"Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You and I detest all my sins, not because of Your just punishments, but most of all because they offended You, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin."
So says Juice, who is huddled in the woods ringing the Coke-K Corral. It is unclear whether or not he's returned to the site of his original crime (the cocaine theft) or if he's at Miles' unmarked grave. Either way, this scene tells us that Juice is in such a lather, he's grasping for the rituals of his childhood.
Then we see Gemma walking past Tara's momvan. It's morning in Charming again. Gemma goes to take the bucket seat out of the back of the car (one presumes she's got a base in her car too, although it sort of cracks me up to imagine Gemma all militant about car seat safety), and she notices the note in the front seat. She reads it over ("I'm going to hurt you, then kill you, doctor bitch.") and marvels at the correct use of commas in a compound sentence, then heads inside to show Tara.
Cut to her quizzing Tara, "Could this be someone at work? A patient? Something happen to a kid?" Tara -- who has managed to slap on some makeup this morning -- turns to Gemma and asks, "I'm humping a guy who kills gangsters for a living; you don't think he's maybe bringing his work home?" Only more politely. Tara goes to call the police, but Gemma argues that once Roosevelt's involved, it will only end badly for everyone. Tara pushes back: "This is a death threat, Gemma, delivered to my front door!" Gemma sighs and gropes for patience before telling Tara they'll just camp out at the compound for a few days. Tara vents, "Normal people call the authorities when their lives are threatened!" and Gemma points out to the lady who is sitting on a shoebox of cash that perhaps her life does not fall within the bounds of conventional propriety.
Speaking of the man to whom Tara's plighted her troth, he and Clay are on their way into the Mayan compound, along with the Teller & Morrow tow truck. And by "compound," I mean "residential block" which Alvarez has somehow managed to pull into a working cocaine-packaging operation. He is totally the biker outlaw Gallant to Clay's Goofus. "Goofus keeps getting members' old ladies killed, while Gallant is stone-cold outlaw enough to shoot his own son," or "Goofus has his members walk off with a key of blow while Gallant has an entire city block packaging cocaine for him." Anyhoodle, here's a fun fact: All of Alvarez's cocaine processors are women who work clad in but respirators and their underwear. I suppose the official explanation is that it prevents them from smuggling, but I suspect the overseers are all, "And the scenery is okay too, har har har!" By the way, the distribution is conducted entirely by clothed Mayans who are packing the bundles into hollowed out stacks of tortillas. Tig chortles, "That's embracing the stereotype, man." Alvarez says he has 28 dealers now, but he's looking to treble that number and colonize the prison market by the second quarter of fiscal year 2012. Just as Bobby Elvis asks about the heroin trade -- which Alvarez assesses in the exact same tones and phraseology I've heard on quarterly earnings calls at Intel -- Jax is distracted by a phone call. He announces that he's bugging out on account of his old lady. The rest of SAMCRO rolls their eyes and follows.