Ring. Jim answers his cell phone to discover a voice saying, "Hi, darling." It's ex-wife Darlene, whom we cut to in profile, sitting in what's maybe a hotel room with what's maybe an unpacked suitcase in the background. He asks her rather curtly what she wants, and she responds, "I just miss you. That's all. I thought you should know." Voices behind her. He hangs up the phone. He has an ex-wife. Got it.
Jim pulls up in front of Morris's place, steps out, knocks on the door, indicates resolve. "You're back," Morris notes of Jim, translating from his native language, in which that sentence reads, "Meow," with a subsequent licking of lips and a yawn. Morris repeats that first he gets to have his way with Jim, and that they "talk later." Jim steps in and is told to remove his jacket and takes off his shirt. Job runs his hands along Jim's arms (yikes!) and informs him, "I'm an artist. I get a vibe from you. I get a vision. I put that vision on you. If you try to leave before I'm done, the nine does the best of the work." Oh, my god. I'm totally using that entire line at the next available opportunity. Which is, clearly, when I'm one million years old. And I don't have the vaguest clue what "nine" means in this context, but I'm putting mine all over you and don't you even try and leave before it's done, m'kay? Jim sits and leans forward in a chair, and Morris approaches with a needle, noting, "You're gonna be here for a while," plunging the needle into Jim's back. Jim screams along with the music, his mouth opened in a maybe-just-a-little-too-spitty scream that takes us into the final blackout. Tattoos -- the Life Cereal of the stolen money conspiracy. And guess what, y'all? Mikey doesn't like it.