Epigraph: "...a little slow, a little late." -- Avon Barksdale. Probably more than a little, regardless of whom he's talking about.
As he draws a street map with his finger in the dirt (ooh, watch you don't hit any vials or needle shards, man!), Omar narrates his plan, saying that it'll be easy, because the Eastside chumps are far less security-conscious than the Barksdalies are. As he lays it out, we cut away to a kid in a grey hoodie, calling out to a "Boo," sitting on a stoop, deaf to the world with his giant headphones on. Hoodie comes up to Boo to report that a Maurice is short. Boo wants to know how short, and Hoodie says, "Three." "Tell him to grow a couple inches," offers Boo. They share a companionable laugh, and Hoodie takes off, apparently satisfied. What? Anyway, back to Omar's war...uh, alley. Basically, Omar is going to create a diversion -- just by showing up, pretty much -- that will flush the Eastside boys toward Dylan and Brandon's hiding place. Omar's confident that it will work: "Rats always run to holes in time for danger." And Omar knows from holes, am I right? Brandon knows what I'm talking about! "And you him, ain't you?" says Brandon. "Who?" says Omar. "Daaaaanger!" says Brandon. All right, quit sucking up, Brandon. Or at least save the sucking for later, what what? Omar says he's just "a nigga with a plan, that all." "And a shotgun," cracks Dylan. Well, sure. In a situation like this, that's probably a lot more useful than a prospectus.
Phelan shows up at the detail office, a clerk in tow. There's small talk about how he got lost in the halls, and as papers are passed about, he comments on what a shithole office they found for the detail: "Quite a message they're sending." McNulty agrees that the message is "out of sight, out of mind." "Spoken like a true troglodyte," mutters Ronnie. Uh, what? Ronnie, can you really look around this dungeon and come to any other conclusion? If so, please get your eyes checked, damn. McNulty shoots her a look, as does Kima, before studiously looking back down, covering her eyes with the brim of her hat. Signing, she comments, "Whole lot of dead trees behind this nonsense." "The foundation of your case, Detective," says Ronnie primly. "You lay it in right, you can build on it." Yeah, I think she gets that, killjoy. Jesus, lady, maybe you should get yourself reassigned if innocent small talk is going to make you act like such a crotch. Everything signed, Phelan stands, and as McNulty and Kima put up their hands, Phelan has them swear that the content of the affidavit they've just executed is all true. Phelan: "Then by the power vested in me, I now declare you man and wife." Kima rolls her eyes; McNulty smiles sassily. There's some more bureaucratic blah blah, and then Phelan sits down again and asks how this whole cloning thing works. McNulty explains that the clone equipment will be on the same frequency as D'Angelo's: "He gets a page, we get a page." Kima asks if it's official, and Ronnie confirms, "You're up." "Then let the game begin," McNulty drama-queens. He turns on the pager and sets it in the middle of the table, where everyone stares at it. "Celebrities always seem much smaller when you meet them in person," jokes Phelan. You guys keep staring at that thing, it's just never going to boil.