Grace Packing Fire. His Girl Thursday gets out of a rather imposing SUV and enters into pretty much exactly what you'd expect a bail bondman's storefront to look like. Again, I'm resorting to Jackie Brown, since it's the only one I've ever seen and I hope with all of my heart and soul that I'm never actually inside of one to find out for myself whether they're being depicted accurately. Grace has braved the trip from Carson City to Reno alone (32.62 miles), and she's feeling more than a little tough. She walks up to the desk at the far end of the one room, greeting a shaggy man with snakeskin boots on his desk. He has a nameplate reading "Phineas Cobb." Grace launches right in: "I was wondering. Can one make bail arrangements, y'know, preemptively?" He doesn't follow, so she goes for it: "I feel I can confide in you. I was suspended from my government job yesterday. And I'm feeling very upset and supremely on edge. And I'd like to plan for the eventualities that are becoming more and more certain with each passing moment." As she delivers this speech, she makes the presence of her firearm pretty clear, because five-day waiting periods are for suckers in loser states where you can't shoot and ho and gamble and smoke in restaurants. What's the name of that one state where you can't do any of that stuff? Oh, yes, that's right: all of them except for Nevada. Grace leans in tight: "I need to know who bailed out my boss."

Marty and Elaine seem to have gotten a gig at One-Eyed Sloman's, for they form the jazzy background noise to Taudrey's seduction of a new sucker at the bar. But Jim breaks up new love at this moment, storming up to Taudrey and insisting, "We need to talk." The guy takes off, and Jim tells Taudrey that she set him up, and he can only think of one reason why: "Bodnick's money. You were in on it." Taudrey explains that it's a lot more difficult than that, and that she gave him fair warning to get out of Dodge about a thousand times in three episodes. It's true. She gave him the brush, and he was like white trash on rice with Push, Nevada. "You planted that handkerchief," he rants, and Taudrey feigns ignorance and stands up in a huff. But the mood shifts and the music rocks when Mr. Sloman himself happens past them -- his head mysteriously not buried in a copy of Uta Hagen's Tips for Young Actors, which I highly suggest Taudrey pick up a copy of -- and gives Taudrey a withering look. He passes on, and Jim follows after him against Taudrey's futile calls for Jim to save himself. Someone please get her that book.