Ain't no party like a Western District shift-change party, where Carver and company are joined by police force alumnus Herc J. Hercelstein, who compliments Carv on the fine work the force did busting Marlo. "My number, right?" says Herc, a little too inquisitively for my tastes. "I mean, it definitely smells like a Lester Freamon wiretap." Carver doesn't know nothing about any wiretaps and couldn't tell Herc even if he did -- you know, on account of Herc doing investigative work on behalf of Marlo's lawyer. Seriously, isn't a "fuck off, Herc -- this is one case you're not going to bungle" in order here?
To the palatial Bubbles esta...er, basement, where Bubbs is holding court for his newfound Boswell, the Sun's Mike Fletcher. Their one-on-one session is interrupted by Bubbles's sister, who appears at the top of the steps with some fresh supplies for her brother, and a reminder that, no matter how far he's come in battling his addiction, he's still got a long ways to go. For instance, he's about to celebrate an anniversary with his support group, and this is the sort of thing where family members are encouraged to attend -- maybe sis would like to come along. She would not. She couches it in the context of it being hard to plan ahead, what with her hospital job, but it's pretty clear that going with Bubbles to his meeting is not exactly something she'd do in her free time. "My sister," Bubbles explains to Fletch after Rae leaves. "She good people. But been through a lot, though, you know?" Left unsaid: "Most of what she's been through has been caused, directly or otherwise, by me. Hence, her distance."
Let's head over to a bar, where Clay Davis and Freamon are having their sit-down.