Something in particular?
- Funeral. - I'm sorry.
No, funeral, you know?
No, I mean, I'm sorry for your loss.
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 you ain't nothing yourself.
True that. How did 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 those 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 the Towers...
down on Franklin Terrace. You know, the high-rises.
You want the arrangement to look like a high-rise housing project?
Hell, 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 like that?
Something that says how you feel about the loss.
Look, man, fuck it, all right? Just...
Just make sure the Towers look like they do, all right?
All right. Thanks.
- 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 blow!
That is exactly why we asked Lt. Daniels...
to set us up at his off-site, over in the southeast.
They're looking at the dock boys for other shit, drugs mostly.
- Daniels, who used to be in Narcotics? - Yeah.
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 with this.
I don't know.
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 works.
It ain't.
'Cause 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, least-wise, the thing you need to do...
is lay all that good shit down on an even split.
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-Rapolla-Street white...
where your mama used to drag you down 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-I.B.S.-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 whiggers.
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. - Whatever.
- 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 works clean.
None of my business, I know...
but did your man Avon even know about it?
You're on your own here?
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, D 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 were 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, D was just fucking weak.
I tried to crimp him along since he was a shorty, nigger.
I tried to bring him up, bring him along--
- You were real good to him. - I was.
Man, it's sad, what happened. That shit is sad.
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?
- Fellows. - We need a bug.
Something that can stand up to the pressures...
of the modern urban crime environment.
Let me show you.
Okay, fellows, 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 10 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, that's all.
You gave him a home.
Det. Moreland's target looks to be the same as yours.
- No. - Yes.
You could take these 14 homicides...
and turn that half-assed detail you got going 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 and clean here.
Drug arrests, maybe 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 fellow, 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.
Starting tomorrow, I'm down at the Fairfield Terminals.
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 detail?
Man, I've never seen that thing.
- Snug. - As a bug.
In a rug.
Let's go.
- This shit is 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 offload.
- 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 modeled 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.
Frog, man, we light five caps is all, man.
I'm saying, you getting all ridiculous over bits and pieces. You feeling me?
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 just 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?
...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 part--
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 over 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 kinds of weather.
Coming.
- Hey, Jackie. - String. You, too?
We got enough food for three weeks right now.
How's Brianna? Is she back there?
What's up, little man?
How you holding up?
Bri.
- 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.
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 business 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.
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 some 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.
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.
Fools half your age are gonna be Major and Colonel...
and you'll still think that scratching out a case or two 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, you're asking too much.
One more year, Nat.
- Not for me, for the fucking 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 fucking 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.
Then Ott stays Secretary-Treasurer for the next two, no problem.
Think about it.
- Hello? - Brucie, baby.
- Frankie Sobotka, how's it hanging? - You talk to the presiding officers yet?
Lot of girls. Lot of muscle.
Zig, Jesus, get off me, you jerk.
- 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?
Maui?
Love child, never meant to be
Love child, born in poverty
Love child, never meant to be
There's no restroom in the lobby, and if you're not an approved visitor...
I just don't have the authorization.
Okay.
Tell me something. When you have to go, where do you go?
Excuse me, sir? Are you a resident?
Sorry. Wrong building.
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 down there.
I can reach out to Greggs and Prez, maybe. Bring them in on it.
Should we tell the Lieutenant?
Right now, the less he knows he's involved in the murder investigation...
the happier he'll feel.
New truck?
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, dawg.
Come on, asshole, what the fuck's wrong with you?
Keep it fucking moving.
Jesus Christ!
No!
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, right? - 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. 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
You did the 221?
Shit look tight.
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, uh, Westside dope been weak for a while now.
Every dope fiend in the city knows 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're known to have a way with your words...
when are you gonna tell me something I don't know?
Let me put a point on it. My shit is right, String.
I got dope coming straight into Baltimore, and the shit is 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? - 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 needs 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's 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.
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 were 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... - 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 the goddamn 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?" 'til 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 relentless 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, some way, 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.
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 at you, 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.
I got him 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 of Newkirk. Some kind of warehouse.
Wait one. I'll swing back, get a 20.
Be advised, it is a warehouse.
Pyramid Inc. 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.
How the fuck you gonna stop a man from doing some shit like that?
What are you gonna do?
Stay with him every damn minute, every day you can?
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 don't know what raw is.
- We gonna discount it. - Do I look like Kmart to you, man?
- I'm saying, I mean-- - What are you saying? 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.
- You know, 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 dockworkers 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 both times, a can goes missing in the computer.
Pretty good argument for a conspiracy case.
- Conspiracy to do what? - Smuggle shit.
Smuggle what?
For starters, 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 telephonic communication can be intercepted...
in the great state of Maryland. Prostitution?
You mean, you can tap a guy's phone if he's selling drugs...
but if he's selling women, he's out of bounds?
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.
He owns an appliance store down the avenue in Highland Town.
I can work it around the hours that I pick up at the docks.
How much, Nick?
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.
All right, slow up. This is it.
It's listed to Nicholas Andrew Sobotka, 1485 Reynold Street.
- Sobotka? - That's what it says here.
That mean anything to you?
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 is somewhat worse for wear, I admit...
it's 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 $200 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. Got to be you.
- Me? - 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.
- 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.
Okay, 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? 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 or what? - Jesus. Fuck.
Ain't supposed to move a guy when he's hurt.
We'll remember that when you hit the number.
Quit pulling your dicks and get this thing 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 same 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.
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.
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.
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?
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