Frank's still on the phone when Valchek busts in smugly with his battalion of feds in tow. "Got another problem here, Larry," Frank understates calmly. Settles aggressively slams the phone down, and Valchek himself does the honours of pulling Frank out of his chair and cuffing him, crowing, "Big man on the docks. You don't look so big now, do you?" Dazed, Frank allows himself to be led away.
In the front of the hall, Reese goes to the window, looking out at the street. Seeing nothing, she checks her watch. Lady, I'm sure someone here can give you a lift if your ride doesn't show up.
Still oblivious, Nick parks his truck on his parents' street and stalks up to the door, totally confused by the accusing looks all his neighbours are shooting at him. Inside, Joan is crying quietly as she rights the furniture and knick-knacks the cops disrupted when they busted in this morning and, you know, tipped her off as to how her son had ruined their family. Hoarsely, Nick says, "Ma," but she can't look at him, and hearing the tinkle of broken glass, he seems to have an idea as to what he missed, and heavily heads downstairs.
In the basement, Louis is also straightening up; in a moment of particular pathos, the first thing we see him putting away is Ashley's probably long-since-outgrown playpen, and when it won't stay where he puts it, he impatiently bats at it with so much aggression that you know he's wishing it were Nick he was slamming into the wall. Speaking of which: Nick doesn't look like he relishes trying to get his father's attention, but he loudly calls, "Pop." Louis turns slowly to see his son standing despondently in the doorway, trying not to cry. "It's gone," says Louis, with devastating calm. "And the money, too. They say you need to come in. They said the warrant is at Southeastern police district." If it were possible to die of shame, this would be the last we'd see of Nick, I think.
I.B.S. hall. Settles and Valchek are standing over Frank and Horseface when Reese enters, saying, "They're out there now." "Showtime, Frankie," says Valchek, even more smugly pulling Frank out of his chair so that he can personally lead him outside.
Valchek opens the door of the hall to a scrum of reporters, screeching their questions, snapping photos...the usual media clusterfuck. We cut to a blurry news-camera-view as Valchek shoves Frank forward, even holding his head by the chin so that his face is framed for the camera. Hey, there's David Simon! Aw, it's like he went back in time to what he used to do before he made all our lives better by producing The Wire. Anyway, Frank has no comment to offer the reporters before Valchek crams him into the cop car.