Meanwhile, back on the outside…Veronica decides to leave her apartment and -- aiiieeee! Nick the legal beagle's nearly as stealthy as Kellerman. "You gonna tell me why you haven't returned any of my phone calls?" he demands. "Because you're creepy! With the sneaking!" Veronica replies. With her body language. Nick puts her on the spot with, "Do you really think I had something to do with that missing tape?" and Veronica hems and haws some more. She needs to learn the Way of the Knee: is it not written that a patella aimed at the groinal area will make your point more effectively than stammering, "I gotta go"? Nick pursues Veronica out of the building, then gets all shocked when a local building super seems to think that he's bothering the little lady. He watches Veronica go and snots, "You're being paranoid." But that's not a bad character trait to have when you're onto a conspiracy!
Meanwhile, the one alert and competent CO in the place is standing outside Cell Escapara, demanding that Michael show some skin. Yeah, you and a couple million viewers, buddy. All we see is a huddled form on the bed, and the CO trains his flashlight on the unmoving lump while the music swells ever more ominously…and then Michael's fake-sleepy head pops out while he drawls, "Trying to get some sleep, boss." The minute the hyper-alert CO walks off, Michael tells a wide-awake Sucre, "I can't get through the wall." Sucre's all, "What do you mean, you can't get through the wall?" Michael clarifies, "I know how to do it, I just don't have the time to do it." Sucre flippantly notes, "We're locked up. All we got is time." Michael clarifies even more: "You don't understand. I planned this break on a schedule. Constantly coming up here for count won't let me do what I need to do to get through that wall. If I'm not back on schedule, which means we're through the wall at the end of the day mañana, we're not getting out of here." Sucre leans down and snaps, "There are three things that are certain in life: death, taxes and count." Then his big mouth keeps running away, and long story short, they're now convinced that contriving to put the entire prison in lockdown is a good idea. And the way to do that? By turning up the heat, of course. I hope Westmoreland's leading the interlocutory injunction workshops for everyone as they swelter in their cells.
Commercials. And boy howdy, judging by the emails I've gotten, it looks like Patricia Heaton = new national nightmare in aisle eight. Anyway, in this batch: didn't Charlize Theron already uggo up once for the Oscar? Also, EPT! I love how you've incorporated the "It's how you can find out that you won't be required to change your life, you selfish barren cow!" message into your commercials.
Ah, rap! It must be time to see some black inmates. Sure enough, there they are, all walking through the courtyard in perfect time to the music, and playing basketball and working out with weights. And as the inmates continue passing shivs and shanks under the guards' noses, we see some guy chatting on the phone. Well, to be more accurate, we see his hand tapping the top of the phone booth; it's sporting a leather tie bracelet. The mystery man's chatting with Diamond, who's all, "Yeah, heavy hitters want this done, so I want this done. No screw-ups." The guy promises, "For you, Diamond, not a problem. Burrows is as good as dead."