“Para una BOOM grande en EspaÃ±ol, marque el uno.”
The body count isn’t quite Shakespearean this week at Panama’s most exclusive resort community, although it does approach (and kind of resemble, now that I think about it) your average episode of Deadwood. The power struggle between Lechero and Sammy bubbles to the surface, explodes, then promptly resolves itself in a mere 44 minutes. Efficient! Whistler comes clean about his role in the Company, except not really, and pretty much everybody still thinks he’s full of shit. Also, it’s the return of Redemption Mahone, who is totally hot, and Linc purchases mysterious explosives!3.10 Dirt Nap. Sammy is whining to Lechero, who looks like he’d really just like to take a bubble bath or something for chrissakes. Someone really, really has to do something about Scofield, says Sammy, and he’ll do it himself if he has to. Lechero of course cannot kill Michael, on account of it would interfere with their imminent escape, but he’s run out of excuses and Sammy demands action. Incidentally, these last two episodes have totally failed to start with an awesome Spanish language version of some 70s rock song, and I’m pretty disappointed. “Mail!” someone says, and tosses an envelope at Mahone. Inside is a tiny wallet-sized school picture of his totally cute kid. Awww. Seriously, it’s very sweet. Whistler approaches and asks about the photo, and Mahone proudly says it’s his son. Noticing he’s interrupted a tender moment, Whistler hurriedly tells him the coast is clear for their meeting of the escape club.
Poor T-Mac. He’s all excited to see that Michael did not die in the Saran Wrapâ„¢ Cage Of Death, but Michael sort of bitchily blows him off when he asks about the helicopters and possible escape plans. “I don’t know what you’re talking about and neither do you,” he says, and T-Mac looks kinda crushed.
Whistler steals Michael away to let him know that “Bagwell’s coming with us.” He had something they needed; Whistler didn’t have a choice. DÃ©jÃ vu! Michael hesitates just a bit before saying “fine.” Mahone pops up behind them all “so what’s the new plan?” This little breakout, much like that first one, is getting kind of crowded. They all file down the secret hallway into the secret tunnel, and T-Bag makes sure Michael knows he’s in. Michael doesn’t give a shit. He tells T-Bag to stay behind, since they need someone to watch the door, and also, their work requires two hands. Ooh, burn, Stumpy. Inside the tunnel, Michael evaluates the situation. “Two days,” he pronounces. They have enough scrap lumber to build the brace they need to keep the whole yard from falling on their heads, but they’ll need saws and a hammer. Lechero’s on it – he heads upstairs and sends T-Bag to buy what they need, presumably from the Sona Home Depot. Or just some incredibly well-stocked inmate. Teodoro’s gone for just a few seconds when Sammy and his cronies sneak up behind Lechero. Sammy has his shiny gun pointed at Lechero’s shiny head. “You lost already, Teodoro?” Lechero asks, thinking it’s just T-Bag. “No,” says Sammy menacingly, “but you are.” Dun!
Sammy declares that this is his room now. If Lechero hadn’t been such a pussy about offing Michael, all would have been forgiven. Lechero’s all, yeah, you think you can run Sona? Sammy can’t even run shipments from one dock to the other but Lechero kept him around anyway. He decides he’ll let Lechero walk out, out of respect for what he used to be. The more vocal crony, whose name I should probably know by now, shoves him a little on his way out for good measure. Sammy looks a little shaken up but quickly regains his composure. Michael et al hear them coming down the stairs and up to the door, but they’re just grabbing a case of rum. Well that’s harmless! No, actually, it’s not: Sammy heads out for the balcony and proclaims that a) he’s running things now, and b) this case of rum can be yours for the low low price of Michael Scofield’s dead body. Wow, his head was worth a hundred grand last season! Recession indeed.
“This is what happens when you make fun of my vest, Blanco.”
Linc is online trying to find out what the deal is with Gary Miller/James Whistler. Sucre walks in on the phone speaking Spanish, then hangs up and tells Linc he’s found the guy they need to talk to – he was referred by the Sona smuggling guy so it’s totally cool. We don’t know what they’re buying, but we also still don’t know why they recorded those gunshots in the woods that one time, do we? So I guess their mysterious little plan remains a mystery for awhile. The merchant in question doesn’t speak English, so Linc says he’ll take Sofia with him while Sucre has his fake snitch meeting with Snoozin/Retchin. Linc says to tell her whatever she wants to hear, just buy them enough time to do their Thing. He thanks Sucre and tells him he’s got his back when this is all over. Touching scene between compadres, or ironic foreshadowing of the devastating betrayal to come? Only time will tell! If anyone ever writes the rest of this season, that is.
Michael et al are just going about their business, unaware that in the short time Lechero’s been gone a coup has occurred and a death sentence awaits them just outside the door. Lechero, who’s just kind of hanging out downstairs now that he’s been kicked out of his penthouse, says as much to T-Bag. T-Bag says they have two options: they can invite Sammy in on the escape, to which Lechero simply says that Sammy can go to hell. So it’s on to Plan B, otherwise known as Operation: Chicken Foot. Both of them know they don’t stand a chance against Sammy in the ring, so T-Bag says they’ll just have to outsource. He glares over at Bellick, who is gleefully re-enacting his recent victory, presumably leaving out the part about the acetone stupor he forced upon his opponent. Bellick is all “I felt sorry for the guy, but you don’t chicken foot an ex Delta Force and expect to get out alive!” Heh. “Delta Force?” asks the gullible guy listening to the story, “like Chuck Norris?” Yeah, just like that. Also, Bellick can kill two stones with one bird. This heroic display of bullshittery is interrupted by T-Bag, who needs a favor from the mighty Bellick. But Bellick, despite his newfound bravado, is all “are you fucking kidding me? Sammy?” But T-Bag knows how Bellick won last time, and that’s all he has to do with Sammy. Oh, and did he mention that yes, there is an escape plan, and he can be in the club if he succeeds? The following exchange made me laugh out loud:
BELLICK: Chickenfoot Sammy?
T-BAG: Chickenfoot Sammy.
Now there’s a band name if I’ve ever heard one. Bellick is unsure, but ultimately willing to sacrifice his newfound friendships for a ticket on the increasingly crowded Breakout Express.
Psychopathic pervert Iagos and puffed-up bullshitters agree: Sammy and his Fabio vest must be chickenfooted, stat.
Linc is buying a bag of grapes, which I find oddly charming. I think my crush on Linc is approaching Michael/Mahone levels this season, and not just because I’ve been seeing his arms a lot. Speaking of people who reluctantly find themselves having the hots for Linc, Sofia shows up for their secret business deal. She wants to know what’s going on, and he just tells her he doesn’t want to get caught flat footed. “You know what that means?” he asks, and it’s so freaking cute that he’s schooling her in English idiom. Oh yes, there is some hot Panamanian nookie on the horizon for these two, without a doubt. Anyway, he knows they have a plan, so he wants to have one too, but that’s all he’ll tell her. She’s afraid he’s planning on screwing Whistler over, and Linc once again tries to convince her that the whole fake passport/apartment full of shredded documents thing should maybe give her pause in terms of how much faith she puts in him. She wants to believe the best of him – he’s the man she loves, the man who went to prison for her, the man who was going to take her on her first trip to Paris. She wants his word that Whistler won’t get hurt, and he gives it. Gruffly.
Susan/Gretchen is in a real divey bar fiddling with her Blackberry. She’s composing an email to Edward Guthrie, from…Gary Miller! Dun! It just says that they’ll be in contact soon, and sales are through the roof. Hmmm! Interesting. Anyway, Sucre shows up and she gives him a flirty little speech about how every time she says his name she’s calling him “sugar” (cause that’s what “sucre” means) and blah blah. Sucre says he wishes he had more to tell her, cause he needs the money, but Linc hasn’t said a thing. She reluctantly believes him, and says that they keep their word – she hands him a cashier’s check for 25 grand. Half now, half when he’s done. Sucre’s big eyes stare at the envelope, probably thinking about how many onesies that would buy. He downs a large glass of something alcoholic as he ponders yet another Maricruz-induced moral dilemma.
Mahone and Whistler are trying to brace the hole in the tunnel ceiling but they’re having trouble not being buried, until Michael comes over with one little metal pin and smooshes it miraculously into place. It holds. Well I’ll be damned! He is an engineer! Whistler asks what happens once they finish this little project and poke their heads out into No Man’s Land. “A helicopter would be nice,” Michael snits. Heh. Whistler is annoyed, saying that they threatened to kill his family if he didn’t kill Michael and jump on that helicopter. But he didn’t. “So you’re not a fisherman?” Michael deadpans. Mahone rather amusingly breaks up the tension by handing him a piece of wood and saying “it’s a crazy world. We can all agree on that. We have work to do.” Ah, Mahone. The voice of reason. I love Level-Headed Redemption Mahone.
Bellick shuffles up toward the Penthouse. He approaches Sammy and says he needs the chicken foot. Sammy just grins at him and says, by way of greeting, “Tiger Pants!” Ha! (Tonight at the Sona Cabana: Tiger Pants, with special guests Chickenfoot Sammy! Only $8 at the door!) Bellick is all swaggery, saying there’s this guy who’s been bothering him. Took his wallet a few days ago. Has a gay little moustache, wears a silly little vest for no good reason. Wow, that moustache is so gay and little I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it before. Anyway, Sammy warns him not to do what he’s about to do, but Bellick throws the foot down anyway and it’s on! They have fifteen minutes.
T-Bag is following Bellick down to prepare his special fighting gloves. He says he kind of envies Bellick – he’s been wanting to smack Sammy down for ages. Bellick is practicing throwing punches but ruh roh. When he gets to the acetone, it’s gone. Empty. Yeah, maybe you should have checked on that ahead of time, huh. He freaks out, as well he should, and T-Bag just hisses “if you don’t kill him? We are ALL dead.”
Linc and Sofia drive up to a truly unpleasant neighborhood. They knock on a warehousey door and a vaguely disturbing gentleman answers. He’s their guy. He asks Linc if he has the money, so he shows it to him and they go inside. Sofia still has no idea what’s going on and neither do I. Sofia helps to translate a dick-measuring contest between Linc and the shady entrepreneur about whether Linc gets the product first, or shady guy gets the money. With Sofia’s help, Linc wins. I had a feeling he would. The merchandise, it turns out, is a bomb. Triggered by cellphone. “Marque uno, uno, mandale,” the guy says. “Boom!” he adds. Hot damn, Linc means bidness!
Mahone and Michael are wondering why Lechero’s taking so long – they’ve used all the lumber they can and they need that saw. Whistler, for no good reason, pipes up: “I really am a fisherman, you know. I just might be a little more connected than I’ve led on.” Michael and Mahone look at him like they can’t believe he’s still talking, then ignore him completely. He goes on to say that he was working charters when he met Gretchen, who offered him a lot of money to work for her company. They asked him to take them to a certain location they need to get to again; that’s what the bird book’s for. Mahone interrupts him to say, simply and awesomely, “Quit embarrassing yourself.” Ha! Oh Mahone. I’ve missed you. “We’re not two chicks at a bar you’re trying to pick up.” Mahone thinks Whistler works for the Company, and when he gets out he’ll do whatever they want. Whistler responds that they’re using him just like they’re using Mahone and Michael. Mahone’s like, yeah, thanks for sharing, could you maybe do some work please? Bad. Ass.
“Wow, are you really still talking?”
They realize they’re out of wood they can use and they’ll just have to wait for Lechero to get back with saws before they can continue. In the meantime, Michael asks about the book: just coordinates in there? “Among other things” Whistler responds. Well in that case he wouldn’t mind Michael having a look at it then? Michael thumbs through it, asking what certain things mean. Things we’ve seen before, like “gate” (Gate netting company, where he rents his trawls) and “stampede” (his buddy’s Cape Islander). I’m just waiting for him to get to the page that says “Alex Mahone,” and Whistler looks kind of nervous about it too, but Michael hands the book back with a simple dirty look.
Eventually they all realize they’re stuck down there – something has obviously happened to Lechero, and they can’t just run out, because they can hear that someone is upstairs. It’s Sammy, deep in pre-murder meditation. One of his guys signals to him that it’s time to go, and he strides out onto the balcony to loud cheers. Meanwhile, Bellick is running around smelling everything he can get his hands on, but no dice. He’s led away with naked knuckles. Gulp.
T-Bag finds Lechero hiding sheepishly and clutching a knife for protection. Teodoro understands that Lechero can’t exactly just walk around like any other inmate, but Bellick is about to get his neck snapped by Sammy, and even though he probably deserves it, it’s not good for their plan. Meanwhile, Tiger Pants has a pretty decent fan base chanting his name as he stumbles into the ring. His raised fists say “Grr! I am menacing!” but his eyes say “Mommy! Help!” Sammy has the upper hand from the first blow, and it’s not pretty.
Mahone, Michael, and Whistler decide they have to try to sneak out and see what the hell is up with Lechero. Everyone’s busy watching Sammy making Bellick wet his Tiger Pants, so the coast is clear up the stairs to the Penthouse. Except that Sammy’s cronies are watching the fight from their box seats, as the upper echelon does for all sporting events the world over, and the escapees walk right into them. They sarcastically invite them for a beer before charging them with various weapons, so they head back down the stairs and toward the tunnel door. One of the guys catches Whistler – Michael throws a nice punch and almost gets him free, but he almost loses an arm to a machete so they’re forced to shut the door and leave Whistler at the mercy of Sammy’s crew. Michael, of course, needs Whistler a lot more than Mahone does, so Mahone has to stop him from opening the door to rescue him.
“Aha! Your Tiger Pants cannot save you now!”
Bellick, predictably, is not doing very well. Sammy has him in head-snapping position, but he is saved at the very last minute when one of Sammy’s guys yells over the balcony that they have Scofield. He runs down to the cellar and finds Whistler being held hostage. “Open the door,” Sammy orders, but despite a few punches to the face he maintains he doesn’t know the combination. Michael is antsy – they’re yelling that if Michael doesn’t open the door Whistler dies, but Mahone won’t let him near it. When Michael hisses that he needs him alive, Mahone says they at least need to be ready for them and heads back toward the escape hole, perhaps to fetch that most formidable of weapons, the Board With A Nail In It. Sammy tells Whistler to be persuasive, and he yells, “Michael?” After a beat, he continues, surprisingly, “don’t open the door!” whereupon he is pistol-whipped unconscious.
Linc is in his hotel room, wrapping his shiny new bomb in brown paper. Sofia wonders if he’s going to tell her what it’s for. Nope. “Because you’re afraid I’ll tell James?” “Because you don’t need to know.” Since when do I find Linc’s terse caveman pronouncements so incredibly, disturbingly hot? Weird! “It’s gonna be alright,” he tells her more gently, and steps outside to conspire with Sucre. He tells Linc his meeting with Retchin was uneventful, and he totally didn’t get any $25,000 cashier’s checks. Not one. Anyway, he doesn’t tell Linc he’s been paid, is the point, and this worries me. Linc gives him the bomb and tells him to call Retchin.
Michael is staring at the scaffolding he held up earlier with that single metal peg. As Mahone excitedly tells him about his cool rebar-and-concrete weapon he’s fashioned (which admittedly is pretty awesome and could probably do some serious damage in the hands of a ninja like Mahone), Michael quietly removes the screw thingy that’s keeping the frame from collapsing. It’s essentially a booby trap now.
Sammy saunters into the yard and right past a bloody and grateful Bellick. He finds Lechero and confronts him with the fact that he’s hiding Michael in his room, which sounds delightful actually. I wouldn’t mind if someone hid Michael in my room. Sammy drags “Norman” down to the cellar.
Sucre gets into the backseat of Susan/Gretchen’s car. She wants to know what’s so urgent, and he says that Linc bought a bomb and won’t tell him what he’s doing with it, so he thought she’d want to know. This would be worrisome if not for the fact that while he’s saying this, he’s surreptitiously shoving the aforementioned bomb under the seat. Heh. Retchin is annoyed, though – she basically tells him that she almost fell for it, but she knows that the whole “argument in a crowded lobby” thing was staged, and also, she knows that the $25k was immediately wired to a certain Maricruz Delgado in Chicago at “123 Please Don’t Hurt Me! Lane.” Ha! And d’oh. Not so great with the espionage there, but he’s doing a pretty good job of being all indignant at the very suggestion that he’s lying to her about Linc. After some threats and counter-threats and Retchin screeching like a harpy, he is able to leave the car in a fake huff but in real fear for Maricruz. The bomb stays behind.
Lechero is marched into the cellar. Sammy tells him to give Michael the secret knock so he knows it’s him. Heh. Lechero feigns ignorance, which, there’s a lot of ignorance-feigning on this show in general. He’s manhandled and threatened with Sammy’s gun. “How many times you gonna pull that little thing out?” Lechero snarls, and ha! That’s totally a tiny penis joke. Sammy fires a warning shot just to confirm that yes, he does have a tiny penis, and Mahone and Michael hear it from inside. “The combination, Old Man!” one of the cronies demands. “We’re not asking again!” “I’m opening the door!” Michael yells before they can do anything else, and they all pile in. Sammy has everyone at gunpoint, and when he spots the work they’ve been doing to the ceiling, he shrieks, “You’re escaping with him?” He says this in exactly the same way as if the line were “you’re sleeping with him?” He’s more betrayed than angry. Michael tells him they can escape with them, but Sammy’s all, nope, actually, we’ll go, you stay here, dead. Michael understands why Sammy needs to kill him, but Whistler’s done nothing wrong. He’ll tell Sammy everything if Sammy takes Whistler out with him. Sammy climbs up and sticks his head up in the giant deathtrap of a hole and asks how far to the surface. “Not far,” Michael says, waiting, and yup! As soon as Sammy starts fiddling around with the wooden brace, several hundred cubic feet of dirt and concrete comes rushing out, burying him and probably breaking his neck as well. His minions are distracted by this development long enough for Mahone smack a bitch up, and Lechero shoots the others before they can get away. So hey, that was a pretty quick revolt, huh?
And so ends Sammy’s remarkably brief reign of terror.
When the smoke clears, the first thing Lechero says is “so how long is this gonna set us back?” Not one to dwell, our Lechero. Mahone worries that what’s going to set them back is if the tower guards are looking at a big mysterious sinkhole right now. They go upstairs to peek out of a window, and luckily there’s no sign of any sneaky business going on underground.
The rowdy audience for Bellick and Sammy’s truncated duel has become a hushed crowd. Lechero is looming over them on his balcony, with each of the traitors’ bodies lined up along the front. Without a word he methodically kicks them one by one onto the ground below, then silently grabs his case of rum and marches back into the Penthouse. A very effective display. Al Swearingen would approve.
T-Bag is all excited, “we’re back in bidness!” Bellick, who I’m kind of surprised can stand upright, tells T-Bag he still gets to go along. “For what? Getting your ass kicked?” Bellick will totally tell on them if he doesn’t let them into the clubhouse, so T-Bag is forced to relent. “You’re in, champ,” he spits, and ha! Champ. The amusing nicknamer has become the amusing nicknamee! How the tides have turned this week!
Linc grunts at Sofia to wait while he grabs something from a shop. He comes out holding a tiny brown paper sack. He asks if she can get home from here, and she says yeah, she’s two blocks away. Linc’s big meaty paws shove the bag at Sofia. “If he doesn’t take you, I will,” he grumbles, and drives off. Sofia reaches into the bag and comes out with a little Eiffel Tower keychain. Awww! That’s totally charming in a cute junior high kind of way. I guess under the circumstances he doesn’t really have time for the more traditional “I like you, do you like me, circle one yes or no” note-passing method. Sofia smiles schmoopily. Cartoon hearts fly out of her eyeballs.
Meanwhile, Mahone is determined to be as useful as possible. He brings Whistler a cold rag for his pistolwhipping injury, who snits at Michael “All the times you wanted me to prove I was a fisherman, I should have been asking you if you were a real engineer.” He says that could have been one of them under all that dirt. Michael doesn’t correct him, just says he’ll do better next time, and stares intently at the metal screw thingy in his hands. Mahone knows the truth, though, or perhaps he sees the same blue-tinted flashback we do. “It never gets any easier,” he tells Michael. Mahone knows a little something about morally ambiguous homicide.
“Is this a metal screw thingy I see before me / The handle toward my hand?”
T-Mac, breaking my heart completely, finds Michael in the yard and presents him with a little tin full of all the money he has in the world. He wants in on the plan. Aww! Let him come along! “You don’t want any part of this,” he tells poor desperate adorable little T-Mac, and skulks away.
Cartoon hearts continue to shoot out of Sofia’s eyes. She’s lying on her bed clutching her Eiffel tower to her chest, and, as if that weren’t enough of a hint, she looks at her bedside photo of Whistler for a moment before turning it face down. She opens the closet door and starts grabbing all of his clothes and throwing them to the ground. She gets angrier as she goes, but say, what’s this? Why, it’s a mysterious black duffel bag! She lugs the suspiciously weighty bag out of the closet and rifles through it – it’s just your average mysterious duffel bag, containing clothes, fishing gear, and a false bottom. She tears it open to find a silver briefcase hidden inside.
Linc and Michael have their fence visit. Michael doesn’t bother telling him about the unbelievably eventful day he’s had, just says he’s got a plan. Linc says he’s got something cooking on the outside, too. And that Whistler guy? Is Gary Miller from Scottsdale. Which Linc finds fishy, seeing as how Scottsdale is not a very fishy place for a fisherman. “Well if he’s not a fisherman,” Michael wonders, as Sofia stares, horrified, at the briefcase she’s just found. “Then what is he?” Dun!
So this was fun, with a respectable body count and all kinds of secrets and doublecrosses and improvised weapons like the old days. I’m a little worried about Sucre, and how long are we going to have to wait to figure out what’s going on with Whistler? And I guess since all his old minions are gone, Michael and the rest of the escapees get to move into the Penthouse? Woohoo, HDTV! Only three more eps in existence, and we have a week off until the next one. Hang tight.