Belker and Washington wait inside the surveillance truck across the street from the gallery. Washington starts to unwrap his lunch. Belker looks out the small window at the sign hanging above the door. "Windermere Gallery. How did you come up with that?"

"Sounded like a good fence name to me."

"How am I supposed to know one painting from the next?"

"Improvise, babe." Washington thinks for a moment before taking a bite of the sandwich. "Mick, do you even know about art? Any of the artists?"

"Well, I do know that paintings of naked women isn't art. They need to put clothes on them. Then we're talking art."

Washington nods his head. "Some people might not agree with you, Mick."

"What? You don't?"

"Hey man. I'd rather have the real thing next to me. Not a painting or a magazine. J.D. on the other hand could take it whatever way he could."

Belker rolls his eyes. "Can we talk about something more pleasant?"

"Your gig."

"Oh wait!" Belker pulls out an art book from a bag. "I picked this up at the book store next to the deli. It's got all this information and pictures about famous artists. Name one."

"Matisse."

"Alright." Belker searches the pages. "Got it. Still Life With Oranges. Pastoral. Of course with a bunch of naked people. By The Sea. That's a nice one. Dance II. More naked people. What do people see in this stuff?"

"I don't know, Mick."

Slightly annoyed, Belker says, "Try another one."

"Claude Monet."

"Isn't that the one who painted soup cans?"

"Uh-uh. Warhol."

Belker skips through pages. "Ah, Claude Monet. Oh, he's the one with the funny paint style. Tiny strokes with a lot of color."

"You got it." Washington answers, glancing out the window.

"Woman with a Parasol. The Artist's House at Argenteuil. Garden Path. And all of the people are nicely dressed. Good taste. I think I like Monet." Belker smiles to himself. "Here's another… Water Lilies." He stops to think of something. "I wonder if that would be a good idea."

"Hey babe, we've got company. You're all hooked up, right?" Washington swiftly turns to see Belker still preoccupied with the art book. "Mick! They're here." Reaching over, he shuts the book. "Man, we can't wait!" Frantically looking around, he plops the second half of his sandwich and remaining coffee cup on the tray."

"What? I don't eat roast beef!"

"It'll do your breath a whole lot better than anchovies and cream cheese." Washington starts pushing Belker out the door. "Trust me, man. You'll learn to enjoy it. Go! Go!"

Belker finds himself on the sidewalk holding the makeshift tray as the side door to the van slides shut.

Inside, Washington pulls out his camera to point at the two men in business suits standing next to the gallery. He begins clicking away. Keeping his eye on the man with dark slicked back hair, he pulls the camera away to squint. "Where have I seen you before?" He puts on the headphones to listen through Belker's wire.

Belker who puts on the shades, steps up to the two men. "Yes, and how may I help you two gentlemen?"

The darker haired man adjusts his tie and speaks with a French accent. "Thees is your gallery?" He looks into the empty room with peculiarity.

"Yeah. It is." Belker answers, pulling out a freshly wrapped cigar from his shirt pocket. "Nice, ain't it?"

"Verdy!"

"And you are?"

"Oh, I'm eh, Gilles DeGault. It is my understanding thzat you would need fine art to run such a plaze?"

Washington smiles, shaking his head to himself inside the truck. "Man, if you're a Frenchman, then I'm the King of England. You're our guy. Keep on talkin'."

"You know how I can get some?" Belker then looks at the door to the gallery. "Let's go inside so we can talk some more."

All three men take their conversation indoors.

The dark blond answers in a British voice, "Yes, we know how. We're experts at it."

"You are? That's great! Well, yeah! I could use all the help I can get." Belker puts out his hand. "Oh, the name's Michael Evan Zanders."

The dark blond says, "Niles Westford."

Washington listens in as he sarcastically says, "I thought it was Inspector Clouseau."

Westford answers to Belker with, "Chesterfield Gallery, Byran Auction House."

"Top money makers! Sounds impressive." Belker says cheerfully.

...

Lt. Hunter calls out to the sergeant. "Uh, Lucy? May I talk with you for a minute?"

Reluctantly, Bates goes over to him. "You wanted to see me, Howard?" She answers in a blasé tone.

"Yes, Sgt. Bates. About what I said earlier. You know I meant no harm."

"You referred to me as a frog and my unborn child a tadpole. How would you like it if someone compared you to a reptile that eats flies for a living?"

Hunter mutters out of guilt. "Maybe I could have used a better set of words. I was only referring to the stage of which the unborn is going through. I find it incredibly fascinating to know the cycle of birth."

"Oh yeah? Walk a mile in my shoes. The purging, eating, sleeping, swelling, bloating, fatigue. That's before I turn into a balloon. That's the other cycle. Unable to see my feet. Gas. Back pain. Unable to fit into anything that exists in my closet. Waddling. Cycle of birth? Hurray."

"Lucy, what I'm trying to say is, I think that child will turn out to be as beautiful as you."

"Howard, I really don't need to be buttered up."

Hunter gently takes her arm. "No. No. This I do mean…from the heart. This child will be just as warm and kind and brave as their mother."

"Oh, Howard." She answers, blushing. "Will you feel that way the final weeks of the cycle of birth? Oh, you know. Just the fluid I'll be leaking before the big moment? Or how about the screaming in agony for an epidural when the doctor gives me what will seem like a cavity search of all my lower organs, to pull out a living human being ranging from six to eight pounds out of an opening the size of a golf ball?"

Hunter's expression changes to a grimace as he feels his stomach churn as she continues.

"Maybe the size of an egg instead. Yeah. All purple and pink. Screaming his or her lungs out." Bates continues.

The lieutenant turns to the side, not wanting to get sick.

She says, "The cutting of the umbilical cord will be a sight to behold. Who knows what will happen with that?"

He begins to walk away.

Bates calls out, "Hey! I'm still beautiful, right?"

...

A knock comes at Chief Warren Briscoe's door. He announces, "Come in." Furillo pops his head in.

"You wanted to see me, Chief?"

"Yes I did, Frank. Please, sit down."

Furillo takes a seat across from the chief.

"I've got a whole laundry list I need to go over with you." Briscoe puts on a pair of glasses. He looks at several pages on his desk. "A matter of John LaRue's pension."

"I thought that was taken care of already."

"Frank, I haven't had enough time to look at much, let alone take care of officers needs. I've got Fletcher's mess to handle. And it is a mess. Pensions take a little while to get through. There's been some things I had to sort through and deal with the review board. You know how that is? A lot of red tape. I have been constantly pushed by Lt. Bill Johnson out of division about this. He feels that LaRue's family should be given the maximum benefits due to his untimely death. From what I've read, he was just short of the twenty year eligibility mark, but still an officer at the time. Also, looking at his record, he had three citations for bravery. That's nothing to take lightly."

"I thought LaRue already had twenty years under his belt." Furillo asks in a perplexed tone.

"Frank, some of these committee members don't see him as a cop anymore."

"What do they see him as, chief?"

"A psychologist."

"Yes,…and I thought he was working under Division?"

"That's true."

"So, why aren't you having this conversation with Johnson, seeing as though he was his most recent employer?"

Briscoe lifts out a folded page from the pile. "John LaRue changed his will a week before his passing. I take it he had no spouse?"

"No. He was not married."

"It says here, it was changed from parents and then sister, to children and second of all, sister."

Furillo starts putting something together in his mind. "You… I'm sorry. You said a week before?"

"Yes."

"Okay." The captain nods back slowly. "I'm beginning to get the picture."

"You are? Good. Oh, and while you're at it, please congratulate Sgt. Bates on her and LaRue's future arrival."

"How… How did you know about that?"

"News travels fast, Frank. Apparently, she's made it well known. Pregnant women can be extremely emotional."

"That I do know." Furillo says understandably.

"Besides that, Frank, it's the talk of the town. Not what others expected to ever hear. Capt. Graumbach from East Ferry was out to dinner with his wife at Trattoria's the night before the crash. Both LaRue and Bates nearly caused a scene. She was raging at some poor guy. Then LaRue gets in on it. She starts in on him. Then she leaves and he follows her. That Bates is a real firecracker. You can fill in the blanks what happened afterwards. We wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place." Briscoe snickers. "Either way, that kid is John LaRue's rightful heir." He puts a finger up. "As long as Bates lists him as the father on the baby's birth certificate."

"Uh, Warren, the will you said was changed a week before he died? I don't think it was intended for Bates. She did tell me she was…" He awkwardly clears his throat. "She spent the night with him the day before his passing. There's no way he knew she was pregnant less than twenty-four hours later. It's impossible. Even she didn't know it until six weeks later. I do know there was another child involved in this equation. John knew. He had become aware of it two weeks prior to his death. I truly believe that's who this will was intended for."

"Okay then. There are or will be two children regarded as compensated."

"Uh, I think I have a better chance of the mother throwing a kitchen sink at me. She wants nothing to do with him, and I'm pretty certain she did not list him as her daughter's father. She never asked anything from him. That's what she told me."

"Whatever way, if Sgt. Lucille Bates lists John LaRue as her kid's father, they get it all. Benefits. Pension. You name it." Briscoe glances down, sliding away another page. "Oh, and both Rosa Calletano and Margaret LaRue-Nelson are filing for a wrongful death suit against Johnson, Kincaid, Gelman, and Jolevitch. Nelson is really pushing for it with Bill's help. If her and Ray's widow win, there's going to be a hefty sum coming from those four young men. So, my bit of advice to you is let Sgt. Bates know what her child is entitled to."

"Okay."

"My next item is of a more serious nature. Not that a pension plan is anything to sneeze at. I'm talking about LaRue's former partner, Neal Washington."

"What about Neal?" Furillo asks with curiosity.

"What position is he currently serving?"

The captain hesitates. "Um,…he's still a detective with the department but he hasn't done many cases at all since LaRue left."

"So, what does he do then?"

"Currently he's kind of an acting lieutenant.

"Kind of?"

"There's a logical explanation for all of this. Neal has an old knee injury from college that sometimes has hindered his physical ability. J.D. was far more active of the two. The department's best climber, actually. But uh, Neal has had several operations on his knee and he's okay when on medication for it." Furillo says in a rushed tone, "Warren, I don't want to lose him due to this discrepancy. He's a very good cop. By the book. I would never want to force retirement on him."

"That's not what I heard. Lt. Ed Sanchez from midtown told me about the triple homicide from a little while back. Both Washington and Henry Goldblume were on the case. He recommended Washington but couldn't say the same for Det. Lt. Goldblume. If anything, he thinks you should drop him altogether. Sanchez was outraged at Goldblume's conduct during the investigation. A man butchers his family and a so-called cop thinks a deal should be made to put him in a nuthouse rather than serve jail time?"

"Henry is sometimes a bit passionate about his work."

"Passionate? Try foolish."

"Warren, Henry Goldblume wouldn't be able to do anything in court anyway. He's just outspoken."

"Frank, Sanchez said Goldblume practically made promises to Corgan without his lawyer being present. If you want to talk about passionate, then lets talk about Washington. I've dealt with the guy before and he stands up for what he believes in. And I must add, a professional manner. Come on, Frank. Acting lieutenant? Who do you have as lieutenant right now?"

"I have two at the moment. Howard Hunter of the EATers and…Goldblume. Next in line for sergeant is Det. Mick Belker. Of course we have Lucy Bates, but she's an officer not a detective, and as far as I know doesn't wish to be."

"So, let me get this straight. For seniority, you've got an armchair psychiatrist, a trigger-happy tactical force guy, and a detective who likes to bite and growl at people. Where's the rest of the circus, Frank? Meanwhile, you have a great detective who does the right thing without any cheap dramatics getting no promotion."

"What do you suggest I do with Neal?"

"Make him a legit lieutenant."

"And throw Henry Goldblume under the bus? I can't do that!" Furillo responds outraged. "You can't just make somebody a lieutenant and you can't give somebody their walking papers simply because they exercised their right in free speech. The last thing I remember, this was a free country and free speech was a first amendment. Aside from that, there are steps. Neal would have to become a sergeant first."

"Fine then. Get him to take the sergeant's exam. We'll make it legal for a day, just to say he's sergeant. Then he can be up for a promotion."

"Now hold on a minute, Warren. Promotions take a long time." Furillo points emphatically. "If you're suggesting to help Neal Washington in any way, I'd have to say thanks but no thanks. I don't want to get under anybody's thumb. I've been down that road before."

"You're talking about Fletcher."

"I'm talking about anyone, Warren. I will not do that again."

"Even for the betterment of your department?"

"I just don't."

"Frank? Please think about it at the very least. Goldblume is only going to weigh you down."

Furillo turns away, not wanting to even think about the chief's suggestion.

"Seriously, Frank. Who is going to help you out with this impending gang war situation?"

"We don't know if it's a gang war, Chief. It was one guy we caught so far. He's in the system just in case. I'm sure there will be more."

...

Renko gives a deep sigh. "Bobby, we've been here for the past three hours and this place is a ghost town. Ain't nobody in sight."

Hill attempts to reassure his agitated partner. "We thought there was one."

"Thought don't mean does."

The radio sounds off with a female's voice. "Attention all units. Assistance is needed at Fairfax and 8th St. Burnett High School."

Hill steps on the gas. Renko reaches for the walkie-talkie. "Dispatch. 2-2-0-2 responding."

"Copy that 2-2-0-2."

"10-4."

Hill looks back at his partner. "Your lucky day, Renko."

Renko says, "I wonder if this means we can have an earlier lunch?"

Ten minutes later, they arrive at Burnett High School, in time to see three youths being frisked by fellow officers of Hill St. Buchanan holds one of the youths arms to his back. Garcia pulls out handcuffs for another. Hill says with sarcasm, "We weren't invited to the party?"

"We were wondering when you were gonna get here." Garcia answers.

Monroe chimes in. "Yeah. What took you guys so long? Didn't you know the assignment? We were only told by the captain himself."

Renko looks at Hill with concern. "No. We only got the news during roll call like the rest of you. From Lt. Goldblume's notes that were passed along to Sgt. Bates."

Wayne adds, "The captain told us to forget what Goldblume ordered and said help was needed at Burnett, not Jefferson."

Hill says unamused, "Like my partner said, we didn't get the message."

Buchanan answers quickly as the youth squirms from his grip. "We got a total of five. Each one was carrying a weapon of some sort. Handguns and knives."

Garcia says, "Two have younger brothers in this school. They were trying to recruit between classes. To try and fit in."

"A science teacher who was working as a hall monitor recognized these to be trouble. Seen them before."

Rollins walks up from behind, holding another youth in cuffs. "Says their with the Ice Lizards."

The youth speaks out, "Cold Cobras you idiot!"

"Oh! I'm so sorry for hurting your teeny little feelings, little man. A thousand pardons. See one gang, see them all."

"We were just visitin' man." The youth protests. "You can't hold us on anything."

"We can't Arturo?" Rollins answers, picking up one of the guns. "So, what's this? A water pistol…" He empties the cartridge. "…that happens to have real bullets?"

Arturo barks back, "I use that for protection!"

Renko gets in Arturo's face. "Shouldn't you use that protection at home? In case of a home invasion? A place where you can protect your momma and little brother? Like being the man of the house? Or is that you just like to wave this here dangerous weapon like a badge of honor among your snakes in a school full of children?"

Monroe says, "That would make him a coward."

"Who you callin' coward, pig!" Arturo spits back.

"He probably didn't even finish high school. Notice the uneducated way he says who you? Numbskull doesn't realize the correct way of saying it is, 'Who are you.'"

Rollins answers back, "Nobody said gang members were smart. Hell, they're probably more illiterate than a kid from a third world country."

"I'm gonna get you man! Then we'll see how much you joke!"

"Ooh. This one's tough. Probably has daddy issues of being hit with a belt."

Hill says, "Just bring him to the car. We'll see how tough he is in a cell."

The officers lead away the troublesome youths.