Hi, we're not here.
Leave a message.
Elena, you gotta talk to me.
Last call.
Why is she such a pain in the ass? - Excuse me.
- Hey, pal.
It's all right.
One more, please.
- Save some for the other customers, okay? - Pour it! - You ain't getting behind the wheel, right? - There's a cab picking me up.
I'm looking you in the eye, Gus.
I'm telling you, I'm not driving a car tonight.
Bite me.
Yeah, coffee.
- What's with the hand? - Just a scratch.
Get me some eggs, will you? - Can I get a scrapple with that? - You can get anything you want.
Oh, God! Look at him, all high and mighty.
You ain't gonna let that shit ride, are you? After what he did? I'd truck his ass, if it was me.
He's built kind of solid, though.
Maui ain't all that.
It's the clothes that give him size, Zig.
- You think? - His ass is candy, Zig.
You, you're the legend of the docks.
Truck him with your best punch and then just walk the fuck away.
Officially, I've put us on the hook for 14 open homicides.
So either we bring in a hell of a case or I'm as big a fool as Col.
Rawls thinks I am.
That sounded a little desperate.
Not entirely.
Lester, enlighten Miss Pearlman as to the status of our investigation.
You said this case needed a drug connect for a wiretap, right? Come take a look at this.
That's the DNR log on the phone listed to the warehouse where we tracked the suspect container.
It shows outgoing calls to numbers that connect to Petey Dixon Proposition Joe Stewart, and "White Mike" McArdle among other traffickers on the East Side.
Which supports surveillance of known dealers coming and leaving the warehouse.
Also, some surveillance shots and matching mug shot photos from Southeast DEU, which tie White Mike to street dealers that we've already made controlled buys from.
Assuming exhaustion, that's one tap on the warehouse phone.
- What's your PC on the truck driver? - Sergei Malatov: resident alien, Ukrainian origin.
No criminal history here.
We ID'd him from the contract on the DAC truck rental.
He was nice enough to give the truck rental people his cell number.
And phone records show a call placed to the warehouse at the time Kima observed him on the docks using the cell phone.
Checking the DNR log's history we matched seven other calls from that cell phone to dates and times when a container disappeared from a Talco ship.
Anything else? Tap 2 feels a bit thin.
How about Nicholas Sobotka of the On a Cl's information, Herc and Carver followed him from a drug meet along the Fayette Street strip back to his parents' South Baltimore row home.
When we ran that phone number from that address through the DNR at our warehouse, we got nothing.
But when we checked it against the cell phone of our friend, Sergei - we got a couple of hits.
- Sobotka's your stated target, right? This is a nephew, and from the look of it he's involved in street dealing as much as smuggling.
But right now, this case feels like a lot more than Frank Sobotka.
- No offense to Stan Valchek.
- Okay.
I admit, you've got PC.
On the warehouse phone and on the trucker's cell phone, too.
Now what have you got for exhaustion? Any possible informants? - Nothing on the docks.
- No one we can buy weight with.
- Surveillance? - That got us to the front door but it's not gonna get us inside that warehouse.
Start typing.
I'll call the judge.
Ham and cheese sandwich, and one of them Frappuccino drinks.
- I hear Charles lost his leg.
- What? Frappuccino? What the fuck is that? He's all pussy, Zig.
Cold cock him.
Take him, Zig.
Now's the time.
What do you know? The pissant's got some grapes on him.
Banana, too.
Fucking shit! - Take us up.
- Son of a bitch! God damn it! Fuck you! You big, stupid, fucking oaf! Fuck you, Maui.
You're the fucking wimp.
No, fuck you, Maui! - Stay there.
- Fuck you! God damn it! Any of you fucks try to help him down, you'll be up there with him.
Bad advice! You motherfuckers gave me bad advice! Shit.
- What the hell are you wearing? - No one mentioned all the perks.
Lacrosse? What, a brother can't run with a stick? Jim Brown was an all-American midfielder at Syracuse.
You putting yourself beside Jim Brown? Lester, I'm just saying I thought you were born in pinstripes.
Lieutenant, I was under the impression that when detailed against his will to some backwards-ass, no-count, out-in-the-districts lost-ball-in-tall-grass drug investigation a veteran police of means and talent can wear whatever the fuck he damn well pleases.
Up to a point.
- Nice shot.
- Thank you.
It's a hell of a thing to take a downtown police and lose him in a cross-town world.
Take that one over there.
I'm homesick already.
I don't know what you're laughing at.
You can kiss my ass.
You should see what your boy tried to pull today.
Fucking Ziggy.
- What are you looking for? - Can't find the fucking bills.
- End of the month, everything's hanging.
- We got anything for the Greeks? Wednesday, the Caspia over at Patapsco.
Nicky'll go get the slips tomorrow.
No wonder I couldn't find them.
You use them as bookmarks.
Let me ask you something important.
You like fake tits? I can't decide.
Thus far, I'm undecided on fake tits.
I thought I knew what paperwork was.
But what you all go through, to listen to someone else's phone calls You all cannot spell for shit.
Would we be police if we could? - Who's the duty judge this week? - Vanderwal.
You think he'll sign? No problem, if you clean his garage first.
Or wash his windows, maybe.
Fucking Vanderwal.
Wash windows? - Are these the affiants, Miss Pearlman? - Yes, Your Honor.
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