Carver and Herc are parked at a curb, watching the target they're staking out via rearview mirror. Herc crabs that if "this maggot" doesn't show himself by midnight, he'll be pissed. Carver comments, "The shitbird lives in his parents' basement. Where's a guy like that gonna run?" Yeah, Nick is kind of a loser. Let's all be glad he's not our dad. Or son, for that matter.
Mouzone's motel. Lamar stands sentry by the railing outside his door, and sort of leans out to get a better look as a '70s-era sedan pulls into the parking lot. Tosha and Kimmy and Butchie's dog climb out of the car and head up to the second-floor walkway. Kimmy amiably calls out to Lamar to ask "where the party at." He curtly tells her that there isn't any party up there. The girls continue creating a distraction -- assisted by Butchie's dog, which Lamar stoops to pet...which is when Omar comes up behind him and knocks him out with a cudgel or something. The dog runs back to the girls, who tell Omar that the car will be running.
Omar knocks on Mouzone's door, and Mouzone opens it, crabbing, "What is it, Lamar?" Omar kicks the door open and shoots Mouzone twice, quickly, in the gut. When Mouzone's fallen back onto the floor, Omar kicks the door closed again and stands over him, brandishing the gun in his face. "No need to prolong this," grunts Mouzone. "Nah, we got time!" chirps Omar. Oh, you hate to hear that if Omar's standing over you. Mouzone asks whether Omar killed Lamar, and Omar shrugs, "No, he's resting." Mouzone struggles to...you know, stay alive, but into his silence, Omar asks, "I'm saying, ain't you wanna know?" "Not particularly," says Mouzone effortfully. "About a year ago, a boy name Brandon got got here in Baltimore," Omar explains. "Stuck and burned before he passed." "The game is the game," groans Mouzone. "Indeed," says Omar, of course. "See, that boy was beautiful. Wa'n't no need for y'all to do him the way y'all did. You feel me?" Mouzone manages to ask whether Omar said this happened a year ago, and when Omar confirms it, he starts laughing mirthlessly: "You've got some wrong information." Omar shakes his head, saying that Mouzone is "lying to live," but Mouzone replies that he's at peace with his God: "Do what you will." He starts praying under his breath, which convinces Omar, and he lowers his weapon. "So you know," says Mouzone. "What happened to your boy -- it's not my style." Omar stares him down, considering this, and then notes, "The way you bleeding out your back, looks like that bullet bore clean through." Mouzone says that a 9mm at close range "will do that." Now Omar's kind of embarrassed, it seems, and picks up the phone to call 911 for Mouzone. He gives Mouzone a chin nod, and goes on his merry way. I have to say, Lamar might have been able to squeak by on the Harper's thing, but I doubt he's going to avoid getting fired for this one.
I.B.S. hall. Frank is sitting at his desk, staring off into space, a liquor bottle in front of him. He heads footfalls, and then a knock at the door. "My pal Beatrice," gruffs Frank sarcastically as she opens the door. "What, you gonna run me in again? Isn't that, like, double jeopardy or some shit?" He bitterly holds out his wrists for her to cuff. Closing the door, Beadie maternally tells him to stop it, and spreads her hands: "Talk to me." "And say what?" sighs Frank. "I'm sittin' here trying to figure it out myself." Beadie gently tells him, "It didn't happen overnight." She walks in and takes a seat in front of him, sighing deeply. Frank is not equal to her disappointed look, and leans forward to tell her, "I knew I was wrong. But in my head, I thought I was wrong for the right reasons, you know?" Beadie nods, saying that there are different kinds of wrong. Frank looks away, briefly, but finally manages to ask her why she's there. Then it's Beadie's turn to crack, and as she starts to cry, she tells Frank she'd like him to come in: "Not in cuffs. Because you want to." Frank looks off again, and Beadie tells him she's opening a door. She pulls a card out of her pocket and slides it across the desk to him as she says she can't promise anything: "Just come in. We'll start from there." Frank is now looking away, his fist up to prevent her from seeing his face as he sobs. On her side of the desk, Beadie cries, too, and tells him, "You're better than them you got in bed with." She sadly gets up and walks out, leaving Frank to his booze buffet.