Sitting at a bar with Earl, Wallace is finally getting his hands on the photographic evidence he wants. Earl was shooting pictures from the roof of Columbia, working on the covert Red Squad, the worst kept secret since Galileo said, "Don't tell anyone, but I think the Earth revolves around the sun." Earl insists on a friendly shot of tequila, and Wallace pretends to guzzle his. The man must be ill, as he's never spurned free alcohol before. Earl whips out his pictures and points out a tall man with a bushy head of red hair. Sure enough, it's our pal Scarlet O'Hare, and as God is my witness, he's causin' trouble with those damn Yankees again. The photos clearly show, shot-by-shot, that the left-handed O'Hare hurled the giant stone at the cop. O'Hare would do badly in a glass house. "Son of a bitch," gasps Wallace. Earl admits that they couldn't use the photos during the trial because it would expose the highly suspect Red Squad's existence. The alternative, we are to infer, was bribing Andrieson into perjuring himself.
"Hey, Southpaw!" Wallace shouts at Minton during a prison visit. Wallace says he saw the Red Squad pictures that prove Minton/O'Hare's guilt. Minton goes off on a tirade about the American lives lost in the war and the government's no-tolerance policy against people who disagreed with their views and deeds. "Nixon and Agnew were setting up anyone who disagreed with them, and your hackles are raised because I lied about throwing a rock," tsks the new-age Karl Marx. Wallace just shrugs and says, "You have another visitor."
A dejected, shell-shocked piece of straw plops down across from Minton. It's Nikki again. They make painful small talk about the food and his job dishing out grub and selected quotes from the Communist Manifesto to other inmates. The usual. He cuts to the chase, asking if Wallace told her about his guilt. "I'm his editor. I can read his mind," Nikki says, shuddering at the memory of seeing a picture book of debauched showgirls, twenty-eight-ounce steaks and an unsuspecting sport sock. Minton swears it's the only lie he ever told her, except of course all that stuff about his identity. Details, details. "Being locked up for something you believe in, you've never been more attractive to me," Nikki pants, licking the table and rubbing his leg with her foot. "But that one lie...It takes everything away." Glum, she leaves him forever. She didn't really mean to, but a draft blew in through the open door, and it carried her all the way to Hoboken.