Cut to a law firm; the camera follows a delivery boy past the front desk and into an office with a box of lunch orders. A lawyer tells the delivery boy to put the box down on a chair; from the back of the room, Junior rasps, "So what's goin' on with the Feds and their fuckin' indictments?" The delivery boy cuts through a cloud of smoke; we see Mikey slumped beside the desk and various other guys milling around. Junior grouses that "the book is off in the fourteenth ward" and slams a ledger closed. The lawyer tells him that he doesn't want to "minimize" Junior's position and reminds him of his two prior convictions, which opens him up to sentencing under the habitual offender statute. Junior rolls his eyes: "I'm paying you four an hour to hear shit that's already eating my insides." Everybody settles down with their sandwiches, but Junior doesn't even unwrap his before pitching a hissyfit over a letter he finds on the desk that says he will surrender quietly. The lawyer asks, "You'd rather they kicked in your front door in the middle of the night?" Junior just stares at him, livid; the lawyer goes on to explain, "It's a target letter, Corrado. I wasn't getting anywhere, so I asked them point-blank what your status was." Junior thinks it over, then lies quickly, "Just testing, that's what a good lawyer would do -- so what'd they say?" The lawyer says, "They'll let me know when it's appropriate." Junior jokes that he may just stop paying taxes, and everyone chuckles politely, and then Junior says that he's tired of sitting on his hands and he's going to "get the hell out of here" for a while. "Down to Boca with your lady friend?" the lawyer asks. "What the fuck you know about her?" Junior snaps. The lawyer shrugs pointedly, "Works for the joint-fitters' union...didn't somebody say? Runs their, uh, labor management fund outside the Feds' oversight?" Junior realizes he's busted and smiles, "If you can't get your friends jobs, what's the purpose of attaining success?" The lawyer smiles and tells him, "The wheels of justice turn slowly. Take her to Florida. Develop a tan." Junior, without missing a beat: "Where's the key to the partners' crapper?" Nice segue. Not.
In the, er, partners' crapper, Mikey and Junior take a leak. Mikey confides unctuously that "I didn't wanna say anything, but this government's case -- if there's a leak, it's in Tony's boat." Junior flushes, turns around, and tells Mikey curtly that if he thinks Tony's talking to the Justice Department, he should just come out and say it. "There's something fuckin' wrong with that guy," Mikey says, drying his hands. "I feel it in my gut! I'm worried about you, Skipper." "I'm sorry, Mikey -- you're a good boy," Junior sighs, and he pats Mikey on the cheek. Flicking his fingers out from under his chin, he sighs again. "Fuck this. I'm goin' to Boca."