Enough about me. We're back to the show and Debra Jean is pretending to study the photo while the cop apologetically says that a few people called last night claiming to see someone who looks like Tweener in the area, so they're going door-to-door. In the bathroom, Tweener sighs. Debra Jean then asks why the police are looking for her swain; the cop breaks it to her that Tweener's no inexplicably idiotic college student, but an inexplicably alive escaped convict. The cop asks, "Have you seen him?" and after a long, tense moment, Debra Jean steadily lies, "No. He doesn't look familiar." When the cop leaves, Debra Jean heads for the bathroom. Tweener comes out. He's unsure what he should be panicking over more: the relentless manhunt, or the fact that in the Lying Olympics, his new girlfriend could easily hold her own against T-Bag. He then does some extremely fast talking, "This is not what it looks like. All I stole was a baseball card, a'ight? I'm not like those other fools." Tweener gives Debra Jean the full puppy-eyes-trembling-lips treatment. She stares back, still backed against the door. She finally says, "I'm going to go for a walk, okay? I'm going to leave my keys [on the table], okay? And when I come back, my car will be gone. I'm sure, in a few hours, they'll find it somewhere, abandoned." Tweener is looking unexpectedly solemn at this. Please don't tell me he was entertaining Bonnie-and-Clyde fantasies about he and Debra Jean criss-crossing the countryside on their ill-gotten gains. Right as Debra Jean reaches the door, Tweener implores her to wait, then says sincerely, "I wish it could be different." "I have to go," she replies. I personally am still amazed that she's helping Tweener along like this. The man must be a tiger between the bed sheets. Perhaps removing the steady servings of Avocado from his diet improved his appetites considerably.
Meanwhile, Michael and Lincoln roll into town. They debate how you pronounce Tooele, and Linc wryly adds, "A hell of a town." Nice double shout-outs to Chicago and the chairman of the board, my man! Michael confidently says, "Small is good -- it means the ranch will be easier to find. All we have to do is get the money, and we'll be out of here by nightfall." He puts on his baseball cap, effectively peeling 20 years off his age, then resumes staring out the window, juuuuuust missing T-Bag lurching down the street. I thought it was T-Bag's arm that got whacked and reattached, not his leg?