Cut to Michael making a liar of her. He's all broody in the middle seat of the Escarparamobile. Sucre leans forward and asks what Michael's thinking about. Michael sighs, and says, "Mistakes." The rest of the cons do not immediately begin screaming that the last thing they want to do is talk about anyone's feelings, so Sucre decides it is indeed prime time for some sensitive-male bonding. He tells Michael, "You had to do it." Michael sighs, "Not like I did. I ruined her life." Sucre pragmatically points out that there's nothing Michael can do about it now. He snots back, "That's not true." Sucre claps a commiserating hand on Michael's shoulder and asks, "You fell for her, huh?" The rest of the hardened cons do not immediately begin screaming that the last thing they want to do is interrupt the manhunt to talk about their feelings. However, that is the last thing Michael wants to do, so he lurches away from Sucre and begins discussing Oswego with Linc.
Veronica has decided to hang up on the call-the-cops plan so she can yammer at Terrence some more. "What are you going to do? Shoot me? Blow my guts out? Then what? You can't leave, remember? You kill me, you're stuck with me," she says. Veronica is not what we'd call a creative thinker, as she's not entertaining the possibility that Terrence could merely wound her, then get the gun. Or she hasn't noticed the huge kitchen; a body could easily fit in that freezer, and it's not like Gummy over there requires a lot of room for frozen fish sticks. Terrence points out that he's not exactly motivated to put his life on the line: "I gave up my family, my teeth...I eat Percoset all day just to dull the pain of my miserable existence. You have no idea what I've been through." Veronica correctly points out that he does not want to get into the "Guess who's had a harder day" contest with her. She calls the Blackfoot Sheriff's Department, introduces herself and asks for a unit to be sent to the house.
Dr. Gudat is profusely apologizing to T-Bag in advance of the operation. T-Bag snarls, "My hand has been in that box for hours now. It is dying." Dr. Gudat pleads, "Sir, I am not capable of doing this!" Not if T-Bag wants his hand reattached, he's not. But if he'd be willing to consider a retriever's paw, or maybe a hoof, then they're in business. T-Bag waves around his Phillips-head screwdriver and says, "I only have one hand. I can stick that in your neck before you get to the door. If that's not incentive enough for you, I see that you have a Missus Gudat out there. With a name like that in a county like this, old Missus Gudat would not be too hard to find now, would she?" Again, let us ponder how amazing it is that T-Bag, even having lost about six gallons of blood, is still capable of shrewder strategic thinking than Veronica, who is full up on O-positive. Dr. Gudat finally concurs with, "I can promise you nothing." "Story of my life," T-Bag hisses. But when Dr. Gudat goes to put T-Bag under, the unidextrous felon decides that would be a bad idea. Dr. Gudat protests, "I have to cut away dead flesh! Nobody can undergo a procedure like this without an anesthetic." T-Bag grabs him close and grits out, "I. Ain't. Nobody."