At the detail office, Sydnor is explaining his breakthrough discovery to Freamon -- that the clocks are actually coded to those map books. The second hand corresponds to the page number, while the longitude is the hour. The latitude is the minute hand, with Marlo and crew using five-minute intervals. Sydnor figures that the assorted crew members know the meeting spot in advance and code it according to the grid square. The only thing he hasn't figured out is how they know when to meet. Freamon studies the map a bit and notes that, even with traffic, every spot is within a half-hour's drive. "My guess is that the standing logic is that they meet within an hour or so," Freamon supposes. And then he gets another brainstorm -- on those calls when nobody moves, the second hand is always on 35. Page 35 of the map book is East Baltimore. You're in Cheese country, son. "Marlo's wholesaling on the West Side through Monk, and on the East Side with Cheese," says Freamon, producing a surveillance photo of Cheese meeting with Chris. "He's got the whole goddamn city." Well, that is some fine detective work, you two. Seriously -- you should feel very proud of yourselves for getting a few steps closer to nailing this case. About the only thing that could go wrong now is if someone were to walk into the detail office who completely disapproved of the underhanded methods being used to fund this investigation.
Hey! Kima just walked into the detail office. And it looks like she has something to say with regard to the underhanded methods being used to fund this investigation. "You too, huh?" she scoffs at Sydnor. "You all good with this?" Kima, honey, baby, sweetie -- let your wise old friend Lester try to explain. "Not me," Kima declares, before Freamon can get a word in edgewise. And with that, she storms out of the office, slamming the door to punctuate her disapproval. That probably could have been handled better by all parties concerned.
Let's continue with our Women Whom McNulty Has Angered theme, and return to Beadie's porch, where Beadie is trying one last time to make McNulty understand why maybe alienating people who love him might not be such a good idea: "All the guys at the bar, Jimmy? All the girls? They don't show up at your wake." Because they're down at the free clinic mainlining penicillin? "And not because they don't like you," she continues, "but because they never knew your last name. And a month later, someone tells them, 'Oh, Jimmy died.' 'Jimmy who?' 'Jimmy the cop.' 'Oh,' they say. 'Him.'" And then they surreptitiously check around to make sure his demise wasn't because of some sort of easily transmittable disease. Beadie's point? The drinking pals and the one-night-conquests and the random acquaintances are not going to mourn McNulty. "Family," Beadie emphasizes. "That's it. Family and, if you're lucky, one or two friends who are the same as family. That's all the best of us get." Unless the weather happens to be nice on the day of your funeral -- that can drive up attendance, too.