In the International's back room, the thugs are divvying up the trap-house coke into little baggies. Damon shows up bearing a bag full of guns, like Detroit's answer to Santa Claus. "Until we figure out what the Old Man knows," he says, "we're going to be strapped at all times." It's kind of surprising they weren't already armed, but whatever. Michael and the others take deep breaths like they want to say something, but don't dare. "Is there a problem?" Damon prompts them. "It's a lotta coke, yo," says an as-yet unnamed thug. "I mean, we can't move it in Greektown, right? Skelos is gonna know we hit it."
Maya walks in to dip her finger in some of the coke and rubs it on her gums. Ah, kissably fresh! "We're gonna run it out of the new operation," Damon says. The other thug – a big, bald guy they've called Gus before – adds another voice of dissent. Without McCann's protection, he doesn't see how they can pull it off. "Michael, talk," Damon says. Michael, who's been studiously avoiding looking at Damon this whole time, says only that he's got Damon's back. It's only when Damon keeps prodding him that he points out all the completely logical reasons why should be laying low. Even if they don't get caught for killing the guy in the trap house, they could serve 15 years or more just for the coke. "Plus, Skelos is out there," he reminds Damon. "I say we dig a hole, dump the shit in. Six months – play it safe." Damon scoffs, saying, "I'm not gonna start hustling backwards." Oh my God, so impatient. It's just six months! You could wait longer than that for a custom sofa!
Michael turns to Maya, as if she's going to do anything but back up her husband. "I think six months ago, you all were scrapping copper," she says. "Now Damon has you with 200 G worth of coke in your lap, and you're acting like it's a problem instead of the first good thing this city's doled out since you got free hand jobs after the Dream Cruise." Holy crap. You get free hand jobs and mansions for $150,000? Why would people live anywhere but Detroit? The assorted thugs bow their heads like chastened children. Damon smirks at them like "HAHA I WIN!" but, really, it was Maya who won.
Joe drives up to a far more modest house than McCann's. Music is playing when he walks through the door. A woman with gray hair walks into the kitchen, takes one look at him and says, "Those are the same clothes you had on yesterday!" See, you're supposed to bring a change of clothes when you go out murdering someone. Not to keep from getting evidence all over yourself, but to keep people from remarking on your slovenly ways. "We're not having this conversation, Ma," Joe says. "I ain't one to judge," Ma says, and gives him a teasing once-over. "It's not what you think," Joe tells her, because she thinks he got lucky. He grabs a fresh shirt and escapes into the bathroom for a little privacy. There, he gets freshened up a bit and enjoys a little snort of coke. "They work you too hard," Ma says when he walks out. He tells her that Brendan is dead, gives her a kiss on the cheek and heads back out.