Prison. Brianna drives through a chain-link fence. I mean, not through it. As we've seen, she's not that anxious to keep her son from fulfilling his duty to the organization.
Inside, Brianna confirms for Avon that Roberto's been nabbed by the DEA in New York. "Now the shit makes some sense," says Avon. Brianna further reports that Roberto's people returned the full amount of money the Barksdales had sent for the drug shipment that went unfulfilled. "They ain't gonna touch us now?" asks Avon, bemused. Brianna complains that the Dominicans are running around scared, as though the Barksdalies are the problem, and that Stringer had to go see Roberto's lawyer: "They saying they have to be sure before they get back with us. They saying you only got seven years, so--" "So they think I'm a motherfucking snitch?" spits Avon. Brianna says that they just don't know how the Feds got to Roberto. "So we on the outside," surmises Avon. "Yep," says Brianna. She glances from side to side and then leans toward the glass to say, "We hanging on to them Projects with scraps. Avon, you gotta have somebody for us." Avon, shifting uncomfortably, offers, "A friend in Atlanta. Own a rim shop. Name of Vargas. Have Stringer fly down there tomorrow and meet him." Brianna blinks, and then, business over, remembers that she's a parent, and asks whether Avon's seen D'Angelo. Avon mushmouths an excuse about D'Angelo being on a different tier, which makes it difficult for Avon to see him. Brianna: "So you ain't checking on him, and Donette's out and about. I don't know what's what anymore." Uh, we haven't seen Brianna herself visit D'Angelo yet, but I guess we're supposed to think that, having sold him down the river, she sees him every day and brings him homemade cookies, besides. Avon asks what's up with Donette, and Brianna says that she leaves messages, and Donette doesn't call back. "She ain't had her ass down here regular neither," tattles Avon. Brianna opines that they need to "tighten shit up"; she feels that Donette should be bringing D'Angelo's son there every week. To see his dad. In prison. Because that's not going to be sad or confusing for a three-year-old. But Avon agrees, saying that he's going to put Stringer on that, too. Brianna: "After all he has done for us, Dee needs to be cared for, Avon. Promises were made." Avon says he knows. Brianna: "He took the twenty! He ain't complaining! But he is carrying a lot of weight for this family." Avon says that they're keeping him close, but adds that D'Angelo's being "cold" toward him. I would say he should count himself lucky that "cold" is the worst he's getting from D'Angelo right now. Anyway, he promises that he won't let anything happen to D'Angelo in prison. Brianna does not look convinced, which is appropriate, because I'm not either.
Cop shop. McNulty and Bunk are in an interview room, enjoying some crabs. Bunk asks whether McNulty got them off the boat, but McNulty says he won't until a few months hence: "Fringe benefit. Can't catch crabs in Homicide, right?" "Except maybe the occasional Emergency Room nurse every now and again," says Bunk, somewhat predictably (he couldn't have named the department's crab source as Jay?). Bunk gets up and goes for the door, saying that they need to get some air in the room, but McNulty quickly tells him to leave it closed: "I don't need the hassle if Rawls comes past." Bunk sits back down, smirking: "You're not the run-of-the-mill kind of asshole, are you, Jimmy? You're the special kind of asshole?" McNulty, a bit smug, does say that he's special, all right. Bunk asks how long it took McNulty to figure out that the tide took his floater out past the county line. "Three hours," says McNulty. Bunk, keeping up a jocular tone, chaffs McNulty for spending that long with his harbour maps just to stick Rawls with another body -- to say nothing of fucking Cole over with "a stone whodunit." McNulty calmly calls that "collateral damage." There's more eating, and more smack-talking, and then Bunk says, "We need Omar, Jimmy." But McNulty's not paying attention, because he's noticed something on one of the newspapers they've spread out under all their crab shells -- a report about the thirteen women Beadie found, which he comes around to the other side of the table to read. Bunk's heard about it, and tells McNulty, "It ain't ours. Port Police has jurisdiction over Patapsco." He adds that it won't be a murder anyway. As McNulty continues to ponder the newspaper, Bunk returns to his original theme: "I ain't got no case on Bird unless that crazy motherfucker Omar testifies. You hear me? It's time you show Bunk the love." "You want love, you come and sit on my lap," says McNulty. "Shit," groans Bunk. But you know he's thinking about it.