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Although Michael spent the first hour of the series swanning around with an air of ineffable smugness, heâs soon got the wind knocked out of him by several developments. The good Dr. Tancredi is suspicious over Michaelâs âdiabetesâ â not suspicious enough to check his medical records on the outside, but fussy enough to give him a good case of the shakes. The drugs he needs to cancel his insulin are available only through someone who just happens to be on the opposing side in a race riot; Michaelâs hanging with the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists because they have a bolt he needs for his elaborate prison plan. By the end of the episode, Michaelâs managed to piss off the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists and lose a toe to a greasy mob boss. But the important thing is that adorable kitty Marilyn, who belongs to someone who may or may not be D.B. Cooper, is okay. So long as the cat is unharmed, who cares how much human blood soaks the floor? Want more? The full recap starts right below!
All right! More graphic content, for discriminating viewers! Oh, wait -- that's not what it says at all. Those of you who need to exercise discretion, do so. The rest, come on in!
We fade in on the luxurious prison green, where Michael is waxing Westmoreland in checkers. Westmoreland underlines Michael's entire reason for being on the inside: "You're anticipating me three moves ahead. You're a hell of a strategist." Speaking of being three moves ahead, Michael begins planting the seeds for Westmoreland's eventual participation: "You ever think about Boston? You think you'll see it again?" Oh, you writers! So subtle! Westmoreland says, "I'm sixty years old, with sixty years left on my ticket. What do you think?" As Michael sweeps up more checkers, he casually says, "I'm thinking about going." Westmoreland says carefully, "Well, there's goin' and then there's goin'. Which one do you mean?" "The one you think I mean," Michael says, staring intently. Westmoreland laughs and tells Marilyn, "Three days in and he's already thinking about turning rabbit. It'll pass. It always does." Marilyn keeps her own counsel. Then Westmoreland addresses Michael again, telling him that all signs and portents are pointing to a race riot. Michael tries to play it cool, but his expression says, "Shit! I had no idea racial tension could make my life more dangerous in the pen!"
Then the prisoners are all back inside their cells. The African-American inmates seem to be in training for the riots -- lots of shadow-boxing and sit-ups. Or maybe this is supposed to be a commentary on how the prison milieu does not encourage a life of prayerful introspection. Michael's in his cell using a mirror to check out part of his tattoo; its reverse-image reads "" ["hey, that was very close to my undergrad student number! ...Sorry, I'd bailed out on this show in the first hour, but I still want to feel involved" -- Wing Chun], and then "Allen," and then "Schweitzer." Sucre is oblivious to the goings-on, as he appears to be rehearsing for "Syrupy Ballads" night on Prison Idol. And then he fulfills his expository duties by commenting, "Hmmm. Toilet won't flush. That can only mean one thing -- shakedown."
Cue the pandemonium: the guards are rifling cells as inmates try to find ways to hide their contraband. In come the SWAT troops in armor with batons. Michael shrinks under his bunk, his eyes the size of saucers. Sucre explains, "They shut down the water, you can't flush the contraband." "We got nothing to worry about," Michael says calmly, even as he watches Sucre pull out a small plastic envelope full of white powder. Sucre shouts instructions as to how to get rid of it -- I'd transcribe them, just in case any of you are ever in a situation where you need to cover your cellie's ass, but the person doing the closed-captioning on this show appears not to have a working grasp of English. And then Michael finds the shiv Sucre had carefully hidden under the edge of a table. He pulls it out and asks, "What the hell is this?" Sucre snaps, "It's insurance, white boy! Now get rid of it!" Yes. Before Sucre's tempted to use it on you for pulling out well-hidden contraband in the middle of a cell toss. Unfortunately, a surprised Michael turns around, shiv in hand, just in time to see Bellick standing there. Bellick looks like he's just gotten a visit from Santa Claus. After Michael hands over the shiv, Bellick comments, "Rugheads and the billies. Which side are you on?' "That would be neither, boss," Michael replies. I like that he calls Bellick "boss" -- it's very Cool Hand Luke of him. Bellick hypothesizes that perhaps Michael's plotting to go after the COs. Michael cleverly rebuts him by staring into the middle distance. Just then, Pope shows up and asks what's going on. Bellick tells him, "I've got a shank here." I'm not going to be all torn up that I didn't know my shanks from my shivs. Pope asks if the shank is Michael's. Michael replies...by staring. I know, try to contain your shock. There's a moment of tension, and then Pope says, "You're not a good liar. Come on, Sucre, you're going to the SHU." Sucre shuffles out; Michael's all tense. As he and Pope turn toward the exit, Pope orders Bellick along. "I'm not done shaking down this cell yet!" Bellick protests. Pope verbally smacks him a little, and Bellick reluctantly takes his leave. But not before snarling at Michael, "You're in the old man's back pocket, are you? I got news for you, Fish. He may run this place during the day. But I run it at night." Michael stares some more. You know how some animals play dead as a defense mechanism? Michael is clearly of a species that simply stares until any would-be predators are unnerved enough to slink away.
Commercials. Y'all, I just prepped and painted my entire house in one weekend. I may have to take a break from this recap so that I can go rock in a corner until the flashbacks subside: that's how badly the Glidden paint commercial got to me.
When we get back, Linc demonstrates that "discretion" is his watchword by asking, during prison chapel, how Michael plans on breaking them out of prison. Michael tells him, "The infirmary. It's the weakest link in the security chain. As long as I get that PUGNAc, I'll get all the access I need." "What the hell's a PUGNAc?" Linc asks. At least, he'd ask if he were capable of emotional inflection in his speech. Michael explains, "It lowers my insulin levels to the point that I'm hyperglycemic. As long as the good doctor thinks I'm diabetic, I'll have plenty of time in there to do what I need to do. A little work, a little prep for your arrival...that's the idea, anyway." Boy, good thing he didn't provide any specific details to the guy he plans on breaking out. However, Michael admits, there's a hitch in getting the PUGNAc. Linc asks incredulously, "You're telling me this whole thing's riding on a bunch of pills?" Well, as the poet once wrote:
So much depends
upon
insulin
blockers
used to dupe
doctors
inside the jail
clinic.
Michael's assuring Linc that C-Note's working on getting the PUGNAc, and Linc says, "Now's not the time to be trusting a black inmate, Michael." Michael smoothly assures him, "Our relationship transcends race." Lincoln heads off the cover of "Ebony and Ivory" by saying, "Nothing transcends race in here. I can't let you do it...good behavior, you're out in three years." Michael's all, "Oh, ho, ho, let's talk about that when we're out in three weeks." Lincoln is all Negative Nancy about the prospect. Shut up, Lincoln: you're both Captain Bringdown and his sidekick, Monotone Lad. Michael is actually animated and passionate about this: "Every single step's been mapped out. Every contingency." Linc's skeptical: "'Every contingency'? You may have the blueprints to this place, but there's one thing those plans can't show you: people." Say, do you think we've stumbled across another of the show's leitmotifs?
And now, it's time to underscore the impending race riots by featuring gangs of muscular black men looming around the yard while rap music plays. Michael sidles in too, looks around, and heads over to a set of bleachers. He quickly runs his fingers along the bottom and sides of the bench, looking for a specific bolt. Eventually, he finds it. We know this because we get a swoopy, let's-narrow-the-perspective shot of the bolt, and engraved on the underside of the bolthead is the number .
Cue the flashback: Michael's sitting at his desk in his stylishly modern apartment, reading blueprints. We see a drawing of a 7/16" x 6" machine screw. Michael stares at it so that we know he's serious, and then writes to it. An actual machine screw then drops on the blueprint. Okay, then.
Michael scales the bleacher and begins unscrewing the bolt. Just then, someone sneers, "Wrong piece of real estate, Fish. It belongs to T-Bag." Michael's all, "Who?" The guy turns around and snarls, "Best speak with respect. Guy kidnapped half a dozen boys and girls down in 'Bama, raped and killed them. Wasn't always in that order." Michael stares, as if to say, "And he's not on death row for this because...?" Or maybe he's thinking, "Gosh, everything I read when preparing for this caper told me that prisoners generally regard pedophiles and pederasts as the lowest scum. So why is this one such a big deal?" Or maybe he's wondering, as I am, "First a prisoner from Boston, then one from New York, now one from Alabama. Am I the only one in an Illinois state prison who's actually from Illinois?" Michael asks, "Does T-Bag have a real name?" and then some anorexic hillbilly drawls, "That is mah rill name." Behind him, someone who is plainly his prison bitch giggles and fawns. The prison bitch bears a distance resemblance to Adam, a.k.a. "Hornio" of The Amazing Race's sixth season. So I dub him "Adam." I know! My inventiveness boggles me too. T-Bag comes on over, Adam holding fast to his pocket, and sits down with "So yuhr the new one Ah've been heahing all the rave reviews about." What, in Fox River's Fresh Fish Weekly? Just in case we're confused about T-Bag's sexual proclivities, he says, "You're just as pretty as advertised. Prettier, even." Adam doesn't know whether to cry or giggle. Anyway, in addition to his kid-murdering tendencies, it turns out that T-Bag's also a galloping racist. Michael lets him yammer on in that general vein while he continues to work the screw out of its hole -- and wow, does that sound unsavory in this context -- and then T-Bag pitches sweet woo: "[The impending race riot] is going to be nasty. But we'll protect you. I'll protect you. All you gotta do is take this pocket right here. I walk, you walk with me. You're close, and no one up in here can hurt you." Adam is looking increasingly upset at this development. It's unclear whether that's because he's genuinely besotted with T-Bag, or because he fears what happens to him once T-Bag's fickle appetites are sated elsewhere. Michael checks out Adam and tells T-Bag, "Looks to me you already got a girlfriend." T-Bag passes up a chance to lift the late, great Mitch Hedberg with "I don't have a girlfriend. I just know a girl who would be really mad if she heard me say that." Instead, he smacks Adam's hand away from his left pocket, stands up, and cheerfully points out, "Ah got a whull notha pocket raht heah." One imagines the harem that the lucky inmate wearing cargo pants could assemble.
So anyway, Michael declines T-Bag's eloquent courtin', and gets screwed for his trouble. Well, not like that. I mean: not only has Michael made enemies of the Fabulous Gay White Supremacists, he's also not managed to take the bolt. What was it Linc said about human nature?
Meanwhile, on the outside...Veronica's tracked down Linc's public defender, Tim Giles, and the man provides more back story in re: Lincoln's conviction: "The evidence was there. Lincoln worked for Steadman's company, he gets into a public altercation with the guy, so he gets fired. Two weeks later, Steadman's shot dead, the murder weapon's found in Lincoln's house, and the victim's blood found on his clothes. Trust me, there's cases you lose sleep over, but this isn't one of them." Veronica lets that sink in for a minute, and then chases Giles down again, asking, "What about Crab Simmons? Lincoln said he could exonerate him -- why didn't you put him on the stand?" Apparently, a guy named "Crab" is not the sterling witness one would hope for. Veronica asks whether Giles would mind her going fishing for Crab. He's fine with it.
Back in prison, Linc is in his solitary cell, crouched in a single, appropriately dramatic shaft of light. Cue the flashback...and it turns out Linc's gift to Veronica to commemorate her graduation from law school was a thorough roll in the sheets. Let's hope there weren't any parties where she was expected to open up her gifts in front of everyone. Anyway, Linc drones on about how, normally, his head is beset with cerebral cacophony, but Veronica makes all the voices simmer down and begin crooning Bacharach tunes in harmony. And he says, "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, I know that. I'm going to make it right." Veronica simpers, "I know you will." There's some face-suckage, and then Linc rolls over, grabs the disposable camera, and takes a snap of the two of them canoodling in bed.
Thus endeth the flashback, and the golden light is replaced with the cool blue illumination of the jail cell, just in case you weren't at all attuned to Linc's emotional state. Linc slumps against the wall again.
Michael and C-Note are strolling through the yard; Michael's asking how the PUGNAc thing is coming along. C-Note tersely says, "I'm working on it." Michael says, "Work faster. I need that stuff tonight." C-Note asks, "What's up in the infirmary that you need so bad?" Michael replies, "You get me that PUGNAc, maybe I'll tell you." And then he walks off. The rap music starts up again, so that we know the racial tensions are brewing.
Cue the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists, who catch Michael trying to extract that bolt from the back of their bleachers. T-Bag drawls, "Ah thought we had an undahstahnding. This heah's for the fam'ly. You made it pretty clear you ain't blood. How 'bout you hand that ovah?" Michael mentally weighs whether he'd like another prison-yard beatdown courtesy of the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists, and decides against it. He hands over the screw. T-Bag drawls, "Naaaahce lookin' piece of steel. Bit o' work. You could do some serious damage with it. The question is, who was it you was plannin' on damaging?" Oh, T-Bag, get over it. This is the closest you'll get to a screw from Michael. But before T-Bag can work out his feeling in re: unrequited love on Michael's chest, a guard comes over and tells everyone to break it up. T-Bag passes the screw back to Adam behind him. Michael is staring. Which...seems to be the default action, but in this case, there's a definite slump to his shoulders.
While Michael's getting hassled by the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists, Bellick is tossing Michael's cell. He does note the pad of paper upon which Michael wrote his tattoo notes. So he does a little rubbing with his pencil and sees the inscription "SCHWEITZER ALLEN ."
Commercials. Eugene Levy, if you needed the money, all you had to do was say something. But Samuel L. Jackson, you have no excuse.
When we return, Michael is still out in the yard and still staring. This time, however, he's shifted his attention to Abruzzi, who is standing outside the "Yard Department" and overseeing some work. Michael visibly psychs himself up, and walks over to ask Abruzzi, "What's it take to shake down another inmate, get something he's taken from you?" Abruzzi replies, "It would take Fibonacci." Michael's all, "Yeeeeeah -- no. You get Fibonacci once we're standing outside these walls." His sales pitch fails to impress. After Abruzzi walks off, Michael's got an expression like, "I'm 0-for-2 today. Can this day get any worse?"
And then Abruzzi's day gets worse: he has a visitor named Philly Falzone, accompanied by Gavin. The two of them lay it out for Abruzzi: if someone knows where Fibonacci is, and that someone is not Abruzzi, then there is the possibility that Fibonacci will testify at a Congressional hearing month, thus putting them in jail. So if Abruzzi would like to see his kids alive and well, it behooves him to find out where Fibonacci is, and fast. After the visit, Abruzzi is visibly nervous. Oh, this is going to roll downhill.
And then we get to another scene about which I can't be bothered to care. Sucre's in the SHU, and as he paces his little cell, he screams that he needs to make a phone call. The guard slides open the little window and cracks, "Sure, no problem. Would you like a pizza and a pedicure too?" Well, so long as you're offering... Anyway, Sucre pleads that it's Monday, and he's got to call his lady, and the guard's all, "Put a sock in it. You got nothing coming." Sucre turns away from the door, making the boo-boo-kitty face.
And then we see Bellick getting some guard to search the manifest for an Allen Schweitzer. Surprise, surprise, no such man exists.
Cut to the rap music, and a large African-American prisoner glowering. Hey, did you hear? There's going to be a race riot. The music said so! We get shots of prisoners creating shanks and passing them each other, since evidently, this is the week the work-study students from Lighthouse School for the Blind are interning in the security towers. We see Michael walking with a bunch of guys through a gate, and an African-American inmate says, "You hear the trumpets, Fish? I know you hear them. That's Judgment Day. It's coming -- real soon." Michael looks troubled. Cheer up! If it's really Judgment Day, maybe you can escape prison via the Rapture! And grab Linc on your way out.
As Michael heads into the GenPop holding area, he notices the African-American inmates all clustered in too-casual knots, watching and waiting. One of the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists distracts T-Bag, and after he darts off, Michael heads toward Adam's cell to look for that bolt. Not to diminish the urgency of his breakout plan or anything, but wouldn't it be easier to just find another bleacher with the same style of bolt and start over? As Michael searches the cell, we see a snapshot of Adam on the outside, draped all over another guy. Unfortunately, Michael isn't able to complete his search before T-Bag comes back with Adam behind him. Whoops! T-Bag is pissed, and shouts, "What are you doing in mah cell?" Thinking fast, Michael says, "I want in."
Well, while that little move solves Michael's short-term problem, it's not going to do a whole lot to solve a longer-term one, since C-Note has just noticed his newest customer making nice with the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists.
Meanwhile, Michael's making a bid with T-Bag: "Whatever it takes, if you want me to fight, I'll fight. The bolt from the bleachers? That's what it was for." T-Bag's all, "You want to fight, you get your chance. count." Adam sidles up behind Michael and gives him a look that's meant to be predatory, but ends up coming off like he's playing Gollum in the prison repertory performance of Hobbit! The Musical!. ["Don't laugh: it's real." -- Wing Chun] Michael's all, "So the fight's tonight?" It sure is. Michael alludes to the bolt again, but Adam simpers, "You want a weapon, bitch?" and drops what looks to be a pen in his pocket.
So! Michael's still down a bolt, he gotten nowhere with Abruzzi, and now his PUGNAc supplier is really pissed at him. I'd say he's 0-for-3 today.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Tim Giles comes by Veronica's plushy office to apologize for being so short with her: "The closer it comes to an execution, the harder it becomes, so..." And then he makes a peace offering, handing over the surveillance tape from the garage the night Linc purportedly killed Terrence Steadman. He wishes her good luck, and she blurts out, "With what?" "Picking up subtle, coded clues, woman! You're supposed to be unraveling a conspiracy here!" he snaps. No, not really. He'd like her to get closure. Veronica pops it into the VCR she just happens to have in her office, and watches Linc lurch over to a parked car all Frankenstein-style. He's got a gun out, since "stealth" is apparently not a watchword when you're busy not-killing someone with that gun in your hand, and he walks over to the side of the car furthest from the tape and fires at something we can't see. Veronica looks taken aback. We get a close-up of her horrified mouth. And then another of her horrified eyes. We see Linc run around to the passenger side of the car to open it -- what, the bullet didn't shatter the glass on the driver's side? Should I just let go of this unreasonable expectation for things to make sense? -- and then he checks something in the front seat and runs off. Veronica looks aghast.
Cut to a really nice shot: it's of Michael standing alone, by the fence at the edge of the prison yard. The way the shot is framed, you see the smokestack looming on the left, then a low-slung prison building, then Michael standing straight on the right; it's just really nicely composed, and I like how the blue of his shirt is picked up again in the color of the sky. Ah, the sweet distraction of semiotics! Anyway, the menacing music starts up again, which is our cue to look for roving gangs of beefy African-American prisoners and -- look! There they are! I have a hard time believing that wiry little T-Bag, who looks like one of those yogis that lives off nothing buy silken tofu and rose-hip tea, is the rallying point for the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists; you'd think that someone would have tied him into a bow at some point and used him as a festive valance when decorating their cell.
Anyway, Michael watches the muttering mob with no small amount of trepidation. On the other side of the fence, Bellick comes over and growls, "Allen Schweitzer. That name mean anything to you?" Michael's expression almost changes. If he had an actual temper, he'd be screaming, "Sweet fancy Moses, what else can go wrong today? I lost my bolt, the Italian guy won't play ball, I think I just agreed to be someone's girlfriend, and there's a riot coming on!" But since this is Michael, he asks, "Should it?" Bellick says, "I dunno. You tell me." Michael stares straight ahead and coolly says, "Never heard of the guy." Bellick asks, "You sure?" Oh, yeah, he is. After Bellick leaves, Michael watches his back.
In the scene, Michael's getting dressed in the bathroom, which is a surprisingly peaceful environment for all that it's filled with marble surfaces that work well when you've got a hankering to be bouncing your foes' heads off something hard. And there's a riot brewing. I'm just saying, these are the least opportunistic prisoners ever. Anyway, C-Note comes over and shakes a bottle of pills in Michael's face. Michael follows him to a secluded corner.
And this is where Michael finds out he really is a fish: after C-Note grabs his hand and cheerily says, "What's up, Snowflake?" he pulls Michael in close and gut-checks him; his friends rush in to restrain Michael. C-Note pulls back and asks angrily, "Do you think I'm a fool?" "What are you talking about?" Michael gasps. C-Note replies, "I see you up there with the Hitler Youth. I got a good mind to slash you open right now." Michael gasps some more: "It's not what you think. They've got something I need." C-Note astutely observes that he also has something Michael needs. As he empties out the PUGNAc container, he says, "Listen, white boy, your luck just ran out. You chose the wrong side." After everyone clears out, Michael finally loses his temper. Oh, his expression doesn't change or anything. But he does punch the bars behind him.
Commercials. Given the religious climate in this country, I think a movie about demonic possession is just what the national psyche needs. Also, while that annoying woman may have the kind of qualities that induce a man to fly her relatives to Italy so that he can scream about how much he loves her, that doesn't make her any less of an ungracious harpy in the way she responds. Jerkitude is forever.
Once we're back, we see that Linc's got another visitor. Every day is visiting day at Fox River! It turns out Veronica is there to see him: she's changed from the blue shirt she was wearing before to a red one, the better to telegraph how angry she is. Linc actually cracks a smile and says with some real emotion, "It's great to see your face." Veronica can't say likewise. She's all, "I think it's time to quit the charade, don't you?" Linc's all, "Gah-what now?" Veronica's on a roll now. She snaps, "It's starting to ruin people's lives. Michael's in here because he thinks you're innocent." Linc monotones, "He told you." Veronica corrects him: "He hasn't told me anything, but I know what he's planning. Call him off. If you love him, call him off. I saw the tape." Linc says that's not how it went down, and after Veronica spits, "I know what I saw," Linc rebuts, "I know what I saw. I was there, remember?"
Cue the flashback: Linc says he got high that night, since "it was the only way [he'd] be able to go through with it." He then dropped the joint to the floor of the garage, walked over to kill Steadman, and discovered that the guy was dead already. Contrary to what we saw on the tape, Linc never pulled the trigger. Veronica's all, "Yeah, yeah, yeah --" and this so irritates Linc that he breaks out of the monotone to yell through clenched teeth, "It was a set-up. I went there that night to clear a debt. Crab Simmons was on my ass for the $90,000 I owed him. He told me the mark was some scumbag dry dealer, and if I took it, I'd be clean. I never pulled the trigger. All I know is somebody wanted me in the same garage as Terrence Steadman that night." Veronica conveniently skips over the "Okay, so I was going to kill someone to erase a debt" part of the story and asks, "Why would somebody want to set you up?" Linc corrects her: "It wasn't about me, it was about him." Veronica has a hard time believing anyone would have wanted to kill the saintly Steadman. Linc finally plays his last card: "If what we had before meant anything to you, you find out the truth." Veronica snivels that maybe this is all the truth and they got it right, and runs off. Linc is like, "Why must the last days of my life be filled with people who want to make it more difficult?"
Out in the yard, the inmates are running around in clusters like they're one Jerome Robbins number away from running around singing, "They're going to get it tonight..." Inside, Sucre's going nuts because he can't call Maricruz on her birthday and he doesn't have enough dough to bribe the CO.
Meanwhile on the outside, Maricruz is celebrating her birthday in a limo packed with friends -- and Hector. She's about to bail out on the fun, and Hector plays the sensitive man-friend with "He didn't call you, did he? Look, I love Fernando to death, but the guy's a deadbeat. You gotta move on with your life." Maricruz gives him a look like, "You're right. Oh, won't you show me how to move on?"
Also meanwhile on the outside, Agents Hale and Kellerman pull Tim Giles aside in a courthouse. Kellerman tries to play the heavy by noting that he knows Giles made a FOIA request a few days ago for that tape. Giles is about as cowed by Kellerman as the late, great bishop was. Perhaps Hale and Kellerman need to rethink whom they've assigned to the good-cop and bad-cop roles. Giles does let them know that Veronica has the tape, and when they try to imply that he did a bad thing there, Giles smacks them down: "It's the Freedom of Information Act. She has as much right to that tape as you or I." Kellerman begins working on getting Veronica's name.
Also also meanwhile on the outside, Veronica's in a residential neighborhood. She waylays a woman rushing in to get away from the rain, and asks if she knows where she can find Crab Simmons. The lady says, "He's my son." Veronica wants to know if he's around. The lady smiles a little and says he's not. Veronica keeps pressing and Momma Simmons finally says, "Crab can't help nobody, lady. He's dead. I'm sorry." While they're talking, a woman's watching furtively from a window upstairs.
Cut to the ominously quiet prison. Michael's sitting on his bunk, nervously twiddling his fingers. The guards come in and there's a metallic rumble as the doors slide back: it's time for the count. As Michael and the other cons step out of their cells, the guy to him sing-songs, "Time to jump off, Fish." Michael looks openly nervous for the first time since he's come into the prison. Everyone comes out, looking around. Westmoreland's got Marilyn in his arms. C-Note comes out of his cell and gives Michael a sinister look. Michael actually looks panicky. A bald inmate steps forward. As one guard shouts for him to stand back on his number, Westmoreland takes the opportunity to slide back into his cell. That's good -- at least Marilyn will be out of harm's way. The guards begin radioing for backup. Figuring that the element of surprise has already been blown, cons begin rushing each other. An African-American guy picks Michael up, and as he shakes his head and says, "No, no," he gets flung over the second-floor railing. He lands with a light thud and gets up slowly, shaking himself off. Meanwhile, prison fight club rages on. First rule of prison fight club: telegraph everything five minutes in advance. Second rule of prison fight club: don't do anything that gets you a TV "M" rating. We see T-Bag slitting an inmate's throat.
Then we see Adam rise to his feet behind Michael. Seeing a chance to eliminate his younger, prettier rival, Adam rushes him. Michael manages to subdue him with only a little hair-pulling, and quickly wrests the bolt from Adam's hand. He stands up, holding the hardware out as a weapon. Up in the skybox, C-Note sees this and looks not terribly disapproving. Then he goes back to kicking the crap out of someone. Michael tries to make his escape back upstairs, but Adam's crazed with romantic jealousy, and tries to rush Michael again. Unfortunately, the Fabulously Gay White Supremacist is blocked by one of the targets of his discrimination; the other guy demonstrates, in a very real way, that the person ultimately hurt by discrimination is the one who discriminates. That's one to grow on. Michael is kind of taken aback by that, all "Hey! That wasn't part of the plan in my tattoo!" Or maybe he's horrified that this time, he knows the shanking victim. In any event, Adam lurches over to Michael and swoons in his arms, pleading for help. And then he bleeds out. Naturally, this is when T-Bag looks up and comes to entirely the wrong conclusion.
Before he can go after the gobsmacked Michael, the cops throw in cans of Riots B Gone, which emit smoke and drive the inmates back to their cells. All but T-Bag, who sits in the middle of the smoky floor, cradling Adam's body and screaming, "You're a dead man, Scofield! A dead man!" Choking, his shirt covered in blood, Michael stumbles to his cell. As other inmates stumble by, he whirls around, crouched defensively and wielding his bolt as a weapon. Even after the doors slide shut, he continues to stay low and compact, his screw out for protection. Eventually, he slides down the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, and tries to wipe the blood off his hands, but he's shaking too hard. His head drops to his arms and he looks like he's about to break down. It's the first time we've seen Michael completely lose his head in here. Honestly, this sells the character to me. All that drifting around, swaddled in ineffable smugness, was beginning to get to me.
Commercials. I find none of these car commercials compelling because none of these car commercials include things like, "And we have great, low mileage because we know fuel's a precious commodity!"
Meanwhile, at stately Fox River, Pope is giving the inmates the I'm-so-disappointed-in-you speech: "I really don't know what to say to you gentlemen. I try to give you the benefit of the doubt. I try to treat you with respect. But I can't respect a half-assed riot like this! Where are the hostages? Where are the burning mattresses? Why is this floor not soaked with the blood of the unwary? When the guards and I watch a riot, we want to see a RIOT, not sissy-boy slap party! Leave the hair-pulling at home, ladies." Or, you know, nothing at all along those lines. As he talks, Michael notices he's wearing a shirt covered in a dead man's blood, and he tears it off. Anyway, the upshot of Pope's speech is that it sucks to be an inmate for the forty-eight hours: no visits, no showers, no mess. So...the inmates get cell service for food? Pope concludes, "I strongly suggest that you all learn to get along. Because the time it'll be a week, and the time after that, it'll be a month. Think about it."
By the time Pope's finished that speech, Michael's regained his cool and has begun scraping his hard-won bolt against the floor. Down in the prison morgue, T-Bag is looking upon Adam's ashen visage and thinking, "Let four Fabulously Gay White Supremacists bear him like my bitch..."
Meanwhile, back on the outside, Veronica's got a call from a Leticia Barris. This gets no response until her assistant helpfully points out, "She says she used to date Crab Simmons." That gets Veronica on the phone. Leticia's all, "Look, I'm not talking to you unless we're in a public place, where they can't get to us." Because Veronica is still a little slow on the update, she still can't fathom that unraveling a conspiracy requires a little cloak-and-dagger work. Leticia snaps at her until Veronica says, "You just name the time and the place."
Cut to the Crown Fountain in Millennium Park. Boy, a giant plinth featuring the faces of strangers staring at you is a really subtle way to impart the "They might be watching" message! Leticia and Veronica meet, and Leticia sets Veronica straight: "The only reason I'm talking to you is because they're going to do to your boy what they did to mine. They're gonna kill your boy like they killed mine." A giant question mark drifts up and begins floating over Veronica's head. She claims that Crab actually died of an overdose and Leticia says, "Crab didn't use -- he had a bad heart. If he touched the stuff, it would kill him. Don't you think it's the slightest bit of coincidence he ODed a week after your boyfriend's crime? They killed him, 'cause he knew things...like who was really behind that hit that night." Then Leticia says she sees the people who can get to anyone, and bolts. Veronica keeps Leticia's low profile by screaming her name, and turns around, juuuuust missing Agents Kellerman and Hale watching her. Behind Veronica, the fountain's face blinks its giant eyes.
Meanwhile, STILL back on the outside, Kellerman steels himself for a phone call he clearly does not want to make. We see his lapel pin -- it's shaped like a spade, with a sword trisected by three lightning bolts. We also see a ring that looks like a class ring, although it's got USA on the side. His hands shake, and then he picks up the phone before all his resolution is gone, and dials...someone who appears to be the Martha Stewart of the Western Frontier, what with the Montana location. We only see this woman from the back, but I'd know that voice anywhere. Hello, Patricia Wettig! I look forward to seeing if Ken Olin will be playing anyone evil later this year. Kellerman says they have a problem, and the Martha Stewart of the Western Frontier says acidly, "You can handle a girl who graduated in the middle of her Baylor law school class." Oooh. She twists the knife further: "At least, I'd like to think so, given the stakes of what we're dealing with here." The camera focuses on her left hand (it appears to wear a wedding ring) and then on Kellerman's right. As two kids run in the room, she ushers them toward the TV, and then coos with silken menace, "Anyone who's a threat to what we're doing is expendable. Anyone. Do what you need to do to make this go away." Kellerman swallows hard, and then says he understands.
Back on the inside, Michael's working off some that adrenaline by working on his bolt. Down on the first level, T-Bag's assuaging his grief by turning his attention back to Michael. For a moment, that gives Michael pause, and then he resumes working on his bolt. We see that he's turned it into an Allen wrench. Flash back to Michael looking over the blueprints and finding the toilet fixtures, as made by Schweitzer plumbing company. Conveniently, these toilets happen to be held in place with 1/4" Allen bolts. Michael then pulls up his sleeve so that we can see that he's tattooed the bolt head on his arm (yes, really), and then he tests the makeshift wrench against it to make sure it'll all fit. Within moments, he's checking it against the actual bolt. Success!
We zoom down the tiny hole he's created, through a duct, and into the infirmary. Dr. Tancredi's waiting for Michael. He's currently accepting C-Note's apology ("I was wrong about you") and a handful of PUGNAc. Oh, will it work in time? And will C-Note be able to make good on his promise: "I'm gonna find out, you know, what it is you're doing in there"?
Cut to a shot of a grate, which would seem to imply that its charms, and not Dr. Tancredi's, are what keeps Michael coming back. He's totally nervous as she tests him. She waits for the strip to come out and exposits, "I'm sure you know this, but for the nondiabetics in the audience -- who are the only ones listening to me, since anyone who manages diabetes has long since given up on this storyline's having any plausibility -- anyway, average glucose for the non-diabetic is about 100 milligrams per deciliter, so we see a number like that here, and we know you've been misdiagnosed." Michael doesn't say anything. Dr. Tancredi says, "You seem nervous." "I do?" he asks. She doesn't reply. "Must be the needles. I never got used to them," he replies. "Between the tattoos and the diabetes, I find that hard to believe," Dr. Tancredi dryly rebuts. The test results are in, and she reads them: "Bad news, I'm afraid. Eighteen milligrams per deciliter. You're definitely diabetic." It is only with great effort that Michael refrains from punching the air in victory. He practically dances out of the infirmary. As he goes, a nurse comments, "Cute," and Dr. Tancredi chokes down the "I know" before saying, "Something strange about him. I gave him the results of his blood test and there was this look on his face. It was like relief."
As the guard walks Michael down the stairs, Bellick grabs Michael by the elbow and tells the other CO he's heading over there anyway. Where he's actually heading is over to someplace unsupervised, where he can deliver Michael to Abruzzi's thugs. Ah, shit. And today was going so much better than the day before, too!
Michael is walked into a garden shed, where Abruzzi's waiting. He says, "This little polka you and I have been doing for a while...as of this moment, it's over." Michael's knocked on to a potting bench. Abruzzi says, "Fibonacci. I want to know how you got to him, and where he is right now." Michael says evenly, "It's not going to happen, John." And that is the thug's cue to hold him down, rip off his left boot, and stick a pair of gardening shears on his pinky toe. Michael looks miffed. Abruzzi snarls, "Now, I'm going to count to three. One --" "I give you that information, I'm a dead man. You know it, I know it," Michael says. "Two --" Abruzzi says. "I'll tell you the moment we're outside those walls, not a second before," Michael says. "Tell me now," Abruzzi says. Michael looks down at his foot with a twinge of regret, and then whispers, "Not going to happen, John." Then we hear Abruzzi says, "Three," Michael grimaces --
And the screen goes dark, so as to keep the whole hour network-friendly. On second reflection, maybe it's a good thing Sucre didn't get that pedicure after all. Perhaps week, we'll see if Michael's little piggy goes wee, wee, wee, all the way home.