Corner. Nick and White Mike greet each other warmly. They quickly get to business, White Mike saying that he's been tipped that Nick wants to take a re-up from him. Nick says "they" told him they could get it from White Mike, who drawls, "Nicky Sobotka, living the life. Who fucking knew, huh?" Nick doesn't look especially happy about his new line of work, but gets over himself and says that he'll need "two or three G-packs a week," which is what he'd been getting directly from the Greek's people until their recent supply challenges. Nick adds that he was paying "four each." White Mike reacts incredulously to this quote: "I wholesale for five, man!" Nick patiently says, "They told me you was gonna be straight with it." White Mike bitterly pulls out his cell phone (and the shot, as I have it paused, shows us each guy's back-of-the-neck tattoo: a shamrock on White Mike's, and a pi symbol on Nick's, instead of a pierogi or something). Anyway, White Mike calls Sergei and confirms the price Nick had been promised, agreeing easily enough. He adds, though, that he wants Sergei to assure him that he wasn't responsible for killing someone on Potee Street the other night -- someone with "a Greek-ass name" who was dumped in front of a house White Mike had been using. We cut to Sergei, at the dock: "Did he have hands? Did he have a face? Yes? Then it wasn't us." Every good artist needs a trademark, I guess. Back on the corner, White Mike relays what he's just heard from Sergei. They dap on it, and White Mike motions for someone to hook Nick up with his order. Maybe next time he'll want to make it a combo. Or super-size it.

Detail office. "Thank God for the Russian's cell phone," says Prez. "They might be laying off the warehouse line, but at least he ain't changing that up." We watch as Prez and Lester listen to the "Did he have hands?" bit; it looks like Prez might be a tiny bit creeped out, but Lester takes it in stride, because he's smooth like that.

Elsewhere in the office, McNulty is all besuited and gussied up when Kima plunks a little leather case on the desk in front of him. "What the fuck is that?" demands McNulty. "It's a man's purse," says Rhonda, who I really think may have gone out to buy this thing just to fuck with him, despite her embellishment: "European men like yourself sometimes carry one." Beside her, Daniels looks like he might be biting the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from bursting out laughing. Bunk rumbles, "Them people ain't right over there." He could afford to denigrate them then; today, as long as their currency is stomping America's, a little deference wouldn't be out of order. Kima explains that they're going to put the microphone into McNulty's murse: "Besides, you might have hands all over you before we get what we need." Yeah, starting with his own, in the shuttle on the way over. You know, just to prime the pump! Daniels says that it'll be up to McNulty as to when they bust in; he asks Rhonda to remind him what the code word was, and she carefully enunciates, "'Spot on.' It means 'exactly.'" Oh, I'm sure McNulty knows that much; he strikes me as a closet EastEnders fan. Rhonda adds that "they" have to mention money and sex first, and initiate "an overt attempt to...engage." McNulty raises an eyebrow at her clinical choice of words, but plummily replies, "Spot on!" Next time, can he pretend to be German? Now I'm curious about his range.