Oz (1997–2003): Season 6, Episode 4 - A Failure to Communicate - full transcript

Glynn receives mixed news on the toxic-poisoning problem. Meanwhile, Rebadow's relationship with the new librarian Stella hits a snag, Keller and Beecher work out an agreement, and Robson finally gets some redemption.

[static drones]

[bright tone]

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

- In the beginning
was the Word.

And the Word was with God
and the Word was God.

So, from the starting gun,
it's all about the Word.

All about communication.

Couple million millennia go by,
along comes man.

God wants somebody
to chat with.



Turns out man wants
more than that.

Man wants the gossip page
and phone sex,

re-runs of "Seinfeld,"
and auctions in cyberspace.

Man's got his own plan
as far as communication goes

and the inventions
to see it through.

And poor God.

- He's still got no one
to talk to.

[buzzer]

[tense music]

♪ ♪

[bell rings]

- Thanks for getting here
so quick.

- So, uh, tell me,
what happened?

- About an hour ago,



a man posing
as a newspaper reporter...

- Entered the visiting room
to see Kareem Said.

- He pulled out a gun...

- Shot Said dead.

[inmates shouting]

- Oh, my God.

- Get the fuck
out of here, man!

[inmates shouting]

♪ ♪

- Your press pass says that
your name is Lemuel Idzik.

Is that, in fact,
your real name?

- Who could make up a name
like that?

Yes.

Idzik.

- I'm Detective McGorry,
homicide.

I need to ask you
some questions.

- I did it.

I killed Kareem Said.

What more is there?

- You'd be willing
to sign a confession?

- Yes.

You write out the words
and I'll sign it

in my best penmanship.

- After I've read you
your rights,

I'll want you to tell me
what happened.

- Here's all I'll say.

I had to kill him...

before...
nightfall.

♪ ♪

- Leo, we just got an inquiry
from a local TV station

wanting verification
of Said's death.

- Shit!
How'd the word get out so fast?

- I guess the Muslims
must have contacted them.

- Well, don't call
the station back just yet.

- They said they're
sending over a news truck.

- Well, don't let them
on the grounds.

Have them park in that empty lot
across Monroe Boulevard.

- Well, that was
relatively easy.

- Did Idzik say
why he killed Said?

- No.

No, he just kept talking

about nightfall,
whatever the hell that means.

I'm gonna
take him downtown.

- And I'm gonna find out
how the fuck a man with a gun

could get into Oz.

♪ ♪

According to the log book,
you signed Lemuel Idzik in.

- Seems so, sir.

- And you checked him thoroughly
for weapons?

- He went through
the metal detector,

same as everyone else.

- And the machine
didn't go off?

- No, sir.
Would've noticed it.

- Brese, I've had
to discipline you twice

for drinking on duty.

I can smell the alcohol
on your breath.

- My wife's got cancer--
- Look, I don't care!

You have a job, man,
a responsibility,

and you failed.

As a result,
a man is dead.

- A prisoner.

- [scoffs]
Here's what I want you to do.

Change out of your uniform,

and then get the fuck
out of my prison!

♪ ♪

- The way things are going,
it won't be yours much longer.

[buzzer]

♪ ♪

- Jesus Christ,
what the fuck's going on?

Mayor Loewen, Harrison Beecher,
Schibetta, Kirk,

now Kareem Said, all murdered
in a matter of weeks.

- There doesn't seem
to be a link

between any of these deaths.

- Is that supposed
to make me feel better?

- Do you have any suspects
for the Wilson Loewen case?

- There were 11 men
on the ward that night.

All of them are suspects.

The difficulty is
narrowing the list.

- Look, just pick someone,
any of these scumbags.

- Governor, you're not actually
suggesting that I do that.

- I'm suggesting that you do
your job, McGorry, and fast,

before I tell
the police commissioner

to put another Sherlock
in charge.

- So, Detective,
now what?

- Beats me.

Easy answer is that a black man
murdered Loewen...

only my gut tells me
that's not what happened.

This isn't about prejudice.

This?
This is personal.

Somebody hired somebody
to kill Loewen.

- Yeah, but who?
And why?

[typewriter keys clacking]

[typewriter bell dings]

- The printing press
changed the world forever,

and for the better.

Bibles got printed in vernacular
rather than Latin,

bringing God out
of the Dark Ages,

out of dark corners,

to ordinary folks
like you and me.

But imagine old Gutenberg
at a newsstand today.

Think he'd be proud
of paving the way for "Juggs,"

"High Times,"
and "Soldier of Fortune"?

♪ ♪

- Ah!
Well, look who's back.

- What's with
the news trucks outside?

- Oh, you know.
Same old nonsense.

Metal objects.

[tone beeps over PA]

Step through.

[detector beeping]

Who you here to see?

- My client, Chris Keller.

- Client?

Is that what they're
calling it now?

Are you carrying any alcohol,
drugs, weapons, or explosives?

- No.
- Very good, sign here.

Social security number there,
favorite color there.

A little humor
breaks up the day.

[buzzer]

♪ ♪

You going in or not, Beecher?

♪ ♪

- [sighs]

♪ ♪

- Tobias?
- Hey.

- Tobias, I have--
I have terrible news.

Kareem Said is dead.

♪ ♪

- What?

♪ ♪

- Bryce Tibbets' murder case?

♪ ♪

A witness has come forward.

Imagine that.

- So, we're gonna file
the motion today

to have your death sentence
overturned.

- Toby, you really think
there's a chance,

I mean,
with this eyewitness?

- Well, you see,
he's the key.

I kept wondering why
Jerry Heekin waited four years

to contact the authorities,

and then the law firm
did some digging--

- Heekin was caught
dealing crack.

Yeah, your dad told me.
- Last year.

And he was arrested
for the third time.

Three strikes, right?

So, hoping for a deal
he goes to the FBI,

says he saw you dump
Bryce Tibbets' body.

Now whether he did or not
is immaterial

because I think your pal,
Agent Taylor,

helped him fill in
most of the details.

In Heekin's initial conversation
with the FBI...

he doesn't say anything
about the flashlight.

Only afterwards,
to the D.A.,

does he add the flashlight
to the story,

which is bullshit, right?

Because you would've
noticed somebody

shining a flashlight on you,

especially if you're dumping
a dead body.

- Christ almighty, this is what
I kept saying to McClain.

- Well, the bottom line is,

he can cut a deal with the D.A.
pending your conviction,

and because of that we can imply

that Heekin made up
the whole story

or was given the account
by Agent Taylor.

Unreliable witness testimony
plus prosecutorial misconduct

equals an overturned verdict.

- That's beautiful.
- [laughs]

- Can you girls
keep the giggling down?

- Yeah, I'd better
get over the courthouse.

- Hey, all we've been doing
is talking about legal shit.

But how you doing...

with your father gone
and now Said?

Hey, it's okay.

I'm sorry.

Tell me,
what's it like...

being free?

- Uh, it's, uh...

The zoo,
the soccer field.

We're outdoors constantly,
you know?

Spending time with my kids,
real time.

- [chuckles]

- It's little things,
you know,

like helping them
with their homework,

going to PTSA meetings.

Holly's teacher is this
really funny, smart woman.

You'd love her.
She's, uh...

She makes me laugh out loud.

- I'm happy for you, Toby.

I'm happy for you.

- Hey, what'd I tell you two?

No smooching!

- Time to go.

[bell ringing]

Get me out of here.

Get me the fuck away
from Lopresti.

♪ ♪

[knock at door]

- Thank you, officer.

Good morning.
- Hello, gorgeous.

- Ah, we're in that kind
of mood, huh?

All right, uh,
under a new state law,

every six months I have
to review the mental health

of every resident of death row,
and it's your turn.

So, how's your mental health?

- Well, Beecher seems
to think

my days on death row
are numbered.

- Yeah, I know,
I saw him earlier.

- How'd he seem to you?

- Well, he's obviously
grieving for the loss

of his father and Said.

- Yeah, I mean,
other than that.

- What are you
asking me exactly?

- Beecher's in love.

- Really?

Did he say so?

- I can tell.

- And, uh, how does that
make you feel?

- Oh, I don't know.

- Come on, Chris,
don't bull me.

How does that make you feel?

- Happy!

- For him?
- Yes.

- And for you?
- Jealous.

- And what are you gonna do
with that jealousy?

Chew on it?
Suck on it?

Devour it whole?

- Yeah!
Okay?

Beecher has what I want!
I want a life!

I get executed and he lives
a long, old life,

surrounded by
his grandchildren.

I want a life!

You can't expect me not
to be a little envious.

- Sure, I can.

If you truly love him,
I expect that and more.

I'll write in my review
that you're behaving normally.

♪ ♪

- Mail call.

- Hey, Vern,
heard about your pal Loewen.

- A tragedy,
a fuckin' tragedy.

- Well, well, well,
look at this.

The three of us
together again.

I'm all misty.

Hey, Vern, wait a minute.

I want you to hear something.
You, too, Lopresti.

"Upon considering the body
of relevant precedence

"in general and in holdings
of the court, blah, blah, blah,

"I am compelled to conclude

that the petitioner's claim
is meritorious."

- Meaning?
- You're out of here.

♪ ♪

- No shit?
- No shit.

- Woo-hoo!
Yeah!

- [laughs]

- Toby.

♪ ♪

I owe you my life.
I owe you my life.

I owe you my life.

[laughs]

[indistinct chatter]

♪ ♪

- Winthrop.

- You're Keller, right?
- Mm-hmm.

- I heard plenty of stories
about you.

- Yeah?

I've heard a couple
about you myself.

There's one in particular
that interests me.

- I interest you?

- Fascinate is a better word.

Meet me later,
storage closet, Unit B.

- Okay.

♪ ♪

Nice.

I thought you only had eyes
for Beecher.

- Beecher's the one who brought
you and me together.

- What do you mean?
- That story I heard,

the one that fascinates me?
[zipper rasps]

- Yeah?

- That's the one where
you killed Beecher's father.

- No! No! No!

♪ ♪

[neck snaps]

♪ ♪

[zipper rasps]

♪ ♪

- Hey, Keller.

How's it feel to be back
in the gen pop?

- Sweet.

♪ ♪

- One day in 1876,

Alexander Graham Bell
uttered through a wire,

"Watson, come here,
I want you."

130 years later, we're talking
through satellites.

Strange, huh,
that before hanging up,

we say, "Keep in touch,"

when there's never
any touch involved,

no contact?

Just cables and frequencies.
[warbling beeping]

Still...

to get an "I love you" call
in the middle of a shitty day,

that makes a cell phone
seem miraculous.

- By and large,
things are off to a good start.

A few glitches,
but nothing I didn't factor in.

- I confess,
I'm the type who hangs up

as soon as I smell
a solicitation.

What percentage of these calls
actually get people

to donate
to Senator Laken's campaign?

- Believe it or not, you only
need a 1% to 2% success rate

for telemarketing
to be effective.

- 2%?
- I like to do better.

My numbers are hovering
in the 5% to 6% range.

Your men are proving
to be very effective.

- Mrs. Howard?
- Yes.

- Good afternoon.
I'm calling on behalf

of the campaign
to re-elect Archibald Laken

to the United States Senate.

May I have a moment
of your time?

- Sure.
- Thank you.

- Mr. Erickson,
good afternoon.

I'm calling on behalf of--
[dial tone]

[keys clacking, line trilling]

Mrs. Sharif?
Good afternoon.

[dial tone]

♪ ♪

- Persevere,
Kenaniah, persevere.

[keys clacking]

- Senator Laken's record
has been outstanding,

especially in regard
to education,

national security,
and anti-crime measures.

- How are the others
holding up?

- We're sad...
demoralized.

You know...
[sighs]

Kareem had made plans for us
to start a book-binding business

and the preparations
are in motion.

- And the first book
was supposed to be

Augustus Hill's memoir?

Well, you have
to keep going, Zahir.

In order
to honor them both,

you have to galvanize your men
to complete the task

Said set for you.

- I tried to lead once before.

I failed.

- You know,

Said and I didn't always agree,

but I know one thing.

This is the moment
he would've trusted in Allah.

♪ ♪

- I've spoken to the publisher
of Hill's book.

He wants to go forward.

So, it's up to us
to fulfill the promise,

achieve the vision
of Minister Said.

But first, we must choose
someone to lead.

- I nominate Zahir Arif.

All in favor?

♪ ♪

- Yo, what'd you call me?

Yo, fuck you,
you greasy old bitch!

- Hey, Poet!
- Oh, what,

you think I don't know
where 122 Wayne Street is?

Think again, bitch!

- What the fuck's wrong
with you, son?

- Nah, she said she
wasn't about to give

her credit card number
to some strange spook.

How the fuck she even know
I was black?

- That's irrelevant.

You hang up and calmly move on
to the next call.

- No, man, fuck that.

I ain't putting my pride
on the line

so some bullshit senator
could get re-elected.

- Well, in that case,
you're fired.

- What?
- You heard me.

Carry your lazy ass
and that bad attitude

off the premises!

Move it!
- Fuck you, Burr.

♪ ♪

Fuck you!

♪ ♪

[chair thuds]

♪ ♪

- Well, what the fuck
you looking at?

Get back to work!
All of you!

♪ ♪

[indistinct muttering]

♪ ♪

- It's a good thing
we got out now, yo.

I'm tellin' you.

Man, that telemarketing, man,

that shit short the brain.
- Yo, no shit.

- But I'll tell you,
I got a plan, though.

Yo, we go and work for Arif.

McManus and the Sicilians

will think we done dealing,
right?

We lay low for a minute,
then we come back double-time

up underneath the radar
without Burr.

Know what I mean?
- Yeah.

Yeah, son.

[indistinct chatter]

- Sounds like quite
a crowd out there.

- Yeah, I know.

- So I spoke with Augustus' wife
and the Hudack family,

and everyone's willing
to make a deal on the royalties,

so we can move forward.

It's exciting.
- Yeah, and terrifying.

- Should we open the doors?

- I want to work here.

[overlapping shouting]

- Nacim, close the door.

- Yo, we been out here
all this time!

- Hold up
for just another minute.

- What you doing?
- Hold up!

- We need to pray.
We need to pray.

[pounding at door]

♪ ♪

- Miss Coffo?
- Hey.

- Finished the book.
- That was fast.

- It was good, funny.

- Well, sit down and tell me
what you liked about it

and what you didn't.

- I can't right now.

I got some business
to attend to.

- Business?
- I'll come back tomorrow.

In the meantime,
can you find me another book?

- On baseball?
- Whatever.

As long as it's funny
and good.

[bell ringing]

- Bob, I'm a perfect mess.
Hello, Stella.

Today's the day
I'm supposed to see Norma

and suddenly I'm...wavering.

- Don't waver, Agamemnon.

- Put on a tie,
some aftershave,

slick your hair back
like you always do.

- Uh-uh.
It's time Norma and I

see each other
for who we really are,

liver spots and all.

Why am I putting myself
through this?

- Because a part of you
is in love,

and that's the part
that matters.

- You've been reading
too much poetry, Bob.

Love sucks, remember?

♪ ♪

[indistinct chatter]

- Hello.
Nice to see you.

- Please,
let's skip the pleasantries.

We know why we're here.

- I should just dive
right into an explanation.

- After stranding me
at the altar

and then getting pregnant?

Yeah, I think that's
what you should do.

- Okay.
[clears throat]

Basically, I got stuck
in that snowstorm

on the way to our wedding.

As I sat there, trapped,
I had time to think.

All along,
I had told myself

I could handle a marriage
to a man in prison.

But sitting there,
I had clarity for the first time

about how hard
it would really be.

I used my cell phone
to call Elliot.

- Elliot?
Who's Elliot?

- The man I was with
when I met you.

- You had a boyfriend
when we met,

and you dumped him for me?

- Yes.

- Oh, wow.

- Anyway, Elliot comes
and digs me out,

and we go to dinner.

He tells me his mom died,

and I guess we both
kind of drowned our sorrows

in a bottle of cheap wine.

One thing led
to another and, well...

- He had you for dessert.

- But during the sex,
I thought of you.

It's not a delusion,
what you and I feel.

It's love.

♪ ♪

- "Think not
thou canst weep a tear

"and thy Maker is not near.

"Oh, He gives us His joy,

"that our grief
He may destroy.

"Till our grief
is fled and gone,

He doth sit by us and moan."

[bell ringing]

- I love the timbre
of your voice, Robert.

- Wrap it up, Rebadow.
Five minutes to count.

- Fine.
I'll be there in four.

- Don't be late, lover boy.

- Did you know that Blake
and his wife used to sit

in their garden
and read to each other...naked?

- [chuckles]

With no concern
for the passerby.

- This may sound crazy, Stella,

but I want to do that with you,
just once.

- Oz has a garden?

- I could pay a CO for privacy
and you could bring a plant.

[both giggle]

We'll lock the door,
kill the lights,

sit by a candle to read

"The Marriage
of Heaven and Hell,"

naked as the day
we were born.

- It's a lovely thought,

but I don't know if I can even
finish what I've started here.

Robert, I'm sick.

I've been diagnosed
with breast cancer.

Oh, don't start imagining
the worst.

I'm gonna be okay.

♪ ♪

- I can't be late for count.

[door closes]

- You okay?

- Fine.

- The most noncommittal word
in the English language, "fine."

So, I've been thinking.

I might let Norma
bring her baby in.

- Oh?
- I'm not sure.

But she did dump the jerk
for me in the first place.

I guess the bottom line is
the ego doesn't need

that much to rebound.

- Uh-huh.

- Besides, his name's Elliot.

Who can be jealous
of a guy named Elliot?

Bob, what's with you today?

You do remember telling me
I should see her, don't you?

- I forgot to say
to be careful.

We're full of false fantasies,
Agamemnon.

See her, yes,
but cover your ass.

You said yourself
love sucks.

There's nothing to be gained
from your pains

except more pain.

♪ ♪

[playful music on TV]

- Midway through
the 20th Century,

man wants communication
without communication!

He wants to sit
in his living room

and watch people in a box...

fall in love,
work, sing, golf,

cry, fuck, and fuck up.

Television!

A one-way conversation
between you and the world,

where the world does
the talking!

Like God...

man can finally create man
in his own image

and then kick back and watch
all sorts of shit hit the fan.

♪ ♪

- Okay, Cyril, time for another
fabulous ECT treatment.

- What's ECT?

- Jesus, why is it every time
I gotta tell you what ECT means?

- That's because electroshock
causes memory loss.

- Oh.

- Jazz?

[cell door clangs open]

Jazz?
- [screaming]

[groans and sobs]

- Jazz, it's very important
that we talk.

Your execution is set
for next week.

- 16 devils!
Today, there were 16!

[sobbing loudly]

- I appreciate your stopping by
to see me, Miss Lang.

- Hey, I'm thrilled when anyone
shows an interest in Jazz Hoyt.

Arnie Zelman seems to be getting
all the death row publicity

for his client, Cyril O'Reily.

God.
Zelman is a PR genius.

- How's Hoyt's appeal going?

- Well, through the testimony
of various psychiatrists,

some of whom
have been treating Hoyt

since he was six years old,
I think I've been able

to build a fairly solid case.

- And your contention is that
he's always been crazy?

- Yes.

As a child,
he tortured animals...

sodomized a playmate.

- And where were his parents
during all of this?

In a bar, drunk?

- Actually, in Captiva.

Hoyt comes from money,
Father Mukada, lots of money.

He went to Exeter,
he dropped out of Harvard.

This whole Jazz bad biker thing
is part of his delusion.

- Holy shit, he's rich?

- Well, who do you think's
paying for my fees?

Pater and Mater.

[electricity buzzing]

- Hearing the music,
and I saw another buffalo.

And I saw a dog,
and I saw one...

[electricity crackles]

And I saw two wolves.

I saw two...two wolves.
[indistinct murmuring]

- And on a more
controversial note,

in a stunning defeat
for state prosecutors,

convicted murderer
Jazz Hoyt's death sentence

was overturned.
[cheers and applause]

Instead of being executed as
scheduled, Hoyt will be moved

to the Oswald Correctional
Facility's psychiatric unit,

then later
to the Connelly institute,

a hospital in Morrisville
which specializes

in treating
the criminally insane.

- This is bullshit!
How come fuckin' Hoyt gets off

and Cyril doesn't?

- Well, from a purely
legal standpoint,

the circumstances of each case
are very different.

- So, you're telling me that,
in the eyes of the law,

Jazz Hoyt's life
is worth preserving

and my brother's isn't?

- Afraid so, Ryan.
- God damn it!

- Unless our latest appeal
is accepted by the court.

Cyril dies
two weeks from Thursday.

- Fuck.

[tense music]

♪ ♪

- Prisoner number 03N679,
Jahfree Neema,

convicted January 10, 2003,
kidnapping, assault.

Sentence: Seven years,
up for parole in three.

- In other news,
'60s radical Jahfree Neema

was convicted today
of kidnapping his daughter

from the Pinkel
Day Care Center.

Mr. Neema,
a prominent community leader

on the city's eastside,

was at one time involved
in the Black Panthers.

- This castle hath
a pleasant seat.

The air nimbly and sweetly
recommends itself

unto our gentle senses.

- This quest of summer,
the temple-haunting martlet--

[bell ringing]
- All right, that's it.

Rehearsal's over.

- But I didn't even--

- Tomorrow at 3:00!

- It's okay, we'll get to it.
Thank you.

- Things humming, Ma?
- Oh, Ryan.

Well, not exactly.

We haven't found anybody
to replace Schibetta

in the lead and--

Ryan, I need to talk to you,

but I-I don't know
where to start.

- Just start.

- [chuckles]
Right.

Jahfree Neema
is coming to Oz.

- Hey, Mom, seriously.
- I, um, I know the man.

Uh, at least I knew him.

He--he was the one
that convinced me

to join the peace movement.

He was the one that--

- He's the one that got you
to leave Dad

and abandon me, right?

- Well, that's one way
of putting it.

You have to understand,

he was very passionate
about his beliefs.

He's a very charismatic man
and--

- Did you fuck him?

You did.

- Ryan, look.

We're both adults here.

You know what it was like
living with your father.

It was very repressive,

and Jahfree helped me
to free myself,

and I'm telling you this
because I want you to know

that he changed my life
for the better.

- Uh-huh.

- I'm just asking you to be
open to him, that's all.

- Yeah, can't wait
to meet him.

Maybe I'll call him
Uncle Jahfree.

♪ ♪

Later, man.

Hey.

How they hanging there, bud?

- Do I know you?

- Indirectly.

Suzanne Fitzgerald,
she's my mom.

- So?

Get out of my cell.

- Uh, she just asked me
to come down here

and try to, you know--
- Get out of my cell, white boy.

♪ ♪

- Asshole.

♪ ♪

[indistinct chatter]

- Hey, bitch!
- Got something for you, yo.

- Hey.

[indistinct chatter]

♪ ♪

- Back in the '60s,

the Department of Defense
created the Internet.

Little did they know
they were mixing concrete

to build the global village.

There's nothing concrete
about it, though.

People get digital mail
from electronic boxes,

they congregate
in chat rooms

that have no walls
and no doors.

Millions around the world
have instant access

to each other and stores
and food and entertainment.

But if it's such a revolution
in communications,

why do studies show

the more time
one spends online,

the more isolation
one suffers?

[buzzer]

- We've been contacted by
a lawyer for one Greg Penders,

resident of
solitary confinement.

He's suing the state.

- Because of the methylene
chloride poisoning?

- Yes, he says the death
of Carlos Martinez

is proof the prison put his
own life in unnecessary danger.

Penders is trying to get the
Martinez family and Omar White

to join in the lawsuit.
- Christ.

- I warned you not
to go public too soon,

not to have
that press conference.

- Ellie, please!

The last thing I need
to hear right now is,

"I told you so"!

♪ ♪

- This is gonna work, Omar,
I guarantee it.

I guarantee it.

The word's out that the air
in here is toxic,

that it's lethal as shit.

You got to join
my class-action suit.

You got to do it.

[door opening]

- I understand you want
to speak with me.

- Omar, who's out there?
- Shh.

- What's going on?

- Okay, you let me out
of solitary, right,

back to Em City?

And I-I-I won't sue
with Penders.

- That's all I get
in the deal?

- Well, what more
do you want, man?

Look around, I ain't got--
I ain't got much to offer.

- Here's an idea.

I put you back in Em City
and you don't mention a word

of this conversation to anyone,
not a fucking syllable.

- Oh, no,
fuck a syllable,

I mean, not even--not even
a fucking letter, okay?

- But if you do talk,

I will build a cell so small,
you won't have room to stand.

There'll just be room enough
for you

and that yappity mouth of yours.

Got it?

[pounds on door]

We never spoke.

- Omar!

♪ ♪

- White back in Em City?

No fucking way, Leo!
I've had enough of his bullshit!

- Tim, do you really expect me

to put your headaches
with one inmate

above the larger burdens
of this prison?

I didn't think so.

♪ ♪

- [chanting]
Allahu Akbar.

Allahu Akbar.

- Arif, man, where's--
where's my man Said?

- [chanting]
Allahu akbar.

- Said, seriously,
where-where is he?

- Said's dead, White.
- Huh?

- Somebody shot him.
Come on.

Come on, let's go.
- Huh?

♪ ♪

McManus.

McManus?
McManus?

- Today, White!

- The autopsy report
on Carlos Martinez.

You'll be glad to know
that he didn't die

of methylene chloride poisoning.

He suffocated,
or I should say

he was suffocated
by someone else.

- What?

- I guess that's
one less plaintiff for you

to worry about, right?

- You still pissed off at me

for not sending Martinez
to Benchley Memorial?

- Yes.

But not half as much
as I am at myself.

You know what's
really disgusting about this?

I'm relieved that a prisoner
was killed in his sleep

instead of dying of what might
have been a preventable death.

Now, I'm not guilty.

Now, I'm just horrified to find
myself thinking this way.

Do you know what?

That is the last time
I take care of Oz over a person.

- Great.

Got another murder investigation
on my hands.

- So, what are you
accusing me of,

killing Martinez?

- Look, normally, I could sweep
this thing under the rug,

but since we've had
this rash of murders

and I went public
with the methylene chloride

promising to release
the autopsy,

the media is not
gonna let this go.

They're gonna scream
for an investigation.

And I need to learn
every detail I can.

- Okay, sorry.

- You told Officer Murphy
that you visited Martinez

just before he died.

- Yeah.

Martinez sent word
that he wanted to see me

'cause he was desperate
to confess that Morales

was the one who ordered him
to cut my tendon.

- Did you see
anything suspicious?

Any threat
from the other patients?

- No.

You ask me, one of the Latinos
did the deed, sir.

They work as orderlies
in the ward.

They had opportunity
and motive.

- You mean to keep Martinez
from jabbering on Morales?

- Yes.

- Look, Dave, I'm gonna
bring in the homicide unit,

same as I did
on the Loewen murder.

They may want you to take
a lie detector test.

- So, I am a suspect.

- Unfortunately, for now,
you're the prime.

- I'm so innocent,
that it hurts.

- Then what are you
worried about?

Take the fucking
lie detector test.

- I can't.
- Why?

- Because I did lie.

- I don't understand.

- I lied about Martinez
blaming Morales.

- What?
- I didn't even see Martinez

the night he died.

- Oh, Jesus, Dave.

- You and I both know
that Morales is guilty.

I simply took Martinez's death
as an opportunity

to nail that motherfucker.

- So, what we did,
getting Morales in solitary,

cutting him up...
- Was totally justified.

- No, because we had no proof.

- Don't get all righteous
with me, you bastard.

It was my leg that got cut,
my life that got fucked.

- Right, you gotta go tell Glynn
the truth, all right?

'Cause we've got to get Morales
out of solitary.

- No.

- All right,
if you don't, I will.

- Fuck that!
- Stop! Fuck!

- For Jesus' sake,
stop it.

Stop it.
Go, go.

- Do it.

♪ ♪

[keys jingling]

- Dr. Nathan?

- Oh, hi.

Come in.

Thanks for coming.

Look, I want to apologize
for getting so upset

the night Martinez died
and for firing you.

The chemical poisoning thing
in solitary

has put me under
a lot of stress,

and I know what it's like
to get blamed for things

that really aren't
under your control.

And if you still want your job,
it's yours.

- Oh, Dr. Nathan, thank you.

I'll do my best, I swear,
to make you proud.

- Well, let's get to work.

♪ ♪

- Enrique, I heard about
what happened.

- Get away from me,
you Judas.

- Hey, I'm no Judas.
- Did you kill Martinez?

Did anybody in El Norte
kill Martinez?

- No.

- Then move the fuck away
from me.

Muevete!

- Everything okay here?

- Can I have some juice?

- Too bad about
your friend Martinez.

But he was a nasty man.

He deserved to die.

♪ ♪

- Yo.

I'm glad you came.
- It's good to see you, too.

You look a shitload better than
you did

the last time I was here.

- You know, I hit a couple
of potholes, you know.

I'm cruising now, man,
70 miles an hour

with the fucking top down,
you know?

Speaking of which,
how's my car?

- I don't know, bro.
[clears throat]

- What you mean
you don't know?

I got convicted,
I gave you the keys,

told you to treat her
like a lady.

- I did, man.
I fine-tuned her.

I polished her up, but--
- What?

- Maritza gets out of Parker's,
bro, and she sells it.

- What?

- She said that car
was the cause

of all her grief, so...

- She didn't tell me nothing
about selling the car.

You seen her lately?
- Oh, yeah.

I mean, you know,
all the time.

I mean, we live right across
the street from each other,

remember?

- Right.

Gotta ask you something.

I need you to tell me
the truth, okay?

She fucking anyone?

- Oh. [scoffs]
Miguel, man, I--

- Yo, bro, bro,
I can feel it, man.

Okay?
I know she is.

Now, we've been like brothers,
man, a long time.

We ain't ever lied
about nothing.

Yo, I need to know.

Tell me, okay?

Who's the guy?

- I don't--
I don't think you--

- Bro...
tell me, who's the guy?

- Me.

- It's me.
Look, I'm sorry, Miguel.

Man, I got no excuses, bro.

What happened,
it just happened.

- You cocksucker.

- You gonna hit me?
Go ahead, hit me.

- Come on.

- Espero que se caiga.

- Okay, Alvarez, time's up.
Let's go.

♪ ♪

- Now that I know
the truth about Maritza,

in a fucked-up way...

I feel better, you know?

I mean, just the not knowing
was totally eating me alive.

I'm surprised
about two things.

I haven't cried,

and I didn't pound
the shit out of Reynaldo.

That's a good thing, right?

I mean, everything happens
for the best...right?

I wanted to kill him...

but I didn't.

[sighs]

So, I don't know,
I'm making progress.

♪ ♪

- So, what's next,
microchips in the brain?

The ability to read
each other's minds?

Too late.

A primitive tribe
in the other Oz,

Australia,
already beat us to it.

They talk by not talking.

Yeah, they're way,
way ahead of us

in the realm
of communications,

and they didn't have
to invent squat to get there.

They stayed connected
in the original sense...

in the aboriginal sense.

[blows landing on heavy bag]

- [grunting]

I'm done.

Which means you're done, too.

Now, go get me a towel.

[bell ringing]

- Hey, Robson.

How's that bitch thing coming?
- Get away from me.

- Listen, the only people
who hate Cutler more than you

is us.

So, why not do everybody
a favor?

- Ace him?

- Ain't no downside.

It proves to the Brotherhood
you're still a man.

- And it'll make you a lot
of friends in the kitchen.

Win-win.

♪ ♪

- "I'll go no more.

"I am afraid to think
what I have done.

Look on't again,
I dare not."

- "Infirm of purpose!

"Give me the daggers.

The sleeping and the dead--"
- Hang on, stop, stop.

I don't fucking get this.

- Well, what's confusing you,
Wolfgang?

- Well, I just killed
the king, right?

- Right.
- I come downstairs

with these bloody daggers,

and now,
I'm like a complete pussy.

- Hmm, uh, well, see, um...

Macbeth is conflicted about
the implications of his act.

- And I'm supposed
to let this bitch

take care of things for me?

- You can't seem
to do it yourself.

- Watch it, buttercup.

- [chuckles]
Uh, um...

could you just take a look
at the last line of the scene?

- "To know my deed,
'twere best not know myself."

- And what does that mean
to you?

- Why don't you just tell me?

- That you would
hate yourself

if you ever thought about
the things you've done.

- Like I said,
Macbeth's a pussy.

[men panting]
Don't fuckin' move!

- [panting and moaning]

- Yeah, fuck.

- [grunting]

- Take that shit off
your fucking head.

So you like that, prag?

- [breathing heavily]

You know what
we should try?

- We should try?

When did I start giving a shit
about your input around here?

- B.C.P.

- What the fuck is that?

- Breath control play.

First, you make a noose, see?

- Keep talking.

- Then you put it
around your neck.

- My neck?

Are you fucking kidding me?

- No, hear me out.

You put the noose
around your neck

and then you hang yourself,
lightly.

And all the blood
from your head

rushes straight to your dick,

and then I blow you.

When you get off,

it's like God himself
is swallowing.

- So, where's the noose?

♪ ♪

Who would have thought those
things would have so many uses?

♪ ♪

- I was telling you that shit
about my dad.

Well, in many ways,
I've become him.

I mean, I've done shit to guys
that I'm not proud of.

But in other ways,

I'm still that little boy
getting fucked in the shed.

- Is someone sodomizing you,
James?

- Wolfgang Cutler.

Here I am again,
shacked up with a psychopath.

But I'm older now,
seeing it with different eyes.

- What are you seeing?

- In Cutler?

A guy who, deep down,
is really depressed,

really hates himself.

It's how his gaze
goes totally blank

while he's--

Well, I think
he'd be happier dead.

And the thing is,

sometimes his mood
goes so dark,

I think he may do himself.

- Has he talked
about suicide?

- No.

But with all this
"Macbeth" shit,

it's really fucked him up.

Sister, maybe you
could talk to him, huh?

Before he does something
terrible to himself.

♪ ♪

- Wolfgang, I requested
a session with you,

but since it was supposed
to have started 40 minutes ago,

I guess you're not showing up.

- You and me got nothing
to talk about, Sis.

I'm not crazy.

- Crazy is not the only reason
folks come to see me.

- Shrinks are for fags.

- Wolfgang, you don't have to--
- Listen, bitch.

- Problem, Sister?

♪ ♪

- No.

Never mind.

♪ ♪

- [snoring]

[buzzer]

♪ ♪

- Oh, morning, Wolfie.

Jeez, I guess I forgot
to untie you last night.

♪ ♪

Holy shit.

Officer?
Officer!

♪ ♪

- Base 1,
we got an 823 in B.

Well, ain't that a kick?

One of you actually went
and lynched yourselves.

[knife clicks]

♪ ♪

- When man goes collectively mad
from downloading

all the mental messages
in the air,

when there's no trees left

'cause we needed all that paper
for the printing press

and therefore are left
with no oxygen to breathe,

then satellites
will fry from overuse

and drop from the sky.

And we'll make desperate
cell phone calls

to our loved ones

while watching Mother Earth's
last days on reality TV.

Communications
will be once again

what it was in the beginning.

- The Word, moving over
the face of the deep,

over the face of God,
who now,

instead of wanting to talk,
is tired of listening.

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪

[bright tone]

OpenSubtitles recommends using Nord VPN
from 3.49 USD/month ----> osdb.link/vpn