And then McNulty, Daniels, and Bunk are meeting with Ronnie (Pearlman, not Mo), who's confirming that Wallace's version of the story is corroborated by their other evidence and recapping where they stand with their other open cases (Bird/Gant, etc.). She asks about Wallace's parents, and McNulty reports that Wallace has an "alcoholic mother in the wind -- no fixed address." Wallace also has a grandmother who lives on the Eastern Shore, but Wallace hasn't seen her in years. Bunk asks about getting Wallace a hotel room, and Daniels snorts: "On whose dime? No way the Deputy approves the manpower to stash a sixteen-year-old, much less the room service." Little does Daniels know that Wallace would happily make do with a gross of juice boxes and chips. Jay appears to call McNulty to the phone, and once McNulty's taken off, Bunk in tow, Daniels leans forward and puts on his flirt-face just for Ronnie, to wheedle, "How about you run this up to front office? See if the state's attorney will kick in." Ronnie incredulously reminds Daniels that Wallace is a kid, and that even if they could somehow afford it, putting a sixteen-year-old in a hotel room for six months (!) waiting for a trial date might not be the greatest idea. Eh, I don't know about that -- if they got Wallace a math tutor, the time could be spent quite productively trying to get him into Grade 11. Ronnie recommends trying to get Wallace in at his grandma's. Daniels purses his lips and considers how much harder he wants to try flirting to get his way here.
On the phone, McNulty's not giving away much with his side of the conversation, but you can tell from his exasperation that he's getting some bad news about something Elena's doing. He hangs up and spits, "I fucking need a fucking lawyer." Jay frowns for a moment, but only a moment, because then he looks down the hall and sees the trim, lovely figure of Ms. Rhonda Pearlman. She notices Jay and McNulty and immediately calls out a defensive "What?" Hee.
Detail office. Lester has some photos of the stash house spread out, and Carver points out the bars on the windows and the cameras pointed at the street. Sydnor adds that he checked with Verizon, and that there's no phone service at the address. "That's a tell-tale right there," says Lester, possibly striking fear into the hearts of all my friends who exclusively use cell phones and aren't drug dealers, as far as I know. Carver and Sydnor both think they need to try to write a warrant for the house, but Lester just claps the file closed, looking over his glasses at them in weary disappointment. Lester takes off, Carver and Sydnor rolling their eyes in frustration, to meet up with Prez at a bulletin board. He's apparently tidied it up, putting a map in the middle, with pins marking various locations, and then strings from the pins to snapshots, all around the edges of the map, showing the locations' front doors. Lester asks Prez whether he's noticed a pattern, but he hasn't: "Except this cluster of old storefronts and warehouses on the west side of downtown." They're mostly vacants, owned by three different holding companies. Lester very gravely announces to Prez, "You have a gift for the paper trail." Prez slowly looks to Lester, and then giggles a little with pride. Lester adds that the next day will require some street work: "Are you street-ready?" Prez uncomfortably reminds Lester that he's in-office, and won't have his gun until the grand jury, but Lester says he won't need a gun. He hands Prez a file, while Prez looks like he wants to ask whether he can at least pack a pointed stick or something.