Original subtitles

- 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.

- 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.

- Oh, my God.

- Get the fuck out of here, man!

- 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.

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.

- 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?

- 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.

Step through.

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.

You going in or not, Beecher?

- 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.

- 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.

- 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.

Get me out of here.

Get me the fuck away from Lopresti.

- 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!

- Toby.

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

I owe you my life.

- 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?

- Yeah?

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

- No! No! No!

- 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.

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--

Mrs. Sharif? Good afternoon.

- Persevere, Kenaniah, persevere.

- 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...

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!

- Well, what the fuck you looking at?

Get back to work! All of you!

- 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.

- 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.

- 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.

- 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.

- 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?

- 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.

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."

- 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?

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.

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.

- 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.

- 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?

Jazz?

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

Your execution is set for next week.

- 16 devils! Today, there were 16!

- 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.

- Hearing the music, and I saw another buffalo.

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

And I saw two wolves.

I saw two...two wolves.

- And on a more controversial note,

in a stunning defeat for state prosecutors,

convicted murderer Jazz Hoyt's death sentence

was overturned.

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.

- 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--

- 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.

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.

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

- Hey.

- 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?

- 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.

- 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?

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.

Allahu Akbar.

Allahu Akbar.

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

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.

- 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.

- 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. 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.

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.

I'm done.

Which means you're done, too.

Now, go get me a towel.

- 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.

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.

Don't fuckin' move!

- Yeah, fuck.

- Take that shit off your fucking head.

So you like that, prag?

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.

- 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.

- 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.