Kellerman favors some lighter FM fare than The Music of Impending Gang Violence -- he's listening to The Guess Who as he uses the rearview mirror of his car to check out the shaving nick L.J. inflicted upon him. But before Kellerman can drive off to enjoy more conspiratorial misadventures, several SUVs screech in front and behind his car, blocking his path. Out pop half a dozen men in black -- the secret-agent type, not the Johnny Cash-impersonator type -- along with Agent Brinker. "Are you insane?" Kellerman asks. Quite possibly -- but Brinker isn't there to talk about her. It's Kellerman who's the topic of discussion today, specifically the fact that "a 16-year-old pothead managed to track you down and shoot you." Kellerman insists he can still do his job; Brinker finds this suggestion laughable, if she was, in fact, capable of summoning laughter. "You are not to make a move on Burrows under any circumstance. We make that call," she snarls. "You know what, Trixie?" Kellerman shoots back. "There are actually higher agendas here." Brinker agrees. "And they don't belong to you," she sneers. Kellerman has received his dismissal from the Secret Service, reduced to leading the life more ordinary of Owen Kravecki, jerky salesman. Hope the conspiracy offers a lucrative severance package.
Back in the Whack Shack, Haywire is watching a documentary about penguins not narrated by Morgan Freeman, and Michael is watching Haywire. "I need you to focus. I need you to remember what you drew," Michael begs of Haywire. Haywire responds by blinking. Michael encapsulates the frustration of an entire nation by putting his hand on his head and sighing audibly. The beefed-up version of Scatman Crothers leads Haywire off to his group therapy session while Michael stares purposefully at…well, whatever he normally stares purposefully at. But he's taken out of his purposeful reverie by this sudden observation from Haywire: "It's a path." "Yes," Michael agrees. "It is a path." And then he smiles the smile of a man who's suddenly realized that his plan to intentionally get sent to the psychotic ward of a federal penitentiary isn't going to go for naught, after all.
Back in the yard, C-Note is receiving the news that he's been turned down for his loan. "You got nothin' comin'," says Imposing Prison Thug No. 2, by way of explanation. "All your outstanding markers, they're mine now." And if C-Note doesn't like that, Imposing Prison Thug No. 2 informs him, "go cry to your new crew." It seems C-Note's one-time associates do not care for his mingling with the white crowd. C-Note becomes so engaged in defending his position -- "I can have tea with the Grand Wizard of the KKK if I want," he says -- that he fails to notice the other Imposing Prison Thugs hastily shoving D-cell batteries into handy socks. "Out of respect for what you once were, I'm going to let you walk away," Imposing Prison Thug No. 2 says. C-Note makes a counter-offer -- a right hook to the jaw that sounds like someone slapped a frozen tri-tip against a kettle drum. That unleashes the fury of a dozen sock-wielding men who, with help of their batteries keep going and going and going and…okay, you get the idea.