Sydnor returns to the detail office from Property with Nagras, some kind of incredibly aged recording devices that are, like, the size of a box of Milk Duds -- like at the movies, not from the corner store. McNulty wonders what else they had down there: "Eight-tracks? Victrolas? That fucking department's a joke." Sydnor says they need to hook up with the feds: "They got lightweights, wireless microrecorders." Kima says that the DEA has those too. Sydnor says that if he wears those on a warm day, or even if "they do a half-assed search," they'll make him as a cop. Okay, seeing the thing now in McNulty's hands, it's actually more like the size of a VCR tape. Sydnor's supposed to go in with that strapped to him? Come on!
At the cop shop, Santangelo is reporting to Rawls on the detail: "McNulty and the girl -- that lezzer from Narcotics -- they got the file." He says that he and McNulty were partnered together, but that they don't want anything to do with each other, and adds that he's "a fifth wheel on a car that's going nowhere." He begs Rawls to bring him home, but Rawls says that Santangelo's his eyes and ears on the detail, and needs to get tipped off on whatever McNulty's next dipshit move turns out to be: "And then you come home with a favour in your pocket." Santangelo is mollified. "Lezzer"?
Daniels returns to the detail office after dark to find McNulty and Kima picking away at typewriters slightly less old than the one we saw on Kima's desk at Narcotics; a little ways off, Lester works on doll furniture to the accompaniment of some jazz on a tinny radio. Daniels gives him a long glare for hobbying on work time, and then tells Kima and McNulty that Carver and Prez will be back the next day, but that Prez wil be confined to the office, stripped of his powers: "If the building catches fire, he stays in the office." Herc's off on medical leave until Monday at the earliest. Daniels goes to his office, and McNulty asks Kima, "I wonder what you gotta do to get thrown off this police force." Kima saves me a joke by replying, "Keep on with some of your shit, you just might find out."
Enter Polk and Mahone, looking for "run sheets." Okay, make that a seven-hour lunch they took. McNulty notes their listing and asks if they went "for a taste." Mahone proudly tells him they got his picture, and produces a snapshot of a guy who seriously could be any of my great-uncles in the '70s: long, thick sideburns; cheery smile; white. McNulty holds it up, like, "Seriously?" Polk insists that it's Avon Barksdale. Kima says she doesn't think so. Mahone sticks to their story, saying that's the name on the guy's file. "Excuse me for giving a shit," says McNulty, "but I can't help but notice this is a middle-aged white man." Mahone says that's the only Avon Barksdale in the housing department files. Polk and Mahone take off for the night -- and why not, after a job so well done!