At the Offices of Maurice Levy, Ambulance Chaser to Baltimore's Criminal Elite, it looks like Snoop has found someone to confess to the weapons charge she and Chris are facing -- it's O-Dog, recently wounded in a firefight with Omar. And what better way to nurse a gunshot wound than by doing two to three years in a state penitentiary? I hear the prison health-care system is excellent. "The guns was mine," O-Dog confesses none-too-enthusiastically to Levy. "Whatever guns them cops took out of the truck last year, they mine." He shoots a sideways glance at Snoop: "Even though I ain't touched that iron." Snoop offers a rebuttal in the form of a slap to the head. Ah, don't worry about it, O-Dog -- you'll do that time standing up. Except for when your leg injury won't allow you to stand for prolonged periods. "I get shot up and then this shit?" O-Dog continues to mutter. "Y'all ask a lot, don't you?" "Go down to Wal-Mart or some shit," an unsympathetic Snoop suggests, "and see if they take care of you while you laid up for a while." Snoop raises an excellent point: if given a choice, Wal-Mart executives would probably opt for railroading their employees into prison rather than provide disability benefits. In fact, someone at Wal-Mart is probably drafting a memo right now that begins, "I got the best idea while watching The Wire the other night..." Anyhow, Snoop exits with O-Dog in tow, leaving Herc to muse that cops shot in the line of duty get light tasks while they recover and then get to name their next assignment upon returning to active duty. "Marlo runs a tighter ship," Levy observes. And how. Though I hear the Employee Stock Ownership Program is competitive.
Back at the resupply, Chris walks into the warehouse, flanked by a pair of henchmen who could blot out the sun. Seriously, the guy on Chris's left has a V-shaped torso and looks like he's been lifting weights since approximately springing from his mother's womb clutching a dumbbell. They are meeting with representatives of the Greek who have brought along several delivery trucks for Chris's inspection. Inside the delivery trucks are boxes filled with refrigerators. So Marlo's in the underground kitchen appliances trade now? Not exactly. Peel away the paneling of the refrigerator door, and you'll find an icebox stuffed with heroin. Man, I can't wait to see what's stashed in the crisper. "Six icebox, twenty each," says the head representative in his best Boris Badenov accent. "You count, we wait. You no count, we go to lunch early." They're going to be going to lunch early, then, because Chris turns around and walks out to where Monk is waiting. A few words from Chris, and Monk drives his SUV up to the warehouse to pick up his share of the drugs. A pity, too, because I was sort of hoping Chris's henchman would walk out juggling three or four of the refrigerators, just to show us he could Maybe next time, Gigantor.