After pissing off the guy who might could bankroll the operation, Michael jerry-rigs his purloined tape recorder and re-stolen watch into some device capable of recording on a time cue.
Some time later, Team Escarpara is busy in the St. Louis building. T-Bag decides that now is a fine time to broaden his horizons. His racist horizons, that is. He inquires, "Hey, Sucre. I got a question about you and the rest of the Mexicans." Sucre growls, "I don't think I'll be able to help, seeing as I'm Puerto Rican." T-Bag shrugs off this ethnic distinction with, "Geographic semantics, amigo. I'm talking general Latino population. How is it that a people so historically lazy make up such a big part of the nation's workforce." Sucre is P-I-S-S-E-D, pissed. He says, "The way I see things, it's everyone else who's lazy. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any jobs for the immigrants. The ones sitting at home collecting unemployment, the lazy ones -- it's not us." T-Bag is temporarily at a loss for words, then swings over to C-Note and says in feigned outrage, "You gonna let him talk about your people like that?" "Whatever, Deliverance," C-Note replies.
Meanwhile, on the outside...it's all very exciting as Quinn chases LJ through the woods. Veronica decides to answer the age-old philosophical question, "If a Veronica screams in the woods, will a Quinn hear her?" She calls for LJ and -- surprise -- gets Quinn. He wanders on over, and by this point I have found his blather too tiresome to bother repeating. The relevant thing is, he's standing on the cover of the dried-up well on the property. Veronica notices this, and immediately after Quinn mocks the notion that he'd be so stupid to trip lightly across this wooden platform, LJ barrels out of nowhere and knocks Quinn into the well. He's like Lassie in reverse!
Inside the prison, Michael wanders across the rolling bluegrass lawn and buries his gizmo in the sod directly beneath the cable he was gawping at earlier.
That night, he's a bundle of nerves. At exactly 9 PM, the Remedi's second hand ticks across the 12 and the tape recorder goes off. We see intercut shots of the guards wandering around the yard and Michael quietly flipping out on as he sits on his bed. We also see Bellick staring at the picture of Nika Scofield that's now attached to Michael's file.