Morning dawns over Baltimore, and then we're back in the Homicide unit, where Bunk greets Cole with a compliment on how "fresh" he's looking. "Got laid last night, that's why," says Cole. Bunk: "Oh yeah? Your asshole still hurting?" They chuckle, parting ways, and Bunk runs into Jay, who greets him with a demand: "Call Jimmy." "What's up, boss?" says Bunk jovially. Jay says that Rawls finally read the reports McNulty had tried to give him when they met: "He wants arrest warrants for Diedre Kresson and the two project murders that match up to that gun." Bunk just purses his lips in disgust, and Jay says, "I know." Bunk urges, "Aw, come on, Jay! Be right on this." Jay says he can't: "It's Rawls. He wants warrants today." Bunk sighs: "Who the fuck are we supposed to charge?" Jay basically says that all the circumstantial evidence points to D'Angelo: "Run with it." He hands the files to Bunk, who says that it won't get past the Grand Jury. Jay loses patience, hissing, "Charge the mope, and work it more afterward!" Bunk doesn't argue anymore, and Jay repeats his order that Bunk let McNulty know. I'm sure he'll be totally fine with that and not find some clever way to wriggle out of it.
Pit. D'Angelo falls in step with Bodie, Poot, and Wallace, and announces a new deal: Wallace is on the stash with "Latroy and Peaches." I guess that's how she supplements her income between albums. Bodie asks after a "Sterling," but he's been busted down to lookout: "Cassandra too." Wallace asks what happened, and D'Angelo says nothing did. Poot asks why he's changing the lineup, then, and D'Angelo explodes, "Nigga, I got to explain shit to you now?" Wallace and Poot exchange a look and take off to discuss what a bitch D'Angelo is when he's on the rag. Bodie rolls his eyes and follows the boss.
Detail office. Lester is catching up McNulty and Kima, reporting that they have pager numbers for Stringer and Stinkum. McNulty pronounces that "very sweet." Lester is (prophetically) saying that the cops would have more trouble with their investigation if the Barksdalies moved around more -- "They're a bit lazy, you know" -- when Daniels stalks out of his office, just in time to see Polk shambling in, unsteady on his feet. Kima takes note of Polk too, muttering, "Jesus." "He's lit at 9 in the morning?" murmurs Lester. McNulty suggests with a smirk that he could still be drunk from the previous night (conjecture based on experience, I'm guessing) as he checks his pager, and then dials the phone. Daniels turns back toward Polk's corner, where the man has possibly passed out while clocking in, and sharply calls out, "Detective!" Polk's butt twitches, but otherwise he doesn't react. "Detective Polk!" Daniels tries. Polk straightens up, and...yeesh. He's unshaven, dewy with sweat, and the rims of his eyes are so red he looks like someone's been testing shampoo on them. Truly, this is a face for an anti-drinking PSA. And one that will be haunting my nightmares. Daniels even looks stricken at the sight of him, and turns without a word; Polk at least has it together enough to realize he's supposed to follow. Kima shoots Lester a look. On the phone, McNulty's telling someone in Homicide that Bunk paged him, and as he waits for Bunk to come to the phone, he can't resist a nosy look back toward the scene in Daniels's office.