In the interrogation room, Bubbs is uncuffed, and sadly asks what he can do. McNulty suggests that he go down to the Projects and see who's missing. Bubbs nods, but says that he hasn't been around the Projects much lately. McNulty, oblivious, asks whether Bubbs is beefing with someone. Bubbs, his eyes flashing, looks like he's about to explain what's going on, but then McNulty hands over a twenty: "Eyes open, Bubbs. For Kima." Bubbs crumples the bill into a ball, cursing the way he's probably eventually going to get high. For Kima.
Outside, McNulty asks what's up with Savino. Bunk says he's still MIA. "Enough of this bullshit," snaps McNulty, stomping out. Drunk Cop's on the case!
Drunk Cop's grabbed up Ronnie and hoofed it down to Levy's office, where the unconcerned attorney eats nuts (...no, literally -- he has a big bowl of nuts, with the shells still on them, on his desk, because that's normal and doesn't make his office look like the bar at Jack Astor's at all) and says that if he hears from Savino, Levy will tell him to turn himself in. McNulty says that's not good enough. Levy gets haughty, and McNulty snaps, "We need him now." Levy holds out his nuts to Ronnie (...again, literally), who politely declines, trying a tack other than McNulty's brute aggression: "Perhaps as an officer of the court, you could endeavour to--" "Ronnie here is being polite," McNulty interrupts. "She's a member of your twisted little tribe." Hey! That's a good way to get yourself called an anti-Semite! Oh, wait -- he just means they're both lawyers. "So she's putting it into your twisted little language. Me, I wouldn't wipe my ass with a Baltimore lawyer." Ronnie smiles ingratiatingly at Levy. "No offense," McNulty adds. Levy huffs that there's none taken. McNulty goes on making his charming point: "I mean, I'm willing to let you little ratfuckers suborn perjury, blow smoke up a judge's ass, and jury-tamper your balls off, without losing the slightest bit of my sunny disposition." Even Ronnie has to turn at this to try to get McNulty to knock it off, but she should know better, as he barrels on: "Fuck me if I don't let you structure your cash into briefcase fees, either. That's between you and the IRS, and neither one of you is anyone's friend, right?"