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.