Cut to a strip club, where a young lady in red patent thigh-high boots and matching red underwear is working the pole behind the bar. Above, Stringer Bell sits at a railing overlooking the bar with Avon Barksdale (Wood Harris). As we follow their gaze to a guy at the bar, Stringer asks, "What about Marcel?" Avon says he's not inviting him. "You want him out?" asks Orlando, sitting on Avon's other side. "I really don't give a shit what you do," Avon replies. Good way to establish Avon's mostly hands-off management style. But then Avon changes his mind, telling Orlando to "go down there and make that motherfucker pay for his drinks." Oh, cold! Orlando chuckles and takes off to do it. From above, we see D'Angelo enter the bar, followed by Wee-Bey; there are warm greetings for D'Angelo from patrons and dancers alike. Above, Stringer asks if Avon remembers "the cop that tried to pin Gerard on Little Kevin?...White detective, black hair," Stringer prompts. Not "Weird accent, face like a really hot monkey"? Because, I mean, I'm not saying I wouldn't make out with either McNulty OR Dominic West, but that is one simian-looking mofo. Avon's like, "Not really, but go on." Stringer says that he was in court. "Word?" asks Avon. "He say anything?" Stringer says he just sat in the back.
Avon's expression at this report is inscrutable, but they'll have to table it for later, anyway, because D'Angelo's just made it up to the loft. Stringer heads over to greet him, and then excuses himself, saying that he's got something for D'Angelo. Avon motions for the two dancers and one henchman to beat it, leaving him alone with a distinctly uncomfortable-looking D'Angelo. "So you must feel good," says Avon, brusquely. "You know how that go," D'Angelo replies modestly. "Say what?" says Avon sharply. "I'm saying, you know -- jail ain't no joke," says D'Angelo meekly. "I don't know shit about jail," spits Avon. "I don't plan on knowing shit about jail, you feel me?" Um, they were much nicer about it when little Henry Hill got pinched in Goodfellas. "You want to talk about jail, though, you can go sit down next to Marcel; he just got home," Avon adds. D'Angelo's like, "Brrrrr." "Sit your ass down," Avon directs him. D'Angelo kind of shrugs and sits down right where a stripper's g-stringed ass was planted just moments ago. Anti-bacterial wipes! Avon and D'Angelo start recapping the crime: D'Angelo knows he didn't act as he was supposed to, but that a "Pooh" attacked him. Avon questions whether D'Angelo had to shoot him, and D'Angelo protests, "It was him or me!" Avon's unimpressed: "You in our building. You got people on both stairs. You got more motherfucking people out in the court." He sets down a barstool in front of D'Angelo so he can get in his face to ask how D'Angelo would shoot a guy, in front of the security booth, surrounded by potential witnesses. D'Angelo repeats his self-defense claim, but Avon says, "This ain't about him. It's about you. You can't play him out of that lobby. You can't take a beating neither. So the first thing you do, you get all emotional: you pull out your gun, you do some dumb shit that now we gotta work around." D'Angelo shakes his head and hoarsely replies, "I know." "You ain't said one motherfucking thing I want to hear," Avon tells him. D'Angelo admits that he has to start thinking more, but tries to lighten the mood by complimenting Avon -- calling him "Unc," so I'll assume that McNulty was just misinformed on the cousin thing -- on the maneuver with the security guard: "That state lawyer -- I ain't never seen a white woman turn so red!" He giggles, and Avon sort of chuckles, apparently against his own will. He tells D'Angelo that they're family: "But that shit cost money. It cost time and money. You gonna make that right?" D'Angelo promises that he is: "When I get back to the Towers, I'm gonna push them niggers." Avon thinks, "Yeah...about that..." but leaves it to Stringer to break the bad news. They get up, and finally Avon calls D'Angelo over for a hug. Really made the kid work for it, though.