Back in the Pit, everyone's chilling. Bubbles appears, to make a buy from Wallace, who calls to Poot to return with the merchandise. Wallace supervises as Bubbles's money is exchanged for two vials. The knot disperses, and D'Angelo calls Wallace over for a performance evaluation: "This the way Ronnie Mo set it up?" Wallace says it is, and D'Angelo deems it "fucked up": "Look, you can't serve your customers straight up after taking they money. Somebody snapping pictures, they got the whole damn thing!...You get paid, you send they ass off around the building, yo. Then you serve." Seems risky to me, but apparently narcotics retailing works on the honour system. You know, like eBay. D'Angelo aggressively tells Bodie that they have to start tightening up: "No shortcuts!" Bodie, for the first time we'll ever see (but certainly not the last), spits through his teeth, a gesture with so many shades of meaning. It's like "cheers" or "aloha," but with phlegm. He asks Wallace for his count, and Wallace pulls out a wad of bills, saying he's "up $270." D'Angelo holds out his hand and crams it in his pocket. "You want to count it," Bodie advises. D'Angelo pauses, and with mock deference, Bodie adds, "I mean, I don't know how you do shit up in the towers, but down here, you want to count it." "Shit," says Wallace, walking off, all irritated to have his integrity questioned that way. And sure enough: "Yo, yo, yo," calls D'Angelo. Wallace turns back. "Y'all niggers been burnt," says D'Angelo, holding up the counterfeit $10. D'Angelo yelps at Wallace that "money be green. Money feel like money! That shit look green to you?" "It got a dead fucking president on it," Bodie replies, looking away. Actually, it doesn't. "I don't give a FUCK about the president," spits D'Angelo, throwing the bills at Bodie. "He ain't no president," Wallace shrugs. "What you mean?" asks D'Angelo. "Hamilton," says Wallace. "He ain't no president!" Heeeey! Check out the big brain on Wallace. "Nigger, is you crazy?" says D'Angelo. "Ain't no ugly-ass white man get his face on no legal motherfucking tender except he's president." Wallace wisely decides not to mention Ben Franklin. D'Angelo ends by saying that if the same thing happens again, Wallace is "off the money." Wallace doesn't respond right away, so D'Angelo ups the stakes, saying that Wallace won't even be serving, either: "Your ass be down on the bottom of Vine Street, sucking on a 40, yelling '5-0.'" Doesn't sound like such a bad job. I don't recall any jobs where I got to suck on a 40. D'Angelo dismisses Wallace. "That it?" asks Bodie. "No?" says D'Angelo, but it's not clear whether there's more that's coming later, or if he's asking for direction on the dispensation of demerits, low-rise-style.