Carver squeals an unmarked car over to a curb, and Herc pops out of the shotgun seat almost before the car has come to a halt. They've happened upon Bodie, you see, sitting up on a newspaper box or something -- it's fully dark out, so it's hard to tell what he's sitting on, but it doesn't matter much anyway, because he immediately gets pulled off it as Herc roughs him up while Carver paces: "Are you fucking serious?" Herc presses Bodie's face into the pavement: "You keep walking away from JSA, we keep kicking your ass. I'm all right with that if you are!" Bodie protests that he didn't escape from anywhere this time, and tells Herc to check his back pocket, from which Herc produces a folded-up statement of some kind. Carver reads, "'Home monitoring'?" Bodie, getting up with some effort, says that if they'd just ask a question before "wilding on niggas," they'd save themselves some trouble. And embarrassment, not that I really think Herc is quite prone to it. He is, however, frustrated as he asks how Bodie could have weaselled out of his various charges with something less strict than house arrest. Bodie says that the juvenile judge saw his potential and expects big things from Bodie. Are all juvenile judges chumps like that? I would think they'd be ten times as jaded as regular judges. Carver isn't convinced, and asks, "Seriously, how are you out?" Bodie candidly says that the juvenile system in Baltimore is "fucked up. It's a big-ass fucking joke. No offense." Well, of the three people in this conversation, Bodie would know that the best. Carver studies Bodie's paper like he's hoping intensity will change what's on it. Herc, still sizzling with adrenaline, stomps back to the car; Carver folds the paper and smacks it back in Bodie's hand, returning to the driver's-side door. Before he can get in, though, Bodie offers that if they'll give him a ride down to his grandma's, they'll "call it even." Carver shakes his head like he can't believe the big balls on Bodie, but relents: "In back, fucknuts." Carver peels off. Don't drive angry! And, like, don't try to expend all that energy with a trip to the titty bar, or the girls who give you lapdances are going to end up with black eyes.
Downtown cop shop. Rawls is putting on his jacket, getting ready to leave, when he he looks down at some folders on his desk, apparently for the first time. "Jay!" he snaps. Guess he's not going home after all.
D'Angelo is loitering on a street corner when he sees a young woman, Cassandra, come out of a market with a couple of bags of groceries. Cassandra apparently knows him, as they greet each other with "hey"s, and he picks up her bags, briefly rifling through them before asking, "Little late in the month for this shit, don't you think?" She asks what he means (lady, even I know), and by way of answer, D'Angelo takes an egg out of the bag, holds it up in her face, and deliberately throws it on the sidewalk. Cassandra, not very convincingly, claims that her aunt "hit the Match Four," but D'Angelo's not buying it: "You stealing from me, Cass?" He drops one more egg, then another, and another, and finally the whole carton, not taking his eyes off hers for a second. Okay, seriously, if this is D'Angelo's idea of roughing someone up for information, he really has gone soft.