It's always the same: a sunny day and the whole of the city moves outdoors to eat lunch!
And of course it's also a day when techie worker bees with their laptops claim squatter's rights to all the available tables …

Ok, he'll admit he could have just taken his food back to the cruiser and ate it in the car. But who wants to spend a lunch break watching some attitude-on-wheels jumping curbs with a skateboard, or old ladies waddle by pulling groceries in their two-wheeled carts? Trees and grass make for a much better scene.

Fusco carefully lowers himself onto the newspaper covering part of the grimy seat, placing the bag containing the two wrapped fritters next to him as he balances the now less-than-cold soda on the narrow arm of the bench. It had taken him the better part of twenty minutes to find a place to sit down as he groused his way down one park path, then another.

This particular bench backs up to a large bush and is placed conveniently under the spreading branches of an old oak. Nice shade in the summer…but also a magnet for all the feathered residents of the park, with the inevitable result that everything under it tends to be 'painted' white. Still he counts himself lucky to have found the bench not yet occupied - though grimacing at the peeling paint on the worn slates beside him, covered as they were with suspicious white splats, maybe it wasn't just luck. But fortunately the park's trash bins usually contain at least one relatively clean newspaper that can be used as a seat cover…or he'd be finishing his lunch standing up. Again.

He reaches into the bag, his coffee coated taste buds already anticipating a cleansing explosion of some new and different flavors. Reese…ah…Riley - damn, he doesn't know what to call him now - doesn't know what he's missing! The falafels make an absolute best meal. Well, second best. The first being the spicy redneck hot dog from Crif's. Mmm-mmm. Enough to make a saint cry!

But he knows his now partner has different tastes, preferring those deli sandwiches. Of course maybe that's also why the guy doesn't carry around 50 extra pounds… Fusco frowns, weighing the wrapped fritter in one hand. Meh. So what if the stuff is high cal. He's got a body to support!

With a sigh he settles in for a culinary treat.

His now partner. Isn't that a hoot…the Man in the Suit his partner! The same guy who tormented him for how many years? And suddenly it all changed; suddenly Wonder Boy starts showing up on homicide cases wearing a badge, and as a NYPD cop he's expected to play along with that charade! But what else can he do? Still he'd like to know what's really going on - but as per usual the big guy is not talking to him. About that anyway. Still, it's just not a situation he trusts.

Fusco unwraps the foil from the warm fritter, while his mind continues to roam through a forest of fragmented thoughts, pulling on one branch then another.

So what's happened to the Professor? He and his hired gun always worked in tandem, and now Reese...uh…Riley…seems to be pretty much flying solo, with the geek nowhere around. Strange. Really strange. Even more so is his own willingness to cover for his partner's blunders - like that shooting of a perp in the middle of a crowd! Jeeze!

Well, Reese better straighten up and fly right, 'cause he not going risk his career backing that kind of crazy stuff. Not with this new captain on board. He'll throw the guy a life preserver every once in a while, but he'll be damned if he's going to jump in after him!

The falafel's garlic flavor reaches the cop's nostrils, his mouth salivating as his stomach - being in total agreement for the action to follow - growls its encouragement. It's been several hours since breakfast…

"Don't turn around, Detective!"

Fusco freezes with a falafel half way to his mouth…until his brain does a quick archive search and certain data points register. He relaxes, continues his motion and attacks the falafel, careful to keep the tahini sauce from dripping on his tie. Ruined two already this week!

"You make a really lousy spy, Leon." He finally sputters around a large bite of chickpeas. Using the flimsy napkin to wipe his mouth with one hand, he gestures with the wrapped fritter in the other to the empty space beside him. "You've been made. Might as well come out and sit down."

The bush rustles behind him and slowly the con artist slips around the bench to gingerly lower himself to the seat, seemingly unconcerned there's no newspaper protecting his dark suit pants from the white deposits on the bench.

"How did you know it was me?" the little man asks, his face a furrowed path of perplexity as he looks around nervously.

Nothing new, Fusco thinks. Ever since he'd been introduced to the slightly built man, the guy has been worried about one person or another coming after him. And probably with good reason, as despite all the blustering last year about wanting "to do good, save innocent people", the scammer has yet to pass up an opportunity to make a quick, and always dubious return on an investment. With the predictable result that there's usually some angry mark out there looking for the little man.

Why John insists on helping this loser is beyond Fusco's comprehension…!

"Your accent sucks, Leon…and your choice of cologne is hard to forget. You smell like a mid-town hooker! " Fusco takes another bite out of his fritter, ignoring Leon's hurt expression as he savors the spicy mid-eastern croquette. "So who's after you this time - and why are you coming to me instead of Wonder Boy? Isn't he supposed to be your personal savior?"

Leon eyes the bag in the bench space between he and Fusco, but wisely decides that now is probably not the best time to try to flinch a free lunch. Instead he swivels to the left and then the right, quickly scanning the worn path into the park once more before turning his anxious countenance to the chubby cop.

"Well…ah…yes. Ah…I thought maybe you could help me out this time since John is probably busy", the little man replies nervously, "And besides he said last time he'd be on vacation if I got in trouble again. I even ended up in the ER last week and he never showed up, so I guess he means it!" Leon's expression is one of a beaten puppy kicked into a corner.

Fusco smiles, reaching for the second fritter. He knows from past experience that Reese considers Leon's hero worship an annoying burden and one the former vigilante would much rather do without. How many times now has the big guy had to rescue the little con man?

Since the cop's relationship with the volatile, now NYPD detective, aka Man in the Suit, has always been somewhat rocky - the taller man either ignoring, threatening, or sneering at him - Fusco is only too eager to balance the scales occasionally.

And this is just too good an opportunity to pass up!

"Oh, you could probably call him now. It's been, what, months, since he said that? I'm sure he wouldn't mind rescuing you again." He finds tweaking the tiger's tail occasionally perhaps a dangerous, but a very satisfying experience!

"Yeah, well… No. There's a bit of a problem you see," Leon replies in a small voice. "I can't really go to John on this."

Fusco stops in mid bite, glancing at the nervous little man. Leon is a basket case with a nervous twitch that could register on a Richter scale. Where normally the con artist has great faith in his "hero" showing up to bail him out, this time Reese is evidently not his first choice for the White Knight role.

"What did you do, Leon?" he asks, taking another bite and narrowing his eyes at the con man.

But Leon refuses to make eye contact and now it's Fusco's turn to get nervous. Whatever the little man has gotten involved in, it's not good.

"I kinda lost his dog…"

"You what!?" The cop almost chokes as he quickly swallows his last bite. The coughing spasm lasts several seconds and is only controlled with a large swallow of soda. Finally he turns to Leon.

"Not my fault!" The words come spilling out, like water burbling out of a too small hose. "I had this really good business going, you know? Kinda legit. Well, mostly. I mean, it could have been…"

Fusco smirks. "What you really mean is you were fleecing some poor sucker and got caught…"

"Yeah," is the miserable reply as the little man ducks his head. "But honestly, I never meant for that dog to get in trouble. I like him! He was my PR you know? Like…like an ad star."

"Better start at the beginning Leon", Fusco sighs, stuffing the napkin and his left over falafel back into the bag. He ignores Leon's pitiful face as the little man watches the half eaten fritter disappear into the sack.

To be continued…