In the van, McNulty observes, "How careful is Stringer Bell?" Kima snorts at his claim not to know any Barksdales. McNulty notes that they've tied him to Brandon's murder: "That can be enough for one day's work." Omar opens the car door and takes off his body mic: "I did what I could for y'all." You could have brought back a churro.
Nighttime in the country. Daniels pulls up to a neat little brick farmhouse, and as he and Wallace climb out, Daniels asks if Wallace is sure they're at the right place. Wallace says that he spent the summer there when he was nine. Daniels asks when Wallace's grandma last saw him, and Wallace says it was that summer. Daniels widens his eyes, but charges forward to arrange Wallace's billet anyway. The ambient country noise is crazy out of control as they walk up, and Wallace asks what the sound is. Daniels informs him that he's hearing crickets. "Cricket," Wallace repeats, like he's thinking of the sport. Or like the character from Y&R might be chilling in his grandma's half-acre right now.
Orlando's. In the back room, Avon is aghast: "He try to go in my pockets again?" "This nigger is talking about five Gs, B," says Stringer, trying to put matters in perspective. "Sheeeeeeeit," drawls Avon, sounding just like Clay Davis. There's a knock at the door, and Wee-Bey hobbles over to get it. On the other side is Shardene, in her skivvies, smiling seductively and with a few drinks on a tray. She says that Antwon sent her up with them, and asks if they need anything else. As Wee-Bey moves off with the tray, Stringer and Avon continue their conversation as though Shardene is a piece of furniture, Avon rhetorically asking, "How we supposed to pay that?" Stringer: "He talking about going through Joe, but I'm like, 'Fuck Joe.'" Avon suddenly notices Shardene and waves off Stringer, amiably dismissing Shardene: "You look good and your services are appreciated. Keep them tips. I hope you making them, baby." Wee-Bey closes the door, but Shardene remains on the other side, listening, as Wee-Bey (I think) crabs, "Make the motherfucker come down to the Towers to get the rest of his money, know what I'm saying? If he's stupid enough to come to the Towers, he gonna get got." Shardene, horrified, takes off.
Lady bar! Kima, Cheryl, and a couple of their friends toast with shots, one of them choking. You can tell she's the one who wouldn't be able to hold her liquor because she's in a mock turtleneck. Honey, you're in a bar, and it's 2002. Please return the top to JC Penney. Or your mom. Cheryl brag-exposits that she went to journalism school at Northwestern, so no one can keep up with her alcoholic ass. Kima calls her out for talking like she's "some crusty old reporter." "Excuse me?" squeals Cheryl. Kima: "Bitch, you work at a TV station." Snap? Cheryl says it's the same thing, and tells Kima to shut up. Cheryl downs another shot, and taunts Kima to bring it. Kima gazes at her shot for a moment, demurring that she has to work the next day. The rest of the table crows at her for trying to puss out (as it were); Cheryl calls her a candy-ass, and down the table, one woman takes a shot and plants a big fat smooch on the woman sitting next to her. Cheryl compliments Tanya, the smoocher, for getting her drink on better than Kima: "And she run a damn art gallery! You see, police in this town ain't about shit." Mock Turtleneck goes "ohhhhhh" at the dig, like this has anything to do with her dowdy ass. "Guess not," says Kima, not taking the bait. "Can't hold a liquor. Can't hold a donut." Everyone cracks up. Kima: "And if you ask me, I guess we, uh, ain't good in bed, either." She locks eyes with Cheryl, who giggles, "Don't go there, Officer!"