At the Mayor's office, Carcetti emerges from his private office, where the weasely chief of staff and some other suit are waiting expectantly to hear the good fund-raising news; Carcetti's dour expression suggests they're in for a long wait. "You couldn't make 30?" Chief of Staff Weaselman asks. "Twenty?" Carcetti wheels around with a big grin on his face: "Ninety-two," he proclaims. Aw, Mr. Chief of Staff -- you just got punk'd! (Check it out next week on CSPAN's new reality series Political Bloopers and Practical Jokes.) "There are a lot people who want Tommy Carcetti to be their fuckin' governor," Carcetti giggles. Which just goes to show Baltimore's own H.L. Mencken was right -- democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard. Norman bursts into the office to do what he does best -- harsh on Carcetti's good mood. This time, it's the latest update on the serial killer with the body-snatching and the photo-sending and the hey-hey. Carcetti leaps into action: "Bill Rawls," he bellows at his secretary. "I need him on the line right now." Make sure to hit him up for a donation, too -- multi-tasking, Tommy. Multi-tasking.
Over at Homicide, Bunk is singing "(I'll Be Glad When You're Dead) You Rascal You" -- one of my favorite tunes, incidentally, and one I hope someone will have the good sense to play at my funeral. He's also ripping open an envelope containing the paperwork on Social Services' investigation into Devar's molestation of Michael -- "alleged" molestation, I guess I should say, since the case work declared that the investigation proved "inconclusive." "You baby-bumping mother-fucker," Bunk growls at Devar's mug shot. See? He figured it out. Then up strolls a rascal who Bunk may be glad to see dead -- Landsman, who's insisting that Bunk drop whatever's he doing to assemble upstairs in Daniels' office. "We're going Large Richard on McNulty's serial killer," Landsman chortles. Bunk rolls his eyes heavenward and sighs: "I'm working my cases," he says. Landsman points out to Bunk that he wasn't exactly making a request, but Bunk is insistent: "I'm doing police work here," he shouts, after Jay repeats his order one too many times. "In fact, I have a fresh angle on last year's major case, on which I'm the sole remaining investigator. So fuck your stripes. And fuck McNulty. Fuck your big dick red ball. You can't work with that, then just write me the fuck up and ship my ass to a trial board." Landsman's response to that outburst is silence; mine is outright joy. Good for Bunk, apparently the only homicide investigator in the city of Baltimore to be investigating a case that isn't fabricated, for sticking to his guns and risking whatever repercussions that decision might bring. On the other hand, he's also the only homicide investigator in the city of the Baltimore who could save everyone some time by cluing Landsman into the exact nature of this serial killer case, but he hasn't yet, whether it's because of misplaced loyalty or some sort of police officer's code or just because he doesn't want to get fingered as a rat. So maybe we should hold off on Bunk's canonization just yet.