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Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips
If you've ever worked with me before, you know I don't want cowboy shit...
-It's fucked up. -Yes, it is.
Bullshit, plain and simple.
My partner caught a murder. It may have nothing with Barksdale at all.
He just decided, voluntarily, to write a letter to the victim's family.
-That's good money. -Yeah.
What?
Yo, Carv. Notice that most of the time...
Most of all, it needs police who know how to work those things.
Do you hear me?
I always heard it that you can't win if you don't play.
Why? You think he get a percentage?
Good, get up. Go! Walk!
Why apologize at all if you got nothing to do with it?
What am I gonna say?
Bunk and me, we got our own rhythm.
just some sad-ass down at the basement of McDonald's...
Then how come they sent every worthless hump in plainclothes?
No? What's that?
Used to come down to the corners, real green.
You don't know, and you don't need to know.
Just say what's in your heart.
-What about him? -That's Little Man.
Do I know you?
Judge Phelan called this morning...
Correct.
Look, this is a poor fucking city, gentlemen.
Go with the deuce?
He stuck to his story for half a day, until Ballistics matched the bullet...
At least that works.
What? Do you hear me?
you used a Kel-Light, not the handle of your service weapon...
Then you're gonna get all the way in, Lieutenant.
-Ain't necessarily what it looks like. -No?
Gant, William. 41 years.
A rusted nail just went through my shoe.
No grandstanding, no red balls.
and she's fucking telling us what to do.
Younger white boy.
Don't dig in, don't get fancy.
What are you doing here at 2:00 in the morning?
Kima, if you don't mind me asking...
Church deacon? That was thick.
-They're yours? -Yeah, afraid so.
Why the fuck you gotta say you're sorry?
An arrest or two would help.
-Hello? -You seen the paper?
-What? -The newspaper, get it.
Question is, what do you want me to do now?
Shit.
They used your name, Stringer, Wee-Bey...
Hold up, hold up.