All language subtitles for The_Wire_-_S01E04_-_Old_Cases_551f082a440c964294ffab70080d335a.mp4

Fuck me.

I'm dying here.

Let me get on the other side,
work it from there.

One, two.

-Three.
-Three.

Shit.

Need help?

Right. On three, motherfuckers.
One, two, three.

I'm embarrassed for you all.

Yo, Herc, I catch my breath,
I'm gonna shoot the drawers off this bitch.

It's caught on something, Lieutenant.

Get over there with Carver.

One, two, you know what to do.

What the fuck?

Jesus. My ass is kicked.

I could move it a bit when I was alone.
It must've got wedged in the door somehow.

Desk is empty, right?

-Yeah.
-You checked it?

At this rate, we're never gonna get it in.

What?

In?

In.

Unbelievable, unbe-fucking-lievable.

Christ.

This case is a bit humble for you.

I know it doesn't look like much on paper,
but see what you can do.

-Making new friends?
-Not yet.

I spent the morning down in juvenile court...

but the kids know they can't be hurt
with a street-weight charge...

so didn't get much there.

You tried?

Nothing like being told,
"Fuck off," by a 14-year-old.

-Right here's our best shot.
-Him?

Hand-to-hand with Bubbles,
and he's carrying a long-ass sheet.

All right. Who's first? Ms. Dawkins?

State versus Marvin Browning, Your Honor.

One count distribution of a controlled
substance, to wit, heroin...

and one count distribution of a controlled
substance, to wit, cocaine.

-Quantity?
-One gelcap and one vial, Your Honor.

Bail recommendation?

State requests defendant be held,
as he is part of a continuing investigation...

and further, is subject to a mandatory
five years without parole...

because of prior convictions.

Will your office be seeking
the mandatory five in this case?

Absolutely, Your Honor.

Very well, I'll take that into consideration.

Got his attention, at least.

Lieutenant, come have a taste.

Come on, we're celebrating.

Patrick's going out on medical.

Sweet, sweet Cervical 6.

My shoulder's numb, my arm's numb.

My fingers feel like they belong to
some son of a bitch in the next county.

This is my ticket out of
this rat-shit department.

66 2l3% pension,
and I don't have to wait for my 30.

-I'm gone.
-Fucking yo did you a favor.

Kid hit like a mule, I've got to say.

You should take a couple of days.
Think it over before you put in papers.

My brother-in-law's got
a video store out on Moravia.

Does $6,000 a week straight rentals,
another $8,000 in porn.

He needs a partner.

But they take that off
the top of a medical pension.

If you report it as income, they do.
Do I look that fucking stupid?

Have a nice life, Lieutenant.

What's with you?

You gonna miss me, Augs?

What the fuck am I going to do, Paddy?

Tell you what.

-What do you say we go out together?
-What do you mean?

I mean, it only hurts for a minute.
And it doesn't have to be line-of-duty either.

I'm serious. You know those stairs where
they send us down to the basement?

-Yeah.
-It's dark down there.

You go up eight or nine steps,
let go of the rail, take a little jump--

-I'd break my fucking neck like that.
-You don't break nothing.

You do a little dance on those steps,
you're up to two-thirds with me.

And maybe you sue the city,
get a little more.

Can't say we don't deserve it.

Five in. For a one-and-one.

Now, why bang me like that
for a one-and-one?

Because it's your turn, Mr. Browning.
Everybody out there gets a turn.

You're all running wild here.
I think a judge might want to...

take a look at this
and slow you all down a mite.

I don't know, Marvin.
I'm looking at your sheet here, and...

for one thing, it's a little wrong
to be calling it a sheet.

More like a book.

Point is, we got the room
to get a little crazy on you.

Like she said, it's your turn.

Tell us some stories,
it could be somebody else's turn.

Stories.

Avon Barksdale.

Know the name?

Every motherfucker up in them towers
knows the name.

Myself, I ain't never really
had a word with the man.

Stringer Bell, then?

Wee-Bey? Savino?
Stinkum? C.C.O.? Roc-Roc?

Who're you gonna give us, Marvin?

You don't say a name soon,
you're gonna be courtside.

All right.

All right, what?

All right, I'll take the years.

Damn, boy.

You should see the cop.

When you're ready to get up, put that on.

-Report to bunk A-7.
-A-7.

Don't be later than breakfast.

Who else is up in here?
Anybody from Westside?

D.C. boys, mostly.

Long fucking drive.
Me and you drawing another shit detail.

-This ain't a shit detail.
-No?

I'm in Upper fucking Marlboro, Maryland,
and still going south.

Look. Another cow.

Use your imagination.

This little shitbird, having already been
whipped good by us once...

he sees us, right?
And he starts crying like a little bitch...

because he knows we drove
all the way to Prince George's...

for more of his ass, right?

Imagine we jack him up,
toss him into a small room...

and tell him that Detective Mahone
is near dead from the sucker punch.

No shit. The drunk old fuck
suddenly slipped into a coma.

And now the Commissioner and
Mrs. Mahone are at his bedside in the ICU.

And we've been ordered to come down here,
rip off his scrotum, put it in a jar...

and drive it back to Baltimore, so it can sit
with the fucking bowling trophies...

behind the bar at the FOP Lodge.

All right? After which...

fucknuts stops whimpering long enough...

to just start giving people up, whoever.

Stringer Bell. Avon Barksdale.

-Yeah?
-Yeah.

Little prick turns on everybody...

and we break the case wide open.

-Cool.
-Right?

So, from all them hand-to-hands,
nobody flipped?

No, that part of town,
Barksdale carries more weight than we do.

Just like all these fucking homicides.

Witnesses lying, witnesses paid off,
witnesses backing up on their story.

-Can you blame them?
-Not really.

Every now and then, we visit the projects.
They live there.

-Your man's Dee, right?
-D'Angelo, yeah.

This one's got a Dee as a possible shooter.

-This one connects.
-No way.

Yeah? I'm seeing it.

-It's Diedre Kresson, one of Keeley's cases.
-Come on, Jay, this is a college girl...

blown up in the kitchen
of an apartment up in Northeast.

How does this match with the rest
of the Westside mopes?

-They don't have cars?
-This doesn't match, Jay.

It does. Take a look at your office report.

A witness puts her
with a Dee the night she's aced.

How many Dees do you think
there are in the system, Jay?

As a street name?

Let me ask you something, Jimmy.

How many case files you got
that you're putting on Barksdale?

-Maybe a dozen.
-A dozen cases.

So, how many of those are from our squad?

One. Gerard Bogue.

One case?
Your squad's down a man for weeks, Jimmy.

We're gonna be humping your calls,
catching your cases...

hopping around like a one-legged pigtown
whore on check day, and for what?

So that you can have your big adventure
and solve everybody else's cases?

Is this what I'm hearing?

He's got you, Jimmy.

Where's the love, McNulty?
Show me some fucking love.

-All right.
-Attaboy. He's my son.

Why don't you just dump
this loser on Santangelo?

He's supposed to be down here
helping us, anyway.

I would if I could find the fucker.
Must have another job, he's gone so much.

-What does Daniels have to say about that?
-Nothing, I cover for him.

He was out in the wind there
all day yesterday, half the day before.

Man, Keeley really dogged this one.

Ain't nothing in here but a 24
and some crime scene photos, and this.

"Tywanda called.
N.F.D., no last name, no address.

"Claims your victim killed
after being visited by a suspect named Dee."

No further description.

There's a callback number, though.

So, call.

The number you have reached
has been disconnected.

Disconnected.

"He got you, Jimmy."

All right, motherfucker, he got me, too.

So, I'm gonna call Verizon,
see if they got a fresh listing.

You happy now, bitch?

You sure about that tag, Bubs?

I seen the van.

It cleared the Court
and rolled up Amity toward Lexington.

Plates were reported stolen off a car parked
right here, on this block.

So you're thinking they're from
right around here?

Maybe.

Word in the Towers said
it was Omar and his crew.

-Omar? Who's he?
-You ain't know Omar?

Omar, the terror. Been ripping and robbing
out here for years now.

-Is he fierce?
-That nigger don't play.

-Got a last name?
-Just Omar.

He don't need no last name.

Who's his family?

You remember No-Heart Anthony?
Came up with him, they brothers.

No-Heart Anthony?

Miss Kima, do not tell me
you don't remember No-Heart Anthony.

Damn, girl. What town you been policing at
all these years?

And right now, I am personally
ashamed to be your snitch.

-Shit.
-What?

-I'm late for my class.
-Class?

-1 2-14.
-12-14?

Requesting anyone in my unit who's up
to report to Channel 13.

35, I got that.

Package be moving.

Avon's stuff always be good.

It's a sweet score?

It's all right.

That play was a little bit
raggedy in there, though.

I fucked up, I know, letting go your name.

I don't really care you shouted me out.

Everybody in these projects
been knowing Omar, you heard?

I just don't want them
coming down on you, baby-boy.

Shirley coming with her game.

-Every fucking day with that shit.
-Mr. Omar?

My check late.

Yo, Mike. Hook a sister up, yo.

So, what next, yo?

Got some iron.

Thinking about working
the flush-and-run over on the Eastside...

till things cool a mite.

That'll work.

-So you don't want to lay over here tonight?
-No.

-Sure?
-No, I'm gonna go see my mom.

-Keep it close.
-I hear that.

Who the man?

I gotta be somewhere first,
but I'll run him back downtown after.

No problem, thanks for answering.

-Bubbs.
-McNulty.

What's up?

You ever heard of No-Heart Anthony?

Who, Anthony Little?
1058 Argyle, Apartment 16-J.

He's up in Hagerstown on a robbery bit.
What about him?

My man.

Fuck y'all.

You know how the cracker motherfuckers do
when they kill a deer?

Or, like, when they go out
killing animals and whatnot?

Got them on the front of the truck...

tied up, stretched out,
so everybody could see it?

You feel me?

I'm serious, that's what I want.

I want that motherfucker on display.

I'm gonna send a message
to the courtyard about this motherfucker...

so people know we ain't playing.

Yeah, we got people on it.

You tell them it's $1,000 on the bucks...

and it's $2,000 on Omar.

-Yeah, Bird's on it.
-Savino, too.

You know, Bird jailed
with Omar down the cut, right?

He said he all a faggot.

A faggot? Get the fuck out of here.

Yeah, said he had a whole
stable of boys down in Jessup.

This punk motherfucker got even less use
for pussy now that he home.

So, he gotta a lotta heart for a cocksucker?

Yo, we doubling down
on Sweet Lips, all right?

We make it motherfucking $4,000 on him...

$6,000 if I get the chance to
holler at him before he get got.

-Say no more.
-Take care of all that.

Stickup come up dead
on the stash one night.

-Police jumping out the next.
-Something up at the Pit?

Maybe, yeah.

-What's up with my nephew?
-I don't know. He doing good.

He making that money out the hole, but...

he might have a problem
he don't know about.

I'm on him.

Yo, where in
Leave it to Beaver-land are you taking me?

I'm late for something.

I'll drop you after,
on the way back downtown.

-What you late for?
-Soccer.

Suck what?

Get in the goal!

Spread it out, spread it out, there you go.

First team, fall in!

-Dad!
-Mikey, how are you?

-Who's winning?
-They are, 4-1 .

4-1? Who got the goal for you guys?

-Ricardo, my assist.
-Assist? That's good.

You've got to drink on the breaks, okay?
I don't want you to get dehydrated.

-Hi.
-Hey.

This is Bubbles.

-Hi.
-Second team, come on!

-Go on, Mike, go get 'em.
-Bye, Dad.

You're late. He thought you weren't
gonna come this time either.

This job, you know this job.

I can't get out here
when he gets off the bus at 4:00.

I need more than every other weekend.
He needs me more, so does Sean.

I'm not giving up any more weekends.

50-50 split's all my lawyer says
I have to give--

It's not 50-50 if I don't
see him all goddamn week.

-You see him every day--
-Don't curse at me. My lawyer says--

Fuck your lawyer.

Fuck you.

-Did you see?
-Yeah, I saw.

Come on, you get out.

This good for you?

Thin line between heaven and here.

How did he know where the stash at?
The knockos don't know, but he do.

Because some nigger's snitching.

Man, ain't nobody got to be snitching
for Omar or his boys...

to creep by and see where the stash at.

-Damn, Bodie. Fucked that nigger up.
-They stomped his ass.

-Damn, Bodie. Fucked that nigger up.
-They stomped his ass.

How he ain't courtside
for banking a knocko?

Boy, how you get home so quick?

-Nigger, what you steal?
-Camry XLE.

You all want a ride?
It's right around the corner.

Man, Boy's Village ain't shit.

I'm just too bad for that off-brand
little-boy bullshit, man.

It can't hold me.

What you laughing at? What's so funny?

If you was me,
your ass would still be down there.

You ever seen a city jail, nigger?

You ever caught a body?

I'm the one who just got home, remember?

Eight months over on Eager Street
with a body on me.

-Yeah, you got the one.
-Yeah, the one you know about.

You little motherfuckers need to ask around.

Yo, out near the county, right,
on the high end of the Eastside?

They got these apartments, out there, right?

So there was this little shorty
who used to stay out there.

She was, like....

I ain't seen a female that fine since.

I gotta say, Shorty was right.

You fucked her?

No, man, it wasn't like that.

This was a shorty
my uncle was messing with.

They was going on at it for a little while...

till she find out that my uncle got another
little shorty round the way.

More right to say he got a few of them
around the way...

know what I'm saying?

So, she goes off the hook,
talking about calling the police...

about shit she ain't supposed to know.

-Oh, shit.
-Yeah, you know it.

But see, I got some creep to me,
and my uncle, he know that shit.

So they roll me out past her crib.

And they show me how she lives
right on the ground floor, first level.

I go creeping around the back,
to the back window.

I got the .45 on me, the big gun.

I walk up to the window and I look in,
and it's dark as shit...

because it's 3:00 a.m.,
and you can't see shit.

What did you do?

So I pulled out the piece...

and I start tapping with the back of it
on the window.

And it was quiet, but it was loud enough
so she can hear that shit.

That's what she heard, yo.
Sure enough, she comes out.

She's naked and shit.

I don't know why the fuck,
but she has a robe...

and as she slipping on her robe,
she turns on the light...

and when she does that,
and it's light on the inside...

she can't see shit on the outside.

Damn, she naked.

She hears that shit on the window
and she ain't got no choice...

but to walk over there and see what it is.

She steps up...

Iooks out...

see where it's coming from.

What happened?

He shot her.

Yo, Dee, if she was all that,
why didn't you fuck her first?

-Nigger, you sick, just shut up.
-What? I'm just saying....

There is something seriously wrong.

This is ridiculous.

Because a lab freezer goes out
with an electrical short...

blood samples in 56 homicides...

15 rapes, are allowed to putrefy.

-State's attorney knows?
-The mayor, too.

Most of our trace lab is now 25 years old.

You ever go outside for money?
The non-profits?

Such as?

The Abell Foundation, for one.
My brother's on the board.

If you want me to run it up there for you....

-You could swing that?
-Never hurts to ask, does it?

It never does, Your Honor.

So, in that same spirit...

where are we with the Barksdale probe?

My other reason for stopping by.

Hand-to-hands and search-and-seizures,
I've heard about these.

Some mid-level players caught up,
as you can see.

Look, it's not a knockout blow,
but we sent a clear message.

I don't see Barksdale's name anywhere...

or Bell, or anything about the murders.

The casework, it goes towards that.

No.

So, we've got work to do, don't we?

Police, open the damn door!

-What?
-Open the motherfucking door!

-Upstairs front clear.
-Kitchen's clear.

I'm at the backdoor.

-Anybody pop out here?
-Okay, quiet.

Upstairs rear, clear.

I'm gonna beat this bitch
like a red-headed stepchild...

for hiding up in this pisshole.

Goddamn creepy crawlers everywhere.

Tell Bodie we're on his ass.

I'm sorry for cursing at the door.

I mean, I couldn't see that it was only you.

Is it the drugs again?

Would you like to sit down?

Preston came to me when my daughter died.

He was four years old.

But even then, I knew he was angry.

His mother lived out there, caught up in it.

After a while, you couldn't make her
see nothin' else.

No, man, that wasn't us.

2:30 in the towers?
You guys are crazy, man.

I don't know what you're talkin' about.

So, how you think you gonna carry it?

I'm sorry, ma'am.

And I'm sorry for the way
we came through here.

If Preston comes past...

give him this...

and tell him we need to talk, okay?

I'm sorry.

What the fuck you doing in there?

Talking.

-Talking?
-Yeah.

-See you later.
-All right, catch you later.

I'm driving.

Yeah?

McNulty.

Some judge for you.

Yeah?

Look, can I call you back?

-Major, sir?
-Yeah.

I've been thinkin'.

It's a clear violation of the general orders,
I know, but....

Last night, I'm at home,
I'm sittin' up buck naked.

And I got one hand wrapped around
a cold domestic beer...

and the other wrapped around
my magnificent, flaccid...

four-and-one-half inch wonder,
and I am trying with all my might...

to remember what Leila Kaufman's nipples
looked like...

when her bathing top slipped off
at the Hillendale pool swim party.

-Leila Kaufman?
-Yes, sir.

Summer of '72.

I got this saucy wench
in my gun-sights, so to speak...

and I am dangerously...

close to engorged...

when all of a fuckin' sudden,
out of fuckin' nowhere...

fuckin' Detective, fuckin' Jimmy McNulty
pops into my head.

McNulty?

Obviously, I gotta open my eyes
and admit to myself...

that my whole night is ruined.

At which point, I got nothing to do...

but think about the problems
of Jimmy McNulty.

Because, clearly, this guy...

and his fuckin' problems are standing
between me and all worldly pleasure.

Clearly.

First of all, it's not Jimmy's fault.

-No?
-No.

Jimmy is an addict, sir.

What's he addicted to?

Himself.

It's not funny, sir.

As a matter of fact,
it's a fuckin' tragedy is what it is.

The guy, he has come to believe...

that he is always the smartest fuck
in the room.

And you know what? It's not his fault,
because let's face it...

he's not going to Johns Hopkins
or joining Mensa...

he's taking a fuckin' job
with the Baltimore Police Department.

His first two years in Homicide,
he's in Ulmansky's squad...

partnered with Tony Lamartino.

Christ, it must've been months even...

he was the smartest fuck
in the fuckin' room.

What's your point, Jay?

My point is...

he can't help it.

It makes him an asshole, I know...

but it's also what makes him good police.

Last year, he gives me eight clearances.

One of them was a decomp floater...

who was John Doe for three weeks.

Tell your boy to wrap up that bullshit detail
in two weeks.

He does that, he comes home, clean slate.

You would've loved it.

Burrell is sittin' across from me
with a handful ofstreet-level arrests...

pretendin' he has a plan.

So, what did you tell him?

"Never shit a shitter, Deputy. "
That's what I fuckin' told him.

-I did good, right, Jimmy?
-I gotta go.

"Discuss the Hicks ruling
as a manifestation...

"of the judiciary's attempt
to maintain a speedy disposition...

"of criminal cases within
a modern court system."

What?

That's what I said.

"What?"

What the hell's the Hicks ruling?

Did you highlight my sofa?

What? No.

Yes, you did.

That was there from before.

Hell it was.
Damn, Kima, marker does not come out.

-No, I didn't do it, I swear.
-Okay, let me see the marker.

You want my marker,
I need to see a warrant.

I'm serious, I need to see
some probable cause.

I'm gonna beat your ass.
How about that for probable cause?

-Give me the marker.
-Damn, gettin' all violent and shit.

You know you just violated my civil rights?

That's it, new rule: no marker on the couch.

You get over to that table over there
and do your homework.

Go. Take it and go.

Gimme my marker.

I'm gonna need some club soda.

Damn, girl, this cell phone bill
must eat up the paycheck.

No, most of that's work,
it's on the company.

Phelan won't let go.

Are we anywhere close on Barksdale?

-No, sir.
-So, what are you telling me?

I'm not telling you anything, sir.
I'm waiting for you to tell me.

I can do whatever
you need me to do with this.

If you want me to push it further,
I can do that.

If you want it to go away....

If you wanna bring in someone else,
maybe do things differently.

You looking for the back door, Lieutenant?

Already?

McNulty says this case needs a wire.

You think he's right?

It needs somethin'.

Just climb your ass up the pole, man.

No, man. This'll work.

I'm not climbin' no damn ladder.

You never gonna hit it, man.

Bomb!

-Housing must think we just dumb.
-Is that--

-That's your pager or mine?
-That's me.

-Yo, watch that shit on my head.
-Man, it ricocheted off the fuckin' camera.

Yeah, you need some aim.

Yo, who this?

So, what do you think?

Title 3?

Right, but it's not for a wiretap.
It's to clone a pager, I got it from Pearlman.

-Pagers?
-Some kind of throwback thing.

-You mean, why not cell phones?
-Right. Who uses pagers anymore?

Tell you what, I was checking out
a wireless bill last night.

Every incoming call was listed.

Right. So, if we get Barksdale's pager,
we might get off the street.

Maybe even trace some supply.

So, who's No-Heart Anthony?

No-Heart ran drugs in the homes
in the early '90s.

So, a couple years back, I don't know why...

he finds himself in Randallstown,
tryin' to take off a jewelry store.

He fucks it up, half the county
chases him back downtown.

And I guess No-Heart figures
he's not up for doing the time...

'cause he puts a .44 against his chest,
pulls the trigger.

A .44?

It's a contact wound.

Wakes up two hours later
in the University ER.

-With a new nickname.
-Right.

Bubbles says it's Anthony's brother...

who took off with the Barksdale stash
the other night.

Dude named Omar.

It's not the easiest trade, you know,
robbin' dealers.

Man like that is likely to have
a weapon on him.

We jack him up, there's a charge to work off.

And if he knows where
the Barksdale stash is...

he probably knows a whole lot more.

See? Another plan.

The thing is, we're gonna have to sell this.

You wanna raise it with Daniels?

He'll listen to you more than me.

Where's Santangelo?

He's at ECU. He's got a case going today.

As of today, I haven't heard anything
to the contrary, so...

we're gonna press on.

Ideas?

We could continue with the busts.

But I don't think that's gonna
get us too far off the street.

On the other hand, the people we pulled in
last week had pagers.

So did D'Angelo Barksdale
when McNulty jacked him up.

We could clone a couple of pagers,
see where that takes us.

-Clone what?
-Their pagers.

They get beeped, we get beeped.
We see who's calling, from what number.

If they're all that,
why are they still using pagers?

Why not un-ass a few dollars
for cell phones?

It's a discipline.

You can't bug a pager.

But you can't make a call
with a pager, either.

You're gonna want a pen register
on all the payphones in the low-rises...

and any other phones
that link to the pagers.

What would it take to do the pagers?

A wiretap affidavit.

I think we got enough PC
from the hand-to-hands and surveillance.

We got most of the exhaustion.

I'm exhausted just listening to this shit.

Good. Exhaustion is a legal requirement
for using electronic intercepts.

We gotta prove nothing else works.

See, we did the raids, we made the arrests,
but nobody flipped.

We don't have an informant
who takes us anywhere above the street.

That's pretty much exhaustion.

All we got left to do now
is follow one of these mopes...

and prove to ourselves we can't do it.

We try to show a judge we can't make...

the case by following these guys,
and we can't.

How can we keep on any of them
when they're in those towers?

But you gotta show you tried.

Do we have a pager number?

This was written on the stash house wall...

with the letter "D" next to it.

Is that D'Angelo? Did you check it?

It's him.

Let's do this.

What does he want us to do?
I don't understand.

I'll explain it to you if you buy me breakfast.

Will you explain to me again...

why I'm about to rework
a six-month-old crime scene?

Look at this narrow-ass file.
Keeley didn't do shit on this.

He did the scene, though.

This is Keeley we're talking about.

Fucking Jay and his leaps of logic.

This case is nowhere near
anything we're doing.

So? Give it a shake or two anyhow.

-Make a sergeant happy.
-Whatever.

Do you know Lester Freamon?

A little. Why?

He's with us on this Barksdale thing.

I thought you said they gave you humps.

He looks like a hump, he acts like a hump,
sittin' there, playing with his toy furniture.

Jimmy, he makes more money off of
that shit than you do off of this job.

-Don't let Lester fool you.
-He did already.

Today in roll call, he showed something.

Hey, he's natural police.

He used to be Homicide.

-Why did he leave?
-Ask him.

-This is the one?
-Yup. Hasn't been rented since.

Fuck.

Motherfucker.

Fucking fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What the fuck?

Fuck.

Fuck.

-No.
-Fuck.

Fuck it.

Fuck.

Motherfuck.

Fuck.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Motherfucker.

Fuckin' A.

Fuck.

Check this.

Motherfucker.

Fuck me.

Sydnor's on foot, Carv's in the car...

Herc, you need to be
on top of the roof behind Amity.

Again, I get the shit detail?

The plan is to stay on D'Angelo.

If we lose him, we lose him, right?

We're gonna lose him.

You can't follow people in the towers.

You can't hang in the low-rises
unless you got a reason.

Just to make sure,
we want to lose him, right?

Losin' him is good?

Right.

Then why the fuck do this?

Come on, Herc.
Roll with me on this one, all right?

So, you're police after all.

You know what you doing,
but you ain't been doing it.

How long you been in the Pawnshop unit?

13 years and four months.

-13 years?
-And four months.

I gotta ask you...

what exactly does a police officer assigned
to the Pawnshop unit do?

You intake reports
from registered pawnshops...

on all items valued over $50.

Then you make an index card for that item.

Then you file that index card.

If someone wants to find out
if something stolen was pawned...

we see if we have an index card.

If we do, we do, if we don't, we don't.

-You did that for 13 years?
-And four months.

Why'd you ask out of Homicide?

Wasn't no ask about it.

You got the boot?

What'd you do to piss them off?

Police work.

I think I need to buy you a drink.

Just one?

Caught this case in a Brooklyn home
in the summer of '87.

80-year-old woman, stabbed up...

nightgown, in bed,
forced window, rear entry.

Worked it for a couple of weeks.

Got the names of two squirrels
over in Curtis Bay.

Squirrel number one gives it up...

and tries to put all the weight
on squirrel number two.

Back up the statements?

Print it on the rear window for number two...

another one for number one
on the medicine chest.

So, it's down, yeah?

Even better when squirrel number one
drives it by the house...

where they fenced the old lady's shit:

clock-radio, TV, toaster oven.

So, what's the problem?

The problem is the fence.

Turned out he was the son
of one of the big editors...

over at the News America.

This man is running
the afternoon newspaper...

and his son is getting all fucked up...

doin' the dirt and getting high
down in Locust Point.

The deputy, who I guess
is in a favor-doin' mood...

sends word down to the major...

I'm supposed to make
the case without the fence.

Just the print hits and the statement.
Play it like that.

So, he's doin' this for what?

To have some newspaper guy in his pocket?

Yeah, I guess so.

Is this Burrell?

No, no, Mueller. Deputy Ops before Burrell.

So, what did you do?

What do you think I did?

I charged him with receiving,
then had his ass testify.

You could've made the case without him.
Just on the prints and the statements.

Probably, yup.

Why didn't you?

Why?

Why are you fuckin' up yourself
chasing Avon Barksdale?

A week after trial ends, Major comes to me...

asks me where I want to go.

I tell him, I don't care,
I like to be outside, you know?

Give me a goddamn foot-post...

I'll still make my money, you know...

send my ass up to Edmondson Avenue,
I don't give a shit.

You went to a foot-post?

Major come back,
asks me where I don't want to go.

And he asks it like
he wanna make sure I land okay.

So, I tell him, I don't want
no fuckin' paper-shuffle.

No office shit.

Send my black ass outside
and let me police somewhere.

Pawnshop unit.

They got me good.

So, why'd they let you out of the box?
Why now?

I guess they just forgot about me.

Shit, Lester.

You back from the dead?

You rolled away the stone.

Bunk Moreland says you're natural police.
One of the few.

Yeah, I've had my moments.

Detective...

when they ask you where you wanna go...

and they are gonna ask you
where you wanna go...

do yourself a favor...

keep your mouth shut.

I gotta take a tinkle, boy.

-I got it.
-All right.

Hello.

-Is Kima there?
-And you are?

Tell her it's McNulty.

For you, Kima,
a decidedly confused white boy.

God.

How'd it go today?

Lost him in the 221 .

Picked him back up in the low-rises...

and then lost him
on Schroeder Street after dark.

Nicely done.

-Are you okay to drive?
-Yeah, I'm fine.

I just wanted to thank you.

For what?

For today, you know, with Daniels.

-You should be thanking Lester.
-I did.

I just wanted to thank you, too,
Detective Greggs.

No problem. Good night.

That it is.

What'd I miss?

Nothin' much.

Lovelorn?

Worse. Lonely.

You didn't make it into class again today.

You said you'd stick with it.

I'm tryin'.

Things are hot right now.

I'm doing the best I can.

You said yourself,
you need to do somethin' else.

Somethin' better for us.

You promised.

Man.

What am I gonna do with you?

You know better women than you
have fallen for my tricks, right?

What have you got under this?