Yes, it's Vegas in the '60s, but does that mean we need to hear lounge music all the time? Even here, when a farmer and his son are trundling through the cornfield on a tractor? They stop at a barren patch, with Pa knowledgably chalking it up to a "diseased prairie dog den," and he tells his son to go dig it up. And of course, two scoops with the shovel and Farmer Junior has uncovered a hand. Like anyone in that situation would do, they turn to glare at the Vegas skyline in the distance. Damn you, Vegas! How many lives will you ruin with your gaudy march into degradation and sin?
Over at the Savoy, Savino's having dinner with Laura and Red. Actually, it seems like breakfast, what with the newspaper and all, but there's wine on the table. Well, maybe Savino likes a nice Barolo with breakfast. He's not happy with the polls that suggest Grady and Bennett are neck and neck for mayor. Fortunately, Red has spoken to their "friend" bringing in the voting machines. Laura arches an eyebrow and Savino explains things are a little touchy in Cook County.
Speaking of touchy, Grady comes in, unhappy with the Bennett-equals-Stalin pamphlet being distributed. "I didn't agree to this type of campaign," he says, apparently shocked that the mobster is resorting to underhanded methods to win. Plus voters like Bennett's tough-on-crime stance. Wait, is his problem that the Red Scare pamphlet will sway people in Bennett's favor? Laura takes about a boxing match that Vincent took her to in which the underdog came out swinging and ... look, whatever, Grady is mollified. "The election's in two days. Let's try to keep this above-board," he warns the MAJOR FIGURE IN THE CHICAGO MOB, before leaving, and we learn that Laura's got skillz, because Vincent never took her any bout.
Over at the cornfield, our heroes are examining the bodies of Davey Cornaro and his bodyguard. "If Milwaukee hears about this, every thug in Wisconsin's going to be on the next plane to get his pound of flesh," says Lamb, and then the farmer stomps into the crime scene to complain about the corpses throwing off his ph balance or whatever.
Over at the airport, sheriff's deputies are already screening incoming travelers against pictures of known gangsters. It's hard to imagine how such a crack system could fail to thwart gangsters. Oh, here's a way -- with an easily forged ID that says "Lyle Plimpton" of Las Vegas. Weirdly, we don't get to see his face, so the big reveal can be that it is of course Jones returning to the city. I mean, we hear his voice, and any viewer who would know who Jones is would recognize his distinct voice and manner of speaking. The deputy asks what his occupation is. "Wholesale butchery," says Jones, grimly, and he's on his way. The deputy does not say, "Wait, why are you saying it all weird? Is it a euphemism? Are you going to kill a bunch of people?"