Later, at a bar, McNulty genially tries to rationalize the position he's put Bunk in: "Cole's doing good this year. He don't need the clearance." Bunk downs his drink and frowns. McNulty sheepishly admits that he knows "this kind of fucks him." Bunk bitches that McNulty should have seen Cole's face when Bunk told him McNulty would give him the shooter later. "He's happy?" asks McNulty. Bunk looks down the bar to see an attractive woman, drinking with some douchey-looking dude in a band collar, and then turns back to McNulty to grumble, "He looked at me like a damn puppy." McNulty says he's sorry (though he doesn't sound it, really), and Bunk angrily says, "I'll carry it. Fuck it." Bunk looks back at the woman and tries to pay and leave, but McNulty stops him and says he'll get it. Bunk glares at him that he'd try to make a magnanimous gesture at this particular moment, and then McNulty says he's going to leave, and gives Bunk the money he would have spent on him. Bunk waves him off and turns back to the woman, who gives him a come-hither look. As McNulty leaves, Bunk stops him: "Call Nadine and tell her I caught one, and I'm out on the street." Seems like that cover wouldn't really work in the age of the cell phone, but what do I know? McNulty sees Bunk's intended, and looks back judgmentally. "I lied for you, didn't I?" snaps Bunk, with quite a bit of real rancor. McNulty leaves, wondering how long he'll be working this one off.

Detail office. Kima enters the computer room and sits next to Lester, telling him she thinks she fucked something up. She tells him about interviewing Omar about Bird, and how he said that if they found Bird, he'd have the gun on him. "Which he [did]," says Lester, not getting it. Kima hesitantly says that she also told Omar they'd need an eyewitness. "At which point, he volunteers," drawls Lester. Kima nods. Lester says that Omar might have seen it. "Or maybe he put himself in it just to see Bird locked up," says Kima. Lester looks away. "I fucked up, didn't I?" says Kima sadly. "A little," says Lester, Conscience Of The Detail. He smirks mischievously: "But the gun matches." He adds that Omar's description of events match up with the other evidence: "So don't sweat it." Kima still looks like she's beating herself up, so Lester takes off his glasses for a little lecture: "You know, interrogation is more art than science. You've got to feel your way through on instinct, mostly." He takes out a folder from a cubby and tells her to take a look: it's a bunch of printouts and DMV photos of various women. Kima asks who they are, and Lester says that they're all dancers at Orlando's; he pulled their names off complaints from the liquor board and from state employment records. With all the photos laid out before them, Lester asks, "If you were going to try to turn one of these girls, which one would it be?" Kima scans the photos and picks up Shardene's card. Lester asks why her, and Kima says that Shardene doesn't have a criminal record. He asks why else, and as the camera zooms in on Shardene's prim smile and super-dorky glasses, Kima admits, "I don't know. I can't really say. I like her face." "Soul, conscience, whatever you want to call it," Lester agrees. "She's a citizen, right?" Kima looks from the photo back to Lester: "It's in the eyes." Lester nods approvingly: "Instinct, Detective." All that's missing is a pat on the head and a piece of candy.