"In writing fiction, the more fantastic the tale, the plainer the prose should be. Don't ask your readers to admire your words when you want them to believe your story." - Ben Bova [ more quotes ]




Tattoo Artist: (Finishes the final touches on ďENGLISH, PERCY & FITZĒ.) Set of sleeves all in a couple of months. Takes guys years to get the kind of ink youíve done.

(Micheal puts his shirt back on)

Micheal: I donít have a few years. (Fixes his collar) Wish to hell I did. (He gives her a few bills)



(Pan over of Chicago nightlife.)

(Micheal walks through his high rise apartment to a large wall covered in newspaper clippings and starts tearing them down, revealing a large window. He puts the articles into a box. Then Micheal takes the hard drive chip from his computer and walks out onto the balcony. Giving a sigh, he heaves it into the river.)





Micheal: (Fires three rounds into the air, then points the gun at the clerk) The vault. Open it.

Clerk: We canít. The branch managerís not here.

Micheal: (Looks away and back at her.) Where is he?

Clerk: (She has the side of her head glued to the counter.) Itís lunchtime, heís at Whitecastle.

Micheal: (Surprised) Whitecastle?

Clerk: Itís a fast food restaurant that serves those little square burgers.

Micheal: I know what it is. (Fires another two rounds in to the air, then points the gun back at her.) Iím not playing games.

Clerk: Sir, you have half a million in your bag already. Donít you think it would be betterÖ?

(Police sirens wail right outside. Micheal puts his hands up, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again heís smiling slightly and turns.)

Police Officer: This is the police, you are completely surrounded.



(Police Officers are stationed behind their vehicles, pointing guns at the bank entrance.)

Police Officer: Put down your weapon.



(Micheal pulls another gun from its holster, raises both hands into the air and drops them.)



Judge: Rarely in the case of armed robbery do we hear a plea of no contest. Are you sure about this, Mr.Scofield?

Micheal: (Sitting in the defendantís chair) Iím sure Your Honor.

Veronica: You Honor, weíd like to recess if we could, me clientís a bit confused at the moment.

Micheal: Iím not Your Honor. (Veronica looks at him.)

Veronica: He is Your Honor. (They both look at each other.)

Judge: Perhaps you should heed your representations advice; take some time to consider your response.

Micheal: Iíve already done that Your Honor. (Micheal and Veronica look at each other again. Veronica looks confused. Micheal looks back to the judge.)

Judge: Iíll retire to my chambers to determine sentencing. Courts recessed until one thirty.

(People move to get up and Micheal looks at a kid sitting in the public benches. The bailiff gently nudges Micheal to get up and Veronica starts collecting her things.)

LJ: (Standing) Uncle Mike

Micheal: I didnít want you to come. (He gets cuffed.) Go home LJ. (As he gets taken away) I didnít want you to see this.

(He is escorted from the courtroom, leaving LJ, who lingers, looking disappointed.)



(Micheal is being led to his cell, with Veronica in tow.)

Micheal: Heís not going to take this well.

Veronica: Can you blame him? Heís beginning to get the idea that anybody he attaches himself to is going to end up in jail. And heís not the only one whoís starting to feel that way. (She moves up to the bars.) Can you leave us alone for a moment?

Bailiff: (Locks up Michaelís cell) One minute.

Veronica: Donít you understand. You just put the book in that womanís hand and sheís going to lob it at you like a grenade. Justice and punishment are the same thing to her.

Micheal: I know.

Veronica: Then will you please tell me whatís going through your head?

Micheal: Weíve been over this.

Veronica: Iíve known you my entire life. You donít have a violent bone in your body and I know you didnít need the money.

(Micheal hasnít really been looking at her, but now he turns to face her.)

Micheal: Veronica.

Veronica: Let me help you.

Micheal: Youíve been good to me, my whole life. But you gotta let me deal with this, okay?



Judge: Given your lack of prior criminal record I am inclined towards probation. However the fact that you discharged a deadly weapon during the commission of the crime suggests malice to me, for that reason I find it incumbent that you see the inside of a prison Mr. Scofield. It says here that youíve requested to be incarcerated somewhere near your home here in Chicago. Iím willing to honor that. The closest level one facility-

Veronica: (Having varying emotional phases throughout this speech, protests) Level one! Thatís maximum security, Your Honor.

Judge: I would ask counsel to refrain from interrupting me. (She looks back to Micheal.) As I was saying, the closest level one facility would be Fox River State Penitentiary. As for the term of your sentence, Iím setting it at five years; youíll be eligible for parole in half that time. Sentence to be carried out immediately.

(Zoom in on Michaels face, as the gavel sounds the end of sentencing.)



(Pan over the Penitentiary.)



Officer: Okay people, step inside the door. Keep the line moving. Letís go. We ainít got all day to get this done. Keep it moving. Move it.

Captain Bellick: Name and back number.

Micheal: Scofield, Micheal. 94941.

Captain Bellick: You a religious man Scofield?

Michael: Never really thought about it.

Captain Bellick: Good, because the ten commandments donít mean a box of piss in here. We got two commandments and two only. The first commandment is youíve got nothing coming.

Michael: Whatís the second commandment?

Captain Bellick: See commandment number one.

Michael: (Smirks and looks away) Gotcha.

Captain Bellick: You talking out the side of your neck?

Michael: (Questioningly) Come again?

Captain Bellick: I said are you being a smartass?

Michael: (Deadpan) Just tryin to fly low, avoid the radar, boss. Do my time and get out.

Captain Bellick: (Menacingly) There isnít any flying under my radar.

Michael: Good to know.

(Close up and Michaelís medical sheet. ďType 1 Diabetes.Ē)



Black Prisoner: (As a guard walks by) Hey, can a brother get some air conditioning up in here?

(Prisoners are trading items, shadow boxing, etc. Michael looks on with subdued interest.)

Black Prisoner: (Shouts from a cell across the way.) Yo fish, what you lookin at? Youíre kinda pretty to be up in here.

(A line of prisoners walks through the bottom deck, coming in from outside.)

Sucre: I suggest you take a seat fish. (Flipping through a magazine.) Ainít nothing to do up in here but serve time and nobody gonna serve it for you.

(One of the prisoners gets shanked and falls. The line melts away and his moans can be heard over the increasing riot.)

Welcome to Prisonyland fish.

(Zoom out to see the entire cell block.)



(Veronica leans against the window, her fiancťe pads down the stairs and comes to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.)

Sebastian: You wanna talk about it?

Veronica: Eh, itís not worth talking about.

Sebastian: If itís what keeping you up it is.

Veronica: Itís, just. Itís nothing. Michaelís case.

Sebastian: You did the best you could.

Veronica: Yeah, but he didnít. He just sot of rolled over. Didnít put up a fight. Itís not like him.

(Sebastian looks down and Veronica rolls her eyes.)

Iím sorry; I shouldnít be talking about him.

Sebastian: Hey, if itís on your mind, itís on your mind right? Goodnight.

(He goes back upstairs and Veronica looks out the window.)



(Close up on a sign ďSit down when shots are fired.Ē Shots of prisoners coming in.)

Sucre: (Gestures to different areas.) Berendoís got the hoops. Artenioís got the bleachers. Woods got the weight pile and the CEOís got the rest. Iím telling ya, the guards are the dirtiest gang in this whole place. The only thing seperatin us from them is the badge.

Michael: Whoís the pet lover?

Sucre: Heíll deny it but heís D.B. Cooper, parachuted out of a plane thirty years ago with one and a half million in cash.

Michael: Doesnít look like the type.

Sucre: Who does? (His attention turns.) Hey what up wholesale. You okay?

Friend: Call me greater later. What you doin with this fish man?

Sucre: (Boasting) My new cellie, Wholesale got a wired out of compensary. Anything you want, he can get it for you.

Friend: You keep handin out my jacket, Iím gonna bust your grape.

Sucre: Man you couldnít bust a grape or nothing with a pair of cleats.

(Michael walks away, tuning them out. He focuses on the midpoint between two yellow fire hydrants and a spray of steam. Michael drops his magazine over the sewer grate and bends down, going through the motions to pick it up. Instead, he slides it between the slats, where it drops into the dirty water.)

Michael: (Getting up.) Iím lookin for someone. (Looks at them.) Lincoln Burrows.

Friend: Link the Sink.

Michael: (Walking back over to them.) Is that what theyíre calling him now?

Friend: Yeah, isnít he as in heíll come at you with everything but the kitchen sink. Snowflake.

Michael: Where can I find him?

(Shot of Lincoln crouching on the other side of the chain linked fence. Michael and Sucre lean on the fence.)

Sucre: Man killed the Vice Presidentís brother. In a month heís getting the chair, which means no one up this river is more dangerous than him cause heís got nothin to lose now. What are they going to do? Kill him twice?

Michael: Is there a way I can get to him?

Sucre: (Makes a guttural no sound.) The only time those boys get out is for chapel and P.I.

Michael: (Calmly) P.I. Whatís that?

Sucre: Prison Industry. The guys that get along get to work painting, scrapping, making mattresses u name it. I wouldnít get excited though if I were you fish. You ainít sniffin none of P.I.

Michael: Whyís that?

Sucre: Cause John Abruzzi runs it. (Nods off into the distance.)

Michael: John Abruzzi, John Abruzzi?

Sucre: (Confirming) John Abruzzi, John Abruzzi. Why do you want to see Burrows so bad anyways?

(Close shot of Michaels face.)

Michael: Because heís my brother.

(Sucre gives him a second glance as Michael moves away from the fence.)

(Shot travels quickly through the underground tunnel.) (Commercial Set.)



(Michael is folding an origami duck. Shot pans up to close in on Michaelís somber face.)



Lincoln: They denied the motion.

Michael: So do it again.

Lincoln: I canít. They set the date for May 11. Thatís the day man. Thatís the day that uhÖu know they uhÖexecute.

(Michael is very solemn.)

Michael: I know. (Takes a deep breath and looks away.)

Lincoln: I didnít kill that man Michael.

Michael: (Looking sickened) The evidence says you did.

Lincoln: I donít care what the evidence says, I didnít kill that man.

Michael: (Tears threatening to pour down, fiercely.) Swear to me.

Lincoln: (Looking him straight in the eye.) I swear to you Michael.

Michael: (Nods, regaining some control.) But how could they get it wrong then. The courts, the appeals.

Lincoln: Donít know, donít know. All I keep thinking looking back on it is that I was set up. And whoever it was who set me up wants me in the ground as quick as possible.



(Shot stays on Michaelís face.)

Sucre: Whatís another word for love?

Michael: Whatís the context? (Looking at him from the cell door.)

Sucre: Oh you know, the I love you so much I ainít never knockin over another liquor store again context. Except, you knowÖbut classy.

Michael: (Amused) Hmmmm.

Sucre: Iím proposin to my girlfriend if you gotta know.

Michael: (Skeptically) In a letter?

Sucre: You gotta better way.

Michael: Face to face works pretty good.

Sucre: (Turning to look at Michael.) This place ainít exactly the romantic spot. Iím gonna have her get on the Stanton Island ferry. Then once sheís near the Empire State building she opens the letter. (Gets excited and snaps his fingers.) Itís almost like being there. (Michael smiles bemusedly at him.) Except for the fact that I wonít be there. (Turns back to the letter.)

Michael: (Looking out again.) Try passion.

Sucre: Oh passion, thatís dope. (Sounds it out.) How do you spell that? P-a-s-h.

Michael: (Shakes his head solemnly from the door.) Uhu.



(Two boys are riding through an alley and they come to a stop.)

Friend: Hey LJ hold up.

LJ: Hold up?

Friend: I donít know if I can go through with this.

LJ: (Looks at him reassuringly.) Everythingís going to be fine. Trust me. (Rings the doorbell.)

(The door opens and a man strides out to his car.)

Man: Do we understand each other then? Friday. Not Saturday. Not Sunday, but Friday.

LJ: (Putting his backpack on after putting the marijuana in it.) Totally understand.

Man: I donít know hundreds. I donít want fives. I donít want ones.

LJ: I know, I know. Tens and twenties only.

(The two kids get back on their bikes and ride down the alley. Close up on a police officer in his car, poised with his radio in his hand.)

Police Officer: Itís on.

(As they reach the mouth of the alley a police car pulls up, cutting off the entrance of the alley. They drop their bikes and turn to run in the opposite direction just as another cop car pulls up at the other end.)

Police Officer: Stop! Police!

(The boys look defeated.)



(Shot of CEO tower, pan down to Michael walking over to a man playing poker.)

Michael: Abruzzi? I need you to hire a P.I. (Abruzzi slaps a card down.)

Abruzzi: (Not bothering to look at him.) Beat it.

Michael: Maybe you oughta hear what I gotta say.

Abruzzi: You got nothing I want.

Michael: (Placing an origami duck in front of him.) Wouldnít be too sure about that.

Abruzzi: (Laughs) My mistake. Just what I need, a duck.

Michael: P.I. Abruzzi. I might just be of more assistance than you think.

(Abruzzi looks at him for the first time. His boys start to stand.)

Michael: (Backing up.) Mull it over. (Looking away and back.) Come and find me when youíre ready to talk.

(With his hands up, he turns and leaves.)



Maggio: Alright guys, lets pick it up. I wanna get home tonight.

(A man walks in.)

Tsili: Maggio. (Nods for Maggio to a small desk and places some papers onto them.)

Maggio: Yeah so?

Tisili: Thatís the son of a bitch who fingered Abruzzi.

Maggio: Fibonacci. (Looks closer, picking up the photo.) Thought that poke was gone. Clever.

Tisili: Evidently somebody found him.

Maggio: Somebody messin with us?

Tisili: This youíre not going to believe.

(Hands Maggio a manila envelope, which Maggio looks inside of.)



(Close shot of a needle poking into a heavily tattooed arm.)

Dr.Tancredi: Tattoo looks fresh. Hold that. (Gives him the gauze to apply pressure.) I guess being a diabetic you donít mind needles.

Michael: (Changing the subject.) Iím Michael bt the way.

Dr.Tancredi: Scofield. I read your report.

Michael: And you are?

Dr.Tancredi: (Looks at him.) Dr.Tancredi will do.

Michael: Tancredi like the governor. Your not related are you? (No response.) Hmmm. (Looks away and back.) Wouldnít expect to find the daughter of frontier Frank working in a prison, as a doctor no less.

(Dr.Tancredi looks up, a fleeting look of being uncomfortable washes across her face.)

Dr.Tancredi: I believe in being a part of the solution, not the problem.

Michael: Hmmm. Be the change that you want to see in the world.

(The comment strikes her; he looks at her and smiles.)


Dr.Tancredi: (Shaking her head) Nothing. That was just my senior grade quote.

Michael: (Playful disbelief) That was you? This whole time I was thinking it was Ghandi.

(That gets a laugh.)

Dr.Tancredi: Very funny. Sit tight. Put direct pressure on that. Iíll be back in a second.

(She gets up and leaves the room. Michael watches her leave then removes the gauze and takes another origami duck out of his shirt pocket. He goes over to the corner of the room and slips it between the slats of the grate. Quickly he returns to his seat as Dr.Tancredi reenters.)

Michael: (Applying pressure.) So how do we play this? You hook me up with a three week supply?

Dr.Tancredi: Nice try. No hypos on the floor.

(They are both smiling.)

Michael: Iím the farthest thing from a junkie, trust me.

Dr.Tancredi: I got news for you Michael, trust me means absolutely nothing inside these walls. The only way youíll get that Insulin is if Iím the one administering it.

Michael: Guess weíll be seeing a lot of each other then.

Dr.Tancredi: (Trying to stay professional with an easy smile.) I guess so.



(Zoom along the drain to follow the origami duck.)





Agent Hale enters and closes the door.

Hale: Weíre all clear on the Burrows execution.

Kellerman: Good.

Hale: Except for one thing. Bishop McMurrow is not in the fold.

(Kellerman doesnít respond.)

Heís got a lot of influence with the governor. They went to prep school together.

(Kellerman gives him a disdained look.)

Look, the closer this thing gets, the more Iím worried that the bottom is going to fall out of this whole thing.

(Kellerman sighs and leans back in his chair, pondering.)

Kellerman: Well, maybe itís time that we paid a visit with the good Bishop. (Hale nods uncertainly.) Look, in a month, itíll all be over.



Chaplain: The son of man must be delivered into the hands of sinners and be crucified. (Shot of Lincoln sitting in a pew.) And on the third day rise again. And they remembered his words and so should you. Good day gentlemen, may God be with you.

(The prisoners all rise in the motions of leaving the Chapel. Lincoln stands awkwardly in all his chains and turns into the pew aisle where he comes face to face with Michael.)

Lincoln: (Disbelief) Michael?

(There is a long look shared between them before Lincoln steps closer.)Why?

Michael: (Stepping forward to meet him.) Iím getting you out.

CO: Burrows. Roll it up. Happy hours over.

Lincoln: (Ignoring) Thatís impossible.

Michael: Not if you designed the place it isnít.

(He smiles and walks away. Shot goes quickly through the tunnels before going to Commercial set.)



(Close up on wedding invitations.)

Veronica (V.O.): Too formal.

(Shot pulls out to show Veronica and Sebastian picking out invitations.)

Too greeting card.

Sebastian: Well, we gotta make decision sooner or later you know.

Veronica: We have time.

Sebastian: We donít actually. (Pushes a lock of hair off her face.) I mean at some point we have to pull the trigger on this thing.

Veronica: I donít want to rush this. Weíre only going to do this once. We have to get it right.

(Sebastian moves the selection book off their laps and settles in for a serious conversation.)

Sebastian: Can I ask you something?

Veronica: Of course.

Sebastian: Are you putting this off?

Veronica: What do you mean?

Sebastian: I mean, are you having second thoughts?

Veronica: No. Honey, no, Iím not.

Sebastian: I donít know. I canít help thinking that this is about-

Veronica: (Cuts him off quickly) Itís not. I love you and I wanna be your wife. (They kiss)



Sucre: Passion? What were you thinking?

Michael: Hey. You went for it.

Sucre: She probably thinks I went sissy up in here. You know, got more than one syllable, too much talking. (Michael smiles throughout this.) Thatís me from now on. One syllable. Yes, no, love, hate, love.

Michael: Give it time.

Sucre: Are you kidding me? I proposed to her. That doesnít take time. Si or no. One syllable man. Sheís supposed to come around for a conjugal on Tuesday. SheĎs always callin me beforehand, letting me know sheís coming. This time man, I ainít heard a peep. You spooked her. (Michael smiles, amused.)

CO: Scofield, get it together. Pope wants to see you.

Sucre: Oh. Not good fish. No one gets an audience with the Pope. Not unless heís real interested in what you got going on.



Pope (V.O.): Top of your class at Loyola. Magna Cum Laude in fact. (Pope takes off his glasses and looks at Michael.) I canít help wondering what a man with your credentials is doing in a place like this.

Michael: Took a wrong turn a few months back I guess.

Pope: You make it sound like a traffic infraction. Like all you did was turn the wrong way up a one way street.

Michael: Everyone turns up one sooner or later.

(Pope comes around the desk and stands in front of Michael.)

Pope: The reason that I called you here. I noticed in your file under occupation you put down unemployed. Thatís not true now is it? (Sits on the edge of the desk.) I know youíre a structural engineer Scofield.

(Close up on a model of the Taj Mahal. Pan around the model to rest on Michael and Pope looking at it.)

Pope: Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as a monument to his undying love for his wife. My wife is quite fond of the story. It appeals to the romantic side of her. (Turning to Michael) Being married to someone on corrections, itís a terrible job, wouldnít wish it on anybody. And yet, in thirty-nine years my wife has never complained and the worst part is Iíve never thanked her. So because I couldnít say it I thought, you know, I could build it. In June, itís our fortieth anniversary. Well here, look. (They bend down to look into the base of the structure.) The problem is, I build anymore and itís all going to come down like a house of cards. Thatís where I was hoping you could be of assistance. For the favor, I could offer you three days of work a week in here and itíll keep you off the yard.

(Michael thinks about it and stands, Pope follows suit.)

Michael: I canít do it.

Pope: Son, itís better for me to owe you one in here than it is for you to owe me one I can promise you that.

Michael: Iíll have to take my chances.

Pope: Then weíre through here. Guard!



Lisa: Two pounds of pot! What were you trying to do? Set a new record? (LJ smiles at that.) Itís not funny LJ; you could be going to jail. Now itís pretty obvious to me that you need some guidance.

(Her new husband comes into the kitchen.)

Adrian: (Picks up his meal and gives her a kiss.) Hey thanks.

LJ: From who? Old daddy Warbucks.

Lisa: Give him a chance, heís a good man.

LJ: We got nothing in common.

Lisa: Oh! Where is this all coming from LJ? Last semester you were getting straight Aís and nowÖ (Realizing) Itís your father isnít it?

LJ: I donít have a father.

Lisa: It wasnít immaculate conception honey, trust me. Maybe itís time we went and saw him. (She starts tidying up.)

LJ: (Alarmed) Mom. Mom. Donít.

Lisa: Iím about as excited as you by the prospect, but somethingís gotta give. You have too much potential to be screwing up your life like this.



(Veronica and Michael are sitting at a small round table.)

Veronica: And what if they sent you to Taylorville, Marion and not here?

Michael: I could be doing the same thing Iím doing here. (Makes a joke out of it.) Eatin jello, drinkin Kool-Aid.

Veronica: I know what youíre doing! Itís not the luck of the draw that youíre in here with Lincoln. You forget that, I know you. Both of you. You two have the most dysfunctional idea of love Iíve ever seen. (Michael looks down.) What, he beats you up to keep you off the streets and you end up in Fox River with him. To what? To save him? (Thereís tension now.) I deserve to know. I loved him as much as you did.

Michael: Past tense for you maybe, not me.

Veronica: I gave him a shot when I got back from college, I did. Even with everything that was going on with him, I tried to make it work. And he threw it all away.

Michael: You ever think that he was hurt that you left in the first place?

Veronica: Donít do this. Whatever youíre doing, donít do it. Thereís a better way. Iím already appealing your case.

Michael: I told you to leave that alone.

Veronica: Iíve gotten in touch with the Diesis about Lincoln and the bishop may be able to help.

Michael: (Evenly, cutting her off.) That wonít stop it, itíll only delay it. You wanna do something, you find out whoís trying to bury him.

Veronica: Nobodyís trying to. The evidence was all there.

Michael: The evidence was cooked.

CO: Visiting hours are over.

(They get up and embrace tightly.)

Veronica: Take care of yourself.

Michael: Somebody wants him dead Veronica. Something more is going on here.

(They break apart.)

Veronica: This is desperation Michael, grabbing at straws.

Michael: Maybe. But I canít watch him die. I wonít do that.

(She leaves him standing by their little table.)



(Lincoln comes in from outside and sees on the other side of the bars Veronica, signing out and leaving.)



(Two agents knock on his door. The Bishop answers.)

Bishop McMurrow: Gentlemen.



Bishop McMurrow: What is it about the Burrows situation that I can help you with.

Kellerman: Itís our understanding that you have influence with the governor.

Bishop McMurrow: I wouldnít call it great or influence. Weíre friends.

Kellerman: Itís also our understanding that youíre opposed to the death penalty.

Bishop McMurrow: Iím a man of God, how could I not be?

Kellerman: In this case, weíre hoping youíll suspend that position, at least temporarily.

Bishop McMurrow: If an inmate appeals to me for intervention, how can I turn my back on him?

Kellerman: You have a habit of answering a question with a question.

Bishop McMurrow: And you have a way of asking questions that beg more questions.

Kellerman: (Getting irritated.) Are you saying you wonít do it?

Bishop McMurrow: Iím not a man to equivocate.

Kellerman: Youíre what, sixty two years old now Your Excellency?

Bishop McMurrow: Thatís correct.

Kellerman: I assume then that you would be well versed in how our countryís tax system works. Taking personal capital gains under the church tax shelter. That would be fraud, wouldnít it Your Excellency?

Bishop McMurrow: I will not be cowed into forsaking my beliefs. Not by you or anyone else.

Kellerman: Admirable. (Gets up.) Good day Your Excellency.

Bishop McMurrow: (Stands up too) Mr. Kellerman, what is it about this case that the secret service is so interested in?

Kellerman: He killed the Vice Presidentís brother. (He walks out.)

(Close up on the Bishops face.)



Abruzzi: (On the phone) What are you saying?

Maggio: You heard me. Someone found Fibonacci. Iím looking at the photo right now. This son of a bitch has a beard, sunglasses. Witness protection file.

Abruzzi: Who is this someone?

Maggio: There was no return address on the envelope. Just this folded up bird made of paper.

Abruzzi: (Realizing) Like origami?

Maggio: Yeah. Like that, origami.

(Abruzzi hangs up the phone. Shot goes to Michael, who looks down at the grate with a soggy magazine in it. He turns to find ďD.B CooperĒ looking at him. D.B looks away but Michael goes over and sits down.)

Michael: (Looks straight ahead) Your Charles S. Moreland right?

Moreland: Do I know you?

Michael: Knew your wife before she passed.

Moreland: You knew Marla?

Michael: (Looking at him.) You mean Ann?

Moreland: Howíd you know her?

Michael: We taught in Boston together.

Moreland: East Farmington.

Michael: You mean West Wilmington.

Moreland: (Smiles and looks at him.) No more tests, promise. Seems you know everything about me. Who are you?

Michael: Michael Scofield. Howíd you get it in here?

Moreland: (Strokes the cat.) First of all, sheís not an it. Sheís Marilyn. And sheís a grandfather, back in the days when prisoners were allowed a creature comfort or two.

Michael: Heard you were D.B Cooper.

Moreland: Every new fish comes in here and the first thing they hear is that Charles West Moreland is D.B. Cooper. I tell you like I tell them. You want the Cooper story, I canít give it to you, cause Iím not him.

Michael: Thatís too bad. Sort of wished it was. Manís a legend.

Moreland: Nowhere near as much as I wish it were true my friend. Iíd have one million in cash waiting for me on the outside.

(Abruzzi walks up with his boys.)

Iíd put some grass between them if I were you. (He gets up and leaves.)

Michael: You know, this would go a whole lot easier it you would just hire me.

Abruzzi: Whatís this all about?

Michael; Say you were able to get outside there walls, would you have the people in place to help you disappear forever?

Abruzzi: Why do you care?

Michael: Just curious.

Abruzzi: Whereís Fibonacci?

Michael: Thatís not the way it works.

(Abruzzi stares at him for a few long moments before he turns away. His boys step forward and Michael stands up.)

Michael: They com at me John and Iím coming after you.

Abruzzi: I doubt it.

(One Abruzziís boys gut punches Michael, who immediately retaliates with a lunging punch into Abruzziís jaw. He gets shoved into the ground, face first and two men take turns beating him until a guard tower CEO shoots bullets around the gathering group of brawling men.)



Pope: I misjudged you Scofield; I didnít think you were the agitating type. Behavior like that is not tolerated in my prison. Ninety days in the shoe, thatíll convince you of that.

Michael: Ninety days?

Pope: Thatís right.

(Michael steps forward and looks at Popeís desk calendar. April 11.)

Something you want to say?

Michael: (Tries to play his card right.) Itís justÖIím not of much value to you in the shoe.

Pope: Value?

Michael: Hmmm. The Taj. Itíd be a shame for the eighth wonder of the world to collapse because the stress isnít properly propagated.

Pope: (Worried) Properly propagated?

Michael: Properly propagated. The joints are overloaded. They wonít provide anywhere neat the strength the completed structure will need.

(Pope walks over to Michael.)

Pope: How much work are we talking about?

Michael: You want it by when? In June?

Pope: Yes.

Michael: Then weíd better get started. Wouldnít you say?



(Zoom in slowly on the sleeping Bishop. A shadow can be seen behind a cross on his nightstand. A creak is heard and that wakes the Bishop up.)

Bishop McMurrow: Whoís there?

(He slowly sits up in bed and disbelief etches across his face. He sees the barrel of a silencer gun which fires. Commercial Set.)



Colleague: Bishop McMurrow was killed last night. Someone shot him while he was sleeping. I thought youíd want to know.

Veronica: (Blown away) Thanks. (Leans back in her chair, looking at a circled date on her calendar.) Michael was right.

(She goes to a filing cabinet and pulls out the Lincoln Burrows vs the State of Illinois file.



(A guard walks down the hall to Lincolnís cell.)



(Lincoln walks up to the booth to see his ex-wife and LJ waiting there.)

Lisa: He was arrested.

Lincoln: For what?

Lisa: Possession of marijuana. I figured he could some fatherly advice before-

Lincoln: Heís gone forever.

Lisa: I didnít mean that.

Lincoln: (Sincerely) I know you didnít. (He nods at her and she walks off.) So. (They both sit down.) Dope, huh? Usin or dealin?

LJ: Whatís the difference?

Lincoln: Then what, you think it gives you street cred? You got a piece of the good life. Take advantage.

LJ: Look I get it okay, the whole thing. She drags me in here; you give me a big speech. I walk out a changed man. Straight Aís, Harvard, grow up and become a dentist.

Lincoln: (Pained) Itís better than being in here. You gotta realize whoís getting punished when your doing what your doing. You think its me, itís you. I did the same thing, punish the old man for leaving and look where it got me. Iím not asking you to love me. I already screwed up that chance long ago. Iím asking you to love yourself. (Throughout this LJís been trying to silently tune him out.) So put the brakes on this thing.

LJ: (Brushing everything off.) So thatís what fatherly advice is like. (He gets up.)

Lincoln: What are you doin?

LJ: I got homework.

Lincoln: Theyíre putting me to death LJ. In a monthís time Iíll be dead, you get that?

LJ: (Disgusted) Youíre already dead to me. (Walks off.)



(Sucre has been sitting on the bed, worried, Spanish music playing the background.

Sucre: (Gets up) Oh no! (He goes to the door, which opens, revealing a woman.)

Maricruz: (Smiling) Yes!

Sucre: What you mean yes, yes?

Maricruz: Yes, yes.

Sucre: Yes! (They grab each other. Kissing.)

Maricruz: Wait, thereís just one thing.

Sucre: Of course. (He kisses her.)

Maricruz: Mama wants to wait until you get out.

Sucre: Of course mama. (He kisses her again.)

Maricruz: And we have to get married in a church.

Sucre: Okay. (He kisses her again.)

Maricruz: A Catholic church.

Sucre: (Undoing her shirt) Wouldnít want to mess with Catholic rules would we?

(They fall onto the bed.)



Dr. Tancredi: You went to Leola? (Plops into her rolly chair.)

Michael: (Perched on the examining table.) Youíve been checking up on me.

Dr. Tancredi: I like to get to know my patients. I went to North Western. Graduated a year after you did.

Michael: Maybe we met before. You know, drunk out at a bar somewhere.

Dr. Tancredi: I would have remembered.

Michael: Is that a compliment?

Dr. Tancredi: No. Hmm.

Michael: What?

Dr. Tancredi: Your blood glucose is at fifty milligrams per deciliter. Your bodyís reacting to the insulin as though your not a diabetic. Are you sure itís Type 1 Diabetes you got.

Michael: Ever since I was a little kid.

Dr. Tancredi: Alright. Not experiencing any tingling sensations, cold sweats?

(Michael shakes his head and is saved by the phone. He gets and walks over to the barred window, looking outside. He notices his right hand is shaking and smoothes his left thumb over the palm. Dr. Tancredi gets off the phone.)

Iíd like to run some tests the next time your in. The last thing I want is to be administering insulin to a man who doesnít.

Michael: (Feigning a smile.) Yeah, sure.

Dr. Tancredi: okay.

(Michael looks worried.)



(Maricruz and Sucre are getting their clothes back on after their visit.)

Sucre: So howíd did you get here, by the way?

Maricruz: O h, you know (Pulls a boot on.)

Sucre: No I donít. Thatís why I asked.

Maricruz: You know. Hector.

Sucre: WHAT?

Maricruz: I didnít have any money for the bus, so he offered me a ride, he was really sweet.

(Sucre stands up, upset.)

Honey, heís just a friend.

Sucre: No, heís not just a friend. I know Hector. I know men. I know women. I know women and men canít be friends. A guy doesnít drive a girl five hundred miles across the state line because he wants to be friends.

CO: Casanova, wrap it up.

Maricruz: Hey, you got nothing to worry about. (She goes over to him.) Itís you Iím marrying. (She kisses him.)

Sucre: Itís not you Iím worried about. (He kisses her.)

Maricruz: Sixteen more months. (They kiss again and she leaves.) I love you.



(Transaction of goods passes between two black inmates.)

Michael: Sucre tells me youíre the local pharmacy.

(Man looks behind Michael at Sucre.)

C-Note: What you need man?

Michael: Pugnac.

C-Note: I only speak in English, white boy.

Michael: Itís an insulin blocker. Standard over-the-counter variety. You can get it at a pharmacy.

C-Note: You can get it at medical then.

Michael: Only I canít get it at medical.

C-Note: Why not?

Michael: (Mischievously) Because theyíre already giving me insulin shots.

(They share a laugh.)

C-Note: Your one mixed up cracker you know that?

Michael: Can you get it for me or not?

C-Note: Only if you tell why is it you want to keep going back up to medical to get an insulin shot for which you donít need.

Michael: I like the ambiance. (He gives C-Note a knowing smile.)

C-Note: (Playing along.) Uhuh.

Michael: Are we in business? (Holds out a folded bill, discreetly.)

(C-Note takes it and walks off. Michael watches him go then walks off in the opposite direction.)



CO: Scofield! I donít know what you did but Abruzzi wanted me to give you this P.I. card. Congratulations, you just joined the ranks of the employed.

(Michael looks at the card, quietly pleased.)



(Lincoln is whitewashing a wall. The shot pulls back to show Michael painting a wall not fifteen feet away.)

Abruzzi: (Into his ear) Kudos fish, you got spine.

CO: Alright cons. Break it down.

(The inmates move and pick up their materials.)

Lincoln: Saw Veronica came by yesterday. Still engaged to that guy?

(Hands his supplies to the CO, Michael does the same.)

Michael: Yup.

Lincoln: That could have been me.

Michael: If you hadnít self destructed.

(Lincoln looks at him sharply.)

Lincoln: You think I meant to knock up Lisa Richs? I was just being stupid with her. Shouldnít have pushed here away though.

Michael: You pushed everyone away. (Michael gives him a look and Lincoln gets it.)

Lincoln: Iím an anchor; all Iíll do is drag him down with me. (He walks away to change.)

Man: Whyíd you hire him?

Abruzzi: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. (He watches Michael sit on a bench.)

Lincoln: (Sitting down beside him.) You mean what you said earlier?

Michael: Iím not here on a vacation, trust me.

Lincoln: Getting outside these walls, thatís just the beginning. You gonna need money.

(Michael looks at Moreland take off his shoes.)

Michael: Iíll have it.

Lincoln: And people on the outside who can help you disappear.

Michael: Iíve already got them. (Looks at Abruzzi in line.) They just donít know it yet.

Lincoln: Whatever you got going on, fill me in cause Iím in the dark here.

Michael: Schappelle and Associates got the contract to retro this place in ninety nine. Four million dollar contract, head partner couldnít crack it, so he subcontracted out. An under the table sort of deal with a former associate. That guy was one of the partners in my firm. Who basically goes through the plan, crossed the tís, dotted the Iís, grouted the tiles.

(Lincoln confused, thinks for a moment.)

Lincoln: Youíve seen the blueprints.

(Shot widens to expose Michael, shirtless. Tattooed from his collarbone down.)

Michael: Better than that. Iíve got them on me.

(Lincoln looks, his eyes widening.)

Lincoln: Are you kidding me. Am I supposed to be seeing something?

Michael: Look closer.

(Camera zooms into a torso shot as a detailed outlined blueprint emerges from the tattoo. He turns around and the same thing happens on the other side. Shot zooms into the tattoo reemerging within the walls, finally coming out of the grate in the prison yard with the magazine in it. Camera zooms out until the entire prison complex can be seen from above.)

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