Newark office of the INS. The agent on duty is as stunned as Cleary was that McNulty would drive "all the way from Baltimore on a hope and a prayer." McNulty says that he's dead-ended on this, and asks whether there's anything he can offer the women in detention in exchange for his co-operation. The agent suggests that McNulty could marry one, and make her "an American housewife." Marriage to McNulty is hardly an incentive to sing. Anyway, if McNulty declines to make like Brad Womack, the women will be deported back to their various countries of origin. The agent adds that they held the women at County Detention, away from the general population. In...case they try to make INS-defying love connection with other gals?
Funeral home. Stringer's asking his foot soldiers whether any of them has ever heard of WorldCom. The answer appears to be no. Stringer comes at it from another angle: "Y'all get jacked by some narcos. But you all clean. You all got an outstanding warrant, like everybody in here, and what do you do?" No one answers at first, until Poot hesitantly puts up his hand: "Give another name." Stringer points at him to celebrate his rightness: "Why?" "Because your real name ain't no good," says Bodie. Stringer: "All right -- it ain't good, and...follow through." Bodie chews his lip, and no one else jumps in to volunteer. Stringer picks up his thread again: "Death Grip ain't shit." He snaps his fingers, like, "So?" "Change up the name?" says Poot. Stringer points at him and looks around: "What else?" Shamrock suggests changing the tops on the vials from red to blue, to give the impression that they've got fresh product. Stringer likes that. Bodie pipes up to say that another thing they could try would be to give each tower its own name, and then gin up some "fake competing": "So a fiend gets some bad shit from one, he'd go back to the other." Shamrock shakes his head. Stringer points at Bodie: "There's a thinking man, right there." Shamrock asks if that isn't what the fuck he just said, but apparently Bodie said it better. Thus endeth the Stringcratic lesson.
Little Johnny's. Nick asks Spiros whether he spoke to Frank. Spiros nods. Nick asks how it went. "No problem," claims Spiros, handing Nick a folded slip of paper. "Three boxes. All of them on the Wilhelmina. And you should tell your uncle that it's three times the usual fee. For each." Nick kind of chokes a little at whatever gigantic number it is, and then tells Spiros that he checked on the chemicals: "We looked into that. I was worried, you know?" Sergei looks amused at Nick, trying to be a big boy by taking the initiative. Nick leans forward intensely, and says that before he delivers the product, he wants to know what Spiros & Co. need it for: "A bomb or some shit? I ain't down for that. You use that shit to process drugs, don't you? Cocaine." Objection! Leading the witness! Anyway, Spiros neither confirms nor denies. Nick is satisfied, regardless, and says that if they still want it, he has it on the Fairfield piers. Sergei asks when. Nick says it'll be the end of the week. Way to do your due diligence, there, Niko.