At Homicide, McNulty's chatting with Bunk, who says he saw Kima earlier. Eyes wide like a little boy's, McNulty asks how she's doing, as though afraid to hear the answer. Bunk says she's "okay," and out of the ICU: "Moving slow, but moving, you know?" As both of them look through files, Bunk casually asks, "You ain't been to see her?" McNulty immediately admits that he couldn't go in. "This ain't about you, right?" says Bunk quietly. McNulty nods irritably, saying that he'll go see her when he gets back from New Jersey. Bunk gazes at him -- like his conscience, personified (and nattily dressed) -- and McNulty repeats that he'll go. Bunk reports what happened with Kima's ID, and how she wouldn't roll over on Wee-Bey: "So, I tried the fat finger. Damn near down on my knees begging her, to make this play easier in court. You know what she said?" McNulty smiles. "'Sometimes things got to play hard,'" Bunk reports. They chuckle. "Real police," says McNulty appreciatively, perhaps knowing that, in the same situation, he would not have been equal to Bunk's fat finger.
At this moment, Ronnie appears, her face drawn, and chucks the tape recorder on the desk. She briefly glares at McNulty, gives Bunk a great big warm smile, and stomps off. "What the fuck did you do to her?" asks Bunk. McNulty doesn't know, and doesn't seem too anxious to figure it out. Bunk complains that having Ronnie and McNulty in the car together will make for "a long-ass drive to Jersey." At least they have the Jamba Juice in Edgewater to look forward to.
Under a gorgeous sunny blue sky, Avon's black SUV pulls up at the curb in front of a neat little low-rise brick office.
We then see Avon and Stringer letting themselves into a red-carpeted funeral home, where a kid in a warm-up suit flips through photos of caskets. Stringer respectfully bows his head, and after a moment, a short little dude appears and ushers Stringer and Avon past a viewing and up into an office on the second floor, with overflow floral arrangements draped in plastic and a tufted vinyl bar in the corner. Classy! Avon bitches that it's "too still" there, but when he looks out the window and sees a knot of "mourners" shooting dice in the alley, he seems reassured that he's among his people. He turns back to talk to Stringer, who motions for him to keep it down; Avon then obediently leans in to whisper that all they really need is to put a safe somewhere in there, "and let them know the count comes here from now on." At this, a dubious Brianna enters, shooting attitude all over the place: "Damn, boy. When y'all change up, y'all--" Stringer and Avon both shush her. Yeah, that won't get too annoying in the long run. Seems like people might have occasion to raise their voices sometimes when they're in the business of SELLING ILLEGAL DRUGS. See -- like me, just then.