Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

WHERE THE FUCK IS SHAE?!
Why did you drive all the way to New York for half an hour?
No extension cords. No juice boxes.
And making calls to some contributors...
to let you and all your friends hide some of that dirt, but not now.
Go on in.
totaling $4,500.
You know what big hands mean, right?
and talk face to face, period.
-What they call you? -Buff, 'cause I got the stuff.
I'm doing the full 90.
More than you.
So you can stand there, dripping with liquor-smell and self-pity...
Is there someone that can go near Cambridge...
We have the charge whenever we want it.
Poor fucking kid.
Time comes, though, I know you gonna step up.
Sterling's, baby, we're about to feast.
Buff, you need to get up in these egg rolls or something.
We're gonna need Pearlman to approve her wearing a wire.
But you don't need all that manpower to do it.
-Sgt. Hauk? -God help us.
What about Stringer, his number two?
Open it up, man. No sense in ruining a good safe.
Eighteen with a bullet, baby.
We don't care.
-Fuck this case. -Fuck it?
-Recently? -What's going on out there?
D'Angelo, shut your mouth.
-Call him. -No, there's no phone there.
They been cleaning us for the past few days.
You gonna make me cry, you know.
I ain't saying another damn thing...
I'm not involved in drugs, Lieutenant.
The gift of corrected vision.
-Man, these Timbs. -Yeah, they Timbs.
-Take it out, I can't do this anymore. -You won't have to, darling.
I said, name a better dog you can have today, not in world history.
This case ends, or you are done.
Stringer!
Shit, I be looking for that smart little nigger, too.
Where the fuck is Willis? Where's Willis, String?
By the way...
I mean, he ain't gonna flip out over a motherfucking three years.
Darcia Wallace? We're looking for your son.
-Sheila, send Patrick in. -Yes, sir.
It was all about me.
The only thing that we could come up with were those five checks.
Bring him in.
This case is done!
-George's Lunch on Light Street. -The Greek joint?