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All the boys from around the way, we roll till late.
-Gotta go upstairs. -What's up?
Fucked is me.
It ain't even gonna be a murder.
Chain-of-command, Detective.
Nope.
-You ain't got no problem, right? -Hell no, we deep in there.
Fucking shitstorm.
-You guys are getting out of drugs? -Yeah, for a while.
They got you, in fact.
that now we got to work around.
Fucking horse is out the barn door, right?
I'll clue her in.
Barksdale, Avon.
My uncle know about this?
-Greggs, she's my best right now. -I know her?
No mics, no wires. We do this fast and clean and simple.
You ain't said one motherfucking thing I want to hear.
If he asks for something, I want to give it to him.
I gotta ask you.
Down on the ground.
-How much? -$20.
Come on, I got something for you.
-I agree with you. -He gonna kill Snot.
No one. 21 Post found him.
It's a buy-bust, Jimmy, get in and get out.
One more time.
Shit. Look, set something up with Homicide...
The marine unit?
-Deputy likes dots. -I'm sorry, Major, really.
Not guilty.
I got the deputy asking about 10.
And when you list the cases, put a little dot next to each one.
The low-rises? You got Ronnie Mo in the Pit.
Drop them now. Get out of the car.
And every Friday night, your pal Snotboogie...
Excuse me, sir?
-Who? -Avon Barksdale, Stringer Bell.
-I'm 8:00-to-4:00. -No.
Two days ago no one on this fucking floor knew this mope's name.
-You called the guy Snot? -Snotboogie, yeah.
So small it looks like a nail might've made it.
-I work for Stringer. -He pay you, don't he?
As to the defendant D'Angelo Barksdale...
sucking on a 40, yelling "5-0". You hear me?
We're a little busy doing street rips, you know.
You got a .380 casing on the ground there.
He like the name?
see if anything can be manufactured.
And those are your initials as well, next to the photo you identified?
I ain't never seen a white woman turn so red.
-All right, I heard you. -Say the words, Bunk.
but by tomorrow....
Two guns, remember?
Apparently the bot farms don't have enough love in their heart for two wars
Him being a judge and all, I let go of some shit.
That's about $3,000 of raw on the table today.
-A report? -Clean, no typos.
What?
-She can spot a bad one. -Nothing personal, Jimmy.
-That shit look green to you? -It got a dead fucking president on it.