Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

The hand belonged to Charles Turner.
Drop the clips. Slide them across the floor.
She don't want me.
-Why'd you go after my mom and kids? -We didn't.
Come on, man. It's a club problem.
But how do I know the orders aren't coming from you?
I hit a goddamn tree.
- Yeah. - Pope, and he wants to meet.
Yeah.
...I gotta cross everyone else off the list before I go there.
-Let's go. -All right.
These attacks aren't coming out of my camp.
The dirty secrets will start to flow just like they always did.
-We gotta take care of this guy. -Oh, Christ.
What did you do?
I know you will find him before I will.
To Charming?
...you take this bullshit intel to the sheriff and I catch up on some paperwork.
Do you remember anything from last night?
I know. I'm gonna handle it.
-Why the hell would I do that? -Because you're a greasy scumbag animal.
-Please, Clay. I can't. -You got no choice.
Gave Charlie his custom chopper. Worth, like, 75K.
Ray, there's nowhere left to go.
-Well, if the other Nomads went after Unser.... -We'll find out.
Well, maybe we should let her make that call.
I love them so much, baby.
Clay was the one that put the Nomads in motion.
Let's go.
Understood. Betrayal's an awful thing.
What do you want?
The feds want the Irish and the cartel.