Freamon and Kima are playing back Cheese's seemingly incriminating-though-we-know-not-really phone conversation to Daniels, who is understandably dubious about this turn of good fortune. "He never talks like that," Daniels mutters. "Now why would..." "Because all good things come to those who wait," says Freamon, in defiance of all evidence presented heretofore in human existence. Daniels wonders whether McNulty knows, perhaps because McNulty is not shown visibly humping Daniels's leg in anticipation of getting one step closer to Stringer Bell.
The reason McNulty isn't humping said leg -- literally or metaphorically -- is because he's still busy freelancing the belated investigation into D'Angelo Barksdale's untimely demise. Right now, he's paying a visiting to Donette, who is just the least bit visibly perturbed that someone would be taking an interest in D'Angelo at this stage in the game. "Let me ask you," McNulty says to Donette. "When you heard Dee was a suicide, what did you think?" Apparently, she thought to stare icily off into the distance, because that's what she's doing now. Anyhow, McNulty lets it slip that maybe D'Angelo didn't shuffle off this mortal coil of his own volition, apologizes for any trouble he may have caused, and leaves behind his card, just in case the seeds of doubt he's planted in Donette's mind flower into a beautiful bush of vengeful accusation.
Over to Comstat, where Marvin, the poor miserable bastard we saw getting dressed down by Rawls in the last episode is still getting dressed down by Rawls for either failing to bring down the crime rate in his district or failing to master statistics. Or, possibly both. Presumably, this is a new dressing-down or at least everyone took a nice break to shower and shave. The long and the short of it is, the Eastern District had four bodies drop in a five-hour period, and Rawls is curious as to exactly what Marvin plans to do about it. "You've got four bodies all within two blocks of each other, and you can't even start to connect the fucking dots," Rawls hisses. From the looks on the faces of Colvin and Burrell, both seated in the peanut gallery, they've managed to connect the dots. And those dots say, in 40-foot-high letters carved into a cliff: GET SOMETHING DONE.