So Bodie has apparently driven to a garage, and the guy there has completely dismantled the car looking for a hidden stash. It's always in the door, but not this time. Bodie doesn't think the garage guy has lifted it or anything, but says that no one will believe that none of the three people currently gathered didn't have sticky fingers. Shamrock asks the guy to check the car again, but the car guy is not having it, ordering him to call his man and report the stash missing. Shamrock does not appreciate Garage Guy's sass mouth, and a shoving match briefly breaks out before another guy in a jumpsuit breaks it up. Shamrock places a call. Possibly to a career counselor.
Outside, the guys in the SUV comment that Bodie et al are "taking their time." Finally, the passenger hops out and creeps up to a window in the garage door; we see Bodie having a little temper tantrum inside, throwing shit around and yelling. Someone needs a nap!
Evidence. Daniels and Bunk are apparently going through every shelf, looking for the Gant parcel. Burns comes around a shelf and points out to Daniels that the Gant bags could be anywhere in the place. Daniels, checking a bag, calmly agrees that he's right. "We could be here all night," bitches Burns. "Right again," says Daniels. And, as you knew he would: "So that's overtime, right?" asks Burns. Daniels rolls his eyes, wishing Burns were a drunk instead of just lazy.
Downtown cop shop. By the light of her monitor, Kima -- looking kind of weird in a suit, femmed up with a fuchsia print blouse -- toils away; the nameplate on her desk identifies her as belonging to the "Forfeiture Unit - Narcotics." As she pecks away, she mutters, "Fuck me, I still cannot type." After a moment, Herc bursts in (without knocking, obviously), saying that the white boys in his Kane Street case are "dumb as a box of rocks." Kima chuckles. Apparently, Herc phoned one of the guys up, saying he wanted to buy some drugs. The guy's response? "Okay, I'll sell you some drugs. How much drugs do you want?" He marvels that, unlike the Barksdalies, the Kane Street stooges don't use code, or ask for a meet. When the sale happens, there's no runner: "It's the guy himself, walking up to you, saying, 'I brought the drugs. Did you bring the money?'" You know you're really unsophisticated when the person shit-talking your rube ways is Herc. He goes on: "I have much respect for black people after working with these idiots for two weeks. He feels that if white boys want to sell drugs in Baltimore, there should be different laws for them, so that they can compete. "Affirmative action," drawls Kima. "Leave no white man behind," says Herc. Kima finally asks what he's doing there, and he tells her he needs her to do the seizures for him. She asks what paperwork he has for her, and he whines that he thought she would do that: "You're the foreiture unit, aren't you?" Kima exposits that she writes the affidavits and the filing for the city solicitor, but that Herc has to give her the information on what the department is seizing. Herc knits his brow, complaining, "That's a fucking hassle." Kima patiently tells him that if he wants the property, he should do the paperwork: "You gotta step up, Herc! You don't have me or Carver to lean on here." Hey, where's Carver, then? I wonder if we'll find out! Herc suggests that Kima come on the raid with him the next day, for "old times' sake." Kima, intrigued, asks, "You're taking doors?" They are -- two houses and a bar on Kane Street. He tells her to mount up with him: "I know you miss it." It's clear from the look on her face that she does, but she says she's done "rollin' around in the gutter." "You're a housecat now, huh?" goads Herc. "I made a promise," says Kima firmly. Herc sternly tells Kima that if she were a guy -- though in some ways she's better than most guys he knows, he adds -- her friends would take her out for a beer and "let [her] know." "Let me know what?" asks Kima. "That you're fucking whipped," Herc tells her. "Pussy-whipped within an inch of your life." His point made, Herc strides out smugly. Cheryl has so far failed to impress me such that I think she's worth this disruption in Kima's career. It's not like Kima was a librarian when they met and became a narcotics cop out of spite, you know?