Courthouse. His lawyer was apparently right about how quickly Frank would be dispensed with, because Frank's back out in the hall and checking his watch. The lawyer wants to meet with Frank to discuss his defense (I assume), but Frank says he has to go see Ziggy. The other lawyer joins in trying to change Frank's plans, but Frank shakes himf off: "Not now. I need to get clean." The saddest thing is that he thinks he will after this meeting, and he really, really won't.

Back to White Mike. Kima did manage to track down a strawberry soda, somehow (and I'm sure it was completely fresh and not flat at all), so he's back to talking, telling the cops that Sergei et al killed Mau Mau Willis for "welshing on the Jew." Kima gets back to the big picture, asking whom Sergei and Eton report to. White Mike says he doesn't know, and that he never wanted to know, proving that he's smarter than he looks.

Frank is waiting in a visitors' room at the city jail (where, in a nice and probably very accurate detail, a patch of fifteen or twenty floor tiles have been peeled up and, I assume, fenced somewhere) when Ziggy trudges in, still in his street clothes, and sits across from him. When his face fills the frame, we can see he has a black eye, a bruised cheek, and a cut on his lip, and Frank kind of freaks out, asking whether the cops did it to him. Dead-eyed, Ziggy shakes his head and nods toward the other inmates milling about on the other side of the glass. Frank studies his hands for a long moment, and finally says that his lawyers are telling him it might be hard for Ziggy to get bail. Ziggy nods. Frank spreads his hands and says, "I'm trying," but if he's goosing Ziggy to give him an effusive thank-you, he's disappointed, as Ziggy just smiles painfully and nods. Frank quietly asks what happened, and Ziggy says he doesn't know: "I got tired. I got tired of being the punchline to every joke." Frank swallows a few times to keep the tears back and gruffs, "You had problems, you could've come to me. You could've said something." His face starting to crumple, Ziggy replies, "You wouldn't have heard. You were always too busy dredging up the canal. Making sure the right bum got elected. Buying another round for the house." That's a pretty weak excuse coming from a kid Ziggy's age; the time for Frank to have saved Ziggy from ruin with a game of catch and a cookie was many years ago. But he presses on: "I always used to think you were working all them hours you spent away." Frank, getting red, says, "It was all work, Zig, even when it wasn't. For you. For your mother." Ziggy plaintively says, "I bet you didn't even tell her I was in here, did you?" Frank looks guiltily off to the side, but Ziggy says, "Maybe you did -- and she already took three Nembutals, sleeping the day away." I guess that explains why we've never seen her. "Leave her out of this," says Frank faintly, and Ziggy immediately rejoins, "She's out of it, don't worry," starting to cry. He tries to blink away the tears, creaking, "Pop. When I seen what I did to that kid down at the store, it made me sick to my stomach." Frank presses his lips together, and then hoarsely tells him, "That ain't you, Zig." "It ain't?" squeaks Ziggy. "'Cause the same blood don't flow for us, Pop! I mean, I wish it did, but it don't." Frank says, "You're more like me than you know," but under the circumstances, it's not exactly a reassurance. Ziggy sobs, and Frank firmly tells him, "You're a Sobotka." Ziggy shakes his head, and squeezes his eyes shut as he whimpers, "Fucked is what I am." Ziggy and Frank both smear the tears off their cheeks in as manly a way as possible, and then Ziggy's out of his chair, spreading his hands with a sarcastic grin: "Fuck can I say?" A guard lets him out of the room, and Frank watches as his tiny little fuckup of a son rejoins the roiling mass of huge, beefy inmates and is engulfed by it, blotted out of sight by their bulk. Frank is left to imagine the further indignities about to be visited upon his son's face...and parts beyond.