Oz (1997–2003): Season 4, Episode 7 - A Town Without Pity - full transcript

With things wild in Em City, O'Reily begins a surprising affair. Zabitz asks Schillinger for protection from Keller--who tries to get into the rehab program to make amends with Sister Pete. Beecher looks to get even with his children's kidnapper.

[static drones]

[bright tone]

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪

- Some big high roller
once said,

"The business of America
is business."

And I'm happy to report,

the criminal justice
business is booming.

With heavy industry
headed south,

small towns are battling
for state contracts

to build
correctional facilities.

Who'd have thunk it?

Nice, upstanding citizens

begging to have rapists,
drug dealers and murderers

right in their
own backyard.

- How's your brother?

- The doctor said he's fully
recovered from the overdose.

They're gonna keep him
in the hospital overnight

for observation,
but Cyril's gonna be fine.

- Praise, Allah.

- Hey, O'Reilly.

Sorry to hear about
your girlfriend.

- Who's his girlfriend,

- Dr. Nathan.

Yeah, she took
a leave of absence.

Apparently, she almost
choked to death

when our boy Ryan, here,
came in her mouth.

- Fuck you!

[all clamoring]

Bring it on!

- Fuck you!

[indistinct shouting]

- What the fuck are
you cuffing me for?

I didn't start shit!

- Shut your fucking face,

- Eat me,
you goddamned clit!

- I'll take this one.

- Fuck you!

Are you crazy?
Goddamn it, fuck!

- Just stay down,
stay the fuck down!

- Blow me.

- Again?
- Yeah.

Oh, fuck.

[buzzer blares]

- Rabbi.

So, feeling better?

- A dead man needs
to cover all his options.

- You sure
you're a dead man?

- Mr. Querns,

sometime after you send me
back to Em City,

a day, a week, maybe,

O'Reilly will have
found a way to kill me.

- I like you,

I don't know why,
but I do.

I can let you stay up here
for a few more days.

- What good is going
to come of that?

Death is inevitable.

- Not necessarily.

I plan to have a little talk
with your old pal,

Ryan O'Reilly.

- You know,

I'm trying to
eliminate violence from Em City.

- And doing an
amazing job, sir.

- Cut the crap!

When Stanislofsky returns,

if anything happens to him,
I mean, anything--

he cuts himself shaving,

I'm holding
you responsible.

- Hoyt's got the hots
for Stanislofsky, not me.

- I don't care,
you're responsible.


- Uh-huh.

If Nikolai gets hurt when
he gets back to Em City,

my ass is grass.

- Right, now get lost.

- Claire?
- Yeah?

- Baby?
- Yeah?

- Hey, how much
do you love me?

- Oh, plenty.

- Yeah?
Enough to do anything I ask?

- Yeah.

- That a girl.

- [sensual moaning]

[knocking at door]

- Cyril, hey!

How you doin', huh?

You okay?
You feeling better?

- Yes.
- Good.

- O'Reilly?
- Mm-hmm.

- That certain someone
you asked me to inquire about?

- Yeah.

- He's coming back
to Em City tomorrow.

- Stay right there.


- Ready for this?

He asked Querns
for a favor.

- What?

- He wants
to take a bath.

- There's no
bathtubs in Oz.

- Hospital therapy room.

- [chuckles]
That's perfect.

You know what to do,

- I'm here to pick up


You almost done?

- Five minutes, please.
I'm enjoying myself.

- I'll bet I can help you
enjoy yourself even more.

- Ah, that's good.

[speaks Russian]

[grunting and panting]

- How's that?

- It was never
like this in Gulag.

- You men are all alike.

So quick,
so easily satisfied.

Most of you don't know dick
about making a woman happy.

- [chuckles]

- Ryan O'Reilly does.
- Oh, really?

- Here's a small token
of his affection.

- What is this?

- A rubber duckie.

- Rubber duckie?


[electricity crackling,


[tense music]

♪ ♪

- Call the medic; I think
the Russian guy's dead.

- Hey, Mr. Querns.

I heard about Stanislofsky.

That's weird.

A guy dies before
he gets back to Em City?


- Picasso, bend over.

- Hey, Miles,
special delivery.

- Paints,
thank fucking Christ,

I'm almost out.

- It's coming
along real nice.

- Nice?

This is a masterpiece
of 21st century art.

This wall should
be in the Louvre.

- Hey, Schillinger!

Next time try
handin' them to me.

- Fuck you.

- Lunch!

- Hey, what you
got, Leroy?

- Chicken nuggets.
- Again?

Don't you niggers know how to
shake 'n bake anything else?

- Yo, we've got state dietary
guidelines to follow, dog.

- Careful!
You spilled my nuggets!

- Fuck you.

- Time to go, Deyell.

- Go?
Where's he goin'?

- Meeting with his lawyer.

- You still tryin' to appeal
your death sentence, black boy?

- Fuck you, bitch!

- Hell, man, they ain't
never gonna let you off.

- No one's asking
your opinion, asshole.

- Yeah, Miles,
give your mouth a rest, okay?

[percussive tones]

[buzzer sounds]

- Judge Fee has
denied our appeal.

- Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

- Is there a problem?

- He's fine, officer.
We're fine.

- So, what's next?

- We go to
the State Supreme Court

and appeal the appellate
court's decision.

- How long is
that gonna take?

- Given the court's
current caseload,

I'd say
at least a year.

- A year?

Dawn, I can't sit up
on death row another day,

much less a fucking year!

- I didn't create
the system, Moses.

I just wallow in it.

- Can't you drop some
speed on the process?

- I don't even know if
they're going to hear our case.

Chief Justice Ginther,

who was appointed
by James Devlin,

tends to turn a deaf ear

to anything he considers
soft on crime.

- So, what you're saying
is I'm fucked?

- What I'm saying is
time may be on our side.

Rumor is Ginther's
got prostate cancer.

He dies, retires,

a new chief might look at
the death penalty differently.

- And meanwhile?

- Meanwhile, you're alive
for at least another year.

Make the best
of a bad situation.

- Hey, Deyell,

you know how I'm always
calling you "black boy"?

Well, while you were downstairs
with your legal beagle,

I thought, "Shit,
there's a whole bunch

of other names
I can use."

of course.

Or "coon,"


"spear chucker,"



But I settled
on "Negro."


It's got a kind of simplicity.

Negro is the Spanish
word for blacks, a Negro.



Negro, Negro, Negro,
Negro, Negro, Negro!

- Idiot, move out
of the way, idiot!

It goes like this, faster!

See this?
Now, move!

[pan sizzling]


- Crybaby.

- Prisoner number
96Z858, Eli Zabitz.

April 1st, 1996.

Aggravated assault.

Sentence: nine years.

Up for parole in six.

- Zabitz.
- Oh, Keller.

- Where you going?
- I gotta be somewhere.

- No, you gotta be
right here with me.

- Yeah, yeah, okay.

- How are your
daughter's teeth?

- Oh, I'm proud to say
every one is now a pearl.

- I'm glad.

That makes me happy
that you're able

to provide dental care
before you die.

- Die, I'm not...
Jesus, Keller!

- Why don't you just sit down
and shut the fuck up?


You told Tobias Beecher
that I killed his kid.

- Yeah, but Schillinger
made me do it.

- Shh, shh, shh.


Soon, you're gonna be
joining your ancestors.

- If you're gonna do it,
why tell me?

- So, you can get your
affairs in order

and to watch you sweat.

- Are listening to me?

Keller says
he's gonna whack me.

- Will you get off my back?

You're ruining
my concentration.

- Listen, you gotta
protect me.

Because if you
don't protect me,

I'm goin' to the hacks

and I'm gonna tell them
you paid me

to lie to Beecher.

- Lower your voice.

You see what
you made me do?

You're fucking up
my game here.

- Your game, huh?

This is my life
we're talking about!

Look, I said I'd protect you
from Keller.

I'll protect you, okay?

- [exhales] Okay.

- Now, buzz off.

- Jesus.

I thought the Jews were
supposed to be tough.

- Hmm, that's just
the Israelis.

- Kill him.

I'm gonna take
that shot again.

[eerie music]

♪ ♪

- Hello, Eli.

You know, this room
really isn't that safe.

I got stabbed here
once myself.

- Fuck, Keller, no!

Oh, thank God.

Get him.

- Schillinger
wants you dead.

- What? Fuck!

- Robson, this is my kill.

- Take a fucking
walk, Keller.

- Please, please,
don't kill me!



- Later.

- Later.

- He dead?

- Heart attack.

- [snorts] Jesus.


I told him you gotta
watch that red meat.

- [chuckles]

[indistinct chatter]

[tense music]

♪ ♪

- Beecher!

- [sighs]

- I'll see ya.

- You know, you used to
be addicted to alcohol,

then heroin.

But this obsession,

that's the worst,

and the most dangerous.

Hey, I'm talking to you.

- Oh, I like it
when you're rough.

- You're a slut, Beecher.

You'll sleep with anyone.
- [laughs]


- So, how does that sex
make you feel?

You feel better
about yourself?

- No, worse.

- Then, why do it?

- Because at least
I'm feeling something.

I prefer to be happy,

but self-hate'll
do in a pinch.

- Don't hate yourself.

- Why not?

My son is dead
'cause of me.

My daughter's a mess
'cause of me.

And Keller...

Keller doesn't love me.

But I tried
this new detergent.

It really seems to
get the whites clean.

[tense music]

♪ ♪

- [panting]

- Hello, Chris.
I'm here about Beecher.

- I get a half-hour
in the gym.

You're eating into my time.

- Will you just
hear me out, please?

The man is
dying inside.

- Well, that's
not on me.

- I'm not blaming you.

I'm asking you for your
help to turn him around.

The two of you
had a relationship.

You had
an intimate relationship.

- Oh, come on, Father,
you can say it.

We fucked each
other up the ass,

in the mouth.

- No, no,
not the fucking, the love.

The two of you
loved each other.

Now, I know that
is all over now.

But still, if you had
any real feelings for him,

I can't believe
that you would sit by

and watch
what's happening.

- He tried to kill me.

- Ahh!
You murdered my son!

- And my relationship
with Beecher,

it started in brutality
and that's where it's ended.

Love was
the smallest part.

- I don't really believe
that you believe that.

- You don't?

Where do you live,

Where do you live?

- In a rectory
at St. Margaret's.

- A rectory, only men
live there, right?

- Yeah.

- You share common

a common belief.

You accept each other's
eccentricities, flaws.

Some flaws are

like, say, one priest
wants to fuck another.

- Oh, Keller!
- You said, "Hear me out."

I mean, I'm just asking
for the same courtesy.

- Okay.

- Unless, of course,
I'm hitting too close to home.

You never have,
have you?

- What?

- Fucked a fellow priest.

- No.

- Ever wanted to?

- No.

- Oh, come on, you share
a bathroom together.

You walk in
and some seminarian's

tight little ass
is hanging out.

- Keller, I see
what you're up to.

- You want me to do
the honorable thing,

the selfless thing.

Say, "I'll help Beecher out."

Hey, Mukada,

we're in Oz.

And like I said,
other rules apply.

Now according to
the code we got here,

I'm not expected
to save Beecher.

Fuck, I'd be breaking
that code if I did.

- It only takes one man
to change the way things are.

- Yeah?

Well, I'm
not that man.

- Seven out of 10 inmates
are from cities,

but 90% of the prisons

are in rural areas.

You know, farmland,
hillsides, forests.

Now, you'd think such
bucolic surroundings

would have a calming effect
on those inside.

But no.

Out in the wild,

things only get wilder.

[coyote howling]

- Tobias,
we have bad news.

- Bad news?
Gee, that's a change.

- Hank Schillinger got off
on the murdering

and the kidnapping charges.

- What?

You mean he's free?

- Yes.

Evidently, when
the arrest was made,

the police didn't do something
they were supposed to do

and the judge just
let Hank go free.

- On a technicality?

- Yeah.

- What happens next?

- Nothing.

There's nothing
that can be done.

- Okay.

- Tobias, aren't you
going to stay

and talk about this?

- If there's
nothing to be done,

what is there
to talk about?

- Your anger.

- Sister, you do not
want to see my anger.

My anger is massive,

- I'm not afraid.

- [scoffs] Fine.

Where the fuck have you been
during all this shit?

- Tobias.
- What?

- Let him talk!

- I thought you
actually cared,

but only if it
doesn't get in the way

of your own
fucking bullshit.

You are nothing
but a selfish cunt.

Now can I go?

- Yes, but think
about something.

There's only one person
who really matters

in all of this and
it's your daughter, Holly.

Holly needs your strength!

She needs her father!

- What is your name?

- Hank?
- Yo, Dad.

- "Yo"?
What kind of talk is that?

- I was shittin'
in my pants.

I thought the Feds
had me by the balls.

- They can't touch you, son.

- Do you have
any more cash?

I was thinking
of going to Miami.

- Leaving town?

- For a while.

- I was hoping we'd get to
spend some time together.

- Well, yeah, yeah,
when I come back,

we'll do the
father-son thing.

So what do you say?

Can you give me
some more money?

- Sure, anything you need.

- Cool, cool.

- I've arranged
with the warden

for you to have regular
visits with your daughter.

We spoke to
your parents,

and they've agreed to bring
Holly here three times a week.

Twice after school
and Saturdays.

You and she need
the time together.

You need time to heal.

- Mail.

[dramatic music]

[both grunting]

- Stop them!

- I'm gonna kill you,


- Well, I guess you heard
the good news about Hank.

- Oh, stop that!

- Cocksucker!
You fucking cocksucker!

- Take him to Em City!

- You wait!
You fucking wait!

- Wow-wee, got quite
a temper, hasn't he?

[dark music]

♪ ♪

- Oh, what do you want?

- I'd like to have
a chat with Mr. Pancamo.

- A chat?

Let me see if he's
in a chatting mood.

- Nice shirt.

- You can go in.

- Mr. Pancamo,
thank you for seeing me.

- I have to admit,
I'm intrigued.

You and me ain't
exactly paisans.

- I need you to
arrange something.

- Drugs?

- No.

Two of my children
were kidnapped.

My son, Gary, was killed.

- Yeah, I heard.

Schillinger's son,
Hank, did it,

but the bastard got off
on a legal technicality.

- That sucks.

- He's out free,

while my son lies
rotting in the ground.

I want Hank Schillinger dead.

- Wait a minute,
wait a minute.

Are you asking me
to set up the hit?

- Yes.

- Well, how do I know

this isn't some kind
of a sting operation?

You working with the hacks
to fuck me over?

- The only proof
I have is this.

While you're
taking care of Hank,

I'm gonna
kill his father.

- Okay, you got a deal.

A thousand for me,
a thousand for the job.


- Okay.

[tense music]

♪ ♪

[gate buzzes]

- Hey.

You gonna see
your daughter?

- Yup.

The first time
since the kidnapping.

- That'll be good for her.

And for you.

- [sighs]

- Listen, I saw you
talking with Pancamo.

- You saw me with Pancamo?
- Yeah.

It doesn't take
a Rhodes Scholar to figure out

what's in play.

You're gonna have
Hank Schillinger killed,

aren't you?

What's the matter?
Aren't you gonna deny it?

You know,
you killed Andrew,

Schillinger's son.

He killed Gary,
your son.

Now you wanna
kill Hank?

Beecher, when is all this
madness going to end?

- After I kill

- And then you will
end up on death row.

And what good
are you gonna be

to your daughter then?

- What good am I to her now?

[indistinct chatter]


[grunts and laughs]

Oh, baby,
how are you doing?

Oh, it's so good
to see you.

Let me look at you.

My beautiful girl.

[tense music swells]

♪ ♪

[pensive percussive music]

I love my daughter.

- I know you do.

- I only want
the best for her.

- Of course.

- [sighs]

She shouldn't
have to carry

the weight of my mistakes.

Excuse me,
Mr. Pancamo?

- Hey, Beecher.

Thanks for
the prompt payment.

I wish others
lived by your example.

- Look, I have
thought it over

and I've changed
my mind.

I wanna call off
the hit on Hank Schillinger.

- That's fine.

Except for
one little thing.

You're too late.

- He's dead?

- Bullet right
through the brain.

- Oh, shit.
- But don't worry.

They're never gonna
find the body,

never in a million years.

Hank Schillinger
has simply disappeared.

[dramatic music]

- Time to go home, Rebadow.

- Since I took
over this unit,

violence has
decreased by 92%.


That statistic
would be higher

but for you, Rebadow,

trying to shank Busmalis
in the middle of the night.

- I'm very sorry, sir.

And I assure you, nothing
like that will happen again.

- Good, because if it does,

I'm sending you
to Gen Pop,

where they'll eat
your ass for lunch.

Take off.

[indistinct chatter]

- You feel better now?
- Hey, killer.

- Hey, killer.

- Thug in the house.
Oh, yeah.

- Redabow, hey,
you talk to God lately?

- Watch out, Busmalis.

- If you come at me, I'm
ready to go down fighting.

- No, no, no, I...

I-I apologize, Agamemnon.

I-I don't know
what came over me.

It was like I was
possessed or something.

I ask for
your forgiveness.

- Well...

- Please?


[dramatic music]



Just stop!

Stop talking!

♪ ♪

[buzzer sounds]

- Mr. Querns, sir,
did the doctors figure out

what's wrong with Rebadow?

- Brain tumor.

- Oh, my God.

- They're shipping him
off to Benchley Memorial

for emergency surgery.

- Before he goes,
may I see him?

- No.

- He wanted me
to shake his hand.

I-I didn't shake
his hand.

Please, can I see him?

- No.

- We're here to pick up
Robert Rebadow.

- Over there.

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Hey, stop that.

Leave me alone.
Leave me alone!

- Relax, pop.

- I want somebody
I know to go with me.

- On three,
one, two, three.

- I don't know you.

Dr. Nathan!

Dr. Nathan?



Mama! Mama!


♪ ♪

[bed scraping]

♪ ♪

- The census bureau
counts prisoners

just like they count
everybody else.

But the census bureau
considers prisoners

as residents of the township
where the prison is located,

not where they lived
before they got convicted.

"So what?"
you say.

The state
uses these numbers

to determine
where financial aid

like poverty funds
are spent.

Some rinky-dink town upstate
gets a big, fat check,

while the inner city,

where the money would keep
people from committing crimes,

gets zippity-doo-dah.

The census
is senseless.

[buzzer sounds]

- Y'all wanted to see me?

- Yeah, Adebisi's got
a bug up his ass

about your friend, Mobay.

- Look, I don't like him.

- Mobay's filled
his quota.

He's bought us
five new customers.

Leave him the fuck alone.

- Which customers?

Look, Tidd and Browne,

they gave us the name
of their new babies.

Mobay only knows
them by face.

- You actually seen him
sell tits to anybody?

- No, no.

- We got the cash,
who cares?

- He could be

- With the amount of shit
he shoves up his nose,

no fucking chance.

- Look, next time he sells,
I want you by his side.

By his side!

- All right.
- You got it.

- This hand sucks.

- They insist on watching me
sell the drugs to somebody.

Only I can't
legally do that.

So either way,
I'm fucked.

- Unless,
call your lieutenant.

Have him bring in
another undercover detective.

You sell the drugs
to another cop,

nobody gets hurt.

- Warden, that's genius.

- [scoffs]
If I'm such a genius,

how come I can't
pick out a poster?

I mean, none of
them look like me.


[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

[indistinct chatter]

- See, I told you
Mobay's okay.

♪ ♪

- Bruno Goergen fell down
an elevator shaft.

- Yeah, freak accident.

- No, he was pushed.

- Wait, wait, Mobay,
please, man, please!

- Aah!

- Really?

- I'm here to find out
who murdered him.

Any suggestions?

- Nope.

- You never saw Goergen

have any confrontations
with anybody?

- No.

- And you never had
any confrontations

with him yourself?

- [scoffs] No.

- Now you see,

that's not what I heard.

- Look, lady,
you can keep excavating,

but there are no
secrets buried in my brain.

- I'll be back.

- Anything?

- Yeah, this one
knows something.

I'm gonna let him sit there
alone for awhile,

see what percolates.

[tense music]

♪ ♪

- Where you been?

- With a homicide detective,

avoiding her questions.

- Relax.
She don't know nothing.

- You ain't got no guilt
about what you did, do you?

- Guilt?

- We are, both of us,
the same, Mobay.

Cop killers.

Except every single day,

I wish I could take
back what I'd done.

- Goergen was
a monster.

- Yeah.

It takes a monster to
kill a monster, right?

- I guess so.

- Peace, black man.

- You wishing me peace?

- Move out of my way.

- You ain't going nowhere.

- I see you went
to Adebisi,

asked him to grease me.

Is that any way
for a brother

to act towards
another brother?

- Move.

- I could kill you
right now.

- But you won't

'cause Adebisi
promised Querns

no violence
in Em City.


- Okay, Arif.

But watch where you walking.

You wouldn't wanna
get hit from something

falling down from the sky,
now, would you?

- All right, everybody,
let's go!

[door buzzes]

♪ ♪

- Do you need something?

- Yes.


I have committed
a great sin.

- I am no longer
the imam.

- I have failed.

I have disgraced myself,
and our faith.

And because
of my blindness,

we are all in danger.

- I know.

- Lead us, Kareem.

- No.

- Stop hiding
from who you are.

Stop hiding
from who God wants you to be.

In the name of Allah,
I ask you, lead us.


- Oh, Miss Sally.
- [wolf whistles]

- Oh, Miss Sally.
- Miss Sally, I love you.

- Attention!

The following prisoners are
being transferred to Unit B.

94D696, Downing.

98M922, Masters.

96Z506, Zonioni.

Get your stuff,
follow Officer Howell out.

- Let's go, ladies!

- More white guys
leaving Em City?

- They're white,
but they ain't guys.

- Still, it's looking
pretty dark around here.

- Yeah, I know
what you mean.

- Oh, Miss Sally.

[dark music]

♪ ♪

[distorted tones]

♪ ♪

- Prisoner number

Raymond Browne.

- AKA, "Mondo" Browne.

Convicted April 10th, 2000,

murder in
the first degree.

Sentence: 27 years.

Up for parole in 11.

- Fuck you, man.

- Fuck you, nigger.

[all clamoring]

- Hey, everybody settle down!
Everybody settle down!

- What the fuck
do you want to do?

- I'm a patient man,
I'll fuckin' wait.

- Take Zanghi to the hole.
- What do you mean?

He didn't do a fucking thing,
Johnson, and you know it.

- I heard him say "nigger."
he provoked Browne.

- That's bullshit!
- Back away, Pancamo.

- Fuck all you guys.

[all shouting]

[all taunting indistinctly]

- Break this up, all right,
break it up!

- Get out of here, come on!

[all shouting]

[pop music playing]

♪ ♪

- Yeah!

- That's right,
do it, baby.

Slowly, slowly.

[all exclaiming]
- Put it in your mouth!

- Kiss my foot,
kiss it.

- ♪ Baby ♪

♪ ♪

[music continues faintly]

[all shouting
and laughing faintly]

[pounding on door]

Hello, boys.

- We gotta talk.

- So talk.
- What the fuck are you doing?

We're your partners.

You think
you're gonna fuck us over

and we're just gonna
take it up the ass?

- Morales, nobody
wants your ass.

- Johnson hits me
with his fuckin' stick,

throws Zanghi
in the hole.

That ain't the
fucking deal, Adebisi.

- Besides,
it's been ten days

since we've
seen any green.

You pocketing
the profits?

- No, there's
plenty of profits.

But there's been a change
in the organization.

- How so?

- Well, you know,
we three were partners

and now we're not.

- What?

- I don't need
you boys anymore.

[tense music]

- You lookin'
to start a war?

- You know, if there
was a war, you'd lose.


Look around.

See all these faces?

♪ ♪

They match mine.


No, boys,
there won't be any war.

- And why the fuck not?

- Because you and your pal
are about to take

a little holiday
over to Unit B.

- What, when?

- Oh, look.

I would say now.

Come on.


Hey, I'm gonna
miss you, yeah.

Say "hi" to Schillinger
for me, huh?


- Oh, no!

[cheers and laughter]

- As you can see,

we have some more
prisoner transfers,

including trustees
Pancamo and Morales.

So, I'm naming
Supreme Allah

and Poet to replace them
as trustees.

[whooping and applause]

[pensive percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Hey, Said.

I told you.

I told you
to join me, hmm?

But you never listen,
you never listen.

You know what?

That is what is gonna
kill you in the end.

- And what's gonna
kill you, Adebisi,

AIDS or an O.D.?

- Don't worry about me.

- I don't.

I worry about
the people around you,

breathing the air
you poison.

- Look, I've
created a utopia.

Your Shangri-La Samaa.

- This is not Samaa!

This is an inferno.

- We have all the control
and all the power, finally.

- A bad system
run by blacks

is the same
as a bad system run by whites.

- But...

we have
everything we want.

We have everything
in our grasp.

- You think you've recreated
the world, don't you?


it's just
an illusion.

Real power
can only come from

the grace
of God the Almighty.

- If I wanted to,

I could crush you
like a cockroach.

- Yes, but you won't.

Because I am the only one

who speaks
the truth to you.

- Your truth, not mine.

♪ ♪

[shower running]

[dice rattling]

- Adebisi's turned Em City
into a fucking Zulu nation.

- What the fuck are
we supposed to do?

- Create our own country.

we gotta talk.

- Make an appointment
with my secretary.

- This is serious.

- Yeah, I can tell.

You've got that
Schillinger scowl going.

- Your precious
little dream,

your Emerald City,
is now a ghetto.

You been there lately?

Crap all over
the floors,

drugs everywhere,

the lack
of primary colors.

- Well, that unit is
no longer my responsibility.

- Hey, I got no
problem with that.

What we don't want is
that new attitude over there

to come
wafting this way.

They hear about
what's going on,


they're gonna want
the same thing here.

- And you're
suggesting, what,

that we make
Unit B all white?

- Yes.

- Get the fuck
away from me.

- Let the niggers
have Em City.

Fuck, let them have
the whole goddamn prison

as long as
we're safe over here.

- Goodbye, Vern.

- Don't be a bigger fool
than you've already been.

- Lockdown!
[alarm blares]

Lock the unit down!

- You'll see.

You'll wish you
listened to me, McManus.

- Now!

[alarm blaring]

- The new electric
perimeter fencing

will go into operation
next Wednesday.

As of then,
we'll be able to eliminate

the 24-hour watchtower

which should save us
countless man hours.

- Hey, sorry I'm late.

Emerald City
is a shit house.

- McManus--

- There's garbage
all over the place.

- Oh, and in Unit B,
you can eat off the floor.

- Enough!

- The motherfucker's
jealous of me.

- Jealous?
- That's right, jealous.

- Martin, please.

- No, he knows that since
I took over Em City,

there's been
next to no violence.

My system works.

- At what price?


At what fucking price?

- McManus?


For God's sake,
McManus, stop, please.

Conditions in Emerald City
are deteriorating rapidly.

Something has to be done
to stop Adebisi.

- Hey, why are you
coming to me?

Talk to Querns.
- I have.

Querns is willing
to turn a blind eye

to what Adebisi
is doing

as long as order
is maintained.

- Then talk to Glynn.

- I've tried that too.

He seems indifferent,

because of
his election campaign.


It's up to you and me.

- You and me?

- Adebisi needs to be
shut down and fast.

If that means
eliminating Querns,

so be it.

- You have a plan?

- Yeah.

I have a plan.

[pensive percussive tones]

♪ ♪

I was wrong,

I see that now.

You truly have transformed
this cell block,

into a paradise,
a utopia.

And I'm gonna to say it
for everybody to hear.

I want to join you,

and serve you in
whatever way you choose.

- Are you serious?

- Yes.

- Then swear to me
in the name of Allah.

- I do so swear.

- I've waited
for this moment.

Now I can raise you
as my equal.


there's nothing
we can't do.



Nothing. Nothing.


Nothing, nothing...

all chanting:
What? Nothing. What? Nothing.

What? Nothing.
Come on. Nothing.

Come on. What?
Nothing. What? Nothing.

Nothing. Hey! Nothing.
Come on.

[laughter, chanting intensifies]

Nothing! Come on! Nothing!
Come on!

Nothing. Hey! Nothing.
Come on. Nothing!

[all cheering]

- Adebisi and Said,
hand in hand.

That's the end of
the fucking universe.

- Those census numbers
I was talking about,

they're also used
to determine election districts.

A senator from a white,
rural area with a prison,

can count the inmates
as his constitutes,

and, therefore, increase
his political influence.

Those inmates,
who are largely of color,

aren't allowed to vote.

The senator has
no allegiance to them at all.

In fact, he benefits
by voting for laws

to keep them
incarcerated longer.

The town benefits

by the increased
prison population.


Everybody benefits.

- Somebody must
stop him and soon.

[buzzer sounds]

- Lenore.

- Look, I'm sorry
for stopping by so suddenly.

I know you're busy
running things,

and with the
campaign and all,

but I didn't know
who else to call.

- Well, what's
the matter?

- It's Clayton.

Sweet Jesus, I don't know
my own son anymore.

I mean, with him giving
the inmate the gun

and then the African dress
and now...

- What?

- I found this
in his room.

It's like he's collected all
of his anger toward the world

and is pointing it
toward the governor.

- Where's Clayton now?

- I don't know--
hasn't been home in days.

- Well, when he comes back,
you call me, okay?

In the meantime,
try not to worry, all right?

[tense music]

- With these new
stab-proof vests,

the correctional
officers here,

and across the state will have

the very best protection.

Their safety
is paramount to me.

These are
the men and women

who keep the forces
of darkness at bay.

There are those who say,
"No more prisons."

Well, I say,
"No more crime."

- Fuck you!


[crowd clamoring]

[dark music]

♪ ♪

- somebody get a doctor!

[camera shutters clicking]

Get a medic!
Get me some help!

Get some help!

[camera shutters clicking]

Get a doctor!

[upbeat jazzy music]

♪ ♪

[bright tone]