All language subtitles for The.Wire.S02E07.720p.BluRay.x264-GECKOS

Something in particular?

- Funeral.
- I'm sorry.

No, funeral, you know?

- No, I mean, I'm sorry for your loss.
- Oh, yeah.

That's a popular one.

- Who was it that passed, a relation?
- No, we worked together.

- I see. A professional relationship.
- Yeah, professional.

I mean, we wasn't all that tight
but he was still my nigger.

I think I'm on it. Follow me.

Hell, yeah, this what I'm talking about

that gat and grip thing over there sells a lot.

We can do that in white,
or red, or pink carnations.

- Pink?
- Your boy was too fierce for the pink?

No, he wasn't all that.

But when you stand with a nigger,
you stand with him to the end otherwise...

otherwise you ain't nothing.

True that. How your boy fall?

Hung himself.

Over at The Cut, strung himself up.

Judge ran wild on his ass, gave him 20.

I guess he couldn't handle all them years,
you know?

It's a weak-ass nigger
when you think about it.

But it ain't no reason to drag
his name down no further, you know?

I'll tell you what.
Let me get something in strong colors.

Red, black, whatever.

But make it look like one of them towers
on Franklin Terrace. The high-rises.

You want the arrangement
to look like a housing project?

Hell, yeah. Yeah.

And put the numbers 221
in big-ass numbers on the front.

All right? He used to have that
Fremont Tower for a while.

221, all right.
Anything else you want it to say?

Like what?

"Rest in Peace", "In Remembrance"?

Something that says
how you feel about the loss.

Look, man, fuck it, all right? Just, uh...

Just make sure the towers
look like they do, all right?

All right. Thanks.

When you walk through the garden

You gotta watch your back

Well, I beg your pardon

Walk the straight and narrow track

If you walk with Jesus

He's gonna save your soul

You gotta keep the devil

Way down in the hole

He's got the fire and the fury

At his command

Well, you don't have to worry

If you hold on to Jesus' hand

We'll all be safe from Satan

When the thunder rolls

We just gotta keep the devil

Way down in the hole

Down in the hole

Down in the hole

You gotta help me keep the devil

Down in the hole

- You cloned a what?
- A computer.

We can watch how the cargo
comes off the ship in real time,

try to follow the contraband,
see where it leads.

We're running a 25-murder-a-month
MASH Unit here

and you guys wanna slow things down a bit
and do a bit of brain surgery.

If Rawls comes walking through here
and sees the two of you hunched over

playing video games on 14 open murders,
he's gonna fuckin' blow!

That is why we asked Lieutenant Daniels

to set us up at his off-site, in the Southeast.

They're looking at the dock boys
for other shit, drugs mostly.

- Daniels, who used to be in Narcotics?
- Yeah.

Well, if Daniels has a detail set up already,
maybe he takes the murders, too.

He ain't no fool, Jay.
He's just giving us a room with no view.

That was approval, right?
He gave approval to go ahead.

Ah, I don't know.

So what's next?

Next is for us to get them dock boys
back to thinking that we've gone away.

I mean, we spooked them right good
with that grand jury shit.

If we're gonna set up on them, they need
to think we ain't gonna be a problem no more.

How are they gonna think that?

No, see, that ain't the way it work, yo. It ain't.

Cos I'm the one out here all day
taking the chance, right?

Police roll up into this bitch,
it ain't gonna be you that catch no charge.

So, leastwise, the thing you need to do is lay
all that good shit down on an even split, yo.

Come Friday, me and my niggers
done sold all that shit off,

you come past and get paid.

That's how I'm at with it.

Hey, Frog.

Come here.

No, seriously. Come here.

First of all, and I don't know how to tell
you this without hurting you deeply.

First of all, you happen to be white.

I'm talking raised-on-Rappolla-Street white,

where your mama used to drag you
to St. Casimir's

just like all the other
little pisspants on the block.

Second, I'm also white.

Not, hang-on-the-corner-don't-
give-a-fuck white

but Locust-Point-IBS-Local-47 white.

I don't work without no fucking contract

and I don't stand around
listening to horseshit excuses

like my cousin Ziggy, who, by the way,

is still owed money by you
and all your down, street-wise wiggers.

You go in your pocket,
come up with 500 in advance

and the 210 that you owe to Zig,

you can work my package.

This is the shit you had out here last week.
The dimes that Moochie was slinging?

The shit was good. Moochie sold out quick.

All right.

I'm saying, I'm gonna send
my man around with the dollars.

- Keep it real, yo.
- Whatever.

Yo.

- Everything to your satisfaction?
- Yeah, you on it.

Prison people taking it that
that boy hung his own self, right?

Seems so.

My cousin always work clean.

None of my business, I know,

but did your man Avon even know about it?

You're on your own here, huh?

You're right. It ain't none of your business.

And if I were you

I wouldn't want a word of this mess
up in Avon's ear.

Baltimore niggers off the hook. I swear.

All y'all.

You better get up in this before it get cold.
This shit is good.

My man, that bullshit ain't on you.
It ain't, man.

Up in here, Dee knew he had to stand
on his own. You know this.

Man, fuck him.

He knew when he hung himself
how we was gonna carry it.

He knew when he did that, that we was
gonna be in a moment like this, right now.

He knew that.

That nigger did that shit to hurt me, man.

But, you know, man,
Dee was just fucking weak.

I tried to crimp him along
since he was a shorty.

I tried to bring him up, bring him along...

- You was real good to him.
- I was.

Man, it's sad, what happened. That shit is sad.
It is.

But the boy almost rolled on you
that one time.

You know, he get to thinking
he can't do the years in here

he might've could've rolled again,
who knows?

I'm just saying,
it might've been for the best, you know?

His name is Head. Dick Head.

Check this out. Put your finger right there.

- Nice.
- Nice, right?

- Fellas.
- We need a bug.

Something that can stand up to the pressures
of the modern urban crime environment.

Let me show you.

OK, fellas, this is the real deal.
Smaller than a .22.

And it's got a clear channel. Sturdy as hell.

You get this bad boy
within ten feet of any conversation,

it sounds like Chuck Thompson
doing play-by-play.

- How much?
- $1,500.

But seeing as you're sworn officers,
the police discount drops it to $1,250.

- You in?
- Am I in?

The man just said $1,250, Herc.

Can we give it a test run?

A test drive in the modern
urban crime environment?

Yeah, leave me your credit card
and take it for 48 hours.

Change your mind, bring it back. No problem.

- Let me consult my partner.
- Of course.

You got a credit card?

- Don't you?
- It's maxed to the max, man.

We've been doing
hand-to-hands for a while now

and we ain't no higher up
on the ladder and on those corners.

We're just gonna use it for a couple days,
get what we need and bring it back.

I gave your man some room, is all.

You gave him a home.

Detective Moreland's target
looks to be the same as yours.

- No.
- Yes.

You could take these 14 homicides

and turn that half-assed detail
into something that matters.

I'll be honest. You solve the murders,
I'll love you for the stats.

And if you don't,
I've made it so the Homicide Unit

doesn't have to bear the whole brunt
of a lower clearance rate.

It's win-win for me.

- No.
- Come on, Lieutenant.

A good turn here will not be forgotten.

I'm trying to dig myself out of the basement
with something simple here.

Drug arrests, a prostitution bust if I get lucky

and I'm out from under with Burrell.

Sorry, Colonel.

You keep the murders
and my ass stays covered.

Smarter than he looks.

- Where's your friend?
- Who's that?

- The black fella, the Homicide guy.
- Case is done, for all I know.

Yeah?

You all didn't go for nothing
and no one on the ship did either.

So, he sent me back
and moved on to new business.

- So you back to the usual, then?
- Yeah, the usual.

Except I won't be around Patapsco
or North Point much.

- No?
- Starting tomorrow, I'm down at Fairfield.

Fairfield.

Yeah, bosses want another car
patrolling the chemical plants.

Because of terrorism, I guess.

You're too pretty for the Fairfield piers,
darling.

You need to be uptown here with us.

You got stripes in the Southeast

and can't pull Valchek's spy van
to work his own fuckin' detail?

Man, I've never seen that thing.

- Snug.
- As a bug.

In a rug.

Let's go.

- This shit's hypnotic.
- Boring, too.

You make a show of it?

Let everyone working see me
in that radio car.

Is that the Valparaiso?

It ain't a Talco Line ship,
doesn't have Horseface working.

Probably wasting half a day
watching it off-load.

- Yeah, we should be at the bar by now.
- Nothing's wasted.

I've been getting a feel for this shit.
How it plays and works without the dirt.

- So when they lose a can...
- I see it go.

Gentlemen. Ladies.

The future is now.

To bring goods
to an exploding global economy

and to deliver those goods
faster, cheaper and safer,

modern robotics do much of the work
in the world's largest seaport, Rotterdam.

Moving cargo is a traditional strength
of the Dutch

who shuttle more freight in fewer man-hours
than any port in the world.

And now, the Dutch have modelled
the future of cargo management.

Completely containerized cargo
arrives and departs

on ships a third of a mile long,
24 hours a day, with short turnaround.

Smart card technology
provides greater security

and improved accountability, with no need
for unreliable human surveillance.

Yo, Frog, man, we light five caps is all, man.

You getting all ridiculous
over bits and pieces. You feeling me?

Nah, nigger, it's the principle of the thing.

It's like you in a store working the register

and at the end of the day,
the shit doesn't add up.

Mad Dog gonna roll through here tomorrow
with the re-up

and I want to have
the package right for once.

Hey, Carver.

Isn't technology the fucking bomb, huh?

...and global positioning systems
guide each container

to its proper spot, on board or on the docks

while state-of-the-art computers
track shipments in every port.

Some of the systems you're seeing
have already been upgraded.

Rotterdam now works
350 million tons of cargo annually,

leaving Singapore a distant second.

What kind of man-hours
are the stevedores clocking there?

I don't have those figures handy. I'm sorry.

But Rotterdam does employ 4,000 people.

4,000 people to move 350 million tons a year?

- That's right.
- That's efficiency, Nat.

By eliminating
some of the more dangerous work,

the Rotterdam technologies have reduced

employee work-related accidents
and injuries by 60%.

I think we can all be happy
with that, can't we?

Question? Yes?

The GPS readings, are they exact?

You can't get hurt if you ain't working, right?

No, they work with all kinds of cargo,
in all weathers.

Coming.

- Hey, Jackie.
- String. You, too?

We got enough food
for three wakes right now.

How's Brianna? Is she back there?

What's up, little man?

How you holding up?

Bri?

Brianna?

- Nicky boy, you get days this week?
- No.

Four ships on Thursday.
You could've pulled a day for sure.

That's your half on the last two packages,

plus what Frog owed you on your own shit.

It's all there, cuz.

- What the fuck is wrong with you, smiley?
- Nothing.

- Zig.
- Mm.

What did Frog say?

"Here's a couple of hundred extra,
make the little goof happy"?

The packages were my thing, Nick.

Fuck, if you ain't handle that better, too.

Zig, we're making money.

It's your move, Nicky.

Fuck it. I got other issues right now.

Paternity?

Priscilla Katlow.

Jesus, Zig. You knocked up Prissy Katlow?

I only fucked her once.

Christ, everybody down the point
fucked her the once, Zig.

How do you know it's yours?

You call this lawyer?

Figured I'd get drunk first.

That's a good plan.

- Russians?
- Lot of girls. Pretty ones.

Most of them had some kind of accent,
anyway.

Shardene's friend hooked us up good.
Who's in charge?

You got the club people, I guess.

And there's a woman
I've seen go into the back room.

She looks a little bit older. I couldn't get close
enough to say much about her.

She looks about 40.

So, grab any ass, Prez?

What I'm saying is,
I've sorted it out for us.

- I have.
- For us?

When I was in the basement,
it made sense to quit. It did.

But once Burrell reached out...

But Burrell is the one that you crossed.
He's not likely to forget that, is he?

Not to mention what he knows about you
from the bad old days. Oh, Cedric.

Fools half your age
are gonna be major and colonel

and you'll still be thinking that
scratching out cases will save you.

It isn't about the casework, I know that.

Just today, Rawls calls me up to CID,

asks me to take his homicides from
the dead girls on that shipping container.

I told him, no shot. That case is a loser.

If I'm looking out for number one

I'm gonna bring Burrell
exactly what he asked for

and exactly what he needs
to make Stan Valchek go away.

No more, no less.
I'm playing their game this time.

Look, it's one thing you taking a run
at this dredging thing.

Fucked up as you are,
we can let that slide for a while

but now, man, you're asking too much.

One more year, Nat.

- Not for me, for the fuckin' union.
- The election's been scheduled.

You knew last year,
when we gave you the votes

that this time would be Ott's turn.

You knew that.

So Ott runs next time.
He'll take that year and the next.

It's our turn, Frank.

Black, white, what's the difference, Nat?

Until we get that canal dredged,
we're all niggers, pardon my French.

Or Polacks, pardon mine.

You know what I'm saying,
this ain't about Ott.

I just want one more year
to finish what I started here. One more year.

Then Ott stays Secretary-Treasurer
for the next two, no problem.

Think about it.

- Hello?
- Brucie, baby.

- Frankie, how's it hanging?
- You talk to the presiding officers yet?

Lot of girls. Lot of muscle.

Zig, Jesus, get off me, you jerk.

Oh, Zig.

- When did you get served with these?
- I got them in the mail this morning.

- In the mail?
- Yeah, this morning.

When Pokey Barber got hit with paternity

a sheriff had to come to his house
and serve him with papers.

Dolores, can I use the bar phone?

- Who are you calling?
- The lawyer on this piece of bullshit.

What? Ain't no fucking law firm open
in the middle of the goddamn night.

Shyster, Shyster and Shyster.

- He got you, Zig.
- Who got me?

Mowee?

Love child, never meant to be

Love child, born in poverty

Love child, never meant to be...

There's no rest room in the lobby
and if you're not an approved visitor

I just don't have the authorization.

Oh. OK.

Tell me something.
When you have to go, where do you go?

Excuse me, sir? Are you a resident?

- Sorry. Wrong building.
- Sir?

Sixth floor, all of them.

Thomas "Horseface" Pakusa.

Slated to be the ship-runner
on Talco Line's Esmeralda.

ETA, noon tomorrow,
Berth 6, Patapsco Terminal.

- So we're on.
- We're gonna need help with surveillance.

On the docks especially,
since our faces are known there.

I can reach out to Greggs and Prez maybe.
Bring them in on it.

Should we tell the Lieutenant?

The less he knows
he's involved in the murder investigation

the happier he'll feel.

New truck, yo?

What the fuck,
we're making money here, right?

- Hell, yeah.
- For real.

This guy's some kind of supplier.
Snap some shots of the truck tags.

- You got more for me?
- I got if you got for me, right?

Got to say, your thing is tight.
Best around here in a long while.

Fuck!

I'm with you on this, man.

All right.

Oh, fuck it!

Come on, asshole,
what the fuck's wrong with you?

Keep it fucking moving.

Jesus Christ!

No, no! No, no!

Fuck it!

I cleared it with KGA,
we'll be working off of channel 6.

Prez, you got the eyeball
on the outbound truck gate.

Need you to set up so you can move
in either direction on Broening Highway.

Bunk, you set up on Newkirk and Broening.

Me and Russell will be on the computer.
That leaves the terminal itself to Kima.

They might not know my face
but I sure as shit can't hang down there.

I'm thinking I should borrow
that CG&E truck from Narcotics.

Slap on a hard hat, pick up a clipboard.

What if they're not sneaking
anything off this time? What then?

Tragically, you will have wasted another day
in a life you've already misspent

in the service of the city of Baltimore.

- Nothing's alive in these?
- If they don't go hot to a truck,

you go back in the stacks
and bang on them to make sure.

I trust these Greek fucks with nothing.

- How you hanging?
- Good. I'm good.

You ain't been working much.

Stay close, Nick. Stay close.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Jesus on the main line

Tell him what you want

Oh, Jesus on the main line

Tell him what you want

Jesus on the main line

Tell him what you want

Call him up and tell him what you want

If you want salvation,

Tell him what you want

Oh, if you want salvation

Tell him what you want

If you want salvation

Tell him what you want

Call him up and tell him what you want

Oh, call him up, call him up

Tell him what you want

Oh, call him up, call him up

Tell him what you want

Call him up, call him up

Tell him what you want

Jesus on the main

Line now

- Amen.
- You did the 221?

Shit look tight, yo.

Sorry for the loss.

You all sent him off right, though.

As good a homecoming as I been to.

- You been to your share, man, I know.
- No doubt.

Of course,
this is neither the time nor the place

but I thought I might get at you for a moment.

- Got a proposition here.
- Go ahead to the car, man.

Ain't exactly talking out of turn

when I say that Westside dope
been weak for a while now.

Every dope fiend in the city know that
Avon been putting out piss, calling it shit.

The thing is, y'all sitting on
some of the best real estate in the city.

The terrace, the low-rises,
the avenue corners.

Respecting the fact that you
have a way with your words,

when are you gonna tell me
something I don't know?

All right.

Let me put a point on it.
My shit is right, String.

I got dope coming straight into Baltimore
and the shit be raw.

85, 90%. And you know it's true.

You got half the Westside coming over
to Fallsway twice a day

because Eastside dope be kicking the shit
out of Westside dope.

- You connected, huh?
- This shit is straight off the damn boat.

I ain't even going to New York
except for my coke. Ain't no need.

Thing is, y'all got the best territory
and no kind of product.

I got the best product
but could stand a little more territory,

so you see where this thing need to go.

Now you know Avon fought real hard
for them towers.

We took down the Rayford brothers,
Big Dennis Woodson, I mean...

This shit is just business, String.
Buy for a dollar, sell for two.

That all it need be.
You got the towers, I got what goes in them.

Later for all that bullshit.

- I'll talk to Avon.
- You do that. Do that.

Come on, I can read a budget summary.
There's nothing in there for dredging.

Shortfall in revenues.
The governor's looking to limit bond issues.

- But the grain pier is still in there.
- And the rest is just talk?

Talk is good, Frank. Talk is a start.

Talk is your fucking job description.

Yak, yak, yak, blah, blah, blah.

That's like saying all the checkers do
is punch numbers into a computer.

Your son, the oldest one,
he goes to what school?

- Jason's at Princeton.
- Princeton.

And after he graduates, he's gonna do what?

- Whatever he wants.
- Right.

You sent him to Princeton
to do whatever the fuck he wants.

You know, back when we was kids

Danny Hare's father stole
a couple cases of cognac off a ship.

Except when he gets it home,
it ain't cognac, it's Tang.

- Tang?
- Just invented.

TV said it's what the astronauts drank
on their way to the moon.

- You drink it, well...
- You could be an astronaut, too.

All summer long,
that shit was all the Hare kids drank.

Tang with breakfast, Tang with lunch,

Tang when they woke up scared
in the middle of the night.

What do you think they grew up to be?

Stevedores. What the fuck you think?

Something tells me
Jason DiBiago will grow up

and squeeze a buck the way his old man did.

You're out of line, Frank.

My great-grandfather was a knife sharpener.

Pushed a grinding stone up
Preston Street to Alice-Ann,

one leg shorter than the other
from pumping the wheel.

Since he didn't want his sons
to push that thing

he made sure my grandfather
finished high school

and my old man went to any college
that would take him.

You're talking history, right?

I'm talking now.

Down here, it's still, "Who's your old man?"
till you got kids of your own.

Then it's, "Who's your son?"

But after the horror movie I've seen today...
Robots!

Piers full of robots!

My kid will be lucky if he's
punching numbers five years from now.

While it don't mean shit that I can't take
my steak knives to DiBiago and sons,

it breaks my heart that there's no future
for the Sobotkas on the waterfront.

Here, Brucie. I think they're your size.

I'm operating under the assumption
that because of your diligence,

the funding for the grain pier
is gonna pass the assembly.

But I'm also talking about the canal.
So you're gonna talk about the canal,

the Muldoons who run the old line state
are gonna talk about it

until some day that motherfucker
gets dredged

and we get some ships in here.

Bring it down!

- Got one that disappeared.
- Get the container number?

- 11-37 to 12-14.
- Go ahead, Lester.

- We got one, you prepared to copy?
- Send it.

Uh...Zulu, Tango, Golf, Romeo,

9, 7, 3, 2, 6, 5, check digit 9.

Copy that, I've got it in the yard.

- 11-99.
- 11-99.

We got a live one. Be up.

- What am I looking for?
- Stand by on that.

Be advised, I've got a white male,
orange safety vest, blue overalls.

He's hooking the truck onto the...
What do you call it?

Copy that. What next?

One of two things.
The driver takes it through checkout,

in which case it may be that Horseface
entered the wrong container number

and they find it there.

Or it goes out to bobtail lane.

If it does that, they're doing the dirt.

11-37 to 12-14.

Kima, keep the eyeball until it clears the yard.

Advise if it stops at the checkout point
or goes straight out.

Copy.

12-14. He went around the checkout. Copy.

- 11-37 to 11-99.
- 99.

Target's coming, you see it?

I got him on Broening,
heading west towards the city.

Copy, 11-37 to 11-34.

- Target approaching your 20.
- 11-34, copy that.

39, going straight on Newkirk.

- He's all yours, Bunk.
- Copy.

- 11-34, you got the eyeball.
- Copy.

- 11-34.
- Go ahead, 34.

He went to ground off at Newkirk.
Some kind of warehouse.

Uh...wait one. I'll swing back, get a 20.

Be advised, it is a warehouse.

Pyramid Incorporated. 5605 Newkirk.

Copy that.

Brianna, man, she putting it on you?

Avon, you knew he was using?

I seen it but I didn't see it.

I mean, he came up off that shit,

then we did our thing with the guard
and I thought...

Fuck.

We did our thing with the homegoing, man.
I mean, it came off nice.

- Yeah?
- Yeah, everybody showed.

How did Brianna do?

Rough.

Don't nobody want shit like this
to happen, man.

If I'd have known the boy was
gonna be doing shit like that,

- you know what I mean?
- What are the prison people saying?

That he just hung himself like that?

Just tied a rope around a knob
and sat his ass down.

Yo.

How the fuck you gonna stop a man
from doing some shit like that?

Huh? I mean...what are you gonna do?

Stay with him every damn minute,
every day you can?

I mean, he gonna find a way if he wants to.

It ain't on you.

It ain't on you. I would tell you if it was.

What's up with that other thing, man?

Still shit, man. Your man in Atlanta,
he don't know what raw is. I mean...

- We gonna discount it.
- Do I look like Kmart to you, man?

- I'm saying, I mean...
- What? That's ridiculous.

Re-package it and sell it off.

You know,
Proposition Joe came to the funeral.

Pulled me aside. He's got a smoker.
Everybody knows he's got a smoker

and he wants to share,
if we cut him a slice of the towers.

- It's a thought...
- It's not even a thought, man. No.

Let me tell you something. We're gonna
get through all this, you hear me?

- I know.
- All of it.

Anything come out?

If there were girls in that can,
they're still inside.

- Your DNRs go where?
- Phones for a dock workers' local.

Offices, personal phones
for a couple of union officials.

Look here, 9581737
is listed to Thomas Pakusa.

On February 4th and March 16th,

our Mr. Pakusa received a call
from Frank Sobotka's cellphone.

And both times,
he works a Talco Line ship the next day.

And a can goes missing in the computer.

Pretty good argument for a conspiracy case.

- Conspiracy to do what?
- Smuggle shit.

Smuggle what?

How about bringing girls here
for purposes of prostitution?

- That one we know about.
- You need to do better for a wiretap.

Read your annotated code.
Wiretap Statute, Subsection 10, 406

designates crimes where telephone
calls can be intercepted

in the great state of Maryland.

Prostitution? Uh-uh.

You mean, you can tap a guy's phone
if he's selling drugs

but not if he's selling women?

That's the law.

Honey, I'm home.

Start looking at the two-bedroom joints.

- We can pay.
- How?

- Got a new job.
- Off the docks?

Three, four days a week.
Warehouse foreman for this Greek guy.

Owns an appliance store
down the avenue in Highlandtown.

I can work it around the hours
that I pick up at the docks.

How much, Nick?

Come here. Come here.

Like 500 a week. Maybe more.

But steady. You know, we can count on it.

Between what you make with them scissors
and this we can pay down the truck

and still have enough left over
for someplace nice out in the county.

$1,500.

1,250, with the police discount.

It just couldn't stand up to
the modern urban crime environment, man.

All right, slow up. This is it.

It's, uh...listed to Nicholas Andrew Sobotka,
1485 Reynold Street.

- Sobotka?
- That's what it says here.

That mean anything to you?

Yo, Beavis, that's the name of the guy we're
supposed to be working. Frank Sobotka.

But we got Nicholas.

How many fucking Sobotkas can there be,
even down here in Polack town?

- You know what this means?
- What?

It means old Fuzzy Dunlop here,
somewhat worse for wear

is really gonna start paying off
as a confidential informant.

- No fucking way.
- Are you out $1,250?

Because linking a street-level drug connect
to our main target

has to be worth a couple of hundred
for starters.

Listen, if I try to register him,
Daniels will smell a rat.

He trusts you, Carv.
You got that trustworthy look.

It's you, Lester. Gotta be you.

- Me, huh?
- We need to bring in the Lieutenant,

his detail and all the manpower
and toys that go with it.

And Daniels listens when you talk.

You got the smell of wisdom on you, brother.

Now, look.

- We all got roles to play.
- What's your role?

I'm just a humble motherfucker
with a big-ass dick.

You give yourself too much credit.

OK, then. I ain't all that humble.

I'll be goddamned.

I swear to God, if he plays
that goddamn song one more time

I'm gonna clock his ass good.

- You can take him, Zig.
- He just looks big.

Who the fuck is he, huh? All pussy.

You're a legend of the docks, Zig.
A fucking legend.

You think I can take him?

You can take him.

Man down, berth five.

- Who?
- New Charles.

- Ambo's on the way.
- Jesus Christ.

Night work with break-bulk. I hate this shit.

- You guys gonna move this thing?
- Jesus. Fuck.

Don't move a guy when he's hurt.

We'll remember that when you're hurt.

Quit pulling your dicks and get this off of me.

One, two, three.

Charlie, here. Take a drag.

That's the ambo you're hearing, Charlie.

Right over there.

Don't worry, kid, you're still on the clock.

Frank, how does the leg look?

Which leg is that now?

Sir, can you hear my voice?

Squeeze my hand.

Let's get him into the ambulance.

You need to clear the way for us, guys.

- And you followed the can?
- Right to the warehouse.

- Surveillance set up?
- Kima is on it tonight.

This case needs to be worked, Lieutenant.

I know it began for you as a bullshit detail

but this Sobotka's into some shit
that needs to be worked by good police.

The DNRs, the cloned computer.
We've got the pattern.

Rawls came to me.

- Asked if I would take the homicides.
- You should.

Those girls in the can really suffocated.
They really died in that fucking box.

You pick this case up,
you might eat those open murders.

But you let it pass,

you got to ask yourself
how you want to live your day-to-day.

From the guys in 15-14.

He should be all right.

You know how he got the name New Charles?

First day of work was the day the Paceco
dropped a hatch cover on Charlie Bannion.

Had to clean up old Charlie with a shovel.

Ever since then, New Charles.

He's gonna lose the leg.

Frank.

Where's the money from?

I got your murders.
But what I need from you, I get.

No bullshit, no arguments.

No arguments.

- You're wasting all the batteries.
- So?

Mom, he's wasting all the batteries.

You two get along
or I'm gonna take that tent down right now.

- Snitch.
- Punk.

- Squirrel.
- Mope.

- Shut up.
- Who teaches them this stuff?

It's my turn, you just had it.

Elena.

It's my turn.

No. No.

You're wasting all the batteries.

No.

I don't trust you.

I can care about you

and I can want us to be friends

and if you give me enough time, Jimmy,

maybe I will actually want you to be happy.

But how the hell am I supposed to trust you?

Mom, quick, it's a spider.

It's a big, hairy one.

- Oh, my gosh.
- Come on, Mom.

- It's a big hairy spider.
- Where?

You mean the one that's on your leg!

But if the case does come together,
I would at least have Rawls as a rabbi.

It could still work for me.

Listen to yourself.

I love the job, Marla.

- I can't help it.
- The job doesn't love you.

You know what I love?

The mind that's always a step ahead of me,

the person who never stops
thinking it through.

That's what I fell in love with first.

Do you know what I fell in love with first?
Do you?

Your ambition.

Where did that man go?