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.