Back on the streets, Marlo's continued inaccessibility is going to force Bodie into making an executive decision. Mull that chilling possibility for a moment. Anyhow, in the absence of word from Marlo, Bodie decides to station his crew in the middle of the block, just across the corner from where Marlo's underlings are doing business. It's just like Macy's and Gimbels, only with far more firearms.

A van pulls up in an abandoned warehouse, and a crew of worker bees starts setting up a chalkboard, a bunch of barricades, and what appears to be a ring. If my memory of a particularly stomach-churning installment of Real Sports is anything to go by, we're about to see us some dogfighting. Terrific -- I was worried that I was going to miss my monthly quota of Michael Vick references now that the Falcons' season is winding down. Into this sport of kings dickweeds strides Cheese, the subject of so much consternation at the Major Case unit lately. Cheese is here as a participant -- well, by proxy, anyhow, as his dog will be doing most of the heavy lifting. But wouldn't that be a fun twist? "Hey guys, let's give the dogs a rest this time out, and have the two of you fight brutally to the death. C'mon, what are you brave sportsmen waiting for? Don't make me break out the ol' rape stand." On the bright side, the dogfighting operation does observe a strict check-your-weapons-at-the-folding-table policy, so there's that nod to civility. Also worth noting: Cheese's li'l buddy, Triage, notices the opposing dog owner dabbing a red cloth on his entry. Are you trying to imply that some participants in the noble world of dogfighting are less than honorable? For shame, sir.

Back in the Western, Herc and Carv are sitting in an unmarked police car discussing grave matters of great import -- namely, whom Herc would agree to have a homosexual dalliance with if it meant he could have his pick of any woman in the world with which to have a sexual encounter beyond polite description. Two thoughts on this. First -- yes, ladies, the menfolk actually do have conversations like this, only ours are much, much fouler since we don't have David Simon and Richard Price to pretty up our dialogue. And second -- shouldn't whatever poor bastard Herc settles on have some sort of veto power on this subject? Herc is reluctant to participate in this mental exercise: "The minute I name a guy, you're gonna be like 'I knew you were a cocksucker from the first time I laid eyes on you.'" Carver ups the ante: "Both Olsen twins. Ashley. Kate." "Mary-Kate," Herc corrects him, a little too angrily. "And, yeah, I admire their body of work." Well...I suppose that's one way to view The Adventures of Mary-Kate & Ashley: The Case of the U.S. Space Camp Mission, though probably not something you should probably publicize to a law-enforcement officer. Anyhow, Carver reiterates that the theoretical pleasures of the Olsen twins can be his, if only he names a guy. "I'm not catching, I'm pitching," Herc insists. Herc, I think we're all going to insist on that.