Back at the Madison Square Garden of the dogfighting set, Cheese is still mourning the untimely death of the dog he trained solely for the purpose of bloodsport, when Triage gently chides him for his itchy trigger finger. "I think you got played," says Triage, fixing his eyes on the chemical-soaked ragged Cheese's opponent has carelessly left lying on the floor of the warehouse. It's a full-blown dogfighting scandal, people. Quickly -- someone go hire former Senator George Mitchell to write a report laying bare all the horrible truths about this most beloved of sports. Somehow, A-Rod is to blame for all this.
Marlo's sport-utility vehicle pulls up just in time to catch Fruit's crew and Bodie's crew mid-staredown. "I'm guessing from the Terrace," Fruit volunteers about his unwelcome visitors. "Them being all cute about the property line." So what does Marlo want done? Marlo counsels peace...for now. But from the look on his face, he's adjusting his mental day-planner to set aside time for the inevitable beatings. Bodie watches Marlo drive by, and spits. Somebody doesn't care for being stood up, not one bit.
At a stylish Inner Harbor eatery, Burrell is busy grousing to Valchek about what a raw deal he got at the hands of Carcetti. "You can't have that shit every week," says Valchek, trying his best to seem sympathetic but really sounding like the same old conniving buzzard we've grown to despise. "Not if you want His Honor to give you the job permanent." Valchek's advice: Ignore Carcetti's less admirable traits -- Valchek hopes people are able to overlook the negative a lot, I'm guessing -- and work with him, if only to avoid getting ripped continuously at City Council meetings. Burrell grumpily assents, but adds that he won't go behind the mayor's back. Hey, tell Carcetti that yourself, chief -- he's just shown up from his kid's little league game. "Well, I'll leave you boys to it," Valchek croaks. "And what I have brought together, let no man tear asunder." And with that, he taps his cloven hoof on the pavement three times and disappears amid a black puff of smoke. "He win?" Burrell asks; Carcetti is puzzled by the question. "Your kid," Burrell clarifies. "His team." "Aw shit, who keeps score?" Carcetti says. I'm guessing he does, very much so. And I'm guessing his kid's team got whooped mercilessly and then taunted by the other parents.
Over on CSPAN 2, the Drug Pushers Congress chaired by the right honorable Stringer Bell is holding its regularly scheduled meeting, where Poot is reporting on the progress of the expansion plan. The executive summary: it's going all right, though tensions are high, because these kids today, you know? Stringer would like a progress report on the talks with Marlo. The report is that there is no progress because there have been no talks, Bodie says. "Now, this Marlo," says Stringer, with the look of a very disappointed drug lord. "How hard are you looking for him? Like why aren't you out there looking for this motherfucker right now?" "'Cause you called this meeting here," protests Bodie, who apparently was afraid that they would not be able to meet quorum without his attendance. That earns another hard look from Stringer, and an exit, stage left, from Bodie. Well, gentlemen, any other new business? Yes -- the small matter of Omar robbing the stash houses. That pre-credit raid netted him plenty of already-vialed product, and that was his second successful robbery this month. "I mean, all due respect," one of the underlings says, "but, dude, like, unless you step to him, it's gonna be like this." Stringer sighs, beefs up security on the stashes, and orders himself a Mission Accomplished banner.