McNulty arrives at the Detail Office so that Freamon can fill him in on what they've figured out about the clocks pictures. They're definitely a code, and they're not related to time -- summary over. Now's the point in the investigation where Freamon sure could use some extra manpower -- "surveillance cars, man hours. We're going to have to stay on these guys until those clocks start making sense." Good news there -- thanks to McNulty's fraud and deceit, the brass are throwing more resources at him than he knows what to do with. Freamon correctly senses there's some bad news attached to that. "It's all around the office that I'm giving out hours and money for people to work other cases," McNulty concedes. Freamon stops and stares, sparking McNulty to flash another one of those punch-face/win-prize smirks that his face is going to freeze into one of these days. "I can't help it, Lester," McNulty shrugs. "It's the kind of person I am." What? Reckless and unable to fathom consequences? I'll grant you that one, McNulty. Freamon, however, is more concerned that this is all going to blow up in McNulty's face, taking him out, too. "Who's going to complain?" McNulty asks. Well, just off the top of my head...Bunk, Landsman, Rawls, any detective who feels like you've stiffed him, some conscience-plagued do-gooder, Beadie... Do you want the rest of the list alphabetically or in order of likelihood? Anyhow, Freamon asks for eight men and cars to continue his Marlo probe; McNulty notes that he's been promised men from the districts and a surveillance supervisor, so it's just a matter of finding officers they can trust to keep their mouths shut. Sort of the anti-McNulty's in that regard.
Just then McNulty's phone rings, and we hear the unmistakable voice of Kima screaming at the top of her lungs on the other end of the line: "I don't know how the fuck did you of all people do this shit, huh? How?" Ah -- this would be an IKEA-related phone call then. "You got the right Allen wrench?" McNulty asks, sniggering. "What kind of scotch are you using?" The scotch that comes in an easily breakable bottle and can be used to cut you a new smile if you're not careful, mister. Indeed, a quick cut back to Kima's apartment finds her tossing the cell phone away angrily and turning her attention back to the modern art installation/furniture she's trying to assemble. It crumbles to pieces in seconds, and Kima finishes the job by smashing it angrily. So I guess we can add "Swedish furniture makers" alongside "Baltimore Sun upper management circa the early '90s" to David Simon's Vengeance List. Oh man, how I hope "charmingly erudite recappers" aren't next on the hit parade because my ego is too fragile to handle the taunting.