As the cops dance merrily to the sound of old T.Rex, Profaci is reporting to Casso that Sam thinks he's too good for their money. In that case, Casso says, maybe they should go lean on Rose Tyler, since that's precisely what Sam doesn't want them to do. See? That's why you don't throw money back in the face of mobsters, kids. It hurts their feelings. I read it in a Miss Manners column once.
When we return from commercial, Sam is crumpled in a heap on his furniture, still wearing his clothes from the night before. Windy is helping herself to some dairy from the refrigerator. (State of nudity: Partial.) "Rough night?" Windy asks when Sam finally comes to. Sam recounts his no-good-terrible day: saving his mother from a loan shark, crossing paths with Joe Namath and Jim Croce and "some dude in a Nirvana t-shirt," turned down a bribe from the aforementioned loan shark acting on behalf of the local ganglord, and there was that bit about the tiny robot climbing into his ear. Windy focuses on the bit of that recap that you or I might: "Jim Croce?" she says. "Far out!" Don't ever change, Windy. "I mean, what the hell is going on?" Sam continues. "I've got my past, present, and future all dropping in on me this week." Windy nonchalantly notes that this is the sort of thing that happens to her all the time: "You wires got crossed, that's all... different planes of existence between parallel dimensions -- the you now, the you then, the you coming down the pike. Sometimes, your wires get crossed, and your worlds... mix and things don't feel right. Like that time Deep Purple went on The Dating Game." Yeah, no offense, Dr. Windy, but I'm going to stick with the brain trauma-plus-coma diagnosis. Still, I look forward to reading more about your theory in this month's issue of Nature. At any rate, Windy suggests the universe is simply trying to tell Sam that he needs to something -- "help yourself or help someone else or go tell it on the mountain. All three or none of the above. I don't know." I see we've entered into the word salad portion of this conversation. Time, perhaps, to move on.
Sam has apparently settled on the "help someone else" part of Windy's solution, because we cut to him surreptitiously tailing Rose. And a dubious Skelton is along for the ride. "So are we going to follow her around all day?" Skelton wonders from the safety of Sam's orange muscle car. "Because the lieut would be pretty upset if he found out." Sam begs for Skelton's forbearance; after all, how many crimes are probably being committed in New York City at this moment? 5? 10? 20? Eleventy Hundred? Skelton pouts that this all could have been avoided if Sam hadn't thrown the money back in Casso's face. Sam reminds him that it was a bribe, but Skelton has moved on to more pressing matters. "She's kind of foxy," Skelton remarks of Rose. "Take it back, take it back! My mother is a saint!" Sam screams. Well, no. He just gets out of the car to avoid any more awkwardness involving his mom as the subject of the Hot Or Not game.