Inside the house, the women in the family are playing with Joey while Marlene, like the cheese, stands alone. Chato kisses her cheek and asks where the casket is. Marlene nods toward a small anteroom. As Chato goes inside, a nun exits. I swear to God, Chato even checks out the nun. He looks right at the nun's habited ass. He then kneels by his grieving aunt and takes her hands in his. "Tia, I hope you can forgive me," he says. "If I knew he was having those thoughts, I never would have left his side," he lies. Tia Consuelo sobs that Tio Jorge loved Chato very much. In the outer room, Marlene has a cocktail and eavesdrops. Chato lies and tells his aunt that, every day, the only thing that Jorge ever talked about was her. What a sweet lie. No, really. No need for her to know all about the whores and the opium and the flames of hell and the oceans of blood and whatnot. As Tia Consuelo sobs into Chato's arms, Marlene rolls her eyes. Chato gives her the Sex Eye over Consuelo's shuddering shoulder.

Miguel and Tio Beto walk through the grounds. White horses race all around them, their manes and tails waving dramatically in the air. Tio Beto tells Miguel that no one blames him for what happened to Tio Jorge. "I told him years ago he should retire, like I did. It's a young man's game," he says. Miguel sort of nods, and asks him what his plans are for the future. "I want you to feel confident that what you and Tio Jorge created is in good hands," Miguel adds. Beto looks at his horses and sighs. They stand in silence as the horses gallop around in slow motion. Tio Beto nods at a particularly magnificent stallion. "Look at him," he says. "Guapisimo, inteligente, charming with the mares, he's sired some of my best horses. Now, look at this one," he says, gesturing to an identical white horse. "Maybe he could do the same thing. But there can only be one stallion. So which one do I choose?" Tio Beto asks. All around them, the horses whine and bray and run around and make their best symbolic faces. "Because the horses don't get to decide. I decide what's best for the breed. And I haven't made that decision yet," he finally finishes. Miguel just looks at the ground. "Okay, we get it," his Mole mutters.