Elsewhere, Rawls is sounding super-bored at a press conference, where he stands at a podium flanked by Jay and Bunk, as he claims that there's no evidence Gant was killed for testifying against D'Angelo. A reporter basically repeats what Rawls just said, but in question form, and we cut to a view of the press conference on a tiny, crappy TV as Bunk steps forward to say they're looking into the possibility that he was involved in a street dispute. Let's just say Bunk doesn't really sell this particular strategy like he thinks it's going to pan out. Rawls repeats the party line, and then a reporter asks if there's a suspect in Gant's shooting as we pan to see that it's McNulty watching the news in the sad detail office, telling his deaf TV partner, "Bunk, shame on ya, lad." "What did you expect him to do?" drawls Kima, next to McNulty, as they both wander away from the TV. McNulty sarcastically says he expected Bunk to shove Rawls aside, grab the mic, and order all of Baltimore to rise up in protest that witnesses are being murdered in cold blood. Kima laughs that that sounds more like McNulty's gig.
Kima and McNulty approach the board again, and we can see they have made some progress on their hat photos: they now have both street names and real names for several Barksdalies, and have them classed as "enforcers" and the like, but other than a name and a date of birth, they still have no more information on Avon -- not even a photo. McNulty calls out to "Pat," and even though the moustachioed guy turns around, trust me when I say that, by the end of the scene, it'll be clear that the moustachioed guy is Gus Polk, and no moustache is Pat Mahone. McNulty tells Polk that he and Mahone need to find them a shot of Avon. Mahone, totally reading the paper, is like, "Go down to the B of I [Bureau of Identification]." McNulty explains that since Avon's never been arrested as an adult, and his juvenile record has been expunged, there's no photo of him that they'd be able to find there. "Then you're fucked," says Mahone. Ah, I had profs who gave that little a shit about things -- fucking tenure. Santangelo looks at McNulty like, "Do you believe this shit?" Kima chuckles. McNulty says he knows they're fucked, but since they all came in to work today, he thought they could try something different: "We know from his mother's social service record that Barksdale grew up in Franklin Terrace, right?" Mahone shrugs by way of answer. McNulty says that the Terraces started taking photos of registered residents as a security measure. "So you want us to go down to the housing department and pull his photo," Mahone connects the dots. "Excellent," says McNulty. "Why don't you fucking do it yourself?" laughs Mahone. Okay, seriously. How does this guy still draw a paycheque? And wouldn't he want to do something sometimes? Wouldn't he get bored? I mean, at home,when I don't have anything to do, I can read a book or take a nap or have a snack. Why wouldn't Polk just pretend he was going to get a photo of Avon, and then go read a book or take a nap or have a snack in his car? Anyway, Polk thinks Mahone is hilarious. McNulty says he would go get the photo, but then Mahone would have to sit at McNulty's desk, review homicide folders, take notes, try to run down leads, and other actual police work. Polk's like, "Fuck it, let's go spend five minutes at the housing department and reward ourselves with a three-hour lunch." "That was inspiring," says Kima, as the drunkards take off. "I'm a leader of men," smiles McNulty.