Fucking-A.
Yeah, shit is good.
Here.
Next time we re-up, though tell Moe man we need about 700, 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 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 cell phone, 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 cell phone, 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 cell phone 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 llona 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? - FBl.
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.
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