The Wire (2002–2008): Season 1, Episode 1 - The Target - full transcript

-So, your boy's name is what?
-Snot.

-You called the guy Snot?
-Snotboogie, yeah.

"Snotboogie."

He like the name?

-What?
-Snotboogie.

This kid whose mama went to the trouble
of christening him Omar lsaiah Betts?

You know, he forgets his jacket...

so his nose starts running,
and some asshole...

instead of giving him a Kleenex,
he calls him "Snot."

So, he's "Snot" forever.

Doesn't seem fair.

Life just be that way, I guess.

So who shot Snot?

I ain't going to no court.

Motherfucker ain't have
to put no cap in him though.

Definitely not.

He could've just whipped his ass,
like we always whip his ass.

-I agree with you.
-He gonna kill Snot.

Snot been doing the same shit
since I don't know how long.

Kill a man over some bullshit.

I'm saying, every Friday night...

in the alley behind the cut-rate,
we rolling bones, you know?

All the boys from around the way,
we roll till late.

Alley crap game, right?

And like every time,
Snot, he'd fade a few shooters.

Play it out till the pot's deep.
Then he'd snatch and run.

-Every time?
-Couldn't help hisself.

Let me understand you.

Every Friday night,
you and your boys would shoot crap, right?

And every Friday night,
your pal Snotboogie...

he'd wait till there was cash on the ground,
then grab the money and run away?

-You let him do that?
-We catch him and beat his ass.

But ain't nobody ever go past that.

I gotta ask you.

If every time Snotboogie
would grab the money and run away...

why'd you even let him in the game?

What?

If Snotboogie always stole the money,
why'd you let him play?

Got to. This America, man.

-Guess what he says.
-What?

"Gotta let him play, this America."

No fucking way.

-Would I make it up?
-He give you the shooter?

Three Newports and a Grape Nehi
he's grand juried.

It's down, Bunk.
Barksdale's in Part 1 2, right?

Project murder, Westside.

-Which one, now?
-Never mind.

Gonna sit in on it for a bit.
Where you gonna be?

I'm gonna drop this off on Nathan,
then I'm going to the office.

-Don't answer no phones, Bunk.
-Yeah, yeah.

And is that your signature
on that photo array card?

Yes.

And those are your initials as well,
next to the photo you identified?

Yes.

Mr. Gant, do you see the man you identified
from that photo array card...

sitting in the courtroom today?

He's right there.

For the record, the witness
has identified the defendant...

D'Angelo Barksdale.

-Your witness.
-Thank you.

Just one question, Mr. Gant.

Have you ever seen this young man
before the day in question?

-No.
-No further questions, your honor.

You're excused, Mr. Gant.
Call your next witness.

State calls Nakeisha Lyles, Your Honor.

Do you promise to tell
the truth, the whole truth...

and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

I do.

-Ma'am, can you state your name, please?
-Nakeisha Lyles.

-And are you employed?
-Yes, I am.

-And what is your occupation, Ms. Lyles?
-I'm a security guard.

And were you employed as a security guard
on May 4, the day of the shooting?

-What were your duties on that date?
-I was in the booth of 221 .

And is that the guard booth in the lobby
of the Fremont Avenue high-rise?

Yes.

And you're behind bullet-proof glass,
with a clear view of the lobby?

-Yeah.
-Good.

Now, Ms. Lyles, I know
this may be difficult for you...

but can you tell us what you saw?

A man, you know,
he was waiting for the elevator...

and when another man
just starts beating on him...

and like, the one man,
he got knocked down--

-The victim got knocked down?
-No, the man with the gun.

The man who was knocked down had a gun.

And do you see that man
in the courtroom today?

Nope.

Excuse me?

He ain't here.

You don't....

You testified.

Ms. Lyles, do you remember
when Detective Barlow...

showed you this photo array?

-Yeah.
-Good.

I call your attention to your initials
which identify this photo...

as the man who shot Mr. Blanchard.

Did you write your initials
above that photograph?

He ain't the one that did the shooting.

But you identified him.

That's 'cause
he looked like the boy that did it.

See, the one that did it,
I saw him come in the building a week later.

You saw someone else
you thought did the shooting?

Right, a week later.

Ms. Lyles, when you spoke
with the detectives...

you never said anything about--

I tried. I called Detective....

Yeah, Detective Barlow on May 13th at 2:00.

-But he didn't call me back.
-Nicely done.

-You called Detective Barlow?
-Yeah, twice.

Yeah, I wrote it down in the log.

-I need a price for pressure-treated.
-$14.

That's the price that
you were going to quote me?

Do you feel that, Mikey, do you feel it?

'Cause I swear to God
that is my fucking dick in your ear.

-That's nice.
-Hang on, you fucking thief.

What's up?

-You been down the hall lately?
-What?

Your case just hit the wall.
Barksdale's crew, they turned it.

Two eyewitnesses and a statement.
No fucking way, pal.

You listen to me, you little shit,
there is no way in hell I am paying that.

No.

You use my goddamn car
to chauffeur that dusty bitch around.

-Yo, ease up.
-You don't understand.

-I did it for that man and he do this.
-Getting heated ain't gonna help.

-Greggs, what's your bird saying?
-It ain't what she says.

Yeah? What do you say?

I say we wait, shithead.

-That's him.
-All right, easy, girl.

-Yo, Herc, you got that?
-Yeah, we see.

-Are the uniforms on the horn?
-They're on hold.

-That's Ghost.
-All right, good, Tiff.

Now tell me what I'm seeing, girl.

-He gonna get little Mike.
-Then what?

Mike come back with the money.

Wait on the drop,
take the car when it's deep in the block.

-I don't want no foot chase.
-Copy.

Got it.

Go, go, go. The driver's mine.

Get the house on the left.

Get down. Get on the ground.

Get up.

-Put your hands behind your head.
-Get your hands up.

Shut the engine.
Get that motherfucker around the corner.

Hand the keys out.
Drop the keys out of the car.

Drop them now. Get out of the car.

Get down right here, right here.

Passenger, put your hands
out of the car window.

Both hands out of the car window.
Use your right hand, open up the car door.

Slowly. Step out of the car.

Down on the ground.

That's it, take his ass to jail.

-You got him, Carv?
-I got him.

-Look at this shit.
-Cross your legs.

Look at this.

You see what he did?
Do you see what he did?

Why he throw the gun on my car?
Shit gonna scratch the paint.

-Stay in the car.
-Tell him to leave my car be.

-Stay in the fucking car.
-That shit just ain't right.

Whatcha doing with something like that?

What you got here?

You should've seen
the way this bitch was looking at me, Kima.

Ugly little fucker almost shit his pants
he was so scared.

Right?

Two guns, remember?

-Two?
-It's all good, Kima, ease up.

All rise.

Part 1 2 of the Circuit Court
of Baltimore City is now in session.

Be seated.

Madame Forelady,
you have a unanimous verdict?

As to the defendant D'Angelo Barksdale...

how say you to the charge of murder
in the first degree?

Not guilty.

How say you to the charge of murder
in the second degree?

Not guilty.

Yeah.

-That's what I'm talking about.
-Be seated.

It's you, daddy, yeah, that's right.

-At least you made them work for it.
-Be seated.

The jury is to be thanked
for its services in this case.

Deputies will return
defendant Barksdale to pre-trial...

for processing prior to his release.

Think I give a fuck?
I'll be chalking you off one night.

-You have a nice day.
-Yo, Stringer, let's go.

Detective?

Detective. Judge asked to speak with you.

-What the hell happened out there?
-We lost.

Were you on this?

-The case?
-Yeah.

No, it was Barlow,
with an assist from McLarney.

If it was Barlow's case,
why are you in court?

No reason.

You just like coming to court
on murders you don't even work?

Just for the thrill of it?

When you start coming with the customers...

it's time to get out of the business.

You shouldn't talk dirty
now that you're a judge.

Now that I'm a judge,
I can say anything I damn please.

That Barksdale kid,
he's a cousin to Avon Barksdale.

-Who?
-Avon Barksdale, Stringer Bell.

The crew that's been running
Franklin Terrace for a year.

Stringer Bell?

That was him in court
with the legal pad and the glasses...

scaring the living shit out of every witness.

Him and the rest of his crew,
Wee-Bey, Savino, Stinkum.

-I saw them.
-You think about clearing the court?

On what basis?
It's an open court in a free nation of laws.

I thought it was Baltimore.

Barksdale has five out of seven towers
in the Terrace.

That's 10 stairwells in five high-rises,
going 24l7 for dope and coke.

And that's just the towers.

The low-rises,
the avenue corners, they're all his, too.

How do you know this?

-Everybody knows it.
-Define "everybody".

Everybody on the Westside.

Barksdale and Bell, they're the new power.

I mean, they've dropped
10 or 1 2 bodies in as many months.

Beat three cases in court
doing the same thing they just did.

-Who's working on them?
-In the department?

Nobody, really.

We're a little busy
doing street rips, you know.

Community policing and all that.

So, if it's not your case, why do you care?

Who said I did?

One more time.

Stop playing....

Fuck me.

You got submission numbers for the ECU?

-Nope.
-Get them.

-Why me?
-You want the collar, do the submissions.

-You giving me the start?
-It's your turn.

What's the extension for ECU?

Do I look like your bitch?

-We taking the Mercedes?
-No, I promised my girl.

Car's in her name.

Narcotics.

-Lieutenant. Line 2.
-Here you go.

-Fuck me, I cannot type.
-Who the fuck can?

Millennium been and gone...

and we still fucking around
with Smith-Corona.

We need to get them computers hooked up.

They promised to train us a year ago.

What would an ass-ignorant motherfucker
like you do with a computer?

-I don't know, trade stocks and shit.
-Jerk off, you mean.

We get them computers hooked up,
Herc'll be deep into some porn...

and Kima'll still be bangin' out
her 24s on that old piece of shit.

-Gotta go upstairs.
-What's up?

Deputy's throwing some kinda piss-fit.

-Major know?
-He's up there now.

With a mouthful of piss, probably.

Like our major don't know
what that tastes like?

It's the chain-of-command, baby,
the shit always rolls downhill.

-Motherfucker, we talking about piss.
-Piss does too, think about it.

-Shit rolls, piss trickles.
-Downhill, though.

You don't know that for sure--

Not to change the subject
on you two charmers...

but why are there only two ECU numbers?

-Dope and guns.
-Two guns, right?

-That's three.
-Fuck it, Kima.

You want a job done right,
you gotta do it your own self.

He means
that we are an effective deterrent...

on the war on drugs
when we are on the street.

-Fucking motherfuckers up, right?
-Indeed.

Fuck the paperwork.

-Collect bodies, split heads.
-Split them wide.

-The Western District way.
-All right.

You heroic motherfuckers kill me.

Fighting the war on drugs...

one brutality case at a time.

Girl, you can't even call this shit a war.

Why not?

Wars end.

You gonna write that down?

How happy am I to see my pager go off
with your call number?

Smoke 'em if you got 'em...

because this motherfucker
is as ripe as they get.

-We aren't up, Nolan's squad is up.
-I know.

But you had to answer the fucking phone.

-Got to pay down my credit cards.
-Not off him, you ain't.

I leave you alone for a minute,
what do you do?

-All right, I heard you.
-Say the words, Bunk.

-Come on, man.
-Speak to me.

So, you gonna cut and run on the Bunk?
That shit ain't right, Jimmy.

All right, then, this is my case. My file.

This shit comes back a murder...

you ain't gotta do shit
but stand there and laugh at me.

You happy now, you bitch?

This'll teach you to give a fuck
when it ain't your turn.

It ain't even gonna be a murder.

This motherfucker probably came in here
to take a shit and just fell out.

I bet there ain't nothing to it.

-You hope.
-Where you going?

Back to the office, where I belong.

You moldering motherfucker.

Don't even think
about coming back a murder.

Don't even think of that shit.

By tomorrow, Lieutenant. Don't fail me.

-Major's pissed.
-He should be.

He didn't have answers
for the deputy's questions.

-About what?
-Avon Barksdale.

Who?

-That's what I said.
-Who the fuck is Avon Barksdale?

According to the right honorable
Judge Phelan...

a Westside player who apparently indulges
in the occasional murder.

Now, as of today,
I never heard of Mr. Barksdale...

but by tomorrow....

All right, what do we know?

According to the judge,
he has the Westside high-rises.

The Terrace, mostly.

-Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.
-Maybe so.

-It's gotta be tonight?
-Major wants it filed by morning.

Call Andrews at DEA.
See what they have on this mope.

What about Homicide?
lf the guy's doing murders--

Homicide major was in the same meeting.

His people will be scrambling
to get something on paper, too.

I doubt they'll be willing to share,
but you can try.

Barksdale, Avon.

Got a DOB?

-Jay.
-Where the fuck you been all day?

Drinking, crack smoking.
Whoring myself on the streets of Baltimore.

Okay. Just so you have an excuse.

But your fuck of a partner
picked up the phone, caught a call.

-Yeah, I saw him out there.
-Yeah, what'd he get?

-Decomp in a vacant apartment.
-Fuck.

Nolan's squad was up,
that one should be theirs.

It's a decomp.
Maybe it comes back a natural death.

-You think?
-In the Poe Homes, no fucking way.

Hold up.

Major wants to talk to you
before you roll out.

-What about?
-Fuck should I know, I'm only your sergeant.

Sit the fuck down, Detective.

Something wrong?

Put your ass in the chair.

You see these, McNulty, you see them?
These are for you.

These are for you
for as long as it takes me to get even.

Major, what--

Don't "Major" me,
you backstabbing, smartass piece of shit.

What the fuck you doing
over at the courthouse anyway?

Why the fuck are you talking
to some shitbag judge?

These are for you, McNulty.

This one over here
is going up your narrow fucking lrish ass.

And this bad boy over here
is in your fucking eye.

I'm upstairs answering questions
about some project nigger I never heard of...

who's supposedly beat
my unit out of 10 murders.

Three. They only beat three in court.

I got the deputy asking about 10.

No, they did 10,
we only charged them with three.

-You're full of shit.
-Sir, you can check the files.

Maurice Scroggins,
Toreen Boyd, Roland Leggett.

The girl they found
in the stairwell in Saratoga...

Collette something or other.

I mean, Major, these guys are real.

They beat me up on the Gerard Bogue case
just like they did Barlow.

Scroggins? I don't have an H-file
on Scroggins.

He was last year, summer.

Two in the back of the head,
low-rise courtyard.

Let me understand something.

You are having the deputy
bust my balls over a prior-year case?

Is this what I need from you,
you insubordinate little fuck?

Major, look, I'm really sorry.

Phelan, he and l,
we go back a little, you know?

He wanted to know what I know
about the crew in his court.

I had to go upstairs knowing nothing...

and explain to the deputy why
he's getting calls about murders...

that don't mean a shit to anybody.

Look, sir, this judge, he fucks me up.

He asks me a question and I answer it.

I didn't know he was gonna call anybody.

You have my attention, Detective.

My complete, undivided attention.

-Yes, sir.
-Where you going?

-I'm 8:00-to-4:00.
-No.

-You're typing.
-Sir?

Deputy wants a report
on his desk at 0800.

-A report?
-Clean, no typos.

Make it look right, then put my name on it.

Do you want to reference all the murders?
Or should I soft-pedal that?

Fucking horse is out the barn door, right?

Let's try not to make me look stupid twice.

And when you list the cases,
put a little dot next to each one.

-Deputy likes dots.
-I'm sorry, Major, really.

Niggers crazy in there, yo.

Eastside, Westside, everybody beefing.

-You ain't got no problem, right?
-Hell no, we deep in there.

Y'all deep down at the courthouse, too.

Sitting there, I didn't know
what the fuck would happen.

I'm wondering...

how y'all gonna make it
happen for me, you know?

Slick what y'all did
with that security lady though.

That shit was tight, yo.

Let's walk.

-What's the rule?
-I know the rule.

Say it.

Don't talk in the car.

Or on the phone
or in any place that ain't ours.

Don't say shit to anybody who ain't us.
But it was just you.

It's your fucking truck.

Don't talk in the car.

What about Marcel?

No, I ain't inviting Marcel.

-You want him out?
-I really don't give a shit what you do.

Actually, no.

Go down there and make that motherfucker
pay for his drinks.

The bum.

-How you doing?
-What's up, Dee, good to see you.

What up, man?

Yo, you remember the cop
that tried to pin Gerard on little Kevin?

-Which one?
-White detective, black hair.

-The one that was knocking on all the doors.
-What about him?

He showed up in court to watch.

Word?

What are you talking
to that motherfucker for?

Damn, Dee.

He say anything?

No, just sat in the back.

-Yo, what up, money?
-What you got?

Come on, I got something for you.

-You must feel good.
-You know how that go.

-Say what?
-I'm saying, you know, jail ain't no joke.

I don't know shit about jail.

I don't plan on knowing shit
about jail, you feel me?

You wanna talk about jail though,
you can go sit down next to Marcel.

-He just got home.
-True, you right.

Sit your ass down.

I know it ain't go so good.

But that nigger, Pooh,
he caught me off guard.

-He came at me like he was crazy.
-So you shoot the motherfucker?

I'm saying, it was him or me.

You in our building.

You got people on both stairs.

You got more motherfucking people
out in the court.

And you got a gun.
So, what I'm trying to figure out is...

how the fuck you end up
shooting this nigger...

in front of the security booth
with all them people?

I'm saying, this nigger was coming at me...

-Iike he was trying to end me.
-This ain't about him.

It's about you.

You can't play him out of that lobby.
You can't take a beating neither.

So, the first thing you do,
you get all emotional...

you pull your gun out,
you do some dumb shit...

that now we got to work around.

I know.

You ain't said
one motherfucking thing I want to hear.

You right.
I mean, I gotta start thinking more.

You be saying that
all the time and you right.

But I'm saying though, I mean...

the shit y'all pulled with that security lady.

It was tight. I mean, that state lawyer.

I ain't never seen
a white woman turn so red.

You should've been there.

Yo, man, you family, okay?

But that shit cost money.
It cost time and money.

You gonna make that right?

Most def, you gonna see.

When I get back to the tower,
I'm gonna push them niggers.

All right.

Come here.

Don't walk out of here like that.

-You family, all right?
-All right.

-You know it's always love.
-Yeah.

Type quieter.

You didn't have to wait up, love.

Your boy have a heart attack?

No, I went that way...

but Doc Frazier didn't bite
when this popped up.

-You seriously fucked.
-Speaking of fucked, why are you here?

I did bad, Bunk. It wasn't my fault.

Really.

Judge Phelan pulled me up
when the jury let the Barksdale kid go.

Him being a judge and all,
I let go of some shit.

He raise a stink?

Major got busted by the Deputy Ops
and I gotta have a report by morning.

There you go, giving a fuck
when it ain't your turn to give a fuck.

Look at them, Cole.

Don't it make your dick bust concrete
to be in the same room...

with two noble, selfless public servants?

I know I'm proud.

Tell me you put this one down.

Of course not.

Of course your partner here
has to go over to the courthouse...

and lay our business out in front of a judge.

So, you heard?

Major calls me at home,
says I should get in early...

read over your shoulder.

It's got dots.

Deputy loves dots.

Fuck you and your dots.

All I did was answer the guy's questions.
He's a fucking judge.

And the Deputy's the fucking Deputy.

And he, not the judge...

has what's left of your beshitted career
in his hot little hands.

He says so...

you're walking foot
in the Western tomorrow.

-Fuck it, I came from Western.
-Where don't you want to go, asshole?

Evidence Control? Personnel?

-Headquarter Security?
-The boat.

The marine unit?

Yeah, those diesel fumes,
they make me feel seasick.

That's good, keep it up.

I'll go this against $10,
you're riding the boat, midnight shift.

Listen to the man, Jimmy.

Yo, Stringer.

-You here early.
-Yeah, I'm on my game today.

Eggy put out testers?

New deal today.

You going out on point,
picking up business in the Pit.

-What?
-You the man in the low-rises.

The low-rises?
You got Ronnie Mo in the Pit.

Ronnie Mo got 851 this morning.

Why you gonna put me in the low-rises
when I had a tower since summer?

Yeah, you had a tower.

And you might have a tower again
if you can keep your mind to shit.

This is fucked up.

You show us you can run the Pit,
and you'll be back uptown soon enough.

My uncle know about this?

What do you think?

-Yo, Bey.
-Yo.

Give little cousin here a ride down the way.

-Have your people deal with Daniels.
-Right.

You gonna send your man McNulty?

Tell him about chain-of-command.

Tell him yourself, he's dead to me.

-Yo, you looking for Ronnie Mo, he uptown.
-I know.

You Dee, right?

-Wasn't you in the towers?
-Yeah.

Why they put you down here, yo?
You mess with the count or something?

I killed a nigger.

Last call on green top, last call.

Major?

Counting what we got from the DEA,
how much do we have on this guy?

Lieutenant, in my hand,
I'm holding how many pages?

-Four, sir.
-Rawls had a fucking phone book.

What can I tell you,
they got 10 open murder files.

If we had 10 shots at him,
we'd have more than a fat file.

I said that upstairs.

They can't put this guy down for a murder...

-so they're getting us to do their work.
-Not getting us, they got us.

They got you, in fact.

Excuse me, sir?

Dawson has the York and Cator case,
that leaves you.

Shit. Look, set something up
with Homicide...

and whoever else
you want from your squads.

-State's Attorney?
-Yeah, we should call them, too.

Fucking shitstorm.

Lieutenant, line 3.

Deputy Ops.

Here we go.

Close that for me.

What's the coffee do?

Give it that money feel,
so it don't seem so white.

Yeah.

Leastways, you got it
on both sides this time.

All right, give me the real.

Wait, why are we gonna use real money?

We're not burning
no lemon street chumps here.

Feel me?

I'm down.

You down? Johnny's down.

-You got that gig.
-Can I get a one-on-one?

Yo, Poot.

Yo, Wallace.

This the way Ronnie Mo set it up?

-Yeah.
-Man, this is fucked up.

Look, you can't serve
your customers straight up...

after taking they money.

Somebody snapping pictures,
they got the whole damn thing.

See what I'm saying? You get paid...

you send they ass off
around the building, yo.

Then you serve. All right?

We gotta start tightening up, man.
No more shortcuts.

-What's your count?
-I'm up $270.

You want to count it.

I mean, I don't know how
you do shit up in the towers.

-But down here, you want to count it.
-Shit.

Y'all niggers been burnt.

That's what you got to say?

This look like money, motherfucker?

Money be green. Money feel like money.

-That shit look green to you?
-It got a dead fucking president on it.

I don't give a fuck about the president.

-That shit ain't money.
-He ain't no president.

-What you mean?
-Hamilton.

-He ain't no president.
-Nigger, is you crazy?

Ain't no ugly-ass white man
get his face on no legal...

motherfucking tender except he president.

This shit happen again, you off the money.
You hear me?

You ain't even gonna be serving no more.

Your ass be out
on the bottom end of Vine street...

sucking on a 40, yelling "5-0".
You hear me?

Get the fuck out of here.

That it?

No.

You need to pace that shit, man.

-Johnny, man, you hear me?
-I'm cool.

No, man, you gonna fall out...

slamming that shit like that
one of these days, boy.

Yo, man, I'm trying
to give you a little game, man...

but you want to pretend
like you know something.

I know a lot, Bubbs.

No, you green.

I'm trying to get you brown, man...

but you still green.

You gonna make me brown?

Yo, Bubbs?

Let me do the scam tomorrow.

Come on, man, I'm ready.

Yo, I'm brown.

Shit, man, you ain't even fucking beige.

-Buy-busts.
-Yes, sir.

No long surveillances,
no Kel recorders, no DNRs.

I want to get in and out
as quickly as possible.

That makes sense.

Phelan isn't just a judge,
he's a political entity.

If he asks for something,
I want to give it to him.

Why is he asking about this Barksdale?

He watched his state's attorney
get beat up in his court this week.

-Lost a murder case.
-We lose cases all the time.

But a judge happens
to be asking about this one.

-Who you using?
-Lead detective?

-Greggs, she's my best right now.
-I know her?

CID for four months.
Came over from Eastern DEU.

-Who's Homicide sending?
-That's up to Major Rawls.

I wouldn't be surprised if you get McNulty.

-You know McNulty?
-Not really.

He's the one who mouthed off
to the judge in the first place.

-He talked to the judge?
-Yeah, that's my understanding.

So, if he comes over on this,
watch your back.

You need anything, you ask me.

I'll give you all the help I can.

-But no surprises.
-Yes, sir.

Keep me briefed.

-Hi, McNulty, City Homicide.
-Is anyone expecting you?

Yeah, Special Agent Fitzhugh, Squad 5.

He's expecting me, can l--

-Not without an escort.
-All right.

Agent Fitzhugh to the front.

-Fitz.
-Brother.

-She can spot a bad one.
-Nothing personal, Jimmy.

You know how they are
with security nowadays.

I know how they are with locals, yeah.
So, what's up, g-man?

-Good stuff.
-Yeah?

Your man gave us a hell of a case.

Comes to informants, Jimmy,
you can pick 'em.

He's one of the better Cl's I've ever worked.

-You up on a wire?
-That and more.

So, like, he be talking like
he got some type of record deal, you know?

-Man, please.
-That nigger.

-The pussy has you.
-Jesus Christ.

-Pretty fucking great, huh?
-How'd you get this on tape?

That's not tape. That's live, brother.

That's live?

Live from a three-story walkup
on Homer Avenue...

in the bottoms of Pimlico.

This is going on right now?

-As we speak.
-How?

Fiber-optic lensing.
Camera's behind a hole in the drywall.

So small it looks like
a nail might've made it.

Where's the mic?
These motherfuckers sound great.

Two remotes behind
the baseboard heating ducts.

That's about $3,000 of raw
on the table today.

We followed it all the way from New York.

You're up in New York on this?

We could be.

We're backing into
some Dominicans up there.

We could have a Title Ill
on them right now if we wanted.

Wrong war, brother.

Most of the squad's been transferred
to counterterrorism.

This thing's the last drug case
we got pending...

and I gotta shut it down
by the end of the month.

-You guys are getting out of drugs?
-Yeah, for a while.

We just don't have the manpower
to stay on anything big.

Not since those towers fell.

What, we don't have enough love
in our hearts for two wars?

-Joke's on us, huh?
-I guess so.

Still and all, you give great case, brother.
I wish you could've worked it with us.

Got some Tech Nine over here,
over here, Tech Nine.

That's it, here's $20, hook it up.

Two and two.

-Hold up.
-What?

-Just two and two.
-Come on, man, I ain't got time for this.

-I gave you $20, man.
-You gave me $20?

One and a short three.

-So you get, two--
-$7.

-Hold up.
-I get $7 back. Come on, man.

Calm down.

Hold up, hold up, you fucking me up.
Chill out.

You dropping shit on the ground?

-Hold up.
-I ain't got all day.

Come on, man, it's easy. Let's rewind, man.

What the fuck is you doing?
Look at this shit. Look, nigger.

That's the motherfucker right there.

-Who?
-The white boy right there.

Poot, grab that motherfucker.

The white boy.

Hold up, man.

Stop that white motherfucker.

Yeah, motherfucker, yeah, nigger. Fuck that.

What are you doing, man?

Calm down, man.

Making me run,
what the fuck is wrong with you?

-What, man, why you fucking with me?
-Shit.

This the motherfucker right here
with the make-believe money.

Seen his ass drop it and shit.

-Wasn't me.
-Motherfucker.

It was this nigger, I saw him.
Get the fuck up.

All right, listen, I'm sorry.

Fuck that.

What we need to do is,
motherfucker burned us for $30.

We need to take him to Franklin Ave...

and throw his ass right
onto the motherfucking expressway.

All right, listen, I'm fucking sorry.
I fucked up, man.

-What you got on you?
-Just the $10 I dropped, man, the real one.

What's up?

Fuck it.

Hell, yeah.

For now, we'll work out of Narcotics,
with Kima keeping the file.

We'll copy everything to Ronnie
at the courthouse and your people.

Fine with us.

McNulty and Santangelo will work
on the open murders...

see if anything can be manufactured.

Kima and my people will do
hand-to-hand stuff in the Terrace.

Buy-bust, quick and dirty.

We put years over top of
some of these people, we'll roll a few.

You're not gonna get
Avon Barksdale or Stringer Bell...

or anyone else above the street,
not on street rips.

-You don't know that.
-These guys are good.

They're deep and organized.
They've got everyone running scared.

What do you suggest?

Surveillance teams,
DNRs, asset investigation.

Keep gathering string
till we can find a way in.

Either a wired CI or a Title Ill.
That's what makes this case.

Is that what you told the judge?

Okay, so I'm an asshole for that.
But I'm right about this much.

No mics, no wires.
We do this fast and clean and simple.

Then you don't do it at all.

Seems to me you all could've had this fight
before calling the State's Attorney's office.

Let me ask you something.
What do we know about Avon Barksdale?

What do we know?

The guy's owned
all of Franklin Terrace for a year.

What do we have on him right now?
A DOB? A sheet?

A B of I photo?

We don't even have
a fucking photo of the guy.

Gimme a break, Jimmy.

Two days ago no one on this fucking floor
knew this mope's name.

Now he's some kinda criminal mastermind.

Shit, I say we go down to the Terrace
and fuck some people up.

You all don't need a prosecutor,
you need a fucking referee.

When you know how
you're playing this, give a yell.

We know how we're playing it.

My people are going down
to do some hand-to-hands.

Detectives McNulty and Santangelo are
going to the hall to review old murder files...

and try to manufacture a fresh prosecution.

As things heat up, I'll go to the deputy
and get us more manpower...

but this case is not going to sprawl.

A month from now,
we're all gonna be back at our day jobs.

Fine. Bring me your hand-to-hands.

Anything on the murders, you can take
to llene Nathan in violent crimes.

I'll clue her in.

Anything else?

One last thing:

No one does anything at all on the street
without me knowing about it first.

Chain-of-command, Detective.

That's how we do things
down this end of the hall.

If she's fucking you on visitation,
take her ass to court.

Not that simple, Bunk.

Judge gives me three weekends out of four,
I still need her to cooperate.

You know, move it around...

so when I have to work through a weekend,
she switches with me.

The judge gives me
three weekends but no flex...

I still lose.

-You two can't talk this through?
-No.

How is it you always got
the whole world pissed off at you?

You know Daniels? Narcotics?

-What about him?
-He's running this detail.

-Watch your ass then.
-He a snake?

No, he ain't that. But he's a company man.

You know, a prospect.

Grapevine says the next district
to open up is his.

Shortlist for major?

He's black, he's still young,
he hasn't pissed anybody off.

-Shit, he even has a law degree.
-No shit.

-University of Baltimore, but still, you know.
-He's gonna fuck this Barksdale thing up.

-How's that?
-Buy-bust?

-He's pissing in the wind.
-You already fucked it up, Jimmy.

You made it happen.

I feel like that motherfucker
at the end of Bridge On The River Kwai.

-What the fuck did I do?
-The bridge of what?

You ain't seen that movie?

I am fucked.

Fucked is me.

God damn it, you gonna make me
go another round.

Two more.

-It's all in the game.
-I'm saying it was only a couple dollars.

-It ain't the money.
-But we fucked him up so bad.

It's the message, Dee.

You can't show no weakness.

-Still, I'm saying.
-What?

String.

You ain't touched that drink.
You want some company?

-I ain't no john.
-Good, 'cause I ain't no whore.

I'm not a regular, okay?

-I work for Stringer.
-He pay you, don't he?

Come on, buy me a drink.

-How much?
-$20.

I drink slow.

Maybe another time.

-Buy me a drink, honey?
-How about you buy me a drink?

Carla. One here.

-Where you at?
-Where you think?

-You late for work?
-A little.

-How much you got left?
-Girl, please.

-Ten pages and all the footnotes.
-When's it due?

Tomorrow, beginning of class.

Long night for you.

Long night for me.

I'll make sure and pick up some coffee.

So, I drive all the way down
to Liberty Road...

at 2:00 in the damn morning,
on a midnight shift...

I got two murders and a police shooting
going down, to do what?

To get a goddamn mouse
out of my wife's bedroom closet.

Can you imagine that shit?

So what did you do?

What the fuck you think?

I got the mouse out as fast as I could
and drove back to work.

Couldn't do nothing else.

Nadine out of her fucking mind
over this little-ass field mouse.

She's up on the chair and shit
when I come...

Iike some goddamn cartoon.

-I mean, how'd you catch the mouse?
-Catch him? I lit his ass up.

You shot the mouse?

With your nine?

First shot killed my wife's dress shoe.

Got him with the second.

What?

You shot a mouse
with your service weapon?

Yeah.

What'd you do with the carcass?

I cleaned it up, you know.

I thought about leaving
that little motherfucker...

as a warning to the others.

Fuck me.

It's 3:30 in the morning.
I'm supposed to be early relief.

Jimmy, man,
I gotta change my clothes at least, come on.

I'm gonna do this case.

What?

I'm gonna do this case
the way it should be done.

It's a buy-bust, Jimmy, get in and get out.

-Fuck that.
-Jimmy.

Let's call it a night.

Hi, Bubbs.

Thought you was still locked up.

Nope.

How long you been home?

It's been three months.

You don't write, you don't call.

Who's he?

A friend.

Is he gonna make it?

You still working drugs?

Downtown, yeah.

I got something for you.

-Last call.
-Fuck.

Found body. 200, Block Amity.

I'm a little thin today, boss.

The whole squad's a little thin, remember?

We're down a man
since your partner got himself detailed.

Yeah.

I got it.

Jesus.

-How you doing, Bobby?
-Bunk, what's going on, man?

We got one or two shots to the head.

No witnesses, no suspects.

You got a .380 casing on the ground there.

Buddy, do me a favor, bag that for me?

So, who called it in?

No one. 21 Post found him.

It's a William Gant, 42, no, 43 years old...

address on Schroeder.

-You got pictures?
-Yeah, we got them.

Okay, let's roll him.

Mr. Gant, do you see the man
you identified...

sitting in the courtroom today?

He's right there.