Back at the squat, we see that Bunk has caught Wallace's murder. Getting in close to the body, Bunk recognizes Wallace's face, and curses under his breath. On the wall, Tupac remains beatific.
Parking lot. Daniels is pointing out a nondescript rented Taurus to Sydnor and Herc. As Sydnor hops out of his car, bringing an orange plastic case to Daniels beside him, Herc ass-kisses that Daniels has "mad suction with the federales." Daniels and McNulty smirk as Daniels opens the case, which has electronics equipment inside. Sydnor goes over to the appointed rental and slaps something up underneath, near the back right tire, and saunters back to his car, taking off with Herc. In the SUV, Daniels gets a call on his cell phone, leaving him even more disappointed with life than usual. From Daniels's side of the conversation, McNulty guesses, "Wallace?" Daniels nods.
Orlando's neighbour. Lester suffers through Prez's loud, messy chicken eating, which finally ends when Prez leaves the chicken carcass in the trash, on top of the newspaper he'd been using as a makeshift placemat. As Lester glances wearily over at Prez's dinner detritus, we can see part of a Page 1 headline trumpeting a downtown "Rehab Project" that promises to command $250 million in development grants. Lester fishes the paper out of the garbage and puts on his glasses to read all about why Avon's been buying up so many vacant properties.
In their SUV, Daniels and McNulty sit in the dark. "Poor fucking kid," says Daniels succinctly. McNulty looks up from his paper to complain, "With Wallace gone, that's Stringer out of the box." Daniels glares at McNulty, like he's disappointed that McNulty is just thinking about the case instead of the dead teenager...but I'm pretty sure it can be both. Before Daniels can scold McNulty as to why he's a bad person on this particular day, they're both distracted by D'Angelo, coming out of his apartment building, fussing with his gigantic polo sweater. "He was in there changing his fucking clothes," McNulty marvels. Yes, dear. It's something some of us do from time to time. "You believe that?" "Boy had to get himself correct," mutters Daniels. They watch D'Angelo get into the rental and back it out of its space. "We're on," radios Daniels. "No need for an eyeball; let the satellite do the work." We cut to the device in his lap; a little screen shows D'Angelo's location. After a moment, Daniels and McNulty pull out.