We then switch to Roosevelt screaming in fury at the cop on the other end of the police radio. He points out to his poor, unimaginative underling, "These guys are smart: they'll claim that you tried to kill them, that they were fleeing out of fear. Then they'll sue for assault. Just cut them loose, and the next time you try to play [Grand Theft Auto] on my watch, I'ma bounce you back to park duty!" He ends by throwing the radio on his desk; the poor police officer on the other end is left to liberate SAMCRO.
Potter is enjoying a smoke break -- and what appears to be his own private poetry slam -- when one of the white guys in suits comes by to tell him that Warsky's just checked in with news about SAMCRO and the Russians checking out the merch at a warehouse this evening. Potter admires Clay's efficiency and motivation. The suit wants to put a team nearby and wire up Warsky, but Potter says, "No, let's not risk it. It sounds like tonight's a show-and-tell, and tomorrow, we'll get friendly. One big, happy family."
Speaking of big, happy families: Jax has just entered his house -- which has been thoroughly colonized by such domestic items as paintings on the wall and bouncers in the living room -- and he's greeted by Tara coming out of one of the bedrooms. She grins and tells him, "The boys are napping," and walks over to him, then gently touches the zipper on his hoodie. Jax is done with subtlety: he throws Tara over his shoulder and races to the bedroom, where the two of them engage in a giddy, semi-naked reunion. They fall to the bed and we fade into ...
Gemma's bird, and Clay rolling off Gemma. Good lord, these guys get more done in an afternoon that most people do all day. Clay comments, "That was fast." Gemma replies, "Yeah, that's 'cause you're used to speed-banging Juice in dark hallways." "Don't turn what Juice and I had into something cheap and tawdry!" Clay cracks, and Gemma begins laughing. "I'm sure it was sweet Puerto Rican magic," she gets out, before chuckling again. The great thing about this scene is that it conveys how much Clay and Gemma thrive on simply talking to one another. Clay is still breathless, but that might be from the arthritis pain. Gemma tells him, "No more time, baby. I don't think I can handle it." Clay assures her that he plans on using the Russian deal as his retirement: between the finder's fee and the percentage he's asking, he expects to bank seven figures before he bows out. Time's not on his side: Clay's arthritis got worse while he was in prison, and "I don't know how many winters I got left. One, two at the most," he says. Gemma sits up and says matter-of-factly, "There's plenty we can do. I've got Tara looking into a good surgeon --" "I ain't letting nobody cut me open. I'd have to step down to recuperate. It don't make any sense," Clay says. Gemma gropes for reassuring words, but neither she nor Clay are buying what she's selling. So she changes the subject to a topic even more depressing that Clay's looming mortality: Unser's looming mortality. She tells Clay, "You got to go out there. He needs you. He needs this club. What he did for us ... Stahl ..." Clay's on it.