"It was aboot four months ago and... Andy was there for the birth. Of course. And Esteban arrived later... Pissed off Andy like you wouldn't believe." Audra rolls her eyes on the FBI tape, as they fast-forward looking for clues. "But I guess he's happy now... He took off after her like she was made of shit and he was King of the Flies..." Or in this case a cockroach, wasp eggs humming in its zombified brain...
And she didn't find this bizarre? She didn't think to call anybody or do anything about it? "I had just been held hostage, and my fiancé was leaving me. I wasn't asking too many questions about Nancy's travel plans. Far away, I hope..." (How about a fuck you, bitch?) "In my minivan... In my minivan..." These FBI guys really know what they're doing. That right there is what you call a lead. She sucks on the bitter mint of Newman entitlement, and then begins to cry.
You know, when I'm sad I hurl myself into my work. Not always deadline work, but something. A little idea about something that might turn into a thing. It brings me comfort; it's like coming home. I don't know what I would do if my work escape involved doing some comforting abortions. Probably I would take up exercise as my stress relief in that case. Or, knowing me better than that, I would end up dating the crossbow-wielding Jesus freak just so I'd have something more WTF to think about than Nancy in my minivan. After Ryan Reynolds, dating probably just becomes this thing you do.
The Newmen take a good look around Seattle and see a picket line, noting that their desires are, in a certain way, parallel to those of the strikers. They want money! They want it now! Randy at least pretends to have an issue with this -- one of the more positive aftereffects of Zooey Deschanel -- but Nathalie? She wants money. She wants it now. What is the question.
Although crossing picket lines stands against everything Andy Botwin's ever stood for, older son Mike wonders what, then, would be "broke-ass Randy Newman's take." If you cross the picket line and toss out even your tiny little moral set, turn to page 54. If you take the unimaginably revolutionary option of actually working for your living, turn the channel to some other show because that is not how we roll.
Randy is with Nathalie, so they head on across the picket line and into the hotel. They are scabs! They are becoming scabs! Which, after you've sold out everybody you know to everybody else you know at least once, and personally gotten numerous DEA agents shot to death or with their faces sanded off with a belt sander, and managed to traffic in child prostitutes completely by accident, is probably not as big a deal to you or I, who have hopefully done none of these things. You know Celia would relish just the act itself.