Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

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