One of the young sportsmen from the dogfights -- Jelly, we'll call him, as that is his name -- is telling a possibly exaggerated story about a terrifying gangster named Bumpy when Triage strolls up behind him and demonstrates how actually terrifying gangsters behave. "Bang," says Triage's gun. "Splat," replies Jelly's head. "Woof," says Triage to the startled onlookers. Friends don't let friends cheat at dogfighting, kids. And that's one to grow on. (Note to NBC overlords: This would make a fantastic "The More You Know" PSA. I'm thinking the loveable nerd from Chuck, and maybe Tim Gunn. Get back to me.)
Cutty meets with his parole officer, who instructs him to avoid associating with known criminals -- uh, whoops -- and to get a job. And Cutty's like, "Hey, how about drug-trafficking? Because I have an in there." Well, no, he doesn't say that -- he has no idea what to do, actually. And if this were, say, Cop Rock or, even more alarmingly, Viva Laughlin, this would be when everyone in the parole office broke out into a rendition of the Silhouettes' classic "Get A Job," with dance moves, and jazz hands, and a hint of embarrassment for everyone involved. But this is not Cop Rock (thank God) nor is it Viva Laughlin (seriously, God -- thank you. The burnt offerings are being prepared in gratitude). So we simply move on.
Moving on means catching up with Dazz, the cheatingest cheater who ever cheated at dogfighting. The bystanders from the previous scene inform him of Jelly's untimely demise, of Triage's parting words, and of Triage's affiliation with Cheese. Dazz looks like he's put two and two together.