Fucking-A.
Yeah, shit is good.
Here. Next time we re-up, though...
tell Moe man we need about 700, 800 more of them dimes, all right?
I ain't even seen shit like this since I don't know when.
- Same with the jumbos? - Yeah, better get more of those, too.
What the fuck is up now? String, what's up, man?
What up? Can't call it.
- How's our package? - How's it look? Shit is good.
See these Eastside motherfuckers over here?
I want you to extend to these motherfuckers...
all the hospitality that West Baltimore is famous for.
- You heard? - You want us to fuck them up?
No, dawg.
We're giving them 221, 734, and Saratoga.
We keep the rest. If anybody start any shit...
they'll have to answer to me, all right? Directly.
You heard me, right?
All right.
What are these off-brand niggers gonna do with a project tower?
Fall back, young'un.
We're gonna show y'all motherfuckers how to grind out here, all right?
Hey, String.
I heard you, man, I did.
But this shit right here, it don't make no sense.
You like the new product we selling?
It make sense now?
- Where are we at with our Boss Man? - We should be up on his phone soon.
- The PC is there, no question. - We get up on his cellphone, he's done.
We'll ID him, no problem.
I don't know. They came down on that warehouse phone when we spooked them.
Sobotka's cellphone, too. We might be going up on a dead line.
This is the other way to go.
Compared to the wiretap, it's the longer way around.
But still, if he's changing up on his cellphone...
Over the last week or so...
we've not only confirmed the identities of some of the key players...
we've also got GPS trackers on all their cars.
First of all...
Eton Ben-Eleazer. He's the drug Lieutenant in the warehouse.
- E-ton. - Whatever.
Our madam, Miss Ilona Petrovna.
George Glekas, who runs the appliance store over in Highlandtown...
and the probable fence for the organization. We followed some of them in real time.
With this little toy here, there's something else we can do.
That's seven days of where our targets have been, sped up.
And lookit. Two locations only...
where three or four cars stopped at the same time for more than five minutes.
One "X" is a dive of a diner down on South Clinton.
The other is on the western shore of Fort Howard down past Edgemere.
We get up on these locations, maybe we get a photo of the Boss Man.
- Or a tag number. - It's totally cool.
- Where did you even get this stuff? - DEA for the trackers.
McNulty pulled the software from his pals at the FBI field office.
We can pull Herc and Carver off the warehouse and give them the diner.
McNulty, Bunk, you guys take Fort Howard.
What the fuck, Frank?
You might as well start posting them things, right?
I mean, shit, if you're gonna run, you might as well come out and say so.
It ain't personal, Ott.
I want to finish what I started with the dredging issue.
And you don't think I'm good enough to handle it.
It ain't about that, kiddo.
Ott, listen to me!
What the fuck do you want me to do? Tell him where the money comes from?
I.B.S.?
Not to brag, but union racketeering is one thing the Bureau does well.
That is exactly what I wanted to hear. This case needs closure, boys.
And in my heart of hearts...
I know you're the kind of bastards to put Sobotka where he needs to be.
One other thing you Federals can help me with.
And if you don't mind, a little discretion is called for.
That, right there, is the district surveillance van...
which was fully equipped when it disappeared.
A surveillance van?
Sobotka stole it. Now it's I-don't-know-where.
The last picture was from Seattle...
but I got prints...
from two other places, see?
You reported the van stolen, right?
It was my feeling that the theft of a vehicle from a departmental lot...
would reflect poorly on the department.
The thing is, I know you boys have got enough reach...
to maybe get the van back without no big dustup.
As a favor for me having brought you the whole case.
Motherfucking Eastside need to get their asses...
back across town where they belong.
Yo, man, we run them off, we run off the good dope so...
I'm just saying they all the time hustling around...
cutting prices and doing shit. It ain't right.
Walk, nigger.
Yo, what's up, soldier?
- Looking maybe to do something here. - With him? This motherfucker?
I saw him over on Ashland last week selling burns.
- Fuck y'all, nigger. - Look, what did he say?
$25, two dimes and a coke kicker.
I'll give you two dimes for $15, plus the ice on top for free. What?
That'll work.
Take it in the lobby. I'll be right behind you.
That's what's up, see?
The game now is that we gotta sell more of this good shit than they do.
What? Get the fuck out of here!
You mean to tell me there's a Westside nigger...
who knows how to sell shit without sticking a pistol in a fiend's face?
Yeah, dawg. And you better get used to it...
'cause y'all ain't selling shit until we bone-ass dry.
- Believe that. - All right, nigger. Whatever, man.
All right, cottage-cheese, chest-ass motherfucker.
- Where do you want it? - There's good.
Easy.
- We could help you set it up. - You have a surveillance to cover?
- I got that feeling again. - Like they don't think we're potty trained.
- Can I help you? - FBI. Lt. Daniels?
He's in his office.
Without that billboard in my face, I wouldn't have known.
How could you have known?
- There was the wingtips. - And the beady eyes. Definite giveaway.
- Tight asses. - Definitely.
Lt. Daniels? Agents Settles and Mason.
Maj. Valchek said you'd be expecting us.
You listening to this fool?
Saying that the Eastside is wilder than Westside...
'cause of some shit about Eastside folks drinking port wine...
while the Westside do sherry?
Port make a man do crazy shit, I'm telling you.
- Butchie, talk to this fool. - For me, leastways...
the difference between East and West goes back to one man:
- Frank Matthews. - Pee Wee Matthews?
Yeah, the brother went up New York and got in bed with them Italians.
The only one from this town got a piece of that French Connection.
What the hell Pee Wee got to do with anything?
'Cause Frank was Westside. How do you like that? The dope flowed West.
When you got a steady supply, you run shit like a business.
Somebody gets hurt, there's a reason. Not like this foolishness we got today.
Excuse me.
What say, Omar?
Ain't no thing.
You know I got something for you, right? Wouldn't come around unless I did.
What up, Butch? How you holding up, baby?
Except for fretting on you, I'm good.
It's for my people.
A little something for a rainy day.
You built up a right nice-size nest these past couple of years.
Might be time you maybe think about backing off some?
Back off to what?
Later, Butch.
Stay, boy.
Damn, Zig, I ain't got it cut yet.
And turn that shit down, for Christ's sake.
Nicely done.
Like I always say, it pays to go with a union card every time.
- Turn the fucking radio down, Zig. - Will you get in the goddamn car already?
For Christ's sake, we ain't got all night. Jesus!
You could drive a tank through there, it wouldn't take a scratch.
Where the fuck you going with this?
Greece. Athens, Greece.
The hole is so they don't think it's an inside job.
So they don't look at the union.
Welcome aboard, chief.
Is that you?
I thought you were gonna go shopping.
- Me? - Yeah.
We round-the-clock with surveillance.
When do we get to the part where you do all kind of shit for me?
When do we get to that part?
So you past the point of lifting a grocery bag or two?
You try being me like this.
Something wrong?
The baby's kicking. Wanna feel?
- Almost $4,000. - I know it is.
The Greek guy, the one with the warehouse, pays me in cash.
Keeps it off the books, so he don't have to pay taxes and benefits.
- And you saved all that? - He gave me a bump, too.
I'm pulling down $700 a week.
You don't believe me?
Christ.
I was saving that up to give to you for the new apartment.
You know what I'm saying, dawg?
But I don't understand how these hoes be acting sometimes and shit.
If I tell a bitch, I'm like, "Bitch, either you suck dick or you don't."
- Gentlemen. - What's up, my brother?
Are you slinging bean pies up in here? You know what I mean?
You with the nation, homey? 'Cause either you're a Muslim...
or your momma need to stop laying your clothes out in the morning.
I'm here to represent the interests of a Mr. Barksdale.
- Are you familiar with Mr. Barksdale? - That name ring out, but so do mine.
And you are?
Cheese, man.
Mr. Cheese. I see.
- And who do you work for, Mr. Cheese? - Who do I work for?
Am I correct in assuming that you are not employed by Mr. Barksdale?
Hell, yeah.
If that is the case, then I have to insist that you leave.
- This nigger serious? - Let me be emphatic.
You need to take your black ass across Charles Street to where it belong.
- What? - Hold on now.
He don't know what this is. It ain't what he think, you know what I'm saying?
First of all, we got permission to grind in these here towers.
Second of all, I don't give a fuck...
Get off me, get off!
Pellets in plastic. Rat shot.
What you need to be concerned about is what's seated in the chamber now:
a copper-jacketed, hollow point...
120-grain hot street load of my own creation.
So you need to think for just a moment and ask yourself:
What do I have to do before this man raise up his gun again?
Let's go.
Good day to you, sir.
I'm in agreement with the agents' assessment.
As far as I can see...
this case is an ideal candidate for RICO prosecution.
My agency agrees RICO is the way to go, so we'll be in your courthouse, not mine.
But I want one thing on record.
As of 9/11, the Bureau has one priority in this case:
it's waterfront corruption.
It's a new world and the ports are vulnerable.
This case is bigger than the union.
We're agreeing to take on the whole case, Lieutenant.
But the union is why we're in the room with you.
If you're okay with that, we can work the case together.
We'll copy all the Bureau's 302s to the Lieutenant and Miss Pearlman.
Your paperwork should CC Squad 6 and my office, as well.
I'll start pumping your casework into our system.
See what leads that might generate.
Oughtn't you be laid up resting?
A gunshot ain't nothing to trifle with.
Shoulder do hurt.
But this here work just fine.
Tell Stack to polish it up good and put $7.50 on it.
Shame to let a good toaster get away over a frayed cord.
First off, ain't nobody running up in them projects.
Them Westside boys are hurting over this more than even you.
Trust me, soon as our good shit run out, they fucked.
Second, a whole passel of hard-ass hitters...
took a go at Brother Mouzone, and ain't lived to say shit about it.
We go at the boy, no telling what might get stirred up.
If Stringer takes a shot, he crosses Avon on it.
Put a bounty on him.
Let some bushwhacking fiend back-shoot his ass.
I pin money on him, and first thing he come at me?
Shit. Might as well just shoot myself now and get it over.
There is one boy who might could just pull this off.
Only, he won't take contract money.
Aim for center mass. Make sure the man goes down.
No problem.
I got the three on the left.
Fuck you, assholes.
- How you doing? - How you doing, buddy?
The Samsung S221. You got that?
I don't see it.
Doing the old inventory, are we?
I hope there ain't been no thieving going on.
Not like the problem we got down at the docks.
- You get the cars off? - Sailed two hours ago on the Caspia.
Listed as scrap aluminum. I got the bill of lading right here.
Not here.
In my office.
Forgive me, but how am I to know...
you did not ship them empty?
I just don't know. Let me see.
Maybe if I had a 4.0 Megapix, three time optical, fully digitalized camera...
I could've taken some quality photos of them Benzes in those cans.
But oops. I forgot my camera got busted.
Or you know what I could do?
I could get old Boris to skulk around them docks...
keep the old commie red eye on them containers.
Make sure the dock boys are playing me straight.
- They are what I order? - Yes.
I got you the S series in the colors that you wanted.
I even got one parked outside. You wanna see?
Outside? Now?
I'm just taking her out for a spin, chief. I'll put her back tonight.
Wait one.
Them cars list out at better than $60,000 each.
20% was last week. Today, the quote is 10%.
Still, it's good money for a few hours' work.
No!
No fucking way! We had a deal, motherfucker. A deal.
You listen to me.
It was my fucking ass out there on the line. Mine.
This piddling shit is the best that you come up with?
You don't play me like that. You don't.
Fuck you, you thieving, Greek cunt.
Malaka!
You don't know that one, chief. But you know "malaka, " yes?
Now you know malaka with dress.
Please.
Malaka.
Can you hear me?
If you can talk, please stay on the line.
Get in the boat first, then put the preserver on.
- It's easier that way. - Yeah?
Y'all trying to drown my ass for sure.
- Come on. - Don't push me, man.
Rod.
Got it.
Here. Hold on to that.
I know this one.
Stringer Bell will come at me with this.
Says he's got something with Omar he need to make straight.
Didn't say what that might be?
Wouldn't tell me. And to be truthful, I didn't want to know.
No. It don't feel right.
You know them Barksdale people ain't to be trusted.
No denying all you say is true. But Stringer talking parley.
So your boy needs to think long and hard on this.
'Cause if Omar is living his day-to-day in the street...
there ain't no telling what their next step might be if there ain't no sit-down.
- "Parley"? - That's all he says he's looking for.
I'll talk to him.
But if it feels funny to him the way it does to me...
I got a better chance of putting a leash to the wind, you know?
If you think it might help, I can go protection.
- They're the one got hurt the last time. - Then there was a reason to meet.
- This time feel different. - I hear you.
Maybe Stringer's still trying to settle that beef...
behind the fact that he got to live in this city, too...
Omar being Omar.
If it ain't putting you out none...
I'd feel a powerful lot better if my nephew took over protection.
Hayward.
Typed and ready for your John Hancock.
- Thanks. - Sure.
You just have to initial each page and then sign at the end.
I'm just checking. This is the official record, right, chief?
It's what's gonna play in court.
Can I change something?
Yeah.
Just put your initials next to your changes. It's no problem.
Yeah, it's only one.
- You know, you typed "said" here, see? - "Said"?
He wasn't saying, "Please don't shoot me."
It was more begging.
You know? Double G, he's begging me.
But that's not gonna mess you up, though, right?
No, it's more descriptive like that. It's good. Thanks.
Quiet. No one in or out of there.
It's kind of nice out here. Moonlight on the water.
Waves lapping gently against the boat.
I'm working my regular eight. I can handle it, you know?
But a detail like this...
That's what I'm asking.
If something comes up on the job, how would you handle it?
I mean, at home with the kids.
Until now, not much came up.
But now, say something comes up.
I mean, say we do a raid or something. What would you do?
I guess I'd try to get the sitter to stay.
Maybe call my folks, like I did tonight.
You know how it is with kids. You gotta be there.
But you wouldn't miss it?
I mean, with everybody rolling out and you having to head home?
If it keeps going like this, I don't know what I'm gonna do.
- Thanks. - It's no problem.
You wanna make a phone call to someone?
If you get over to Madison, it might be some time before you can.
Ain't a chance I get a bail, right?
How about family?
All right, to bring you up to speed, we've got agents in Le Havre...
shagging leads from the manifest of the Talco ship due here in a few days.
To see if we can't pinpoint the origin for the illegal containers.
That's a lot of cans.
A hundred and ten, actually.
How many agents you need to track back to where all those cans came from?
As many as it takes.
We may be assholes, but on the upside, there's an awful lot of us.
Let me get this into the computer for the boys overseas.
Anything from that shithole of a diner?
Herc and Carver had nothing overnight.
The feds took over this morning and it's still quiet.
I'm going back on the water.
One meet and we're on this guy.
The Talco line's in Wednesday. I'll send Nick for a number.
- The Greeks again? - Who else?
They sure do stir up the shit, them Greeks do.
- Uncle Frank. - Nicky boy, just in time.
- Uncle Frank. - What? What happened?
- What the fuck is it this time? - He shot...
They're saying he shot two of the Greeks.
- Last night, they're saying. - Shot?
- He shot? - Fucking Christ!
He's locked up. He's fucking charged with murder.
- The Greeks? - Double G.
And one of the kids that works down the store on the avenue with him.
They're saying he walked in there.
- He went in. - Why was he there?
- Where the fuck were you? - Uncle Frank, I didn't know.
What didn't you know?
- What is Ziggy doing near the Greeks? - I don't know.
You don't know? You're supposed to. You're his fucking cousin!
You're his father.
1,125 kilograms.
Not that drug enforcement's my cup of tea...
but I'm told it was the largest crack seizure on record.
I just wish I had good news for you.
You told me this was a local effort.
It's sprawled. Now the Bureau's involved. We're looking hard at the port unions.
My hands are tied.
They're on you with wiretaps.
Several phones, several addresses.
Stefanos.
Have the boy go to Eton.
Tell him to come right away to the other place.
- You're not calling? - No phones. No more phones.
Adieu, my friend.
They forgot your fries.
No, they forgot your fries.
- My fries are right in here. - Those are my fries.
Bitch, everything I say, you hear backwards. The fries are mine, boy.
Go ahead.
Eat the fries, you fat fuck. See if I fucking care.
What? You think I'm fat?
There's our boy.
- Lester, Eton's on the move. - We got it.
- No need for an eyeball follow, right? - No need.
A fine fucking kettle of fish.
I heard it, but I had to come see it for myself.
- And sure enough... - Major?
You know, I put my faith in you fucking feds.
You let me down.
- Major, we can talk in my office. - Lieutenant.
It's Lieutenant, right?
I gave you a simple assignment:
that fellow, the one in the corner.
And to make it happen, I gave you all this.
Good digs, people...
everything you needed.
And what did you give me?
Right up the fucking ass, Lieutenant.
- Major, you're going to get — - Roland, get your shit.
You want to do it your way, fine.
But you ain't gonna use my people to fuck me.
- Get your gear. I'm pulling you. - I got... There's work...
- You said — - Get your narrow ass back to the district...
before I slap you with insubordination.
Move, shitbird!
Jesus!
Detective, my office.
Base to 11-34. Target number two is coming at your 20.
Copy that. We're on it good.
We're on the Boss.
My God.
- He shoots both? - He kills George, right there in the store.
- Leaves the boy to bleed. - For what?
An argument over a few cars?
- That little Polack? - He's crazy, that one.
The police have him now.
The police still there?
Go to the store.
Whatever the police did not take, papers, pictures, everything...
you clean it up.
The warehouse, too. Everything gets clean now.
Everything.
And the phones are dead.
Did you see that? They just threw the phones.
11-34 to Surveillance.
- Standing by. - We got our man.
Target number one is a white male, 40s, short...
wearing a tan shirt and a gray tam.
Copy your description.
11-34 to Surveillance, both targets are on the move.
We can't make the vehicle from here, but you sure can.
Copy.
What was he doing with that thing in his hand?
Same thing you always do.
Probably sending a text message. My kids are crazy over that.
That's our guy, right?
What's his face Sobotka from the drug corner?
I need to get with Vondas.
Who's that?
Spiros. Where is he?
I don't know no Spiros.
- No shit. - He just up and clocked him?
- Daniels had everybody write what they saw. - Even us suits.
That was smart. Daniels is sharp.
- Where's Prez now? - Daniels took him home.
- I don't think he'll come back to this detail. - You never know.
He might have one of those psychological bullshit things in his jacket...
gives him immunity or something.
Valchek gave him immunity, and he just put Valchek on his ass.
- Nothing since the Fort Howard meet. - They're definitely dumping phones.
When you use a cellphone and press "send, " where does the call go to?
- Why are you asking? - The Boss Man at Fort Howard.
He tosses the cellphone we're up on, right?
Then he pulls out another thingamajig, and he types a message.
Text messaging.
It starts at one of those towers they got up all over the place, right?
And ends up in a computer at a wireless provider.
If you knew when the call was made, could you trace the call back to that tower?
'Cause if you could, mightn't you get a phone number?
You get that, then you got the billing details, right?
Fool, do you have any idea how many people use cellphones?
There must be thousands, hundreds of thousands at any time.
What you need is another variable.
Another bit of data that's gonna help you isolate your call from all the others.
What if you knew where the call was made? I mean, exactly where it was made.
We were out in the middle of nowhere. Does that help narrow it down?
The Fort Howard sea wall. It ain't exactly Charles and Baltimore Streets.
You've got another problem. Which wireless company?
There must be Verizon, MCI, AT&T, Sprint...
Shit, tin cans and a string. You got dozens of them.
Lamar?
- Where's my Harper's? - Say what?
Harper's. The new issue.
You didn't say that one. You said The New Republic and Atlantic...
- And a new something else. - I did not forget to tell you Harper's.
Every week I tell you the same shit, and every week you forget half of what I say.
Tomorrow, first thing, you go to the newsstand and you get Harper's.
And The Nation, too, which you also managed to forget.
You know what the most dangerous thing in America is, right?
A nigger with a library card.
All damn day, he just sit there reading.
And damned if them Eastside bitches don't stay away.
- That's real muscle, right there. - True that.
What are we gonna do when we start running out of good product?
That's what we need to ask ourselves.
Yo, Bodie, if Stringer want the Eastside up in here...
then why Barksdale got a man running them off?
This is getting us nowhere. We got nothing under Pyramid Inc...
or any of the targets at any other cellular company.
It's on McNulty then.
11-35, you got the 20?
- I'm on the spot right now. - Go.
10-4. Latitude first: North, 39 degrees. 11.727.
Longitude: West, 76 degrees. 26.628.
Now, this was a neat trick. No one ever did it before.
Identified a cellphone using time and GPS.
We got everything on the phone that was text messaging...
from those coordinates at 04:45 p.m. today.
Just a subpoena?
With this, you can get account information and a phone number.
With a search warrant...
you can get two months of text messages.
You got two months of text messages in this file?
I do, if you've got a warrant.
Tell you what, friend.
We're gonna go back and start typing that warrant tomorrow morning.
But right now, we wouldn't mind taking a peek...
at what my man's been up to in the last 24 hours.
Exigent circumstances.
Thanks, brother.
Fuck me.
Nothing's easy.
- What's up? - They've dumped their phones.
We're trying to get onto the Boss Man's text messaging.
They sent that Greek mess over as email.
After he inputs, the computer will translate it.
Got it.
Shit.
Hey, Prissy.
Thought you'd be here.
Fucking Ziggy.
When didn't he do dumb shit?
Remember when he forged that Age of Majority card?
We all pooled our money.
You drove us over Brooklyn Park to the cut-rate.
My mom's puke-yellow Chevy.
We told him specifically:
two bottles of Pikesville Rye and...
Southern Comfort for me.
What did fucknuts get?
Fucking Boone's Farm.
He said that's what the college kids drank.
But we did it up. Right here.
He stood up there, a bottle in each hand...
screaming loud enough to wake the nuns.
What the fuck did he say?
"College kids ain't shit!"
Goddamn, Zig.
- Yeah? - Beadie, it's Kima.
We're gonna take the Boss out.
- Raids? Tonight? - You got somewhere to drop the kids off?
No, no problem. I can take them over to my parents'.
All right, we'll see you soon.
Kima, thanks for the call. Bye.
The judge wants to know how much longer.
We're close.
Dump this row. Dump the computer. Dump this.