Dudes play basketball in a gym as, from above, Stringer and Avon watch, Stringer pointing out a particular player like a seasoned college scout. The guy they've got their eye on dunks the ball, and Stringer remarks, "He our edge, right there." Michael Baltimore-dan (...I don't know) sinks another one, and we see that there's a bald guy in a suit, watching anxiously on the court. Stringer tells Avon about all the colleges courting Air Baltimore-dan, and Avon cryptically says that they're in the mix now, too. Stringer chuckles, "Blow Proposition Joe's mind; he ain't got nobody ballin' like this." Avon says that Joe had better not have anyone as good as their first-round draft pick: "I'm sick and tired of losing to these Eastside bitches every year." Ah, intra-mural gang basketball teams. No love lost there. Avon also exposits that the Westside team has fallen to the Eastsiders for three years running: "Fucking with my morale, for real." Air Baltimore-dan sinks another one, and Avon asks Stringer, "What happened to the faggot?" He retired, and now he's going to be the grand marshal of the Utah gay pride parade? Oh, they're not talking about basketball anymore. "Omar?" replies Stringer. "That nigger in the winds, man." Avon asks how that could be: "This city ain't that big." Stringer takes a moment, and then says, "You know what that nigger do when he holed up somewhere? He peel off one or two packages, roll around a new neighbourhood, giving away free vials and shit. Yeah, on some real Robin Hood-type shit. If we try and get at him, we going to have two dozen niggers saying that we on our way. If you want us to hunt that nigger, we going to hunt. But the smart play, I think, would be, we call a truce, put this thing on hold for a hot second. Let the faggot get comfortable, and when he do, he'll pop up his head. Boom: we got him." And BOOM goes the dynamite. Avon is anxious that there'll be talk, among "motherfuckers," while they're waiting to make their move on Omar: "What people going to say when they see this cocksucking faggot out in the sunshine?" Well, if that's what he's doing out in the sunshine, someone might ask him to get a room. "Like it ain't no thing to take my shit." Stringer is silent, wondering how conversations of this kind go at, like, Cisco.
Before Stringer can cook up an answer, though, Baldo from the court comes into the room with their favorite player. Baldo gloats over how great his player is, and Avon agrees that he's good. We get a shot of Air Baltimore-dan, who was obviously well hydrated before he started playing, because he's absolutely coated in sweat now. Baldo -- his coach, I guess -- says he doesn't know what they're going to do without him on the team next year. Stringer asks why Air Baltimore-dan hasn't signed yet, and he modestly says that he's received lots of offers: "I'm listening." "Ten large, though -- that ain't bad, right?" prods Avon. Air Baltimore-dan agrees that "it ain't." Baldo negotiates $10,000 for "the kid," and another $5000. Avon gets stern, and Baldo stammers that it would be a "donation for the program." Even Air Baltimore-dan looks askance at this additional cash grab, but Avon agrees. Avon and Stringer shake Air Baltimore-dan's hand, and Baldo sends him down to do some drills before he leaves. Once he's gone, Baldo presses his luck, asking for another $5000 for himself "for making this happen." Damn, that guy must have balls big enough to dribble to try this maneuver. But Stringer and Avon just laugh it off. "Ain't shit for free, right?" says Avon amiably. Not in Baltimore, anyway.