Juice has not been answering his cell phone because Roosevelt has been leading him back to the war room. Potter introduces himself outside the room: "I'm a big fan," then ushers them all into the war room. Juice beholds the rogue's gallery of mugshots and surveillance shots, sees that he's been listed under "Plan B," sees the Real IRA photos, and then realizes what he's been conscripted into. As Potter asks, in his customary mild detachment, if Juice has ever seen the inside of a RICO operation, Juice issues a feral scream and lunges for Roosevelt. He manages to take the sheriff down right as Potter leaps to a table, giving him a safe view of the frat below. Grad the ATF guy pulls the screaming Juice off Roosevelt, and we get a shot of the biker, practically foaming at the mouth, glaring at the preternaturally placid Potter.
Back at the clubhouse, Jax is hanging near the boxing ring when Bobby Elvis approaches him to compliment him on his brainy, diplomacy-first leadership style. "This club needs that -- we can't lose you," Bobby Elvis says. Jax looks at him sharply, and Bobby Elvis says, "I know. You're jumping out with Clay." Jax sighs and stands up, the better to have this conversation on equal footing with the older man. He asks, "Who told you?" Bobby Elvis replies, "It was Clay talking to me about handing me the gavel after he steps down." Cut to Jax rolling his eyes, because when he talked to Clay, the agreement was that Opie would take over. Bobby presses his suit: "You are supposed to be the next president, not me. It's your path." Jax gently attempts to disabuse Bobby of this notion. Sensing vulnerability, Bobby hones in on Jax's worst insecurity and blows it up: "You ain't gonna make it anyplace else." Jax channels that leadership and says, "I'm going to try." "Like you tried with Ima," Bobby jeers. Jax looks away, and Bobby presses his argument: "Your solution to a problem will always be a club solution. It's the way you're wired." So, we've found out that Bobby Elvis is a proponent of the "Nature" side when it comes to "nature vs. nurture."
Jax takes the tidbit of useful information from his conversation with Bobby Elvis and promptly takes it to Clay in church. The club president is sitting at the table, reading glasses on, flipping through all sorts of paperwork. Jax says without preamble: "You told Bobby I was getting out? Promised him that seat?" Clay takes off the glasses, those reminders of encroaching age, and says, "I'm sorry, [but] Opie can't lead this club. It's just not who he is. I'm only trying to protect what we worked so hard to build." Jax snidely points out that Clay's doing a fine job of tearing down the club as he goes, and says the cartel was a mistake. Clay's all, "Funny how you bitch-slapped Bobby Elvis for that same sentiment this morning," and Jax points out that there's a difference between impotent bitching and drafting the exit strategy that gets them out of the cartel's clutches, and guess which one he's doing? Clay's all, "Buh-wha?" and Jax lays it out: Once SAMCRO's brokered the deal between the Irish Kings and the Galindo cartel, the club's out of drug business. "Then I'm gone. I'm taking Tara and my boys, and we're getting clear of this." Clay gives Jax a lethal glare and growls, "You promised me you would finish this out." Jax says glibly, "And you promised me the cartel would be good for the club. I guess we both lied." He gets up and heads toward the door. Clay decides the best way to smooth over this re-emerging rift is to say, "Doctor's pussy is clouding who you are, son." Jax freezes for a moment, then turns around with murder in his eyes. He heads over to Clay and leans down to say, "If you ever talk that way about Tara again, I will pound those half-dead hands so hard into this table, you won't ever be able to hold that gavel again." Having made his point, Jax slinks off. And thus does he quietly prove to Bobby Elvis that people can change when they want to: This is the first time in four seasons I've seen a younger member of the club call out an older one for their stinking, pervasive misogyny.