Tara sits down on a stool and says, "I know why you want to die, Otto. It's not just about losing LuAnn, it's about the guilt you feel turning on the club." Otto asks, "You a shrink now too?' Tara shakes her head and says softly, "No. I'm an old lady, protecting my man -- just like LuAnn would have done for you." Tara has come a long way from the doctor who recoiled at having to socialize with porn stars; now she's eagerly drawing parallels.
Then we have a scene that is both creepy and moving: Otto requests that Tara put some on her wrist and move her wrist close to his face so he can sniff. Tara watches, fascinated and repelled by the depth of Otto's devotion to his dead wife's scent-memory and it's not until an orderly comes in that she draws away.
So we're now at the lovely little cabin where Frankie Diamonds is cooling his heels and it looks like Frankie's handler just got a phone call about the huge stacks of money Frankie's purportedly sitting on. (That lie was the best thing Jax could have done to wreck Frankie's relationship with the Mob.) We have a tiresome little scene where the two meatheads get all Italian fuhgeddaboudit about everything, and then Frankie shoots his handler right before Clay and Juice roll up to do some more shooting. In between flinging weapons around, Clay persuades Juice not to call Jax and relay the info on Frankie's whereabouts or shooty habits.
Then, because this is Sons of Anarchy and it's been a while since we've had a good explosion... we get a good explosion thanks to Clay steering the van toward a propane tank and letting combustion do the rest. The bikers and the rest of the Mob contingent see this from the road.
Meanwhile, Juice get the drop on Frankie, who confesses everything about Clay manipulating the nomads; unfortunately for Frankie, he's confessing to the one club member who can't imagine Clay doing such a thing, so the odds of Juice turning the gun on Clay all, "Father Figure! You have betrayed the club's sacred trust!" are vanishingly small. Clay kicks down the door at that moment to make his own badass shotgun-toting appearance, but before he can blow off Frankie's head, Jax comes bursting through yet another door all, "No! Not yet!" And the Mob comes through still ANOTHER door, takes one look at the dead mob enforcer on the floor and cuts through all the biker psychodrama with a few well-aimed bullets to Frankie's skull. If Jax's hands were not full of gun at the moment, he would surely facepalm.