Back in Las Vegas, Sucre is doing his best to give Scuderi -- and several million interested viewers at home -- a show. Off comes the tanktop poolside. Out comes Sucre's friends known as "Pectoral One" and "Pectoral Two." Within a few moments, we've got pickup: Sucre's all, "I have no more money left after gambling" and Scuderi's like, "Would you like to make some in a hurry?" Oh, my God, how sordid! And how rapid! The only way this accelerated interaction could seem more unreal is if Sucre heads back to his crew at the end of it and Lincoln's already got a big ol' pimp cup. Scuderi asks Sucre what his cognac is, and Sucre admits he's never had any. Scuderi says, "I have a two-hundred-year-old bottle in my suite. Join me for some private business between men." We cut to Linc down at the pool, having overseen the whole thing. Oh, he is so totally going to get a pimp cup after this.
Then we switch back to Michael and T-Bag in their little tunnel. Michael decides that this is as far as he goes, and T-Bag pulls a gun with, "Sounds like someone's caught in the ol' captivity of negativity. Let's get you in a more affirmative mindset. What's next?" Michael opens the gate to a storage area and says, "I think I'm going to lock you in this room. And then you're going to be arrested, and taken back to Fox River." T-Bag laughs at this right up to the moment when Mahone jams his gun into T-Bag's ear. Mahone issues one knockout punch and tosses the still-reeling T-Bag into the storage area. Michael slides a bolt into the latch to keep T-Bag confined, and then the two Team Scylla men waltz off as T-Bag hollers things like, "You can't do this without me! You'll regret this! Mark my words!"
And now, we're back at the slow seduction of Sucre. In Scuderi's suite, he's knocking back the 'nac and nattering on about how awesome Las Vegas is because "it doesn't judge you. Any form of pleasure is acceptable here." Yeah, so long as you're alive. Die from your hedonism and a squad of pissy forensics experts will pass judgment on you all the livelong night. Or so the TV tells me. Anyway, Scuderi asks Sucre of the cognac, "Am I crazy, or is there a note of plum in there?" Sucre, whose tastebuds were probably ruined for life once he drank the prison hooch, sniffs his snifter and stammers, "Muh-maybe?" Scuderi asks him to sit down. He makes some chit-chat -- Sucre has to admit he's never been in military service, despite having a body that looks like a recruitment poster. Scuderi opens some secure briefcase to pull out some chips and blammo! We have Charybdis gobbling up the card data. We cut to Roland commenting, "Filling up nice. Sucre must be in close proximity -- getting oiled up, most likely." Linc just gives him a pained look, like he wants to laugh but doesn't want to encourage Roland. It's hard out there ... you can fill in the rest.