peers now, or what? Will says loudly, "Damn it, I'm --" He hushes himself a little, continuing, "I'm saying, wait. Wait at least an hour until I can get to a real phone or a real place --" Jackhole's had enough, and he zips over to where Will is and hisses, "Okay, buddy! Off, now!" Will says, "Please, I'm a cop." Jackhole says, "Yeah, and I'm an investment banker, and you shut me down, and this is the quiet room." Will says he knows that: "That's why I'm being quiet!" Jackhole says, "I'll take care of this." He claims to know the manager. Will tells him, "Fine -- just get out of my face." He tries to grab Will's phone, and they start struggling with each other. Will warns him to just walk away, but Jackhole, as we've seen, doesn't listen real good, and keeps it up. Will clocks him good, and pretty soon every other guy in the room is in the fray, all brawling in their Willow Hills robes, to the tune of the cheesy quasi-Eastern music. Dudes, dudes. Very un-Zen of you. It's silly but amusing.