That's the witness all right, the one from the Barksdale case.
Gant, William.
41 years.
Single headshot, close range.
Bullet pancaked on the inner skull.
- Ain't necessarily what it looks like.
- No? A man's walking down a street in West Baltimore.
That'll catch you a bullet for a half-dozen reasons.
- Yeah, that it will.
- You run him for a sheet? Yeah, a couple of disorderlies is all.
Guy works maintenance down at Poe Homes.
Lives alone, no wife, no kids.
Only time his name pops up on the courthouse computer is for being a state witness in Barlow's case.
Otherwise, I don't even make that connection.
I mean, you've got to admit it don't make sense to ace this motherfucker after he done testified.
Sends a hell of a message though.
He's one hardheaded fuck in the Terrace you can't run off or buy out, right? If your audience is the high-rise projects, a move like this cuts right through the shit.
What are you gonna tell the major? That I caught a stone fucking whodunit.
- Don't soft-sell the witness angle.
- Come on.
Why get the bosses riled before we know for sure? If I start talking shit that a witness got killed- - Bunk, tell him.
- Why? Just cover yourself on this.
Jimmy, you ain't gonna do what I think? Listen to me.
This shit is gonna jump up and bite you in your ass.
Just cover yourself.
- What the hell was that about? - Nothing.
Morning.
Jesus Christ.
Goddamn.
Who do you got to fuck in this town to get a real office? At least that works.
It was for McNulty.
- I shouldn't be here.
- Then you shouldn't.
They killed a fucking witness out of your court.
Yeah, you told me.
You did your civic duty.
Under the power vested in me by the circuit court for Baltimore city I absolve you of all your sins, Detective McNulty.
You are my sin, you know that? For talking to you, my major is ready to cut my throat.
Jimmy, you knew I was gonna make that call.
Admit it.
I didn't think you would straight-up hang me out on the line in a shitstorm.
Look, it's not like it was when I was a prosecutor.
- I'm a judge now, the rules are different.
- You missed a spot.
Yeah, what's done is done.
Question is, what do you want me to do now? I think you can leverage the Deputy Ops with a phone call.
- He's already detailed people.
- Some detail.
Asshole lieutenant thinks he can buy-bust his way to Avon Barksdale.
You want leverage? We give the dead-witness angle to the newspapers.
Stir some real shit.
No, that tips Barksdale that someone's working him.
- We don't want to go public.
- No? Just put it to the Deputy Ops you lost a witness who testified in your court.
That forces the department to commit to the investigation.
And when you call Burrell this time, will you forget my fucking name? - You missed a spot.
- Why don't you fucking do it? Seniority.
- You found us.
- Wasn't easy.
- You asked for these guys? - I asked for more manpower.
Have a seat.
What the fuck Sir, I- He was showing me the trigger pull on his Glock.
- And he was just- - Detective? Officer Pryzbylewski shot the wall, Lieutenant.
Why? Why did you shoot the wall, Officer Pryzbylewski? I was just showing Carv how my trigger pull is light, you know.
- I got it so it's real light.
- He took the clip out, boss.
But not the one in the chamber.
No, I forgot the one in the chamber, and Shit, I'm sorry, lieutenant.
- You want him to write on it? - Write on what? You let one go, you got to write.
You got to justify the use of deadly force.
Against a plaster wall.
It's an accident, okay? Give me a fucking break already.
- Your name is what? - Pryzbylewski.
From Auto Unit, right? Cantrell sent you.
Not exactly.
Lt.
Cantrell sent me to Casualty Section a couple months back.
And I asked out of Casualty.
You came here from Casualty Section? Man, these shits is right, yo.
- It's good with the hot sauce, too.
- Most definite.
- Dee, want some nuggets? - No, go ahead, man.
Man, whoever invented these, he off the hook.
Word! Motherfucker got the bone all the way out the damn chicken.
Till he came along, niggas be chewing on drumsticks and shit getting their fingers all greasy.
He said "Later" to the bone.
Nugget that meat up and make some real money.
- You think the man got paid? - Who? - Man who invented these.
- Shit, he richer than a motherfucker.
Why? You think he get a percentage? Why not? Nigga, please, the man who invented them things just some sad-ass down at the basement of McDonald's thinking up some shit to make money for the real players.
- No man, that ain't right.
- Fuck right.
It ain't about right, it's about money.
You think Ronald McDonald gonna go down that basement and say, "Mr.
Nugget, you the bomb.
"We selling chicken faster than you can tear the bone out.
"So, I'm gonna write my clowny-ass name on this fat-ass check for you.
" Shit.
The nigger who invented them things still working in the basement for regular wage thinking of some shit to make the fries taste better.
Believe.
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