"Maybe we won." -- Herc. If you're not sure, it can't have been much of a victory.
On the couch in the Pit, D'Angelo is having a heart-to-heart with Wallace, pointing out that he needs money, and that he shouldn't still feel guilty about Brandon: "Shit ain't on you. It ain't on me neither." Wallace, subtly dishevelled, looks down and says nothing. "Motherfucker who robbed the stash shot Sterling," D'Angelo reminds Wallace. "He gonna get got no matter what you or me do." Getting jumpy, Wallace replies, "I just-- I just don't wanna play. I just don't wanna play no more. All right?" He says he was thinking of going back to school. "What grade?" asks D'Angelo dubiously. "Ninth," says Wallace. "Ninth?" asks D'Angelo. "Shit, you how old?" Wallace says he's sixteen. D'Angelo says that Wallace is supposed to be a junior by now. Well, that's encouraging. Oh, The Places You'll Go, this is not. Wallace changes the subject, saying he heard that Stinkum got killed. D'Angelo says he did. "Damn," says Wallace, not really sounding all that mournful. D'Angelo sits up to take a wad of bills out of his pocket. Wallace worriedly repeats, "I said I don't wanna play," but D'Angelo says he heard, and that Wallace doesn't have to do anything: "Take it." Wallace sadly hesitates, but D'Angelo presses, "Hurry up, nigga, people looking." Wallace relents, and D'Angelo seriously tells him, "Look here, man: you a smart little motherfucker. You start back up at Edmondson, you likely to finish up at Harvard or some shit like that." Wallace shyly shakes his head. "And you got a good heart in there, too," says D'Angelo. "Not like the rest of these niggas." Wallace chews his lips. D'Angelo looks at him wistfully, like he wishes he could quit the game and go back to the ninth grade himself. It's probably been ages since he diagrammed a good sentence.
McNulty rolls into the detail office in weekend wear, carrying a fan into the computer room. Prez is perched at a terminal when Kima calls in to report that Ronnie Mo is on a Tower phone. Prez turns on the audio, and we can hear someone urging Wee-Bey to hurry up and "get this shit," and Wee-Bey complaining that he isn't moving as quickly as he used to. The call ends; Prez turns excitedly, and McNulty exposits, "Wee-Bey picking up at the Towers?" "In a couple hours, give or take," Prez agrees. "Time enough for us to make a play," says McNulty. Oh, sure, pick on the guy with the bum leg.