Whether you've just closed a major drug bust or you're just making sure that the plates keep spinning so that nobody discovers the horrible deceit you've constructed, nothing tops a long day of detective work -- or just pretending to do detective work -- like a night of drinking down at the tracks. That seems to be Freamon's point of view, as he's well on his way toward making a dent in the bottle of whatever spirit he's toting around. McNulty is less enthused. "This is what you wanted," a happily liquored-up Freamon reminds McNulty. "Then why do I feel like shit?" McNulty responds. Perhaps it's because the full magnitude of your actions is only now dawning on you now that people like Kima and Beadie are finally condemning you for what you did instead of enabling your skullduggery. (That's merely a hypothesis, by the way.) Freamon attributes McNulty's mixed emotions to "post-partum depression" and drunkenly philosophizes that "it's the journey, not the destination." "We got Marlo Stanfield," Freamon adds exultantly, as if the thought just came to him. "What about the serial killer?" McNulty wonders. "Marlo is he," Freamon counters. An interesting interpretation -- and doubtlessly the correct one -- but I somehow doubt the top brass will be eager to accept that point of view, even after a couple of shots from Freamon's bottle.
Freamon turns his alcohol-filled musing toward the day's press conference -- how Daniels wanted him on the dais "with all those preening motherfuckers, congratulating themselves on a job well done. Part of the problem, all of them. Yet, when the bracelets come out, and the dope is on the table..." McNulty interrupts this completely accurate critique of the city's institutional structure with the thorny problem of what to do about all those police resources chasing a made-up killer. Hey, McNulty -- in addition to all the other crap you've pulled this year, you want to add harshing Freamon's buzz to the list? Shut up, Mopey, and let the man have his celebratory bender. Anyhow, Freamon reminds McNulty that this, too, shall pass and that the furor over the serial killer will eventually die down. It is worth reminding everyone that Freamon is drunk. Freamon offers McNulty a swig from the bottle, and McNulty passes. Wow, he really is depressed. If that's the way you're going be then, McNulty, you better give Lester a ride home: "Shardene better be awake, too," Freamon adds. "Because I do believe Lester Freamon's in the mood for love." "Love" in this case is defined as "drunken pawing followed by several hours of loud snoring." And you know, I realize my gig around here is to make dumb jokes at the expense of a fine TV show, but Clarke Peters has just turned in some tremendous work in the first twenty-eight minutes of this episode. I hope to find myself on London's West End one day when he's performing, even if it's as Kenickie in an ill-considered revival of Grease. You hear that, Clarke Peters: I'll sit through Grease if it means watching you work. See how many other stage actors I'd do that for.
On Michael's corner, the legend of Omar grows. Despite Michael's insistence that it was Kenard who sent Omar off to his eternal reward, Spider is quite convinced that it was a gang of gunmen from Pimlico who mowed Omar down with a series of AK-47s. Well, when the legend becomes fact, print the legend -- that's what they say, isn't it? And by "they," I pretty much mean "Templeton." Anyhow, Snoop rolls up in an SUV and greets Michael. She's got an assignment for him tomorrow night relating to this massive drug arrest -- a fellow by the name of Big Walter -- "Big-nose Big Walter?" Michael asks; "Nah, Skinny Big Walter," Snoop clarifies -- needs to done in for unspecified crimes against humanity. Hey, and don't worry about bringing a gun to this assignment, Michael -- Snoop promises that a gun will be supplied for him, and drives off. Michael furrows his brow. Hey, between now and tomorrow night, Michael, why not rent Goodfellas and familiarize yourself with the part about how friendly and accommodating gangsters act before dispatching one of their own? Why would you want to watch that? Oh...no reason.