Melvoin's office. He fast-talks some assistant DA into letting Junior out for another funeral. "You're worth every fucking cent," laughs Junior. Yeah. Not if you've seen my cable bill, he isn't. Then we cut back to Junior's Joint, where he and Bobby are donning their best black suits in anticipation. "They're gonna have Scottish bagpipes," Bobby announces. "It should be interesting." Um...I don't think so. Trust me on this one. My aunt owns an entire collection of bagpipe albums, and unless by "interesting" Bobby actually means, "like a flaming sack full of angry kittens that's been patched into the Shea Stadium sound-system," I'm thinking the guy might have picked the wrong adjective.
The Bing. Tim shows up and greets Christopher by calling him "Don Provolone," and then passive-aggressively checks on his sobriety by asking the bartender to bring him one of whatever Chris is having. Which somewhat disappointingly turns out to be ginger ale, by the way. Timmy is also thrilled that he won his bets, and asks Christopher to remind him "to send Jeter a dozen roses." Oh, I think Sars is way ahead of you on that one, Timbo. Tim's planning to take his baseball winnings up to the Indian casino, but Christopher convinces him to join the Executive Game instead, mostly by offering up the potential presence of David Lee Roth as a tease. Oh, please. Doesn't Chris know that LT would be a much bigger draw? Especially to someone who likes to bet on sports. I mean, really. Christopher confesses that he's had yet another "slip-up," this time when his super came by to caulk the toilet and they ended up doing bong hits together. "I just wanted to see if I could get high like a normal person," he explains. "You're not normal," yells Tim. Oh, I'll say. "And on top of that, you ask me to meet you in a bar?" Heh. In Chrissy's defense, though, I don't think any of them really considers the Bing to be a bar. It's more like an office. Or maybe a shooting range.
The sit down. We're in the back room of that one restaurant where Tony always meets the New York crew (and how come we get all that detailed exposition on the ownership and tax filing status of a racetrack that'll never be mentioned again, but we still can't get a name for this frigging place?), and the usual gang has gathered to convince Phil to pay for his share of the racetrack. Johnny Sack slides into the Solomon role this week, and promptly divvies up the loot. Tony is given $150,000, 25% of which will come from Phil. "Jesus Christ, that's like forty grand," he grumps. "You gotta be fucking kidding me." "Am I smiling?" wonders John. And for record, he's most assuredly not. "You got some balls, kid," Phil tells Tony. "I'll give you that much." Tony, however, is obviously fed up with taking crap from the old guys, because he spits back, "You'll give me what I tell you to give me. This ain't the '70s. And I'm not a kid." Then he demands his money and stomps out with Silvio in tow. "That was out of line," complains Phil, but Johnny points out that Tony is still a boss. "Jersey?" snarks Phil. "Come on, huh?" Heh. That's the first time I've actually liked the guy.