To increase the number of actual grown-ups on the scene to one, Carver suddenly appears, wondering if Colicchio has to block the entire street to engage in this impotent show of force. A honking motorist wonders the same thing, and after one too many "Excuse me, Officer"s for Colicchio's taste, said motorist is unceremoniously yanked out of his car head-first by an enraged Colicchio until Carver and the other officers can pull the two apart. You know, ever since Herc's dismissal from the force, the title of Stupidest Cop in Baltimore has gone sadly vacant, but I think we just found ourselves a leading contender for the crown.

Credits. Describe to me the process of walking through a garden, Steve Earle.

"Buyer's market out there." So says Templeton, unless he falsely attributes the quote to someone else.

At the detail office of the Unit Formerly Known as Major Crimes, Freamon is intently studying a bulletin board outlining the case of Clay Davis, and Sydnor is uttering the queen-mother of dirty words. "Problem?" Freamon asks without looking up from the bulletin board. You bet there's a problem: Sydnor just spent all day tracing an $80,000 withdrawal from Davis's personal account, figuring it was graft of some sort, only to discover that he's repaying a loan his mother-in-law gave him to purchase a weekend house in Calvert County. Freamon is unexpectedly intrigued by this news, and asks to see the loan application for the property in question. Whatever that application contains, it's apparently bad news for Clay Davis, given the way Lester starts chuckling and smiling. "Got him," says Lester, with a noticeable air of satisfaction. "The head shot." If you're as confused as Sydnor is about what Freamon is talking about, all will be explained later. In the meantime, please enjoy this interview with Ed Norris from The City Paper -- scanning down to the words "head shot" in the article may go a long way toward answering your questions.

Elsewhere, Daniels is busy proclaiming his innocence in any plot to unseat Ervin Burrell as police commissioner. His audience is none other than Burrell, and the silent, accusatory expression on the police commissioner's face suggests that he is not being a very receptive audience. "I don't know who told the newspaper that," Daniels says, as Burrell stares at him, "but they were lying when they said it." Well, that much is correct, at any rate. While Daniels continues to proclaim his love for chain of command, his loyalty to Burrell, and his dismay at the newspaper story, Burrell has gotten up from behind his desk, picked up a putter, and circled behind Daniels -- he looks for all the world like he's trying to imagine just how much force it would take to drive Daniels's noggin like a box of Top Flight XLs. Then he wanders over to his practice putting green, while Daniels repeats that no one has spoken to him -- "not Carcetti, not anyone." It's worth noting that Burrell misses his putt quite badly there -- Burrell always misses. Anyhow, Daniels says that if he's approached, he'll turn down the commissioner post; we pause now while a voluminous "Yeah, right" echoes throughout the living rooms of HBO subscribers. Burrell just stares out the window, until Daniels, sensing the awkwardness of the situation, shows himself out the door. Lovely chat, Cedric -- we'll have to do this again sometime.