- People are always looking to have their fortunes told.
They get their cards read, their palms read,
even the bumps on their head.
Well, if that card ain't credit,
why read it?
If that palm ain't holding something,
let it go, and shit,
if you've got bumps on your head big enough to read,
forget about your future, yo,
because your problems are in the here and now.
- Ahmad Lalar was murdered by James Robson.
- You keep saying that, but you offer no proof.
Look, I need evidence.
A witness, the murder weapon, anything.
- Robson may not have sliced Ahmad himself.
He may have assigned another Aryan to do the job,
as he did Salah Udeen.
- Then getting a conviction is gonna be even harder.
- So what do you intend to do, warden?
- Continue the investigation.
- Oh, yes, you drag out the process,
hoping that everyone's gonna forget?
Let me tell you this, warden.
We won't forget.
- Lalar's death must not go unpunished.
- It won't.
Believe me, Robson's day of reckoning
and retribution is coming.
- Mail call!
- Yo, um, you got Minister Said's mail in there?
- You know, Omar,
I discovered that the minister and I have something in common.
- Yeah, okay.
- We both support slavery.
For me, slavery don't exist anymore,
which is a damned shame.
But according to this book in the library,
for those Muslims,
slavery is alive and well in Africa.
That's right.
I figured Said must've known that, too,
since he went and got himself one.
You.
- What the fuck you jabbing about?
I ain't nobody's motherfucking slave and shit, man.
- You tote that barge, you lift that bale.
You's his house nigger.
- You motherfucker!
- Omar!
Come here!
- Yo, look, I know I ain't supposed to fight, but--
but don't no-motherfucking-body talk to me like that!
- Come here now!
all: Oooh!
- You heard that shit, yo?
- Fuck, huh?
I am your fucking nigger, huh?
Fuck!
- ♪ I want to hold your hand, walk along the sand ♪
♪ Laughing in the sun, always having fun ♪
♪ Whoa, whoa ♪
- You sing like shit.
- ♪ I want to hold your hand, walk along the sand ♪
♪ La la la ♪
♪ I want to hold your hand, walk along the sand ♪
♪ La la la la ♪
- What was Reggie Rawls doing in this room?
- Oh, Reggie?
He's a big fan, man.
- He's a major drug dealer in Unit C.
- No, yo, man, he hear music, he drawn in and shit.
- Omar...
Are you selling drugs from this room?
- No.
- Are you selling drugs?
- Well, yeah-- yeah, man.
What the fuck? Huh, shit.
I mean, shit, I ain't doing them and shit, man,
or using them or nothing.
You know, what you thinking, man?
I mean, that's the deal, ain't it?
- No, it is not.
Selling drugs is using them.
- My piss test say different.
- I don't care what your drug tests say.
It's what I say that matters.
- Yeah?
- Well, I say fuck you.
Watch, fuck you.
- No, fuck you!
- Hey, yo, Said...
- Fuck you! Fuck you!
- Oh, no!
- Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! - No! No!
- Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck you! - No! Help!
- I'm waiting.
- For what?
- An explanation.
- Like I said, for what?
- For the beating you put on White.
- A reason makes a difference, McManus?
I beat him!
I failed him,
him and myself.
- Everything was going so well.
Why didn't you come to me?
- You don't get it, McManus, you don't get it.
- The only thing I need to get from you is an explanation.
And until I do, you can fucking rot!
Why?
- I tell you, I don't know why the motherfucker
attacked me, man!
- You're beat to shit for no reason, bullshit.
- All right, I'm gonna be honest with you.
But look, don't let what I say blur the fact that
what I'm getting ready to fucking tell you
is the absolute, straight up, goddamn, motherfucking truth.
You understand?
I was moving drugs, okay?
- You're fucking shitting me.
From your practice room?
- No, man, look, wait, hear me out.
I was threatened.
I mean, I didn't do nothing, man.
I swear to fucking God, I didn't touch shit.
- Who are you moving them for?
- If I tell you that, man, I'm dead.
I'm seriously dead.
- All right, all right, let's put that aside for now.
- McManus, I am clean, man!
I am clean--
Like, fucking spotless. - Shut up!
Will you fucking shut up one second?
- I'm just--just afraid
you're gonna put me back in Solitary again, man.
- Goddamnit, Omar, I oughta.
All right, all right, all right, here's the deal.
From now on, you rehearse in your pod.
No more fucking practice room.
And if your piss shows even a hint of aspirin, you're toast.
Okay?
Do you understand me?
- I hear you.
Afternoon, gents.
- Our Imam is in the hole 'cause of you.
- Uh-uh.
That motherfucker's in there 'cause he can't get a grip
on his own goddamn guidance.
- You're toxic, White.
You managed to turn the only person on your side
against you.
The rest of us, we saw this disaster coming.
Every day Said is in the hole
is a day you're out here alone.
- Yeah?
Well, I gotta go practice.
Fuck me.
I hate your voices.
- Hey, McManus.
- Lockdown's in a couple of minutes.
Why aren't you in your pod?
- Look, where you headed to?
To the hole?
You know, 'cause maybe you and me should go on over there,
you know, maybe see how Said's weathering the storm.
- Why, what do you care?
- I'm kind of floundering here.
- Floundering?
- I mean, old mojo, you know, I mean,
it ain't treating ol' Omar so--so great these days.
Without... Without Said...
Everything's just kind of harder.
I mean, I really need that fuck. Who knew?
- Come on.
You're going back to Em City.
- What if I refuse?
- You'd be the first person who did.
- I'm not ready to leave. I don't deserve to.
- You know, Omar told me what happened and why.
- Why...
And yet again, I-- I lost my humanity
in pursuit of what I thought was the greater good.
- You know, Said,
I don't think that you lost your humanity at all.
I think what scares you is that your actions
are completely human.
Let's go.
- McManus, either I find my soul in this place,
or I am lost forever.
I need more time. I need more time, please?
Please?
- Man, this is crazy.
All right.
I'll wait to hear from you.
And then you're back in Em City
dancing with Omar White.
- What kind of people become fortune tellers?
Most times, they're a bunch of half-literate,
middle-aged women who only tell you stuff
they wish would happen to them.
They fabricate your dreams,
because theirs got dashed on the rocks.
So, how you figure dat, huh?
Having your future told...
By someone who ain't got one?
- Doctor, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I'm hot, I've got rashes,
diarrhea.
- Well, I'm afraid what you have is--
it's called a staph infection.
Sometimes when a wound gets infected,
toxins are released into the bloodstream,
and these toxins tunnel into tissue and--
- That's why all the drugs?
- Well, antibiotics, yes.
But your system seems to be resistant to them.
- And I got this from being in the hospital?
- Yeah.
- Am I gonna die?
- Look, we're doing everything we can, all right?
I'm sure that...
- Oh, Christ, don't let me die.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to die lying in my own shit.
- Oh, man, oh, man,
I'm getting hard just looking at that beauty.
- Rack 'em, prag.
- So, I hear Pancamo caught the flu or something.
It may be fatal.
- Good.
If it isn't, when he gets out,
we'll make it fatal.
- Schibetta's in the psych unit, Urbano's in the hole,
and the Sicilians don't run the cafeteria anymore.
Those wise guys ain't looking that wise these days.
- Meanwhile, we got other fish to fry.
You know, sweat pea, I like a nice, firm ass.
You need to go to the gym.
- Yes, sir.
- And if you see your buddy Adam Guenzel there,
I need you to give him some pertinent information.
- About what, sir?
- About his buddy, Tobias Beecher.
- How was your visit with your mother and dad?
- She cried the whole time.
It was embarrassing.
- Well, you should be grateful
somebody's crying about you at all.
- Okay, that's enough.
Stop.
Come on, stop.
- Oh, cut it out. - Come on.
- I'm gonna go use the free weights.
- Oh, I got to get you back to Em City
before I go to work for Sister Pete.
- I can get back to Em City myself.
- Yeah, but...
- Look, I gotta start being my own man.
- Ah, okay.
- Hey there, handsome.
- Fuck you.
- Hey, what's with the attitude, man?
Hey, pal, I'm in here because of you, remember?
I didn't want to rape that girl.
- Look at yourself, look at what you've turned into.
- I had to, to survive, you know?
- You don't see me all dolled up.
- That's because you've got Beecher.
And from what I understand,
you're paying the same price for protection that I am.
- Bullshit!
- Oh, come on, everybody knows Beecher's a fucking fag.
And everybody knows that you're sucking his cock.
- What?
What'd you say, you stupid fuck?
Come on, fuck!
You fucking bitch!
- Fucking psycho!
- You want to tell me what that was all about?
- Winthrop came on to me.
I had to set him straight.
- I thought you two were friends.
- Not anymore.
- All right, since this is your first offense,
I'm gonna be lenient,
but you only get one hall pass, you understand?
- Yes, sir.
- So, he slapped you on the wrist?
- Just like you said he would.
- You don't want to spend any time in the hole, Adam.
- I already got my lecture for the day, okay?
- Hey, are you all right?
- Don't be fucking touching me!
- I want to say something about our last session,
when we were discussing homosexuality.
At the time,
I implied that I've never harmed you, Beecher.
Well, my reaction was knee-jerk.
You have to understand,
I was worried about saying anything out loud
that might expose me
to possible disciplinary
or legal action.
I did abuse you when you arrived.
And for that, I am sorry.
I ask your forgiveness.
- Tobias...
Do you accept his apology?
- I...
I don't know.
- So, the FBI has decided to let the local D.A. prosecute you.
- Why?
- The eyewitness that came forward
claims to have seen you dump Brice Tibbetts' body
in a field outside of Alden Township.
But the FBI only has jurisdiction if they can prove
that you brought Tibbetts across the state line,
which they can't.
- Let's say that I did dump the body.
It doesn't mean that I killed the guy.
- Exactly.
See, now if I'm gonna keep you off death row,
we'll have to create that doubt in the jury's mind,
but you said you didn't kill Tibbetts.
- That's right.
- Then what were you doing with the body?
- It wasn't me.
- Okay, 'cause the eyewitness,
he picked you out of a lineup, so...
- Catherine, it wasn't me.
Now this witness says that it was nighttime, right?
There's no lights at nighttime, right?
All of a sudden, this motherfucker's got x-ray vision?
- Well, jeez, Keller, you don't need me.
See, you can just plead your own case.
- You're prettier.
- Not by much.
The arraignment's tomorrow.
- Mm-hmm.
- Ready for a little trip into town?
- What, and leave this place?
Jesus, I don't know.
- Officer?
Till the A.M.
- You going to see Toby?
- Yes.
- Tell him I had a funny dream about him.
He was elected president of the United States.
- I had a dream about you and me.
- Yeah?
- We were gladiators.
Your name was Sextus.
Mine was Cunnilinga.
- God, it is good to see you.
Yes, you too.
- Oh, I spoke to Holly this morning,
and she said she had such a great time
at Adventure Country with you and your son Brad.
- She's a wonderful kid.
- How'd your meeting go with Keller?
- Good.
Good.
We're well on our way to building a solid defense.
Toby, he never talked about these killings, did he?
- No.
- You wouldn't lie to me in order to protect him?
- No.
- Okay.
I'll see you.
- Oh, Catherine, Keller--
he didn't give you a message for me, did he?
- No.
- So, there's two ways this could go, precious.
They both end the same, with my dick up your ass.
- Beecher, I need to talk to you.
- Look...
- I didn't want to say anything in our session,
I tried to convince Robson not to rape your boy Guenzel.
But you know--you know Robson; he's headstrong.
Anyway, the Sicilians stopped him and I'm glad.
- You're glad?
- Yeah, well, not glad, exactly.
I'm like you.
I'm all turned around, you know.
I'm trying to stop the shit in my life,
but it's Oz, you know?
I realize I can't stop most of it,
but I can do some things.
Now, I heard what's going on.
The warden won't let you see Keller.
So, I'm offering on my next mail run
to take a letter to Keller for you.
- You'd do that?
You would?
- You write it up, I'll slip it through.
- I'm, uh...
- What? Amazed, in shock?
- Suspicious.
- Well, you have every right to be.
But I swear to you,
on the graves of both of my sons,
I'm just trying to make up for the past.
Trying to clear my conscience so I can move on.
Hello there, Keller.
- Schillinger, my old friend.
- I got a package from one of your ex-wives,
subscription renewal notice from "Sports Illustrated,"
and this, from Beecher.
- What's the game?
- No game.
Tomorrow, if you want,
I'll take your letter back to Beecher.
- Lights out!
- Adam, is everything all right?
You haven't said a word all evening.
- Were you a fag before you came to oz,
or did you start here?
- What?
- I've been asking around.
I heard some stories. Are they true?
- It depends on what you heard.
- That when you first arrived you were Schillinger's bitch.
- Yes.
- Then some guy named Keller's bitch?
- Not a bitch, exactly.
- Then what, his girlfriend?
- People like to reduce things to their most basic form.
- You're either a fag or you're not a fag.
And if you are, you should have told me
instead of pretending to act normal,
pretending to care about me for the right reasons.
- Adam, I do care about you for the right reasons.
- Stay back! - Come on, don't be an asshole.
- Oh, you'd like that, huh?
To be up my asshole?
- Shut the fuck up!
- Get the fuck off me, you fucking faggot!
- Just stop.
- Get the fuck off me!
- Break it up!
- I don't need that fucking faggot!
I'm telling you, this faggot grabbed me.
I don't want to spend another night in the same cell as him.
- Fine.
But since all the cells in Em City are full,
and since you need a little attitude adjustment,
I'm putting you in the cage.
- Me? I didn't do shit!
Get your fucking hands off me, you fuck!
- The boy's got problems.
He raped a girl, beat her brains in.
- I know.
I've known Adam's family for a long time.
- Yeah, I know, that's why I made you his sponsor.
But I'm beginning to think I made a mistake
bringing him to Em City.
Maybe I should transfer him out.
- Don't.
I can turn him around.
Give me a chance.
- Okay, a chance.
- Faggot.
Faggot. Faggot.
Faggot!
- I found a way for you and Keller to meet face to face.
- Yeah? How?
- Come work for me in the post office.
I'll let you deliver the mail to protective custody.
- Quit Sister Pete?
- Well, yeah, you'd have to.
- And I'd get to see Keller?
- Every day.
- Okay.
- There's just one thing that I'd ask for in trade.
- What's that?
- The boy.
Give me the boy.
- What?
- Tell the Sicilians to back off and let me have him,
to do with whatever I choose.
- This is what this has all been about?
- What do you mean?
- The "I'm trying to change my ways" crap.
You know, it--
I almost believed you.
- Oh, it's true.
But really, it's beside the point.
I have a practical solution to your problem.
- You're asking me to get the thing I want most
to allow you to subject Adam
to the same horrors you put me through?
No way.
- Hmph, not even for Keller?
- Not even for Keller.
- Well, I have to admit, I'm stunned.
I admire your strength of character.
I respect your decision.
We'll just leave the whole matter at that.
- Yeah, you never leave anything at that.
- Well, nobody changes overnight.
Be sure to eat your vegetables.
- Who's to say that the future
ain't fucking with the fortune teller?
Let's say that she tells you you're gonna fall in love.
But she doesn't tell you
that your beloved's gonna die of cancer,
and that she really is your long-lost sister,
and a serial killer.
Because the fortune teller don't know that.
What if God or the spirits or whatever
is only telling the fortune teller half the story,
half the truth?
- Fucking Friday.
- Fucking Friday?
- Yeah, you'd think I'd be happy
with the weekend coming, and all.
Working in Oz, I never feel more fucked than on a Friday.
- Hmm, payday.
- I don't know if I'd call it pay.
Man makes a dog-shit wage.
Money none of those cocksucking congressmen would work for, huh?
Hey, you got to laugh.
- You follow pro basketball?
- Huh, basketball?
- Yeah.
Who do you think the worst player in the NBA is?
- Some white guy.
- Actually, maybe two or three white guys
battling for the honor.
- Yeah, that's gotta piss you off, right?
Seeing some of these jags play pro ball
knowing you're better than most of them?
- Why would that piss me off?
You know how goddamn good you've gotta be
in order to be the worst player in the NBA?
You gotta be phenomenal.
- No, I realize that, I was just saying--
- My point was that even the worst player in the NBA
still makes league minimum, $330,000 a year.
- Wow.
- You take away what the government gets,
your agent's four percent.
Worst case scenario, you've still got 160.
Fuck it, 150, even 140.
Say you want to jerk off with 10 of it.
That's $140,000 cash, in pocket!
- Hey Dave, man, I didn't mean to get you all riled up.
- It's not you.
It's fucking Friday.
- So, all the blood tests came back negative.
We should run them again in three months.
- And Martinez, how are his blood tests?
- Oh, he doesn't have AIDS, if that's what you're asking.
That doesn't necessarily mean
it was his blood that got thrown at you.
- Why'd you douse me, you prick?
- Because you're the prick, you prick.
- Hey, stop that!
- Oh, okay, so it's okay for you to hit this cocksucker,
but not me?
- Officer Brass?
Officer Brass?
- What?
- Do you buy my Mightyball ticket?
- What? Yeah, yeah, yeah.
- It's almost time. I'm so excited.
Aren't you excited, Bob?
- Excited about what?
- The Mightyball drawing, $2 million, which if you win
will go towards finding a cure for your grandson.
How can you not be excited?
- What if God didn't give me the right numbers?
What if I don't win?
Then little Alex dies.
- Today's numbers will be randomly selected
from 51 numbered balls out of our lotto draw hopper.
So, everybody, get it out and get it ready,
'cause it's time to play Mightyball.
If your number is drawn,
you could be the lucky winner of $2 million.
The first number is...
Seven.
- Seven, Bob, that's a match.
- The second number is 10.
- That's two.
- Three.
- The fourth number is...
49.
- Four for four.
- The fifth number is...
30.
And the final number,
and the winner of $2 million is...
51.
- Motherfucker, you've gotta be fucking fucking me.
Yes!
Jesus Christ, I fucking won!
Yeah! - You won?
- Yeah, motherfucker, I won!
Goddamnit, yes!
Oh, shit! Fuck!
Oh, yeah! Shit!
Fuck!
Goddamn, fuck, fuck, fuck!
Yeah!
- I know, it's wild.
Yeah, all right, all right.
Okay, okay, bye. Yeah.
- Rebadow's been making a fuss all day.
He claims that Brass didn't win the lottery; he did.
- Oh, yeah?
All right, um, well, bring him in.
- Bob, I need to speak with Officer Brass.
I've been waiting.
- Slow down, slow down.
- 7, 10, 3, 49, 30, 51,
those are my numbers.
I had Officer Brass purchase the ticket for me.
- Bob, uh, memorizing the winning numbers doesn't prove--
- You don't believe me? Ask Officer Brass.
- Are you serious?
- On my dying grandson's life.
- Well, Bob, Dave Brass isn't here.
I mean, when he found out he won, he just left.
He didn't go to his locker.
He didn't... He didn't punch out.
- Can't you find him somehow?
- Let me see what I can do.
- You walk by a storefront.
A fortune teller beckons you inside.
You know it's a scam, but you go anyway.
As she flips the cards,
you say to yourself, "This is bullshit."
And yet, she says the one thing you really want to hear.
You lean in a little closer,
hoping, praying that she actually knows the truth.
- Well, I came straight from work.
I'm a C.O. at the Oswald Correctional Facility.
Well, not anymore.
I quit!
Whoo!
I won! Whoo!
- Tim, any word from Brass?
- No, nobody's heard from him.
Not his family, not his girlfriend.
He left the lottery claims center
and hopped a plane to parts unknown.
- Damn.
I was with Brass during the drawing.
He was out of his mind because he won,
you know, as you would be.
But thinking about it now,
he must have been saying to himself, "Fuck you, Rebadow."
And I'll tell you,
if it was one of the other dinks in this joint
and I was Brass, I would've ripped them off, too,
but to do it to a guy like Rebadow,
you know, he's got a dying grandson, not throw him a bone.
I mean, that's dead-of-winter cold.
- Brass was a good guy.
- Obviously not that good of a guy.
- When we played basketball against Vahue,
I got to know him.
He was the most stand-up, do-right-by-you person
I ever met.
- Well, guess that's what two mil can do to a fellow.
- No, it wasn't the money; he felt fucked over.
I mean, he had a big pair of gigantic,
NBA tits in his face and we say to him,
no, no, no, no, you work in Oz.
You get to get your Achilles tendon
slashed for no good reason
except McManus can't keep his fucking mouth shut.
- You gonna blame yourself for what happened to Brass forever?
- Yeah.
- Dave Brass came to Oz and filled out an application.
Nobody forced him to do that, right?
He got his leg fucked up. That sucks.
But this is a maximum security prison.
The poor guy got piss and shit thrown at him.
He could get AIDS.
That'd be a lot worse than being a goddamned gimp.
But you know what?
He filled out an application.
Tim, every night I get down on my knees and pray to God
I don't get shanked when I come to work.
But what if it happens?
I mean, what if one of these fucking animals
ends up butt-fucking me?
Are you gonna blame yourself because you brought me into Oz?
Because if you did, you'd be a goddamed idiot.
I filled out an application.
- Cold out there, ain't it?
- Oh, you're telling me.
I wish I had a fur coat like one of your seeing eye dogs.
- Well, we prefer to call them guide dogs.
- Well, what's the difference?
- Well, you work for the governor.
You should know what it's like being politically correct.
How's the program going?
- Well, it's a real testament to man's best friend.
I have three of the more disparate inmates
that I've ever had,
and each of them are doing a wonderful job.
- I'm impressed.
- Most skeptics usually are.
- Oh. - Catch you later.
- Hey, Lela.
It's hot in here this morning.
Hey, Lela.
Le--Le--
- He's got septicemia, a serious kidney disease.
He went into septic shock.
We managed to bring his temperature down from 105.
- This is, like, what? A virus?
I-is it contagious?
- No, it's a bacterial infection.
Oftentimes, paraplegics are prone to kidney disorders,
especially if they take poor care of themselves.
- Wait, wait, Augustus is nearly maniacal about his upkeep.
- There's something else. - What?
- He's also got a shitload of heroin in his bloodstream.
- Up, down, back, up!
- Whoa, what the fuck is this, man?
- Miss Sally's new TV series, "Sallycise".
It's a health and exercise show.
- Yeah, well, one of my muscles is already getting bigger.
- What's the latest on Hill?
- Is Augustus gonna be okay?
- Yo, what's up? Did he O.D., McManus?
- McManus, how's Augustus?
- So, how's he doing?
- You son of a bitch.
Augustus' blood is swimming in heroin, huh?
You want to fucking tell me about that, do you?
- I don't know nothing about that!
Just tell me how the fuck he is!
- He's dying.
He's lying in a fucking hospital bed dying.
- Well, why in the hell are you standing here
trying to talk to me?
- I want to know who gave him the drugs, Redding.
- I don't know nothing about that.
I swear to you, you gotta believe me.
- Why the fuck should I believe you?
- I'm getting old!
I should've died a long time ago.
But there's one thing I won't do,
and that's outlive that boy.
Now you go and do everything you can for him,
and I swear to you,
I'll find out who it was that gave him that smack!
- All right, and when you do, you bring him straight to me.
You understand me?
- Yo, Burr, how's our boy doing?
- You been feeding him tits?
- Why, he overdosed or something?
I thought it was a kidney thing.
- Brought on by some motherfucker that got him smack.
And you're at the top of my list, poet!
- What, me? No way, man.
No way!
- I swear to you, I will root out the truth.
- You keeping digging, motherfucker,
but I ain't give him shit.
You know, you got a lot of enemies, Burr.
Before you start accusing your friends,
you need to go check out them Sicilians and them Spics.
That's what you need to do.
- Prisoner number 97P528,
Greg Penders,
convicted May 7th, 1997,
criminally negligent homicide.
Sentence: 17 years.
Up for parole in nine.
- You heard the news? - Yeah, too bad.
Augustus was doing a great job with Lela.
- Well, what are the steaks for?
- They're for today's training.
- We're gonna teach the dogs to cook?
- You're gonna teach the dogs self-control.
Now, it's of primary importance that your dog's attention
at all times remains focused on you,
even when tempted with those things that,
as a dog, they love.
- Like raw fucking meat.
- Or cats or other dogs, anything.
So, the two of you head on over there.
- This is fucking unbelievable.
You know, I haven't seen a steak in six years,
and now you're gonna put it on the floor,
so a dog won't eat it?
- Miguel, you go first.
Have Julie lead you along, but towards the steak.
- Yeah, but what do I do if she goes for it?
- You give her lead a firm tug and say, "No."
- No!
Julie, no!
Good girl, good girl.
Come on.
Julie, no!
Julie!
No!
Shit!
This is gonna take a while.
- Cute pooch.
You know, when I was nine my parents gave me a dog,
this beautiful Chesapeake Bay retriever.
One day I decided to dock the dog's tail.
- Dock, what's that?
- Amputate.
- Why?
- I just thought he'd look better.
I grabbed the butcher knife from the kitchen
and just cut his tail off,
cropped his ears, kept on going.
By the time my folks got home,
they were pissed, dead puppy everywhere.
- Get your hands off the dog. - I'm kidding.
- I don't care, get your hands off my fucking dog.
- Do what he says, Jia.
- Someday, Morales.
Someday.
- Are you protecting me now?
- No, I just hate that yellow scum fuck,
and I've got a question to ask.
You've been tight with Mukada, right?
- Yeah, on and off.
- I was wondering something. - What?
- Where the fuck's his office?
- Open.
Enrique...
What a surprise.
- Yeah, you're telling me.
Nice digs.
- So?
- I fried a guy once.
That's why I'm here.
I chucked his useless ass into a transformer.
Now, he begged me not to kill him.
I mean, that's what put me over the edge, the begging.
- So, now you're feeling guilty about this.
- Fuck, no.
I'm thinking, I was the last guy to hear this jag's voice.
I own his last words.
- I'm not following.
- I got a feeling you own my sister's,
and I want them.
- Oh, well, yes, we did have a chat
shortly before the bus crashed.
And she said that she loves you very much,
and that she was very excited about seeing you.
- And I couldn't wait to see her.
I mean, her smiling face.
She was the spitting image of our mother.
Now you gotta tell me, Father,
did Annette at least die happy?
- She seemed to be in very good spirits,
except for the problems that she was having in her marriage.
- Oh, wait, she was having problems?
- Yeah, you didn't know about that?
- No, what kind of problems?
- Well, I'm not sure of the specifics.
I...
Maybe you better ask her husband.
- Yeah.
Yeah, I'm gonna do just that.
- Goddamn, you look nicer in here than you did out.
- At least you still look like shit.
- It's been a tough time,
planning the funeral and all.
- Yeah.
Well, how you doing about Annette?
- Okay, I guess.
I mean, me and her, we was--
- Hey, hey, hey, I know.
She was a cunt.
- Man, you don't know how happy I am
to hear you say that, Enrique.
I mean, I didn't want to come down here
and lie to you about Annette.
I mean, all of a sudden
she wanted to be this model, right?
She was walking around South Beach
and she's shoving her tits in the face
of every agent and photographer in town.
- If she was spreading it around,
you gotta set her straight.
- She kept wearing these skimpy tops
no bigger than fucking rubber bands.
You know what I did? - What?
- I cut a fucking chunk out of her arm.
Believe me, the bitch wore sleeves from then on.
- That put her right? - Fuck, no.
The girl would spread her legs for anything that moved,
and sometimes for things that didn't.
I mean, I don't like to disrespect the dead, Enrique--
- Hey, you know what, Javier?
You never will again.
My sister was a saint, you motherfucker!
Son of a bitch!
Fucker!
- Enough! Let him go!
- You motherfucker! - Let him go!
- You cocksucker!
- Father?
F-father Mukada?
Come here, please.
- I heard that you'd been transferred
back from Benchley Memorial,
that you'll recover from the stabbing.
- Where's Hoyt?
- Hoyt confessed to a series of murders.
Today he's being transported to death row.
- Father, I want to make confession as well.
I want to be a Roman Catholic again.
- No. - What?
What do you--you-- you can't refuse me.
- I sure as hell can.
- Welcome to death row, Hoyt.
- In olden times, when you wanted to know
what the future held,
you'd drag your lamb down to the local witchy woman,
where she'd proceed to slice him neck to ass,
and read his hot, steamy entrails.
From this, somehow, your fortune was revealed,
from some woman with cataracts and no teeth,
watching your livestock bleed out.
Seems to me, all you've done is lost a lamb,
which ain't gonna help your fortune at all.
- No!
You fucking pig!
No!
- His violent episodes are increasing.
Every day now he's getting into some kind of brawl.
We can't just keep sedating him.
- Well, then get him out of Solitary.
It's making him go crazy. Send him back to me.
- Ryan, I've tried. The warden refuses.
- Why?
- Ryan, your brother killed Li Chen.
- In self-defense. He was gonna rape my ma.
- But unfortunately, you have no proof of that.
And Jia denies ever having said that to you.
- Fucking chink bastard. Because of that cocksucker,
Cyril's facing the death penalty now.
- If only we could find someone else
to corroborate your story.
- Oh, fuck, wait, there is.
I've been so distracted, I forgot--Glen Shupe.
He overheard Li threatening my ma.
- I'll go tell Leo.
You gotta handle it so careful.
You know, you gotta treat it like a piece of fine glass.
It's that fragile.
- What is?
- Happiness.
- Did you or did you not tell Ryan O'Reily
that Li Chen was gonna rape O'Reily's mother?
- I did not.
- Take him back to Emerald City.
- I think I need to go into protective custody.
- Okay.
- Leo, it's obvious he's lying.
He did tell Ryan about Li Chen.
- Listen, it's not for me to decide, Peter Marie.
That's the jury's job,
but you better explain to Cyril O'Reily
+that what he needs now is a good lawyer.
- Yeah, this is gonna be a tough one.
The history of Cyril's violent behavior,
the death of Hamid Khan,
putting Jia Kenmin in a coma, various other altercations.
That'll all play right into the prosecution's hands.
And, Sister, according to your analysis,
he knows right from wrong.
- Yes.
- Right, like I said, this is gonna be tough.
I'll take the case.
- You will?
- But Mr. O'Reily, if I were in your shoes,
I'd go with a name brand.
- Wait, what do you mean a name brand?
- A lawyer who can razzle-dazzle,
someone who will turn Cyril's mental state into a cause,
headlines, op-ed pieces, segments on the nightly news.
- You can't do that? - Not as well as others.
You need Barnum and F. Lee Bailey,
Johnnie Cochran, Ken Starr.
- Come on, get real, those guys are expensive.
- Yes.
- So, I guess the question for you and your family is...
How much is your brother's life worth?
- so, I'm the cause of all of this?
- Ah, no, you're not.
- Yeah, because you tried to warn me
that something could happen, and I didn't listen.
- Look, don't blame yourself, okay?
The truth is, having you around has been great for me and Cyril.
Now we just gotta figure out some way
to get him off of death row.
- Let's do what that woman said.
Let's hire a big-time attorney.
- You got money?
- Well, I've got some savings.
- Well, whatever you have is not gonna be enough.
- Well, have you talked to your father,
to your Aunt Brenda?
- Why, what good would that do?
- Well, I'm not sure,
but they--they deserve to know what's going on.
We need a family meeting.
- You and Dad, in the same room?
- Yes. - Have you seen him lately?
- No, I haven't seen Seamus O'Reily for over 30 years.
But I can't think of a better reason
to stare the old bastard down.
- I don't know.
Hey, Dad.
Aunt Brenda, hi.
How are you?
- I brought chocolate peanut clusters,
Cyril's favorite kind.
- Oh, I'll make sure he gets 'em, thanks.
Have a seat.
- Suzanne.
- Brenda.
- For God's sake, Seamus, we came all this way.
Take another two steps.
- I won't bite.
I promise.
- Like you ever kept a promise?
Let's get down to business.
- Okay, so I, uh, I explained the particulars
to the both of you over the phone
and I just-- I need to know.
Can we afford to hire the best lawyer to defend Cyril?
- Well, how much are we talking here?
- Upwards of 20,000.
- Oh, sweet Jesus.
- Well, neither one of us have that kind of money,
not even if we stacked together our nickels and dimes.
- Aunt Brenda, I remember when you got hurt on the job,
and the company,
they cut you a big, fat compensation check.
- That's the money I live on, Ryan.
I mean, that's all I have for my old age.
- Don't you be asking Brenda to risk her future
because of Cyril.
- She says she loves him.
- I do. - But not enough.
- Wait a minute, wait a minute.
How come your mother hasn't asked her family to step up?
- You know as well as I that my family disowned me.
- Oh, that's right, they disowned you.
But not for walking away from your husband, your children, no.
For blowing up that cop.
For bringing shame on your father,
the lace-curtain fuck!
- I have accepted responsibility for my actions, Seamus.
Maybe it's time you did the same.
- Hey, I took fucking responsibility 32 years ago!
By putting food in their mouth,
paying the rent, wiping their dirty asses!
And where were you? Where the fuck were you?
- Let me ask you something, Seamus.
And tell me the truth for the first time in your life.
You and Tessie got together real quick after I left,
and you had Cyril a year after we had Ryan.
- So?
- So, were you fucking her behind my back?
- Yeah.
In fact, I fucked her the day Ryan was born.
- Okay, enough!
Please.
We're talking about Cyril here, okay?
You know, I mean, shit,
we're talking about saving his life.
I mean, this shit don't matter.
I mean...
- You're wrong, Ryan.
The shit is all there is.
You say we have to save him, for what?
A lifetime in Oz,
you know, with his mind all a muddle?
Maybe the only generous thing we can all do for the boy
is to let him die.
- What?
- Come on, Seamus, give me a ride home.
- No, no, Brenda, please don't go.
Please?
- There's more.
There has to be more to a family than just blood, Ryan,
more than Christmas dinners and the birthday cakes,
and more than old hurts and unsettled scores.
We're not a family.
We never have been.
You knocked on the wrong door, honey.
- See you in another three decades, you cunt.
- I'm so... I'm so sorry for that, I...
- No, it's okay. It actually, uh...
Went better than I expected.
Oh, Ryan.
You know, she is wrong, she's wrong,
because you and me and Cyril, we are a family.
I mean, maybe we're tattered and torn,
but we're gonna get through this.
- Yeah, Aunt Brenda's right about one thing, though.
The best thing we can do for Cyril is to let him die.
- Oh, shit.
- Hiya, Ryan.
- Hey, kid.
Oh, wait. Shh, shh, shh.
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, it's okay.
- What happened?
Was I bad again?
- Yeah.
- Sorry.
- It's okay.
- Can we go back to Em City now?
- No, Cyril, I'm afraid you have to go back to Solitary.
- I don't like Solitary.
- Oh, I know.
- It's scary. - I know.
- It's lonely.
- Believe me, if I could trade places with you,
I'd do it in a fucking second.
- Ryan? - Yeah?
- Are you crying?
- No, boys don't cry.
- That's right.
Daddy always said, "Boys don't cry."
- And daddy knows best.
- Out of the way, O'Reily.
Are you gonna behave yourself, hmm?
- Yes, sir.
- Listen...
For all the gypsies, seers, tea leaves,
tarot cards, and ouija boards,
your life is your fucking life.
No, check that.
There is one person who tells the future for a living,
and he's right 100% of the time.
Who's this magical motherfucker?
He's called the judge.
And all of us in Oz,
we got our fortunes told.
And let me tell you, the future...
It ain't bright.