Outside a bail bonds office, Fatface Rick -- he's working on it, OK? -- gets out after a long, unproductive night of getting screwed over by Marlo. And as Fatface Rick fiddles with his keys to let himself in the door, his evening gets decidedly worse -- Omar sidles up behind him and jabs something into the back of his head. Rick assumes it's a gun; it's actually a beer bottle -- a Heineken if I recognize my labeling. "Whatever you want, it's yours, alright?" Rick offers. "Tonight," Omar says, while he relieves Rick of his sidearm, "I'm just gonna take your jump." He drops the beer bottle, and Rick realizes, with some degree of annoyance, that he's just been had. Omar would also like Rick to deliver a message to Marlo: "I'm callin' Marlo a straight bitch. I'm sayin' it don't take much to shoot down a blind man. Now as for him stepping to me, you tell that dude he ain't got the heart." "All right," Rick agrees, trying, with some success, to sound calm and collected. Seriously, his tone of voice is all, "Anything else? Coffee? Wet-Nap? A pair of non-shattered legs?" "You tell that man I'm in the street, waiting," Omar continues. "An' just like a little bitch, he ain't nowhere to be found." Seriously, is this message going to go on much longer? Because maybe you should just jot something down and Rick can pass it along at his convenience. Omar tells Rick to head on inside -- the longest message in the history of inter-gang communication is apparently complete. Before Omar can hobble off, Rick wants to know one thing: "You kill Joe? Hungry?" Omar scoffs. Rick takes that answer as a "no."
At Homicide, Bunk is hauling out the Marlo Stanfield Big Box o' Crime from the archives. Since there's no reliable physical evidence from his fourteen crime scenes, Bunk is planning on running every name in the Stanfield file -- associates, hangers-on, and whatnot -- through a database to see if anything -- court appearances, parole, probation, unflattering photos on Facebook -- comes up. "You're playing longshots, huh?" Kima asks. "Darlin'," Bunk says, "I'm playing the hand I'm dealt." And the hand he's dealt turns up a potential winner: there's a homicide file attached to "Lee, Michael" -- something about his stepfather getting brutally beaten to death. Kima comments that this doesn't really seem connected to the other cases, which Bunk readily concedes. "But you gonna work it anyway," she says. Indeed, he is. For those of you missing the compare-and-contrast in this episode: McNulty, with his corner-cutting made-up cases, totally sucks. And Bunk, with his meticulous police work, totally rules.