All language subtitles for Oz (1997) - S06E01 - Dead Man Talking (576p DVD x265 Panda)-eng

Oz, the name
on the street

for the Oswald State
Correctional Facility,

Level Four.

Yeah, it's me.

You thought I was dead,
didn't you?

Well I am,

but that don't mean
I can't keep jawing.

And now that
I crossed over,

I got a whole new
perspective on things.

And I'm seeing a lot
of familiar faces.

- Fuck!
- Chill the fuck out.

Yeah, this ain't so bad.
Let me tell you,

dying is a lot harder
on the living

than it is
on the dead.

Death really only
hurts those left behind.

- Tim, what are you doing?
- Hey, come here.

What do you think?

What are you, Picasso?

No, it's not art, it's a maze.
It's a meditative maze.

Oh, okay.

What's a meditative maze?

Well, if you got
a problem

that you're trying
to figure out,

you enter the maze.

And as you make
your way through,

you concentrate on finding
the right path,

which stimulates
your powers of reason.

And by the time
you reach the end,

hopefully you'll have
figured the problem out.

Oh, yeah, I forgot.

You went to that New Age
seminar last weekend.

Yeah, so many people have died
since I set up Em City,

I was beginning to feel
anesthetized, you know?

But Augustus Hill...

boy, that rocked me.

I don't know.
A maze is kind of dumb,

but who's to say, right?
I mean, if it works--

we gotta try it, right?

Sure, Tim, only...

you know,
without real walls,

these dinks are just gonna
step over the line.

I found this box.

Now, written
on the lid is

"Do not open
until six months after my death."

So I decided
to respect his wishes.

This morning,
six months exactly,

I looked inside.

And?

"l am having a premonition
that today is the last day of my life.

Or maybe it is not
a premonition.

In Oz, every day is
potentially the last one.

Anyway, I'm taking the precaution
of sealing up this box.

Inside, you-- and by that
I mean McManus, Burr and Said...

...will find a manuscript which I've
been writing over the past six years.

If you're perusing this letter,
then my premonition was right,

and I am dead.

So consider these pages
my last will and testament.

My will to survive.

My testament to all
I've experienced in Oz.

I ask you
to read my memories

and then do with them
whatever you think is right."

- Burr.
- I don't want any fucking part of this.

Hey, Baba.

Welcome back, Chucky.
You look good, all healthy and shit.

I guess I was
pretty close to death,

but Dr. Nathan,
she pulled me through.

- What's the latest?
- The tits are flowing free and easy,

especially now
that the niggers are out of the game.

Augustus Hill's death
really shattered them.

- Redding too?
- I don't understand the man.

Frankie Urbano goes
to stab Redding, kills Hill,

but Redding hasn't even
tried to retaliate.

Redding's plotting something,
that's for sure.

Yeah, but what?

Kill Whitey!

Fuck you, motherfucker!

Okay, let's break it up.
There's nothing to see here.

It's over, move on.

Redding, are you
watching this?

Redding!

While you weeping and a-wailing,
your men are out of control.

They're upset
over losing Augustus,

- what do you expect me to do?
- I expect you to take charge.

Oh, Jeez, Kareem,

I'd have thought you'd be glad
to see me sit in the back seat--

give you an opportunity
to convert all my boys to lslam.

Yeah, well, there are some
who will never find God,

nonetheless,
they need a leader.

And you are
their leader.

But right now
you do not truly lead.

You sit in here
mourning Augustus,

as well you should,

and you blame yourself,
as well you should.

But what's the difference, unless
your emotions are backed by action?

If Augustus' murder was truly due
to him slinging drugs

and you say you "do not want to see
any more young men die"...

fine. Drag your men
away from the drugs.

- How?
- I don't know.

The answer lies
within you.

When you find it,
it is then that you will finally

completely be a leader.

Till then you're just
a waste of space.

Hey, I want to talk to you
about what happens after death--

the afterlife.

See, the ancient Greeks
believed when a brother died,

he just got on a boat,

crossed the river Styx and went
to a place called Hades.

Now everybody
went to Hades.

It didn't matter how good
or how bad you were.

It's a place we all
just got our groove on.

But the Greeks,
they understood.

Just having lived,

just having gone through
the sheer shit of getting up

and going through a whole day
was enough to earn eternal reward.

Good morning, boys.

Today's the big day.

All you yokels get
to whine and snivel

in front of
the review boards

in hopes that we'll
let you out of solitary.

Though God knows why you'd
wanna leave this paradise.

My man McManus,
he gonna vouch for me.

He's gonna save me,
you know.

I'd say my chances
are 50-50.

Glynn's a fuckhead.

That motherfucker's
never gonna let me out.

You'll cast your vote for me,
won't you, Officer Howell?

I'll suck your
big fat hole!

Where's breakfast?
Breakfast!

What the fuck
you looking at, Martinez?

- You.
- Step back.

Make me.

How did you know
I was in the mood

for a little Mexican food?

- I'm Puerto Rican.
- Same difference.

Strip.

Oh, Martinez
is fucking Howell.

- He's fucking her again?
- He must need to make a phone call.

Damn.

As you know,
the time has come

for our biannual review
of the prisoners in solitary,

which I hate
to admit is S.R.O.,

so we either need to let
some of these dinks back into gen pop

or ship their butts
to another correctional facility.

Who's first?

Henry Stanton.

He's in solitary for stabbing
Martin Montgomery in the neck.

Ain't talkin' no more!

Montgomery
didn't even die.

He just can't
sing anymore.

Next?

Vern Schillinger
for raping Franklin Winthrop

and Adam Guenzel.

I'm telling you, the sex
was consensual. Ask Winthrop.

Miguel Alvarez. He smacked
a member of the parole board.

I guess I got
my hopes up too high.

I'm not gonna
do that again.

- Omar White, he, uh--
- Omar strangled an Aryan.

- Motherfucker!
- And then he saved the guy's life.

Next.

Greg Penders,

trained his seeing-eye mutt
to attack Officer Lopresti.

Lopresti's fine,
not a scratch on him.

Carlos Martinez threw a cocktail
in Dave Brass's face.

- Motherfucker!
- Yeah, and as a result

the C.O.s beat the shit
out of Martinez.

Martinez is scum. We definitely
should not let him out of solitary.

He and Penders
both attacked C.O.s.

I won't let either of them
back into gen pop.

Any recommendations
regarding the others?

Stanton and Schillinger could go.

Schillinger? No way.

If he's free, he'll do
something to screw up

- Tobias Beecher's parole hearing.
- Miguel Alvarez.

I want him in Em City.
Leo, he's trying to change.

So is Omar White,
I don't hear you begging for him.

I can help Alvarez.

I can't do any more for Omar
than I've already done.

Fuck.

Hey, Omar!

You and me get to spend
a little quality time together.

What-- what are you
squawking about?

McManus has left you here
in my warm embrace.

No no, wait. Let me
talk to him, please?

If I help you, what'll
you do for me in return?

- I don't know.
- Shine my shoes?

No, l-l-- I ain't
no Pullman porter.

- Strip.
- Well, uh...

Look...

I, uh...

I ain't been feeling
to good lately, you know?

Strip.

Hurry,
I have lunch plans.

- Ugh!
- I told you I was sick.

You know what?

Today, you are
the shoeshine boy!

Ugh! Man!

I'm just coughing up
all kinds of colors and shit.

My-my-- my piss is
like it's on fire.

Any night sweats?
Trouble sleeping?

- Huh-uh.
- Mmm.

- I'd better admit him.
- Why, what's wrong with him?

I'm not sure.
I'll do some tests.

If it turns out
you're faking, dickwad,

I'm gonna eat your balls
for breakfast.

By a vote of four to three,
we've decided

- to release you from solitary.
- You're shitting me?

No, Miguel. You're coming back
to Emerald City.

McManus put himself
on the line for you, Alvarez.

Don't fuck him over
with more of your nonsense.

My nonsense, no.

I got enemies,
I can't control their nonsense.

Enough! Stop!

So... what was that little scuffle
with Torres about?

I don't know.
He's crazy.

Okay, Chico.

You know, I've been doing
some sniffing around,

and I've been able to piece
together some information

I thought you'd find
sort of interesting.

It's about Miguel Alvarez.

Every problem he's had
for the past five years or so

- is somehow tied to you.
- Me? No.

So I'm telling you this:
If Miguel has anymore difficulties,

I'm gonna be looking
to blame you.

And now that we got a lot
of free space in solitary,

my first reaction
to any trouble

- will be to ship your ass there--
- Wait a minute!

--unless you become
Alvarez's new best friend.

Miguel.

We were just
talking about you.

Guerra's got something
to say to you.

Yeah.

You know...

you and me,
we started out as friends,

and even though a whole lot of shit
has come down since then...

I'm thinking maybe
we could-- you know.

Yeah, Chico.

Shake hands.

Lights out.
Sweet dreams.

I saw you and Alvarez
making nice.

- Were you serious?
- The truth?

I don't know. I've hated his guts
for so many years,

now I can't even
remember why.

And today I almost
got my throat cut.

That started me
thinking.

Enrique, you ever feel like
you've lost your appetite

- for all the bullshit?
- Yeah,

when my sister died
in that bus accident.

That's right. You were talking
peace and patience back then.

- What happened?
- Oz.

Oz is what happened.

Fucking Oz.

Now the ltalians,
they got a whole 'nother way

of thinking about
life after death.

This Dante dude
describes Hell

as a series of little circles
where sinners are tormented

by the punishment
that reflects their crime.

Flatterers are buried up
to their necks in shit.

Lawyers wear clothes
that never stop itching.

Just think on it.

What would be
the one thing

that would torture you
for all of eternity?

Your mother-in-law?

Britney Spears' singing?

For me, it'd be
a big pair of tits

just hanging
out of my reach.

Damn!

Count!

Morning, Bob.

Bob? You feeling
any better?

Hmm.

Redding, Burr,

♪01R289.

Rebadow, Robert,

♪65R814.

Busmalis,
where's Rebadow?

Grief's like a wave.
You've gotta ride it out.

And as badly
as you feel now, I can tell you,

you're in better shape than you were
the day your grandson died.

That's hard
for me to accept

because the sadness
I feel keeps morphing.

This morning-- or should I say
last night since I barely sleep--

I became...

consumed with the fact that
the Rebadow name will die.

I was the only son,
my son is my only child,

his son was
his only child.

After we're gone, the family
will become extinct

Iike some species of insect
destroyed by pollution.

My pollution.

I don't know why
we have such a thing

about passing
on our names,

as if that somehow
justifies our existence.

My grandson's illness
filled up so much of my time,

so much of my heart.

His death has left
an emptiness.

You need to keep busy.
You know, focus on your job.

You like working
in the dress factory, don't you?

No, not at all.

The thought of hearing
the hideous hum

of those machines
day in and day out...

Okay, I'll transfer you.

Where would you prefer
to punch the clock?

I'm not--

I love to read.
The library?

So that's what's allocated
in the current budget.

- Can you get more?
- I can try.

- Leo?
- Tim.

Meet the new head librarian
Stella Coffo. Tim McManus.

- Hello.
- Hi.

I heard you two
were having a meeting.

Stella comes
to us from Boston

where she worked in the public library
system for 16 years.

Yeah, I gotta admit I'm a little curious
as to why you're here.

You mean why leave
the comfort of Boston

for the wilds
of Oswald?

Well, it's simple.
I love to read.

And if I can get the men
in this prison to pick up a book,

maybe their lives will be
changed in some small way.

Admirable goal.
Tough task.

Well, I'm from the North End.

To me "no" only means
"try harder."

Oh, good.
Um, look--

I-- I hate to do this
on your first day,

- but I need a favor.
- Sure, anything.

There's a prisoner
named Rebadow.

Here goes.

Well, first in line.

I guess you heard
the John Grisham finally arrived.

Oh, I don't read
that tripe.

Sorry, I didn't mean
to offend you.

- You Mrs. Coffo?
- Ms. Coffo, actually.

Name's Rebadow.

I've been assigned
to work with you.

But I'm no acolyte.

I know where every decimal
in the Dewey System is.

Ask me which shelf a book
is on, I'll point to it.

Excellent. I should
warn you though,

I'm not gonna sit on my ass
and wait for the men to come to me.

I want to identify the ones
who have no interest in reading,

the ones who maybe don't
even know how to read.

I want to put a book
in their hands,

and finding
the right book is the key.

That's where
I'm gonna lean on you.

You have
my full support.

Do you have a first name,
Mr. Rebadow?

Robert,

though most of the jokers
in Oz call me Bob.

Well, I'll call you Robert then,
and you can call me Stella.

I'm very pleased
to have you on board.

Hey, Cyril, we're meeting
with your new lawyer today,

some big hotshot
that Meehan found.

- Can I come with you now?
- No, not yet, but soon, all right?

You sound awful
optimistic there, O'Reily.

I'm trying, Keller,
but optimism isn't exactly my--

what's the word
I'm looking for? Forte?

- Yo, can I get some fucking food?
- Eat that, you hairy bitch.

Hey, everyone,

meet the new member
of our clubhouse.

Kirk,
you fucking cocksucker!

You should be dead,
you little fucking prick!

Don't be angry, Jaz-man.
It's not your fault that I'm alive.

The truth is,
I can't die.

Bullshit.
Just give me another chance.

It won't do any good.
I can't die.

Yeah, why is that,
pumpkin?

Because...
I am Satan.

And Satan
will never die.

- Good morning, Pete.
- Ray.

Oh, boy.
I'm so glad you're back.

Thank you.
I would say I'm happy to be back,

but I'm not sure yet.

There's something
you should know.

Timothy Kirk has been
transferred to death row,

and he's asked
to see you.

- No chance.
- All right, now look--

Pete, two of the priests
from my parish

were burned alive
in that fire,

a fire that Kirk arranged
and paid for out of spite and malice.

In a few weeks
he's going to be executed.

He may need to make
peace with you.

- His soul--
- His soul will rot in hell.

Ray, only God
can decide that.

Uh-oh,
Holy Ghost on deck.

- Say hello, Jericho.
- Hello, Father.

Yo, Mukada.

Look at that fucking
jizzball sitting there.

I'm gonna fucking
kill you, cocksucker!

- Thank you so much for the meeting.
- Don't get used to it.

I have to talk fast
before he comes back.

- Who, Lopresti?
- Satan.

Father, look.

I know
that you hate me

and I know that I've committed
all these horrible acts,

but it's not me
who's done them.

I am possessed
by the Devil.

- Stop.
- I am possessed,

and you are the only one
who can help me.

- I need an exorcism.
- I said stop.

Do you think I can't see through
this little performance?

What, are you trying for an insanity
defense on your appeal?

No. Father, please.
He's coming!

By even suggesting
what you're suggesting,

you make a mockery
of my religion.

Goodbye, Kirk.

I'll see you
the day you die.

Mukada!

You can walk away,

but I'm not like
the Reverend Cloutier.

I won't just disappear.

We work
with criminals.

We try to understand
the reasons

why they broke the law
so we can help them.

We examine the psychological
elements, the sociological.

We consider
their family backgrounds,

environments, addictions,
blah blah blah.

Usually there's an answer
if not a cure.

But sometimes
we come face to face

with a larger,
more stunning reality.

We come face to face
with pure evil,

and we are powerless.

I believe that Kirk has
no hope for salvation.

He is pure evil.

I don't disagree
that there's evil in the world.

I do disagree that
we're powerless against it.

Ray, you and I have
dedicated our lives

to overcoming evil
through love.

God's love.

Come in.

- Hello, Ray.
- Oh, Monsignor.

Sister Peter Marie,
this is Monsignor Slon,

- Vicar-General of the Archdiocese.
- How do you do?

Nice to meet you, Sister.
I'm sorry to interrupt,

but this is a matter
of some importance.

Well, I have a session.
A pleasure.

Can I get you
some tea or--

- No, thanks. Let's sit.
- Sure.

How's Cardinal Abgott?

Troubled, and that's
why I've come.

His Eminence received
a letter yesterday

from a prisoner here
at Oswald, Timothy Kirk.

Monsignor, you've got to understand,
there's a lot of history

- between Kirk and me.
- So it seems.

Ray, Kirk claims you
sexually abused him.

- What?
- These are dicey times,

and even though Kirk
is no parochial schoolboy,

the church can't afford--
either spiritually or financially--

to have any more
of our priests be suspect.

- Monsignor, Kirk is lying.
- I believe you,

so does the Cardinal,

but if Kirk goes public
with his accusations

we have to be ready.
Which is why,

until we investigate,
I'm suspending you.

We'll handle
the investigation

as quickly as possible,
but as of this moment

you are no longer
allowed to perform

any functions as
a Catholic priest.

I'm sorry, Ray.

Pure evil.

I was very happy
with the variety show you put together,

and I'm hoping you'll
produce another one.

Oh, thank you, Leo.

Actually, I'd really like to do
more with the prisoners

than just singing and dancing,
so I was thinking Shakespeare--

- "Macbeth."
- Sounds great.

- Yes.
- Sounds expensive.

Not necessarily,
because we would do the production

in modern dress
with minimal scenery,

and that way the play
will be more accessible.

- Can you work up a budget?
- As a matter of fact...

we have one here.

Leo, I don't want this
to get bogged down in bureaucracy.

I'd like to start next week,
holding auditions

and putting
together a crew.

The hardest part's gonna be
getting these jamokes to participate.

And that's why
we are so lucky

that we have you
for the motivation, Tim.

We're not looking
for Denzel Washington here.

The point is to give you a place
to channel your emotions

other than fighting
or heroin,

and not everyone has to be
in front of the footlights.

Suzanne needs
a stage manager,

Iighting, props, scenery,
the whole enchilada.

So I expect a strong representation
from Em City.

Get involved.

- Chucky, what about you?
- Plays are for fags.

Miguel, Miguel.

Come on, this is a chance
to show everybody the new you.

No, I think I'd be a little embarrassed,
being in front of people.

So, be a stage manager.

- What the fuck do they do?
- Boss everyone else around.

Really?
All right, I'm in.

Okay, good.

Hey, how about props?

"Here I have
a pilot's thumb,

Wreck'd as homeward
he did come."

- That's very good, Poet.
- What the fuck am I saying?

You are telling your friends
how you destroyed your enemy.

- Really?
- Yeah.

A'ight.

So in the real play
can I get a real thumb?

You got anybody in mind?

- Maybe yours, cheeseball.
- What'd you say, cum stain?

- What?
- Hey hey, settle the fuck down!

How goes it, Ma?

If I could keep them
from killing each other.

I think I've got all my actors,
except for Macbeth,

- so I was thinking, Ryan--
- Sorry.

- You'd be brilliant in the part.
- I love you, Ma, but no way.

You got no balls, Whitey?

I don't see you strutting
your stuff there, Pepe.

- Dick.
- Oh, come on, Ryan, it could be fun.

I did the part once
at the C.Y.O.

Let's see now.
"Stay...

you imperfect speakers,
and tell me more;

By Sinel's death
I am Thane of Glamis;

But how of Cawdor?

The Thane of Cawdor lives,
a prosperous gentleman;

and to be king stands
not within the prospect of belief,

Say from whence you owe

this strange intelligence?

Speak, I charge you!"

Father Meehan,
that was excellent!

Now how would you
like to play Macbeth?

- Me?
- Yeah.

Lights out.

Nighty-night, boys.

- Amen.
- Well, it's about time.

Ah, the power of prayer
is a wonderful thing, Ryan.

When I was a kid
I'd bend my knees

and ask God to stop Dad
from beating on us.

God never answered
his pager.

A prayer's more than
asking for something.

It centers you,
gives you peace of mind.

Pray with me.

No, I figure between you, Sister Pete
and Aunt Brenda, I'm covered.

It would give me
profound joy

if someday you would
join me in prayer.

Well, it would give me profound joy
to fuck an 18-year-old virgin,

- so save your lungs, okay, Father?
- Naughty.

What you have to remember
is that this is about power.

You cannot let
these people

take your power
away from you.

Remember, Cyril,

you are the center
of the universe.

What the fuck
you looking at?

- So you're the new lawyer?
- Arnold Zelman.

You want to explain to me why
my brother's still sitting on death row?

Eight months ago,
the Supreme Court ruled

that executing the mentally retarded
was unconstitutional.

Each state has the right to determine
for itself how retarded is defined.

Our assemblymen have been squabbling
over a definition all this time.

Yesterday, they finally managed
to reach an agreement.

- Which is?
- Well, basically,

to qualify as retarded,
a person has to have demonstrated

some sign of retardation
before the age of 18.

18? But Cyril wasn't hit in the head
until his late 20s.

Well, that's why
he can still be executed.

Oh, fuck.

All right, so what
do we do next?

Appeal Cyril's conviction.
At the first trial,

the prosecution was able to make
the case that Cyril's attack on Li Chen

- was premeditated.
- Yeah, but it wasn't.

Well, in the appeal,
we have to prove it wasn't.

I'm going to start by re-interviewing
all of the witnesses.

Great.

Those fucks in Em City,
they got no reason to help me.

All we need
is one, Ryan.

Prisoner #99S917:
Glen Shupe;

convicted April 22nd, 1999;
manslaughter;

sentence: 15 years;
up for parole in eight.

Hey, Shupe,
you need a hand?

- Stay away from me!
- Aw, why you so testy, man?

It's because of you
I'm like this!

Uh-uh, no way, not me.
Spics chopped you up.

On your say-so.

- Hello, Mom.
- Oop--

Whether I did or didn't have
anything to do with your--

what's the word I'm looking for there,
Glen? "Disability."

Know this: a lawyer's gonna be
coming around

asking questions about the day
Li Chen got whacked

and unless you want to be
dialing with your nose,

you'd best tell him
what he wants to hear.

You got that,
you stupid bitch?

I'm here to talk about the day
Cyril O'Reily attacked Li Chen.

Now I know you've had
several conversations

with various
law enforcement officers,

prosecutors
and defense attorneys,

and I know you've testified
that you saw nothing

and know nothing of the circumstances
surrounding Li's death.

But since I only recently
jumped onto this case,

I'm hoping you may--

I know exactly
what happened.

You do?

Ryan and Li had a scuffle.
A knife fell to the floor--

probably Li's knife.

And Cyril stabbed Li
spontaneously

to save
his brother's life.

There was nothing premeditated
about Cyril's actions, nothing.

Mr. Shupe, have you talked
to anyone else recently

about these events?

I mean, has anyone
prepped you?

No, sir.

It's what I saw and I want
to testify to that in court.

Do you know that you can get
five more years for perjury?

Mr. Zelman,
I'm already serving 1 5.

I'm not afraid.

So how is it going
interviewing the witnesses?

So far, not so good.

- What about Shupe?
- He's not very credible.

Shupe is
a compulsive liar.

The irony is that this time
he's telling the truth.

- Well then use him.
- If I put Shupe on the stand,

the jury won't believe a word.
He'll do more damage than good.

So, you'll find
a credible witness.

I hope. I'm down
to my last few guys.

- What do we do next?
- Turn up the heat.

The press and public have
shown a keen interest in this case.

I'll use my contacts
at the networks...

Hey, Petey, you out
of the psych unit?

Did you work out
all your inner demons?

I heard something from a very reliable
source yesterday, O'Reily.

Oh, yeah?
What'd you hear?

That you ground up glass
and put it in my father's food,

cut his insides up slowly.

You're responsible
for my father being dead.

Well, what you heard is true--
except for one little detail.

Adebisi did the deed.
It wasn't me.

I was your father's friend.
Hey, who's your reliable source, huh?

Some nutjob
from the whack shack?

Never mind.
I tell you who he is, he's dead.

Fair enough.

But what if what you say is true?
Which it isn't.

What the fuck's
a little prag like you

gonna do about it
anyhow, huh?

Now back the fuck
away from me.

You stink like anchovies.

I have to admit
I'm stunned.

I've been trying for months
to get to you to visit your wife,

and now all of a sudden
you want to see her.

Well like I said, Sister,
I'm feeling better about myself

with you
and Father Meehan's help--

I had a long talk
with Rosalie yesterday.

But you didn't tell her
what happened to me, right?

No, I'm just gonna wait for you
to find the right time to tell her.

"A drum, a drum!
Macbeth doth come."

"The weird sisters,
hand in hand,

Posters of
the sea and land,

Thus do go about,
about:

Thrice to thine
and thrice to mine,

And thrice again
to make up nine.

Peace!

The charm's wound up!"

"So foul and fair a day
I have not seen."

"How far is't call'd
to Forres?"

All right, shut up!
Time's up.

But I barely
got a line out.

"Tomorrow and tomorrow
and tomorrow," Agamemnon.

Here comes another volunteer:
Mr. Peter Schibetta.

- Great. Hello, Peter.
- Hi.

Ryan could use some help
painting the scenery.

No, I don't need any help,
especially his.

I've seen this play in high school.
It's got all these incantations, right?

- Right.
- We Sicilians, we have our own version,

our own spells:
the Evil Eye.

My wife's grandmother, she can give
somebody the Evil Eye from a mile away.

I'm not saying the stuff works,
but who knows, right?

I thought I told you
to back the fuck away.

No problem, cuz.
No problem.

Ah, Ryan.

Look, I know you've done things
you're not particularly proud of,

but sometimes if you
talk things through--

Skip the preamble, Father,
what's on your mind?

All right.
Peter Schibetta.

I've seen the way you two
look at each other, the hostility.

Schibetta's
a cornhole.

For God's sake, Ryan,
will you knock off this bravado,

this-this--
this bullshit

just for a moment?

I know you think
you have to be hard to survive here,

but there are
other ways.

I've seen you
with your brother,

there's love,
there's caring,

there's goodness
in you.

Will you let
that goodness rise

and be the man that
God meant you to be?

- How, Father?
- I'll help you.

And we'll start
with your laundry.

Now you think
you'd know by now

that if you don't
separate your laundry,

the colors will bleed.

In the Shona Tribe
in Africa,

the living communicate
with Mwari--

that's God--

through their dead ancestors,
the Vadzimu.

The Shona believe that
all around the living

there's an invisible
community of Vadzimu

watching and caring for
their descendants.

But there's also Ngozi--

evil spirits,
the wronged,

the neglected,
the murdered--

who avenge themselves
on a family

through sudden death.

Oh, Christ.

Father!

Oh God, Father!

Father,
what's the matter?

Father!

Father!
Shit!

Help!
Help!

Help!

Come here, help!

Help!

Bring in
that crash cart!

Four, five-- one, two,
three, four, five.

Get the incubation tray.

- How is he?
- Father Meehan's dead.

Oh, fuck.

An aneurysm.
He died almost immediately.

- How did it happen?
- Who knows?

I mean, we'll do an autopsy,
try to figure out the cause, but...

But he'll still
be dead, right?

And yet, of all the ways
he could have died in Oz,

God chose
the most peaceful.

Yeah, right! When I found
Father Meehan lying on the floor,

he'd taken a shit
in his underwear.

So what does that tell you
about us human beings?

The last thing we do
before we die is shit?

Ryan, have some
respect for the man.

I do!

You know, a couple
of Sundays ago at mass,

he read the part
of the Gospel

where after Jesus was
pulled off the cross

his friends took the body down
and they washed it.

I'd like to do that.

I'd like to wash
Father Meehan's body.

Ah, I don't know.

Please?

He wanted me to pray
with him, but I never did.

Despite all that he tried
to do for me and Cyril,

I owe the man
this much, please.

...as we forgive those who
trespass against us...

Gonna ruin your eyes
reading all that small print.

They're law books.

The small print's
the best part.

- Working on an appeal?
- Yeah.

Not for me,
for Chris Keller.

I'm trying to overturn
his death sentence.

I've got my dad working
on the case too.

You're a lawyer?

Used to be.

Mail Call!

What you got for me
there, Winthrop?

"Newsweek" and
"Field and Stream."

Where's my "Swank"?

It got a little manhandled
in the mailroom.

Hey there, Beecher.

Enjoying life
in Unit "J"?

It beats bobbing for apples
with the Aryans.

Yo, come on!
Break it up, break it up!

What'd you expect?
You got Schillinger sent to solitary.

For raping you.

I told you I can take care of myself.
I have plans.

What plans?

Have a nice visit
with your kids.

How'd you know
my kids were coming?

Winthrop!

In a vote
of six to one,

we've decided to
release you from solitary,

with the understanding that
if you attempt another rape,

you will be sent
back there permanently.

Let me guess.

Sister, you were
the one dissenting vote?

Take him to Unit "B."

That was nice, prag.

May-- may I speak, sir?

Yeah well,
wipe your mouth first.

I come from
pure Aryan blood.

I have an education.

I can be of better use
to you than this.

- You want to join the Brotherhood?
- Yes.

That'd be unusual.

Usually a bitch
is a bitch is a bitch.

- I have a plan.
- That lvy League mind at work?

If Beecher gets hurt
before his parole hearing,

you go into solitary
forever, am I right?

Yeah.

Yet revenge on that scumfuck is all
you can ever think about, am I right?

- Your point?
- I'll kill Beecher's father.

- What?
- I'll cover my tracks,

pay off the C.O.s. And if I'm caught,
I'll take sole blame.

I can kill him.

I will kill him
if you promise me an upgrade.

Done.

My son Harry
is coming here today.

It's the first time
I'll be seeing him in six years.

Six years?

Yeah.
After my wife died,

my parents took the two oldest.
And Genevieve's parents,

they took Harry the baby
to live with them in San Diego.

Why haven't you
seen Harry in so long?

Everybody figured
it was for the best.

Horseshit.

A child belongs
with his father

even if his father
is behind bars.

- Hello, son.
- Dad.

- Where are the kids?
- I need to talk to you.

Guess I'll take a nap.
Wake me up for shuffleboard.

Genevieve's parents have been
staying with us for the past week.

Well, it was awkward
at first,

but Jonah and Margaret have been
working very hard to be...

well, to be
a family again,

to ease Harry back
into your life.

And?

Well, they're waiting
in the parking lot.

Harry won't get
out of the car.

Son, he's six years old.

He's terrified.

His crying
is upsetting Holly.

- It's okay, don't force him.
- We'll try again tomorrow.

No no, you know...

Iet's just
hold off, okay?

My parole hearing's
on Thursday.

If I get paroled,
I can see him at home.

Are you sure?

Yes, I can wait.

- It's just a couple more days.
- Right!

This time I know
the parole board

is going to let you out.
I know it!

In the bottom of my heart,
I know that you will be free.

So... tell me, how does
he look, my son?

Oh, well...

Iike his father.

He has his mother's eyes.

So you're going to see Chris
to talk about the appeal, right?

Yes.

Will you give him
my love?

Our current strategy is
to focus on the credibility

of the prosecution's
eyewitness, uh...

Jerry Heekin.

We've just discovered that
he'd been arrested twice

for dealing crack cocaine.

How come my other motherfucking
lawyer didn't know that?

Like the kids say,
he sucked.

Gotta calm down there,
Mr. Beecher.

- Gum?
- No, thank you.

- You don't like me, do you?
- That's beside the point.

I don't have to like you
to defend you.

- And my son--
- Loves me.

That bother you?

Yes.

That he loves a man
or that he loves me?

We're finished
for the day.

Your Honor, please instruct
the witness to answer the question.

All right.

I find you despicable.

Happy?

Just another notch
in my gun.

The trial of
Mayor Wilson Loewen

continued today at the Bankhead
State Courthouse.

Loewen was indicted
for his involvement in the 1963 murder

of two 10-year-old
African-American girls.

Prosecutors allege
that Loewen,

who was the Jackson County
Sheriff at the time,

aided and abetted members
of the Ku Klux Klan

in the brutal slayings.

I beg your pardon.

Guard!

Guard!
Guard!

Guard!

No!

Don't!

These are live images
from the east side of the city.

Looting and burning have
continued for several hours,

sparked by Governor James Devlin's
off-the-record comment

that he would pardon
Wilson Loewen

if the Mayor
is convicted.

First, let me announce

that we have put
the National Guard on alert,

though I sincerely hope
there'll be no need to activate it.

- Let me stress that violence...
- We can not lose control here!

I want the prison locked down!
Any questions?

...has never solved anything.

The only thing that's
got me more confused

than the rioting itself
is the reason for it.

I am an innocent man,

and yet you are destroying
your stores, your cars,

your neighborhoods,
all based on hearsay

with regards to the verdict
that not only has yet to be passed,

- but that will ultimately acquit me.
- Lockdown. Lockdown!

My brothers and sisters,

we must stop the violence
on our streets.

By rioting, by looting,
by destroying,

we are doing more to damage
our community

than that murderer Loewen has.

There is no victory
to be won

when we address
hate with hate.

Let us take back
our city...

Hmm.
Rest in peace.