Out in the parking lot, Tony immediately starts shouting. "It's none of your fucking business which side of the bed I wake up on," Tony snarls. And it occurs to me that in Tony's mind, he probably took that as a reference to Carmela's not being in the bed anymore. Steve claims that it was just an expression, but Tony gets right in his face and calls him on all the joking and teasing and "boy, are you fat" stuff. "You're crowding me," whispers Buscemi, with just enough menace in his voice to remind us that he did fifteen years in jail for setting car bombs. "And you don't make fun of me," replies Tony. "Got it?" "Got it," answers Steve. And then because he's Tony, he has to go one step too far (and because it's Gandolfini, we can actually see that he knows he's going one step too far, but still can't stop) by saying, "And knock off the massage shit. This is a place of business, not a Jack LaLanne." So it's totally okay to shoot people in there -- just don't give them rubdowns. Steve takes a moment to think about how his relationship with Tony has changed, and then he leans against the wall, looking pissed.
Crazy Horse. Adriana is counting up the cash in the register while the Hoor of Honor watches from across the bar. The Hoor makes another reference to her fur-earning bookkeeping scam, so we'll remember it later, and then Christopher comes over to borrow some change for the cigarette machine, because he's been "sliding this stupid bill in and out of the machine for, like, an hour." "An hour?" asks the Hoor. "I bet you could go longer than that." Classay! "Why do you always talk like a hoor?" asks Christopher. "Because men like it," she replies. Tip for the ladies: she's right. Her and Christopher flirt a little more blatantly this time, and Adriana watches with a dour expression from less than three feet away. No one ever said the guy was smart, right?
Bada-Bing backroom. Tony is telling Silvio how much he's enjoying the single life because he can now stay out all night and fuck anyone he wants. Except Melfi, of course. Or Carmela, for that matter. "Yeah, so what's the difference?" wonders Silvio. And actually, the only difference is that he can't fuck Carmela anymore. Suddenly, Patsy Peesy bursts in and reports that the cop we saw running the FBI's plates in the opening scene is one of his gambling customers. So now Tony knows that the meeting was under surveillance. "They always do that," he says. "But I know it wasn't me they tailed that night, because my whole life is in the fucking rear-view." Which probably explains why he's had so many accidents. He figures out that it must have been Masserone the Feds were watching, and realizes that he'd be royally fucked if Black Jack turned. Silvio reminds him that there hasn't been any grand jury testimony yet, because they would have heard about it, and Christopher does what he does best by offering to "take care" of the problem. "We don't know shit yet," counsels Tony. "He did give me that fucking painting, though." "There is that," agrees Silvio, ever the font of wisdom. Tony decides that he needs to be absolutely sure Masserone is a rat before they take any action. Silvio offers to set up a sit-down, but Tony insists on doing it himself. "I know the guy. I know the way he thinks, the way he acts. My old man was very good at vibing people out, too. If Masserone's up to something, I'll pick it up." You know, the way he picked up on Carmela and Furio, right?