Sucre: Are you crazy? You think I wanna break out of here? Sixteen months from now I'm out the gate. I'm getting married, Papi, and I sure as hell ain't doin it with a posse on my ass. Man I oughta beat you six days 'till Sunday. I lost my conjugals, (Spanish), because of your little parcel.
Michael: I had to test you. See if you could keep a secret.
Sucre: You want a secret, well I got a secret for you, fish. You dig in my cell when I’m there and I’m gonna split your wig. (Walks off.)
Lincoln: That went well.