In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description! Finished? Click here to close.
We meet Mrs. Michael Scofield, who apparently splits her time between being Michael's support crew on the outside and, um, stripping. Which is, of course, where Bellick knows her from. Of all the strip joints to walk into, what are the odds that he'd have walked into hers?
Anyway, Sara takes news of Mrs. Scofield about as well as can be expected. She finally tells Michael to cool it on the flirting, much to his dismay. That's not the only knotty tangle this week: he has to get Tweener to steal a tricked-out watch that a guard stole from him. Meanwhile, Westmoreland finally wants on the team. This presents week's problem to be solved: who will be benched on Team Escarpara?
Alas, Quinn, we hardly knew ye. All you did was shoot Nick non-fatally, smack him and Veronica and LJ around a little, then fall in a well. Your mistake was in calling Kellerman, not Lassie. The former's going to let you die in the dried-up cistern. The latter would have gotten you help. Also, Lassie has better hair.
(However, this one goes out to Agent Kellerman: come back, baby! All is forgiven! You're number one!) Want more? The full recap starts right below!
We open this episode by discovering that Michael's not much for sleeping. You can't blame him: although the lights in his cell are off, the lights that illuminate the rest of the A-block are on and it's not like it's quiet. His watch alarm goes off, and I don't know what's sadder: that it might have been set with the faint hope that he'd get some rest, or that he laid there awake, waiting for it to ring.
Michael gets up, and we see that Sucre has no problems sleeping. There's a shot of Michael washing his face, then he gives the camera the Blue Steel. He's spotted a flashback!
We hear him say, "That one," and we switch to a jewelry store, where Michael is assiduously picking out a plain band, made of platinum with a brushed finish, size 6.25. The salesman says, "She's a lucky woman." Michael favors him with an ineffably smug look before drawling, "Yes. She is."
We get a shot of the ring, and then we're back in Fox River, looking at a circle of light. It's a penlight, clasped in the sweaty fingers of Dr. Sara. She's giving Michael her own stare, and as she turns to fiddle with her clipboard (the better to hide the sketch of the two of them riding a unicorn off into a sunset), he fishes for attention by noting that Dr. Sara's tucked the origami flower into a cabinet. Well, that clears up any confusion for me: the origami fairy didn't leave it after all. Although I am curious as to how a man who spends all day breaking out of prison could find the time to snag some colored paper. Don't tell me there's a Krafts Kubby that all the prisoners can visit when they feel like painting pictures of their prags or making macaroni shivs.
Without looking at Michael, Dr. Sara says dismissively, "I'm a packrat. I never throw anything out." Michael looks around the tidy examining room and deadpans, "All this clutter. It's overwhelming." Dr. Sara murmurs, "You should see my apartment." Michael smiles and says, "Whoa! We haven't even had our first date yet, and you're already inviting me in." "Just so I can skip to the part where I spray you with mace," Sara snaps in response. I kid! Michael continues with the flirty-flirty by saying, "I thought you were a nice girl." Dr. Sara rolls her eyes as she puts on her stethoscope and replies, "Oh, Michael, we all know nice girls finish last." Not if they've found the right guy, they don't. As Michael lifts up his shirt, he asks, "So where do you finish?" "That depends on where I start," Dr. Sara coos, giving him quite the non-diagnostic look. She keeps this up, Michael's going to end up with a stethoscope fetish, which could prove embarrassing later in life. Michael inhales -- for purely diagnostic reasons. Sara tells him to exhale. He gives her the Blue Steel and nearly turns blue forcing all the air from his lungs. Sara asks him to take another breath, and they share a long, loaded look at Michael tests the tensile strength of his alveoli.
Just then, Nurse Gossipson interrupts this oxygenated flirtation and Dr. Sara snaps back to business. Michael actually looks disappointed. Stupid air! It's not the same when I'm breathing on myself! Then he recovers enough to squirt some more goo down the grate, where it foams. Unsupervised chemical experiments inside prison are fun! Then Michael wanders over to confirm that the big, fat cable between the clinic and the outside wall is still there. While he's gazing out the window, he also confirms that Fox River has the plushest lawn in all the Midwest.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Veronica's pacing around the cabin and bitching about how the whole point to going to law school was to avoid becoming someone's pawn in a convoluted and nonsensical conspiracy theory. "Well, if you had done better than the middle of your class at Baylor, you'd be making the conspiracies instead of running from them," Nick snarks. Oh, come on. Veronica's all about getting Lincoln off death row, and Nick replies, "Lincoln? We just learned that Vice President Reynolds has funneled millions of dollars in research grants into her brother's company. That money was filtered into millions of small accounts that made millions of small donations to her campaign, setting her up to be the leader of the free world." Veronica looks at him, her expression plainly reading, Yeah. And your point…? Nick caps his little expository monologue with, "This doesn't stop with us ending an execution any more." Veronica stoutly insists that for her, it does. See, this is why she was in the middle of her class -- the inability to think big. Meanwhile, LJ is looking at Nick with a dreamy look. He's totally bought into it. Nick stalks off and Veronica makes a weird face as he passes. Boy howdy, the people who make this show really hate Robin Tunney. How else to explain the decision to turn her into Ruth Buzzi the minute she goes on the run?
Outside the Unalawyer cabin, Quinn puts on his game face. In this case, it actually means taking off part of his real face with some medium-grade sandpaper. Will nobody teach him about the gentle exfoliating powers of salicylic acid?
We transition from Quinn's manly facial moves to a shot of T-Bag sanding a wall inside St. Louis. Abruzzi calls out that it's time to rotate. C-Note puts down the shovel he's using to dig out the hole and glares as Abruzzi calls to T-Bag, "Sergeant Sodomy, you're up ." Hee! I wonder if he reports to Major Masochist? Brigadier General Buggerer?
Then the race-baiting begins. Instead of helping C-Note out of the hole, T-Bag twirls the shovel around like a baton and drawls, "I don't know about you-all, but it's gettin' a little too dark for me to dig." C-Note shoots back, "Are you telling me there's a hole in Fox River you don't want to get into?" The two of them begin a sissy-boy shoving party and Linc has to break it up. Michael plays to his strength during this tense moment. That's right: he stares. C-Note then wants to know why Abruzzi isn't digging. Through a mouthful of imported vowels, Abruzzi mumbles, "I'm hanneling ahrangemins onna outsad." Translation: he's our man for the post-break carpool. C-Note grumbles about this some more and threatens to strike. Abruzzi points out that labor concessions would only benefit everyone. Sucre finally gets the hang of warning everyone about the CO, and everyone hustles.
The CO comes in and calls Michael's name. He Blue Steels in response. The guard helpfully adds, "It's time for your conjugal." It's fortunate for everyone that Linc is standing behind the C.O. His gaping is less noticeable that way. Just in case anyone's confused as to the meaning of conjugal -- and going by the expression on Sucre's face, there appears to be some disconnect at the moment -- the CO clarifies, "Your wife is here." Michael puts on his courtin' face (Blue Steel, smug semi-smile) and heads out to mack on the missus.
Commercials. As much as I used to like Fresca, the idea that the fizzing sensation I enjoy is actually the snap, crackle, and pop of tiny pixies exploding in my mouth is kind of off-putting.
When we get back, we meet Mrs. Scofield from the back. Bellick is busy leering at the front. Unsurprising, that. The lady guard clears Mrs. Scofield for entry and she walks on by without a word. Bellick picks his jaw up, wipes off the drool, and asks the lady guard if the missus looks familiar. The guard's like, I'm sorry, but I'm not into gonzo porn like you. So the answer to your question is '"no." Bellick is left to leer all by his lonesome.
Michael's prepping for love by...staring out the window. The missus comes in. From the depths of the couch, the husband asks, "When did Tia Carrere become a hooker?" "When did she acquire the eastern European accent?" I reply. Anyway, the missus -- Nika -- has a wall of curly hair and a lot of impressively-applied eyeliner. She is not whom Dr. Tancredi would have imagined as Michael's type. The two then proceed to greet each other in a way that makes Ethan and Zeena Frome look like Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton. Nika tells him she's now gainfully employed. Michael's pleased to hear that. She asks if it's awful being in prison and he puts on the flirty face before replying, "Remember the first place you stayed? That hotel by the airport? The only difference is $69 and the free shampoo." Well, AAA will take away Fox River's diamond rating for sure. Nika sees right through Michael with, "Always the brave face." She puts a consoling hand on his arm, and Michael notices that she's still wearing her ring. Nika tells him she wears it daily, and asks if she can do anything above and beyond what they agreed on. Michael thinks not. So Nika whips a credit card out of her cleavage. I really don't want to know where she's storing her driver's license and Jewel card, do I? She asks him, "Why would you need a credit card in prison?" Hey, C-Note ain't cheap.
Meanwhile, Dr. Sara and Nurse Gossipson are sauntering down the stairs. Sara's sighing that the lesson the Illinois state government took away from the riots was "cut prison funding down to the bone." Nurse Gossipson suggests, "He may be the governor, but he's also your father. Maybe he thinks if he cuts enough, they can't afford you." She wanders off, the better to leave Sara alone and standing riiiiiiiight where she can see Michael kissing Nika on the cheek and hugging her goodbye. Cut back to Sara, who's staring blankly in surprise. She rushes off before Nika catches her eye. I know someone who's about to drop a whole prescription pad full of MS+ST doodles right in the biohazard waste bin!
Meanwhile, Bellick is doing his best to prolong what he presumes is the afterglow from Michael's conjugal. That's right: Michael's getting an anal probe. I cannot write that sentence without thinking about space aliens. I'm sorry, that's just how it is: any reference to rectal exams, no matter how oblique and network-friendly, has me marveling about how space-faring races apparently have nothing better to do than zip around the galaxy and bugger random folks. I blame Whitley Strieber.
Speaking of people who apparently have nothing better to do than zip around buggering random folks, it's T-Bag. As he works, he sings "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." It's the first time that song has managed to sound like an insult. T-Bag is upset that C-Note did not live up to his name and remarks, "I thought you was a musical people." C-Note turns around with a broad grin and remarks sweetly, "Your parents must be so proud of you, man. I mean, you hit the trailer-park trifecta: racist, pedophile and stupid." Heeeeee. I may swoon for Quinn on the outside, but C-Note's rapidly endearing himself to me on the inside. T-Bag has himself a Scarlett O'Hara-style hissy: "It vexes me that I'm made out to be the bad guy in the room. It's not like y'all were incarcerated for stealing Girl Scout cookies. Fiddle-dee-dee!" "None of us murdered any Girl Scouts in the process," Abruzzi snarls. Linc just looks like he's trying to remember why he's glowering.
Sucre comes in all hyped up and he chortles, "Michael's coming back from the bone yard." Michael comes in looking very tense and angry. That right there should tell everyone he didn't get any during the visit. Sucre comes over and huffs, "I tell you everything about me and Maricruz and you can't even tell me you're married?" Michael's all, "When do I tell anyone anything?" C-Note's also seething with resentment: "While the rest of us are slinging concrete, you got your little girl to play on your rusty trombone, huh?" I can't believe the PTC didn't launch an immediate email offensive after that one. Ah, the benefits to imagining offensive items on television as opposed to actually observing them! Anyway, spite and sullen envy are the human qualities that transcend racial barriers, so T-Bag piles on about the incredible cosmic unfairness of it all. Linc tells people to stop picking on his baby brother. Abruzzi drawls, "I think what the idiots in here want to know is, while we're digging this hole, what are you doing?" Michael assumes a drearily familiar expression (overweening satisfaction) replies, "I'm going shopping." Gosh, with such lucid explanations like that, it's no wonder Sucre's stumped over Michael's lapse in communication.
Cut to Sucre and Michael's cell. After Sucre gives the all-clear, Michael pops the credit card out of the seam of his overalls. Sucre launches the fret offensive. Michael cuts him off by peeling off the decals that made a magnetic key card appear to be a credit card. Very smart! This way, if Nika's questioned, all she can say is she passed on a credit card; if someone tosses Michael's cell, they won't find it. And yes, Michael made the card himself, with his very own printer and card reader and everything.
So Michael nips out of his cell and takes a stroll down to the receiving and discharge area. He lets himself in using the keycard. After a brief time-lapse sequence, Michael finds the bin with all his belongings.
Meanwhile, on the outside...night has fallen in New Glarus, and the inhabitants of the Unalawyer cabin are all sleeping. For the curious: Veronica's got the bed, Nick's got the couch, and who knows where LJ's being stashed. There's a crash, and then Quinn's knocking on their door, pleading that he needs help because there's been an accident. After a brief and furious debate -- Veronica, naturally, argues for flinging the door open to a total stranger with, "We can't ignore him!" while the more sensible LJ rebuts, "The hell we can't!" -- the brain trust opens the door. After a scant few minutes of mugging as a wounded figure, Quinn shoots Nick in the back and tells the gaping Veronica and LJ, "No one's going anywhere."
We are. We go to commercials. How appropriate to show the Hummer in the middle of a parched plain, what with the environmental toll it takes.
When we return, we see that Quinn's been busy: he's slapped duct tape gags on Veronica and LJ; the two are also bound. Quinn picks up Nick's gun, grabs the back of LJ's chair, and says wearily, "Say goodbye to Junior," as he drags him out of Veronica's eyeline. Then Quinn comes back and casually asks Veronica, "You know how many pints of blood the human body has?" "Mmm-flllfffll?" she guesses. (Translation: "I finished in the middle of my class in law school, not medical school." Or maybe it's "42?") Quinn tells her, "The answer is ten -- ten pints. How many do you think Prince Charming over on the floor has left. Eight? Seven?" Veronica looks at him and thinks, The joke's on you! Nick's not human! Ha ha ha! Quinn proposes that he take Nick outside to bleed in the woodshed, then says, "I want you to chew on this. You tell me everything you have discovered about the Burrows case and who else you have told about it. And there's a chance that I might let you go in time to get Mr. Savrinn to a doctor." Veronica looks alarmed: now is not the time to tell Quinn that Nick's a Christian Scientist. Quinn leans forward and twists the knife: "You decide whose life is more valuable: the guy waiting to die on death row or the guy wishing he'd die out in the woodshed."
Back in the prison, Michael and his box have made it into some atmospherically spooky pipe. He crouches over a puddle and goes into a Blues Brothers flashback: a guard saying, "One suit, black. One pair of socks, black. One pair of shoes, black. Shoelaces. One small tape recorder. One gold watch." The guard does not add "One prophylactic, soiled." I doubt Michael would miss it. But he does miss his gold watch very much -- it's not in with the rest of his belongings. Michael rolls his eyes with an expression like, Of COURSE it's missing. Nothing is ever EASY!
Meanwhile, on the outside...Quinn rips off LJ's gag and sits down to calmly ask, "You ever stay at a fancy hotel? You know, you leave your room in the morning, it's a mess. Wet, dirty towels on the floor, last night's room service stinking to high heaven. But then, when you come back at night, it's all gone. Fresh towels, clean sheets, candy on the pillows. It's just the best feeling in the whole world. Because someone else cleaned up your mess. All you had to do was walk away." I'm thinking Quinn's really going to blow away the guys at Starwood Hotels when he ties them up and pitches this as his new campaign for the Westin. LJ tries to maintain some dignity as he says, "Don't you hurt them." Quinn shrugs and says, "Okay. But you gotta tell me exactly what they know and who they have told, and nobody has to die tonight. You just walk away. Let me clean up your mess." LJ tells Quinn he has no idea what's going on. For some reason, Quinn finds this highly implausible. I can't believe Quinn thinks that!
On the inside, Westmoreland and Michael are walking together. We find out that Bellick isn't content to punish Westmoreland's non-finking with a simple cat-killing. No, he's also given Westmoreland a new cellmate: Tweener. Westmoreland's kind of amused by it: "Ran a bump-and-swipe on an off-duty cop. Fast hands, faster mouth." Westmoreland then introduces Tweener to Michael by his given name, David Apolskis. I like that Westmoreland's not above calling Tweener a fish to Michael, but still courteous when making introductions. Tweener makes small talk with Michael by asking if Michael can get him onto the PI crew: "A brother needs to make some green -- some cash-sheesh, you know what I'm saying?" "It pays 19 cents an hour," Michael monotones. Tweener's shocked: "Nineteen cents? That's slavery, yo!" "That's prison, yo," Michael replies. ["I'd just like to give props to Miller for the verbal air quotes he hooked around that 'yo.' Nice shootin', Tex." -- Sars] He also says PI's not hiring right now. Tweener bops off, and Westmoreland grumbles without malice, "It's like having another kid. I've already raised one. I'm too old to do it again."
Michael asks Westmoreland if it's remotely possible for the guards to steal the inmates' personal effects. I hope he's asking purely for intellectual exercise, and not because after a few weeks around Bellick, he's still shocked at what the bulls'll do. Anyway, the point to this exchange is to establish that Michael needs the gold watch that was stolen from his belongings, but just as Westmoreland passes on which guard has the stickiest fingers, the anti-pope CO appears to bellow, "Westmoreland! Pope's got a plot contrivance in his office for you! Come and get it!"
FYI: The sticky-fingered guard just happens to be: a) the one who checks in new inmates' possessions, and b) stupid and brazen enough to wear the stolen booty on the job. Michael should be so grateful for this convenience. It would have suh-huh-hucked if the CO had the prudence to only flaunt his stolen booty on the outside. He's also the one who passed a copy of Michael's marriage license to the nosy Bellick. The guard snorts, "Looks legit. He wasn't some guy who tried to sneak some whore in for a conjugal." Bellick grunts, "Says here they got married the day before Scofield robbed that bank. Why the hell would he do that?" To foot the bill for that platinum ring, fool.
The PI crew's standing around for their 19 cents an hour, and Michael decides now is the time to ask Lincoln if he's heard anything from Veronica recently. Lincoln has not. He monotones, "Doesn't feel right. Feels wrong." Wrong, you say? The opposite of right? Michael's too busy glaring at CO Stickyfingers to listen.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Quinn's taken Nick to the woodshed. He says, with some mild, feigned surprise: "I've come to a realization. Either Ms. Donovan and that boy don't like you very much, or they have an unreasonable amount of faith in your cardiovascular system. So tell me, Nick, this all you got? This paper trail of an indictment that never even happened? Is this it? We know you don't have a surveillance tape any more. We know you don't have anybody to testify. Is this really all you got?" Nick goes to grab a piece of wood so he can club Quinn, and Quinn testily points out, "Mr. Savrinn, that bullet went through your teres major, ripped the lateral margin of your scapula, leaving you absolutely no medial rotation of your arm. So if you try to swing that piece of lumber at me…" He'll scream like Tom Cruise on Oprah? Because that's what I'm seeing here. Quinn purrs, "Come on, Nick. Mr. Project Justice. We both know why you're really here, don't we? And it ain't to save Lincoln Burrows' life." Well, would one of you two tell us why, then? Because we're curious.
Inside the A-block, Tweener is rapping. Either that, or he's murdering blank verse in an effort to scare incarcerated poets. He raps about a twelve-round bout. Whatever you say, kid. You're not so much Eminem as you are Skittles. Michael comes in just as we get to the verse about T-Bag on his mind. Awkward… Michael asks if Tweener's still interested in getting on PI, and Tweener effuses, "Does my momma got big breastseses?" Michael is like, "I wouldn't know." Grinning, Tweener replies, "Hell, yes, she does. And hell, yes, I do." Ah, but there's a catch. Michael needs Tweener to lift the gold watch off CO Stickyfingers. We establish it's some sort of fancy-shmancy theft-proof watch, but Tweener's confident he can solve the problem creatively. Michael refrains from asking if Tweener's pickpocketing is more creative than his rap. ["Anyone else reminded of the scene in Shawshank where they tell Tommy he needs a new line of work, because he's obviously not that good at stealing?" -- Sars]
Hey, remember that plot contrivance in Pope's office? Here it is: "Westmoreland, I've called you in here to tell you that your daughter has fast-moving, inoperable TV cancer. We can only hope it's the kind that makes her more radiant as she nears death. And all your legitimate visitation attempts are not at all possible. I just thought you'd like to know, so you can brood over how impotent you feel in the face of this horrible knowledge." It is to the credit of both actors that they make it through this scene with their dignity intact. (And on a slightly related note: I love that Prison Break respects its elders -- it's nice to see a show that doesn't take the Logan's Run approach to casting.)
In the clinic, Michael is crestfallen to learn that he will no longer be panting into Dr. Sara's stethoscope. Nurse Gossipson is on the case while Dr. Sara avoids him -- right behind that big, see-through plate glass window. She appears to be engrossed in the book Not Doing Life In The Prison Of Love. Before Michael can obliquely ask if he needs to read She's Just Not That Into You, there's a big to-do because Tweener is faking a gross, spewing fit, and taking advantage of the distraction to liberate Michael's watch. I love that Tweener has the kind of seizure that makes him wink at Michael. These guards are so flippin' slack. If they were in the Pope's Swiss Guard, we'd all be Protestants. Michael smirks as he stands around, totally unsupervised, in the prison pharmacy jam-packed with scalpels and drugs.
Meanwhile, on the outside, Veronica's managed to have some fun with friction. Sadly, Nick is not present. As the door opens, she leaps across the room and manages to make the total opposite of a poker face even when half-covered in duct tape. Experienced hit man Quinn fails to notice. He's too busy sniffling. Then he embarks on the taunting about real estate law. Say what you will about Quinn, he's thorough enough to get background on the people he kills. I bet he'll be whipping out prom pictures and asking Veronica if she really thought that giant bow on her ass did anything for her figure. Quinn grumbles, "If Lincoln had nailed a girl with half a brain, she probably would have brought this whole thing down already." I grumble, "If Lincoln had nailed a girl with half a brain, this would have been a miniseries." Quinn then tries to lay a guilt trip on Veronica, telling her that people around her have a funny habit of getting dead. Veronica tries to lay a chair on Quinn. She is much more successful. And this is where my hot, florid love for Quinn shrivels up and dies. Because, really, this crafty executioner gets outwitted by Veronica?
Commercials. You know, the people celebrating the holidays in Target's version of reality really could use a few downers.
When we get back, Veronica's releasing LJ, who seems rather shocked by this turn of events. She tells him to start the car while she collects Nick. Go, Veronica! I don't know what came over you, but I applaud it. LJ sprints out to the car and gets it. Just as he's turning over the engine, a window blows out. It looks like Quinn has come to, and he's still armed. I bet you the habit of missing little details -- like the gun your captor's been using to keep y'all in line -- is what kept Veronica in the middle of her class. However, young LJ has the canny notion that by running into the woods, he can draw Quinn away from Veronica and Nick. That's a smart kid.
Westmoreland casually strolls by Michael's cell and drops off the watch. Michael is thrilled. Westmoreland's face is as bleak as the day he found Marilyn. He asks, "The watch: what's it for, anyway?" Michael decides now is a fine time to try on a new, supercilious face. He says, "I thought you didn't want to know any of this." Westmoreland's having none of it; all the twinkly-old-coot camouflage is stripped away and he says, "Things have changed. I want in." Michael is all, "So what are you bringing to the table?" Westmoreland is like, "Money, fool," and Michael wants to know how much. Westmoreland: "I think you know." Michael: "I seem to recall several conversations that ended in 'I'm not D.B. Cooper.'" "I lied," Westmoreland says baldly. "You lied?" Michael echoes. "We're cons. We tend to do that," Westmoreland continues. Michael says he checked the alibi (I guess he contrived a way to get to Lexis-Nexis one night -- or this is the best-stocked prison library on all the American prairie. Take your pick) and sure enough, there was a Charles Westmoreland incarcerated during the D.B. Cooper hijacking. Westmoreland says slowly and clearly, "My father and I share more than a weakness for easy money. We also share a name." Michael continues to marinate in self-satisfaction, and calls Westmoreland something of a liar.
After pissing off the guy who might could bankroll the operation, Michael jerry-rigs his purloined tape recorder and re-stolen watch into some device capable of recording on a time cue.
Some time later, Team Escarpara is busy in the St. Louis building. T-Bag decides that now is a fine time to broaden his horizons. His racist horizons, that is. He inquires, "Hey, Sucre. I got a question about you and the rest of the Mexicans." Sucre growls, "I don't think I'll be able to help, seeing as I'm Puerto Rican." T-Bag shrugs off this ethnic distinction with, "Geographic semantics, amigo. I'm talking general Latino population. How is it that a people so historically lazy make up such a big part of the nation's workforce." Sucre is P-I-S-S-E-D, pissed. He says, "The way I see things, it's everyone else who's lazy. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any jobs for the immigrants. The ones sitting at home collecting unemployment, the lazy ones -- it's not us." T-Bag is temporarily at a loss for words, then swings over to C-Note and says in feigned outrage, "You gonna let him talk about your people like that?" "Whatever, Deliverance," C-Note replies.
Meanwhile, on the outside...it's all very exciting as Quinn chases LJ through the woods. Veronica decides to answer the age-old philosophical question, "If a Veronica screams in the woods, will a Quinn hear her?" She calls for LJ and -- surprise -- gets Quinn. He wanders on over, and by this point I have found his blather too tiresome to bother repeating. The relevant thing is, he's standing on the cover of the dried-up well on the property. Veronica notices this, and immediately after Quinn mocks the notion that he'd be so stupid to trip lightly across this wooden platform, LJ barrels out of nowhere and knocks Quinn into the well. He's like Lassie in reverse!
Inside the prison, Michael wanders across the rolling bluegrass lawn and buries his gizmo in the sod directly beneath the cable he was gawping at earlier.
That night, he's a bundle of nerves. At exactly 9 PM, the Remedi's second hand ticks across the 12 and the tape recorder goes off. We see intercut shots of the guards wandering around the yard and Michael quietly flipping out on as he sits on his bed. We also see Bellick staring at the picture of Nika Scofield that's now attached to Michael's file.
Since Bellick's stumped at work, he heads to the local down-market strip club to unwind. Some random stripper says, "Hey, Brad! Good to see you," and he replies stiltedly, "Hey, baby." Of COURSE Bellick is a regular here. And of COURSE he is awkward with the ladies. Then Aerosmith's "Sweet Emotion" comes on, and we see why Bellick had such a hard time placing Nika before: he didn't recognize her with her clothes on.
Commercials. Ha! This is the second week in a row that the Burger King has been absent from his chain's commercials. I'm going to declare a definitive victory at the three-week mark.
When we get back, Nika and Bellick are making small talk. It's something along the lines of "Does it creep you out that I'm interrogating you about your husband while you're trying to hustle money from guys in a strip club? Or is it only the viewers who feel that way?" Bellick eventually gets down to brass tacks: "I just need to know what Michael Scofield wanted from you in exchange for the green card." Nika dithers, Bellick threatens to call in the INS, and she finally spits out, "A credit card. He asked me to bring him a credit card. That's it." Bellick looks contemplative. I think someone's got a cell-tossing in their future!
Hey, Lassie! [Woof! Woof!] What's that, girl? You say Quinn's at the bottom of a well? [Woof! Woof!] And he's only got a cell phone in with him so he can call Kellerman? Jesus wept; I can see where Veronica may have panicked while chairing Quinn, but it would have been nice if she could have thought to search him while he was out.
Inside Fox River: it's chapel time. Michael's sitting in his usual posture (arms folded on the back of the pew in front of him, head propped up on arms) when Westmoreland comes over and sits in to him. Michael whips out a hymnal, and Westmoreland replies, "No thanks. I brought my own." His face is still bleak with grief. Dang, but Muse Watson has been incredible in this episode. Westmoreland then rattles off the name of the U.S. treasurer c. 1971. He then rattles off a serial number: DI-- "the first number in a series of bills used in a ransom drop." Michael's smugness is so comprehensive, it even comes across when he's whispering. He suggests that all Westmoreland did was a little research. Westmoreland's had enough. He stands up, hands Michael his hymnal, and walks off without saying another word. Michael's examining the book when he happens to notice how there's a pristine $100 bill there with the serial number DI. How amazing that it's survived in such great conditions, and totally undetected, lo these many years Westmoreland's been in prison. Michael looks pleased.
He then digs up his jerry-rigged device. He's examining it, turning it this way and that, when Sara marches on over to the other side of the fence and says in a falsely bright way, "So you're married." Michael scrambles to hide the device and goes to the fence and stalls: "Ah, well...not in the traditional sense of the word." Dr. Sara shoves her hands in her pockets, but she's looking at Michael full-on as she says, "Michael, we're both adults here. Put your cards on the table." Michael elects to stare instead. So Dr. Sara breaks eye contact and says, "Okay, I'll go first. Um. There are very few women around here. I'm used to a certain amount of innuendo and flirtation being thrown my way. I'm not used to enjoying it --" Michael chuckles and says, "Look, Sara --" "It's Dr. Tancredi, and please let me finish. I'm not a jealous woman, but I'm a careful one. And for some reason, when I'm around you, I'm not. Um, careful." Michael puts on the Man Voice and purrs, "You don't have to be --" "Yes, I do," she says. "There are so many questions surrounding you, Michael. There are way too many." Michael Blue Steels for a while, and Dr. Sara plows on in the silence: "So here's the deal. Um. From now on, your shots, your medical concerns, they're all fine, as long as it's doctor-patient. But personal question or favors of any kind are no longer a part of our relationship." Damn! She's not-breaking up with the guy she was not-dating! As Sara walks off, Michael says, "The questions you have about me? There are answers." Dr. Sara, sensibly, recognizes that "there are answers" is not the same thing as "I'll give you answers." She doesn't even bother to reply before walking off. Michael bangs his head against the chain-link fence.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Kellerman and Hale walk over to the dry well. Quinn's pretty jovial, considering that he has a broken leg and a cell phone with a dead battery. Or so he says. Quinn tries sweet-talking Kellerman: "I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot: you have bosses, I have bosses, at the end of the day, we're all on the same team, right? We're just trying to tie up loose ends." "I could not agree more," Kellerman says. He hands his suit coat over to Hale, then finds a second well cover hidden under some leaves (…I know) and drags it over. As he pulls it over the well, Quinn hollers. Kellerman cheerfully tells him, "Just tying up some loose ends." Oooh, Kellerman, you magnificent bastard. You haven't groveled yet. You haven't been bested by Veronica. Have I told you how attractive that is? In fact, my only complaint about you, my little barracuda, is that you left Quinn alive. Why not just drop a rock on his head for insurance?
In any event, Kellerman pulls the grate over, tamps it into place, and aims a loogie between the slats. Down below, Quinn's busy screaming. "For the love of God, Montresor! For the love of God!" Above, Hale is stating the obvious with, "You can't just leave him down there. He'll die." Kellerman defaults to the argument he now uses to quell any Hale-related objection: if Hale doesn't like it, he doesn't have to live anymore. Cold! Cold, yet...hot. Welcome back, you magnificent bastard.
In Cell Escarpara, Sucre's complaining that it's getting testy in St. Louis. Michael will be back in there soon -- he just needs to finish listening to his little device. Which he does in time-lapse. Sucre fidgets mightily during all this. Michael finally concludes, "Eighteen minutes is how long we have between each time the guards pass beneath the infirmary windows on their rounds at night...it means, four days from now, on the night of the escape, we'll have 18 minutes to get the bars off the infirmary window, and for all seven of us to get across the wire and over the wall." Sucre asks, "Is that doable?" "Of course," Michael reassures him.
Turns out, Michael lied like a rug. In the scene, Team Escarpara's in St. Louis, and while Sucre, Abruzzi, and C-Note are all exulting over having hit the pipe they'll use for their escape, Michael tells Linc: "I've done the math. It'll take us five minutes to get the bars off the window in the infirmary, and two minutes for each of us to get across the wire." The numbers have confused Linc. He replies, "So?" Michael concludes, "We've only got 18 minutes. We've got too many people. One of them has to go." Oooh, the tension! Who will it be? We'll find out week.