"You're a Waste of My Fries"

In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description! Finished? Click here to close.

LJ truly is his father's son: compelled to act, but doing so without the benefit of any long-term planning. After he, Veronica, and Nick revisit the Unalawyer cabin and discover Quinn's body in the well (Sob! There go my hopes for Quinn coming back in a dramatic sweeps arc), LJ gets two pieces of evidence: Kellerman's name, and another scratched name, Kravecki. The boy quickly looks up the address for Kravecki, and we discover that it's Kellerman's alter ego. For an alter ego, Kravecki's not doing too badly -- nice house, big boxes of jerky lying around -- and when LJ turns out to be a terrible shot, it's a good day to be Kravecki/Kellerman indeed: the police quickly come and take LJ away. All of you who think breaking LJ out of prison will be a second-season plot point, raise your hands.

Meanwhile, on the inside…Dr. Sara makes things harder for Michael by taking her suspicions about the guards abusing Michael to Warden Pope. When Michael refuses to talk, he gets tossed in SHU. From thence, he commences drooling like a maniac until he's tossed into the Psych ward, where it becomes clear that this was his plan all along, as it'll let him pressure Haywire into recalling the tattoo. It turns out Michael's strategic thinking skills have rubbed off on Sucre, who crafted a plan to finish the floor in St. Louis before the COs detected it. Best part of the plan: T-Bag has to take one for the team. Worst part of the plan: Sucre also gets tossed in SHU.

And in the most ominous side effect of the plan: after Sucre's successful last-minute repairs in St. Louis, Bellick concludes that Tweener's useless as a snitch, and hands him over to the biggest, ugliest inmate he can find. The moral of the story: fast food is bad for you. Want more? The full recap starts right below!

Every week, FOX promises me explicit scenes, and every week, they fail to deliver. Well, I'm not falling for their carny tricks any more. Unless an episode features human decapitation or an orgy that even Caligula would have found unnerving, I'm not passing on any more warnings to you.

Michael's working on the Taj Mabadiea. Pope comes in and seems heartened by the progress that's been made on it thus far. A rather unshaven Michael warns that plaster adds a lot of weight, so he may have to add reinforcements. This bothers Pope not one whit, so long as the Taj Mabadiea is done in time for the big anniversary. Good to know he and the missus are still planning on meeting that benchmark, even after the recent news of Pope's secret fatherhood and bereavement. Michael imperiously says it'll be done, then thrusts the model's dome toward Pope, commanding, "Hold this." Ever a people person, the warden jovially shares the story about how Shah Jahan loved the Taj Mahal so much, he planned on building a second one across the river from the first -- a darker one, so it was like the Taj's Evil Twin or something -- except that the Shah was then overthrown by his favorite son Aurangzeb, Michael dismisses it as a myth. That's okay, Michael. We here in TV Land are dismissing it as "really obvious foreshadowing as to what will happen to Pope." The good warden insists the story's 100% true, then adds, "I think." He begins chortling, and even Michael's sour puss relaxes for a moment.

Just then, Pope gets a message that Dr. Tancredi's there to see him. As Michael's escorted out of the office, he gives the good Dr. Sara a long, loaded look. When he leaves, Dr. Sara's all, "Funny how coincidental that is, since I'm here to talk to you about Michael Scofield and how he has burnt crunchy bits of prison guard uniform in his ugly burn."

The topic of all this twittering is back in his cell, trying to reconstruct the piece of tattoo he burned away. To bring home the point that verily, this tattoo is complex, Michael is wearing a wife-beater, the better to show off his intricate skin art. Sucre asks what Michael's doing. Could that question be more superfluous? You're stuck with the man in a tiny cell; it's not like Sucre wandered in from the other end of the estate and discovered Michael in the middle of an unfamiliar activity. So it's kind of no wonder that Michael pissily explains he's trying to reconstruct the tattoo. Well, it'd be no wonder even if Sucre had just come in from tilling the back forty -- we've established via flashback that Michael's not exactly what one would call a bubbly personality.

Anyway, Michael broods about how he's trying to reconstruct the lost tattoo area, because without it, they'll never be able to navigate the labyrinth of pipes beneath the psych ward. He says, "I spent a lot of time studying those blueprints, tracing them night after night, considering every possible route to the infirmary." And engaging in endless flashbacks that look really cool because of the diffuse lighting and yoga-like poses Michael struck with blueprints fluttering behind. So the problem with just remembering the blueprints, Michael explains, is that "it's like trying to take a test you studied for ten years ago." Sucre has a baffled look on his face like, Study? What is this "study" of which you speak?

Cut to Bellick stomping to the center of the cellblock and screaming, "P! I!" Oh, what fun! Do we all get to scream random letters of the alphabet? M! K! R! W! E! T-Bag and Sucre look suitably shifty-eyed, but are distracted by -- and I apologize for the bluntness here -- the world's ugliest prison cross-dresser. I realize it's hard to find the right cosmetics and flattering foundation garments in a men's prison, but this guy doesn't even look like he tried, and who loves a transvestite who lacks gumption? Not even T-Bag, who mutters, "I may be social, but that's a line I won't even cross."

Team Escarpara shuffles out, and C-Note asks Michael, "How 'bout it, Fish? When we rolling out?" Michael tells him, "There's one hiccup left, but I'm working on it. The roadmap's a little incomplete at the moment."

Once the team's inside St. Louis, Sucre plays exposition donkey and asks why Michael can't just try, try again in the Whack Shack. Michael replies, "Because: one, I don't have the guard's uniform anymore, which means I can't just get across the yard. Two, even if I did, it's a mess down there. I need this." "You think you can remember it?" Sucre asks. "Not with you hounding me!" Michael snaps.

Then the anti-Pope comes in and tells them all it's time to wrap up the job. Bellick's bringing in the pros to lay carpet tomorrow. All of the inmates try not to look too dismayed. The minute the anti-Pope leaves, everyone has a little meltdown. Michael finally concludes they'll fill in the hole just a little --- wedge a piece of plywood in there, then add some fast-setting concrete. This way, when it comes time to break out, they'll just smash it with a sledgehammer. Michael nudges the crew along: "Let's get on it -- we've only got a couple of hours to get this thing done."

While all this is going on, Bellick's introducing Tweener to an inmate named "Avocado." It is a mystery as to why he's got this nickname: he is neither covered in mottled green skin nor small, and it's highly unlikely that he got the nickname after wowing the inmates with his guacamole recipe. In fact, Avocado is a hulking behemoth -- one that scares the crap out of Tweener by chucking him under the chin and cooing, "Lookit. She's just a baby." Bellick determines that Tweener's sufficiently rattled, and bids him to sit. The boy does, and Bellick leans in to snarl, "Scofield. What's the nine-one-one." Displaying the survival instincts of a lima bean, Tweener says cheerily, "It's four-one-one. And I don't know." Bellick mentions that Avocado's looking for a new cellie. Tweener explains earnestly, "I'm trying to break bread with the man, but I can't get jack unless I get to the table. Scofield got his own peeps up in P.I. He don't need me." Bellick stares and thinks about how hard it is to nail Scofield when all he has is the idiot Tweener as a hammer.

Team Escarpara continues to fill in their little hole, but the impending presence of one of the COs means they have to hustle to hide their half-finished projects first. That CO is Bellick, and he is quite admiring of the quality of the team's work. Given how little time they're actually spending on refurbishing the place, either Team Escarpara are also the best contractors in the prairie states, or Bellick doesn't know jack about remodeling. He makes a crack about getting satellite, and T-Bag helpfully adds that the dish will give the guards all the porn they'd ever want to watch. Bellick says that as a reward for all their hard work, Team Escarpara is going to get an extra pair of hands. Enter Tweener, strutting and preening, as the rest of the inmates regard him with the same pleasure I might have in discovering a dead snake in my salad. Showing a remarkable inability to read the room, Tweener says insouciantly, "'Sup." Westmoreland rolls his eyes as if to convey to the others, You have NO IDEA what it's like sharing my cell with this. At least Marilyn was housebroken.

Commercials. So the point to Gatorade is, if it rains and you leave your volleyball outside, you can grow your own live woman? What happens if you leave a tetherball outside? Do you get a dominatrix?

When we come back, Team Escarpara quickly dispatches Tweener so they can talk: C-Note waves his brush around and says, "Look. My brush. It's all sticking together." Michael looks directly at Tweener and says, "Looks like somebody needs to go clean it out." T-Bag helpfully adds, "According to rank, that'd be you." Everyone soon piles on with paint-soaked implements and tells him to take his time. Westmoreland makes sure he leaves the building.

Meanwhile, on the outside…Kellerman's looking at the still that the conspirators managed to pull off the door reflection in the photo frame, and all I can think is, "So you're telling me the government can spring for the super-duper Photoshop technology, but it can't hook its NYC FBI agents up with an email account?" He asks who the man is, and Brinker tells him that all he needs to know is that Mystery Man (a.k.a. Pa Burrows) used to work for the company "before he went rogue." Brinker also reluctantly tells Kellerman that their rogue is also Lincoln's father. Kellerman says, "Wait, wait, wait. You picked the son of a company man to be our patsy. Does the company know?" Brinker acidly points out, "The company did know. That was the whole point." Kellerman says, "How 'bout you elaborate on that?" and Brinker snaps, "How about you stop with all the questions. You are a glorified bodyguard -- that's it. Your job is to be seen and not heard. Is that understood?" Kellerman promptly begins being seen and not heard. But you just know that he's now bumped Brinker up to the top of his Coworkers I'd Like To Kill list. There is that vacancy there, post-Hale.

Team Escarpara's busy finishing their floor when Westmoreland comes in to announce that another CO's on the way. It turns out that Pope wants to see Scofield, and the rest of Team Escapara's now finished with work. C-Note protests that they have a few more hours' work, but CO Geary shuts him down. As Team Escarpara shuffles out, Sucre swings by Michael and mutters sotto voce, "We're dead." Someone needs to begin reading about the power of positive thinking. Michael assures him that the hole will be filled and it will all work out.

Linc's gellin' like a felon in his prison cell(in) when Stolte comes by to let him know that the execution's a week from Friday at midnight. Lincoln reveals that he's a nature-lover, and he'd like ten minutes to commune with the lush green grass of the yard. Stolte's like, "Sorry -- until Pope decides to let you out on a leash, it's nothing but a dank cell for you!" Linc has a meltdown, which is totally uncalled for because when hasn't Pope been a huge pushover?

Meanwhile, on the outside…Nick's in an apartment, noting that when the Document Fairy dropped off the medical records that delayed Lincoln's execution, he or she neglected to leave any contact information. Why Nick is surprised by this is a mystery: isn't the point to a conspiracy that all sorts of people come crawling out of the woodwork to lob non-contextual information at confused stooges? Veronica points out, "Without a name or a paper trail, we have no way to get to him." "So once again, we got nothing," LJ summarizes. Veronica points out, "I wouldn't exactly call a two-week stay 'nothing.' It's more than we had yesterday." LJ speaks for skeptics nationwide when he asks Veronica, "Do you really think you'll get down to the bottom of this?" The only difference between him and us is that he thinks external forces -- as opposed to natural limitations -- will be the hampering factor. Nick points out, "The law is the only way to bring them to justice, LJ." The boy replies, "They gunned my mother down. You think I give a damn about justice? I want them -- I want to do to them what they did to me." Veronica gives a pep talk with, "They're going to slip up. They're going to leave a piece of evidence that can't be refuted and we're going to be waiting to nail them when they do." Nick points out that perhaps Quinn out at the Unalawyer's cabin is either A) said slip-up, or B) said evidence.

Field trip! The bloodhound gang heads over to the well, and Nick notices that it's been covered up. Veronica erroneously concludes that someone must have already come for Quinn. As the snow comes down gently, Nick concludes that there's no better time to poke around an abandoned well than in wet and freezing weather. He lifts off the well cover, and only then does it hit them that perhaps that putrescent smell wafting on the breeze could be connected to the corpse below. Quinn died with cell phone in hand. Veronica and Nick both look at LJ.

That poor kid. He's been shot at, framed for his mom's murder, unable to visit his dad, forced to hang out with Nick and Veronica, and now this? Also -- while LJ is a teenager and therefore still possessed of a metabolism that would keep him skinny, Veronica is still smaller and lighter. It makes more sense to make her go get the phone. But poor LJ's being lowered into the well by Nick -- Veronica's sole contribution is to sit around and look really really really concerned -- and he quickly grabs the phone. As he's waiting to be pulled back up, he looks over at a wall. Quinn apparently had the wherewithal to scratch "KELLERMAN," then beneath it "O. KRAVECKI." And that is why Kellerman ought to have shot Quinn or dropped a really heavy rock on his head. Dead men write no graffiti.

Michael's ushered back into Pope's office. He stands there, looking faintly smug, while Pope tells him, "I want you to be absolutely honest with me. Dr. Tancredi found this [burnt crunchy bit of uniform] embedded in your flesh when she was treating you. Apparently it came from a guard's uniform. Have you been assaulted by an officer? I need an answer. This is not about sticking to the inmates' code anymore, this is about officer misconduct." To his credit, Michael actually looks really unhappy. Pope twists the knife a little more with, "This is my responsibility. You wouldn't want to see me lose my job now, would you?" Michael scrambles for a way out of this, saying sincerely, "Of course not! You have been very good to me and my brother --" Pope cuts him off with, "I need to know where you got that burn, right now. Otherwise, your ass is going to solitary, you understand? Your choice."

Michael makes his choice off-camera, because the thing we see is him struggling like crazy, screaming, "Don't do this! Don't do this!" as the guards wrestle him down the hall and throw him into a cell. Perhaps it's just me, but I wonder if maybe a cell of one's own wouldn't be a welcome diversion from the whole no-privacy prison area. I mean, when you're not trying to escape from prison, it might be, anyway.

Linc quickly twigs to the fact that Michael's but a cell or two away, and whispers into the drainpipe. Michael looks around, trying to figure out if he's hearing real voices or just the ones in his head. He finally figures out that he can use the drainpipe as a party line -- and boy, that must get old for inmates who aren't invited to join the conversation -- and leans down to say, "We're in a lot of trouble now. Pope asked some questions that I couldn't answer. He's got proof that I was where I wasn't supposed to be. He doesn't know it, but sooner or later, he's going to put the whole thing together. There's no way out of this." Linc tells him there is. What, via the Reading Rainbow? Lincoln tells Michael to have faith. Michael is on the verge of tears as he tells Lincoln, "I put my blood into this, and it's coming apart."

Lincoln tells him, "The whole point of solitary is to break you." Or to give introverts a much-needed break from routine. Lincoln continues, "It'll make you crazy. You gotta keep strong, you hear me? Don't let them break you." Michael repeats, "I put my blood in this," and Lincoln looks up all, Yep. He's snapped like a bra strap.

Another member of Team Escarpara is not faring well either: C-Note discovers that sweet Kacee is not so dumb as a box of rocks after all. When his presumed arrival date came and went, Kacee began watching the news, looking for casualties. She's only now beginning to watch the news? To C-Note's horror, Kacee continues, "I started calling the rear detachment office, asking if there was some sort of problem with the 117…the rear detachment officer said the 117 wasn't coming home for another six months." C-Note's all, "Ga-what? Um, uh, that can't be right?" Kacee insists it is, and C-Note stammers, "Ah, you know what it is? It's because we're transpo. Technically, we're on a loan out from the 140 -- that's why he said that." Kacee says skeptically, "The 140th." Warming to the lie, C-Note says, "Yeah. It's just a few more days. You don't need to go calling anyone. I'll be back. I'll call you as soon as I know the exact date, okay?" When C-Note clicks off, the camera lingers on Kacee, and it's plain she doesn't believe what she just heard.

When C-Note gets off the phone and heads back to work, Sucre comes over to nervously tells him Michael's in the SHU. "Damn, the hits JUST KEEP COMING!" C-Note hollers. Heh. It's wrong to mock his exasperation, but it's just so funny. Westmoreland comes over and chides, "Last thing we want to do is panic, fellas." T-Bag begs to differ, but that's because he's high-strung by nature. The upshot: Team Escarpara has a hole that needs to be filled, and no way to get back in there and fill it before the rug company comes. Westmoreland points out that someone is actually in a position to pop out and fill the hole tonight. Sucre looks up from his shovel and notices everyone looking at him. He begins saying, "Uh-uh," and C-Note says sullenly, "Sorry, Papi, you're the only one with the toilet open to the outside." Sucre asks in a panic, "You're saying I go out there by myself tonight?" Yep. They are. Sucre points out that's impossible, and C-Note explodes, "I don't want to hear impossible from you right now! I got people waiting on me that I'm gonna lose unless you man up and get some cojones, comprende?" Well, honestly, I don't see how that's Sucre's problem. The floor, yes. That is everyone's problem. C-Note's crumbling marriage? Not so much. Sucre then snaps, "That's easy for you to say, pendejo, it's not your ass on the line." You know every bilingual viewer shrieked in delight over Sucre calling C-Note an asshole on national television. C-Note points out, correctly, that everyone's collective ass is on the line, yet Sucre is the only one who is in a position to do anything about it. The team overrides Sucre's objections about being trapped by pointing out that he'll just have to sprint across the yard to the grate when he's done. Sucre protests that it's ten years on his time if he gets caught, and T-Bag says, "You better figure out a way not to get caught." Sucre looks like he regrets the day Michael entered his cell.

Commercials. Is it morbid to look at Ice Age II commercials and wonder if the movie will show the inevitable extinctions that accompany climate change?

When we get back, Michael is staring off at nothing in particular and tapping his fingers on the floor of his cell. The camera pulls in nice and close so we can see that he looks crazy already. Or maybe he looked like this whenever he took any test: it turns out Michael is trying to recollect the blueprints, but is tripped up by lack of eidetic recall. If Michael did look so freaky whenever he was musing over a word problem on a math test, I feel sorry for whomever was sitting to him.

Poor Lincoln is fretting -- he whispers Michael's name and asks what Michael's up to, and Michael tells him, "I'm trying to remember what's beneath psych ward." Linc tells him that he really should focus on something else. Michael decides to focus on ripping apart his shirt with his teeth; nationwide, hundreds of people lean forward intently, learning everything they can on the off chance that someday, they will be in a position to tear apart Michael's clothing with their own teeth.

Sucre is trying to think about how he's going to swing his nocturnal perambulations. It's not going well, if his anguished expression and the steam pouring from his ears are any indication. It's not until Sucre leans over the railing and notices Annie the Trannie (note: not my nickname! It was on the site) that the light bulb goes off. Sucre smirks thoughtfully.

Cut to T-Bag flatly saying, "Uh-uh. Abs-tho-lute-ly not." Sucre reasons that since he's doing the run, it's only fair to expect his teammates to pick up some of the slack. T-Bag throws a kinesthetic little hissy, then squeaks faintly, "Do you know what you're asking of me?" Sucre tells him to take one for the team.

It turns out that T-Bag will be taking a spin with Annie the Trannie. He makes an opening move by snapping the back of Annie's underwear and uttering the immortal pick-up line, "Your bloomers are showing." Annie says shakily, "They aren't showing, baby -- they're flying." T-Bag then slams Annie against the wall and says, "I take it you are…a party girl." Well, it looks like T-Bag's about to cross a line. For the team! It's all for the team.

Out at the Unalawyer cabin, LJ is washing off the stink of dead agent. He happens to poke around enough to notice the cache of guns that gave Veronica such pause earlier, then swipes one. Veronica comes in to tell him they're going, and he's all, "It's cool! I didn't just take a gun or anything!" When everyone's all buckled in, Nick's jubilantly saying that once they recharge the batteries on Quinn's phone, there will be "a gold mine of information." Veronica then asks, "What about Quinn? Are we just going to leave him here?" Nick replies, "You mean the guy who shot me in the back? [pause] Yeah. We're just going to leave him here."

Cut to T-Bag, looking visibly shaken, handing off something to Sucre and snarling, "You tell anyone about this, and I'll…" he trails off. How bad must be a tryst with Annie be if it renders T-Bag inarticulate? Sucre is grinning.

Meanwhile, on the outside…proving that this really is a show where reality is not merely suspended, but actively levitating, we get a FOX news clip claiming that an environmental bill is deadlocked in the Senate, as opposed to being gutted by the usual suspects, then trampled into a gauche gladiatorial display of partisan hackery. Madame Vice President is expected to cast a deciding vote on the bill. All this backstory is merely background to Nurse Gossipson, who's telling the voraciously grazing Dr. Sara to get a life and start dating. Dr. Sara tells her, "I've had some bad luck when it comes to relationships." "You had bad luck, or you had bad boys?" the nurse shrewdly asks. Dr. Sara says, "I've managed to have a little bit of both. I think you're right. I don't tend to go for the nice guys. I like the ones with the deep-seated emotional issues I can internalize and make my own." "Like Scofield?" Nurse Gossipson shrewdly asks. Dr. Sara lies, "Nope, not like Scofield." Nurse Gossipson is not fooled: "Every time he comes in for his shot, you spend twenty minutes rolling up his sleeve." Dr. Sara shortly says that yes, Michael is both interesting and attractive, but he is still an inmate, so he's off-limits.

Speaking of the dreamy inmate, here he is trying to recreate the blueprints with rolled-up bits of the sweatshirt. We get a boatload of disjointed flashbacks, but those don't really help Michael at all. He eventually sweeps everything away in frustration. Lincoln asks Michael how he's doing. In response, Michael stands up again, saying, "I put my blood into this," then punching the wall. This goes on for some time. Owwww.

Appropriately enough, there's a full moon outside. Sucre puts on his dark clothes, quickly gets out of the cell, then scampers out to St. Louis. Sucre quickly sets to work and gets the hole patched in no time. It's too bad he didn't think to drop a sledgehammer down into the passage first -- there's no point in having a thin patch over the floor if it's still too thick for the inmates to bust.

Stolte's outside doing his rounds, and he hears something in St. Louis. He comes in and it's all very tense, but Sucre turns out to have hidden behind some supplies, so there's no way Stolte's going to find him.

After Stolte leaves, Sucre goes to make a run for it. Unfortunately, he barely gets a few yards before the lights go on. Sucre immediately drops to his knees, shouting, "Please don't shoot! Don't shoot!" The guards are unmoved by his politeness.

Commercials. I like how Domino's is debuting a new, larger pizza for our new, larger nation.

When we come back, Bellick is practically giddy from the delightful prospect of being able to legitimately abuse an inmate. First, he tells Sucre, "The state of Illinois doesn't look too kindly upon prisoners who try to escape." Does any state in the union? Bellick then helpfully points out that should he decide Sucre was trying to escape, charges would be filed and another dime would get added to Sucre's sentence. Sucre protests that he wasn't trying to escape. Narrowly interpreted, that statement is not a lie. In fact, Sucre could truthfully assert that he was trying to get back to his cell. Bellick says mockingly, "You're just out there howling at the moon." As Bellick grabs Sucre by the throat and bids him to begin talking -- which seems like sort of an unfair set-up, if you ask me -- another CO checks around the corner to make sure nobody's around to see this. Sucre decides he doesn't really need that last lungful of air, and he gasps that he stayed out in the yard under the bleachers so he could get a package that was getting sent over the walls.

Panting nearly as hard as Sucre is -- and boy, can that dependent clause be taken out of context -- Bellick points out that a drug charge is nearly as severe as an escape charge. Sucre protests that it wasn't drugs, and Bellick shouts, "Then what the hell was it?" Bellick flings Sucre toward the other guard and orders him to search Sucre. What the CO turns up…is Annie the Tranny's bloomers. Sucre tries to look like he's dismayed, but he actually looks pretty pleased that this is going to plan. Bellick says incredulously, "A pair of [underwear]? A pair of [underwear]? You risked going to the SHU for a pair of [underwear] -- hell, you risked adding extra time to your bid, all for a pair of panties?" "They lift and cradle my tushie! They're the only thing that keeps me looking so good in these prison blues," Sucre protests. Oh, he does not. Instead, he assumes a gooey expression and says plaintively, "My girl just wanted me to know she was thinking about me, boss." This is especially plaintive when you consider that whatever's passing between Maricruz's ears probably has nothing to do with Sucre. Bellick fondles the panties, then says, "You got a real beefer on your hands, don't you?" Sucre cringes like he's heard fat-girlfriend jokes for years, then says, "It's the dumbest thing I've ever done. I'm just scared that being here, I'm going to lose her." "Son, if these drawers are any indication, you couldn't lose her from space," snickers Bellick. Or not -- when have you known him to be quippy? He actually goes for what he perceives as the humiliating move -- sniffing the crotch of the panties -- and God only knows how Sucre keeps from snickering over the sight of Bellick inhaling Annie the Trannie's drawers. Well, he'll have plenty of time to laugh to himself in the SHU.

Linc quickly hops on the party line and begins chatting up Michael, but he's not in a chatty mood right now. Linc screams for a CO to check out his brother, and although the CO seems a little put out, he does check through the little cubbyhole at the bottom. He does a quick check, but doesn't like what he sees.

Meanwhile, on the outside…Nick has finally tracked down an electronics store that sells the kind of charger Quinn's phone took. He and Veronica take off. Nick had instructed LJ to keep ridin' the couch while the grownups were gone, but telling LJ what to do is nothing if not an exercise in futility, so the minute the door closes, LJ's hitting a search engine to find "O. Kravecki." It's not hard: the guy lives at 226 High Point Blvd., Chicago, IL. LJ calls the number listed with the address and we see a phone wrapped in cellophane. The machine kicks on, and the message is pretty boilerplate -- except that the guy speaking it is Kellerman. We realize that the same time LJ does. LJ hangs up the phone and he's like, "Jackpot!"

Back in prison, Dr. Sara comes in to have a look at Michael. He's painted some of the prison blueprints on the wall in his own blood, and now he's sitting on the floor, hunched over with his bloody hands curled up like anemones. Dr. Sara sits down and very gently warns him he's going to feel her hand on his wrist. He's still hunched over, and it could be a trick of the light, but it looks like there's a little bit of male-pattern baldness going on. Good choice to keep the hair short! It's less noticeable that way. Dr. Sara takes in the wall, then checks out Michael's eyes. She then checks out his hand. Michael puts his head and her lap and begins drooling gently. Dr. Sara sighs -- no doubt thinking that this will permanently ruin any other fantasies involving scenarios in which Michael drools all over her thighs -- then assures Michael he'll be okay.

Tweener's working outside the day, eavesdropping on the remaining members of Team Escarpara as they all talk about how they hope Sucre had enough time to fix the floor. The carpet company's van rolls up, and I am wondering whose bright idea it was to paint "Munsch's Carpets" on the door.

Meanwhile, on the outside…Kellerman is busy throwing a hissyfit to Madame Vice President and Mistress of Evil. He says, "I thought we picked Burrows off the street because he was some lowlife who couldn't defend himself. Now I learn it's all about his father's some old spook that the company's trying to settle a score with?" Madame Evil says, "Fortunately for us, the company's agenda and our agenda have the same endgame." That's not cool with Kellerman. He says, "I've been doing this for 15 years, and it's never been about anything other than you, your family, and most importantly, this country. Now I need to know who I'm working for here." Madame Evil looks like she'd rather be talking to anyone else -- up to and including Lincoln Burrows -- rather than answer that. She says, "You're working for me." Kellerman says softly, "Promise me that." Oh, Kellerman, I'd promise you anything. And evidently, so will Madame Evil. The difference between us is that Madame Evil makes that promise under Brinker's watchful eye, so now it's all circles-within-circles-within-circles. Kellerman clicks off his phone and thinks, "It used to be all about the conspiracy, baby. You've changed."

Ah, it turns out that Brinker's drop-in wasn't expected. Madame Evil says irritably, "And to what do I owe this honor?" Brinker says she's just there to tell Madame Evil how to vote on the Senate floor later. Madame Evil says caustically, "Look, I get it. The vote comes down to me, I vote no, it gets done." Brinker's all, "Actually, we want you to vote yes." Madame Evil is horrified to contemplate the idea of voting on the side of the environmentalists. I love how "environmentalist" is an epithet here. What I do not love is the Syriana-ization of this show, because A) that movie was convoluted enough, and B) the odds of George Clooney trotting into the prison as a new inmate are very small, and C) I will stroke out on my couch as I contemplate the idea that more people are busy watching a show about Those Darn Oil Cabals than they are in reading a newspaper and noticing that nearly three-quarters of a million dollars flowed from oil lobbyists to our own elected officials last year. Anyhoodle, Brinker explains that Madame Evil can continue to shampoo baby seals in raw crude on her own time; the point to this vote is to make her appear more moderate so America's idiot electorate can justify voting for her in the presidential go-round. Besides, Brinker adds, it's not like the president isn't going to veto the bill anyway: "Then we'll get precisely what we always wanted anyway, won't we?"

Back inside the yard, Avocado's pitching sweet woo at Tweener: "You probably don't have a hair on your body, do you?" Bellick calls for Tweener and says, "Looks like Avocado's taken a shine to you. I can set you up as cellies, if you want." Tweener finally passes on some useful information: "Scofield and his boys are up to something. Whatever it is, it's got something to do with that room they're fixing. Something to do with the carpet."

Bellick takes off and begins tearing through the room. He upends a table, whips up the rugs…and sees nothing wrong with the floor. That is most miraculous hasty-repair job ever!

Were Sucre able to see it -- and he can't, as he's rotting in solitary -- no doubt he'd be relieved. Lincoln, meanwhile, is beside himself with worry for Michael. At this point, Dr. Sara's dragged Pope down here to make the case that the boy needs out of solitary. Lincoln begins screaming for his brother, and rather than say something that'll actually calm Lincoln down -- if not shut him up -- some CO merely slams the little window on Lincoln's door closed. We then go to a shot of Michael's face; he's Blue Steeling at nothing in particular. Perhaps his face has finally rusted that way.

Commercials. I haven't the words for what I think of the impending Flight 93 movie, other than these: What do you think the entertainment industry thinks of you if they believe you'd prefer a manufactured narrative to the truthful reporting of events that aren't even five years old yet?

When we get back, LJ's managed to find Kellerman/Kravecki's address. I will say this for whoever picked out the locations: they have managed to find a neighborhood that looks exactly like the ones that Mr. Sobell's and my relatives all live in. I half expected to see Uncle Carmen leaning out the window door to watch LJ while Aunt Edith sniped in the background, "You see that punk kid? That's why we're moving to Napierville!" Aunt Edith is right-on in this case, as that punk kid just broke into the house. I see someone else's aunt -- walking out on the back fire escape (wood, natch) is simpatico with my relatives. Someone will be calling 911 very shortly, I think. Let's hope LJ's a better runner than Sucre is.

On the inside, Dr. Sara's checking Michael into the Whack Shack. Well, given that she's looking for a man whose problems she can internalize and make her own, I'm thinking she's just found proof that Michael is the man of her dreams.

Inside the Kravecki household, LJ is picking up a bag of Tasti-Meats buffalo jerky from a big box of the stuff. "Buffalo" jerky, huh. I bet what we're looking at are the dehydrated remains of Agent and Mrs. Hale. Kellerman strikes me as having a dark side. LJ continues wandering through the house. Apparently, being part of a government conspiracy means you get to live in a classic Chicago bungalow. I totally covet the wood trim. Then Kellerman comes in the door. I love how he's got the day's mail clamped in his teeth. Who among us hasn't done that? On days when we're not stuck with a dozen catalogs, I mean.

Kellerman's going through his mail, a routine consisting of "read envelope, then toss on pre-existing stack of envelopes." He really should just read it over his recycle bin -- less clutter that way!

And then, the greatest moment that has ever happened on this show takes place. LJ wanders out of the dining room and cocks his pistol. Kellerman looks over at him, then sighs and raises his eyes heavenward. It such a beautiful moment, I have to repeat it: Kellerman looks over at the gun-waving youth, then sighs and raises his eyes heavenward. Has any gesture ever said so much about a character with such economy of expression? Could Kellerman have demonstrated such abundant sangfroid and contempt for LJ any more precisely? No and no.

Kellerman says casually that LJ scared him, then adds, "Put it down, you're not a killer. You don't want to make any rash mistakes here." LJ wings Kellerman, and the agent goes down for a moment, but comes up again in the door. He appears to have been grazed in the ear.

Still cool, Kellerman orders, "Go easy," but LJ listens about as effectively as his old man does. Kellerman says, "LJ, I can help you beat this rap. But if you pull that trigger now, you really will be a killer, and then I can't help you, okay? I'm government. There are a lot of things I can do for you." Instead of snapping back, "Okay -- give me a tax refund like the vice president's," LJ decides he'd rather have Kellerman dead. Oh, LJ, we can't have that.

Fortunately, Chicago's finest agree, as they're all here to haul LJ away. Kellerman sits down. For all that he's stanching the flow of blood, Kellerman looks an awful lot like the cat who ate the canary.

Back inside the prison, Tweener's expression is the exact opposite of Kellerman's. He's carrying his stuff up to a new cell level, and protesting to Bellick that he did everything that was asked of him. Bellick tells him his information was worthless. He adds contemptuously, "You're a waste of my fries." Tweener's still pleading with Bellick even as he's being pushed into the cell. Behind him, Avocado unfolds. The door slams shut and Bellick says, "Have at it." We see Tweener sandwiched between the bars and a wall of hairy human flesh, and it's abundantly clear that the advice "Keep your back to the wall and your feet on the ground" is going to be physically impossible to follow.

Meanwhile, on the outside…the cop is telling Kellerman that "you're lucky -- the kid's got a double warrant for homicide." Kellerman says, "Oh, dear. Are you serious?" It's too bad Brinker can't see this bravura performance. Then she'd have an idea what she's up against. We then move into the part of the conversation where Kellerman -- posing as "Kravecki" here -- shares that he's a regional sales manager for a dehydrated meat company, and generously passes along bags of his product.

Inside, Michael has been shorn and clad in a white tunic. He's just in time for the 11:10 showing of the Despot Monologues: "Today, we celebrate the first glorious anniversary of the Information Purification Directives. We have created, for the first time in all history, a garden of pure ideology. Where each worker may bloom secure from the pests of contradictory and confusing truths. Our Unification of Thoughts is more powerful a weapon than any fleet or army on earth. We are one people, with one will, one resolve, one cause. Our enemies shall talk themselves to death and we will bury them with their own confusion. We shall prevail!" If Michael is lucky, they'll get his meds right and he'll see why 1984 won't be like 1984.

The attendant goes away, and Michael's expression is suddenly sharp and lucid again. He heads right over to Haywire and says coldly, "Hello, roomie. You were right about my tattoo. It is a path, just like you thought. And I need you to remember when you saw it, Haywire. I need you to remember what it looked like. Do you think you can do that for me?"

Haywire stares for a while, then says distantly, "Who are you?" Michael just looks at him all, "You're kidding, right?"