Golf club parking lot. Mikey pulls into a space in a black Town Car and pops the trunk. He and Junior get out. Junior grunts that nobody told Mikey to put Tony under surveillance. "I know, Junior. I know," Mikey says smugly, and he comes around to get Junior's golf clubs out of the trunk and says that he did it "to be on the safe side," and he's glad he did, because Tony doesn't just hang out "in that titty bar" and at Meadow's soccer games. "Go ahead," Junior says reluctantly. Mikey tells Junior that "twice, last week, [Tony] goes toward the medical center, and they lose 'im." "A girlfriend," Junior shrugs, unconcerned, but Mikey says it's not that: "No, no, no, no, no -- he's seeing this Russian slit, very open." Unnnggh. I hate the word "slit." It's just so reductive and demeaning. Shut up, Mikey, you sexist rayon-sweater-wearing greaseball. Mikey hoists Junior's clubs into a cart and says gleefully, "Your nephew is talkin' to the Feds. I mean, where else would he be going where it requires such...precautions? And what the fuck else would be the big secret?" Yeah, you wish, you wannabe. "What am I, a swami?" Junior shrugs, dodging the question. Tony and Silvio pull up in another cart; Silvio and Mikey hug, and Tony and Junior hug. "How you feel?" Tony asks Junior. "Como s'il bell' [roughly, 'never better']," Junior smiles, slapping Tony's cheek.

Silvio shanks a shot off the tee. Tony gives him guff. Silvio, wearing an incongruous little straw hat, says he still has the coach on his mind. Mikey walks up to the tee. "We got fresh air, we got a beautiful day, we got sunshine, forget about that shit," Tony orders Silvio under his breath. "Thank God for golf some days." "I'm tryin' to concentrate here," Mikey snaps, lining up his shot; Tony watches him for a moment, then waits until Mikey's just about to swing before asking loudly whether Junior got any golf in down in Boca. Mikey crabs at him. Tony apologizes. Mikey lines up the shot again; Tony starts talking again. Mikey stands up straight and glares at him. I've never understood the big deal about a little talking on the tee; it's a game, for God's sake. But my mother once bitched at me because my shorts flapped in the wind and ruined her concentration, so apparently it bothers a lot of people. Whatever -- so Junior snaps at Tony to "let the man tee off? You yap worse than six barbers!" Mikey smiles victoriously; Tony smirks. Go to your rooms, both of you. Junior reminds Tony that if he had shut up during the game against Mountain Lakes, "you wouldn't have missed that fly ball." Tony glares at Junior, hurt, as Junior goes on to say that he "couldn't face [his] friends." In the background, Mikey swings. "Good, Mikey. Better," Silvio says encouragingly. "Whaddya mean, 'better'?" Mikey demands. Silvio tries to sound positive about Mikey's crappy long game; Tony stews silently. Junior tees off next, and of course Mikey calls out, "Whoa, Junior!" all suck-uppy little brother. "'Whoa, Junior' what?" Tony sneers, heading for the tee. "Uncle Jun's in the muff." "What?" Junior quavers, a look of genuine fear crossing his face. "Oh, did I say 'muff'?" Tony asks, laughing happily. "I meant 'rough.'" Silvio and Mikey laugh and elbow each other. Junior glares at Mikey, who shrugs all "I don't know what he's on about" and pats Junior's shoulder: "Good shot."