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Mahone is BACK, baby! And he's looking none the worse for wear, so I'm guessing T-Bag's predictions about oozing noxious effluvia from every orifice were not fulfilled. That's a relief. Anyway, Mahone's now in the escape and double-teaming with Michael to let Whistler know that he's not fooling anyone with the humble-fisherman act. Also, he counsels Michael a little after Michael sort-of kills for the first time. But I'm jumping ahead...
So Sammy takes the gun that was delivered in the prior episode and uses it to stage a little coup, declaring himself Sona's grand poobah and offering a crate of booze to the first person who brings him Scofield. He's temporarily distracted from the business of sitting around and glowering by Bellick, whom T-Bag has manipulated into throwing down a chicken foot. Bellick's doing it for the prospect of an escape. Also, he is under the impression there is an unlimited supply of acetone in the prison. Sadly, he is wrong on that count, and Sammy is busy beating him to a pulp when he gets distracted by the prospect of cornering Scofield in the escape tunnel.
Anyway, this leads to a tense confrontation between the would-be escapees and Sammy's crew, and Michael goads Sammy into checking out the tunnel, and that ends up burying Sammy under a lot of dirt. While Whistler's thinking that maybe the cave-in is a result of Michael's sub-par engineering skills, Mahone catches Michael playing with a bolt that had been holding things into place, realizes that Michael planned Sammy's death, and tells him, "It never gets any easier."
Well, things are easier for Lechero -- after throwing the bodies of his double-crossing former crew into the courtyard, he's back on top. But they're not easier for Michael -- not only is T-Bag on the escape, Splenda wants in, too. At this rate, the whole point to this show will be to see just how big a crowd Michael can keep breaking out of prisons.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Susan B. lets Sucre know she's onto his little scheme with Linc, and Linc lets Sofia know he'd gladly take her to Paris if Whistler doesn't. After this revelation, Sofia decides to wash her lying old boyfriend right out of her hair, and when cleaning out his half of the closet, discovers a sealed metal case. What's in it? We'll find out in two weeks. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
When we begin the episode, Sammy is imploring Lechero to go ahead and kill Scofield (AKA "Blanco") already. Since that would severely crimp Lechero's plans for escape, the big bossman tries to put Sammy off with "He survived the box." "So what?" queries an underimpressed underling. Lechero explains that Scofield's a "folk hero" among the inmates, so killing him would be bad for morale. He attempts to placate Sammy with, "Look, I want him dead as much as you, but not at the cost of an uprising." Sammy's look of skepticism is so brazen, it's a wonder it doesn't just leap off his face and begin sneering independently. At the end of that little scene, Lechero looks over and sees T-Bag just watching everything with an evaluative eye. T-Bag then wanders outside to ogle Whistler. And who can blame him?
We then move back inside where the Sona mailman has dropped off an envelope for Mahone. There's no return address. Mahone opens the envelope and sees his son's latest school picture. He's overcome by emotion -- by the way, I love how he always rocks back and forth whenever he's feeling out of control -- and then Whistler comes along to intrude on Mahone's private moment. He smoothly learns that Mahone's clutching a picture of his son, then says, "Bagwell gave the okay. The coast is clear. Let's go."
Michael will be along shortly. First he has to go shopping for a new long-sleeved shirt, and then he has to humor Splenda, who's overjoyed that Michael did not emerge from the box as poached as a trout en papillote. Splenda asks, "Were you really trying to escape?" Michael says, "I don't know what you're talking about and neither do you." Splenda gives him a look like Michael's just kicked his puppy. So a stormy Michael turns around...and ends up with Whistler in his face, saying, "Just so you know, Bagwell's coming with us." Michael gives him a Really? REALLY? look and Whistler says apologetically, "You were gone. He had something we needed. I didn't have a choice." Michael just rolls his eyes and says, "Fine." Cue Mahone popping into frame and asking, "So what's the new plan?" The new plan is, everyone is going to piss off Michael so much that his Blue Steel glare finally goes supernova and cuts through concrete and rebar like a hot knife through butter. By continually goading Michael, the team will use him as a tool of destruction, then step out of the rubble and into freedom, sweet terrible freedom!
Or maybe they'll all crowd into the entrance to the secret escape tunnel. T-Bag confirms that Whistler has told Michael of his new co-escapees, then trots alongside Michael, wagging a finger in his face and saying dramatically, "I am coming with you." Michael doesn't even break stride as he says flatly, "Okay by me." T-Bag looks back at Whistler as if to ask, Are you sure this is the right Michael? Did you think to check for tattoos? Then he shouts at Mahone, "Did you hear that? Did you hear that, lawman!" His high-volume confirmation is cut short by Michael. He puts T-Bag on sentry duty, explaining that the work in the tunnel needs workers who have two good hands. Lechero then rubs a little salt in that new wound, saying T-Bag will have to keep an eye out for Sammy.
Everyone heads back into the tunnel. Michael gives their work an appraising eye. Mahone looks up at the wooden ceiling that's keeping several pounds of sand at bay and stammers, "I thought we couldn't dig through this stuff." Michael says, "This operation is going to be tricky. Unless the tunnel gets the proper support, it's all going to come down on our heads. We should have the material for the braces, but we need a saw to cut them to size -- and a hammer." Michael promises they'll be out in two days.
Outside the tunnel, Lechero sends T-Bag out to get the supplies they need. Much is made of how T-Bag will have to go down the corridor on the left to cell 40. After T-Bag heads out, Lechero wipes his face with a bandanna and reflects on how hard it is to be him, what with the escape plans and the underlings calling for the head of his CEO (chief escape officer) and Augusto on the outside -- the beaded curtain rattles and Lechero says, "Are you lost already, Teodoro?" Sammy sticks the gun into the base of Lechero's skull and says, "No. But you are."
Of course, this is when we go to the credits. And then, because I am not constrained by the quaint commercial interruptions, we go right back to Sammy and Lechero. Sammy has announced the succession plan -- "This is my room now!" -- and Lechero just listens as Sammy continues, "If you'd gone after Scofield today, all would have been forgiven." Lechero calmly tells him this is suicide, and Sammy cocks the gun as he says, "I'll take my chances." Lechero says, "Yeah? You think you can run Sona? You couldn't even run shipments from one dock to another, but I still keep you by my side." This seems to affect Sammy and he says hoarsely, "I'll let you walk out of here, out of respect for what you were." Lechero takes off as Sammy fights tears. Then, Sammy heads for the door to the stairs.
Down below, the would-be escapees are still blissfully ignorant of the coup. All they know is that Sammy and a couple of his closest friends have descended the staircase and are looking for the booze. On the other side of the door, Michael, Mahone and Whistler freeze. Fortunately, the bottles are clinking too loudly for Sammy et al to hear the diggers.
Sammy then swaggers out onto the balcony, silences the chattering inmates with a piercing whistle, then shouts, "I am running things now! Anyone got a problem with that?" We cut to Lechero, who is only now realizing that he's not going to have one of those cushy, Jean-Claude Duvalier-style retirements. Sammy continues by dangling the chicken foot and shouting that anyone is welcome to fight him. We cut to a bunch of weary-looking inmates all, No, thank you. Sammy then gestures to the case of rum one of his flunkies is holding and shouts, "First order of business: a case of rum to the man who brings me Michael Scofield!" The crowd goes wild at this. So wild, in fact, that Michael can hear them down below. It's not clear whether he hears the death threat too, but knowing Michael, it's reasonable to assume that particular scenario's on his top-five list of Things That Can Possibly Mess Up THIS Escape Attempt.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Lincoln is attempting to use a computer. So great is the mental effort, there's blood running from his ears. (I am not kidding: at the 8:07 mark on my digital recording, his ear and neck are looking distinctly bloody.) We soon learn that Linc is using any one of a vast number of non-Google search engines to get the 411 on "Gary Miller." Linc then enters Gary's purported birthday (7/31/72, for those of you who dig Leos) and finds three hits, one of whom is based in Arizona. Sucre comes charging in: he's hooking Linc up with a guy who deals with the kinds of goods you don't want to be seen buying in broad daylight. The guys quickly exposit that Sucre will go meet with Susan B., so Sofia will translate the transaction for Linc. And then there is a very sweet thank-you, where Linc vows, "I got your back. When you get home, whatever you need, whatever you want...." Sucre grins, "That won't be necessary. When I get back home, I'm a saint. I'm not even jaywalking." Will that be because you can barely move under the many layers of disguise you'll have to wear to avoid being recognized as a FUGITIVE? Or has that little breaking-out-of-prison thing been swept under the rug?
Inside the prison, the tunnelers are all busy making braces. Michael's looking at bolts made from lengths of rebar and staring intently. Aboveground. Lechero frets to T-Bag that Michael's a dead man the minute he steps outside the tunnel. He could always go live in the wet sewage tunnels. Whistler seemed to do okay, and I'm betting Michael's so inventive, he can make the Phantom of the Opera's subterranean lair look like an abandoned squat in West Oakland. T-Bag muses, "As far as I can tell, we have two options." Then, looking as if the sentence physically pains him, he utters, "We can invite Sammy on...the...escape." Lechero pretends not to notice T-Bag wincing through those last three words as he spits, "He can go to hell." T-Bag then points out there's another way to get rid of Sammy. "You wouldn't last a second with Sammy," Lechero says dismissively. Hey, you never know. T-Bag's got mutant superhero powers, remember? Actually, T-Bag's pretty sure he can manipulate someone else into doing the fighting for him.
We cut to Bellick, who has finally found his prison cohort -- the fat, gullible U.S. citizens' gang. I can only conclude that the rest of the prison keeps them around to remind themselves that things can only be worse. After suffering through a few seconds of Bellick's lies -- and the handy reminder that Brad Bellick is practically an idiot savant in self-sabotage -- we get T-Bag coming on over. He effortlessly baits the hook with intimations of an escape plan and gives Bellick the catch: he's got to challenge Sammy in the ring. We get a wonderful shot of Bellick alone in a corridor. He's trying to bring his fists up in a pugilistic posture, but he's shaking too badly to make it look convincing.
Meanwhile, on the outside, we learn two things: Lincoln is buying a bomb, and he needs a new translator because Sofia has the annoying tendency to question everything right at the moment when Linc needs to play it cool. Oh, wait -- we learn a third thing: Linc is very subtly undermining the Whistler/Sofia relationship. Linc, who would have thought you had that kind of strategery?
Then we cut to bar where Susan B. is busy sending an email from one "Gary Miller" to "Edward Guthrie." The text of the message: "Ed, we'll be in contact soon. Sales are through the roof! Hope you're working on your putting." Sucre comes in and sits to Susan B. She leans in and says, all flirty-like, "Know what I just found out? That 'sucre' means 'sugar.'" Our sweet boy rolls his eyes as he admits that it does. Susan B. purrs, "So every time I'm saying your name, I'm calling you 'sugar.'" Sucre gives her a pained look and grunts, "Basically, yeah." Haaaaaa. These two may be my new favorite uncouple. She could eat him for breakfast without breaking a nail and he knows it. Sucre then lies about how Linc has nothing new cooking. Susan B. asks, "And did he become an Eagle scout last night too?" I love it. When did I begin to like Susan B. so much? This is disturbing. Anyway, Susan B. gives Sucre a long look and he lies, "I could have just made something up to get paid, but I didn't. I'm not trying to get on your bad side either." Susan B. sits back in her chair and says flatly, "You know what? I believe you." Run, Sucre, run! She's on to your lying ways! Sucre tries to run and Susan B. says, "Whoa! Whoa! What am I, a toothless crack whore? Sit down." Sucre reluctantly parks his butt, and Susan B. tells him she keeps her promises, so here's a nice, slim cashier's check for $25,000. Sucre sort of freaks when he looks at the check. Susan B.'s pleased at this response, so she slides off the stool and makes to sashay off, stopping only to whisper, "Keep your ears open, sugar." The minute she leaves, Sucre reaches over, grabs her drink and knocks it back in one gulp. I can see where she'd do that to you.
Back inside the prison -- oh, God, the sand, it's tricking into Whistler and Mahone's faces. Gaaaaaaaah! Hate sand! The guys aren't too thrilled about it either -- they're the ones holding up what looks like the side of a wooden crate against the pressing sand until Michael can screw a bolt in between the side of the tunnel and the makeshift lid. Whistler asks, "That little piece of metal is going to hold all this weight?" Michael does not bother to fill him in on the mighty prowess of a friction coefficient. Mahone asks shakily, "How many more of those are we going to need?" Michael shrugs that they'll want about 20. Whistler says, "Well, that gets us into No Man's Land, and then what?" Michael snaps, "A helicopter would be nice." Haaaaa. The writers had on the funny pants when they were typing this episode. Whistler says sharply, "I was supposed to kill you." "So you're not a fisherman," Michael says. Whistler gives the they-went-after-my-family excuse, and Mahone looks up sharply. Michael and Whistler get progressively more snippy, and Mahone comes over, saying, "Well! It's a crazy world. We all agree on that. We have a lot more work to do." Blessed are the peacemakers, Mahone.
Aboveground, T-Bag is doing a masterful job of containing his visible gloating. No matter how the fight turns out, he'll have rid himself of one person he doesn't want around.
Bellick steels himself and goes swaggering over to Sammy with a little of the brio we all remember from season one. He says to Sammy, "Excuse me, sir. Do we come to you if we need the chicken foot?" Sammy, who is happily counting money in full view of the rest of Sona, confirms this is so. He asks who Bellick has a beef with. Bellick replies, "I don't know his name -- some Carribean guy, stole my wallet a while back." We get an amusing little shot of Sammy flipping through his mental dayplanner as if to confirm he did rob Bellick upon his arrival. Then he gives Bellick his full attention, warning him, "Better think long and hard before you say another word." Bellick hurtles along: "He's got this fruity little moustache and this ugly-ass vest." Sammy snaps his fingers and an underling hands him the chicken foot. He hands it to Bellick, saying dryly, "Please. I'm begging you." Down in the courtyard, people have begun to notice. Bellick takes the foot and throws it down, and the courtyard erupts in cheers. Sammy grins and tells Bellick, "In the ring. Fifteen minutes."
Then we cut to T-Bag laying it on thick: "I never thought I'd say this, but I envy you, Brad. I've wanted to shame that little Calypso kid ever since I first met him." It's too bad he had to settle for manipulating other people into doing his dirty work for him instead. My heart, it bleeds. Bellick tries to get into the spirit of the smack-talking, and T-Bag hastily cuts him off with, "Just don't take too long to finish him off, okay? The sooner he's dead, the sooner we can get on with the escape." Bellick's pumped! He's motivated! He's...screwed. There's no more acetone in the jug.
Inside the tunnel, Mahone's cracking wood planks with his bare fists and commenting, "We need a saw." No, you need another tight t-shirt like you were wearing before the break. Put it on and then we'll talk about getting you a Makita. Whistler pipes up, "I am a fisherman." Scofield and Mahone both sigh. Whistler continues, "I am. I'm just a little bit more connected than I've let on." Michael and Mahone begin inspecting lumber. Whistler insists, "I run charters, just like I said. I have for years. Then one day, that brunette, Gretchen, well, she asked me if I wanted to be exclusive to her corporation. Well, with the money she was offering, I had a pretty good idea she was not just trolling for salmon." Michael confirms that Whistler and Susan B. have history. Whistler protests that Susan B.'s been "an absolute nightmare in my life, ever since that first job." Michael gives Whistler a look and says past him, "Alex, I need a wedge." Mahone hops to. Whistler persists, "Look, I took them where they wanted me to take them. I have to figure out these coordinates [in my little book] and I have to take them." Mahone finally says, "Quit embarrassing yourself. We're not two chicks in a bar you're trying to pick up. [turns to Michael] Do you need to hear this?" Michael: "No." Mahone: "Good. [to Whistler] You work for the One World Conspiracy. When you break out of here, you're going to do whatever they ask you to." Is it just me, or did Mahone's 12 hours of withdrawals also chase away all his demons and revive his wit? Lang's coin is truly lucky! Also, possibly magical.
We cut to a shirtless Sammy psyching himself up for his pending bout by shadowboxing to a pale imitation of James Brown. Good God, y'all. One of the underlings comes in and points out that Sammy could just use a gun, saying, "You don't have to fight that guy." Sammy stops and says, "It's my farewell tour." Haaaaa. Everyone is snarky in Sona today! I thoroughly approve.
We cut back to the tunnel, where the boys are at an impasse because they really do need the tools to work. Michael decides to pass the time by grilling Whistler on the book, and then flipping through it himself. Whistler tries to downplay the importance of the volume with: "It's just a bunch of numbers and dates." Michael commences quizzing Whistler -- he rents his trawler from Gate Netting Company, "stampede" is his buddy's cape islander -- and Mahone's all, "Things would be so much easier if you'd drop the humble man-of-the-sea act and accept that Michael will regard you with nothing less than a mixture of loathing and contempt." The guys then debate trying to head upstairs with someone still in the room.
We cut to Sammy getting his serenity on with some meditation before heading out to the balcony to pose for the masses. And then we cut to Bellick having a total desperate meltdown because he won't be able to repeat his little acetone trick. He has to be frog-marched to the fight.
T-Bag has already absented himself from the inevitable carnage and gone looking for Lechero. He finds the ex-ruler standing against a wall in a corner of the prison, a knife at the ready. T-Bag goads Lechero into leaving his corner, lest Michael decide to pop up his head at the wrong time, i.e. right when Sammy comes back into the suite, smiling and kicking around Bellick's head as if it were a soccer ball. No Scofield means no escape, so Lechero's like, "Fine."
We cut to Bellick dancing around the circle, horribly conscious of the fact that he's about to take a bigger beating than Walter Mondale in 1984.
The tunnel rats decide to emerge into the suite. The plan is to get the tools and come straight back.
Back to the would-be combatants. Sammy pounds Bellick relentlessly for a while.
The guys continue to creep up the stairs. One of the other thugs -- Cristobal, I think? -- is all, "Hey -- wanna watch the fight, have a beer?" Both Whistler and Mahone are frozen in place before realizing that while it's okay for them to knock back a few brewskis and watch Sammy kill a man with his bare hands, Michael's not invited. They go scrambling back down from whence they came. The thugs commence the chase. While Michael and Mahone make it into the protected hallway Whistler's outside. His crunchy beating is just beginning when we cut to the presumed end of Bellick's.
However, Bellick's pending death is delayed by the news that Sammy's little posse has found Scofield. He drops the nearly-dead Bellick, leaps up into the suite like some sort of demented comic-book character -- and by the way, I have been thinking that Prison Break really missed its medium. It could be an awesome comic book series. Just imagine how seasons one and two would have looked if we had different panels focusing on the tattoo details as they became relevant to the plot (I'm thinking pencils by someone like Scot Eaton, whose work on X-Factor is nicely moody and would fit the look of this series), and imagine how much opportunity we would have had to see spin-offs and backstory. I'm just saying...I think the series would be better-served, story-wise, in that medium. But I'm also a comics dork. ANYWAY, as I was saying, Sammy quickly heads into his suite, down the passage and stairs and to the closed door where his underlings are currently conducting tests to see if they can determine Whistler's blood type by which way it spurts after they hit him. Between mouthfuls of Type O, Whistler insists he has no way to open the door.
Sammy cocks a gun and Michael has a freakout. Mahone restrains him. Sammy somehow hears this (how? Also, his vest is back on again -- I guess when your biggest fashion critic is busy bleeding in the courtyard, you feel confident enough to wear whatever you please) and shouts that if the door's not opened soon, it will be decorated with Whistler's brains. Michael and Mahone have a tense little debate. Mahone says, "You saw those guys! What do you think they've got planned?" and Michael snarls, "What do you suggest, Alex?" Mahone pulls it together and begins preparing for the inevitable fistfight. Michael listens to them beating Whistler and his eyes bug out.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Sofia's asking if the reason Linc won't spill about the bomb's intended target is because he's jealous of the spiffy communication skills she has with her boyfriend. Honey, I hate to break it to you, but he's going to be using a notepad to lie to you for a while once his lip blows up to twice its normal size. Linc tells her she doesn’t need to know what's going on, but assures her it'll be all right. Sucre pops by to give a status report. Linc heads out to the hall to talk to Sucre, and here we learn that Sucre's under the impression that he successfully snowed Susan B. We also learn that Linc intends the bomb to go in Susan B.'s car -- he gives it to Sucre and instructs Sucre to contrive a way to get in Susan B.'s car so he can slide it under the seat. Sucre nods his assent, then asks if Sofia'a okay, noting, "She looks upset." Why, what possible reason might Sofia have for being upset? Linc can only gape in dismay. Sucre takes off before he catches a case of embarrassment off Linc.
We cut to Michael futzing with the shaft he's dug. From behind him, Mahone's breaking chunks of concrete off rebar like it's no big deal -- this is where I laugh bitterly from the couch -- and explaining how they can use the subsequent rebar-with-concrete-chunk-on-its-end as a weapon. Mahone gives Michael an impromptu lesson in where to stab a man through the heart, and Michael grimly looks back up toward the tunnel's ceiling.
Sammy heads back toward the ring, and we get a shot of the beaten-down Bellick positively drooling thick streamers of blood. The crowd begins cheering in anticipation of the kill, but the shouts disappear into bafflement as Sammy keeps on walking through the circle and up to Lechero, who is lounging against a pillar. Sammy says, "You're hiding Scofield up in your room?" Lechero issues the non-denial, "Look at you: the power make you mad already." Well, it's made him angry, anyway: Sammy hauls off and lifts Lechero off his feet, snarling, "Come along, Norman. Let's go."
Meanwhile, on the outside ... Sucre is waiting for Susan B. When she pulls up, he hops in. She grits, "What is so urgent?" Sucre spins a feeble story about Lincoln buying a gun and Susan B. closes her eyes all, Lord, give me the serenity to accept the morons who lie to me, the strength to decapitate the people who really piss me off, and the wisdom to know the difference. And then she blows his comfortable little delusion about how he and Linc really pulled one over on her: "A cynic might think [their tiff] was staged. I'm a cynic, sugar." Sucre ripostes, "You're high, sugar." Susan B. says cheerfully, "If it's any comfort, you guys almost pulled it off -- the Puerto Rican and the gorilla...you really had me scrambling there for a minute." Sucre tries to maintain his bluff, but Susan abruptly calls it by pointing out that there was a tracing number on that cashier's check, and since Sucre wired all $25K to Maricruz Delgado of "123 Please Don't Hurt Me Lane"...Sucre blusters, "If something happens to her --" "IF WHAT? WHAT, JACKASS?" Susan B. inquires, all crazy eyes and top volume on the shouting. I have to hand it to Jodi Lyn O'Keefe, she does a great losing-her-marbles crazy. Sucre is visibly frightened. He accepts Susan B.'s edict that he's to bring her some real information, or else Maricruz will lose her head. He also manages to keep enough of his wits about him to slide the bomb under the seat while her eyes are still rolling around wildly.
Back in the prison, Lechero's been walked down to open the door. Here, he demonstrates some of those leadership qualities that kept him on top of the prison game: he manages to stall and needle Sammy about his over-reliance on a little gun. You have to admire that kind of multitasking. Sammy shoots over Lechero's shoulder and smugs, "Funny, I'm feeling pretty secure right about now." Wait until the bullets run out. Michael announces that he's opening the door, and everyone who was in the hall runs into the tunnel. There's a little bit of a fracas, and then Sammy gets a gander at what's been going on. He turns to Lechero with a genuinely agonized expression, crying, "You're escaping with him?" Lechero says that he was going to tell Sammy, and Sammy, stricken, says, "It just never came up, eh?" Michael looks over at Whistler, who's sort of sliding down the wall in a pulpy pile of pain, and grits to Sammy, "Take it -- it's yours. The tunnel, the escape plan, everything." Sammy recovers enough to say, "I'm taking everything you got. But you're going nowhere." Michael says, "Promise you'll take Whistler with you." Sammy replies with a punch to the face. Whistler is all, "No, actually, you need Michael. He knows everything." Michael talks about making braces, and sort of manipulates Sammy into looking at the shaft. Sammy shouts, "Impressive, blanco! Too bad you won't be around to enjoy it." And, since a few hundred pounds of sand just fell onto his head, neither will Sammy. Miraculously, nobody else is buried in the rubble. In fact, all the would-be escapees recover so quickly, they're able to quickly overpower their would-be captors. Lechero dispatches the remaining thugs with that little gun he was so contemptuous of.
Then they all try to figure out how big of a setback the cave-in is. Mahone frets about the guards noticing a huge sinkhole opening up in No Man's Land. Michael just looks at Sammy, half-buried in the dirt. Lechero and Mahone scramble aboveground to confirm: no giant sinkhole yet. Yippee!
And now, a scene that I think is pretty bad-ass. Lechero is systematically kicking the bodies of his ex-posse off the second-story ledge. Below, in the courtyard, the remaining inmates are silent. Lechero then grabs back his case of rum, gives everyone a hard look, and goes back inside.
Down in the courtyard T-Bag's crowing about being back in business, and Bellick's had enough of a miraculous recovery from his near-death pummeling to ardently insist he's still in on the escape. T-Bag hisses, "For what? Getting your ass kicked?" Bellick insists, "I'm in. Or I shout it from the rooftops." T-Bag gives him a look that can be interpreted in a wide variety of ways, You pick which one.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Linc is taking Sofia home. (I think?) They park near the French embassy and Linc tells Sofia to sit tight. She does, albeit grudgingly. Linc struts back out with a small brown paper bag, and asks if Sofia can make it home from there. She says she can, being only two blocks away. Linc hands over the paper bag and says, "If he doesn't take you, I will." Then he awkwardly raises his eyebrows and beats feet. Someone's got a cru-ush, someone's got a cru-ush... Once he's gone, Sofia pulls out an Eiffel Tower keychain and smiles to herself.
Back in the prison, Mahone's fussing slightly over Whistler as the latter tends to his wounds. Michael is sitting on a nearby bunk, immersed in a silent brood. Whistler turns to Michael and says, "After all the times you wanted me to prove I was a real fisherman? I should have been asking if you were a real engineer. That could have been one of us buried down there." Michael angrily says, "I'll do better time." Whistler catches something in his look; so does Mahone. The former FBI agent announces his intent to salvage some braces, and Whistler, grateful for an excuse to flee, offers to do likewise. He takes off. Mahone lingers, and catches Michael deftly twiddling with the bolt he removed immediately before letting Sammy and the boys in. He comes back, and Michael gives him a fierce glare. Mahone says, "It never gets any easier." Michael looks at Mahone; his face is a study in fury. It's got to be a terrible thing when the man who killed your father is the only one to offer empathy over the burden of knowing you took another person's life.
Michael's distracted by two things: a pending visitor and a plea from Splenda to let him tag along on the escape. Michael says, "You don't want any part of this," and heads out to see who's visiting.
Meanwhile, on the outside ... Sofia is laying on her bed at home, playing with her new keychain. She sits up and turns over his picture of Whistler. Then, determined to wash that man right out of her life, she goes to their shared closet and begins taking out his clothes. EagleofTruth on the forums rightly called out my storage fixation, and here is more proof of the terrible madness that reigns in my household: the first time I saw this scene, I involuntarily winced because all their clothes are on the wire hangers like you get from the dry cleaners, I am in thorough sympathy with the late Miss Joan Crawford on this issue: no wire hangers! Use a good thick plastic or wood and give your clothes plenty of breathing room. Wire hangers are the devil's mobile-makers. After throwing all Whistler's clothes on the floor, Sofia notices a packed black duffel bag on the bottom of the closet. And here...here is where my organizational-related madness takes the reins. Sofia lives in a studio apartment. I have lived in a studio apartment and I currently live in a house that's not much larger. I know exactly what is in the house and where it is; this is not hard when you've got less than 900 square feet in which to work. That a person living in a tiny apartment is not exquisitely aware of everything crammed in the one closet she has to share? I call horsepuckey. Any sane person would have taken care of that closet the week after Whistler went behind bars, reasoning that his stuff could be stashed in the duffel and tossed under the bed, the better to give her more space for the clothes she'd be hanging on decent wooden or plastic hangers. And if Sofia had thought like that, she'd have discovered something a lot earlier: that the duffel bag has a hidden bottom and something is in it.
Michael strolls out to see his visitor. It's Lincoln, who wants the 411 on whether or not Michael's got a plan. The two are awfully terse with one another; I imagine Linc feels awkward nattering on about a crush mere days after Michael became single again, and Michael probably does not want to be all, "By the way, I sort of killed someone today." The useful item in the exchange: Linc passes on the news that James Whistler may also be Gary Miller of Scottsdale, Arizona. Michael dryly says, "I'm shocked."
We cut back to Sofia, who is pulling a brushed aluminum-clad briefcase from the bag. She stares at it, clearly thinking, "So my boyfriend's really working for Marcellus Wallace?" We'll all find out week if that's the case.