A bicycle stopped at a roadside self-service burger stand. The soda machine caught the rider's eye, but he quickly headed for his favorite—the soft-serve ice cream machine. Haywire pulled the lever. A thick column of vanilla ice cream dropped into his mouth. His hands were soon covered in it.
A pleasant melody began to play. After filling his stomach with ice cream, Haywire stuck his head under the soda fountain, washing away the dust from miles of travel. Then he turned to the chocolate and strawberry syrup dispensers. He squinted, lost in a sugary paradise.
The door to the service area opened. Haywire paid no attention. An employee entered with his sexy girlfriend. Not noticing Haywire, they began having wild sex, trying various provocative positions. Haywire watched intently while sipping soda, as if viewing a pornographic film. The woman, biting her boyfriend's neck, accidentally spotted Haywire and screamed. Haywire, though mentally unstable, wasn't stupid, and promptly fled.
Lincoln parked the car near where the five million dollars was supposedly hidden. "The ranch is gone, Michael." Michael didn't give up: "But the five million under the ranch might still be there." T-Bag was his usual annoying self: "The landmarks are gone. How do you plan to find the money?" Michael snapped: "If you can't fucking remember where the cellar is, then shut the hell up!" T-Bag warned him to watch his language. Michael grabbed him by the collar. "If you can't remember the spot, you're useless to us. How do you want to die?" Tuna started banging from inside the trunk, demanding to be let out. Lincoln told him to shut up. Michael's expression frightened T-Bag, who softened his tone: "Alright, the ranch was right in the middle of this land, surrounded by trees." Michael and Lincoln looked around. They saw no old trees, except in one area. Lincoln scanned the field. "Where's the cellar?" T-Bag said, "I only remember it was among these trees. How was I to know they'd flatten the place? Sorry, but I don't have Rain Man's photographic memory."
Meanwhile, in the Salt Lake City FBI office, Mahone was speaking with a man named Lyle Sanderson. Lyle said all Salt Lake City police officers were at Mahone's disposal. Mahone asked him to pull the thirty-year-old case file on Charles "DB Cooper" Westmoreland. Lyle asked, puzzled, "Aren't you here for the Fox River fugitives?" Mahone replied, "Those fugitives are coming to dig up Cooper's money. Get me the file."