Marlo's crew makes a move on picking up around $16 million worth of product from the Greeks, so Freamon's crew -- now plugged in to just what those images of clocks mean -- make a move on them. Monk and Cheese are both arrested, drugs in hand, and warrants are also issued for Marlo and Chris; the latter also gets charged for his part in the beat-down death of Michael's stepfather. Freamon, Bunk, et al, get to celebrate a job well done, and Carcetti gets to brag that he's beating back the scourge of crime -- and just in time to bolster his gubernatorial hopes, too.
As if that weren't enough, while sitting in lock-up, Marlo finally learns all the untoward things Omar was saying about him and has a right old hissyfit about protecting the value of his good name. Even from beyond the grave, Omar enjoys a level of revenge.
Freamon doesn't rest on his Marlo-busting laurels. He meets Clay Davis in a bar, and the state senator fingers Maurice Levy -- attorney to the drug-dealing stars -- as the man bankrolling the leaks in the State's Attorneys Office. So Freamon is one step closer to dispensing some rich, thick Lester-y justice in that case, too.
As for Templeton: Gus enlists the help of the Sun's newly recalled London bureau chief -- budget cuts, remember? -- to go over the fabulist's copy with a fine-toothed comb to see if everything's up to snuff. It isn't -- as Gus quickly learns, when he discovers that the quotes about Daniels backstabbing Burrell were apparently spun out of whole cloth, and when the handless vet from Terry Hanning's story confirms that much of Templeton's account of the incident outside Fallujah is, in fact, bullshit.
Bonus warm fuzzies for an increasingly cleaned-up Bubbles going a year without needing a fix, and for Namond, who appears ever so briefly and none the worse for the wear, we might add.
So, "a good day for the good guys," as Daniels tells the newspapers. Nothing more to see here! Let's just wrap things up, and let everyone end the last five years feeling good about themselves and fostering hope for the future.
Oh wait -- what fucking show am I talking about here? Yeah, the police get to congratulate themselves on a job well done, but it's apparently going to be short-lived. McNulty spends most of the episode moping when he realizes that extricating himself from this fake serial killer thing is going to prove more difficult than he was hoping. And for good reason: Kima, who apparently is covering for Bunk in the making-faces-at-McNulty detail, has decided that she's had enough, and blabs about the entire enterprise to Daniels. A quick trip down to the evidence locker to test the phone the police think was used by the serial killer confirms that McNulty is a no-good liar who lies.
As for Marlo and company: yeah, they're locked up, but they couldn't help noticing that Michael is not, especially after he was interviewed by police. Chris vouches for Michael's loyalty, but he's not willing to bank his life on it, so Snoop is given the order to make sure that dead Michaels tell no tales. Michael, however, senses that something's up and gets the drop on her -- so...hooray? Not quite: Michael realize that he's a marked man and has to go his separate way from both Bug and Dukie in a pair of farewell scenes that kicked up a fair amount of dust Chez Sobell. Goddamn you, Swiffer products, for leaving all that eye-moistening detritus around!
At the detail office surreptitiously occupied by Major Crimes, we open on two blown-up pages of a grid map, surrounded by print outs of clocks that are pointing to corresponding meeting points on said map pages. So either the detectives have managed to piece together more info about Marlo and his movements since Sydnor's big discovery last episode, or the pressures of the case have triggered a form of OCD in Freamon, so that he's now compelled to post pictures of clocks in every room he walks into. The former explanation seems more likely, though the latter would certainly add a tragic what-price-dedication to the proceedings in these final days. Our reverie is interrupted by an incoming call that Freamon promptly intercepts -- it's another picture of a clock, though this one is a fancy model with a thin, elegant font and roman numerals on the face. Conclusion: It's an incoming message for Marlo, most likely from his suppliers, since the Stanfield crew doesn't seem like the type to go in for that I-V-X nonsense. The clock on the virtual wall reads 7:10:44, and you know what time that is? Go time, chumps. Lester quickly jumps on the horn to give Sydnor some urgent instructions -- peel off Monk and proceed directly to the marine terminals on Map 44, Grid G-10. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. "If they're going all the way out there, they just might..." Sydnor begins. Be meeting their supplier, I helpfully conclude. "Damn right," Freamon agrees. Sydnor hurriedly radios the instructions to everyone else on the surveillance team -- head to Grid G-10 on Map 44 and start looking for vehicles belonging to Stanfield associates. As if to confirm that Something Big is about to go down, we see Marlo snapping photos of a clock set to the 7:10:44 meeting location and sending the image to his associates; we also see Freamon intercepting said messages and smiling. It's nice to see someone on the police force actually enjoying his work -- it's been a rare sight this season, what with the crime-scene faking and evidence planting. Freamon punches a number into his cell phone. "McNulty," he says to someone we can only assume is McNulty. "It's on." Then let us not waste another second on setting up the scene.
Walk through the garden? Run! Run, dammit! Did you not hear Freamon say that it was on? You haul ass through that garden, and you do it right now.
"Deserve got nuthin' to do with it." William Munny shares your sentiment, Snoop.