Tony starts to get impatient, asking what Artie wants him to do and inviting him to call the cops himself, "here's the phone," but Hauser will only get two years, and then he'll move to Saskatchewan (shout-out?), "and then you know what he'll do? He'll teach girls' soccer, and he'll start all over again." Artie says he wants to rip Hauser apart "like a fuckin' chicken," and he drove past Hauser's house and nearly got out of the car. "But you didn't," Tony says gently, not seeing the point. Artie asks who it's going to help if "something happens to" Hauser: "His daughter? That girl? No. You, Tony, and Silvio, and me, and whoever. It's just gonna make us feel better. So don't even think about callin' this justice. Leave it to the cops." Tony muscles his way out of his chair and asks who the fuck Artie thinks he is to come in there and talk to Tony like that: "Your boyfriend is finished, now you deal with it. 'Kay?" He pokes his finger into Artie's chest for emphasis. "Tony, don't do it," Artie repeats softly. "This is me asking you." Tony orders him to get the fuck out, and he shoves him out the door. Artie goes, but not without a small scuffle. Tony slams the door after him. Techno music starts up as Tony sits back down and shoves his espresso cup off the table in a fit of pique.
Pan across the Bada Bing sign. Girls dancing. It's now nighttime. Shot of the phone sitting on the table in the back room; Tony, holding a glass of scotch, eyes it. He paces around. He fiddles with the pool-table felt. Shot of the phone. Tony, simmering. Shot of the phone. Back and forth between shots of Tony agonizing and shots of the phone.
A darkened office. Junior walks in; Roberta greets him with surprise: "Corrado! I was worried, you usually call when you're this late." He just stands there stiffly. She explains in a starting-to-get-nervous tone that she got dinner for them -- chicken, potato salad, lemon meringue pie -- and she got so hungry that she ate a piece of the pie. Junior snaps out of it and stalks over to her, yelling, "Did I tell you to keep your mouth shut?" He slams her up against a file cabinet, fist clenched: "Did I tell you to keep your goddamn mouth shut?" She begs him not to hit her. Breathing heavily, he lets her go. She begins to cry. He picks up the pie and grinds it into her face as she sobs. The tin falls away from her face, and only her weeping mouth is visible; Junior starts for the door, then turns to shout, "You stupid fucking blabber-mouth cunt!" "I don't understand!" Roberta wails. Junior tells her to get her things and "don't be here tomorrow!" He clomps out of the office; behind him, she begs him not to leave and snivels that she loves him.