Some time has elapsed. Once again, Michael is out of his cell. He's currently monkeying with the prison's climate-control system. Within seconds, he's managed to break it. His timing is excellent: it coincides with Veronica dropping by for a prison visit.
As she walks over to what she thinks is her client, the CO's all, "Burrows's counsel is already here." Sputtering, "Excuse me," we see that Nick the Legal Beagle has apparently appointed himself as Burrows' new lawyer. You know, I didn't graduate from any law school, much less land in the middle of a law school class, but isn't talking to someone else's client without permission a lawyerly no-no? Or representing yourself as co-counsel when you're not?
Veronica fails to point any of this out, electing instead to ask, "What the hell are you doing here?" "Talking to my client," Nick the Legal Beagle replies, and Veronica's all, "Oh, no, you di'int!" Lincoln's having none of it, though: he says that Nick's found someone who can help them out. How convenient! And how odd that Nick didn't mention that on any of his prior stalking expeditions. The information Nick has: the so-called witness who placed Nick at the crime scene was actually calling from Washington, D.C. Nick just happens to have "a P.I. friend" who traced the call to the police station. And until now, not one of Lincoln's lawyers thought to ask about the validity of that phone call? Doesn't anyone actually watch the eleventy jillion procedural crime dramas clogging the networks? It's always the little details that trip you up. That this detail didn't come out until now it seems fishy.
Meanwhile, things are getting toasty on Cellblock A. Michael is keeping busy by stenciling part of his tattoo onto tissue paper: it's the devil portion that we looked at earlier. Behind him, Sucre carps, "You were supposed to turn off the A/C, not turn on the furnace." That man is never happy.
We pan around to the other cells. Abruzzi's hair is looking even limper than usual and T-Bag's little crew-cut friend looks like he just got a prickly rash on his thighs. Seth is now standing up and holding T-Bag's pretzel nuggets in his hands. Again, I promise that's not a euphemism. We zoom down to the cell, and see T-Bag's hand languidly pluck a pretzel. Seth tries to wipe his brow on his shoulder, moaning, "It's getting so hot in here." "Did I say you could talk, Cherry?" Seth drawls. We pan down to T-Bag swooning on his bunk, a cool compress across his eyes. He pulls it off to fix Seth with a glare before saying, "You'll know when I want you to open your mouth." Seth is all, Oh, my God, what fresh hell is this?