Who's as playful as ever, grabbing a nurse's ass as she changes a bed. She slaps him, as Schibetta wheels the food tray through and tells Pancamo that Schillinger's back in circulation. Schibetta wants to know when Pancamo's getting out; Pancamo wants to know how everything's running outside. Great, says Schibetta. Drugs, kitchen, it's all good. Pancamo tells him not to get used to being in charge, since he'll be back soon. Schibetta brings up retaliating against Schillinger, and Pancamo assures him that all will be taken care of once he's out of the infirmary.
Poet strides over to Redding, seated at a table, and tells him that Schillinger's out of the hole. Big news, this. Redding thinks that's dandy, since now they "can sit back and watch the Nazis wipe out the Sicilians." Word, replies Poet, but that doesn't take care of the thriving "spics." I believe I'll refer to them as "Latinos" instead. Redding, of course, has a plan. While Poet thinks Morales will keep his pact with Pancamo, Redding believes Morales might think it's time to shake things up a bit, and instructs Poet to arrange a meeting.
Which, of course, happens immediately. Redding, Morales, Poet, and Guerra. Redding provides some ham-handed expository catch-up dialogue, kindly encapsulating the entire trajectory of his relationship with Morales -- a declined offer to share the drug trade upon his arrival in Em City, lots of disputes, a hollow truce. See, Redding doesn't crave power any longer; he just seeks it out of habit. Uh-huh. He proposes making the truce a reality by working together. By this time, McManus and Murphy have noticed the summit, since it's apparently happening in plain view of McManus' office -- ah, the hubris. Murphy gets his panties in a bunch, but McManus tells him to let the men talk. "Peace," says Redding, and holds out both hands. Morales clasps them as Poet and Guerra shake. McManus and Murphy watch, incredulous; Murphy says that they'll be "one big happy tit factory" as McManus reminds him that Pancamo won't be quite as excited, and Schibetta and another Italian walk out of the laundry room, see the hand-shaking, and not-Schibetta says they have to tell Pancamo. It's such a rush to see the whirring machinery of power in action, especially when it involves gold chains and hideous sweatsuits.
Schibetta doesn't want to tell Chucky, because he wants to handle it himself, since his father ran operations in Oz and he ran operations in Oz. Uh, yeah, before you got stuck up the ass by Adebesi, says not-Schibetta, and kind of lost your cred. Whatever, retorts Schibetta. That was Pancamo's fault -- he was supposed to have my back, and he let Adebesi have my back instead. Not-Schibetta remains unconvinced, as anal rape really is the kind of overpowering gesture that crowds out extenuating circumstances. Especially among the prison crowd, I'm guessing. So what do we do, asks not-Schibetta. Why, massacre the Nazis with Said's help, of course.