In (I assume) his cell, Wee-Bey devours some contraband food, advising Avon to "get up in" it before it gets cold. Avon looks too grief-stricken to get up in anything right now. Eventually noticing Avon's mood, Wee-Bey assures him, "That bullshit ain't on you. It ain't, man." Avon shifts, looking down. Wee-Bey goes on: "Up in here, Dee knew he had to stand on his own. You know this." "Man, fuck him," says Avon. Er, I hope no one puts that in a floral sculpture. "He knew when he hung himself how we was gonna carry it," adds Avon. "He knew when he did that that we was gonna be in a moment like this, right now." Wee-Bey nods. Avon: "He knew that. That nigger did that shit to hurt me, man." So, fuck him for ending his own life (as far as they know) in order to make Avon feel bad? Brilliant insight, Dr. Phil. Wee-Bey nods. Avon narrows his eyes as he muses that D'Angelo "was just fucking weak": "I tried to crimp him along since he was a shorty, nigga! You seen me! I tried to bring him up, man, bring him along--" Wee-Bey gravely agrees that Avon was "real good" to D'Angelo. And Avon agrees with Avon that Avon is awesome. Wee-Bey tokenly says that D'Angelo's death is sad, but that, after all, D'Angelo did almost rat on Avon once, so if he'd decided he couldn't serve his sentence, he might have eventually turned on Avon again: "I'm just saying, it might've been for the best, you know?" This is obviously what Avon secretly wanted to hear all along, but he looks off into the distance, trying to come to terms with being a person who would wish his nephew dead.
Herc and Carver are shopping in a spy store. As Herc clowns with a snub-nosed handgun, Carver puts on a Sean Connery: "His name is Head. Dick Head." They're messing around with a laptop that can take super-fast fingerprints when the clerk comes out. Carver says that they need a bug; Herc elaborates that it has to "stand up to the pressures of the modern urban crime environment." The clerk has just the thing, and brings them to a not-very-impressive-looking curl of wire, which he calls "the real deal"; it's smaller than a .22, has a clear channel, and is "sturdy as hell." He promises that getting the device within ten feet of a conversation, "it sounds like Chuck Thompson doing play-by-play." That's all good, right? Well, the bad news is that the thing costs $1500 -- $1250 for cops. Carver has evidently decided that it's priced out of their market, but Herc asks if they can just take it for a test run. The clerk agrees, as long as they leave him a credit card and return it within forty-eight hours. The clerk moves off so that they can discuss, and once he's gone, Herc demands, "You got a credit card?" Carver takes a horrified pause before asking, "Don't you?" It would seem that Herc's is "maxed to the max." And you know it's probably a Discover card, too. Carver is unconvinced, so Herc appeals to him by saying that the hand-to-hands they've been doing haven't moved them any further up the ladder: "We're just gonna use it for a couple days, get what we need, and bring it back." What could possibleye go wrong? Carver folds like a cheap suit.