McNulty studies the bulletin board, taking a swig from a fifth of...definitely not Fresca. Prez appears in the doorway behind him, briefly looking pained, but managing to raise his eyebrows in silent commiseration.
At the Homicide unit, Norris, Jay, Cole, and Bunk have hooked back up, Norris reporting that they still haven't found Savino. His girlfriend, mother, and last known address all came up empty. Jay says that the "tracers" found a couple of hairs in one of the hoodies. Bunk offers up the (unlikely) possibility that the shooters were a couple of neighbourhood dudes who lucked into $30,000 in a random stickup, and Jay replies with the more likely scenario: "They're pros who set up in an alley on one side of the tracks, then slip over to the other side, where they park their ride." Cole weighs in with Orlando's cause of death: "Close-range GSWs to the shoulder, chest, and left arm." The weapon was a 9mm, "six left twist, suitable for comparison." Norris squints, nodding, and confirms that they "pulled something else from the back seat of the car." Bunk says that's right: ".380. Semi-jacketed. Casings were different, too. So we confirmed the two shooters." Lester enters, placing a sheet of paper in front of Bunk and helpfully expositing that they got a "print hit" for Little Man, from the Slice can by the pay phone; Lester says that it "still had a little fizz in it" when he got to it. Bunk asks what pay phone he's talking about, and Lester fills him in, adding that the prints on the phone were smudged. Jay recaps: "So we got a Barksdale pro in the Northwest ringing up the boss minutes after the deed." Lester nods gravely. "So much for the amateur-hour theory," crows Jay. "Good pull," Norris tells Lester. "You are...?" Lester introduces himself. Norris asks where he's working. Bunk sort of smiles, leaning back, and Lester shrugs, "Pawn shop unit." He takes off, and Jay stares very intently at a handy piece of paper in order to let Norris believe, for a few years longer, that nothing bad ever happens to good cops.
Pit. "I mean, how you gonna shoot a police, yo?" rants D'Angelo to Poot and Bodie, the latter of whom concludes that "them Park Heights niggers just ain't got to fucking common sense." Some guy rolls up, telling Poot that Wallace is on the phone. D'Angelo repeats the name, and Poot shrugs, "Nigga ring me up twice a day whether he got shit to say or not." Give the kid a break; you just know his grandma doesn't have cable out in the country. When D'Angelo asks where Wallace is, we learn that Wallace hasn't tried so hard to keep his location a secret, because Poot knows exactly where he is. Bodie contemptuously says that Wallace is "surfing or some bullshit," but D'Angelo smiles a little at the thought that Wallace has escaped the city.