At the Yosts' surf shop, Cissy is being her usual demure and charming self while leaving a voicemail message for Mitch: "If you're not dead, just a quick message to go fuck yourself for not checking in to say you're all right. And have loads of fun on whatever beach or whatever astral plane you're on." Now Lord knows, I'm no fan of Mitch. These past two episodes when he's been gone have been a recapper's paradise, I'll tell you what. But try and look at that message from Mitch's perspective. Say you've just had a nice morning of surfing, you get out of the water, and maybe you head to the local cantina for a round of refreshing cervezas. Hey, you say to yourself, maybe I should check my voicemail and see if anyone's tried to call me -- and you hear that message from Cissy. You going to feel motivated to return her call? Or are you going to order another round and hope that later that day, a vicious riptide sucks you into the loving embrace of the sea, just so you never have to hear that voice again? I would posit that this choice is not so difficult as you might first imagine.
Anyhow, Cissy wraps up her morning scream, just as Palaka enters the shop. He's looking sweatier and twitchier than normal. "Use the café across the street," Cissy barks at him. "Our toilets are for employees. Go across the street." Ah, but Palaka is not here to use the restroom -- at least not voluntarily. Rather, he's curious as to how long the tattoo parlor across the street has been open and whether it's known for high customer satisfaction and a low mortality rate. Palaka, it seems, has patronized that shop, and whatever tattoo he got there -- a purple salamander, "highly valued in certain extinct island tribes" -- has not taken. To illustrate that point, Palaka passes out right there on the surf shop floor, just as the hospital lawyer we met at the beginning of Episode 4; he has chosen a poor time to drop in for a visit, as Cissy pegs him for some sort of ambulance chaser here to sue her for Palaka's tumble. If that were true, you'd have to admire his moxie. Anyhow, Palaka continues his infection-fueled ramblings: "Am I pointing at my neck?" he asks. "Is it painfully swollen and inflamed?" Cissy allows that the neck is pretty red. "A tattoo. A tribute to my employer," Palaka says, with a touch of pride mixed in with his visible trembling. "Possibly fatal."