Having checked "undermine the incredibly lucrative business arrangement Jax made" off his daily to-do list, Clay goes back into Gemma's hotel room to remind her that everything he does, he does for Gemma. Then he kisses Gemma's hand and heads out to leave her sitting in the hospital bed.

And now Roosevelt's joined the party in the hospital. Clay stands up and says, "The club owes you an apology." "For killing my wife?" Roosevelt asks. Haaa, no -- if Clay began apologizing for all the wives his schemes had dispatched, this would be a two hour episode. No, Clay's apologizing for "being careless about vetting new members." Roosevelt shrugs, "They were white, racist and violent. That fits all the requirements, right?" Clay shrugs all, Well, duh, then asks what Roosevelt needs from the club. "Detectives will want to talk to you all about the nomads, and they'll need any records that you have on them." Bobby's about to throw some static at Roosevelt, but Juice leaps up with the Manga Panic eyes and says he'll pull what the club has.

Roosevelt uses the opportunity to pull Juice aside and press him for information on Frankie Diamonds. Juice correctly inquires, "Who do you think I am? I don't know shit, man." Roosevelt just pins the younger man with the bleak, pitiless stare of a man who's lost his world. Then he says casually, "You seem a little nervous. I bet you Clay's real curious about our private conversation. Our blood bond that we share." Juice's eyes grow so large, they're going to give that creature with the grapefruit-sized eyeballs a run for its ocular majesty. He says, "You're going to get me killed." "That concern left me when I watched my wife die," Roosevelt says. He walks off, leaving Juice feeling squeezed.

A busy train yard in "Oakland," where Damon Pope is patiently explaining for the umpteenth time that if he really wanted to kill Jax and friends, they'd be dead already. (Also, as someone who lives but an estuary away from the Oakland docks, it cracks me up whenever we get these establishing shots, because those hills in the background are Palos Verdes and the guys are so obviously at Long Beach.) Also, we can tell this show is clearly in the realm of the fictional because Pope is waxing rhapsodic on how he's going to develop his new parcel of waterfront property as affordable multi-family housing. Then he tells Jax to stop sending him hands. Jax defends his decision with the kind of rhetoric normally only found among callers-in to right wing radio, and Pope asks Jax to be smart: "Someone wants you dead and hired a black guy to do it. Unemployment's crushing the 'hood. Brothers need work." Then Pope moves the plot forward by having information on dead handless Charles' associates, one of whom is sure to be the second shooter and therefore a valuable source of information. Jax is listening (to his credit) and thinks aloud to Pope about how he's trying to eliminate all possible doubts before going after an inside guy. "Maybe I should get me one of those goon squads," he snots, and Pope smiles indulgently: "Stay close, Jax. You won't need one."