We then see SAMCRO meeting in someone's house. (Not Clay's, not Jax's -- but it doesn't look like the clubhouse.) Gemma's providing coffee and muffins. She asks Opie if he's talked to his dad today, which is Clay's cue to be all, "Small talk's over! Time for big boy business!" Jax covers for why Juice isn't there to talk cartel business (he's allegedly sweeping the clubhouse for bugs post-sheriff's visit), and everyone begins asking how to handle this whole "Laroy [hearts] the Lobos" situation. Bobby Elvis gloomily asks what happens when the club finds out Lobo Sonora is forging a virtual United Nations of cocaine distributorship, and Clay testily points out that SAMCRO doesn't have to lead the charge against the Armenians or Salvadorans; all they have to do is back up the Parada cartel. Oh, that's so much better! Who doesn't feel more confident about their future learning they are but the foot soldiers of a murderous crime syndicate? Jax shrugs, "If the Niners are working with Lobo, we'll get them to arrange a meet. Galindo can take it from there. Send this beef back to the border." Bobby Elvis sarcastically says, "Yeah, 'cause all our plans with these guys have worked out just perfectly." Jax has had enough of the other man's bitching and moaning, and tells him to put up or shut up.
The meeting's interrupted by two of the Irish Kings, O'Shea and Rourke, calling for Clay. He leaves the table to take the call. To make a long conversation short: When Irish terrorists are concerned that one is acting recklessly with regards to selling weapons to cartels, perhaps it's time to pay attention, Clay. Anyhoodle, Clay pleads with Gaalen to please, please, please pass on his BFGs, since it's good business. Gaalen reluctantly agrees to a sit-down with what he calls the "heathens" of the Galindo cartel. He warns that there are no guarantees that he'll sell. Clay hangs up and his wince suggests that he does not appreciate the extra pressure he's under with the Irish.
Meanwhile, at Teller Morrow, Roosevelt comes by with a handful of burners for Juice, telling him to use those to stay in touch. Juice drops the bag on the ground and says he's done. Roosevelt notices Juice's neck, and dismay flashes across his face before he buries it under the usual no-bullshit demeanor he uses with Juice. "Jesus Christ, what did you do?" Roosevelt asks. Juice doesn't reply, merely requests, "Tell them I want out." Roosevelt looks as if he's seriously considering it.