At his apartment, D'Angelo is pouting on the couch when Shardene comes in to report that Keisha -- the dead stripper, presumably -- hasn't called or been home: "How was she when you left her?" D'Angelo shrugs that she was sick, like he said. Shardene says that Keisha missed work and hasn't come to pick up her paycheque. D'Angelo pushes himself up off the couch, walking around her to get a drink from the fridge. Shardene kind of rolls her eyes as she follows, and leans against the pantry as D'Angelo says he's starting to think that the game isn't right for him. Shardene asks why, and D'Angelo replies, "Nothing good to it but the money." Shardene drawls that it sounds a lot like her job. "I mean, you got people using each other," says D'Angelo. "Scamming each other. Cutting each other up because they're late on a bill. Shooting folks because there might be a fucking dollar in it." Shardene looks more concerned as D'Angelo sounds more upset. "Do something else," says Shardene simply. D'Angelo nods, and asks if she's happy with her job. "Shit," chuckles Shardene. "Well, then, hey, do something else," shrugs D'Angelo sarcastically. "I am, I'm going to have to," says Shardene, smiling and crossing her arms. "Shit, can't stay pretty forever." D'Angelo blinks, and then decides that this might be an overture, but as he leans in for a kiss, she says, "It's not forever, right, Dee? And then what?" She could be talking about her job, or his, or their relationship, or all of the above. "You pretty now," says D'Angelo, taking the easiest option. She smiles, and he opens her blouse: "Now we pretty." She smiles. He swipes a finger through whatever he was eating (it looks like pâté, but that couldn't possibly be, could it?) and she sucks it off, and then macking ensues. Baba ghanoush? They're going at it when D'Angelo's phone rings. He ignores it, and it clicks through to his answering machine, which is when we hear whoever's calling say, "Stink been got." D'Angelo pushes Shardene away in shock. "You hear me? They got Stink." It's hard to appreciate a poignant moment when the person involved is known as "Stink," no?
Homicide. Bunk is reading a Laura Lippman paperback (gayer than the salmon shirt -- I'm just saying) when McNulty comes in and asks who's working Stinkum's murder. Bunk says that it's Cole and Dunnigan. McNulty shoots Cole a look -- he's putting something into a plastic evidence bag -- and then sits down in a chair opposite Bunk's cube, and they roll in close to each other. "Omar was the shooter," McNulty announces. "Fuck me," says Bunk, sounding disappointed but not surprised. Bunk and McNulty what we know about how Omar got there (that after giving them Bird on the Gant murder, Omar went and killed another suspect as payback for his boyfriend). Bunk crabs that he's sure Omar had his reasons, but that doesn't feel like enough to him. "You want to give back the Gant case, then you go tell Cole the name of his shooter," says McNulty. Bunk looks like this option isn't so attractive to him, and McNulty adds, "Otherwise, you tell him we'll give him some talk on the wire, and we'll give him his clearance once we wrap our case." Bunk looks up the aisle, and then squints back at McNulty, in realization: "But you won't." "No, we won't," McNulty admits. "You want me to go and bullshit Cole out of his case for you, huh?" says Bunk, getting mad. "Why don't you go and tell him yourself?" "Are you kidding?" hisses McNulty. "Rawls sees my fingerprints on this, he'll run my nuts through a cheese grater." Bunk seems to know McNulty's right, but he still doesn't like it: "Fuck you, Jimmy." I guess that's BunkNulty shorthand for "You win," because McNulty rolls his chair back, and Bunk gets up, buttoning his jacket as he heads toward Cole.