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Hey, remember last year, when Abruzzi got his throat cut, and we all thought he was dead and mourned him as such? Well, at least we got a head start on the grieving process. Because this time, Abruzzi really is dead, felled in a hail of gunfire after Agent Mahone lures him out of hiding by using the long-forgotten mob informant Fibonacci as bait. Farewell, John Abruzzi -- may angels carry you and your ever-changing European accent off to your eternal reward.
Meanwhile, Bellick and Geary capture Michael and Linc but, because they are Bellick and Geary, are almost instantly out-witted by Michael and Linc. Nika continues to prove useful to the brothers' escape plan up until she decides to double-cross them, at which point she reveals that she graduated magna cum laude from the Brad Bellick School of Planning. T-Bag continues his multi-state killing spree, Michael catches up with Sarah via a cell phone call, and Tweener gets himself a little non-Avocado lovin', courtesy of Debra Jean, who is most definitely not Mormon. Things keep happening on this show! In a way, you have to envy Abruzzi, who's above all this hustle and bustle now. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
We begin in a small town where the local peace officers are quizzing assorted yokels about an abandoned car, as T-Bag comes limping out of the loo. It's a very odd way to begin an episode because the cops and T-Bag are talking about the abandoned SUV in such a way as to suggest that this is a continuation of an earlier scene, and, for a moment, I wonder if the makers of Prison Break are going all Memento on us, and showing us scenes out-of-sequence. You know, like that episode of Seinfeld from the final season when it wasn't all that funny anymore. And then I realize that the show is starting this way because my TiVo didn't record the first 20 minutes of the show, thinking it would be time-shifted because of the President's "Booga booga! You're all going to die if you don't vote Republican! Booga booga!" speech that night. Only out here in Hippie Land, we choose to air our shows on time.
Well, crap. Excuse me for a moment...
[Firing up the iTunes Store. Downloading Prison Break for $1.99. Tapping fingers with much agitation. Opening up Word document... ]
Dear President Bush:
You owe me two dollars. I expect the payment to be made in two crisp $1 bills and not one of those phony-baloney $2 bills that make convenience store clerks stare at me as if I'm trying to pay them in Monopoly money. I suggest you pay up promptly.
You pal, Mr. Sobell
OK... download's done. We begin with a car speeding its way through corn country, as Michael and Linc make their mad dash to freedom and Nika tags along to pester them with questions. "What happens when you get to Mexico?" she asks. "Where will you go?" "It's best if you don't know," says Michael, although we're rapidly moving past the aiding-and-abetting-known-fugitives charge and into part-of-the-gang territory. "It's best for everyone." Michael promises to drop Nika off in the town and wire her the $10,000 as per their ever-shifting arrangement. Before Nika can say, "What? No tacky knick-knack bought from a Tijuana street vendor just to sweeten the pot?" Linc notes that they have company -- a rapidly accelerating late-model sedan that doesn't seem to be at all deterred by the laws of physics that discourage two bodies from occupying the same space at the same time. The sedan rear-ends the Scofield Mobile, prompting Michael to demand, "Who is it?" several times. As if to answer his cries, the sedan pulls up alongside, revealing the caked-in-bacon-grease visage of Brad Bellick. Some smashy-smashies, one near-miss with an 18-wheeler, and several twists, turns, and swerves later, Bellick and his new sidekick Geary manage to run the Scofield Mobile off the road, through a trio of mailboxes, and into a tree. Poor rural residents who've lost their mailboxes -- now how will they get their Sears & Roebuck catalogues before the holiday shopping season? While we ponder the injustices of the rural mail delivery system, Michael, Linc, and Nika struggle to emerge from their smashed-up car. They needn't bother -- Bellick is quickly on the scene firing a pistol into the air, and shouting, "Nobody move!" at anyone who will listen.
Well... this makes for an awkward Fox River reunion, doesn't it? "No need for anyone to get hurt, boss," Linc says to Bellick, who tells him to skip the formalities: "I'm no longer an employee of the state thanks to you." Michael guesses that Bellick is after the reward money for their capture. Bellick scoffs that mere riches would motivate him -- it's vast riches that he's after. "Your pal Manche told me all about your little treasure hunt for Westmoreland's stash," Bellick says. "Get in the car. We're going to Utah." Whoo-hoo! Road trip! Best Spring Break ever!
Hmmm... Peter Stormare is listed as a guest star in this episode. Eh -- probably means nothing. That 24 episode that Dennis Haysbert guest-starred in last season worked out well for his character.
As the brothers and Nika are led back to the one vehicle in this scene that's still safe for road travel, Bellick can't stop crowing about his investigative brilliance: "All the cops following you all over the country, when all they had to do is tail the tail, you know?" No, I don't know, actually. Could you make another leering sexist comment so that I could know specifically who you're referring to? "Move that money-maker, sweetheart," he says to Nika. Thanks, Bellick -- that's very helpful. Meanwhile, it's clear that Geary has never been able to get to that acceptance stage of losing his C.O. gig -- "Let's move it convict," he says to Linc, as he shoves his one-time charge into the side of the car. Linc slumps near the tire. I have a feeling that Geary's harsh action will soon prove regrettable. Michael, meanwhile, is puzzled as to why Bellick needs the three of them if he knows all about the money in Utah. Elementary, my dear Scofield -- "In the excitement of the escape, Manche didn't hear everything Westmoreland said before the old bird kicked the bucket," Bellick says, "but he heard enough. Utah and $5 million. You'll fill in the blanks." Just to provide extra incentive, Bellick grabs Nika by the hair and tells Michael that he and his brother will take him to that $5 million windfall, "or the whore gets dead real fast." So it's into the car for our three heroes -- too bad in their haste to leave that Bellick and Geary didn't notice the shard of glass Linc had place perilously under the front passenger-side tire. See? Regrettable harsh action back there by Geary.
Over at the FBI, the waxy figure of Agent Mahone is busy staring at Oscar Shales' case file. You may remember Shales as the guy Mahone was obsessing over during last week's episode. And if you don't remember, don't fret -- I figure we're in for another half-dozen shots of Shales' mug this week as William Fitchner begins panting heavily and grabbing for his Happy Pills. Right-hand man Wheeler interrupts this happy reverie with the news that a dredge of the river beneath Michael's apartment turned up a discarded hard drive with serial numbers matching a computer he ordered from Dell a few months before his incarceration -- about 12 percent of the data's been recovered so far. No word on whether it was mostly just illegally downloaded MP3s and potential designs for his MySpace page. Mahone seems more interested in a stack of newspaper clippings that Wheeler's handed to him -- he rushes over to the boarding bearing the mug shots of Team Escarpara and pins an article underneath one of the photos. The way the scene is shot, we can't see whose photo it is nor as much as a headline from the article. Wheeler seems perturbed that his report on the hard-drive has apparently gone in one ear and out the other. But not nearly as perturbed as Lang, Mahone's right-hand woman, feels, after she arrives to announce that the blood tests came back from the staged crash and the sample match the blood type of Linc and Michael. "I'll reach out to the media," Lang says. Mahone turns quickly and stares right at her: "How about don't?" He sighs at the apparent thick-headedness of his underlings and continues, "If it gets out that the guy who masterminded this whole thing is possibly dead, the other six cons are going to get their guards up even more." Mahone now turns his attention to the entire room. "It is our policy not to announce deaths until they're confirmed," he says, punctuating that last part by punching the bulletin board. Lang wonders how much more confirmation you need when you've got an exploded car and a blood match. Mahone suggests she thinks up more ways to make sure. "I want those guys out there getting more complacent, not more careful," he says, before turning and stalking out to go read another chapter from The One-Minute Manager's Guide to Being Creepily Obsessive About Things.
It would stand to reason that the one of the few times I sub-in on a Prison Break recap, one of the subplots would be devoted to Tweener, a character whose on-screen appearances I greet with the same gusto I welcome cold and flu season. It's not that Lane Garrison doesn't do fine work -- he plays the part admirably. It's just that I find Tweener to be a moron, and not a moron in that "ha ha, his bumbling numbskullery teaches us so much about our own faults and failures" way, but rather the "please get yourself captured so that we can spend our time following the adventures of other, more interesting characters" kind of moron. He is the Zeppo of Team Escarpara, and the sooner Tweener is back in the loving embrace of Fox River, the happier I'll be. Ah, but this is my cross to bear, not yours, so let's see what the big dummy is up to this week. Why, he's hastily changing the car radio station so that Debra Jean doesn't hear the news report about how eight escaped convicts are still at large. Unfortunately for Tweener, he happens to stumble across "Take Me Home, Country Roads," forcing the kid who purports to be a card-carrying member of the hip-hop generation into feigning a love for all things John Denver. Debra Jean is as dubious as the rest of us, forcing Tweener to sing along, as only he can:
Country ho
Take me home
To your place
I've got cash
Country ho
In West Virginia
Take me home
My country ho
Great. Now do Annie's Song.
Now that butchering the lyrics of John Denver has put Debra Jean's suspicions to rest, Tweener raises them again by acting all jumpy when she blows by a speed trap. "Yo, slow down," he says nervously. Debra Jean points out that she's barely doing 65. Tweener repeats his command to slow down. "All right, Dad," she replies snottily. Tweener tries to laugh this odd behavior off as well: "Yo, we can't be having that, man. Tickets are like 200 bones." Debra Jean does not seem convinced that that's an entirely logical explanation for Tweener's caution. Maybe a couple choruses of Leaving on a Jet Plane will throw her off the scent.
Over on the road to Utah -- Whoo-ho! Road Trip! -- the gang has pulled over, so that Geary can answer nature's call. "I never thought I'd say this, Scofield," Bellick begins, "but I thank God for the day you walked into Fox River." "And out of it," Geary adds, turning around mid-stream. Hey, producers -- can we maybe get a strategically placed bush around Geary so that some things are best left to the imagination? While Bellick and Geary laugh at their good fortune, Michael attempts to comfort Nika. She is understandably less than soothed: "You told me nothing would happen. You promised me." As she stalks off, Bellick observes, "That is one pissed off commie you've got on your hands, Scofield," and you can't really argue with that assessment. You can, however, argue with his follow-up observation: "Didn't your mama teach you how to treat a lady, or was she a whore like this one?" Linc certainly takes issue with that, as he starts for Bellick, before the Sweaty One reminds him who's holding the gun. "We only need one of you to take us to the money," Geary reminds him. Which, come to think of it, is a really good point -- why are you marching around both the handsome, devilishly clever brother and the handsome, brutally strong brother whose been known to clean house in a prison riot or two when putting a bullet in the brutally strong brother reduces your hostage-management duties by a third? I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why; it's just that I'm not seeing it right now. Linc and Michael seem to be following my logic, as the two of them back down from the gun-toting morons who've captured them.
Sara is gritting her way through her mandatory Narcotics Anonymous meeting under the watchful eye of an incognito Kellerman, who I do not find to be quite the magnificent bastard that my wife so enjoys, although I do admire how he uses his powers for pure evil. Witness this scene: he knows very well that Sara is a doctor. And yet he shares a cock-and-bull story about how his mother died of multiple sclerosis and how he's probably going to die of the disease too (I mean, wasn't he watching that season of The West Wing when President Bartlet taught the nation a valuable lesson about M.S.?) just to prompt Sara into sharing her expert medical opinion so that he can snarl at her, "What are you, a doctor?" And with that display of pissiness, the trap is set. Good luck, Sara -- hope you fare better matching wits with Kellerman than Veronica ever did. Of course, unlike Veronica, you're not headed into this battle of wits completely unarmed.
We're going back to Brooklyn, yo, to a restaurant kitchen where a mob flunky who looks suspiciously like Washington Capitals owner Ted Leonsis strides in and tells the hired help to face the wall and avert their eyes, so that they can't see a well-groomed John Abruzzi stroll through the room. They discuss their plans for Abruzzi's abrupt departure to a place where the long arm of the law can't reach him -- he'll be taking a container ship piloted by a Mob-friendly captain, who will stash Abruzzi and his family in a state room that's listed as a cargo hold on the ship's manifest. "You and your family will be on it when it sets sail tomorrow," False Ted Leonsis says. "Six days from now, John, you're be in Sardinia." And speaking of Abruzi's family, there they are in a back room of the restaurant awaiting his arrival. It's actually a touching reunion. Make no mistake -- the character of John Abruzzi is a brutal, awful man, but, unlike a certain one-handed escapee I could name, the writers have never made him a cartoon villain. By showing how deeply he cares for his family, they allow him to retain some measure of humanity; that, in turn, makes us care about his fate, even though our better judgment reminds us that he's got bad thing in the world coming to him. Abruzzi's just a really interesting character -- here's to hoping he sticks around a real long time!
We're going back to Friend, Nebraska, yo, where an SUV pulls up to a service station. T-Bag hopes out and, I have to say, he's looked better. As a matter of fact, he looks about as healthy as the grimy service station restroom he's ensconced himself within. He downs a fistful of pills -- apparently before his death, Dr. Gutay put T-Bag on the Judy Garland diet -- and then tries to beat some life into his surgically reattached hand. When that doesn't work, he tries puncturing it with a scalpel. Yeah, that doesn't seem to be a good plan for making a full and healthy recovery. "What the hell are you doing?" asks a disembodied voice, putting into words what we're all wondering. The voice belongs to a dirty hippie who's wandered into the equally dirty restroom. T-Bag is not exactly full of peace, love, and understanding. "Mind your own business," he snarls, elbowing his way past the hippie on his way out the door. And he would have made a clean getaway, too -- if a couple of police officers weren't eyeballing the SUV he left abandoned in front of the service station. It's back to the restroom for our friend T-Bag.
We cut to a shot of Linc's handiwork with the tire -- it's flat, and Bellick is crabby. "What kind of a son of a bitch doesn't have a spare tire?" he wonders. Geary (Official motto: "Being prepared is for punk-ass Boy Scouts") looks up from the tire and says, "The kind that already used it." We are getting more of a glimpse into the sad, interior life of Geary than I care to be given. Anyhow, Bellick decides that he who blows it, goes it, and orders Geary to march the three miles back into town to retrieve a new tire. You can imagine the cheerfulness with which Geary takes this request.
However pissed off Geary may be, it's no match for Nika, who, as Bellick leads them at gunpoint into the nearby woods, is regretting the downward turn her life has taken since deciding to do everything Michael tells her to. "You know, I believed everything you told me, and I did everything you asked," she gripes. "I risked my life for you, for what? For $10,000, I risk my life? And this entire time, you've had $5 million just waiting there? You're a bastard, Michael." And it's hard to dispute anything she's said: Michael's asked a lot of a lot of different people -- Nika, Sara, Westmoreland, probably some other secondary and tertiary characters I'm forgetting -- and while the consequences of helping him out have been great, the rewards have been not so much. Nika's on a nature walk with Bellick at gunpoint. Sara's facing criminal prosecution for her role in the prison break. Westmoreland didn't make it to Season Two. Sure, they have more than a little culpability in their own fate, but it's getting increasing harder to ignore the pattern that people who do Michael's bidding, wittingly or unwittingly, are increasingly winding up worse for their wear. Bellick puts an end to my musings by giving Michael a little guy-to-guy heart-to-heart: "For all that aggravation, I hope you get to hit that a few times, Scofield." Because there is no thought or emotion or motivation with Bellick that doesn't originate from somewhere near his groin.
There's a shack nearby, convenient for those motorists who've captured a trio of fugitives and need a place to stay when their car breaks down. As the boys are herded over to one corner, Nika requests a sidebar with Bellick. "What do you want?" Bellick demands. "To ruin his life, like he's ruined mine," Nika replies. Well, this is a complication. Hope one of your tattoos has a solution for this, Michael.
When we return from commercial, we're in a small town, where the local peace officers are quizzing assorted yokels about an abandoned car, as T-Bag comes limping out of the loo. Hey, this is where we came in! I guess my work is done here...
Oh, I have to keep going? OK, then. The gendarmes wave over T-Bag, who is understandably less than eager about submitting to a round of seemingly-innocuous police questioning. When pressed to identify himself, T-Bag says he's named Claude May -- as in "Claude may kill you in some horrible manner if you're too dumb to recognize that he's really an escaped convict" -- and that he doesn't have a driver's license what on account of his recently severed hand. "Camel jockey left a big box of boom-boom under my jeep back in Kandahar," explains T-Bag, so apparently that sneering racism wasn't just his way of coping with life inside the joint. The cop wants to know if that's T-Bag's abandoned SUV. T-Bag denies it, adopting the guise of a lowly hitchhiker. The cop is, shall we say, dubious about T-Bag's backstory. "We got a vehicle here without a driver," Cop No. 2 says. "And at present, you're the only driver without a vehicle." Thinking quickly, T-Bag fingers the dirty hippie as the vehicle's driver. And while I can't claim to be too enamored with T-Bag's positions on pedophilia, race relations, and the sanctity of human life, I do have to concede that I can't find fault with his finger-hippies-for-crimes-they-did-not-commit policy. Cop No. 2 goes off to the restroom to check it out, leaving the first cop to probe T-Bag's story for holes. The cop asks if T-Bag was in the Army. T-Bag acts all indignant -- Claude May is a Marine through and through. "Semper fi, brother," replies the cop. "What outfit were you?" Ruh-oh. T-Bag is like, "What's with all the Latin, man?" and mumbles out a series of numbers, hoping he'll manage to sputter out the right combination. He doesn't. But before the cop can continue to play another exciting game of Marine or Not a Marine?, Cop No. 2 emerges with the Dirty Hippie cuffed and a handful of SUV keys. T-Bag smiles that hi subterfuge has paid off. The cops head off. "Semper fi, brother," Suspicious Cop says. "Quid pro quo?" T-Bag responds. "Carpe diem? Amo, amas, amat? Look, I'm just getting you fixation on this whole Latin business." Or it's quite possible that he just mutters "Semper fi" and slinks off, triumphantly un-apprehended.
Back at the Bellick Shack, Linc is trying desperately to undo the ties that bind him. "Stop stressing," says Michael flatly. "It doesn't do any good." "Maybe you oughta start stressing," Linc shoots back in a decidedly non-flat tone of voice. "They're gonna put a bullet in our heads." Yeah, but knowing Bellick and Geary, it'll take them like 20 minutes and a dozen rounds of bullets to get it right, so you still have plenty of time to plot your daring escape. Michael isn't so sure that Bellick and Geary have murder on their minds, even if they could find the trigger of a gun with both hands and a map -- "They need us to get that money," he says. Linc is less optimistic, particularly if Nika is in the other room, selling both brothers out.
Which is exactly what she appears to be doing, as she proposes to Bellick that they join forces to snatch the Utah cash. Bellick counters with an indecent proposal of his own -- and by "indecent," I mean, "ewwwwwwwwwwwww" -- that he and Nika make the bouncy-bouncy right now in exchange for a cool 10 grand. Nika manages to suppress her gag reflex long enough to try and get it through Bellick's eight layers of skull that he's missing the big picture: "Typical man. I'm talking about millions of dollars, and you'd piss it away for sex." Bellick affirms that, yes, indeed, there's a lot he's willing to piss away if it means sex with a real live human female. "And I was hoping you wouldn't let Michael out-smart you too," Nika sneers, baiting the hook just a tad more. And it appears to have the intended effect on Bellick, too. Nobody outsmarts Brad Bellick! Except for bosses. And convicts. And door-to-door salesmen. And telephone solicitors. And most carbon-based lifeforms. But other than that? No one. Certainly not Nika, who negotiates the following offer: She will exploit Michael's trust in her to find out where the money is and pass that information along to Officer Fuck-Up in exchange for her fair share of the dough. Bellick defines her fair share as $200,000, and, when Nika protests, reminds her the he has the gun and a general idea of which direction to point it when he shoots. We'll take Nika's silence as assent.
At the Abruzzi Family reunion, False Ted Leonsis arrives to inform Abruzzi that his long-time nemesis Fibonacci has been spotted in Washington, D.C. At a Washington Capitals game, no doubt -- right, False Ted Leonsis? Actually, he's in Washington to testify against Abruzzi, and he's staying at the Globe motel. This bit of intelligence comes courtesy of the Jersey Mob. "Fish Head Tommy wants to pay tribute," False Ted Leonsis says. And seriously -- what kind of crappy mobster do you have to be to wind up with a nickname like "Fish Head Tommy?" "All right, Tommy, it's time to give you your mob nickname... got anything in mind? 'Killer?' Yeah... that's OK, I guess, but me and the boys thought 'Fish Head' might be a more fitting moniker. Why? Uh... because of your distinctive body odor and love of foods that are high in Omega-3 Fatty Acids? Will that spare your feelings?"
Abruzzi decides that a chance to combine a visit to the many landmarks of our nation's capital and execute the man whose testimony put him behind bars is just too sweet an opportunity to pass up. Mrs. Abruzzi disagrees, slapping her husband across his kisser. Twice, even. "Look at this room, John," she says. "Look! We can be a family again. But you want to risk it all, disrespect us, and for what? Vengeance?" Abruzzi's all, "Look, honey, he betrayed me," but the missus isn't following that logic, so Abruzzi tries again. "He betrayed us. I'm sorry you will never understand what happens when you're in prison." I don't know -- that scene in Goodfellas where they're cooking steaks makes it seem pretty sweet if you're mobbed-up and all. But let's concede the point that prison made Abruzzi feel all messed up inside -- wouldn't whacking Fibonacci land Abruzzi back in the slammer? His wife certainly seems to think as much, but Abruzzi insists that he won't be returning to the Big House: "I'd rather die... there's no going back. Never ever again." Mrs. Abruzzi tries to remind her husband of his jailhouse religious conversion. "Didn't you realize that was just a plot contrivance?" he says. Or maybe he just accepts the crucifix his wife hands him, hugs her, and gets a "Oh, I am so totally going to drive to Washington to kill Fibonacci" look on his face.
Over in the Young Morons in Love section of this episode, Debra Jean is on the phone talking to a party as of yet unknown. "I don't know about 20 miles from Gunnison," she says to the party on the other end of the cell phone, before spotting young Tweener emerging from the bushes. "He's coming. I gotta go." Say! Sounds like someone's plotting someone else's post-prison breakout capture -- a possibility that only seems more likely when Debra Jean insists on stopping at the motel. "It's only 4 o'clock," protests Tweener, who understandably wants to keep on moving. "Yeah, but we've been driving forever," Debra Jean replies, turning down Tweener's gallant offer to drive tersely. "I really just want to stop... it's my car, and I'm tired of being in it." Which wouldn't seem like such a suspicious exchange if we didn't immediately cut to...
Mahone and his help-mate Lang talking about a phone call that just came in. "Can you believe it?" Agent Mahone says, walking so quickly he's off camera by the time it took me to type this sentence. "Of all the players in this thing, it's the rat that can give us our first collar." Things are not looking good for the burgeoning bond of trust growing 'twixt Tweener and Debra Jean.
Nika emerges from the backroom of the shack with a haunted look on her face -- being propositioned by Bellick will drain the color from a gal's face, I guess. Bellick earns further marks against his hosting skills when he tells Michael and Linc to hold it if they need to heed nature's call. "If you need to tinkle, Sweet Pea," he coos at Nika, "I'll watch you any time." Ever get the feeling that a stroll through the Recently Browsed Pages section of Bellick's Web browser would expose you to a series of things you wish you could immediately un-see? Seriously, is there an unconventional sexual practice he's not into? Jell-o wrestling? Smurf role-playing? Marital aide juggling? We get it, Prison Break producers -- he's an uncouth, sweaty perv. Now, let's try and have a scene involving Bellick that doesn't make me feel like I have give my brain one of those Silkwood showers immediately afterwards. Bellick cuffs Nika to the boys and waddles off, doubtlessly to go watch downloaded tinkling videos on his color-screen iPod. That leaves Nika to tell the boys that her clever trap has been set. "You're right," she says to Michael. "He'll bite on anything I say. You just tell me where we trap him, and I'll tell him that's where the money is." Linc reacts to this plan with a look of concern... or perhaps something he ate disagreed with him -- really, it's a 50-50 proposition with Dominic Purcell's facial expressions.
Back in Nebraska, T-Bag is walking down the road, apparently downcast that it's been a good half-hour or so since he's rained down misery on another human life. As if on cue, a car horn honks -- it's one of the jovial bystanders from the service station. "Look, I hope I'm not out of line," the jovial bystander says. "But I heard you telling the cop back there about your hand. My old man was killed in 'Nam when I was a kid, so I have the utmost respect for our servicemen." "Just serving my country," T-Bag says tentatively, just in case someone hits him with another barrage of Latin phrases. "A lot of us are grateful for it," the jovial bystander responds. "Listen, if you need a ride or something... " And as if this poor dumb schmoe -- whose name is Jerry, by the way -- needed to do anything else to secure his nomination as president of The Bad Idea Club, he ushers T-Bag over to the car, where his under-aged teen daughter is riding shotgun. Look, kids, a seedy drifter! Let's give him a lift! Where's your sense of adventure? The only thing that could make the outcome of this act of kindness even more obvious is if Jerry were to pop the Books-On-Tape version of In Cold Blood into the tape deck as he drove off with T-Bag and his daughter.
Back at the shack, Nika calls out to Bellick that if that offer to watch her tinkle was made in good faith, then she's about ready to take him up on that. "Again?" Bellick snorts disgustedly. "I have a small bladder," Nika says. "That ain't all you got," Bellick retorts. I suppose, in Bellick's ape brain, that's what counts as suggestive banter. Yeah, baby, you know what else you got? A pair of kidneys that play a crucial role in regulating electrolytes in human blood. And you've got a renal pelvis that connects to the ureters, which carry urine to that small bladder of yours. Yes, the human urinary system is a fascinating -- and sexy -- thing. Anyhow, it's off to the back room for Nika, who reveals that she didn't have to go tinkle at all. "They plan to trap you," Nika says. "The big one. He's got friends in Utah, criminals. A town called Panguitch -- they grow drugs on a farm. They'll tell you that's where the money is, but no money, just old friends with guns, waiting for you." Bellick decides that Panguitch, Utah, does not sound like a very nice place to visit, and demands to know where the money's really stashed. Uh uh uh, my greasy lothario -- first up: Nika's share of the filthy lucre, then we'll talk location. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be face-down in a marijuana farm," she reminds him. Hey, I had several friends in college who might have thought that sounded like a hell of a nice way to spend a weekend. Nika proposes that she now get a third of the loot; Bellick counters that she's going to have to give up more than just information if you get his drift, and if you don't, he helpful spells it out for you: "A piece of that can anytime I want it." Nika is surprisingly open to this proposal, which Bellick finds as stunning as I do. "I've slept with men for a lot less, trust me," she says. "What happened to 'Never in a thousand years?'" Bellick wonders. "That was negotiating," Nika says. And you can read all about it in Jack Welch's book, Giving Up That Can of Yours to Get to Yes. And if that's not enough to put you off your meal, Nika and Bellick seal their illicit arrangement with a sloppy kiss. While the commercials play, I'm off to pour bleach into my eye sockets.
Over at the Mob Safe House, Non-Jersey Division, Mrs. Abruzzi has lined up the finances for the Mafia Don Retirement Plan. "We got a hundred and fifty thousand here, John," she says. "With Vittorio's place in Solanas, we'll be able to live off the interest." John's not here, man. Instead, it's just the kids, who give Mrs. Abruzzi the "Mom, Dad ran out to go avenge a Mafia blood feud. Or he's gone to the corner market to buy some smokes. Either way, we don't expect to be seeing him again any time soon." And those kids are prescient, because we immediately cut to what a caption tells us is "Interstate 95, North of Washington, D.C.," which I, as a man who not three weeks ago drove that very stretch of road between Baltimore and D.C., can tell you is a dirty, filthy TV lie, since Abruzzi is cruising along at top speed and not stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Ah, but let us willingly suspend our disbelief and instead pretend that the I-95 corridor is but a fast-moving parkway in which a mob boss can nip down from New York to Washington to rub out a snitch with nary a traffic snarl to be had. "Let's get this over with," Abruzzi says, "so I can get back to my family." I look forward to seeing you do that...in your flying car, maybe.
In a less fanciful world, Michael is expressing his utmost confidence in Nika's ability to worm her way into Bellick's heart. Linc is more dubious: "When money's on the line you trust no one." Michael takes the counter-point in this particular debate: "Sometimes you have to." Linc scoffs at Michael's survival skills, which brings a meaningful look and a withering rebuttal from his younger brother: "You really don't trust anyone, do you?" Oh, man -- not the question to ask someone who had to escape from Death Row after getting convicted for a crime he didn't commit at the whim of a vast conspiracy that reaches the upper corridors of power. Don't get Linc started on how he doesn't trust people. Too late, Michael didâ"Every time I trusted someone, I got burned. Every time I got close to someone, I got screwed." Well, present company excluded, of course. And Veronica -- God rest what's left of her in those hefty bags we stuffed in -- she treated you right. And L.J. And that nice prison doctor the two of you kind of left in the lurch. But other than that: everyone's mean to Linc! "I know better," Linc concludes his keynote speech on the folly of trust. "So should you." I wait for the NBC "The More You Know" graphic to whiz by. Then, I remember that this is a Fox show. Fox doesn't do public service announcements... well, not unless you count Joe Millionaire and its advocacy on behalf of eugenics.
Debra Jean's back on the phone with her mystery caller again, spilling the name of the motel where she is staying with Tweener and the approximate room number. At the first sight of Tweener returning from a trip to the local mini mart, she hangs up. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the writers of this episode were trying to convince me beyond a reasonable doubt that she's ratting out Tweener to the Feds. Which, of course, means that she isn't. Unless she is. Oh God, I'm confused... I need Tweener's special brand of stilted street jive to calm my racing brain. "Yo, check it," he begins... ahhhhhh, that's the stuff. "I know this might be a little forward and all, but let me 'ax' you something: You got a man?" When Debra Jean doesn't answer immediately, Tweener breaks out his mad Hipster-Doofus-to-English translation skillz: "I mean, a boyfriend." And when she still doesn't answer, he jumps immediately to the recriminations and self-doubts portion of the pick-up: "What am I thinking? You're Mormon." This causes an understandably irritated Debra jean to answer. "I'm not Mormon," she says. "You think all girls from Utah are Mormons?" No, but I pretty much assumed that they were all related to Bill Paxton in some way. Tweener concedes that he did, but brightens when he realizes, "Then you can party, right?" Debra Jean rolls her eyes at his stupidity -- hey, sister, you've only had to deal with Tweener logic for a couple episodes, we've been stuck with this clown for a whole season now -- and stalks off. Party on, Tweener!
As if on cue, we cut to Mahone racing around barking orders. "When I land, I want 12 armed agents waiting for me on the ground," he snaps. "Tell them I want to go straight to the motel from the airstrip." Well, that cinches it -- Debra Jean definitely sold Tweener out. Or she didn't. You know how wild and unpredictable those non-Mormon girls are.
Back in the Chicagoland area, Sara is about to wash away the sting of the NarcAnon meeting with a tasty slice of pie. Hey, who doesn't enjoy themselves a hearty helping of pie? Kids, seniors, moms, dads. Even foot soldiers in vast conspiracies that reach as far as the upper echelons of power. Speaking of which, here's Kellerman, to get his own slice of pie. "I was an ass before. I apologize," he says. And Sara's like, "Apple or rhubarb?" Kellerman tries again: "I was a huge ass. I apologize." "I'm not going to argue with you," says Sara -- and snap. Anyhow, everyone apologizes to everyone else, and pie is served, and Sara recommends the blueberry before walking off as Kellerman sips his coffee and ominous music plays. Well, that scene was... concise. Hope you were holding on to a loved one while the menacing agent tried to decide what pie to eat.
Our tour of the seedy motels of middle America continues, as we cut to the roadside lodge where T-Bag, Jerry, and Jerry's soon-to-be harassed teenaged daughter have put up for the night. The daughter is sitting by the pool when T-Bag saunters up and... you know what? This is no reflection on Robert Knepper, who does a fabulous job playing a villainous character, or even the show Prison Break itself. But scenes where under-aged kids are menaced by sexual predators? Not nearly the entertaining diversion TV producers seem to think they are. In fact, one could make a compelling case that such scenes are exploitative and cheap. And so, I will deprive this scene of the honor of receiving my attention. You know the drill -- T-Bag flirts with the young lady, he makes an inappropriate move toward her, she recoils in horror and runs off to tell Dad, and T-Bag makes the "Oh, there's going to be trouble" face. Let's move on to less morally repellant matters, shall we?
In the hotel room, Jerry is apparently as bothered as I am by scenes that place underage children in sexual peril -- particularly when it's his underage child. "She's got it all wrong," T-Bag pleads. Jerry suggests that his daughter go wait outside and then grabs an iron -- presumably not to get those pesky wrinkles out of his shirt. "You and I are going to work this out," Jerry says. T-Bag suggests that Jerry is taking an unwise course of action: "You really don't want to do this." Pretty bold talk for a guy who, just a few days ago, was carrying around one of his hands in a convenient tote bag.
We move from one unpleasant tableau to a scene that's unpleasant for an entirely different set of reasons -- it's Nika and Bellick, and she's... um... helping him make his own gravy. Her shirt's off and she's writhing around on his lap, and Bellick is making grunting noises -- well, different grunting noises than the ones he usually makes. And, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to recap the rest of this scene while averting my eyes and thinking about baseball scores. "The thing I like about you is your determination," Bellick pants. Hey, that's a really nice shade of yellow we painted the wall last year. Nika starts talking about her family, and Bellick asks if they know what line of work she's in. "They think I work at Starbucks," she says, planting a sloppy kiss on Bellick's sloppier mug. And you know who a really underrated team was? The 1957 Milwaukee Braves. Nika continues to writhe on Bellick and... OH GOD, WHEN WILL THIS SCENE BE OVER? Right about when Nika reaches for Bellick's gun, apparently. The lap dance comes to an abrupt halt, as Bellick shoves Nika off of him. "How stupid do you think I am?" he demands. I assume you want the answer to that question in the form of an essay; will I be graded on spelling and grammar?
Bellick hustles Nika back over to Michael and Linc: "My daddy always said, 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, and I'll put you in the ground.'" His daddy wasn't really that skilled when it came to turns of phrase. Nevertheless, Bellick's central point is quite clear: "No more games, or I stop the hooker's air. Understand?" Bellick ties Nika up, thanks her for the dance, and turns to leave, before noticing his knife is missing. "You bitch," Bellick snarls. And before he can complete that thought, Linc has said knife pressed up against Bellick's jugular. "Fooled you," Linc says. Indeed, this is getting to be old hat with Michael and Linc and their dealings with Bellick. At this rate of blundering, Bellick is going to challenge the record set by Col. Klink and Sgt. Schultz for most times a TV character gets outwitted by a prisoner in their care.
When we get back from commercial, Geary -- remember him? -- has returned from town with the new tire. "I carried it," he says. "The cons can change it." Then he notices that it's Linc who's there to greet him, Bellick's gun in his hand. And so he utters the line that I think you'll agree is destined to become the rallying cry for a new generation. "Oh. You really suck, Bellick, you know that?" I think it's beginning to dawn on Bellick just how much he sucks, yes. I mean, how many times have Michael and his cohorts tied you up now, Bellick? Twice? Three times? A dozen? Any number greater than one is just embarrassing. As Michael ties Geary up, he expresses his appreciation to Nika for her contributions to outwitting Bellick once again. Bellick does not take this development with much grace and equanimity. "You're as stupid as the prison doc, you know that?" he says to Nika. Michael advises Nika to ignore Bellick, who's just getting started: "He conned her, too, made her think he loved her, and look what she got -- an overdose and a shot at 30 years inside." This is new to Michael, who understandably hasn't had a chance to keep tabs on all the lives he's ruined while he's been on the lam. "What are you talking about?" he demands. Bellick retorts, "Guess you haven't been reading the papers, have you, college boy?" Or the recaps -- not that Sobell is offended at all. "Cops found your girlfriend fish-belly-white gargling her own puke." "Shut up," Michael says quietly. Bellick is rolling now: "What do you care -- as long as she left the door open for you." "Shut up," Michael says again, this time not so quietly. In fact, he kinda screams it. Bellick, showing a rare gift for understatement, chuckles: "Hit a sore spot, didn't I?" Michael hits a sore spot of his own, by kicking Bellick upside the head. Let's take a break for a moment while I hit the replay button on TiVo six or seven times to take in all the Bellick skull-kicking goodness. Gooooooood scene.
Less good scene: we're back at the Seedy Motel No. 2, the one containing T-Bag and Jerry and Jerry's daughter. Or at least, it's still containing two of those people. Jerry's daughter emerges from the hotel's vending machine room with a soda when she sees her dad's sedan driving slowly by. Dad isn't at the wheel; instead, it's a relatively unbruised and unbloodied T-Bag, and not only is he taking the car, he's also wearing Jerry's baseball cap and at a particularly jaunty angle at that. So I'm to believe that a man who recently had his hand chopped off and then reattached was able to beat up/maim/kill a man with two perfectly functioning hands and an iron? And that this one-handed superhero was able to emerge from the scuffle with just a scratch on his cheek? What else did Dr. Gutay do to T-Bag during that surgery -- give him the power to fly and stop time? Anyhow, T-Bag drives off, for more whacky homicidal misadventures.
Outside the NarcAnon meeting, The Betrayal of Dr. Sara: Won't You Have Some Pie continues its lyrical pace, as Kellerman praises the pie as the best he's ever had. "Do you know it needs though?" he asks. "Some crack. Not a lot. Just a pinch." Aw, it's funny how he can joke about his pretend addiction like that. Sara seems to think so, as she finds herself charmed by this mysterious stranger. We all know how that worked out the last time. Speaking of which, her cell phone rings -- it's Michael, so obviously disturbed by Bellick's taunts, that he's emerging from hiding to check in and see how she's doing. The conversation that follows is interesting enough, but I'm not sure that it was written with anyone who's got an XY chromosome sequence in mind. So, just to make sure that the scene gets its proper due, I'm turning things over to my wife, who checks in from an undisclosed location to recap this one scene. Honey?
Sobell here. Where am I? What's going on? Why am I looking at T-Bag driving a station wagon past a dewy teenaged girl and glaring menacingly? Is this your idea of romance, mister? Because if it is I am going to be very suspicious of the trip you propose, and -- oh, wait. We're back at the pie scene. Never mind. How hilarious is Kellerman, all falsetto with the "Mmm, that's good pie?" And now her mobile phone's ringing, and it's Michael, and he wants to talk.
And boy, is he pulling out the stops with the teary, "Please don't hang up on me." Remembering the first few chapters of Don't Parole Him Into Your Heart, Dr. Sara is adamant that she doesn't want to talk to Michael. However, she does not hang up. So Michael forges ahead and stammers, "I heard about... I heard about what happened." Dr. Sara looks agitated, and this catches Kellerman's attention. It is great watching his mask drop and the watchful opportunist emerge.
On the other end of the phone, Michael sob-whispers that he's sorry for everything. Yeah, that'll keep Dr. Sara warm on those long nights in cellblock D. She more or less points that out. Go, Dr. Sara! All you need to re-read Don't Do Time in the Prison of Love. And TAKE NOTES. Michael skips over the whole my-life-is-torpedoed point and does Dr. Sara the big, big favor of telling her, "Anyone with ties to me and my brother is in danger now." Dr. Sara says coldly, "I have no ties to your and your brother any more." Hey -- maybe she did take notes. Michael again ignores Dr. Sara and sob-whispers, "There's a way I can protect you. It's already in your possession." She gets agitated and demands to know what Michael's talking about. I get agitated and wonder if maybe it's time for Dr. Sara to check her Amazon.com recommendations for Romantic Recidivism: How YOU Can Prevent It. She's going to need it with Michael pleading, "It was real, Sara -- you and me. It's real." Dr. Sara sort of gapes. We see that Nika has been eavesdropping shamelessly, and she's now got a sort of disgusted smirk on her face. And then Michael pulls a total dick move and hangs up. Dr. Sara is left there to fume silently. I am left to wonder if maybe, after Linc and Michael free L.J. from the pokey, they'll have to criss-cross back to liberate Dr. Sara from whatever women's prison she's off having pillow fights in. I can see it now...
I can also see Dr. Sara saying, "Michael? Michael?" and as she does, Kellerman's eyes roll up, as sharp and focused as any predator's. Any trace of pie-loving camaraderie is gone.
Thanks, dear. We go from that mushy stuff to a convoy of SUVs, barreling down the highway. Mahone is riding in the lead car and wants to know how long it'll be before they get to the motel. The driver says 10 minutes; Mahone suggests five. Boy, he's as eager as I am to see who he's actually trying to capture.
Back at a motel, a shirtless Tweener emerges from the shower. "Yo, I haven't taken a shower like that in forever," he says, meaning "not with 40 other guys, half of whom are trying to date me." And let me add that prison life must be hard if it makes you appreciate the tepid flow of seedy motel shower heads. He notices that Debra Jean has her purse, as if she's headed out the door. "I was going to surprise you," she says. How? By turning Tweener over to the Feds? "I was going to get some tequila and limes." Tequila, limes... and federal agents? Tweener offers to change quickly so that he can accompany her; she declines. "It'll only take a minute," she says. Betrayal often does. Tweener observes that Debra Jean seems kind of nervous. "I do?" she asks. "Yeah, you're sweating," he replies. Debra Jean concedes that she might be nervous. "Trust me, girl, you got nothing to worry about, all right?" Tweener says. Yeah, but do you. "I'm one of the good guys," Tweener insists. "You seem like it," she says. And she's off, presumably to instruct the FBI sniper where to position himself for the kill shot.
Over at another motel, Abruzzi's car pulls up. As he instructs False Ted Leonsis to sit tight, I can't help but wonder why Abruzzi just didn't dispatch some trustworthy goons to do his dirty work. I guess it's this hands-on attention to detail that has allowed him to rise up the ranks to head his own crime family. Abruzzi walks into the motel room to tell Fibonacci that his number is up -- and while the shower is running, the room itself appears to be empty. Meanwhile, Abruzzi seems not to have heard the squealing tires from outside the room. No matter -- that helpful voice from outside will soon clue him in. "If you're looking for the rat, John," says Agent Mahone, standing outside with an army of federal agents, "Fibonacci is 2,000 miles from here." Abruzzi is more interested in figuring out whether it's local cops or Feds that have him cornered -- the local cops offer a free T-shirt and commemorative photo for each arrest, I guess. Mahone indulges Abruzzi's curiosity: "Feds, John. Only row out the best for a man of your stature." Abruzzi has more questions: "I deserve to know who turned on me? Tommy." Indeed, Fish Head Tommy was facing a RICO rap and was looking to avoid prison time. Also, he really hated that whole "Fish Head Tommy" nickname -- the man has a skin condition, damnit, so why tease him about it? Mahone invites Abruzzi to come out with his hands up and with his mind clear of any thoughts of escape: "You are going back to Fox River today. Or the morgue. It's your call." In a nice little touch, Abruzzi holds the crucifix the missus gave him earlier in his left hand -- the wedding band is prominently displayed -- before announcing that he's coming out. Mahone instructs him that the weapon comes out first, which Abruzzi apparently takes to mean in his right hand ready to fire. "These are serious men here," Mahone reminds Abruzzi, as you hear the various Feds cocking their rifles. "They have instructions to shoot at the first sign of aggression. Please. I'm asking you respectfully. Drop the weapon, kneel, and put your hands on your head." And if you or I ever find ourselves surrounded by federal agents with locked and loaded weaponry pointed right at us as we are overcome with a sudden urge to commit suicide-by-cop, we could worse than utter Abruzzi's final words on this show: "I kneel only to God. I don't see him here." He raises his gun, and things end about as well as you might expect them to -- Abruzzi staring straight up at the sky with several entry wounds in his chest and Mahone looking waxy, though no more so than usual.
As if to sharpen the pain and sense of lose from Abruzzi's demise, we cut back to the other seedy motel, where Tweener is still unfortunately, tragically, gallingly not dead. Even worse, he's having a heart-to-heart with Debra Jean, who finally reveals the identity of the mystery caller in all those suspicious phone conversations" "My dad's an Air Force colonel. Total Nazi." Wait -- so she was calling Argentina all those times? Man, she must have some huge cell phone bill. "One of those nightmare, over-protective dads," she continues. "Well, I called him, told him I was traveling with you, told him that we were staying in the same hotel room." Tweener has himself a rueful chuckle: "Girl, you gots to learn how to lie. What you thinking?" Debra Jean concedes that she's a terrible liar and continues her tale of woe: "He was mad enough when I told him I was staying in a hotel room with a guy... but when I told him when I was staying in a hotel with a guy that I maybe sort of liked, he lost it." Tweener's all, "Back up to the part about how you maybe sort of like me again?" And the two of them get down to business. Boy, if Tweener was that happy with his first non-prison showering experience, imagine how much he's going to enjoy the non-incarcerated version of sexual intercourse. My revulsion at that thought is trumped only by the nagging suspicion that a meet-up with Debra Jean's Luftwaffe father may well be on the horizon.
Elsewhere, Michael and Nika are saying their goodbyes while Linc averts his eyes. Michael offers to give her a ride into town with Geary's car; Nika correctly points out that car rides with the boys have not ended well and says she'll just walk that mile by her lonesome. "We never would have made it this far without you," Michael correctly observes. And after a round of I'd-love-to-go-with-you-No-this-isn't-the-life-for-you-Well-I'm-sad-to-hear-that-but-perhaps-it's-for-the-best, Michael and Nika hug, and Nika and Linc hug... and Nika grabs the pistol that Linc had stashed in the back of his pants. Shocking turn of events? Not really if you subscribe to the Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Exploited in a Complex Prison Escape Plan theory. "I loved you, Michael," Nika cries, gun in hand. "And I thought I was going to get that back, but you just used me." Michael denies this, but it's not as if he has the opportunity to offer much in the way of counter-argument. "I deserve more than this," she continues. "I deserve more than just being the girl that you call when you need something." Linc surmises that Nika is after that $5 million in Utah after all. "I don't care about the money in Utah," she spits. "I don't want any more crime. I turn you in I get $200,000 legal money." As she grabs the phone to call 911, Michael starts for her. Bad idea, according to Nika: "Don't come any closer, or I'll shoot you." Lincoln disagrees -- and has the bullet clip to prove it. Nika looks defeated; Linc looks smug for teaching Michael a valuable lesson about the dangers of trusting other human beings. "Good luck to you," Michael says sadly before he and Linc speed of, leaving Nika at the side of the road. [Arnold Schwarzenegger voice]Consider that a divorce.[/Arnold Schwarzenegger voice]
Mahone returns to the FBI officers, where Wheeler is waiting with questions from HQ: why didn't he arrest Abruzzi on his way into the motel room? Yeah, why didn't he? Why did Abruzzi have to die? Why?... Sorry. Mahone's response is that the way to capture a mob boss is to corner him, and he cuts off further questioning from Wheeler with a snippy, "HQ has a problem with the way I do things, they can pick up a gun and follow me into the field time." All of them, Mahone? That'd be a rather crowded stake-out. I'm not even sure there are enough black SUVs to stash all of those Feds. We finally get to see that newspaper clipping that Mahone tacked up earlier -- it's Michael's old copy of the Abruzzi story with the name Fibonacci prominently circled. "Scofield always knew that the rat was the key to Abruzzi," Mahone explains. "We just put it out on the wire, and Abruzzi bit." And with that, he uses a red-marker to X out Abruzzi's mug shot, with just a little bit more brio than I care to see there, mister. "Speaking of Scofield," Wheeler says, "the crash was staged." He hands Mahone a folder with the details. "Pig blood," Mahone says, as he goes back to his desk to stare at the Oscar Shales photo once more. "Smart kid. Problem with being that clever is that sooner or later you end up being too clever for your own good." The interesting thing about that line -- besides the fact that Mahone sputters it and becomes increasing agitated as he says it -- is that it's not directed at Wheeler so much as it is Michael's mug shot. Sensing that his boss is about to have the freak out, Wheeler takes this opportunity to head home for the night. In contrast, Mahone takes the opportunity to flash between photos of Michael and Shales -- say, do you think he sees some sort of parallel between the two -- before spazzing out and ripping Michael's photo of the board before crumpling it up and throwing it on the floor. "You have no idea what you're in for," Mahone wheezes as the camera zooms in on the crumpled photo. OK. Awkward.
week on Prison Break, Sucre stars in a remake of Honeymoon in Vegas, Michael and Linc meet up with an old, one-handed friend, and Sobell returns to recap it, mushy stuff and all.