We're back at the Detail Office with Freamon and McNulty...and the homeless guy? Yeah, he's there, too. Uh-oh. "This is kidnapping," Freamon protests. Uh-oh times two. McNulty points out that the guy came with him willingly after McNulty offered a hundred bucks to do so. A thousand times uh-oh. Freamon asks if the guy will be able to find his way back home, and McNulty says yeah, probably, but by the time he does, they'll have collared Marlo and everyone will write off whatever happened to the homeless guy as "some fraternity prank." Uh-oh times infinity. And don't worry about him fingering you as a cop, Lester -- the guy's out of his mind, as the anti-psychotic prescription medicine McNulty just lifted off him clearly indicates. Head-shaking, fist-slamming, eye-rolling uh-oh at the top of my lungs. McNulty plans to take the homeless guy's I.D., scratch his name off the medicine bottle, and remove any other form of identification before handing the guy a Cleveland-based identity card lifted off one of the homeless bodies that was too far gone to use in the serial killer scheme. Uh. Oh. "You need P.C. to intercept cellphone photos," McNulty explains to a dubious Freamon. "Well, here it is, right here. We send photos of this guy all ribboned up from a dry cell phone to that goofy reporter along with a message bitching about his stories. 'I ain't no pervert.' Whatever. Now, the killer says, 'You ain't gonna find no more bodies, only photos of the victims.'" I don't think this can be said enough in enough ways about this latest plan -- uh-oh. Freamon takes one last look at the homeless guy, whose head is lolling back and forth, and can barely contain his self-contempt: "I don't believe we're going to do this." Don't think about the troubling moral and ethical issues of exploiting your fellow human being, McNulty insists -- just think about nabbing Marlo. Freamon glances at the homeless man once again; McNulty grins at him eagerly. Freamon groans and leaves the room. Gotta side with Lester on that one.
Invigorated by his investigative good fortune, Bunk returns from the field to head into the lab and tell Ron what's what. "Don't fucking tell me you mislabeled this, too," Bunk says, slamming Devar's homicide file on the table. "I want comparisons between known suspects and the DNA from this scene. By the looks of it, we've got a whole lot of DNA out of this mess." Uh yeah...about that, Bunk ol' buddy: Ron would love to expedite your request, he really would. But first he's got to process the trace evidence from the homeless killings. "It's the priority, Bunk," Ron says helplessly. "The homeless killings," Bunk says with a palpable touch of disbelief. Indeed, that's backing everything up. "Your boy McNulty has everybody's attention right now," Ron adds, just to reduce Bunk to incomprehensible mutterings. Hey, Bunk, just do what I do whenever this fake-serial-killer thing puts actual police work on the back burner: stare heavenward and, shaking your fist, bellow, "McNulty!" at the top of your lungs. If your neighbors are anything like mine, it will scare the hell out of them at least.