The Wire (2002–2008): Season 5, Episode 2 - Unconfirmed Reports - full transcript

You know how that go, right?

Gave myself all these
little rules about what I wouldn't do.

Like, I told myself I'd do
a lot of shit to get high,

but I swore I wouldn't never trick.

So, after I'm trickin'...

I thought, "This ain't so bad.
I'll do this for a while

"except I'll make some more rules
for myself, like...

"I'm gonna use condoms,
and I'm never gonna go

"with more than one guy
at the same time," and...

Well, let's just say there are
certain things I told myself

I wouldn't never do.

You know what my disease
did to my rules, right?

Yeah. Whatever it is you tell yourself
you won't do to get high,

you're pretty much
making a list of everything you will do

as soon as your inner addict tells you to.

I mean, that bitch wants to kill me.

She does.

Even on my way here today,
she was telling me not to come.

She was tellin' me that I was all right
on the street, that it was all good.

I'm about done.

I want to thank you all
for letting me share.

Amen.

Thanks for sharing, Dee-Dee.

Always lift us.

We got finished a little early.

Anybody else feel like sharing?

How about you, Bubs?
Haven't heard from you in a while.

Get up there!

Come on, Bubs.

All right, Bubbles.

Hi...

- You know who I am.
- Hey, Bubs.

- Bubs. Bubbles.
- What's up, Bubbles?

- I'm a grateful addict.
- Hi, Bubbles.

Been clean 15 months Thursday.

This is the longest I been off.

I...

Hey, yo! Let's go!

I used to get so high, you know.
I used to love to be high.

Y'all see me out there
on Monroe and Fayette

doin' the dope-fiend lean, right?

Realize people treatin' me
like a lamppost,

hangin' fliers on me an' shit.

Come winter, little kids hangin'
Christmas balls on me like a damn tree.

Summertime, they'd walk me over to the
garden, where the 9-till-9 used to be.

Make me a scarecrow.

Yeah. I used to love to get high.

Got to the point...

You know, I'm not in the right place
to talk about this right now.

Keep comin' back, Bubs.

Thanks, Bubs. Thanks for sharing.

Is there anybody else
with a burning desire to share?

Marvin?

It's quiet up in here.

You got the Bank of America accounts?

That pile there.

So, he claims to be raising
money for some basketball program

or day-care center.

And the money comes in,
and the money goes out.

But no hoops, no day care.

OK, so say we get Clay Davis,
and say he flips...

- Well, then he takes us up the ladder.
- To who?

If Clay is stealing from
his own nonprofits...

That's an easy case for us to make
with all the paperwork we got here.

That's a straight-up theft,
maybe a tax charge or two,

but there's money
that all this paperwork only hints at,

money that doesn't show up
on a campaign finance report.

My guess is that Clay Davis
knows about that too.

I don't know, man.
I like street work more.

You'd rather sit in a surveillance van
days on end

waiting to catch Tater
handing Pee Wee a vial?

This, Detective, is what you're telling me?

A case like this here,
where you show who gets paid

behind all the tragedy and the fraud,

where you show how the money routes itself,

how we're all, all of us vested,
all of us complicit?

Career case, huh?

Baby, I could die happy.

Still, man, I wonder
what Marlo is up to right fucking now.

Celebrating.

Yeah, but they still taking pictures?

No. I ain't feel nothing in a while.

We took care that thing
over the Eastside. They ain't on me.

Snoop, she been rolling around all week.

Nothing, no cars, no vans, no helicopters.

Monk, he checked after the re-up,
no problem.

- We wore 'em down.
- Well, what about cameras?

Nothing since the camera
we took out the wall back at the place.

My overnight man, he been watchin',
he ain't seen nothing either.

'Sides, I think we good
as long as we movin' around like this.

Back to bidness, I say.

She ain't had no work in a few months.
She somewhat eager.

Goddamn right.

Too much fuckin' talkin'
around here lately, man.

Niggers need to shut the fuck up. For real.

A'ight, first thing.

We go hard at Webster Franklin's crew.

Gave 'em the chance to get on our tit,
he passed.

Now we bang on his corners
a couple of times till he fold.

Now you talkin'.

Yeah. Next, we step to June Bug
for talkin' that shit.

He was a dead man when he opened his mouth.
He just walkin' around not knowing it.

An' I want that dicksucker.

Took my money and the whole world know?

Nah. He got to fall.

Omar rolled out in retirement and shit.

- I'm hearin' somewheres south.
- Bring his ass back out of retirement.

- A'ight.
- Yeah, a'ight.

We can step that shit up,

but he's goin' to be comin' at us
like we comin' at him.

I mean, Joe and them,
they said let that be.

The crown ain't worth much

if the nigger wearin' it always gettin'
his shit took,

and Joe oughta know that.

Let him come. Yeah.

What up with that thing down at Jessup?

You on the list.

Go on down there any time you want.
No problem.

That's the dude right there.

Ya hear?

Time for y'all to earn your pay, niggers.

Hey, Walon.

I'm like, "What the fuck?
What the hell do I look like?"

Funny how you started out.

- What you mean?
- Dope-fiend lean and all.

Why didn't you keep going?

You know, you hear a lot of
funny shit in these rooms,

people makin' fun of their mistakes,
makin' people laugh,

but in between all the jokes,
there's a lot of truth to be spoke.

Like that girl today.
She damn near bled out, didn't she?

Yeah.

For a second there,
I thought you might actually stand up

and talk about Sherrod.

"A searching and fearless moral inventory."
That's the step.

Don't tell me about that.
I live with that every fuckin' day, man.

You got to let it out to let it go.

I'm your sponsor, and I'm telling you,
you got to get out of your head,

- outside yourself.
- I ain't never missed a meeting.

I'm not talking about the meetings.

I'm talking about where you go
after the meetings.

I'm talking about what you do,
what you think, what you feel.

I don't feel nothing.

That was never your problem.

Not even as a low-bottom dope fiend,
that was never the problem.

It would be a fuckin' shame
to make it the problem now.

So Carcetti threw us a bone, huh?

Took the cap off
secondary employment.

Yeah. Even I may have to go out
and find honest work.

There's no money to be
made in this policing shit.

They made that clear enough.

What are you qualified to do?

Aside from that, I mean.

You know I got an in
on the eight-to-four gig over

at Friedman's Jewelry,
you know, off of Reisterstown.

Yeah, 20 an hour.

Stand around with some
shiny shit and get paid.

Work murders and starve.

Fuck kind of shit is that?

Anything from overnight or this morning?

Yeah, midnight shift caught one.

- Solved?
- Open.

Bar cutting from Curtis Bay.
Fahlteich's over at the morgue now.

Slow night.

Oh, I'm sure things will be picking up

now we're no longer
sitting on Marlo Stanfield.

It wasn't my call to suspend
the investigation, Jimmy.

That decision came from your shop.

Yeah, but nobody from the SA's office
objected, did they?

Just like nobody objected
when Chris and Snoop

got their gun charges postponed
a couple of times.

A postponement or two is
pro forma on Calvert Street. You know that.

Pro forma, from the Latin,

meaning lawyers jacking each other off.

Rules are the rules, Jimmy.

There are no fucking rules.

Fucking game's rigged.

Gentlemen.

Why the fuck chew on Ronnie's arm, huh?
She ain't the problem.

Tired of being jerked around.

I think I'm gonna get me a secondary job

at that high-end cigar shop
on Baltimore Street.

As what? The Indian out front?

I'd like to scalp your ass, motherfucker.

Got it.

Who's up?

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

He's a pissy little bitch today.

I'm worried for the boy.

Some good news for a change,
the test scores for third-graders

going up a good 15 points.

That's what I get for 54 million?

Hey, you can run on that.
15 points is a nice, solid number.

Whatever bump in the test scores I get,
I got to run on it.

I sure as hell can't
campaign on the crime rate.

Burrell already told us
we don't have a double-digit decline.

A small drop, most likely.

Until we take back the statehouse,
this city will starve.

I get to Annapolis,
and whoever I leave behind as mayor -

Bond, Campbell, or who knows -

they're gonna have a better time of it.

It's not gonna be Nerese
if she keeps goin' like she has.

Sun papers made her look bad.

Yeah. She tells me this
real estate flip was

a holdover from the
last administration.

True as far as it goes,
but she got herself paid as well.

She looked bad enough
that it'll cost you votes,

people who don't want
to make you governor

if that means Nerese finishes your term
as mayor. She makes you vulnerable.

What, can I ask,
makes the governor vulnerable?

He looked like a petulant little bitch
with that diatribe on Olesker.

He looked paranoid too.

What about his failure on slots?

With a Democratic assembly, everyone
expects a GOP governor will take his lumps.

Besides, voters are split
on legalizing slots.

It has to hit him directly.

Well, I'll see what's on the mind
of the PG County boys tonight.

I got dinner with Steny, Miller and Maloney
down in Upper Marlboro,

- which reminds me...
- You're late to meet Jen.

Doesn't this seem a little thin to you,

running for governor
two years into a four-year term?

Everything's thin.

The whole world shines shit
and calls it gold.

So Somerville, he keeps going back to
ask Tommy the elder follow-ups, right?

One question after another
his editor wants him to ask him.

Somerville, knocking on big Tommy's door,
blaming the city desk,

saying, "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr.
Mayor, but my desk wants to know."

- Shit, I see it coming.
- So, three or four times, right?

"My desk is wondering...
I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Mayor,

"but my desk wants to know."

So finally, finally,
Tommy D'Alesandro,

he puts his ear down to his desk like this,
and he says...

"My desk tells your desk
to go fuck itself."

- That really happen?
- Too good a story to check out.

Hey. What's my favorite GA reporter
have today for his favorite editor?

Heartbreaker from Eastside.

Salt-of-the-earth single mother of four
dies from allergic reaction to blue crabs.

Ate them all her life but goes face down
in a lump backfin platter,

pronounced an hour later at Hopkins,

and the sister is starting a
scholarship fund for the kids.

Interviewed the whole family.
Photos, the works.

Attaboy.

Round it off with some medical stuff
on seafood toxicity, huh?

- Growing incidence, all that good shit.
- All right, cool.

You ever notice how mother of four
is always catching hell?

Murder, hit-and-run,
burned up in row-house fire,

swindled by bigamists.

Tough gig, mother of four.

Innocent bystander is worse.
He's always getting the short end.

Not a lot of them around any more.

Not a lot of innocence either, you ask me.

You know who there's less of?
Statuesque blondes.

You don't read about statuesque blondes
in the newspapers any more.

Buxom ones, neither.

They're like a lost race.

What do you got next?

School project meeting.

Mr. Whiting builds his Pulitzer.

OK. Now I've seen everything.

Why not call a cab, at least?

If I thought these motherfuckers
would reimburse me, I would have.

So Homicide can't shop cars neither.

We're down to two working units.

One was at the morgue with Fahlteich,
the other was on a fresh call.

Jesus. What a joke.

67-year-old female, mother of four,
grandmother to many,

lived alone.

Not seen in two days,
so the neighbor called.

- No forced entry.
- You the first officer?

Had to kick in the back door.

- You call for crime lab?
- We're on the list.

Today's list?

Fucking crime lab too, huh?
They've cut everything to the bone.

Been here maybe a couple of days.

If it was warmer, she'd have bloated.

Yeah, it's probably natural.

I just didn't like the way she looked
laying there with the pillow and all.

Yeah, I bet she died in her sleep.

You ever wake up
with a pillow over your face?

There's mornings with a hangover
I hold the pillow over my face,

just to keep the light out
and the pain down.

Me, I just throw up once or twice
and go to work.

The Western District way.

The word I'm thinking about is Dickensian.

We want to depict the Dickensian
lives of city children

and then show clearly and concisely

where the school system has failed them.

Not to defend the school system,
but a lot of things have failed those kids.

They're marginalized long before
they walk into class.

You want to look at
who these kids really are,

the parenting,
or lack of it, in the city.

The drug culture, the economics
of these neighborhoods.

Yet the schools are something
that we can address.

Sure, we can beat up on city schools.

Lord knows they deserve to be beat on
every once in a while,

but then we're just as irrelevant
to these kids as the schools are.

I mean, it's like you're up
on a corner of a roof

and you're showing some people
how a couple of shingles came loose,

and meanwhile, a hurricane wrecked
the rest of the damn house.

You don't need a lot of context
to examine what goes on in one classroom.

Really? I think you need a lot of context
to seriously examine anything.

No. I think Scott is on the right track.

We need to limit the scope,
not get bogged down in details.

To do what? To address
the problem or to win a prize?

I mean, what are we doing here?

Look, Gus, I know the problems.

My wife volunteers in a city school,

but what I want to look at is the tangible,

where the problem and solution
can be measured clearly.

There's more impediments to learning
than a lack of materials

- or a dysfunctional bureaucracy.
- But who's going to read that?

What is this series about in a sentence?

What's the budget line?

Johnny can't write 'cause Johnny
doesn't have a fucking pencil.

Augustus, I'm not as simple-minded
as you might think.

Now what do you want, an educational
project or a litany of excuses?

I don't want some amorphous series
detailing society's ills.

If you leave everything in,
soon you've got nothing.

I think the schools are
ripe for exploration,

and I think Scott might be the man
to lead the charge.

You ain't doin' nothin'
but aggravatin' me now.

Get up in this house
before I beat the black off your ass.

Get up in here, fool. Come on.

Treena.

Treena. Wait for me.
I'm-a come back out.

Stay right here. Don't move.

Come on, girl.

Wooton, you dump in the numbers
from the port story yet?

Shit. I forgot. You want...

- Give them to me. I'll put them in.
- Overall, cargo is down by 12 points,

but roll-on, roll-off
gained 6.4% last year.

A'ight. Drop 12, ro-ro's up 6.4.
Thanks, got it.

Boss man on your six.

- Whiting?
- Worse. Klebanow.

Augustus.

Who's the lead for opening day tomorrow?
Not the game story but the color piece.

Luxenberg wanted to go with McGuire.

I think Scott would do an excellent job
with the color piece.

I'd really like to
find some chaw-chewing old-timer

who'd die rather than miss
the O's opener,

someone who says "baseball", you know?

You're the boss.

Scott, put your special touch on it,

like you did with your Preakness piece
last year.

- Good luck to you.
- Thanks.

Fuck.

- What's wrong?
- It's all right, go back to sleep, baby.

- Metro desk.
- Hey, Spry, it's me.

Hey, is the night man
still on the copy desk?

Sure is. You need to make a change?

Yeah, yeah, I just want
to check on the port story.

I think I might have
transposed some numbers.

Andy, can I get port back?

Yeah, sure.

We got time on the final. Go ahead.

Yeah. Somewhere down in the A-matter,

a graph about the cargo trends
with percentages.

- Ro-ro, cargo...
- Read that back to me.

Cargo down 12%, ro-ro up 6.4.

12-point decrease
and a 6.4 bump on the ro-ro?

Yep, that's it.

Shit. I woke up in a sweat 'cause I
thought I'd fucked that up. You sure?

Tonight, you had the usual
deadline nightmare to no actual purpose.

I guess you're better at this
than you thought.

Yeah, I guess.

- Thanks, Jay.
- Anytime. Good night.

The husband's thinking, "Gosh."
I mean, the police show up at his door

and say, "The lady you married
from the Ukraine,

"A, she's dead,
B, she's got a 2005 gold Mercedes..."

How long till my old lady?

It's gonna be a while.
Got my hands full.

I'm across the street for breakfast.

- There's only one way to rule.
- Come on. Bullshit.

This is not a murder. He overdosed.

Look, we found his gear
on the bathroom floor,

and his girlfriend, who called 911,
said the two of them were firing.

I don't have the tox results yet,
but even if they find heroin,

it'd be a secondary cause.

I've got petechials,
I've got bruising around the neck.

My preliminary is homicide
by mechanical asphyxia.

OK, fine. I'll fucking bring
the paramedic in here,

and he'll fucking explain it to
you himself. Yeah, that's right.

I'm going to go all the way out to Dundalk,
drag his ass in here

so you can hear it from him,
'cause I ain't taking this as a murder.

Hey, Jimmy.

Hey, Nancy. How's tricks?

- Heard you were working murders again.
- Yeah.

- How's life in the County?
- Worse every year.

You guys can't keep all the dirt
on your side of the line.

What's Kevin so hot about?

Oh, new cutter's dug her heels in,
says it's a murder.

It's not, but I can see why
she'd think strangulation.

Guy's got a fractured hyoid,
petechiae in both eyes,

But it's a freak thing.

If we weren't there to see it,
I wouldn't have believed it myself.

It's all postmortem.

He fires up a speedball,
then blacks out,

falls between toilet and bathtub,

manages to get himself
wedged back pretty good.

I couldn't make this shit up.

Medics come, pronounce him
right then and there.

But get this - they
can't pry the guy out

without grabbing hold of
his neck for leverage.

We watched them do it.

This Dundalk medic and the morgue guy
just grab his neck and start yanking.

Finally they get him out, he comes
down here looking like a strangle job.

They can't tell that it's postmort?

On a fresh body, no one can.

Grab a guy too hard,
and you can cause petechiae,

break a hyoid, even leave bruising,

all after death.

Fuck me.

Yeah. So Infante's about to lose his mind

if he can't talk this thing
out of becoming a murder.

Either that or charge the paramedic.

You goin' across
the street for breakfast?

- Buy me some scrapple, sailor?
- Come on.

Number two.

Surprise.

My man Sergei thought
we should talk first.

Talk about what?

That's on you, young 'un.

Whatever business you tryin'
to do through the Russians,

you got to go through me first.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

'Cause up in this bitch here,
I'm what you might consider...

an authority figure.

You know, everybody got to get my help
or ask my advice,

like, on all kinds of shit.

Sergei step to me the other day
sayin' this nigger Marlo,

who he don't even know,
just be sending him cash money

to get on his visiting list.

So, then he ask me if I knew Marlo.

I tell him, "Hell, yeah,
I know Marlo real well."

You know? Over Westside,
everybody know everybody, right?

Let me help you find your tongue.

You tryin' to get to the Russian
so you can get a line to his people.

You tryin' to get to the
Greek motherfuckers

because if you can
you want to cut Proposition Joe

and all them other Eastside bitches
out the connect.

I mean, you a natural
businessman, right?

But this is the thing, though,
and I mean, you know,

I'm with you on all that
as far as it goes, you know?

Westside definitely need
to stick together, you know what I mean?

And all the fuss about you
comin' at me -

I say let bygones be bygones,
but fuck all them Eastside bitches.

That's just the way I feel about it.

I got nothin' but love in my heart
for Westside niggers,

nothin' but love.

Of course, I mean, you know,

I got to have my taste too.

Figured that.

So send my sister a hundred large,

and the next time you come to Jessup,
it won't be my grill talkin' at you.

My word on that.

A hundred large, huh?

So what's up, man?
What's up with you otherwise, you know?

The game is the game.

Always.

They do not.
You're making that shit up.

- I'm looking for you, Jimmy.
- Hey, what's up?

You know Nancy Porter
from the County?

- Lester Freamon.
- Good to meet you.

Well, thanks for breakfast.

I'll see you downstairs.

I spent last night
sitting on that same McCulloh Street lot.

- They went back there?
- Twice.

Once in the early evening
and once again after three.

They're getting sloppy, Jimmy, especially
now they think we've backed away.

You know, a few good bugs,
a couple of small surveillance cameras,

some man hours,
two weeks, three the most.

That's all this fucking case needs.

Daniels can't give us that.
He made that pretty fucking clear.

Then we go elsewhere.

Right field, number 21, Nick Markakis.

Going to the game?
Long-time O's fan?

I could care less about
opening day at this point.

Between Bud Selig and Barry Bonds,
they've ruined baseball for me.

- You have a minute to talk?
- Late to meet somebody.

How can you commit to a sport where
the commissioner justifies a labor lockout

and cancels the World Series?

How long you been an O's fan?

Actually, I grew up with the Cubs,
but my son, he kind of likes them so...

And then on steroids, which has destroyed
what's left of baseball's credibility,

he's nowhere to be found.

So, you an Orioles fan?

Are you excited that it's opening day
because something like that is...

Fuck baseball!

Peanuts! Get your peanuts!

51, 52, 53.

Hey, Bubs, how you doin'? Have a seat
all the way around the other side.

Much obliged.

Stop crying. Don't grab stuff off my plate.

Mommy's going to whup you.

Do you need some help here?

Because we don't do that here.

In our house, there's no hitting anyone,
especially children.

Do you understand me?

Sorry I'm late. Traffic's a nightmare.

Think you're funny, huh?
Think I still don't have...

All right, I get the point, fuckholes.

Fuck you both, already.

A couple more years of this,
you'll be ready for a radio car.

Why is it you can't come up to my office
and do this like grown-ups?

They still make you sign in
at the front desk out Woodlawn?

Who'd you knuckleheads
piss on this time?

We're still working the edges of something
the bosses shut down.

- Yeah, what are we talking about?
- The bodies in the vacants.

They shut that down?

Jesus Christ.
What, 22 murders doesn't rate?

Not any more.

You were on it more than a year.
Where were you?

Too close to quit.

You know Marlo Stanfield,
Chris Partlow, Snoop Pearson?

Those names ring out.

Well, we got nothing
back from any lab work,

there's no witnesses,
nothing to make a murder prosecution,

so we settled in,
sat on them for about a year.

- You got a pattern?
- A good one.

Two or three weeks with some good
FBI cameras and wires,

maybe a half-dozen agents...

Like we tell you boys when the case broke,

we aren't much into ghetto
drug shit any more.

Most of our guys are
counter-terror and political stuff.

We already did
all the long legwork.

Two or three weeks,
you guys end up with a big headline.

You federal fucks like headlines.

I'll run it up the flagpole.

- I'm gonna drive away now.
- All right.

If it's OK with you two suckholes.

Welcome back to Camden Yards.

As we mentioned a moment ago,
the Orioles know...

I got good stuff.

Hang on. Come here and tell me,
so I can put it on the budget.

I got a kid in a wheelchair
outside the stadium,

wanting to go to the game

but unable because he didn't have the money
for a scalped ticket.

Sounds pretty good. You got art?

Photo said they
were too booked with the game.

This is your main color piece.

You got to have a picture of the kid
if he's your lead.

- Can we send them out now?
- I guess.

- He probably rolled out, but you can try.
- Shit.

- How old is this fella?
- 13.

What's with his parents?
Why wasn't he in school?

What, in this city? He just cut.

- So what about his parents?
- Both dead. No shit.

- He lives with his aunt in West Baltimore.
- How'd he get in the wheelchair?

Something about a stray gunshot.
It was all pretty vague.

You got a date when it happened?

He was a little hinky
with telling me much.

Fact is, he would only let me go
with his nickname.

Look. I got to start writing
if you want it for the e-dot.

Yeah. Why don't you work in Metro Write
so I can read over your shoulder?

Hey, Scott. What he go by, the nickname?

- E.J.
- E.J.

Hey, Jane, come here a minute.

Check clips for the last three years.

See if we got anything on a kid in
the city wounded by a stray bullet.

He'd be 13 now. Nickname of E.J.
Could be his initials.

Who is he to us?

He's the lead of our opening-day piece.
I'd love to get art on the kid.

Don't hold your breath.

It's a hell of a case, really.

And God knows they could use the help.

- Sorry I'm late.
- Anything up?

- Just the usual. You all right?
- Yeah.

We do this right, it is like a spiral.

We start on the outside of the circle,
and we work our way around the edges,

pick up everything we can before we get to
Clay and the people he keeps close.

You think Clay knows
the indictment's coming?

Clay Davis has been waiting
for the other shoe to drop his whole life.

He knows.

And it's your people up in my shit.

Not no feds, not no state people
from Annapolis.

It's motherfuckers from my own city.

My hands are tied here, Clayton.

It's a new mayor, a new state's attorney.

I'm out there doing
the Lord's work for you, Erv. You know it.

Who got that pay raise
through the council?

Just enough for you to get that new patio

but not enough for that guy from Pittsburgh
to take your place.

I wish I could.

You know I wish I could,
but with Carcetti in, people are watching.

I got eyes on me now.

You the commissioner still, right?

Yeah, but it ain't like it was.

If you don't control it, who does?

On this, I got to reach around Daniels,
and he's Carcetti's boy.

Look. This is a grand jury investigation,
for God's sake.

We could both be charged
with obstruction of justice.

God damn it, Erv.

I been there for you, carried water
for you, and you do me like this?

Clay, I can't. Nobody could.

You think I'm goin' down, don't you?

You think I'm done.

All y'all ungrateful bitches
thinkin' you can throw me out the boat.

- Clay.
- A'ight!

I'm gonna remember
this moment, Erv.

I'm gonna hold on to this moment. Yeah.

Clay crying to you?

Like I could put brakes on this mess.

Is that...

Yeah. Straight from P and R.

And that's with the numbers bent
as far as we dare.

With city hall asking for clean stats,
there's only so much we can do.

The hell are we gonna tell the mayor?

I sat there for half an hour
with him and his deputy.

He knows what he's saying no to.

- Then how the fuck...
- It's personal, Jimmy.

Somebody at city hall
really pissed off the US Attorney.

- You're kidding me.
- No, and I got an earful.

You tell Lester I'm still trying
to figure out what the problem is,

but for right now, you forget about
shopping this case anywhere.

DEA, ATF, Customs -
you guys are shut out across the board.

Fish and fucking Wildlife
couldn't help you.

Sorry, brother.

The kid is nowhere to be found.

I sent photo down there
to try to dig him up. Nothing.

- Probably left.
- OK.

So we got a poor black kid
in a wheelchair with no ticket.

He rolls himself from somewhere
in West Baltimore to...

to "the shadow of the mighty brick-faced
coliseum known as Oriole Park,

"listening to the cheers from the crowd,
which told the whole tale."

We're gonna give good play
to a 13-year-old known only as E. J,

who declines to give his name
because he skipped school,

he's got no parents,
he lives with his aunt.

I'm not saying that this kid
isn't everything you say he is,

but, Scott, damn, as an editor,

I need a little more to go on
if I'm gonna fly this thing.

I resent the implication.

I'm not implying anything.
I'm on your side.

But the standard for us has to be...

Scott, just finished your story.

Good read. I'm putting it out front.

I think you've really captured the
disparity of the two worlds in this city

in a highly readable narrative.
I wouldn't change a word.

Thanks, but I'm not sure
everyone shares your enthusiasm.

Jim, aren't you just a little bit concerned

that we don't even have
a last name for this kid?

I thought we held ourselves up to a...

It's not an ideal situation, no,

but the boy's reluctance
to give his last name

clearly stems from his fear
of being discovered as a truant.

You have a problem with it?

A little bit, yeah.
I'm just saying that the standards that...

I think we're on terra firma here.

Gotcha.

The man made a call. You're good to go.

Thanks, Scott.

The nigger Webster's shop right there.

So look, I'm gonna roll up,
and y'all gonna pop out and pop off.

Drop who you can.

Yo. Let's go all West Coast with this.

Say what?

Drive-by. That's how they do.

Drop a motherfucker
and not slow down.

Like Boyz N The Hood.

Shit was tight, remember?

- Yo, there you go.
- What's up?

Man, I ain't even hit near one of them.

This nigger's wound.

Fuck them West Coast niggers,

'cause in B-more,
we aim to hit a nigger, you heard.

Guy leaves two dozen bodies
scattered all over the city,

no one gives a fuck.

It's because who he dropped.

True that.

You can go a long way in this country
killing black folk.

Young males especially.

Misdemeanor homicides.

If Marlo was killing white women.

White children.

Tourists.

One white ex-cheerleader tourist
missing in Aruba.

Trouble is, this ain't Aruba, bitch.

You think that if 300 white people
were killed in this city every year,

they wouldn't send the 82nd Airborne?

Negro, please.

There's got to be some way
to make them turn on the faucet.

Come on, Jimmy.
You're the smartest boy in the room.

You come up with something
in this broke-ass city.

Isn't he married or some shit now?

Did you edit this
opening-day piece?

Whiting himself blessed it as written
before I could take a meat ax to it.

Did it bother you that we
don't have the boy's full name?

Yes, Rebecca, it did.

Don't give me that "huh".

Whiting wasn't buying
any problem I had.

No art of the kid?

None.

How long we been here?

More than a hour.

Why you think we sitting here?

See who home and who not,
who on the block,

police and whatnot.

That's right.

You don't ever want to be
the last man to a party. You feel me?

That's why I show up
to a job an hour before.

Sometimes two.

I don't want nobody settin' up on me
while I'm settin' up on them.

'Cause there ain't
no good thing about

motherfuckin' surprises
in this line of work.

Why we doin' June Bug anyway?

Heard he called Marlo a dicksuck.

Talkin' shit like that.

You heard? You ain't sure?

People say he said it.

Don't matter if he said it or not.
People think he said it.

Can't let that shit go.

Why not?

I mean, Marlo ain't suck no dick, right?

So, if Marlo knows he ain't suck dick,

then what the fuck he care
what June Bug say?

What anybody say?

Why this boy got to get dead,
just for talking shit?

'Cause he got a big motherfuckin' mouth,
that's why,

and you need to stop
runnin' your own mouth, young 'un.

There it is.

And all the muscle he got.

- See it?
- You ready?

Now you handle that thing.

You give me a sign, meet me out front.

Michael, you go round the alley.

Body come bustin' out the back,
you drop that shit.

Shitfuck.

Bunk's usually the one throwing up.

You took aspirin?

Six.

How was that brunette?

Must have been a decent ride
'cause he never went home.

Same shirt as yesterday, Jimmy.

You catchin' hell from Beadie?

No.

Just asking.

Gentlemen.

DOA, Central and Baltimore.

- I took a call two days ago.
- The old lady?

That wasn't a call. That came back natural.

Look. I'm hung over, Jay.

Both of you. You're up.

Mommy. Mommy!

'Sup, Boris?

You know who I am?

I'm that rich uncle been putting all
that money in your canteen account.

In my country, I was in jail four years.

In my country, this is not prison.

This is nothing.

I don't need money.

I don't need fucking canteen.

I don't need you.

- Gangbanger.
- A'ight. I feel that.

I feel that, but Avon over there,

he thinks you might be able to help get
a message to the Greeks,

to Vondas.

I mean, seeing as
you don't need my money,

Vondas might be happy to have it.

He don't want to see me, he won't,

but if he do, it's you that made it happen.

Hey. Hey, man.

Sonny Mays is running late.

Can you fill in as speaker?

It's time to share, Bubs.

Nah, I don't think so.
I'm not feeling so good today, you know?

As your sponsor, I'm telling you,

you got to step up for something.

I don't care what,
I don't care if it's in these rooms or not,

but there ain't no laying in the cut
on this shit.

You got to step up somewhere.

Detective, can I get a word?

Anything? Anything on the suspects?

Maybe on your way out, then.

Back door was open.

Can't tell if he ran through
and out the rear.

They. Unless the shooter
put a bullet in her head

for good measure after the shotgun.

Also, two of our street cameras
were disabled. Wires ripped.

Fuck. That's a whole lot of thinking

for any motherfucker to
do something like this.

How the fuck?

How?

He must have been in that closet
the whole time. No one heard shit.

Call DSS. Now.

Any media out back?

Bring a cage car around.

Hey. How you doing?

Look, I don't know what I can do to help.

I'm just tryin' to find my way.

Seein' how crowded it is,
maybe I could help you hand out tickets.

That's fine, Bubs, really,
but wouldn't you rather serve?

Serve lunch.

You mean give the food to people?

Isn't that the best part?

Nah, I can't. No.

All right. Come on.

We can always use an extra set of hands.

He fell out.

Last bottle of smoke
probably did him in.

Another drunk found him,
pulled me off post.

10-7 when I arrived.

- You call for a crime lab?
- The wait's two to three hours.

Shit gets worse every day.

Jimmy?

You OK?

Go get yourself a coffee,
do your paperwork, get back on the street.

We got it from here.

We're gonna wait on them anyway.
Go ahead.

Thanks.

Don't let this guy go anywhere.

I forgot something in the car.

Bring the paper in, will you?

We're gonna be here a while.

Hey.

Little early for that, ain't it?

What the fuck you doing?

Just watch the door, Bunk.

Shit.

Come on, Jimmy.

Get a fuckin' grip.

Jimmy.

Have you lost your fucking mind?

Jesus Christ, you sick fuck.

There's a serial killer in Baltimore.

He preys on the weakest among us.

He needs to be caught.

I'm going.

I don't want a part of this.