Visits, Conjugal And Otherwise

Well, I'm taking recapping to a whole new place here. I'm writing this while waiting to see if the stomach cramps I'm experiencing turn out to be appendicitis. To give you an idea of how much it hurts, it's as though my hatred of McManus has manifested itself as physical pain. On the other hand, it's likely to make me more sympathetic to the pain the characters on this show endure regularly. Anyway, it should be an adventure. I just hope McManus isn't too odious -- the stomach-churning he regularly evokes could cause a rupture. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll be in the hospital by the twenty-minute mark.

By the way, I am not making this up.

The first thing we see on the screen is a blue projection of the word "fuck." I guess that answers the question of whether the number of utterances of the word "fuck" was going to diminish after Ortolani's death. Hill's "point" is that "fuck" and "rape" are four-letter words, but so are "wife" and "love." If in my lifetime I hear one more person smugly claim that "love" is a four-letter word, I'm going to throw my appendix at him. If I still have it, of course. Hill goes on that love is a curse, not just romantic love, but also the kind with friends and family. We get a shot of Schibetta slowly walking to the morgue. An attendant unzips a body bag, and we get a full-on shot of the once-hot-but-now-crispy Ortolani. Schibetta slowly nods. I don't get it. Is he identifying the body? Because that seems tough in this case. Maybe he sees a tiny bit of vermicelli stuck in Ortolani's teeth. We flash back to Post dropping the match, and then cut to Glynn asking "what the fuck happened" to Ortolani. I'm going to keep a count and see if the number of times a character uses the word "fuck" in this episode exceeds the number of times I wince in pain and utter the same. Because if it does, this show is pretty fucking profane. Burruano suggests that it was the Latinos, but Healy opines that everyone had a reason to hate Ortolani. McManus agrees, and points out that the hacks did as well, especially since, obviously, one of them had to have done the deed himself or let the murderer into the hole. Healy: "Fuck you, McManus." McManus: "Yeah, fuck me."

Couch Baron's Appendix: Wow, with all this profanity, I guess I'd better flare up to give you a chance in the "fuck" race, huh?
Couch Baron: You do and I'll fucking rip you out myself, you fucking useless organ.
Couch Baron's Appendix: I'm really fucking scared. Try some of this.
Couch Baron: FUCK!

Sorry. Glynn calms them down, saying the enemy's outside the room, and orders Burruano to head up the investigation, saying he'd better find the killer before Schibetta does. As we'll see later, Glynn hasn't a clue where Burruano's loyalties are. Glynn worries that they'll have a "full-scale riot" on their hands. Not until the season finale. Spoiler!

Burruano's office. There's a huge American flag on the wall, in front of which all the prisoners questioned end up standing. It's amusing, but particularly so in the case of Schillinger, our first interviewee. He says that the "niggers" killed Ortolani, because although he doesn't have any evidence, "Who else is there?" Again, the hacks, but we've covered that already. Burruano asks about the Latinos, but Schillinger opines, "Burning isn't the spics' style." Burruano says that Schillinger could have done it, and Schillinger agrees that there was no love lost between him and Ortolani, but, assuming his most patriotic stance, declares that he only kills people when they're standing in the way of his constitutional rights. And how about when you rape them, Vern? Do you sing "America The Beautiful" over the screams? Schillinger's point is that he respects the Sicilians, as they also have a code. "The rest of these fucks'll cut a man for a pair of sneakers, for a fucking cigarette. They are animals." Guess you're into bestiality then, huh Vern?

We see the hacks break up a fight between Markstram and D'Angelo, although if the writers were trying to illustrate Schillinger's point, I don't know why they involved one of the Italians. Upstairs, Diane approaches Beecher's pod as Schillinger watches behind her. She asks a loitering Rebadow if it's true that Beecher hasn't emerged from his pod in days, and gets confirmation of that. I thought you always had to come out for count, but whatever. Diane enters, and Schillinger's right behind her, asking if everything's okay. She coolly tells him to take a hike, and he complies with a "Hope you feel better, buddy. If you keep quiet, I might even use a little Vaseline time." I may have imagined that last part. Quick flashback to Schillinger branding Beecher. Diane starts to tell him how rough an adjustment prison is for anyone, but Beecher interrupts to moan about Ortolani's death and how it proves that no one is safe. Diane agrees, saying Beecher has to be careful, but he might feel better if he set up a conjugal visit with his wife. How? "Go see Sister Pete."

Cut to the sister in question's office. She happily notes that Beecher's married, and suggests that if you're not, you're out of luck as far as the sex goes. Has she met Adebisi? She gives a bit more tough-nun exposition, then explains that the point of a conjugal isn't just sex, but to reproduce some intimacy. I can see where that would be desirable -- Schillinger doesn't seem like much of a cuddler. Pete gives Beecher a form to fill out.

Beecher returns to his pod to find Schillinger lying on the top bunk. We asks, "Where you been, sweet pea?" Hee. Maybe Vern has a tender side after all. Upon hearing that Beecher went to see Sister Pete, Schillinger asks why, and upon hearing the reason, grins that Beecher didn't ask his permission. "When are you gonna learn, prag? You belong to me." He tells Beecher to stand up and ask him if he can fuck his wife. After a little back-and-forth, Schillinger has Beecher screaming, "PLEASE SIR MAY I FUCK MY WIFE?" Hee. Now do "go down on." No, but Schillinger's just as funny as he smiles, "When you ask me like that, I can't deny you anything."

Cut to Genevieve entering the prison. She's got Jackie O hair and looks about as uncomfortable and out-of-place as Penelope did at the police station in Trading Places. It's the old-fashioned picnic basket that really sells the look, though. The hack on duty asks her if she's transporting any contraband, and she says no and asks, "If I was carrying explosives, why would I say yes?" The response: "Lady, I don't know. The state says I have to ask, I ask." Get this guy an airport security job, posthaste! He tells her to put her purse in one of the lockers, and then to go to Room One. At least he didn't tell her to go to Room 101.

Genevieve enters to find Beecher waiting, holding a sadly wilted bunch of flowers. Aw. Beecher's patheticness at the beginning of the series is tough to watch. They kiss awkwardly, and then Genevieve starts babbling about a painting Holly made for him of their house and family. "You're not in it. You're not in the painting." If I were Beecher, the intimacy train would have been derailed right about here. He's unfazed, however. She says she'll cook for him, but he asks if she'll just hold him. Aw. Poor Beecher.

Later, the desk hack knocks on the conjugal room doors, telling Beecher and the random prisoner in the other one to move it. They emerge and go to be strip-searched. They assume a position with which I suspect Beecher has become quite familiar lately, but it's the random guy up whose ass they find some drugs. The desk hack gets a call, and detains Random Prisoner's ostensible wife. Genevieve bails faster than a virgin from a prison rodeo.

Back in the Prag Pod, Schillinger, reading a book, asks how it was. Try as I might, I can't make out the book title, but it's probably safe to assume that it's something along the lines of The Whiter The Better: Racism And You. Beecher manages that it was "good," which I doubt, and Schillinger gets annoyed. He then picks up a stack of photographs, expositing that he found them under Beecher's mattress, and says that Beecher has a lovely family. "I'm amazed you haven't shown me these pictures before. Amazed, and a little hurt." Hee. Beecher looks like he's waiting for an appendectomy. And that, I can tell you, is not a happy face. Schillinger continues that his own wife is dead, but he has two sons, who will do anything he tells them to. That's not all that true, but Beecher doesn't know that. In the same conversational tone, Schillinger suggests that he send his sons to visit Beecher's family. "My sons and your wife. My sons and your daughter." Ew. He passes over the photographs, and Beecher, with a look of such emotional pain that I feel bad for ever having made fun of him, tears them up. Great scene.