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So this week, we find out that birdbaths send Mahone into a weird fugue state. Whatever.
We also see that Bellick is being hung out to dry for failing to notice how the PI crew engineered an escape route through Fox River. Because Pope has twice the moral backbone of our favorite C.O., he quits rather than let his charge take all the blame. This was the minor heartbreak of the night -- watching a well-intentioned, reform-minded character take a kick in the ass every time he tried to do right.
The major heartbreak of the night is that Team Escarpara breaks up. I know! I havenât been this distraught over five dudes splitting up since Duran Duran spun off into Power Station and Arcadia. The non-related escaped cons are headed in one direction. Michael and Linc head in another to try and break L.J. out of the Cook County courthouse. They would have gotten away with it too, if it hadnât been for that meddling Mahone. So now L.J.âs headed for adult lock-up in Arizona.
Finally: T-Bag kills that poor vet who re-attached his hand, in a really revolting and sadistic fashion. And Tweener poses as a college student (no, really! Quit laughing!), the better to bum a ride to Utah with a gullible young miss. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously on Prison Break: Team Escapara successfully eludes capture; we meet Agent Mahone, who is something of a smarty-pants, and tasty-looking to boot.
So this episode begins with that scene from Terms of Endearment where Debra Winger's laying in the hospital bed waiting to say good-bye to her kids and -- oh. Wait. That's just my TiVo. Who knew my appliance was secretly addicted to movies that make you cry until your eyes are nearly swollen shut?
Anyway, you will all be glad to know the TiVo pulled itself together long enough to change the channel. This episode really begins with Agent Mahone sitting in a lawn chair. He's on the phone, listening to someone talk about how the Mexican border patrol agents have all the mug shots, because it's not like the border patrol has anything better to do than sit around and twiddle their thumbs while they wait on the FBI's "Have you seen me?" milk carton shots.
As Mahone coordinates all this, he stares obsessively at a stone birdbath. When he's done talking to Ives, he walks over to the birdbath and stares at it for a while. The water is remarkably clean and clear for a birdbath; perhaps it's only used by the Adrian Monk of birds. Anyway, we see Mahone's haunted expression in the water. Okay, then.
Meanwhile Michael -- who is wearing a Chicago Cubs hat with his suit and is therefore sufficient disguised -- is looking at the front page of the Chicago Herald. The paper has decided to call Team Escapara the "Fox River Eight." Michael looks up from his paper, and we see that he's also wearing glasses. This is a very smart move: years of wearing frames have proven that when people look at my face, they see the glasses first, so that's what they're most likely to remember.
Michael continues to scope out the pedestrian traffic in the little town's park. He's watching one guy in particular. In a moment, it's evident why: the guy's unloading a picnic from the back of his minivan, and he's just left the food unattended. Michael carefully and casually rises ...
And we switch to Team Escapara, all hanging out in what appears to be a barn. Unsurprisingly, C-Note is complaining: "We're supposed to be in Mexico right now, sipping on margaritas and waiting for the heat to die down. That was the plan." Then he pays obeisance to his bitch goddess Eris by turning to Sucre and implying that maybe, Michael and Lincoln are a wee bit racist and just using C-Note and Sucre as go-fers. C-Note caps his insinuation with "Maybe you and I should go and get that $5 million, know what I'm saying. I mean, it's just sitting there until the two of you are ready to get some air --" Lincoln turns and discreetly asks C-Note to shut up, if by "discreetly," we mean "at the top of his lungs." The boys all degenerate into bickering, and only the healing presence of Michael -- or the basket of fried chicken he's holding -- calm them all down.
Back at the park, the picnicker is busy picking the fight he'll have for the rest of the afternoon by asking, "Honey, are you sure you packed everything?"
The team has made short work of the chicken and its accompanying beer. However, Abruzzi decides that now is a fine time to stir everyone up again, goading the edgy Sucre and C-Note with the sardonic toast, "Here's to amateur hour." Lincoln can't be bothered to get involved: Michael has taught him how to read, and he's just run across an article in the paper helpfully laying out the particulars of L.J.'s pending hearing.
Michael decides it's time to cut the festivities short, walking over and saying coolly, "Last supper, boys. This is the part where we say good-bye." He hands some money to both C-Note and Sucre, noting, "It's not much, but it's enough to get you started." Abruzzi is all, "No sugar for Johnny?' and Michael cuts him off with "I'm not telling you where Fibonacci is." Abruzzi says, "I wasn't going to ask. I...only ask for a quarter for a phone call." It is one of the weirdest line deliveries in a history of strange enunciations. Michael hands Abruzzi a buck and tells him to knock himself out.
Sucre then wonders what happened to the other guys. The FED, CLOTHED, MONEY-HOLDING C-Note rolls his eyes and balefully notes, "They all got a head start." C-Note not only sees the glass as half-empty, he's ready to complain that the drink is warm, it's not his favorite flavor, and the glass is too small. Anyway, the general consensus is that T-Bag probably bled to death. Oh, you silly escapees, assuming that T-Bag has the same limitations of human biology as the rest of us!
In fact, T-Bag is like a special mutant, able to withstand major limb re-attachment surgery without benefit of anesthesia. And to further highlight his biological freakishness, apparently the surgery -- which would have required painstakingly knitting nerves, tendons, blood vessels and skin back into working order -- was A) rapid enough so that Dr. Gudat's family didn't miss him or come by looking for him, and B) easy enough so that any fear-crazed vet could do it. (Not to diminish the skill levels of DVMs at all. In fact, one could argue that being a vet is crazy-hard, since your patient list is made up of a variety of species that have but one thing in common: they cannot tell you themselves what's wrong.) Anyway, T-Bag flexes his hand and grins in triumph, then celebrates by vomiting all over Dr. Gudat's nice, clean floor.
Back in Oswego, Michael tells Lincoln that it's time to move on to Utah, then to Mexico. Lincoln glumly shares the news about LJ's hearing. I get distracted wondering if all that stubble of his is phototropic or what. Inside the barn: not too hairy. Outside the barn: bottom half of face buried until what looks like coarse-grain sandpaper. Lincoln takes a moment to stop concentrating on hair growth so he can tell Michael that he's going to get L.J. Michael sighs and rolls his eyes. In that tie, with that backpack on his back and that expression on his face, he looks about twelve. He tells Linc it's not the right time. Linc concentrates on growing his beard that extra quarter-inch, then asks, "When will it be?" Michael pleads, "After we go to Mexico. After we're off the news!" You can tell he's flipping out because the post-Fox River trek was supposed to be the easy part of the plan and Linc's just introduced one more complication. Linc monotones his way through a hurried explanation of how high the stakes are (the courts are likely to look at teens who are accused of double-homicides as worthy of being tried as adults). He strides over to Michael, saying, "They took Veronica. They're not going to take my son." Michael folds -- literally and figuratively -- sinking down and saying weakly, "No. I know. I would never leave L.J. behind. But I don't think we can do this now. There's no plan in place." Fortunately for both of them, Lincoln's colorful past has provided him with an in-depth working knowledge of the courthouse. Linc figures he'll bum-rush the bailiff.
Michael's already begun compartmentalizing his disappointment and control-freak tendencies, and is thinking hard. First step: asking Linc, "You're going to bum-rush the courthouse. That's your plan? Are you serious?" Linc says he is, and Michael has a look that's worth a thousand words, many of them an elaboration on the sentiment I worked my ass getting your fool self out of the prison and now you're going to do something that gets you thrown back in? Why do I BOTHER?
Before this can go any further, C-Note announces that he and the other Team Escapara members are making like a boxer's lip and splitting. Michael rises and shakes C-Note's hand, urging him to stay out of trouble. Sucre comes up, grins and says emotionally, "This is it, Papi." Oh, say it isn't so! Noooooo! The two of them exchange a manly hug. Michael wishes that Sucre could find his girl. Sucre answers cheerfully, "She's all I have. I'll die trying." Bite your tongue, son! C-Note and Linc finally decide to shake hands, and Linc wishes C-Note the best of luck. C-Note bids him, "Be easy, man." Abruzzi says silkily, "Maybe we'll see each other again. You never know, Michael. You never know."
After the guys take off, Michael sighs deeply, then turns back to his brother. He says, "Tell me everything you know about the courthouse."
Credits. Then commercials. Aieeee! That damned Burger King is back. He's like Henry II, constantly popping up in places he's not wanted. Only in Henry's case, it was France; here, it's my TV. I will not rest until there's a commercial featuring this sham monarch groaning into the camera, "Shame, shame on a conquered mascot."
When we come back, we're at Fox River. Bellick is stomping down a hall, and as he punches in the security sequence for the door, some poor, dumb underling asks if Bellick got any sleep. Our favorite C.O. looks over with two eyes that could double as poached eggs. The poor flunky marvels at how eight people escaped. Bellick launches into a vile diatribe about how this whole escape can be blamed not on A) the engineer who happened to have designed the prison, or B) the concerted teamwork of ten men, but rather C) the fairer sex. If it weren't for Dr. Sara's raging libido and weak, womanish intellect, Bellick suggests, none of this would have happened. Someone is still holding a grudge over being turned down for a night of cheddar biscuits.
Right around the point where Bellick begins bellowing, Pope shows up and stops with a gentle, reproving "Brad ... " Bellick instantly flips the suck-up switch. Pope tells him the chase has been handed over to the FBI, and the two of them are about to go report to the Department of Corrections headquarters. Bellick presses, "We can get these guys. Just give me a couple more days and ... " Pope barks, "Brad!" and that's the end of that discussion.
Michael and Lincoln are cruising through a parking lot, looking as inconspicuous as only a barely-dressed man accompanied by what appears to be an overgrown schoolboy can.
Back at FBI headquarters, we get a tight shot of Haywire's mug shot as random Fibbies talk about how Haywire's an orphan only 'cause he killed his whole family. Ives announces that he's posting Tweener's updated rap sheet. Let's hope this one has better lyrics than the ones he was stylin' last season. Ba-da-bump!
Speaking of Tweener, I see he managed to smuggle his theme music with him when he escaped from prison. He's somehow managed to nick some new clothes, a scissors and a comb, so he's not quite so recognizable. As Tweener moves through a bus depot, he casually bumps into some cellphone-using lower-management drone. That'll learn the guy for babbling on the phone in public -- Tweener's just lifted his wallet with that move. Remember, he's a virtuoso pickpocket. Tweener then ambles over to a phone booth to see who he'll be now. Answer: Scott Kolbrenner.
Michael and Lincoln are still walking. They've arrived at an underground garage and Michael points out the car he stashed there, warning Linc, "Don't touch the radio." Michael does a check of the car while Linc calls in to the courthouse and lies about being with the Des Moines Herald so he can get the skinny on L.J.'s hearing. Linc is hanging out on the phone while Michael slides behind the driver's seat, plugs what may be a battery into the lighter socket, and juices the car. Linc is still hanging out on the phone. Hah! It serves him right. Impersonate a reporter, get the same joys we get -- i.e. spending interminable minutes hacking our way through ever-denser phone trees. Lincoln's all tense because some yuppie getting into his shiny, expensive car keeps giving him the fish-eye. Frankly, I think the paranoid con is forgetting the possibility that on the outside, when you lurk around parking garages looking like an unmade bed and staring at strangers, you're going to get a few nervous looks.
Inside the car, Michael digs out the keys and manages to start it. He pulls a container of wipes out of his bag and whips a few out. While Linc blathers on about L.J.'s hearing, Michael then cleans off the dusty windshield. He asks, "How do we get close to (L.J.)?" Linc replies, "When I was locked up, I had nothing to do but study the briefs. Nick Savrinn's bar number is on the front page of every one." So the boys plan on posing as some of L.J.'s attorneys.
Cut to Pope saying angrily, "Hogwash. That is absolute hogwash." No, he's not talking about the let's-pretend-to-be-lawyers plan, but rather, the line of inquiry D.O.C. board member Ed Pavelka has laid out. Ed reiterates the question: "How was Scofield able to have exclusive access to you? Pull a shank on you and bind you to your chair? The Warden of the penitentiary?" Pope says, "I trusted him. Obviously, he betrayed that trust?" Pavelka can't go any further with that, so he turns to Bellick and asks, "Is it true that almost all the inmates who escaped or tried to escape worked for (P.I.)? ...Why did they have so much time to dig a hole in the floor of the guards' break room while working?" Pope smoothly steps in and says he'll answer that: considering the meager pay, it's often in the inmates' best interests to stretch out a task for as many hours as possible. Pavelka can't tear into Pope for that, so he turns to Bellick again, asking, "Is it true you sold PI to the highest bidder?" Pope's face goes black with fury as he turns to look at Bellick. The guard heartily denies it and Pope snaps, "This is unbelievable! While we're wasting time in here, there are eight escaped convicts out there --" He stops because former C.O. Geary has come in.
Pope's face collapses, and when he finally looks at Bellick, it's with honest dismay and betrayal. Bellick -- ah, major, major kudos to Wade Williams here. Bellick looks remorseful that Pope's found out, but not that he wrung a little extra income out of P.I. on the side. That Williams can convey all that in a single moment...that's craftsmanship is what that is. Anyway, Geary sits down and Bellick wastes no time in reminding everyone Geary was fired for shaking down the inmates. As Geary explains that yes, Bellick sold the P.I. boss job to John Abruzzi, Pope's fury gradually drains away. Instead, he looks stricken that this happened on his watch. By the time Pavelka's telling Bellick he better speak up or let the other C.O.s hang him, Pope's self-abnegation has receded and he's angry again. So Pavelka asks about selling P.I. one more time. Bellick seethes with loathing as he sneers, "Yes." Pope winces. Oh, Stacy Keach is breaking my heart here. As Pope and Bellick are dismissed to wait for the board decision, Geary assumes an air of ineffable smugness. Bellick gets up, looking like he's about ready to smack Geary into the middle of sweeps.
The two men barrel out into the hall. Bellick turns to look at Pope; his posture reminds one of a teenager who's just been busted for missing curfew. Pope snorts contemptuously and heads off to get some coffee.
And now, the plotline so repellent, I really don't feel like propagating it in any way, shape or form. And here is why: because it features a pretty goddamn weak portrayal of evil. It's nothing but T-Bag being a horror- movie-grade monster, and his antics aren't soul-chilling; they feel about as real as the stuff in a video game. A truly powerful depiction of evil is one in which it's made evident to the viewer that evil is not an alien behavior, but rather that it's the sum total of moral choices made by people who could be like us. Since T-Bag's behaving in a way that's completely inhuman, I think it diminishes the impact of what he's doing, and all you're left with is cheap gore.
So here is all you need to know about T-Bag's antics tonight: he straps Dr. Gudat to an operating table, jams him with a syringe full of something deadly, then ushers the man's soul out of this world with a truly foul little monologue: "Iâll tell you something I know is true. The Indians here, the tomahawk variety some of them believe, well used to believe before most of them were slaughtered --" And here is where I had to pause me TiVo and wonder if T-Bag was getting all outraged over genocidal slaughter in the middle of his own murderin' activities? The hell? Anyway. " -- that when a warrior kills another in battle, he absorbs that fallen warriorâs spirit. So this isnât the end for you, Doc. You're with me now." Then, T-Bag puts on the dead man's clothes, heads out to the dead man's car, and calls OnStar for directions to Utah.
Commercials. That commercial for the Yaris where the car rolls over the spider made from gas pump nozzles? Totally freaks me out for some reason.
When we come back, we're at the Cook County courthouse. Mahone has come by to visit L.J. After L.J. sits down, Mahone says, "I'm assuming you've heard." A smile flickers across L.J.'s face, but he quickly clamps down on it with, "Yeah." Mahone chuffs and takes off his glasses, saying casually, "I have to tell you, what your dad and uncle pulled off -- it's very impressive. I've been doing this 14 years, and most escapes can be attributed to dumb luck or brute force. The level of planning and sophistication that went into this one, and eight guys got out. I really do, professionally speaking, have a lot of admiration for Lincoln and Michael." L.J. deadpans, "Cool. Now we're buddies." (I'm thinking we have an early candidate for the Prison Break shirt right there.) Mahone smiles mirthlessly, then cuts to the chase: he wants L.J. to help bring in Michael and Lincoln. L.J. says, "I don't know where they are. I don't know where they're going." Mahone tries Plan B: "Go on TV. I can have a camera crew down here in half an hour." L.J. is incredulous. He finally says, "You know why I'm in? The murder charge they put on my dad, the two murder charges they put on me -- everything's been a set-up coming from way up top. So the fact that you work for the government? I got nothing to say." Mahone's got an expression like, Damn it, when will my evil overlords realize their conspiracies work against us as well as for us? Then he gets all pissy and points out " Start thinking about yourself, now. In fact â the sooner the better because no one, not your father, LJ, not your uncle is going to do your time. And at 16 years old youâre looking at a long stretch. How much time you get, where you serve it, who your cell mate might be...you need to start thinking about yourself. Now. I want your dad, I want your uncle, and Iâm willing to deal. Donât wait and let someone else get the reward." As Mahone leaves, L.J. leans back and weighs his options. None of them are good.
And after that emotionally-fraught scene, the powers that be have helpfully provided a bland little nothing scene wherein Tweener's inability to buy a bus ticket is mitigated by the contrivance fairy popping into view and saying, "Hey! Why don't you head to the college campus where you can blend in?"
After that little breather, we're back in the heavy territory again. Lincoln calls for L.J., posing as Nick. L.J. gets handed the phone, and we go to this conversation:
Linc: You know who this is?
L.J.: (has to hide a grin) Yeah.
Linc: How you holding up?
L.J.: Doing what I can do.
Linc: (sighs and closes his eyes) I worry about you. I'm sorry about what you're going through.
L.J.: Word is, after this hearing, cause of my dad being so high profile, theyâre -- they're shipping me to an adult facility in Kingman, Arizona.
Linc: Yeah, well, hopefully that ain't going to happen.
L.J.: You hear from Veronica today? She didn't show up. They gave me some court-appointed clown.
Linc: (closing his eyes and wincing in agony at Veronica's name) No. I haven't heard from her.
L.J.: This -- this Fed came by today ... he wanted me to help try and get my dad to turn himself in.
Linc: Well, knowing your dad, that's not gonna happen. Listen up, L.J. This is real important: on the third, look out for Otis Right. On the third, look out for Otis Right. Until then, keep your head up.
L.J.: What? ... Hey, Nick, if you talk to my dad, tell him (that) no matter what, I love him.
And then Linc has to hang up because he's thisclose to crying like a disgraced televangelist.
The brothers park in front of some store. A woman walks by with her dog, and Linc's eyes pop out as his jaw hits the floor and his tongue unrolls like a red carpet. At long last, we are getting a look at how a dude who's been locked up with other dudes for a while reacts when he sees a woman. Unfortunately, the object of Linc's ogling is not only unappreciative, she also seems to recognize him not as some swarthy model, but as an unshaven con. Whoops!
Inside the hardware store, a super-friendly clerk pops into Michael's path with, "And how are you doing this fine day?" Michael is so startled by this atypical attention to the customer in one of these places, he completely forgets himself and stammers, "Ah, I'm great. How are you?" The clerk couldn't be better, and he'd loooooove to help Michael. Michael is all, "Yeah, you could help by not paying attention to me, okay?" He picks up duct tape, spray paint and something else I can't ID.
Outside, Lincoln realizes the girl's made him. Worse, she's flagged down a cop. He heads into the store, gives the clerk an even more surly response than Michael did -- that poor, friendly guy! You can come work in my local hardware store! I'd love it! -- and finds Michael in the rope aisle. He tells Michael they have to go. "I just have to pay," Michael says, and Linc's all, "Uh-uh. Now." On cue, the cheery clerk asks, "How are you today, officer?" and Linc's eyeroll says it all.
Commercials. So does The Covenant look like The Craft only with 'nads, or what?
When we get back, the clerk seems stunned -- stunned! -- that those nice boys would skip without paying. Michael and Lincoln have sidled out a back exit, but the cops appear to have covered that egress as well. "We can make it to the courthouse on foot from here," Lincoln says. Michael, who is quietly freaking out, says, "You don't understand. Everything is in that car." Lincoln exhorts Michael to liberate himself from his possessions, including that car, as it's currently surrounded by cops. They head out. Michael looks like he's filing away his freak-out over this plan's deviation for later. Much, much later.
And now...Tweener the co-ed. He's striding along in his shoplifted campus togs like he's starring in his own version of 8 Mile. Only since it's Tweener, it's more like 8 Meters (Before Something Happens). As he scopes the St. Louis Tech ride board, he sees a notice from one Debra Jean Belle for a ride to Utah. Debra Jean has the kind of tidy writing, all judiciously embellished with a few clean and careful curlicues, that implies a sweet, naïve, upstanding personality. I already fear for her odds of survival now that Tweener's taken notice of her. This will not end well for the earnest young lady, I don't think.
Speaking of things not ending well...Bellick and Pope are standing before the board as Pavelka pronounces their findings. Pope is to be docked two weeks' pay and placed on three months' probation. However, Bellick is fired. As in "the minute we get done lecturing you, you're out of here." I am personally incredulous as to this turn of affairs, because I cannot believe that there is not a prison guard's union, and that Bellick would have stepped into that room without a union rep by his side to scream "Wrongful termination!" However, my brief fit of fact-based reasoning is quickly clubbed into submission by another knock-em-out-of-the-park scene by Wade Williams. Bellick reacts to his firing by shakily saying, "I...I've worked at Fox River since I was 18 years old. Being a C.O. is my life." Pavelka plays the asshole card with "And we appreciate that." Pope snaps, "We could have saved a lot of time if you just told us from the beginning that this was going to be a railroad." Beside him, Bellick slumps in despair. Pavelka attempts to cut Pope off, but the man continues to have his say: "There's only one person responsible for this escape out there. His name is Michael Scofield. It's not Officer Bellick, and it's not me! If you need a fall guy, fine. But you're not going to be taking just Officer Bellick's job. Even though I am not proud of many of his actions, it will be a cold day in Hell when I turn my back on one of my own men. I quit. That will be all." Cut to Bellick marinating in shame, fully aware that he is an unworthy reason for Pope to walk away from his career.
Cut to Michael and Linc striding through the parking lot. Linc decides he'd rather crack wise than button his shirt; he says to Michael, "If this thing doesn't work out and you end up going back to Fox River? I ain't coming to get you." Michael doesn't even crack a smile. Linc continues, "I mean, you are the brains and I am the brute." The two of them stop to look at the courthouse, and then Linc says, "Seriously, Michael. You don't have to do this." Michael turns to look at him all, Do you think I'm going to let you run the risk of getting caught after all I did to get you out? Also, in case you were absent in the prior scene, I needed that damn car you said we had to forget. I'm stuck. Instead, he goes back to looking at the fire escapes on the building. We then get a time-elapse sequence of them jogging up those fire escapes.
Inside the courthouse, Mahone's popped by for a follow-up chat. He asks about the call from Nick. L.J. says, "He's my attorney. That's privileged." Mahone replies casually, "Hmm. That's odd, because Nick Savrinn was found dead in his apartment an hour before the call came in to you." Way to break the bad news, Mahone. As L.J.'s eyes bug out, Mahone plays back a recording of Linc's earlier call. He then snaps, "For someone who is so convinced that the government is capable of many underhanded things, you sure are playing fast and loose with me." L.J. is not exactly impressed by this guilt trip, so Mahone browbeats him about the whole "On the third, look out for Otis Right" thing. The problem, however, is threatening someone who has nothing to lose doesn't give that person any incentive to do what you want.
Lincoln and Michael are on top of the courthouse now. Sensing that this caper won't require business-dress, Lincoln peels off his suit jacket. His half-buttoned shirt billows dramatically. I make a mental note to call my friend Mary-Lynn and inquire as to her resting heart rate. Breakout preparations commence. Linc peels up a grate while Michael spray-paints two yellow water pistols black.
Inside the courthouse, L.J. is being escorted to the elevator. Mahone is behind him, still messing with the kid's head in the hopes that L.J. will crack and blurt out everything he knows about the great escape. (Mahone's in for a nasty surprise. Even if L.J. does decide to talk, what can he say, other than, "My uncle's brainy?" And that, Mahone already knows.) As they all wait in front of the elevators, it hits L.J.: Linc was trying to tell him to take the elevator on the right. As Linc's disembodied voice intones, "Otis, right," L.J. gives the elevator a wild, hopeful look. Yeah, like Mahone's not going to notice that at all. The elevator on the left opens up, and L.J. does the old "My shoelace needs fixing" move so as to miss that car. As the elevator car on the right opens, L.J. stands up and gets in, the guard behind him. Mahone's just hanging back, lost in thought, until it occurs to him to look up: there's a sign for Otis Manufacturing right above the elevator. Ding! He flings himself into the elevator, telling the bailiff, "I'll escort the boy."
Commercials. I'm...I'm too stunned by Mahone's big brain to muster the wherewithal to quip about witless commercials.
Inside the elevator, Mahone mutters, "Otis, right. Otis elevator on the right. What is he planning?" Linc helpfully answers that question by popping open the grate and pointing a "gun" at Mahone's head, saying, "Keep it in the holster and no-one gets hurt." Mahone makes a move and Linc points the gun, repeating, "The holster. Now, L.J., hit 'stop.'" L.J. does. Linc says, "He's coming with us. Let's just stay cool. Staaaaaay cooooool." Linc sort of has a flair for this sort of thing. Michael, not so much. Mahone peers up the shaft and notes that Michael's kind of bugging. Michael, in turn, is kind of bugging because Mahone is there. He leans down and says to L.J., "Hey, buddy. Give me his gun." L.J. passes it up to Michael, who then promptly fixes it on Mahone. Michael is the smart! How else to explain how he ended up with the only working gun?
We get a tight shot of Mahone's face. This entire scene is really well-composed: it feels very cramped and confusing, which is probably how it would play in real life. As Michael holds the gun, Linc says, "L.J., give me your hand. Thatta boy!" The plan almost works, except Michael drops the fake gun. Worse, he betrays his dismay at this and Mahone guesses -- correctly -- that he's being held up by two guys with water pistols. Mahone grabs L.J. and begins tugging. Michael points the real gun at Mahone and barks for him to back off. Unfortunately, Mahone has also figured out that Scofield's unlikely to shoot anyone. "He's not going anywhere and neither are you! Give yourselves up and the kid can walk. Itâs the only way heâs getting out of this place! It's the only way!" Mahone barks. He grabs L.J. by the arm and begins tugging. Then he punches the alarm in the elevator, secure in the knowledge that nobody will be shooting him any time soon. L.J. is the first to realize that this escape attempt is officially over. Linc reluctantly lets go of him, and Michael petulantly slams the grate back on the top of the elevator. The minute L.J. and Mahone are alone in the elevator, L.J. smacks Mahone in the face with his cuffed wrists; Mahone returns the favor with a chokehold to the throat.
When the elevator opens, Mahone tears out, shouting, "Up there! Scofield's up there!" I think it's interesting how he's a lot less hung up on catching the guy who's allegedly killed the president's brother than he is in catching his Mind Mate Michael. Mahone finally shouts that both Scofield and Burrows are in the building.
Not anymore, they're not. The guys are hauling ass down the street, and they jump into the nearest open vehicle. It happens to be a delivery truck. Some cops shoot at them and the truck. They don't hit the truck, but someone does manage to put a bullet in Lincoln's thigh. The guys drive off.
We abruptly transition to a neighborhood packed with modest brick bungalows. When we move inside, we see that it's the Bellick residence. Bellick opens the door to his room. It doesn't seem to have changed much since high school: weight bench on one side of the door, a rack of videotapes and DVDs on the other. Bellick lives with his mom, not the other way around. Brad quietly closes the door and surveys his tiny domain. Bellick sits down on the bed; all we see is his slumped back.
On the other side of the door, we hear his mother ask, "Bradley?" "Yeah, Mom?" he replies brokenly. Ma Bellick asks, "What are you doing home so early?" Bellick lies, "I had to take , um, a personal day. You know, before they went away." Ma Bellick cannot believe an administrative requirement will stand in the way of him looking for those convicts. Bellick can't bring himself to look at her. His mom asks if he's okay. Bellick looks at her, then gets up and walks over. He leans in to kiss his mom on the temple; going by Mrs. Bellick's expression, this is not something he does all that often. Bellick assures her he's good, and she leaves him to his privacy.
In short order, Bellick's pulled out his shotgun, loaded it and swallowed hard. Out at Fox River, Pope is looking at the Taj Mabadidea and realizing that verily, it was a bad idea. After suffering through an acutely infuriating flashback to this scene and then to this scene, Pope decides he's had enough of the Taj Mabadidea and smashes it to pieces.
Meanwhile, on campus, Tweener's whiling away the minutes to his meeting with Debra Jean by reading the paper THAT HAS HIS MUG SHOT RIGHT ON THE FRONT OF IT. When Debra Jean taps on his shoulder, Tweener leaps up. He then forgets he's supposed to be Scott Kolbrenner. Tweener recovers, and Debra Jean burbles about how funny it is that Tweener called right before she left. Oh, she will not be finding it very funny in subsequent episodes. She adds, "I guess there's not a lot of Utah people out here." Is she even one of them? Everyone I've ever known from the Beehive state calls themselves a Utahn. Anyway, Tweener claims he's heading out to claim an inheritance from a dead grandpa. "I'm sorry to hear that," Debra Jean automatically and politely says. Tweener shrugs: "It's a'ight. He went out with his boots on." Well, sort of -- Westmoreland did leave a lot of money in Utah and he did die with his boots on. I'm just not sure how he'd feel about any intimations that he's related to Tweener. Debra Jean asks where Tweener's stuff is, and he stammers that he mailed it yesterday. This practice seems odd to Debra Jean -- as does the lily-white presumably collegiate Tweener's explaining "I got a boy at UPS so he hooked it up" -- but not odd enough for her to ditch him as a traveling companion. Tweener asks, "So, you wanna bounce?' and Debra Jean gives him a long look that says, There is no chance of this turning into a When Harry Met Sally thing somewhere down the line, is there? Then she smiles nervously and tells Tweener she's parked out front.
Bellick's locked and loaded. He mutters, "Come on." As he leans down toward the barrel to put it in his mouth, his mom calls his name. "Yeah, Mom?" he mutters. "They just announced the rewards on the TV," she says. "What reward?" he mutters. "For the convicts, the ones who escaped" Ma Bellick says. Bellick shakily asks how much. As he tries to lower his lips toward the barrel again, Ma Bellick says, "$100,000 apiece, and $300,000 for that animal who killed President Reynolds' brother." Bellick sits up. He's just found 300,000 new reasons to live.
Speaking of finding things, some cops have just found the van that Michael and Linc were driving. They do not find Michael and Linc inside it. That would be because the two of them are hoofing it, and doing about as well as an eight-toed dude and a guy with a slug in his thigh can be expected to do. Michael urges them on with, "We gotta move." "I can't," Linc replies. He collapses near the ground. Michael comes over and breathes, "My God..." as he looks at the juicy entrance wound. That's a terrible attitude to have: he should be glad the thing didn't hit Lincoln's femoral artery. Michael whips out a clean handkerchief. I have to pause the TiVo to swoon a little tiny bit, because it's charming when men who are not part of the Greatest Generation are carrying around clean white handkerchiefs. What woman crying her way through the end of a movie wouldn't love it when her date pulled out a handkerchief and whispered, "Here?" I mean, other than the woman whose date pulls out a handkerchief soaked in ether, because then she's likely to wake up in some sort of sick serial killer lair, but the rest of you guys with the old-school taste in accessories? You will go far.
Okay, hi, that paragraph completely got away from me. Excuse me while I find myether-soaked handkerchief to subdue it...
Anyway, thanks to Michael's handkerchief, Linc's wound is temporarily stanched. Michael urges them to keep going. We transition to L.J., who's being packed off to an adult facility in Arizona.
We then go to Mahone, who's arriving on the scene where the van is. He says delightedly, "Get to all the area hospitals. Wherever they are, one of them's bleeding good -- which means they either come to us, or they die." Mahone, how tiny your imagination is. I look forward to seeing how Michael snaps out of his panic and proves you wrong week.