Bubbs goes back over to the board, studies it a moment, and then returns to the table as Kima says that "cops are dogs." "Yeah," McNulty agrees. Kima explains that it wasn't like she was going around "waving some dyke flag in the air or some shit," and that she knows she looks like she could "go either way." "Lord, yes, you do," says Bubbs appreciatively. "Yes, you do." Kima says that she just had to put the truth out there "to get through the day." McNulty says that he should have known, because he's only worked with one other female police officer who was "worth a damn," and that she was a lesbian too. Kima chuckles, and then leans forward to monologue: "In the beginning, you're in your radio car. Alone, working your post. Most women aren't getting out of that car...not without side partners showing up. The're intimidated, physically. They've gotta be." McNulty asks if she wasn't, and Kima says she was, at first: "But I'm talking about some old straight-out-of-the-academy-type scared; I wasn't about to stay scared. You know, you get your ass kicked once or twice, you realize it's not the end of the world, right?" Yeah, this is why I'm not a cop. That and laziness. And that I don't like to help people. "Most of the women, they don't want to believe that. Most of the men, too -- they don't even want to go there." McNulty starts to say, "You think 'cause you're gay--" "I don't know," Kima shrugs. "But is there any other fucking way to police?" McNulty smiles. Kima sits back: "All I know is, I just love the job."

After dark, D'Angelo gets out of a cab and goes into Avon's "gentleman's club," Orlando's. He stops to watch a topless dancer languidly working the pole (she's more shirking the pole, if you ask me -- put a on a show, lady!), and we see as she turns around that it's Shardene. After a moment, D'Angelo moves on, heading upstairs. He pulls a snap off a gatekeeper, who calls over to someone we can't see that D'Angelo's coming up.

D'Angelo enters a dressing-room area, where girls are stretching and putting on makeup, and is admitted to a back room...

...containing Stringer, a couple of guys, and piles and piles of cash. The guys are counting, stacking, and weighing; I think I see that a laundry basket is actually involved. It's...pretty impressive. D'Angelo seems slightly humbled, and wanders over to Stringer, asking where all the money goes. He glances around, like he's just noticed what's going on in there, and returns his attention to the legal pad he's sketching on, not answering. D'Angelo pulls a brick of cash out of his coat and reports that it's $22,000 or $24,000, "give or take." Stringer is surprised to have that much come out of the low-rises: "Damn, boy! You must have that crew humming." Apparently it's a record from the Courtyard. "It wasn't even cheque day," D'Angelo adds. Stringer finally grants that D'Angelo's "doing good." He replies that they'll be doing even better when the new package arrives. Stringer chuckles that the new package will be the same as the old: "Just gonna put that same shit out in a different-coloured gel cap is all. Might spike that shit with some procaine or some caffeine, but otherwise the same." D'Angelo reports that they're already getting complaints that their current product is weak, and Stringer says he knows it is: "But shit is weak all over. The thing is, no matter what we call heroin, it's gonna get sold." Just like when Starbucks changed their chai formula: Glark still buys at least one a day. "The shit is strong, we're gonna sell it. The shit is weak, we're gonna sell twice as much. You know why? 'Cause a fiend is gonna chase that shit no matter what. It's crazy, you know? We do worse, and we get paid more. The government do better, and it don't mean no never mind. This shit right here, Dee? It's forever." D'Angelo looks around at all the cash, some of which Stringer counts off and hands to him, telling him it's his bonus: "And you buy something that you wouldn't otherwise." Aw, Stringer's just like my grandma!