Cut back to the body -- which, of course, belongs to Brandon. A bunch of cops are standing around, cordoning off the yard and getting ready to work the scene. "That's the worst case of suicide I've ever seen," one cracks. Good one? Lurking behind a nearby fence is Poot, who shakes his head: "That's him. You see? That's him -- right there." Wallace, beside him, says nothing, but can't tear his eyes away, like he doesn't understand how that his cause would have an effect. "That's Omar's boy," Poot insists. Well, it was. Wallace shakes his head and moves off, punching impotently at the air.

"...and all the pieces matter." -- Freamon. Yeah, I know -- that's what makes recapping this bitch so hard!

We open in the cop shop, where Jay and McNulty appear to be starting their day with a fight. McNulty's askingwhat he's supposed to tell "him," and Jay replies, "Whatever the man wants to hear, Jimmy!" He opens the door and enters Rawls's office with McNulty, whom he cheerily introduces as "Prodigal son!" Rawls doesn't look like he's in a concomitantly forgiving mood. McNulty indicates the files in his hands and sets them down on Rawls's desk, saying that they've got a good shot at clearing a couple of cases. "We're not here to talk cases, McNulty," Rawls tells him, dickishly. He tells McNulty to sit, which he does. "I'm a reasonable guy," Rawls starts. "In fact, everywhere I go, people say to me, 'Bill Rawls, you are a reasonable fucking guy.'" Where...do you go? The head-injury ward? Anger-management group therapy? Oppositeland? Rawls asks Jay to confirm this report, and Jay yes-mans, "You are reasonable, sir." Rawls says that, because Jay knows this about Rawls's character, Jay recently came to him to reason with him: "We reasoned that despite his negligible Irish ancestry, and a propensity to talk out of turn, Jimmy McNulty is a good worker. Probably worth saving." Rawls interrupts the action to pick up a picture of (I assume) his son and brag that he's "a good-looking kid," but then returns to his theme of browbeating McNulty, asking if he knows what they do there. McNulty's like, "The hell?" Rawls says that was a question you don't need to answer. "Rhetorical," ass-kisses Jay. "You were being rhetorical. Rhetorical and reasonable, sir." Rawls says that they work murder cases, one at a time, as they come in: "It's called a rotation....But if someone gets it into his head to leave the rotation, it puts an unfair burden on other detectives who have to pick up their casework." Overworked cops make mistakes, mistakes lower the clearance rate, and that pisses off Rawls, making him...? "Unreasonable," McNulty glumly supplies. Rawls laughs; after a short second, Jay joins in. Rawls takes it home: "Detective McNulty, I expect to see your ass back here next week, when your shift rotates to night work." McNulty doesn't move, so Jay taps him on the shoulder to let him know they're dismissed. McNulty gets up and sulks out, pulling the door closed with a last dirty look at Rawls -- who, it is almost certain, ignores it, secure in his own dominance and righteousness. And that McNulty still feels both his fingers.