More recorded conversations are on the docket for the Major Case detail, with one Chatty Cathy chronicling how Dazz came back and killed some poor, unfortunate named Peanut. The cops are all puzzled as to what exactly is going on, with Prez incorrectly concluding that this must be some sort of drug war. Before we can chortle about how this simple misunderstanding is not unlike a Three's Company episode, only with Jack Tripper masterminding a criminal drug enterprise, Cheese's voice pops up on the wire. And he's being strangely descriptive: "I ain't sleep since I capped his ass. Close my eyes, see him laying there, all bloody and shit...he was my dawg, you. Had much love me, even then. I ain't never gonna find a dog like that." The cops can barely contain their joy...and, since this is The Wire, the sinking feeling that something is not quite right. "For months, these assholes show perfect phone discipline," Prez marvels. "Now they're talking up murders?" While Freamon puts in a call to the homicide unit, another voice pops up on the wire -- it sounds like one of Cheese's henchmen, who was thoughtful enough to call up so that his shooting and subsequent death could be immortalized on tape. Anyhow, Freamon finally gets through to Norris, who is in no mood for chit-chat while so many bodies are dropping. Kima offers to go up to Homicide to straighten things out, but Freamon's already halfway out the door. "Go see your kid," he advises her. Kima's like, "Yeah...I could do that."
At the Western, Bunny Colvin and his lieutenants are marveling over an underling's ability to bring down crime statistics through creative accounting, per Rawls's scowling orders. In the Western's world, car robberies become something very different if it's possible that the car was just borrowed and armed robberies become something less serious if the victims cannot actually identify the weapon due to poor lighting. "Wine into water," mutters Colvin.
Herc, Carver, and Dozerman are coming out of the local cineplex with their respective dates. From the looks of things, the boys agreed to see some sort of artsy-fartsy foreign film as a sop to the ladies, and Herc is filled with regrets. "I couldn't understand a word," he grumbles. "Ah, honey, you gotta read the subtitles," his main squeeze coos. In fairness to Herc, it seems quite unreasonable to expect him to be able to read. At the same time, Bodie and Poot are walking out of a different theater in the same cineplex with their dates -- I think it's a telling detail that they are not coming out of a artsy-fartsy foreign film, but rather a showing of a movie apparently entitled Blood Fist. I'm guessing this is the follow to the very under-appreciated Blood Elbow. Anyhow, this meeting between hunter and hunted is not the least bit awkward. "Oh shit," says Poot. "Y'all go to the movies." Apparently so. Introductions are in order, I think. "You must be the lovely Mrs. Herc," Poot says to Mrs. Herc. "Herc and Carver here, they try to snatch us up every day," Bodie explains to his date. "Like 'Where the shit? Who got the shit?' But they never get nothing." "So, y'all go to the movies," Poot repeats. "Damn." Two tickets to see Blood Fist at the local megaplex: $20. A large popcorn and two sodas: $12. The chance to make your nemesis on the police force look like tool-using apes in front of their loved ones: Priceless.