McNulty is still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that a sexual serial killer is not enough to get the interest of a major metropolitan daily. "Cold world, I know," Templeton says, not very empathetically. McNulty takes another swig of whiskey and lets slip that the killer has started biting his victims. "That twisted enough for you?" McNulty says. Because if not, let McNulty know, and he and Freamon can cook up something else. Templeton asks if he's talking cannibalism. "Just biting for now," McNulty says, before impishly adding, "We'll see where it goes." I bet you will. McNulty also adds that only the most recent victims have been bitten. "He's maturing," says McNulty, parroting the explanation Freamon gave him at the last faked crime scene. "It's a technical term. It's when a serial killer's becoming more obsessive. He starts to develop an intricate pattern in what he does with the bodies. It's weird stuff." Yes, yes -- it would take a scientist to explain. "A biter," Templeton enthuses. "That's great." Yeah, not so much for the bite-ees, but you find your happiness where you can. McNulty insists that his name not appear anywhere in the story, Templeton leaves some money for McNulty's tab, and McNulty is left alone in the bar to enjoy the satisfying cocktail of whiskey and fraud.

Back at Levy's office, the lights are out, and not a creature is stirring except for a...Herc? Yes, everyone's favorite bald, aggressively incompetent cop is about to teach us all a lesson about judging people just because of one or two or 36 mistakes and blunders. Herc walks into Levy's darkened office, flicks on a desk lamp, flips through the Rolodex, and scribbles down a number, before returning the Rolodex to its previously unrifled-through state. We are to presume he's writing down Marlo's number, though, this being Herc, it could just as easily be the number for a rib joint he's particularly fond of.