Bunk is standing in a room at the group home when Randy is ushered in. He's looking much taller than when we saw him last. Also, hardened and broken by the system. Still -- good news about him being taller. Bunk motions for Randy to sit; he would prefer to stand, thanks. So Bunk launches into one of his I'm-going-to-intimidate-you-into-telling-me-stuff routines, telling Randy how murders never go off the books, how the cops work on cases for years, and how someone always cracks. "When the case does go down," Bunk continues, "all those people that kept quiet about it, who lied about it, all of them who thought it wasn't coming back on them, they end up catching a charge. And they get time behind that charge." Randy is strangely unmoved by Bunk's presentation. Bunk gives him one last chance to tell him anything about Lex's murder. "Why don't you promise to get me out of here?" Randy says, interrupting Bunk mid-threat. "That's what y'all do, ain't it? Lie to dumb-ass niggers?" Randy's life has gone considerably downhill since his last interaction with the police, and we're about to see how much. He turns to leave the room, shouting loud enough for everyone to hear about how someone better get Bunk out of his face, and, on his way up the stairs, he glares back at Bunk and shoves someone much smaller than him. Survival instinct or evidence that the sweet Randy we used to know is long gone, it's a depressing sight in a season that's been full of them.
Back at Police Headquarters, Rawls and Daniels are leaving the press conference, with the former praising the latter for his natural way with the media hordes. "You had them eating out of your hand," Rawls chuckles. Daniels points out that he was just following the mayor's lead: "He wants a full-court press, right?" Now Rawls really chuckles -- a detective or two can be dispatched to work the case and patrols can be told to concentrate on areas where the homeless gather, but that's about it. Well, that seems like an appropriate allocation of reso -- wait, what? "Make no mistake," Rawls says. "[Carcetti] wants us to solve the murders. He just doesn't want the cost." As Daniels stands there, drinking in this latest example of bureaucratic dumbfuckery, Rawls tells him not to look so shocked: "You're running with the big dogs now," he says, as he leaves Daniels to stare off into space and contemplate the thankless role he's just inherited.
It's our friend, Judge Phelan, whose busy woofing down prescription pills and fielding wiretap requests from Pearlman and McNulty. The judge seems to think the wiretap on the killer's cell phone should be more than adequate. McNulty says the killer is using a burner -- yeah, sure, whatever -- and that he's taking out the battery between calls. Guess this is McNulty covering his tracks with more wiretap requests, per Freamon's suggestion. Or maybe McNulty just likes requesting wiretaps. Anyhow, what he and Pearlman want to do now is tap Templeton's phone. Oh, there would be some calls I would not want to listen in on. Anyhow, Phelan's not inclined to go along with that request, and McNulty demands to know why. "Never pick a fight with anyone who buys ink by the barrelful," Phelan says. McNulty curses under his breath -- perhaps he dislikes clichés, too.