After the credits, we open in Truck's studio. Junie strolls in the door bearing coffee and lunch. Sharonda sits on the sofa and bobs her head along to the music. In the inner studio, Truck snorts a line of coke and points to a greasy guy working the board. "This track still ain't hitting, man," Truck tells Greasy. "You want to hear it without the vocals again?" Greasy asks wearily. Truck shrugs that he really wants to eat, and he gets up and goes into the exterior room. "It sounds good to me," Sharonda offers. "Did I ask your opinion?" Truck asks snippily. "If you wanna produce this session, you take it to some other studio." Sharonda snaps that Truck needs to go to bed. Apparently, he hasn't slept in three days. Truck flings himself onto the sofa and tells her that what he needs is lunch. Inside the studio, Greasy steals a line. While Greasy snorts the boss's smack, Truck yells at Junie for bringing him a steak sandwich sans peppers. Man, Truck. You used to be so cheerful, and now you're so unpleasant. You really need to can the coke. Many, many years ago, I worked for a man who was a total coke fiend and it was hellacious. He acted just like Truck, actually. I really don't recommend taking up cocaine as a way to better connect with your employees. "Hey, I told 'em," Junie remarks calmly. "I said, 'Hey, put peppers on there.'" Truck yelps that Junie is supposed to check! He is not supposed to leave the steak sandwich joint without making sure that the sandwiches have peppers on them! Peppers! Peppers! "Don't blame nobody else, dog!" Truck screams. Junie doesn't bat an eye, but just placidly offers to get him another sandwich. All this talk about steak sandwiches is making me hungry.
"This ain't about no damn sandwich!" Truck yells, slamming the offending meal onto the table. "It's about being reliable! What you been telling [Dr. Benben] behind my back?" Junie looks offended by this accusation. "Nothing!" he retorts. "Then why won't he do this deal with me, with these CDs?" Truck asks. Um, because no one wants to sell CDs out of the trunk of his car? Junie shrugs that he doesn't know. "Git your ass out of here, Junie," Truck yelps, pointing at the door. "You fired!" Junie's eyebrows shoot almost to his hairline. "Don't let me catch you 'round here, or the strip club! I'm sick of your ass! Get on!" Truck screams. Junie frowns and starts to go. "Wait a minute. Come here," Truck yells. So Junie trudges back over and Truck roughly removes Junie's gun from his waistband. "Now, get the hell out," he says. Junie looks sort of hurt, but shakes his head and leaves. "Doing too much of that crap," he mutters. "What?" Truck yells after him. Sharonda stares at the table and wonders if it would be a faux pas to start eating her sandwich while the boys duke it out. "What did you say to me?" Truck calls. "I said you're snorting too much of that powder," Junie says, turning to face him. "Oh, I'm snorting too much damn powder, huh?" Truck asks, pointing the gun at him. "Stop swinging the gun around," Sharonda tells him. Greasy peers out of the recording studio and wipes cocaine residue from under his nose. Truck, by the way, is totally gesturing with the gun. He's waving it all over the place. "Come back and say that to my face," he yells at Junie. Junie turns around and Truck fires the gun! He totally misses -- hitting a bass near the door -- but the impressive thing is that Junie doesn't even flinch. Hell, he doesn't even blink. What a bad-ass. Sharonda leaps up and starts smacking Truck around. In the studio, Greasy cowers behind the captain's chair. Junie just pops a stick of gum in his mouth and goes.