- Really, where were you? - Where was she? I mean, the thing is, I can't see a reason for that man to be dead.
I can't.
I mean, hell, you beat us in court.
- We don't take it personal.
- Fuck, no.
We get paid either way.
And it's not like you did anything real bad throwing a couple of hot ones at Pooh Blanchard.
No one's gonna miss that motherfucker.
But you know the man who got killed this time? You know who that poor son of a bitch was? A citizen.
Worked every goddamn day of his life.
You know that? He would get up every day, go out and do maintenance work.
Then on the weekends, he was driving a cab out to the airport.
Two jobs.
And he volunteers what little time he has left at his church.
- Church-going man.
- A bethel man, a deacon.
Two jobs and three kids.
Did you know that? Three kids.
Young, too.
Five, eight, eleven.
Crying their little orphaned asses to sleep 'cause they lost their mama some years ago and now they out there on their own.
- He doesn't believe us.
- I know he don't believe it.
We've been here two hours, telling you what's true in the world and you sit like nothing happened.
Where my lawyer at? We called him.
When he comes, we'll let you know.
I got nothing to say.
I mean, I'm sorry for the man, but I ain't got nothing to say.
You sorry? You sorry for him? You fucking killed the man.
- No.
- Yes, you did.
We don't think that you shot him, but if you weren't so busy lighting folks up in high-rise lobby he ain't coming out of the elevator and see it happen.
He don't see anything, he doesn't testify.
He doesn't testify, those kids still got a daddy to lean on.
- Why'd he testify? - How would we know? - He didn't have to testify.
- No, he didn't, but he did.
And you still beat the charge, didn't you? But that wasn't enough.
It's not enough to beat the murder.
They gotta send a cold message to everyone in the Terrace.
Fuck the working man.
Fuck his kids, that shit don't count.
See, that's what I don't get about the drug thing.
Why can't you sell the shit and walk the fuck away? You know what I mean? Everything else in this country gets sold without people shooting each other behind it.
In the Terrace, it's one body after another.
You remember that little boy got shot in the barbershop on West Lombard last summer? One asshole chases another into a house empties a 9.
Bullshit argument over and that little kid, instead of getting his first haircut he gets one in the eye.
You remember that? - It's fucked up.
- Yes, it is.
They didn't have to do that.
Shoot up a barber shop? No, they did not have to do that.
That man was just my thing.
My thing, they ain't had They ain't had to do that.
No mama and no daddy.
Lord Jesus! I'll tell you what I think you should do, D'Angelo not because I think you wanted that man to get shot or had anything to do with shooting him.
But I think you could just sit here for a moment or two, collect your thoughts you know, get your shit together.
And then I think it might be a good thing for you to write a little letter to those children and you let them know you're sorry that they're not gonna have anyone left, you know? I mean, just say something.
Tell them how you personally think your uncle maybe he got it wrong this time, because it's wrong that they lost their daddy behind what happened, you know? It might mean something to them to know that you're feeling for them.
Man, I ain't got nothing to say.
Just say what's in your heart.
Church deacon? That was thick.
Got good to me, what can I say? It's sad enough with the kids being orphaned and everything.
Photo was from Bunk's desk.
- They're yours? - Yeah, afraid so.
Good thing they look like their mama.
Maurice Levy just posted.
He's by the elevators.
- The defense never rests.
- Shame on you, McNulty.
Dragging me from the Levy family preserve on a Friday night.
- My apologies.
- Yvette made brisket.
- Good? - When served hot.
One or two? Your client.
What the fuck! Stop writing! Now! - I'm just- - Shut up! He calls his lawyer, that's supposed to be the end of the interview.
Your client gave no statement, we took no statement.
He just decided, voluntarily, to write a letter to the victim's family.
- To say that- - Shut up! - Any charge here? - No charge.
Good, get up.
Go! Walk! Listen to me, you don't say anything you don't do anything, you don't write anything.
Do you hear me? Shut up! How many times do I have to tell you people the same fucking thing? What the fuck is that? Armoire.
Louis Quatorze.
I mean, what is it, a toy? Some of you I know.
Some of you I will know.
If you've ever worked with me before, you know I don't want cowboy shit and I don't want surprises.
The task is Avon Barksdale, and Avon Barksdale only.
No sidetrips, no sprawl.
Primary investigators are Greggs from my unit and- Greggs from my unit and McNulty from Homicide.
They keep the file.
On the street, we work partners.
Greggs and Sydnor.
Herc and Carver.
McNulty's with Santangelo, Mahone and Polk.
Pryzbylewski and Freamon.
To start with, we got nine- How's that? Did that get it? What? Do you hear me? What? To start with, we have nine or ten open homicide files to work back through for leads.
McNulty and Santangelo, they're on that already.
Herc, Carver, Sydnor, and me, we'll be targeting street dealers and rolling them back up at Barksdale's people.
Polk and Mahone are available to run down specific leads.
Freamon, Pryzbylewski, are gonna start in-office on clerical duty.
- You need a prosecutor- - No, turn the shit off! What? You need a prosecutor.
Rhonda Pearlman from Narcotics is assigned.
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