As Clay packs a paper grocery stack with his big bundles of cash, Jax asks irritably, "We're trafficking blow?" Clay clarifies, "We're just muling it back. Mayans are chopping and distributing ... it's part of the deal. I had no choice." Jax asks who else knows. So far, nobody. Clay puts the big bag of cash at his feet and says, "I need you to understand this." Jax gets pissy: "Understand what? That you also forgot to mention that we'd be running coke for the Galindo cartel? We voted in selling them guns --" "We'll have another vote," Clay says. Jax realizes that Clay misled the club on the terms of the deal, and he's been sitting on the real terms of the deal since their stay in Stockton. Clay protests, "The Russians needed to die for what they did to you inside. The Galindo cartel is the only player deep enough to keep the Russians off our back." Jax snaps, "Don't give me the 'I did this for you, son,' bullshit! This ain't about me, Clay. And this ain't about the club. This is about you cashing out."
Clay sighs and admits, "These last two years have been brutal for your mom and me. No savings, no medical, no retirement cushion. I got, what, a year? Maybe two. I gave my whole life to this club, I don't want to walk away with nothing." Jax reminds Clay that his approach to McGee's retirement concerns was to eliminate his prospect of retiring at all. Then Jax brokers a deal with Clay: He'll back Clay on the new vote and help make sure it passes, and in return, Clay has to let Jax leave without repercussions. Clay is having a hard time wrapping his brain around this -- "You're going to -- you're going to leave SAMCRO? What else are you gonna do?" "It doesn't matter. I need your word you'll let me walk away [with] no recourse ... I'm going to need you to keep [Gemma] on track," Jax replies. Clay tries to weasel out of the deal, but Jax is firm: He'll back Clay's retirement-fueled push for coke muling in exchange for the ability to leave the club and Opie's ascension to the presidency. Who knows? It could work. Sure, the clubhouse culture would undergo the sociological equivalent to whiplash once the lead old lady shifts from Gemma to Lyla, but that's assuming that Gemma is either mortal or planning on leaving the clubhouse before she draws her last breath. Anyway, Clay agrees to the deal.
Cut to church. Bobby Elvis and Piney are taking this new proposal about as well as can be expected, which is to say one or both of them is courting a major, rage-induced cardiac event. Opie is not a fan, but his concerns are more practical than ideological: "The last thing we want to do is give Alvarez more leverage over our business." Ah, but two of the guys who just finished a stretch in Stockton -- Tig and Jax -- disagree. Clay says the cartel's already assumed a commitment and put the word out that the Russians aren't going to touch anyone. Juice points out that they're trading the Russians' radar for the DEA's. Also, he's shaved his head again. I have to go mourn now. Bobby Elvis and Opie figure that SAMCRO can still move guns without the cartel; Chibs is not sure that the club can do the volume that their Irish pals expect. Clay tries to make the whole arrangement sound like a too-good-to-be-true deal -- "We do this short term, we cash out" -- and Piney shouts, "It's a goddamn cartel! There is no short term!" The meeting gets quiet and awkward from there. Jax makes his pro-cartel argument by slapping down block after block of cash on the table, and that sort of shuts everyone up. For now. The meeting ends on Clay's orders to Jax and Opie to check on the Wahewa's ammo production. As everyone troops out, Clay grabs Tig by the arm and says urgently, "I want this." Tig looks like a cat that's just been caught shredding the living room sofa. The entire exchange is not lost on Bobby Elvis.